#entirely self indulgent and based on my own experiences so be nice idiots

[tigergirlpaya]

Hurt(?)/comfort nonbinary/transfem!Darry and gay!pony queer solidarity hcs bc I want to be self indulgent.

TW for transphobia and homophobia (not overtly mentioned)

• Darry feels completely disconnected from the world around her and is incapable of relating to most others experiences

• she’s never met someone who feels like her because she feels as though she can’t talk to anyone about how she feels and perceives things

• even though she doesn’t understand the gender binary at all she still does her best to uphold it out of fear of further alienation from her peers

• despite all of this she identifies with more feminine things and only doesn’t indulge in them bc of prev.

Ex: she would prefer people use she/her pronouns for her, she would like to put on makeup and be able to wear it outside (bc she already puts it on in private) and dress more feminine (she has long skirts and blouses she adores but just can’t wear)

• one day a few years after canon she catches Pony making out w a boy in his bedroom

• the two of them spend weeks pretending it didn’t happen and while Pony is thankful that Darry isn’t kicking him out or anything there is an obvious tension in the air

• to pony this tension is Darrys silent disapproval but to Darry it’s the knowledge that she’s not entirely alone in her existence

• it takes weeks but eventually she feels comfortable enough to talk to Pony

• she decides to do it in the most overt way she can so that the bandaid can just be ripped off. She waits until she knows no one will be at the house but her and Pony

• she tells him she needs to talk to him and for him to be ready in an hour

• the hour she spends putting on makeup and picking out what she thinks is her best outfit is one of the most horrifying of her life but she pushes forward, knowing that if she can finally no longer be alone it’ll all be worth it

• she’s finally done, she peaks out her bedroom door into the living room and sees Pony, sitting looking away from the door, his back completely straight, with a slight tremble to his figure

• opening the door all the way Pony doesn’t turn to look at her. The tension in the room rises to almost unbearable levels. So she walks in front of him.

• as soon as he sees her all tension leaves the room and he bursts into tears.

• Darry is shocked but quickly reacts doing her best to comfort pony even though these types of situations make her unbearably uncomfortable.

• Once pony finally calms down they talk, a lot

• she reveals that the tension Pony had been feeling in the weeks leading up to Darry’s coming out was just her trying to figure out the best way to do it

• it’s the seventies and Darry is completely disconnected from the queer community and so she has no way of putting words to how she feels other then that she doesn’t feel any genuine connection to masculinity but she doesn’t want to be a woman either she just wants to be herself

• Pony kind of understand but not completely, but that’s okay bc they love each other despite their differences, insecurity’s and quirks

• Darry tells Pony that she’d love to meet his boyfriend, and Pony does his best to use Darry’s preferred pronouns when they’re alone and even uses his own limited knowledge of the local queer community to help Darry find people she can better relate to

[thekrazykeke]

See You Again [2]

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Relationship(s): Uta & reader.

Summary: in the sound of silence, we found sanctuary. in every word unspoken, love.

Warning(s): Angst, unspoken feelings. Pre-canon events but also very ambiguous timeline-wise. Disturbing mental imagery. Canon typical gore.

This little series was never meant to have a happy ending, so no screaming at me. I’ll accept your appreciation for my love of angst in reblogs, likes, comments or tears. 

Seriously though, in all honesty, I hurt myself as I wrote this. 

I dunno, I might indulge that impulsive urge of mine and write a one shot where they actually get together. Most likely not though, so no one hold their breath ahahaha.

[i.]

~

A smart person would never have returned to the little out of the way mask shop in the 4th Ward. You’d have chalked up the experience as weird and as common sense dictated, forgotten all about it. 

That is the safer route, the sane option.

So of course, you decided to be stupid. You kept coming back to the shop, although you were careful with how you planned your visits, spacing them out in between sight seeing and being a general tourist. 

The added bonus of your frequent visits being that although Uta’s face didn’t really change much expression-wise, you got the feeling that he was always a little surprised to see you.

“Do you really like it here that much?” 

Pulling the oni mask away from your face, you glanced at Uta who stood a good distance away from you, hand in pocket, hip cocked against the edge of the counter. “What’s that now?”

“I said, ‘do you really like it here that much?’” Uta repeated himself, red on black eyes intently trained on your face. “This is the second time this week you’ve come by without buying anything.”

“Oof.” You exaggeratedly clutched at your chest. “That hurt, Uta-san. With how frequently I come by here, one would think you’d treat me as more than a customer. We’re friends now.”

“We’re not.”

The words are stated so bluntly and again, you clutch at your chest, miming being struck by an arrow. Uta didn’t respond to your joking around and playing, just stared at you. So, you cut the crap, reaching into your back pocket with a mock pout. “How much for this mask? I think it suits me.”

“10504.50 yen.” At the sight of your suddenly wide eyes and dropped jaw, Uta’s blank expression cracked, he smiled slightly and just for a split second. “Also, the mask doesn’t suit you.”

You turned your back to him, carefully returning the oni mask to the display it’d been set up on. The next second you turned around, you nearly jumped out of your skin at how close Uta is now. “Hey now! Shit, you need a bell or something.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention.” 

You can’t even pull off your comedic routine and drop your head in an ‘ashamed’ manner because you’d probably most likely hit your head against his chest, he’s standing that close. Before you could ask him to either back up and inquire what was his reason for being in your personal space, a tattooed finger reached out, lightly touching your chin, encouraging you to look up, so that’s what you did.

“...I can create a mask for you. Something that suits you.” He’s now adjusting your face, the faintest touch causing you to move this way and that. 

“Aww! That’s nice of you, Uta-sa-”

“The base color would be silver, perhaps. And the eyes would sewn shut, the better to hide your grief and... the anger.” He’s musing aloud, words quiet and almost a whisper, but you heard him. Part of you think it’s deliberate, that he’s making fun of you, mocking you.

And it worked. 

You reached a hand up, setting it upon his wrist. Uta blinked, staring down at your hand, then his unique gaze switched to you, and he.... for a lack of better words, it’s like he snapped out of that artist’s mode. He dropped his hand and took one step out of your personal bubble then another and another before whirling around and started walking away. 

He lifted a hand in farewell, waving it about in a sort of shooing manner.

“Come back again in two to three weeks.”

That should have been the end of you and his interactions. 

Regardless of how intriguing he is, he’d pressed on one of your triggers, maybe even on purpose, and you already had too short of a life to put up with the bullshit. Then again, maybe it was for that reason entirely that you decided that you were gonna keep seeing him, even after he finished the mask, to annoy him to death of course.

Until he told you upfront to go away, you wouldn’t. That’s what you decided.

And with that resolution settled in your head, you could go about your business. You enjoyed the sights, the food, and although your judgement said it’d be a bad idea, you had a couple of one night stands. The first is a lawyer that you’re like pretty sure has kids and a wife, and the other is a stressed college kid. 

The experience left you unsatisfied and irritated. 

Since your last encounter with Uta had been...awkward and strained, you decided to bring a peace offering. Cream puffs for yourself with green tea and a cup of black coffee for him. You’d picked up on the fact that he liked the beverage without sugar and cream like the total heathen he is. You idly wondered if he even enjoyed sweet things or maybe he was one of those weird folks who liked sour and spicy stuff all the time.

The fact that you’re even thinking about this and it didn’t sink in as odd or out of place until the moment you crossed the threshold of HYSY Studios, taking note of the fact that the place is as gloomy and empty of customers as always. 

“’Ey! Uta, where you at!?” 

There’s a vibration against your leg. You juggle the items in your hold carefully before tugging out your cellphone and entering the passcode to unlock the phone. The most recent text message you’d received from Uta about four minutes ago informed you of the fact that he’s in the back of the studio, like the very, very back, where all the unused and returned masks were. Now the only reason you knew all this information is because of how often you pestered Uta about it. 

You’re at an impasse. 

You could do as he asked and bring your treat to him while you were at it or you could wait and avoid the potential jump scare that Uta was totally capable of inflicting upon you. 

‘To go or not to go, that is the question.’ 

Everything pointed to the clear conclusion that no, you absolutely should not go back there. Every horror movie cliché ended with the female protagonist being killed or gravely injured because she was so stupid as to go in the dark, alone, by herself. 

‘Uta isn’t a killer though.’ That’s what you tried to tell yourself, the argument weak and pitiful in your brain. 

You did not know this man well enough to be in the back where it wouldn’t be easy access to the front door, where you couldn’t bolt if he did something strange. However, you did own a mini taser and always carried mace, just as a precaution, so... 

So....

Slowly, reluctantly, you did as he instructed, every warning and life training you’d received up to this point in your life sending out red neon signs telling you to wait, not be an idiot, to please please stay where you are. And you ignored all those survival instincts, heading deeper into the studio, your footfalls loud and eerie the further in you went. 

Until you find him. 

He’s apparently unfazed by your belated presence, focus wholly consumed with his work. Red on black eyes glanced at you for but a moment and what you carried and then at the coffee. “There’s a mini fridge, leave everything there, except the coffee. I’m almost done.” 

Having some mild experience with artists and creative sorts, you avoid looking at the mask he’s working on, instead setting down the coffee in an empty space he vaguely gestured to. 

Then you walk the short distance to where the only mini fridge in the room is, reaching out, you pull it open. And it’s the scent that alerts you; the fresh tang of blood. It’s too late to stop yourself and you see it, everything. The jar of eyeballs, the carefully wrapped packages of ‘meat’. 

‘I’m in a back room with the potential copycat Jeffery Dahmer or...or....’ 

You’re not an idiot, all these little things you’d casually dismissed because you hadn’t cared enough to pay attention, to see... And now here you are. Here you are. 

Fuck.

Swallowing, you calm and dampen the inner voice sCREAMING, then casually as possible, grip wobbling only slightly, do you put your treat inside the mini fridge right alongside the human body parts and flesh, then close the door, turning around. 

Uta is still hard at work on the mask but his movements are slowing down.

As if nothing is amiss, you stride over just as he finally pauses to take a sip of coffee. “This is one of the ways that you make masks. Really. That’s interesting…” And you meant it too. Legs crossed, you leaned against the table, watching the mask maker in his element.

He smiles at you in that enigmatic way. “Thank you.” 

The visit continues without much else in the way of incidents and subtly unsubtle revelations. 

You don’t really talk and Uta doesn’t make you. 

Less than twenty minutes later, once he deems the mask complete, he stands up and stretches, arms raising overhead, revealing an expanse of creamy, pale, lean and muscled torso. 

Glancing away a beat too late, you catch Uta as he smiles, again, the smile lengthens into a smirk. He reaches out and plucks up the half mask delicately, taking a step towards you and your heart traitorously lurches in your chest. 

Self-preservation makes you want to run as he comes closer, closer, closer...

Logic keeps you rooted in place as he carefully puts the mask on you. Tattooed fingers brush the strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, lingering as he feels the flutter of your pulse beneath his fingertips. 

“Your heart is racing like a hummingbird.” he muses. You stare out at him from beneath the safety of the mask, the bone surprisingly not pinching or cutting your skin. “And here I thought nothing could scare you.”

“Unfortunately fear makes up the majority of the human psyche.” You can’t help the quip, tone dry. “But you’re my friend, so it’s fine.” 

That last comment causes Uta to blink and stare at you in blatant surprise for a minute or two. Then he pulls himself together and shakes his head, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. “...I suppose we are friends.”

“Cool. So how much for the mask?” You reach up, about to remove it but Uta swatted at your hands, the action hard enough to sting but not leave damage. You still squawk indignantly anyway.

“It’s free. Creating it got me out of my block, so thank you.” Bringing out a cellphone, he takes a couple pictures with you, making you turn, pose, and pretty much just show off. 

Once he’s done, he snags your tea and cream puffs out the fridge, then walks you to the front of the studio, giving a small wave goodbye. Brain swimming with what you just learned, amazed that he hadn’t just killed you straight off, you glance at the chilled green tea in your hand then after mentally shrugging to yourself, you take a sip and shove a cream puff in your mouth. 

Hell, after the day you’ve had, you deserve to be rewarded.

Time passes, as it inevitably does. 

You receive more calls from Kiani, from other friends and family members, but you are resolute in staying in Japan. 

Much to your surprise, you’d actually gotten comfortable being there. Though that might have had something to do with Uta, who you continue to visit, and if he’s surprised or put out, none of that shows on his face. It’s fun to drag him places, to be around him, and you can laugh at his jokes, even the deadpan, making-fun-of-humanity ones. 

He even lets you meet his other ghoul friends, Itori and Renji. 

Through it all, these changes and fun things, your health slowly, steadily, gets worse even as you and Uta get closer, muddling about in a rather confusing grey area of friends...and more...

As always, the two of you are hanging out, this time you’d dragged him to an amusement park, and he held onto some of the prizes you won, gamely snapped a couple photos of you in ridiculous poses and making silly faces, etc. 

It felt like a date.

Like, you’re returning from a date.

When that thought ran through your brain, you automatically looked at Uta, catching sight of his profile in the light of the setting sun and your heart clenched as you realized that he’s beautiful. 

It’s with difficulty that you manage to look away but not before he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. “You’re always looking at me… Yet, you never try and get closer…” Uta’s hands are in his pockets and he is barely a foot away. “Does fear keep you at a distance…” He took a step forward. 

Coming almost uncomfortably close. 

“Or is there another….” 

Without conscious thought, you tilt your head up and your lips meet his. 

The contact is light, barely a graze, and there’s the cool sensation of his lip ring...it’s odd but hardly distracting. Your heart is beating like a jack rabbit in your chest and you know this isn’t good for you.

 As you go to pull away, to disconnect, that’s when Uta finally, finally, responds.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close before tilting his head, leaned in and kissed you again. 

There’s nothing teasing or patient about it. He nipped your bottom lip, barely waiting for you to part your lips before his tongue twined and stroked, expertly playing with your own, and you felt a zing of excitement travel down you spine as your tongue lightly grazed his tongue ring. 

Your right hand goes to his shoulder, squeezing, holding on desperately as your legs threaten to give out. 

Effortlessly, Uta holds you up, his other hand going to the dip of your back, and when you break the kiss to get some air into your burning lungs, Uta peppers feather light kisses down the column of your throat, sucking a spot just behind your ear. Only when you gasp his name, a mere whisper of a breath really, only then, does he finally stop.

Uta tops that....bombardment off with a light kiss to your forehead, lingering. Then he murmurs into your ear, “That’s how you kiss me from now on.” 

With his piece said, as if he hadn’t pretty much swept you off your feet and left you stuck in LaLa Land, Uta brushed a hand down his shirt, straightening out imaginary wrinkles, before he walked away. It took a few seconds for your brain to reboot and then you hurried after him, chastising him for being mean.

There are a hundred different words that lingered on the edge and never escape your mouth. A thousand questions you never got the answer to. 

There are no more kisses between you and Uta. 

You pass away in your sleep that night December 31, 2XXX at 11:59 P.M. alone in your rented hotel room, dreaming of an impossible reality; of happiness between yourself and the ghoul who for a brief moment, made you feel important, seen, and desired. 

Almost as if he could love you.

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea (II)

Here’s the second part to this fic! In case you’re not caught up, here’s the first! (Part One)

There’s a sickly sweet sense of satisfaction that tugs his blistering lips into a sharp grin when you inevitably return. You couldn’t stay away from the ocean even after your traumatic encounter with him. The pull is too strong, and while any normal person would stay far, far away from the shoreline after learning what stalks beyond the edge of the sand, you’re not any normal person, are you?   

Oh no, you’re much too brave for that. Or maybe much too foolish.

The next time he sees you, he has to admit, you look different than what he’d gotten used to. Maybe a little less aloof. Maybe a little more vigilant. Perhaps even a hint of visible bitterness that his presence taints your peaceful metaphorical sanctum. Your thinly pulled sneer and cautious glances hint at something akin to spite and he’s unsure if the snub intrigues or enrages him further. 

You keep your distance at first, sitting far back on the concrete curb only a few meters from the tarmac of the dimly lit parking lot. You look out, squirming uncomfortably as you stare long to the ocean as if you're trying to relax but failing miserably. The souring experience with the sea creature has poisoned any semblance of tranquility you found before, and your resentful vigilance is written plainly on your features. Even as your muscles pull taut from the tension you’re holding in, the skin beneath your eyes still crinkles as you occasionally search out in the distance for the telltale sign of silvery hair or leering crimson eyes beneath the murky waves. 

He lets you have your comfort days, keeping himself hidden well in the shadowed waters as you regain your footing and attempt to trust the thought of the ocean and her creatures again. As he predicts, every moonrise, you move slightly closer to the sea. Only slightly, but it's more than most of your kind would do given the circumstances.

He's curious if you believe he's moved on by now. After all, he's been a good boy. He hasn't drowned any swimmers in weeks, and more boats have made it to dock than usually do when he’s skulking the depths. 

Humans expect most other creatures to react to their presence being known in one way; fear. In all of your novels, movies, all of your self indulgent garbage, the creatures flee in the face of the mighty human race or face ultimate destruction. Your hubris blinds you. He's not going anywhere. Not until he's gotten what he came for.

Not long after you return to the beach and his impatience reaches an insurmountable peak. He pops his flaxen head up to the surface and studies you until you inevitably realize you’re not alone. Your initial reaction is one he expects, and that’s fear. Your secondary reaction however? That one is the one that grates at him. Irritation. You’re irritated at him. 

You don't flee from your spot like he thought you might, but you visibly tense up for a moment. Once your rationality takes over once more, he swears you shake your fucking head at him as you tear your eyes away from his general direction. The unmitigated gall of some humans. He cannot deny that it sparks his interest, though.

He stays the night with his gaze fixed on you; a gaze you don't return. In fact, you actively keep it pulled away for the duration of your stay. It irks him more than it ought to. Are you trying to pretend he isn’t real?

How dare you ignore him. You didn't even know he existed until recently and you think you can go back to pretending you don't know? Is your arrogance so overwhelming that you'll turn a blind eye to him over petty hurt feelings?

Okay, maybe he tried to drown you, but if you had just returned his call, it never had to be this way. You would be dead and he would be miles down the coast, wreaking havoc on some new stretch of land. Instead, he's stuck here in a battle of stubbornness with some human idiot because you couldn't just die like you were supposed to.

What makes you so goddamn special?

Well to hell with that and to hell with you. You’re nothing. Just another ordinary human girl, and he'll drag you to the trenches if it's the last thing he does. He swears it. 

That night and every night after, he allows you to see him. His eyes might as well be the lighthouse to his location, and if that wasn't enough, you can always make out the silver mop of hair somewhere in the distance. He calls to you and he knows you can feel it. He sees you jerk instinctively towards the ocean, having to consciously keep yourself rooted to the ground, but you always manage to resist somehow. 

It infuriates him, rage building deep in his gut as he sees trickles of light from the sun climb over the horizon and paint the sky with yellows and lavenders as a harbinger of the daylight, and thus the end of his time with you. He watches the rising tide erase your footsteps every morning only to be replaced the following evening, inching ever closer to his territory. 

'Patience' He reminds himself.

Sure enough, one evening as the moon pulls over the sky, you're situated yourself once again on the rocks where you first met, albeit further back than he'd like. You learn from your mistakes, it seems. Unfortunate. For him at least. 

He cautiously swims to the edge of your makeshift perch, hoisting himself up slightly out of the water once more and resting his head on his crossed wrist as he blinks his large red eyes up at you. You still refuse to return the favor, despite the fact he knows that you’re aware of him based on the way you pull your body further into itself when he makes his appearance. The silence lasts for several minutes before he opts to speak, growing weary of being ignored. 

"I knew you'd be back." 

You don't even so much as nod. 

"It's rude to ignore someone. Where are your manners?" 

Despite his persistence, you refuse him the attention he craves. Something wells in the pit of his stomach that feels a bit too much like the humiliating sting of rejection, and he doesn't like that one bit. He doesn't like being ignored.

He brings his arm back and spreads his webbed fingers, letting the water pool around the center of his palm before slapping his hand in your direction. Stark cold sea water drenches the entirety of your front and he watches in amusement as your skin pimples and you recoil, frozen in shock for several seconds. He can't help but chuckle when you begin to screech, angrily wiping your face and yanking at your doused clothing that slaps against your skin with each movement. Try to ignore that. 

"What the FUCK!"

"Don't ignore me, brat." 

Your face contorts and soon you're hissing and sputtering, unable to formulate words in your fit of pure rage. A smug little grin plays on his mouth as he rests his head in his palm, watching as you fail miserably to find some venom to spit back in his face. 

"Are you kidding me? You tried to fucking drown me and you’re pissed I’m ignoring you?" 

He shrugs, huffing out his cracked lips like you're the biggest drama queen on the planet. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"

"I wonder if I'll get a special price when I sell you to a fucking sushi restaurant!" 

The smile fades from his face and he scrapes a talon against the rock. Apparently dark humor is only funny if it’s not being aimed at him. "I'd like to see you try, human."

You two glare each other down for a moment before you sigh and tear your attentions from him to his dismay. "Just go away. Whatever you are, I don't care. Just leave me in peace." 

"You know my name." He spits through gritted teeth, instinctively rising a little higher in defense. 

"Yeah, I also said I don't care. Go away, fish."

You are so fucking lucky he can't reach you.

"No." His answer is simple and deliberate, trying to keep the urge to slither onto the rock and dig his nails into your yielding human flesh at bay. Land is your territory, and he rather enjoys the home field advantage.

"Why? You have an entire ocean to go be a dick in. Why do you have to bother me?" 

He ponders your words for a moment before settling on a less than sufficient answer. You aren’t sure what you expected. 

"Because I can. It could all be over if you'd just quit being stubborn and get in the damn water." 

"Asking me politely to kill myself, huh? That's a neat strategy."

"I've heard your kind say drowning is very peaceful. Probably better than any other way you'll die." 

"Nice sales pitch, bud. Still no takers."

You sit in uncomfortable silence for a few more moments, and he decides that this is going nowhere. Obviously the shock of meeting a sea dwelling humanoid has worn off and isn’t working to his advantage any longer. He's going to have to try another route. 

He heaves himself up to sit directly on the edge of the crag itself while keeping the bottom of his tail below, steady flicking back and forth in a rhythmic fashion. Shaking the water from his hair, he slicks it back out of his face and runs his fingers through the length, brushing the tresses back behind his fins. He’s allowing you an up close and personal look at something most humans will never get to see. No matter how angry at him you are, he knows you can’t resist the urge to look. 

As expected, your curiosity is a bit too much for you to overcome. While you do initially move to scoot away, it’s quickly replaced with a particularly intense look, clearly marveling at the differences in your physiology versus his own. 

His torso is human enough, albeit with an unusually iridescent sheen to it, until you get to the rounds of his hips. That's where thick, black scales accumulate and eventually lead into a sleek, muscular looking tail. The fins on the side of his head twitch slightly as he massages his scalp, and you wonder if it's how he hears things or if it's just a natural reaction to the stimulation. His nails are sharp but he seems to be acutely aware of their placement, avoiding harming himself at all while your cuts are still healing up under a rather gratuitously thick blood tacked bandage from when he grabbed you during your previous meeting. 

His hair isn't blonde, it's literally silver. It frames his pallid face in shaggy waves that reach lazily down below his shoulders and somehow glows with unnatural shine that haloes his head in the moonlight even when sopping wet. While his eyes are that of a predator, they're oddly mesmerizing; a deep, luminescent scarlet that contrasts his pale skin beautifully. You're willing to bet that's a technique developed by his kind to disarm and lure prey, though one of his victims or perhaps another sea dweller must have tried to gouge it out, since one of his eyes has a jagged, pale scar stretching from his thin eyebrow to the chapped, baggy flesh underneath. 

Life in the sea must be just as treacherous as land, as puffy, pink scars crisscross the expanse of his skin, some rounding from the front of his chest all the way around to his back. There's prominent marks around his gills as well. Small, repeated nicks just under the column of his neck. It’s a rather peculiar pattern, but he seems unbothered by them, and most look fully healed. Apparently he's become more cautious- or perhaps more skilled- with age.

How old is he anyway? He looks about your age, but it's rough to tell between the dried patches of flesh that litter his face. Even from beneath them though, you can tell he's oddly alluring; it somehow adds to his unique attraction. He's even got a little beauty mark adjacent to a jagged scar that runs through his chapped lips. 

He’s like something out of the story books you read or the tales you were told as a child. The beautiful creature that haunts the darkness, another pretty mask death facades in. His appearance bodes nothing but an omen of ill will, yet you can’t bring yourself to run from him no matter how much your inner child shrieks at the danger. 

Fairy tales aren’t real, and according to the rest of the world, he shouldn’t and doesn’t exist, and yet here he sits right in front of you as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Decades of fantasy stories with tales of nefarious monsters pretending to be something they aren’t just to entice the clueless protagonist into their ultimate demise should have somewhat prepared you for this moment, but you’re too enthralled with the flick of his tail and self indulgent thoughts of being special to really adhere to the rules of self preservation set forth by predecessors ignorant to his existence.  

You're so lost in observing him and every oddity that his body offers up to your gluttonous mortal eyes that it almost causes you to jump when he speaks again, turning to face you with eyes crinkling in mocking amusement. 

"Huh, you're staring. How rude of you. Unless it's for a different reason, that is."

"What? Wait- no!" You shake your head adamantly even as a telling darkness creeps up your neck and across your cheeks. 

"Humans are bad liars." He grins, tongue poking out from beneath his sharp canines. "It's okay. You can come down and get a closer look if you'd like." 

"Ha-ha. Nice fuckin' try."

"Suit yourself." He clicks his tongue and turns his attention from you, languidly stirring the water where his scaled appendage swishes just beneath the surface.

You eye it, far too curious to resist leaning your head forward slightly to get a better look at it in the cloudy water. “It looks… slimy.”

He balks at your rude admission and it’s apparent you’ve insulted his pride. For a moment, it seems like he wants to admonish you for your careless affront to his form, but he seems to think better of it. Instead, he remains quiet for a moment, trying to think of something tactful to say. 

"Well, it's not. Think...." He pauses, filing through his knowledge of human creatures for a decent comparison. "A snake. They might look slimy to someone ignorant, but they're soft and smooth." 

"Not if you rub them the wrong way." 

"Obviously. That's why you don't do that, idiot."

"What about your-" You gesture vaguely before pointing at the scales that dot his arms and chest. "-Those." 

"Are you stupid or something? It's the exact same thing." He runs a clawed finger up his own arm and then clenches his hand. "Smooth." 

"Huh." 

"If you'll come down here, you can feel it for yourself." 

"Give it up, tailbait."

His wet hand reaches upward and scratches lightly around the scars that mar his neck. He didn't actually expect it to work, but he's irritated nonetheless. This shouldn’t be this much trouble, and he shouldn’t be putting this much effort into anything. Why does he even bother? 

"Fine then."

Despite his tantrum, he knows you're tempted. He can tell by the way you keep eyeing him. You're presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it’s not in your nature to pass it up. Granted said opportunity is a loaded spring trap, but still, it's rough for you to even pretend you’re not interested. 

Although, to be fair, the same can be said about him. He never really talks to humans beyond the regular ‘Oh god, what are you, please help me, let me go, I don't want to die like this’ nonsense your kind spouts off when you realize what's happening. This is his first actual conversation with one of your kind. He’s not happy about the circumstances surrounding it, but he’ll take advantage of it while he has the chance. 

"What about you? When your skin isn't wet, what does it feel like?" 

You pause at the question, unsure of what really to say. You drag your own fingers across your arm, trying to find a way to describe it. "Uh... Fleshy? Sort of squishy? It can be soft or rough depending on where you touch. Maybe a little hairy depending on who?" 

He stares blankly and you realize that's probably not the best description, but what the fuck does he want you to say? It’s such a weird thing to describe. You’ve never even really thought about it before. 

You reach your arm forward to let him touch for himself, but immediately yank it back when you realize what a dumb fuck move that is. He must realize it too, because he's cackling loudly as you cradle your offending arm and look at him as if he’s the one in the wrong. He could have easily yanked you forward and taken you under if you had gone through with giving him the chance.

"You're a fuckin' dick." 

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault you're an idiot."

"Shut up." You knead your teeth into your lip, scanning him over again. "What about your magic?" 

"Magic? What are you? A child?" 

"What do you want me to call it, then?" 

"Do you call it magic when one of your kind uses a harpoon gun?" 

"No, because it's not."

"Then why would what I do be considered 'magic?"

"A harpoon gun is human technology. What you do isn't. At least as far as I know. You weren’t like… made in a lab, were you?"

He gives a grunt and scratches at his neck again. "Typical human. A tiger has claws it uses to defend itself and catch prey that come naturally to it and not to you, but do you consider it magic? Well mine is no different. We evolve different from your kind, but we're not any sort of mythical. Just because we're not known to you doesn't mean we're some sort of wild outlier. Humans aren’t the end-all-be-all of intelligent life."

You consider his point, nodding after a few moments. "You're right. My bad. It's just... it's new to me. I'm just trying to understand. Is it rude to think of you as mythic? I don’t mean for it to be, it’s just-" 

He huffs angrily before you can finish, scowling again. "We adapt to our environment, same as you. Typical human arrogance. You all think you’re so intelligent and so learned. If you haven't heard of it, it must not exist, right? The mighty human race, epitome of knowledge despite knowing nothing at all!”

You break up his tirade before he starts going off, raising your hands defensively to disarm him. "Fair enough! I didn't mean to offend you or imply something offensive. Sorry! I’m still learning." 

He says nothing, but the rage building within him begins to deteriorate. At least you're smart enough to recognize you're stupid.

Another stark silence, the sound of waves crashing and wind blowing is all that passes between you. A gale brings in a new bout of smells; salt and slight sulfur, the same scent that’s comforted you throughout the entirety of your life. You inhale deeply, relishing in the peculiar sense of nostalgia the sea offers you, even knowing the danger you're literally facing.

The sounds of the waves pushing and pulling with the tides relaxes you, lulling you into a sense of contentment. Leaves rustling and waters bristling on the surface. The sand stuck between your toes. The breeze in your hair. The call of the ocean. 

You can't see the look of peace that overtakes his features, but he can feel it too. Eyes closed, a rare look of tranquility settling across his face as he turns from you and faces the horizon and the open water.

The wind eventually dies down and you break the unspoken moment of serenity between you. You make the choice to speak. 

"Why do you hate us so much?"

His eyes snap open and you are made instantly aware of your folly.

Wrong choice.

"I'm not surprised.” He hisses, shoving away from the rock with a look of disgust that tells you that you’ve made an egregious error. “Typical human. You know nothing." 

With a flick of his tail and another splash of water directed your way, he's gone, submerged beneath the water with nothing but a ripple headed off into the sea from beneath the waves. Even several minutes later when you bring yourself to peer over the edge, you can't see the silvery glow of his hair or the deep crimson of his eyes.

He's really gone. 

It doesn't bring you the comfort it should.

You sit on the edge for a few moments, even rolling the dice on dangling your feet in but nothing slippery attaches itself to your ankle or threatens to drag you below. Orange tinges the horizon and birds begin to chirp, you realize it's time to go home. You don't feel the peace of mind you usually do as you begin the long trek home.

Taglist: @dubliinwaltz​​, @lemonzoey​

[risingsouls]

Conversations: 2

[The next in this self-indulgent series I guess I’ve decided to go through with after all because I’m weak for them and their dynamic.

This actually took a turn that I didn’t expect that made it better so there’s that at least.

So, enjoy my bs if you’re so inclined! :D]

“Hold still, damn it!”

Nabooru scoffed and met his glare, shifting once more to find a comfortable position on the stool she perched on. “I barely moved! You want me to stop breathing?”

“Tch, it would help.” Vegeta dipped his fingers back into the salve she had provided him--some concoction the Gerudo healer had created in their assimilation on Earth and effective in speeding up the healing process according to Nabooru--and applied it to the nasty burn blistering on her side. “It would mean I didn’t have to deal with your ribs expanding, anyway.”

Nabooru bit her lip to stifle a hiss, the sudden cold and the sting of Zana’s ointment doubly uncomfortable on her wound. One she shouldn’t have sustained at all if she had just been strong enough to stave off Vegeta’s blast. Instead, she had to abandon that course and dart to the side to avoid taking the ki wave head on. She could still feel the sear of heat in her side as the cascade of purple blew by her. It crashed into the ground feet away and sent her flying, and she landed in a sprawl several meters away. At least he hadn’t refused to continue their spar after that. 

She draped her arm over her head as opposed to holding it out in front of her to give him room to work. “I told you I could handle this myself,” she huffed, picking at the loose bit of fabric on the roll of bandages with her free hand. “I’m used to dressing my own wounds.”

“What I saw looked incompetent.” He shot her another glare, though it was marred by the hint of a smirk. “Watching you try to do this yourself was painful.”

“I didn’t ask you to stick around and watch,” she snapped back. “You insisted on that and you insisted on doing it for me. I was fine.”

Vegeta’s retort was a silent one, a less than ginger press of his fingers at the center of the burn. The Gerudo flinched away and sucked in a breath. “Valaqi voe…” She muttered a few more choice curses and steeled herself, gaze fixed on the far wall rather than her less than tender healer.

The Saiyan grunted, his ears picking up the foriegn syllables but the long forgotten translator chip in his head supplied the meaning. “Are you calling me stubborn or an idiot?”

“It’s all the same in my nat--”

Nabooru cut herself off and whipped her head around to narrow her eyes at him. She ignored the growl she got in return and the pain that shot up her side from the sudden movement. “You understood that?” It was no secret between them that neither of them hailed from this planet. With how wide the universe was, though, and how she suspected their planets were likely not in remotely the same vicinity, she didn’t expect him to understand the Gerudo language. Or had he simply guessed using the not-so-subtle clues of her irritation with him?

He tapped the side of his head. “Translator chip. I’m as surprised as you are that it picked up on your language.” In all his expansive travels of the galaxy, he had never heard mention of a planet called Hyrule, even in the tedious charting and astronomy lessons he had to endure. Someone in the empire’s retinue had apparently been there or picked up the planet’s languages somehow. “But if it can pick up the languages on this backwater planet, I suppose I shouldn’t be.”

A glance back up from his work and he found her pondering his words in confused silence, brow furrowed. He rolled his eyes. “It’s a device they implanted in my brain through here,” he indicated the scar behind his left ear, “that can translate different languages across the universe for me. Makes communicating with other races more efficient. Everyone in the Cold Empire had them in case some fools couldn’t speak the galactic standard.”

His explanation only mildly helped her understand, but it was enough. She knew asking for more would be met with outright refusal or insult. “Sounds...invasive. Convenient, though. It means you wouldn’t have to spend months learning another language, anyway. It does get tedious.”

“Precisely.” He smeared a last bit around the lower edge of the burn near the curve of her hip. He held out a hand for the bandages. “We didn’t have time to sit and learn every known language in the universe to do our jobs effectively.”

Nabooru placed the bandages in his outstretched hand. “So, you did a lot of traveling, then? Back when you worked for Frieza?” she asked, raising her other arm to join the opposite and give him room to wrap the bandages around her waist. “What exactly did you guys do for him, anyway?”

“We were soldiers and worked as part of the Planetary Trade Organization under Frieza for his portion of the galaxy.” Vegeta unravelled the bandages, and when he noted Nabooru’s once more befuddled expression, he grumbled: “An organization that traded planets, which means deciding if planets are worth trading and preparing them for said trade.”

A crimson brow arched, and her lips curled downward. “So, a nice way of describing colonization? Taking over planets for gain?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, paying little mind to her distaste of the business. Nothing she could say would surprise him; he had heard it all before from those pleading their case to live another day. Those he subjugated in Frieza’s name. He held the end of the bandage against her abdomen and began wrapping it around her waist, releasing it to use both hands when the first wraparound had it secured in place. “The Cold family had an entire empire, much of it likely acquired by forcible means.”

The tossing of her stomach that wasn’t a side effect of his calloused fingers grazing across her flesh didn’t stop Nabooru from pressing the matter further. “What did you do, then? When you went to these planets?”

Dark gaze flickered up to her face, narrowed as his bandaging slowed. He regarded her verging on sour expression, how the bridge of her nose threatened to crinkle in distaste and the firmly set frown on her lips. “Hmpt. I’m not having this conversation if it’s going to end in a lecture.”

“That bad, huh?” She winced when he tugged a touch too hard on the bandage to secure it in place, squeezing her middle. “No, I won’t lecture you. It’s, what? A few decades too late for that? Besides, I’m not exactly squeaky clean enough to feel comfortable lecturing anyone about much of anything.”

Vegeta squinted, unsure if he believed her. She had proven herself a different breed than the rest around him. While not completely moralless, she didn’t reek of someone having the same idealistic and simplistic notions of good and evil, right and wrong, that Kakarot and his friends possessed. And, despite him giving her apt opportunity, her claim to an aversion to lecturing rang true. He could care less if she decided the cruelty in his past was too much; it was the insufferable chiding that would chafe his temper.

“It usually started with reconnaissance,” he began with a tone akin to the boredom of reading from a textbook. He completed another circulation around her waist and considered another for insurance in case it started bleeding again. “We were sent to a planet to scout its potential, whether that be in natural resources or people for either soldiers or a potentially useful skillset. Raditz took care of most of that part. We then sent our report back to base and some high-ranking blow hard or Frieza himself decided if the planet was useful or not. 

“If its people were deemed useful, we left the planet. We weren’t trusted to recruit soldiers or other personnel.” Vegeta tugged the bandage tight and secured it, a bitter smirk on his slips. “Probably thought we’d try to build our own army against him or something else equally paranoid, or he considered a trio of Saiyans too barbaric to handle it. Not that it mattered; I sure as hell didn’t want to deal with that.”

He tossed the spool of bandages in her lap and snorted when she scrambled to keep it there. Considering the glare she shot him, he was surprised she didn’t fire it back at him. “If only the resources were needed, nine times out of ten, the planet was purged of its people or they were kept around for labor. If the planet had no use to the empire in resources or any other marketable aspect, it would depend on what the empire did need. Sometimes that meant leaving the planet alone. Others it meant purging it anyway to build a base on it or outright destroying it. That part we were trusted with.”

Nabooru spun the bandages in her hands, considering the prince’s description of his previous career. While unsurprised, the weight in the pit of her stomach was unmistakable. She couldn’t imagine how many lives were expunged all for a tyrant’s gain. “I assume I don’t need to point out the irony in all that?” 

Vegeta’s jaw tightened and he cast her a withering glare. “Of course not.” He tugged his gloves back on and folded his arms over his chest. “I thought we agreed to no lecturing.”

Rising to her feet, Nabooru stretched her spine, gritting her teeth as the burnt flesh on her side pulled uncomfortably. “Mm, I guess that was a little lecture-y...it wasn’t meant to be.” She paused and picked up the jar of Zana’s remedy and twisted the cap on it. “I mean...I don't agree with murder, but I can’t really fault you for it and not because you were doing it under someone else’s orders. You said yourself Frieza would kill you if you didn’t follow orders. Morality isn’t exactly the first thing on your mind when you’re trying to survive.”

Once more, he had the sneaking suspicion she spoke from a place of experience than simply reason. He had never considered such a point of view, his mind blurred by his one-track-minded ambitions that fueled him. Back then, it was to kill Frieza. But that did mean surviving him and playing along as a loyal servant. A useful, obedient, planet-purging slave. Though it may not have occurred to him at the time or even years later, he could not deny her logic on the matter. For the longest time, his life had been a test of survival, of making it to the next day and closer to his goal. Another that he never realized outside of dreams, both waking and sleeping.

"Partially,” he rumbled. Gloved fingers dug into his biceps. “Make no mistake: I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the power, the fear I instilled. I didn’t care how many I killed, and I didn’t need Frieza’s orders to do it. If I wanted to kill the bastard and take his empire, I needed both of those things on my side.”

Another swath of silence stretched out between the two of them. Though the Saiyan’s callous words caused her stomach to perform another series of acrobatics and the tightening of her throat to intensify, it wasn’t out of surprise or her moral compass busting under the pressure of its true north being thrown completely off. She had heard such sentiments before. Witnessed it, been a part of it, acted it out herself despite her efforts to avoid it. Endeavors she found herself near alone in pursuing so actively, compared to her peers. She couldn’t be sure they didn’t enjoy it to an extent. They all hailed from a kill or be killed world, either way, most of them warriors, soldiers. Relishing in murder or not, killing was part of the job at some point.

And hadn’t she wondered how it would feel to use her newfound power to raze Hyrule to cinders in an act of vengeance? Destroy everyone and everything because, if they weren’t openly involved in the slow strangling and then outright attack on her people, they were complicit in it? To truly complete the path their disgraced king paved for himself alone and realize their idiotic fears?

She felt the jar crack in her hand and she forced herself back to reality, relaxing her grip. Vegeta quirked an eyebrow at her, opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She returned to the moment before her distraction. His words. Another wise-crack. Anything but that night, Ganondorf, the past…

Then, something clicked. “ Wait. You killed Frieza though, so why did you stay--”

She felt the weight of her mistake before her mind truly understood in the brief but daunting surge in his energy, the twisting of his neutral expression into quiet anger so out of sorts with the ki spike. Every instinct in Nabooru told her to run, but she ignored every last one and stood her ground, gold eyes trained on him. Waiting for him to lash out in an attack that she would have to attempt to defend herself against. He remained still as stone, however, which only unnerved her more as the pressure in the room soared and begged to explode. She considered begging him to say something, attack her, walk out, anything at all.

And all at once the moment passed. Vegeta’s ki dropped back off to next to nothing, masked as seemed to be the common practice. Nabooru released the breath she held and leaned against the back of the couch. She chewed her lip, considering if she should continue that line of conversation and risk her house and life. Instead, she only managed a nod and an unintentionally croaked, “I understand.”

His anger boiled again, and had she been anyone else, any of the other fools that surrounded him, ashes would be all that was left of her. Not before potentially laughing in her face and explaining just why he thought she could never understand him, no matter the effort put forth. Perhaps it was the high amount of unknown still surrounding her, not enough information to make a solid assumption of her experiences, that cooled the rising inferno within him to a crackling flame. Until she proved him right, at least.

“Do you?” he hissed through clenched teeth, tone icy and condescending. 

Nabooru nodded again and held his gaze, expression unreadable. “Yes,” she responded, setting the cracked jar on the side table. “I didn’t get to kill my Frieza either.”

[moved-builtintripping]

Watchful

FF.net / AO3

“A minor inconvenience provoked Dorothea to swear, and Ferdinand warns her of the grave consequences of bearing a dirty mouth, whose owner won't wake up with a gift ready to open under the tree on Christmas morning. Dorothea can't place whether her boyfriend wearing a worried pout, his index finger placed on his lips to shush his girlfriend, looked punchable or kissable.”

Modern AU fic for @stag-of-almyra, who requested me to write a fic based on a prompt list i reblogged for shits and giggles~ I mean I only write sometimes, but it’s fun anyway, sooooo i gave it a try for, yet again, shits and giggles uwu

Prompt is “ferdinand/dorothea + “careful, santa’s watching”

Also merry christmas again!!

***

“Oh, shit!”

Dorothea shrieked when her pinky toe hit the leg of one of the kitchen chairs, the incredibly horrible sensation harshly coursing through her feet. She squeezed her eyes shut and repeatedly clicked her tongue as she brought her damaged foot in her hand as a fruitless attempt to ward off the tear-jerking soreness while her other hand gripped the edge of the table to balance herself. She might have bitterly spent her early childhood wandering the streets bare-footed, which meant stepping on the tiny littered glass shards of broken beer bottles and letting it sharply pierce through the sole of your feet had become second-nature to you. However, nothing could rival the indescribable pain of having one’s own pinky toe collide onto a hard surface.

“Be careful.”

A portion of her attention concentrating on her current anguish had redirected to Ferdinand’s worried voice. Had it not been for the unbearable stinging in her toe, she would guffaw and playfully swoon over the boy’s concern. Not that she was that touched by Ferdinand’s every sign of worry (or was she?), but come on, where’s the fun on reassuring your boyfriend on every passing second like in those cliché romantic dramas instead of exaggerating your partially-mock thankfulness for his fear for your safety like in those cliché romantic comedies?

When Dorothea regained enough strength (though she was fully convinced seconds ago that the sting could never recover), she cracked her eyes open to peek at Ferdinand, who’s supposed to be enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate as he sat on the other side of the table. Instead of a mildly panicked look residing his cute face, she was greeted by what seemed to be Ferdinand shushing her, his index finger placed on his lips and his brows knitted so deep it could frighten Bernadetta until she falls for her (possibly literal) death, but never enough to win over Seteth-sensei’s classic disappointed glare.

Dorothea frowned back, her hand still clasping her aching foot. Before she could open her mouth, Ferdinand hissed through gritted teeth, “Santa Claus is watching.”

What?

Santa Claus is... watching?

Hold on a second, what on Earth had she done just now to disappoint Santa Claus? There’s nobody even at fault in this situation. Wasn’t she the one who’s even hurt here? And why was she wondering all of this nonsense and not Ferdinand bringing up that make-believe-

“You do know that he can listen to our every word and observe our every move at this very moment...” Ferdinand carefully said while lowering his finger from his mouth then took another sip of his drink, his amber eyes never leaving Dorothea’s.

Okay, Dorothea knew that Santa Claus watches over the children of the world like some creepy god to decide whether their stocking deserved to store candies or coals, she didn’t need Ferdinand to tell her that twice. That’s basic knowledge, even you wouldn’t catch an adult questioning the... questionable ways of the magical old man in red and white. Still, Ferdinand did not yet clarify her recent wrongdoing; it was starting to irritate her more than it should.

So Dorothea straightened up from her hunched posture, hands still not leaving her foot and the table, and deepened her scowl. On the back of her mind, she was somewhat impressed she managed to keep the scoff threatening to break free from her pouty mouth to herself. “And what did I do to have my name taken away from Santa’s ‘Good Girls’ list, if I may ask?”

“You just swore!” Ferdinand exclaimed with both his hands outstretched, nearly spilling his drink with a thunk at the process. When he caught his mug on time and muttered a small, ‘My bad,’ he continued rather sternly, “Surely you would know that Santa Claus does not appreciate children whose speech is littered with curses.”

Oh.

“Although you may have instinctively cursed out of inconvenience rather than insert one on your daily conversations, which I suppose is excusable, it will be wiser to still keep your language in check. Otherwise, he may not just gift you that chest box of ‘Elice’s Flavored Lip Balms’ you so desire to caress with your dainty hands for the past weeks.”

Oh.

Dorothea blinked and stared at Ferdinand. Judging by the frown (which now loosened a bit) that continued to camp on his stern expression, he didn’t look like the man to back down until his stand prevailed no matter how pointless the argument would transition into. 

Was Ferdinand von Aegir seriously correcting her vulgar mouth to retain her name on the nonexistent ‘nice list’ as if the boy never outgrew the lies of the so-called Santa Claus’s miracles and all that make-believe bullshit those greedy adults crafted and tricked him into believing as a child for their personal amusement? After all, the boy carrying his unstained past was known to behave several years apart from her since highschool, emphasis on his boasting eagerness to prove his nobility among the crowd plus his one-sided petty rivalry with Edelgard.

Or was this just his way of playing dumb and teasing his girlfriend? She swore as Ferdinand scolded his girlfriend, she caught glimpse of a glint of endearment passing through his eyes that greatly contrasts his disapproving face and firm tone.

Perhaps it’s the latter. Six years of friendship would be a long enough time to memorize the other’s behavior. Like all boys, Ferdinand might have inherited his dense nature from his father, but his brain size didn’t match that of a dinosaur’s. Although he appeared death serious on the entire childish matter, people could easily pass him as a ten-year-old possessing a twenty-one-year-old man’s (hot) body.

She should feel pissed. The nerve of that boy for shutting her up on her most distressed moment. Idiot sounded like he never removed his stinking boots, let alone his pegasus-themed socks, to experience the agony of your own pinky toe threatening to rip off from your precious foot.

But why wasn’t she? Why couldn’t she snap back? Her head did not even steam one bit... and was that a wide toothy smile creeping up in her face?

While she did earn herself a boyfriend as a means to indulge in his constant love and attention her lonely six-year-old self would starve and die for, it’s these silly moments when she’ll gladly surrender to the big sister instincts taking over. All the disgusting men she testily answered to their attempt on courting the emerald-eyed songstress would always greedily invite her under their covers as soon as possible, but this grown man, who’s currently lecturing his friend just so she could earn the gift they both know well would never arrive, had been the first she found herself fondly pampering over despite the numerous naughty activities they’d nervously engaged in.

The hearty laugh that bubbled out of her mouth raced first before words could make it out first. Despite her overwhelmed emotions, she faintly heard Ferdinand stutter in confusion, “D-Dorothea?”

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea purred and walked around the table to close the distance between both lovers. She raised Ferdinand’s chin with a thumb and silkily said, “I don’t need no present from Santa, you see~ Can’t you tell I’ve got all I need for Christmas right here?”

“Huh?” Ferdinand gawked up at her, not once picking up the signal of her flirty intentions. “Whatever do you mean? All the gifts we prepared for our dear friends are under the tree, isn’t it? But unless there is one hidden in here, surely the kitchen is an odd place to hide a present...”

Oh, Ferdie. So dumb and cute as ever. What a pair.

Holding back was out of the question now; she leaned down to kiss Ferdinand, who stiffened the second their lips touched. He tasted of the remains of his delicious sweet drink with a hint of bitterness mixed in. Without missing another beat, he then reciprocated without question.

Before the kiss could deepen that would lead both lovers shuffling towards the comforts of the sofa a few strides away, she licked the remains of the chocolate staining his upper lip before breaking away, a goofy grin sneaking its way into her features.

“Take a wild guess~” Dorothea winked and turned away, humming and skipping towards the countertop where the thermos stood, ready to serve more sweet sweet hot chocolate for the lovebirds. “Want some more?”

“Y-yes, please,” Ferdinand spluttered from behind, clearly flustered from the intimate gesture. How adorable. They’d lost count of the kisses they shared behind closed doors, yet it still left him awkwardly fumbling for words. If there was one wish Dorothea wanted for Santa to grant for her, it would be for the day her lover could compose himself quickly right after a kiss to never come.

Ferdinand pulled Dorothea out of her wishful thinking when he cleared his throat louder than necessary. “I appreciate your attempt on flattering me, my love. However, don’t kiss me as a distraction from lecturing you! It is my duty to help you maintain correct behavior under Santa Claus’s watchful eyes until the day of Christmas when you and I were to receive our respective gifts from Santa Claus under the tree, and...”

Dorothea sighed. This game wasn’t over for Ferdinand, was it? Oh, how she’d love to shut him up with another kiss and another and then another until he understood truly that the joy a colorfully wrapped box incite could never compare to the warm company of a loved one. For somebody, even just one person, to embrace Dorothea Arnault for who she was behind the flashy songstress title all the way to the scared and lonely child who used to bear the cruel world all by her tiny helpless self with her tiny helpless body, it’s all her she would ever ask for if she was going to be perfectly honest. She would sing for eternity how grateful she truly was, that she would still be able to spend Christmas the way she used to dream as she scraped for leftovers of yesterday’s holiday feast in the nearby trash bin and sulkily curl all on her own in the deepest depth of a snow-covered alleyway, freezing to near death as the festive world carried on.

All that was left forgotten was the pain in her pinky toe. Honestly, how could this boy not only heal her emptiness, but also her physical well-being? His magic surely matches to Santa Claus. Perhaps, she could input a rule where Mrs. Dorothea Claus may swear whenever she pleased without meeting the dire consequences of losing a gift on Christmas morning. Knowing Santa Ferdinand von Claus and his pure outlook on things, he would outright refuse.

[dhaskoi]

She Doesn’t Work For Me

Chapter 1

Of course Kara knows who she is.  You can’t be a woman in America, let alone a feminist, and *not* know who she is.  That goes double if you care about or studied law or journalism or politics (so probably triple for Kara).  Funny thing, the first time Kara heard her name was before any of these things loomed large in her life on Earth, when she was still struggling to adapt to an impossibly new life and just beginning to hope that the Danvers might become a true family to her.   It had been a conversation between Eliza and Jeremiah, he’d made some throwaway comment about women leaving the field because of the wage gap and Eliza had responded ‘not if Alison McBeal has anything to say about it’.

At the time it had been one more reference Kara didn’t get, and her understanding of Earth culture was barely reaching a point where she had a good sense of what she needed to know to blend in (favourite band, favourite tv show, where did you get that t-shirt, nickels, then dimes, then quarters and the base ten number system) and what she didn’t.  She was able to grasp that their conversation wasn’t anything an early adolescent would be expected to take an interest in and dismissed it as one less data point she had to keep track of, when she was struggling with so many already.

In her last year of high school, sufficiently comfortable with Earth culture that she could spare the energy to indulge her own curiosity, Kara had encountered the name again in her current events class and had one of those ‘oh, that’s what that was about’ moments that were already familiar to her.  Alison McBeal, a civil rights lawyer famous for her involvement in several precedent setting cases, most recently ‘March vs Ingersoll’ when she’d represented a lab technician who’d discovered she was earning three quarters as much as her less qualified male colleague.  Kara realises this must have been the case Eliza had been referring too and her attention is caught.  Reading about this woman fighting for justice is an echo of home, and however arbitrary the association Kara finds comfort in it.  More so when her name crops up at odd moments in Kara’s studies – an interview with Cat Grant, an impassioned rant directed at some idiot who’d questioned if Superman could legally have a relationship with a human – and her name becomes a sort of talisman for Kara, not unlike Cat Grant’s.

Kara certainly never expected to actually meet her.

And definitely not like this.

Three months into Cat’s triumphant return things are finally starting to feel settled.  Kara’s spending more time at CatCo these days and more time writing features and think pieces.  She’d been resistant to the move at first, despite Cat’s not so subtle nudging.  Kara had suspected the suggestion that her unique perspective was arguably more valuable in that role was Cat’s way – subtle by her standards – of suggesting she wasn’t cut out for investigative work, but to her surprise she’s enjoying the change.  And so are CatCo’s readers judging by some of the responses she’s getting.  Kara’s on her way to discuss responses to her latest piece – it’s sparked ideas for a follow up article that she knows Cat will be interested in – and seeing her alone and apparently unoccupied in her office she doesn’t hesitate to step in.

Ordinarily it might have registered that Cat’s dress is atypical, the skirt and blazer combination exactly the sort of ‘professional’ outfit Cat would roll her eyes at if Kara wore something similar (although hers is somewhat nicer than what Kara’s budget mostly allows), or that it’s unusual for Cat to be standing on the far side of the office, but she’s already deep in thoughts of the article she wants to write.

“I was thinking it might be really interesting to interview some of these women about their experiences . .  .”

The laughter is her first clue that something is wrong.

Cat doesn’t laugh like that.

“You know, it’s nice to be on the other end of this for a change,” the strange woman muses.

That’s when everything comes crashing to a grinding halt, because that is not Cat’s voice.

It’s a little higher, a little lighter, a little softer than Cat’s voice (even at her kindest Cat tends to sound slightly like she’s growling – an observation Kara has had the good sense never to share with her) and Kara turns, freezing in place.

That’s not Cat.  It’s the same face, same eyes, same build – same amazing legs an entirely unhelpful corner of her mind notes - only Cat has never looked at her like that, inquisitive and wryly amused, or dressed like that and now that she’s paying attention that sleek bob is definitely not Cat’s hair . . .

“Ah.  Kara, I see you’ve met my cousin Ally.  Ally, this is Kara Danvers.  Normally she’s a little more together than this.”

There’s Cat, framed in the doorway in one of her more casual outfits (Carter has a half day at school and Cat is taking him to a talk at the NC Institute of Science and Technology later).

It occurs to Kara that the way her head is swiveling between the two of them as she stands frozen in shock probably looks ridiculous, but there’s no helping it.   Too many competing thoughts are crashing into each other for any kind of coherency to be possible.

The other woman raises a hand to her mouth and giggles – yes, really giggles.  It’s surreal to hear that sound coming out of her mouth.

“Cat, you never told me she was this adorable.”

“I avoided telling you much about her at all, and this is why,” Cat grumps, coming into the room and passing Kara to sit on the couch.

“Kara, meet my cousin, Ally McBeal.”

“You’re Alison McBeal!” Kara blurts as she realises why the other woman is so confusing to her.  Apart from the remarkable similarity to Cat she recognizes Ms Mcbeal from youtube clips and news reports.  Trying to reconcile the different ways in which the woman is familiar was what threw her off.

A moment later she cringes as it occurs to her how obtuse she’s being – and the full implications of what Cat just said.

“Wait, you’re related to – Miss Grant never mentioned -”

“Oh god, you’re a fan.  Of course you are.  Please tell me you’re not going to follow her around like those smitten little groupies she has at NYU – and you, don’t say anything,” Cat adds with a snap, pointing at Ms McBeal, who’s still laughing a little.

Kara is feeling a little overwhelmed, caught between two women she admires, and while she’s grown a lot more comfortable around Cat over the years this new discovery is a lot to take in.  Not to mention meeting Ms McBeal so unexpectedly, in these circumstances, is more than a little overwhelming.  Fortunately, Cat decides to be merciful – or possibly she doesn’t want Kara in the room while she has a private conversation with her cousin (cousin!  How did Kara not know that two of her role models are related to each other).

“Whatever you wanted to show me Kara, can it wait until after lunch?  You know my schedule.”

“I, um, yes certainly Cat – Miss Grant – that will be fine.”

Kara generally tries not to eavesdrop using her powers, or at least not for purely personal reasons.  Not only does it feel wrong, she often hears things she wishes she hadn’t.  This is one of the times she can’t resist the impulse.

“This explains a lot.  Now I understand why you’re so taken with her.”

Ms McBeal sounds utterly delighted and deeply amused.  Cat’s response is dismissive, although to Kara’s sensitive ear she sounds stressed.

“You exaggerate wildly, as usual.”

“I do not.  You weren’t this smitten with any of your husbands.”

“She works for me, Ally.  You might act like the line between professional and personal is written in chalk on a wet sidewalk, but not all of us treat our workplaces as hookup joints.  Even if I wanted to . . .”

“Which you absolutely do.  Besides, she doesn’t work for you directly anymore.  I seem to remember you crowing about her choosing journalism. And even if she did, pretending the feelings aren’t there never works.”

Kara’s never heard anyone be so blithely unconcerned when Cat is being this cutting.

“For some of us repression works perfectly well.”

“Really?” Ally asks throatily.  “Because if you’re not going to do anything -”

“Alison McBeal,” Cat snaps, “if you start making passes at my staff I will hire Georgia or Ling or Nell just to sue you.”

“For what?  She doesn’t work for me.”

With a gulp Kara determinedly focuses her hearing elsewhere and hurries to the elevator.  She has no idea how she’s going to handle this, or if there will even be anything to handle, or if she wants there to be.

Unless Kara has gone completely insane (not impossible) Cat actually sounded jealous.

The idea is crazy.  She’s got to be imagining things, right?

Kara’s been telling herself that for a while now, and at this point even she doesn’t believe it.  And it sounds like Alison freaking McBeal is going to flirt with her to try and make Cat jealous.

This is nuts.  When did her life become a sitcom?

But underneath the self-defensive disbelief and the nerves is a little voice telling her that this is real, this is happening.

And this voice is telling Kara something else – this could be a *lot* of fun.

With a private smile, Kara decides that tomorrow she’s going to dress up a little – and if Ally McBeal decides to flirt unsubtly with her in front of Cat, she’s going to flirt right back.

[condomglitter]

@austerre don’t be scared it’s not a starter it’s just an extremely self indulgent drabble lmao

    It wasn’t the first time she’d been approached, hackles raised, by some gate keeping trogdolyte searching for validation as of yet undiscovered in their peers. Each condescending confrontation followed much the same tired script, as few noted the badge at her hip that marked her as a KaibaCorp employee before they questioned her presence in the VIP section. 

    Maybe it was how she dressed -- neither in merch, nor a flashy outfit, but comparatively quiet combinations that were (unlike many who surrounded her at these venues) on trend more often than not. Maybe it was how she kept a watchful eye on her phone, fielding emails and requests for Seto while he focused on his matches. Or, perhaps, it was simply the calling of self-proclaimed ‘nice guys’ to further destroy her precious little faith in their gender; regardless, though, someone always stepped up to the plate when it came to challenging her. As if, she thought bitterly, she could not tell them details about their supposed hero that would make their pasty little heads spin.

    Most days, she was content to note that her interest was purely professional, tapping the employee badge at her side and returning her focus to worthier figures. Namely, Seto’s. Dueling was but a card game, to her, but watching Seto at his most ruthless? That, she could enjoy all day. Assuming, of course, no one was breathing down her neck about it. 

     Her job was usually enough to keep her from demeaning their client base, particularly the fans who paid the exorbitant VIP package price to see Seto Kaiba up close and personal. Though she was certain he wouldn’t hold a well deserved quip against her, of all people, she didn’t want to put a bad face to the company name. Her restraint, as far as professionalism went, was stronger than her temper. 

     Though, that was MOST days. Today...

     She couldn’t quite put her finger on why THIS particular one had stepped so firmly upon her nerves, in stark contrast to those other countless times. There were just... SO many reasons to detest the raven haired man who sat behind her; interestingly, though, he hadn’t been the first to annoy her that day.           Only the last. Poor man.     No, her temper had been set initially on edge by someone else entirely, who had seemed to have a knack for it. 

     In contrast to the supposed ‘super fans’ who so rarely recognized her as Seto’s assistant, despite her constant presence at his side, the woman who had slipped into the seat beside her and introduced herself without pause seemed to know exactly who she was. Perhaps, even, too much. 

     “My name’s Cindra, King. You’re Natalie, right? Kovak?”    That was the first thing that set her on edge. That name, long abandoned, hanging in the air like a poison on her breath. It drew her mouth into a tight, thin line, and her response was ICY from the start.     “Arrington.” She corrected, in a voice that brokered no argument. It wasn’t an invitation to continue the conversation, but Cindra seemed to take it as such, prattling on          (as if Natalie didn’t look two steps away from snapping her idiot neck)     regardless. 

     “Oh, I’m so sorry,” She said, seeming to Natalie to be less than sincere as she laid one hand over her heart. “I wasn’t sure, the articles all said that was your real name -- “     “One of their many mistakes.” The increased venom in her tone had about as much effect on the other woman as her initial icy response -- which was to say, none at all. Briefly, Natalie was amazed at her nerve, but quickly quashed the almost admiring thought under one indignant heel. She didn’t want to admire this woman, whoever she was. 

     “Oh, I’m sure. You are Seto Kaiba’s assistant, though -- right?”      Her raised eyebrows and quick (read: sarcastic) glance down at her ID badge seemed answer enough, as Cindra continued with an amused smile. Apparently, she thought Natalie was being funny, and not intentionally rude.      Odd.     “I knew I recognized you. We don’t get as much coverage on duelists here as Domino City does, but I like to try and keep on top of news. That must have been so tough, having all those lies printed about you. I know the feeling -- the paparazzi are brutal, aren’t they? I didn’t realize.. but when I started getting some recognition, they tore me apart too. It certainly wasn’t what I’d expected out of making it, or... sort of, anyway.” 

     It was the sympathy she offered that held back the snide comment at the tip of Natalie’s tongue, which questioned what ‘recognition’ Cindra spoke of. Instead, she took a moment to recall the details of the VIP list, noting Seto’s mention of a young duelist with a dragon deck that was only second rate. A compliment, as far as his reviews went. She had won her ticket, Nat thought, in a KaibaCorp tournament -- which meant that her story had a high likelihood of actually being true.      It occurred to her, then, that Cindra - for all her social niceties and supposed confidence - actually seemed rather... nervous. Her smile was a touch too wide, her voice almost breathless, and her eyes were... frantic, perhaps, as she continued. 

     “I was really afraid it would affect my career, but it hasn’t yet. I was hoping to apply for a summer internship, though, at KaibaCrop, and wondered...”

    Lo, the point of their little meeting. Though her own nerves were still terse from their initial greeting, Cindra’s forceful attitude could certainly benefit her if she were to gain a position at the company -- and Natalie wasn’t certain she could fault her for trying to prepare to speak to her, like this. 

     “KaibaCorp only refers to reputable sources.” She informer her, dropping the combative tone in favour of a more professional attitude. “The media, however, holds very little sway within our decisions.”

    “Oh, that’s -- really great to hear.” Her attitude, thought Natalie, must have been the result of nerves. She seemed honestly relieved, relaxing visibly as much of the tension melted away at Natalie’s words. As she continued, she seemed less like a know-it-all bitch, and more like a young woman excited to reach for her goals - something even Natalie couldn’t crush her admiration for.     “It’s -- a dream of mine, to work there. I know it’s a harsh environment, don’t get me wrong, but he’s really just such an inspiration, and I think I could learn a lot from working there. That’s how you started, right? As an intern? Do you -- Did it improve your dueling, or just your business skills...?”

     Though Natalie had been initially quite annoyed, she found herself now warming to the social duelist, and surprised even herself with a light, conversational laugh as Cindra’s words seemed to bubble out of her. 

     “Well, considering I couldn’t tell a trap from a spell card before, I’d say they’ve improved. You can’t help but pick things up around that place, but I was never a duelist.I was hired for my business experience; what I know, I had to learn on the job. Your knowledge would certainly be an asset, depending on the position you want to apply for.”

    “Really? Wow. I mean, those magazines never said anything about you dueling, but I just thought they were glazing over news that they couldn’t sensationalize -- what’s it like working for Kaiba, as a non-duelist?”

    Ordinarily, Natalie was evasive at best on the topic of what it was like to work with Seto - especially when those articles were mentioned. The other woman seemed genuinely interested, though; and given enough time to chat, Natalie got the sense that they could perhaps get along enough to be friendly. She was, quite frankly, growing on her. 

    “Well, like you said... he’s an inspiration.” She was careful with her tone, but still her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest, and she wondered if she managed to hide the glow she felt as she praised him. “You don’t have to be a duelist to know that.”

    Cindra’s lips parted, probably to unleash another question; before she could, though, there came the sound of something like a scoff from behind them. Cindra heard it too, turning in union with Natalie to see where the derisive noise had come from.

    The culprit was staring down at Natalie from where he sat, reclined in the highest seat of the VIP section. His arms were folded over his chest, though they were the only part of him that was not spread out like some sort of space-hungry animal. His legs were spread and straight, taking up far more room than he was warranted. At his hip, Natalie noted, a deck pouch hung. Clearly, then, he was a duelist, though his face was not one she recognized.      (Not, though, that she cared to recognize third rate losers who had to pay to get close to Seto. 

    “Sounds like someone has an opinion.” Cindra observed dryly. “Pity -- no one asked.”

    “Oh, sorry, did I interrupt your fangasm? My bad -- I’m just trying to watch the duels.” His retort certainly had an edge to it. If not for his tone, Natalie perhaps could have found his complaint a valid one. He didn’t stop there, though, fixing her with a particularly scathing look.      “Some of us are actually here because we give a shit. You know -- seeing as we’re actually duelists. Not just... inspired women.”

    His tone more than explained what he thought of that, and with how he raked her up and down with his eyes, she expected exactly what came next. That did not, however, make it any more enjoyable. 

    “Since you’re so inspired by great duelists, though, I’m sure I could show you a good time when this is all over. Let you play with my deck, even.”      Oh. There were so many things wrong with that innuendo. Cindra made a small noise beside her; something that seemed somewhere between a choke and an indignant gasp. Natalie, however, only raised her eyebrows and returned the raking gaze that the duelist had treated her to. From head to toe, she scrutinized him, stripping him down in her mind’s eye and finding the results paltry. He couldn’t know that, though; in response to her gaze, he sat up from where he’d been reclined, seeming to enjoy the attention.     Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the guard at the door shifting where he stood, responding to how the other man moved in his seat. She wasn’t worried about him sitting up, though, and lifted her fingers quietly toward Gray, the guard, as he straightened. Even in but her peripherals, she saw him stop, though he did not return to the door. Instead, he fidgeted with the comm unit on his shoulder, and stood dutifully nearby. He likely didn’t approve of her decision, but he would never argue with it; not over something so petty.

     “A good time, huh..? Like... with a great duelist?” Her tone was flirtatious and light as she leaned into the back of her chair, returning the confident grin that the duelist bore.      “Of course -- “     “Do you know any? Like, would we meet them later?” Her vapid blink made him pause, as she interrupted him, but he seemed unwilling to quite drop the opportunity to flirt with her despite her apparent idiocy. Evidently, he hadn’t been listening too closely to their conversation - if he had, he’d have known that she already knew a great duelist. His ignorance didn’t help him as he leaned down toward her, resting his hands upon the back of the seat in front of him. 

    “You’re looking at one, sweetheart. In the flesh. Hideko Moria. First place champ, in this area. This tournament isn’t even worth my time." His posturing would have been more impressive, if his name had been at all familiar. It wasn’t, though. Alas.      Her laughter, cutting and sharp, was not the answer he expected to that. He seemed confused, but she was genuinely amused. Cindra, bless her heart, joined in as well. Shaking her head, Natalie waved one dismissive hand toward Hideko, sighing when her laughter faded. 

    “Oh, that’s funny. You think we’d want anything to do with your deck? Your pouch seems pretty small -- if, you know, that’s the innuendo you really want to go with. We’re here watching Seto Kaiba. Why would we want anything to do with second rate ‘champs’,” The finger quotes, she thought, made him mad. “like you?”

    “We’ll see who the real second rate champ is when he gets in here. I’m going to challenge him-”    “Not with that ‘deck’.” Her dry comment made Cindra snort with laughter, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Hideko seemed further irked by her mockery, rising to his feet in anger. The door to the booth clicked -- likely, more security, come to deal with the toddler’s tantrum. Again, she spotted Gray moving behind her, but raised one hand to still him.

    “What the hell do you know. You’re not even a duelist.” The dark haired man spat at her, but earned only more amused laughter for his efforts. Carefully, she unhooked her ID badge, holding it out for him to see. She waited a moment, her face and eyes clearly communicating what she thought of how long it took him to read it, before elaborating verbally -- much, again, to his chagrin.       “Executive Assistant to the CEO of KaibaCorp. Natalie Arrington. I wish it were a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Moria, but I’ve had more pleasurable meetings with our fax machines. I think you’ll find I know quite a lot about great duelists. Not so much about third rate losers, though, which explains why I don’t know your name. Tell me, if this tournament wasn’t worth your time, why is it that you had to pay a fee to be invited into the VIP section, instead of facing Mr.Kaiba on the field?”      “I-”      “Don’t answer, I actually don’t care.” She didn’t give him a chance to speak, rising from her seat and smoothing her skirt around her hips. “You will not be challenging Seto, today, because you’re not worth his time. You’re not even worth mine, and I’m - as you said - not even a duelist. I’m quite sure, however, that I would be more than enough to deal with you."

    “Your time? You’re a glorified secretary, and you don’t even have a DECK --”     “Or anything to PROVE, to the likes of YOU.”

    The sound of Seto’s voice startled them all, and as one, they turned toward the door. It seemed that the click she had heard was not just security entering to supervise their little spat. How she had managed to miss the commanding presence of her lover, she could not say -- but somehow, she had. He stood near the door, now - six towering feet of imposing fury as he fixed Hideko with his coldest glare, his leather clad arms folded over his thick chest. If she had found him pleasing to her eye from on the field, to see him in such a mood here made it all the more tempting -- but she had something more to focus on than the probability of him doling out punishment. Namely, how Hideko was still speaking, even in the face of Seto’s intimidation.

     “Well well, if it isn’t the prince of darkness himself. No offense, Mister Kaiba, but you need to lift your standards. Your little secretary’s mouthy, for someone who can’t even duel. I guess that’s how you make yourself feel better, though -- by surrounding yourself with people who just make you look good, right? Since she doesn’t know the first thing about the game, I bet she thinks you’re just the greatest, doesn’t sh-”

    In Natalie’s mind, she had a vision of hitting him with a chair. Instead, she stepped between Seto and the imbecile who was baiting him forward, asking for more than he could possibly handle. On one hand, seeing Seto destroy him - either physically, verbally, or in a duel, would have been satisfying.    But on the other, he was insulting her as much as he was her boyfriend - and she wanted the taste of his defeat for herself. So she placed herself between him and Seto’s temper, laughter still on her lips. 

     “Your attempts to goad Mr.Kaiba into giving you the time of day are cute, Mr. Moria, but as I said -- you will not have the pleasure of challenging him today. If you would like to try and assert your self worth in the only way you know how, I would be more than happy to duel you. Otherwise, you may join Mr.Moruba here as he escorts you off of the property.” 

    “Natalie --” Seto’s tone was hard to read, from only one word. She assumed, though, that he didn’t think it was a good idea. He was the better duelist, the one that Hideko had come to challenge -- but Natalie refused to give him what he wanted. It didn’t matter, though -- the other duelist was riled, now, and though Seto was who he had come for, he had not forgotten the vicious redhead who had mocked him without pause.

    “With what deck, Red? I know you’re new to this, but you need cards to play.”

    “She can use mine.” The offer came not from Seto, but from Cindra, who Natalie had nearly forgotten about in the chaos. She was holding the stack of cards as she approached, taking a position next to Natalie and offering them out. “That is -- unless you’re scared to duel a secretary. Shouldn’t be a problem for you, seeing as you wanted to challenge Kaiba.” 

    Natalie had been betting on Hideko’s refusal, gambling on a bluff she couldn’t back up without cards of her own. As it turned out, though, she didn’t need to -- reaching out, she took Cindra’s deck from her hands, glancing only briefly down at some of the cards. She recognized their names, from strategies Seto had mentioned before...     Which meant Hideko had no further reason to refuse. Sure, he could claim it wasn’t ‘worth his time’, but then he would need to leave. She could see the gears turning in his tiny skull, and was prepared for the demand that came forth next. 

    “When I finish with you, I will get to duel HIM.”     “If.” she shrugged, hearing the creak of Seto’s grip tightening against his leather sleeves. My, but he was angry. If Hideko did defeat her... well.      He wasn’t in for a pleasant duel.

    “You don’t need to do this.” He repeated to her, in a low and dangerous voice. Over her shoulder, she shared with him a small smile -- one that said more than clearly that she wanted to. His eyebrows quirked higher in surprise, but he unfolded his arms, and very deliberately unhooked the duel disc from his wrist.      Natalie had expected to duel simply on a mat, but she did note that Hideko wore a similar disc upon his own arm. With a flick of his fingers, Seto beckoned her closer, but she didn’t need the instruction he offered to put it on. She had, after all, seen all of the documents to create the damn thing. In a few quick snaps, it was secure against her arm, and she could have sworn she saw Seto’s lips twitch again.      (Apparently, he liked the sight of her, wearing his disc. She filed that fact away, for later.) 

     The booth wasn’t the ideal place for a duel, but there was room -- slipping Cindra’s deck into the proper slot, Natalie stepped into the area that security cleared, facing Hideko with as much care as he deserved. Which was, to be clear, none. Her flippant air upset him, but she didn’t care much about that, either. Thus, the duel began -- with the holographic displays that she had watched Seto create, the flair that the Kaiba name was known for, and Hideko’s veins bulging in his forehead. 

    To his credit, being so annoyed didn’t affect his game as much as Natalie had thought. He started the duel strong, which seemed to only enhance his insufferable confidence to the point of breaking her own considerable patience. With each card he set down, he explained it’s stats and effects in the most condescending of tones -- right up until the tide began to turn. 

    He had been so consumed with his own superiority, he hadn’t stopped to consider that she hadn’t been simply setting cards down at random. As the key to her strategy slipped free on her next draw, control shifted quickly into Natalie’s hands, and she did not waste it by explaining it to Hideko with every move. His explanations quickly halted as he tried to form a counter, but it was already too late for him to regain the ground that he had lost. 

     It was with a smile void of mercy that she watched his life points scroll steadily downward, and when the chime rang zero and the holograms faded, she wasn’t certain that she had ever felt quite as satisfied as she did just then. He was stunned into silence, still clutching what had been left of his hand, and she tutted quietly to herself as she gathered Cindra’s cards back into one stack. 

     “Next time you would like to question KaibaCorp’s standards, Mr. Moria, please remember that a secretary was the one who put you in your place. Mr. Moruba, would you please escort Mr. Moria away? I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find where he belongs. Just follow the smell of disappointment and trash and he should fit right in.”

     Gray seemed only too happy to step forward, cutting Natalie’s view of Hideko’s indignant shock and sputtering short. She thought she heard something like ‘cheating’ as he was escorted out, but didn’t care to listen, turning toward Cindra as she sifted through her clutch for one more card to add to the deck. This one did not bear the signature brown swirl of a duel monster’s card, though -- instead, it was crisp and white, the lack of colour striking a notable contrast between it and the rest of the borrowed deck. 

     “Thank you for letting me use this. You really do draw inspiration from him, don’t you?” She shared a smile with the other woman, who flushed and nodded, torn between watching Natalie and staring over her shoulder where Seto no doubt lingered. He was far too close for Natalie to want to discuss Cindra’s deck, which bore so many similarities to his own it had been simple for her to recall strategies Seto had toyed with before. She didn’t let him steal her own focus away, though, ignoring him in favour of tapping her card with one fingertip as she passed Cindra’s deck back into her hands. 

     “This is my direct line. Call me when you apply for that internship, alright? I’d like to personally review your file, if that’s okay with you.”      “Y-yeah, that... that’d be awesome! Thank you so much!” The taller woman took her cards back in both hands and clutched them close, now apparently finding it difficult to speak. Seto’s presence tended to have that effect on people, though. Especially, Nat thought, when they admired him - and it didn’t help that he was looming so close. 

     It was already out of character, for their public charade, for him to have taken a back seat in the decision of what to do with the so called ‘champ’ who had challenged him, but the fact that he was standing so near only made it all the more strange. She supposed, then, that it didn’t much matter at that point that he brushed his hand against her elbow, demanding her attention in a way that she could not refuse. It took everything she had to keep from jumping at the sudden touch of his skin against hers, and the lightning arc of her heart starting in her chest. 

     She expected to need to excuse herself away from Cindra, and was already detaching the duel disk from her arm, suspecting that he would want it back when he was through scolding her for taking such liberties while representing him in public. Appearances, after all, needed to be kept. When she turned toward him, however, she found him frozen in place, his usually stoic expression strangely... reverent. 

     His face alone brought colour to her cheeks, but she fought for her composure despite how light his look made her feel. They were still in public, a fact of which she felt painfully aware. Though security was busy clearing the booth of the VIP attendees, directing them to the lounge in which Seto would soon join them, a few still lingered, their attention captured by the exchange. 

    “Apologies, Sir.” She said in a too-soft voice, her fingers falling still against the clasps that held the disk upon her arm. “I didn’t intend to delay your schedule, b-”     “Amazing.” His voice cut her off, and what he said robbed her of all attempts to uphold the act they had become so good at displaying in public, and her composure. Her cheeks burned crimson and she froze as well, her fingers seeming locked upon the disk. If Seto realized that the others had not all left, he didn’t show it, his words seeming to escape him before he could stop himself. 

    “You glanced at that deck, and still managed to build a strategy to WIN. It wasn’t even your deck, princess...” He paused, perhaps to find his own composure after the slip of his private nickname. One hand lifted as if he might touch her again, and despite herself, she leaned toward it. They each managed to resist, though, and Seto quickly continued on, his blue eyes burning with unchecked admiration for the woman that he loved.      “That takes skill. It was nothing short of brilliance, Natalie.” 

     That statement alone would have been enough, but he did not stop there. Later, she would wonder if it was intentional, a test of her restraint -- but if it was...     Oh. How she had failed, in the face of the words that came next.

    “I’m proud of you.” 

     They struck a tender chord with the red haired woman, one so rarely touched, even by him. Her vision blurred and her throat felt tight, but the tears that threatened to fall were far from miserable. That familiar sappy smile that she reserved for him was splitting across her face, and her heart felt likely to burst if he said anything more. To Natalie, he may as well have proclaimed his love on live TV -- and she couldn’t have hidden the effect it had on her, no matter what she tried. 

     She didn’t dare to speak immediately, nodding her thanks as she rushed to loose the duel disk from her arm; searching, honestly, for any excuse to turn her gaze away from him. Their guests were nearly clear of the room, now, but that did not mean that they hadn’t seen or heard any part of their exchange -- and if they spotted her now, god, they HAD to know the truth. She was putty in his hands, and though she had just before decried the inaccuracies of the gossip articles... Well.     There was no denying now that Seto Kaiba’s assistant, if not the man himself, had a furious crush on her boss.

     Mercifully, though, as Natalie glanced warily about the room, searching for evidence of witnesses. she spotted only Cindra, lingering near the door. As their eyes locked, and Seto’s hands lifted to free her from the duel disk in a tender fashion unexpected from the ordinarily severe duelist, she lifted one finger to her lips, and turned away, leaving them in privacy together.