#but why is the teenage girl with nowhere else to go held to a higher standard than the grown man calling the shots?

[susiephone]

ok i haven’t watched nimona yet (though i do plan to since i’m a HUGE fan of the comic) so i can’t comment on the trans allegory or whether it’s better than the one in atsv but i feel like “gwen becomes a cop” is a vast oversimplification. gwen was going to be arrested by her own father who thought (at least in that moment) that she killed her best friend in cold blood, and she had nowhere to go but with the two people offering her a safe harbor. she obviously agrees to follow their rules as best she can and help them out because she’s given safety and makes friends and feels like she’s part of something important and good. and yeah there are parts of it she doesn’t like, but it’s a small price to pay for the good of the world and a safe place to stay, right?

and then she realizes no, actually, it isn’t worth it, because the system is hurting people, the leaders are negligent at best and destructive at worst, and innocent people’s lives are being destroyed for no reason. and then she says “oh, fuck this” and leaves, taking her true friends with her to try and rectify the damage she did.

nimona did a far better trans allegory than the supposed one in across the spider-verse. the fear and violence towards her aberrant body/existence was the literal foundation of their society and nimona spends the whole film dealing with that history. she is degendered, demonized, and the call for her extermination, painted as morally necessary and just, permeates everywhere. and even if someone is fine with her, like bal, it tends to be highly conditional: she needs to be easily legible as a girl for their comfort, and her shapeshifting has to be peripheral and unobtrusive.

she also calls for the destruction of their systems meanwhile gwen becomes a cop so yeah i'll take this trans girl instead

[musehyacinthus]

Shoot Your Shot: Part 1

This is my first published work in over a decade, and I'm so excited to share it with everyone! Dash is my oldest and most treasured oc, and I'm so happy that I finally have the confidence to allow everyone else a peek into her life. This was originally supposed to be a short one shot, but is now going to be a 2(?) part series. I will hopefully be posting more work in the future that explores more of her background, as well as introducing some of my other oc's.

It was June, and the air was warm and sticky, which wasn’t ideal; the humidity made Dash’s hair all frizzy, and it always seemed to happen on a day when she wanted to make meringue.

This morning in particular, her eyes snapped open, bolting upright in her bed with a gasp. She had been having the most amazing dream, in which she was about to take a bite of the biggest, most beautiful lemon meringue pie she had ever seen. However, just as the fork reached her mouth, she woke up, returning to the sad reality where she did not have a mouth watering dessert in front of her. She smacked her lips, trying to recall what the pie had tasted like, but it was already gone. Tragic.

It was then that it dawned on her that she had the ingredients to bring that beautiful pie to life in the kitchen. In an instant, she rushed to her bedroom window. Maybe, if she was lucky, the weather would be on her side today. She pried open the window, a warm, thick breeze blowing against her skin. She groaned. No good; meringue wouldn’t peak in the humidity. No matter how good at baking someone is, they’re no match for mother nature. Pursing her lips, she pulled the latch shut, deciding to settle for banana bread muffins instead.

A couple of hours later, the muffins were nestled in her bag as she hopped off the trolley that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Thanks!” Dash chirped to the driver, exchanging waves with the man before she bounced away, not noticing the large, gray clouds looming on the horizon.

She clicked her tongue rhythmically as she walked, matching the beat to her steps and scanning the docks for her friend, Twitchy. The purpose of her trip had been to return a book he lent her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A group of four other teenagers had gathered nearby at the edge of the docks, crouching in a large circle on the ground. Curious, she inched forward, craning her neck to see what was going on.

As she approached, she could see they were surrounding a long piece of brown string that was tied in a circle, surrounding a cluster of marbles.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was fantastic at marbles! She always kept her own pouch on her in case of a marble emergency, which happened more often than one might think.

Now that she was closer, Dash knew the kids to be Newsies like herself from her other visits to the borough. Among the group was a short, round faced girl with glasses and hundreds of freckles who Dash remembered was named Abigail. Her curly, brown hair was pulled back into two braids, her eyebrows knit with frustration as she gazed down at the ring. There was also a pale, skinny boy with sandy, blond hair and brown eyes that Dash didn’t recognize, and a tall boy with broad shoulders and dark hair standing just behind Abigail and watching the game intently. The way he hovered over her, he seemed almost like a bodyguard. What was his name again? Something with a chuh sound…. Chuck? No. Chatter! That was it! She remembered now, she found it funny the first time she learned it because Chatter really didn’t say very much at all. He was a friendly enough guy, but he seemed to like observing and listening more than he liked talking. He and Abigail seemed to always be around one another when Dash saw them, their significant height difference almost comical. Finally, Dash’s eyes rested on the figure closest to her with their back turned. Their brown cap was pulled down low on their face as they knelt on the ground, but she could recognize those bright red suspenders anywhere. He was at an angle where she could just see that was holding a red shooter in his hand, weaving it through his fingertips thoughtfully.

Dash’s feelings toward Spot were… mixed; she could never stop herself from riling him up, and the two would often butt heads due to their wildly different personalities. Spot took himself so seriously, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It frustrated her that he tried to make himself seem so high and mighty, and she knew the kids in Brooklyn respected him, but as far as she could tell, he was just… some guy. The way he constantly tried to have the attention of those around him was so silly, and just made him come off as a bit of a show off.

She hadn’t seen him do anything particularly intimidating, but the Newsies back in Manhattan would often go on and on about how nervous he made them. She just failed to see any real reason for their apprehension. Then again, she really hadn’t been living in New York all that long; his reputation had been around for a good while. Maybe they all knew something she didn’t.

In any case, as far as she was concerned, he was just a kid who wanted attention. That was fine, of course, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease him. It was fun to challenge him, and she found herself getting extremely competitive in his presence. Of course he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

Dash would come to Brooklyn every once in a while to exchange books with Twitchy, who she knew was pretty close with Spot. He never seemed to show any signs of being intimidated either, and was an even bigger culprit than she was when it came to pushing Spot’s buttons. He would go to great lengths to make him look silly, like the time he filled Spot’s pockets with bread crumbs and got the neighborhood pigeons to follow him around all day. There was also a time when he dressed up in the same clothes as Spot, and had bribed the other Brooklyn kids with candy to pretend that he was the real Spot for an entire day.

Dash watched as the boy she hadn’t recognized leaned forward, closing one eye and taking a deep breath. He flicked his thumb, his yellow shooter zipping forward and smacking into another large, purple marble. Both marbles rolled over the string, coming to a rest on the other side. The boy whooped with delight, and Abigail let out a cry of astonishment.

“That was a cheap shot, Sonny!” Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring daggers at the boy. “You know I just got that marble yesterday!”

“It ain’t my fault I got good aim!” Sonny grinned, shrugging and walking over to claim the purple shooter for himself. “Sorry, toots.”

Dash thought Sonny didn’t look all that sorry.

Abigail huffed, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“Fine, whatever. Your turn, Spot.”

Spot, who had been silent the entire time, was already leaning down to shoot his own red marble. He extended his arm, appearing as still as a statue as he aimed the little glass ball toward the center.

At that moment, an idea popped into Dash’s brain. Slowly, without making a sound, she crept up behind him, biting her lip to keep herself from giggling and giving herself away. Finally, just as Spot started to release the shooter, Dash exclaimed “HI, SPOT!”

The boy let out a rather undignified yelp and his hand jerked, the marble rolling into the ring and bouncing gently on one of the mibs. It hardly budged, and Spot’s shooter halted beside it. The other three Brooklyn newsies broke out into laughter, and Spot’s shoulders tensed, turning his head slowly to glare up at Dash.

Dash just smiled, waving down at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said hi.”

Spot grunted and rose to his feet, his hazel eyes narrowing at Dash. Despite his intense stare, her expression remained unchanged.

“I heard ya, I heard ya.” He grumbled, glancing her up and down. “You messed me up, y’know.”

“Golly, did I do that?” she feigned surprise, her eyebrows raising. “Whoopsie daisies. Can I play?”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Actually, it’s just endin’!” Sonny chimed in from behind him with a smile. Spot glanced back and shot Sonny a look, who quickly clammed up.

“Aw, that’s okay.” Dash shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal, Spot’s just afraid that I’ll beat him at his own game.” she looked back to Spot, and she swore she saw his eye twitch.

“No. I am not.” He replied firmly.

“Are too.”

“Am. Not.”

“Are tooooo.”

“NO, I am-” Spot’s voice had grown higher pitched in the heat of the moment, but he quickly paused, giving a sideways glance at his Newsies who were all staring at them. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his voice now sounding much lower than it had a moment ago.

“Fine.” He said cooly.  “Fine, you wanna play? We’ll play. Clear the ring, Sonny.”

In a matter of moments, the ring was reset, thirteen mibs resting in the center in a cross. Dash fished her sack of marbles out from her bag, a little blue pouch that her father had fashioned for her out of some spare fabric. She had about a dozen shooters she had collected over the years, but there was a very special one she wanted to use for this occasion.

She rummaged around in the pouch for a moment before pulling up a shooter that was minty green and blue with little white swirls. Sonny whistled, leaning in to look at it.

“That’s real pretty.” He mused. Dash beamed, tossing it up in the air once and catching it.

“Thanks! It’s the first marble I ever won back when I was younger.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You sure ya wanna use that thing, then? Seems pretty special to be usin’ in a game. Don’t wanna end up like me and have it taken from ya.” She glared pointedly at Sonny, who only grinned back at her innocently with large, doe like eyes.

Dash nodded. “Oh, yeah! This guy is my go-to shooter, he’s real lucky!” She held it up proudly, admiring the way the colorful swirls glistened in the light. “I’ve never lost a match with him!”

Spot was also staring at the marble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Oh, well, it’s your funeral, girlie.” He stretched his arms over his head, shifting his gaze back to her. “You better say your goodbyes now, ‘cause that thing’s gonna be in my pocket real soon.”

Dash stuck out her tongue at him. She wasn’t nervous; her lucky shooter had never failed her before, and this game would be no different.

The two knelt on opposite ends of the circle, and the others sat off to the side as spectators. Spot motioned his hand toward her.

“Ladies first.”

Dash positioned herself in front of the ring with her shooter. Without any delay, she flung her marble forward, grinning at the satisfying clack it made as it smacked into one of the mibs, sending two of them rolling out of the ring. Dash whooped loudly, and Spot continued to watched in silence with a serious expression.

“Nice!” Abigail grinned.

Her shooter was still within the circle, which meant she was able to shoot her marble again from the inside the ring. She hummed, hopping to the other side and returning to her knees to the left of Spot. As she reached for her shooter, her shoulder briefly brushed against his. Spot jumped as if he had been shocked, scowling and moving a few inches to his right. Dash barely even noticed him, focused on finding the right angle to shoot her marble. She flicked it once more and the marble struck another mib, but it didn’t have as much force as the first hit. It rolled a few inches and stopped just before reaching the edge. Dash shrugged, flopping backward onto her behind. “Oh well. Your turn.”

Spot nodded, adjusting his cap. Dash saw him glance over at the other kids for a fleeting second, then returned his gaze to the marbles. He cracked his knuckles loudly, which Dash found rather unnecessary, and flexed his hands at his sides. He scooped up his red shooter, assuming the position. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip.

This was ridiculous; the longer she waited for him to make his move, the more restless she felt. She drummed her hands on her lap as she waited. After what felt like centuries, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can’t you go any faster?” She huffed.

“I’m focusin’.”

“Focus faster!” she urged.

Spot’s jaw clenched, still not looking at Dash. He exhaled, finally releasing his marble. It hit two mibs at once, sending them flying out of the circle in opposite directions. Sonny cheered loudly and Abigail nodded with approval while Chatter clapped politely beside her. The marble stopped right where it hit its mark, meaning it was still in play.

Spot grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he turned his attention back to Dash. She clapped, nodding slowly.

“That was great, yeah! Hey, at this rate, maybe we’ll have a winner by Thanksgiving!” she teased. Abigail let out a cough that Dash could have sworn was a laugh.

Spot’s grin snapped back to a scowl, squinting hard at her. Dash smiled back. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Spot closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the look in his eyes had changed.

“Oh, I ain’t movin’ fast enough for ya?” he asked, stretching out his arms and making a big show of moving into shooting position once more. Slowly, he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. “That’s no problem. I can go faster.”

He set his eyes on Dash’s lucky shooter, and before she could even process what was happening, he shot his red marble straight for it.

Dash’s eyes widened in horror, and she gasped as the shooter crashed into her minty blue sphere, causing it to roll right out of the ring.

Her heart sank, realizing what he had just done. She looked up at him in dismay and was met with a smug smile.

“Oh, would ya look at that? Seems like ya lucky marble ain’t so lucky no more.” He snickered. “Oopsie daisies.”

The other Brooklyn kids appeared stunned at what their leader had done, exchanging nervous glances with one another. Sure, he had joked about taking the marble, but it didn’t seem like they thought he would actually take it.

“Spot…” Abigail started, but Spot ignored her, plucking the shooter from the ground and rolling it across his palm as he stood.

“You were right, Abby. She shoulda listened to your advice, don’t’cha think?”

For a minute, Dash was speechless. Did that really just happen? Was he being serious right now?

Her shock quickly turned to rage. She rose and stormed up to him, lunging toward the marble.

“No! That’s not fair, you can’t-”

“What exactly ain’t fair here?” Spot interrupted, snatching it away and holding her prized shooter high in the air. “I ain’t no cheater, ask anyone here! I won this here marble fair and square!” He looked over at the others for confirmation, daring any of them to argue. “You all saw it, right? No rules broken, yeah?”

Reluctantly, the three nodded in agreement, which only fueled Dash’s anger. She grunted and jumped toward his raised hand in an attempt to grab it, but he stepped back, barking out a laugh.

“Better luck next time, short stuff!”

Dash grunted, jumping up and down as she tried snatch her marble. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re barely three inches taller than me at most!”

“Still, it’s three inches you ain’t got!” he snickered. “I’m playin’ the game the way it’s s’posed to be played! When ya shoot your opponent’s marble outta the ring, you claim it! That’s the rule!”

They danced around one another, Dash hopping up toward his hand and Spot pulling away at the very last second. Dash could feel her cheeks burning. She grit her teeth and let out a loud groan. “Why are you being such a jerk?!” She exclaimed, taking another swing just as he jumped out of the way.  “You only shot at my marble to be mean!”

“I’m the jerk?” He scoffed, side stepping when she tried to snatch it again. “You’ve been pickin’ on me this whole time! ”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“WAS NOT!”

“WERE TOO!”

“Hey, now,” Chatter spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. His voice was deep and soft. “Maybe we should all calm down…”

But Dash didn’t want to calm down. She was fuming, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a silly, little marble, but she couldn’t control it; she was livid! How dare he take something from her that he knew was special to her! How dare he hold it over her head and taunt her with it! The way he smirked down at her made her stomach bubble with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

She lunged once more, but this time, she wasn’t aiming at his hand.

She reached for his head, plucking off the brown cap from his head in one quick swipe and scurrying backward with a triumphant “HA!”

Spot blinked in surprise, his free hand instinctively moving toward his head. His caramel hair was now in disarray, falling in wisps across his face.

“Ha ha. Very funny, girlie, give it back.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Dash, c’mon.”

Dash was already scooping up her bag of belongings and throwing it over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face. It was juvenile, sure, but it was the only thing she could think to do in the heat of the moment. She offered him a quick salute, then bolted from the scene of the crime, leaving a flabbergasted Spot behind her.

She was already halfway down the block before she heard an enraged bellow behind her:

“DAAAAASH!”

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

End of Part 1

[longitud-de-onda]

on a universal constant, falling off the bottom of the earth

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you and javier were best friends but life pulled you in separate directions. javi’s now just returned from colombia and you both find yourselves driving out to a spot in the desert in the middle of the night rating; t warnings; a subtle brand of depression, an existential crisis, some stuff that might be triggering if you’re suicidal or have a deep fear of death, so much angst you’ll probably want to sue me word count; 6.0k universal constant masterlist

July meant hot night air, so you leave your house and start up the truck, taking your time to wind through the streets. You don’t stop when you reach the edge of town, starting down the country road. There are no streetlights, just the great expanse of dirt and rock that rises into towering formations on either side. There’s no one else on the road. You’re too far away from anywhere anyone would want to be. 

The clear night sky out in the country has always been your favorite sight. The shades of deep purple and blue dotted with millions of stars have always fascinated you. When you were a kid you would climb up to your roof, spend hours lying up there questioning how far away every star was. You would wonder how big the universe was. Sometimes, you would imagine your house hanging off the bottom of Earth, an upwards gravitational pull the only thing keeping you from falling forever down into the dark.

You’re much older now. You had drifted in and out of your home, off to college for some time. Coming back.

You tried not to think about space like that anymore. 

In the distance, you can see the white light of a gas station approaching slowly. By the time the sign saying it’s a mile out arrives you’re already slowing down. You pull into the harsh glow, parking the truck and jumping down onto the asphalt. The hot dry air hits you hard. It’s not the invasive, sticky, painful heat. It’s soft and a light breeze caresses your bare arms to remind you that it could be much worse.

You enter the convenience store, struck by the realization of exactly where you are. 

It’s like you’re on autopilot as you walk to the back of the store, straight to the refrigerators, pulling out a six-pack of the off-brand soda you used to drink as a teen. It has been longer than you can even remember since you last tasted the sweet liquid, and you wondered if it would still taste the same. 

You grabbed a bag of jerky and a pack of M&Ms on your way to the register. 

The guy working wears the same teal vest the guys did all those years ago. The same acne riddled face of a teenager asks if you want a bag, the same careless voice. Almost like nothing has changed in twenty years except the music playing over the speakers. Who the hell would sign up to work all the way out here?

You suppose you’d have applied had you been ten years younger and unemployed.

You’re back on the road, driving away from the light, further into the emptiness of the desert. It’s easy to let your mind wander. Why couldn’t you fall asleep? Why did you leave the safety of your home? What was calling you to drive in this direction? 

It’s not a conscious decision that causes you to pull off the road, begin driving on a dirt path that hardly exists anymore, more like muscle memory. No longer does the familiar route have the worn-out path, free of shrubs, and you wince every time you have to run over another plant. 

The headlights cast long shadows across the prickly bushes. Sticks and small rocks are illuminated like devilish hands grabbing at the tires. Plumes of dust rising behind you restrict any view out your review mirror. A small animal, possibly a fox but you’re not entirely sure, darts across the trail along the point where the light fades into the black again, the motion causing you to slam the brakes. 

You start up once more, your truck bumping across the desert, out towards the hill that rises up in front of you. 

What’s drawing you back here, you’re not sure. A sick sense of nostalgia? Or a state of mind you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since you were a teen?

Even though it’s been years since you returned from college, you haven’t come back here since one August night after senior year.

You stop the vehicle at the base of the hill. A few deep breaths center you. You stuff the food into your pockets, grab your purse off the passenger seat, along with the cans of soda. They’ve grown slick with condensation and while you can do nothing to stop the goosebumps that crop up on your skin, as soon as you exit the truck and reenter the summer heat, the cold feels good. You lower the cans to touch your thigh, allowing yourself to close your eyes and take in the sensation of cold aluminum brushing up against you. 

Slamming the door closed and locking the truck, you begin to hike up the hill, stopping only when you reach a large flat outcropping of rock. 

You walk out onto the boulder, sinking into a sitting position on the smooth stone. 

When you were a teen, you and Javier would come out here

Every time Javi’s mom would come back down from her near-permanent high, once a month or so to show up for some baseball game or to take him out for dinner, she and Chucho would start screaming at each other the whole night. Javi would throw a stone up at your window and you’d slip out onto the roof, jumping down to the ground and you’d drive out, pocketing handfuls of pebbles on the hike up to your rock. You’d take turns throwing them as far as you could. Each time screaming out the name of someone or something that had hurt you. 

The one day where Javi beat up Niles Breckinridge ‘cause he kept asking you out and you kept saying no and he decided to corner you in the girl’s locker room. How Javi found out what he was doing you had no idea, but Niles was on the floor, nose bleeding, and Javi’s knuckles were bruised when he grabbed your hand and you ran out to your car, the two of you laughing and crying as you hit the highway, skipping class to drive out to the middle of nowhere. 

When your parents started screaming about your grades you had shown up at Javi’s doorstep, crying, and he led you to the passenger seat of his car. You drove in silence until just past the gas station, and up on this boulder, over canned beer and Starbursts, everything came spilling out: the way Mr. Wallace wouldn’t give you any grade higher than a C unless you wore that low cut top to school once a week, how Mr. Chapman wouldn’t explain why you got an F on every single essay even when you asked him how you could improve your grade, how Mrs. Hayes didn’t like you because you were the only kid in Spanish class who didn’t grow up speaking the language, so your accent was terrible, how Ms. Gordon would let you rewrite any essay you wanted but never offer any advice on how to improve things, how Mr. Phillips didn’t care that you could do more push-ups than at the beginning of the year, only that you still could do the least in the class. And as your tears hit the flat stone overlooking the desert, you stared up at the sky and Javi lay next to you. You laid like that for hours that day, not touching, just side by side, existing in each others’ presence. 

The time you found Javi crying at the park, having been dumped by Morgan Powell, and even though you hadn’t spoken in weeks cause he didn’t want to spend any time with you anymore, he didn’t complain when you held his hand, walked with him to your truck, and found yourselves out in the middle of nowhere. He climbed down the hill to grab a blanket from the car and only for those three minutes he was gone did you let yourself cry. 

The night before Javi left for Texas A&M you spent the entire night out here, watching the sunrise before you climbed back down to the car, and you fell asleep on the drive home. That was your last chance to tell Javi that somewhere along the line you had fallen in love, and you never had the guts to say it. He was gone by the end of the day. 

It wasn’t fair, but you were leaving too, thousands of miles away. One of the only kids to leave the state. You had managed to turn your grades around and were headed up to New York to attend Vassar the next week, and you didn’t come home for summer break that year or the next. The third summer you got a job at the pool. You saw Javi a couple times, as you sat upon your lifeguard’s chair and he brought a different girl every week, hands flying all over their bikini-clad bodies. After the PDA got a little less family-friendly, they’d disappear. Halfway through the summer, he brought along Lorraine Crawford, your middle school best friend who ditched you as soon as you entered high school, and she kept coming back, week after week. 

Javi never noticed you sitting up there watching his every move like a hawk. You had drifted far from his life, and you weren’t sure if you really knew him anymore. 

You came back home after you graduated, got a job in the town center, bought a house, didn’t have to speak to your parents again after they moved away. You became a regular at the diner down the block, and you stopped by the coffee shop on Main Street every morning before work. Some of the people you knew from high school would invite you out to the bar every weekend. You’d go. 

Javi became a police officer. Some nights you’d see him on the other side of the bar. You weren’t friends anymore and you weren’t really sure when you stopped. Probably long before that last night on the rock. 

One day a fancy letter showed up in your mail. Nice paper, frilly letters. A wedding invitation. It came with a handwritten note, not from Javier, but Lorraine. You almost RSVP’d with a no. 

The church was beautiful and happy, and more than a few people there from high school surprised you with friendly words. You were contemplating going to the reception as you waited for the procession. You weren’t close to Lorraine or Javier. Not anymore. Free food didn’t seem worth inserting yourself somewhere you didn’t belong. 

A half-hour after the ceremony was set to begin someone announced that Javier hadn’t shown up. The wedding wouldn’t be happening. As you walked out of the building you could hear Lorraine crying. A month later the word around town was that Javier had moved to Colombia. 

You look out into the dark desert. The smell of sage is potent in the heat, and a lone pair of headlights appear in the distance. You watch the car as it speeds along before the red taillights of the other side of the vehicle disappear into the opposite horizon. 

You pop open a can of soda. 

It’s a mechanical sound that contrasts the soft whisper of the wind and the snakes, a few birds in the distance, and the low hum of insects. 

It’s never quiet out here but this background noise is the only thing that has ever truly calmed you. 

The taste of soda brings back more memories you thought had been lost. The early days on the playground with Javi, two six-year-olds climbing to the top of the structure as your parents both call out for you to get down. When you were eleven the two of you ran a lemonade stand for the whole summer, saving up to buy yourselves bikes. 

It wasn’t until Javi turned sixteen and instead of wandering the streets to avoid your families, he could drive you out of town, floating between convenience stores and rest stops for hours. It wasn’t long before you discovered this spot up here.

This rock became your spot. A sanctuary.

What drew you here after all those years, you weren’t sure. You rip open the pack of jerky, letting the tangy scent fill the air. 

Why didn’t you ever come back? The hot desert air is like a healing bath, seeping into your body as you gaze at the stars. After Javi left you had dated guys, spent evenings with friends, and lived your life. But you sit here now wondering what has happened with all the time. Had you been really living? Or just wandering through a haze? 

The truth was, you knew why you never came back. 

These memories were too painful to have sorted through any earlier. A whole life, wasted, as you fell away from the one person you loved as a teenager and never truly climbed back up from. 

Another pair of headlights appear in the distance, cutting a line across the brush. The car slows straight ahead of you and pulls off the road, heading towards where you sit. You glance down at your truck below. There isn’t enough time to get down there and into your car before whoever it is reaches you. Your hand slips into your purse, grasping around the canister of pepper spray. 

If you’re lucky, they aren’t headed up to your rock. 

The car pulls up and stops alongside your truck. You jump at the sound of the door slamming and peer down. 

You’d recognize that leather jacket anywhere, even in the penumbra of the headlights of his car before they flick off. You didn’t know he was back.

Another sip of soda. Waiting. The sound of rocks sliding down the hill. A couple crunches of dirt under shoes. Plastic against stone as you pick up the bag of jerky. Metal against stone when you set down your can. Deep, slow breaths. Dark leather boots next to your leg, tapping against the rock. A low groan. Javi sitting next to you. 

You keep staring off at the horizon, your chest rising and falling. The last time you were actually really with Javi you were 18. His car parked in front of your house. 8:30am. He jostled your shoulder, pulling you up from your slumped position against the window as you slept. You got out, the blanket still wrapped around you and he hugged you on your front lawn. He whispered goodbye to you, and you were too tired to say anything back. 

All the other times your paths had crossed it had been in silence and at a distance. Years and years of nothing. You had everything to say to him but you weren’t sure if any of it was worth saying. The man sitting beside you used to be an extension of yourself. Now he’s a stranger.

You pull a cold can out of the plastic rings, extending it towards Javi.

“Soda?”

“Thanks.” He grabs the can, his fingers brushing against yours. Enough to feel how rough they were.

You had imagined his voice would be the same as the lanky teen he was back then. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that it would be this much lower, deeper, hoarser. Hesitant. 

A hiss then the pop comes. Your gaze shifts over to watch his hands. They’re so big around the small can and he lifts it up to his lips to take a sip. Finally, after all this time, you get to give Javi a good look. The years have treated him well. The Colombian sun leaving a deep bronze tone, his face a far cry from the clean-shaven boy he once was. You had seen him after college, after he grew out the mustache and his hair darkened, face filling out into an even more handsome one. But in the time since then, a few lines have been left in his forehead and around his eyes. Still doesn’t make him any less beautiful.

“Haven’t had one these in ages,” he says. 

You look away, not responding. What could you say? What was there to talk about? Could one night up here possibly cover even a portion of what had happened?

Then in a terrifying moment, your brain puts something forward that shakes you to your core. 

Did he even want to talk to you anymore? Or had you grown so far apart that there was nothing left?

Javi sets down his can and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it to the side. You can feel him staring at you, but can’t bring yourself to break your gaze at the sky. You lean back, lying on the cool stone. All you can think of is how the distance between you and Javier feels further than you and those stars.

“You know, sometimes during stakeouts, looking over Bogotá? I would pretend we were up here. Staring out over the desert like we did when we were kids. I’d wonder if you were lookin’ up at the same stars I was.” His voice cracks momentarily and he lets out a shaky breath. “I’d always think about how you’d talk about falling off the bottom of the earth.”

You press your eyes closed, blocking out the deep expanse of the universe. The speed at which you were zooming back to Javi was too goddamn fast. How can he say that? How can he think about you when he hardly gave you the time of day after you both left home for the first time. When he wasn’t even the one to invite you to his own wedding.

“Do you come up here often?” he says.

You still haven’t said more than a word since he got up here. You’re not sure if the honest answer is the one he wants. You say it anyway.

“No. Last time was with you.” You try to hide the fact that tears are streaming down your face but he wasn’t fooled by that when you were kids, he wasn’t going to be fooled now. It’s easier to let the tears show through in your voice than hide them as you say, “Did you bring Lorraine up here?”

He’s quiet and you hear the burbling hunting call of a quail. Then a soft rustling as he lays back onto the stone too. 

“Why would I do that?” he asks. 

You have the guts now to tilt your head over and give him that questioning look. 

“Why wouldn’t you? You seemed to love her. Back before, you know...”

Once again he’s quiet. The sky seems to have lost any of the reddish tinges, leaving only the deepest ocean blue. You wish it was the ocean. Maybe if it was it wouldn’t make you think so much. You could just stare and stare and empty your mind. 

A breeze blows by and you shiver, cold for the first time this whole night.

“Yeah, well. Didn’t seem right, you know? This is our spot,” he says. 

You push yourself back up, staring back down at him.

“Our spot?” you ask. “Javi, is there even an ‘us’ anymore?” 

You place your elbows on top of your crossed legs and rest your forehead on your hands. You were always too quick to get worked up. Too fast to think through the things you said. Javi had extended an olive branch and you may have snapped it in half.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“No, I’m sorry. We drifted, I don’t know.” He sits back up beside you. “You never sent a letter and I didn’t either. That first summer back you weren’t there. After the second I thought you didn’t want to see me. Stopped looking, I guess. That’s on me.”

“I was back the third summer, you know?” you say, “I was a lifeguard at the pool. Watched you come in with Lorraine week after week.”

“You were?”

“Yeah.” You don’t say how you watched him with all the other girls too. 

“After I graduated, thought I might come back. Say hello. I heard Vassar already graduated, so if you were back, you’d be there. Your parents’ place was empty.”

“They moved out. I bought a house closer to town.” You picked up your soda again and took a sip.

“I saw you at the bars a couple times.”

“So did I. You never said hi.”

“You didn’t either,” he says. 

You pull out the bag of M&Ms from your pocket. Javi laughs. It sounds clear in the middle of the night. The only competition for airwaves is the quails. You fiddle with the edge of the plastic before it glides open, and you dump a few of the chocolates into your palm.

“Of course you were hiding those.” You can hear the smile in Javi’s voice.

You hold out the bag to him and he extends a palm, allowing you to pour some into his hand. 

Looking down at your own collection, you push the candies into colored categories as best you can in the desaturated night light. 

“You know, I was at your wedding. Lorraine sent me the invitation. Said you didn’t add me to the guest list but she thought you’d want me there anyway. I was sitting there in the pews as the time ticked and nothing happened. And you know what? I wasn’t getting worried about you not showing up. That never crossed my mind.” You take a breath. “I was sitting there debating whether or not I should go to the reception. Make the two of you speak to someone you both had fallen out of touch with. It didn’t seem fair.” 

“You were there?” he sounds distant, voice shaking a bit and you glance over to see his gaze glazed over, fixated on some spot in the desert.

“Yeah. Lorraine was really torn apart after that. We went out for drinks a week later. She asked me what the hell was wrong with you. I didn’t have an answer,” you say. “We made up. She was an asshole in high school, but so were so many others. I forgave her. When she got married to Randy, I was one of her bridesmaids.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you,” he says. You think he’s going to say more. Give an explanation. Nothing comes.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Not invite you? Or leave Lorraine?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He exhales. You’re putting him on the spot, you know that. But that’s what this hill is for. It’s where you say the tough stuff. You let each other cry. It’s the place where you let yourselves feel without voicing half of it because the other knows exactly what you’re going through. 

It still wasn’t comfortable enough to let you say the toughest thing of all.  

And worse, right now, you have no idea what’s running through Javi’s mind. 

“I couldn’t bring her into all of it,” he starts. “I had been in the DEA for a year by then. Knew the tough shit I’d have to do. If I was going to go up any higher, I was scared I’d be putting her in danger. And part of it was that I was just an asshole. Guess I still am.”

You pour out a few more M&Ms into your palm. The red ones go near your fingers, next yellow, then green, blue, and brown. All the way down to the heel of your hand. You eat the red ones first. One by one. 

“You’re not. You might have been to Lorraine, but you’re not. You care, Javi.” You look over and he’s still focusing on some little spot in the distance. 

“I am though. You don’t know what I’ve done. Down in Colombia. I—I did things you wouldn’t have liked.” He stopped to put an M&M in his mouth. A few minutes passed as he chewed the remaining candy in his palm, one by one. Then washed them down with the soda. “I killed people. And my decisions left even more dead. I did so many bad things.”

“Why?” You swallow.

“You used to not ask that.”

He was right. You used to say things. No explanations needed. You both had grown. “I don’t feel like I can read you as well as I used to.”

Javi sets down his can on the rock. The soft clink seems to echo across the sweeping land. You wouldn’t be surprised if the guy at the gas station heard it.

“I had to do a lot of the things,” he whispers. “Did a lot of the other things to forget the things I had to do.”

You look over him as he closes his eyes. You think you see a tear fall down the side facing away from you, but he tilts his head away.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You didn’t use to say that either.

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that. Alone. You know?”

Javi deserved people in his life. He had gone through so much shit as a kid; to have to go through even more as an adult, it wasn’t fair.

“You mean Lorraine?” Your heart aches when you hear the way Javi says her name. It’s different from the way he says yours. Different emotions. You suppose that’s what his voice sounds like when he says the name of someone he loves.

You don’t fucking mean Lorraine though. You’re tiptoeing around it, but you mean you. 

“No, I just mean anyone. You might not have wanted to bring her into all of it but maybe you needed to have brought someone. So you didn’t feel so alone.”

If it was anyone else sitting next to him, they wouldn’t notice the way his hand shakes, the empty can making no noise, but it’s not anyone else. Maybe Lorraine would have noticed too.

You wish Javi had reached out to you, all those years ago when he thought you didn’t care. Maybe you could have gotten to be part of his life, even if you weren’t in the front row, you could still be in the theater. Not sitting in the parking lot, crying in your car. At least that’s what these past twenty years or so have felt like.

Underneath all the stars he looks so small. You both do. You want to hug him. Or something. You can’t even bring yourself to nudge his foot with yours. 

“Never said I felt alone,” he says.

“You didn’t have to.”

You feel the tears in the corners of your eyes and you try to blink them dry. It doesn’t work. You love Javi so much that if he really wanted to be with Lorraine, you were going to be there and make sure he was happy. But in the end, that wasn’t what he wanted.

It’s weird how having someone suddenly back in your life can make it feel like everything is right again. Like your entire existence has felt so pointless because he wasn’t part of it. You never believed in soulmates, but you thought that maybe someone was right when they decided that you’re bonded to someone in life. That their presence would make you whole again. They were just wrong in believing the other person would always love you back.

“I didn’t invite you because I didn’t know if you cared anymore. I felt we were too far apart that I wouldn’t matter,” he says. “I was scared you didn’t care anymore.”

“We could not speak for 50 years and I’d still want to be at your wedding, Javi. You’ve always mattered.” That was it, wasn’t it? Javi was always what mattered.

When your life felt like everything was falling apart as it always seems to when you’re a teen, he was always there to catch you. And you caught him too. Time and time again. And then your lives parted ways and you started falling with no net. Javi mattered.

“Why’d you come out here?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why’d you come all the way out here when you haven’t been back since we were 18?”

“Did you ever come back? Until today?” Even without Lorraine, you assume he might have. But maybe he’s like you. It hurt too much to come out here. Almost like you couldn’t without Javi. Not until tonight. And well, the universe seems to have had other plans.

“No,” he says. Simple.

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and I was too alone. My house felt too small. Had to get out. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I reached the gas station.” You pull out another can from the pack and flip up the tab.

If you’re being honest with yourself, it tastes terrible. Like a Coke gone wrong. But it also tastes like nights up here with Javi. You don’t think a single time you came up you didn’t at least share a can. You used to each have an emergency case in the trunks of your cars. Even when you came up to drink beer and dance and tell each other about the things going on, there was always a can of soda. 

“Guess I had a feeling. I needed to get out,” you continue.” Tonight was just the night where I finally let myself need this. Didn’t even know you were back.”

“Only got back a few hours ago.”

No. A few hours ago? He woke up yesterday in Colombia and was now sitting here at 3am on a rock hanging over the desert with you?

“What?” you ask. “And this is the first place you went?”

“I dropped off my things with my dad.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then yeah. First place I guess.”

He comes back and the first place he goes is here? What does that even mean?

He’s facing you now and you grin and raise your eyebrows. “Why?”

“Guess I had a feeling,” he mocks back. 

“Why up here. Why this first?” You’re not voicing the real question. Why is the first thing something that means you?

He reaches over, grabbing the bag of jerky and pulling out a piece. He puts it in his mouth and rips off a chunk. You know what he’s like when he doesn’t want to answer a question he knows the response to.

You stare back out and watch a car cross the desert. Then another. You lie back down, staring up at the stars again. And Javi still says nothing. 

“Maybe there’s a parallel universe out there where everything’s the same but we can both end up here but on different nights and not find each other.”

He doesn’t say anything but you can see him tilting up his head.

“Or maybe this rock is just a universal constant. Like in every version of Earth, one of us can’t spend a night here without the other. It just isn’t allowed.”

Your favorite thing about the night sky is how out here on a clear night, you can see the milky way, a saturated strip of stars belting across the dome. The fact that it’s so damn big has always scared you. You say as much to Javi.

“I’ve always been scared that we’re so small. That we mean nothing. If best friends can go from being everything to being strangers who avoid each other and don’t notice when the other is watching and the only people that care are the two friends themselves, who’s to say anyone cares about us? Maybe we’re all alone. A little rock flying around a bigger burning rock that somehow bubbled up intelligent life, an intergalactic anomaly... A little sphere that doesn’t care that my life feels pointless, and my life feels pointless because of that.”

“Your life isn’t pointless.”

“Then what is it? Because ever since college I don’t know what I’ve been doing. Stuck in my hometown, in love with all the people who don’t love me back.” It’s the first time for the night you know Javi can’t see you crying. Your voice is stable enough to hide it, and he’s sitting up, looking away from you. “And I guess it’s all fine cause I’m going to exist in this little millisecond on a cosmic scale and no one gives two shits if I live or die.”

“I do.”

“Do you, Javi? Because it didn’t seem like you were ever really looking. I could have disappeared and it would have been all the same.”

He’s quiet again and you think that it’s because on some level he knows you’re right.

“There was another reason I left Lorraine at the altar,” he says. You’re not sure if he’s answered more than one of your damn questions the whole night, only saying things that crop up new ones.

“That girl is amazing. She didn’t deserve to be someone’s second choice.”

“Second choice?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” his voice shakes and you sit up again, realizing that he’s crying.

You reach out to touch his shoulder. “Javi—”

He turns away from you. Then he’s leaning on his far arm, pushing himself up. You grasp at his wrist, hoping he’ll stay. Just long enough to finish this. He pulls out of your grip. And he still hasn’t explained himself.

“Javi,” you breathe out. “Stay? Just tonight. You never have to see me again after this. Please?”

That gets him to stop. “What if I want to see you again?”

You turn around looking up at him. The starlight shines against the longitudinal lines on his cheeks. He looks so much like the kid you grew up with.

You stand up, grabbing his jacket off the ground and handing it to him. You can’t make the same mistake you did when you were 18.

“You don’t have to stay, Javi. I’m sorry. You can go. It doesn’t matter what you meant by second choice. I don’t want to push you. I just, that last night? When we were kids? It was my last chance to tell you something and I didn’t have the guts to say it. And by the time I saw you again, it’d been a few years and you were bringing all the other girls to the pool and I was too scared to even say hello.”

He’s holding the jacket limply in his arms. You’re sure you’ve never looked at Javi in the eyes like this ever before. All those nights and you’ve never looked into his eyes and shared the vulnerability that you do now and seen the same expression staring back at you.

“I love you.” It was so much easier than you had ever imagined. The scary thing was actually not saying the words, but staring into Javi as his face shifted.

It began with shock then awe then admiration, all familiar expressions that you had seen a thousand times before. Then it morphed into something you didn’t know as he dropped the jacket and put a hand in yours, spinning you out so you stood side by side instead of face to face, and led you to the edge of the rock. He let go for a moment and when his hand returned there was a stone in it, which he closed your fingers around.

“Having to wait until now to be with the person I love,” he whispers. You’re confused until he’s winding up and throwing something. His own rock.

Oh.

You look down at the rock in your hand.

“Not telling people you love them before you almost lose them,” you say. Your rock flies even farther.

You’re smiling and you look up at Javi. He’s grinning at you and his arms pull you in, wrapping you up and you return the embrace, pulling him close.

“I love you too.”

You nod against his shoulder and pull away, wanting to really look at him.

And in Javi’s eyes, you can see the reflection of thousands of stars, shining bright and big and far away, all contained within the beautiful dark you’ve looked into for what feels like your entire life, and you can now call it home. 

-o-o-o-o-

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​ @sparrows-books​ @dxxkxx​ @opheliaelysia​ @trashbin2​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @letaliabane​ @awesomefandomsunited​

[jawritter]

My Best Friend..

Request: hi I have dean x reader request! the reader and dean are friends with benefits but recently she’s just been down in the dumps and just wants some platonic affection and not sex. as the writer you can do what u want but could you add Dean playing with the reader's hair? I have a weakness for it lol thanks!

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, unrequited/requited feelings, Language, angst, fluff, that’s about it.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2401

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

**MASTERLIST**

Dean's lips crashed into yours as soon as you crossed the threshold of your room back in the bunker. Hands roaming your body as he backs you to your bed. His lips left little marks along the way as he trailed his way down your collar bone, grinding his impressive erections against your core as he presses his body to yours, holding you to the mattress that he'd just laid you down on. 

Little moans and soft breaths filling the room as he rips your underwear to the side, to be wired up and full of adrenaline to even properly remove your clothing. He'd gotten your pants off, but lost patients after that. 

One hand leaves your body as he roughly rips his belt open and shoves his pants and boxers down to his knees. 

"Fuck Y/N. need you," he grunted against your neck as he rutted his already leaking tip against your waiting core. 

Your body accepts him like he belonged there, just like it had done so many times before. Dean didn't give you much time before he sat his brutal pace, driving you both very quickly toward the edge. The sounds of moans and his name fill the room as he pounds himself into you over and over again until his pace starts to falter. 

"Fuck Y/N, cum with me, baby girl," he gritted out as he snaked his hand between your bodies, finding your swollen bundle of nerves with ease, and rubbing harsh circles as he continued to pound into you at a matching pace; winding the coil tighter and tighter in your belly, as he brought you up higher and higher with him. 

With one more thrust of his hips, you were both tumbling over the edge together. Your hands flew to his shoulders as you try and ground yourself, your orgasm is so strong that you saw stars. Dean slowly pumped himself in you, working you both through it until you both had regained control of your bodies, leaving you both a panting, sweating mess, and a pile of human limbs on top of the bed. 

Just like he always does after a hunt, Dean gets up slowly after pulling out of you, fixing his clothes, and buckling his belt. He turned and looks at you before he walked out of the door, giving you a tight-lipped smile as he made his way to the kitchen to find whatever he would be drinking tonight. You had returned his smile, hiding the fact that inside your heart was breaking. 

Dean and yourself had been, "friends with benefits,'' so to speak ever since you moved into the bunker. You'd known the Winchesters for years before ever moving into the bunker, having grown up in the life. You remember them even when you were all just teenagers. When your father died last year Dean had offered to come live and hunt with them, safety in numbers, and you accepted because you were lost. You had nowhere else to go. It was the logical thing to do. 

It wasn't so bad at first. When either of you needed a stress release, or just needed to scratch that itch, as they say, you turned to each other. You trusted each other. It worked out just fine when it all started. Dean needed to blow off some steam, and you needed Dean. 

As time when on, and no matter how hard you tried to stop it, or deny it, or even fight it, you had developed feelings for the tall hunter. Now it was too late. He had your heart whether he knew it or not. The problem was, this was all you ever got from Dean. He wasn't a very affectionate sort of person. He did what he came to do, then left, that was just his way. Sometimes you felt like to him you were no more than an easy lay, and that's why he kept you around. 

Let's be honest. 

You'd never be able to keep up with the boys as far as strength and ability when it came to hunting. They were Winchesters. They were the best. All you seemed to be good for is a traveling fuck buddy for Dean. At least that's what it felt like to you anyway.

Getting up you made your way to the shower, wiping at your face harshly. Dean would never feel the same way you felt about him. Still, that didn't stop the want, or the need to be close to him in more ways than just sex. Intimacy wasn't always about sex, and you craved more of him. 

You don't know exactly when this depressed and down feeling started, but God you wished it would go away. 

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

Two weeks went by as they usually do, and you still weren't able to shake that feeling. That hole in your chest, that loneliness. Dean hadn't tried to come into you again. Tonight though you knew he would because you were currently sitting in the back of the impala, having left the last hunt you just finished with the boys and headed back to Lebanon. Dean was all knotted up, you could see it in the way he held his broad shoulders as he drove. His eyes would shift back and forth from the rearview mirror to stare at you to the road. He didn't have to even say anything, you knew what he wanted, you just didn't know if this time you could do that for him. 

You had felt so low, that you knew if you let yourself go there again, you'd never pick yourself up off the floor. The problem was you just didn't know how to tell him. Dean was your best friend, you didn't want to lose that at all. Even if you'd never be more than friends you needed him, just like he needed you. He was your crutch, and you were his. There was no way around it. 

When the impala finally pulled into the bunker, and you all got out and threw your duffle bags over your shoulders. You made your way straight for your room, locking the door behind you, changing into one of Dean's oversized shirts that fit you more like a dress than a shirt, you crawled into your bed and covered yourself up. 

You knew that Dean would just pick the lock. There were really no points in locks on doors when it came to living with hunters, it was just pointless. Still, it would slow him down, and hopefully deter him, maybe he'd think you were just asleep.

You lay there for no more than 30 minutes before you heard him try to open the door. When he saw it was locked he didn't even bother to knock. You could hear the distinct sounds of the lock being picked and the door swinging open. You laid there as still as possible as you felt the bed dip, and the covers pull back, letting you know Dean was sliding himself in behind you. He immediately starts to run his fingers up your thigh, burying his face in your neck as he kissed and nipped at the flesh there, not being at all shy about his intentions with the erection that was currently pressing against your ass.

"Y/N, Baby, I know you're not asleep," he whispers against the shell of your ear. 

You didn't say anything. just rolled tighter into the covers and pressed him away with your hand. Dean sat there stiff as aboard, confused by your rejection. You had never once told him no before. 

Reaching over Dean turns on the bedside lamp so that he could see you, checking to make sure you're not injured, and he didn't know about it. That was the only reason he could formulate at that moment that said you wouldn't want to be with him. He was more than a little hurt and looking for some sort of justification for your rejections.

Finally letting out a deep sigh you roll over and are met with a pair of very hurt looking green eyes staring back at you. 

"Did I do something I don't know about?" Dean asked you, his voice tense, stress set deep in his shoulders. 

The man thrived off of blaming himself for everything and you knew that. So you knew that you were going to have to talk this out with him, as much as you'd rather not.

"No Dean, you didn't do anything wrong, it's me. I'm just not in a good headspace right now," you tell him, rolling back over to face the wall. 

Dean didn't leave like you were hoping that he would. Instead, he pulled himself closer to you in almost a spooning position, something he'd never done before.

"We all get down like that sometimes Y/N, this life is hard, but you don't need to push the people that care about you away, let me help you. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, but don't reject me and shut me out," Dean said, waiting for you to say something. 

He didn't want to overstep his bounds, and he was still feeling the sting of being told no, so you knew he wasn't going to let this go easy.

You both just sat there in silence for a moment, neither of you saying anything. Dean was giving you some time to put your thoughts together. He could almost see the wheels turning in your head. 

"Dean, I want you to answer me honestly about something. No matter how bad you think it might hurt my feelings or whatever," you said, turning to find him staring at you, concern etched deep in his features. 

"Okay."

"Am I more to you than just an easy lay?" 

The question seemed to throw him for a moment. All the things that he was expecting to come out of your mouth, that definitely wasn't one of them. He blinked at you a few seconds before realization sat in, and his features softened. 

"Is that what you think? Y/N no, I don't see you that way at all. You're my best friend, you're the one that I share everything with. I have feelings for you that go deeper than that even. You know I'm not good with words, and I'm not really good at showing things, I never meant to make you feel like that. I've opened myself up to you more than I think I ever have with anyone. I need you baby, your not just an easy lay," 

Dean reached over and grabbed your hand in his, making little circles with his thumb, it was a small gesture, but even then it made your heart swell.

This is what you needed from him, closeness, intimacy. Not just sex.

"Every time you come in here and we have sex you just leave like I'm nothing. When we're not having sex you act like I'm a piece of furniture. You barely even acknowledge me. Dean If all this is ever going to be between us is an easy lay when you need to blow off some steam I don't know if we can keep doing this." 

What you said seemed to have hit Dean hard, but so did the realization of what he'd been doing to you. Dean never was one for words, he never got it right, he always screwed it up getting it out. So he did the only thing he knew to do in that moment to keep you, because losing you was more than he could even fathom. He loved you and losing you would tear him apart. 

Reaching over Dean grabbed your face and crashed his lips into yours. Kissing you slowly, tenderly, his tongue exploring your mouth in a way he never had, more care and love was placed in that one kiss than any you'd ever had in your life. By the time he released your face your world was a little fuzzy. 

"Y/N, I love you, you are everything to me, I kept my distance because I don't want to freak you out, and make you run away from me. I thought all you wanted was a friend with benefits thing, but if you want more I'm all in for that too." 

Laying down on his back Dean pulled your down with him. You slipped your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, nuzzling down to fit your bodies perfectly together. like you were made for each other. Dean wrapped his arms tightly around you, half rolling onto his side caging you against him. 

His body was warm against yours, you felt more safe and secure than you ever had in your life. This is it, this is what you were missing. Dean started to card his fingers through your hair, placing little kisses at random to your lips. Nothing was expected. Nothing was being pushed. He wasn't in a hurry. In fact it didn't look like he was going anywhere. He seemed perfectly content just to be, and that meant more to you than anything you had ever had in your life. 

“I love you too, Dean, I always have,” you told him, your eyes are getting heavy. Exhaustion of all the emotions hit you all at once. 

“I know Sweetheart, sleep, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, placing a soft kiss to your lips before settling back into his spot, playing with your hair, letting you nuzzle your face into him. You breathe in his scent deeply, letting it envelop you, and wash away all that hurt that you felt, leaving just him, your best friend, your rock, your comfort.

After about an hour while you were dozing asleep tangled up in his arms Dean was still playing with your hair, even though you had fallen into an easy sleep long ago. Dean laid there with his mind on things a hunter really shouldn't be thinking about. A home, a family, an apple pie life. 

He wasn't dumb enough to ever dream that it would actually happen that way, but what you didn't know was that if he ever did get out of this life or he died in it, he wanted to do it right here, with his best friend. If he never got to do all those things normal people got to do, that was fine, he'd expected that a long time ago; but whatever he did get to do, as long as it was with you... Well... That was more than enough...

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​ @magssteenkamp​

[yellowocaballero]

You And Me (And Your Friend Daisy)

Thanks for pushing me to finish this, Anon! This is a short, fun, and romantic story written in the verse of my other fics Bell, Book, and Candle and No Sin But Ignorance. Takes place some time post the ending of No Sin But Ignorance. That being said, this is probably very comprehensible without knowledge of those fics, so feel free to just view it as a no-apocalypse au. The majority of this was written while writing Feste - more accurately, when I needed a break from the crushing depression of Feste, so that’s why it’s so cheerful. :)

Yes, it’s named after that Garfunkel and Oates song, because that’s the plot. 

The rest of the story is under the cut!

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

“Are you going to tell me where we are?”

“You have to guess! And no peeking!”

Jon sighed, slouching in his seat. He hated surprise vacations. He hated being forced to leave work and ‘take a break’ because ‘you’re contractually obligated to use your PTO hours’. And he did take vacations, he didn’t know why everybody acted like he didn’t. He and Georgie took Gerry to Blackpool once a year for Spring Break. That was a whole week off. That was enough for anybody. 

But Martin had been pointedly sending him emails about ‘fun couple’s trips’ and ‘romantic getaways’ in an ultra-subtle act of subliminal messaging. Indeed, the three emailed promotional advertisements listing off fun, relaxing, and romantic things to do with your significant other were so subtle that Emma was forced to listen in on the automated JAWS voice reading them out and then call him a ‘fucking idiot’. 

Whatever. It wasn’t as if Gertrude took any vacations, and nobody got on her back for it. Jon was willing to bet that Dekker never sent Gertrude any passive aggressive emails. He would have to ask him later - they got boba together once a month, he was an excellent conversational partner. He was, of course, slightly insane, both for his fervent adherence to the ancient religions and willingness to come within five feet of Gertrude Robinson for personal reasons, but all the best supernatural hunters were. 

“Well, we’ve clearly been driving north for the past eight hours, judging from the angle of the sun,” Jon said, annoyed. The car radio was playing the Archers in a dull drone, which Jon had insisted upon, because he and Daisy never missed an episode. This confused and frightened Martin. A bag rustled, and Jon knew that Martin was fishing around in the plastic convenience store sack for more Jaffa cakes. “Combined with the time, that can only mean that we’re going to Scotland. I don’t have any close friends in Scotland and I’m willing to be you don’t either -”

“Hey!”

“ - so unless you assigned yourself the task of following up on the Scottish Slaughter Statement without me assigning it to you, and deciding to bring me along, I’m guessing that we’re going to stay in a hotel and do...touristy things.”

“Wrong again,” Martin said triumphantly. He liked keeping track of every time Jon was innocently incorrect about something, just to prove it to everyone else. “I mean, yes, we are in Scotland, you’re right about that, but we are not staying in a hotel. We’re staying in the country.”

“Darling, I would love to sit on the Scottish Moors and stare out into the endless, unceasing fog with you in complete silence,” Jon said lovingly, “but I thought you wanted to do something romantic.”

“That’s not romantic?” Martin gasped, horrified. “Have you even read Wuthering Heights?”

“You and Gerry are two peas in a goth pod.”

“He’s goth, I’m gothic. There’s a difference. And don’t tell me that you don’t enjoy gothic literature - you’re literally a Byronic hero.”

“Oh, here we go,” Jon sighed, as the car bumped over a speed bump. He hadn’t heard another car for hours now, and he knew that they had to be in the middle of nowhere. The weather had grown colder, more humid, and occasionally he could hear the bleat of cows. It was...calming. 

Then Martin started listing off the very many reasons why Jon was a classical Byronic hero, then Jon had to remind him that none of that stuff had technically happened, then Martin began insisting that it happened in their hearts, then Jon got deeply engrossed into today’s episode of the Archers and felt the need to inform Martin about its illustrious and aged history, which prompted Martin to put on Hatsune Miku when the episode was over and indoctrinate Jon into whatever ‘Vocaloid’ was, and by the time the car transitioned to skittering over bumpy gravel they were both entering a heated discussion about the most superior of the ‘Vocaloids’. 

“ - and she created Minecraft?”

“And she’s trans,” Martin said heatedly. 

“Good for her,” Jon said, just bemused. The car engine quieted, and keys clinked and rustled. “Are we here?”

“Yep! Seven hours later.” Martin sighed and made a quiet, satisfied noise, probably stretching, and Jon didn’t bother to fight his smile. Man was like a cat. “I want to show you around and everything, but honestly that drive was exhausting and I might take a nap first.” He sighed happily. “Peace. Quiet. No coworkers.”

“I’m your coworker,” Jon pointed out, opening the door of the car as Martin did the same. He stepped onto gravel, grinding his trainer a little into it, and breathed in. The air tasted...fresh. Clean. Pure and just a little chilly. It was nice. It perked Jon up, as the wind lightly tousled his curls. He stretched his legs too, cramped from being knitted up in the small car. Martin popped the boot and started loading packages into his arms, and Jon walked over and held his arms out so he could help Martin carry the packages. Martin dropped a picnic basket filled with snacks in his arms, and handed him his own suitcase, as Martin dropped his own suitcase on the ground with a heavy thump. “How does a teenage girl create a video game? That’s very impressive.”

“This week you are my boyfriend,” Martin corrected him, thumping the boot down. “No Emma getting on my case about misfiling the papers. No Michael concern trolling me. No Eric judging me for my taste in tea. No Gertrude terrifying me every second of the day. I am free. I am not going to think about work, or anybody related to work, for a single second. No Entities. No fear demons. No monsters, besides my boyfriend.”

“Thanks,” Jon said wryly. “Aren’t we forgetting someone?”

“Oh, darn it!” Martin opened the back door of the car, and pulled out a carrier. The wire door of the carrier cinched open and Tiresias came bounding out, barking madly and running in little circles around Jon, his tail beating against Jon’s leg. Jon laughed, lifting his burden higher in his arms, and let Martin loop his arm around Jon’s and guide him towards what he had to assume was some kind of building. “C’mere, boy. Good boy! You were so good for the trip! You’re getting a hundred snacks as soon we get inside.”

“Are you going to tell me where we are yet?” Jon asked, exasperated. 

Martin squeezed his arm happily as they walked up an incline, shoes scuffing dirt. “I got permission from Daisy to borrow it. It’s her cabin, just outside of Applecross. It’s really in the middle of nowhere, nobody around for kilometers. Just us and a great deal of cows. It’s really gorgeous, Jon, with such clean air and beautiful hills. I can’t wait to go for walks with you. You’ll get so much time to go through your audiobook collection. And we can snuggle, and I can cook for you, and we can listen to more radio dramas, and we can talk about our future, and you can pet the cows…”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jon said honestly, squeezing Martin’s arm back. They paused, Martin rustling his keys again, and Jon heard the grinding of metal before a door seemed to creak open. “I can’t wait to spend this week with you. I could use a little peace, I think.”

“Gods, me too. You have no idea how stressed I’ve been. It’ll be just you, me, and -”

That’s when Martin screamed, and Tiresias barked excitedly and ran forward, almost bowling Jon over, and a familiar voice broke the quiet of the rustic cabin. 

“Aren’t you a good boy, Tiresias? Aren’t you a good boy?” Daisy Tonner’s grin was audible through her words, but it held a familiar tint of ferociousness. “Hullo, Jon. Blackwood. What are you doing here a week early?”

“Early!” Martin squeaked. “I said we were coming up the first week of September -”

“Really?” Daisy said, voice casual. Seemingly. “Because I have it down in my calendar as the second week. This is my vacation. And I’m not leaving.”

Silence stretched between them. Jon smiled happily towards the sound of Daisy’s voice, placing his burdens at his feet, and soon Daisy walked forward and enveloped him in a bone cracking hug. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Jon said, hugging her tightly back too. “I’m sure we can share the cabin for the week. It’ll be fun, like a sleepover!”

“Oh, I think so too,” Daisy said, her voice tinged in a wolf’s grin. “Don’t you think so, Martin?”

“Good fucking christ,” Martin said. 

****

True to his word, Martin was exhausted enough that he immediately made the bed and collapsed into it. Jon lovingly took off his shoes and socks and Tiresias even, adorably, pulled the comforter up around Martin’s ears. But Martin didn’t sleep: he seemed preoccupied in angrily muttering to himself about how he didn’t get the time wrong, she did, this was all her fault, and it was also completely on purpose, devil woman, everybody was trying to ruin everything - 

“Love, if I ask her to go, she’ll go,” Jon said. 

“No! Ugh!” Martin screamed lowly, muffled, and Jon realized with amusement he was screaming into the pillow. “It’s her house, she’s doing us a favor, I don’t want to be rude! I can’t kick her out of her own home!”

“Are you going to be passive aggressive at her until she leaves?”

Incriminatingly, Martin was silent. 

“She’s more stubborn than you are. If you try to solve this with your usual methods she’ll outlast you.”

“I hate her so much,” Martin groaned. 

“Don’t say that,” Jon said loyally. “She’s really come around to you, you know. She hasn’t threatened to chop your dick off in - oh, two weeks now. That’s a new record.”

Martin groaned again. Jon kissed him on the cheek, turned the light off - “Jon, you just turned the light on.” - turned the light off for real this time, and went into the living room/dining room/kitchen to start putting away all the food they had brought. He bent over his suitcase, withdrawing Tiresias’ harness, and whistled to call him over before snapping the harness on. Tiresias stiffened into what Georgie called ‘Buisness Boy Mode’, and Jon grabbed his handle with one hand as he loaded the groceries into the other. 

“Here, let me help.” Daisy lifted the other load from the floor, leading the both of them into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I know Georgie’s organizational system.”

Jon just sighed, slowly navigating his way to the fridge to put his own load away. They had clothing to unpack, things to set up, and arrangements to plan, but Jon had the sense that none of it was getting done immediately. 

“What were your plans for this week?”

“I normally go up here to hunt,” Daisy grunted, sliding cans into the cabinet. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, she clarified, “with guns. They’re all locked up in the gun cabinet, as is my ammo and knives. Neither you nor Martin have the keys, but the cabinet is in a closet near the bathroom. That should be locked too.”

“Goodness, Daisy, I’m not an errant toddler. I won’t play with your collection.”

“You’re my errant toddler,” Daisy said loyally, giving him a noogie and making him scowl. “Say it. Say you’re an errant toddler.”

“Goodness, Daisy, leave me be -”

Then she lifted him up, like he was nothing more than a bundle of sticks, and held him in the air as he screamed and kicked his legs, trying to get down. Tiresias, the Traitor, the Serpent, the King of Lies, barked happily. “Let me down! Daisy!”

“Say you’re an errant toddler and I’ll let you down.”

“I shan’t. Daisy, stop -!” But then she started tickling him, which was extremely dangerous, and Jon was forced to cackle out in breathless laughter, “Fine, I’m a toddler, let me down, you crazy woman!”

She tossed him lightly onto the pull-out couch, putting away the rest of the groceries herself, and Jon let Tiresias sit on top of him and lick his face as he could almost audibly hear Martin pouting in the bedroom. 

“This’ll be fun,” Daisy said, shutting the cabinet and rustling some familiar boxes. “Can’t believe Tim paid me fifty quid to do this. I would have done it for free.”

“Do what?”

“Never mind. I have your copy of Life, do you want to play?”

“Sure!” Jon sat up, feeling Daisy sit down next to him and set out the game pieces. Then something occurred to him. “Wait. What are you doing with my copy of Life?”

“Georgie lent it to me.”

“...why did Georgie -”

“I was going to leave it here for when you came up,” Daisy said easily, and Jon nodded in acceptance. “Spin the spinner to see whose turn comes first.”

Jon considered thinking deeper about this, but Daisy wouldn’t lie to him. She was the most trustworthy person he knew. She didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. He shrugged and reached forward and found the spinner, giving it a good twist before rubbing his thumb over the braille. Something occurred to him. 

“Maybe we can ask Martin if he wants to join -”

“I’m sure he would prefer his rest.”

“Okay!”

This vacation was going to go great. Why had Jon been worried?

****

That night they had a delicious barbecue outside, cooked by Daisy. Martin ate it in angry silence, which was quickly broken by Jon’s frequent nudges and directions for conversation. He wasn’t the most socially adept person at the best of times, but Martin and Daisy were two of his best friends and he knew how to get the both of them talking. He was even able to draw them into a spirited conversation about 19th century literature - Daisy preferred Russian novels, while Martin preferred Gothic romances and Hugo and Jon tended towards nonfiction. Afterwards Daisy grabbed her gun, kissed Jon on the cheek, did something that made Martin squeak in fear, and tramped off to go hunt deer or something. Jon waved her off with a blessing, his sixth sense thrumming with satisfaction for the Sacrifice. 

He spent the night cuddled up with Martin, watching Beauty and the Beast on his laptop. Martin was obsessed with Disney movies in a way that explained a great deal about him, and Beauty and the Beast was his absolute favorite. Jon ran his fingers through his soft and feathery hair as Martin squeezed his hand, and Jon’s heart settled in complete contentment. The audio description voice droned gently about the heartwarming falling in love montages, but Jon wasn’t really paying attention: he just felt safe, and warm, and as if he wanted the moment to last forever. 

Then his mobile rang, a clear automated voice saying “Gerard calling. Gerard calling.”

“Oh, I should get that.” Jon straightened, throwing out a hand on the coffee table where he thought he had put his phone, and Martin pressed it into his hand. He accepted the call quickly, putting it on speaker and holding it up to his ear just like, he was reliably assured, ‘an old man’. “Hello, honey?”

“Jon!” Gerry yelled. “Did you get the cabin okay?”

“Oh, so everyone knew but me,” Jon said, amused. “You’re on speaker, Gerry, so say hello to Mr. Blackwood.”

“Hi Martin! Are you guys having a good time? You have to take me next time, I want to see Daisy’s guns!”

“You will not see Daisy’s guns,” Jon said quickly. 

“Hi Gerry,” Martin said, a smile clear in his somewhat strained voice. “Sure, you and Georgie should come up next time. Make it a party. Why not.”

“Told you she’d do it,” Georgie said, and Jon perked up. “Hullo, love. How’s your romantic getaway going?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Jon said, excited. “We’re going to walk down to the town tomorrow, check out some of their antique stores. I’ll let you know if we find any interesting art.”

“I’ve been up to Daisy’s cabin a few times with Melanie, it’s delightful. Great place for her to hunt and for me to practice my carrion photography. It’s always nice just to get away from it all! I hope you haven’t touched any work, Jon.”

“I haven’t,” Jon said loyally. He paused a beat. “Do Statements count? Because I was planning on listening to a few recorded ones as a sort of bedtime story?”

“That’s just self-care,” Georgie assured him. “Treat yourself, queen.”

“Thanks, honey. Make sure Gerry gets his homework done? Do you need any help? I have some time now -”

“I got it,” Georgie said, laughing slightly. “I can still help a fifteen year old with his English. I’ll make sure he brushes his teeth too. Just enjoy yourself.”

“Have a good time, Dad!” Gerry called, the affectionate nickname making Jon smile. “Bring me back a cow!” Slightly more muffled, Jon heard him say to Georgie, “Mum, when Jon goes on a romantic getaway, what do you think they -”

“Night, honey! Night, Martin! Love you!” Georgie called loudly.

Jon laughed, unable to stop himself from waving a little, as if they were there. “Night, you two. Love you too. Stay safe.”

“We will! Bye!”

The line clicked off, and Martin’s arm stretched across Jon’s shoulders squeezed a little tighter. Jon extended a foot and clicked the space bar on the computer, starting up the movie again. 

“You’d make a really good dad,” Martin said, almost to himself. 

Jon settled back against Martin, leaning his head against his shoulder. “I feel like one already, honestly. Obviously, I have far more experience with teenagers than babies, but they can’t be that hard. If I don’t drop them…why?”

Martin coughed a little, abruptly flustered. “No reason! No reason.”

“Do you want kids?”

“Can’t exactly have them biologically,” Martin muttered, before sighing. “Yeah, I’d love to...foster or adopt or something. I’ve had my - differences - with my parents, but I’m still glad they adopted me, you know? I’d like to pass that on. But...better. Much better.”

“Georgie is talking about fostering again once Gerard moves in with Eric,” Jon said quietly. The thought of Gerry moving out, of living full time with Eric again - it just seemed weird. Almost wrong, although it wasn’t - Eric adored Gerry, and he was a competent father. It was just that...well, technically, Gerry had been living with them since the beginning of the universe. On a purely literal level, they really had always had Gerry with them. It would be strange. “As a - recipient of the foster care system myself, I’d like to make a difference too.” He smiled thinly. “We’re very compatible, aren’t we?”

“Would it be...you and Georgie…?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

Martin sighed a little. “Is it dumb that sometimes it feels like you already have a family built in?”

Hm. Jon hadn’t quite thought about it that way. “You know those jokes about me and Georgie being married are just jokes,” Jon said reproachfully. 

Martin moved away a little, leaning forward, slipping his arm from Jon’s shoulder. He abruptly missed the warmth. “But you’re partners. You’re raising a kid. And I know Daisy and Tim think of themselves as your overprotective big siblings, they aren’t even wrong.”

“Many people have siblings? And friends? Some even have kids, I’ve heard.”

“I don’t.” There was really nothing for Jon to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. “I don’t want my entire social circle to just be through you…”

“It won’t be,” Jon said firmly, reaching out a hand and brushing it against Martin’s arm. He squeezed it firmly. “You don’t have to be Lonely anymore, Martin. I won’t let you.”

“Is that a promise?” Martin said, as if he was joking, as if Jon wasn’t certain that he wasn’t. As if he needed the reassurance. 

“How can you be lonely when I’m here?” Jon said, and trailed his hand up along Martin’s arm until he reached his neck and he could cup his face. He rubbed a thumb against his wispy stubble, light and thin. “I’m right here.”

Martin kissed him, and then the movie was quite thoroughly forgotten as Jon necked with his boyfriend on the couch like a teenager. They forgot everything, and for a small period of glorious time Jon forgot everything that he knew, in all of its entirety, and his Eye saw only the here and now. 

Then the door thumped open, the wind blew into the cabin, and heavy footsteps thumped into the room. Something dragged behind the footsteps, something that sounded a bit...wet. 

Martin, who was thoroughly on top of Jon and almost done unbuttoning his shirt, froze. Jon just craned his head, trying to hear the sounds of what was likely a dead deer being pulled in through the entrance way better. 

“Hello Daisy!” Jon said, still pinned down. “How was your hunting?”

“Lucrative. We’re eating venison tomorrow.”

“Great! Need any help getting that put away?”

“No, I’m good.” Tiresias barked happily. “Here, boy, you can have a little. Good boy. I’ll probably skin and clean it outside, I just wanted to get my gloves.”

“Take your time!”

Martin sighed and got off Jon, straightening his own clothing. “Yeah, Daisy, take your time.”

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Daisy said blithely. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re fine,” Jon assured her, fixing his own hair from where it had grown tangled. “Want to finish this movie with us?”

“Sure, let me gut this animal first.”

“Great! Scooch over, Martin.”

“You know,” Martin said, “maybe we want to move to the bedroom?”

“If we stay in the living room I can hook up your laptop to the television and we can watch the movie that way,” Daisy said innocently. 

“That sounds good,” Jon agreed. He patted Martin’s hand. “Is that alright with you?”

Martin sighed. “Yeah. Of course.”

That night, Jon curled up next to Martin on the creaky wooden bed, listening to the flies buzz around them and the crickets hiss their lilting song outdoors. 

His earbuds were still nestled in his ears, the soft hum of his Walkman cutting the quiet night, his own pre-recorded voice reading out a story. Martin sat next to him, and occasionally Jon could hear the soft shift of the pages of a book turning. Every so often Martin would gasp, or make a little noise at some exciting event in his book. 

Jon rolled over, throwing out an arm and pulling Martin in close, resting his head on Martin’s shoulder as he let the earbuds roll gently out of his ears. Martin was soft and warm, the cotton of his t-shirt rubbing up against Jon’s cheek, and Jon let his mind gently bliss out and drift away. 

He thought about the breakfast he wanted to make the next morning, and of the soft beat of Scottish sun on his face. He thought about the creak of cobblestones as jumped-up jalopies rolled over them, and of the shifting and groan of old wood. He thought of the bright, sharp summer smell of the highlands, and the sinking and sticky marshland. 

“We should visit the antique store in town tomorrow,” Jon murmured. “Georgie’s been looking for a new lamp, and I think they should have a nice Rococo one for cheap.”

“Oh? Maybe I can pick something up too.” Martin gently scratched Jon’s scalp, making him bliss out even further. “Nice of you to always loop us in on the best deals, you little shopping catalogue.”

They, of course, had not been to the town yet, and there was no reason for Jon to know of the antique store, or the Rococo lamp. Jon hadn’t even thought about it, the information as available and easy as the layout of the convenience store down the street and a left turn from his childhood council flat. 

Martin’s voice broke the quiet, cutting through the buzz of insects. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know everything,” Jon yawned, snuggling into Martin’s side closer. 

“Not what I meant.” Martin hesitated, almost awkwardly. “You’re a literal mind reader and everything, but I’m not, so…”

“Oh, Martin.” Jon reached a hand up and cupped Martin’s cheek. “I built this world from the bedrock of my love for you.”

“Uh - wow! That’s - it’s kind of weird how you can just say that and have it be true!”

“Our lives are weird,” Jon agreed, brushing his thumb over Martin’s lips, and he carefully leaned his head up to kiss him, and they passed the long silent minutes just like that. 

Several hours later, Jon found himself jerking awake. Martin was snoring beside him, and he couldn’t feel any sun on his face, so Jon figured it was likely still nighttime. He carefully slipped out of bed, reaching out a hand and trailing it along the wall until he managed to leave the bedroom, navigate down the hall, and enter what he was fairly sure was the living room. 

“Jon?” A voice broke the night. Daisy, who had taken the pull-out couch. “You looking for the loo?”

It was only then that Jon realized that he didn’t know why he had gotten up. Tiresias snored loudly in the kitchen, adding a subtle undertone to the noise from outside, and Jon found himself shrugging helplessly. “I don’t think so. Did I wake you up?”

“Nah. Hold tight, I’ll help you to the couch.” Sure enough, after the almost silent footsteps echoed through the main room Jon felt a soft hand on his back, and she led him towards the couch. Jon lightly kicked it, testing its height, and gently lowered himself onto it, the springs of the pull-out bed breaking through the night. “What has you up?”

Jon just shrugged again. The bed creaked beside him, and he felt calloused fingers carding through his hair with gentleness that would have been surprising to most people. 

“Am I a bad boyfriend?” Jon asked, surprising himself. He hadn’t even known he was thinking that. 

“Did Blackwood tell you that you were?” Daisy asked sharply. 

“No! No, not at all.” Jon sighed. “I just...I just have different needs than him.” He could already tell what Daisy was thinking, and he shook his head. “Not about the - the you know what thing. I just...I know how much he loves me. I know what he thinks of me, I know his dedication to me. Sometimes I just assume that he’s - capable, of what I’m capable of. Do I not tell him I love him enough? Am I not affectionate enough?”

“You aren’t as perceptive as you think you are, Jon,” Daisy said, amused. “I think you’ll find that Blackwood has quite a few more secrets than you think he does.” She untangled her fingers from his hair and squeezed his arm. “Blackwood’s insecure. All insecure people want mindreader boyfriends. But you force him to use his words and ask for what he needs, Jon. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s good for him. He needs to learn to speak up for himself.” She hummed slightly. “He reminds me of Basira, a little. She’ll never tell you that you bothered her, and she just lets it pile up and up. But then you go just a little too far, and then she explodes all of that pent up anger and frustration on you. She likes to pretend she’s a real robot, but she’s just as human as the rest of them.”

“I’m so terrified of Basira,” Jon said miserably. “Remember when I dropped a plate and she told me that the reason why my gran didn’t love me was because I was an attention seeking nine year old?”

“She’s so mean. I love her so much.” Daisy patted Jon on the back. “Buck up. I’m working on Blackwood. You focus on enjoying your vacation.”

Jon let himself lean to the side, resting his head on Daisy’s shoulder. “I’m worried that Martin will realize that I’m not capable of expressing romantic affection in a socially typical manner and leave me.”

“God, shut up, whiner.” But the bed creaked and Daisy’s head gently slid out from under his shoulder, and Daisy gently helped Jon to his feet. “I’ll get you back to bed. Bitch about your imaginary relationship problems to me in the morning.”

Translated: I love you, I’ll always be here for you, and goodnight. Jon huffed a quiet laugh. “Aren’t the lights off? How can you see anything?”

When Daisy spoke again, a quiet bass growl echoed underneath her words, and Jon grinned with her. He Knew, like how he Knew that he loved Martin enough to destroy the world, that Daisy’s eyes were flickering yellow in the darkness. “Don’t be fooled by appearances, Jon.”

She helped him back to bed, and when Jon slept through the rest of the night he dreamed of nothing but Martin’s weight on his. 

****

“What a beautiful morning!” Martin said loudly. “The birds are chirping, the Scottish highlands are beautiful, I am here on my romantic vacation away from everybody with only my lovely boyfriend for company - and Daisy Tonner!”

“Glad to be here,” Daisy said affably. 

“This is so much fun!” Martin said, still loudly.

“I think so too!” Jon said enthusiastically.

Tiresias barked. 

After a breakfast pointedly prepared by Martin, they all got dressed and saddled up to go walk into the village. It was a quick walk, only about twenty minutes, and Martin and Daisy enjoyed the scenery as Jon enjoyed the warm grip of Martin’s hand in his and the breeze on his face. 

When the trail began sloping further downhill, and their footsteps began to slide against the incline, Jon pulled what Gerry would have called a ‘pro-gamer move’ and moved his grip up until he was clinging to Martin’s arm. Martin sprayed a hand out, resting it against Jon’s back, and helped him down the trail. 

“Whoah! You alright, honey? Careful of your step!”

“Jesus christ,” Daisy muttered. 

“It’s hardly Jon’s fault -” Martin began heatedly. 

“Yeah, Daisy,” Jon said, delighting in setting them against each other like the cold, uncaring god he was, “check your privilege.”

Then they were off, because despite Daisy was allergic to social consciousness, and Jon whistled a jaunty tune, composed in the 15th century and unknown to all but its lonely shepherd creator, as they navigated their way downwards. 

The village was small, nothing more than two streets with cheerful wooden facades and swing porches set out on the decks with wizened elderly people sipping from bottles of Irn Bru and smoking down cigarettes to the dregs. At least, as narrated by Martin, who seemed to already be mentally writing his small-town murder mystery in the Scottish highlands (Martin’s poetry needed work, but his fiction held a certain massmarket appeal). Knowing Martin, the protaganist would likely be either a grandmother with his own personality, or a thirtysomething gay man who had twelve counts of arson on his record and was running from the cops. 

Wait. Wait, Jon should use his words. Ask instead of look. Display interest in Martin’s inner life - which, granted, seemed to be a waste of time when Jon could just Know and not waste his breath, but Georgie had been coaching him in this. 

“You should give the ex-con narrator a boyfriend,” Jon said supportively. “Maybe bring back the gay bar owner from the last book?”

Martin almost tripped over the gravel. “How did you know I was thinking of - Jon, I told you not to read my mind!”

“Lay off, you know he doesn’t do it on purpose,” Daisy said uninterestedly, growling at what Jon guessed were passerby on the street. 

“Daisy, stop telling me how to talk to my boyfriend -”

“Oh, he’s your boyfriend now, is he?”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

“Let’s get some ice cream!” Jon said loudly. 

“How did you even know there was an ice cream - fine! Fine, of course!” Martin sighed loudly. “Why not!”

As it turned out, they were right in front of ice cream. Jon loved it when things worked out. 

****

Twenty minutes later, after Martin laboriously reading out all of the entirely too many flavors to Jon, Daisy growling at everybody at the store like an errant dog, fighting with the owner of the store extremely politely about his actual dog existing, and finally taking their ice cream outside to sit at a picnic bench and attack their waffle cones, Jon felt content. 

He indicated this by telling everybody everything he knew about emulsifiers, which were extremely neat and a lot of fun! Because nobody was stopping him talking by saying ‘let’s talk about something else, Jon’ or ‘isn’t that a bit boring, Jon?’ he moved onto the history of waffle cones, safe in his assumption that everybody was as interested in the topic as he was. 

“I love you so much,” Martin said, somewhat dazed, when Jon stopped to draw a breath. “Did you know that this is the second time this has happened?”

That stopped Jon short, when nothing else did. “Really? Has it?”

Martin’s spoon scraped his small paper bowl. “Yep. Uh - for my birthday, I think. Me, Tim, and - and Sasha, and you. You ordered rum raisin. I was thinking...did you actually like rum raisin? Or did you just panic?” He laughed, somewhat self-consciously. “You didn’t remember about it even before the whole apocalypse thing, so no sweat, but…”

“Oh.” Jon realized, for probably the fifth time, that Martin held years and years worth of memories in him, and that Jon had only fragments and impressions. He knew that he had everything important, that everything he needed was within him, but - did he? What if he was missing the key to everything, the key to Martin, and all he needed was to just Look deeper? “That’s - I could remember it, if I wanted.”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Daisy said quietly. “Don’t go giving yourself a migraine.”

“I could,” Jon insisted. “I’d like to remember something like your birthday, Martin. Precious memories, or - or something. Give me a moment, I can send a quick prayer, and -”

“You know,” Martin said, and he squeezed Jon’s hand. “I’d rather make new memories right now. Where we are right now, that’s - that’s the most important place, innit?”

Jon smiled at him, and he knew, in the most mundane of ways, Martin was smiling back. “I like to think so too.”

“Ugh,” Daisy teased, although perhaps to an outsider it may have sounded mean, “get that sappy shit outta my face.”

“You’re just as bad with Basira,” Jon shot back, smiling. “You two are in love -”

“Take that shit back,” Daisy hissed. 

“You want to get married -”

“Who told you!”

Jon tapped the lens of his glasses smugly. “A little Eye told me.”

“Beholding cuck.”

“No, that’s Peter -”

“Martin would know all about Peter, huh?” Daisy sneered, and the pressure on Jon’s hand intensified for a brief second before it withdrew completely, leaving his hand cold and empty.

“Jon, can you give me and Daisy a few minutes of privacy, please?” Martin said pleasantly. 

Jon raised an eyebrow, licking the ice cream dripping down his hand. It was Vast flavor. Tasted like...ozone. “Why?”

“He doesn’t know the area, you can’t send him off alone,” Daisy shot back, strangely smugly. “Come on, Blackwood. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of him.”

“You know what, fine. Fine!” Martin thumped the table, making Jon start and Tireasias stiffen. “I have done nothing that warrants this kind of treatment from you. You are disrespecting me, disrespecting my relationship, and you are insulting my fucking intelligence. I appreciate you loaning us your cabin, but if I knew that it would come with strings attached then I would have paid for my own bloody hotel! Why are you doing this!”

“Tim gave me fifty quid,” Daisy said, like the wolf that had caught the canary. “Plus it’s fucking funny.”

“Done what?” Jon asked, confused. 

“I want you out of my vacation, Daisy,” Martin hissed. “If you won’t leave the cabin, then I am booking my own Air BnB and that’s fucking final! I don’t care if I have to - to fight you in the street about it, I can and I will, you don’t want to mess with me -”

“Sure.”

Martin stopped short. Jon licked his ice cream, fascinated by the drama. “What?”

“I said sure,” Daisy enunciated clearly. “I was waiting for you to fucking say it. I told Basira I’d be home by tonight, anyway. Knew you’d snap.”

“I - what! What! What?!”

“You’re a pushover, Blackwood,” Daisy said. “Your coworkers, your friends, everyone - they just walk all over you. It’s fucking stupid. You are the archival assistant who survived the apocalypse with memories and sanity intact. You lasted longer on the position than anyone since Emma Harvey, and you didn’t have to lose your soul to do it. You looked Elias in the face as you burned his Archives down. You’re not a pussy. And I was sick of seeing you act like one. It’s fucking annoying.”

“I hate you so fucking much,” Martin whispered, somewhat in shock. 

“Well, I hate seeing my best friend date a passive aggressive loser, so we’re both unhappy.” Daisy stood up, feet shuffling against the cement, and Jon felt her press a kiss against his forehead. “You two have a nice day out. I’m going to go hunt things, and head back to London. Take care of yourself, Jon. And cut out the PDA, it’s gross.”

Suddenly, violently, with a crushing realization, the entire vacation was recontextualized. 

“I don’t appreciate any of this,” Jon said crossly, scowling in her direction. “Honestly, Daisy, you don’t -”

“Blame Tim. Love you, Jon. Love you, sweet puppy. See you later, Blackwood.”

Jon and Martin sat in silence as the sound of footsteps receded from Jon’s hearing, and the low murmur of the small village set in around them. Martin still seemed to slightly be in shock, his ice cream slowly melting, and Tiresias yawned sleepily in the sun. 

“I hate her so fucking much,” Martin whispered. 

But Jon just smiled, and reached out to brush a thumb over Martin’s close-cropped hair. He leaned in, whispering into Martin’s ear. “Hearing you yell at the scariest woman I know who isn’t Gertrude Robinson was pretty fucking sexy, love.”

“I hate her so - wait, it was? Really?” Martin coughed awkwardly. “Well, she really had it coming, and it’s not a huge deal, and I know she’s your best friend and I should be nice to her, but -”

“ - but she was right,” Jon said firmly. “An arse about making her point, but she was right. I’m working on using my words. You should too. All of the books say communication is key in a relationship. So let’s communicate, alright?” He faltered a little, uncertain if Daisy would want him to say this. “And - and it was obvious, from what she said, that Daisy respects you. It’s a very difficult thing, to win Daisy’s respect. I think she was trying to help us, in her own - unorthodox manner.”

“I hate her so much,” Martin groaned. 

“It was very sexy,” Jon hinted. 

Martin leaned in and kissed Jon lightly, and Jon could feel his smile against his own. “How about we finish our food,” he said quietly, “walk around town for a bit, buy some souvenirs for your family, and then go back to the cabin and snog and cuddle for a very long time? If that’s okay with you?”

“I’d like nothing more,” Jon said. 

And he was right. It was messy, and weird, and painfully uncomfortable.

 It was perfect.

[cypher-of-the-night]

Biography: Naoki Enjo

“Ah-re-re~? You're mistaken. Because.. You are my muse, right?”

~

Full name: Enjo, Naoki

Kanji: 円城, 直生

Meaning: Naoki - Honest Life; Enjo - Round Castle

Nickname(s):

Nao-chan (by Yui),

AOKI (as an Underground Rapper and Stage name),

Xiu-Lan Jiang (Real Name)

Age: 16

Birthday: December 20th

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Ethnicity: Chinese

Nationality: Japanese

Status: Alive

Race: Human?

Gender: Female

Height: 149 cm (4'11")

Weight: 49 kg (108 Ib)

Hair color: Black, with blue, pink, white streaks (Naturally black)

Eye color: Pink

Blood Type: O

Occupation: 1st Year High School Student

Relatives: Riki Enjo (adoptive father), Ying-Yue Jiang (ancestral foremother), Yuuichi Kuroi (distant relative)

Place: Sakamaki Household

Favorite Food: Anything.

Hobbies: Rapping.

Seiyuu: Asami Tano ( Saki Nikaido from Zombieland Saga ) (Talking / Singing)

English Voice: Amber Lee Connors (Toy Chica from Five Night’s at Freddy’s) (Talking, 1/2)

Significant Other/Keeper: Subaru Sakamaki

~

Personality:

Naoki is an energetic, eccentric, and bold girl, with her biggest strength being honesty and an extremely extrovert personality. While it is initially assumed that she has a highly poor academic record due to her disinterest in studying, Naoki is actually highly intelligent to a point it could even rival with Reiji’s, due to being strictly raised in a traditional, political household where she had high expectations to excel at everything. Upon feeling suffocated by formalities, traditions, and high expectations by her adoptive father, She has always desired freedom and to find a place where she is allowed to be who she is.

This desperate wish became the sole reason she recklessly accepted Karlheinz’s offer which exchanges the freedom she seeks, and this is why she willingly stays with the Sakamaki brothers and follows their rules instead of escaping or resisting. Even upon becoming a sacrificial bride and choosing Subaru, and when he attempt to fluster Naoki by commenting how she looked like she was trying to say that she wants to become his woman by wanting him to suck her blood, Naoki took this seriously as an offer from Subaru and happily agreed to become his woman, which made him flustered instead; This is because Naoki highly despised her arranged (and highly abusive) fiancé and is willing to be Subaru’s woman to keep herself away from her ex-fiancé. Even if Subaru himself becomes the one that hurts her instead.

Despite the abuse by the hand of her adoptive father and her fiancé, Naoki finds salvation upon discovering and falling in love with rap music, which helped her get by emotionally. Her source of strength comes from rap, as she aspires o become a rapper, and wishes to dominate the nation with her music as it is what kept her to stay strong and hopes it would impact other’s lives and help them stay strong.

Despite her lively personality, Naoki admits that she does not fear death. Because of her stressful childhood to be the “perfect daughter” with high expectations before discovering rap music, she had already come to terms to accepting death as there has been many times where what her father and her fiancé has put her through has made her want to succumb to death; It isn’t until by the Maniac arc of the HDB Saga where she begins to fear death because of Subaru.

She also loves food to a point where she won’t mind eating anything and when asked about her favorite food, she would reply with “All of the above”. Despite having always being top of her class, Naoki has Thalassophobia, an intense and persistent fear of the sea or of sea travel, due to traumatizing experiences that almost drowned her multiple times caused and exploited by her arranged fiancé when they were younger.

~

Strengths: Patience, endurance, devotion, fast-learner, observant, highly intelligent, wise, bright, athletic, extroverted, persepctive, hard-working, kind-hearted, protective, goal-oriented, empathetic, playful, a realist, optimistic, friendly, supportive, serious when needed, self-confident, fun-loving, open, and expressive.

Flaws: Stubborn, persistent, big eater, highly curious, strong-willed, passive, has Thalassophobia (an intense and persistent fear of the sea or of sea travel), outspoken, rebellious (to an extent), fearful of her father and ex-fiance, confused, mostly fearless (has no fear of dying), lazy when it comes to studies, hasty (whenever she does feels fear), skeptical when she can see through facades, exasperating at times, slightly naive when it comes to social affairs, tend to get panic and anxious whenever it comes to her past (including her ex-fiancé and her adoptive father), lonely, unwittingly yet emotionally dependent, and sometimes silly.

Skills: Rapping, writing music, dancing, baking, is able to speak Chinese, English, and Korean, her intelligence (has even gotten a higher score than Reiji's), has high patience, high stamina, a fast runner, enhanced sense of smell, slightly stronger than normal humans, good listening skills, reading people and their emotions, skilled at playing on the piano, singing (she doesn’t like to sing), has good flexibility, charisma, negotiation skills, has slow but steady healing, quick thinker, surprisingly observant, and is slowly getting good at housework.

~

History:

For as long as she can remember, Enjo Naoki was raised in a strict household with a politician as a father by the name of “Enjo Riki”. Being the only daughter, she was always pressured to have the image of the perfect child that is expected to obey, to never talk back or complain, and to push past her own limits to meet the high expectations placed upon her. He even forces her to take a daily routine of classes every early morning, forces her on a diet, and places her in prestigious, all-girl schools where she is surrounded by snobbish, rich girls. While she wished to believe her father secretly did care for her, Riki disregards her as a tool and only uses her to gain more political power; His desire for power in the political world runs deep to a point he arranges an political marriage for Naoki to a business partner’s son, Mizushima Satoshi, who was Naoki’s tormentor ever since childhood and was even the person responsible for Naoki’s Thalassophobia by pushing and even throwing her off the boat into the ocean where there were cases where she almost drowns. Even when they both get older into teenagers, Satoshi torment her by touching her sexually; Which causes Naoki to develop genophobia (fear of sexual relations or sexual intercourse). Naoki was never able to talk about it with her father, knowing he would not listen as it would risk losing power he needs to obtain from the marriage.

Due to the neglect and abuse, Naoki held no hope in life or miracles and even considered taking her own life as she saw no reason for her to continue living. Which explains why she does not fear death as she deemed the life she lived as a fate worse than hell. That was until she discovers rap music. At first, she was confused upon the beats of the music; But would come to find comfort in the lyrics to the song as it told life stories about hardship in life. Naoki would later to become more open-minded, which would even help expand her horizons once she encounters a promotion of an anime character with a punk rock style that she was starstrucked by. It was then Naoki began to find salvation to help her keep living, and when she started to get herself involve with rap.

For a while, Naoki would begin to act rebellious, claiming to go to the library to study when in actuality she would secretly go out to research rap music and would join a unit with other underground rappers. After performing a song she rapped in front of a group of people, Naoki received a self-made bracelet from a little girl, who became the petite girl’s first fan. From this experience, Naoki would start to feel like she has finally start to fit in after many years of feeling lost and outcasted, and start to find herself passionate about becoming a rapper herself, with the dream of saving people with her music the same way rap music saved her in her time of need.

However, due to anonymous tip, Riki finds out about Naoki’s activities, forbids her from continuing her activities, and decided to make arrangements to keep her home until she is to be moved to her fiancé’s mansion, even decided to throw out everything involving her activities which also included the bracelet; Finally snapping, Naoki defies her father for the first time and attempted to stand up for herself until her father slaps her before calling her a disappointment, that it was a mistake having a daughter, and leaves her.

Conflicted, Naoki is torn about what to do. Until she is told to run away by a voice. Once the voice told her to leave a few more times, Naoki’s resolution solidified and attempted to run away past midnight; However, she gets caught in the sights of guards hired by her father as he knew Naoki would attempt to run away. She continued to run until she gets trapped in an alley with a dead end with a twisted ankle and was even forced to hide in a dirty dumpster from the guards that arrived after hearing her voice from twisting her ankle. While hiding, Naoki prayed for them not to find her and was saved what she believed was a dog, which didn’t seem to be the case judging by the guards questioning what it was before they escaped once rain began to pour. After they left, Naoki realizes that she has nowhere else to go as the guards continued searching for her in the places she initially planned of going. Resorting to sleep out in the rain, She was encountered by another politician she knows of that she remembers as her father’s rival in the political world: Sakamaki Tougo.

At first, she was hesitant to trust him in fear he would contact her father; But after offering to keep her far from her father and promising her the freedom she yearned for in exchange for her cooperation to help him by living with his sons, Naoki accepted him upon one condition: to allow her to become the person she wants to be rather than someone she isn’t, to become the rapper she dreamed of becoming. Tougo accepted that condition and even spoiled her by giving her her dream appearance (punk-rock clothes, streaks in her hair, etc). Because of this, Naoki viewed Tougo as her savior, solidify her trust in him, and is heavily indebted to him which would later affect her life with the Sakamaki brothers; However, once she started to live with the Sakamaki’s, Naoki began to find out hidden truths about her life that would later come to surface.

The reason why Tougo, who was actually the Vampire King Karlheinz, decided to take her in was because he was actually using her as the other Eve, in case the resurrection of his first wife, Cordelia, in Komori Yui’s body succeed. And Naoki‘s heart was a male first-blood’s, by the name of Asher; Thus, Tougo’s promises to ensure her safety and to give her her freedom were all empty promises to gain her respect and loyalty for her cooperation into the plan, even taking advantage of her situation into his favor. Naoki was actually born to a Chinese clan of human vampire hunters with the first-blood blood in their veins, due to their foremother ancestor, Jiang Ying-Yue; Ying-Yue was the original host of the first-blood’s heart (whom was also her lover in her former life as a human), who went by the name of Asher, was a originally human before turning into a vampire after she gave birth to a human son that carried Asher’s blood. Due to herself staying hidden for many centuries to hide from Karlheinz under her first-blood lover’s instructions, Ying-Yue was given the nickname “Lilith”, who was known to be the first wife of Adam but leaves him after she refuses to become subservient to him (in a similar sense where Ying-Yue refuses to let herself become experimented as an Eve to Karlheinz’s plan); However, their secret was revealed when one of their clan’s members was kidnapped by a vampire who found out about the truth of their blood. In fear that the clan will be targeted, The ancestor initially thought about giving Asher’s heart to a male host; However, She decided to give the first-blood’s heart to an infant Naoki, who was born by the name of “Jiang Xiu-Lan” and had a weak heart similar to the condition Ying-Yue had when she was human, to save her and send her to Japan to keep her safe from the tragedy. After Naoki was taken to Japan to an orphanage, her clan was massacred by Japanese vampire hunters under orders by a former associate: Kuroi Tsurara. It was even revealed that Riki actually adopted her in secret due the truth being that he had infidelity problems, and only chose to adopt her due to her high intelligence surpassing those of the other children and looking similar like him, making her perfect to him to use.

It is revealed that Asher was the voice heard by Naoki in her time of need, as her guardian to keep her sanity in check. It is revealed that, throughout her entire life, Naoki has been unwittingly and emotionally dependent on the first-blood, especially whenever she felt like she was going to snap. This is why Naoki did not go crazy even after everything she has been through in her life, as the first-blood was the reason she remains grounded as her conscience. They have even met during Naoki’s childhood within her dreams, where Naoki calls him “Papa” as she was never allowed to call Riki; However, as she got older, Naoki began to forget the memories of those dreams, and by extension, Asher; Believing that Asher was an imaginary friend she made up due to her lonely childhood. But even after being put to sleep and chained until the day Naoki breaks her chains when the time came, Asher will remain a father-figure to her and be there in her time of need like he always has.

~

Trivia:

• Naoki knows how to repair and patch holes on walls; This is because, whenever she was alone, she would accidentally punch a wall out of frustration from her stressful life; Fearing of being punished, Naoki would hide the damage before fixing the wall herself before her father would come home to notice the damage. She has even punched a hole in walls at school in private before fleeing the scene to resume her day before she could get caught. She viewed this as a parallel of attempting to fix the broken pieces in her heart. She even admits that, had it also not been for rap music to calm her down, Naoki would began to resort to violence and destruction. This is one of the biggest reasons why Naoki empathized with Subaru and doesn’t stop him whenever he causes damages, even helps fix and patch the walls no matter how many times he breaks them. 

This is also how Naoki gets Reiji off her back about her choice of style as she is the only one (besides Yui) that even does anything to help clean up the messes made by his brother. Of course, when asked about it, Naoki refers to cleaning everything as part of her repayment to Tougo.

• Despite her disinterest in studying, Naoki still continues to try hard in order to graduate; Even willing to take notes on subjects she already knows to give to Subaru to help him improve. It is because of this that their teachers, that once given up on Subaru, relying on her to ensure his grades improves. While she does try to help him, the progress is slow and has only gotten him to just barely passing.

• While Naoki considers Subaru as her first love, Asher confesses that Naoki did love Karlheinz, as Togo Sakamaki, for saving her life, but hidden it as she considered it a childish crush; However, this could just be something Asher made up in order to provoke Cordelia once they meet in their respective hosts’ body.

• During the time between the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga and the More Blood Saga of their friendship, it has been decided by Naoki that she will pick out Subaru’s clothes for him; As they wear a very similar style.

• Naoki’s real name is Xiu-Lan Jiang (Jiang Xiu-Lan; 江 秀兰), which respectively mean “Beautiful Orchid” and “River”; Which is ironic considering her immense fear of the sea and her favorite color being lavender.

• Asher reveals a dangerous aspect of killing him from within Naoki’s body even if Naoki lives: If He dies, Naoki will experience imbalance from within psychologically, causing a severe loss of identity/an unstable sense of self. Due to Asher being the reason why Naoki has not gone mentally insane from depression, stress, compulsiveness, and anxiety caused by the abusive environment from her childhood, his existence within her is essential to keep her at bay as she has been unwittingly dependent of him emotionally. This becomes heavily apparent in Naoki’s brutal ending in the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga.

• By the Dark Fate saga, Naoki is revealed to be a human with slightly enhanced skills; This is due to Ying-Yue Jiang, her foremother and Asher’s lover, becoming the first carrier of the first-blood’s heart; Before she turned into a vampire, She had sexual intercourse with another human in an arranged marriage to produce an heir, which lead to conceiving a human child that would later start a new family line of human with first-blood ancestry from Ying-Yue carrying Asher’s heart before the child was conceived; Thus, Naoki is a human with first-blood ancestry. But due to never training like the past clan members, Naoki is considerably weak and is only strong when Asher lends her his strength.

Asher reveals that because the child was born from two humans, despite his blood running through its veins, they can not possess magic, transform, or summon familiars like a first-blood; Instead, because of his blood, The child was stronger, quicker, and healed faster than an average human, along with inheriting the ability to sense vampires and invisible familiars. This is why the clan turned into one with phenomenal vampire hunters as, while they can’t see them, they can sense their presence, using those abilities to their advantages. Which is something that she can do, but not as well at due to lack of training.

Asher also reveals that due to her being a descendant that was born with his blood, once she becomes a vampire, She can, not only use his strength, but also use Asher’s heart and his blood as his hostess to assist her into unlocking her own potential and can awaken all of the basic/passive abilities for a First Blood by a century at the latest; However, due to only being born as a human with first-blood ancestry, Asher himself admits while the process is not that imminent and might take more than a thousands of years, but it should not be impossible to do if she was a vampire, turned or not, and focused hard on training.

• Naoki reveals to wear a padded bra, which is why her flat-chest looks bigger in her clothes, despite the fact that she is perfectly comfortable with her flat chest.

* The reason for this is because her adoptive father ordered her to wear only padded bras so that she may be viewed as “presentable” in public, finding her to be flat-chested for her age as an embarrassment; Which is why Naoki is very proud of her flat-chest, even preferring being called a “Waffle” by Ayato.

• Naoki’s habit of saying “あれれ”/"Ah-re-re" comes from the Murder Mystery anime series, Detective Conan. Which is a cute, child-like way of saying "Huh?"

• In the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga, Naoki shown to have Genophobia (fear of sexual relations or sexual intercourse), as she actually struggles and panic when Subaru started to touch her in a sexual manner in order to break her as a last resort to break her in the Manic arc. Naoki started to overcome that fear as she began to fall in love with Subaru.

• In the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga, Naoki’s greatest treasure is a bracelet gifted to her by her first fan which she often wears in her AOKI wardrobe; However, it was destroyed by Subaru. By the More Blood Saga, the bracelet is repaired, and by the end of the MB Saga, the bracelet is worn by Naoki for her AOKI activities, alongside another bracelet given to her by Subaru.

~

Height Chart:

~

Credits: Sprites made by @crezzstar-commissions, Chibi made by Me, Character sheet image provided by Yuiannii on DeviantArt.

[steampunk-magicalgirl]

Mason Pines and the revival of a maffia

The city of Portland, Oregon has always been strange. But with pro-nats rallying in the streets and the supernatural population constantly fearing for their lives the tension has never been higher!

The city needs the dinner crew, but the dinner crew is currently inactive.

It's time to do something about that!

(yet another transcendence au fic lol) 

on ao3

´´BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS!´´

She tightened her grip on the pole and held the sign up higher, the sound of sirens in the distance drowned out by the people all around her screaming.

´´BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS!´´

Warm bodies pressing closer to her own, she attempted to take a step forward, only to be pushed back by the behind of a large man slamming into her.

´´BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS!´´

Something seemed to be forcing the line of people back, in the split second that the man in front of her stepped aside she managed to catch a glimpse of several police officers decked out in heavy protection gear and wielding shields forcefully pushing her line of protesters back. Swept along with the sea of people, she struggled to stay on her feet as one of the protesters raised a small object up in the air and tossed it.

´´BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS!´´

Eyes tearing up, she struggled to take a deep breath as gas filled the air around her. People were pushing from all sides now, desperate to get away, but nobody able to see a damn thing! She could feel her chest tightening and heart beating faster as she threw her sign on the ground and started frantically trying to push her way through the sea of fleeing people.

´´BAN ALL THE MONSTERS! BAN ALL THE MONSTERS!´´

After what felt like forever, but what was in reality probably only about a minute, her outstretched hands finally made contact with a cold concrete wall. Following the wall she soon found herself stumbling blindly into an alley. She sank to the ground almost immediately, trying to calm down and catch her breath while rubbing furiously at her eyes.

Well, this was a catastrophe. At least dad didn’t know that she had gone here, he’d no doubt freak out once the gassing incident reached the news. Now she just had to make her way home and pretend that this never happened, maybe that she’d been out with a friend.  

A hand grabbed her from behind.

Fuck.

 *

 Robert Pines had been having a great day so far. The sun was shining, bird were singing, and all the bills had been payed on time, so yes, all in all a great day. That was, until the police came in with his daughter in handcuffs.

´´You sure are lucky miss. If you’d been anyone else you’d be spending the night in a jail cell.´´

´´Thank you so much for bringing her home then officer. I  promise that this won’t happen again,´´

´´hmph´´ the officer reluctantly uncuffed and handed over Robert’s daughter, before he turned around and headed out the door. Once the police were gone, Robert turned all his attention to the sulking teenager in front of him

´´I can’t believe you Mason! You should know better than to put yourself in danger like that!´´

´´…sorry,´´ Mason said quietly ´´it wasn’t that bad though,´´

´´Not that bad? You literally just came home in handcuffs! ´´

´´Yeah, unfair isn’t it? Doesn’t it make you mad-´´

´´Mason,´´

´´- it wasn’t me who should have been wearing them, those pro-nats -´´

´´Mason! Listen to me!´´ the girl went quiet, but kept her gaze focused on Robert ´´Thank you. Now, stop trying to change the subject and think for a second. I may not agree with their ideology, but what those people were doing was completely lawful – ´´

´´you mean trying to ban innocent people from existing?´´ Mason mumbled angrily, but Robert chose to ignore her

´´  - and anyone could have figured out that just waltzing up there and screaming in their faces would have ended badly.´´

´´but-´´

´´No buts! You’re grounded for the rest of the week, now go to your room!´´ Mason shot Robert a look of pure disbelief before she turned on her heels and marched angrily towards the stairs. Before she went up them though, she stopped on the bottom step and turned once more to face her dad

´´What a great Don you are. You’re not even trying to protect your own crew members.´´ Robert didn’t say anything, Mason didn’t either, they just held each others gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary before the girl turned around again and finally made her way up the staircase.    

Robert let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the living room couch.

Protect your own crewmembers, sometimes Robert really worried that Mason was taking the whole dinner crew thing to seriously. Yes, he had hear the stories, and yes, he knew exactly what the organization had been like in it’s glory days, but that was hundreds of years ago! Right now, the dinner crew was just a little more than an urban legend, giving the Pines family a special place in the eyes of the law and some level of respect from Portland’s oldest citizens but nothing more, and Robert fully intended to keep it that way. With things being the way they were, the world didn’t need more vigilantes roaming the streets.

If only his daughter could understand that.

  *

  Mason wasn’t angry at her dad. Sitting at her desk, scrolling aimlessly through social media, she knew that she should probably be more upset about the whole thing. Oh she was upset with the police for arresting her and taking the actual offenders side, she was angry at the protester who’d thrown that damn gas bomb at them and ruined everything, but dad? Dad meant well, he really did. And she knew that he was just doing his best to look out for her but really, she was almost 18, she could take care of herself! Dad should be more concerned with the preternaturals that the pro-nats were threatening. Wasn’t it the dinner crew’s job to protect them? Wasn’t that why her great-great-something grandpa had founded it in the first place? So no, Mason wasn’t angry but she was… disappointed. She liked another cat picture on her screen, and kept thinking. Dad really had to start taking his job as the Don more seriously. Sure, he insisted that there wasn’t much for him to do, with the crew having been very inactive for years now, but couldn’t that just be because no one had tried to put it back together yet? Really, how hard could it be, Mason bet that even she could do it!

Hey, maybe she should do it! Now would be a good time, right? But how would she manage to do that? Dad would certainly not approve, let alone help her. And Mason had no contact whatsoever with already existing members, not to mention that most of them had left Portland long ago. No, Mason needed help if she was really going to pull this of, the question was who would be able to help her…

 *

 The answer came to her 3 weeks later, while working on her personal project of compiling the family tree. She had already made it as far back as great-great-something grandpa Hank’s branch, and there she had noticed a bit of an… oddity. Namely, her g-grandpa’s old documents almost all contained mentions of an uncle. Someone who, according to every official record, should have been long dead and gone at the time of g-grandpa’s birth. And yet, here Hank was talking and writing about him as if though he’d known him personally. This piqued Mason’s interest, and the deeper she dug into it, the more she managed to find, until she was almost certain that she could link this mysterious uncle to another unexplained yet prominent figure in the family’s history.

Alcor.

It felt right. Even though all her internet searches had turned up nothing noteworthy when looking more into it Mason felt confident that she’d reached the right answer. Alcor was a Pines, and even better, Alcor had apparently been friends with Hank, aka the original Don Pines. Meaning that he’d at some point been involved with the dinner crew, meaning that any and all of the oldest members most likely knew him! Alcor was the person Mason needed to make this plan happen, no doubt about it.

She just needed to find a good way to talk to him.

 *

 He hadn’t planned to answer this summoning at first. The summoner had used a very basic circle, and the sacrifice used was nothing more than a half-eaten candy bar. Such a sloppy summoning was rarely done seriously, and the few times that they were well… what could a person with no means to find a better sacrifice than their own leftovers possibly have to offer him? However, this one felt different. Something about the feeling he got from the tugging at his being told Dipper that he’d better answer this one, so he went to have a look. He went to have a look, and was pleasantly surprised at the sight of his nephew’s current incarnation standing with her hands resting on her hips and a smug smile on her face in front of him. Still, Dipper didn’t know this person, better to play it safe.

´´W̢҉͜H̀̀͢O̷ ͟͡͞D̶͢A̛͟R̵̢͝E̷̛S ̸̡҉S͏U҉͏͘M̸̨̨M̴̷͟ON҉ AL͜C̢O͠R̡̀̕ T̵H̢E̵͏ ͝D͜RÈ̷A͜͠M̕͘B̧E̸N̡̡D̴E̴̛R?̢͞҉´´  

´´Greetings Alcor. Or should I maybe say, hi uncle Dipper?´´ a cold shiver ran down Dipper’s none existing spine, but he was careful as to not let the surprise show on his face. Did she know? How? She shouldn’t be able to remember, and while her aura emitted a sense of slight familiarity towards him, it was nowhere near the level that one would expect from a child that they’d practically helped raise. His surprise must have still shown though, because the girl grinned. ´´I’m right aren’t I? You really are Dipper Pines! I knew it!´´ Dipper raised an eyebrow and peered suspiciously at the girl.

´´… w̧h̷o ar̕e y̨o̴u͡?´´

´´Sorry, how rude of me.´´ the girl made a move to extend her hand, but seemed to think better of it and opted to give a little wave instead ´´Mason Pines, nice to meet you!´´ internally, Dipper laughed. She was a Pines! Of course! She was a Pines and her name was Mason! Externally though, he recovered from the surprise as best he could and tried to keep the mask on a little longer, because this may have been one of his niblings (in more ways than one apparently), but she was still a person that Dipper hadn’t met before. And she’d used one of his more well known circles, not the family one, so he doubted she’d summoned him just to hang out. Not to mention that it had been years since he’d last interacted with this particular branch of the family.

…it couldn’t hurt to be a little friendly though.

´´ Mason Pines huh? Well then, girl who shares my name, what can I do for you?´´ Mason’s face lit up a little as Dipper confirmed her theory, then it quickly darkened.

´´I need your help with something, but first I need to confirm something,´´

´´Oh? And what would that be?´´

´´How well do you know the dinner crew?´´      

[artificialqueens]

Everything I Know, Chapter One (Rajila, Hunger Games AU)

AN: English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any grammatical mistakes!

Blood coated Manila’s hand for the fifth time that day, seeping through the light fabric of her jumpsuit as a cannon fired a shot into the air. This year, the arena was a huge desert, and the scent of blood on the sand made her think of gladiators and what she had learnt in History class at school. That’s what the Hunger Games was, she decided, a chance for the Capitol to get off on the adrenaline of watching twenty-four teenagers kill each other. Well, there were only four of them left now.

A cannon went off in the distance.

Three.

She had always expected to get this far, she was a Career, after all. The others did not stand a chance. District One was by far the richest and strongest of all of the districts. Whilst many of the other competitors had died from hunger or thirst, Manila had been sent enough food and water to feed a small family. Pity she had made no alliances – she had no one to share it with. She and her mentor, twenty-one-year-old Raja Gemini, had decided that alliances were too risky. Don’t bare your back to someone who will eventually try to kill you.

It really was a pity, though. Manila had practised with the District Four girl, Latrice Royale, during training and had half-wanted to be friends. As far as she knew, they were now the only ones left. Well, them and the Vixen, the fifteen-year-old competitor from District Two, whose real name was unknown. An all-female finale. How fitting– the Capitol would love it. They always adored it when girls killed people.

A parachute descended from the sky and Manila looked up, alert to any danger. It wasn’t anything deadly, though, just something from her mentor. A water-bottle filled with some type of energy drink and a few handfuls of unsalted nuts. It seemed that Raja and her sponsors thought that everything would be over soon, or else Manila would have been given something more substantial. She ate the nuts quickly and downed the drink in a few swift gulps, knowing that her sponsors would send her more if she needed it. The note attached was short and simple, in Raja’s spiky handwriting.

You’ve got this - R

Did she? Manila wasn’t sure. She had dispatched eight competitors over the three days of the competition, far more than Latrice or the Vixen put together. She knew the numbers were in her favour but that about was it. Her weapon was a dagger, not suited to ranged combat. It all depended on what the finale was going to be, and whether she had the stomach to kill more people than she already had. Manila was tired of blood.

At that moment, a voice came over the loudspeakers, filling the arena with its booming timbre.

“You have reached the final three, well done.” It was RuPaul, the head Gamemaker. Manila tightened her grip on her dagger. This was it. “For your last challenge, you will be asked to head to the Cornucopia. I’ll leave it to you to decide what to do once you are there.”

The Cornucopia, now that was an unwelcome surprise. Manila knew the Vixen had been hiding there, feeding on the supplies originally left there and hiding from the harsh rays of the sun. She bothered no one and no one wanted to go near her because of her weapon, a gleaming metal gun. Ranged combat with the Vixen would kill Manila, she knew this. She heaved a deep sigh and shrugged off her backpack. She wouldn’t need supplies now.

She walked barefoot on the sand, her shoes having been discarded on the first day. Manila couldn’t remember why. The last three days had been a heady blur of blood and death that she couldn’t wait to end. There were only two possible outcomes. Either she would die, or she would not. She wasn’t quite sure which she would prefer to occur. Her feet were scorched by the hot sand, her pale skin burnt by the punishing sun, and her heart was heavy in her chest. She was ready to give up, if truth be told. She was a Career, but she had not dreamt of it in the same way her friends had. When she was little, she had wanted to be an artist or a dressmaker, someone who could use the luxurious materials that District One produced for the Capitol. She could have made it big, she thought, had it not been for the Hunger Games.

Manila approached the Cornucopia cautiously. She could see the Vixen standing in the horn’s shadow, the outline of a gun in her hands. In her opinion, it was an unfair sponsorship present, even if the girl had not used it to kill a single person. It was easier to kill with a gun than with a knife. However, she doubted the Vixen had the nerve to kill. Even though she was a Career, she was young to have come so far in the competition. Someone should have volunteered to save her.

Bang!

Manila jumped as a bullet whistled past her ear. Fuck. The Vixen had evidently spotted her standing there and had fired out a shot. Luckily, she had missed. Manila looked around her, assessing the situation. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Eat it, bitch!” snapped a voice from behind her.

Fuck. Latrice was standing only six feet away from her, clutching a sharp trident. Manila eyed her nervously. Another ranged weapon. This fight did not seem like it would go her way. However, Latrice just gave a tight smile and jogged past her, sweat beading on her dark skin. Why had she saved her? They were taught in Career Training to never leave a competitor alive. Manila held back as Latrice made her way towards the Vixen, feet as light as a cat on the hunt. She was barefoot too but did not even limp as she stalked towards the younger girl.

“Go away!” screamed the Vixen. Manila had never heard her speak before, her voice was far higher and more delicate than she had imagined. “I’ll shoot you!”

“Do it,” said Latrice, calling her bluff. “Do you really think you will win this?”

Manila doubted that the Vixen would dare—

Bang!

Latrice stumbled, muttering something under her breath as she clutched her abdomen.

Bang!

Another bullet hit Latrice’s side, sending her lurching to the sand. Unconsciously, Manila started forward to help before her Career instincts told her to stay back. She had not trained for her entire life just to end up dying whilst helping someone. Anyway, Latrice had not lost the will to fight. She picked herself up one final time and threw her trident with all of her might, as if she was spearing a particularly difficult fish. There was a sound like a bunch of sticks being snapped as the trident ploughed into the Vixen’s chest. She was dead before she hit the hot sand of the arena.

Latrice’s large brown eyes were wet with tears as she removed her trident from the young girl’s body. The Vixen’s bullets had left a deep wound on her abdomen and Manila winced at the sight of crimson flesh giving away to reveal the sharp white of her hipbone. There was no fight left in her, not anymore. She let her trident hit the sand before her and fell to her knees. Manila was surprised she had managed to get this far; District Four warriors had no training in these conditions, since they lived and worked on water. That said, killing the girl in front of her was her ticket out of here. The girl who had volunteered as a Tribute, saving the life of a scrawny eleven-year-old she didn’t even know.The girl who was crying into her hands, blood pooling around her as she knelt at Manila’s feet. The girl whose sobs were punctuated with Manila’s name.

“Please, Manila, make it quick.”

She didn’t even beg for her life.

Manila had never hesitated to kill before. Girls in District One were put through the rigorous Career Training school, which ended each year with a one-on-one fight to the death in lieu of final exams. She had killed her first person at the age of ten and regretted none of the deaths she had caused. They were weaker, they deserved to die. She certainly had no patience for people who begged for their lives like pitiful animals. But Latrice had not begged to be spared. Her eyes were open, staring at Manila with an open level of trust and affection that Manila had never experienced before. Careers didn’t have friends or family, it made them weak.

“Latrice…” she said softly.

“Don’t fuck around with it,” said Latrice. “Just stick your dagger at the base of my throat, where my shoulders hit my neck, see? There’s an artery there. It shouldn’t take too long. Be merciful, please.”

It then came to Manila. “I don’t want to.”

“Does it matter?” Latrice’s tone was sharper now, desperate for some sort of closure.

��It should.” Manila swallowed, the dagger heavy in her hand. “It really should.”

“Well, it doesn’t.” Latrice closed her eyes and tilted her head to one side, revealing the soft skin of her neck. “One of us is going to die, anyway. Why shouldn’t it be me?”

That made sense. Manila knew she would have won a fight against the wounded girl anyway. At least this way she wouldn’t suffer needlessly. She aimed her dagger carefully but was caught by an errant thought before she could follow through with the movement.

“Latrice?”

Latrice opened her eyes warily. “Yeah?”

“Why did you go for the Vixen and not me?” Manila asked. “You could have easily killed us both.”

Latrice laughed weakly, her breaths rattling in her chest. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Manila softened her grip on the knife.

“No, I don’t.” Her dark eyes were sad. “I just thought… you know, during training… maybe, if we were in a different situation, we might have been friends.”

Manila wetted her lips with her tongue. “I’ve never had a friend before.”

“Neither have I.” Latrice shrugged, tears falling freely now. “Careers don’t have friends.”

On some strange impulse, Manila dropped to her knees alongside the girl and wrapped her arms around her. Maybe she wouldn’t need to kill Latrice. Maybe she would die without her intervention. But that wouldn’t be the merciful way to do this, and Manila knew it. It was just hard to hurt the other girl when she could feel every fast beat of Latrice’s heart against her chest. Latrice could have been a friend. For once in her life, Manila didn’t know what to do. She had never had a friend before. Not unless Raja counted—but she didn’t want to think about Raja.

“We could have been friends,” Manila said softly, hoping it would be some sort of comfort. “I would have liked to be.”

She could feel Latrice smile against her chest as she took her knife and plunged it into the top of her neck, where her spine met her skull. Manila thought it was a credit to her dagger skills that the girl didn’t even flinch as she died. Hot blood coated her hands for the sixth time that day, mixing with the blood, sweat, and sand that already covered them. She didn’t move away, though. Something was different about Latrice’s death. She didn’t feel satisfied with her kill, or even about winning the Hunger Games. When the final cannon went off, Manila was frozen in the same position she had been in when Latrice died, cradling the larger girl’s body against her own. She didn’t even blink as RuPaul’s voice broke the silence:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the ninetieth Hunger Games, Manila Luzon!”

Loud music and cheering suddenly rang out over the arena and Manila was broken out of her reverie. Why the fuck were they cheering? She leapt to her feet and looked around, breathing heavily. Was there something else she had missed? Was there going to be another challenge? A hovercraft materialised overhead, and a ladder dropped towards her. Manila stared at it for one long moment. There was no way she was getting on that thing. For all she knew, it could be a trap. She covered her ears against the noise and ran away from the hovercraft, feet slipping in the hot sand.

Manila had never liked running. In Career Training she had always been the slowest, the weakest, the least likely to get picked for races. That said, the feeling of her legs burning beneath her was the only thing keeping her present as she sprinted away from the hovercraft. She could feel Latrice’s blood on her like a macabre veil, a barrier between her and the world as she knew it. Manila knew that her only purpose was to kill, it had to be the right thing to do. Then why, she wondered, did it feel so wrong? Tears ran over her grimy face as she sprinted blindly through the desert, so confused and conflicted that she did not even feel the sting of the sedation dart as it hit the back of her neck.

                     *                           *                           *

When she woke, Manila wondered if she had died. The doorless, windowless room was filled with soft white light and smelled like artificial lemon. It was too clean and cool in comparison to the scorching heat of the desert. Manila didn’t trust it. She felt all too vulnerable in this white room, stripped naked and strapped to a bed. She felt some small relief when she realised that her arms were not, though the tubes fixed into her skin stopped her from moving too far. Manila didn’t like needles, especially not ones pumping her full of some mysterious liquid. She reached over to pull them out, but someone caught her hand before she could do more than brush her fingers over the plastic tubing.

“They’re to rehydrate you,” said a calm voice. “I wouldn’t remove them, if I were you.”

“Raja?” Manila’s voice was weak. She went to cover herself, embarrassed about being naked in front of her mentor, but Raja did not seem to be judging her.

“Manila, it’s okay.” Raja was standing by her bed, her free hand holding a tray full of something that Manila could not see. “It’s only me.”

“Why are you here?” Manila asked, dropping her hands to her lap.

“I came to bring you some food,” said Raja, placing a tray on her lap. “I didn’t think you would trust an Avox, well, I didn’t when first I came out of the Games. Didn’t eat for days.”

Well, thought Manila, that was different. Raja’s Games had lasted for three weeks compared to Manila’s three days. It wasn’t the same thing, and she wasn’t hungry, anyway. She’d rather go back to sleep than pick at whatever clear liquid was in that bowl.

“Not hungry,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t you try some?” asked her mentor. “You might surprise yourself.”

Manila nodded, too tired to argue. Her hands felt as if they were made from solid rubber as she tried to pick up the spoon, it was as difficult as grabbing a cube of ice. Once again, Raja stopped her, taking the spoon in her own slender hands and dipping it in the clear liquid.

“Open,” she said.

“I’m not a child,” Manila replied, pursing her lips.

“You’re not.” Raja’s hand still held the spoon. “Open. It’s just vegetable broth.”

It was easier to comply than to argue anymore, so Manila opened her mouth. The spoon clacked against her teeth as she swallowed one, then two, then three spoonfuls of the broth. It was not anything like the food she was used to eating in District One, but it was better than nothing. It lay easily in her stomach, at least. In what seemed to be no time at all, she had finished the bowl.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the blanket. Her skin was sallow against the pristine white.

“It’s nothing,” said Raja.

“It is,” Manila protested. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Raja said simply.

She picked up the bowl, put it on the tray, and made to leave the room. Manila’s heart dropped. Was Raja angry with her? Was she disgusted by what she had seen Manila do? When she had been training, morality had always been black and white but now it was all so complicated. Several shades of grey had appeared on the spectrum and Manila didn’t know where she stood.

“Raja,” she said, so quietly she doubted the older woman had heard her.

However, Raja paused as she reached the door. “Yeah?”

“It’s just that…” Manila looked at her hands, feeling the tears start again. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“Oh honey, no!” There was a soft clatter as Raja placed the tray on the floor and returned to Manila’s bedside, crouching down so she could look into her eyes. “No, of course I don’t think that.”

She wrapped her arms around Manila’s shoulders and Manila tried not to think of how good her mentor smelled, how soft her sweater was against her bare skin. Everyone knew that Raja Gemini was beautiful, the type of beautiful that went beyond gender or sexuality. Everyone loved Raja, and Manila most of all. Raja had saved her life four years ago, when she was only fourteen years old, though she tried not to think about her stupid childish infatuation when around her mentor. Anyway, even Raja couldn’t soothe the feeling of sad emptiness inside Manila’s chest.

“I think I did the wrong thing,” she said, hot tears dropping onto the bedcover.

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (10)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 10: Aizawa observes his students and deals with the repercussions of the Bakugou vs. Ryouta fight.

Lanni notes: Okay, so the first half of this chapter is kind of a recap of the last chapter, but from a different POV. Most people know by now how much I love Aizawa. A big part of this fic is that Ryouta isn't always the most reliable of narrators, which is why it is important that we (the readers) are able to view him from someone else's perspective. Someone like Aizawa is able to pick up on things that Ryouta keeps from others and himself, both intentionally and unintentionally. Ryouta's used to playing close to the vest. He's opening up slowly to the other students and U.A. staff, along with us. Also, I just really love writing Ryouta from other people's POVs. It's interesting compared to how he views himself. The song for this chapter is "Savages" by Marina and the Diamonds. Here���s the link to our Discord again, which is also for heroes in the dark.

Humans aren't gonna behave As we think we always should Yeah, we can be bad as we can be good

It was Toshinori’s class, but Aizawa had decided to watch over it today. They had talked about it earlier when Nezu and Aizawa had explained the situation and both of them had agreed that it would be for the best. This would be the first time that Ryouta used his quirk -- the first time he was allowed to use it -- and they had no idea how it would turn out. If something went south, Aizawa knew that he would be able to put an end to things quickly with his quirk. Toshinori had never seen Dabi in action before and would be at a disadvantage. However, the goal was to avoid needing to get involved.

Considering Ryouta’s quirk, Aizawa was...intrigued. Many of the kids at U.A. casually used their quirks even outside of class, but he had noticed that Ryouta hadn’t so far. Maybe it had to do with coming off as less threatening. His blue flames were a signature of Dabi for these kids and he was trying to distance himself from his future self as much as possible. In class, he was mild and quiet. He let the others talk over and guide him, although wariness never left his eyes. It was like he was soaking everything in while staying under the radar to avoid attention. If this was how he’d been before, it was no wonder that they’d missed him. He was good at not standing out.

As long as he didn’t use his quirk.

Something else was bothering Aizawa though. The first time he had talked with Ryouta, confronting him about who he was and what he knew, he had been wearing quirk inhibitor braces that let off a warning sound if the wearer tried to use their quirk. They’d gone off, but it was clear to Aizawa that he hadn’t wanted to attack him. It was almost like he hadn’t been aware of his quirk at all. Then there had been the confrontation with Endeavor. Aizawa had readied himself to erase any attempted use of quirks, even Endeavor’s, but then Ryouta didn’t even try to defend himself. He’d even flinched away from his father’s flames.

What was it that Ryouta had said during that interview? “There’s a flaw in my design.”

Had he meant with his quirk? With him? He’d called himself a mistake. This was before he’d turned into a villain. What exactly had he meant?

To be honest, Aizawa hadn’t expected Ryouta to open up completely right away even though U.A. was going out on a huge limb for him. If there was one thing clear about him, it was that he trusted no one. Shouto’s memories of him were good but contradicted a lot of what they could glean from Ryouta’s school records and what they knew about Dabi. It sounded a lot like a big brother doing what he could to shield his little brother from the truth and there was a shame set in Ryouta’s shoulders that didn’t entirely come from finding out he’d become a villain.

There was a disconnect between the Ryouta’s behavior and the truth and Aizawa had a feeling that it had something to do with his quirk. Between the records of his quirk injuries, his hiding his lineage to attend U.A. as a General Studies student, and the power that Aizawa had experienced firsthand at the U.A. Training Camp, something was wrong. This hero class would be the first step to figuring that out.

That was if the entire building wasn’t blown to bits.

Aizawa stayed in the background by himself to watch as the teams and fights were randomly chosen. The dismay had been obvious on Toshinori’s face when he realized that Ryouta’s team had been picked to fight Bakugou’s. It was only because he was hidden in the dark that Aizawa put a hand on his face and inwardly groaned. Now they knew how this was going to end: not well.

A nasty grin had cut itself across Bakugou’s face and he’d tightened his hands into fists. This was what he’d been waiting for. His partner, Sato, sighed in acceptance. Kaminari, who had been paired with Ryouta, cringed and then muttered something under his breath that had Sero patting him on the back. All Ryouta did was roll his eyes up to the ceiling and shake his head, as if questioning the choices of a higher power. Todoroki glanced at his brother questioningly, but said nothing when Ryouta walked by and pat him on the shoulder.

Now the two teams were in position and there was nowhere else to run. Toshinori had an earpiece that linked him with the other students while everyone was left to only watch, which seemed to frustrate Todoroki, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed. Aizawa had gotten fairly skilled at lipreading during his time as an underground pro hero and watched the screens carefully in order to figure out their plans. He had to be one step ahead of him if them was going to keep Bakugou or Ryouta from doing any serious damage. Hopefully, they would stick to the lesson, but there was always the chance of error when combining such powerful quirks.

Without even being able to hear, it was obvious that Bakugou’s plan was to attack first and hard. He didn’t want to give Ryouta a chance to fight back. In the beginning, this would’ve been a lot more difficult for him. It still was since his emotions were running high. He had a habit of overdoing his quirk when he was like this, which would work against him in this lesson where restraint was key. Aizawa saw the exact moment when Sato pointed that out and Bakugou snapped at him.

It was different on the screen that showed Ryouta and Kaminari. The former was crouched down, examining the area with a sharp gaze. While his face remained as indifferent as usual, there was something brighter about his eyes now, how they moved from building to building, like he was making a mental map. The moment he started talking and turned to face Kaminari, his eyes dimmed, turning him back into the teenager who didn’t care about what was going on. It was a subtle but remarkable change. Kaminari immediately relaxed once he came to the conclusion that Ryouta wasn’t a threat, at least not right now.

Without hearing them, it was harder to tell what their strategy was. Aizawa could remember how powerful and hot Dabi’s flames had been when he’d unleashed his quirk as clear as day. It had nearly taken him out. Ryouta would not be able to go to such lengths in order to defeat Bakugou. If he wanted to win, he would have to be clever. He might’ve had some training with Endeavor, but it might not stack up compared to the training that Bakugou had been put through so far.

Had Aizawa been in Ryouta’s shoes, he would do what he could to force Bakugou into a corner. It would infuriate him and likely cause him to lash out. Fire was a good quirk to do that with. Ryouta could use his flames to keep Bakugou at bay, seeing as how Bakugou needed to be close in order to maximize personal damage without causing a lot of collateral damage. Force him to explode and he would take himself down.

That was, of course, as long as Ryouta had control over his quirk. The injuries in his school records and Recovery Girl’s memories suggested otherwise. He was sixteen though and, with a father like Endeavor, he should’ve been able to control it just as well as these kids. So why did Kaminari look so confused on the screen whereas Ryouta was intense and anxious?

As soon as the buzzer sounded, both teams started to move. All the students in the class pressed closer to the screens as if they’d be able to see better. Standing in front of them, Toshinori watched attentively, like any good teacher, but there was concern in the way he held his shoulders. Aizawa had half a mind to go down there, but he wouldn’t be able to see exactly what was going on without them seeing him. He stood next to the door, ready to run in at the first sign of serious trouble, but for now, all he could do was...have a little faith.

He had to trust that Bakugou wouldn’t go too far over the line. Over the past year, he’d learned that there were certain things that heroes didn’t do and had been forced to edit himself. This was an unprecedented situation, of course, but he could tell the difference between right and wrong. Aizawa also had to trust Ryouta on some level, which was admittedly more difficult. So far, he seemed intent on staying out of trouble, no matter how many times it found him, but there was always a chance that he was hiding more than Aizawa knew.

Ryouta came off as a good kid, but this had been the start of him becoming a villain. There was darkness planted in him that he either wasn’t fully aware of or was keeping a secret.

“Are they just gonna hide the whole time?” Kirishima asked.

Indeed, it did look as if that was Ryouta and Kaminari’s plan. They’d picked out a building and then went their separate ways, the former racing up the stairs to the second floor while the latter stayed on the first level. Once they found positions that allowed them a good view of what was around them, they readied themselves and waited. Had they gone with a plan to run out the clock? They couldn’t hope to entirely avoid a confrontation. That wasn’t the point of the lesson. Kaminari would know that and Bakugou wouldn’t let them. Besides, as much as Ryouta hid in class, Aizawa had a feeling that he was more clever than that.

“Bakugou is not going to be happy if they do that,” Ashido said. “I hope he doesn’t get mad at Kaminari.”

“Nah,” Sero replied, “he knows that it’s not Kaminari’s fault that he was paired with...Ryouta.”

Todoroki eyed the pair briefly before returning his gaze to the screens. It was only the second full day. The U.A. staff had known that it would take time for even the friendliest students to get used to this. It would’ve been better if they had been able to hold off on doing a lesson like this until later, but they couldn’t afford to hold the class back so close to the end of the year. It wouldn’t be fair to them. They were also making it a point to not treat Ryouta any differently from the others and changing the lesson to tailor him would no doubt irritate and humiliate him.

Kirishima pressed his hands together. “Uh oh.”

They had seen it before Ryouta did. He’d turned his back to look out the window, putting himself in a vulnerable position. Bakugou wasn’t known for being quiet, but he could do sneak attacks just as well as anyone. Ryouta must have heard the explosion because he dodged at the last second, quicker than Midoriya had the first time that Bakugou had used this strategy. When he rolled onto his feet again, he looked ready to attack. Aizawa straightened up. Toshinori clenched the mic tighter. Everyone else leaned forward, excited and nervous to see what would happen next, ready to see a massive amount of fireworks.

Except there weren’t any. Bakugou was relentless in his attacks whereas Ryouta did just enough to block them. He caught a leg in the middle that clearly knocked the air out of him, but instead of lashing out, he said something that infuriated Bakugou and made him lash out. He used his explosions to power his punches, but Ryouta still didn’t use his quirk to defend himself. Using his forearms and palms must’ve hurt. He didn’t flinch though. Sweat dripped down his face, more than Aizawa thought typical. It was like he was restraining Bakugou and himself.

Todoroki grit his teeth. “Why isn’t he using his quirk to defend himself?”

“It...looks like he’s doing it on purpose,” Midoriya pointed out thoughtfully, as if to himself.

“That’s crazy!” Uraraka exclaimed. “There’s no way he can win against Bakugou without it.”

Midoriya held his chin in one hand while he pressed the other down on the control panel and leaned even closer to the screen focused on Ryouta. He’d just taken a direct hit from Bakugou with his palm that had left his arm shaking and shoved him backwards. Of course this would pique Midoriya’s interest. He’d tried to fight Bakugou without using his quirk too and that had been almost a year ago. Bakugou had gotten much stronger since then. His reason had been that he couldn’t control his quirk and could only use it at a hundred percent, to the point where it hurt himself and destroyed everything around him.

“No one’s even paying attention to Kaminari and Sato,” Yaoyorozu said, pointing at the screen depicting their fight. The more sweets that Sato consumed to make himself stronger in order to attack Kaminari, the more damage he caused. Meanwhile, it was more difficult for Kaminari to control the direction of his electric shocks, but one that he was able to pass harmlessly through the ground struck Sato.

Yaoyorozu had a point. Ryouta was drawing Bakugou’s attention, causing him to act out and forget everything else. The more frustrated he became over not getting what he wanted, the more damage he created on accident. It was the best possible outcome for Ryouta’s team, even if it meant Ryouta taking the brunt of Bakugou’s wrath, which had been unavoidable anyways.

“Oh wow, he’s running away!” Sero yelled excitedly.

Everyone jumped when Bakugou launched himself forward and crashed into Ryouta. A few of the students cringed when Ryouta’s foot caught on the ground and the two of them were sent spiralling out of control. He crashed on the ground hard and rolled around while Bakugou managed to steady himself with his quirk. The painful landing didn’t allow Ryouta any time to dodge another attack. Bakugou was on him with an explosion that would singe his eyebrows off.

The burst of blue fire that Ryouta shoved from his palm made nearly everyone gasp and some of them jump back. Even Aizawa tensed. The flames had taken up the entire screen, blocking everything from sight, but when they receded, they saw that Bakugou had managed to avoid getting hit too much by jumping back. A handful of students, notably the ones closer to Bakugou, relaxed, but Todoroki didn’t and neither did Toshinori.

The fight wasn’t over yet. In fact, the true one had just begun.

This time, when Bakugou attacked him, Ryouta countered with his flames. It forced Bakugou to keep a distance or fight through the fire. The blue flames were able to cut through the explosions. Instead of looking stronger for defending himself with his quirk though, he looked worse, his face pale except for his red cheeks as even more sweat covered his face. He looked feverish.

A wince went through the class when Bakugou managed a direct hit. Most would have screamed in pain after getting hit like that, but Ryouta bit his tongue. He’d probably experienced much worse while training with Endeavor. In fact, this was probably similar to what he’d gone through before coming to U.A., considering how strong and knowledgeable Todoroki had been upon being accepted. It had been obvious that Todoroki had had quirk training before coming here. Ryouta clearly had some, but not nearly as much.

What the hell did you do to these kids, Endeavor? Aizawa wondered. He was incredibly hard on his students to the point where it shocked some people, but this didn’t feel right.

He glanced at the clock, noting that time was almost up, and turned back to the screen right when Ryouta was hit by an explosion and fell back while countering with his own fire. It was too much though, far too much, a huge escalation from what he’d been throwing out earlier.

Uraraka gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth. “He’s really hurt!”

Ryouta did look like he was in bad shape now, but strangely, it wasn’t where Bakugou’s explosions had hit him. He was holding onto his right arm, the one that he had been mostly using his quirk with. On the screen below them, Kaminari dodged a hit from Sato, who hit a pillar instead, which caused the building to rumble. Sato landed a left hook, but was shocked by Kaminari the second he made contact. It was large enough to distract both Bakugou and Ryouta above them, a look of realization crossing the former’s face.

They had not only known that Bakugou would go after Ryouta no matter what; they’d counted on it and planned on running the clock down as much as possible.

Midoriya slammed his other hand down on the control panel. “Kacchan’s going for an AP Shot!”

At the same time, Ryouta reared his left arm back and wild blue flames covered it, like he was building up power before shooting it off.

Aizawa heard Toshinori saying his name, but he was already halfway down the stairs. He burst through the door to the outside and was running across the street when a large explosion rattled the ground and blue and orange fire exploded out of building in front of him, causing half the windows on the second floor to shatter. As a body was thrown out the window next to the alley, Aizawa jumped and used one half of his scarves to pull himself onto a fire escape while the other half wrapped around the body. He tugged hard and was nearly jerked off the fire escape, holding on with only one hand, but he managed to keep them from hitting the ground.

Only then did Aizawa stop to see who had been thrown out the window. It was Ryouta. He hung limply in the scarves, his head hanging back so that his hair was just barely grazing the ground and his arms pressed to his sides. With his eyes closed and his lips parted, it was clear that he was unconscious. He must have blacked out when his and Bakugou’s quirks had crashed together or when he’d been knocked out the window. His face was relatively unmarked, all things considered. He must’ve been able to shield his face with his right arm.

Coughing from inside the building brought Aizawa’s eyes upward. Bakugou staggered into view through the broken window, coughing into one hand and waving away smoke with the other. “Is he alive? Is that asshole alive?” He coughed again and then leaned over to look down. When he saw Ryouta, wrapped in Aizawa’s scarves inches from the ground and out of it but breathing, he stared down for a moment with a strange look on his face before he seemed to realize what he was doing and scowled viciously. “That idiot. With a burst of fire like that against my AP Shot, he could’ve gotten himself killed.”

Aizawa let Ryouta’s body gently rest on the ground and then dropped down into the alley. Kaminari and Sato came running out just in time to watch as his scarves returned to him. When he’d pictured getting involved in this fight, it had been with his quirk, but there hadn’t been any time.

Kaminari skidded to a halt and hissed through his teeth as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, man, oh man, I knew shit had gone south when I heard that explosion.” He took a step towards Ryouta and then halted, either of his own accord or because Bakugou had stepped outside with them. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, just unconscious,” Aizawa confirmed. It was nothing Recovery Girl couldn’t fix. That wasn’t going to be fun for anyone involved. She would be furious with them for landing Ryouta back in her care, especially considering the nature of his file.

Satisfied with the answer, Kaminari turned to Bakugou. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Bakugou snapped. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that was a massive as hell explosion and it looks like you’re wearing a sleeveless athletic uniform with burn holes in it?” Kaminari retorted. As Bakugou gave himself a lookover and grumbled under his breath in irritation, Aizawa looked him over. It looked exactly like that. He’d used his arms to shield himself as well; the sleeves were mostly gone and his arms were red and there were black patches where fire had briefly caught and he’d patted it down. He’d have to go to Recovery Girl as well. It wouldn’t be pretty.

“Aizawa!” Turning around, he saw Toshinori heading towards them, faster than normal. Skeletal and weak as he may look, he was stronger and capable of more than he appeared. Maybe he couldn’t run for as long, but that wouldn’t stop him from rushing out to check on one of his students. Behind him were the bots with the stretcher that would take Ryouta to Recovery Girl. “How is it?”

“Worse than it looks,” Aizawa said.

Toshinori nodded his head. “You three, back to the control room.”

Sato and Kaminari nodded their heads and left with the latter glancing back at Ryouta and then Bakugou before vanishing through the door. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. On one hand, Bakugou was one of his closest friends and he’d been in the remedial classroom at the U.A. Training Camp when Dabi’s second clone had attacked them. On the other hand, he had been Ryouta’s partner today and, depending on what their conversation had been about, probably knew a little more about him than some of the others. Only Toshinori knew. They would have to speak about it later.

Bakugou was a little more stubborn. He watched as the bots carefully loaded Ryouta on the stretcher. It was even more difficult to figure out what he was thinking. He still looked mad as all get out, but Aizawa kept thinking about the look on his face when he’d first seen Ryouta’s unconscious body. It had looked an awful lot like...fear. As if he’d been afraid he really had killed Ryouta or severely wounded him. Bakugou was a lot of things, but cold-hearted was not one of them, even if he did try to come off like nothing affected him.

“You’ll need to see Recovery Girl once she’s finished taking care of him,” Toshinori told him.

“Whatever,” Bakugou mumbled before he stomped away, leaving Toshinori and Aizawa alone with Ryouta.

Once he was through the door, Toshinori sighed and slumped his shoulders. “This is bad.”

“It could have been much worse,” Aizawa said mildly.

“His first real hero class and he’s been blown up and thrown out a window,” Toshinori pointed out with much more emphasis. “We put our students through this intense and dangerous training because their jobs as pro heroes will be even more so, but when I see them like this…”

Aizawa had a feeling that Ryouta wouldn’t consider this moment to be as bad as others that he’d lived through, but he didn’t want to bring that up with Toshinori at the moment.

Walking over to Ryouta, Aizawa bent down to get a closer look at him before the bots took him away. His uniform didn’t suffer was many burns on the chest or legs, but his left sleeve was gone. It wasn’t tattered and scorched like Bakugou’s had been; it was like it been completely incinerated like Todoroki’s had when he had first used his flames during the Sports Festival. It must have been from when he’d allowed the fire to crawl all the way up his arm before throwing it away from him at Bakugou. He’d only used his hand to create flames on his right.

What really caught Aizawa’s attention and made him narrow his eyes were the burns on Ryouta’s arm. Now that he was closer, he could see them much more clearly. They were much uglier than the ones on Bakugou’s arms, as if he’d been holding his arm over a fire for a while. He had been in a way; his whole arm had been on fire. On his right, his skin was red, the burn continuing underneath his intact sleeve, but it wasn’t as bad. His flames hadn’t covered it completely.

Still, it was unusual. When Endeavor and Todoroki used their flames, they didn’t suffer consequences like this. Was it a side effect of making his flames too hot? Of pushing himself too hard? Would they have to teach him to cool them down?

Even worse, these burns reminded him painfully of the even uglier ones on Dabi, which led the way to some nasty and unfortunate implications.

“He’ll be okay,” Aizawa said as he stood up and the bots took Ryouta away.

“This is the second time in three days that he’s been knocked unconscious.” Toshinori groaned, the sound of a tired teacher with a long day ahead of him still. “Maybe bringing him into this so quickly was a bad idea.”

Aizawa slipped his hands into his pockets. “Getting into the hero course was his dream. I thought I was the one that cut those short, not you.” It was still easy to rile the former number one hero up. He was so emotional. They had known this would be hard on Ryouta and the students, but it was proving to be difficult for the teachers as well. Yamada had admitted to struggling with knowing how to treat Ryouta, seeing as how he’d been against this whole thing in the beginning, and Kayama had felt guilty when she’d realized that he remembered her but she could barely recall him. “I’ll speak with him when he wakes up. If he feels like this is too much, we’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t think he will though,” Toshinori said.

“Something happened to him to drive him from dreaming of becoming a hero to becoming a villain,” Aizawa replied. “Maybe a lot of somethings. I think he’s more determined to prove his future self wrong and somehow change it than we are.” He looked up to the second floor of the building, his eyes roving over the shattered windows. “Did you see someone that was willing to give up on the screens?”

Toshinori didn’t need to respond for Aizawa to know the answer. It was a resounding no . Despite his either avoidance and hesitancy to use his quirk, Ryouta had not been giving up. Even when he ran away, it had been a part of his strategy to win. That was what Aizawa had seen: that Ryouta was someone was willing to go the distance and throw everything he had into coming out on top.

So what had happened?

Or had he simply decided to carve another path there?

For some people, the idea of becoming a villain was rock bottom. Judging from the way Ryouta spoke of them, he certainly considered that to be the truth now. However, when Aizawa had seen him as Dabi, he’d been one of the most powerful and feared members of the League of Villains. He’d become every bit as notorious as he could have as a hero, just in a different way. It was unsettling how parallel those two paths could be at times and, in a way, Ryouta was on both of them.

*

It had been three days since he’d given Dabi the go-ahead to destroy the support equipment warehouse and they hadn’t heard a word from him since.

Shigaraki was more than irritated. Dabi had proven himself to be a reliable member of the League of Villains, but he had a mind of his own as well and went off the rail at times. He’d gotten better at working on a team (something that all villains could stand to work on), but he still had that loner mentality too. Powerful as he was, he could be as unpredictable as his quirk and had been from the start.

It was times like these when he cursed the fact that Dabi was so damn hard-headed. Shigaraki knew that he should’ve sent someone else with him, but Dabi had been adamant that he could do it on his own. “Why send two people to do a one-man job?” he’d pointed out in that bored drawl of his. It was like he only had two modes: zero or one-hundred. They’d met each other at the latter and hadn’t killed each other yet. Back then, Kurogiri had considered that enough of a success to vouch for him.

Originally, the plan had been to send Twice and Spinner to take care of the warehouse, but Dabi had been the one to come up with the idea to strike the heroes in the support department and had wanted to be the one to go. Considering the nature of his quirk, he had a more personal stake in it. He knew what it was like to need the technology that helped a hero.

Getting that bit of information out of Dabi had been almost as painful as getting shot at the USJ and Shigaraki didn’t believe that he had been fully honest. Only Giran, who had come up with the Vanguard’s villain costumes and equipment, knew the truth, but Shigaraki hadn’t attempted to pry it out of him. Dabi hiding things from them was nothing new, seeing as how that wasn’t even his real name. He’d tell them when he was ready.

In the end, Shigaraki had agreed and sent Dabi to destroy the warehouse. He’d left with an almost gleeful grin on his face, waving and telling them to keep a close eye on the news. It would be flashy; that was for sure. With those blue flames, he had begun to leave his mark everywhere. It was good for the League. His quirk was much more destructive than most people’s and he could get the job done faster.

So where the hell was that asshole?

“Has anyone heard from Dabi recently?” Shigaraki demanded as he walked into the room.

Toga was sitting upside down on the couch, her knees hooked over the back while her head dangled where her feet should’ve been. “I sent him a bunch of messages and he never responded.” She casually twirled a knife in her fingers and began to straighten out her nails with it. “That’s not like him! He usually at least tells me to shut up.”

“Actually, I checked yesterday and he left his phone in his room,” Mr. Compress pointed out from his seat. “You know we’re not to take them on missions.”

Huffing to herself, Toga lifted her legs and slid them to the side, rotating herself back upright. “What if I want to get someone’s number?” she mumbled to herself, as if the fact that she would most likely be trying to attack or kill whoever she came across during a mission didn’t put a damper on her getting a person’s number.

“So he hasn’t been back since he attacked the warehouse,” Shigaraki said.

“Which we know he did,” Spinner added. “We saw it on the news. Man, those flames were massive!”

“There was no mention of his capture,” Mr. Compress supplied, thoughtfully stroking his chin. His favored mask was resting next to him at the moment. He’d gotten more comfortable not wearing them all the time. “They would have said something if he had been. Dabi is of some notoriety.”

And heroes couldn’t help but brag about their accomplishments. If Dabi had been captured, they would’ve blasted it all over the news in an attempt to shake up the League.

“Should we look for him?” Twice asked emphatically. “What if he abandoned us?”

Shigaraki shook his head. “He wouldn’t just leave.”

That was one thing that he was certain about. As much as they sometimes got close to coming to blows with each other and despite how aloof he came off, Shigaraki trusted Dabi. He was committed to their cause. He had his own reasons, of course, not that he would tell them beyond wanting to continue Stain’s legacy. He’d grown into his position in the League though. Made it his own. He wouldn’t fulfill his mission, one that he had come up with and volunteered for, and then just vanish off the face of the earth. There were things that he still had to do -- things he wanted to accomplish and destroy.

Dabi wouldn’t just leave them.

But his disappearance brought up a lot of questions and none of them were good. They needed to get to the bottom of this. Dabi was an important member of the League. He had to be found.

@mistystarshine​ notes: So we went with the option that went best with the narrative flow, but I will admit, there was serious discussion of putting the end scene at the top just so it would come off as: “Where the hell is Dabi?” *Gilligan cut to Ryouta being blasted out of a window*

I loved working on this chapter, but don’t have much to say about it because all of my good insightful stuff is spoiler-ridden or might make things too obvious. I’ll get wordy later on though! Promise! To make it up to you, here are some of my highlight comments from when we were editing the chapter:

- "tfw shigaraki fucking tomura shows more genuine care for his people than endeavor does for his children" - When All Might groans about Ryouta getting knocked unconscious twice in less than a week: *insert izuku flashback montage*

[bestwishes86]

Chapter 1 - The Extra Room

There is a common misconception about Hit Men. To be one you had to fit some almost mythical criteria. Anyone can be one, Suzie homemaker with two babies can pick up a ringing phone. Get a name and an address. Get a gun from the local supermarket and drive in that minivan to a location. Wait patiently for so and so to step out and shoot him in a place that causes enough blood loss to end his life. Then back to that modest two-story, bleach her hands so the gunpowder residue is gone. Check on her two babies that were sleeping safely, then get that notification. Her bank account received a deposit of more than zero.

There, little Suzie down the lane is a Hit Man. There isn’t an actual requirement to be one: unfortunately.

Kevin

Two men sit in a white Kia Hybrid a few meters away from a simple Greek revival home on Wisteria Lane in the town of Bakersfield, TX. It’s a little past ten at night and nothing is happening. They have been sitting for two hours in what Kevin Barton wished was silence. The sounds of skin slapping skin of a porno playing on the oversized smartphone of his partner in crime Fish was driving him out of his fucking mind. He a twenty-two-year-old man with pale skin, short spikey dark hair and baby fat rounded face was doing his best to ignore it. But his forty-two-year-old mentor was determined to break his concentration. So he just focused his attention on the lights in the home coming on one by one as a person moved from room to room.

The two had met years ago when Fish had been dating his mother, Glenda. Kevin had been a small, unruly teenager back then. Smoking cigarettes, staying out late, mad at the world with little faith in humanity. Fish had noticed one day that he was reading a book by Keats and stared at him. It had gone on until Kevin could not ignore the blue eyes on him and looked up. Fish, a tall lean man with wild salt and pepper curls that frames his sun-kissed golden skin with its wrinkles around his eyes watched him. Fish always wore a button down and slacks though for the life of him, Kevin had no idea what Fish did for a living.

“Do you need something, my mom is in another room?” Kevin asked before turning the page.

“Why did you do that?” Fish asked, looking thoughtful. His long eyebrows raised in confusion.

“You turned the page before you finished it, ” Fish said to the silence that Kevin responded with.

“An international sign for ”Fuck Off”, ” Kevin had stated in response. Fish chuckled but walked out of the brightly lit living room.

Glenda, a short dark-haired woman with a swimmer's body worked as a nurse at the local hospital and loved her son. But they had reached Kevin’s teenage years so their relationship was strained. She couldn’t understand him and he didn’t want her to. But Fish was their bridge it seemed. Everything he did. Fish knew and reported back to his mother. It became annoying to Kevin as conversations happened against his will. A box of condoms appeared in his sock drawer when he started staying over at friends’ homes. Little things that showed someone was paying attention to him.

Fish rarely spoke to him directly but he never missed anything important to Kevin. High school permission slips for field trips had his mother’s signatures on them. They sat in the key bowl on the Deacon Bench by the front door when needed. Or when there was a parent teacher conference and Glenda had work, he would go. He listened to tired adults explain how they thought Kevin worked. It was frustrating hearing their condemnation. But Fish listened and then responded, explaining Kevin’s motivations and more than once pointing out when he felt a teacher was overstepping their role in Kevin’s life.

Kevin like most people his age, accepted this in a way someone accepts a new brother or sister. He had never met his father, so Fish’s presence in his life just was. As he leveled out at 17 years old, he accepted Fish’s invites to movies he felt Kevin would enjoy. They took trips with Glenda to local places in their small Texas town and even drove up to Dallas. At some point, Kevin realized from his place in the back seat that his family was whole.

Glenda had been working late when a beautiful woman in a nurses outfit she had never seen pulled a small handgun from beneath her cupboard. The silencer made the gun seem larger as a bullet tore through skin and bone and burst through Glenda’s heart. The woman walked on as if she had not just shot someone in the chest. She slipped the gun into a trash can as she moved to the elevator.

Kevin and Fish had been in the small cluttered kitchen making lasagna when the wall phone rang. Kevin had been talking about a girl who was a friend and not his girlfriend while Fish had been laying the home made strips of pasta. The ringing had cut through the uproarous conversation like a hot knife through butter. Kevin had rushed to answer it in case it was Tiffany. He had stolen her Geometry book when they had been together an hour ago. It was his plan for her to call and he would walk it over. He would get a kiss at least or die trying.

The call had not been from Tiffany, but from the police informing them of the shooting. The pair of men had grabbed their coats and were out the door in no time. The winter chill had come to Texas harsher than most years that year. Kevin had mumbled about mistakes, that someone else could have been shot from where he sat in the passenger seat. While Fish had been silent, his eyes forward but his mind somewhere else. Somewhere dark and cold, he had retired from his former line of work because Glenda had asked him to. But as they came to the hospital with it’s brightly lit entry way colored in reds and blues of flashing police lights, Fish felt that coldness creep into his soul. He told Kevin to go on inside and he was going to park the car. Which wasn’t a lie, he just had a call to make first.

Kristine Chapman was and is a handler. Her job is a finder of jobs and for people to perform them. When Fish had been discharged from the Army she had appeared on his doorstep. Dressed in a white skirt that showed her long shapely legs in a set of ruby red pumps. Fish had followed the pearl white legs to the form fitting white skirt and up to the large black leather belt there only for appearance and then higher to the magenta blouse of silk. She wore no jewelry but none was needed as he looked at her half halo face and the simple blonde curls, styled to fall over one eye from beneath a round black hat. Her red lips smiled at him and he knew nothing good would come from her presence in his life. A decade later he wasn’t wrong.

“Why?” he asked as he sat in the car with his eyes on the police cars.

“Why what?” Kristine answered, her strong voice making his blood boil.

“Nothing happens in Texas unless you sanction it. So let's not pretend either of us are dumb.” he barked into the phone.

“I still have no idea what you're talking about or why after nearly a decade you’re calling me.” Kristine said as she paused the episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” and looked at the image of Patrick Dempsey on her large television.

“So if I go in there and see my girlfriend’s body there won’t be any sign of a hit.” he said it as a statement.

“A multimillion dollar company choosing to expend numerous resources to track you down and kill...not you, but a homemaker? That doesn't sound like something I would do.” Kristine said though it was in fact what she had done. She hung up and pressed play and Meridth stepped into the elevator with Derek. Kristine smiled to herself and waited, for a second call.

Kevin had been crestfallen with the news it had not been a mistake and his mother was in fact gone. Fish had held him as the boy cried against his flannel shirt. In his mind he ran through so many possibilities. Ditching Kevin and going on a one man revenge quest seems entirely impossible. The boy was like a son to him, there was no way to just leave him. So he had let him grieve, watched Kevin invite his bestfriend Eben Barzuk to their home. Tiffany had come as well and the trio stayed close to one another as the two strangers to him had tried to help ease Kevin through the process of grief.

It wasn’t until the body of Glenda Barton was buried and he stood beside the young man that Fish explained who he was and what he used to do. Kevin had been shocked as Fish explained how hits worked and his plan for revenge. It had taken one year for Kevin to learn to shoot a gun, the location of pressure points and which could stop blood flow. He had watched the teenager recede into himself as this happened. There was no teenage wants left by the time he had broke Kevin of any of that shit. Eben had been like shit on a shoe with how much effort it had taken to get the young man out of Kevin’s thoughts. But finally it had been done.

Together they took a plane to Arizona where it seemed to always be sunny and went out into the desert in a rental car and saw Kristine together. She had answered the door of a square White House out in the middle of nowhere with a pearl handled gun and invited them in. Kevin had been a bundle of nerves at the sight of the beautiful woman who guardly let them in. Fish did the talking and soon both were employed by Kristine. Four years later and here they sat waiting for Marvin Gutierrez to finally settle on a place to die in his home.

The guttural moaning of men rutting snapped Kevin’s focus like a thin tree branch. He glanced at Fish who was looking at him. Fish silently studied Kevin as the gay porn continued to illuminate their features. Kevin’s storm cloud gray eyes looked at the video of two buff men slamming into one another like they were wrestling but the movement was repeated over and over and over.

“You need some more attention training Kev, also do we need to have a talk about boys?” Fish asked, a smile on those thin lips framed by stubble. Kevin felt his face grow heated as he turned back to the house.

“No and hell the fuck no. Now let's go, ” Kevin said getting out of the car. He closed the door quietly, his psyche stilling as he focused on the layout of the home. Before every job they both looked at the blue prints of where the kill would happen. It wasn’t until they could draw them from memory that they reached the next stage of planning. Which was the most effective ways to kill their target. Kevin had been naive in the beginning and believed guns were best. Soon he knew better, a bullet doesn't always put someone down. Sometimes adrenaline running through a body can give them more time on their feet to get at him. Or raise alarms and things got more messy very quickly.

He opens the trunk and looks around the different containers of their weapons cache. Fish came round and instead of grabbing things just watched him pick. Kevin chose a modified Browning handgun, a silencer, two knives and a flash bomb.

“Interesting.” Fish said offhandedly and Kevin groaned. After year's of doing this he had come to learn many of Fish’s idiosyncrasies. This was his disappointment ‘Interesting’.

“What would you pick, ” Kevin asked with an annoyed tone.

“A gun, a knife.” Fish said. Kevin put everything back and grabbed the gun, silencer, and a switchblade and closed the trunk. They had the cover of night around them, dressed in black shirts and slacks the pair make their way down the street to the home. Days of survelilance had taught them Marvin’s schedule so they knew he was starting dinner. Scaling the wooden fence thanks to their leather gloves and tread safe shoes, they drop soundlessly into his backyard. Kevin breaks away from Fish and slips into a side window left open for a breeze to pass through the home.

Fish had taken Kevin on a tour of the home while Marvin was at work. So he knew that though the floor was wooden it still made noises in certain places. Fish came through the living room through his own window on the other side of the home. Using sign language the two communicated doing a sweep of the bottom floor before going for Marvin. Fish went back the way he came and Kevin creeped left down the hallway. As he moved he checked the two rooms on his side. A library and a guest room were both empty. He used to think the two should wear masks, but Fish explained that so many options could occur in the space of 30 seconds based off what the victim interpreted.

The psychology of a intended target went back to association. Many saw a person in a mask and instantly think robber. Which gives them the illusion of having a fighting chance. If they see a person bold enough not to wear a mask, there mind would try and place the face in their memories. During that time of uncertainty, he was instructed to strike. Walking along the halls he saw the authentic Spanish paintings on the walls in ornate polished wooden frames behind glass. Kevin used their reflections from the glass of the frame to see if anyone was in rooms as he checked each. He came to the kitchen and looked around but didn’t see Fish. Confused but confident, he pushed open the door silently.

A bullet whizzed past his cheek, Kevin dived to the right as a second struck the doorframe where he had been seconds before. Taking cover behind the island he scrambled to his right as Marvin came around the island. Kevin dived forward rolling under the metal dining table and rising lifted it off the ground and slammed it down so it was vertical as plates of food crashed to the ground. Another bullet slammed into the metal and Kevin gritted his teeth against the force of it shaking the metal table.

“Where the hell is Fish!?”Kevin thought as he unholstered his own gun and waited. He thumbed off the safety and breathed. But there was a silence in the kitchen, he raised his head a bit and saw the room was empty save for him.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he rose to his feet and with his gun raised walked the length of the kitchen. A feeling of unease settled between his shoulders as he inched out into the hallway. In the space of two minutes Marvin could be anywhere in the home. He hadn’t heard a door open or close so he guessed Marvin had taken cover in the living room and was on a phone to the police but there was no sound of sirens in the distance. A crash of breaking glass came from further back in the home and he thundered towards it. His feet pounding the ground as he moved into the lit living room. Marvin had smashed the glass of a window and was attempting to get out that way but Kevin squeezes the trigger.

With a loud pop a bullet tore into the flesh of Marvin’s left leg. The large man in a brown suit shook half out of the window. With a cry Marvin fell to the wooden floor and rolled on his back and fired a shot at Kevin who had already taken cover behind the couch. He lay on the ground and shot again using the view of Marvin through the space between the floor and couch bottom. The bullet caught Marvin in the side. Standing, Kevin rounded the couch and shot Marvin in chest and the shaking body went still.

“Way to fuck this up royally,” Fish’s stern voice said from behind him and Kevin felt bile touch his tongue as he turned to look at his mentor leaning against the wall.

“Where the hell were you?!” Kevin’s demanded to know. This wasn’t how they worked, they were a team. Neither went lone Wolf on a job. It was Fish’s rule.

“I found a room not on the blueprints and thought it was a panic room. At the sound of gunshots I figured you would have missed and was waiting for him there.” Fish explained folding his arms over his chest indignantly.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Kevin said confused as he looked at Marvin who lay in his blood, eyes closed.

“What do you mean?” Fish asked stepping up next to him.

“If he had a panic room why try for a window to escape from?” Kevin murmured looking at the broken glass. He walked up to it and tried to lift the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

“C’mere I’ll show you the room.” Fish said, together they walked to the hall and down to what the blueprints had shown to be a closet. But when Kevin opened the door it led a few feet back to another door that had been obscured by hanging jackets. Kevin opened the second door and his eyes widened. There on shelves were pink plastic wrapped bags of marijuana and cocaine illuminated by an uncovered light. Each a foot by a foot in size. The two walked on back to a simple black safe with a spinning dial lock.

“Think you can crack it open?” Fish asked, out of the two of them Kevin was the lock pick.

“We should go.” Kevin said shaking his head.

“Why?” Fish replied flatly.

“The intel was wrong, Marvin was waiting for me in the kitchen, the millions here in drugs? Its obvious this is not a simple bookie. This is a drug dealer,” Kevin stammered that sense of unease turning to dread and his stomach twisted as anxiety set in.

“More reason to open the safe and take what’s inside,” Fish said patting Kevin on the shoulder. Kevin had to admit he didn’t dislike that logic, if the drugs weren’t in lock and key but the safe was then that meant there was something better in it.

Crouching in front of it, Kevin pressed his ear to the cool metal and tried different combinations. He listened for the pins to align. He worked hastily, his mind on how long it would take for a neighbor to report the gunshots. His forehead beaded with sweat as he continued to focus only on the lock. Fish waited, listening out for anything that could halt the process. Finally with a click the lock opened and the door swung open revealing stacks of cash.

“Holy…” Kevin whispered as he looked. There among the stacks were two photos and a stack of passports. He picked up the photos and stepped back. Fish busied himself grabbing the cash and putting it in a plastic garbage bag and Kevin knew he should wonder where the bag had come from but instead he was more interested in the photos. One was of his mother smiling at someone. The photo was curling at the edges with age and seeing it made Kevin’s heart hurt, the other was a Polaroid of a smiling bearded man in a white t-shirt. The man had olive skin with large brown eyes, his dark hair was straight and curly at the same time. He grinned broadly while gesturing at a shinny new car.

“Hey space cadet, we gotta go, grab a bag.” Fish shouted snapping Kevin back to reality as the sound of sirens in the distance finally reached his awareness. Kevin shoved the photos in his pocket and grabbed one of two heavy garbage bags. Together they moved away from the room, Kevin closed the door to the sad end then the room’s door as they moved. As they swiftly moved through the house the feeling of dread opened up in him as if a cavern he was falling into.

[rainsonata]

Friend

Fandom/Shipping(s): Elsword; none Rating: K Word Count: 3,556

Summary: It started with Time’s black nails.  Time became friends with Arc as he wondered when his dad would come home.  MMLP Modern AU developed with @blazingsnark, where MM and LP are single dads to AT and PT.    

Note:  Rest of MMLP Modern AU can be found here.      

The lights were off when Time turned the doorknob with one hand and entered the unlocked classroom.  With the flip of a switch, light flooded the empty room and blinded him for a moment before he blinked to adjust his eyes.  He threw his backpack on his desk near the back, where he could avoid the teacher’s judgmental sight and went to write the date and period on the whiteboard with a purple marker he always brought with him.  

He couldn't pretend to be the student that said they loved school, it sounded too nerdy and uncool.  It was hard to place his thoughts on what school was aside from what it was supposed to be: a place to go to everyday because it was his job and there was nowhere else for him, like it was Dad's job to go to work and come home if he remembered.  Not too different from what he did every day. 

Even though the optometrist warned not to, Time rubbed the patch covering his left eye.  It was hard not to.  They said it was temporary and that eye needed rest, but he felt ridiculous wearing it when it made him look like an anime character.  He paused on that thought with amusement.  Being an anime character sounded easier than going to middle school.  They spent more time saving the world than studying or worrying about what other kids said about each other.  

The clock’s big hand pointed to the number five when the door slammed open, hitting the wall adjacent to it with a thud.  He jolted from where he stood, still at the board and gazing at the schedule written from last week.  Standing at the door wasn't the teacher, but a student.  They walked to where Time was and stared at his writing with disapproval.  

“Morning,” Time greeted them.  

“So you're the one writing on the board,” they mumbled, grimacing like there was something on his face.  “Did you finish last weekend’s homework?”

“A little,” Time lied.  Of course he finished it, and the reading too.  “You're early today.”  He gestured his hand over to the clock.

They grabbed his arm and raised it to reveal black nails painted on all five digits, “Hey, Halloween’s over.”

Time’s mind froze, wide eyed that this was happening.  He threw his arm the opposite direction, ripping it away from them with shame and rage floating through his mind.  So what if he thought black nails were cool after watching his cousin paint her nails before asking if he wanted to learn.  He thought black nails would be better than the red nail polish his cousin wanted to apply on him.  

“You're weird,” they commented while Time struggled to conjure something to say.  He was never one to really talk back and he didn't want to deal with this person either.  

Time shrunk away from their words and sank back his seat with dread.  He should have spoken up when he had the chance, but something stopped him from even moving his lips.  The student was already walking away and talking to someone else in the classroom, no point in trying.  It would make him sound like he's trying too hard to sound tough.  

“Are you okay?”

Time turned to see his neighbor look at him with concern, fluffy jacket ruffled as he slipped it off his back to reveal a boy with white hair.  Huh...Arc was early today, an unusual gesture when he was almost always late to homeroom.  

“It's nothing,” Time shook his head, although he glanced at his nails again.  They were a little off and he could have done a better job with the coating, but he thought they were good for the first time.  

“Did you paint your nails black?” Arc asked.  Oh no, not him too… “Cool!”

Was this guy stupid?  Time checked his face if he was joking, but saw the other smiling with that dumb fringe flopped over one side of his face.  Arc usually talked to other people around them, why him today?  He did well on tests, so it couldn't be to copy off him.  

“Um...sure,” was all Time could muster, uncomfortable of being stared at.  They sat next to each other in three periods, why was this awkward?

“Can you show me how to do that?” Arc asked, “Wanna hang out sometime?”

“For what?” That came out more blunt than intended.  Time mumbled a sorry, but Arc wasn't fazed and laughed.  

“I dunno,” he shrugged.  “The mall?  The arcade?”

There was an arcade close to his house, but he never went inside before.  It was always dark when he peeked inside with neon lights flashing from the machines with teenagers shrieking.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to go in.  

“Don’t we have a test coming up?” Time asked.

“Gross,” Arc said with no sign of worry about said test.   

What was he doing saying no to someone wanting to hang out with him?  Test or not, he had more than enough time to study for it.  Arc was annoying and talked a lot in class, but never intentionally bothered him or tried being snarky to him, although the occasional snide comments he made in class were worth a chuckle.  

“Okay, but it’s Friday.” Arc waved his hand, “Who studies on Fridays?”

Heat traveled up Time’s ears as he stopped himself from blurting out embarrassing things that could only mess him up further.  Okay, so maybe he had too much time, but did Arc have to make it sound stupid?  Pushing aside his pride from telling Arc to fuck off, Time rubbed his face to see that it was still hot.  He needed to stop overreacting to stuff like this before turning permanently red.

Time said.  “What’s so special about this arcade that I can’t do the same at home?”

“One, it has the newest, coolest, games, like that shooting game that lets you fight as a robot.  Two, awesome prizes.  They’re going to put up that new console when it comes out and there’s even a hoverboard!  Glide to class in style and never being late to class again.”  Arc demonstrated himself balancing on his seat with a stupid grin.  “And three, they have the best fries.”    

“I think you need that hoverboard more than me,” Time snorted.  “The Switch isn’t coming out for another year and what game are you even going to get with that?”

“What I’m trying to say here is, you’re missing out.”  

Time asked, “You’re not going to make me do stupid dumb like karaoke, are you?”

“What?  No!” Arc laughed, “But if you want…”

Time placed his hand in front of Arc to shut up, “Tell me about those games.”    

Arc had a jacket too big for his size thrown over his shoulders and his shoes half way done when Time caught up later that day.  When they stepped inside, bright lights flickered from giant screens coming from different directions and packed with people.    

The ceiling was decorated like the night sky with dim lights, packed with arcade games that would make any teen burn away their week’s saving on the whim.  Shooting games, claw machines, rhythm games, and many untranslated games imported from a foreign country flashed in blinding colors, but that made Time as ecstatic as Arc, who was beaming.   

“You haven't been here, right?” Arc led him through the rows of machines.  “I have enough for some games, so we can use my card.  I almost have enough tickets for the big prize.”

Oh, he wanted him to help earn tickets.  Time thought it made sense, seemed fair since this was Arc’s money they were using.

“I’ve spent months trying to win this and Psych’s been helping me too,” Arc said as he led him through the side of the arcade that led to a room filled with prizes hanging off shelves and set behind glass cases.  Tags hung over all of them with big numbers to indicate the tickets required to trade for them.    

There were necklaces, stickers, plastic figurines on the lower shelves, stuff Time assumed to be the ones requiring less tickets.  On the higher shelves were stuffed animals of standard size, star shaped lamps, even game consoles.  Standing in the back was a black rabbit plush with pink beaded eyes, the size of a small child and easily taking up half of his bed if he was to measure it.

“What are you looking at?” Arc asked when he caught Time staring at the plush.

Time averted his eyes, careful not to look at Arc either, “So what’s the prize?”  He scanned the shelves for what he thought Arc would have his eyes fixed on.  What could Arc want that costed so much?

“There’s a steel metal frame bike back there,” Arc pointed to the one sitting behind the counter, “It can do tricks and it’s supposed to be fast.”

“Neat,” Time leaned over to see the black handlebar sticking out.  It had silver linings too and the cushion seat didn’t look uncomfortable, better than the ones used for kid bikes.  It was no surprise that it was one of the more expensive prizes.  “You really think we can win enough for it?”  

“If we play enough, yeah.”  Arc waved his card around and flashed a grin, “Don’t bother with the claw machines.  The real money comes from the shooters.”  

“You mean that new game they just released?”

Giant robots, feminine looking men, and girls in skimpy outfits holding laser guns several times their size seemed to be the aesthetic when Time saw the posters.  It didn’t take long to find the machine.  It was the newest one with polished screens and it had a line.  A pink haired girl with an energetic voice greeted them when they swipe Arc’s card to begin.  It took another few minutes for them to get past the character selection page - no customizing, but plenty of characters pick and choose.  

“We get two guns?” Time almost dropped his when he discovered it was two guns held together by a magnetic force.  He glanced over his shoulder to mirror Arc, who separated the two and pointed at the screen to select the ready button.  It was a shooting game, couldn’t be too complicated.   

There wasn’t much time for talk because the game threw them head first into a city empty of civilians and filled with robots.  The cheery voice from the title screen was back and throwing them orders in a language neither could understand.  All Time could do was use the icons and green arrows for guidance as he and Arc attempted to follow the game’s cue to fulfill its demands.     

“Got it!” Arc cheered when he shot down a few robots and slammed the two guns together for a bigger shot, “Did you see that?”  

Time looked over to see a cleared screen of enemies fading into the background before another wave showed up.  He gasped in shock when he turned back to see his character was losing too much health and slapped his finger into the trigger to clear his own screen.  

“Is that it?” Time frowned when there was a delay on both of their screens.  How many kills did Arc have?  

There was a loud sound coming from their screens when a bigger robot crashed in with a thud, only allowing giving Time a couple of seconds to move his character to narrowly avoid getting hit before shooting at it.  He saw Arc follow suit, but he was less than lucky and had half of his health points lost.  After they finished off the final boss, a smaller screen with red numbers popped out to display their scores, comparing their number of kills and health lost.

It was a tie.  

Time wiped his brow, still in awe when he looked away from the screen.  His eyes felt strange looking into darkness again after the rainbow flood his vision.  He had to grasp the head of his seat when he got off to avoid falling over.  They had to play that again.  

“Look at how much we won,” Arc ripped out a line of tickets for show.  “Seven tickets each, that’s fourteen.”

Time grabbed his tickets from Arc with a content expression, “How many tickets did you say you needed?”

As they jumped to the next machine, Time found himself lost in the midst of it all.  There was no feeling of rush when they ran through the rhythm games or when Arc tried to pull something from the claw machine with no success.  It wasn’t until he checked his phone did he realize how much time has passed.  

“I should have been home an hour ago,” Time groaned, “Dad won’t be happy.”  

“I can’t come over?” Arc sounded guilty.  “We can study if you want, I have my stuff.”

“I guess you can,” Time said.

Well...if they were studying, maybe Dad would let it slip when it’s related to school.  Time prayed that his dad wouldn’t mind having someone over when he didn’t warn him ahead of time.  He texted him anyway when they left the arcade to be safe, but not before he stole a glance from the black rabbit at the prize shop.  Maybe he could come back alone next time.          

They were greeted by an empty house when they stepped into Time’s house with their backpacks on the floor.  It was well furnished with a black sofa pushed against lavender painted walls and a chair to the side with a coffee table in the middle to match with the furniture.  Books cluttered the bookshelves and the white carpet didn’t look past a day of its installment.  The only signs of someone living in the house was a black cat using the scratch post in the corner when it heard its owner and started meowing.  Ah...Paranoia was hungry.    

After feeding the cat and fixing up a quick after school snack of cheese and crackers, they sat on the living room floor with their legs crossed and their backpacks on the opposite side of them.  Textbooks and notes spread out with pens and papers scattered on the coffee table.  

“Have you ever tried painting your nails other colors?” Arc asked as he flipped over to skim over the review questions at the end of the chapter, pressing his finger into temple in concentration.  

“Black is a better color,” Time said without second thought, never mind that he knew Arc was trying to change topics to avoid studying his least favorite subject.  He thought it was funny watching his friend make a face at the history book cover.  “What answer did you get for the last question?”

“A person living under a king or dictator,” Arc checked his book to see if he was right and sighed.  “Yeah, black is awesome, but what if you painted it blue or green?  Or rainbow?” He asked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.  

“No one is going to take me seriously,” Time complained.  “How about I add sparkles to your nails and make it rainbow.”  

“Ooh, scary.”  The other laughed at his threat, “You don’t know how to do that.” 

He painted his nails with one color before, but six?  Time wasn’t sure if he had enough faith in his nail painting skills when he had only done it a few times, although painting Arc’s nails in bright neon colors wasn’t a bad idea.  

“I can always watch videos to learn how,” Time grinned.

Arc turned to make a comeback, but his expression faltered when the door opened.   

Walking into the living room was a man somewhere in his thirties, wearing a black turtleneck with a white labcoat in his arms.  His face was as pale as Time’s when Esper saw the eleven year olds sitting on the floor.

“D-dad, you’re home early,” Time squeaked.  There weren’t any texts from him mentioning coming home today, did something happen?   

“Lab closed early today because the boss’s kid got sick,” Esper said.  “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, we’re almost done.”  Time shook his head, still getting over that his dad was home and it wasn’t a weekend.  The next holiday wouldn’t be for another month or so and Esper wasn’t sick.   

Esper nodded at Arc, “I’m Time’s father.  And you are...”  

“Arc, sorry for intruding,” Arc said with pink cheeks.  

“You’re welcome to come here if Time invites you,” Esper said, but he looked like he would rather be somewhere else.  He glanced at Arc’s features with an unreadable expression, eye moving over to scrutinize Time.  

Time wished he yelled at Arc to stay a little bit longer because when he left, the house was silent again.  He knew Esper was going to bombard him with questions because it has been years since he last invited someone his age to come over like this.  The kitchen smelled of Esper’s amazing cooking, but it didn’t make up for the awkwardness between father and son.  

“I bought you new nail polish,” Esper said when they were at the table.  “It’s the brand you wanted.”  

Time smiled in appreciation that Esper remembered, even if he only said it once or twice when he ran out of black nail polish.         

“So, where is that from?” Esper saw a new addition hanging off his backpack.  It was a keychain of a monster from one of those handheld games, a turtle with a plant sprouting from its back. “I don’t remember buying that.”    

“Arc gave it to me,” Time said.  In the end, there wasn’t enough tickets for the bike, but impulse fell over them and they agreed to get keychains from the prize shop.  He had a turtle and Arc got the penguin.  There was a third one, a monkey, but Arc took it and said he thought it was funny looking.  As long as it went under one hundred tickets, no harm.  “We went to the arcade and won them.  We studied too, I’ll clean up-”

“We can clean up later,” Esper said, uncomfortable when Time gave him that wide eyed look at the word ‘we’.  “Um...  work gave me vacation next month and Christmas is coming up.  We’ll have a few free weeks and plane tickets will be gone quick.  Is there anywhere you want to go?”  

Last year, they went to the tropical islands and he got to skip a few days of school early with Esper telling the teachers he was sick.  The water was warm and clear unlike the cloudy river not too far from their house and the sand was as fine as silk.  He liked the idea of going somewhere where work couldn’t call Esper away from him, but then he thought about Arc, who didn’t mention about going away for Christmas.  If he went away, that meant being away from home and by the time they get back, he would have to worry about school again.   

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” Time stared at his feet, away from Esper’s surprised expression.  “Can we spend Christmas at home this year?  And drink hot chocolate like we did with M-, the other year?”  

Esper’s hot chocolate wasn’t the premade ones that came in packets from the supermarket, but homemade from years of experimenting and the cookies that came along with it always had the right amount of sugar.  He used to let Time decorate them with buttercream frosting from a recipe they found online that no longer existed.  With ugly sweaters and blanket draped, it was almost easy to forget it was snowing outside.       

The man turned off the stove and went to grab two plates for them, not answering immediately with a stiff expression on his face while calculating a proper response.  When he came back with food, he placed them at the table, biting his cheek with his eyes blinking.   

“You want to stay home?” Esper handed the utensils from the drawer to Time for him to set up the table.  “If that’s what you want…”

The man was startled when Time pulled him into a tight hug, arms wrapped around his thin waist with his head against his chest.  Esper gave him awkward pats on the head, but didn’t wriggle out of the embrace and let Time stay there. 

Esper relaxed when they separated from the hug.  Today’s dinner was different for many reasons.  For Time, it was sitting at a table with Esper instead of coming home to leftovers with a text from him that he was going to be late again.  For Esper, it was harder to tell, but Time thought it was because he was having a good day to be away from work.  Even though the holidays were still a month away, he wished for November to pass by faster so he could get to spending time with Esper and hanging out with Arc.  

After he helped washed the dishes and brought his stuff back to his room.  Time said nothing when he joined Esper in the living room to clear his books and learning material, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have said something.  Perhaps he was wrong in thinking spending time with him was all it took to make Esper happy.      

Author Notes: I have no excuse in writing this except I want happy Time to be friends with Arc and Psych so he won’t be lonely ; w;.  I haven’t introduced Psych yet, but I want to in another fic.  Please let these children be happy.  I decided to write from Time’s POV because I realized I’ve never done that before, so I wanted to change that and practice writing from someone else’s perspective.  Thank you @dezimaton and @zeloree for beta reading and helping me out with the details!

[stark3000forever]

I'd like to clarify something

I love Tony Stark, adore him even. I don't like Steve Rogers. At all. But I don't have to HATE Steve to like Tony. To me, Steve Rogers is a man who isn't in the right place. I don't think he should lead the Avengers because, let's face it, the man is literally out of his own time. He doesn't know how the world has changed, he hasn't seen how the politics of being an icon work. Mentally the man is only 26 (I think?) and so he's pretty young himself, especially compared to most of the other Avengers. People put Captain America on a pedestal and made him seem perfect despite him being just a man and so he's held to a higher standard; he's America's Golden Boy. He had just lost his best friend and figured he was going to die saving his country only to wake up and realize all his friends were gone and that the woman he loved was an old woman he wouldn't have for long. Steve Rogers had a lot of shit on his plate and now he has to navigate a brand new century with aliens and technology he never imagined so he's going to make a few mistakes and bad calls. Tony Stark has been in the spotlight all his life, from a naive child, to an ungrateful, spoiled rotten teenager, to a narcissistic weapons dealer who knows he's smart and handsome and uses it to however he can, to what he is now; a man trying to redeem himself. If Afghanistan and Obadiah had never happened do I think Tony would've stopped dealing? Honestly I don't. If he'd never had to face what his weapons had caused I don't believe Tony would've become a better man. But he did see what his weapons did, he saw his weapons being sold to terrorists and he was tortured. When he came back Tony had obvious PTSD, gee I wonder why! You get Cap and Tony's first meeting and it's already going south. Tony heard all about Steve Rogers all his life. Howard told Tony stories about how great he was, about how perfect, Tony was neglected by Howard while Steve was so important to Howard. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why Tony resents Steve and he is petty when he calls Steve those names and acts like he does. Steve on the other hand, can't figure out how Tony is related to someone like Howard because the Howard he knew was so different to the one Tony knew. He thinks Tony is this narcissistic bastard (which to be fair...yeah he kinda is) and he is pretty much repulsed by the guy because there's no way his friend's kid should've ended up like that. Then we get into Tony hacking SHIELD because he's Tony and knows something isn't being explained. Steve is a military man, he follows orders, you don't go hacking the higher ranks because you don't like what you hear. Tony is being smug because he knows Fury needs him and Banner to track the Tesseract while Steve is basically useless. Steve can't believe that Tony is blatantly doing stuff like this but once he hears how Fury is the top spy and his secrets have secrets he gets suspicious. Because they work together (to spite each other so does it count as working together??) they figure out why Fury is so desperate to get the Cube back; that's Steve's first big slap in the face that humans haven't changed and that people are still trying to do whatever it takes to get ahead. Then come Ultron. To be honest I don't think Tony and Steve ever got away from those first impressions because they never really trust each other. When they get Loki's staff, and after Wanda has played with Tony's head, he asks Thor's permission to do tests and research on the staff to which Thor says yes. When Tony and Bruce realize the stone is, essentially, a very advanced AI Tony realizes that these specs could be the key to unlocking Ultron, a world wide defense. Bruce says it sounds like cold world but agrees to help him research. Bruce was there people! As they go to the party they say they are nowhere close to an interface. The gem, which is an alien artifact with intelligence, is what creates Ultron; Tony didn't set up the program, he wasn't even close to it. But Ultron comes to life and kicks the Avengers' collective asses. This is where my first major problem comes from. So Steve and team grill Tony (but not Bruce at all who cowers and hides back while Tony takes all the heat) and get in his face about SECRETS and how they're dangerous. Tony tried to explain how they weren't even close and he doesn't know how this happened but then Thor, a GOD, attacks Tony who is OUT OF HIS SUIT, but no one makes a move to help him. Cap doesn't say a word to intervene he just lets Thor hold Tony by the throat. Okayyy but he's the team leader right?? Aren't leaders supposed to, I don't know, step in at this point? I get it I'm Tony biased, but Tony is a civilian and not trained like most of the other people in the room. SOMEONE should have stepped in, it didn't have to be Steve but as the leader one would expect him to wouldn't they? Then Tony is blamed for Ultron the entire time and, yes the program was his idea, but he didn't create Ultron, the gem did and that's explained even. By the end of the movie Steve takes in Wanda, who he sees as just a kid, and brings her in without a word to anyone else. This girl invaded their minds, including Steve's!, and unleashed the Hulk on civilians and let herself be turned into a weapon but Steve willingly takes her into TONY'S home and she never, that we saw, apologizes for her actions. That's my first big problem. Civil War was a cluster fuck, there's no way around that. With the grief of Peggy and his mind constantly on Bucky yeah, his judgement is gonna be a bit clouded. He's grieving the love of his life and his last tie to his time; I don't blame him. Tony is trying to lay low after Ultron because he blames himself and others blame him as well. When the Accords come up he's trying to stay on the law's side on this one because he's already on thin ice. But look at it this way. The Avengers burst into countries, take out the bad guy and half the city, and then leave. Tony takes care of the damages, not them. In the beginning scene they were in that country trying to stop Hydra agents and Wanda lost control her powers. She didn't mean to buy the resent is the same; people, innocent civilians, were killed. Countries probably feel a bit...annoyed that the superheroes cause so much damage while saving them. Yes they get saved but look at the aftermath of it most of the time. 117 countries say they want to be able to bring in the Avengers, not let the Avengers just waltz in. These aren't just rules to tie them down people are actually voting this way! They want the Avengers to back off. Steve says no because it ties their hands and they can't help everyone despite telling Wanda earlier that 'sometimes people die and you just have to keep going' and I get the sentiment but I still think that was the wrong thing to say, it made him, to me, sound so self-righteous. Steve wants to help and doesn't trust the government because look at how deep Hydra was!! Ross is bad news and everyone knows it. Tony knows this, he understands. But he also knows you can't make change if you don't compromise. He's been in this game all his life and he knows how to play it; Steve doesn't. He just will not listen and thinks Tony is just trying to save his own ass. And maybe he is but 117 countries are telling the Avengers that they have a major problem with them. Then comes Bucky and that's Steve's blind spot. Okay no one knew Bucky was innocent. All we saw was a tape and it showed the Winter Soldier, or at least a look alike. Steve rushed in because they wanted to take him out but Steve wouldn't allow that. Look at all the damage he caused trying to get to Bucky. He's his friend and he wants to help him but look at all the damage he caused! That only brought more trouble in. When they bring him in Tony almost got Steve to sign and Bucky would've gotten help but once he hears about Wanda the deal is off and I'm sorry but being confined to basically a mansion with the man I'm in love with after accidentally killing people? I can think of worse! Steve was idiotic to shut down that offer because of something like that. Tony should've explained yes but Steve should've thought it through, it was a miscommunication. Then Bucky breaks free and hell breaks loose. We have the battle and Spider-Man and no Tony shouldn't have brought in a kid to fight but Steve dropped a fucking tanker said kid so sorry boys but you both lost points with me there! Only later did they find the proof needed to show that Bucky was innocent but Steve never told anyone! He kept it to himself even when it could've helped! Steve what are you doing? Then Tony shows up in Siberia willing to help only to find out that Cap knew his parents had not only been murdered but by the hand of his best friend he'd jeopardized everything to save. Tony should not have gone off like that because it wasn't Bucky, it was the brainwashing!! But this all caught Tony by surprise, he'd never known any of this!! And Steve had kept this whole thing SECRET. This could've been if Steve had told him. A lot of people say 'well why was it Steve's job!?' okay but didn't Steve get in Tony's face about secrets and how they can damage things? If Tony had already known these things Siberia would never have happened. (And let's not go into TWO SUPER SOLDIERS VS A CIVILIAN because that'll get ugly so no) My point is; yes I'm Tony biased but I don't think he's perfect. Tony Stark made a lot of mistakes! Steve Rogers made a lot of mistakes! I just happen to agree more with Tony's decisions than Steve's.

[fakingitfanfiction]

Her Latest Flame Chapter 18: Not Entirely

A/N:  Last chapter from Sophie’s POV.  Both her and Reagan next chapter. Previous Chapters

This, Sophie thinks, is a story all about how her life got flipped-turned upside down.

And, she thinks, she needs to stop watching TV Land at night. Fucking Fresh Prince. But, see, this is the sort of thing that goes on in her head when she’s freaking - and she’s been doing that since Reagan opened the door and that was yesterday - and this is what Sophie does when she doesn’t want to think anymore.

She talks.

“I can’t believe she would do this.”

She talks cause, really, she doesn’t know what else to do.

“I can't believe she would do this.”

(It’s the emphasis. It makes all the difference.)

She talks about Amy cause, well, what the fuck else would she talk about? Her feelings? Like, maybe about how being this close to Reagan - even now, even after - still makes her heart race and her palms sweat? Or, you know, how maybe if her palms were the only part of her that got damp from being so near to Reagan, then maybe then the rest of this - the whole sleeping with my roomie who just happens to be your ex slash the one that got away slash the love of your fucking life bit - wouldn’t be such an issue.

She’s drunk, but she’s not that drunk.

Not yet, anyway.

“I. Cannot. Believe. She. Would do this.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sophie knows. Even through the fog of however many beers she’s had (and she’s had a few) (but fewer than Reagan) (even if Reagan keeps putting her empties in her pile, like that’s some Potter-esque voodoo that will somehow magically make Sophie the drunker of the two) she gets that she’s said that once or twice before.

It might be more than twice. It's probably more than twice. Or three times. Or, you know, once an hour on the hour and then maybe a few more times sprinkled in - like on the tens - but she's got to keep saying it cause it's true. She can’t believe it.

And, it should be noted, can’t is different than won’t and that’s a difference Sophie is all too well fucking aware of thank you, very much. She tried ‘won’t’, like at first, like right when Reagan opened the door and it all got so clear, so fast. Even in the face of that, even with Amy’s phone in Reagan’s hand and Amy not having been reachable all day (at least not by her, cause Sophie is like 99.999999% sure Reagan reached her more than fucking once), and even in the face of Reagan’s stammering apology - that, thankfully, didn’t start or end with 'this isn’t what it looks like’ cause, let’s face it, insulting Sophie’s intelligence might have just been one too many steps over the line that, really, had already been fucking trampled - she tried, desperately for 'won’t’.

For about five minutes there, Sophie was the fucking Queen of Won’t. She might very well have come up with more actually plausible excuses (Amy came to have a talk with Reagan cause she didn’t want to see Sophie get hurt by an older woman) and maybe plausible excuses (Amy and Reagan bumped into each other on the bus and accidentally swapped phones) and not even a little plausible excuses (Amy was possessed by aliens, like those really nasty looking ones from Avengers, and they needed Reagan for their conquest of Earth and sent Amy to… collect… her, cause, come on, why else would Amy even look in Reagan’s direction? It’s not like Reagan is Amy’s type.)

Yeah… cause Sabrina and Reagan? Total opposites. Nothing similar there at all.

Sophie tried, she really did, she fought for won’t until Reagan had had about all she could stand of that and took it upon herself to give her details, very specific and intimate details, offering all of them up like evidence, things only someone with very close and very first hand knowledge of Amy's… bits… would know.

Sophie was tempted, so sorely fucking tempted, to let Reagan know just how many someones might have that same intimate knowledge of those same bits now - the name Elsie sprang to mind - but, even broken hearted and angry and confused (and oddly aroused), Sophie knew that slut shaming Amy was hardly the way to go. Plus, you know, there was that whole pot and kettle thing.

Also, she knew why Reagan was doing it and it had so much less to do with Sophie's won’t and just about everything to do with Reagan's did and all the ensuing guilt and the need for Sophie to punish her somehow, to leave her, to hate her, to walk away from her and never look back.

And when Sophie didn’t do any of that? Well, that was a bit more won’t and a bit more can’t and a bit (a big bit) more staying was more punishment, though for which of them, she wasn’t quite sure. And, there was still the whole… Amy… of it all to deal with and so, yeah, maybe all those details were still kinda fresh in Sophie’s mind later, around the time of the punching, which she doesn’t really regret, but does still kinda hate, but she had to hear about parts of Amy she never even wanted to imagine (not much, at least) and so, in the end?

No regrets.

Not yet, anyway (again.) But give her time. The night is young. (No, it’s not, but it’s only been a day or so and it takes like a week for guilt and self recrimination to set in, right?)

So, also in the end, at least the end of the beginning, the pre-confrontation, pre-punch, pre-Amy doing Amy and running, Reagan drove the 'won’t’ right out of her, which left Sophie with, really, only two options.

Option #1: Can’t. As in “I can’t believe she would do this.” As in wash, rinse, repeat. Second verse same as the first. On and on and on.

Option #2: Thinking. (And you can tell, already, this will lead nowhere good, right?) As in thinking about all those bits (Amy’s bits) (and Reagan’s bits) (and Amy’s bits pressed against Reagan’s bits, bits on bits, rubbing and grinding and moaning - Amy and Reagan, not their bits, the bits are silent - and see?)

(Nowhere good.)

(Or, you know, everywhere good, depending.)

So, yeah, Option #1 it is, cause there’s going to be no thinking about bits or rubbing or grinding or moaning or any other ’-ing’. Except (always except) for when there is. And that’s only, you know, sometimes and yes, right now might be one of those times but, come on, Sophie can’t be held responsible for her mind when it’s this drunk (not as drunk as Reagan, but moreso every moment cause every moment is another sip) and regardless, she’s so totally sure there’s not a woman alive - gay, straight, or otherwise - who could or would blame her for even one of those sometimes cause, let’s be real, even just the idea of Amy and Reagan together is hot.

Like nuclear hot. Like putting Amy’s personal Pornhub playlist to fucking shame hot.

Or, at least it is when Sophie can think of it just like that, in the abstract, like it’s something she might have seen online or in one of those magazines she used to hide in the back of her sock drawer like some oversexed teenage boy. (Don’t judge. Don’t you even dare, cause you know what’s in your browser history.) When she can think of it like that, Sophie can admit it’s actually really hot.

But that’s a big 'when’, like a big 'if’, way more of a big 'no fucking way I can think of it like that cause even thinking of it at all reminds me how my heart dropped and crashed like a light bulb busting on the floor and oh, you think you cleaned it up, but trust me, you’ll be finding sharp little specks of glass with your bare feet for months.’

And those specks? They’re fucking sharp. Sharp like… well… glass… and yes, this whole metaphor started off so much better, but that was before her mind started wandering - as it’s prone to do around Reagan, and especially around Reagan and Amy or even just thoughts of them - and she starts to imagine ways this might actually work out.

Maybe Amy and Reagan got it out of their system. Maybe they fucked their final fuck and got that elusive closure (a fucking myth) and now they can both move on. Amy can find someone new (that girl working the coffee cart in the science building, maybe) or someone old (Elsie) (yes, Sophie is that desperate) and Reagan can find… well…

You can guess. Right?

Or, maybe, they didn’t get it out of their system, but maybe that's all it is, just sex. Maybe they don’t really feel anything for each other, they just like to feel each other. Maybe, Sophie thinks, she could be persuaded to share Reagan’s bits, as long as she had her heart.

And she could. She totally could have her heart. Reagan was ready. Remember?

Sophie does. She so does. (It's Reagan’s memory that’s the fucking problem.)

Or, maybe - and this is the one her mind keeps coming back to and, sometimes, Sophie is convinced her mind just fucking hates her - the way this might 'work out’ might be something a little more… unique.

The word 'thruple’ leaps to mind - and fuck you, Amy, for that stupid, yet highly useful and a little bit fitting word - a vision of the three of them, all living happily ever after (another, bigger myth) in a tiny little house with just one bed, but also a pull out couch.

You know, for those rare nights when two of them are in the mood, but one of them isn’t.

Sophie somehow doubts she’d ever be that one and she also somehow doubts it’s normal for someone to be pissed at someone else - like to the point of punching - and yet, still, suddenly having thoughts of thrupling with them (with her) and see?

This is why they don’t talk about kiss number three and this is why she encourages all the Elsies and, most of all, this is so fucking why they have rules.

Rule #26: We are roomies. And friends. (At least we think we are cause we’ve only known each other like a week at this point but Amy says she likes Somy or Aphie better than Karmy already.) And no matter what, we will NOT MESS THAT UP, especially with any stupid feelings or passing lustful thoughts (or staring after the shower so, dammit Amy, tug that towel up a little higher, girl!)

And, as if someone had ESP and thought of all the geometric thrupling contingencies…

Rule #36: No love triangles. Or sex triangles. Or triangles of any kind, including 'I like her, but you like her too and we can just let her pick cause sisters before misters (even if she’s not, you know, a mister) and we’re close enough that whoever loses will still be fine with it’ triangles or 'what if we shared’ triangles cause this is a relationship we’re talking about here, not a doughnut.

Yeah, like Amy would ever share a doughnut. Or a Reagan.

“It would never work,” Sophie mutters and if Reagan is thrown by this sudden conversational gear change, she doesn’t show it, which should totally be Sophie’s first clue, but she’s too busy trying to shake thruple thoughts to even notice. “In the end,” she says, and she’s not sure who she’s trying to convince, exactly, “someone would feel something for someone else, more than they feel for the other someone else and then there’d just be hearts breaking and tears flowing and messes… messing.”

One of these times, she’s going to find a metaphor that works and carry it all the way through to the end and not lose the train halfwa -

Squirrel! (aka Reagan leaning back and her shirt riding up just a little and there’s that tiny trip of bare skin sneaking into view and… wait… what… oh, right. Messes messing.)

Got it.

Reagan, on the other hand, don’t got it. And now - that she’s moved again and the shirt is back in place - Sophie’s noticing.

“Reagan?” No response, unless you count staring blankly at her feet as a response and nope, Sophie doesn’t. “Reagan? Earth to Reagan?” Still nothing and now the feet must be swaying cause her head certainly is. Back and forth and forth and back and “Goddamnit, Reagan, you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

Nope, she’s not. But, to be fair, that’s probably cause, you know, drunk, so, it’s not entirely her fault.

Come to think of it, that phrase could probably apply to a good many things in Reagan’s life lately, lots of things that were not entirely her fault (it takes two to tango, after all) (or to fuck) and, if Sophie was being honest about it with herself, she’d probably have to admit that 'not entirely her fault’ might actually apply to someone else, not just Reagan.

But, you know what? Fuck honesty. Totally overrated.

Just ask Amy.

So, Sophie’s not considering it, but Reagan, on the other hand apparently spent much of her swaying time (mostly the back) (and a bit of the forth) doing nothing but considering it.

“Amy didn’t do anything,” she says and, Sophie’s 100% sure that if Reagan was just slightly less ridiculously drunk, she probably wouldn’t be defending… her, cause it wasn't just Sophie’s heart that got smashed here. Reagan grows quiet and Sophie thinks (hopes) that maybe her drunken bits - the non rubbing kind - have won out, but then… “I mean, she did, but it’s not like she did any of it alone.”

Ah… right. Thanks for the reminder. Really, cause, you know, Sophie had almost forgotten.

She watches (a bit too attentively, probably) as Reagan stands, slowly, and Sophie swears up and down, that she’s only staring because she’s worried that the other girl (woman) might topple over. It’s a worry that Reagan totally justifies by having to grab ahold of the counter to steady herself and, even after all that, she’s still wobbling and tipping precariously, to and fro - not that Sophie’s ever known which way is to and which is fro and no, it doesn't matter - but she’s trying so hard to think of anything that's not the hypnotic way Reagan’s hips are swaying and grinding against the air and fuck all, Sophie curses herself, it’s like even just being around Reagan (and those hips) turns her into a fifteen year old boy.

If she’s not careful, she’s gonna become a walking cliche and then soon she’s gonna have to drive a truck and give it a name and get in fights and punch dudes out. And she’s never owned or driven a truck and she’s only named pets (Duchess would suck for a truck) but, at least she’s got some practice with the punching and nope, she’s not wondering - like at all - if Amy’s eye is OK.

(She blames the beer for the randomness. Like she’s not always this way.)

Reagan wobbles one last time (fro, Sophie thinks, definitely fro) and there’s a temptation to move, to reach out and help, but that dies a quick and utterly not painless death when Sophie spots the look on Reagan’s face. It’s one that reminds her, and not at all in the way she’d like it to, not in the 'oh, that’s how she looked when we kissed’ way or in the 'I think she might really want me’ way.

It’s more of a 'where have I seen that look before? Oh, right. There.’ kinda way, where 'there’ is on the face of her sister, after Sophie came out but before she moved out of their shared room, every time she went to hug her sister or poke her or, you know, just touch her pencil (and nope, not a euphemism) (her sister thought it was contagious, you know, 'the gay’) and no, the look on Reagan’s face isn't exactly the same.

It’s not quite that level of… revulsion.

But then, it really doesn’t have to be cause even if it’s not as bad, it’s bad enough. So much so that it freezes Sophie in place and, no matter what happens tonight or after tonight, the thought passes through her right then that she’s not at all sure she’s ever going to want to touch Reagan again.

She watches as Reagan steadies herself and that look is gone now (mostly) but the memory isn’t, not that it ever really is, not that it isn’t constantly there, just under the surface. That look didn't make it, it just pulled it loose, let it run amok for a moment or two, which is a moment or two too much. Sophie pushes it back down, like she always does - like she’s always doing - though it takes a little more work this time and maybe that’s why it takes her a few seconds to catch up when Reagan starts talking again.

“… slept with me,” she’s saying, and Sophie guesses she missed an 'Amy’ at the beginning of that, which only makes sense really, since there’s been an 'Amy’ at the beginning since… well, since the beginning.

“Amy kept it a secret with me,” Reagan adds and really, is there going to be anything new here or is this gonna just be one long jaunt down 'how often can we find a way to break and then re-break Sophie’s heart in just one day’ lane? (Even though, technically, this is probably day two, but, really, who counts days?) “She smashed your heart and crushed your friendship and probably broke every one of those rules you two have,” Reagan says. “But she did it all with me.”

Sophie doesn’t move and she doesn’t speak and - honestly - she’s finding it a little hard to even breathe, but not for any of the reasons Reagan’s probably thinking. Right then, in that one very specific moment, it’s not about heartbreak or pain or betrayal or wondering which, if any, of the rules Amy didn’t break.

It’s more shock. And awe. And a sprinkling - a very liberal, like a huge heaping cup full - of jealousy.

And a not inconsiderable urge to shake the living fuck out of Reagan and ask her what, on God’s green Earth, she could be thinking.

She’s defending her. Reagan, you know, the girl who got left (twice) (in just the last twenty-four hours) is defending Amy. And Sophie’s not so drunk (not nearly drunk enough) that she can’t do that little bit of math and figure out the equation here. Either Reagan genuinely feels at least a little responsible and she wants - needs - Sophie to blame her and hate her and punish her.

Or?

Or she’s still hopelessly, head over tea kettle, bass ackwards in love with Amy.

There’s a moment - a very fleeting one - when a tiny part of Sophie (a miniscule one) wants to get on the phone and call Amy to tell her the news. But… no. And not call, cause that’s still a bit of an open wound. No, she wants to take Reagan by the hand (assuming she could ignore that look that would surely creep back out at her touch) and drag her down the stairs and out to her truck and then, realizing they’re both too fucking drunk to drive, call her a cab - and when it came near the plate would say 'Fresh’ and there’d be dice in mirror - and she’d pile them both into the backseat and yell to the cabbie 'Yo, home to Bel-Air’.

We did mention that she is drunk, right? Good. Cause… yeah. Drunk. And needing to be drunker by the second.

So, maybe they wouldn’t go to Bel-Air, but to Austin, to the other side of it, the side with Amy, and they’d pull into the drive and Sophie wouldn’t tell the cabbie she’d smell him later, but she would push Reagan out the door (of the cab) and to the front door (of the house) and when Amy answered the bell…

Rule # 17: It is the responsibility of the roomie who is not fucking up (Sophie), to save the roomie who is (Amy) from herself and from ruining whatever it is, forever.

And yeah, maybe that only reads that way cause Sophie was the one writing it, but oh, fuck all it actually applies here and she knows, somewhere deep down, that’s the thing she should do, it’s what a good friend - a best friend - would do and even if she’s not Amy’s best friend (cause, you know, Karma) Sophie has long known that Amy is hers.

It’s right there, in black and white. In the rules. She can save Amy from herself and, now that she knows Reagan feels the same, she can fix this.

She can fix them.

Except - and there’s always a fucking except, remember? Except: “I know what you did.”

Yeah, she does.

“I’m well fucking aware of what you did,” Sophie says and, as it turns out, there is something that trumps the rules. Pain. Pain trumps all. Pain, she knows, should be enough to drive her right out the front door and down the stairs and into the backseat of that not so fresh cab she hasn’t really called yet and, when she turns away, pivoting on her heel with far too much grace for how drunk she is, that's exactly what Sophie intends to do.

Except…

She sees the door and she thinks of the stairs and the cab and all the cool night air outside that she’d have to stand in while she waits and she left her jacket in the dorm and see, that’s it, the problem - the dorm, not her jacket - cause there’s the dorm. And there’s her parent’s house, and Amy’s mother’s house, and there’s here. And…

And nothing. Nothing and nowhere else. Those are her places, her only places and right now she can’t think of a one of them she could stand to be in. To be alone in.

Sure, she could call the cab but she might as well tell him to take her to Bel-Air cause, really, she’s got nowhere else to go and if that pain of knowing what Amy and Reagan did trumps the rules?

That pain trumps everything else.

Sophie does move then, but not toward the door - she doesn’t even look that way cause if she did she’s not sure she’d be able to keep moving, like at all - and instead, she heads toward the other door, the one to Reagan’s bedroom, with head down and eyes squeezed tight cause no fucking way is she letting Reagan see her cry, and in the end, that's what does it, that’s what trips the switch and crashes the dam and starts the flood she can’t hold back.

Reagan can still see her cry. Because Reagan’s still there.

“I also know what you didn’t do.” Sophie’s words are whispers as she pauses in the door, her hand resting against the wall, the touch of it the only thing keeping her rooted there.

“And what was that?”

Sophie glances back over her shoulder and God, if Reagan thought she’d seen pain in Amy's eye after that punch. Well, she had.

Just not like this.

“You didn't leave,” Sophie says, disappearing into the darkened room, letting the silence and the night swallow her up and there’s a part of her - a very not miniscule part at all - that can’t help wondering just how long that’s going to be true.

And when, a few hours later, she flips on the light just in time to find herself in an empty bedroom and hear the sound of a truck engine slowly disappearing into the night?

Well, then she knows exactly how long.

[teethholy-blog]

Reality

I was born in a traditional home, and had grown up to be a traditional woman.

The day I married Pete had been the best day of my life. He was strong and handsome, with brown hair, crinkly eyes, and a full beard; he was everything a good husband should be. I was young and clueless, but if I knew one thing, it was that I wanted to be his wife.

On my wedding day, my mother had wrapped daisies into my long, blonde plait, and whispered to me that I would be the best of wives. Our two families, pillars of the community, had stood on, watching as Pete had kissed me as the church bells rang, petals reigning over us like sprinkles on the cake of our newfound life.

We had moved to a farm in the middle of nowhere, with acres and acres of dry land, a red roof and a plot of pigs. Pete would go out every day from dawn to dusk, and I would do everything for him- cooking, cleaning, comforting.

He would return home after a hard day’s work, and I would massage the kinks out of his shoulders, tell him stories, and feed him food that I had prepared with love. I could see that he appreciated me well, and his feelings for me were stewed with passion.

Sometimes, that passion could be harsh and unforgiving. It had been a cold spring day when I had first learned this. Instead of checking the oven every few minutes, I had decided to sit on the veranda. Knitting was something I truly enjoyed, and I had sat there, knitting a new sweater for Pete and watching the birds fly high in the sky, revelling in their freedom. That day I had forgotten to check the oven for a few minutes too long, and the food had burned, just a slight browning on the bottom of his casserole. That was the first time that Pete had hit me. He was frustrated in me, uncontrollably so. After throwing his plate at the wall in unquenchable anger, he explained to me that I was the one thing he could truly rely on, and I had failed him. Burnt food had rained around me then, and I had closed my eyes and wished for quick relief. Afterwards, I had picked myself up and prepared him a new dinner, for it was the least I could do.

A year later, I gave birth to a child. On that day, I had felt more pain than I knew was humanly possible. Pete told me later that my mouth had been raised to the heavens, releasing a sound of inconceivable anguish as my body was wrought with spasms. Nevertheless, that day had replaced my wedding day as the best of my life, for that day was the birth of my baby girl. Pete named her Daisy, after the flowers in my hair on our wedding day, and she was beautiful. I had held her close to me as she suckled at my breast, and swore to her with all my heart that I would give her the best of lives.

She had grown up to be a lovely young thing, the kind of child you dreamed about. She would stand and hold my hand as I worked in the house, and showed a genuine compassion for all. I now had two mouths to feed- that of my strong husband, and that of my baby girl. Never before had I felt like my life had more purpose, for being a wife and a mother was the destiny that God had written for me.

Pete was a good father, and though sometimes his feelings could be harsh, he took them up with me, not her. He still punished me when I made a mistake, but he never touched her. He was an honourable man.

As Daisy grew, she became more and more rebellious. She would come home later and later, and sometimes I would see her kissing foreign faces goodbye. There had been all sorts of strange boys, and girls that didn’t seem quite right. She no longer prayed, no longer did her farm chores with zest, and no longer looked to me for comfort.

Pete was angry, but I understood his anger. He just wanted to protect her, like a good father, for that was what fathers were for. He took his feelings out on me, but this seemed just, for I had to accept responsibility for Daisy’s change.

One day, Daisy came back from many hours out, her face determined and her eyes red. I watched her check the house to make sure Pete was not there, then sit me down in the kitchen, clasping my thin hands in her own.

“I’m leaving, Mommy,” she told me. “I can’t live like this. I’m like a bird in a cage, with no chance of freedom, while you suffer for things I can’t help.”

She pulled me closer then, and I saw the desperation in her eyes. “I want you to come with me,” she said. “We’ll go far away and we’ll never deal with Daddy again. Your bruises will finally fade, and you can do anything- hell, be anything- you want.”

I couldn’t quite understand what she was trying to say, then. I could see her desire for freedom, written in her desperate eyes, but I did not understand why it extended to me.

“I don’t know what you mean, dear,” I told her. “There is nothing else I want to be, nor do. My place is here. I’m not the one who can stop you from doing what you want with your life, but don’t to anything rash, Daisy. Decisions can be hard to erase.”

“Your place isn’t with Dad!” she snorted. “You’re a beaten and broken woman, and there’s no way you can be happy.”

I laughed at that point, for she was being ridiculous. “I’m a wife, Daisy,” I explained. “This is my place, just like all the other wives in the world. My place is by my husband’s side, and that is a fact that has been determined by higher powers. One day, you’ll be a wife too.”

She left at that, slamming the door behind her. I was sad to see her go, but she was not mine to control, and Pete was out on the fields.

As I got to work scrubbing the floor, I shook my head wearily. Daisy was just a teenager, I thought. She was just a teenager not aware of the truth of life, desperate to change the course of God. She would see reality soon, I knew that. There was no doubt of that.  

[sound-of-inspiration]

Shy Owl Confession

Happy Valentine’s Day, @teabags-and-roses!! I know it’s 2 days early, but I just couldn’t wait anymore!! You gave me so many ships to choose from and I really couldn’t decide at first. But I finally decided to go with BokuAka. I really hope, that you enjoy this little One Shot I wrote and that you have a relaxing Sundy as well as a wonderful Valentine’s Day!! ヽ(*≧ω≦)ﾉ <333

AO3

Bokuto was lost in deep concentration as he held the bag filled with melted chocolate in his hands, his tongue sticking out between his lips while he tried to get the heart, he was drawing, on point. Never again would he blame any girl for saying it was hard to make chocolates for Valentine’s Day.

He had experienced it first hand now and had even burnt an entire plate before these current ones, because he had thought a higher setting on the oven would mean, that the sweets would be done faster. They now rested in the trash bin as unidentifiable, black objects.

“Kotarou?”

“Wah!” Bokuto squawked in surprise as the voice of his mother suddenly interrupted the silence in the kitchen and made him almost squeeze the bag in his hands to hard.

He whipped his head around to stare at the woman standing in the doorway with widened eyes as if he had been busted doing something illegal.

“Sweetie, what are you still doing up? It’s almost midnight. And on a school night.”

At this the wing spiker dipped his gaze a little bit to hide the embarrassed, a small grin on his lips. “Sorry, mom. I’ll go to bed soon, but I need to finish these first.”

Her son’s mumbled response caught the woman’s attention as she walked over to look at the plate full of heart-shaped, chocolate pralines. At the sight of them a knowing smile spread on her features.

“Are you making them for the boy you’ve been telling me about for the past few weeks? Akaashi-kun, right?”

“Mom!” Bokuto’s cheek were immediately set aflame by his mother’s teasing remark.

“Haha, I’m just kidding, dear.” She waved it off with a gentle hand gesture, before smiling at her son. “It is very sweet of you to make something for him.”

Wide eyes peered over at her as Bokuto asked almost shyly. “You think he’ll like them?”

His mother laughed softly at the tiny bit of insecurity showing in her son’s face, before she placed a hand on the teenager’s cheek and leaned up to place a gentle kiss against his forehead. “I’m sure he will like them, Kotarou. How could he not, when you made them with so much love?”

Bokuto whined again at his mother’s gentle teasing, because she was using her knowledge of his obvious crush against him. He shouldn’t have ever told her.

After bidding her ‘Goodnight’ he once again turned to the chocolate pralines and prayed to the gods up there, that Akaashi would like them.

“Yo, Komi.” Konoha approached the libero during the next morning’s training.

“Yeah?”

“What’s up with our ace today?” The blond wing spiker pointed behind him at Bokuto. “He seems more absent minded than usual.”

Komi looked passed him just to see their captain miss another spike, that was set to him by Akaashi, which led him to raise his eyebrows in confusion. “No clue. But you’re right...He has missed an awful lot of spikes today. It’s not like him.”

“What are we gossiping about?” A sudden voice joined their conversation and the both of them turned around to look at Sarukui, who had gotten himself a fresh filling of water from Kaori.

“We’re talking about why our dear captain has missed so many spikes today.” Konoha answered him, while crossing his arms in thought.

Bokuto’s mood swings were always quite the mystery to all of them. The only one, who could really figure him out, was Akaashi. But the setter was occupied right now, so they couldn’t ask him, if he sensed something off with their captain.

Konoha, Komi and Sarukui looked at each other and could only shrug their shoulders as they watched Bokuto miss another spike.

“What are you three standing here around for?” The voice of Yukie interrupted their guessing, at which Komi was the one to point in the direction of the court.

“Bokuto’s been off today. And none of us have a clue why.”

“Oh.” Yukie exclaimed, before a giggle escaped her lips. “I think, that it is nothing to be worried about.”

“What do you mean?” Konoha asked in confusion.

“Well...Okay.” She waved all of them closer, so they leaned in as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You all know what today is, right?”

“Tuesday?”

“No. The date?”

“February...14th?”

“Yes. And also?”

“....Eh?”

Yukie sighed as all three of the volleyball players stared at her confused. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you idiots.”

“Oh….Oh!”

“Yes, exactly. And what do girls normally do on Valentine’s Day?”

“...They give the boy, they like, chocolate.” Sarukui stated.

At this the manager nodded and a sly smile spread on her lips. “Bingo. And just by coincidence I saw, that Bokuto has a box of chocolates hidden in his bag over there and it is not from someone else.”

“...”

Yukie giggled at the first confused, but then realizing expressions on the boys’ faces.

“No. You think…” Komi started after a few moments of silence.

“...That Bokuto wants to…” Sarukui continued looking over at their captain.

“...Give someone chocolate?” Konoha finished as he stared at Yukie.

“I don’t only think so, I know so.” The female manager giggled and before any of the boys could ask ‘why’, she continued. “Because face the facts...We all have been seeing how Bokuto stares at our setter sometimes. Hopefully he will finally have the courage to confess his feelings.”

None of the players had anything to add to that, because it was the truth. Everybody had seen how, over the past few months, Bokuto would try to catch Akaashi’s attention more than anyone else’s. Sometimes it had even been frustrating to see how longingly he stared at the second year setter.

But never once did the volleyball captain address his feelings towards his kouhai.

Staring at Bokuto lining up for another spike, Konoha let his thoughts drift off. Maybe he could give his captain a little shove in the right direction.

“Hah…”

Bokuto sighed as he held the box of chocolates in his hand, while standing in front of his locker in the changing room. He still needed to get properly dressed, but his thoughts were running wild right now.

The whole day he had waited for the perfect opportunity to give Akaashi the pralines he had made the night prior, but every time he could...He backed out and ran away. Too scared of the setter’s reaction or possible rejection.

Maybe he should just give them to his parents after all.

They were always happy, when they got something self-made from their son.

“Bokuto-san?”

The sudden sound of a smooth voice startled Bokuto and he quickly tossed the box back into the locker only to slam it shut. Only then he turned around and gulped harshly as he was confronted with Akaashi’s beautiful, but confused looking eyes.

“Ah...Haha...Sorry, you surprised me, Akaashi.” The wing spiker tried to play it off rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion. “C-Can I help you?”

Seemingly unfazed, because he was already used to Bokuto’s strange antiques, the setter blinked a few times, before he answered. “Konoha-san said, that you wanted to speak to me.”

“Eh?” Was Bokuto’s intelligent remark as he gaped at Akaashi.

“Yes.” The black haired boy explained. “He came to me after training and said, that you had something important to tell me and also, that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

The wing spiker was still utterly confused, but cold, hard realization dawned on him, when he looked past Akaashi’s shoulder to see Konoha leaning into the locker room from its entrance. The blond grinned slyly at him and formed a heart with both of his hands, before quickly disappearing and shutting the door.

“So...What is it, that you wanted?”

It was Akaashi’s voice, that in the end brought him back out of his stupor, but he didn’t really know what to say. He was not prepared for this. He couldn’t just give him the chocolate now, could he? He needed to have a speech prepared or something.

“Ah...Uhm...You see…” Bokuto tried to cover his nervousness with a boisterous laugh, but it didn’t seem to work, because the setter was looking at him with an unimpressed look.

“Bokuto-san.”

The wing spiker withdrew his head a little bit and tried to think of a way out of this, but with the way Akaashi was looking at him he knew, that running away would bring him nowhere. He had learned this in the months of knowing the black haired boy.

“Mh...well...Konoha was right. I wanted to tell you something.” Bokuto mumbled in a low voice, while turning around and opening his locker again. “Or rather give you something.”

He didn’t let Akaashi get us far as to ask another question, but quickly snatched the wrapped box from the top of his clothes and shoved it into the setter’s arms. All while he could feel his cheeks heating up. Even up to the tip of his ears.

Normally Bokuto would be loud and unreserved towards Akaashi. He’d not hold back when talking to the setter. Always being straightforward and full of bright smiles.

But not this time.

He was quiet and almost shy while waiting for the other to react to the box now resting in his hands. Biting the inside of his cheek Bokuto could feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.

It felt like hours until Akaashi finally spoke.

“Bokuto-san. What is this?”

The volleyball captain closed his eyes shortly and gulped down every anxious thought, that crossed his mind right now. He had run away long enough, hadn’t he?

The chocolate was already in Akaashi’s hands. Then Bokuto could bare his heart to him as well, right? There was nothing worse than rejection awaiting him, he thought.

“That’s...chocolate.” The normally boisterous teenager started out slow as he rubbed his arm nervously. “They’re for you, because...it’s Valentine’s Day. That’s when you give the person you like chocolate, right?”

“But...why me-”

“Because I like you.” Bokuto suddenly blurted out. “I-I like you, Akaashi. You’re beautiful a-and the only one, that ever held onto me despite my personality. You always know a way to get me out of my lows and know what to say, when I feel insecure. You’re also-Mmpf!”

His rambling was abruptly cut off by a pair of soft lips very briefly pressing against his own, which caused his heart to stutter in his chest. When Akaashi slowly pulled back again Bokuto stared at him with big, golden eyes, while his mouth hung open in a silent ‘O’.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. But you were rambling.” The setter chuckled in amusement as he tilted his head sideways and smiled slightly at the wing spiker. “Thank you for the chocolate. And for telling me about your feelings.”

Bokuto could almost not believe his eyes when he saw a faint blush appear on Akaashi’s cheeks, while he pressed the box against his chest.

“To answer your confession…” This immediately caught the volleyball captain’s attention. “I do like you as well, Bokuto-san. But would it be alright if we start this out slow?”

…

Had he heard that right?

Considering Akaashi’s waiting gaze, he had. He needed to answer!

“...Ah...AH...Y-Yes, of course! Anything you want, Akaashi!” Bokuto almost screamed, which caused the setter to laugh quietly.

“Great. How about a date this Saturday then?”

“That sounds great! Yeah, let’s do that!”

Bokuto couldn’t describe the happiness, that spread through his entire being while he and Akaashi walked home together not long after they had agreed on the date this coming weekend. The bright grin on his face only displayed a part of how delighted and full of joy he felt.

Later that evening Akaashi was lying on his bed, a book laid out in front of him while his cheek rested against his hand. He couldn’t really concentrate though as he was still thinking about what had happened a few hours prior.

The moment still seemed so surreal in his mind, but every time his gaze drifted to the side he could look right at the box of chocolate, that Bokuto had given to him. He still hadn’t opened it.

This in mind the setter reached out for the object and placed it right in front of him after he had put the book away. It was a simple box, but inside were brightly decorated pralines. Akaashi couldn’t hold back a soft laugh looking over the many different sweets. They really screamed Bokuto.

Picking one of them up it quickly found its way into Akaashi’s mouth and he hummed happily at the sweetness coating his tongue.

“Hm?”

Suddenly though a little piece of paper caught his interest. It was tugged away neatly at the side of the box. Curiously the black haired boy picked it up and unfolded the tiny white sheet, only for a fond smile to spread on his lips.

‘Akaashi!!!! You are the cupid to my heart!!’ was written in bright colours on it.

“Mhmh, you really are something else, Bokuto-san.” The setter mused in a quiet voice as he picked up another praline. “One of the reasons I fell for you.”

He really couldn’t wait for their date the coming weekend.

This was just the beginning of their relationship.

[hartman1967-blog]

Summer of ‘99 Short Story A.A.H

In the summer of 1999 I knew three things: I had just graduated high school, I had just lost my job, and my mom kicked me out. A classic teenage tragedy right? To be honest with you, if I knew then what I know now I would have begged my mom for my room back, begged for my job back and gone to college. But obviously if I would’ve done that I wouldn’t be telling you this story. In my opinion, it’s a pretty great story. That is, if you cut out half of it and delete everything but the second to last line. But enough of the pity party intro. Let��s get started shall we? Now where was I? Oh yes. Now I remember. Okay, here we go. In the summer of 1999 I knew three things: I had just graduated high school, I just lost my job, and my mom kicked me out. This was actually a reality for most people that graduated highschool in my town. A bunch of us used to think that our parents had parties for each other when they did it, like a sort of right of passage. Frankly it just made all the homeless seventeen and eighteen years olds hate the world even more. It’s not like all parents did it though. It was only the families from the nicer parts of town that didn’t really need their kids mucking up their lives anymore.    But then there were the select few of us that lived in the projects who were kicked out because we simply took up too much space, kids like me. It was sad honestly. It was hard knowing that my mom never really loved me. Even though I paid most of the bills and kept the house running, she seemed to despise my very existence. I used to think that it was because I looked too much like my father and it made her mad. But I later found out it was because all she cared about was the next time she could slip away into that little thin cylinder that took her away for a while. But ever since I caught her stealing money out of my piggy bank when I was nine, I have dreamed about leaving. I didn’t even care that I had nowhere to go. I would be away from her. And then I met him. I was working as a cashier at Janie’s Produce Store in the fall of my junior year. It was halfway through my six hour shift and I overheard a couple beginning to talk about throwing their son out of the house when he graduated high school. In front of them was a boy who looked about two years older than me. He had dark hair that looked like it needed a good cutting,  and eyes as grey as the sky before it rained. He hoisted the fruit and vegetables onto the counter and I heard those parents talk quietly about how they hoped by throwing their son out it would make him want to get a better job and go to college. I assumed that the boy in front of me was their son. But I was wrong, coming around the corner with a bag of green apples was a young boy. He handed his mother the bag a disgusted look on her face. The little boy’s eyes fluttered towards me, looking so sad. I smiled sympathetically then slightly motioned to his parents who were failing at staying quiet. He nodded and kicked his shoes on the ground. “One second please,” I told the boy at the counter, “I’ll be right back.” I swiftly moved from behind the counter making my way up to the boy. “What’s your name buddy?” I spoke softly, crouching down “Andrew,” he mumbled. “Hi Andrew, my name is Charlotte, but call me Charlie. How old are you?” “Eleven ma’am,” his voice was shaky. I knew his parents were right behind me wondering what I was doing. “Wow, eleven, you’re so handsome for an eleven year old. I bet all the girls at school can’t stay away from you can they?” I began to giggle at him to lighten the mood. I smiled and began to laugh. “Yeah,” he was giggling at me. Then his eyes floated up to his parents which made his eyes become sad and empty. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a quarter, handing to to him. “Why don’t you go over there and try to beat my high score on Pac-Man, huh? I’m pretty darn good. Just ask anyone.” “Gee thanks miss,” and just like that he was running to the game. As soon as he put the quarter into the machine I turned to his parents. I will spare you the gory details and choice words that were exchanged between me and those horrible people, but long story short, they stormed out, smashing the bag of apples and dragging their boy out yelling. I went back to the counter feeling even worse about that boy. “Sorry,” I mumbled to the boy still at the counter. “Don’t be sorry darlin’, I was about to do the same thing.” He locked his eyes on me, beckoning me to meet his eyes. “Well I might have just made that kid’s life hell for the next few hours, so yeah real accomplishment,”I shot back with more attitude than I expected. At that moment our eyes met and a shot of heat lept up to my cheeks. I hadn’t noticed how attractive he was before. How his dark hair was licking at his ear lobes and his cheek bones were high and sculpted. His mouth looked as if it was in a permanent smirk and he had slight dimples. “I’m Kodak by the way.” He breathed out a huff of air in a chuckle. I assumed he saw me staring which made my face go even more red. I went back to doing my job. But that wasn’t before I dropped his bag of celery onto the ground, water spraying everywhere. At that point I was really surprised I didn’t burst into flames of embarrassment. As I put his groceries in a cardboard box I wrote down all the items and how much they cost, on two separate pieces of paper. One copy for him and one for the store. He wandered about the shop as I finished up packing his groceries, “You’re all set hun,” my eyes locking down on the paper. “Why thank you darlin’ I appreciate it.” His smile was brighter than glass with the sun shining through it. “Have a good day,” I spoke bubbly. I handed him his items and his receipt with a shy smile. But on the back of that thin white receipt was a series of numbers. Numbers that would lead to countless phone calls, late night visits and cohesive, consistent happiness. My number. He smirked and made his way to the door, groceries balanced on one muscular arm while the other reached for the door handle, “I never did catch your name.” I turned from my register to face him, leaning up against the counter, hands holding the wood behind me. It took me a minute to realize that this boy. This very attractive boy. Was not talking to the imaginary people behind me. He was talking to me. “The name’s Charlotte Rose, but everyone just calls me Charlie.” “Charlotte Rose,” he paused. “Charlotte Rose. Why that is a beautiful name there Mrs. Rose. Why would anyone shorten it.” “I dunno. But I have to get back to work. I’ll see ya round. Okay?” He walked out of the store and right into my life. As it so happened his parents had thrown him out a year prior. He lived in a run down apartment as a contractor, Where I am now. Standing out in front of his blue shabby looking door with the paint peeling away from the splintering wood. I knocked a few times and stood back on the crumbling side walk falling into a dirt hole. “Mangy mutts,” I muttered. It took a few moments before I heard him barreling down the stairs. I could hear the chain lock being cast aside and the padlock being thrown open. “Charlotte Rose!” He yelled, “ To what do I owe the humongous pleasure.” I couldn’t help but giggle at this. I felt my face turning red and my cheek bones turn up into a toothy grin. “Hi Kodak,” I couldn’t help but laugh at him. It seemed like he couldn’t contain himself. His eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them and his smile shone like christmas lights. It was obvious for him to tell that I needed a place to stay. We discussed this for months knowing full well that it would happen. But I don’t think that dimmed the surprise. It made me happy to see him happy, which made me smile even more.    As he stood there staring at me I began to think about the plan. Our plan that we devised at the beginning of the school year. The plan was that on June 17th the day after the Rolling Rapids High School graduation and my eighteenth birthday, I would pack up my things, get in  my car and drive the fifteen minutes from Applepine drive to Ashton Heights apartment complex. I’d pull up and make my trek to apartment G9, the place I would call home for the time being.    Once again, it didn’t go as planned or else I wouldn’t be telling the story.    Due to multiple snow days, a delay in final grades, three fights with my mom and a car accident, my move in date was pushed back to August 24th. I had a short shot of pain in my right eye which made me snap back to reality. I winced,  Kodak saw it, his eyes became softer.    “Come here darlin’,” he whispered. His arms wrapped around my body like a coiled spring. His lips grazed my forehead and up to my hairline. “I’m glad you’re here,” he breathed. I felt his smile against my scalp and I held on to him tighter, burying my face in his chest, nodding in agreement at his statement.    “How’s your head feelin’?”  His voice muffled by my hair    “It still hurts.”    “Well it’s suppose’ too. Your junkie mom made your head hit the windshield. She was higher than the damn sun”    “It wasn’t her fault. I shouldn’t’ve been leaning on the window and had my seat up so far.” “It’s not your fault you’re so wee.” He laughed patting my head, “Let's go on inside.  Got a surprise for you.”    “Okay,” He let go of me, opening the door. When we walked in I was hit with the usual scent of cigarettes, cinnamon and dogs.    “Welcome home Charlotte Rose.” He grabbed my hand and spun me around. We began dancing to the music that I didn’t realize was playing. ‘Wait,’ I thought, ‘he doesn’t have a radio.’ I began looking around. Searching for the sound. I gasped when I my eyes drifted onto the old wooden box bellowing out my favorite Elvis album, “No freakin’ way.” I started in a whisper, “Kodak!” I was practically screaming in delight. “Kodak… I-I… How?” I was stammering, unable to form sentences.    “I found it at Weebly’s off of Horseman Rd., He was selling it for 10 bucks with the record. And I know how much you love Elvis. You like it?” He stared at me hoping what he had done made my sad world light up. I couldn’t say anything. I just looked at him and smiled. It was hard not to love him. I just continued to dance with him in his small living room, the dogs lying lazily at our feet. This right here felt like home. This was what happiness felt like. In his arms I felt safe.    After the record ended we fell out of our trance. Still feeling the high of happiness we started to move my stuff  into his small, rock and roll postered, single windowed bedroom. It wasn’t extravagant or fancy but as I sat on the grey sheets of his unmade bed I felt at home. He sat down next to me and grabbed my hand staring out the opened window, silent, listening to the quite, heat filled sounds of the ending summer.    I’m not sure when we fell asleep but when I woke up I felt cold. It seemed the temperature dropped thirty degrees and it was dark. “Kodak,” I whispered shaking him gently, “Koda wake up.” He groaned and rolled over. I giggled sprawling on top of him. Within seconds we were laughing and wrestling falling from the bed on to the floor with a loud thud. At that moment a gust of wind rushed through the room lifting up the bottoms of the posters revealing all of the holes he had punched into the walls. There were a lot, some dealing with frustration from this world we live in, some from me and most of them were caused by his parents. That was the thing about him, he would never hit anyone, not even me. He wouldn’t let himself do it so he just hit his wall. It bloodied his knuckles the first few times but after a while it didn’t hurt him. At least that's what he told me.    “You hungry?” His question brought my mind back.    “Is that even a question?” I scoffed. He tickled me grabbing for my hand    “Let's go feed the beast,” he teased kissing my cheek. We made our short trek  to his tiny kitchen and looked into the fridge. The only things that were seated on the white shelves was a half gone gallon of milk, an apple and a can of spaghetti sauce.    “You really gotta go food shopping Koda. You have nothing.” “Well not nothing,” his smirk grew wide as he reached into the cabinet. Sneakily he grabbed a box. A thin box. “I picked this up thinking you’d like it.” He tossed it at me and in the swirl of colors and letters it took me a few seconds to realize he had bought my favorite cereal.    “I can’ believe you bought french toast crunch. You hate this stuff.”    “Well it’s growin’ on me. Just like you did.” With a swift motion he grabbed two bowls, two spoons and the gallon of milk and sat us on the floor because of his lack of tables and chairs. As we ate our cereal there was a commotion outside that was easily heard from the open windows. I guess Kodak noticed my concern and patted my hand.    “It’s probably my drunk neighbors again. It’s gonna be okay darlin’, you’re safe now.” I nodded.    “Can I tell you something?” I asked looking beside me to lock our gazes.    “Of course,” a thin stream of milk running down his chin making him smile and I giggle. “I know it’s gonna sound crazy and you  probably think I’m insane. But I think I-,” I took a deep breath, my nerves kicking in, my mouth becoming dry. I had never said this to anyone before and I was more nervous than I was the day I confronted those parents at the produce store. Even then I wasn’t that nervous, just so mad that that little boy had to go through that. I took one more breath and my eyes lifted up from the floor to his beautiful grey eyes. “I think,” I stammered, “I know I.. I I’m in lo-” A loud crack filled the air around us. A gunshot. Our bodies hit the ground out of instinct.    “Wait here,” he yelled running to the window looking down onto the courtyard. Then swiftly moving to the closet where he grabbed the handgun he kept in there for emergencies only. I guessed that this was an emergency. He gave me a look I didn’t recognize and he ran down the stairs, gun in hand. I heard the front door open with a bang and Kodak yell. I was paralyzed by fear. “Kodak,” I cried out. I heard another shot and I began to sob. I heard footsteps sprinting up the stairs. The invader rounded the corner and stood above me, loaded gun in hand pointed at me. His face from his eyes down was covered by a sheet of black material.    “Remember me, Charlie?” He raised the gun, pointing it at my head, jaw locking. I couldn’t find the words to answer him. I was still sobbing. He kicked me in the ribs. “Remember me? He screamed crouching down to pull on my hair.    “Kodak! Kodak!” I screamed so loud my ears popped. I heard a groan and followed by footsteps. “Kodak?” I breathed. He stammered into the room clutching his bleeding side. His eyes full of pain, sweat brimming his brow. He shifted groaning, inhaling sharply. They both raised their guns. Yelling incoherent things. Each gun cocked ready kill, one trained on me, the other on the unmasked boy.    “Do you know what she did to me?” Tears pooling around the edges of the mask on the boy. “This girl ruined my life. I’ve spent years. YEARS!” He screamed into my face. “Looking for you. I guess your mom went a little haywire, got herself in the papers with that car accident a few weeks back. Just so happened I walked by the paper stand after I picked up this bad boy,” he said brandishing the gun at me with a pained smirk.” I saw your name. You’re the reason I have no home. You made everything happen too quick. Everything happened sooner than expected. All because you wanted to be a hero. All because you wanted me to beat your pac man high score.”    “Don’t move any closer,” Kodak screamed with a frightening amount of authority. The boy’s words echoed through my brain. I gasped. It couldn’t be him. It can’t be him. That was almost two years ago Before my brain could catch up, they were both moving slightly. “Charlotte Rose. I’m in love with you to.” Kodak said voice shaking. The boy ripped off his mask, both guns firing. One hitting their target, the other missing its mark by a hair but still connecting. It was loud, I was in pain, I couldn’t hear anything except muffling, I saw two blurry figures crumble. “Andrew?” Kodak screamed in disbelief.