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joelalorian · 6 months ago

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Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Summary: When Marcus Pike lost himself in work after that debacle with Theresa, he didn’t expect to take on a sizzling new case in the quirky town of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Nor did he expect to meet you, an up-and-coming agent also looking for a fresh start. An unprecedented heatwave, mind-boggling art thefts, ancient Aztec legends, this case had the works. How would he ever solve the case with the temperature rising between you both?

This fic is my contribution to @iamasaddie's Little Lady Kinky May writing challenge. Prompts were Marcus Pike and Temperature. This is my first time writing Marcus Pike and I hope I did him justice. I learned a few things about myself during this process, the most important being that I am incapable of writing porn without plot, or a romantic angle, apparently. This story turned out waaaaay different than intended because of that. I apologize now for the plot heaviness between sexy bits.

WC: 10.4k – I’m sorry, I have no idea where all these words came from

Warnings: Explicit 18+, too much plot, heat making people cray cray, sexy sweatiness, lots of cursing (I’m from New Jersey, I can’t help it), nonsensical crime stuff, a plot that came straight outta left field, protected and unprotected sex (p in v), pussy eating and cock sucking, inappropriate use of an ice cube and hot springs. No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname and boobs, otherwise, I tried to keep her a blank slate. Some terms of endearment. IDK, there’s probably more but I can’t think right now.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this utter ridiculousness. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Moodboard by me.

Masterlist

Still reeling from the aftermath of Theresa Lisbon choosing that pontificating windbag Patrick Jane over him nearly a year ago, Marcus Pike buried himself in work. The transition from Texas to DC and adapting to leading a whole new team took his mind of his misery. However, the lonely nights in his new home, the one purchased with hopes of building a life with Theresa in mind, were untenable and he took on more fieldwork than someone at the director level typically would. Hence why Marcus found himself driving through the desert to some quirky small town in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences.

What the fuck kind of name was that for a town, he wondered idly as his right hand pumped the rental car’s AC to full blast. Having already stripped off his suit jacket and tie, Marcus sweat clear through his lavender dress shirt within minutes. The heat was ungodly. Surely it couldn’t be normal. How could people live like that?

Eyes scanning the dashboard display of the mid-size SUV the agency rented for him, they nearly bugged out of his head at the temperature reading. Lit up in glaring red, the numbers 121°F taunted him as sweat dripped down his temples.

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

Marcus steered the vehicle toward his hotel, opting to change into something a little more suitable for the local climate before checking in with the agent representing the local field office. The FBI put him up in a supposedly nice hotel, though he didn’t have high expectations of what that meant in a town like this. As long as the AC worked, he’d survive.

Thirty minutes later, Marcus took his second shower of the day, this one much colder than the last, and jumped back into the SUV in an outfit more typical of a golf outing than an FBI investigation. It was the best he could do with what he packed. The local agent texted him the address of an art gallery, the first in a series of apparent crime scenes, and he plugged the address into the GPS.

Normally, you didn’t mind the heat, preferring that to cold winters, but this current heatwave was beyond ridiculous. You sweat just by simply existing. You never experienced anything like it in the five years you’d been stationed in Albuquerque, and you suddenly found yourself longing for the bone-deep cold of a northeastern winter as you waited for the DC agent to arrive.

The chilling sea breeze of a New Jersey winter sounded like heaven right now.

A sleek silver SUV pulled up next to your government-issued sedan and you watched with an assessing gaze from the driver’s seat as Director Marcus Pike exited the vehicle clad in khaki shorts and a turquoise polo, trendy aviator sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the desert sun. His dark brown hair was short and styled back off his forehead, and a neatly trimmed scruff lined his top lip and jaw.

You knew from a quick glance at his FBI profile that he was a decorated agent, but his government photo did not do him justice. The man was fucking gorgeous in person. Exiting your own vehicle before he caught you staring, you introduced yourself.

He flashed you a smile full of boyish charm when you gave him your name, causing your heart to thump double time. “You can just call me Jersey, everyone else does,” you finished, holding your hand out to shake his.

“Marcus Pike, Director of the Art Crimes Squad in DC,” he replied, his larger hand engulfing yours in a firm, yet not overbearing, shake. “Just call me Marcus.”

The two of you gazed at each other, the sun beating down on you both like laser beams. Holy fuck, Marcus was even hotter up close. Yeah, his FBI file photo did not do him any justice at all. Not wanting to make things uncomfortable by staring too long, you gestured toward the door to the gallery.

“Shall we?”

Marcus cleared his throat and nodded, following behind you as you strolled casually through the entrance. “Wanna give me a rundown of what we know so far?”

“Sure,” you replied. “We’ve had paintings stolen from several galleries in town. Despite its odd name and small-town status, Truth or Consequences has a rather robust art scene. Lots of expensive art showcased in these galleries.”

Marcus nodded as you gave him some background. He likely read most of this in the file on his flight out here, but you could appreciate the necessity of running over it again verbally. Repetition was the mother of… whatever the fuck that saying was. Your brain was already too fried from the heat.

“The thefts started almost a week ago, not too long after the start of the extreme heatwave this area is currently experiencing. There has been one painting taken every other day so far, always at the peak heat of the day when the townsfolk are too overheated and tired to pay much attention. No eyewitnesses and the thief artfully avoided any surveillance or security cameras so far.”

You watched Marcus jot down some notes, tapping the end of his pen against the small notepad as he reviewed the information.

“So, three paintings taken so far, and it’s still early in the day. I’m guessing we can expect another theft today?” You nodded and Marcus tapped the pen against his bottom lip this time, causing you to avert your gaze before he caught you ogling the plump flesh.

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Just in the types of paintings taken so far. They all depict scenes of cool, serene landscapes.”

Dark brown eyes held your gaze. “So, the exact opposite of the current weather situation.”

Again, you nodded. “That’s the only pattern so far. We haven’t been able to determine any order to the galleries hit and, unfortunately, this town doesn’t have the law enforcement manpower to guard all of the galleries and still attend to their normal duties. We do have unis posted at the galleries that haven’t been hit yet, just in case. That’s the best the townies could do though.”

Humming in thought, Marcus walked around the gallery, causing you to scramble to keep up. It was fascinating watching his mind work, his big, brown eyes taking in every minute detail around him. When he stopped in front of the empty spot marking the first stolen painting’s former home, you paused next to him, debating on sharing the only other piece of information you had so far.

“There’s, uh, something strange that may or may not be related to this case.” That got Marcus’ attention and his eyes shot to you once again, brow arched curiously.

“Do tell,” he replied with an encouraging smile. You blinked slowly, trying in vain to maintain your concentration in front of such a handsome man.

“I will on the way to the other galleries. Just… just promise to hold judgment until I finish telling you everything. It’s a little… unorthodox compared to what we’re used, I’d say.” You led the way back to your car, gesturing for Marcus to get in on the passenger side. It made more sense to ride together. Thankfully, you left it running while inside the gallery, making the interior still nice and cool.

Once seated, his head cocked to the side endearingly, the tilt of his lips bordering on an indulgent smile. “Ok, I promise.” The cadence and depth of his soft-spoken voice set you aflame and you had to practically shake yourself to not fall to your knees in praise of this man.

Jesus Christ, Jersey, have a modicum of professionalism and self-respect, will ya, your inner monologue chided. Your libido hyperfixated on the veritable stud before you whether you wanted it to or not. It’d been too long since your last tumble in the sheets, apparently. Recentering your focus, you pulled out onto the main road heading to the next crime scene.

“Good,” you croaked. Feeling the heat creep up your already overheated flesh, you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you can tell, the weather here is ungodly hot – hard to miss it. This is not entirely normal, from what I understand. It’s tempting to chalk it up to climate change, except for one strange thing. Drive twenty or thirty minutes outside of town and the temps are far lower, though still hot by some standards. The temps within the surrounding towns are in line with the more normal averages.”

Brows furrowed, Marcus’ dark eyes searched your face, clearly looking for more context clues. “The heat certainly seemed excessive on the ride over from the municipal airport. I had to stop at the hotel and change or I would have melted to the pavement in my suit.”

You chuckled. “I know the feeling. The average temperature here is supposed to be in the low 90s this time of year, not thirty degrees higher. And the usually cooler desert nights haven’t existed for the past couple of weeks. It’s very strange.”

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

Pulling to a stop in front of the next gallery, you nodded. “Strange, right?”

“Very,” Marcus replied, deep in thought as he followed you inside.

It carried on like that the rest of the afternoon until the heat became just too much after checking out the last crime scene. Like everyone else in town, you sought refuge in the coolest place you could find, which happened to be a hole-in-the-wall pub just off the main street.

Just when Marcus thought things couldn’t get weirder with this town, you led him into a dark and dingy little pub, settling right up to the aged bar. If you weren’t a certified agency employee, he would be terrified that you were luring him to his untimely death.

As it was, the scraggly old barkeep gave him the creeps when he shuffled over, eyeing the pair of you with the same attention he would three-headed aliens. “Coldest beer in town. Two pints?” The man’s voice as rough as he looked, he didn’t wait for an answer.

Marcus shot you a look, eyes wide and uncertain, but you merely shrugged in return. He didn’t normally drink on the job, but between the heat and the early start for traveling, Marcus decided his day was finished. He chugged at the frosty draft when the barkeep placed it in front of him. The old man was right, the pint glass was frozen and small chunks of ice floated in the foamy beer.

“Damn, that’s good,” he nearly moaned, feeling refreshed.

“I know, right?” you replied, nearly half done with your own pint. “I don’t normally like beer, but I could drink it all day long when it’s ice cold like this. Especially in this heat, you know?”

The first round went down easily, and quickly, and the old barkeep, whose name turned out to be Harry, placed another round down before Marcus even thought to ask. The pair of you settled into easy conversation, getting to know each other outside of the job. The more you drank, the more your Jersey accent started to peak through. He found it cute and kept asking you questions just to keep hearing you talk.

Soon enough, any thought left in his mind about Theresa evaporated. How could he still think about his ex-fiancé when a hot, smart, sweet little thing like you sat before him, chatting, and flirting away the evening. Theresa had nothing on you.

It took exactly a fraction of a second to be struck by your beauty that morning. Confident and intelligent, not mention damn good at your job, he quickly realized your natural beauty served as icing on the cake. You were the entire package, and he was trying his damnedest to not charge ahead trying to get you into bed.

Turned out you both had similar relationship history, married too young and divorced, no kids, longed for a dog if only your job didn’t call you away so often. You were practically the female version of him, Marcus thought. It made him all the more curious about you.

Before long, you both ordered some bar grub and went back to talking about the case. Neither of you could make sense of what you had so far. There were vital pieces of the puzzle missing, that much was apparent.

Harry unceremoniously dropped plates full of burgers and fries in front of you, not even trying to hide the fact that he eavesdropped on your conversation.

“You think your case has something to do with the heat?” the old man questioned, leaning heavily on the bar top.

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

“There’s some local lore you might find interesting, then,” Harry said, pausing for dramatic effect and you gestured for him to continue. “Well, as the legends go, the Flame of Quetzalcoatl was hidden somewhere in town centuries ago. They say it was a gem gifted by the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl himself, but who the recipient was no one knows. The gem is said to hold the power of the sun and the wielder of it has the ability to control heat.”

You and Marcus sat there in silence, absorbing the tale Harry just shared. After a few minutes, Marcus glanced at you, doubt clear in his expression.

“This town just gets fuckin’ weirder by the minute, I swear,” he said, sipping at his pint once again. “I might actually believe that little story if I was a few more beers in.”

You laughed, but your face didn’t hold the same doubt as his. “I don’t know, Marcus. If living out here for the past few years has taught me anything, it’s that these Aztec legends are often too close to the truth to blow off.”

Harry harrumphed. “I’d say so, little lady.”

“Besides, it’s the best we’ve got right now,” you said, nudging Marcus’ shoulder with yours. “Couldn’t hurt to play that angle until a better lead pops up.”

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

Over the next few days, you and Marcus researched as much as possible about local lore related to Aztecs, searching for any hint of what Harry told you. In that time, three more paintings were stolen. The thief started leaving little clues as if to goad law enforcement.

The first cryptic clue further convinced you of the potential voracity of the Aztec legend. Written in drip red paint in the spot where the fourth painting had been located, Marcus suspected the thief meant it to look like blood.

When the feathered serpent sheds its skin, the heat will rise.

“Holy shit,” you gasped when you first read it. Turning to Marcus, you declared, “Quetzalcoatl was known as the Feathered Serpent.”

His dark brown eyes widened, meeting yours in shock. “No way.”

You nodded, flipping through your notepad to find your most recent notes on the case. “Yes way. That book we borrowed from the Historical Society talked about it. Remember?”

Marcus nodded slowly as the information came back to him, his eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of this completely bizarre case. “Didn’t the book say something about Quetzalcoatl being a signal of transformation? Think the clue has something to do with that?”

“Yeah, could be.”

The pattern continued the next day with another clue left behind.

Where the earth boils and the water steams, the gem of the sun awaits.

The pair of you debated the meaning of the second clue over cold beer at Harry’s pub. As the case evolved, so did the connection between you and Marcus. You both flirted unashamedly when you weren’t talking about the case. It turned out the agency put you both up at the same hotel – your rooms on the same floor even. You were beginning to hope that he would make a move, yet completely terrified of that happening at the same time.

Despite your best efforts, the thief remained one step ahead of law enforcement, somehow managing to steal from galleries you had actively guarded. How in the world was this guy doing it?

Things were slowly coming together once a third clue was discovered.

Seek the place where fire and water dance, and there you will find the sun’s heart.

Without a local FBI office to work out of – the Albuquerque one you worked out of was over two hours away – you’d decided to setup camp in a quiet booth at Harry’s. He kept you full on pub grub and refreshments – soda and water during work hours, of course – and chipped in with his local knowledge whenever he thought it needed.

In fact, it was Harry who guided you toward understanding the latest clues.

“Have you two heard about the hot springs? This town is famous for them.” The old man dropped the nugget of knowledge along with a plate of fries and shuffled away, leaving the two of you to stare after him.

Marcus turned to you; his lips pursed in thought. You ached to nibble on the plump flesh of his bottom lip, to feel the gentle scratch of his facial hair against your soft skin as you did so.

“Where the earth boils and the water streams,” Marcus recalled the second clue in that delicious, soft-spoken voice of his, sending a wave of gooseflesh over your skin. “Seek the place where fire and water dance.”

Shaking your head free of naughty thoughts, you focused on the clues and the knowledge bomb Harry dropped, picking right up on Marcus’ thought process. “Fire, heat, and water... The hot springs!”

Marcus beamed at you; eyes sparkling as he came to the same realization. “It has to be. Makes sense, right?”

“Sure does,” you agreed, grinning back at him. “But there must be a ton of them. How would we ever find the right one?”

Sitting back in his seat, Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to keep digging. Do you still have that book from the Historical Society? Maybe there’s something else in there to help us.”

“It’s back in my room,” you reply. “Fancy ordering room service at the hotel while we go over the clues again?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was he thinking, agreeing to go back to your room to continue working on the case.

An unwitting temptress already, how was he supposed to control himself when you invited him into your room for dinner, drinks, and after-hours casework?

In the already excessive desert heat, Marcus was sweating bullets as he followed you into your room, conveniently located only a few doors down from his own.

“I have a bottle of cab, is that good?” you questioned, kicking off your shoes with a sigh before reaching for the screw cap bottle.

Audibly gulping, Marcus squeaked out an assent and wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. He glanced around the room to distract himself, noting happily that you were a tidy traveler, much like himself.

“I have bottled water as well. Would you like one?” Marcus nodded. With an indulgent smile, you held out the small ice bucket. “I like mine over ice. Would you mind?”

Eager for a moment to clear his head, Marcus grabbed the bucket. “No problem.” The echo of your chuckle followed him as he rushed out the door.

“What is wrong with you, dude?” he whispered to himself as he strolled down the hall to the ice machine. “You don’t even know if this woman wants anything more than just reviewing the case. Calm the fuck down.”

Feeling a little calmer and more under control after his private pep talk, Marcus knocked on your door with the full ice bucket in hand. You let him in with a broad smile that nearly made his heart stop.

“Perfect.” Plucking the bucket from his hands, you returned to the makeshift kitchenette area to fill two cups with ice and water. Two glasses of cabernet were already sitting on the tiny table in the small designated sitting area of the hotel room.

Marcus joined you on the couch, case file in hand, seated close due to the limited space. You dove right in to discussing the case, easing his nerves. The pair of you compared the facts of the case, debating theories and potential connections. Without any physical evidence, you still didn’t have any viable suspects, which was incredibly frustrating for both of you.

“I’ve never had a case like this,” Marcus said. “It’s hard to believe that this could all relate to a myth about an ancient god. It feels weird even saying that aloud.”

“I know. It’s giving me Twilight Zone vibes.”

With the lack of viable suspects serving as a brick wall in furthering the investigation, conversation switched to other topics.

“You’re from New Jersey?” Marcus asked. “What brought you out here?”

“Yep, born and raised at the Jersey Shore,” you replied, that northeastern accent peeking through as you drank more wine. “Classic reason for relocating – I followed a guy, the one I told you a little about. We got married young and one day he woke up and decided he wanted a change of scenery. I followed along without argument, and we wound up out here. Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Ahh,” he said with a nod. “That asshole.”

“Yeah, that asshole.”

From what you told Marcus about your ex-husband, he knew the guy was a real piece of work. Classic narcissist who beat you down emotionally the entire time you were together. Marcus was happy that you kicked the guy to the curb two years ago and the divorce finalized last year. No one deserved to be treated like that, especially you.

“Are you going to stick around here now that’s all over with?” He found himself curious about your future plans.

Shaking your head, you laughed. “Hell no. I put in for a transfer already, for anywhere on the east coast closer to home. I’m no picky.”

Marcus perked up at that. The DC headquarters always had openings. He’d get to see you again if you were transferred there. “I could put in a good word for you, if you’d like. You’re a great agent from what I’ve seen so far.”

Ducking your head bashfully, you peeked at him through your lashes. “That’s pretty high praise coming from a director,” you deflected.

“I mean it, Jersey.” He kept his voice low, using your nickname for the first time, and watched in delight as you shuddered.

The air in the room shifted, sexual tension thick and nearly overpowering. Marcus watched as your pupils dilated, lust overtaking the previous sparkle. He gulped when your tongue darted out to lick your lips tantalizingly.

Shifting ever so closer, your scent washed over him. You smelled fucking delicious, hints of cocoa butter and salty sweat, reminding him of the beach. His shorts suddenly became tighter, his cock twitching to life. He wanted to devour you.

The next thing Marcus knew, your lips were pressed to his as you basically ripped the clothes from each other’s bodies, the now empty bottle of wine knocked from the table to the carpeted floor in the process. Despite the cool air pumping from the air conditioning, your skin felt hot to his touch.

Licking into your mouth, savoring the taste of you mixed with the bite of wine on your tongue, Marcus steered you backwards until your hamstrings bumped against the mattress. He eased you down onto the bed, detaching his lips from yours to take in the electrifying sight of your naked body splayed before him.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his fingertips tracing down your smooth skin slowly, teasingly from your neck to your toes.

Your eyes, blown wide with need, burned into his before dipping down to take in his naked body with a gasp. His cock bobbed eagerly as you stared.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Marcus said, his soft voice filled with awe, matching the wonder in his eyes.

“Me either,” you replied, “but I’m happy it is. You are so fucking gorgeous, Marcus.”

Marcus couldn’t help the blush that pinkened his cheeks. Reaching behind him to the bucket, he plucked a large ice cube from the slowly melting pile. His eyes remained locked on yours as he popped the frozen cube into his mouth, sucking lightly before his tongue pushed forward and his lips puckered as a portion of the ice cube stuck out.

The breath left you when he dipped his head down to run the cube along your clavicle and down across your breasts. Your nipples pebbled beneath the chilly wetness as Marcus directed the ice cube back and forth a few times. He watched delightedly as goosebumps peppered your skin when he moved the cube down your belly in a zigzag pattern.

“Oh, fuck.” Your chest heaved and fingers tightened their grip on the bedsheets when Marcus dipped further down, running the quickly melting cube over your mound and through your slit. The cold nearly shocking to the overwhelming heat of your labia.

Using his tongue to increase the pressure, Marcus circled the ice cube over your clit until you cried out, one hand loosening its grip on the sheets to tangle your fingers in his thick hair. He shifted, plunging the cube into your entrance, pushing as far as his tongue would extend, then leant back to watch your pussy suck the cube further until in melted into mere dribbles of water.

You laid there panting, eyes hooded and wanting, as Marcus dove back in, using his tongue to continue the work he started with the ice cube. He lapped and sucked at your clit, two thick fingers slipping inside you, until you became a blubbering mess, blurting out unintelligible words and moans, finally falling apart beneath his ministrations.

Marcus slurped at the evidence of your long overdue release, savoring the sweet, tangy taste of you. His hips thrust against the mattress of their own accord, his body seeking any sort of friction against his aching cock it could find.

“Your mouth is a lethal weapon, Marcus,” you said breathlessly, hands reaching under his shoulders to drag him up your body. “Now let’s see what you can do with your cock.”

His hair flopped forward over his forehead from your fingers tangling in it and he grinned in satisfaction at your comment. His boyish charm proved too much to handle, and you yanked his face down to yours, tongues tangling in a scorching kiss. You nibbled on his plump bottom lip between fervent kisses, savoring the plushness between your teeth.

Whining when he pulled away suddenly, your fingers grasping for purchase to pull him back, Marcus winked at you when he slid off the bed. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m coming right back.”

Digging in his shorts to find his wallet, Marcus pulled out a long-forgotten condom from the tri-fold leather and checked the date on the foil packaging to make sure it hadn’t expired. Content with the remaining half-life, he ripped the package open with his teeth and slid the latex material over his cock.

You beamed at him when he climbed back onto the bed. “I knew you were a smart man.”

Marcus slid up beside your body, turning you so your back pressed snug against his chest. “Safety first, baby. Wrap it before you tap it, right?”

Your laughter became strangled when he slid inside you, splitting you open on his cock. “Oh my god. You feel so good!” you cried when he began to move inside you after a long pause to let you adjust to the sheer size of him.

Marcus started at a slow pace, getting a feel for the way your walls tightened around him. Gripping the bed covers with your right hand, you reached your left hand up and around to tangle in his hair behind you. He picked up the pace as you tugged gently on his locks, his lips peppering your neck with soft, wet kisses.

When, at last, Marcus began pounding into you, you reached between your legs with your right hand to rub your clit. Despite the cool air blowing over your bodies, the heat between you had your skin glistening with sweat. You cried as Marcus hit a particularly pleasurable spot deep within you, his own moans morphing into grunts as you clamped down on him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight around me. I can feel you clench every time I hit this spot.” His words were murmured into your ear, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. Marcus plunged forward to hit your g-spot, proving his point when you clenched tightly around him once again. “Yeah, just like that.”

You plunged clear over the precipice then, crying out his name and any number of praises as an orgasm overtook you. Marcus talked you through it, his voice like sugary syrup, while he never once let up on his thrusts. Minutes, hours later, he followed you into the overwhelming bliss with a shout of your name followed by a string of curses.

“That was amazing.” Marcus nuzzled your neck as his hips slowed, the last shots of his cum dribbling into the condom. “You are amazing.”

Lost for words, you just hummed in agreement. Knackered from the excessive heat, long day of investigative work, the alcohol, and the mind-blowing sex, you hovered on the edge of sleep while Marcus got up to dispose of the condom. He returned with a wet cloth and cleaned you up with tender dedication. Tossing the cloth aside, he paused, standing naked and uncertain next to the bed.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” you replied sleepily, tossing the covers down so you could both slide under them. “I hope you like to cuddle, Mister.”

Grinning at you, Marcus wrapped his arm around you, curving his body around yours. “You bet your ass I do.”

You both fell into an exhausted sleep feeling hopeful and satiated for the first time in a long time.

Waking up in Director Pike’s arms was not something you expected would happen on this case. You fantasized. You hoped. Sure, all of that. But you never, ever expected it would actually happen. But it did and it felt fucking incredible.

You already knew he was damn good at his job. It was impressive to see that his single-minded focus and massive talent carried over to his skills in the bedroom as well. You replayed the night before in your head as you showered, remembering with fondness all the ways Marcus surprised you, how cherished he made you feel, the sheer pleasure he brought you.

How were you supposed to focus on the case now when your mind was completely overcome with thoughts of Marcus. You were almost relieved when he slipped out of the room after sharing a cup of hotel room coffee with you. You weren’t sure you could keep your hands to yourself if he stayed much longer, the rumbled, sleepy look proving almost too adorable to resist.

Marcus met you in the hotel lobby, two large cups of iced coffee and a brown paper bag clutched in his hands an hour after waking up together. “Good morning, Jersey girl,” he greeted you with a wink, dark brown eyes sparkling in the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

You chuckled at the variation of your nickname, already knowing that would become his signature endearment for you. “Good morning, handsome. Long time, no see.”

His grin grew wider. “Come on. Let’s ride together. No sense in taking two cars anymore.” He handed you one of the iced coffees and the paper bag, pulling the keys to his SUV out of his pocket.

Clad in gray cargo shorts, blush polo shirt, and a pair of boat shoes, Marcus looked ready for a day spent on the water rather than investigating art theft. The sight made your mouth water and you gulped at the iced coffee. As he drove, you both munched on the bagels he picked up along with the coffees while waiting for you.

“I figured we’d start taking a look at some of these hot springs to get a feel for them and see if anything else in the clues pops out at us,” Marcus explained between bites. He always chewed with his mouth closed and waited until after he swallowed to speak. You loved a man with impeccably manners.

“Great idea. I put a list of them in the file.”

“I know,” he beamed at you. “I saw it last night, before… It’s what gave me the idea. Thought we’d start with La Paloma and work our way down the list. What do you think?”

You nodded, sitting back in the passenger seat contentedly. Much to your surprise, there wasn’t an ounce of awkwardness between you two after last night’s surprising turn of events. Everything felt natural, like it was meant to turn out this way and you basked in the effortless interactions between you and Marcus.

Marcus spoke to the manager upon your arrival at La Paloma Hot Springs & Spa and the gentleman gave you a quick tour of the facility before allowing the two of you to investigate on your own. You split up to cover more ground, the scent of mineral-rich water tickling your nose as you worked your way through the facility.

Searching the private soaking tubs, you ran your hands along the edges looking for evidence of hidden compartments that might contain the artifact. Still uncertain if that was what you were actually looking for, it didn’t hurt to search. When you found nothing, your focus shifted to the vintage décor including the old photographs hanging on the walls, looking for any signs or symbols that might be a clue.

An hour later, you and Marcus reconvened at the front desk, disappointed that you both came up empty, yet undeterred in your drive to figure out this case.

You visited a number of other hot springs, conducting the same kind of searches yet never finding additional clues or evidence.

“It’s like we’re missing something,” Marcus said as you both climbed into the SUV, burnt out and sweaty, after your latest search came up empty. You’d spent the entire day running from hot spring to hot spring across the small town to no avail.

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not just any old hot spring? We need more to go on.”

Just then, your phone buzzed with an incoming call from the TCPD. Another painting stolen right under their noses – or rather, right behind the officer’s back as he turned around while patrolling one of the galleries. The thief had lightning-fast reflexes, apparently.

“Alright, thanks Chief. We’ll head over there now.” You ended the call and relayed the information to Marcus.

“This guy sure is brazen. I’ll give him that,” he lamented, carefully spinning the SUV around to head toward the latest crime scene.

“He’s got some balls, nicking a painting while an officer is standing right there. It’s like he’s begging to be caught.”

“That or he’s just a fucking lunatic.” Marcus met your gaze for a long moment after parking the vehicle. “Is it wrong that part of me hopes we don’t catch him too soon?”

Your heart thumped in your chest, lips quirking upwards into a shy smile. “No, not after last night…” you admitted. “We could always stay a few days after solving the case and explore this.” You gestured between the two of you.

Shutting off the car, Marcus bobbed his head. His previously styled hair fell across his forehead, the heat having worn away the product he used this morning. “I’d really like that.”

The TCPD officer met you at the door and led the way to the scene of the latest theft, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I never saw him; he was there and gone in seconds. Managed to leave this behind though, taped where the painting had been.”

Marcus accepted the paper, holding it up so you could read it.

Where the serpent bathes in earth’s warm embrace, beneath the soothing waters, the heart of the sun lies hidden.

“This message is different. Different, but the same. I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” you sighed frustratedly.

Marcus patted your shoulder in a manner appropriate for a professional audience. “No. I get what you mean. It’s tying the clues together in a different way. Giving us more hints at once.”

Heaving a sigh of your own, you nodded. What a great relief to feel understood. “Exactly.”

Conferring with the forensics team first, you and Marcus departed when they confirmed the thief left no trace evidence behind. No fibers, fingerprints, or hair. Nothing to clue you in on who the thief could be. Nothing, not even on the adhesive used to tape the clue to the wall or the paper itself. The perp was either lucky or extremely tidy.

Seated once again in the corner booth at Harry’s dingy pub, Marcus devoured his burger while you daintily nibbled at your fries. The extremely high temperature ruined your appetite. The case file sat open on the table as you placed sticky notes on a photocopy of the latest clue.

“’Where the serpent bathes’… that has to refer to the hot springs, right? And the serpent would symbolize this Quintessential guy?”

“Quetzalcoatl. The god’s name is Quetzalcoatl, for Christ’s sake,” Harry chimed in as he dropped off a fresh round of cold draft beers.

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, pointing a fry at Harry in thanks. Marcus laughed at your adorable ridiculousness. You made investigating this mind-boggling case fun.

“Right. And ‘in the earth’s warm embrace’ refers to the warm waters of the hot springs as well. That’s caused by geothermal activity, is that correct, Harry?” Marcus questioned.

The grizzled old barkeep lingered by your table, too caught up in his own curiosity to return to his duties. “Mmhmm, that’s what they say. I’m no rock scientist, mind.”

“You mean a geologist?” you chirped, a shit-eating grin gracing your pretty face.

“Yes, you mouthy little shit. Don’t sass me or I won’t help solve this case,” Harry grumbled. For a moment, Marcus worried you would be offended by the old man, but your tinkling laughter convinced him otherwise.

Marcus stifled a laugh when you rolled your eyes playfully and re-focused his attention on the clue. “That could be the earth’s warm embrace part, then. And ‘beneath the soothing waters’ refers again to the hot springs.”

“Uh huh,” Harry chimed in again, pulling the case file closer to him, aged eyes squinting to read your notes. Neither of you would normally let a civilian get so involved in a case, but Harry proved himself integral to solving this particularly challenging and unusual case. Pointing an arthritic finger to the final line of today’s clue, beneath the soothing waters, he added, “It refers to the artifact being hidden there, beneath one of the hot springs.”

Harry slipped into the booth on your side, and you flashed Marcus a smile. The old man was fully invested now. Thankfully the bar was empty but for a few regulars who could help themselves as far as Harry was concerned.

“Ok, so to summarize, we know the hot springs are involved,” you stated, processing the facts aloud as well as in your head. “And we know that the artifact is hidden beneath one of them. The question we’ve been chasing all day is which one, right? So, do any of the known hot springs have a serpent symbol or painting or something along those lines associated with it?”

Marcus shook his head as you flipped through pages of notes. “Definitely didn’t see any in the ones we checked out today.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, you two idiots will be my age by the time you figure this out,” Harry stood from the booth, his voice gruff with annoyance, though whether that was from dealing with the two of you or the effort it took to stand with aged, arthritic bones was anyone’s guess. “You’ll want to check out Riverbend Hot Springs in the morning. You’re welcome.”

Mouths agape, you both watched the cantankerous old man shuffle back to the bar, grumbling to himself the whole way.

“Did he just solve the case for us?” Marcus asked when his gaze shifted back to you.

“I think so,” you laughed. “Thank fucking goodness. My eyes were starting to cross from looking at this file so much.”

Looking it up on his phone, Marcus confirmed that the Riverbend Hot Springs were closed until morning. Knowing their work was done for the day, he flashed you a heated look. “Want to go back to my room? Maybe cool off in the shower?”

Marcus had a nicer room than yours, the walk-in shower encased in glass and large enough to fit a few people. The perks of being a director, you guessed.

You barely glimpsed at the room before Marcus backed you against the already deadbolted door. His mouth pressed against yours, tongue dancing along the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You let him in eagerly, tongues tangling and teeth clashing with urgency. His hands were everywhere, stripping away your clothes and sliding against already bare skin in turn.

Once you both gave into the spark, stoking the fire into flames last night, the want turned into a blazing inferno that neither of you could extinguish. Not that you wanted to, anyway. No, you were content to burn to a crisp as the fire raged.

Marcus had you stripped naked within minutes, his mouth having never left your own in the process. Eager to return the favor from last night, you sunk to your knees, undoing his belt and shorts as you stared up at him. Marcus tore off his shirt while you shoved his shorts and boxer briefs down his slim hips to pool at his feet.

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus moaned as you wrapped your hand around his hardened length, testing the girth and weight of it in your grip. You tugged playfully a few times, getting to know the feel of him. Still staring into his lust blown eyes, you slowly leaned forward to glide the head of his cock around your plump lips before slipping him inside your mouth. A delicious whine fell from his lips when your tongue lapped at the little droplet of precum without breaking eye contact.

Not wanting to torture him unnecessarily, you began to move, taking more of his cock into your mouth until he bumped the back of your throat. Bobbing your head, you soaked his cock with your saliva, sucking every now and then to increase the sensation. Your left hand tugged the base of him where your mouth couldn’t quite reach, twisting with each upward stroke to further enhance his pleasure, as your right hand massaged his balls.

Panting heavily above you, Marcus slapped his palms against the door to support himself as you continued sucking his cock. Experimenting with how far you could take him, you hollowed your cheeks, easing farther down his length and breathed through your nose.

“Jersey girl… ungh. Please, I’m gonna come down that pretty little throat if you don’t stop.” You could feel his thigh muscles flex and twitch with the effort of not blowing his load down your throat as he stuttered out the words.

Taking pity on the man, you eased back until his cock audibly popped out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you until Marcus severed the link by stepping backwards on shaky legs.

“You are too good at that, my little minx. Come here.” Marcus helped you up, leading you into the shower once you regained your balance. He kissed you deeply as the cool water from the shower head cascaded over you both.

The water felt good on your overheated skin and Marcus pressed you backwards against the sturdy glass. Hiking a leg up around his waist with one hand, he gently cradled the side of your face in the other. Your gazes locked as he reached around your thigh and teased your clit.

“So wet for me, my Jersey girl.” Already on edge from sucking his cock, you were drenched and ready for him. “Did sucking my cock turn you on that much, my Jersey girl?” You mewled and, with the slightest shift of his hips, Marcus notched his cock at your entrance, feeding you inch by inch until your walls gripped his entire length tightly. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

Droplets of water rained down your bodies as he thrusted into you, your lips pressed open-mouthed against each other, noses bumping, exchanging breaths and moans without actually kissing. The stretch was intense but pleasurable, and you could feel every ridge of him inside you.

You suddenly realized why that was.

“Shit, we forgot a condom,” you said in between moans, your hands grasping his plump ass to make certain he didn’t stop.

Marcus showed no signs of stopping, his hips almost seemed to pick up the pace. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no!” you gasped; eyes fluttering shut as he nudged that spot inside you just right. “Please don’t ever fucking stop.”

“Ok,” he breathed against your lips. “I’m clean and it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.”

“Same,” you replied. “And I’m on birth control, so please, come inside me.”

Marcus groaned deeply at that, his head shifting so he could nip at your neck, soothing the sting with little kitten licks of his tongue. Pulling back, he murmured, “Turn around.”

You did so, whining as he slipped out of you. With a gentle hand, Marcus pushed your upper body against the glass and pulled your hips closer to him so your back arched perfectly. Your tits were pressed up against the glass wall of the shower and, just beyond it, you could see your reflections in the mirror. Only a slight mist of steam swirled in the air from the temperature of the water, and it didn’t hinder your view at all as Marcus closed in behind you, slipping his cock back where it belonged.

You watched your reflections, mesmerized, as he fucked into you, his wet hair flopping over his forehead when he bent forward to kiss along your shoulders and neck. Your hands came up on either side of your head to brace yourself against the glass, hoping that the strength of his thrusts wouldn’t cause it to shatter.

Marcus reached a hand around your thigh, slipping between your legs to pluck at your clit as you fucked you. Every single cell in your body felt aflame, ready to burst at the pleasure racing through you. It didn’t take long for you to explode, eyes squinted shut as you keened.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Come on my cock, my little Jersey girl. I can feel your cum gushing around me. Fuck, baby.” Once again, Marcus talked you through it in the soft voice of his. He continued thrusting as your walls trembled around him, driving him right over the edge after you, rope and rope of cum splashed your walls as he made the loveliest sex sounds in your ear.

You stayed like that, pressed up against the glass with the weight of Marcus leaning against you, chests heaving, until you both came back down from the high. Taking a few minutes to actually wash the day off each other, you settled on the bed wrapped in towels afterwards.

The two of you talked long into the night and, unable to keep your hands or mouths off each other, you had sex twice more before falling asleep.

Unable to come to an agreement on whether backup would be necessary at this point, you and Marcus finally decided to bring one officer to investigate the Riverbend Hot Springs with you. An extra pair of eyes could be useful, on that you both agreed.

Known for its scenic outdoor pools on the banks of the Rio Grande, visitors usually flocked to Riverbend. The facility not only had the hot springs, but hotel rooms and spaces for recreational vehicles as well. The manager was less than pleased when Marcus informed him that any guests present would have to stay in their rooms and out of both the common and private pools during the search. The last thing the investigation needed was public interference or contaminated evidence.

Searching the private pools first to appease the guests and resort manager, Marcus swiped his hand over his sweaty face when you found nothing.

“Let’s check the common pools now,” he sighed, wondering if it would be another fruitless adventure.

Another two hours of searching – lifting stones, moving decorative displays, going inside the pools themselves, even going so far as to request a shovel from the grounds crew to poke around in the landscaping – turned up nothing.

“At least there’s only one pool to go,” you said, trying to stay positive about finding something. “This has gotta be the one, right?”

“Let’s hope,” Marcus replied. Drenched in a mixed of sweat and mineral water, he wanted nothing more than to slip between cool sheets with you and an ice-cold drink. This case sucked.

Located at the far end of the property, overlooking the Rio Grande, a rock wall encased the final pool for support given the topography on the side along the river dipped lower. Marcus directed the officer to start at one end while he joined you in working your way up from the riverbank. Thorough in your search, you left literally left no stone unturned. One particular large slab placed in the landscaping next to the pool like a decorative display required your and Marcus’ strength combined to lift, and you gasped when you saw what sat in hiding beneath it.

“Is that a fucking trap door?” Marcus asked with a grunt as he glanced down and pushed the rock slab to the side.

“Yeah, it fucking is.” Bending down to open it, Marcus stopped you.

“Wait a second, Jersey girl. We don’t want to just go rushing down there.” He called the officer over for a quick chat, asking him to find the manager and see if anyone knew anything about where the trapdoor led.

Minutes later, the manager and resort engineer joined the group. No one knew a damn thing about what they found. It wasn’t depicted on the as-built drawings or any other schematics the engineer had on file. That did not bode well. Turning to the officer, you asked him to call for back up.

“We’ll head down to scope it out. Come down once backup gets here. In the meantime, please keep the guests away from this area,” Marcus directed the officer and manager before turning to you. “Ready, Jersey girl?”

Pulling your service weapon from its holster, you nodded confidently. “With you at my side, I’m ready for anything.”

Marcus flashed that boyish grin before wrenching the trapdoor open. As suspected, narrow steps carved into the stone descended down into darkness. Before Marcus could ask for one, the facility engineer handed him a flashlight.

Stepping carefully down the steps with the flashlight held high in one hand and his service weapon in the other, Marcus descended into the dark unknown with you right on his heels. At the bottom, a pathway led through more rock, dim light visible in the distance. You reach out while walking along the pathway to find the rock is surprisingly warm.

“I expected it to be cool to the touch,” you murmured, not wanting to make too much noise in case someone or something waited in the shadows.

“Hmm?”

“The walls,” you pointed when Marcus turned around. “They’re warm.”

Directing the beam of light in the direction you pointed, Marcus touched the back of his hand to the wall and looked back at you with a questioning brow. “How?”

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

“Latent heat from the surface?” he took a guess.

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’re below ground deep enough that it shouldn’t be this warm.”

Marcus continued on down the path, the rock walls growing warmer the farther you progressed. Finally, you turned a corner into a dimly lit chamber, the air filled with oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. You both scanned the room for threats, finding none. The chamber was oddly free of spider webs or bugs or people, aside from the two of you, but a pool of water bubbled inside a ring in the stone floor. Above the pool, an abnormally large, fiery opal appeared to float in the air, the glow from it the only source of light in the chamber aside from the flashlight in Marcus’ hand.

“What the fuck?” you questioned, confused as all hell why the gem just floated in air. “I’m getting some real X-Files type vibes and I DO NOT like it.”

Marcus couldn’t help the twitch of his lips even though he was just as confused as you. “This must be the Flame of Quetzalcoatl.”

“Ya think?” Your nerves made you snarky, a trait Marcus found profoundly adorable and endearing.

Stepping closer to the artifact, Marcus shielded his eyes from the fiery glow. He reached out with one long finger, nearly touching the object when the grinding sound of rock against rock reverberated through the chamber. Jerking back instinctually, both you and Marcus drew your pistols on the sudden intruder.

“Who the fuck are you?” you blurted at the man, your nerves shot to shit, your FBI training the only thing holding you together at that point.

Wild-haired, with oddly composed attire, the man practically vibrated with energy, a glint of insanity in his eerily green eyes. Under one arm, he carried another landscape painting, likely just stolen from another gallery. As if by magic or something equally befitting the utterly odd nature of this entire case, the other stolen paintings appeared, strategically placed along the rock walls rounding the chamber.

“I really don’t like this, Marcus,” you said through gritted teeth. His concerned gaze met yours briefly. “Me either, Jersey.”

It happened, as these things tend to do, suddenly and unexpectedly. The man lunged forward, dropping the painting without thought, and reached a trembling, emaciated hand toward the artifact. Marcus matched the man’s movement, reaching for him rather than the floating, glowing gem. In the process, a glass pedestal you didn’t even know was there, nearly invisible but surely the reason the artifact appeared to be floating in air, toppled over, sending the artifact flying.

You watched, awestruck and frozen in shock, as Marcus tackled the crazy man to the hard ground and the artifact shattered against the rock wall, simultaneously. Almost immediately, the temperature plunged until a damp coolness filled the formerly stuffy chamber, and the man shrieked in despair.

“No! No! No! You’ve ruined everything!” The man continued screeching. Moments later, TCPD officers rushed into the stone room, a few assisting Marcus with securing the thief in cuffs.

Among the backup that just arrived, the police chief stepped up to your side as you gave Marcus a hand in getting back on his feet. “Strangest thing,” the thick-bearded, squat man in uniform said, “the temperature dropped at least twenty-five degrees out of nowhere, just as we started making our way down here. Am I to believe it had something to do with whatever happened down here?”

You and Marcus shared a look before shrugging at the police chief. “I have no clue what even happened down here,” Marcus admitted. Tilting his chin in the crazy man’s direction, he added, “Your boys will bring him in for questioning? We’d like a shot at him, too.”

“Of course. We’ll get him processed. Come by the station whenever you’re finished up here.” The chief followed the officers escorting the man from the chamber, leaving behind a forensics team to gather evidence.

Standing above the shattered artifact, you sighed. “How the hell do I write this up in a report?”

“Very carefully and creatively,” Marcus replied with a smirk.

The interrogation didn’t take long, the man caving like a deck of cards in the wind. His name was Edmund Fawkes, a local starving artist driven mad by the excessive heat. Already obsessed with ancient mythology and local lore, he discovered the hidden chamber containing Quetzalcoatl’s Flame and, seeking the power and prosperity described in the legends, decided to take possession of it by appeasing the ancient god with landscape paintings.

It didn’t work, clearly, but Edmund was relentless in his insanity, continuing his thievery until you and Marcus caught him.

None of it made sense and there were so many things that could be attributed to entirely coincidental circumstances that you didn’t really care how the pieces fit together. The thief had been caught, the paintings returned to the appropriate galleries largely undamaged, and the town was no longer in the clutches of a deadly heat wave. That was all that really mattered.

On your way out of the police station, the case solved as far as the bureau was concerned, you turned to Marcus. “How long are you sticking around?”

Gazing at you with those chocolate puppy eyes, his lips twitched into a grin. “I have several weeks of PTO saved up. Figured I’d use some of that. Maybe all of it if I have a reason to.”

You grinned back at him. “I’m sure we could find a reason for that.”

An hour later, the sun dipping past the desert horizon, you found yourselves naked and neck deep in the soothing mineral water of a private hot springs pool. Given that business was completed, you checked out of the hotel the bureau set you both up in and reserved a room at the best resort in town for a couple days of relaxation.

“I’m going to miss this odd little town, especially Harry and his dingy pub,” Marcus said, pulling you closed to his side as you soaked in the soothing water.

“Me, too. I’m going to miss you most, though. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, both professionally and otherwise,” you admitted, leaning your head against his bare shoulder.

Marcus stilled for a moment before tightening his hold on you. “Why don’t you come back to DC with me?”

“What?” Your head tilted back to meet his eyes.

“You said you put in for a transfer back to the east coast, right?” You nodded and he continued. “Well, come back with me and we’ll have that transfer fast tracked. I’m certain there’s a position for you in DC. We won’t be on the same team, but that’s probably a good thing.”

You giggled at the boyish grin he flashed you. “If you’re sure, I’m game. I just don’t want you to feel like we’re rushing into anything.”

“Pssh, rushing, smushing. I’ve waited long enough to find someone like you. Now that I have, I’m not letting you go,” Marcus insisted. Gesturing between you, he added, “I mean it. There’s something amazing here, I know it. We can leave in a few days, spend a week or two exploring the city and each other before getting back to work.”

At a loss for a worthy response, you pressed your lips against his. The soft kiss quickly turned heated as you spun, straddling his lap, with your hands gripping the stone edge of the pool. Marcus ran his fingertips down the slick skin of your bare back as you squirmed into place, his cock swelling to life at the feel of you above, against, around him.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to ride you yet,” you murmured against his lips, grinding your bare pussy down on him.

“Now’s your chance, Jersey girl,” Marcus gasped through a moan. “Take me and use me, baby.”

Overheated despite the contrasting bite of cool air on your damp skin and warm water engulfing half your body, you eased yourself down onto his cock. You’d never get used to the exquisite stretch as he split you open. Drawing out the anticipation, you slid down his length with agonizing slowness, eliciting delicious whines from Marcus.

“Don’t torture me, baby. Please,” he begged to no avail. Peppering his handsome face with kisses, you kept the pace slow and torturous until he writhed beneath you.

At last, you took his full length inside you and started to move, bouncing eagerly on his cock with your head thrown back in pleasure. Marcus’ eyes stared at your breasts, bobbing along the water line and glistening from splashes of the mineral water as you moved on him. Mesmerized, he could look nowhere else, and his fingers shifted to pluck at the hardened peaks of your nipples.

The air temperature continued to drop as night set in, steam rising up from the warm water of the pool, dancing along your skin in beautiful swirls of water vapor. The clear, starry sky the perfect backdrop to your love making – for that’s what it was now, so much more than sex this time as you gave your whole self over to this wonderful, unexpected man who changed your life in a matter of days.

Overwhelmed with feelings, you keened as his cock nudged at all the right placing, your clit stimulated by grinding on his lap. “Fuck, Marcus. I’m gonna cum.”

Marcus thrust his hips upward at that statement, eager to drive you straight over the cliff into that beautiful abyss. “Do it, baby. Come all over my cock, my beautiful Jersey girl.”

Always good at following instructions, you did just that. Your eyelids slipped closed as you spasmed around him, head thrown back in ecstasy, his name falling like a prayer from your lips.

“That’s it, just like that,” Marcus crooned, pressing soothing kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re strangling my cock, baby. Gonna make me come too, sexy girl.”

A few more erratic thrusts upward and Marcus came with a fury, cock pulsing with rope after rope of his spend deep inside you. Breathless and exhausted, you clung to each other until shivers settled in from the plunging temperature.

“Let’s get inside, my Jersey girl. We’ll clean up, climb under the covers, and cuddle while we make plans for the future.”

fin

#little lady kinky may #writing challenge 3.0 #iamasaddie game #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #mystery #aztec myth #nonsensical plot

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insomniamamma · 1 year ago

Text

Circle, Circle: Dieter Bravo X f!reader

A/n: written for my @yearofcreation2023 Year of Kisses. This prompt was a kiss for comfort, and a whole lot of real life happened between when I started this and now. This is a love letter to the theater nerds I knew in high school and the theater nerd I became later in life. This one turned out different than I thought it would. This story refused to be smutty. This story refused to be sexy. I don't make the rules. Inspired largely by this.

warnings: drug and alcohol use, angst, implied fatphobia, insecurity, cuddles and fluff, being dieter's best friend implies it's own warning.

You saw the clip. Annika belting Dieter in the chops in the middle of some posh party while Kate looked on with the kind of face you make when your drunken best friend barfs in a potted plant at your parents house. You never loved me! You never loved me at all! Dieter's hands thrown up in self defense, grinning at the cameras as security goons hook their arms around Annika's waist and pull her out of the shot. Day in the life.You saw the clip and knew what was coming. Dieter fuckin Bravo.

You've known D since middle school, gravitating towards each other because no one else wanted anything to do with either of you. The girls called you stupid and fat and ugly. The boys called him faggot. So you'd banded together, smoking cigarettes you stole out of your Gramma's dresser, smoking shake-weed out of pop-can pipes at the edge of school grounds, right under that stupid sign that read 'drug free school zone' and then kicking it into the tall grass when some terminally bored teacher's aide came to round up you and D and the rest of the burnouts. Nobody ever gave you more than the cursory straighten up and fly right speech. Neither of you were actively failing so no one cared. Then, in high school Dieter discovered the theater program and so did you.

You saw the clip and knew your phone would ring eventually. Or buzz rather. Coming home, he texts. Can you pick me up? Sure. What time? Knowing exactly what will happen. He'll say he won't be any trouble, that he'll book a room at the holiday inn and you'll tell him no and invite him to stay. Because you always do. Because home has turned on him for getting out. He's won an Oscar out in the world, but here? He's sneered at, deep well of contempt for those who strike out and fail and come home licking their wounds. Who does he think he is? Who do you think you are? Hurts less for you because you never tried to leave as much as you wanted to.

You should try out, you told him. If I'm trying out you should too, he told you. Little Shop of Horrors. He was gunning for Seymour so you learned Audrey, so you could practice the songs with him. I can't try out are you kidding me? You can, D told you, you sound...rested his hand on your upper arm the way someone might touch a live nuclear warhead. You sound good. We sound good together. You know that right? And inside you do. The way his voice weaves through yours, the way you can let go when it's just the two of you. His garage or your basement, singing over the piano track the music teacher made.

He's a mess. He looks about four days out from his last shower, his curls sticking up in greasy quills, his eyes are red-rimmed, from drugs or crying, you can't tell. This is how it is for him. He fucks up spectacularly and then he comes slinking home. No one cares here. No one gives a shit about his Oscar here. Just that no good Bravo boy limping home like a kicked dog. But you care. Dragging his carry-on along behind him, broad shoulders slumped, you feel that unwilling, unwitting spike of pity lodge in your chest.

They'd laughed. At the audition. When you and Dieter took your positions on stage, a bit of rough blocking you'd worked out between the two of you. Not loud braying laughter, snickers and titters of girls expecting a debacle and you feel your chest constrict and your eyes burn--

"Lift up your head Wash off your mascara Here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away Show me your face, clean as the morning I know things were bad, but now they're okay--"

But Dieter has you, grips your chin with finger and thumb just like you practiced, those big brown eyes terrified and deadly serious hold yours as he draws you to your feet. Audrey's lines pour out of you in a rush, the accompaniment a hair slower than the recording, I blew it, I blew the song and then you find the tempo, you find your voice and it rings out like it did all the times you and Dieter ran it together, belting it over the cast recording, rings out into the dark auditorium, the way you've heard it in your head this whole time, and you feel your skin prickle as Dieter's voices threads through yours like a grounding touch, and you finish together, singing into each other's faces.

The accompaniment stops and there's polite applause.

"You saw?" "Everybody saw--" "Fuck."

He smells like stale beer, fast food and no sleep. "You knew it wasn't gonna last with her right?" You keep your eyes on the road, but you can feel D bristle in the passenger's seat. "How do you mean?" "Come on, man, she's, like, half your age. Even if you hadn't cheated on her with Kate--" "Hey--" "You and her have nothing in common other than being trapped in that weird quarantine bubble," you say, "That's not love, that's fucking Stockholm syndrome." "You're probably right." "I'm always right. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"This is some bullshit!" Dieter jabs a chipped black fingernail at the list of names tacked to the bulletin board outside the auditorium. "Your name is nowhere on that list. We sounded so good together! They--" "Dieter it's fine," you say. "They cast Emmy Lancaster as Audrey! What the fuck?" "Emmy's fine. She's got a nice voice." "Yeah, but she's not you! How'm I gonna do it if it's not you?" "D! Stop it!"You grab him by his upper arms and shake him a little, and those big brown eyes lock onto yours and he looks like he's drowning. "You've got this. I know you, dude, you're gonna be great." His eyes flick back and forth like he's searching for something. "Will you still run lines with me?" "Of course I will, you asshole."

"You hungry?" "Starving." "Mabels?" "Mabels."

"Oh, man, I forgot how good this is."

You and Dieter order the same thing as ever, garbage omelets with and order of biscuits and gravy split between you. D slathers his plate in hot sauce and you wrinkle your nose like you always do. And the question comes up as it always does. Can I stay with you? Just for a little bit-- and the answer is always yes, because D is a disaster but he's your disaster.

He's held your hair while you puked, you babied him when his girl dumped him right before senior prom. You ran lines together, even though you couldn't act with him. You don't have the right look for Audrey, they told you, but we do need a stage manager, and you threw yourself into it even though it hurt, because what where you expecting? And you had a knack for it, which surprised you and everyone else. The Audrey Two puppets were rented, but everything else had to be built and you found that you loved it, sketching out the sets, figuring out how to make the pieces light enough for you and the half-dozen other nerds you'd press-ganged into being stage crew to lift easily. We can do most of it with scrims, paint right on the fabric and then light it on from the back, or we could project the images right on them, like what Nine Inch Nails does. We can get with the AV club, see what they think.

"You can always stay with me, Dieter." You reach across the sticky table and wrap your hand around his forearm, "You know that right?" And there's a flicker across his face that says no, and it feels like a spike in your belly--

"Everyone's saying-- Christ. It's like everything I touch turns to shit."

"C'mon, that's crap and you know it, Hunger Strike--"

"That was different!" He surges forward and takes your hands in his, a bit of coffee sloshed between you, turned ears and cocked heads of the few patrons haunting Mabel's this time of night. "I had something there! It was like, something entirely outside of me--"

"Like catching lightning in a bottle?"

"Exactly like that!" And he smiles, brilliantly, the real one, not the cool little smirk reserved for the red carpet, for the press junkets, the smile that lights him up, the one you remember from way back when the lights came up and the orchestra played the main theme, the cast linked arm and arm, ready to take their bows and Dieter broke ranks, deviated from what you'd done in the previews, running the show for a cadre of bored teachers who'd rather be doing just about anything else, he sees you in the wings and catches your eye, waves you out two handed, a huge clownish gesture that requires a response, so you and the tech crew pour onto the stage, while the actors slide down to make room for you and you dip your outstretched hands to the orchestra and raise them again to the soundboard and spot operator the way you've seen every night this run and then everyone links arms and bows in a wave and suddenly Dieter's arms are locked around you, releases you and then turns to the crowd, raises your hand and his together, as the applause comes up.

"Do you know how that feels?" And you remember the way you and him sounded together, how Audrey poured out of your lungs like she had always been there-- "Yeah, D, I do," and his eyes flicking back and forth across your face still and hold yours, his hands warm in your grasp.

"Yeah," he says, and squeezes your fingers in his, "Yeah, I think you do." And you stay like that a beat, hands folded together across the sticky table, ancient cigarette smoke and old coffee and hand sanitizer. The waitress brings the check. One of Mabel's spray tanned granddaughters. You draw your hands away like you've been caught.

You've kissed Dieter exactly once, under the much-graffitied overpass, neon slurs and pentagrams and pigeon shit, both of you drunk on Wild Irish Rose, him smelling of weed and his mouth was warm, tentative against yours, and you'd laughed about it afterwards, circle-circle dot-dot now i've got my cootie shot, and you'd leaned together with your arms around each other, warm and solid against each other.

During tech week you'd pulled double duty, running lines with Dieter because outside of the auditorium Emmy Lancaster wouldn't even look at him, rolled her eyes all through rehearsal as if she was doing the world a favor by being there. She wanted nothing to do with him outside of scheduled rehearsals and Dieter was scared. The tech crew you'd rounded up was a different story all together, the lights are down and they can't see us so go nuts, so backstage you'd gone full goth, all black and dramatic makeup, and some of the others had followed suit, a little bit of rebellion behind the curtain where no one could look at you.

After one particularly grueling night, you and Dieter find yourselves side by side on the futon in your basement. Your bedroom proper is upstairs but your folks have let you build a nest down here so won't bother the rest of the house. They've mostly given up on you but that gives you some freedom.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he says, looking up at the crappy drop ceiling and glow in the dark stars that you've decorated it with. "Emmy hates my guts. She thinks I'm a creep. How'm I supposed to make this work?"

"Pretend she's me."

"What?"

"Pretend. She's. Me. You're good singing and running lines with me, so just imagine it's me and not Emmy fuckin Lancaster up there with you."

"Will that work?"

"Dude, I don't fuckin know, but you better figure it out quick. We open in a week."

The ride home is silent save for the scrape of windshield wipers, low, warm spit of rain, winding back roads and Dieter's fallen asleep, head turned away, slumped against the window, comes blearily awake at the sound of your tires on the gravel driveway.

"Hey, D, we're home." He stretches in the passenger's seat and yawns hugely.

"I can still get a hotel. I don't want to be a problem--"

"Too late. C'mon."

You fall asleep under fake plastic glowing stars and wake to find you and him wrapped together, his forehead pressed to yours, your arms tucked around his ribs, his hand folded over the curve of your hip, his breath warm against your face, and you're not sure how this makes you feel, because you've never been close with someone quite like this and you're not sure what might happen next, but at the same time this is Dieter and you've known each other for what feels like a million years and he looks so different asleep, face all slack like a little kid who's zonked out in the back on the car on some long road trip.

"I'll take the couch." "The fuck you will. I know the wire-work on Cliff Beasts 6 tweaked your back." "Was it that obvious?" "I could tell." "You can always tell."

"D. Hey, D." You try to squirm out of his grip without waking him, but you haveto resort to a good hard poke in the ribs. His eyes fly open and the two of you launch up and out of bed and away from each other like two magnets forced pole to pole.

"hoooomygod. Oh shit I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "Dude, it's okay, I didn't mean either-" "I was just so tired holy shit," his eyes are wide and his cheeks are fire engine red and you can feel the embarrassment and anxiety pouring off him like radiation. You start laughing. You can't help it. "What?" "You remember that scene from Planes, Trains & Automobiles?" Dieter brays laughter and the embarrassment flicks out like a candle flame.

You offer your hand and he takes it. You lead him upstairs. You need to get cleaned up. You smell like the floor of a taxi-cab, and Dieter laughs, a small one that just barely touches his eyes, his big be-ringed hand folded around yours, stroking your knuckles with the pad of his thumb, eyes down-turned.

"You always let me come back to you. No matter how bad I fuck up. You don't have to- you shouldn't--"

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do Dieter Bravo. You can always come to me. Unless you become a serial killer. Which seems unlikely considering how squeamy blood makes you."

Dieter laughs, a real one this time, that dimples his scruffy cheek and crinkles his eyes closed, and he knows you're talking about the time in Mrs. Wilson's home economics class when Lola Stevens sliced her thumb opening a can of peaches to make cobbler and Dieter got one good look at the running blood and slithered bonelessly out of his chair, eyes rolled up to the whites.

He laughs and pulls you into a crushing hug, his arms banded around your back, pressing you into him and it catches you off guard and you stumble against him, sorry. I didn't mean, and you don't give him space to elaborate, tuck your face into his neck, wind your arms just as tight around his middle. He smells like skunk weed and whiskey sweat and fast food and exhaustion but also like home, like those fevered days leading up to opening night, like when your first serious boyfriend had dumped you, like when he'd held your hair while you puked in the weeds by the side of the road, walking back home from a kegger that he cops broke up, the two of you creeping into the basement, got you a big sweating plastic tumbler of water in the ugly yellow light from the range hood, his eyes big and dark and serious, afraid of waking the rest of the house, and laughter had come bubbling up silent giggles that he caught like the plague, did you see the way Greggie ran?-- shut up you're gonna get us caught--

"Christ I missed you." "Missed you too, D, but you really need to shower." "That bad, huh?" "Yeah, that bad."

With some coaxing Dieter sleeps beside you, curled away from your nightstand lamp. Can't ever sleep without reading a little first, a horror yarn you've read a half-dozen times, plucky hero and damsel in distress threaded through with Dieter's even breath. He looks oddly frail in the soft light, back hunched in and knees tucked up like he's cold. You kill the light and slide the book under your pillow. You already know how it ends.

You kill the light and tuck yourself against his broad back, slide your arm around and his hand finds yours, folds your fingers into his, tucked against his chest. He smells like your soap and your shampoo because his toothbrush and a hair-clotted razor were the only toiletries that made it into his tangle of luggage. Walmart, you think, need to go anyway. You feel him soften, relax into your embrace, his weight settling against you, press your lips to the back of his head before tucking your face into the warm join of his shoulder.

His voice, sleep heavy and slurred-"Did you just kiss me?"

"Circle-circle, dot-dot"

#year of kisses #year of themes 2023 #better late than never #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo best friend imagine #dieter bravo #pedro pascal

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earlgreytea68 · 1 year ago

Note

I’m not a newbie here, but early day fob lore is still sometimes a mystery to me, lol! Love your deep dives, they’re always very articulate, and very well put together, so thank you for doing them. In recent post you mentioned hey chris, and I’ve seen him being referenced before. I sense some deep history and drama in there, lol ) can you enlighten us, fake fans??))

P.s I’m now especially intrigued, as you mentioned him as an ex friend ….)) please, spill the tea ;))))

First, you are definitely not a fake fan. Everybody starts off knowing nothing!! I tell this to my students on the first day of class, so I will say it to you: If we all knew everything right away, what would we even do with life????? So! Not a fake fan! Normalize being a beginner sometimes! Learning is fun!

Second, thank you for the kind words on the way-too-many paragraphs I spend thinking about all of this lol

Third! This is what I have gleaned about the Hey Chris situation. First, I read the unauthorized Fall Out Boy biography. I did this mostly so you did not have to, because it's not that good. But Chris gets quoted a lot wrt the early Fall Out Boy years. This was notable to me, because the reason those early years get so much focus is I think because he could actually find sources, whereas nobody from Fall Out Boy or their inner circle talked to this guy. So that just says to me right away that Chris isn't really part of the inner circle anymore. Pete does sometimes reblog his stuff on Instagram and it feels polite and cordial and not at all like Pete treats his friends. And that's striking because, as I said, Pete is extremely loyal and keeps many friends forever and he and Chris were very close and are notably not anymore and that is in and of itself unusual.

Anyway, In The Beginning, so to speak, Chris was close friends with Pete and the rest of the band, this is how he got immortalized in "Grenade Jumper" in the first place (I assume you know the apocryphal story but in case you don't, I heard it told that Pete told Patrick they should write a song "for the fans," and Patrick was like, "What fans? Chris is our only fan," and so he wrote a song for Chris lol).

The book spends a lot of time on Pete Wentz pre-Patrick, and especially on Pete's relationship with Chris pre-Patrick, which is also another interesting and telling detail, that Chris seems mainly like a relationship that didn't really last past Pete's discovery of Patrick. Although the way it went down between Pete and Chris also doesn't seem to have anything to do with Patrick, so I don't mean to cast any aspersions on Patrick's role in the whole debacle.

ANYWAY, Chris is quoted in the book as saying that he hated Pete before he met him and he was annoyed because Pete always wore his jeans too tight, which is...such an observation to make about why you hate someone. (I literally borrowed the inappropriateness of this observation for Patrick in one of the Halloween fics I've written lol, it just has always struck me as a remarkable reason to hate someone.)

Chris doesn't seem like he was especially the best influence on Pete (I think in the biography he says that they bonded over peeing on people's coats in a coat checkroom which is...yeah, Idk, BOYS) and it's probably for the best that Pete came eventually to orbit more Patrick's way. But for a little while Pete and Chris were tight and close in this manner that is SO FILLED with queer subtext, like, it is INCREDIBLE the way Chris talks about Pete and everything that went down between them.

NONE of that was in the FOB biography (I wrote up the biography here), so I Googled all of this and pieced it together, and Idk if I can find sources now, but I'll link as many as I can. Anyway, there was this whole thing in 2006 where something-something-maybe with Pete and Chris's girlfriend. Chris's "open letter" says at the beginning that it's about Pete having told Chris's ex-girlfriend that Chris was cheating on her, which was a lie. That's what the letter professes to be about. But the letter is way, way, way more than that and keeps referencing having been sold out -- which isn't how I would characterize having my ex lied to about me, it's a weird phrasing for that -- and then there's some other random person involved who Chris is cagey about but who is also angry with Pete for undisclosed reasons.

The point is to say that it seems like something went down between Pete and Chris's ex-girlfriend but it also seems like there is A LOT more going on. The letter is truly vicious in that way that you can be only when you know someone really well, and know exactly what their deepest fears and vulnerabilities are, and exactly how you can hurt them. He goes after Pete’s fans, he accuses him of being fake and contrived and performative, he mocks him for struggling with fame – it’s an extremely calculated attack for exactly what Pete Wentz worries about most, exactly the right way to get at him.

And he succeeds. Pete does respond, mostly entirely to talk to the fans. In what, of course, can seem like another really calculated PR move on his part. But then, that’s the story of Pete Wentz’s life. He’s in a catch-22, because he’s smart and strategic and it’s the same attack that, honestly, Patrick is still defending him from in the Folie era years later: that Pete’s a better guy than he can look from the outside (this interview is a killer Patrick interview about Pete, if you’ve never read it, just do a search for the word “Pete” and read what he says). (He makes similar statements after the hiatus, too. I couldn’t find the interview but there’s one after SRAR is announced where there’s, like, a signed Ghostbusters VHS or something in Patrick’s house and the interviewer comments on it and Patrick’s like, “Yeah, that was a birthday gift from Pete. Because that’s just the kind of awful guy he is, you know, sends thoughtful birthday gifts,” or something, and it’s clear he’s just, always still out here defending Pete Wentz. Patrick is always keenly aware what people say about Pete and always trying to protect him from that.) As for whatever is happening personally, Pete tells Chris to call him.

A bunch of other incredibly dramatic stuff happens. Only a few days after this whole exchange, the dick pics get leaked. I have heard it said that Chris was behind the dick-pic leak, possibly because Pete had sent the pictures to Chris's ex-girlfriend. That aspect of the rumor about them being sent to Chris's girlfriend isn't in that source post I just linked and I can't quite remember where I heard that (although I think it was from someone who was in the fandom around that time tbh).

Whether or not Chris was behind the dick pics, the language that Chris keeps flinging around about him and Pete is extremely loaded. In the original letter, Chris brings up the fact that he's in "Grenade Jumper" and says "guess whos fucking name you're saying each and every night?” which is a weirdly sexual way to put that, Idk, he's talking about the song but still. And then he signs off “oh, and next time you decide to write another song about me, do it right you fucking coward,” which, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, actually, but it also sounds really intense. Whatever their relationship was, it just sounds really intense. After Pete’s response, who knows whether Chris called him or not but Chris’s next public response calls Pete his "heterolifemate" and then says "no one knows how to break a heart like he does" (which Pete kind of borrows this phrasing in "never seen a heart I couldn't break"). IT'S ALL SO MUCH and Chris really does seem really angrily heartbroken over whatever was going down. AND THEN HE POSTS PHOTOS WITH MIKEY WAY TO MAKE PETE JEALOUS????? (Everything about this is so straight, am I right?_ AND ALSO THE PHOTOS WORK AND PETE GETS INFURIATED AND FREAKS OUT IN HIS AIM AWAY MESSAGE BECAUSE PETE WENTZ IS MY FAVORITE EVER, NO IRONY hahaha I love him for that.

ANYWAY, this is all to say, Pete and Chris are, as I noted above, now on at least cordial terms, and maybe even closer than that, who knows, I only know public stuff, they might be secret besties. But in general Chris is really the only friend of Pete’s who had a really public falling-out with like this and the whole thing is extremely fraught in AN ENTIRELY HETEROSEXUAL WAY, totally. (Chris is apparently still friendly with Mikey Way, I’ve seen that posted lots of places. I feel like my favorite part about this story is how much Mikey Way gets embroiled in Pete Wentz’s drama and I think he remains totally oblivious the whole time hahaha.)

#long post #peterick #fall out boy #fob

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snippychicke · 2 years ago

Text

For Sake of a Smile --Ch. 19

Fandom: Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun

Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything.

And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| mairimashitai! Simps Discord

"I AM THE WORST MOTHER EVER!" You bawled as you buried your face in Sullivan's shoulder as he held you close. "I can't believe I forgot Iruma's birthday!"

"You've been under a lot of stress, sweetie," Your adoptive father reassured, rubbing circles along your back. "I'm sure Iruma understands, you know how he is."

"That makes it worse," You cried. You knew Iruma would forgive you and shrug it off, but to you that was worse than him being upset. Because it was a stark reminder that until just a few years ago, he never had his birthday celebrated. No one cared for him enough to take the time and celebrate his life - his existence.

It tore at you, because you knew even if he didn't act like it, you were sure your lapse of memory had reminded him of those dark days. Did he think you were as careless as his biological parents? That now that your lives had improved, you didn't want to celebrate such things?

"Then let's make it up to our boy, hmm?" Sullivan offered, breaking through your thoughts as he tilted your chin to look at him and wipe your tears. "For this year, and all the birthdays I missed as well."

You nodded your head eagerly at the idea. Yes. You would make up for lost time; not just the last few weeks, but the ones you hadn't been there before too.

To make sure Iruma knew how cherished he was.

----

As you were quick to learn, Demonic Rites were - well - the devilish version of a grand birthday party. While Opera and Sullivan took the lead coordinating the event, you helped as best you could; choosing some of the dishes to be served and presents from the three of you - since they were busy with organizing the event - but also making sure Iruma was kept preoccupied as not to notice anything was amiss.

While traditionally Demonic Rites were saved for milestone birthdays - with much smaller events for the other years - Sullivan was all too happy to use the excuse that it was the first birthday he was able to celebrate with his grandson. So he was apparently going all out from what you could gather, renting a whole other castle.

Though as it turned out, that was tradition as well; apparently even demons believed in bad luck, and holding a Rite in your own dwelling was a surefire way to invoke misfortune. It was also the reason for the costumes; in case Bad Luck did find the revelers, they couldn't curse you if they couldn't recognize you.

"Life is precious in the Netherworld," Shichiro explained over the phone the evening before the Rite. "Our world is harsh, and once upon a time it was not uncommon for a demon to be killed before reaching adulthood. So we take every precaution to protect it, especially when we celebrate it.

"It's also a time where demons show their gratitude for their peers. After all, demons do not frequently bond the way humans do, and showing appreciation and kinship is usually very rare. The Misfit class are truly misfits in that regard…"

They were; not just for demons, but even on earth they'd be an odd bunch. Yet you couldn't help but love all of them, hearing the debacle that occurred earlier that day as they fought over who was Iruma's friend and who was the boy's 'soulmate'.

You had to agree, Clara and Az seemed to be platonic (assumedly, at least) soulmates. Those three had a bond like no other. If there was such a thing as soulmates, it was those three.

But the entire class was still bonded tighter than any friend group you had seen - let alone experienced. Those thirteen students could achieve anything if they set their mind to it. And somehow, Iruma was more-or-less the ringleader of their troupe.

"You're coming tomorrow, right?" You asked, glancing at the costume that hung from your closet door. Both Sullivan and Opera had assisted with choosing it…

Well - they had done more than assist, to be honest. It was more like they had chosen it and you meekly agreed when you saw the looks on their faces. Not that it was something you hated or even disliked; it was beautiful, and something that had caught your eye right away.

The thing was, it was so… decadent, even for a costume. Beautiful but wispy fabric that flowed with the slightest breeze, the waist framed with a corset-vest that - thankfully - hadn't felt too uncomfortable when you tried it on, and a high neckline that would hide your lack of wings. Then the crown of flowers and faux horns that completed the piece.

You worried it was too fancy for such a thing, but assumed the two demons would know best. Then there was the anxiety of Shichiro's reaction to it, despite the fact he never seemed to judge whatever you wore. Or rather, be it a casual outfit or something more special, his gaze always lingered enough to cause you to feel beautiful.

"Nothing could make me miss it," Shichiro assured. "I'll be there, promise."

---

Sullivan and Opera had left early to finalize the preparations, leaving you to escort Iruma to the surprise party. Thankfully, Opera had hitched the Nightmares to one of the smaller carriages before leaving so you didn't ruin your dress. Especially knowing Deinos, who loved to be as impish as she could be.

The Nightmares knickered softly as you and Iruma exited the mansion, both dressed in your costumes. "To Lord Sullivan," You instructed the demonic-horses simply as you opened the carriage door. They snorted in understanding, making you smile as you patted Lampon's flank before boarding.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Iruma asked as the carriage began to move.

"It's a secret~" You answered in a singsong voice, smiling at his pout. "You'll love it though, I promise."

His pout didn't change, though he watched as you smoothed down your skirt, still unused to such rich material. "Well, you look beautiful, mom."

You blushed, "And you look very handsome, Iruma. Who would have thought we both could clean up so well, hmm?"

He laughed at that, and soon both of you were sharing memories of when you were less than presentable. Such as being covered in fish guts after being tripped - or when he came back from a forging trip, completely covered in mud and leaves. It had taken weeks to get every bit of mud and grime from the tiny shower afterwards, but you refused to spray him with the hose used to clean the floor of the workshop, mainly because the water was ice cold and it was late autumn and winter had been attempting to set in.

Before you knew it, the carriage slowed to a stop. Opera opened the door before you could even think about it, holding a hand out to Iruma and then you once the boy was on the ground.

But before you could take a look around, a blindfold settled over your eyes. "Calm down, my dear," Sullivan reassured, his hands settling on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing calming circles. "We don't want to ruin the surprise."

"This is Iruma's Demonic Rite!" You protested as your adopted father led you presumably to where the Rite was to take place.

"Do you think I would celebrate my grandson's life, and not my daughters?" Sullivan chuckled as a groan of old, heavy doors opening filled the air. A sound you were familiar with, given the Library's own doors perchance to complain every time they were opened.

But surely you weren't there. You heard hushed yet excited whispers, making your heart pound as Sullivan continued to guide you. He gently coaxed you up a couple of steps before turning you around and encouraging you to sit.

A moment later you heard Opera guide Iruma into a seat next to yours. There was a hushed countdown before the blindfold fell from your eyes, revealing the elaborately decorated ballroom with a large bonfire burning brightly in a pit at the center. The Misfits along with a few other Babyls students cheered your name along with Iruma's, making your heart catch in your throat.

"Mom?" Iruma asked softly as Sullivan and Opera joined in with the others as they began to dance-- an ancient dance, full of guttural words that truly made it seem like a demonic ritual.

"A Demonic Ritual is how they celebrate birthdays," You explained. "We -- grandpa, Opera, and I -- planned on it being a secret, and to also make up for missing your actual birthday this year. I didn't think they'd plan on putting me in the spotlight too…"

Iruma's hand found yours. "But we've always celebrated our birthdays together. I was actually just telling Professor Balam that the other day…"

Oh. Oh. You caught sight of the tall broad demon standing apart, watching the revelers dance while also apparently taking a head count.

Those sneaky demons. Your heart grew warm at the realization that while you thought you were in on the surprise for Iruma, the three demons had been building a surprise for you as well.

As if he was aware of your gaze, Shichiro looked towards you, his expression shifting into a smile as he offered a small wave.

"It seems we are missing a guest," Opera said as he appeared on Iruma's other side. You tore your gaze away from Shichiro for a moment, and in a flash of light and smoke, a familiar white puffball appeared, looking disgruntled as always.

"EGGY SENSEI!" The Misfits cheered. Kalego's reluctant presence seemed to be the last thing needed for the celebration to kick into full swing.

Over the last several months, you had slowly gotten used to the positive attention from the students as well as the teachers of Babyls. But that did little to prepare you for sitting in the spotlight as the guests symbolically gave part of their life to you as they poured out the burning water into the central bonfire. Or as each knelt one by one, offering their gifts with the heartfelt words: "Thank you for being born and living amongst us."

"I appreciate the love and kindness you give us, Mrs. Suzuki."

"I'm so happy I get to have two moms! My siblings are so jealous!"

"I know you're not my mother, but it really feels like you are sometimes."

"Your beauty is outstanding, my lady! May you continue to age so gracefully!"

"Thank you for caring so much."

"Thank you for bringing Iruma to us!"

"I appreciate your dedication to Babyls and its students," Kalego grumbled begrudgingly, offering a small delicate flower as a gift. (Where he got one considering his Summoned state, you weren't sure.) "You are one among few others whom I can tolerate."

"That's high praise coming from the professor," Iruma whispered in your ear, as if you weren't already aware. Yet any words died on your lips as Shichiro approached, quickly bowing low as his green feathered wings spread out wide to their full extent.

Yes, the others did the same as a sign of respect - but something seemed different….

Or maybe you were just head over heels for Shichiro that seeing him like that, knowing just how strong and powerful he was yet showing his weakest spot to you…

Your thoughts were interrupted as he looked up, his gaze focused on both you and Iruma as he spoke your names. "Thank you both for living in our world, and for being amongst us."

The sentiment had been expressed before, but by those oblivious to the reality of you and Iruma's true circumstances. But he knew. He knew it all. Your throat grew tight as he presented his gifts, hands briefly grazing yours as you accepted the box as your gazes locked.

The warmth, the sincerity, the love in his eyes meant the world to you. He meant the world to you.

You struggled with the urge to simply slide from your chair to your knees and pull him close for a kiss to reciprocate those tender emotions. Except you were still aware of everyone else watching, so you just caressed his hand deliberately with a smile hopefully conveying your feelings.

His eyes crinkled as he returned your smile, fingers lacing briefly before he pulled away and stood. Your eyes followed him as he stepped away.

Until Sullivan stepped up, his own eyes glittering knowingly. He didn't say a word, but knelt down as he took Iruma's hand as well as yours into his, his black wings opened, but curled around the three of you.

"You both mean so much to me, you are truly my treasure," He spoke softly, squeezing your hand tightly. "I am sincerely thankful you both came into my life."

"Grandpa…"

"Dad…"

This time, you did leave your seat, having the same idea as Iruma as you wrapped your arms around both your father and son, and feeling their arms around you.

You were loved. Just as strongly as you loved them, they loved you.

----

The rest of the party was truly a party. You swore you had been to more festivals and parties in the last few months than before in your prior life.

But instead of standing on the outskirts of the party with Kalego and Balam as you typically ended up doing, you were drawn into the menagerie this time. You danced with several students as well as Opera, Sullivan, and then oddly Fluffego, when he was all but shoved in your arms by an impish Opera. He acted begrudgingly as you twirled him around, his small hands holding onto your fingers. You had your toes stepped on as well as stepped on a few yourself, but it was all brushed off with a laugh and even more dancing.

You hadn't had unbridled fun like this for such a long time. Your face hurt from smiling so widely, ribs aching from laughing.

But your favorite part was when large warm hands wrapped around your waist when you had slipped towards the table laden with food and drinks. "You look beautiful," Shichiro whispered as he held you tight around your midsection, making you smile. You had briefly danced with him, no more than thirty seconds, during one where you were constantly changing partners. Otherwise it seemed like the universe had conspired to keep you separated.

"I'm sure I would've been more lovely if my personal hairdresser had helped," You teased lightly as you glanced over the treats, taking your time to enjoy being held against him. "But I have a nagging suspicion he was in on the surprise."

"Iruma explained how you had always celebrated your birthday with him, and never told him when your actual birthday was," He admitted, chin resting atop your head despite the decorative horns. "We -- Lord Sullivan, Senpai, and myself-- figured it would be best to continue the tradition. Especially considering you would likely refuse to tell us once you knew what it may entail."

You bit your lip out of reflex to hide your smile. "You three really do know me well, don't you?" Because he was right; once learning of Demonic Rites, and knowing Sullivan's own tendencies to spoil you, you would've kept your lips sealed.

Which was related in a way to why you never told Iruma which day you were born. You hadn't wanted the boy to give up more of his hard earned money on your behalf. Sharing his birthday had been a bit of a compromise in a way, so you both were able to celebrate each other while you could make sure he didn't use a lot of his meager funds on you.

"Both you and Iruma are completely selfless," He answered, squeezing you tighter. "To the point I really wish you two would have a bit more of a sense of self-preservation."

"So when exactly is your birthday?" You asked after a moment, making him chuckle at your poor attempt at changing the topic.

He squeezed you tighter, adjusting to nuzzle your neck gently; considering his mask was still in place. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

You laughed at that, leaning your head back and finally looking up at him. "I love you, Shichiro, but I know better than that."

A flash of surprise crossed his face and his grip tightened to the point of nearly taking your breath away. "...do you, really?"

You realized your slip. You had admitted to yourself - to others - your feelings, but never to him. And, well - for good reason from what you understood about demon culture.

But… screw it.

"Yes," You answered, twining your hands with his. "I really do love you."

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the look in his eye changing slightly. He guided you to turn in his arms so you were face to face, still holding you tight against him. "Demons, especially those who are courting," He continued, his voice threatening to become even huskier, "don't say those words freely, or lightly."

You had gleaned as much from the books you had read. Some said it freely to those they were crushing on, and during little flings. But once a demon entered courtship, the word became much more meaningful to their Intended.

And yes, you two had just started courting - and sometimes the courting period lasted several months to years - but there was no denying how you felt. He had come to mean so much to you, and you could easily imagine him being in every part of your life. Not just the romantic moments, but the mundane parts of life; like doing dishes, or chores (if Opera ever allowed that to happen again).

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you could face him eye to eye as you stood on your tiptoes. "I love you, Balam Shichiro. With all my heart. And I can't imagine being with anyone else but you."

Before you could blink, his hands cupped your backside and he lifted you up, your body pressed against his as you fought the urge to wrap your legs around his hips, knowing in your current dress that would be very inappropriate.

Shichiro's eyes were desperate in more than one way as he searched yours, undoubtedly using his bloodline ability to find a hint of a lie. "One more time?"

You couldn't help but smile before you cupped his face in your hands, meeting his dark eyes and holding his intense gaze. "I love you, Shichiro. And I'll say it as many times as you want me to."

If you weren't in a room full of students - as well as your father and Opera, (and you supposed Kalego as well) - you would have happily removed his mask to kiss him properly, but you knew he was self conscious of his scar and refrained. That, and you had a very good idea his self control was on the verge of slipping; as was yours, to be honest. One kiss would lead to more, and you knew you'd wouldn't want to stop.

"I love you too," He finally admitted as your words sunk in. "So, so much." There was a hint of desperation to his voice, which paired with the way his grip on you was more than just supporting you against his frame, but feeling the plush curve of your butt.

There was no denying the thoughts running through your head, or the yearning that filled your body. You bit your lip as your fingers as well as your gaze traveled down his neck, feeling the strong cords of muscle beneath. He wasn't wearing the collar of feathers, but instead a dark, high collared top that felt like velvet beneath your fingers.

It would be so easy to push it away and press your lips to the sensitive skin there and listen to him hold back a whimper and groan as you tortured him. The thought of reducing him to a whimpering mess always tempted you, making you bite your lip as your mind drifted into the gutter.

Shichiro said your name quietly, making it sound like a plea as you continued to rub the velvet cloth trying to feel his muscular shoulders beneath as you thought.

You met his gaze, which felt as hot and heavy as the feeling settling in your lower gut. You knew what you wanted to do - what you thought he wanted to do too - but were uncertain how to proceed. Or rather, hesitant to take that next step. Was it being too bold?

Screw it. Fortune favored the bold, right?

"Why…don't we slip away somewhere more private?" You asked hesitantly, your attempt to be quiet making you sound a bit more sultry than intended.

His grip tightened even more, and you felt a hint of something hard press against your stomach. Yet instead of eagerly agreeing or even just carrying you away, (as you may have thought about more than once in previous daydreams) he protested - but with obvious reluctance. "It's your Rite, and…"

"Is there an unwritten rule that I have to stay here when I'd rather be alone with you?" You asked. Because devi, your mind was fully in the gutter and the thought of trying to pretend you were totally not thinking such things while you tried to mingle with everyone else sounded like torture.

And not the pleasant kind. The kind you hoped waited for you in the near future.

"Well, no," He admitted after a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But would you really rather sneak away with me than stay and celebrate?"

Devi, how could a demon be so pure? "One hundred percent yes," You replied firmly before boldly adding on: "To the point I don't care where we go, as long as it's somewhere private and we won't be disturbed." Because hell or heaven help you if you couldn't at least get him half-undressed so you could explore his body with both your hands and lips. It was taking every bit of your self control as it was, with those thoughts running in your mind while being braced against him, the growing firmness pressing against you left little doubt he was having similar thoughts.

There was a moment of silence as his gaze became distant and unfocused, his cheeks turning bright red."Shichiro…?" You called softly after the moment stretched on. He snapped out of his thoughts, though his cheeks stained red even more.

"I, uh, well, I-I have been wondering if you would like to, um, come to my home? I've been working on my nest…."

Oh. Oh. That was much more than finding a closet or unoccupied room. It was your turn to blush, your heart racing in anticipation as well as more than a little bit of anxiety.

You wanted to - you really wanted to - but you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. It had been such a long time - what felt like a lifetime to be honest - long before Iruma came into your life, since you had been with someone. And while kissing and petting had been second nature when it came to Shichiro….

Well, your daydreams hadn't quite prepared you for the real possibility.

Yet, again, you wanted to. And he was bound to be a more thoughtful lover than you had experienced before, demon or not.

After what felt like forever, you finally took the metaphorical step and nodded while biting your lip. "I-I would like that."

--- Short---

"They seriously don't think they're being subtle, right?" Soi sighed as he watched the two adults head towards the exit. Well, Balam walking somewhat stiffly with you cradled in his arms, your face red as a tomato but laughing.

Granted, his ability made disappearing easy, and also made it more noticeable when others tried to sneak off… but, still. That was about as obvious as anyone could be without making a loud announcement.

"Soi!" Leid jumped, startled by the demon's sudden presence. "You have got to stop doing that!"

"Are you talking about our two love bird teachers?" Elizabetta asked with a giggle, not as easily startled as their classmate. She also had noticed the pair, but was delighted by the turn of events. After all, their romance was something straight out of her own daydreams, making her hope even more that she would have a fairytale romance as well. "Aren't they adorable?"

"That's one word for it," Soi acknowledged, not as enamored with the situation as she was. "I might want to adjust my bet…"

"You and everyone else," Jazz agreed, summoned by the word 'bet'. He was already pulling out the notebook he was using to keep track of the massive pool going. "Lets see, are you wanting to change when you think their wedding day will be, or when Professor Balam will have mom knocked up?"

"Are you still taking bets?" Opera asked after overhearing the four students discuss their options. All four froze, glancing at the security demon and expecting a reaction much like Kalego's when he had found the betting during one of his lectures. (Granted, shortly after he had placed his own as well. He just didn't appreciate it being discussed during class.)

Instead, there was no anger behind Opera's placid expression, just simple curiosity.

"Er, yeah…." Jazz answered as Soi disappeared and both Elizabetta and Leid stepped away from the feline demon.

"Good. Both Lord Sullivan and myself would like to participate…"

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #suzuki iruma #misfits #balam shichiro x reader #balam/reader #balam shichiro #balam #lord sullivan #opera

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estellamiraiauthor · 7 months ago

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[Asking again because the old answers got deleted with your Twitter account.]

As most characters in The Stars May Rise and Fall are musicians, could you tell me each of them's backstory for their choice of instrument?

(Plus anything even not exactly related to the question you might think about while replying, because I just love to read about your characters. ♡)

OKAY! Thank you for the ask and I apologize in advance that I probably don’t remember all of the original answers… some are deep headcanons I’ve had forever but others are more prone to forgetfulness. So, in order of least important to most important (-ish):

Nao: Started playing the drums in high school, mostly because he just liked music and wanted to make it. His parents pretty much supported his dream… no real drama here!

Bara: I think he did genuinely like the visual kei aesthetic but it was always more about looking like a rock star than really being one. He knew he was hot and learning an instrument seemed hard so he decided to sing… I don’t imagine he stuck with it for long after the La Rose debacle.

Seika: I think he saw in visual kei a place where it was safe to be himself (I.e. effeminate, but still undeniably male). A lot of bassists start out playing guitar, but I think Seika always wanted to play bass.. he saw a sensuality there that spoke to him and used it to balance out the stress he was trying to ignore that came from trying to be “normal” for his family.

Minori: A cousin gave him a guitar he’d bought on a whim and never made much progress with, and something stuck. He tried to keep it as a hobby for a long time but finally got up the nerve to tell his parents he wanted to go to music school after high school.

Yasu: Honestly just picked up the guitar because he thought it would get him girls, and then turned out to actually be good at it! Very much a total coincidence that turned out to be fate.

Teru: Yasu asked him to join his band in high school, and Teru started playing the drums because the band didn’t have a drummer! Like Yasu, he loved music mostly as a fan but hadn’t really thought about what he wanted to do in the future. Playing the drums gave him an outlet for stress he didn’t really understand at the time (you’re queer, live, and in about a decade you’re going to love it!) and after about a year he decided that he wanted to make music his life. As far as singing, he probably never would’ve tried it professionally if he hadn’t met Rei, but had always been able to blow his classmates away at karaoke.

Rei: Rei plays/played multiple instruments but his real introduction to music was the piano. He was the sixth son in a very traditional patriarchal family, who had one older sister in addition to the five brothers. His sister was the closest to him in age and personality, and the piano was really hers—their very traditional parents would’ve seen music as something “decorative” for a woman to do, not something that would lead to a career. His sister died when he was seven years old, and not long after, his younger sister (his parents’ last child) was born. Between the grief over losing her first daughter and the new baby, Rei’s mother basically ignored him, and his father didn’t have any need for a somewhat effeminate sixth son who had no interest in learning the family trade. His mother didn’t want him to use the piano because it reminded her of the daughter she’d lost, but Rei would sneak into the room and play when she wasn’t home… He left home at 16, took the local train 16 hours to Tokyo, and learned all of those other instruments just because he needed to to make the music that would allow him to express himself, but the piano was the start of it all.

#the stars may rise and fall #asks #answered asks #writing #backstory #ocs #my ocs #sorry Rei’s is so long he’s my favorite and I’m not even going to pretend otherwise #torturing my characters

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shwoo · 2 years ago

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I said I wouldn't post this Clumby fic until I finished a different, unrelated Bugsnax fic, but... I got impatient, and the other story is much longer, and not getting finished for a while. So here it is!

Title: Clumby Comes Round Summary: One of Clumby's employees comes to her with a new lead, bringing back memories that she can't let slip, and can't seem to keep buried. Or, the opening scene of Bugsnax from Clumby's perspective. (Also on AO3)

All Clumby wanted to be doing right now was working on her memoirs. These days, the only substantial writing that her actual job required was the weekly editorial, and she'd finished that off by Monday lunchtime. The rest was boring logistical things, or revisions for newbies, most of whom had seemingly got all the way through journalism school without once hearing about commas.

Her memoirs had all kinds of minor classified things scattered through them, to see if the Snakolytes would notice. And to make extra work for them if they did. Usually, when something tedious came up, they just "hired" some desperate kid and got them to do it, while also paying the organisation for the privilege, but that wasn't going to work here. Either they let their new hire in on all their stupidest secrets, or they did all the work themselves.

Whatever happened, it might be mildly interesting. Clumby hoped.

Was it really only Thursday? She'd just got to a particularly satisfying bit about an ex-girlfriend, and she was itching to get into the details of the breakup. But she couldn't, and she couldn't get anything else done at the moment, because one of her reporters was coming in at four to give a pitch. She had plenty of terrible pitches to sort through already, but they'd insisted this one had to be in person. They'd been handed an amazing lead, they'd said.

It had better not be more long shot cryptid nonsense. Theobe had been one of the more promising new reporters when she'd hired them, and they did, at least, know what a comma was. They wrote fairly well, actually, and their interviews were quite thorough and professional. They'd once said that they'd spent a lot of time studying her technique, and, well… She wasn't immune to flattery.

The problem was that it had been years, and they were still only promising. All they ever wanted to write about was UFO sightings or the Loch Grùimp Monster or something equally pointless, and it wasn't even that they were particularly gullible, or prone to making things up. They were just fascinated by the unknown. So their stories tended to end up with wishy-washy "or is it?" conclusions. Eventually, she'd had to tell them that uncertainty didn't sell papers. But they'd… misunderstood.

Clumby had to hope that Theobe had got it after their last discussion. This time, she'd told them explicitly: They needed to find more grounded stories, with a broader appeal. They could write the occasional piece about haunted convention halls if they really wanted, but they needed to focus on topics that readers actually cared about. Things that didn't make them feel like they'd just wasted the last ten minutes of their life.

Speaking of wasting ten minutes of her life… the clock was about to tick over to four.

As soon as it did, there was a hammering on the door. Clumby sighed. "Come in."

Theobe hurried through the door, with a chunky file folder under their arm. They looked excited, and it was going to be hard to fire them when it turned out they hadn't learned a thing from the Grumpfoot debacle. Clumby didn't actually like firing people, but she also didn't like having to constantly babysit a grown Grumpus who didn't seem to understand their own job description. She had a paper to run, and as often as she wished it was some other dupe's responsibility, the newspaper was one of the few things she still had control over.

"Waiting in the hall again?" she said. They definitely weren't lacking in the passion department. That, she could understand.

Theobe dropped the folder on her desk, and said "This is from a a famous explorer. She sent it directly to me. And if it's real, it's the story of the century!"

"If it's real, huh?" said Clumby. That wasn't promising. With her luck, the "famous" explorer was probably Lizbert.

She glanced down at the folder, saw the word Bugsnax, and felt her stomach drop. Of course. Why would anything ever go right for her? Or any less than the worst way possible?

"I'll show you the film," Theobe continued, pulling a reel out of the folder. They sounded almost starstruck. They obviously hadn't been contacted by name very often. It was always an ego boost, but eventually you learned the difference between good decisions, and decisions that made you feel good. If Theobe was smart here, maybe they'd last long enough to learn that distinction for themself.

With a different newspaper, though. They obviously couldn't be allowed to write about Bugsnax in any case, but unless there was very, very clear evidence in that folder, they'd just used up their last chance with the usual pseudoscientific nonsense.

Or so she'd probably believe, if she didn't know better.

Theobe was setting up Clumby's projector, and Clumby realised that it was going to look weird if she didn't have anything to say. So she managed a "This better be good," as the projector stuttered to life.

They'd threaded the film leader to skip over the countdown, and the sight of the Snaktooth landscape hit Clumby like a truck. Every time, she thought it had been long enough, but even without colour, there it was. There were those squat, round bushes, and the tall purple flowers in the background. Lupins, Zobë had said. They were obviously somewhere in the southeast of the island, in the lowland forest.

Clumby noticed she was grimacing, and rearranged her face into something vaguely bored. Though she doubted Theobe would think to look at her before the movie was over. They already seemed entranced, even though they must have seen all this before.

Lizbert was there on the screen, talking confidently like she thought she was going to survive to see her next birthday. She'd barely started introducing herself when her long-term girlfriend, Eggabell, appeared in frame to interrupt her. Clumby rolled her eyes. So she had a girlfriend. So they'd probably be married by now if either of them believed in marriage. What did she want, a medal?

After a short exchange, Lizbert got back on topic, though she was still waffling. She said something about her "followers", and Clumby snorted. That kind of thing just led to… caves in the snow. Empty caves. With two sets of pawprints going in, and one coming out, and it was still snowing so the outgoing pawprints with the cane indents faded away before it could even begin to be possible to follow them.

Clumby tried to ground herself in reality. Unfortunately, the reality was that she was stuck watching a film shot on Snaktooth Island. Reality was not giving her any breaks at the moment.

They were definitely on the outskirts of the forest. Probably near the beach, just before all the columnar basalt. Clumby had actually learned that term from Gramble, come to think of it. He'd claimed that the rock on the beach might actually be made of something else, but he'd never figured out what, and now he was up on the mountain peak, probably forever.

Lizbert's expedition also had a Gramble, though they didn't have much in common outside of a name. He wasn't in this panning shot, though Clumby did see Snorpy for a second. Weird that he'd let himself appear on film at all, but he'd never been as observant as he thought he was.

Also visible were Filbo, Wambus, Cromdo, and Chandlo, and it occurred to Clumby that this was probably the last footage of them alive. She couldn't see any modified limbs on them so far, but it was only a matter of time, and then Clumby was going to have to figure out how to take the film from Theobe without looking suspicious.

Now Lizbert and Eggabell were talking up how great Bugsnax were. Yeah, they were great. Suspiciously great. Maybe they should have thought a bit more about why that might be. Clumby had heard speculation that Bugsnax were somehow capable of suppressing their targets' critical thinking skills, but she'd always had her doubts about that one. She was pretty sure most people were just that stupid.

Something darted across the screen, too quickly to make out, which Eggabell identified as a Bugsnak. Clumby identified it as more work for Clumby.

They were acting so cheerful. Like Zobë had, just before she'd stopped being Zobë. She'd said "Huh, you're right," and then Clumby had said something, and then Zobë had said "Are you ready? It's time to find out!"

Clumby tried to bring her attention back before her brain could repeat the entire death reel, but now Lizbert was just massaging Theobe's ego. No wonder they were so excited. While the Soylent Grump story Lizbert mentioned probably did deserve the praise, Lizbert had no idea how lucky Theobe had been to stumble across it in the first place.

As for The Shadow of Grumpfoot… Clearly, Snaktooth Island was a little behind on the breaking news front. Zobë's arm had come off in her hand. Clumby had thought the Bugsnax were just wearing off somehow, and then Zobë's nose had fallen off, and Clumby had tried to help and Zobë's arm… Her plasticky, lollipop arm… She needed to think of something else.

No, she needed to pay attention to the film.

Which had just blinked off. Clumby made sure she still looked bored, and tried to work out the least suspicious way to react. Disinterest, maybe frustration that they were still going this route instead of listening to her. That shouldn't be hard, because she was very frustrated.

Theobe was looking at her. "So?"

She'd waited too long. She should have thought about all this while the movie was playing, but she'd let herself get lost in memories instead. "Wow," she said, to give herself a little more time. Right. Frustration. Still chasing the same terrible stories. Piling more work on her. That was it. "That's your new lead? Another monster hunt?!"

Theobe folded their arms. "What's wrong with that?"

Really? "Do you have any idea the trouble you've caused me?" Clumby demanded, thumping her desk. "I had to recall half a billion papers, and give a public apology! All because your Grumpfoot turned out to be a lost football mascot!"

Did they know that? Because they didn't act like it. Maybe repeating it a few more times would get it through their skull.

Theobe looked a little taken aback. "Uh…"

She was coming across a bit strong, maybe. It was annoying to have to tell someone the same thing over and over and over again, and it wasn't clear if they honestly thought there was a way to do a story like this without making a mess of things, or they just never thought about anyone other than themself. But none of that was quite desk-slammingly annoying. That film had really rattled her.

"Look," said Theobe. "Grumpfoot was a, erm, a mistake, but I told you, it's not gonna happen again. You saw the film! Readers are gonna buy it no matter how I end it! I thought you wanted something showy."

"We've been over this," said Clumby. Convenient how they had perfect recall of all the things they'd said to her, but none of what she'd said to them. "It doesn't matter how eye-catching your articles are, if I'm stuck cleaning up your sloppy work! You are already out of second chances!"

From the stubborn look on Theobe's face, she still hadn't got through to them. She'd practically just told them they were already fired, and they didn't seem to have picked up on that, either. She knew they could be more observant than this. She'd read their work.

Frustrated, she thumped her desk again. "And now you're gonna follow Elizabert to some grumpforsaken island?!" And throw their life away on some stupid obsession with the unknown?

And was she just going to let them?

"Elizabert Megafig is a respected explorer--" began Theobe.

"Elizabert Megafig is either a con artist, or a lunatic!" Clumby interrupted. "Remember that whole mess with Grumplantis? This Bugsnax thing is just her latest delusion."

It was convenient that Lizbert was already disgraced, but you had to be a little desperate to go to Snaktooth Island in the first place. Even Bronica had been desperate for a different reason.

Theobe shrugged. "So she had some bad luck. She would have never gotten so much press if it weren't for her track record! It's not the first time she made the news. You remember that, right?"

Clumby rolled her eyes. "She got a little famous after stumbling across some forgotten civilisation in Grumpsylvania. She's been coasting off that success ever since."

Lizbert actually was a little more accomplished than her recent failures had suggested. But not much, and there was no way Clumby would have remembered that if she hadn't read up on her recently.

"She was onto something then, and she's onto something now," Theobe insisted. "What do you have against Snaktooth Island, anyway?"

There were so many ways to answer that, and so few things she could actually say. Frustrated, Clumby gave her desk another whack, and yelled "Do your research! Ships go missing there all the time." All the ways the island could kill a Grumpus flashed through her head, and she added "The place is like me before I get my coffee. Deadly."

She hadn't seen the cave-in that had killed Chonker, but Samly had, and she'd very been able to see their face. And it had been an avalanche that had finished off Gramble. She'd still been at the final camp on the lower slopes of the mountain, but Jamfoot had given her the details later. And she knew it was the truth, because he'd said it casually, and then hesitated and apologised.

Theobe opened up the Bugsnax folder and waved some photos at her. They were blurry and hard to make out, but Clumby thought she could see some Strabbies. Or just as likely, some normal strawberries with the perspective cheated. "The proof is right here! Why don't you believe in Bugsnax?" they said, a little desperately.

"Because I've got a working brain," said Clumby, with much less bitterness than she felt. Theobe's tone was encouraging, though. Maybe they were about to see sense.

Theobe started to say something else, changed their mind, and put the photos back. "I don't know what else to tell you. I'm going." They folded their arms again.

"This is absurd!" Clumby burst out. "Only a desperate loser would follow Lizbert."

She put her head in her hands and tried to think. She also tried not to remember Samly's scarf on top of that little pile of snow. There'd been a spoon sticking out of it.

Completely upright, somehow.

Nothing she said was getting through, she wasn't allowed to say the truly convincing parts, and all that was left to do was fire them and be done with it.

But, she realised, that would just make things worse. Because she was right. Theobe was doing something that only a desperate loser would do, because their refusal to see sense had made them into one, and they thought Bugsnax were their way out. If she fired them, they'd just go as a freelancer, and end up just as dead. Or even deader, because the Bugsnax were great at exploiting desperation. That pop singer with the one hit wonder… Wiggle Wigglebottom, that one… She'd probably been dead before Theobe had even checked their mail.

She could tell them the truth, but even if they believed her, it would get them both disappeared, at best. As usual, any choice Clumby thought she had was an illusion.

Actually, she did have one choice. Theobe could die knowing they'd lost their job, or… they could die thinking they still had one. If she couldn't stop them from running off to their death, she could at least do them that kindness.

Besides, it wasn't impossible that Theobe would bring this to a different news outlet, one with laxer editing standards and nobody the Snakolytes had pressured into the top job yet. And that was an unacceptable risk. From an ethical perspective, too. It would be really funny, but… no. Bad idea.

Clumby looked up, and tried to smile. "Well, it is a tantalising story if true. We'll just have to hear it from Lizbert herself."

Now she was going to have to prepare an addendum on the Lizbert report, and she'd thought she was done with it. At least she already knew all about Theobe's deal. Lizbert's expedition had a relatively high proportion of grumps of interest to the Snakolytes, and those hadn't been difficult to write on, but she'd had to cast a wide net for some of the others.

"Say you get an interview with her, and make it back alive," she continued, uncertainly. "You might just keep your job."

Though updating the report was really more of a formality. She was pretty sure that Jamfoot had, eventually, read the current version, but it was an uphill battle getting that grump to retain anything that didn't interest him personally.

She'd half-hoped that Theobe would notice her change of tune and see through it, but they just pumped their fist and grinned. They had definitely turned off their powers of observation for this meeting.

"Now get going!" said Clumby, trying not to let her nausea show. Now she had to say something insulting, so she sounded like herself. Just in case Theobe did regrow a brain cell or two. "And try not to fall off a cliff or something." That would have to do. Theobe had always had issues with falling off high places, even before they'd got themself killed on a living island that shook itself apart when it didn't get enough victims.

Theobe scooped up their folder and went to grab the film reel. "No promises!"

She was never going to see them again. She'd probably never even find out what had happened. Maybe she should doing do more to talk them out of it. Like even recruiting them, because despite all the downsides, and her promise to herself, they would at least be alive.

But why was she trying so hard to save them in the first place? She hadn't made an effort for Lizbert, or anyone who'd followed her, and all of them were equally as dead in the long run. The only difference was that she knew Theobe personally. And from that perspective, she'd done more than enough.

Yes, she could make herself believe that, if she didn't poke at her logic too hard.

"See you in a few months!" said Theobe, as they walked out the door.

Clumby put her head back in her hands, and muttered "What's another dead idiot?"

"What?" called Theobe, from the hallway.

Clumby raised her voice. "I said, what's another dead idiot!"

"Ha!" Theobe yelled back.

#Bugsnax #Clumby Clumbernut #Bugsnax journalist #fanfiction #Shwoo's writing #Characters who are bitter and depressed but still care to some extent my beloved #Clumby outwardly: (doing her mean editor thing)#Clumby inwardly: (endless screaming)#I legitimately increased the length of this story by 150% in editing #It's usually not that dramatic but clearly I can't shut up #I do know about commas but I'm not sure about full stops

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nickgerlich · 1 year ago

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Beer And Barbie

There is one thing I have learned from the Marketing gods through the years: “Hold my beer and watch this.” Just when I think I have seen everything—and I have been around long enough to have seen a lot—the Marketing gods remind me that the show has only just begun.

Take this year for example. Among the many Marketing challenges we have witnessed, anything to do with LGBTQ issues has found its way to headlines as well as board rooms. The Bud Light debacle last April over creating a one-off beer can given to trans influencer Dylan Mulvaney blew up in their face, and parent company AB-InBev has seen sales erode 10% in the US, with operating profit dropping 30%.

A huge conservative-led boycott ensued, with rock star Kid Rock leading the brigade when video was released showing him destroying cases of Bud Light. Of course, his credibility has come into question the last few days after he was allegedly spotted drinking a Bud Light in public. Sure, it could be a deep fake, but I haven’t heard any denials.

Regardless, the Budweiser brand must wrestle with the fact that they lost their Number One ranking to Modelo Beer. Never mind that they have issued rainbow Bud Light aluminum bottles for several years prior. Endorsing a trans star was apparently the last sip…I mean straw.

And then there’s Target, the mass merchandising retail chain that has supported Pride Month for years, but this year did it in a little more showy way. They once again offered a variety of Pride-themed merchandise, from cards, decor, and games, to dresses and skirts. They also sold a bathing suit that was tuck-friendly. But rumors persisted that Target was also “targeting” (my bad) youth with tuck-friendly bathing attire as well, which was not true. Some shoppers destroyed displays in stores, and Target moved the seasonal display to farther back in the store, either in the Women’s Department, or all the way in the back.

To date, Target has witnessed its sales fall 5.4% since everything blew up, although it is difficult to attribute all of that to their support of the LGBTQ community. After all, US citizens were also vacationing overseas in the largest numbers since COVID.

There were others that were hit with criticism, even very conservative Cracker Barrel for their social media posts supporting Pride. As it turns out, many prominent companies showed some level of support for Pride Month, but went unnoticed. It’s here to stay, and no matter how many times people sing Jason Aldean’s “Try That In A Small Town” or Oliver Anthony’s “Rich Men North Of Richmond,” both of which have become anthemic in the conservative community, the ship has sailed.

It just may take a while for people to move from accepting gay to also accepting trans. That has proved to be a Big Gulp moment.

But wait, there’s more! Barbie has blown up the box office this summer with more than $1 billion in ticket sales. And, because it took on the patriarchy, it naturally rattled the sensibilities of some. Women loved it; I witnessed my own step-daughter getting all dressed up in pink to go see a movie. I asked her husband if he was going to dress as Ken, but he declined. The Marketers played up the movie as if Barbie were royalty; I even saw it being promoted heavily in Costa Rica. Sadly, some Middle Eastern nations have banned the movie because of its support for gays, not to mention the elevated role of women.

Back in the States, women took a lot of heat for dressing to the nines to watch a flick about the doll of their childhood, and the message therein also angered some. I’m looking at you, Bud Light-boycotting folks. I’m thinking insecure grumpy old men (which I try not to be) who can’t handle change as well as equality for women. I could have sworn we settled that issue decades ago, but maybe not.

In fact, last week while walking to AT&T Stadium in Arlington for a Dallas Cowboys preseason game, I photographed a gaggle of males all duded up in Cowboys jerseys. My oldest daughter saw it first. “Dad! Take a picture and post it!” I did. Apparently it’s OK for guys to dress up for a game, but not women for a movie. Go figure.

In the middle of all of these storms is social media, the force with which we all must reckon. We must know how to leverage it, but also know how to deal with it when the fallout deepens. Any Marketer who buries its head in the sand is destined to be pummeled in the arena of public hatred.

As always, YMMV on these matters, and I respect my students and their beliefs regardless. We don’t have to agree on everything, and you certainly do not have to agree with me. Just be able to support your claims, that’s all I ask.

Meanwhile, the imperative for us all as Marketers is clear: Be careful. Be very careful. In these highly contentious times, it is now a given that you will upset at least some of the people most of the time. How you handle that will determine how many stripes you wear on your sleeves.

Dr “Fasten Your Seat Belts” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #retail #social media #Pride Month #Barbie #Bud Light #Target

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keywestlou · 2 years ago

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HOMOSEXUALITY IS NOT A CRIME, WE’RE ALL GOD’S CHILDREN…..POPE FRANCIS

HOMOSEXUALITY IS NOT A CRIME, WE’RE ALL GOD’S CHILDREN…..POPE FRANCIS - https://keywestlou.com/homosexuality-is-not-a-crime-were-all-gods-children-pope-francis/In an interview with the Associated Press, Pope Francis criticized laws criminalizing homosexuality and called on bishops to welcome LGBTQ people. Francis said, "Homosexuality is not a crime, we're all children of God." I knew little of Ticketmaster prior to its fiasco here in Key West with ticket sales for the Jimmy Buffett event. What I am learning is an eye opener. Ticketmaster is an American ticket sales and distribution company whose business is world wide. I wrote yesterday how horrible the price of the Buffet tickets have become. Prices shooting up like a rocket to the moon. Turns out yesterday the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee held a 3 hour hearing re Ticketmaster and Live Nation the company it merged with in 2010. The purpose of the hearing was to examine Ticketmaster's selling methods in the wake of last year's Taylor Swift debacle. The hearing was bipartisan. Truly so. Been years since any hearing can be described as such. Such reflects how sensitive and horrific Ticketmaster's actions are considered. Senators from both sides were highly critical of Ticketmaster, suggesting it is a monopoly and probed whether a lack of competition in the ticketing industry had unfairly hurt customers. The questioning was "blistering." Sen. Richard Blumenthal said Ticketmaster's merger partner Live Nation had "absolutely unified both parties." Something most have thought would never happen again. Today's Citizens' Voice had 2 comments relating to Ticketmaster. "How do these new music festivals during peak season, when hotels would be full anyway, benefit anyone but the organizer? Instead of taking tours, visiting local bars, music venues and restaurants, they are at the Amphitheater. Without the event, hotels would still be full and local businesses making money." "Coffee Butler Amphitheater is owned by the City of Key West and managed by Rams Head. The City needs to amend the management contract and direct Rams Head to sell tickets first to the residents of Key West (who own the venue) and then a day or two later can sell the remaining tickets." Key Westers are properly upset. The Jimmy Buffett show a screw job and rip off. When the amphitheater was in the planning stage, many questioned the value of one. Did Key West need one? Especially large enough to handle an attendance of 3,500. Greed took over. At which point the amphitheater was made to look like the second coming of Christ. Ben Harrison's new musical showcases an all star band. Harrison's event "El Isleno 1921: The Untold Key West Story" runs at the Fringe Theater 2/15-2/25. Local buzz is to the effect the show is exceptional. Opening night is already sold out. Money floating in Keys waters! Yesterday, 140 pounds of cocaine washed up on Lower Keys shores. Estimated value $2 million. Discovery of documents remind me of the religious song Onward Christian Soldiers. They keep popping up. Always more. Never ending. First it was Trump. Then Biden. Yesterday Pence. This morning Carter. Carter returned them immediately and apparently nothing intentional was involved. Who is next? I can see Obama, Bush, etc. All of them! The problem, except for Trump, appears to be innocent mistake. Except for Trump, all others returned on discovery. Germany has agreed to send Leopard 2 tanks to Ukraine. Word is Biden will announce at noon today the U.S. will send Abrams tanks. There has been a steady increase in military hardware to the Ukraine over the past year. Next war item are planes. Do the tanks, and planes if so, supplied by NATO forces make the creep towards a war with Russia an actual leap into outright combat? We keep getting closer. Speaker McCarthy refuses to reappoint Reps. Schiff and Swalwell to the House Intelligence Committee. McCarthy says his decision is "not anything political, integrity matters." What a joke! Blatant lie and bullshit on its face. The real reason is twofold. Both men sat on the January 6 Committee and are anti-Trump. The other is Marjorie Taylor Greene. McCarthy is giving her her pound of flesh. McCarthy's decision political retribution at its worst. Enjoy your day!

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flightfoot · 4 years ago

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Perspective From Another Timeline

Thanks to my betas @steelblaidd and Izzybusy!

I ADORE @buggachat new Bakery Enemies AU. This idea just kept on swirling through my head, I had to write it! This is set between parts 13 and 14, so after Adrien meets Alya and Nino but before Marinette starts sympathizing with him. AO3

---------

“You okay?”

Alya shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’ll be fine. I’ve weathered worse than that - we both have.”

Nino grinned at her. “True that.”

Alya smiled at him fondly, remembering Heroes Day. It was a bittersweet memory, with her having been turned against Nino and them both being akumatized.

But they had fought to protect each other as best they could. She’d seen Prime Queen’s footage, how Carapace had struggled to get her to fight against Dark Cupid’s magic, how he’d only given into despair after she’d given into akumatization.

“What did that blast do to us?” Nino wondered. “Everyone else the akuma blasted just disappeared. Why’re we still here?”

Alya’s brow furrowed. “I dunno… hold on, let me check to see whether any new info on the akuma’s been uploaded.”

Pulling out her phone, she tapped on the Akuma News Alert app.

An error message popped up, telling her that she had no internet connection.

Puzzled, Alya checked her phone’s other settings.

No wifi - no wifi even recognized, much less connectable - no cell service, no connection to the outside world at all.

She glanced over at Nino. “Hey, you got any signal?”

Taking out his own phone, he quickly checked his connection. He shook his head. “Not a single bar.”

Frowning, Alya looked around. “Maybe all the cell towers were taken out?”

Everything looked intact though, no sign of any destruction at all.

Something else caught Alya’s eye. “Hey Nino, what time should it be?”

Nino blinked. “Well I mean lunch just started so it should be a little past noon-”

He glanced around, noticing the long shadows and the pinkish-orange of the evening sky.

“-which it clearly is not anymore,” he concluded.

Great. “Guess Ladybug and Chat Noir must’ve taken a while to defeat the akuma,” she said, putting her phone away. “Hopefully my parents aren’t too worried. They like me to text them just after an akuma attack, but right now…?” she gestured to her pocket.

“My folks aren’t as worried,” Nino said. “But they still expect me back home before the sun goes down. They’ll be getting nervous soon.”

Alya let out a small sigh. “So much for playing Super Penguino together.”

“Hmmm…” Nino’s eyes gleamed. “You know… it’s not night just yet. And I’m sure my parents would understand if I was a few minutes late because I grabbed a bite to eat.”

Grabbed a bite to eat? What was Nino hinting at…?

Alya looked around at their location more closely.

Wait… that blast seemed to have carried them to that one park, the one near-

Alya grinned. “I think my parents will forgive me for not calling in if I bring them fresh-baked treats from the best bakery in Paris.”

---

*ring ring*

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the store.

Instantly Alya felt her shoulders loosen up, releasing tension she didn’t even know she’d had. There was just something so warm and comforting about the bakery.

Of course, a lot of that was due to the people running it. Good luck finding more friendly, caring people than Marinette’s parents. Sabine often checked up on anyone who seemed to be struggling or upset (and ready to protect them if they were - Alya had seen the video of the time a TV crew decided to invade Marinette’s privacy), and Tom was basically a giant teddy bear in human form.

But neither of them were manning the counter today.

Instead a young woman stared back at them.

A very familiar-looking young woman.

“Marinette?” Alya asked cautiously.

The woman stared at her for a minute. “Alya?” she finally asked. “What happened to you?” She paled. “Did a new supervillain attack? Is that why you and Nino are younger?”

Huh. Weirdly scared reaction from Marinette. They’d all gotten used to supervillains by now. She’d expect an older Marinette to take them in stride even more than the current Marinette.

Hm… an older Marinette, a different time of day, and Marinette not seeming to know about the latest akuma attack?

“Marinette… what year is it?”

Marinette blinked for a moment. Her eyes widened.

Seemed Marinette understood what she was getting at.

She told Alya the date.

Her hunch was right. “We’re in the future,” Alya breathed.

A wicked grin slowly spread over her face.

Five years was a long time. A lot of things could have happened. A lot of information could’ve come to light.

Like Hawkmoth’s identity.

Or more information on the Miraculous.

But most importantly right now-

She leaned in close to Marinette, making sure to keep her voice down, just in case someone else was around in the back. “So did you ever get together with a certain blond-haired, green-eyed model?”

“Uh… what?” Marinette asked, looking puzzled.

Alya snapped her fingers. “Adrien. Did you and Adrien finally get together? Ooooh, if you did you’ve GOTTA tell me how the confession went! Or, no, wait, don’t tell me, I want to get the deets at the time. Just let me know how long I’ve got to wait, girl!”

Marinette just stared at her, slack-jawed. “Adrien… like ADRIEN AGRESTE?!” she said, her volume rising with every word.

Alya’s eyebrows flew up. “Um… yes…?”

She’d thought that Marinette would be glowing about finally getting together with her crush, or dejected about still not being able to spit out what she wanted to say to him, downcast over him rejecting her, or maybe even infuriated because he mistreated her and they subsequently broke up.

(The last one was VERY unlikely though. After the Felix debacle, she’d learned to have a bit more faith in Adrien’s good nature.)

Shock at the concept of dating him? Not something she’d anticipated.

Footsteps echoed from behind Marinette.

So one of Marinette’s parents must’ve been in the back-

Adrien popped his head around the corner.

Seemed both he AND Marinette had aged well.

Not that Adrien looked all that different. Taller, definitely, maybe with slightly messier hair and… were those earrings? They looked good on him.

“Hey dude!” Nino waved at his best friend. “What’s up?”

“Uh…” Adrien said, scratching the back of his neck.

“WOW those outfits really take the years off, huh?” Marinette said loudly, shoving them out the door. “Make you look smaller than usual. Well we better go talk about plans later okaybye-”

She promptly slammed the door behind them, physically pushing them away from the bakery.

After Marinette had dragged them a good distance away, Alya finally got over her shock, turning around and glaring at her. “What was that about?!” she asked Marinette indignantly, hands on her hips. “You know me, I wasn’t going to spill anything to him. That’s why I was talking so quietly! Why’d you have to do that?!”

Nino frowned, seeming more concerned than annoyed. “Adrien looked really hurt by that. Not cool.”

“There’s nothing to spill!” Marinette protested, gesticulating wildly. “I only met him for the first time two days ago!”

*record scratch*

Two-

Two DAYS ago?!

Ok, hold up.

“Adrien joined our collège class the day after I did! He sits in front of you in class! What’re you TALKING about?!”

“Uh… no…?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, befuddled. “I think I would remember that, even if it was a few years back.”

Alya let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, no kidding. He would be uh, difficult for you to forget. Heck, even if your memory was erased, you’ve got so much stuff revolving around him, I couldn’t see that lasting long.”

Marinette blushed. “Why do you think I have a crush on him?! He’s HAWKMOTH’S SON!”

“WHAT?!” Alya and Nino yelled in unison.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth a couple years ago,” Marinette explained, pulling out her phone.

A moment later she held it up, showing a blog post from the Ladyblog.

Oooh, that’s a nice graphical design. I’ll have to look into updating my site, Alya thought.

Turning her attention to the picture, she squinted. “Hey, can you enlarge the photo?” She asked.

Marinette complied, enlarging it and turning her phone sideways, letting it fill the entire screen.

Gabriel Agreste being led away in handcuffs by the police, with Ladybug and Chat Noir in the background. Ladybug looked satisfied, with maybe a twinge of melancholy, but Chat Noir…

He stared vacantly ahead, seemingly not focused on anyone or anything, a smile on his face - but the most forced one she’d ever seen.

“What’s wrong with Chat Noir?”

Marinette frowned, looking troubled. “I don’t know. He seemed really, really upset when Hawkmoth was defeated. It was a tough battle, bad enough that neither of them have returned since, but that doesn’t explain why-”

She trailed off, lost in thought.

A moment later she looked up, meeting Alya’s eyes.

Immediately she waved her hands around, trying to ward off… something. “I- I mean, that’s what I read on the Ladyblog and what I could piece together from video footage, it’s not like I was there, NOPE. I was huddled in my room the entire time. Not like I have any insight into what Chat Noir was acting like during the battle, not beyond what any other civilian would know! That would be ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” she let out a few forced guffaws.

Alya’s eyebrows flew up.

O...Kay…?

Maybe Marinette had been following Ladybug and Chat Noir during the final battle and hadn’t wanted anyone to know? She’d wondered whether Marinette might have a thing for Chat Noir, but her crush on Adrien dwarfed any feelings she might have had for him. Plus it’s not like Marinette would actually know Chat Noir, unlike Adrien.

Thinking about Adrien…

“He must’ve been devastated,” she murmured. Marinette looked at her questioningly. “Adrien, I mean,” Alya clarified. “Having your father turn out to be a terrorist? I can’t even imagine.”

Marinette buried her face in her hands. “Not you TOO,” she said, her voice muffled.

Nino slowly started edging his way behind Marinette.

“What’s your problem with Adrien?” Alya asked. “Did he do something?”

Marinette glanced away. “Not… exactly… I just… I’m afraid that it might all be an act. That he might’ve been helping Hawkmoth secretly, and… and even if he wasn’t before, that he might just be biding his time, waiting until he figures out who Ladybug and Chat Noir and then BAM!” she slammed her fist down on her other hand. “He takes them out, steals all the Miraculous, frees his father and rules Paris FOREVER!”

Alya reached out towards Marinette tentatively. She collapsed into Alya’s arms.

Hugging her tightly, she sang a soft nonsense song, rubbing small circles in Marinette’s back.

She’d done this a few other times since she’d met Marinette, though she’d never thought she’d do it underneath these circumstances.

Whatever these circumstances actually were.

Did everyone have amnesia or…?

“Do you have any big memory gaps?” Alya asked once Marinette’s breathing had calmed down. “Especially from five years ago?”

Marinette shook her head.

She’d shelve that theory for now then. More likely it was…

“An alternate timeline, huh?” Alya said.

Marinette looked up at her questioningly.

“That’s what I think this is,” Alya explained. “I WAS thinking that maybe there’d been some sort of mass amnesia, but if you don’t have any memory gaps - and trust me girl, with how involved you were with Adrien, there WOULD be memory gaps - that seems unlikely. I’m betting this is some sort of alternate universe, one where Adrien never got to go to school.”

“I still don’t get why you think there’s something between me and Adrien!” Marinette said. “I mean sure, he’s pretty, but did I really fall for him just for that?”

Alya shook her head. “Actually, you hated him at first. Chloe’d been bragging about how he was her friend, and with that on top of you catching him trying to remove the gum Chloe’d planted on your seat and mistaking it for him PLANTING the gum… well… both of us just assumed he was a spoiled rich bully, just like Chloe. Luckily that turned out not to be the case.”

“How’d that misunderstanding get cleared up?” Marinette asked. “And how did your Marinette jump from that to crushing on him?”

Alya grinned. Marinette had ranted about this moment to her SO. MANY. TIMES.

“School let out later that day. It was raining and Marinette had forgotten her umbrella, so she hung back a moment, long enough for Adrien to approach her. At first she looked away from him, not wanting to acknowledge his greeting. But then he told you - told her I mean - that he hadn’t done it, promised that he’d just been trying to take it off with such sincerity that she had no choice but to believe it. He opened up to her, even though she’d been shunning him just moments ago. And finally he gave her his umbrella, just because he could. Because it was the kind thing to do. She’s been a goner ever since.”

The Marinette in her arms looked away. “I can see why she might have developed a crush on him. But I still dunno whether I trust him.”

“I don’t know whether I have anything that could convince you on that,” Alya admitted, “especially since this is probably a different timeline, and for all I know he could be evil here. Just make sure that you’re judging him on his own merits, okay? Not who he’s associated with. Not his fault he has so many crappy people in his life.”

“I’ll… take it under consideration,” Marinette said reluctantly.

Marinette looked from side to side. “Where’d Nino go?”

“Oh, he snuck back into the bakery several minutes ago.”

“WHAT?!”

---

Nino opened the door to the bakery, letting out a small sigh of relief. He really wanted to check in on his best friend, and judging by Marinette’s behavior, she wasn’t exactly keen on him or Alya chatting with Adrien.

Thinking back on what he’d just heard, he frowned.

He wished he could say that he’d never have suspected that Gabriel was Hawkmoth.

That he didn’t think Adrien’s old man could ever be capable of such evil.

But he knew better.

The guy threatened to withdraw Adrien from school and isolate him from everyone else at the drop of a hat, paid little attention to his son when he was at home, and was a very negative influence on his life in general. He might have been grieving, but… so was Adrien. He needed the only parent he had left.

And instead Gabriel had chosen to respond by becoming a supervillain and terrorizing Paris, endangering his own son in the process.

He really wished he’d gotten to hit Hawkmoth with his turtle shield more. At least he got to relish the smack he got in.

“You’re back!”

Nino looked towards the voice.

Adrien walked closer to him, a tentative grin on his face. “I didn’t think you’d return so soon!”

“I had to come back to talk to my best friend,” Nino said.

“Best friend?” Adrien asked, blank-faced.

Oh, right. According to Marinette, Adrien hadn’t joined their class. She hadn’t even met Adrien until recently.

Had some sort of memory-wiping akuma attacked? Wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Do you know who I am?” Nino asked, pointing at himself.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… well I know you’re friends with the Ladyblogger and Marinette, and… sorry, that’s it.”

He looked really apologetic, like a dog who’d ripped up a bunch of toilet paper and acted guilty about it once caught.

Hm. If it had been a memory-erasing akuma, maybe he could jog Adrien’s memory…?

And even if it wasn’t, he wanted to let Adrien know that someplace, somewhere, people cared about him. If Marinette’s reaction to him was any indication, he’d need that reassurance. Being looked at with suspicion, having people run from you just because of who your dad was, thinking that you might’ve been involved in his crimes… he couldn’t imagine.

“You joined our class the day after Hawkmoth first attacked,” Nino told him, pulling out his phone.

Adrien shook his head, looking confused. “Uh… no? I wanted to, I REALLY wanted to go to school, but Father-”

He cut himself off, looking away.

“Marinette said the same thing,” Nino told him. “That you hadn’t enrolled in our class, that she’d only met you recently. I don't know what that’s about, whether everyone’s memories were wiped, or an akuma messed with the past, or what.”

Come on, come on, where was it- ah!

He clicked on a photo, one taken a few months ago, holding his phone up so his friend could get a better look.

Adrien squinted for a moment. His eyes widened. “That’s-!”

Nino nodded. “Our class photo. The official one, anyway.” He chuckled. “I liked our unofficial ones better.” Swiping to the side, he showed the new ones the class had taken at the park.

Adrien’s jaw dropped more with every new photo. He let out an involuntary bark of laughter at the one of himself, Nino, Kim, and Juleka posing. “I- I always wanted to mess around like that at photoshoots,” Adrien said. His voice trembled slightly. “But I wouldn’t be able to get away with it. And that’s mostly fun when you can share it with friends, at least share the picture, and I- I couldn’t. Chloe wouldn’t have appreciated it, and L-”

He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Luka?” Nino asked.

He didn’t know why Adrien would know Luka and not anybody else, but he seemed the most likely option.

“Uh…” Adrien scratched the back of his neck, looking away.

Hm, he’d have to see if he had- ah!

“You played in Kitty Section too, with Luka, Rose, Ivan, and Juleka.” Nino explained, clicking on the video.

Adrien’s hands shook as Nino handed him the phone, watching the mini-concert.

“I- I was allowed to- I got to-” Adrien’s voice quavered.

“Not at first.” Nino grimaced, remembering how bummed Adrien had sounded when he called him. “Your old man said that Agrestes were soloists, and that we were all bad influences.”

“HE was the bad influence,” Adrien said. A current of anger, of venom ran through his voice that Nino had never heard before.

“Well I already knew that, even before finding out he was Hawkmoth,” Nino said, making a face. “Dude needed to chill out.”

Adrien snorted. “If he had any ‘chill’ he wouldn’t have decided that becoming a supervillain was the best way to heal my mother.”

Oh.

So THAT was why Gabriel had done it.

He’d just thought it was standard ‘I’m an asshole and want to rule the world while being a jackass to everyone in my life’ behavior.

(He still wasn’t going to rule out that being a factor.)

Nino put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder sympathetically. “At least he’s gone now and you’re free, right?”

“Right,” Adrien said. He didn’t meet Nino’s eyes.

“Not you TOO,” Marinette had said, burying her face in her hands.

As if she found it exasperating that Alya sympathized with Adrien. As if she had expected differently.

Those worries she’d voiced as Nino had been tiptoeing away, about Adrien helping Hawkmoth, about him lying in wait, biding his time… Marinette probably wasn’t the only one to have that concern. And with Adrien’s face being as well-known as it was...

“You AREN’T free, are you?” Nino asked, eyes wide.

Adrien sighed. “I was as surprised as everyone else when I found out who Hawkmoth was. That someone who’s caused that much harm, that much trauma to this city, lived in my own house.” He clenched his fists, digging into his jean’s fabric. “I could barely believe it… no… I didn’t WANT to believe it.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I- I only remember snippets from right after his arrest. The police chief talking to me. Riding back to the station. It’s all a blur. Everything felt like I was processing it underwater. It was all so blurry and muffled. Even- even then, though, I could feel everyone’s accusing stares.” “I understand why, don’t get me wrong,” he cut in hurriedly. “Who wouldn’t be suspicious of the son of the terrorist who’s been making everyone’s life miserable for the past four years?” Adrien almost panted with exertion, his eyes wild. “And- and it was happening in my own house! Underneath my nose! I should have KNOWN! I could’ve stopped this!”

Reaching out, Nino pulled his friend into a hug.

Adrien stiffened for a moment, before melting into his embrace.

“It’s his fault, not yours,” Nino murmured. “Remember that, dude. He was the adult. He was your parent. Your ONLY remaining parent. I’ve met the guy. And I’ve heard you talk about what he’s like. If you had investigated more?” Nino shuddered, thinking about the disproportionate punishments the bastard had enacted. “And knowing he was HAWKMOTH on top of that? I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Yeah, maybe you could’ve ended things sooner. Or maybe he would’ve hurt you more before you had the chance. I’m just glad you survived.”

“I-” Adrien’s throat sounded tight. “I’m- I’m glad I survived too.”

They stood there for a moment, Nino feeling Adrien’s breath go in-and-out, his heartbeat racing, until it gradually started to slow.

*ring ring*

Adrien and Nino broke up their hug just as Marinette burst through the door, Alya on her heels. She skidded to a halt in front of Adrien - but not quite in time, sending her careening towards the floor.

She never made contact.

“Woah!” Adrien shouted, catching her in his arms.

Nino detected a hint of pink to Marinette’s cheeks before she abruptly sprang to her feet.

“So, uh,” Marinette said awkwardly. “I’m guessing Nino talked to you about some stuff. I mean, of course he talked to you about stuff, because that’s what talking is about. What- what I mean is, what were you two talking about?”

“I wanted to show him how much we care about him,” Nino told her. “Especially since with this… amnesia?”

“I think it’s an alternate timeline,” Alya said.

“Especially since in this timeline,” Nino continued, “it really doesn’t seem like he had anyone.”

“I had a couple other friends,” Adrien told him quietly, giving a melancholic smile. “But I lost contact with them right after Hawkmoth’s defeat.”

Noticing Nino’s frown, he hastily added, “they didn’t abandon me or anything! They were online friends. One moved somewhere without internet reception, and the other... we never knew each other’s names. But we talked all the time. We chatted, laughed, defeated villains together…”

“In the video games we played, of course!” he added after a moment. He chuckled fondly. “We played as a team. Together, we were unstoppable, no matter what our opponent threw at us.”

Adrien swallowed. “But in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat, with all the turmoil, with everything that happened… I lost my means of contacting her. I- I don’t know whether I’ll ever get to see her again.”

“We’d promised to meet up after Hawkmoth’s defeat,” Adrien said. His voice cracked. “That- that once it was safer in Paris, we’d finally tell our names.”

His eyes dropped to the ground. “Instead, we lost each other. Maybe for good.”

“I know what that’s like,” Marinette said. She sounded strangely distant. “I had a friend like that too. I cared about him. A lot. Maybe… maybe even as more than a friend.” She said the last part haltingly, as if she’d only just admitted it to herself. “He- he wanted to know who I was. For me to know who he was. But- but I couldn’t do that. Not in Hawkmoth’s Paris. I already cared for him so much it ached. If I was closer to him than that- if I’d accepted his rose- I’m- I’m afraid Hawkmoth might’ve used the strength of those feelings against me. That I could’ve gotten akumatized, or he might’ve, and if we knew who each other was, knew WHERE the other one was… I just… I couldn’t accept that we might be sent to hurt each other.”

“We talked while the final battle was raging,” she continued. “He seemed really upset, more angry than I’ve ever seen him before, but… also kind of sad. I wanted to know what was wrong, but there wasn’t really time to press him. And after that battle he just… disappeared. I knew there was going to be some sort of disruption, but- but I’d thought we’d have more time to talk beforehand, that we’d be able to exchange new contact information. We were cut off before we had the chance.”

“I- I think of him every day,” she said quietly. “Wondering how he’s doing. He was always so positive, no matter what life threw at us. I hope that wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he hasn’t lost that positivity, that optimism, the ability to see the best in the world and in others.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to know you cared for him so much,” Adrien said, giving her a warm smile.

Marinette blinked, giving herself a small shake. She turned to Alya. “I dunno whether you’ll remember any of this after the Ladybug in your time restores anything, but on the off-chance you do, is there anything you need to know?”

“Oh!” Alya pulled up some footage. “You told me who Hawkmoth was, but what about Mayura?”

“Mayura?”

“Who?”

Alya snapped her fingers. “You know, the Peacock Miraculous wielder, the one summoning the sentimonsters! Did she not exist in this universe?”

She pulled up part of the fight against Mayura, the sentimonster Ladybug, and Hawkmoth.

The video ended, she took another glance at Marinette and Adrien.

Marinette seemed to be in shock, staring straight ahead.

Adrien frowned, thinking. “I’d wondered for a long time how Father managed to hide his supervillain activities from Nathalie, considering she was around him most of the time. I thought maybe she was just really good at never asking questions.”

He grimaced. “Looking at that? I’m betting she didn’t ask questions because she already knew the answers.”

“You think Mayura’s Nathalie?” Alya questioned.

He nodded. “Unless something’s different in your universe. My father doesn’t have a lot of associates, and the way he acted around Mayura there, how he was willing to pass up a chance to fight Ladybug for her Miraculous in exchange for catching her… the only people I can think of who he’d do that for are my mother and Nathalie, and mom…” he trailed off.

“I- I didn’t even think about that,” Marinette said guiltily. “I remember reading something about Gabriel having a secretary, but I didn’t think about her much beyond that.”

“Maybe you could ask this universe’s Alya to post something on the Ladyblog, telling Ladybug and Chat Noir she has a lead on who Mayura is?” Alya said. “I mean, I know they haven’t shown up in ages, but maybe that’s just because they haven’t had reason to.”

Marinette winced. “I… really don’t think that’s it… plus Ladybug and Chat Noir never said that someone was helping Hawkmoth. Mayura never appeared, at least in public. I don’t know what we can do about this right now, especially without proof. Maybe if Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared, but…”

She sounded doubtful. Alya was beginning to think that the final battle was even worse than Marinette had alluded to.

She hesitated a moment, before turning to Adrien. “I- I think I owe you an apology. I thought you might’ve been helping Hawkmoth, but… well… I was just judging you by who your dad was. You’ve been nothing but sweet and kind.”

Adrien smiled at her, though it was slightly strained. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. A lot of people in this city have suffered at Hawkmoth’s hands. I don’t blame them for being scared, or angry at any reminders of him.”

“That doesn’t make it RIGHT,” Marinette said heatedly.

Nino nodded. “Dude just because something’s done to you it doesn’t mean it’s justified, or that it shouldn’t be made better. Like with your old man forbidding parties. I didn’t let that stop me from bribing your bodyguard into letting me and the other guys throw a party at your place for you!”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It kinda escalated though. I think half the guys at Paris were partying in your room by the end!”

Alya gave Nino a sideways look. “And ONLY the guys because they ditched us girls while we were planting trees with a lame excuse. Seriously if you’d said you wanted to throw a party for Adrien while his dad was away, you could’ve just told us!”

Nino winced. “Yeah, my bad. At least we got to have fun there for a while before the akuma attack.”

“Akuma attack?” Adrien asked, eyes wide. “But I thought you said Father was gone!”

“He was- OOOOOOOH.”

“Yeeaaaah I don’t think he was actually gone,” Alya said. “You threw a ‘secret’ party in Hawkmoth’s house, WHILE he was still at home.”

Adrien gaped at Nino. “How’re you not DEAD?!”

Nino chuckled. “Lucky I guess?”

*twinkle twinkle*

A familiar red mass flew towards Alya and Nino.

Adrien’s eyes widened.

“Behind the portrait!” he blurted out, just as the two of them were enveloped by the ladybugs, spiriting them off to whence they came.

It was silent for a moment.

“Do you think they heard?” Adrien asked Marinette.

“I hope so,” she said, looking off in the direction the ladybugs flew.

She turned to him. “I was planning on setting up some hang out time with Alya and Nino later this week. If you’re not busy… would you like to join?”

His smile told her everything she needed to know.

#bakery enemies au #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #marinette dupain cheng #buggachat

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until-the-brahmin-come-home · 8 months ago

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“Your dog can understand english,” Valory announced, walking into the living room and falling heavily onto the half-rotten sofa.

“God, I would hope so,” Nate said, not looking up from the plans for the garden he’d drawn up. “I’d hate to have to learn another language in order to command him.”

Valory didn’t laugh. Nate glanced up at her and found, to his surprise, that her expression was totally serious.

“Listen, you know I’m good at the dog training stuff, right? I mean, like, I went to college for it and everything. So please believe me when I say that this dog is unlike any I’ve ever met before.”

“Ah,” Nate said, eloquently. “Well, it has been two hundred years. Maybe dogs are just different now.”

Valory snorted. “Nuh-uh. That just raises more questions, like, why is there this picture-perfect german shepherd wandering around? Who’s keeping up pedigree lines? And we’ve met other dogs, Nate. Those ones are all normal. Even the green ones behave like normal dogs, once you get past the heightened aggression.” She kicked her feet up and pulled out a cigarette. “So let’s go over the facts.”

“One: we have no idea who his previous owner is. He just showed up, directly in our path at the Red Rocket. Two: people know him, and apparently he’s been around, being helpful to people, for a while. Remember all that stuff Mama Murphy said? Three: he’s been trained in scent tracking, as evidenced by the whole Kellogg debacle. Four: the previously mentioned ‘understands english’ thing-”

“What did you mean by that?” Nate interrupted.

Valory focused on her cigarette for a few moments, obviously trying to get an explanation in order.

“Well, okay, lots of dogs learn a few words. Things like commands, or names for people and objects, and the like. If I tell Rocky to go get fishy! she’ll run and get her fishy toy. But dogs generally have to be taught that stuff, and Dogmeat seems to just...know. Like, the other day, I jokingly asked him to go get my gloves – and he did.”

“Maybe his last owner trained him to fetch a lot of things.”

“That’s what I thought too, so I started testing him on other objects. Tools. Food. People. Started getting more specific. Nate,” Valory said, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on her knees, “he was able to distinguish between different books.”

Nate stared. Valory leaned back again, head lolling on the back of the couch.

“And it’s just – okay. He can do basic commands. He can track scents. He can act as a guard dog – you’ve seen how well he does when we get ambushed. He seems to be trained in basic therapy already, knows how to comfort any of us when we break down. I started trying to teach him how to act as a service dog for you, and he seemed to already know what to do. That's too many things.” She fell silent.

“So...what does this mean for us?” Nate finally asked, after a long moment. Val shrugged.

“Nothing, I guess. He seems to really care for us – you in particular. I don’t think we have to change anything. I just...wanted you to know how goddamn weird your dog is.”

Valory: You know, I could probably train Dogmeat to be a service animal for Nate. This'll be a nice project for me.

Valory, two days later: This Dog Is Haunted As Fuck

#oc tag: valory #oc tag: nate #my writing

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shy-peacock · 3 years ago

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October 1st: Fight

Day 1/31 of RATLD-OCTOBER!

~~~~~

Benja pulled into the parking lot around 2:00 pm. Cutting the engine, he took a deep breath in to prepare himself for the next God knows how many minutes he’d be inside this building. Wanting nothing more than to start the car and drive back to work.

If only he could.

He got out of the car, locked it and made his way towards the building entrance. On cue, an all too familiar face did the same from her own car. The both of them reaching the doors at the same time.

As always, Benja held the door for her.

“Hello, Mrs. Fang.” Benja sheepishly said, “nice to see you…again.”

Mrs.Fang gave him a pointed look.

“Mr. Heart,” she greeted, “wish I could say the same.”

Ever the charmer that one was.

They walked in silence through the empty halls, passing by one lone adult or two along the way. Which Benja awkwardly greeted, already knowing they knew about the latest debacle. All of them giving him a sympathetic smile or avoiding his eyes all together.

That never being a good sign.

They made it to the office where a receptionist pointed to the room Benja had known fairly well over the last year. Coming here at least twenty times now alongside his reluctant partner.

Once more Benja opened the door for Mrs. Fang, stepping inside after her. Taking one last sigh before he focused on the room before him.

The principal, Mr. Knight

Mrs. Fang’s daughter, Namaari.

And his daughter, Raya.

Both girls turned in their seat, immediately looking guilty as their individual parent stared them down. Namaari, absolutely terrified while Raya gave Benja a sheepish grin. To which he could only shake his head back at.

“Hello..again.” Mr. Knight sighed.

“I just would like to say, I didn’t do anything.” Raya immediately said, the seven year old already throwing Namaari under the bus. “She started it.” She added, pointing towards the girl.

Namaari’s face scrunched up angrily.

“You’re a liar!” She snapped, “you threw the kickball at me!”

“Only cause you said I sucked at rolling the ball!” Raya shot back.

“You did suck!” She yelled, “you couldn’t even roll it straight!”

“ANYWAYS!” Mr. Knight spoke then, firmly, silencing the girls. “Both of them started fighting on the playground and since we discussed this before, I have no choice but to suspend both of them for the remainder of the week.”

“What?!” Mrs. Fang snarled, “that’s completely ridiculous!”

“That does seem a bit extreme…” Benja added “I mean the girls honestly are good friends…sometimes..and like each other very much-“

“Ew.” Both girls said in unison.

“They just have to learn to stay away from each other!” Benja quickly added, “can’t we have another chance?”

Mr. Knight looked at both parents, exasperated.

“I gave you another chance when the girls had a paint war with one another in art, I gave you another when they did the same thing at lunch!” Mr. Knight insisted, “and when they both had detention, I gave them an additional chance when they had a spitting war from across the room!”

“Not to mention that time when Raya pushed Namaari into our library shelves and toppled them, or when Namaari put Raya’s bookbag in the toilet.” He added, “and do not get me started on that time they teamed up and beat up that poor boy in the upper grades!”

Both girls snorted then, finding that amusing, immediately silencing themselves at the principal’s glare.

“Well, to be fair-..he was a bully?” Mrs. Fang stated.

“That is not how we handle bullies, Mrs. Fang!” Mr. Knight yelled, “I’m afraid I’m putting my foot down, two day suspension for both girls..perhaps this will be a lesson to you both.”

“What’s the lesson?” Raya snarked under her breath, “that Namaari is a butt head.”

“You’re a butt head!” Namaari snapped, “and you suck at kick ball!”

Mr.Knight smacked his hand to his head, waving them out.

“Please leave..”

They did, Mrs. Fang dragging Namaari out by her arm while Benja did the same to his daughter. He lingered back as they all exited the office and back into the hallway, hoping to avoid an altercation in the parking lot.

“Ah..well, see you two next week!” Benja said, offering them a weak wave. Only realizing once the words came out how it sounded, “I mean-..not that we will be here..just around you know?”

“We definitely won’t be.” Mrs. Fang sighed, with a glare at her daughter, “Namaari go apologize.”

“WHAT?!” Namaari whined.

“NOW!” Mrs. Fang yelled back.

Namaari stormed over to Raya, absolutely fuming. Throwing out the harshest sorry Benja had ever heard. Her face completely red as his own daughter gave her a shit-eating grin.

“A-hem!” Benja said, clearing his throat and giving his daughter a single look.

Raya folded her arms, now the one who got to pout.

“Sorry…” she spat and then under her breath, “that you’re a butt head.”

“YOURE A BUTT HEAD!” Namaari yelled.

“Okay, we’re leaving.” Mrs. Fang sighed angrily as she grabbed her daughters arm and pulled her down the hall, “Goodbye!”

“Bye Maari~” Raya called, her voice taunting. Namaari was just able to turn and give her a nasty glare, sticking her tongue out, before they were gone.

Benja sighed as well, looking down at his daughter.

“You are in so much trouble.”

Raya nodded sadly then, “I know..”

~~~~

20 years later

The reception was in full swing. Dancing, cake, happy faces all around.

Benja sat off to the side, his own slice of cake on a place with a plastic fork dug inside the soft treat. Taking a breather and watching his daughter, the Bride, have her first dance as a newlywed.

“Benja..” a familiar voice spoke out, the man turning to see Mrs Fang coming to take a seat at his side. Her own slice of cake in her possession.

“Viranna” he said in reply, the two exchanging kind looks at the other before she too settled on her own daughter, the other Bride having her first dance as well.

“Did you expect it to turn out this way?” She asked, amused, clearly remembering how these two used to behave as children. Nearly killing each other on a day to day basis. That “rivalry” ending sometime around middle school and taking a complete turn at high school. Much to everyones surprise.

Even their own parents.

“I didn’t, but I’m happy it ended this way.” He admitted.

Virana smirked, toasting with her plate of wedding cake.

“As do I.”

#rayamaari #rayaari #ratld October #ratld prompt #ratld #raya and the last dragon #raya and namaari #namaari and Raya #day 1 of 31 #chief benja #chief virana

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mandoalorian · 3 years ago

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I Believe In Love [Max Lord x F!Reader] - Epilogue

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: the long awaited epilogue. food mention, alcohol mention, pregnancy mention and FEELS.

Word Count: 2000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist

Previous - Epilogue - The End.

July 7th, 1985 (One year later).

So much had happened in the space of a year. You’d gone from being an Amazonian Goddess, haunted by the voice of a man from a far off world, to destroying the God of Lies for good, and discovering the beauty in true love. You still kept the crumpled up polaroid of Alistair and Maxwell that you’d taken back when he invited you into his home, last July. It had proven to be a better good luck charm than your tiara or lasso; and it served as a constant reminder of home.

Because home wasn’t Themyscira anymore. It was wherever Maxwell and Alistair were.

“And over here we have a vast collection of quartz! It’s usually mined in Brazil, and it’s the second most common crystal in the world.” Maxwell explains, using the most outlandish hand gestures everytime he speaks. He always spoke with his hands; even when he was on the television. You guessed that some things just didn’t change.

You watch him from afar, unable to contain the smile on your lips. His eyes sparkled and gleamed like diamonds as he gave facts about each of the gemstones he presented.

Black Gold had become an extension of the Smithsonian’s paleontology and gemology department, just like you had planned with Diana. When she had sorted it all out, and you broke the news to Maxwell, he was overjoyed. He hadn’t lost the business he’d worked so hard on, it had only been replaced by something even greater. And he couldn’t have done it without you. He’d spent so much of his life searching for happiness— looking in all the wrong places.

Through meeting you and gaining full custody of his son, he learned that success wasn’t money or wealth or having a solid career. For him, success was family. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

His eyes caught you standing in a shadowed corner. Alistair was holding your hand, and in your free arm, you were cradling your three month old daughter. He knew now, he’d finally found his happiness. He smiled over at his little family and you shot him a kissy face, giggling when you noticed the rose coloured flush that crossed his cheeks.

You and your little family waited for Maxwell to finish his tour guide of the museum, admiring his work ethic. You were so grateful that he was able to adopt his superb salesman skills and apply them to a profession he was truly passionate about. He’d always loved rocks and gems and stones, even having his own collection at home. But this… this was infinitely better than drilling oil and accidentally scamming millions across the globe. Maxwell was putting genuine smiles on people’s faces, kids too, and that in itself was a beautiful thing.

Once the tour group disbanded, Maxwell was quick to run over to you. He took your daughter from your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you,” you smiled, watching as Maxwell fussed over his daughter. “How was work?”

Maxwell’s dark eyes met yours and he beamed with delight. “Oh it was fantastic,” He grinned before excitedly telling you all the details about his day at work. He knelt down to Alistair’s level and ruffled his son’s black hair. “Did you enjoy visiting the aquarium with mommy?” he asked.

“It was amazing!” Alistair squealed, sharing the same excitement as his father. It was unbelievable how much Alistair was growing to be a Mini-Max.

Maxwell checked his wrist watch and gasped when he saw the time. He called Raquel over, who had agreed to watch the kids this evening while you and him had ‘date night’. It was a rarity for sure, and neither you or Max liked to be without your children, but tonight was extra important. It signified exactly one year since you entered Maxwell’s life and changed his world forever.

Once it was just you two, Max couldn’t keep his hands off you. “You look beautiful.” he grumbled, pressing kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck. His large hands roamed your body, paying extra attention to your breasts. Clearly, he didn’t care if anyone was looking. You giggled and slipped out beneath him.

“Save something for tonight.” You laughed, rolling your eyes and taking his hand.

Tonight.

You had no idea what was to come.

“I’m sorry it’s not Greece,” Maxwell chuckled, reminiscing on your first holiday together (if he could even call it that). It was quite an unconventional one— as he’d never expected to go cave exploring with two Amazonian Godesses’ and kill a God. You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“It feels like yesterday,” you admitted. “Leaving Themyscira… giving up my powers. I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

Maxwell nodded knowingly. “Tell me, princess, if you could go back and change things, would you?”

You’d thought about the question numerous times. You did miss your mother, and the beautiful tranquil oceans of your home world. But if you could change things— would you? The answer was simple.

“No.” you beamed brightly, pressing your lips together.

“Good.” said Maxwell. He gestured a waiter over and ordered a bottle of the finest champagne.

Things had been a little rough for Maxwell, after the dreamstone debacle and all. Inevitably he had to sell his white suburban mansion, as he didn’t really have the steadiest of incomes rolling in. But in a way, he was relieved. He didn’t need all that space anyway, and actually he’d really come to like the much cozier apartment where you, him and Alistair were living now. But with a little one on the way, you had both been discussing the prospect of finding a place with an extra bedroom.

He was happy with his job at the Smithsonian. He was passionate about it too, which was the main thing. He was still a businessman , but a much nicer one. After all, the oil-mogul Max Lord was long gone, and had been replaced by a darker haired, sweater-wearing Maxwell Lorenzano. You had no complaints.

“Here’s the thing,” Maxwell announced, straightening his composure after you’d both finished dinner. “And there’s really no easy way to say this—“

You giggled, scrunching your nose up with curiosity. “Spit it out Maxie.”

“I’m in love with you,” Max revealed, brushing his thumb over your knuckles tenderly.

You nudged him playfully. “I know that, silly,” you laughed. “I’m in love with you too. But tell me, what’s really on your mind.”

Maxwell stiffened slightly. It was now or never.

“You have shown me so much kindness, and you’ve shown me hope when I didn’t believe things could get any better. You made sacrifices for me… for my family. Gave up your powers and the chance to see your own mom again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make your decision worthwhile but I’ve known for a long time now that— I at least want to try. I don’t ever want to stop loving you. I want to be with you… forever. For the rest of my life. An eternity. Because you make me happier than I ever thought I could be,”

Tears pricked your eyes at Maxwell’s sentiment, your heart clenching with adoration in your chest.

“And with our family growing, and the possibility of getting a new house, I just… I want to know. I want to know if you’ll be my wife and— if you’ll marry me?” he finished, a hopeful glint in his chocolate brown eyes.

You couldn’t rid yourself of the smile that crossed your cheeks. “Yes Max,” you cried, leaning over the table and wrapping your arms around your fiancée. “Yes I will marry you.”

—————The end.

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl20 @phoenixhalliwell @xoxo-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans @planetariumx @pascals-cat @ajeff855 @spideysimpossiblegirl @smoldjarin @thewayofthemandalorian

I Believe In Love tagged in replies 💕

#pedro pascal #maxwell lord #ww84 #max lord #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x you

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loislame84 · 3 years ago

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Finally getting back to The English Rose. I haven’t written anything for that story since February. This is the opening scene for chapter 16. It actually takes place before the ending scene of the last chapter so Iykyk and if you don’t then you might want to reread. 😂😂 enjoy. 🖤 the full chapter will be out after I’ve written it lol

A few days had passed since the debacle at the New Year’s Eve ball. It took Bella an additional day to fully recover from the breakdown in the library. She was surprised to learn that she wasn’t given any drugs and that she came out of it well enough on her own. Though she knew she wasn’t completely alone during that time. A lot of her memories were fuzzy but she did remember that her Alice came. She came to the ball after Bella had lost all hope that she wouldn't return her affection after hearing everything of her past. Yet, she showed up, she saw Bella in the middle of a psychotic breakdown and she stayed. Hermione has seen her during one of her lowest points and still laid in bed with her and held her all night. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve her,” Bella admitted to her niece when she came to her room two days after the New Year.

“You’ve been yourself and my opinion might be a wee bit biased but I think you are pretty amazing,” Dora laid in the bed next to her aunt. They were both propped up against the headboard as she went over the events of the ball with her aunt. “She was so embarrassed when we changed your clothes.”

Bella thought for a moment and then her eyes grew wide, “I wasn’t wearing any underwear, was I?”

“Nope.”

“Did she see anything?”

Dora chuckled, “are you being shy? That’s not really like you.”

“Oh stop,” she shoved her niece with her own shoulder, “you know I’m not a prude. I just hope she wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“She was the perfect gentle lady,” Dora smirked. “Seriously, she was stationed at the top of your head. If I recall, she said something along the lines of not wanting to see something that she was entitled to see yet.”

Bella cackled, “I guess we are both sort of skirting around the physical side of the relationship. I mean,” she shrugged, “well I don’t know if I can… well…you know yet,” she looked pleadingly at her niece, “don’t make me say it.”

Dora laughed, “I get it. I’m sure if you mention it to her and the medication then Hermione will be happy to wait until you can both thoroughly enjoy each other.”

“Probably but I suppose I need to see if we are still even a thing.”

“What do you mean? She came. She showed up after everything. If that wasn’t a declaration of love then I don’t know what is.”

“I guess I’m just not sure I deserve a happy ending.”

“Aunt Bella,” Dora rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder, “nobody deserves it more than you.”

“But why?” Bella closed her eyes and rested her head back against the headboard. “I’m broken. She deserves to be with someone who has all of their shit together.”

“Nobody has their shit together.”

“True but she deserves someone who won’t fly off the handle at any given moment.”

“You know it’s not like that auntie,” Dora looked up at her aunt. “The moment she came into the room, you calmed. It was the wildest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not saying that you’ll never have a breakdown again but I am saying that she helped you in a way I’ve never seen anyone do before.”

“What about her? You are telling me all these things she offers to me but what do I have to offer in return?”

Dora’s heart broke a little at the vulnerability in her aunt’s voice. “Your love,” was the simple answer.

“And you think that’s enough?“

“Yes,” Dora pulled out her phone to check the time. “It’s almost afternoon. I believe I heard mum saying something about letting you leave today.”

“I’m free?” Bella perked up. “Can I leave the house? I need to go to the bookstore.”

Dora laughed, “I thought you might like that news.”

“Should I take her an ‘I’m sorry you had to see me having a psychotic breakdown in the middle of the library on the floor then have to change me and take care of me all night’ present?”

“And what exactly would that be?” Dora asked amused.

“Umm,” Bella thought for a moment and started pacing, “I don’t think there is a present like that.”

“Then I say just show up and tell her how much you missed her and how much you appreciate everything she’s done for you.”

Bella nodded, “I can do that.” She walked over to her closet and pulled off her nightshirt. She quickly shimmied into a pair of black skinny jeans. After putting on a bra, she pulled a white chunky sweater over her mop of unruly curls which she threw up in a top knot. She finished her look with a pair of thigh high heeled boots and her over coat. When she came out she looked at Dora, “good?” but then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She took off her overcoat and sat down quickly to throw on a little bit of makeup. “I look like fucking Betelgeuse.” It didn’t take much to set her face the way she wanted, “there less dead.” She put her coat back on and turned back to Dora, ��better?”

“You look great. Go. I’m going to take a nap,” she snuggled down into Bella’s bed.

“Fine.” She pretended to roll her eyes, “just make sure to make the bed before you leave,” she walked over and kissed her niece on the forehead. “Thanks for everything Dora. I love you.”

“Love you too auntie,” she yawned. “Tell Hermione I said hey.”

#bellatrix black #bellamione #bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix x hermione #hermione granger #hermione granger x bellatrix lestrange #hermione x bellatrix #bellamione fic #nymphadora tonks

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features.

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…”

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still…

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it.

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.”

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.”

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone�� No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh.

What a day.

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets.

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level.

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to.

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day.

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them.

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.”

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out.

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend.

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.”

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment.

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I really appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance.

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click.

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #naomasa tsukauchi

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