#cause its almost the same as being clocked regardless of if its in a respectful way

[racmune]

being in male dominated spaces online is like. i know its BAD but also theres something very magical of people just immediately assuming youre a dude and using he/him on you completely unprompted

[rngknsk]

The Aftermath

Chapter 2: Dinner

Sanemi Shinazugawa/Reader (F)

Three months have passed since you woke up at the Butterfly Estate beside your good friend Sanemi Shinazugawa. You have healed physically, but not emotionally. You take up an offer to spend some time by yourself at the Shinazugawa residence, hoping to finally find peace with yourself.

**THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE DEMON SLAYER MANGA. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE MANGA.**

Tags/warnings: Shared trauma, angst, survivors guilt, slight tw, comfort, slight fluff, reader is a Hashira

Chapter 1 can be read here.

You can also read Chapter 2 here on Ao3. 

Enjoy! :)

A little over three months had passed since defeating Muzan Kibutsuji and the remaining Upper Moons. Your injuries, along with the others who had survived the fight, were just about fully healed. One week prior to today, the demon slayer corps had been disbanded. Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyuu Tomioka, and yourself had attended the final meeting called by the late Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s only son and successor, Kiriya Ubuyashiki. The remaining Ubuyashiki children were very grateful to you three. As the only remaining Hashira, they were only able to verbally express their appreciation for your support, to that you three slayers returned as well. If it wasn’t for the Ubuyashiki family, Muzan would have never been defeated in the first place. It was due to their clever organizational skills that any of you were even alive.

Concluding the meeting, Kiriya went on to inform the three of you now-retired Hashira that they had planned for a glorious celebration dedicated to the demon slayers to celebrate humanity’s victory. The celebration would be held at the Ubuyashiki estate since the grounds were substantial enough to hold all sorts of people and activities. Crows were sent to villages and towns across the land to inform of the festival, welcoming those who wished to show their appreciation to the remaining retired demon slayers for risking their lives for such a noble cause, and to pay their respects to those who committed the ultimate sacrifice. Every single village that was visited by a crow had accepted the invitation, many planning to bring dishes, drinks, and desserts of all kinds. Another large town had offered to bring fireworks to light up the skies at dusk.

After you were released from the Butterfly Estate’s infirmary, Sanemi had allowed you to stay at his residence while he remained. You had grown up living at the Rengoku residence after Shinjuro Rengoku saved you after your family perished at the hands of demons. Even after you became a Hashira, you would return to their home after long missions; however, part of you wanted time to yourself after losing so many people in such a short time. You loved Shinjuro and Senjuro Rengoku like family, but a feeling deep down in your heart persuaded you to accept Sanemi’s kind offer. After spending three whole months at the Butterfly Estate, constantly being woken by the voices of others you shared your hospital room with, you thought this would be a perfect opportunity to allow yourself to mourn in a healthy fashion. You spent a week at the Shinazugawa residence, taking time to heal your mental state in solitude. Sanemi Shinazugawa was a very secluded man and claimed he did not need the aid of the Kakushi throughout his time as a Hashira, so his residence remained empty until you arrived. There, you took time strolling through his gardens, tending to his flowers and various plants he owned and raised. You were surprised he didn’t show you his gardens after spending so much time training with him in his courtyard. The idea of Sanemi watering flowers made you laugh to yourself; this tough, vicious man taking the time out of his violent days of slaying demons to water some plants. Through the garden ran a small creek surrounded by neatly placed stones on either side, depositing into a pond with koi fish which seemed to be rather well behaved. At the center of his garden was a great, majestic weeping willow tree. The leaves of the tree draped down magnificently, just several feet from the ground. Most of your week was spent meditating underneath this tree. You felt safe underneath it, almost as if it was protecting you from anything outside of its weeping branches. The faint running water of the stream aided your meditation, allowing yourself to find peace at last. You also made sure to frequently check on his rhinoceros beetle that he kept in a quaint tank. You had seen him once or twice when you had visited Sanemi in the past, the memory of his name resting at the tip of your tongue. Taichi? That sounded right. You had to admit though, he was pretty adorable for a bug, and quiet too. You didn’t exactly know what to feed him, so you tried giving him a mix of greens and fruit you had harvested from the garden outside. He seemed pretty happy with what you gave him because he just about finished whatever you gave him.

It was evening when Sanemi had returned to his home, as promised by the nurses of the Butterfly Estate. In honesty, Sanemi had recovered almost two weeks ago, however the nurses insisted he remain in their care until they knew for sure his injuries wouldn’t reopen. To your surprise, Sanemi didn’t argue like he typically would. Instead, he simply agreed to stay, while on the other hand, you were able to leave just a week later. He had sent his crow the day before, informing you of his anticipated arrival, so that morning you were sure to stop in a town nearby to purchase some ingredients for a hearty meal that you figured you two could share. He wasn’t a picky eater by no means. You picked out many ingredients, green onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, napa cabbage, fresh beef, and wheat flour for the noodles you planned to knead and cook yourself. You also made sure to purchase the ingredients you needed to make his favorite sweet, ohagi. The villagers had recognized you as one of the former Hashira, insisting that you did not need to pay them for your pickings, however you persuaded them to accept your money regardless of your status. It was a strange feeling; you didn’t like being treated as someone of such importance. After all, you weren’t a Hashira anymore since the demons were defeated.

Once you returned back to the Shinazugawa residence, you spent the entirety of the day preparing your dough for the sukiyaki dish that you planned to make and bounced back and forth between making that and the ohagi as well. You imagined how Sanemi would react to making such a large meal, although you were sure he would enjoy it just as much as he enjoyed the meals prepared at the Butterfly Estate. Admittedly, the Kakushi who prepared your meals were very talented with cooking, and you were pleased that they provided such a wide range of dishes during your stay. It was a nice change to be provided with a warm meal that you didn’t have to make yourself. While living with the Rengoku family, you were typically the one to cook the meals during your days off from slayer assignments, and while on the clock, you were the one to provide for yourself. However, out of all the years you knew Sanemi, you never cooked for him before, and that made you anxious. What if he didn’t like your cooking? What if the noodles were too tough, or the vegetables were undercooked? You took a deep inhale in through your nose for a moment, then exhaled through your mouth. There was no time for worrying. If you wanted to make these dishes perfect, then you needed complete concentration.

Just a few hours before the sun set, Sanemi arrived at home. You had finished setting the table, just gathering up the leftover dishes that you used to cook. The door slid open and you jumped at the sound, reflexively whipping your frame around to face where he stood. He no longer was covered in bandages; only extra scars added to the previous ones littered his exposed skin. His face held an expression of disbelief at the sight of the prepared table; he certainly wasn’t expecting a home cooked meal.

“Welcome home, Shinazugawa-san,” you chirped. “I made dinner for us, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“You made all of this?” He questioned, taking a few steps inside before sliding the door close behind him. “I smelled it a mile away, of course I’m hungry. It smells great, L/N-san.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was a good sign, he thought it smelled good! You removed your apron and neatly folded it, setting it down on the ground beside the table. Sanemi made his way towards the table, kneeling down in front of it before scooting himself forward. You followed, clapping your hands together in thanks.

“Thank you for the meal!” You said, drool practically leaking from the corners of your mouth as you hovered over the hot, steaming bowl of sukiyaki. Sanemi smiled at your gesture, putting his hands together as well.

“Yeah, thanks for the meal,” he agreed. “I really appreciate it.”

You only gawked at the man sitting across from you. Was this really the same guy you’ve spent the last few years training with? He’s always been so brash, even towards you. The Sanemi you know would have scoffed at you without even voicing any thanks and dug right into his meal. You didn’t really know how to feel about his recent alter in personality. To be honest, you started to notice the drastic change as soon as you woke up in the Butterfly Estate just a few months prior to today. Sure, he’s always has his moments when he was tired, or even for an hour or so on a day off that you both shared sparring, but ever since the day you woke up, ever since you saw him cry, he’s been incredibly passive and compliant towards everyone. You told yourself that it was most likely due to the defeat of Kibutsuji and all demons. He didn’t have to hold such an aggressive persona anymore now that humanity’s biggest threat was eliminated. He could let his guard down a bit and try to enjoy the new chance of life that he was given. You couldn’t complain though, as amusing as it was whenever he would yell at you or call you names while you two trained or were assigned on missions together, it was nice to be friends with somebody who treated you as their equal rather than their inferior. Somewhere deep down, you thought, Sanemi never meant the things he said that might have hurt your feelings in the past.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to start eating?” he mumbled through a mouth full of noodles and meat. His pale lavender eyes darted downwards toward the faintly steaming ohagi resting on a dish in the center of the table. “I see you also made ohagi. Hopefully you made it right.”

Your cheeks puffed up in a pout, swiping the chopsticks from beside your sukiyaki dish. “Of course I made it right, red bean, just how you like them!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sanemi chuckled after he swallowed.

After you both finished your sukiyaki, you sat and chatted for a little bit while munching on your ohagi. He told you about how he was one of the last patients to leave the Butterfly Estate, and how annoying he thought this one Kakushi worker was.

“She would check up on me almost every thirty minutes, always asking if I was hungry or thirsty, or if I was in any pain,” Sanemi groaned, visibly becoming more irritated as he explained. He was certainly picky when it came to people. That certainly did sound annoying, however you knew that the Kakushi girl was most likely only doing her job to make sure Sanemi was as comfortable as possible. “It got to the point where I had to start telling her to screw off, but she never got the hint. It was almost like she kept bothering me on purpose.”

“It seems to me that she was just doing what she was told,” you reasoned as you picked up your tan ceramic mug of warm green tea, taking a sip before continuing. “I’m sure she wasn’t doing it on purpose, she probably had orders to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t have orders to check in on me that often, nobody else was checked on that much at the Estate, not even you or Giyuu. I bet if I had been more aggressive towards her then maybe she would have left me alone.”

You rolled your eyes at his last comment. That sounded more like the Sanemi you knew, trying to scare people away, especially people who tried to help him. You knew that all too well. He was the same way towards you when you both met for the first time. You became a Hashira after he did, so he initially saw you as his inferior. He tried to intimidate you before every Hashira meeting began, to which you will admit, you did end up becoming nervous around him during those gatherings.

A few years ago, shortly after you were just promoted to a Hashira, you both were assigned on a mission together. It was a several day-long mission, most of it consisting of travel time. He was very hostile towards you in the beginning of your journey, snapping at you over any small question you asked. You had always made the first move to question what he wanted for dinners, but it ended up becoming a chore to agree on meals with him. Whenever you suggested something, he would always shoot down your proposal before eventually insisting on what his tastebuds craved. You imagined that you both could have saved so much time on that mission if he had just answered you appropriately the first time. After several days of sticking together, you could tell he was starting to calm down around you. Sanemi could never be perfectly calm, so when you say he “calmed down,” he was just slightly less hostile towards you whenever you spoke to him. Regardless, you tried your best to stand your ground and remain friendly towards him after contemplating if this was just the way he was always going to be. Sanemi was your partner on this mission after all, so to make sure the mission was completed correctly you figured you’d at least stay on good terms until then.

Following the completion of that mission, Sanemi’s taunting seemed to die down during Hashira meetings, and you found yourself having neutral conversations with him from time to time. It wasn’t until after Kyojuro Rengoku’s untimely death that you found him approaching you outside of Hashira meetings.

You were truly heartbroken over the death of your closest friend, and you took it very hard. Admittedly, you were on the verge of giving up as a Hashira because of it. You stopped showing up to Hashira meetings and received many letters from the other Hashira and even Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself, but you ignored them all. The first person to approach you was Sanemi, who had traveled to the Rengoku residence where you lived. He had come to offer you a meal and some company, which was quite astonishing to you. The last time you had seen him was during Kyojuro’s funeral, but he had not interacted with you at all; none of the Hashira did, except Mitsuri Kanroji for a brief moment of mutual comfort.

Sanemi apologized that he didn’t offer his sympathies earlier. He also informed you that everyone was worried over your lack of participation, to which you scoffed.

“If they’re so worried, then maybe they should check up on me themselves,” you said.

“That’s why I came instead.”

You were taken aback by his quick response. That was the first day that you recalled his change in personality, at least towards you. He was easily able to persuade you to begin attending meetings again, and even went as far as to invite you to train with him at his residence. Slowly, you started to notice yourself becoming more and more comfortable around him, enjoying the time that you spent in his company. There were certainly still times that he insulted you for not being able to knock him down in a spar, but he didn’t come off as purposefully aggressive like he used to. Kagaya Ubuyashiki recognized how well you two regarded each other and sent you on many missions together. You eventually became confused over how you truly felt towards Sanemi.

You never wanted to admit it, but it was certain that you deeply admired your fellow Hashira. In any other case, you would have believed that you were in love with him, but there was no way that you would ever admit to something so ridiculous. Sanemi was the complete opposite of you, so self-assured and violent, he was discourteous to everyone he met, which would frankly only harm your reputation if you were to commit to him. But the biggest reason of all was that you were both demon slayers, Hashira particularly. Neither of you had time to devote to such a thing as a relationship, because any mission you could take on may well possibly be your last. Being a Hashira was a considerable obligation, to which you were entrusted to protecting the lives of those weaker than you.

For the time being, you pushed away your feelings for Sanemi. You figured that he was too focused on his work and didn’t have time for a romantic relationship anyway. That was, until you woke up after defeating the demons.

“L/N-san? What are you looking at? You’ve been staring at my shoulder for a while. Is there a bug or something?” You were pulled out of your reminiscing, focusing on the silver-haired man you were recalling from your memories once again. He dorkily brushed his shoulder with his hand. “Nothing’s there,” he murmured.

“Sorry, Shinazugawa-san, I guess I zoned out for a second there,” you stammered.

He raised a faint eyebrow towards you, almost as if in question. You tapped your fingernails on your cup of tea that was now room temperature before quickly pulling it up to your mouth to chug the rest of the herbal liquid in hopes to break this awkward tension. When you returned the cup to the table in front of you, Sanemi spoke up to change the subject.

“I received a letter from the Ubuyashiki family’s crow yesterday, it was a reminder about the celebration tomorrow night.”

You softly gasped, remembering the same letter you received the previous day as well. You were so focused on seeing Sanemi again today that you totally forgot that tomorrow was the celebration that was dedicated to the former demon slayers.

“Oh, yeah,” you began. “It is tomorrow, isn’t it? How time flies,” you chuckled to hide your uneasiness. It was no matter, Sanemi effortlessly picked up on the way your body tensed up.

“Did you have something in mind that you were going to wear?”

You pondered for a moment, trying to imagine the inside of your closet back at the Rengoku residence. You owned a few pretty kimonos, however you received them as gifts when you were still an early teenager. Now that you were almost a decade older, you had no doubt that they didn’t fit you anymore.

“Well, not exactly,” you started off. “I have some kimonos, but I don’t think they really fit me anymore. After I became a demon slayer, I typically only wore my uniforms while I outgrew the other clothes I had.”

Sanemi hummed at your response. He leaned forward onto the table, propping himself up with a forearm while grinning strangely at you. His gesture sent a chill up your spine, and you noticed your face feeling rather warm. “Huh, is that so? I guess that means that we’ll have to go to town tomorrow to find you something nice to wear. I’m not letting you go to the festival looking like a fool.”

You gaped at him, unable to articulate a response right away. Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling flattered, almost honored, to be his concern. He wanted you to look nice tomorrow is what he was trying to convey. Such a trivial thing to be concerned about, you thought, but he did have a point. You would be meeting many people the least you could do was try to look presentable. After all, this was a celebration in honor of your victory.

“You’ll go with me, Shinazugawa-san?” you questioned with wide eyes, just to be sure you heard him correctly.

“Of course I’m gonna go with you, did you even hear what I just said? You can spend the night here and we can leave at dawn, I have an extra futon you can use. We’ll have a while before the festival starts tomorrow afternoon, so maybe we can stop for lunch when we get there. My treat, since you made such a good dinner tonight,” Sanemi avoided eye contact when he complimented your cooking skills, almost as if he was too shy to actually admit it to your face.

Your face broke out in a wide smile, a wave of encouragement washing over you. He actually liked your cooking! After worrying all day over it, you actually succeeded in making a meal that Sanemi would enjoy! Not one bit of his meal was left you noticed, and he even finished two or three cups of the tea you brewed. That was a huge accomplishment in your book.

“That sounds like a great idea, thank you for coming along with me!” You bowed your head in appreciation. “I suppose it’s smart to have a second opinion on whatever I decide to wear.”

Sanemi scoffed, standing from the table and gathering your empty dishes and cups and walking away with both hands full. “I’m sure you’ll look fine in whatever you put on,” he mumbled as he strode off to the kitchen.

You were left alone at the table, looking down as you twiddled your fingers nervously. It was one thing after another that made your heart rate speed up, it seemed. You didn’t exactly know how to handle this new Sanemi, you figured he wouldn’t care what you intended to wear, or to even go as far to take you out to find a nice outfit. Typically, he would mock anything you wore that wasn’t your corps uniform, so that final compliment was what threw you off the most. You exhaled loudly and clapped your palms against your reddened cheeks, hoping to scare away the tingles that ran throughout your body. The only thing you could focus on right now was figuring out what Sanemi’s intentions were with you. Sure, they were harmless compliments and kind gestures, but it was a whole other level for this man. He didn’t regularly give out compliments. In fact, he didn’t give them out at all. But now…? No, you thought. He’s just your friend, he just has a funny way of showing it. There was no way that he felt anything romantic for you. Even if he did, you would know it by now. Sanemi was a very blunt person, and he was always honest with you… sometimes a little too honest. You bit your nail as scenarios raced through your mind. Being Sanemi’s friend was like being on a rollercoaster, sometimes you didn’t know what to expect. Sometimes it was disappointing, while other times it was a thrill.

Footsteps approached you again, tearing you from your ruminations. “It’s getting pretty late now; we’ve been talking for almost two hours. If we’re gonna be up early then we should at least get some decent sleep.”

Sanemi showed you to his room where he laid an extra futon just a few feet away from his own. You had been using his futon since you arrived at his residence a week ago and made sure to wash it before you first used it and after you last used it. He fluffed his extra futon up, asking you how you preferred to sleep, to which you insisted that you were pleased with any way your futon felt. You were just grateful that he even offered to have you spend another night.

He blew out the candle that sat between your futons that he originally lit to illuminate the room until you were both situated in your mattresses. You turned to your side to face away from his direction, taking a bundle of your heavy blanket into your embrace. You wondered to yourself if you should tell him good night or not. Would that be weird? You always said good night to Kyojuro and Senjuro. After a minute, you took in a deep breath and worked up the courage to speak, but were alas disrupted by a deep snore. Sanemi must be one of those people who fall asleep easily, you thought. It wasn’t very long before you followed, feeling an unfamiliar sense of comfort just before you fell into the unconscious world of sleep.

[wasabito]

home feels like you | naruto x fem!reader

here’s my entry for the konoha simps server collab with @bakubabes-hatake​; prompts are roommate au and “i was so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend.” (i will be making edits to this later lmao)

wordcount: 3.0k

tags: fluff, angst, modern au, healing after a breakup

synopsis: it’s a little hard for him to describe the way he feels these days, but if anyone asked, he’d say that home feels a lot like you.

Naruto didn’t wake up that morning to the sound of his alarm blaring through the stillness, or even to streams of early morning sunlight filtering in through his curtains. Yet, he sat up in bed, shirtless, hair askew, with a dry streak of saliva at the corner of his mouth. 

Even though he searched for what had woken him up so abruptly, Naruto found nothing. 

Blinking back at him in bright neon green, his alarm clock read 5:23 am, approximately thirty-seven minutes until it was time for his morning run. Not one to miss out on the chance to get more sleep, Naruto was just about to turn over in bed, stuff his head back under his pillow and be dead to the world once more—then he heard it.

Harsh whispers and...sniffling.

The Uzumaki remained silent, sleep suddenly gone from his eyes. His gaze was trained onto his bedroom door, knowing that you, his roommate, were probably just a few feet beyond it. You’d been an early riser for as long as he’d known you and Naruto imagined you were shuffling into the kitchen to make yourself some coffee before heading to work for the day. 

This time, however, it seemed your peaceful morning routine had been interrupted by an unexpected and seemingly unpleasant phone call. 

Naruto listened close while you spoke hurriedly into the receiver, a rush of words garbled together and unintelligible due your shaky voice that pierced through paper thin walls. Even from where he laid, Naruto could tell that you were just barely holding it together; it sounded like you were a moment away from crying. 

Unable to sit still, he pulled off the covers and followed after your voice. The entire apartment beyond his bedroom was cloaked in darkness, so much so that he could barely see his own two feet. The only source of light came from your cell phone that illuminated a single corner of the room where you sat.

“Hey...you uh, you doin’ okay—” Truly he hadn’t meant to be so loud, but his voice boomed regardless, causing you to flinch. Not to mention, it sounded like he’d gargled nails just five minutes prior with how gravely his voice was. Great going, Naruto, he thought to himself.

He cleared his throat, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, heh.” 

You sat curled up on the sofa, with your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear, but it didn’t seem like anyone was talking anymore. With a sigh, you hung up the phone, plunging the room in muted darkness.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “...don’t worry about it.”

Bypassing his curious look, you trudged back into your bedroom. It seemed he would not be getting an answer anytime soon. Naruto blinked slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he reentered his room as well. But the more he thought about you, the more unsettled he became.

You had moved in with him six months ago after Sasuke left for business overseas. But even since then, Naruto still only knew as much about you as he had when he first met you, which was literally next to nothing. He could respect that you were a private person, but he still felt it was a little ridiculous that you both shared a refrigerator and he’d had to stalk your Facebook page just to find out your birthday. 

The two of you had lived as nothing more than strangers for an entire six months, but in all that time, he had never heard you sound like that...

His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Normally he wouldn't be so bothered, but with Sasuke away and Sakura busy with her own life, he was beginning to feel as if he had nothing else to steal his attention. Naruto was only now realizing how invested he was in the lives of his friends, more so than his own even. Being involved was second nature.

Two and a half weeks later, the reason behind your odd behavior made itself known. In fact, it quite literally stood at your shared doorstep. 

It was a normal Saturday night, and for once he was home instead of gaming the entire night away over at Kiba’s place. Naruto had been in the kitchen making himself yet another cup of instant ramen when a knock came at the door, shattering the evening stillness. Before he could even set down his chopsticks, you had bounded down the hall with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder. He had never seen you so upset, but your anger was unmistakable as you wrenched the door open with enough force to rattle it on its hinges.

“Here’s your shit.”

“Can we at least talk abou—”

“No!” You slammed the door shut in the face of… whoever that was.

Naruto came around the counter to stand in the hall. He didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was so blatantly eavesdropping on you. Was there really a point in hiding? 

You turned in time to catch him out of your peripheral, frown still set on your lips, though it softened a bit when you caught sight of him watching you. “You’re pretty nosy.” Was your only remark, but despite the edge in your words, it didn’t sound like you were annoyed at him, almost like you had expected it.

“Well, can you blame me?” Naruto scratched his neck sheepishly, “You were actin’ pretty weird, so of course I got curious, what did ya expect?”

You snorted. “So, that’s your perfect defense?”

Naruto gave you the goofiest smile in response. “Gimme a minute and I’ll think of a better one!”

With a laugh you slumped into one of the bar stools near the counter. You hadn’t stopped laughing at him for another minute, but then… your teetering laughter slowly turned into sobs. You shoved your face behind the palms of your hands, but Naruto could see the way your entire body shook. The sound of your crying startled him so bad, he nearly choked on his own spit. Every thought running through his mind came to a screeching halt. It was as if the sounds that escaped your mouth was set to a frequency that would break his heart to pieces over and over again. 

“H-Hey,” Naruto reached over, placing a heavy arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. “It’s...gonna be okay, okay? Whatever it is, it’ll work itself out. Please, don’t cry...”

After another moment, your sobs quieted down to a whimper, your cheeks were still wet and Naruto was about seventy percent sure there was a little snot on his tee shirt. Nevertheless, he remained still until you were ready to pull away.

“Um, thanks…” you whispered, lips accidentally grazing his collarbone. Not a second later, you released him, and wiped at your eyes with your shirt sleeve. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I—um...I guess I owe you some sort of explanation, considering I just used you a human tissue.” 

Using humor to cope, that was familiar. 

You were trying to lighten the mood, Naruto could tell, so he went along with your joke and laughed. “Yeah, I guess havin’ you tell me is better than me playin’ spy, huh?” 

He reached for his forgotten cup of noodles. They were a little soggy after being neglected for so long, but that didn’t stop him from slurping up the entire thing in record time. 

“Ah! That hit the spot!”

You laughed again, sniffling as you did so and for a moment he was captured. 

That watery smile, the wrinkle in your eyelids, the upward curve of your lips, even the very sound you made, all of it caught him by the throat. It was almost like he was just now realizing that you were a girl. And a really pretty one, at that. Naruto gulped and looked away. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him or why he was just noticing how cute you were, but he shook his head as if to dispel some of the mental fog.

“That was my boyfriend—ex boyfriend, I mean.” 

“Ex boyfriend?” he repeated.

“Yeah, um, we kind of do—er—did the long distance thing...he lives a few cities away, goes to a completely different university so um…anyway I was just uh, returning his clothes....”

You seemed to be struggling to find the right words, likely still processing everything that had happened. At times like this, Naruto was thankful that he and Hinata had ended things so amicably. Not everyone had the luxury. Relationships were hard as it is, and when it was over, picking back up like nothing happened was nigh impossible. There was always something left behind as a reminder, be it scars, old wounds in the form of memories. Sakura had once dubbed it ‘relationship residue’.

“Hey, don’t push yourself!” Naruto offered a grin and a thumbs up. “C’mon, let’s get your mind off it. We can watch a movie, or play some music, or…” he looked around the apartment in search of something you both could do but came up short.

“I appreciate the gesture, Naruto, but I think I’m just going to head to bed early. I’m a little tired.”

You gave a small smile, and though it didn’t reach your eyes, Naruto could do nothing but watch after your retreating back yet again. 

He didn’t like the helpless feeling that latched onto him. He would always and forever be doer. He couldn't just sit idly by while you went through this hard time alone. Though he kept quiet, he was determined to make you feel better somehow. He never wanted to see you cry like that ever again.

Following that night, the dynamic between the two of you had changed. Naruto, naturally friendly as he was, made it his first priority to check up on you and see how you were doing. And instead of heading straight to your bedroom upon returning from class or work, nowadays, you spent your free time in Naruto’s company. Whether it be just by watching the evening news together or doing homework in the same area. For the first time in months, you two were acting more and more like roommates—maybe even friends. You still hadn't opened up much about your ex boyfriend, but that was okay. Naruto knew that as long as you understood he was there to support you, that you were not alone, one day you’d be able to speak about it with him.

A change in weather seemed to follow the change in pace. Winter was fast approaching and with it came colder mornings, frosted leaves that crunched under foot, and a need to remain bundled up lest one catch a cold. Naruto had just returned home to find that you had made a hot pot. The entire apartment was filled with such a delicious smell that had his mouth watering and stomach grumbling in askance.

“Hey there!” you called from the kitchen. “I just finished up, grab a bowl and get some.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Naruto quickly shrugged out of his coat and scarf, doing a little shimmy, then grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. “It smells sooo good~”

His eagerness managed to pull a laugh out of you. You quickly handed him the ladle. “Go nuts...well...not too crazy.” Knowing Naruto, it was safe to say he would inhale the entire pot if left up to his own devices, you’d come to learn this the hard way. 

“Yeah, yeah.” he said, scooping himself a hefty serving. He wasted no time at all, digging in with much gusto. “Damn!! This is hella good! You’re such a great cook, roomie.”

You were unsure whether he was merely flattering you for that sake of flattery or if he truly enjoyed the meal, but you accepted his compliments as gracefully as you could manage. 

Eating dinner like this was nice. Naruto made for good company. For the time being, you let yourself enjoy the simplicity of the moment, the utter lack of expectation, the vibrant energy that came with mutual understanding, all of it made you feel much warmer inside. You knew it wasn’t just the hot pot.

Several more nights were spent just like this, relishing the friendly companionship that was slowly being fostered between you two. It wasn’t like you had very many friends to begin with, but you could admit that Naruto was a breath of fresh air. His sunny persona and steadfast disposition always managed to brighten up your day. Most nights, he talked enough for the both of you and was a pleasant distraction from less than savory thoughts regarding your ex. It was safe to say that you rather liked being his roommate. Naruto made you feel safe in your own skin again. 

You had just returned from class when you heard Naruto fumbling around in the bathroom. He wasn’t a quiet roommate by any means, but he usually never made this much noise in the mornings. From the looks of things, he had just returned from a run, and was now showering away the sweat and grime. 

“You okay in there?” you called. There was no answer. 

Instead, the restroom door was thrust open and your roommate burst through, darting down the hall at breakneck speed, naked as the day he was born. You blinked rapidly, mouth hanging open. What...the actual hell?

“My bad!! I forgot my towel!” His awkward laugh echoed from somewhere in his bedroom. 

“You could’ve just asked me to bring you one.”

“I kinda panicked a little.”

You snorted behind your hand. “A little?”

“Okay, maybe a lot.” 

Naruto returned to where you stood, thankfully he was fully dressed, although his wet hair hung low around his face, wispy tendrils clinging to his cheeks. The water droplets were left to be caught by the towel around his neck.

“Dude, you’re gonna get sick,” you grabbed the towel and draped it over his head. Naruto was just a few inches taller, but you still managed, even if you had to get on your toes a bit, while he bent to accommodate the height difference. 

You carefully towel dried his hair as best as you could. Naruto kept his eyes solely on you. It was a little unnerving, but you did your best to ignore it, until he finally spoke up.

“How are you feeling?” 

Due to proximity, you could feel his puffs of breath fanning against your cheek.

“I’m good now, Naruto. Great, actually.”

He smiled at that. “I’m glad.”

You chewed your lip to stop yourself from smiling back but it was too late, he’d already caught a glimpse of it. 

“There you go,” you returned the towel to his open hands. “All done.”

“Thanks a bunch! I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

You found that a little hard to believe. But Naruto was walking away before you could question him about it. You thought about the way he looked at you, how his eyes seemed to gleam as he did. It made your cheeks feel like they were on fire. 

Days later, you still thought about it even as you stretched yourself across the carpeted floors of your apartment living room in an attempt to gather your thoughts. It was a feeble attempt, and you weren’t really a yoga person, but you were insistent on doing something that didn’t fall into the category of wondering what your roommate was currently doing. And it worked for all of five minutes before you simply laid on your back and stared up at the ceiling.

That was the exact image of you Naruto walked in on. He tossed his keys on the table, left his backpack by the door, and toed off his shoes like normal, it was a routine ingrained in him by now.

“Uhh, what are you doing on the floor?” Naruto stood over your figure with a quirky grin. He was wearing a turtleneck… which was a little odd, you’d only ever seen him tee shirts and sweatpants. But it was nice. He looked nice. Wait, no—

“Why are you wearing…?” You trailed off as Naruto laid himself by your side, wedging himself between you and the coffee table.

“Nope! I asked first!” He shuffled a bit to make himself comfortable. “So, what are we doing on the floor?”

Keeping your eyes glued to the ceiling and not on the man who was getting a view of your side profile, you replied simply. “I was doing yoga at first.”

Naruto was silent. Did he know what yoga was? You were going to ask, but he beat you to it, humming an ‘oh cool’, and accepting your lukewarm response easily.

“You know...these past few months have been kinda like a dream.” 

“What do you mean by that, Naruto?”

Finally craning your neck to the side, you were greeted with the full view of him. Soft blonde hair, ocean-blue eyes, and the kind of smile that made you want to smile too. It was so hard to be sad or down in his presence, it was like he vanquished darkness with his light. God, you were sounding so shakespearean. 

Unaware of your inner battle, Naruto continued. “I grew up in an orphanage, so the thought of having a home was...a bit like a fairytale. But then I learned that people can be just as much a home as any random building, ya know?”

You did know. You knew it too well, in fact. Once you had made the mistake of falling in love with your best friend. He had become your home, only to leave you broken and abandoned. 

“Yeah...I get that.” 

“And you,” Naruto continued. “You feel a lot like what I think home feels like.”

You blinked at him, stunned, heart stuttering because you could tell he meant what he’d said. Goddamn him for being this way. For being so good.

Naruto sat up and you followed suit. “I just wanted to say thank you, Y/n.” 

And with that, he leaned forward and pecked your cheek.

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: My contribution to the KC New Year’s Day Exchange for the lovely Charlotte. (Modern P&Pish/The Hating Game AU + All Human + Romcom Tie-ins)

(AO3)(FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

(Spite) of Their Lives

For the past ten months, the routine has been this: Monday through Friday she avoids his eyes, claps back when he crosses a line at the office because it’s only a matter of time before he does something rash and destructive and she has to help fix it - again. Saturday she ignores his emails and text messages. A bevy of unreads she collects like bills, like love letters. However, not because she wants them or anything but so she has an excuse to ream him for his you can’t avoid the devil forever, sweetheart 😈 assholeness later. Like, come on, get a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or a freaking life outside work already. Seriously. And Sunday…Sunday she reminds herself of all the reasons why he’s the biggest pain in the ass she’s ever met.

A right charming prick, really.

He’s the kind of man who, with a natural blend of arrogance, genteel good looks, cunning, money and rapier’s wit, knows just how to poke and pinch at every last nerve she harbors beneath her skin until she wants to scream. Until she does. Until she’s cursing the name Klaus Mikaelson before her first cup of coffee in the morning and after her last sip of wine before bed at night.

To call him a colleague is a stretch for Caroline. A big one. Let alone a friend, at least not in the conventional sense.

They clash more often than they collaborate on anything, after all: with him demanding speed and severity when it comes to finding ways to cut their competitors off at the neck; and her countering with options that preserve dignity, that allow for diplomacy as well as smooth transitions of power that begin and end with a cordial handshake. Theirs’ is a total conflict in tactic, in personality. A spark of opposition that means business—you know the type. It’s ugly courtesy mixed with innuendo that slides into begrudging respect twenty-four hours a day, fifty-two weeks of the year.

They’re opposites in every sense of the word, but it works.

Together they make for a surprisingly prosperous combination in the corporate world, and it’s one that just so happens to help them rake in diverse clients on top of big bucks revenue.

So where Klaus snarls at almost everyone, Caroline beams. Likewise, where she's poised and reliable in the midst of a crisis, he rages. Sometimes throws things. Expensive things. Once or twice at people’s heads, though that “rumor” lives in the Do Not Discuss Or Else vault with all of those shady concerns about certain members of his family.

Since she’s neither short on smiles nor sociability either, it follows that he tends to be gruff in comparison. Or as most other employees like to whisper, as grouchy as a wealthy Brit has any right to be.

Needless to say then, the muscular tick along his jaw is a measure of his mood. It’s a physical marker to watch for so one knows when it’s okay to broach a sensitive topic with him or when it’s smarter to bow out, zip it, lay low, waiting for a better time to tackle the issue at hand without any measure of solvency. Caroline’s become an expert at dissecting it. That little quirk. She knows precisely what to look for. Figured it out in matter of weeks. Not to boast or anything.

(Hint: the key is in the rapidity with which the tick comes, its root cause. Next comes deducing how long it’s likely to last. Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Calculate the potential damages. Then follow up accordingly.)

So now she knows to attack in the evenings, negotiate in the afternoons, and relent in the mornings. She’s learned what strategies to unleash on him and when.

Call it an Unwind the Big Bad Prick science, if you will. A crash course on all Mikaelson whims and asshole-isms.

The truth is Caroline’s not afraid to provoke him. To rattle him. She never has been, never will be.

She’ll call bullshit directly. to. his. smug. face. when he deserves a good tongue lashing or needs a simple lesson in civility, which just so happens to be much more often than one would think.

Summa cum laude honors, and unmatched organizational skills aside, she knows that’s one of the reasons why the Mikaelson siblings had Klaus hire her in the first place. She’s the hip check he needs. The temperate balance to his foul, distrusting moods and impulsivity.

There’s an entire arsenal of cutting glares at her disposal for him now. A challenge that sits on the tilt of her nose when they arrive somewhere simultaneously, both intent on being the first in the room. It doesn’t matter where it is, with whom they’re meeting, or why. The point is to compete…to be the one who’s holding the ace in her palm.

She aims to outsmart, outthink, and out win him in as many schemes as possible. In as many days, too, if she can swing it.

It’s how Caroline has come to carry arguments in the strum of her fingers. Wear them in the slight curl of her upper lip when they disagree. Her hair flip’s perfected, a real asset. A true silencer when she needs it to be. Like when he tries to pull rank or won’t listen to logic at all. (Which, again, happens more frequently than it should. May even prompt an eye roll or two. Sometimes three - you know, if the chip on his shoulder starts to burnish gold and he downshifts into being ruthless and impossible again.)

Not to mention the fact that her verbal comebacks slap harder than Klaus’s do since she smiles as she delivers them, the effect as disarming for him as it is satisfying for her—and oh, boy, can she sure deliver a line! Then watch as it lands like a whap across his cheek.

None of that has anything on the swivel of her heels, though. Or the sashay of her retreat which she enacts only once she’s successfully shaved him down a peg or two, knocking his ego back down to planet earth where it belongs. At least for the rest of the day.

It’s safe to expect that it’ll be back in tact by tomorrow - it always is - but she still lives for the dimpled purse of his mouth, anyway. That rough swallow of his Adam’s apple. The sag in his seat which precedes the defensive crossing of his arms that lets her know she’s one-upped him, and he’s impressed. Intrigued. Put out in a way that makes him borderline congratulatory…almost flirtatious, really.

(Except they can’t stand each other so she brushes the latter thought into the back of her brain where it can asphyxiate and die. Like - as soon as possible.)

A backward wave of her hand is the only thing Caroline leaves behind as her red-soled heels click down the hallway afterwards. Headed back toward her own office. Sometimes she steers toward the elevators afterwards because it’s late, because she now has something to gloat about on her ride home.

She prefers to abandon him when he’s at her mercy like that: stunned, speechless, reeling, his head still turning over her last competitive taunt.

It makes him look boyish even though he’s pushing thirty. Pleasantly caught. Not to mention a smidge more attractive than she wants him to be with those rumpled blond curls and abandoned tie, his sleeves cuffed up to the elbows.

Klaus seems to derive some kind of twisted satisfaction from the leveling of odds between them regardless. And why the hell not? So does she.

It’s adrenalizing, plain and simple. A grin always seems to snake its way onto their faces at the same moment. Win or lose. Every time.

Wrapped up in their little game of professional chess, though, Caroline is too full of plans and spite to worry over what that zing she feels between them means.

                                                           _ 

Klaus is fond of endearments. And he uses them.

A lot.

They tend to be ridiculous at best, his pet names, downright inappropriate at worst. And he knows it. Designs it so, his grin stretching wider at the edges while he gauges her reaction to his latest assignations.

They slide off his tongue freely, suggestively, relentlessly, until they’re an avalanche of  “love,” “queenie,” “venomous cupcake,” “Care-ella de Ville” monikers that fly in her direction more often than not as they go toe-to-toe over some work issue or find themselves cloistered together in the Brainstorm Wing, alone, far too long to be considered tolerable.

He talks and teases. She mostly ignores it because she’s focused, determined - a freaking whiz at professionalism - though he does win a scoff every now and again over their electronics.

That’s simply the way it is between them. How it’s always been.

Occasionally Caroline will threaten to set his pants on fire or will offer to drown him in his most expensive bottle of bourbon for extra measure. Anything to shut him up. Anything to curb his persistent interruptions whenever they’re up to their elbows in files, arguing, warding off a loss before an important meeting or a deadline. But it never works. It never sticks.

Seriously, nothing phases him.

The man is either impervious to rebuff of any sort or his encouragement hinges on the one stupid traitorous blush (one!) that seems to accompany any glare Caroline fires in his direction. (A weakness she’s more than desperate to delete from her physiology.) His audacity is incredible to witness in person. Absolutely incredible.

Suspicion rankles in her gut because it’s as if Klaus has no other targets even when there are other associates present, which doesn’t make sense. It’s just her. Just this. Just endless time and opportunity to pun her to death.

Talk about sucks!

Can’t someone else be his designated prey instead? Why her? Why now? How’d she get to be so unlucky as to have to put up with him all the time?

Rifling through documents one evening in late November, forced to work in tandem per their boss and CEO, Elijah’s, request, the two of them nibble on Chinese takeout and work. Bicker. Pour over contracts. Plot strategy in the B-wing late into the morning hours.

“I know you’re loath to admit it, sunshine,” Klaus says with a yawn after they concoct a one-two punch right as the clock strikes three; it’s a killer solution on all fronts, “but you and I are good together. We make a formidable team.”

“Oh, stop with that.”

“Stop with what?”

“You know it annoys me,” she frowns. “Come on.”

“Annoys you? It was an observation, Caroline. I was under the impression those weren’t illegal.”

Tossing her iPad and color-coded notes aside, she runs a lazy hand through her hair before leveling him with a look, “I wasn’t talking about the team comment and you know it.”

“Weren’t you?”

“No.”

“Pity,” Klaus says with a sigh and a stretch, raking her over while amusement dances in his rimmed eyes. “I’d hoped we were on the same page for once.”

“Well, we’re not.”

“Clearly.”

“An apology would be welcome at this juncture, you know. I’m open to hearing one,” she suggests.

“An apology?” Caroline waits. Taps her monogrammed company pen on the table’s ledge. He smirks before unhooking another button at his collar and angles closer. “For what?”

With a huff, “We’ve talked about this and you can’t just—how dare you keep—I—”

“Yes?” Klaus doesn’t say it but another endearment hangs from his smirking lips. It waits to shoot her way any second. “Go on then. State your grievance with me.”

“There’s no point.”

“Why’s that?”

“You already know what it is,” she says.

“Do I now?”

Growing perturbed, she ignores the flutter in her belly under this intense scrutiny, his expression a mixture of steady, sarcastic, and softly admiring. “This whole conversation is ridiculous!”

“Fair point. Though, personally, I disagree.”

“You…” she says, fighting back a blush and a laugh then shaking her head, “you are the actual worst.”

“Funny. That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

“Perhaps not, sunshine,” he dimples, slumping back casually before interlocking his fingers behind his head, and sighs, “but I’ll take it as such anyway. Just this once.”

Caroline scowls. Flattens her lips. Mumbles something about “endearment harassment.” Resists another blush as well as the urge to strangle him before the paperwork for this deal is done.

Instead she decides to re-send him the Merriam Webster definitions of impertinent and dickhead from her phone again—you know, for clarity’s sake. Then she asks demurely, all eyelashes, her hands folded flat, if Satan has happened to set the date for his coronation into hell yet.

“Why?” Leaning over the armrest with his chair wheels squeaking against the floor, Klaus is all cheek and attentiveness and spicy cologne. “Care to be my escort for the big event?” he says without missing a beat.

With a snort, “In your dreams, Mikaelson. But so help me, if you don’t knock it off and focus so we can finish preparing for this meeting tomorrow, then I promise I’ll find a way for the devil to come and collect you early himself. Got it?”

“Sure thing,” he nods. “Can’t have you wanting to push me off the roof later now, can I?”

“Who’s to say I’m not already tempted?” Caroline mumbles.

He swivels to face her, all levity, with one eyebrow raised. Meanwhile she focuses on organizing their files into separate stacks. “Are you?” he says.

Shrugging, “I wouldn’t push it any further if I were you. Better to be silent but productive than flippant and airborne, don’t you think?”

A chuckle. A soft press of his palm over her wrist.

“Well played, love. I don’t know if hearing that leaves me feeling more wounded or paranoid, but…well played.”

Warm, certain, Klaus’s touch lingers far too long after he draws away.

                                                            _ 

—Archived Twitter messages from FIERCE AND WE KNOW IT SQUAD group chat on December 5th, 10:42 P.M.

thiskatRAWRS : i said find his celebrity doppelgänger for us, caroline. wtf !!

crowned caroline: i did

thiskatRAWRS: no, you defected. like a coward

crowned caroline: did not!

thiskatRAWRS: did too

thiskatRAWRS: besides, i think we both know there’s a better selection to be had here

enzobites: oh - this outta be good, lusty (or is it katTHRUSTY now?)

thiskatRAWRS: *middle finger emoji*

crowned caroline: ugh. don’t provoke her, okay?

enzobites: bugger me for wondering at Elijah’s reaction to his ladylove’s ranking + assessment

enzobites: of

enzobites: his

enzobites: younger

enzobites: brother’s

enzobites: sex

enzobites: appeal

thiskatRAWRS: i still have eyes, don’t i? just gotta keep my hands to myself. not that it’s anyone’s business but mine and Elijah’s if i do or do not 😼

enzobites: …and you wonder why you were reassigned from HR, love

thiskatRAWRS: *double middle finger emoji*

bonnie-b-is-me: Kat told me Klaus has an up-to-no-good Jude Law look about him. is that semi-accurate, Care?

bonnie-b-is-me: (me = works elsewhere = totes out of loop) :(

crowned caroline: nope

crowned caroline: i stand by my original choice

bonnie-b-is-me: which was?

crowned caroline: *inserts internet meme*

bonnie-b-is-me: 😯

enzobites: wut…why Grumpy Cat?

thiskatRAWRS: i told you ^^^ doesn’t count, pick a human

crowned caroline: but the resemblance is astounding! it’s uncanny, really

crowned caroline: look here, i’ll prove it further: *inserts another three memes, one with a side-by-side photo comparison*

enzobites: wicked Santa hat there, Klausy

bonnie-b-is-me: lmao

crowned caroline: Klaus is literally Grumpy Cat in human form bc 1) he’s surly 2) he’s miserable and repressed af 3) he’s one explosive hiss away from taking another corporate life at all times

bonnie-b-is-me: so let him be known, 4eva more, as Grumpy Corporate Klaus

enzobites: i dig it

enzobites: GCK ftw then, yea? ;)

crowned caroline: 👍🏼

thiskatRAWRS: sorry, but all i’m getting from care’s explanation is “overlooked sex kitten” vibes. so if that’s how you view Klaus then idk how to break this to you, girl, but…

enzobites: BOW CHICKA WOW WOW

thiskatRAWRS: exactly !! one of them is gonna pounce on the other before long—ruffled feathers and all of that meowww

bonnie-b-is-me: bets, anyone?

enzobites: count me in, gorgeous ;)

thiskatRAWRS: ditto

crowned caroline: OMG SHUT UP ALL OF YOU

bonnie-b-is-me: did either of you hear something?

thiskatRAWRS: sounds like denial chirping to me

enzobites: or uh…hate could be their preferred foreplay

crowned caroline: THIS ISN’T FUNNY

bonnie-b-is-me: wouldn’t be the first time

thiskatRAWRS: and def not the last !!

bonnie-b-is-me: *inserts YouTube link to “Dangerous Woman” by Ariana Grande*

crowned caroline: WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM??? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, WTF

thiskatRAWRS: *inserts “You Can’t Handle the Truth” gif*

enzobites: from the way Klaus verbally paws at Blondie here in the office, to the longing look in his eyes when she speaks (or flirts) with any good-looking bloke who isn’t him, i wager it’s only a matter of time before—

crowned caroline has left the chat

                                                           _ 

A natural curiosity is there, of course. Call it a fatal flaw. A susceptibility. Whatever.

She’s only human.

No use in haranguing her about it forever, you know?

                                                           _ 

It’s a passing thought or two when the workload is mounting, when Caroline’s eyes blur numbers into scratchy colors of highlighter and her days are spun into spools of navy blue suits and unsigned contracts and poorly worded emails and coffee cart lattes plus beignets which she needs to keep her standing upright for another few hours or else she’ll peter out mid-sentence, toppling into the nearest chair; only to then find what she craves deposited, like a gift from the gods, onto her desk the exact instant she feels herself deflating into putty. No evidence at all that someone had been there. Not an item out of place. No note attached anywhere.

There’s also that prickle against the base of her neck sometimes. A tingle of awareness that tells her Klaus is either close by or he’s peering at her through the glass walls again, idly. Watching her with some soft and introspective intensity Caroline doesn’t understand let alone question thoroughly.

It’s a collection of moments.

Looks.

Coincidences.

Things that happen by accident because their schedules align - because, for example, they’re seated side-by-side on their way to the New Orleans airport one afternoon to catch a flight back home after closing Gerard Enterprises when the car swerves. The driver’s caught in a blast of turbulent traffic, and without thinking, she crosses the invisible boundary between them to curl against his side, her fingers fisting in his unworn seatbelt. Her head tucks against his clavicle, her eyelashes flicking over the buttons on his shirt. Their breaths heavy but in time.

“Are you alright, love? Are you hurt?” Klaus asks, his mouth burring like an ember against her crown of golden hair.

“I’m okay,” she breathes. In then out. In then out. “Just a little toppled and caught unawares is all,” she adds as his pulse slows beneath her ear, his hand hot on her bicep. “You?”

“Heart in my stomach, woman in my arms, so otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

“Yes - quite.”

Then there are the private conversations Caroline overhears. Like the one where he informs a slimy potential de Martel client the two of them are “a package deal” and that she is “not one to be trifled with, disrespected, or undervalued.” Or another where he confesses to his sister, Rebekah, that they’d “be bloody lost without her here.”  

It’s how, any time they cross the street together, Klaus’s hand presses against the small of her back as if he wishes to offer another layer of protection. Almost like it belongs there.

It’s when, after a bout of flu descends like a hammer, leaving her phlegmy, feverish for days, and unable to work, a knock sounds at her door to reveal him standing on the other side. Looking sheepish, a shopping bag full of get well tea and medicinal items hangs from one of his arms while chicken noodle soup is Tupperwared in the other. To top it all off a fresh bouquet of sunflowers perches in the crook of his elbow, which he places in a vase with water before he leaves so she can rest. So she can recover her strength and faculties.

And even though everyone at the office whispers that Klaus only cares about himself, and about what comforts he can afford, Caroline knows he pays the secretaries’ bonuses directly out of his own pocket. He also offers use of his car service when the hour is late or the weather gets too dicey to walk to the subway, so he can’t possibly be that awful, can he? Can he?

                                                            _ 

These passing thoughts accrue over days, hours, weeks, to leave an imprint large enough to make her wonder. To have her questioning their so-called triviality.

Caroline hates to think it but - freaking hell - what if her friends are right? Is the in like vs. in spite line between her and Klaus really that thin, or is she only now realizing to admit so will change everything in ways she cannot begin to fathom?

Swipe left to descend into Emoville✔️

Swipe right for Distraction City✔️

(Both options suck equally for her, as it turns out.) (So she guilts Enzo into paying for drinks for the next three Saturdays and processes in true Forbes fashion: with lists a’plenty.)

[an-otome-cally-correct]

Ikemen Mousette: Temptation of Fluff with Great Furballs (Part 5)

*shakes pockets* Yeaaah that’s all the mousettes I got y’all for now ahem what. Tagging @themayamermaid-blog​ as per request~  If you wanna read more of my stuff, then check here.

She knew Mozart had a very good reason for staring at her as if she had grown three more heads because, technically, she did have three more heads on her shoulders. With a ball of fluff on each of her shoulders and one on top of her head, if there were ever an appropriate time for Mozart’s snark, it would’ve been right about then.

Too bad he couldn’t actually talk, for the time being.

Such a blessing in disguise.

For reasons she wouldn’t be able to fathom within her lifetime - a recurring theme, lately - Napoleon, Sebastian and Jeanne had opted to tag along for the remainder of her chores. From delivering the fresh laundry to their respective rooms, to cleaning the windows, to taking inventory in the cellar, the three of them stayed with her and helped the best they could, even when she repeatedly told them it wasn’t necessary.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” she hummed as she made her way towards the windows, armed with fresh curtains. “We’re just here to put your curtains back.”

From where he was perched atop the piano keys, Mozart squeaked in acknowledgement and picked up from where he had left off. Disjointed as it was, the beginnings of a melody echoed in the room as he pressed on one key at a time. It was admirable that he’d push on with doing what he loved despite being only a little bit bigger than the palm of her hand. It was also adorable, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“Alright, alright. The three of you get down so I can hang these.”

Her passengers flew off, but just as she was about to pull a chair over for her to stand on, Napoleon and Jeanne squeaked at her. She saw them fly up to where one of the bare curtain rods were, and the two Frenchmen- er, furballs gave it a nudge. She had a pretty good idea what they were getting at but-

“I’m just hanging some curtains. It’s not like I’m going to-”

The trill of a piano key being repeatedly struck cut her off, and she turned her attention back to Mozart. It wasn’t easy to make out their expressions when they were just a little under half a ruler tall, but based on what she could see and what she knew of Mozart, the ball of fluff sitting on the piano was probably scowling.

“Something wrong, Mozart?”

Instead of answering her, Mozart flew over to where the three other puffs had perched themselves atop the curtain rods, and after what seemed to be a brief discussion, the four of them started coordinating with each other in removing the curtain rods for her. They eventually managed to lift one off, balancing the metal rod on top of their heads, and steadily lowered it to where she could reach.

Small and fluffy as they were, they were still the same, stubborn, yet thoughtful, men she lived with.

“Alright, you win,” she sighed in surrender as she carefully set down the curtain rod on the floor. “I’ll slip on the curtains while you get the other one.”

The four puffs did as they were told, and as soon as she finished threading the sheets through the pole, they put them back to where they belong. “Thanks for the help guys, but really, I could have handled it on my own.”

To her surprise, Sebastian tapped her forehead, almost as if to mimic the way he’d flick her whenever she was being silly albeit nowhere near as painful. He then pointed a wing at the fresh curtains, then at himself, at the curtain again, then at himself once more. She squinted her eyes, not entirely sure what he was signaling about, but still, she hazarded a guess.

“...Are you trying to tell me to leave the curtains to you next time?”

Sebastian nodded.

She quirked an eyebrow. “What if you’re not around and they need to be replaced?”

This time, Mozart raised a wing to catch her attention, and then gestured to himself. 

“You’ll do it?”

Mozart nodded.

“...Because you don’t want me standing on a chair and risk falling?” 

Sebastian, Napoleon and Jeanne nodded, while Mozart simply turned away, refusing to answer.

She could feel a small smile tugging on her lips, appreciating their worry for her, and returned their kindness with a gentle pat on their heads. Even when they were barely the size of a saucer and could fit snugly inside a teacup, they were still more concerned over her than their own selves. “Alright, I understand. I’ll leave it to you then.”

The four of them nodded in approval, just as the clock inside the piano room chimed. A quick glance told her that it was almost time to prepare dinner, but with the state everyone was in, a bottle of Rouge was more than enough for everyone, and probably a small meal for Sebastian.

“Oh, it’s that time already,” she murmured before turning to Sebastian. “I’ll check on everyone and let them know there’ll be Blanc and Rouge available in the dining hall. That sounds good?”

Sebastian let out an affirmative squeak and flew up to settle on her shoulder once more, causing her to blink.

“...Uh, I was kinda thinking I can leave you behind now?” When the other furballs heard what she said, they all hurried to return to their places - now with Mozart perched right beside Jeanne. “...I guess that’s a no.”

Sighing, she surrendered to her role as a tree and set off to look for the rest of the residents. The last she saw of Leonardo and the Count was back in the library, and she decided to start there. Luckily, the two vampires-turned-furballs were still there, still reading, albeit different books from what they were reading earlier and now with Lumiere comfortably curled around its owner.

“Leonardo, Count,” she evenly called out. “I’ll be preparing Rouge and Blanc in the dining room for dinner in a bit. Please join us when you can.”

Rather than an a squeak or a purr, she was met by looks that were not unlike the one Mozart had given her when she first entered the piano room. “They wanted to tag along,” she explained. The two balls of fluff nodded, and then they were flying over to her - Count resting on her head right next to Napoleon while Leonardo opted to sit beside Sebastian. “You two...”

She heard something like a laugh come from Leonardo, and she tried to shoot him a glare as best as she could without knocking anyone off balance. “Is flying that tiring, or do you all enjoy the free ride?”

At that, she felt two pairs of wings pat her head to console her, courtesy of Napoleon and the Count. It wasn’t that they were being a bother, but it was really just getting ridiculous - and she had set a high bar for ridiculous. Regardless, she really didn’t have any complaints except for them acting unusually childish, but in their current form, it was more amusing than annoying.

After all, what kind of monster would she be to hate such small puffballs?

With two new passengers, she decided to check on Isaac next, only to find his room empty. Arthur’s and Theo’s were empty as well, and so was Dazai’s and Vincent’s. Worry started to creep in on her, fearing the worst - they were big enough for Cherie to eat in one bite, of course she’d be worried - but to her relief, she found everyone else safe and sound in the parlor, watching a game of chess between Arthur and Isaac.

“There you all are,” she breathed. She counted the balls of fur surrounding the chessboard and once everyone was accounted for, she let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Dinner will be ready in a bit. Anyone hungry can drop by the dining room. And since everyone’s here...”

One by one, she plucked the fluffballs sitting on her shoulders and head, and set them down on the table where everyone else was. “You lot have to stay here while I prepare dinner.” This time, they didn’t complain, and instead resigned to watching Arthur and Isaac resume their game.

With that settled, she headed for the cellar to fetch a fresh bottle of Rouge and Blanc before proceeding to the kitchen, so she could fix Sebastian and herself a meal. It didn’t take long for her to prepare everything, and soon enough, everyone had come into the dining room for their Rouge and Blanc. 

The rest of the evening went without a hitch, and she let them all go back to whatever it was they were doing while she took care of the cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. She was thankful nothing bad happened despite the circumstances they were in, but frankly she had grown so used to cooking and eating with everyone that it was almost lonely to see only one plate of actual food on the table. She caught herself before she could entertain any more of those sad thoughts, reminding herself that they’d all be back to normal sooner or later.

“I guess I’m just a little tired,” she murmured to herself as she finally made her way back to her room. 

A quick shower and a fresh set of clothes later, she tossed herself onto her bed and let herself relax. She might have told Sebastian and everyone else that she could handle all the housework by herself, but even though she could, it was still a lot of work. She felt it all finally weighing on her body as she drifted into a deep sleep, but not before wishing that everyone would be fine by the time she woke up.

It felt like morning came sooner than it usually did, her body protesting as she pushed herself up on her bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. If it weren’t for the sunlight streaming through her windows, she wouldn’t have believed she had actually slept through the entire night. Unfortunately, whether or not her body believed it was already morning, she had to get up and get ready for work, and she would have gotten on her feet to do just that if only it weren’t for sight she was greeted.

To her surprise, she found everyone sleeping in her room. Not on her bed, thank goodness, but they had somehow fallen asleep on her bedroom floor, her sofa… Someone was even slumped over her vanity and her coffee table. She doubted any one of them were comfortable, and maybe it was just the dregs of sleep talking, but oddly, she had missed them.

Enough that she didn’t have the heart to scold them for sleeping in a woman’s room - her room, of all places.

Not right now, anyway.

For sure, later though.

[dibs4ever]

Dick Grayson Fatherhood

Dick loved being a father, honestly, he never put much thought or fantasy into being a dad one day but here he was an actual father for real and he loved it. It scared him. He worried constantly that somehow some baddie would figure out Nightwing had a kid and hold him against him. Or perhaps a criminal would want to kidnap Bruce Wayne/Commissioner Gordon’s Grandson And he acting as Nightwing will have to jump into action without leading on that they had his kid.

He’d have to hold back from killing someone if they as much of harmed his son.

His favorite thing to do with Nathan was to see how bendy he was. It sounded weird but it was the truth. At almost 8 months old Nathan was probably going to take his first steps any day. The doctor said he was advanced and that his keen balance skills might have spurred from his acrobatic genes. He loved seeing bits of himself in his son, he also loved seeing bits of Barbara, like the way he crinkled up his nose when he was concentrating. Or how quickly he picked up on baby sign language. He was also super attached to Barbara, which everyone joked he got from Dick.

Barbara. She was an amazing mother. He couldn’t have asked for someone better to be the mother of his child. He never imagined she’d be so attentive but she was. In fact, he almost got in a fight with Roy last week after he made a remark about how Barbara was “almost a hippy” mom. He knew he meant it as a joke but it still aggravated him.

“Batman says to go to 46th and 10th” Barbara pulled him out of his thoughts

He looked toward the bat-clad girl, he loved her so much. He wanted to be with her so badly, but he needed to respect her and her wishes to keep their co-parenting platonic.

Currently, they were on patrol together for the first time in over a year. Before he faked his death, before he returned to find her with his 6-week old son, before he bought an apartment for them to live in.

They had tried not to patrol together, wanting one of them to be with their son at all times. But tonight called for it. Joker had apparently set multiple hidden bombs off around Gotham set to go off at 1 am. Nightwing and Batgirl has to deactivate one on the West Side Village Apartment building. One of the largest in Gotham. Now they just needed to locate it and deactivate it.

“Why don’t you check the basement and I’ll check the lobby?” Batgirl suggested

Dick glanced at the clock “BG it’s 12:30”

Barbara nodded “I know Hunk Wonder, of we don’t find anything we meet back at the 3rd floor at 12:45.”

Nightwing smiled at her nickname “Right, don’t wanna cause a rage of panic unless we absolutely have to. “

Barbara nodded and they both jumped into separate directions

Dick searched and searched in hopes of finding the bomb but had no luck. He heard Batgirls communicator buzz in

“Hey Wing”

“Hey Red, I hope you’re calling to tell me you deactivated a bomb. Really don’t want to deal with panic stricken civilians”

“Unfortunately not”

Dick sighed glancing at the time-12:40 “Looks like we’re evacuating a building. Meet you in 5” he signed off before running to the stairs.

They opted to pull the fire alarm pinning it as the best way to get people out as quickly as possible. That didn’t mean they still didn’t have to convince some people to leave. Dick was aiding an elderly woman he had just spent the last 5 minutes convincing to leave. (She has only agreed when he told her he’d help her with carrying her cats out.) He passed Barbara as she was walking back into the building.

“Where are you going?” He asked

Barbara looked at him “Back in, doing a last go around”

Dick shook his head “It’s 12:55, get out of the building “

Barbara shook her head “No you “

Dick sighed “Babs I’ll do the last walk through” he handed the woman her cats and pushed her gently out

Barbara looked at him “Dick please one of us has to go out and make sure they are safe. For well you know who.”

Dick nodded “Which is why I’m telling you to get out now Barbara Please I’m begging you. He needs you more than me”

Barbara shook her head “I’m not leaving you”

“And I’m not leaving here till I know the building is empty” Dick said

Barbara looked at the time 12:56 “Well I guess that makes two of us” she thought perhaps he would agree to come out with her if she stood her ground. This had been her plan all along. She knew he’d want to keep going back and forth into the building. Testing his limits with time. She didn’t want to take a chance of losing him again. But he was walking back up the stairs again. She followed behind

Dick looked at her “Babs please”

She shook her head “No”

Dick bit his lip, “Damn it” he mumbled

Before she knew it he had scooped her up and was running with her out the door. He set her down “Stay” he growled before running back in. Which surprised her. She thought she had him.

She attempted to run back in but was stopped when the building exploded “No!” She screamed falling to her knees where she began sobbing. Then through the rubble, Dick walked back out. In his arms was a cat. The same old lady he had helped out last rushed forward he was able to hand it to her before falling to his knees. Barbara rushed over to him

“I promised-I’d save all her cats if she got out” he whispered

Barbara held his face in her hands, whipping off the soot that covered his cheeks “Oh Grayson” she whispered

“I don’t break promises” he started to chuckle but then began coughing

Barbara stood pulling his arm over her shoulders and helping him up “Let’s get you home so I can give you a check up”

Barbara did just as she promised after he showered she was ready to patch him up and give him a breathing treatment to help clear his lungs after some other treatments she ordered him to go to bed, which he wasn’t complaining about since he was honestly exhausted. He was awakened when his bedroom door creaked open. Although the room was dark he knew who it was. She waited till she crawled into the bed beside him to speak “Checking in on me?” He grinned

Barbara didn’t say anything for a while “You scared me today”

Dick was quiet for a moment “I’m sorry”

She took a deep breath “I thought I’d lost you again”

“Babs I get into this mode when I’m Nightwing and I don’t even know what I’m doing. I think about that now and think how careless it was so no need to lecture me.”

She nodded “I just-all these thoughts flashed before my eyes”

“When I saw the clock hit 1 it did for me too.”

Barbara looked at him “Like?”

Dick looked down at her “Like you moving on, marring some normal guy, and Nathan calling him daddy”

Barbara shook her head “That would never happen”

“Yeah your right, I already told Jason if anything happened to me he should marry you and raise my son“

Barbara grimaced at the thought “Did you really?”

Dick chuckled “No I didn’t Babs. But still the thought of another man raising him hurt”

Barbara hugged his waist resting her chin on his shoulder “That wouldn’t ever happen, Dick. Your an amazing Father to him. I can't even stand the thought of another man acting as his dad.”

Dick looked at her “Oh yeah? You don’t ever want to be with another man again? You just want to be single the rest of your life?”

Barbara scrunched up her nose confused at first but then realized what he was saying “I-I never thought of it like that”

Dick smiled “If its any conciliation I can’t see myself ever finding anyone to be a sizable mother to how amazing you are”

Barbara smiled

Dick smiled “So if we don’t want to be with anyone else, we’re both living together and we both have a baby together than why don’t we-“

Barbara shook her head “Dick”

Dick shifted “Come on Babs think about it”

She sighed

He shifted so that they were facing each other “The fact that you and I both don’t want to date anyone else. The fact that our son is so well adjusted with us together. We’re already living together-very happily I might add. We’re basically a couple who doesn’t show any affection toward each other.”

Barbara looked up in thought “But Dick, what would people assume.”

Dick shook his head “Who gives a flying leap about what people would assume. I love you and I know you still love me. We don’t want to be with other people so what’s the use in us being miserable and lonely when we can both just stop being stubborn and be together” he whispered pressing their foreheads together “If it helps we can keep the whole thing under wraps till we’re ready to tell people”

Barbara laughed lightly “Yeah cause keeping it under wraps from my dad worked so well last time. After you came back we kept from my dad that you were Nate’s father for what? A week?”

Dick chuckled “A week and 3 days thank you very much” he booped her nose then fell back to his back and thought back on the day “Grayson why do you keep calling my grandson Chavo? He said”

Barbara smiled and began playing with his hand “Well Commissioner, you see its Romani my father used to call me that” Barbara spoke the line Dick had said

Dick ran his free hand through Barbara’s hair “Oh really what does it mean?” He continued the story

She shook her head “Then you had to come out and say ‘Son’”

Dick nodded “And it all clicked”

Barbara rolled so she was resting on top of him “He wasn’t mad but he wasn’t happy he said, ‘What? When did this happen, I thought you two were just friends “

Dick laughed “You can yell at me all you want for slipping up with the son thing but at least I’m not the one who responded to that with ‘Seriously Dad, I thought you were the detective. We haven’t kept our hands off each other in years”

Barbara laughed “Hey its the truth” she ran a hand through his hair “He still loves all three of us though regardless. Unlike my grandmother” she rolled off him and lied beside him again.

Dick shifted “I really wish you’d make up with her. She’s the only Great Grandparent Nay Nay has.”

Barbara shook her head “Dick when we took him to the retirement home to meet her 5 months ago she took one look at you and before she even met you all she saw was your skin tone. Then when she figured out her great-grandson was half Romani all she did was ridicule us”

Dick was quiet “It’s just the generations she grew up in. Your dad stood up for us” he pointed

“She was wrong though. Everywhere I go people tell me how beautiful he is. I felt so bad the other day Artemis and I went to the park with the kids and this couple kept commenting on how cute Nathan was. How much they loved his eyes and his tan skin, how his smile was so beautiful. Meanwhile Arty was sitting there with the twins. Her and Wally’s kids are really cute too” Barbara made sure to address

Dick nodded “Yeah they are” he leaned forward “But you and I-we really did make a beautiful child together didn’t we?” She hadn’t retracted so he nuzzled her neck. And when she didn’t retract to that he began planted soft kisses in the crook of her neck

Barbara sighed “Okay”

He lifted his head up “Okay?”

“Let’s give us a go again. If not for us let’s do it for Nate. He deserves to have his parents together. The least we can do is tell him we at least tried to be together” she reached up running her fingers through his hair. A giddy smile growing on Dick’s face before he leaned forward placing a passionate kiss on her lips

“Does this mean I get to move into the master bedroom with you?” He asked pulling away slightly

Barbara grinned “We’ll see Lover, just keep kissing me” she said before pulling him back to her.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Enter the Kitsune - Prologue pt8

Ok, this is the last part of the epically long prologue. Thanks for hanging in there guys.

Warnings: Strong language **also spoiler type things for the start of two routes coming up** (I know it’s very dramatic but I still wanted to warn you)

Masterlist

—

Prologue part 8 

“Enough of this!” Nobunaga called out finally raising to his feet and joining the fray. So nice of you to grace us with your presence, your lordship. Now if you could just call back your attack dog, I’d be able to breathe. As it was I had very little choice but to stand completely still and maintain my eye contact with the tall sandy brown haired man that was holding me to point.

Hideyoshi’s entire body suddenly seemed to freeze as if someone had thrown a bucket of liquid nitrogen over him. His eyes whilst still full of suspicion and anger also held a small fraction of realisation as to what he was currently doing. Looking abashed he lowered his blade and it was like the air had been returned to the room.

“Put your sword away, Hideyoshi. This woman is to remain by my side, unharmed. That order stands whether you find her suspicious or not.”

“Yes, my lord. My apologies.” Hideyoshi’s words came from a tense jaw through clenched teeth. After returning his sword as directed to its sheath, he dropped to one knee in a show of penitence. How the hell did I survive that?

“Our formal introduction is complete. Mitsunari, see Aerion back to her room.” Nobunaga paid little regard for the repentant Hideyoshi and dismissed me with a wave of his hand as if he was swatting a fly.

Mitsunari kindly asked me to follow him and we both left the large hall behind. He walked happily at my side glancing courteously in my direction from time to time to check his pace with mine. I glanced around at the sections that were visible of the view from outside as we moved along the corridors. There were no clocks here, time passed and was marked by temple bells but it was nowhere near as accurate for me as my Casio wristwatch. I tried to make an educated guess. Early evening… maybe? The main heat of the sun was long gone but it was not time yet to see the sky painted in the colours of a sunset. As we walked through the castle to return back to my room Mitsunari spoke softly.

“That must have been a troubling experience for you. But please, don’t feel bad.” He was trying to be sympathetic. It was touching when you considered that the man who drew his sword on me was his master. “Lord Hideyoshi is a very kind man. Almost too kind, some say. You’ll come to see it, I’m sure.” Clearly, he admires that towering inferno of aggression back there for something I have yet to see in the man. “It’s always possible to make up for a bad first impression.” His purple eyes and expression on his angelic face were serious as he attempted to analyse the situation and soothe me. “Soon, things between the two of you will be right as rain.” God this guy is like a positivity sparkler in a dark gloomy night.

“Well, I’ve had several chances of making an impression… probably safe to say they were all bad.” I tried to keep my tone as light-hearted as I could, a faint self-deprecating smile on my face. It was clear Hideyoshi had meant everything he had said. One thing that was very difficult to do was hiding your true thoughts whilst losing your temper and getting in an argument. It was one of the first things I learnt as an adult, the truth comes out when your emotions are running high.

We slipped into a slightly uncomfortable silence as we continued our journey to my room.

---

The council meeting comes to a close and the respective members of the inner council of warlords have all left the audience chambers except for two last men. Masamune approached Nobunaga smiling like a cat. The entertainment that started the meeting had left the formalities of the discussion that followed feeling lifeless and dull.

“My lord, do you have any particular tasks in mind for Aerion?” Masamune enquired unable to forget the outspoken female. She had caught his attention from the second he saw her. Her hair was unusual, to say the least, but what really attracted him was her spirit. She seemed to have no problem in speaking directly to someone regardless of who they were. She was open and refreshingly honest. That was a rare and very dangerous trait to have but still, the strength in her was something he couldn’t ignore.

“None. Unless she causes trouble again, I’m fine with letting her do as she pleases. That was always my intention. If she wishes to work then that is her choice.” Nobunaga replied sounding disinterested with the topic.

Aerion had appeared out of the flames of a burning temple and rescued him without any knowledge of who he was and had not expected anything in return. She had saved his life. He too found her intriguing and it was his intention to keep her close to him to in some part return that debt of gratitude.

“Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with a little trouble. She certainly livened things up around here and it’s not even been a whole day yet.” Masamune chuckled.

“As long as the castle life maintains its status quo and isn’t disrupted I will say nothing against it. You didn’t draw, why?” Nobunaga asked out of mild curiosity. He had seen how Masamune had stood poised during that altercation earlier.

“I never actually expected him to pull his katana on the girl. By the way, where does she come from?” Masamune shrugged and asked nonchalantly as he made his way to the door. It was true while he thought he was prepared for such a thing, in the end, it was a move that was so out of character for the castles resident mother figure that it had caught him off guard. Masamune smiled. You really are a special kind of girl lass.

“If you believe her outrageous tales. From five hundred years in the future.”

“Five hundred--? I really wasn’t wrong about her. This is going to be fun.” Masamune muttered, a wicked grin playing on his face as he too left the room.

---

Once I had returned to the room with Mitsunari’s guidance a maid stopped by to bring me a tray of food. I had never eaten a whole meal with chopsticks before. If I was to be completely honest, I was not certain I managed it even now. With everything that had happened food was the last thing on my mind. But the smell of the grilled fish and rice was so tantalizing that the feeling of hunger overtook me. In the end, I opted for the incredible bad table manners of tipping the bowl of food more or less directly into my mouth, hoping not to choke on it.

With food in my stomach, I could feel the events of the day wash over me. I was mentally and physically exhausted. The overnight horse ride was bad enough but the sheer level of drama this place seemed to function at was like living in a tv soap opera. Am I really going to survive three months here? I’ll get better with things and be able to adjust as long as I’m given the chance to do it. I know I can.  

Thinking that I moved the tray from by me and noticed a folded sheet of paper placed on what I assumed to be my bed, that had somehow appeared on the floor where there was nothing before. I was about to let curiosity get the better of me and move to retrieve it when a knock came from my door.

“Aerion, I’m coming in.” Without giving me time to reply Masamune had thrown my door open and was striding towards me.

“Masamune? It’s dark out which means its night time. I don’t know what—” The slick shiiiiing sound of metal being uncased and the now all too familiar chill of it being pressed to my neck stopped my protest. “Not again!”

The intimidating sound of his sword leaving its sheath was ringing in my ears as Masamune fixed his predatory eye on me. Ok, that makes two swords brandished at me in one day… what is this a very merry Sengoku welcoming custom? Seriously dude, why?

“I have a question for you.” Masamune’s tone was as unrelenting as the steel in his hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you? If you have a question just ask it like a normal person!” I moved half a step back out of instinct his blade followed like a lethal magnet. Lamplight from the room flickered making the shadows dance around on his face sending a shiver up my spine. My mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert.  

“I heard you came from five hundred years in the future. Now, is that just a story, or no?”

“It’s true.” I struggled to keep the waiver from my voice as I answered him. He stood still studying me for a moment. Small puffs of my opaque breath reflected off the extremely sharp sword as its warmth hit the cold steel. A friendly smile returned to his face and he pulled back his weapon, returning it to his side.

“I see. Well, in that case, Welcome to Japan of the past, Aerion. I just wanted to know the truth.”

“Wait a second.” Masamune’s sudden and extreme shift from threatening intruder to the friendly host of the past had my head spinning. “You burst in here, holding a sword to my throat so you could ask me that?” I was panting slightly as I spoke the adrenaline pumping through my body with the shock of everything really did a number on my ability to breathe steadily.

“Yeah.”

“Fu—why!?”

“Your story was so unbelievable I had to make sure you were telling the truth. It’s hard to lie with a blade at your throat.” He had a point but at the same time, I felt arguing the logic of that theory of his would result in a long discussion that would probably turn full circle and have that blade angled back at me once more. I mean if someone points a gun at your head you will pretty much say anything you can think of to get out of that situation in an attempt to survive. “I’m looking forward to hearing your tales about life in the future. Well, I’m sorry I bust in on you like that. It’s late you should get some sleep.”

He gave a small wave as he showed himself out sliding the door closed behind him. Whirlwind Masamune has left the bedroom. Feeling stunned on top of my exhaustion and sore head I failed to reply to him before he was gone. I ended up sinking to the ground, my legs finding the rolled-out bed as they hit the floor. A crinkling sound of paper reminded me of that curious note. Picking it up and unfolding it I realised it was thankfully written in English. Thank god. Just because I can apparently by some miracle speak and understand this new language doesn’t mean that I can read it… at least I don’t think it does.

Aerion,

My apologies for not seeing you sooner. I shall be out of town for a couple of days for work purposes. I hope your first day in the past has been a good one. I shall call on you upon my return. If anything is wrong before then you could reach me via the market in town. You’ll know the contact when you see him.

Sasuke

“Great my day gets better and better.” Muttering to myself I realised I was trembling. I thought I had recovered from Hideyoshi only to have that happen with Masamune. If I stay here I’m not certain my nerves will take it without being able to get some proper sleep. And as far as sleep is concerned if I’m worried about when the next sword is coming for me I doubt I will have a very restful night.  Sasuke’s note said I’d be able to reach him through the market, so there has to be someone there that can get a message to him, right? But how to get there? If I try to go through the castle, I’ll get lost. I mean this place is like a rabbit warren, also I’m highly likely to bang into one of the resident madmen and I really don’t want to do that again today if I can avoid it. No way I could use the ceiling like Sasuke did, I’m not terrible at sports but that is a feat that is certainly beyond me.

It was in this not very stable frame of mind that my not very helpful brain came up with apparently the only choice it could offer as a solution. After securing every length of cloth I could find in the room together into one long line I looped it around a beam by the window. Giving it a good tug and testing my weight on it by leaning back pulling it tight. The beam gave a small groan and the fabric made a small sound of resistance on it but it held. I guess I should thank whoever gave me all those blankets and yukata. I had felt guilty beyond measure to use such clothes as an escape rope but I felt more concerned about what was going to happen if I stayed put. Ok… come on Aerion you got this.

Standing on the top of the writing desk I lifted myself up to the window ledge and swivelled so my legs were dangling outside. My backpack was firmly strapped to my back and the kimono I was given to wear earlier had been tucked into the tops of my socks. Taking a firm hold of my homemade rope and double checking the height of the roof I was aiming for I leaned back keeping even pressure on my feet feeding the rope slowly through my hands as I made my descent. Don’t try this at home kids.

The night air was cold and whipping around me. This seemed like such a good idea until I actually started doing it and now… I looked around to check my position. The roof of the small building was nearly in a range I thought I might get close to if I did a very hard kick off from this wall.  I would love to say this is the dumbest thing I have ever tried in my life but I know it isn’t. I mean I’ve survived some pretty stupid things to date and abseiling out of a castle on a homemade rope was definitely making that list. I was just attempting to convince my inner scared to death logical self that it should shut up for two minutes and let the crazy reckless part of me take over. When a sound I really didn’t want to hear made me look up in silent horror.

One of the blankets had apparently snagged at some point and the damaged fabric was fraying, weakening it with every slight movement my body made. Looking below I couldn’t make out a clear view of anything. I didn’t think I could be that far up but the colour of the night had swallowed the world up into its shadows so all I could see for sure was a black void under me. Ok, Aerion think. The building you were aiming for was a single story you are at the point where you can jump to reach the roof. Major problem the strength and action required to achieve that is now not in your favour with damaged equipment. Best thing to happen you still try and it works. Worst case scenario you try it and you plummet to the ground not knowing where you are going to land. On one hand, you have a very slim chance of success and on the other a fairly high chance of injury or death. Well, fuck it not like I can climb back up now anyway. With a final loud ripping sound, the fabric gave way. The tension in my hands fell loose and my body went tumbling with it. I’m going to die…

The wind whistled past my ears and my hair whipped out of my collar as I tumbled backwards. I could see the clear sky above me the twinkling stars that were brighter in this time than any I had seen in the future. I might have thought them to be beautiful if I hadn’t been plummeting to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut awaiting the impact. Except it never came. What did come was a softer than expected thud and the sound of someone groaning in protest. Opening my eyes tentatively I saw sparkling yellow eyes in a mess of white hair in front of my nose.

“I am aware that it sometimes occurs that on a clear night you might see a falling star but I have never heard of a falling Princess.”

My eyes widened in shock. He caught me? How the hell do you even do that? I quickly noticed that we had crumpled to the ground in a tangle of limbs quickly relieving him of my weight I stood up, but I was slightly too terrified to move. The fall and the subsequent capture was now playing havoc with my fight or flight instincts.

Mitsuhide stood up from where he had been knocked down, brushing off the dirt and straightening his kimono. Something about how he was moving and the way the moonlight illuminated him seemed to make his hair and clothes glow it was breathtakingly mesmerising.

“Well, now little one. Are you going to enlighten me as to how this occurred or would you rather, I take you to the dungeons and question you there?”

--- 

[piecebypiece-writing]

Child’s Play

Fandom: Ducktales

Word Count: 3568

Trigger Warnings: None

Quick Note: Hello! This is my first official publish on this account, and this site in general. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave comments and questions. This is my first Ducktales piece, too, so I apologize for any OOC.

There was a lot Webbigail didn’t know.

Sure, she was smart. She was quick on her feet, fast thinking, and had quite an impressive catalogue of interesting facts about people and things-but mostly people.

She had everything it takes to be an adventurer. She wasn’t so sure about being a regular kid, though.

Well, okay. She understands the basics. The shows, the books, the games-even if the rules might be, well, a little off-she can still wrap her head around what it means to a a social little butterfly.

Or, at least, she thought she did. Even if the shows she watched were a little too violent or outdated sometimes, or the books were more about real people than popular fictional characters, or…

Even if her games could be a little too dangerous.

It started as a normal, safe, ‘No tackling allowed!’ game of boring old tag. (Except, really, it wasn’t that boring, not at first.)

Besides, it’s not like they had anything else to do. There were four of them, and the manor was huge, and the adults were too busy to entertain them anyway. Donald wasn’t even home, stuck at another new job, and Scrooge had been locked in his office since early in the day for some “Very important business.” Webby was pretty sure that was code for something, but oh well. Beakley had only been seen in passing, laden with laundry and dust pans and all those other things the kids wanted nothing to do with on such a rainy day.

“We’ve already seen this movie, like, a hundred times!” Dewey groaned from his spot on the couch, legs flung over the back as the blood rushed to his head held just inches above the ground. He was too restless to sit normally, now, and Disney’s ‘Snow White’ could only be enjoyed so many times.

Dewey wanted to move. That was where it started.

“We aren’t supposed to cause trouble while Scrooge is working. Better to sit and binge movies than end up breaking something important,” Huey said. His own position in the middle of the couch looked far more comfortable than Dewey’s did, Webby noted.

“Who said anything about breaking stuff?”

“Anything that you’re involved in ends up with something broken.”

“I’m trying to watch the movie,” Louie cut in, legs draped across his oldest triplets lap. The couch arm pillowed his head.

“You aren’t even looking at the tv!”

It was true, Webby noted, looking away from Dewey’s exasperated face-she thinks, at least. It’s hard to tell when it’s already the same vibrant color as Huey’s shirt. Maybe she should say something about that. Does it always do that? Will it keep getting more red, or will it start turning some other color if he stays where he is? How long would it take her face to do the same thing?

A little off topic, but she likes to think they’re good questions. Regardless, her eyes flit towards Louie, who manages to look away from his phone screen long enough to give Dewey a look she’s dubbed the ‘does it really look like I care what you’re trying to say here?’ look. It’s usually very effective.

“All I’m trying to say here is there’s so many better things we can be doing than watching our sixth Disney Classic of the day.” He rolls himself over and forward so he can land on his feet, wobbling for a second. Webby wonders if he might go toppling back onto the couch from lack of balance, before he rights himself and the red color starts to fade.

It’s a shame, too. She almost thought she was starting to see some purple in there.

Huey clearly looks unamused with the turn this day is taking, and Louie really doesn’t seem all too interested either way, but Webby can’t help the question that slips out.

“What kinds of things?”

Those were definitely the words he was looking for. His eyes spark with a triumph, and he stands himself up straighter with a sense of subtlety only he really believes. Huey rolls his eyes. Dewey pretends not to notice. “I’m so glad you asked, my dear Webbigail.”

He’s playing it up for the effect, and they all know it. They listen anyway.

“I was thinking something basic.”

Webby’s eyes light up. “Like death darts?”

The boys grimace, and Dewey pats her on the head. “Um, no, I was thinking we could do something even simpler than that. And maybe less, y’know, painful?” She deflates for a moment, before shrugging.

“So you wanna play the cowards game.”

It’s cryptic, and the look in her eye tells Dewey that he really, really doesn’t want to know. Better to avoid that road altogether.

“I mean, the manor is big enough for hide and seek, right?”

He expects Huey to protest first, but Louie beats him to the punchline. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to spend three hours cramped in the top shelf of a closet somewhere because Huey sucks at finding people. Plus, Webby would win.” She always wins is left unspoken. It doesn’t need to be said out loud.

Huey sputters out the beginnings of a protest, but Dewey’s mind is already moving on to the next hundred options. “Well, we could always play tag? It’s a big house, and we can elect a safe zone and everything. Plus we don’t have to worry about darts raining down on us.”

Webby doesn’t consider it for more than a moment before she’s on board, although she was on board for hide and seek, too. “It’ll give me a chance to practice my close quarters tracking!”

The boys grimace again, and Dewey steps in. “Again, I was thinking less… painful. The basic rules, ya know?”

She shakes her head.

“The first one is no tackling. Tag-backs aren’t allowed unless it’s been at least two minutes, either, and the safe zone needs to be respected. No hiding in horrifically obscure places or using bathrooms for anything other than their intended purpose, no tagging people if they’re using or leaving bathrooms, and whoever’s it can only tag using their hands, not their feet or other body parts of choice,” Huey recites with ease (and if he glares at Dewey at the last part, well, she chooses not to notice), and Webby takes a moment to process them.

“So you’ll play?” Dewey addresses the group in general, although it’s clear Webby is prepared to do anything that isn’t sit still any longer. She looks at the other two, tilting her head curiously, and waits.

Louie breaks first. “Yeah, whatever. My phone is almost dead anyway.” He swings his legs off Huey’s lap and onto the floor, standing with a stretch and a yawn. He casts and longing look at the tv as he pockets his phone.

Huey sighs, outnumbered now, even though he was only opposed for the sake of not getting in trouble. “As long as we don’t break anything, we should be fine.” He stands next, readjusting his hat, and webby leaps to her feet from where she was comfortably sitting in a nest of blankets on the floor.

“Yes!” Dewey cheers, throwing his hand up victoriously. The room falls silent, and Webby feels like an outsider for a moment.

It happens slowly, the way dewey’s hand falls back to his side, grin still plastered on his face. He meets Huey’s eyes, holds the stare, and then they both flicker to Louie. His hands are tucked safely in his pockets, and he seems to be waiting, and then nobody is moving and Webby feels like she’s watching another movie with some dramatic action scene.

“Not it!” comes tumbling out of all three of them collectively, eyes flicking between each other to see who was too late. Dewey looks smug, ready to speak, when she sees green move.

“Webby lost,” is all the youngest says, pointing at the girl in question.

The other two start, glancing at her with wide eyes, and she gets the impression they forgot she was there too.

“Oh, shoot, Webby, sorry! That was kinda unfair, I can be it if you w-”

“Should I start in here?” She cuts off, and Huey looks apologetic. She doesn’t mind starting, after all. It’s not like she’ll be it for long anyway.

The three look between each other again, and Louie shrugs.

“Yeah, start in here. We need a safe zone, though,” Dewey says, glancing at Huey.

He looks thoughtful for a second. “...Our room could work. It’s out of the way enough to not be so easy to get too. The foyer is too open, and the kitchen is too obvious,” they all nod, and Huey looks set. “Okay, Webby, just stay here and count to fifty so we can get a head start, alright?” She nods, and the boys are off immediately, pushing at each other as they squeeze through the door.

Webby watches them for a moment, trying to settle on a good target. She has to think like her prey in order to catch them, and fifty seconds is all the time she needs. Louie is lazy, but he doesn’t like to lose. He’ll hide, probably. Run if he has too. She wouldn’t doubt he’ll move his spot on occasion, granted she doesn’t find him first.

Dewey’s a runner. He’ll get as far away room this starter room as he can, she suspects. Plan from there. Slip through rooms in a straight line. She doubts he’ll go near the safe zone so early on.

Huey will try and stay anywhere the other two aren’t. Let her find one of the others, first. Someone less threatening to run from.

She settles on heading towards the safe room first, and working her way from there. Her inner clock its fifty and she’s off, a casual smile on her face. She loves these games, and she loves getting to play them with her favorite people.

She finds Dewey first on the second floor, trying to make his way back towards the starting room now that she’s left. He takes one look at her and he’s off, panic in his eyes whenever he glances over his shoulder at her. She catches him, of course, and brushes her skirt off as he huffs, starting off to find his brothers. Webby has two minutes to catch her breath now, and get as far away as possible.

Huey gets tagged next, and he doesn’t manage to catch anyone for the next ten minutes or so, because Webby keeps running in a circle around the same room, and Dewey manages to slam doors shut before Huey can get close enough.

The game continues like that for awhile, a back and forth between the three of them until Louie makes his presence known trying to slip past quietly.

It becomes a free for all, then, because no hiding spot is safe and everyone runs out of energy at different intervals.

It’s fun. It’s more fun than Webby could have imagined running aimlessly could be. She didn’t have anyone to play these games with when she was little, and it’s a joy she can’t explain. It’s so… free, and childish, and silly, and she loves it.

The screech, and shout, and sometimes pillows are thrown and doors are slammed. They run past Beakley a few times, who looks startled at first to see them flying through the halls like madmen before deciding it isn’t worth her effort to stop.

It lasts longer than any other game of tag the boys have ever played. Huey is panting and wheezing more often than not, and Louie keeps trying to disappear long enough to actually catch his breath. Dewey keeps rolling, and tumbling, trying to be as much of a ninja as he can manage in a game of tag, and they’re all grinning like fools.

“Dewey, no, that’s not fair, Louie is closer, wait!” Huey screeches, only a room away from where Webby had just been running. She comes to a sliding ahlt, wide eyed, and turns tail immediately. Louie bursts through the same door she was about to go in, hands held out in front of himself as he runs in a panic away. She takes a moment to laugh about it later, when she’s safe.

Sometimes they duck into the safe room. The third time Webby enters, in a fit of giggles while Louie shouts disheartened from down the hall, she notes that someone has been dumping water bottles on the green sheets of the bottom bunk. She can guess who, of course, but she’s too busy drinking the whole thing in one go to actually laugh about it.

It’s innocent and out of the way, and Webby decides that she loves tag-even if it could use a few more darts.

Nothing can ever go so well, though, because these are Donald’s boys, and not even an innocent game of tag is safe from whatever the universe decides is a good time.

Webby knows, if she had the chance, she’d politely tell the universe that it’s being a little mean.

Dewey had tagged her and split, and Huey was the first one she saw. He squealed in a sudden panic, because he had been following her when Dewey came flying around the corner with a murderous intent on tagging the first person to get close.

He spun around in a perfect half circle and took off back down the hall towards the stairs with renewed energy.

“Get him, Webby!” Dewey cheered from behind her, where he had fallen in his successful attempt at an ambush. She could practically picture the excited fist in the air. Louie came around the opposite corner only a minute later, bent over with his hands on his knees, too exhausted to go away again before Webby inevitably caught his oldest brother and the round started anew.

Huey dashed forward, bringing his hand up to hold his hat as he slid to go and turn towards the stairs. He was aiming for the banister, an easy slide down and away if Webby didn’t get to him first, but his feet slipped out from under him.

He started to topple backwards, and maybe he would have landed safely on the floor behind him if Webby had been able to actually slow down soon enough. She tried, of course, because anyone could see where this was going, but she toppled into him all the same.

They both lost balance, and toppled down the stairs together. She hit her hand somewhere on the way down, and she was almost certain it would bruise. Huey twisted, a mix of his lost balance and Webby hitting less center and more left, and she could hear Dewey and Louie’s startled shouts over the horrible crack as they hit the bottom.

She held her hand, terrified that it was over, when she realized that it wasn’t her bone that cracked.

She sat up slowly, gingerly, already feeling a few bruises start to form. “Ugh…”

Dewey reaches them first, hopping off the same railing she was almost sure Huey had been aiming for in his panic. Louie wasn’t far behind, hand gripping the railing as he flew down the stairs two at a time.

Huey is laying on his back to her left, (which is weird, right? She thought he had fallen facing forward, so how was he on his back now?) and his eyes were screwed shut. He was clutching his arm to his chest, breathing shallower than normal.

Dewey and Louie only spare her a glance to see if she’s okay- she doesn’t blame them, though. She isn’t their triplet, and it definitely wasn’t her bone that made that noise.

“Huey, are you okay?” The red triplet only gasps in pain.

“I’m gonna call uncle Donald,” Louie manages, pulling out his nearly dead phone. Dewey panics, shaking his head violently.

“No, wait! He has a meeting today, we can’t tell him until it’s over,” He presses, and Huey’s eyes snap open in a panic. He pulls himself into a sitting position before anyone can protest, cradling his hurt arm against his chest as he attempts to bite down on any sounds of pain.

“Don’t call Uncle Donald. I’m fine, see?” Nobody is convinced.

“You’re arm is swelling!”

“You kinda look like you’re gonna cry, actually,” Webby points out, almost unheard over Louie’s rising tone of distress. He looks a little queasy, and he’s clutching the hem of Dewey’s shirt.

“I am not going to cry, because it’s not that bad,” he defends, instinctively moving his arm to gesture. It results in a hiss of pain. “Okay, maybe it’s kind of bad, but it’s not worth worrying Uncle Donald.”

“What do we do, then?!”

Dewey snaps his fingers, grinning. “We get Scrooge, duh.” He’s off towards the stairs before anyone can find issue with his logic.

It takes all of two minutes before the two are rushing down the stairs to where the kids had yet to move, Webby trying to look at the injury while Louie finds every excuse not to.

They’re relieved when Scrooge seems to share the sentiment of not telling Donald until after his meeting is over, choosing instead to scoop the injured triplet up. (Nobody points out that it’s his arm that’s hurt, not his leg. Of course, prior to this day they hadn’t exactly broken anything, although they’d had close calls. None of the boys like seeing each other hurt and dealing with the situation isn’t something they want to be in charge of.)

Donald is informed before he even steps into the manor, alerted by the call in doctor that had been in the process of leaving.

He storms through the house with a blind panic that borders on rage at the fact that he wasn’t told-the anger is outweighed, of course, but that doesn’t stop the pinching nerves in his face from coming together, eyebrows drawn down as he runs faster than he can remember because one of his boys were hurt and he wasn’t there for it.

Huey is rested on the bottom bunk, in Louie’s green blankets. Changing the colors was decided as not the important thing to focus on. His arm was in a cast already, and Donald’s face softened as soon as he could take in the sight.

His boys, his terribly loyal boys, scattered around the room. Dewey was in a chair haphazardly pulled up next to the bed, chatting away with his oldest brother, while Louie was curled up at Huey’s side in a way that the green triplet probably thought looked relaxed. Donald knew better. He also knew that pointing it out would be a waste of time, so he sighs instead.

Webby is at the foot of the bed, legs crossed like he remembers his boys sitting when they were younger, the criss-cross-applesauce that they had used all the time after that first day at daycare.

She isn’t talking, though, watching rather. She’s the one that sees the stress leaves Donald’s shoulders when he finally lays eyes on his boys, all of which are fine. She sees Louie’s desperate attempts to stay close without being too obvious, and how Dewey had slipped into the responsible role for now.

She watches the dynamics, and how Huey-despite being the one with a broken arm- can’t stop laughing, fully amused with Dewey’s story, and far content with Louie’s warmth.

She feels like an outsider. It doesn’t help that she was, technically, the one who pushed him. Accidentally or not.

The younger triplets had already proudly printed their names on the bright red cast, in their designated colors. Webby hadn’t been there when they signed, busy being grilled for details by Beakley.

It was almost funny, actually, how surprised she was when she found out that it wasn’t in fact some horrible moment of ruin, but a simple child's’ game. Almost.

She’s so busy studying the dynamic, and thinking about how little she really understood it, that she didn’t realize Donald had already looked him over and slipped out of the room.

She didn’t even notice the three sets of eyes on her, until Dewey is poking her foot to gain her attention.

She startles, smacking his hand away before she grins sheepishly. “Sorry, ha.”

He draws his hand back slowly. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“I was trying to ask if you wanted to sign it?” Huey asks, looking at her pointedly.

She looks surprised. “But… I knocked you down the stairs?” “I mean, yeah,” he sighs. “But you didn’t really mean to make my arm, like, shatter. Besides, I want all my friends to write their names.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t have known. Besides, we’ve all fallen from worse, so the last thing we expected was careful old Woodchuck Huey to break his arm,” Dewey adds.

“On the bright side, we didn’t break anything important,” Louie mocks, and Huey glares at him. There’s no heat behind it, but it gets Dewey howling with laughter that raises Webby’s mood. Louie’s snickering, too.

It’s nice, she thinks, as she takes the sharpie Dewey waves at her with an eyebrow wiggle.

There are a lot of things Webbigail doesn’t understand. She gets the basics, usually. She’s a little lost when it comes to friends, though.

Still. She’s learning. And that’s enough for her.

It started as a normal, safe, ‘No tackling allowed!’ game of boring old tag. (Except, really, it wasn’t that boring, not at first.)

Besides, it’s not like they had anything else to do. There were four of them, and the manor was huge, and the adults were too busy to entertain them anyway. Donald wasn’t even home, stuck at another new job, and Scrooge had been locked in his office since early in the day for some “Very important business.” Webby was pretty sure that was code for something, but oh well. Beakley had only been seen in passing, laden with laundry and dust pans and all those other things the kids wanted nothing to do with on such a rainy day.

“We’ve already seen this movie, like, a hundred times!” Dewey groaned from his spot on the couch, legs flung over the back as the blood rushed to his head held just inches above the ground. He was too restless to sit normally, now, and Disney’s ‘Snow White’ could only be enjoyed so many times.

Dewey wanted to move. That was where it started.

“We aren’t supposed to cause trouble while Scrooge is working. Better to sit and binge movies than end up breaking something important,” Huey said. His own position in the middle of the couch looked far more comfortable than Dewey’s did, Webby noted.

“Who said anything about breaking stuff?”

“Anything that you’re involved in ends up with something broken.”

“I’m trying to watch the movie,” Louie cut in, legs draped across his oldest triplets lap. The couch arm pillowed his head.

“You aren’t even looking at the tv!”

It was true, Webby noted, looking away from Dewey’s exasperated face-she thinks, at least. It’s hard to tell when it’s already the same vibrant color as Huey’s shirt. Maybe she should say something about that. Does it always do that? Will it keep getting more red, or will it start turning some other color if he stays where he is? How long would it take her face to do the same thing?

A little off topic, but she likes to think they’re good questions. Regardless, her eyes flit towards Louie, who manages to look away from his phone screen long enough to give Dewey a look she’s dubbed the ‘does it really look like I care what you’re trying to say here?’ look. It’s usually very effective.

“All I’m trying to say here is there’s so many better things we can be doing than watching our sixth Disney Classic of the day.” He rolls himself over and forward so he can land on his feet, wobbling for a second. Webby wonders if he might go toppling back onto the couch from lack of balance, before he rights himself and the red color starts to fade.

It’s a shame, too. She almost thought she was starting to see some purple in there.

Huey clearly looks unamused with the turn this day is taking, and Louie really doesn’t seem all too interested either way, but Webby can’t help the question that slips out.

“What kinds of things?”

Those were definitely the words he was looking for. His eyes spark with a triumph, and he stands himself up straighter with a sense of subtlety only he really believes. Huey rolls his eyes. Dewey pretends not to notice. “I’m so glad you asked, my dear Webbigail.”

He’s playing it up for the effect, and they all know it. They listen anyway.

“I was thinking something basic.”

Webby’s eyes light up. “Like death darts?”

The boys grimace, and Dewey pats her on the head. “Um, no, I was thinking we could do something even simpler than that. And maybe less, y’know, painful?” She deflates for a moment, before shrugging.

“So you wanna play the cowards game.”

It’s cryptic, and the look in her eye tells Dewey that he really, really doesn’t want to know. Better to avoid that road altogether.

“I mean, the manor is big enough for hide and seek, right?”

He expects Huey to protest first, but Louie beats him to the punchline. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to spend three hours cramped in the top shelf of a closet somewhere because Huey sucks at finding people. Plus, Webby would win.” She always wins is left unspoken. It doesn’t need to be said out loud.

Huey sputters out the beginnings of a protest, but Dewey’s mind is already moving on to the next hundred options. “Well, we could always play tag? It’s a big house, and we can elect a safe zone and everything. Plus we don’t have to worry about darts raining down on us.”

Webby doesn’t consider it for more than a moment before she’s on board, although she was on board for hide and seek, too. “It’ll give me a chance to practice my close quarters tracking!”

The boys grimace again, and Dewey steps in. “Again, I was thinking less… painful. The basic rules, ya know?”

She shakes her head.

“The first one is no tackling. Tag-backs aren’t allowed unless it’s been at least two minutes, either, and the safe zone needs to be respected. No hiding in horrifically obscure places or using bathrooms for anything other than their intended purpose, no tagging people if they’re using or leaving bathrooms, and whoever’s it can only tag using their hands, not their feet or other body parts of choice,” Huey recites with ease (and if he glares at Dewey at the last part, well, she chooses not to notice), and Webby takes a moment to process them.

“So you’ll play?” Dewey addresses the group in general, although it’s clear Webby is prepared to do anything that isn’t sit still any longer. She looks at the other two, tilting her head curiously, and waits.

Louie breaks first. “Yeah, whatever. My phone is almost dead anyway.” He swings his legs off Huey’s lap and onto the floor, standing with a stretch and a yawn. He casts and longing look at the tv as he pockets his phone.

Huey sighs, outnumbered now, even though he was only opposed for the sake of not getting in trouble. “As long as we don’t break anything, we should be fine.” He stands next, readjusting his hat, and webby leaps to her feet from where she was comfortably sitting in a nest of blankets on the floor.

“Yes!” Dewey cheers, throwing his hand up victoriously. The room falls silent, and Webby feels like an outsider for a moment.

It happens slowly, the way dewey’s hand falls back to his side, grin still plastered on his face. He meets Huey’s eyes, holds the stare, and then they both flicker to Louie. His hands are tucked safely in his pockets, and he seems to be waiting, and then nobody is moving and Webby feels like she’s watching another movie with some dramatic action scene.

“Not it!” comes tumbling out of all three of them collectively, eyes flicking between each other to see who was too late. Dewey looks smug, ready to speak, when she sees green move.

“Webby lost,” is all the youngest says, pointing at the girl in question.

The other two start, glancing at her with wide eyes, and she gets the impression they forgot she was there too.

“Oh, shoot, Webby, sorry! That was kinda unfair, I can be it if you w-”

“Should I start in here?” She cuts off, and Huey looks apologetic. She doesn’t mind starting, after all. It’s not like she’ll be it for long anyway.

The three look between each other again, and Louie shrugs.

“Yeah, start in here. We need a safe zone, though,” Dewey says, glancing at Huey.

He looks thoughtful for a second. “...Our room could work. It’s out of the way enough to not be so easy to get too. The foyer is too open, and the kitchen is too obvious,” they all nod, and Huey looks set. “Okay, Webby, just stay here and count to fifty so we can get a head start, alright?” She nods, and the boys are off immediately, pushing at each other as they squeeze through the door.

Webby watches them for a moment, trying to settle on a good target. She has to think like her prey in order to catch them, and fifty seconds is all the time she needs. Louie is lazy, but he doesn’t like to lose. He’ll hide, probably. Run if he has too. She wouldn’t doubt he’ll move his spot on occasion, granted she doesn’t find him first.

Dewey’s a runner. He’ll get as far away room this starter room as he can, she suspects. Plan from there. Slip through rooms in a straight line. She doubts he’ll go near the safe zone so early on.

Huey will try and stay anywhere the other two aren’t. Let her find one of the others, first. Someone less threatening to run from.

She settles on heading towards the safe room first, and working her way from there. Her inner clock its fifty and she’s off, a casual smile on her face. She loves these games, and she loves getting to play them with her favorite people.

She finds Dewey first on the second floor, trying to make his way back towards the starting room now that she’s left. He takes one look at her and he’s off, panic in his eyes whenever he glances over his shoulder at her. She catches him, of course, and brushes her skirt off as he huffs, starting off to find his brothers. Webby has two minutes to catch her breath now, and get as far away as possible.

Huey gets tagged next, and he doesn’t manage to catch anyone for the next ten minutes or so, because Webby keeps running in a circle around the same room, and Dewey manages to slam doors shut before Huey can get close enough.

The game continues like that for awhile, a back and forth between the three of them until Louie makes his presence known trying to slip past quietly.

It becomes a free for all, then, because no hiding spot is safe and everyone runs out of energy at different intervals.

It’s fun. It’s more fun than Webby could have imagined running aimlessly could be. She didn’t have anyone to play these games with when she was little, and it’s a joy she can’t explain. It’s so… free, and childish, and silly, and she loves it.

The screech, and shout, and sometimes pillows are thrown and doors are slammed. They run past Beakley a few times, who looks startled at first to see them flying through the halls like madmen before deciding it isn’t worth her effort to stop.

It lasts longer than any other game of tag the boys have ever played. Huey is panting and wheezing more often than not, and Louie keeps trying to disappear long enough to actually catch his breath. Dewey keeps rolling, and tumbling, trying to be as much of a ninja as he can manage in a game of tag, and they’re all grinning like fools.

“Dewey, no, that’s not fair, Louie is closer, wait!” Huey screeches, only a room away from where Webby had just been running. She comes to a sliding ahlt, wide eyed, and turns tail immediately. Louie bursts through the same door she was about to go in, hands held out in front of himself as he runs in a panic away. She takes a moment to laugh about it later, when she’s safe.

Sometimes they duck into the safe room. The third time Webby enters, in a fit of giggles while Louie shouts disheartened from down the hall, she notes that someone has been dumping water bottles on the green sheets of the bottom bunk. She can guess who, of course, but she’s too busy drinking the whole thing in one go to actually laugh about it.

It’s innocent and out of the way, and Webby decides that she loves tag-even if it could use a few more darts.

Nothing can ever go so well, though, because these are Donald’s boys, and not even an innocent game of tag is safe from whatever the universe decides is a good time.

Webby knows, if she had the chance, she’d politely tell the universe that it’s being a little mean.

Dewey had tagged her and split, and Huey was the first one she saw. He squealed in a sudden panic, because he had been following her when Dewey came flying around the corner with a murderous intent on tagging the first person to get close.

He spun around in a perfect half circle and took off back down the hall towards the stairs with renewed energy.

“Get him, Webby!” Dewey cheered from behind her, where he had fallen in his successful attempt at an ambush. She could practically picture the excited fist in the air. Louie came around the opposite corner only a minute later, bent over with his hands on his knees, too exhausted to go away again before Webby inevitably caught his oldest brother and the round started anew.

Huey dashed forward, bringing his hand up to hold his hat as he slid to go and turn towards the stairs. He was aiming for the banister, an easy slide down and away if Webby didn’t get to him first, but his feet slipped out from under him.

He started to topple backwards, and maybe he would have landed safely on the floor behind him if Webby had been able to actually slow down soon enough. She tried, of course, because anyone could see where this was going, but she toppled into him all the same.

They both lost balance, and toppled down the stairs together. She hit her hand somewhere on the way down, and she was almost certain it would bruise. Huey twisted, a mix of his lost balance and Webby hitting less center and more left, and she could hear Dewey and Louie’s startled shouts over the horrible crack as they hit the bottom.

She held her hand, terrified that it was over, when she realized that it wasn’t her bone that cracked.

She sat up slowly, gingerly, already feeling a few bruises start to form. “Ugh…”

Dewey reaches them first, hopping off the same railing she was almost sure Huey had been aiming for in his panic. Louie wasn’t far behind, hand gripping the railing as he flew down the stairs two at a time.

Huey is laying on his back to her left, (which is weird, right? She thought he had fallen facing forward, so how was he on his back now?) and his eyes were screwed shut. He was clutching his arm to his chest, breathing shallower than normal.

Dewey and Louie only spare her a glance to see if she’s okay- she doesn’t blame them, though. She isn’t their triplet, and it definitely wasn’t her bone that made that noise.

“Huey, are you okay?” The red triplet only gasps in pain.

“I’m gonna call uncle Donald,” Louie manages, pulling out his nearly dead phone. Dewey panics, shaking his head violently.

“No, wait! He has a meeting today, we can’t tell him until it’s over,” He presses, and Huey’s eyes snap open in a panic. He pulls himself into a sitting position before anyone can protest, cradling his hurt arm against his chest as he attempts to bite down on any sounds of pain.

“Don’t call Uncle Donald. I’m fine, see?” Nobody is convinced.

“You’re arm is swelling!”

“You kinda look like you’re gonna cry, actually,” Webby points out, almost unheard over Louie’s rising tone of distress. He looks a little queasy, and he’s clutching the hem of Dewey’s shirt.

“I am not going to cry, because it’s not that bad,” he defends, instinctively moving his arm to gesture. It results in a hiss of pain. “Okay, maybe it’s kind of bad, but it’s not worth worrying Uncle Donald.”

“What do we do, then?!”

Dewey snaps his fingers, grinning. “We get Scrooge, duh.” He’s off towards the stairs before anyone can find issue with his logic.

It takes all of two minutes before the two are rushing down the stairs to where the kids had yet to move, Webby trying to look at the injury while Louie finds every excuse not to.

They’re relieved when Scrooge seems to share the sentiment of not telling Donald until after his meeting is over, choosing instead to scoop the injured triplet up. (Nobody points out that it’s his arm that’s hurt, not his leg. Of course, prior to this day they hadn’t exactly broken anything, although they’d had close calls. None of the boys like seeing each other hurt and dealing with the situation isn’t something they want to be in charge of.)

Donald is informed before he even steps into the manor, alerted by the call in doctor that had been in the process of leaving.

He storms through the house with a blind panic that borders on rage at the fact that he wasn’t told-the anger is outweighed, of course, but that doesn’t stop the pinching nerves in his face from coming together, eyebrows drawn down as he runs faster than he can remember because one of his boys were hurt and he wasn’t there for it.

Huey is rested on the bottom bunk, in Louie’s green blankets. Changing the colors was decided as not the important thing to focus on. His arm was in a cast already, and Donald’s face softened as soon as he could take in the sight.

His boys, his terribly loyal boys, scattered around the room. Dewey was in a chair haphazardly pulled up next to the bed, chatting away with his oldest brother, while Louie was curled up at Huey’s side in a way that the green triplet probably thought looked relaxed. Donald knew better. He also knew that pointing it out would be a waste of time, so he sighs instead.

Webby is at the foot of the bed, legs crossed like he remembers his boys sitting when they were younger, the criss-cross-applesauce that they had used all the time after that first day at daycare.

She isn’t talking, though, watching rather. She’s the one that sees the stress leaves Donald’s shoulders when he finally lays eyes on his boys, all of which are fine. She sees Louie’s desperate attempts to stay close without being too obvious, and how Dewey had slipped into the responsible role for now.

She watches the dynamics, and how Huey-despite being the one with a broken arm- can’t stop laughing, fully amused with Dewey’s story, and far content with Louie’s warmth.

She feels like an outsider. It doesn’t help that she was, technically, the one who pushed him. Accidentally or not.

The younger triplets had already proudly printed their names on the bright red cast, in their designated colors. Webby hadn’t been there when they signed, busy being grilled for details by Beakley.

It was almost funny, actually, how surprised she was when she found out that it wasn’t in fact some horrible moment of ruin, but a simple child's’ game. Almost.

She’s so busy studying the dynamic, and thinking about how little she really understood it, that she didn’t realize Donald had already looked him over and slipped out of the room.

She didn’t even notice the three sets of eyes on her, until Dewey is poking her foot to gain her attention.

She startles, smacking his hand away before she grins sheepishly. “Sorry, ha.”

He draws his hand back slowly. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“I was trying to ask if you wanted to sign it?” Huey asks, looking at her pointedly.

She looks surprised. “But… I knocked you down the stairs?” “I mean, yeah,” he sighs. “But you didn’t really mean to make my arm, like, shatter. Besides, I want all my friends to write their names.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t have known. Besides, we’ve all fallen from worse, so the last thing we expected was careful old Woodchuck Huey to break his arm,” Dewey adds.

“On the bright side, we didn’t break anything important,” Louie mocks, and Huey glares at him. There’s no heat behind it, but it gets Dewey howling with laughter that raises Webby’s mood. Louie’s snickering, too.

It’s nice, she thinks, as she takes the sharpie Dewey waves at her with an eyebrow wiggle.

There are a lot of things Webbigail doesn’t understand. She gets the basics, usually. She’s a little lost when it comes to friends, though.

Still. She’s learning. And that’s enough for her.

[missblanchette]

This Distance Between Us [1/1]

Series: Hypnosis Mic

Characters: Jinguji Jakurai/Kannonzaka Doppo; Appearances from Hifumi and Ramuda

Rating: PG

Summary: Day by day, Doppo learned that Jinguji Jakurai was more human than god.

Words: 11,287

Notes: Drowning tw in section iii. Implied self-harm tw in section iv. A JakuDoppo relationship study/Jakurai character study via Doppo’s POV! I wrote this before TDD Chapter 3 dropped, so that aspect of Jakurai’s character wasn’t taken into account though I tried to amend this fic as much as possible to include it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it~!

ko-fi // You can read this on AO3! Thank you all so much for reading!!

❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

i.

With the ban of violence and the rise of rap, the exploits of The Dirty Dawg had spread far and wide. Their voices had commanded the attention of Japan, claiming the land as their own and bringing all those who crossed their way to their knees. For a salary-man like Doppo, however, who was more concerned with his next paycheck than the territory battles, The Dirty Dawg's ascent to power had meant very little to him -- save for the genius doctor who used his hypnosis mic for healing instead of harm. Hifumi had introduced him to the famed ill-DOC with a shove of his phone into his face and a "Look, look, Doppo-chin! Check these guys out!". While The Dirty Dawg's voices harmonized powerfully and shook his core, ill-DOC's low baritone captured him instantly. If listening to him through video had been enough to soothe his fried nerves, Doppo wondered what listening to him live would’ve been like. He never got the opportunity during that era, though, for The Dirty Dawg fell as quickly as they rose.

That said, sometimes it was easy to forget that their reign ever happened.

The screen separating him and ill-DOC disappeared within a span of two years, a sales visit at Shinjuku Central Hospital leading to him becoming his patient. Over time, ill-DOC simply became known as Dr. Jinguji Jakurai to him: his physician, his leader, and (something he was still coming to terms with) his lover. On the day-to-day basis, Jakurai embodied the patience of a saint as he treated the sick and dealt with his and Hifumi's problems; with him and Hifumi as the rogues guarding Jakurai's side, they made up Matenrou, the pack of wolves who defied the cruelty of the world. For all they faced together, Doppo felt like he had a good sense of who Jakurai was -- a genius, a legend, a god. But staring at the photograph of Jakurai smiling along with Amemura Ramuda, Aohitsugi Samatoki, and Yamada Ichiro, Doppo came to realize that there wasn't a lot he actually knew about him.

"Do you need help, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice echoed from the hallway.

Doppo startled and hit his head against the shelf, biting back a yelp as the box he'd picked up collapsed onto the ground again. He'd gone to Jakurai's closet to get a scarf for him since it would get cold later, but he knocked down a box on one of the shelves causing photographs and badges and other trinkets to scatter among the floor.

"Are you okay?" A hand rested on the small of Doppo's back, steadying him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop around. They all fell out and I was trying to pick them up --"

"There’s no need to worry about it," Jakurai said, rubbing his back. The soothing motion faltered, stilted and abrupt, when he caught sight of the photograph he held and Jakurai's azure eyes clouded over. "My, that's an old thing."

Without another word, he reached for it and Doppo handed it to him. He gripped it tightly, as if it were a letter bringing news of a loved one's death, and his lips pursed like reflecting upon an earlier disappointment -- a stark contrast to the radiant grin he wore as Amemura Ramuda pulled him into the group picture.

"You were cool back then," Doppo blurted out. When Jakurai's gaze snapped towards him, Doppo sputtered. "I mean, you're still cool now, but you and The Dirty Dawg made an amazing team."

Jakurai turned back to the photograph, expression unreadable.

"We were," he said, a hint of remorse in his tone. "But I believe Matenrou triumphs in every aspect."

"Do you miss them?" Eyes widening, Doppo slapped a hand to his mouth and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"It's okay, Doppo-kun." His fingers carded through Doppo's hair, languidly and absentmindedly, though not once did his eyes leave the photo. "Thinking about it makes me rather nostalgic --" His lips twisted bitterly. "-- is all."

Silence followed, the ticking of the clock's hands serving as the sole reminder of time flowing on and on.

"Doc -- Jinguji-san," Doppo started, the less formal title still strange on his tongue. "I'm... here for you, if you ever want to talk about it?"

With one last stroke through his hair, Jakurai's hand fell to his shoulder and he patted him. The corners of his lips tugged up. "Thank you, Doppo-kun."

Though his words were kind, they stung regardless; gratitude he’d spoken, hiding a "no, I'd rather not" underneath. There were things Doppo wasn't privy to, certainly, and he would respect that -- yet, compared to all their sessions in the hospital where Doppo had complained about his life, had bared out his emotions, had burdened him with his anguish, Jakurai hardly spoke of his own. Was he so untrustworthy as a person -- as a lover -- that he couldn't share in those thoughts? Though maybe it was his fault for being so heartless and never asking about them in the first place.

"Let's clean this up and get going, shall we?" Jakurai asked before his self-doubts could turn tail to hell. His hand left his shoulder, leaving a chill in its place, and he crouched down to pick up the remnants of his fallen memories.

Shoving the remains of his negativity to the side, Doppo stared at the scene before joining him. Jakurai barely gave the scattered mementos a glance before placing them back in the box, away from sight and away from mind. Through the curtain of his lavender locks, Jakurai's azure irises dulled and his mouth curved downwards -- his face lost within seasons that Doppo couldn't recall.

With everything cleaned up, Jakurai tucked the box back into the darkness of the closet. His previous wistfulness swept away, he smiled at him with a composure much more akin to the Jakurai he'd come to know. Doppo forced himself to return it.

Jakurai had always seemed so far away, but in that moment, he felt unreachable.

ii.

Overtime might as well have been Doppo's regular work hours, considering how often he dipped into it. Always the last to leave, it was because of the coffee running through his body that he was able to catch the last train home. The note Hifumi left him was sweet as always, but as delicious as his dinner looked, Doppo could only manage a few bites before his eyes began to fail him. He barely even had the energy to shower or change his clothes before plopping into bed. Just as he sank into the mattress, he choked on his saliva when he remembered he'd forgotten to respond to Jakurai's message from earlier.

He quickly sent an affirmative for their plans this weekend and locked his phone, dropping it onto his chest while he waited for sleep to claim him. It wasn't long, though, before his phone buzzed and shook him awake. He squinted, the light far too bright though it was on its lowest setting, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset and he smiled at Jakurai's text.

Locking his phone again, Doppo leaned back into his pillow and sleep steadily settled in, but his eyes shot open and snapped towards the clock. 00:58. Much too late for Jakurai to be awake right now, let alone replying to him -- especially when both of them had work in the morning. Fingers fumbling, he opened his phone.

Doppo frowned. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, wanting to say something -- anything -- to comfort him but the words couldn't come. "I'm sorry," he wanted to say, but that wouldn't do any good to help him fall asleep; "that sucks," was his next thought but that came off as callous; "try some sleeping pills," maybe, but that sounded dismissive also. After all Jakurai had done to help him with his insomnia, he couldn't even say something back to him. What a terrible boyfriend he was, not being able to comfort him when he needed him --

A couple seconds passed before his next message.

Doppo read the texts over again. And again to make sure he was reading them correctly. And once more to be doubly sure. Then he rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly to be certain he wasn't hallucinating. Nobody had ever asked him anything like that before; his voice was nothing special, after all, being dismal and weak among Shinjuku's white noise. "Are you serious?" he almost replied, but he was never one to deny Jakurai's requests. With jittery hands, he typed out a "Yeah, that's fine."

For something set on vibrate, his phone blared loudly in the quiet of his room. He almost dropped it, too shaky to get a grip and accept the call, but Doppo's nerves settled down as he heard Jakurai's soft breaths on the other end.

"Hi?" he said, unsure of himself.

"Hello, Doppo-kun." Tiredness seeped through Jakurai's greeting, fondness mixed in it. "How was your day? Is your manager still giving you grief?"

"Yeah, the same as usual..."

The conversation flowed on, reminiscent of their appointments in Jakurai's office but with a more casual air to it. Groans and sighs replaced Doppo's words, too exhausted to actually verbalize his feelings, whereas Jakurai hummed along to every utterance. Nevertheless, Doppo kept his complaints short and to the point because they'd gone through them plenty of times to write an entire anthology about his grievances. As their conversation fell into a lull, he directed the question back to him.

How strange it felt to be on the flip side of things, to be listening to Jakurai instead. Not that Doppo minded at all, taking in everything he said and holding onto it. In the still of night, Jakurai's speech blended together and he paused over his thoughts unlike the formalities and preciseness he spoke with during the daytime; but that didn't change anything about the softness in his voice as he told him of his day -- how his hair had gotten caught in the elevator doors, how one of the children he'd been attending to cried as he gave them an injection, how he'd heard that one of his patients had died.

Stuttering, Doppo offered his condolences as best he could and he could only imagine the sad curl of Jakurai's lips as he thanked him. His patient was an elderly one who suffered from heart pains on top of their insomnia, and Jakurai had been taking care of them ever since he started working at Shinjuku Central Hospital. Death was inevitable, Jakurai told him, but that didn't stop the regret that filled his tone.

They delved into lighter topics afterwards, carrying on like that until their voices lowered into whispers. Yet, neither of them made the move to end the call. Doppo didn't want to, either, no matter how much he yawned, no matter how much he slurred his sentences, no matter how much his eyes drooped...

"Rise and shine, Doppo-chin~ Oh, who's that?"

Eyelids weighing like iron, Doppo could hardly lift them without feeling like his eyeballs would combust into flames. To his right, a low rumble filled his ear like a windy day at Katase Beach. Something slammed down on his shoulder, eliciting a grunt from him, and hovered over his body. Squinting, he saw Hifumi looking at his phone with his mouth agape.

"Ooh, Dr. Jakurai. You guys have been talking for five hours?!"

Doppo's brows knitted together before remembering what happened last night. Never before had he jumped out of bed so fast.

"He's still on? Give that back --"

"Hi, Doc!" Hifumi said, putting the phone on speaker.

The rumble that'd been at his side echoed throughout his room before breaking into choppy breaths and then a loud snort. Hifumi giggled, lifting the phone higher into the air when Doppo reached for it.

"Wakey, wakey, Doc~"

"...Hi...fumi-kun...?" A long yawn came through, followed by a confused mumble. "I... oh dear. What time is it?"

"It's like six, but I bet it's easy to lose track when you and Doppo are having so much fun~"

Glaring, Doppo jumped up and snatched his phone back. Hifumi gave a cat-like smirk.

"Do --" A yawn. "Doppo-kun, my apologies. Did I keep you up?"

Turning speaker mode off, Doppo turned away. Hifumi pounced onto his back, ever persistent, and pressed his ear against the other side of the phone. Doppo couldn't muster up the strength to shove him off.

"No, it's all right, Jinguji-san. I fell asleep, too. I'm... I'm glad you were able to get some rest, though."

"It's thanks to you," Jakurai said. Hiufmi bounced excitedly behind him.

"It's nothing really..." He threw a look at Hifumi, but the tips of his ears grew warm.

"Of course it's something. We have not seen each other in a while, so I'm glad I was able to talk with you at least." Exhaustion dripped through as he spoke, but Doppo could hear the smile in his words.

Slapping his shoulders with the fervor of a hummingbird, Hifumi squealed. Doppo elbowed him and he finally backed off. He meant to say something else, but he saw the current hour -- 6:23 -- and blanched. Shit.

"I feel the same way, Jinguji-san, but, um, I'm sorry, I have to get ready for work now."

"Hm... oh? Oh." He stifled his yawn. "Yes, I suppose I should be getting ready as well," he said with an inkling of reluctance. "I hope you have a good day, Doppo-kun."

"You, too, Jinguji-san."

"Bye, Doc!"

Jakurai laughed. "Bye to you, too, Hifumi-kun."

Ending the call, Doppo spun around to see Hifumi grinning at him.

"Late night calls with Dr. Jakurai, hm~" Hifumi said, waggling his eyebrows.

"It's not a big deal." Averting his gaze, he rubbed the nape of his neck. "Jinguji-san was just having trouble sleeping."

"Aw, so you're like his medicine!"

Doppo's face reddened. "S-Shut up. Don't you have something else to do?"

A hand flying to his mouth, Hifumi gasped. "Breakfast!"

As Hifumi ran back to the kitchen, Doppo took a deep breath as he thought about the workload that awaited him -- another twelve-plus hours of labor, another twenty-four hours of mind-numbing stress. Though typically getting the bare minimum amount of sleep was enough to ruin his day before it started, he found motivation within the phone warm in his hold. Their call fresh in his mind, Doppo knew he wasn't the only one struggling to get up. For Jakurai, he would gladly stay up again and again; for him, too, he would do his best to get through work.

iii.

"Uh, is it always this slow?" Doppo asked, adjusting his hat as the sun steadily climbed higher and higher across the sky. He'd been sitting there at Ichigaya sandwiched between Jakurai and Hifumi for about two and a half hours now, and they'd only managed to catch one measly carp -- a joint effort between him and Jakurai (or rather, Jakurai took control of the rod when he freaked out at the fish's tug) while Hifumi waved the fishing net like a madman. He'd spent hours at work dreaming about this day -- the day he'd finally join Jakurai's and Hifumi's fishing trips -- and... "underwhelming" could only describe so much.

"Some days are slower than others." Smiling sheepishly, Jakurai’s eyes crinkled.

"Yeah, like, sometimes we don't even catch anything at all," Hifumi said, prouder of the fact than he should've been.

"I thought you said you were 'pros.'"

"We are!" Hifumi puffed up his chest, his fishing line swaying from side-to-side. "Like, Doc and I totes know how to use the fishing poles and stuff. It's just a bad fish day today."

Hunching over his knees, Doppo sighed. He and Hifumi must've had different definitions of "pro."

At his right, Jakurai chuckled and Doppo's mood brightened a bit; he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed at the sound of it. True, the trip didn't quite meet his expectations but he had to admit it was a nice change of pace from sleeping the whole day. The pond's ripples wavering to and fro and the light breeze accented Hifumi's and Jakurai's conversation about the deals at the supermarket, the scene lulling the stress and tension of the work week away. To be honest, with the three of them even having the chance to spend time together like this, Doppo couldn't have imagined anything better.

"Oh!" Nearly bouncing out of his seat, Hifumi furiously wheeled the handle. "I caught something!"

"Did you really, or do you think you caught something?" Doppo eyed Hifumi’s line. It wouldn't have been Hifumi’s first false alarm. He had the tendency to shake his rod while speaking, tricking himself into thinking he caught something when he chattered on for too long.

"I did, I really did! Quick, someone get the net!"

Jakurai reacted faster than he did, the warmth at his side dissipating as he stood up to aid Hifumi with his catch. What neither of them noticed, however, was that Doppo sat with his legs outstretched before him, and Jakurai stumbled over them. In a hurry to get out of the way, Doppo dragged his legs back but his feet knocked against Jakurai's as he did so, tipping him over and sending straight into the pond with a large splash!

"Dr. Jakurai!"

"Jinguji-san!"

They ran over to the edge of the platform, watching Jakurai flail helplessly in the water as the carp scattered off in different directions. His head bobbed up and down, eventually falling under and replaced by a froth of bubbles. Sinking deeper and deeper, his long tresses splayed up like seaweed.

"O-Oh my God, t-this is my fault." Hands trembling, Doppo clutched his face. "I tripped Jinguji-san, I made him drown, I --"

Hifumi slapped his shoulder and shook him. "Now's not the time, Doppo-chin! We have to save Dr. Jakurai!"

"How?! Neither of us know how to swim!"

"I dunno! But we have to!"

Dread crept into Doppo's stomach much like Jakurai's body falling to the depths of the pond; all the while, Hifumi yelled at the water as if begging would make it spit Jakurai back out. For a Saturday, there were hardly any fishers around and the ones there were too far away to call over. The tendrils of Jakurai's hair disappeared and an eerie stillness returned to the pond.

Now or never. Ripping off his hat and vest, Doppo shoved them over to Hifumi.

"What are you doing?" Hifumi asked, taking them on the automatic.

"I'm going to save Jinguji-san." Hopefully, the fear in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Toeing off his shoes and socks, Doppo peered down the pond and calculated how deep it was. He might not know how to swim, but he knew how to hold his breath for long periods of time. The perks of not caring about whether he lived or died.

"But you said it, we don't know how to swim!" Hifumi pleaded, continuing to take his clothes.

"I sat it on some of my little brother's swimming lessons before." He took a deep breath --

"Doppo!"

-- and jumped in.

How the hell elementary school kids made swimming look so easy, Doppo didn't know; he could barely kick his legs as he sank through the pond. The carp circled around him as if mocking him for his dumb decision. Not only would he have killed Jakurai, he'd have gotten himself killed, too; he could imagine Jakurai's disappointment in the afterlife when he learned that he'd drowned the both of them. But as he struggled through the water, he spotted Jakurai floating towards the bottom and a surge of energy powered through him. He could fail himself, but he wouldn't fail Jakurai.

With his pathetic doggy paddle, he somehow reached Jakurai. But then came his second challenge: bringing him up. His weight was one thing, but carrying him wasn't an easy feat with a single arm free and his lungs burning. In his peripheral, the carp zipped by as if pushing him back, telling him to give up -- that Jakurai was already dead and it was no use. It only edged him on, Doppo using the last of his strength to break the surface.

In his arm, Jakurai's head lolled onto his shoulder. The chill running through him surely wasn't from the air.

"Doppo, grab on!"

A splash hit the surface, sending more water into his clogged ears. It was the goddamn net. Had he not been desperate to get out, he would've sighed. Still, he held onto it and let Hifumi hoist them in.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Hifumi chanted over and over as they laid Jakurai onto the ground. He hadn't made any sign of movement nor breathing since they surfaced, but Doppo pressed an ear against his chest and heard a faint heartbeat. The dread ebbed away but only crashed back like a tsunami as the whole ordeal wasn't over yet.

"We have to do something, like -- like -- like CPR." Hifumi flittered over Jakurai's body, a blond blur pacing back and forth. "How do you do that? Like this?!"

Balling his hands into fists, Hifumi slammed it hard against Jakurai's stomach. Before Doppo could yell at him, Jakurai spasmed and he threw up water. Hacking his coughs, he struggled to sit up and Doppo hurried to his side.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Jinguji-san! Are you okay?!" Patting his back, he cringed as the question left his mouth. "I mean, how are you feeling?"

"I'm --" Cough. "I'll be --" Cough. "Fine." Cough.

"Oh my God, Doc, you almost died!" Hifumi threw his arms around Jakurai, practically squeezing the rest of the water out of him. "Who'd fish with me then?!"

"Gee, thanks for remembering me," said Doppo.

"Okay, yeah, but like you'd rather sleep! Besides, Doc catches most of our fish,” Hifumi said, if by "most," he meant "all," and by "all," he meant "one."

Doppo readied a retort, but the sound of Jakurai's scratchy chuckle made him bite it back. Instead, he let Hifumi attend to him while he rummaged through their bag for the towel. Towel procured, he returned and began patting Jakurai dry.

"You're wet, too, Doppo-kun." Jakurai sounded hoarse from all the coughing, but Doppo was thankful to be hearing him at all.

"It's all right, I'll air dry."

"Nonsense, you might catch a cold."

"But --"

Cutting in, Hifumi grabbed the towel and wrapped it around them. Doppo moved in out of instinct, not realizing how close he was to Jakurai until he bumped into his chest. Before he could back away, Hifumi started rubbing their heads.

"See? Now both of you can be dry!"

They looked up at him. With Hifumi drying them off, Jakurai and Doppo shared a smile.

"Very well. We're in your care, Hifumi-kun," Jakurai said with an amused lilt.

"Be careful, okay?"

"Jeez, Doppo-chin, you're acting like I'll tear your hair out!" Making light of his threat, Hifumi rubbed Doppo's head extra hard.

"Oi!"

As Doppo shoved him off, the three of them laughed and fell into a steady rhythm. Hifumi hummed as he worked, and a hand placed itself atop Doppo's. He glanced over at Jakurai, who sat unperturbed as if he hadn't just drowned. Ever so hesitantly, he laid his head on Jakurai's shoulder.

"By the way, Doc, weren't you part of the military?" Hifumi mused as he worked on Jakurai's hair. "Didn't you, like, have to learn how to swim?"

"Ah, doctors weren't required to undergo that type of training," Jakurai said. His eyes fell to the pond, blue hues reflecting off them like waves. "Besides, I... have a tendency to sink like a rock."

"So you suck at swimming."

"Hifumi."

Jakurai chuckled. "You could say that it's not my strong point."

"Haha, y'know what that reminds me of? Doppo really sucked at PE. Like, one time we were playing volleyball and --"

"Jinguji-san doesn't need to know about that!"

"He's your boyfriend, of course he does. So, anyways..."

Groaning, Doppo buried his face into Jakurai's shoulder while Hifumi recounted The Volleyball Incident. When he'd gotten to the part where he gave not one, not two, but three of their classmates bloody noses, Doppo risked a peek up. Jakurai nodded along as Hifumi spoke, an amused smile on his face, but he met his eyes then and leaned in closer.

"I wasn't much better, I have to admit," he said in a whisper meant solely for him. "I gave my teacher a concussion and another classmate a broken arm during a game of basketball once."

Hiding his mouth behind his palm, Doppo snorted. The image of a younger Jakurai stumbling around in a gym and wrecking havoc popped into mind, a contrast to the serene figure he knew today but one he'd keep close. He supposed Jakurai's hands hadn't always been used for healing, but that made that fact all the greater.

iv.

In spite of of Doppo's unlucky streak, there was a tiny silver lining in it in the form of Jakurai. Despite Hifumi's reminders and the news warning of the thunderstorm coming that evening, he'd forgotten his umbrella when he rushed out the apartment. While he'd been lamenting his situation during the last of his overtime hours, Jakurai had messaged him asking if he'd like a ride since he'd be getting out of work soon. With the storm showing no sign of letting up, Jakurai also offered him to stay over at his place because it was closer. Doppo's instincts had told him not to impose any further, but the thunder boomed louder than his hesitation so he took him up on his offer.

Shooting a text to Hifumi that he wouldn't be home tonight, Doppo stretched his back and cringed at the cracks that resounded. He flopped onto the sofa with a hiss, his body protesting as it hit the firm material.

"Are you feeling well, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice drew closer as he returned to the living room, a change of clothes for him in his hands -- Doppo's own clothes that he'd left behind after the first time he stayed over at Jakurai's place. Doppo never understood how wearing your partner's clothes was supposed to be "cute." He only felt embarrassed when he put on Jakurai's lounge wear, the shirt hanging loosely off his frame and the pants running past his feet.

"Just fine," Doppo said, rolling his shoulders and wincing. "My body feels kind of sore, is all."

"I should have some eucalyptus oil to relieve the pain, if you would like to try?"

Doppo opened his mouth to reject his offer, but a sharp pain ran through his back and he clamped it shut. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "That'd be great."

Setting his clothes next to him, Jakurai left once again. Doppo figured he might as well get changed now, so he picked up the clothes and made his way to the bathroom. Unbuttoning his shirt, he froze as he saw the heat pads on his shoulders in the mirror, sickly white against his pale skin. He chewed his lip, recalling Hifumi's words from that morning and the chitchat of his co-workers. Instinctively, he tugged his shirt closer.

"Doppo-kun, I have the oil. Would you like me to apply it?"

The door hinges creaked as the door opened and Doppo rushed to press it closed.

"T-Thank you, Jinguji-san, but I got it," Doppo said, peeking his head through the small space he allowed between them. He stuck his fingers out for the bottle, straining to keep his shoulders out of sight.

Jakurai frowned, brows furrowing. He made no move to give it to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, like I said, I'm just sore."

Jakurai tried again to open the door with more force, but Doppo put his weight on it and shoved back. "Is there a reason you won't let me see you?"

"N-No, no reason."

"If there's something wrong, I would be more than glad to take a look at it. It's better to be safe than sorry." There it was: his Doctor Voice, the one that wouldn't let any potential ailment go unchecked. Though typically calming, it nagged Doppo in that moment.

"No! No, it's nothing like that, I... ugh." Counting to ten, Doppo slowly opened the door all the way. He hunched his shoulders in, he rubbed at the pads, and he kept his gaze on the floor. "I'm... wearing heat pads. I know -- I know it's really unattractive. I'm not even thirty yet, but Hifumi called me an 'old man' for wearing them. And the other day I heard my co-workers say they're a major turn off --"

"Doppo-kun."

Doppo's head snapped up and he let out a small "eep!". He covered his eyes, the clamminess of his hands cool against the heat rising to his cheeks, as Jakurai took his sweater off. Although, he couldn't help it if he peeked a little bit. Only enough to see Jakurai's arm muscles tensing and contracting. Doppo widened the spaces between his fingers ever so slightly.

Folding his sweater over his arm, Jakurai pulled his hair back and -- oh. Doppo's mouth hung ajar. On Jakurai's shoulders sat a pair of heat pads, much like the ones he wore on his own. Gently, Jakurai tugged Doppo's hands down.

"I wear them, too, see? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about." Eyes crinkling, he chuckled. "We match."

Doppo huffed out a laugh, though any other thought running through his mind stopped short as his eyes wandered downwards. He'd always imagined Jakurai's body to be as perfect as the lavender locks that flowed down his back, to be free of blemishes, toned, and fit -- a figure befitting a man so heavenly like him. Though toned and fit appeared to be the case, the same couldn't be said of blemish-free. Marks and scars ran through his body, through his abdomen, and through his arms that ranged from muddy reds to matte whites, from short nicks to long gashes, from deeply depressed to highly pronounced.

And yet Jakurai stood there as if none of them existed.

"You have scars?" Doppo asked before he could think. He slapped his mouth. "Sorry, I just noticed them."

"It's okay, I do not mind them." Following his gaze, Jakurai's expression fell into a neutral one. "Most of them are from the war."

Fixated on the wounds that grazed him, Doppo stepped forward; likewise, Jakurai kept quiet as he approached though he showed no sign of apprehension. Fingers trembling, Doppo lifted a hand. "Can I touch them?"

Jakurai inhaled sharply, the sound harsh and strident against the stillness. "Yes, you may."

His fingers hovered over his chest, and Doppo looked up at Jakurai once more. Jakurai nodded.

Slowly, Doppo traced the longest one first -- the jagged one that ran from the lower left side of his abdomen to beneath his right pectoral, outlined in a coarse pink that encased dull white and protruded his skin. He'd gotten it during a melee, Jakurai told him, where he'd been cornered. The other men had been taken out, but one of them survived and lunged at him with a knife. Jakurai managed to defend himself, though barely.

"I thought you weren't allowed to attack medical units?" Doppo asked.

The corners twitching, Jakurai's lips pursed together.

"...There is often no regard for rules in war." He stated it like a fact, simple as that. No wonder, Doppo thought, that women had eradicated violence when they overtook the government.

His fingers traveled up, right to the round wounds about the length of his thumb on Jakurai's bicep. Like a pair of twins, they sat right next to each other, identical in every way what with being faded dark splotches that dipped into his skin. Gun shots, Jakurai told him; he'd been assisting a few wounded soldiers back to the hospital, but the enemy had crossed no-man's land and started firing. All the soldiers who he'd been helping died.

"I never thought you'd get caught in the crossfire..."

"Being in an active war zone means putting one's self amidst the action," Jakurai said, voice even. His azure irises hazed over like a fog.

They continued on like that, with Doppo tracing the scars that marked his body and Jakurai explaining the story behind each one -- each fight he endured, each body he encountered, each soldier he tried to save. Having lived in the relative peace of their homeland his whole life, Doppo shuddered hearing Jakurai recount his experiences; though, in all honesty, whether it was because of the contents of his tales or the tone Jakurai took on, he wasn't sure. He spoke with an indifference to his words, as if disconnecting himself from the events, but a tinge of regret underlain it all.

Doppo was sorry. Sorry that he had to see all of that, sorry that he couldn't do anything to absolve him of the blood stained on his hands, sorry he couldn't relieve him of the anguish he suffered through. But there was little his apologies could do in the first place and so he kept quiet.

Reaching their last stop, Doppo's fingers came to a set of scars on his right wrist. They were different from the others strewn across his body; a multitude of stripes that had carved their way into his skin, each mark precisely made and organized rather than serrated and scattered. Paler than his ivory skin, they held a blotchy, white color to them. Jakurai's wrist spasmed as he made contact with them, his arm jerking in place. His eyes didn't meet his.

"Ah, those are... older scars."

He didn't need to say anything more.

Letting go, Doppo hastily unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it back. The scars on his left wrist were redder and thicker, angrier and more distinct; they zig-zagged and criss-crossed, their own kind of morbid pattern. Lower down laid some keloids that formed years ago. They were a sight Doppo had long grown used to, a sight he'd grown to hate, a sight that he was tempted to continue working on to this day.

He was sorry. Sorry for being so weak, sorry for being so cowardly, sorry for being so useless. But he pushed his apologies down and he held his wrist next to Jakurai's.

"Mine are, too," Doppo said, voice feeble. Their scars might've looked different, but they weren't unlike each other's.  "...We really do match."

Carefully, Jakurai ran his fingers over the scars. Doppo resisted the urge to rip his hand away, his wrist twitching in his hold. Only Hifumi had ever seen his scars this close, having avoided the matter with his parents as much as he possibly could. But Jakurai's touch was gentle and delicate, caressing the wounds as if they'd re-open at the wrong move and inspecting them with a grim interest.

Jakurai let out a mirthless laugh. Softly, he said, "We make quite the pair, don't we?"

As the storm continued to rage outside, they fell into a silence, sharing unspoken words of a similar sorrow.

v.

Neither he nor Jakurai were the touchy-feely type, much to Hifumi's displeasure. No matter how many times he insisted that they "act more like a couple" and pushed them to get out of their comfort zones, they reserved those gestures for private spaces and intimate moments. In fact, Doppo preferred it that way since it made it easier to keep things between them on the down low -- something they both agreed to early on in their relationship. He received enough attention by having a loud mouth for a best friend and being a member of Matenrou, he didn't need people poking their noses into his business for dating the renowned Jinguji Jakurai either.

But nothing ever worked out Doppo's way.

"Wow~★ So the rumors are true?"

It was his fault that things came to this. His fault for not being discreet in their interactions, his fault for causing rumors to circulate, his fault for suggesting they go to the tea house bordering Shibuya, his fault they ran into Amemura Ramuda -- the very bane of Jakurai's existence. Rarely did Jakurai show any sign of annoyance that Doppo couldn't help but cower at the storm brewing in his azure irises, even if the look wasn't directed at him.

"I believe I do not know what you're talking about, Amemura-kun," Jakurai said, tone curt. No doubt Jakurai was tall, but his height had always served as a comfort, a safe space where Doppo tucked himself underneath his chin within moments of stillness. Right then, however, he loomed over Ramuda's small figure like a wolf cornering the pup that dared cross his path.

"Huh? For real?!" Widening his eyes, Ramuda's hands flew to his cheeks with a pop! Maybe it was because Doppo wasn't used to him, but Ramuda's voice sounded like it'd gotten higher since their last encounter -- grating and pitchy, a noise more annoying than the city’s clamor. "Everyone's talking about it, y'know. They're saying that Matenrou's leader is dating one of his members!"

Ramuda's eyes landed on him, lips curling into a grin that seemed akin to a sneer. Bouncing onto the heels of his feet, Ramuda bent forward to get a better look at him but Jakurai stepped in between them acting as a shield.

"Doppo-kun is my teammate."

"So you're having some team bonding without the other one?" Ramuda stood on his tiptoes, jumping up and down with his hands framing his eyes like binoculars to scan the crowds.

"Hifumi-kun is busy."

"You're just leaving him out? That's so mean, Jakurai!" Ramuda stopped hopping and he crossed his arms, cheeks puffing out as he stuck his chin up towards Jakurai. From behind, Doppo saw how Jakurai clenched his fists and how his veins bulged in his skin. "I bet what you're doing is really, really, really bo~ring, too!"

"That’s none of your business --"

Without warning, Ramuda shoved Jakurai to the side and skipped right up to him. Before Doppo could react, Ramuda grabbed his hands and swung them up-and-down so hard he worried his arms would pop out their sockets. For someone so damn tiny, Ramuda had a strong grip. Peering up at him, Ramuda tilted his head to the side and batted his long, long eyelashes.

"Why don't ya leave that stuffy, old man and join me today, Mr. Salary-man~? I'm sure you'll have tons and tons of fun with my honeys! ♥" His finely manicured nails poking into his palms, he dragged him into the crowd and the one thing keeping Doppo from tripping over his feet was Ramuda's vice grip.

"Um --"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't manhandle my teammate, Amemura-kun," Jakurai cut in. A contrast to his usual gentleness, Jakurai pushed Ramuda away and Doppo's back hit Jakurai's chest as he wrapped his arm around him. Meanwhile, Ramuda stumbled backwards, pink hair bouncing against his shoulders, and he pouted in a way that put spoiled, little girls to shame. Jakurai's grip on him tightened.

"But you're doing the same!" Ramuda whined, hands on his hips. "Besides, you didn't even ask him what he wanted. See what a big meanie you are?!"

Jakurai's chest rose and fell, the exhale of his sigh a heavy weight blowing through his hair. Reluctantly, Jakurai let go of him and his backside grew colder as he left him. Jakurai wore an unreadable expression.

"Well, Doppo-kun." Doppo squirmed in spot, hearing the traces of irritation that leaked through. As if sensing his discomfort, Jakurai's face softened and he continued speaking in a calmer tone. "Do you have anything to say?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at him -- a bitter azure and an icy blue. Doppo's decision had long been made, but that didn't make him any less stressed. The rejection would probably make Ramuda bother Jakurai more which would make Jakurai more upset and it would be all because of him. Mentally berating himself for this whole mess, Doppo turned to Ramuda and dipped his head. He gulped.

"T-Thank you for the offer, Amemura-kun, but I'm sorry, Jingu -- Dr. Jinguji and I already made plans for the day."

He might've been seeing things, but he could've sworn he saw Ramuda's mouth twitch.

"Awww, but you're gonna miss out on sooo much fun!" Face scrunching up, Ramuda's shoulders drooped and he kicked the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. But with the blink of an eye, he perked up and returned his gaze. "But, I totally get it! That dumb-dumb Jakurai doesn't let go of anything, so I guess you'll have to be his prisoner for the day."

Grabbing his collar, Ramuda pulled him down to his level and Doppo's stomach churned at the sugary, saccharine scent of his perfume. He met Jakurai’s eyes, placing a kiss on Doppo's cheek with a particularly loud mwah that drowned out the noise of passersby. He grinned a smile that sent a shiver down Doppo's spine.

"Hit me up if you ever wanna have some fun! Catch ya later, Mr. Salary-man~! ♥"

Ramuda winked at him and stuck his tongue out at Jakurai, running off before either of them could say anything else. Once he'd disappeared into the sea of people, Doppo released the breath he'd been holding and the tension eased out of his body. He thought that spending two decades with Hifumi was exhausting, but a couple of minutes with Ramuda left him deader than dead.

"Are you okay, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice returned to its mild cadence, but a ghost of a scowl lingered on his features. He cupped his face, his thumb stroking the cheek that Ramuda had kissed to wipe off the lip gloss residue. Though, with the force with which he rubbed, he might've been trying to wipe off the kiss altogether.

Fidgeting at his touch, Doppo's eyes shifted from side-to-side. "Yeah, but are you?"

Jakurai's frown deepened.

"Yes," Jakurai said in a clipped tone. "Amemura-kun is just... quite a special character."

Doppo nodded, not daring to press further lest he irritate Jakurai any more. He couldn't fault him, anyways. Even if he didn't know exactly what happened between the two, Amemura Ramuda embodied the cacophony of the city and the chaos of the crowds that pissed him off to no end and that was enough to put him off.

"Anyhow, it's best to forget that happened. Shall we get going?" Not giving him a chance to respond, Jakurai grabbed his hand and pulled him along. While keeping up with Jakurai's strides usually didn't pose a problem, Doppo stumbled over his feet as he followed behind.

"J-Jinguiji-san, we're in public...!"

Jakurai paused and Doppo nearly ran into his back at the sudden stop. Lips quirking up in a rather crooked manner for a gentleman like him, Jakurai turned to him with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. Doppo's breath caught in his throat.

"There’s no harm if others know that you are my teammate, hm?"

Heat rushed to Doppo's cheeks and he shook his head, not trusting himself with words. Jakurai squeezed his hand, which he returned, and they made their way to their destination. A selfless saint who always gave yet never took was all he'd ever known Jakurai to be, but as Doppo fell in step with him, he wouldn't deny that seeing this side sent a thrill throughout his body.

vi.

Silence and stares weren't normally part of the menu -- especially when the planets aligned to get him out of work on time and let Jakurai join them for dinner -- but Doppo found himself at the center of stunned attention that evening. Hifumi's chopsticks clattered onto his plate, jaw dropping to the table and eyebrows flying up to meet his hairline. Across from him, Jakurai's face bloomed into a red that rivaled the color of Doppo's hair and his bottom lip quivered slightly.

Doppo squinted at them. "What?"

"You said it, Doppo-chin."

"Said what?"

"Doc's name, you said it!"

Doppo looked at him incredulously. "Yeah? It's ‘Jinguji-san’ --"

"No, not like that!" Posture drooping, Hifumi picked up his chopsticks and mimicked Doppo's pose. In fake annoyance, he said, "'Hifumi! What Jakurai and I do at his place is none of your business!'"

Replaying the sentence over and over in his mind, Doppo's eyes bulged wide. Holy shit. He did say that, didn't he? He looked over at Jakurai, who'd buried the lower part of his face with his palm and looked at his half-eaten food as if it was the most interesting thing on the Earth; his usual perfect posture faltered under his gawking.

No matter how many times Jakurai assured him that calling him by his first name was all right, no matter how many times Hifumi urged him on, no matter how many times he told himself that no, it wasn't disrespectful to call your boyfriend by his first name, Doppo always found himself tongue-tied whenever he tried to speak it and fell back to "Jinguji-san." Somehow, he'd beaten out the "Doctor" habit, but crossing the first name boundary seemed about as possible as that damn manager of his cutting him some slack.

Who knew that all it took was an incredibly taxing day at work and a lack of patience?

"I-I'm so sorry, Jinguji-san --"

"Boo!" Hifumi pouted, giving a thumb's down. "You said it already, no going back!"

"You butt out of this --"

"Now, now, let’s settle down," said Jakurai, a warble in his voice. He cleared his throat, the red dusting his cheeks having faded to a bright pink, and schooled his face into a neutral expression -- or as neutral as wobbly lips and an unsteady gaze could be, that was. "Hifumi-kun, let Doppo-kun take things at his own pace. Doppo-kun, it's not everyday we are able to have dinner with Hifumi-kun so let's enjoy it."

Hifumi mumbled an "okay" and grumbled, but as always, he was quick to return to his upbeat attitude and started chattering on about some stray cat he saw on the way home from the supermarket earlier. Doppo, meanwhile, kept quiet and watched as Hifumi and Jakurai carried the conversation. His eyes caught Jakurai's, but Jakurai looked down after a moment's hesitation and gave him a stiff smile. All of a sudden, Doppo didn't feel hungry anymore.  

After they finished dinner, Doppo washed the dishes while Hifumi got ready for work and though he insisted otherwise, Jakurai volunteered to help him. Usually, working in silence wasn't a problem between them, but the awkwardness in the air led to the simple task stretching out for an eternity where Doppo skirted around him -- made worse whenever he brushed up against him or had to say something.

"Sorry, J -- ...sorry."

"J -- Um, can you pass those plates?"

"Did you get those yet, J -- ...yeah."

The last of the dishes settled into the dish rack with a louder clack than necessary. Jakurai turned to him.

"Doppo-kun, you do not need to be so afraid of saying my name." A hint of exasperation lied underneath his calm tone. "Either of them, for that matter."

"I'm sorry," Doppo said as he wiped the counter dry, moving methodically to avoid the look Jakurai gave him. "I just -- I just don't want to overstep any more boundaries."

Jakurai's face softened, though a frown marred his features. "Whoever said there were any?"

"I mean, you're you." Doppo flailed the towel in his direction, drops of water flying off. "You're Dr. Jinguji Jakurai, you're a genius who lowered the death rate on the front lines and you were part of the legendary Dirty Dawg and you're a really great guy in general." He heaved a sigh, the towel falling to his side as he slumped. "And I'm... me."

The dripping of the faucet filled the pause that followed, Doppo fidgeting in spot. His low self-esteem was no secret to either of them, neither were the comparisons he constantly made between them. For every "I don't deserve you," he uttered, Jakurai countered with a "You deserve the world," but his words could only do so much to stave off the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him Jakurai was way out of his league. Some days his reassurances were easier to swallow, others virtually impossible. And now that he'd spoken Jakurai's name as if they were equals of all things, his doubts suffocated him.

Hurriedly, Doppo returned to drying the counter. "It's dumb, I know --"

"Yes, you're you," Jakurai said. He took Doppo's chin and lifted his head up to meet his eyes, gracing him with a smile. "You're Kannonzaka Doppo, a salary-man who works incredibly hard, a member of the battle season’s champion Matenrou, and a very good friend. That's pretty amazing, no?"

Doppo couldn't bring himself to return the smile. "That's nowhere near as impressive as you."

Tenderly, Jakurai stroked Doppo's chin. "Your feats are separate from mine. Mine are not worth more than yours."

"But --"

Jakurai pressed his thumb against Doppo's lips, shushing him. "We're partners, correct? Are we not equals?"

A lump formed in Doppo's throat, his question ringing in his ears. He'd never entertained such an outrageous idea; the very notion of it incomprehensible, unfathomable. Someone as unremarkable as him paled in comparison to Jakurai's glory. Matching the crest of Shinjuku's skyscrapers that pierced the skies, Jakurai stood atop a pedestal kilometers high and all Doppo could do was stop and stare.

But here Jakurai was, the one who he'd admired for so long placing them on the even ground.

His instincts, inevitably, yelled at him to refute him -- that he was just saying things, he was simply placating him, he was merely leading him on. But for as much as his demons twisted Jakurai's words and strangled him with them, Jakurai himself shone a light upon him whilst stuck in a tempest of torments and cleared his mind, if only for a short while; his doubts would probably never leave, but Jakurai always won over all else. If he couldn't trust himself, he could at least trust Jakurai.

The weight on his chest a little bit lighter, Doppo gave a sheepish smile.

"We are, I guess. Thank you... um..." He forced out the name on the tip of his tongue. "...Jakurai."

The serenity on Jakurai's face immediately scrunched up in embarrassment, and he squeezed his eyes shut as red colored his cheeks once again.

"You're welcome, Doppo-kun," he said, choking the sentence out.

"Er, are you okay... Jakurai?"

Covering his face with his hands, he nodded vigorously and the strands of his hair fell out of place.

"...Jaku -- huh?!"

Pulling him into an embrace, Jakurai buried his face into his shoulder. Pressed up against him, the warmth of his blush seeped through his shirt and his unsteady breaths tickled the nape of his neck.

"Forgive me, Doppo-kun," came Jakurai's muffled voice. "Even though I said that you may call me by my name, I’m not used to being addressed so informally."

"T-Then I'll call you 'Jakurai-san' --"

"No." Jakurai shook his head, long locks flying from side-to-side. Softly, he said, "It makes me happy when you call me 'Jakurai.'"

Doppo’s heart thumped, skipping a beat or two at that. In the end, all he wanted was to make Jakurai happy. He'd do his best to never let him down, and he could start with something so bold such as saying his name.

"Okay..." He paused. "Jakurai."

If he strained his ears enough, he could hear Jakurai let out a noise. Doppo grinned and patted his back, a chuckle bubbling within his chest. "Mature" was one of the first words he thought of when it came to Jakurai, but "cute" fit him as well.

"...Jakurai?" Doppo said, the name still strange on his tongue. Nonetheless, it brought him a sense of giddiness he had to admit he enjoyed.

"Yes, Doppo-kun?"

"If I can call you 'Jakurai,' you can just call me 'Doppo.'"

Jakurai's knees buckled underneath his weight and Doppo used all his strength to keep them from toppling over. In the background, Hifumi whooped.

vii.

Another bought of restlessness struck tonight, though Doppo couldn't tell if it was due to his insomnia or from laying beside Jakurai. It wasn't as if this was the first time they'd shared a bed, but his body weighed so heavily, so uncomfortably, that he feared waking him up from his much needed rest with his bare existence. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded sleeping on the futon, or even the couch, but Jakurai insisted that it was fine and he wasn't one to argue with him.

As quietly as possible, Doppo turned over to see Jakurai sleeping away. He laid so still that the only indication he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths barely audible within the silence of the room. A part of him was tempted to clutch onto the tail of his braid, plaited across his shoulder with not a strand out of place, but he fought the urge so as to not ruin the image of the sleeping beauty. Watching him deep in slumber, Doppo's lips quirked up regardless of his own fatigue. At least one of them was able to get some sleep.

The hands of the clock on Jakurai's side ticked by gratingly, reading 1:03 in an ever present reminder that work was steadily approaching. He watched as the minutes changed, every sixty seconds feeling like sixty lifetimes, before stifling a sigh and carefully pulling himself out of bed. Jakurai mentioned he had sleeping pills somewhere around, if he was remembering correctly. Normally he'd ask first, but he didn't dare wake him for something as small as this. If he could find them, he'd apologize first thing in the morning and buy replacements himself.

As his feet hit the cool, wooden floor, a low murmur made him freeze. He turned back, an apology ready on his tongue -- "Sorry for waking you up," "Sorry for taking things without asking" -- but Jakurai simply laid there the same way he left him. One beat, two beats, three beats, four; the sound didn't come back. Rubbing his ears, Doppo wondered if he was so tired that he'd started hearing things. He pushed himself off the bed when a groan filled the room.

He snapped back to Jakurai, still lying motionless but his features twisted in agitation. Doppo drew closer to his side, another groan escaping Jakurai's lips while his brows furrowed together.

"Jakurai?" Doppo shook his shoulder. His murmurs grew louder and his breathing became more erratic. Chest heaving heavily, his shoulders tensed and his hands clutched the duvet.

"Jakurai." Doppo shook harder, to which Jakurai's head jerked to the side. His braid became tousled as he began fidgeting, strands sticking to the sweat beads rolling down his face and neck. Biting his lip, Doppo watched as his body convulsed. Whatever he was dreaming of only seemed to be getting worse.

Breaking Jakurai's fingers free of their death grip on the duvet, Doppo grabbed his cold, clammy hands and squeezed hard. Hoping the gesture would have the same effect as it did on Hifumi during his nightmares, he tugged up.

"Jakurai!"

Jakurai's eyes shot open with a gasp, darting around the room as if in search for something -- or rather, like something was searching for him -- and his nails dug crater-deep crescents into Doppo's palm. He curled in on himself as he sat up, poised to protect himself as if he were under attack. His mouth hung open, breaths short and rapid, and finally his shaken gaze landed on him.

"...Doppo?"

"I'm here." Doppo squeezed harder. "You were having a nightmare, I think."

Running a hand down his face, the strands of Jakurai’s hair fell loose and clung to his skin which had taken on a deathly, pale hue.

"I... I believe that's right, yes." Nodding, he swallowed hard and his eyes fell to his lap. He shivered, the sensation rippling throughout his nerves and onto Doppo.

"What was it about?" Doppo asked, barely above a whisper. When Jakurai's fingers twitched, he hastily added, "I’m sorry. I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

In the silence of the night, Jakurai's gasps echoed loudly throughout. He sat motionless hunched over his figure, save for the heaving of his chest as he took in air, deeply and desperately. His lavender locks curtained his hooded gaze, sockets holding empty eyes that dulled and slackened. As his breathing steadily returned to a normal rate, his grip on him loosened though he didn't let go. Likewise, Doppo remained equally as still -- scared that any movement would set him off or that any sound would send him into disarray again.

With a small voice, Jakurai broke the quiet.

"It's a dream I have often." Azure irises taking on a faraway look, he stared ahead at nothing in particular.

"...Yeah?" was all Doppo could respond with. Comfort might not be his strong suit, but at the very least, he could listen.

"I may have saved many lives on the battlefield, but I've also taken just as many and failed much more." Try as he might to keep his voice even, it quavered and shook as convulsions racked his body. Inching closer towards him, Doppo rubbed circles onto his hands with his thumbs. Jakurai's jaw clenched, the only response to his touch. "Those lives... in my dreams, they haunt me. The ones I failed curse me for abandoning them and the others try to drag me straight down to hell with them."

Eyelids shutting close, he shuddered. The wrinkles framing his eyes deepened, his cheek bones hollower. Hesitantly, Doppo wrapped an arm around him; after a moment, the other one followed and he embraced him tightly. His presence was all he could offer him, as little as it meant.

The clock's hands ticked on, and Jakurai's arms circled around his waist and he pulled him into his lap. Resting his chin atop his head, the beating of Jakurai's heart hammered wildly against his ear.

"Perhaps that’s my fate and I deserve it." Doppo's heart broke at how resigned he sounded, stomach churning at how weak his words were. Neither suited Jakurai, neither felt right. "I have been called a genius for my work, but sometimes I wonder if I truly am one when there were so many lives I couldn't help."

"That's not your fault," Doppo said, louder than intended. Jakurai's jaw clenched against his head, his hold on him trembling as it tightened. "You're -- You're just one person. You couldn't have possibly saved everyone. Not by yourself." Softly, he continued. "You did what you could and... I think that's enough."

A stillness fell over, and he felt Jakurai's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed his words. He made neither a move nor a sound, but the drumming of his heart slowed to a steadier tempo. An apology bubbled up on Doppo's tongue as the seconds of silence passed -- for overstepping his place, for butting into something he knew next to nothing about -- but Jakurai pressed his lips onto the top of his head before he could spit it out.

"Thank you, Doppo. I needed to hear that." He spoke quietly, but the fragility in his voice dissipated. Sitting back, he still wore an ashen expression, but the storm had left his eyes. Relief washed over Doppo at the small smile Jakurai gave him. Though not the strong and gentle face he was used to seeing, it was better than before.

"You're welcome," Doppo said, thankful for the darkness covering his blush. "I-I'm here for you, if ever you need someone to listen."

Another kiss met his forehead and Jakurai's fingers threaded through his hair, slowly and gingerly. "I know. Now, forgive me for disturbing you. Let's get back to sleep, shall we?"

"Haha, right..."

Deciding to keep his restlessness to himself, he followed Jakurai's lead and laid back down. Here, Doppo found himself in the same position as he was earlier: awake, with sleep far from his grasp. He should've been used to this by now but he suppressed his sigh, not wanting to burden Jakurai any further with his own problems. As he contemplated his previous decision of searching for sleeping pills, Jakurai shifted beside him and their fingers brushed against each other's.

"Doppo..." His name hung in the air, faintly like the sounds of cars driving by in the distance. "May I hold you?"

He waited a beat before hooking their fingers together. "Yeah."

Permission given, Jakurai wasted no time wrapping his arms around Doppo and cradling him. Doppo's head pressed up against his chest, his heartbeats playing a steady rhythm in his ear and his breaths a light breeze through the strands of his hair. Finding a comfortable spot atop his waist, Doppo's arms encircled him and their legs tangled together underneath the duvet. Despite everything, Jakurai's embrace was always warm.

Neither of them managed to fall asleep that night, but they were at least able to find some semblance of peace in each other.

viii.

Date nights where they actually went out were few and far in between considering their schedules, not that Doppo minded. The times where they'd fall asleep on each other on the couch were good enough for him, but he had to admit that going out for once was a nice change of pace. Although, yes, he much preferred the quiet night ins. he didn't care where they went nor what they did so as long as they were together.

Waiting in the living room, he checked his watch -- not out of dread, but out of anticipation for the evening ahead. They'd stopped by Jakurai's place first after finishing their shifts since he had some documents to drop off, though Doppo certainly wasn't complaining about the respite. Sinking into the couch, his eyelids fluttered closed and he pinched himself to stay awake as sleep tempted him. A dull thud came from further in the apartment, shaking the rest of his exhaustion off.

"Jakurai?"

No response.

Standing up and walking towards the bedroom, a sinking feeling fell through Doppo's stomach while he fought off his negative thoughts as best he could.

"Jakurai...? Oh --"

Crouched before his closet, a box had spilled over onto the floor that scattered an array of photographs and badges and other trinkets around Jakurai's feet. They laid there ignored, though, in favor for the photo he held in his hand. From his angle, Doppo couldn't make out the image but he could see the way he pressed his lips together in a fine line and the way his brow creased as he looked at it with hazy eyes.

Doppo fidgeted by the door. "Do you need help?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Jakurai blinked and turned his attention to him.

"My apologies for the delay, I..." He glanced back at the photograph. "I got distracted."

"It's okay," Doppo muttered as he hurried to his side.

He picked up the items with haste, trying his best not to dwell on them -- badges with symbols he couldn't identify, photographs with memories he wasn't privy to, mementos of a life Jakurai led without him in it. They held no meaning to him, though perhaps the lack of meaning was meaning in and of itself; for all they've gone through together, there was still so much he didn't know about him. In his peripheral, Jakurai worked at a much slower pace, or maybe it was more accurate to say not at all. Each emblem he turned over, each photograph he took, each piece of years gone by that he picked up was held with a delicacy that made him think they'd come alive and bite back if handled clumsily.

When he was done with his side, Doppo arranged everything he'd collected into a neat pile much like the many paperwork he'd done at work. Making sure not a thing was out of place, he held them out to him. But, Jakurai didn't take them. His face held a pensive expression, his azure eyes a still sea.

Jakurai clutched the photograph he'd been looking at when he entered the room. "Doppo, you were curious about these before, yes?"

"No," Doppo blurted out. At Jakurai's raised eyebrow, he scratched his chin and chuckled nervously. "Well, maybe a little bit. Just a little! You don't have to share anything you don't want to."

Taking the stack from him, carefully and cautiously, Jakurai sat down on the floor.

"I want to."

Doppo looked back and forth between Jakurai and the remnants of his past. "Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to feel obligated to, or anything."

Jakurai huffed a laugh, lips quirking up with a forlorn touch. "Yes, I'm very sure."

Moving over to make more room, he patted the empty space beside him. The seconds of the clock ticked a full rotation around the dial before Doppo crawled over and sat next to him. Their shoulders leaning against one another's, Jakurai handed him the photograph. It was the same one that he'd seen a while ago -- the group photo of The Dirty Dawg smiling together as if their reign wasn't fated to crash and burn, to destroy each other, to break apart in a matter of months for reasons he never dared to ask. Despite being a thin piece of paper, it weighed heavily between his fingertips.

"If... we're to have some sort of future together, I thought I ought to share these with you." Sitting right beside Jakurai like this, his soft voice reverberated throughout their shared space and vibrated through his touch. His hand covered his as he held the image of The Dirty Dawg as if to support him in the endeavor, a thumb running over the smiling faces. "A fair warning that the story behind them is rather ugly. That is, only if you do not mind listening."

For so long, Doppo had seen Jakurai as this faraway figure -- a genius among the replaceable, a legend among men, a god among mortals who'd simply blessed him with his presence. He'd pulled him out of the cacophony of the city and given him solace amidst the chaos. In a world that punished them for existing and cursed them for fighting back, Jakurai stood as an unwavering pillar, the white of his lab coat a sight he'd always be following but his figure one he'd never walk side-by-side with.

But as time went on, his image of him shifted.

Jinguji Jakurai was indeed a pillar that wavered -- a genius that knew not everything of the world and held finite patience, a legend that faltered and stumbled in the face on intimacy, a god that suffered through haunted memories and bore never fading scars. Yet somehow he stood strong and steadfast, resolute and firm in his beliefs, caring and gentle in his touch in spite of all that he faced. Neither a genius nor a legend nor a god he might be, but rather a man who felt, a man who hurt, a man who loved just as he did.

There were many sides of Jakurai that Doppo had come to see, so many things he'd come to experience. At the same time, the very proof of all the things he still didn't know stared back at him. The unreachable sat within grasp and the space separating them grew smaller and smaller with each passing day.

Shaking his head, Doppo leaned in closer. Perhaps Jakurai wasn't so far out of reach like he'd once thought.

"I don't mind."

[smooth--criminal]

OC List!

About The Characters

Papa Bean / Doctor M

Basics: Mun - They/them or she/her pronouns - age 21 - 5'9” -  demisexual

Personality: A rather emotionally neutral cyborg with a strange sense of humor.

Background: TBA

Misc:

A doctor to all of those present on the blog

Works as Assistant M for Doctor Silverhart

Regina Loreto

Basics: She/her pronouns - age 33 - 5'2” - aromantic - bicurious

Personality: She’s a narcissistic sadist that loves getting into and causing trouble wherever she goes. There’s no real reason for it, she doesn’t want vengeance on anyone or anything… it’s just good, dishonest fun to her.

Background: She had an average childhood, growing up in a higher middle class neighborhood with her mother and father that, although separated, still shared the home as friends and parents. Despite all the opportunity she was given, Regina went out of her way to start conflicts in school, commit small crimes, and hang out in the more dangerous parts of the city. Thankfully her siblings never followed the same path, as she was abused by some of the men she hung around with, but it didn’t deter her much. She’s worked her way up to be an informant for multiple gangs and criminals, often trading secrets for more secrets, or trading secrets for her life if she gets in trouble. But she hasn’t completely thrown her life away. She works as an assistant to the town’s detective, Jazz, but she works the job just like she works her personal “business.” She works as an informant to the detective and trades information to avoid getting arrested for her hobbies.

Misc:

She’s a dominatrix

She’s inherited her parent’s home because they figured she needed the support more than any of her four siblings

She uses the basement of said home for her sexual ventures as a dominatrix

She likes wearing dresses and has sewn hidden pockets into all of them

One of the things she puts in her pockets is a small pistol

Despite the company she keeps, she does not do drugs and drinks in moderation most of the time

Regina has been pregnant before and has since ensured that she can’t get pregnant ever again with whatever the magic equivalent of getting your tubes tied is.

Jazz Mullin

Basics: He/him pronouns – age 45 - 5'9" - graysexual - grayromantic

Personality: Death before dishonor. He takes his job as a detective very seriously, in fact, he takes everything seriously. That isn’t to say he doesn’t have a sense of humor or a heart, but he doesn’t let it show much when he’s on the job (except to rescued victims.)

Background: He wasn’t a planned child and his parents were struggling financially for the first few years of his life, but slowly the family recovered until they owned a farm house a bit outside of town. For the sake of preserving all they achieved, however, his parents decided against having another child. His mother was a cop and his dad a college professor for psychology, and he admired the work that both of them did, and sort of ended up putting them together to become a detective It took him awhile to land on detective, but he’d always wanted to help people and now he was. At least, he hoped he still was considering his assistant’s lifestyle.

Misc:

He’s a recovered alcoholic after turning to alcohol when his parents died in a car accident

He loves kids

He also loves dogs

Bro has a lot of soft spots

He also inherited his parents’ home

He’s on the clock even when he isn’t on the clock, playing vigilante sometimes

He’ll probably end up starting a homeless shelter when he retires

Bobby (Robert) Rosalio

Basics: he/him pronouns - age 26 - 5'11" - pansexual

Personality: He’s a protective, caring guy that tries to convince himself that he’s protective for the wrong reasons. He comes off as gruff and bossy, but he’s a huge emotional sap that just wants to be respected.

Background: Bobby’s family was never well off, but that didn’t stop his parents from having nine kids. He grew up sharing food, clothes, and small spaces with his brothers and sisters, not that they seemed to mind. It was all they knew- that and Catholicism which Bobby has since distanced himself from. He dropped out of high school at the beginning of his sophomore year after retaking his freshman year and decided to get to working instead. He stuck to jobs in restaurants and bars, and is currently working as the owner/bartender of The Falling Star. He’s sharing an apartment with his high school bud, Alex. But ever the mama’s boy, he doesn’t live far from where he grew up.

Misc:

He’s also one of the middle children

Bobby is a hardcore submissive my dudes, and a kinky one at that

He is one of Regina’s “pets.”

He’s a twin, but it’s best not to ask about that

He’s chubby with both fat and muscle. He has thick thighs that can save lives

At one point he wanted to be a chef

He has a cat named Simmons

He’s deathly afraid of driving, but owns a car.

Alex Triar

Basics: they/them pronouns – age 27 – 5'8” (without ears) – greysexual – androromantic

Personality: Alex is a snarky, sarcastic kid of a bitch. Regardless, their demeanor is pretty laid back and chill and they’re very good at finding the silver lining in any situation. There’s few things that get them riled up. If you do manage to make them angry, however, their usual laid back attitude does not mean you’ll be forgiven easily. Alex is known to hold grudges even long after they’ve gotten over the issue, simply because they don’t want to risk another issue happening.

Background: Alex shares quite a bit in common with Bobby; they come from a poor, religious background and have many (12) siblings. Their parents took the bunny stereotypes a bit too seriously. Alex is the youngest, and has decided to do the minimal amount necessary in their own life and just live vicariously through their siblings. They did finish high school however- even if only for the social scene. And how else were they supposed to get drugs without going out of their way?

Misc:

They were raised vegetarian but have since deviated from it.

They’re very into psychedelics but more often than not they just smoke weed (errday.)

They don’t have a steady job and instead work odd jobs. Sometimes they look to prostitution for cash.

They always have potato chips on them. A L W A Y S.

They keep their sex a secret. The only way you’ll know what’s in their pants is if they let you in them.

They have a strange fascination with fish and have a small aquarium in their room. All of the fish are named after Star Wars characters.

Vincent Prari

Basics: He/him pronouns - age 28 - 6‘2“ - bisexual

Personality: Vince is a bubbly marine life enthusiast, his life revolving around his job as a marine biologist in one way or another. He’s silly, there’s barely a serious bone in his body.  

Background: As a child he’d nearly drowned during a beach vacation. For a few years he was terrified of the ocean and plagued by thoughts of what could’ve gotten to him if the water in his lungs hadn’t killed him first. His fears pushed him to research, and through research his fears were replace by respect, admiration, and intrigue. He ditched his plans to become a teacher and got a degree in marine biology, moved to the beach, and began anew. His dad was a bit disappointed that there wasn’t going to be another professor in the family, but his parents support him nonetheless! And he visits them whenever he can find someone willing to feed all of his fish.

Misc:

Goes by Vince

He’s a vegetarian.

Nearly every wall in his home is lined with an elaborate fish tank that has become an ecosystem of its own.

He wears contacts to make his pupils wide and more fish-like.

The tattoos on his neck are meant to be gills, his Mohawk a dorsal fin.

He envies fish.

He’s afraid of flying bugs.  

Naia

(adopted from @devilchicky210)

Basics: She/her pronouns - age 30 - 5’4” -???sexual

Personality: She may be initially cautious and reserved,  but her sassy nature is hard to keep at bay. She’s quick to call out and easy to agitate, but she means well (usually.)

Background: Naia has not a clue where she came from,  but she knows she’s different than other octopi. She grew up in the ocean, every once in awhile coming across other octopi that looked different than her- and seemed awfully afraid of her. Despite not being accepted by the species she identifies as, she is instinctually reluctant to trust land-walkers, especially humans. She has found that she can go on land and be accepted, as many other monsters are, but she still prefers the ocean.

Misc:

Eats but also respects sea-life.

Hates glass/transparent objects

Goes onto land for a drink every now and again.

Atlas

(adopted from @flargahblargh)

Basics: He/They pronouns - age ??? - 6’5” -???sexual

Personality: He is a quiet giant.

Background: Atlas began as a human living in a small fisherman’s village. He had a wife, two sons, and a daughter. They all lived happily in the routine of the town, spending days fishing and nights enjoying each other’s company. But all of that is gone from him now. Contaminates reached their waters through means still unknown, bringing disease to the village. It was an awful, parasitic virus that ate away at whatever it could, from brain matter to bone. Atlas’s wife was one of the first to go. When his daughter got sick, he ran off to search for help outside of their village. Little did he know that he too was infected, and by the time he knew it was far too late. He was found struggling by Cog, sho could tell based on his state that most of his body would not be salvagable. She took him to the Sweep N Clean, heavily brain damaged by the virus with his body almost literally falling a part and his organs failing. Doc helped rid him of the virus, but only part of his brain and what was left functioning of his body could be saved. With Cog’s help, what remained functioning was assimilated into a robot of sorts to keep him alive. Despite being alive he was in a comotose state for quite some time and was simply monitored in hopes he would awaken. When he did awaken, he was alone with no recollection of who or what he was. In a haze he left the building before he was found awake and has been wandering since, only taking occasional refuge in an abandoned shack by a lake.

Misc:

It is unknown to him whether he is a person in a suit, a cyborg, or an actual robot.

He meditates regularly

He is afraid of needles despite them not being able to penetrate him.

Di (Dichotomy)

Basics: He/They pronouns - age 21 - 5’10” - panromantic - graysexual

Personality: Di is shy and reserved, but once he gets to know a person he’s more silly and sarcastic. Loves a good dark joke.

Background: Sadly, Di was born in a place where monsters were barely tolerated. They’re forced to live in slums otherwise avoided. Di was left at a Monastery doorstep as a baby by his parents under the impression that he would live a better life under them and be accepted.

His parents were wrong. Di was kept as a supposed “test from God,” a chance for humans to make monsters worthy of Him. This involved harsh punishments and awful living spaces. Di escaped less than a year ago.

Misc:

Di is a lovely singer.

He knows Latin.

His parents were brothers, but he is unaware of this fact, and it plays a part in his features along with his abuse and neglect growing up.

He yearns to be helpful.

He has a dissociative disorder.

Vani

(adopted from @tehparodypunk

Basics: They/them pronouns - mental age 18 - 5'5 -  Pansexual

Personality: A coy and attention seeking but also shy and sensitive slime that accompanies the mun wherever she goes either as a companion or as her leggings.

Background: Raised after adoption as Doctor M’s Assistant.

Dimitri James Parker

(adopted from @flargahblargh)

Basics: He/him or they/them pronouns - age 48 - 6'2” - bisexual

Personality: He’s a calm, quiet, focused individual. He’s happy to observe but doesn’t mind contributing to conversations and situations either.

Background:  James was adopted by visible parents and grew up thinking that everyone was invisible to themselves. It wasn't until middle school when people started wearing makeup that it occurred to him that somehow people were applying it. The whole time his parents had been completely unaware that he saw the world this way,  and had to sit down and explain that it was only him and a select few other monsters that were truly invisible,  not everyone. Which also meant that this whole time,  he wasn't visible to others. The fact that he didn’t have a visible form like everyone else threw him into a bit of a existential crisis/depression his late middle school and early high school years. But in his later years he would draw inspiration from just how different the world can seem to every individual person and start getting into detective work,  to discover everyone’s perspective and use it to decipher the truth and bring about justice.

Clarence [Entry Redacted]

(adopted from @flargahblargh)

Basics: He/him pronouns - age ?? - 5'6” - asexual - aromantic

Personality: The purest of chaotic neutral, he likes to cause trouble because he can. Life is finite, might as well have fun with it! And his idea of fun is quite destructive.

Background: [Entry Redacted]

Misc:

Can summon fire sprites to do his bidding since his arms are restricted.

[sparda3g]

Gintama Chapter 683 Review

The past chapters have been nothing but emotional and somewhat dreary. While that is not a bad thing, it was concerning to believe the end for Joui 3 won’t be delightful, especially one with a potential death. Gintoki and Takasugi are back in Edo, so begin the buildup for a reunion. This chapter continues the trend of ominous tone, but once more goes back to the fun and humorous side that it was needed.

Takasugi has been really impressive in this arc so far. Rather than him showing you why, this time it lets others speak. It’s reassuring that Kiheitai is heading to Edo as well, so the reunion in one setting is definitely going to be very pleasant. That said Matako shows an act of maturity. Rather following him like a typical fan girl, she is conflicted on what to do.

Sorachi inserted the captain who took Gintoki and Takasugi to Edo on his ship to exploit the reason for Matako’s pondering. It’s writing technique to have one character’s line indirectly share with another from afar. Basically, Takasugi is more of a genuine good person this time. Despite the dark history that the captain knew about, he can’t help but felt the need to help him from his determination. It’s no wonder they were portrayed like good comrades.

The chapter wants to point out that with Takasugi being on good term, he and Gintoki never look so alive like best friends finally going on a journey that they have dreamt since school days. Plenty of series tends to showcase the friendship of two rivals. Some are good to believe and some are bad with its hammering. This one is fortunately good because of the past developments and interactions that you can buy in easily. It’s not out of nowhere, it’s organic as it can get.

It’s a warm feeling since we know Takasugi’s death clock is ticking rapidly. It’s sadder with Matako noting that he has never looked so happy in her time with him. After the captain’s speech, she backs up his claim about the two being best friends and not in for a duty. She doesn’t know if she doesn’t want to interfere or she wants to continue to watch him enjoying his remaining life. I don’t think she knows he’s dying, but regardless, it’s mature of her to think this way, yet sad to know all of this should have happened a long time ago.

I really like the sightseeing from Gintoki, clearly missed his home. The foundation between him and everyone is so incredible, any reunion will put a smile on my face. Well, besides one, we will get to that soon. The town isn’t done fixing, but it looks like certain areas are going to be more city-like than before. It’s a bit charming comparison to him and a brat of returning home. Everyone will eventually forgive.

Before going forward with the exploration, the chapter shifts to where Tendoshu are discussing with Hitsugi. I knew it was him under that casted mask and missing limbs. That said the information that the Tendoshu spout isn’t new, but the point is how manipulative and control they have against him; practically made him into their slave. They even go far as insulting him while he was still there, yet they know and proceed to do so. What a bunch of assholes.

I don’t know the plan is to have Naraku backstab them one day, but that would be some hell of an enemy of my enemy is my friend scenario. Hitsugi is doing it for his beloved master. He too seek for immortality, but that is more down the line of contribution than selfish reason. The stare is probably foreshadow, but we have to wait and see where the road lies ahead.

As for Tendoshu, they’re the worst since they have things in control as they love to have. There’s an elaborated reason for them seeking to take Altana from Edo. It’s basically Plan B in which they would take it and somehow create a replicated heart. They’re pretty much power hungry. The best part is they are getting their revenge against Utsuro after last time, so the table has turned. Remarkable to make me feel bad for him; well, the Shoyo part of him at least.

Another new info is the location of the Tengenism’s temple. It’s not even on Earth, rather floating in space since it’s a moving temple Kuyou. It’s practically a giant ship, but it’s worth noting because it’s where they keep Utsuro’s body. I don’t know if that would be the final battle setting, but it’s the only way to get the job done. That or somehow it will go down on Earth. Why is it in space? Because they have huge ego when they designed the ship with the mindset of looking down on Earth. Is it wrong to hope for crash and burn?

Takasugi has been a swell guy. He even offer Gintoki a time alone to catch up with his friends. Gintoki tries to avoid the opportunity with a reasonable argument that would cause a stir. Could you imagine if your hero decide to save a killer? Naruto could work, but in this series, no. Takasugi got him good with a response that exposed him. Gintoki is afraid of being conflicted on his decision because if he reunites with Yorozuya, he will start thinking as a guy who must cleanse evil. It’s challenging and I’m loving it. I seriously hope Sorachi can deliver the message profoundly.

After that, the chapter or series in general decides to go back to the humorous side and it’s worth it. As usual, it’s hilarious with the shenanigans with Hijikata and Yamazaki; oh sorry, Mobcop. It’s a great timing to reference Devilman since Gintoki is on the verge to lose his sanity. The image with him holding the glasses kills me. Even Sorachi is aware of the potential dark ending. Oddly enough, if Devilman Crybaby is the audience’s first introduction to the franchise, consider it a major spoiler.

I also got a good laugh at the explanation of how they followed Gintoki. Mobcop was supposed to be flying, which is why Hijikata looked hype when boarding on him. Too bad his gas apparently ran out, so they only latch on the boat underwater. I’m here thinking, “Wouldn’t Hijikata drown by that point?” Well, he was close to death at least five times. Mobcop’s fuel is anpan, which is a funny and clever reference to Robocop in which uses baby food. Although, he needs a specific type alas fine-grained bean paste, so apparently, he’s pretty picky.

After a good comedy, the chapter revert back to a serious tone, this time with Hijikata. He isn’t sure if Gintoki is doing something evil, which technically he is for now, but if he can confirm, then he will kill him. I thought it was touching for he reacted like he doesn’t want to say it but if it comes to it, then it must be done. You can tell how much he does care about him as a friend.

To make it more emotional, he reminds Mobcop the code of Shinseigumi, but also reflect that it’s the same group that Gintoki has saved. It would be a damn sad ending if it all goes to that route. Mobcop gives him a reality check of what’s no longer there, but Hijikata subtly tell him to shut up. I so can’t wait for a reunion. With those two back in Edo, it’s only matter of time.

We are back with more comedy and it’s so funny. After the heartfelt moment, the follow-up breaks away from the dreary mood and embark whacky plan in motion. Gintoki and Takasugi go their separate way, so normally, two against two would mean one take on one. Not for Mobcop; he literally split up to chase both respectively. Yes, it’s very normal for citizens to split from the waist down. Unless it’s Tokyo Ghoul.

I really like how Sorachi managed to freshen up the dynamic between him and Hijikata; this is why the comedy doesn’t get old. I like how Hijikata talks about what anpan he’s going to get for him but of course, each time he says it, it’s only a trolling remark. It’s only because Mobcop keeps screwing up. After being told to blend in, the most logic thing to do is disguise with the identity of another. Apparently, Hijikata has a twin brother now.

The dumb part about it is how Mobcop is pretty much saying that Hijikata’s job is only to get the anpan for him. Even when disguised as him, he was going to grab one, completely disregard the main target. I couldn’t stop laughing at the stupidity. It only breaks the trend once Mobcop acts natural and by his definition, it means no clothes, all free. That’s when Hijikata finally stop trolling and actually got the anpan for him, so he can stop humiliating him. Fan girls must be stoked.

The last couple of pages are hilarious. Gintoki almost caught them but they somehow blend in with the store ads, acting like mannequin. Mobcop exposes more than enough if you get what I mean. Somehow, it works unless Gintoki is lying, which I can definitely believe. Otherwise, he’s easily fooled. What got me laughing so much is after he left, it appears things are secured, but shortly after, he returns with a panic look. He buys an underwear, wears it over his head, and all the sudden, he’s tagging along with others in disguising. Why? Because Otae appears. Need I say more? Hijikata’s reaction cracks me up.

This was a pretty amusing chapter with a nice change of pace with its humor. The buildup to the next and most likely the last mission has been engaging with conflicting personal issue. The driving theme of making a choice appeals me and it has me very curious. The artwork is clean and the humorous tone delivered with laughable sequences. The cliffhanger was amusing. I don’t know if I want him to get caught, but if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fear of a gorilla. I mean Otae…

[supernova1us]

My Dragon Ball Reboot(updated)

Dragon ball is another one of those big awesome anime series that just didn’t know when to quit.  Like many others, rather than go out on a high note, they just keep going and going, regardless of the drop in quality.  I for one hate dragon ball super and think it is just shameless fan service. So, here is the concept for a total reboot of the dragon ball series.  The style would be similar to that of dragonball z, and the setting/world is the same: with earth being the same mishmash of eras of time and cultures. The main alteration to this reality is that planet vegeta and the saiyans still exist. This breakdown will be a bit vague because I do not have any solid names for the characters. To keep things simple for now and consistent with the franchise trends, i will give them temporary stand in names.  

 ARC 1

Two saiyans, brother Kabij and sister Kereta, land on earth with the missions to raise it.  They split up and kereta meets the human Tech; a young inventor with some martial arts training.  Making her intentions clear, he challenges her, knowing he has little chance of winning. Though she consistently beats him severely, he refuses to stay down.  After letting her take a rest, he uses a technicality of their agreement (her being on the ground for 10 seconds) to declare victory.  Initially furious, she becomes amused, respecting him and concedes. The two become fast friends and, impressed by earth’s food and beauty, she begins to decide she does not want to destroy the planet.  Meanwhile Kabij amuses himself with mischief and destruction. Returning, the siblings clash in a fierce battle which she wins and Kabij, badly injured, spitefully sends a message through his scouter for saiyan backup before escaping.

Tech is told of the saiyans’ mission of conquering planets in reluctant servitude of the space tyrant, king Frieza. Tech reveals he has one of the legendary dragon balls as a family heirloom and if they collect all 7, they can wish for the earth’s safety.  With practice, Kereta realizes she can detect the unique energy of the dragon balls and they set out across the world to find them. A healed Kabij learns of their intentions and sets out for the balls as well, desiring invincibility. Tech and Kereta have many adventures in their search for the balls, including an ongoing feud with an underground militia of sentient machines who desire world conquest. One night Kereta also transforms into her great ape form, causing destruction.  When this occurs again on the next full moon, Tech manages to get through to her, allowing her some clarity and control in the form and a romantic tension between them begins to build. They also come to meet the hidden alien guardian of the earth, Kami, and become quick enemies with his evil counterpart, Piccolo, after a battle. They also gain a dragon ball from Hits, a martial arts master after first defeating his 3 guards then him. Impressed and recognizing Keretas potential outside of just her raw power, he offers to train them.  They accept but will only return after they have made their wish.  

They gain all but one ball, which Kabij has retrieved from a crew of infamous pirates. Confronting each other again, the battle turns to wide spread carnage when the moon rises and both transform to battle in their great ape forms.  Needing to end the threat, Tech severs both their tails, and when Kabij attacks civilians in a last act of desperation, Kereta is forced to deal a killing blow. Reconciling with his sister as he dies, he tells her that they have at least 2 years before the other saiyans are likely to come.  Both Tech and Kereta agree to use the dragons wish to undo the damage done by the battle, and summon the dragon to do so.  Tech builds a clock to count down until the dragon balls will be usable again, and the two return to master Hits to train.  

 ARC 2

Training under the hardy Hits and Black, his strict niece/assistant, Tech and Kereta both have shown great improvement in their fighting skills, with Tech having learned flight and to use ki. More open signs of feelings for each other have also developed.  With nothing left to learn, they are dispatched far and wide to do odd ball tasks for their master (lots of filler).  Eventually, he reveals that due to financial difficulties, he intends for them to represent his dojo in the world’s martial arts tournament.  They do and face many opponents and win. However, the semi-final has them battling each other. After a long match that sees many feelings and issues brought to the surface, Kereta ultimately wins.  She faces the final opponent, revealed to be a disguised piccolo.  After a brutal match in which both resort to using their energy attacks, she seemingly destroys Piccolo and wins the tournament.  She and Tech reconcile and begin a relationship.  As an act of love he gathers the dragon balls and wishes Keretas tail back, though he is scolded for the recklessness of doing so.  

 ARC 3

Before the dragon balls can renew again, Kereta, tech and their allies, now called the Z fighters, are summoned by Kami. Revealing that the saiyans are on their way and will arrive sooner than expected, he intends to train them in special new techniques to better stand against the saiyans’ power. During their training, they also learn of the history of the saiyans as well as of Kami’s race. Eventually the Z fighters head for the desert in hopes of keeping the fight away from populated areas.  A squad of 5 saiyans arrives, including an old friend of Kereta and led by the psychotic saiyan prince Broly. Broly declares her a traitor but chooses to sit and watch as the others fight.  A massive battle erupts between the groups in which two of the saiyans are killed but Hits is badly wounded and all but Kereta and Tech leave to take him to heal.  All of this is also witnessed by Piccolo from afar, who takes an interest in Broly.

The moon rises and Kereta and the two other saiyans transform and do battle as great apes all through the night.  Though Broly also transforms, he still remains neutral. She manages to kill one but chooses to spare her defeated friend. Broly finally enters the battle and is the stronger as he beats her mercilessly. Summoning as much ki as he can muster, Tech manages a single punch to Broly, scarring his face and briefly disorienting him. His hand now shattered and with no energy left, Tech can only smugly accept his fate as Broly angrily delivers a fatal blow. Driven by grief and fury, Kereta transforms into a legendary super saiyan, while her friend takes Tech to safety.  Despite unleashing his full power and going into a battle craze, broly is beaten to within an inch of his life and left for dead.  Unknown to the others, he is rescued by Piccolo, who returns him to his ship and maintains that he is an ally.  Kereta and Tech declare their love as he dies, but he reminds her that she can bring him back with the dragon balls and she promises to. Her friend declines to stay on earth and leaves to rejoin the other saiyans.  

 ARC 4

While Kereta deals with her loss and boredom in the living world, Techs soul appears at a crossroad between heaven and hell. A middle road appears to him and a voice leads him down it to a small world. There he is greeted by the great Lord Kai, who intends to train him so he will be stronger when he is brought back to life.  It is revealed that Kabij is also there being trained by the Kai.  Though there is initial hostility, the two grow closer through their training and become friendly rivals.  Tech is also taught the kaio-ken technique. With the dragon balls active again, Kereta is in a race against Piccolo to retrieve them.  After all have been found by one or the other, they fight for all 7.  Piccolo wins but the dragon cannot grant his wish of invincibility, as he is technically still a part of Kami, and the dragon cannot grant his own creator a wish. While piccolo angrily battles the dragon, Kereta is telepathically informed by Lord Kai to phrase her wish a certain way.  She steals the wish in the confusion, which results in reviving both Tech and Kabij. Syphoning some of the dragons power to empower himself before it vanishes again, Piccolo battles the three, who ultimately defeat him.  They are however warned not to kill him for fear of killing Kami, so Piccolo is instead imprisoned beneath the dojo.  

A brief time jump shows that Tech and Kereta are married, she is pregnant and they have moved into a house connected to their master’s dojo. Kabij has also joined them, now having a love/hate relationship with Black. They all take part in a celebration and competition between many of the regional martial arts schools. Afterwards, the competition is attacked and many are killed by the ultimate weapon of the robot militia, a perfectly designed cybernetic fighter. Declaring itself “The Slayer”, it issues the Z fighters, its targets, a challenge. It almost defeats them all, having studied all their fighting styles, but Techs otherworldly kaio-ken technique proves to be the power that tips the scale. Thought they believe it destroyed, its creators recover the remains, intending to scrap it and start again. It however asserts its independence, granted sentience through its desire for revenge, and demands they rebuild and improve it.  

 ARC 5

8 years later, Tech and Kereta act as instructors for the now more popular dojo, with their half saiyan twin son and daughter among their students. Kabij and Black are also together and have 2 sons.  As their anniversary nears, Kereta finds herself teleported to Lord Kai’s world, who warns of a great threat heading to earth; the forces of Frieza. He reveals that Broly hid the news of the battle on earth out of shame but Frieza eventually learned of the situation and intends to make an example. He teaches her many powerful new techniques, primarily the spirit bomb. Sending her back, she and Tech celebrate their anniversary before the earth comes under invasion. The Z fighters fight friezas forces across multiple locations and skirmishes, including his elite enforcer team, the trinity. Slayer and the robot army also briefly aid in the defense of earth, but only out of self-interest. Frieza and a healed Broly soon arrive, along with Kereta’s friend, now a brainwashed cyborg.  Broly and Kabij clash in a furious battle, with both reaching super saiyan forms and fighting to a standstill. Tech battles the cyborg saiyan but is beaten, but she is then overwhelmed and beaten by the 4 half saiyan children.  

Kereta battles with Frieza but cannot overcome him and transforms into a super saiyan.  Frieza, finding it hard to contend with her new form, absorbs the ki of his forces, killing them but making him a giant and far more powerful.  Using her knowledge of earth to her advantage, the moon rises and she becomes a super saiyan golden great ape.  Now more evenly matched, they engage in a titan sized battle that destroys the landscape and scatters the other combatants.  By dawn Kereta reverts to normal and a beaten and humiliated Frieza prepares a blast to destroy all of earth and announces he intends to do the same to the saiyans home world, Sadala.  Hearing this, Broly furiously attacks him, thwarting the charged blast.  Using the opening, Kereta generates a spirit bomb and blasts Frieza into space and his apparent death.  Broly escapes in the chaos and vows to return with the whole saiyan army.  

In the aftermath, the Z fighters return home with the cyborg saiyan, who appears to be free of her brainwashing, and one of Friezas long-suffering soldiers who has gone AWOL.  They quickly locate the dragon balls again and finally use their wish to protect earth, making it invisible to any who mean it harm.  This is just in time as Broly returns with his forces but cannot locate the planet. Embarrassed in front of his troops, he is also belittled and ordered back to Sadala by his father king Paragus to answer for his betrayal of Frieza, who is revealed to have survived.  On earth, the cyborg saiyan is briefly taken over by a preprogrammed order and silently slips away and frees Piccolo, giving him a special task from Broly.

 ARC 6

1 year after the defeat of Frieza, Tech, Kereta, Kabij and Black leave to take part in the next world martial arts tournament.  While they are gone, Piccolo returns and battles master Hits, with the cyborgs conditioning keeping her from interfering.  Piccolo wins and kidnaps the 4 half saiyan children, per Brolys request.  Their parents return and are told by the cyborg that Piccolo has taken them to Sadala. Before they leave on a ship salvaged from Friezas invasion, they are summoned by kami. Knowing that Piccolo must be destroyed, he names master Hits as his successor and gives each of the fighters a portion of his power.  They leave and briefly stop on Namik, Kamis home world. They train in new techniques, resupply and learn the legend of a single renegade warrior, who sought redemption by splitting his good and evil halves, forming Kami and Piccolo.  The cyborg, thinking herself a liability, chooses to stay on Namik and mentally train to overcome her conditioning.

Arriving on Sadala, they find Broly has rebelled and killed his father, become king and is in the midst of a battle with Frieza’s empire. They infiltrate the planet only to discover Broly and Piccolo striking a truce with a now cyborg Freiza.  They reveal the children, now brainwashed, and have them attack their parents.  After some time, the parents use the mental abilities they learned on Namik to reach through to the children and free them.  An all-out battle soon erupts; Kereta fighting Broly, Kabij fighting Frieza, Tech and Black fighting Piccolo and the children and the Z fighters fighting Broly/Frieza’s henchman. The rest of the saiyans are rallied by the returned cyborg to rebel against Broly and renew their fight against Freiza’s forces.  Both Frieza and Piccolo are killed in the respective battles, and on earth, Master Hits bids a sad farewell to Kami as he dies. This coincidentally depowers the dragon balls just as Slayer the machine militia prepared to use them to convert the human race into robots.  Their battle having taken them to a nearby barren world, Broly and Kereta are evenly matched as super saiyans.  Broly absorbs all the ki of Freiza’s forces, destroying his whole army and transforming into the super saiyan god form.  Kereta is able to achieve the same with the ki willingly given by her family, friends and the other saiyans.  She manages to win the fight by blasting Broly into the sun with a spirit bomb, killing him.

In the aftermath, the cyborg becomes the new queen of Sadala and the others enjoy a vacation there before returning to earth. The Nemikian who trained them also joins them so as to aid Master Hits in his duties and repower the dragon balls. Kereta and Tech henceforth take over as masters of the dojo.

 ARC 7

6 years later, the half saiyan children deal with high school and mundane life while keeping their considerable power under wraps, including an unintended great ape transformation during a party.  The Z fighters are forced to again contend with the return of the machine militia and Slayer, who has been upgraded into the deadliest fighting machine ever. They are also confronted by the vengeful brother of Freiza, Cooler. Cooler however is more honorable and, after a furious battle, relents after accepting the necessity of his brother’s death.  The earth soon faces the new, greater threat of the Dark Kai, a demonic former kai who sought cosmic destruction. He now unleashes disasters and demonic monsters on earth and many worlds. Joined by Cooler, the Z fighters infiltrate his fortress in the other world and contend with his generals, the 7 Sins. It finally takes the power of the whole saiyan family together to overwhelm and destroy him.  

Lord kai invites the fighters to the restored otherworldly realm and asks them to represent him in a celebratory fighting tournament of beings from across the universe.  The fighters compete until Kereta and Kabij alone remain. They battle as a team in the semi-finals, facing the vengeful spirits of Frieza and Broly, the champions of the Lord of Hell.  They manage to win, and are then forced to face each other, with Kereta winning after an intense fight.  She faces the final opponent, the reformed Nemekian of Kami and Piccolo, and she and Kabij use fusion to become a single fighter to face him. After a long hard fight, he concedes, proud of the progress the siblings have made, and they are declared the universal champion.

When they return home, they are confronted by Slayer for a final showdown. Now the last remnant of the robot militia, he has been upgraded to his full potential with data from all the saiyans’ previous battles. His new power proves so great that Kabij and Kereta are nearly killed. The saiyan teens fuse with their siblings into two new fighters, but even they cannot defeat him, as he seems to grow exponentially stronger as he fights. The fused teens then fuse themselves into an all new fusion who, after going super saiyan, completely obliterate Slayer.

After that everyone moves on with their lives; the Z fighters all go their separate ways. Kereta and Tech resume running the dojo, which is more popular than ever before while Kabij and Black retire to Salada. Cooler leaves earth for unknown objectives and Freiza’s former goon becomes guardian Hits apprentice. The saiyan teens finish high school and, before college, leave to explore the world like their parents before them.    

The end.  

[spark-of-magic-archive]

Here it is, everybody! The Empress of Magic event ending drabble! I hope you like it, and happy Halloween everybody!

The eve of Nightmare Night was coming to a close. As the clock’s hands grew ever so much closer to the hour of midnight, the activity in Ponyville began slowly dying down. Houses found themselves devoid of candy as young (and old, Ponyville was a fun-loving community after all) ponies dressed as this or that trotted through the streets, carrying bags of various sweets with them wherever they went. The air was filled with mischief as tricks and treats were found aplenty.

But not everypony was partaking in the festivities as usual. There was one group in particular that answered to a higher calling. Their names are not important, but rest assured that they were ponies most knew as friends, neighbors, and maybe even something more. They were the common folk, but they didn’t see themselves as such. Regardless of their typical profession, be it as a baker, a florist, a musician, or something else entirely, tonight they shed their respective titles for a glorious duty most could only dream of.

The group took to the streets with pride. Despite their disappointing lack of pitchforks and torches, one could easily guess that they were what was known as a mob. (Although they debated calling themselves other terms, such as a gang, rabble, horde, or even ‘a particularly angry group of upstanding citizenry’.) The mob marched down the streets of Ponyville, leftover citizens galloping out of the way in a last ditch effort to get leftover candy, the poor souls. As they trotted, they kept an eye on the object of their scorn and contempt, as well as their ultimate goal: The Castle of Friendship.

The Castle had changed little in the time since the Empress’ reign. Save several banners hanging from its upper regions that bore the Empress’ cutie mark, the castle looked almost exactly the same as it normally did. But the dim light of the moon cast sinister shadows across its surface, and the fog, while great for setting the mood, managed to create an altogether spooky atomosphere, something the mob was aware of as they approached.

But their eyes weren’t set on the flickering shadows or the admittedly cool fog. It was on the figure, standing atop the castle balcony with her glowing red eyes looking down upon the township before her. Despite the lack of wind, her black scarf moved as if blown by a stray gust, as did her mane. In but a moment, her intimidating gaze fell upon the ponies before her castle.

“Who goes there?” The Empress demanded. “Why are you disturbing me in the dead of night?”

One of the mobsters (assuming that is the proper term for a member of a mob, tales such as this are not always grammatically accurate), a young foal dressed as if he were a brave knight, stepped forward. His armor, likely store-bought, gleamed with the light of the immaculate moon. His sword hung at his sword, sheathed and probably about as deadly as a moist paper towel. Still, he spoke from the heart with courage and bravery most his age wouldn’t and shouldn’t know.

“We’ve come to defy your rule, wicked empress!” His words somehow managed to reach the balcony, and thus the ears of the curious tyrant. “Ponyville is a free land, and it belongs to the princesses!”

“Princesses?” The word came out as a laugh. “The time of princesses is over, youngling. Go back to your home and eat your candy. Leave your ruler to her peace.”

Another pony stepped forth, this time a filly only slightly older than her knightly companion. She was dressed in a flowing elegant robe, such that the uneducated eye would mistake her for dressing as a princess of sorts. But upon a closer look, one would note the magical (although sadly fake) runes drawn into her outfit. This was a mighty sorceress, as mighty as any who bought their wand at Sofas and Quills’ Nightmare Night sale.

“Princess Twilight, please reconsider,” the sorceress filly pleaded. “We know there’s good in you. You don’t have to be evil.”

The Empress scoffed. “I wasn’t forced to be evil, little filly. I chose to be! I am the embodiment of Harmony and Magic, my rule is divine. Any who stand in my way will be crushed as they should be.” Her eyes scanned the mob, ignoring the crowds of ponies watching the show from the sidelines. “Is that what you wish to see, my little ponies?”

To their honor, the mob stood resolute. Each costumed hero looked the empress in the eye, as if daring her to accept their challenge. “Fine. You’ve sealed your own fate.” The princess leaped over the balcony’s railing and onto the ground below. The spectacle was so impressive that one might not have seen the magical aura surrounding her hooves, carefully protecting her from the might of gravity.

Her horn gave off a startling bright glow as her body was raised into the air. Wisps of magenta light streaked around her body, becoming brighter and more numerous as they ran through the air, eventually culumnating in a bright pinkish-white sphere of magical energy.

Fancy light shows were easy. While illusion magic wasn’t Twilight’s forte or even one of her top five magic schools, she could appreciate how she could go all out with it and not risk hurting somepony. It was all about creating a spectacle, something that wasn’t real but could still entertain. In a sense, illusion magic was just about telling the best story, one that fooled your mind. And Twilight was about to tell a fantastic story.

The sphere was suddenly cracked open as a creature crawled out of it. It was like a pony in shape, but that’s where the similarities ended. It was as tall as a two-story house and was proportionally wide and long. It had no eyes, mouth, or any true discerning features beyond its mane and tail. It body was like a constellation, made up of stars and galaxies and universes that twinkled and shined. It ran the entire color spectrum, giving off a light that couldn’t be seen, but just as easily managed to illuminate the whole area.

Twilight hoped they were enjoying the trick. The spell was pretty draining, even with the backup magic reserves she hid in the scarf to give her the extra fuel necessary.

And they certainly did enjoy it. The mob and the audience around watched in stunned awe. Twilight would’ve been proud of that awe, had it not been pretty tiring to keep it. “Well?” She demanded, her spell amplifing her voice so that all could hear. “I’m waiting, heroes.”

At her words, the mob charged. Well, they probably planned to charge at least. In truth the group split up immediately, each to try their own method of defeating the empress. Warriors swung their swords, pegasi darted in and stomped their hooves on her avatar’s coat, and mages send magic missles her way. Despite the apparent lack of organization, the mob was actually doing fairly well at this whole thing.

And the whole time the audience ate it up. “Oohs” and “ahhhs” were thrown out casually as the battle went on. Each time the heroes took ground, she covered it up with blasts of magic (that mostly consisted of fancy lights) and swipes of her hooves. As the battle went on and on, the Empress’ avatar grew larger and larger, becoming more powerful as she put more effort into the spell. But she knew not to go too far, of course, as whenever she seemed to gain the upper hand, a hero managed to ‘conveniently’ strike a hit on her. It was an epic battle, to be sure.

And yet, the heroes were no closer to their goal. If anything, their combined strength could only end in a stalemate. The combatants couldn’t advance without threat of retaliation, but the Empress couldn’t destroy them without being swarmed herself. It was a difficult choice, but the heroes knew what to do.

“Ponies!” One mare stepped forward from the crowd, dressed as in the attire of an Anugyptian pharaoh. She stared up at the Empress’ avatar, showing no sign of fear or worry. Which was entirely reasonable, seeing as it was a massive illusion, but still, props to her. “I know what we must do to save the princess. We must use her own magic against her.”

The Empress’ laugh echoed around the battlefield. “My own magic? What could you ponies know about magic? My spells could hardly be harnessed by even your strongest unicorn.”

“We don’t mean that kind of magic, princess. We mean a kind you know all too well.” She smiled as she looked back at the mob. “Ponies, unite your hearts against her evil. Use the light inside you to wash away the princess’ darkness.”

The Empress snarled at the mare. “You think you can use Harmony to defeat me? I am Harmony, little pony. You can’t hurt me with my own power.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, princess. Your evil has twisted you. Your idea of Harmony is suffocating and joyless, a perversion of your true nature.” She closed her eyes and lifted her head towards the heavens. “Accept this, princess. Embrace Harmony.”

At her word, a shining light appeared on her chest, a silvery-gold color that trailed upward like smoke. It was difficult to cast that spell alongside all the others she was casting, but she managed it. The light formed a beam of energy that blasted the Empress’ avatar, making her hiss in pain as it seemed to burn her magic away. The light didn’t fade, nor did its power, only serving to continually pester the Empress and weaken her form.

Perhaps if this mare was alone, her light would have been easily extinguished by the Empress’ power. But she was not alone. One by one, each of the heroes raised their heads as the light of their hearts came into view. They blasted the Empress’ avatar with this light, burning away at her. Each added light made the avatar shrink, mist rising from where its body was being destroyed.

Soon the entire party of heroes was generously giving their light to the cause. Within a few more moments, the avatar was gone. But its work was not yet done. For the avatar was a symptom of a much greater evil, one that had to be dealt with before the night could be over.

The Empress herself.

She screamed in pain as the light struck her body. The power was blinding, so much so that nobody could see Twilight’s tricks beneath it all. With the avatar illusion gone, Twilight found her spells a lot easier to cast than they were before. This bit was going to be the easiest of all. Nobody could see the flash of her horn or the teleportation spell it cast.

Instead, when the light fell away and all was dim once more, all that could be seen was the Empress, laying on the ground weakly, her mane and tail both a frazzled mess. Slowly, she blinked her eyes. Once. Twice. All leaned in to see what they could not from afar: That the Empress’ eyes had seemingly changed color, from a bright blood-like red to a deep purple, and that her mane and cutie mark alike had changed to their previous state.

Twilight made an effort to appear like she was struggling to get to her hooves. Not a hard thing, seeing as she was mentally, emotionally, and physically drained after this whole scenario. Once she did, she looked out to the party of heroes and the audience beyond them. She glanced to the ground and picked up the fallen scarf with her magic, staring at it intently before announcing, “The Empress has been defeated! Ponyville is free!” As she spoke, the banners hanging from the Castle of Friendship fell to the ground, accidentally engulfing anypony who just so happened to be watching from that particular vantage point.

But this was of concern to no one, as all burst into cheer almost immediately. Celebrations were had, with ponies congratulating each other and hoof bumping and complimenting on their work. The festivities soon dissolved into a sort of afterparty. Characters were broken as the play came to a close. The Empress was defeated, and those who partook in the act were all the merrier for the fun they had.

Nobody noticed, in their excitement, that the star of the show had slipped away towards the end of things. Twilight was happy that everypony had fun, and she considered that the greatest achievement of it all, but her mind was not on that right now. Instead she was focused on something greater, a reward she had been looking forward to for some time.

And that, the princess decided as she crawled into her bed, mere moments from passing out, is a good, long nap.

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Marvel vs. DC

I've wanted to write this one for a while, but I'm going to sum it up before I begin: DC does diversity and social issues better than Marvel could manage in its wettest, wildest dreams.

That's going to annoy fans. So let's even include my personal bias, just as a disclaimer: I'm really not fond of Marvel's lack of continuity, nor am I a fan of Bendis.

With Morrison's New X-Men, Grant looked at the problems which plagued the X-Men and how every time the books would just go back to telling the same stories. He wanted to unshackle these books from that curse, and he set up the means to do precisely that.

He weaved everything together so masterfully, Corporation X, the second mutant boom, the much needed nod to how mutants aren't all just these beautiful poster models, et cetera. Honestly, how can you stand for the downtrodden if you come across as the one per cent?

Being an X-Man must've had an amazing dental, physical, and mental health plan. No one dared to even be anything less than a perfect icon of the status quo, it was basically what Magneto always wanted. It was really quite difficult to distinguish between what separated him from Xavier.

Grant fixed that. Mutants could be less than beautiful and that was okay, mutants didn't always need to have MacGuffin powers and that was okay too. Then, at the very end, he edited the Marvel Universe to remove mutant prejudice.

That's wild.

It's the end goal of everything they'd just been striving for since the '80s, and the reason they had been locked in this neverending cycle. Now the X-Men could tell new stories. Stories about how it was okay to be interesting, diverse, and not just a living god. It was incredible, I had more hope for the X-Men at that point than I ever had.

Marvel retconned it with the very next issue. Prejudice returns, everyone is beautiful again, and every gift Grant gave them was generally pissed over. Marvel hates continuity. They're so wantonly, gaggingly desperate to tell exactly the same stories over and over and over again.

One of the worst casualties of it all was Beast. Before Morrison, Beast was nothing more than a one-dimensional, Silver Age character. Grant gave him a third-dimension, a dichotomy. Certainly, it was a bit of an old trope (Grant loves those), and yet he used it to give Hank McCoy depth he'd never had in all his years as an X-Man.

Bendis took that away. No more feline Beast for us, no more dichotomy, no more third-dimension. Hank is just a Silver Age airhead again.

Marvel is basically Groundhog Day. This is their problem and I promise you this will all tie together and go somewhere. This Groundhog Day syndrome is at the root of all of Marvel's problems, and why DC are trouncing them right now on every story-telling front.

So, they did it with Iron Man, too.

Tony Stark was always weirdly technophobic for what could only be described as a self-made transhumanist. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, you can see him operating on himself to give himself upgrades. Not in the comics.

Warren Ellis was the first to set out to fix this -- Extremis. Extremis was pretty okay. I'd say it was definitely a step in the right direction, but Tony still had this technophobic edge to his personality that caused dissonance in anyone who had any minor level of familiarity with technology.

Tony seemed oddly unfamiliar with the tech he'd supposedly been building. Had it turned out that -- in fact -- Tony was just a pretty face, and the real tinkerer and putterer was hiding in his shadow? That would've been interesting!

They didn't go that way, though. So they had to cure Tony of his technophobia. From Extremis we moved onto Matt Fraction's run where Tony really learned to trust technology; In fact, it proved to be more reliable and faithful to him than people did. His distrust moved away from technology to authority, government, and powerful figures like the Mandarin. This provided a strong focus, it provided the reader with reasons.

It reminds me of Mark Waid and Eobard Thawne. Eobard, the Reverse Flash, was just a two-bit Silver Age airhead of a villain. Just evil because evil, no more to it than that. Waid fleshed him out by having him become an obsessive stalker, a crazed fan whose vision of Barry Allen was so idealised that the real Barry couldn't live up to it.

This gave Eobard Thawne a reason to be Barry's villain. Similarly, Tony's newfound distrust of very powerful people and authority gave him a reason to distrust a self-styled, preening, entitled figure like The Mandarin. A character who fancifully imagined himself as an emperor.

It also allowed Tony to explore technology and realise that he wanted to spend more time simply working on it and helping to create heroes to combat men like The Mandarin than showboating hismelf. It set up the scene for both Rhodey and Pepper to replace him as Iron Corps.

Continuity! Evolution! A bold new di--RETCON! Now Tony's a technophobe again who was starkly (heh) terrified of his old technology and went back to sticks, rocks, and showboating because that's what Tony does at Marvel.

And this brings me to why I dislike Marvel. You might've heard that their editors actually blamed their push for diversity for their waning sales. It couldn't have anything to do with this Groundhog Day syndrome of theirs. No, no no no. Of course not. It has to be diversity, right?

Well, no. And, weirdly, yes? You see, their attitude toward diversity is inauthentic. It isn't genuine. I think everyone's catching on. That black kid who's going to be Iron Man? That's Cat Beast, you see? Soon to be replaced by technophobic Tony, completing the cycle.

The new Lady Thor? Cat Beast. Falcon as Captain America? Cat Beast. It'll all revert. It's because they don't actually have any passion behind it. Why did Falcon become Captain America? Oh, he and Steve Rogers had an argument and now he's wearing Captain America's uniform because reasons.

Then he got Cat Beast'd, now he's Falcon again. Steve Rogers is Captain America again. Groundhog Day, everyone! It's Groundhog Day!

Lady Thor? Lady Thor is there because... Um, er, other realities? Reasons? No one really knows, but everyone knows that it's a gimmick. It's not really intended to stick. She'll get Cat Beast'd, and ultimately replaced by Man Thor again.

I mentioned the Iron Corps, right?

This is because of how DC handled things with the Green Lantern Corps. The best example I've seen yet of HOW YOU DO THIS RIGHT.

Hal Jordan? He's being a space cowboy. John Stewart? He's leading the Green Lantern Corps. Your old favourite lantern? Heavily featured in the Green Lantern Corps. New, young, diversified lanterns? Meet Cruz and Baz!

DC does do it wrong, occasionally. I feel like what they did with Barry and Wally was just a massive clusterfuck. That Barry is still present as the League's only speedster is depressing, it's very much contrary to the Lantern Corps and it feels a little Marvel-y, to be honest. It's all about the editorial staff pushing their tastes.

So DC isn't perfect. No. Are they doing almost everything better, regardless? Heck yes! Do you care about social issues? Check out Green Arrow, Batgirl & the Bird of Prey. Do you want diverse characters? Cyborg, Blue Beetle, New Super-Man and many others have you covered. Do you long for nuanced stories that cover a character's life outside of being a hero? Superman has you covered. Do you want old-fashioned superhero comics? Action Comics, Justice League, and Detective Comics have your back.

DC is inclusive. And... AND AND AND... DC never, ever Groundhog Days. If DC does something? Then it sticks. This is why I respect them so god damned much. Even if it's begrudgingly, sometimes. You know? They deserve it, they really do.

The New 52 was a failure, they knew that. So, what's to be done about that? Reboot it and just forget it ever happened? No! Do something really clever and make all continuity matter, forever! That's what DC had done up until the New 52, so it's not that unexpected, but it is refreshing.

They could've been cowardly and just set the clock back to a pre-52 state. They did actually have some pieces in place for that (Waverider, Pandora, et al). Instead, they did something much, much more compelling. They made it all matter. So any new characters they'd introduced and fleshed out? They got to stay, along with the old stable!

And that's why DC will always be better than Marvel. I mean, you know, along with the fact that I don't think that DC has featured nearly as much snuff porn and women getting kicked in the vagina as Marvel has given us (thanks, Bendis). So that's also a feather in DC's cap.

Plus, when a woman is empowered in DC comics, it doesn't just feel like a silly, colourful, 'this is my l'il Universe which is separate from everything else' gimmick (looking at you, Squirrel Girl, sorry). They really are there, in the prime reality, and working to make a difference.

Batgirl & the Birds of Prey is better than just about anything that Marvel has done in its long history. So we're back to being inclusive, can I talk about that some more? Young readers? You've got young, experimental comics with the Young Animal and Wildstorm imprints. Gay audience? You're covered, too! Especially notable, here? Apollo & Midnighter.

When DC does it, it feels authentic, real, and genuine. They put a lot of heart into the story, to set things up. It's a long, drawn out process of handing over the mantle or switching focus. Sure, they screw up occasionally but for the most part they get that right.

It's not BOOP DIVERSITY GIMMICK, which is very much Marvel's schtick. It's why no one is satisfied with Marvel, not even an old, haggard "SJW" like me. I see Marvel's insensitive, tacky gimmicks for what they really are.

If Marvel cared to understand how to do this even remotely right? Apollo & Midnighter, Batgirl & the Birds of Prey, Shade the Changing Girl, New Super-Man, and... Doctor Endless.

Oh. My. God. Doctor Endless. Here's why I'm inspired to write this. It's not just a tacky BOOP DIVERSITY GIMMICK thing, it's not a magical one issue replacement of an existing character. They put in the effort to create new characters that people would care about, it shows DC cares.

Marvel, by comparison, feels like a soulless corporate machine. They're doing diversity not because it's ethical, or inclusive, or it makes people feel good, but rather because they think they're widening the net to sell more of their hugely overpriced comics.

If you replace five existing characters with LGBTQ versions BECAUSE REASONS (without any actual reasons) in a one issue span? It's meaningless. It’s insulting. It doesn't carry any weight or gravitas. It's hard for people to get behind that as their new hero because it all just happened so suddenly that it feels like a trick, they're feeling like Marvel will tug the rug out from under them the moment those characters lose popularity. They'll be gone as suddenly as they appeared.

Inauthenticity, a lack of genuineness, and just an air of being con men. Along with an inability to ever change, evolve, or grow. This is what I think of Marvel as being, now. Like I said, they had some really obvious chances with X-Men and Iron Man to grow. They could've launched off of Matt Fraction's stories to set up an Iron Man Corps, it would've been glorious. They could've had a number of Iron heroes, each with their own fleshed out story which is separate from Stark's own. No tackiness or gimmicks needed.

And you know Marvel is going to just Cat Beast every diverse character. Give it a couple of years and no one will ever remember any of these people they invented over a one issue span, no one will remember that Falcon was Captain America because it happened and it was gone again so quickly that it was forgettable.

It's Groundhog Day, everyone! A really gimmicky, shady Groundhog Day!

There are actually a lot of characters like that throughout Marvel's history, who've either been forgotten or have lost most of their development due to Marvel's love of the reset button. DC only flirted with the reset button once and it almost doomed them. They learned from that.

So now that Doctor Endless is here, they're now here to stay. They're always going to be in the DC Universe. Everything is. Grant fucking Morrison is in the DC Universe as The Writer or somesuch. Yankee goddamn Poodle and Captain Carrot are still present. I LOVE IT.

With Rebirth, DC has made a stand. They're not going to use the reset button to fix the time they -- thanks to some poor judgement -- flirted with the reset button. They're leaving that thing well, well alone.

So while Squirrel Girl enjoys a short stint of popularity as one of Marvel's gimmicks (and this kills me because I adore Ryan North and love his writing), off in her own Universe? Black Canary exists in the Green Arrow, Birds of Prey, and Justice League of America books being generally just the most kick-ass woman ever.

I used to be such a Marvel fan, it's funny. It's just that I began to notice their over-reliance on that bloody reset button back in the '80s. It got boring by the '90s and I was fed up of it. Morrison's X-Men and Fraction's Iron Man gave me some, infinitesimal glimmer of hope, but...

I watched DC continue to grow, grow, and grow. I mean, I'd always had some love for DC thanks to the DCAU and the Justice League, but I was iffy about the comics because they took away one of my favourite characters as a gimmicky stunt (and that felt like a very Marvel thing to do). With Rebirth? I couldn't stand it any more.

I can forgive DC for its one, flawed, gimmicky stunt. The horrible, egregious error that was the New 52. I forgive you, DC. It's okay. It really is okay. You've done everything to make up for it.

However, Marvel is doing reboot after gimmicky reboot all the time. GROUNDHOG DAY, EVERYONE! All of those new first issues, and nothing ever, ever changes. It's just a new issue one to tell exactly the same stories, just with a shiny, new gimmick! And when diversity and social issues are their shiny, new gimmick? I feel especially dirty.

DC is as authentic as Marvel is just a soulless, corporate beast who's only in it for the money. Yeah, sure, DC is a company, too. Owned by Warner Bros and definitely also in it for that money, but it feels different. You can tell by reading the comics, it really feels genuine.

If DC has a book featuring women? It'll often be written (and sometimes drawn) by women. If DC has a comic book featuring minorities? It'll often be written (and sometimes drawn) by those same minorities. This is really obvious with New Super-Man, Batgirl & the Birds of Prey, and so, so, so many others. It really shows.

And there are just too many honest-to-god genuine things going on at DC -- for those who pay attention -- for me to think it's all just a bunch of clever ploys to draw in the money. There's too much effort. If you're just doing it for the money, you do it like Marvel, and you'll succeed all the more. Marvel is simply better at making money than DC comics has ever been.

Sorry, DC.

But DC comics puts out some damn good comics. And they're trying. It's not gimmicks, they are trying and I can tell. I love them for trying.

You need only look at Doctor Endless to fully understand why DC are trying, whereas Marvel is just taking the piss (and your money).

It genuinely reminds me of the Nostalgiasaurus Parx thing I was talking about, recently. Where it turns out that the tyrannosaur had feathers and scales, it wasn't merely scaly as has been incorrectly reported so frequently of late. When people heard it really might've been a Nostalgiasaurus Parx, though, instead of a Tyrannosaurus Rex? Well, it was like their football team had won, or something. Fireworks, celebrations, people crying in the streets, riots. Crazy shit.

I guess that some of us want to preserve the status quo no matter what, right? Some just want to uphold that, keep it steady, no matter how much jury-rigging they have to do, no matter how much Don Quixote-esque self-delusionary nonsense they have to engage in just to keep the world as this overly simple construct that they already knew everything about.

Others? Well... I imagine that this is a scale, where it kind of slides and it has extremes. But on the other end of this sliding scale? I imagine that people will become more open-minded, they'll actually want a constant evolution of change borne out of an ever growing understanding. They can accept that the world is changing around them. There are likely traits and quirks that get swapped between and around to dictate where on this scale a person sits, but that's how ultimately it seems to be.

It also, quite interestingly, ties back into the toxic ideals of perfection that some people have and how problematic they are. And the importance of valuing being humble and understanding diversity instead of just upholding the status quo as some kind of holy default state that must never, ever be questioned.

Marvel kind of does the status quo thing. Yeah, they have gimmicks, and tomorrow it'll be a new gimmick, but they're doing the same kinds of stories they always have. Miles Morales comes along and could serve as the Spidey on the Streets role that people enjoy, allowing Peter to slip into the background as an older person and enjoy a family life, perhaps even take on a team leadership role. Growth, yo! But, no... Peter's still a small-time bank robbery solvin' sort of guy. Which makes Miles Morales utterly redundant, since that's what they brought him in to do.

So Morales was a gimmick. Peter being a teacher, then Peter being a CEO? Gimmicks. Nothing will stick. Ultimately, Peter's always going to be dealing with gang bangers and hoods. He's always going to be stuck at that frozen point in history, never to evolve, grow, or change. And that's Marvel.

Which is... why I prefer DC, and that's that, I guess?

[8cetera]

Profess

A/N: This is slightly… more offbeat than usual. I’ve gone back and forth about posting, but under good and appreciated advisement I’m going to press that blue button at the bottom. Not exactly based on anyone, or anything in particular… Just a case of words floating around in my head and putting them on a screen.

It felt warm. Too warm for his liking. The humidity caused the violet satin sheets to cling irritably against his skin. A trickle of sweat forming on the center of his chest caused him to flip the blanket rigorously over and let it fall to the floor. Too much warmth frustrated him as it made him feel inexorably trapped. Restless. As the fabric left his body, he felt a gush of wind over his torso.

No longer feeling as stuffy as before, he sunk into his bed trying to regain the relaxation he had felt just moments earlier. He closed his eyes; reciting mantras to himself that he prayed would help him fall back to sleep.

Minutes passed and he knew that for a fact those prayers were not to be answered. He looked over to peek at the clock on the bedside table.

It read 19:43.

So much for a nap.

He stared at the red digits for a few moments, thinking of the next few hours ahead before swinging his legs off the bed. The soles of his feet landed on the soft cloth that had left his mattress.

He pulled his boxers down, feeling additional comfort now that he had completely rid himself of clothing altogether, and threw it in the romper before entering his bathroom.

Once he was in the shower he turned the knob only slightly, just enough to let the water flow, keeping the temperature of the water cold as it fell onto his skin. His mind was quiet- a rare occurrence. At any given day he always had what seemed like over a hundred things on his mind.

For once he could appreciate the peace.

He grabbed the towel from the rack and patted himself until he was completely dry. Afterwards he faced the mirror and stared at his reflection. The fluorescent light that framed the mirror accentuated every detail and crevice of his body. It also created two small rings in his pupils that always made him feel like he was in a Sci-Fi film.

He craned his neck after noticing a red line that ran from his collar up to the back of his neck. He brought up his hand to trace the puzzling shape and winced when his fingers made contact with it. He repeated the action, more prepared this time around, and lightly dabbed the throbbing scar. He remembered, then, exactly how it got there. Suddenly very aware of his solitude; a chuckle left his lips along with a smirk he knew no one would see.

He ran his hand over the dress shirts that hung in his closet; a range of white, blue and pink lined neatly across the compartment. His fingers halted when he reached the white cotton fabric.

His fingertips lingered atop the wooden hanger that held it while a thought continued to circle his mind; she has often said that she much preferred the blue. He took out the shirt he initially chose, regardless, along with the dark blue blazer that hung at the very end.

He would just have to assert more effort in finding other ways to please her.

The hotel lobby was almost empty; the fact relieved him. He had been there a dozen times; all for the very same purpose. Yet no matter the frequency he always dreaded the time in between the moment he walked through the revolving doors and when he was finally inside the suite.

He lifted his wrist, shaking it a little so that the slightly loose watch fell down closer to the back of his hand for him to glance at.

Half past nine.

He let out a sharp breath. He could excuse tardiness, but half an hour was really pushing it.

Rules.

Always so many rules. He contemplated how much they truly mattered in his life. How could it not? Without rules he couldn’t live the way he lived; couldn’t get away with the choices he made.

He turned his body and took careful steps toward the bar. This action alone was bending the rules. The thought made his skin crawl; the hair at the back of his neck rise. He despised change. Preparedness fueled him. Satisfied him. He prided himself in his meticulousness in planning out every situation as best as he could.

He sat himself on the stool at the far left of the bar and resisted the urge to take out his phone. More often than not in these situations, he was the one that was needed. He much rather keep it that way.

Just as luck would have it, he felt a two-second buzz coming from his left pocket.

A text message.

Another odd occurrence that once again altered the plans for the night. Text message exchanges were not usual. There was simply no reason for them. There was an arrangement, and both parties are expected to be respectful to that arrangement.

He waited a few seconds before reaching into his pocket, already anticipating what the message entailed.

Have to cancel tonight, darling. Talk soon xo

“Damn-” he cursed under his breath, annoyed with himself for the disappointment that he was already trying to keep from escalating within.

Out of all the things he hadn’t planned for, there was one that really stood out at the moment.

He hadn’t planned on being alone tonight.

“Can I help you, sir?”

He looked up from his screen to face the man on the other side of the bar. He felt almost impressed. The bartender didn’t even raise an eyebrow, not a single question about his presence in this… prestigious five star hotel.

On the other hand, what reason did he give for it? Anyone who took just a thoughtful glance at his suit, his watch, the delicate gold chain that circled around his neck would quickly accept that he belonged in a place like this.

If the notion didn’t make him feel a little sad, he might have scoffed at the absurdity of it all. He glanced down at his phone once more and quickly typed a short response acknowledging the message.

“Is the kitchen still open?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Please have a bone-in rib eye prepared black and blue with a side of spinach.”

“Of course. To drink?”

“Sparkling water in a tall glass of ice- when you get a chance.”

He was grateful that the chance came right away because he quickly downed the liquid as soon as it reached the coaster in front of him. The bartender refilled it almost immediately after, and this time it was left alone until his meal arrived.

He was about five bites into savoring the meat when his isolation was interrupted. A woman sat next to him. She was slightly out of breath, as if she had just run a mile. They exchanged a quick glance and she offered a smile before ordering a glass of chardonnay.

His eyes left her form after the initial glimpse and he returned to the task at hand. Despite how close their bodies were, he appreciated that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

“Were you stood up, too?”

He almost laughed. Spoke too soon.

Once he finished chewing, he lifted the napkin that laid across his lap to dab it at the corner of his mouth.

“Something like that.”

She arched an eyebrow, and not wanting her to press further, he explained.

“It was more of an appointment.”

He saw her glance at her watch.

“At this hour? Surely it was pleasure, not business?”

He stared at the bottles of liquor lined against the back lit wall, trying to choose his next words carefully.

“Both.”

He eyes bore into hers as he said the word, half hoping she would get the hint, not-so-subtle as it was. The message must have translated even a little, because he felt the change in her stature; the way she quickly looked away from him and turned her body slightly so it now faced the table. The slight parting of her lips as she struggled to form a response. He could guess that she was close to giving up as she picked the glass once more to finish its contents.

He offered a short nod, hoping that the revelation might cease the awkward small-talk.

“In that case…” She continued and he closed his eyes, accepting that his silent wishes were not about to be granted.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She had eyed his empty glass, and he shook his head.

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary-”

He realized that she wasn’t even listening to him as she was already trying to get the attention of the bartender.

“Excuse me, could I have a refill and whatever he’d like-”

She pointed to his direction and her eyes followed suit.

“Vodka? No, scotch- surely?” She seemed so confident that he almost felt guilty for what he was about to say.

“I don’t drink.”

He was used to the expression she was giving him. He was used to it, but he still found it strange. Why did it always come at such a surprise to people?

He shook his head and for the second time that night, he left her speechless.

“What happened here?”

Before he could register her words fully to figure out what she meant he felt her fingers on the side of his neck, mimicking what he had done earlier in his bathroom. He kept completely still. Anyone else might have flinched away from the unexpected skin-to-skin contact. Not him.

He was more than used to another person’s touch. A woman’s touch.

“Occupational hazard.”

Her fingers stilled, and he couldn’t see it but he heard her swallow audibly. After a few seconds she continued, letting them linger down his neck, past his chain until she stopped right above his collarbone where the pink line ended. She kept her fingers there, and he was sure the gradual hastening of his pulse didn’t go unnoticed. Her fingers remained there until the gesture appeared to cause her most discomfort than it did him.

“Is it always this dangerous?”

“No-”

He refuted her statement. Strangely wanting her to understand that he would never associate that word to what he does, that in fact, it was never dangerous at all. Not always. The mark was a result of an exceptional night. An overabundance of heated passion that he was promised would never be repeated.

Lynn.

Bold and elegant Lynn. She and him had come a long way. The first time they met she had spent their entire time together insulting him. Petty remarks about his life choices, the way he spoke, the way he dressed- even the way he smelled.

He left the hotel room with the assumption that it’d be the last time they’d ever see each other, and so he was no less than surprised when he received a call from her the very next day.

By the fourth meeting, the sharp words disguised as insults that fateful night turned into screams of high praises muffled against feathered pillows.

He then thought about, once more, of the night he received the scar. Something was different that night. She was angry about something, he might’ve guessed.

She didn’t explain- nor did she have any reason to.

Her eagerness to rid him of his clothes told him that she only meant to take something from him for her sole benefit. Something only he could give her.

He was always gentle; but he knew exactly when, and how to adapt when the situation called for it.

He was a responsive lover; when she held him tighter- so did he. When she grazed her teeth over the softest parts of his flesh- so did he. When she pushed deeper against him, making both their bodies and the bed shake beneath- so did he.

They laid on their backs, trying to regain their breathing to the level before they locked eyes. A smile began to form on both their lips, and then she looked up at him. The faint beginnings of the smile disappeared when she noticed the crimson line she was responsible for.

In the next moment she brought herself up to sit below his waist, bringing the covers along with her to hide herself from his gaze. Any traces of the aggression from before was long gone. All he could see then on her face were tiredness, contentment, and a plea for something she desperately wanted him to offer. He pulled the sheets off of her, but his gaze on her intensified, making her lips part before him.

He could tell she wanted to find the words, but instead of giving her a chance to locate them he pressed his lips against hers, deciding right away that he would much rather give her what she needed instead.

“No. Not always.” He said in a much quieter tone, looking at her as he said it.

Memories of different nights began to reveal themselves. Nights of only soft sighs of relief, and laughter even. Nights of peace where he would end them with his arms wrapped around a warm body.

Ana.

Sweet, gentle Ana. Her husband had been gone for eight years. She found him after five, after realizing that she could never bring herself to love another the same way. 

Ana would cry every time their bodies tangled under soft sheets. The first time it happened he panicked. He tried to separate himself from her right away, insisting that this was not the right thing to do- but she hushed him; whispering  words that expressed both remorse and pleading demands.

He still hesitated, but when when he noticed her glossy eyes and quivering lips he found himself unable to do nothing else but try to relieve them. Even when he told her she didn’t need to, she would always tell him how grateful she was. Almost as if she didn’t deserve it. He would try to dismiss her doubts with kind words. With caresses. But they were never enough.

To this day she utters her husband’s name whenever they laid together. He never corrected her. In return, he made it a duty to discover what she liked. What made her heart flutter. It wasn’t long before he discovered that it was combing his fingers through her hair, sneaking quick kisses on her temple right before they fell into slumber, and reciting French poetry from a pocket book she always carried in her purse.

It had been the last anniversary gift she received from her late husband.

Some nights he wondered if she had ever caught the tears falling from his eyes, too.

He cleared his throat after ceasing his train of thought. He unbuttoned one more top button on his shirt and tore his gaze away from hers. He ran his palm over his mouth and jaw before standing abruptly, feeling strangely exposed.

His chest began to tighten and he didn’t appreciate the sensation in the least bit. He took out his leather wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a single bill that was far larger than necessary to cover the amount due.

He excused himself from the woman in front of him and just as he began to leave he felt her hand wrap around his shoulder. The gesture surprised him but her impertinent, caring gaze was more than familiar to him. He had seen the look so many times that he might’ve known what it mean even before she did.

Desire.

If it were another night, he might have permitted them both a chance to explore it- but not tonight.

“I don’t even know your name-”

His mouth curved slightly and without giving it a second thought he lowered his head until his lips brushed her cheek. He lifted it slightly until he could see her eyes and removed her hand tenderly from his arm.

He left her then, and didn’t look back.

[slugmanslime]

Moth to a Flame

And heres that VegeBul I mentioned, commissioned from @fandomgal-17 :) I really enjoyed writing this, it makes me want to write more for the pairing! 

Pairings: Vegeta/Bulma, VegeBul Warnings: Creeper!Vegeta, Vegeta has Feelings™, Bulma has a conscience and can swallow her pride like a decent person wow!!! Word Count: 1,034 Fic Type: One-Shot, May have a Prequel

Again, links to my FF.net and AO3 for those who prefer not reading on Tumblr!

It was safe to say that Vegeta had always had a certain appreciation for warmth, where he could find it. The depths of space were devoid of anything that wasn’t frigid and cruel; grueling hours training and sparring, months spent on alien planets culling and feasting, long nights filled with torturous punishment for insubordination and a wanton lack of respect for any and all members of Frieza’s legions— including the lizard himself. If he pushed himself to reach, deep within his memories, there was deep, rich red dirt, scrubby bushes with colorful leaves and berries. A castle, the stones that held it high made of the same soil. Three suns, stretching across the sky like fearsome guardians that were doomed to fail, such as stars are destined to die.

Of course, Earth was different. Less harsh than the fleet owned by the Frost Empire, refreshing and heartening in its own right, for a man less shrewd than the Saiyan that was sprawled in the middle of a bedroom at Capsule Corp headquarters, an alarm clock glaring 12:34 in bold red font. The bed in which he laid was covered with soft sheets and pillows, starkly contrasting the extremely fucking itchy afghan strewn across his half-naked body. But, it was warm and oddly comforting, and he was conscious enough to appreciate it. Sleeping didn’t come easy to him as of late, regardless of how viciously he trained or how many hours he spent tangled up with that damned woman.

Bulma. A witch’s name, Vegeta was almost sure of it. There was no other way that she could have known of his weakness—not weakness, that implies that the Prince of all Saiyans could crumble, perhaps a fondness— for a respite from bleak existence, his desire to escape the chill that permeated his bones thanks to a lifetime among the stars. He could feel her now like a phantom, soft skin pressing against his own, fingertips tracing his bicep with a feathery softness that taunted him in the dark. There was something odd about her ki too—a hazy blue to match her infuriating eyes, something that was supposed to be cold and calculating and of course they could be but…

They crinkled at the edges when she laughed. And when she laughed, smiled, fumed, shouted or snarked… Vegeta was warm. Inside his chest, in the pit of his stomach, a sickening feeling that made his fingertips tingle to the point of longing to punch something. Violence had been the answer to everything that caused him confusion or even worse, fear, up to this point in his life, and being around someone as fragile as Bulma that elicited such bizarre and unwanted emotion was beyond frustrating.

Vegeta could feel her, just a few rooms down in this bizarre maze of a home, dallying around her bedroom during her nightly routine. A few weeks ago, after a particularly nasty spat, he couldn’t bring himself anywhere near her for the physical comforts she offered him in the dead of night, and so he watched her from the dark edge of her balcony. There was a strange sense of domesticity in the act, even though by most standards it was incredibly creepy. Bulma’s abnormally long shower gave way to a meticulous moisturizing regimen, followed by fifteen minutes of hair brushing. Nary a blink separated Vegeta from this part of her night; his own fingers were twitching the whole time, imagining the softness of her aqua locks that he would often stroke as she was a (ridiculously) deep sleeper.

Vegeta’s pride was enduring, and part of him was unsure if that would ever change… if Bulma could ever help him change. Regardless of how enraptured he was by her wit and her curves, it unnerved him by just how soft she had made him in the few months he was trapped here. The concern that would flash in her eyes as he stumbled in from a particularly draining day of battling bots was enough to both infuriate and placate him all at once. The Gravity Chamber was quite an invention, a magnificent chamber that could easily kill a thousand men. But Vegeta was no normal man, and Bulma was not an average woman; it almost made sense for them to be drawn together, and yet, there was lingering doubts of what she had in store for him.

Three sharp raps on his bedroom door echoed in the empty room, shattering his anxious thoughts. But, it was enough to have Vegeta off the bed and across the room in a split second, boxers and tank-top bunched from his uncomfortable attempts at sleeping. Wrenching the door open left him face-to-face with a grumpy-looking Bulma, something he never looked forward to.

“Late night in the lab… I couldn’t sleep. What about you?” Petite, manicured fingers pushed through her hair, her eyes glancing everywhere but his face. Vegeta didn’t appreciate that one bit.

“No.” His tone was unforgiving, even to his own ears, and the way she flinched minutely pulled another response from his lips before he could think. “I was… thinking about you.”

Blue met black in a stubborn battle for more information, an explanation of why the other was even there; blue won, of course, but they do every time, don’t they?

“You… ugh.” It was his turn to look distraught. “You confuse me, you piss me off, and you make me feel things I didn’t know I could, but I don’t even know if I want to, so knock that shit off.” Bitter confusion replaces the usual gruff contempt that his voice normally holds, but it was enough for Bulma to crack a smile as she placed a soft hand on the crook of his neck.

“Vegeta… may I come in?” After a pregnant moment of contemplation, the Saiyan side-stepped and motioned for her to enter, immediately longing for her touch once more.

Bulma was the flame drawing him in, and if he was supposed to crash and burn, then he would damned if he didn’t at least relish the warmth.