#fallen aces goon

[acidhydra101]

watching @wayneradiotv 's lethal company stream and had to draw this during the goon incident

inspired by the Goon from Fallen Aces

[10-30-pm]

The (early) Christmas present I made for Gianni :3

[acidhydra101]

on it, boss

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #701 (July 1994)

"THE FALL OF METROPOLIS," Finale! The final (for now) battle between Superman and Lex Luthor! Wait, isn't Luthor practically a vegetable now? Is this just 22 pages of Superman beating up a cripple? No, it's actually a fair fight because Lex is back to his old Pre-Crisis habit of wearing purple robot armors (I guess they're traditionally more green than purple, but still).

As seen last issue, Lex's paralyzed body is being taken to S.T.A.R. Labs in an ambulance so they can administer the cure to the Clone Plague that left him in this state, but he's got other priorities: mainly, punching Superman. Following Lex's programming, a Kryptonian Battle Suit (the same one that Superman just sorta left laying around in Metropolis during "Reign of the Supermen") comes to retrieve him, trashing that poor ambulance in the process.

Now able to see and hear again thanks to the armor's sensors, Lex witnesses the destruction in Metropolis for the first time and is like "I can't believe I accidentally destroyed the city I love... anyway, let's destroy it some more!" More specifically, he wants to destroy the statue of Superman that stands atop what was once his tomb.

Superman comes to stop Lex from causing even more property damage (and prevent him from showing what's inside the tomb and spoiling a storyline that isn't supposed to start yet...). Superman evades the armor's punches and missiles, but Lex is able to club him with the statue itself -- which you already saw on the cover, but I'm showing it to you again because it's such a cool image.

Lex tries stepping on Superman and burning him with ignited rocket fuel (so hot that it turns the armor's hand into a stump), but Superman is Superman, so he ends up ripping the suit open, taking Luthor out... and flying him to S.T.A.R. so they can give him the cure. Because, again, he's Superman. But, unlike Superboy and other Clone Plague victims, Lex doesn't simply go back to normal after getting the cure: he's still paralyzed, probably because his clone body was "grown more quickly" than the others (he should sue that Dabney Donovan fellow for his shoddy rush job).

Of course, Lex blames Superman for the results of his own dumbass choices and swears that one day he'll make him pay...

...but, for now, he better get comfy in that bed, because he's gonna be there for a good while. THE END!

Plotline-Watch:

That closes the actual "Fall of Metropolis" storyline, but Metropolis will remain fallen for a little while longer.

This is also the end of the Clone Plague storyline, since Lex was the last surviving clone to get the cure. If you're wondering what happened to the Underworlders: at S.T.A.R., Dr. Kitty Faulkner says they all "seem to have perished." Damn, even the babies? That's brutal. Considering they never appeared again except in flashbacks, Kitty is probably right, but I prefer to believe they simply retreated even deeper underground and never had to deal with the surface world's bullshit ever again.

Lex wearing a green/purple armor finally fulfills the tease seen on the first page of 1986's The Man of Steel #5, when we're made to think a random goon in a proto-Lex-Men suit is Lex. Then we see businessman Lex himself and it's like "Ha! You thought this Lex Luthor would ever be caught dead inside something so corny? Dream on, nerds!"

This issue is written by Karl Kesel (plot) and Louise Simonson (dialogue) since Roger Stern left in Action #700 and the new guy hasn't arrived yet. Speaking of Stern, that blurb at the end saying that hopefully both he and Lex will return one day is exactly what's gonna happen, but it won't be in Action or any of the existing Super-Titles...

Shout Outs-Watch:

Awesome Kryptonian Battle Robot-sized shout outs to our supporters, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, and Dave Shevlin! Join them (and get extra articles) via Patreon or our newsletter’s “pay what you want” mode!

And now, keep reading for the great Don Sparrow's take on this issue, Roger Stern's run in general, and what does Clone Lex have between his legs...?

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it’s appropriate for a title like Action—Superman’s Kryptonian warsuit duking it out with the Man of Steel at his own memorial.  Great sense of motion from the rubble flying off, without motion lines, which is a real feat.  It also reveals that the Superman statue in Metropolis Memorial Park is in fact stone or concrete.  This whole time I was imagining it was bronze (we don’t have many stone sculptures in my neck of the woods in Northern Canada, as they tend to crack with the wild temperature differentials). 

Inside we’re treated to back to back splash pages to open the story, both with a great look at the rogue warsuit in action.  The image of the suit plucking a stark naked Lex Luthor is a pretty memorable one. And if you’re a fan of nude Lex, this issue doesn’t disappoint.  I hesitate to even mention such a thing, but is this is the first canonical appearance of Luthor’s pubic hair? Moving on…

[Max: I always took that as a shadow. That panel did make me wonder if Lex's clone body had everything, or if perhaps he asked Dabney Donovan to forget certain parts and just focus on making sure his pecs and abs remain rock hard even if a plague turns him into an old person.]

The image of Superman flying in to combat the Lex-driven warsuit is an all-timer, and would have made a great sticker.

The battle in this issue is reminiscent of the "Doomsday" storyline, in that we’re treated to super-sized panels, with only one or two images per page.  This is a treat, as the artwork really gets to breathe, but it has the unfortunate effect of making the issue a pretty quick read, as there’s a lot less text than in a normal issue. It also makes my job of picking the standout panels a little harder, as they’re all pretty stunning throughout the book.  The image of a raging Superman, having just thrown some missiles back at Lex is a good one, and very en vogue in this era, the peak of Image Comics grim & gritty style.  The image of the warsuit brought to one knee was another standout, as I really appreciate the difference in textures, the sold lugubrious brushline on the warsuit denoting its shininess, against the greasepencil looking streaks in the sky illustrating tendrils of smoke.

We get another intense Superman image on page 19, where Superman marches out of the flame undaunted (visually recalling the utterly badass house ad for the Super titles in 1990).  One of the final images we see is Superman carrying the limp, near-dead body of Luthor into flight.  Again, I think decency dictated this pose—surely carrying him in both arms, pieta style would have been safer for the passenger, but then we’d get an eyeful. Is there a reason Lex couldn’t just be wearing underwear throughout? [Max: Lex hates Superman so much that he refuses to wear undies on the inside OR the outside.]

SPEEDING BULLETS:

Well, at least Superman also acknowledged that leaving the warsuit on the docks was stupid.

This issue seems to reveal that Kryptonian metal isn’t all that much more durable than regular metal, as Superman shatters the leg of the warsuit pretty easily.  In the silver age, it was unscientifically explained that Kryptonian metal was also super-charged by Earth’s yellow sun and lessened gravity, making it way stronger than conventional metal. 

It’s a rare thing that a cover image comes to pass but we really do see Lex knocking Superman through his own memorial in a great splash on pages 10-11.

For such a knock-down drag out fight, taking the suit apart seems pretty easily for Superman on page 20—the very next panel, Lex is out of the suit, and in Superman’s arms.

A side by side comparison reveals that they really did redraw Lex on the last panel, despite similarities to how he is shown on page 12.

We are left with a small farewell caption to the great Roger Stern, with a hint that he—and Lex—could return to the super-books in the future.  “When we least expect it” would prove to be a little over a year later, but we’ll drive off that bridge when we come to it.  Perhaps because he’s not a writer/artist like John Byrne, Dan Jurgens or Jerry Ordway, it took a little while for me to recognize Stern’s greatness on these books.  But his Action Comics title consistently had some of the very best characterization and consistency in all these stories.  So many of my favourite moments (Lois finding out Superman’s secret identity, Batman getting Luthor’s Kryptonite ring, the return of Amanda McCoy, the introduction of Maxima) were all Stern scripts, and that’s saying something.  While in retrospect, I don’t love Supergirl being a protoplasmic synthetic entity, or Lex Jr. being a secret Aussie clone of Lex Sr. (storylines that mainly featured in Action) those were interesting options for their time, and certainly don’t stand in the way of Stern being among the all-time greats when it comes to Superman writers.  And, from my own weird personal point of view, much of the spiritual stuff I’ve collected over the years in our now-famous Godwatch feature has come from Stern.  So, God bless you, Roger Stern!

In an interesting sidenote that has no better place than here to mention—were you aware that in the Law and Order franchise, there have been dozens of characters with the last name Stern, which originated as a shout-out to Roger Stern from fellow comics writer turned Law and Order writer Gerry Conway (creator of no less than Firestorm, Power Girl and Killer Croc)?  There’s even a particularly creepy episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent where a perp has that exact name.  Conway also frequently used Hudson University in his episodes, which comics fans know is the alma mater of one Dick Grayson—which essentially means Law and Order is set in the DC Universe.  Cha-chunk! [Max: Wait, does that mean all of the DC Universe takes place inside some kid's snow globe?]

[mrcaputo]

Got fun to revive the Crash Bandicoot Noire skin set and by big request, have Crunch Bandicoot as "The Goon". Also big inspiration from Fallen Aces with the goons you find around the streets.

[ambigrueity]

More Trouble Than They're Worth

Chapter 4- Ace: Don't Get Caught

It wasn’t particularly odd to hear his name in the hallways. He was the second prince of the Sunset Savanna. He was used to being talked about. At home— if he could even call it home— it was whispers of his powers. Whispers of his unfortunate birth. Here it was just complaints about his laziness and the odd compliment of his Spelldrive plays. He much preferred the whispers here. 

No, the odd thing was not that his name was being uttered. It was who it was being uttered by. 

“Leona-senpai asked me to get this for him.” His voice drifted around the corner and Leona knew instantly who it was.

Leona would be hard-pressed to ask Ace Trappola to get him anything. The boy was a pain in the ass. He had a good amount of cunning, just not enough forethought to see it through. And enough stupidity to insult him to his face. He’d seen that very clearly last Halloween, during the party with the dead. 

He peered around the corner to see the redhead confronting a group of Savanaclaw students, arm outstretched.

“Um… doesn’t Ruggie-senpai normally run errands for the Housewarden?” One of them asked.

Ace shrugged. “Ruggie-senpai was busy, so he handed it off to me.”

Leona felt his lips twitch into a smirk. What a little brat.

The students of his own dorm seemed to shift uneasily at that. “I’m not so sure—”

“Okay, fine,” Ace said with a clearly exaggerated sigh. He drew the hand back and ran it through his hair. “I guess I’ll have to take it up with Leona-senpai.” He turned on his heel, before pausing. “Sorry, what were your names?” He asked over his shoulder.

That was enough to send the boys scrambling. “No. There’s no need for that. Here.” The one in front handed off his snack. Leona could see the wicked grin on the herbivore’s face. His tail flicked. He was somewhat amused that Ace had succeeded and yet utterly disappointed in the brainless goons of his own dorm who had fallen for it.

Ace turned around easily. “You’re a real champ~” He said sweetly. “I’m sure Leona-senpai would appreciate this.”

Turning on his heel once more, Ace slipped the snack into his pocket, whistling cheerfully. Now that Leona could see it better, it was one of the limited-time flavored chips that they were selling in the cafeteria. One that he’d sent Ruggie in a rush to buy.

He smirked, waiting for Ace to round the corner. “Oi, Herbivore. Heard you had something for me.” Leona leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Ace looked like he could have jumped out of his skin, stopping in his tracks before placing a hand over his heart. “Fuck.” He hissed before quickly schooling his face to a bright smile. “Hi, Leona-senpai. What are you doing over here?”

Leona held out his hand. “The snack I asked you to get? Where is it?”

He could see the boy’s eyes flicker down to his own pocket, gears turning in his head as he tried to find the best way out of this. He had two options, of course. The stupid one, where he pretends Leona never said anything like that and he gets to eat tiled flooring. Or, the smart option where he hands over the snack and takes his loss.

For once, he decided to be smart. He pulled the packet of chips out of his pocket with a crinkle and slapped it into his palm. His grin was extremely forced. “Just as you asked, senpai. Limited edition chips.” His gaze lingered on them for a moment. 

Leona patted him on the shoulder, leaning in ever so slightly. “I better not catch you using my name like that again, you hear me frosh?”

He swallowed, almost audibly. “Right.”

Straightening up, the lion brushed past him. He supposed he had to thank the guy. He’d brightened up his mood considerably with his antics. 

Ruggie found him not a few moments later, holding up a bag of chips. “Leona-san, I’ve got— hey, how come you already have one?” He said, pulling his hand back. “That means this one’s mine, right?” He grinned, opening the packet without waiting for Leona’s answer.

Leona just smirked. “Ace was kind enough to do your job for you.” He said simply. He tossed his own bag of chips at Ruggie. The hyena stretched out a hand, catching it easily in his palm. “Take it. I’m not a fan of tomatoes.”

“Then, why even ask me to get you one?” He muttered crossly. 

He only shrugged. “It’s limited edition.” He said as if that answered everything.

Ruggie rolled his eyes.

A few days later, Leona was hit with a striking sense of deja vu. Same time of day. Same hallway. Same corner. Same Savanaclaw students. And same old Ace Trappola.

“Again?” One of the beastmen spoke up. He glanced at the others behind him.

“Yup!” Ace chirped.

“Maybe you should go on and tell Leona-senpai that you failed to get some.” 

Ace stepped back, raising one hand placatingly. “Hey, cut a guy some slack, will you? You saw how monstrous that line is. I’ll pay you back. Next time there’s a limited edition item, I’ll get you two.”

He was such a sweet-talker, wasn’t he? To pull this kind of trick again, even after Leona had threatened him. It was like he was itching for a beating.

After a long tense moment, the Savanaclaw student handed over his food. Leona grit his teeth. Sevens, they were so stupid. How could they fall for the same trick not once, but twice?

His ears pricked at the sound of familiar creeping footsteps behind him. ��Ruggie. Did you get it?” He kept his voice quiet, not to alert the freshmen to his presence.

Taking note of his voice, Ruggie lowered his own. “Sorry, Leona-san. They sold out so quickly. Tried to lift one from a Scarabia kid’s pocket and he caught me.” Ruggie chuckled, though sounding a little out of breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Watch.” He said quietly, just as Ace rounded the corner once more.

“Leona-senpai!” He said, the perfect mix of shocked and nervous. “Ha… Don’t say it.” He forked over the deluxe sandwich he was gripping in his hand, lips pursed into a thin line of annoyance.

“What did I say, frosh?” Leona snarled. “I said don’t use my name like that if you’re going to get caught.”

Ace looked sheepish. “Didn’t think I was gonna get caught, Senpai.” 

Ruggie snickered. “Thanks for doing my job for me, Ace-kun~”

Now looking utterly humiliated, the frosh rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I go now? I handed it over.” He drawled.

It was always his right hand. His left stayed firmly in his pocket. Ah, he saw what this game was. He tossed the idea of calling him out back and forth in his head. In the end, he decided this whole charade had amused him enough. Leona waved him off. After all, he didn’t mind someone with a little cunning in them. 

Ace turned and walked down the hall, picking up speed as he got further and further away. Leona’s ears began twitching as they picked up the sound of crinkling plastic from his pocket. 

“Leona-San, did he—“ Ruggie’s own ears wiggled.

Leona began to laugh. Head tilted back, amused laughter that bubbled up from his belly. What a little brat, to pretend to fork over his only sandwich while hiding a spare up his sleeve. 

“What a cunning little fox.” He drawled, grinning. “He could be an actor if he wanted.” 

Ruggie blinked. “You noticed, didn’t you?”

“Course I did, Ruggie. He was making one-handed gestures this time around and keeping the left side of his body as still as possible.”

“You could have gotten two out of him.” The hyena said, tilting his head to look Leona in the eye.

“I like the types that learn from their mistakes.” He said simply. Ruggie snickered. Leona didn’t even need to look at him to know what he was thinking. “If I catch him next time, he’s in for it.” 

“Sure, sure, Leona-san.” He didn’t sound like he believed a word. 

[spermproducingparasiteblog]

A DEATH BY GOONING - FALLEN ACES #1

[canguy21]

beating the first level of fallen aces without killing or knocking out a single goon

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

"Picking husbandos for me has always been rather easy. It's asking the age old question "Where's the goofballs?" But finding my love of Zoro and Ace, I was still surprised that I fell in love with them."

Due to me getting 100+ episodes into a certain pirate anime, I just wanted to talk about the men in my life that were in this show. One of these men is kind of recent, like the last week and a half recent. But once I realized it... I was already in too deep. For the longest time, out of all the main four male characters I simped for Sanji. That was until last week I fell in love with Zoro. It sort of hit me upside the head during the Drum Island Arc.

I've always found Zoro to be this lovable goon, but hadn't fallen in love with him until recently. It took his antics during the Drum arc for me to realize that I was in way too deep (when he dove into the freezing ass water, tried bartering with Usopp for his warmer clothes, kicked the bad guys ass only to steal his coat) that I realized that I had a weakness for the himbo swordsman. He was just too cute for me to not love him. But at the same time he as everyone in the fandom knows has this power behind him. After I realized that brief scenario I had suddenly spiraled down this EPIC rabbit hole. After that I *loved* this dummy, I was gone too far. Zoro's personality just kept pulling me in deeper and now you've noticed my latest crisis. He turned out so, so, SO much worse than Sanji. But at the same time I realized that I didn't care either way.

But Zoro wasn't the only one, ooh no because that would be way too easy for me to deal with. No there had to be another himbo that stole my heart. That other himbo being something that is qualified as much more my type and that would be Portgas D Ace. Ace has quickly become everything to me in this series. At first I didn't really want him to be because I already knew how his story ends and it's the opposite of pretty. But he was just so cute, goofy, and he's voiced by Travis freaking Willingham, like Roy Mustang HELLOO?! What do you expect from me at this point? It was pretty much love at first sight for me. The minute that my best friend Gris encouraged that I did further research on the men that were coming I found that I had a problem. And that problem was only going to get worse. And once I got to him and it turned out to be so much worse than I could've ever imagined, I realized yet again that I didn't even care. All I knew was that was the love of my life and I was already in too deep to care. Just getting to laugh at his antics, scream with my friends that have watched portions of the show, and getting to just yell to the highest heavens about how much this man meant to me, it's been so much fun. That's part of the joy to me about having friends that have a similar tastes and interests. I never had friends that really encouraged this side of me before but once I did I found people that really understood me and I love all of them.

[maeve-of-winter]

not at all here to change ur mind about Kent and chara because we know chara to be a softy off the ice and taking pictures of pigeons to post on social media of course he’s there for this hurt but feral blonde kitten coming into the league lost and hurt

Aw, it makes me so happy to think that other people ship Kentara! Lol, yes, Kent is the feral kitten, and Chara is the gentle giant who takes care of him and lets him cry on his shoulder in Boston when Kent's visits to Samwell end in disaster.

Also, please have this unfinished Kent/Chara WIP:

Everyone in the League knew the story of Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann. Between Zimmermann being the son of a hockey legend and an award-winning actress, the two of them being rumored to be lovers, and the two of them slated to be top draft picks of their year, culminating in Parson actually being the top draft pick, it was a story that had the hockey world spellbound for weeks. Personally, Zdeno found the fixation on the Zimmermanns’ and Parson’s pain to be both invasive and morbid. Every time he caught a glimpse on TV of some TMZ gossipmonger staking out the Aces prospect camp hotel and then badgering Parson with questions about his feelings on Zimmermann’s condition, he was flooded by renewed disgust.

The Bruins had the dubious privilege of being more familiar with the Parson-Zimmermann saga than anyone else; one of their first-year players for the season was Jordan Caron, who’d played on Parson and Zimmermann’s line in Juniors. The more gossipy of the Bruins (read: Marchy) took full advantage of this connection to attempt to scrounge up details that the press had left uncovered.

“What was he like?” Marchy asked as they stripped off their gear after practice. “Was he, like, an obvious cokehead? Coming to practice high, stuff like that?”

Caron shrugged, and even watching from the corner of his eye, Zdeno could spot the obvious discomfort on his face. “No, nothing like that. He was just an intense guy, you know? He really wasn’t like anyone who you thought would be using. Between them, Parson was the guy who liked to party. I mean, if I’d heard that one of the two of them overdosed without knowing who. . .”

Marchy and several of the younger guys continued to pester Caron with questions, but only until the end of that practice, when Chara firmly told them to knock it off, and they immediately obliged.

Whatever the gossip about Parson, whatever anyone had to say about what he did back in Juniors, no one could deny that he was a phenomenal player on the ice. It wasn’t just that he was good with the puck, either. It wasn’t just that he could score and make it look boring because it came so easily to him. He had speed. During the Olympics, Chara always made a point of watching the speed skaters, following their movements during each event and talking to them later to ask them about their techniques, hoping to improve his own skills. Chara was always conscious of needing to improve himself, always ready to give credit where it was due, so he would readily volunteer that seeing Parson effortlessly outskate any of his opponents was nothing short of incredible

It was utterly astounding to watch. In Zdeno’s experience, first-year players often needed extra help to improve their skating, struggling to catch up to the more stringent demands of the League. But Parson? He was a regular ghost out on the ice, disappearing into the corner of your eye just as you finally thought you’d pinpointed him. It was a good talent for him to possess, given that his size and scoring record made him a prime target for any rival team’s enforcers. Very rarely, however, did any of them catch up to him.

But Parson could catch up to Chara, no question.

It happened near the end of the third period of a particularly rigorous game, with the Bruins leading by one point but the Aces trying their damnedest to bring it into overtime. With Thomas starting to fade on blocking the shots and the Aces’ offense never slowing, Chara was fully expecting them to succeed.

Just as he was steeling himself for the possibility, suddenly, one of the Aces slammed into him at full speed, knocking him against the boards. As Chara fought to keep his balance and also fully realize that, yes, one of the Aces had actually attempted to board him, he vaguely registered that the same player had simply dropped to the ice in a heap. Steadying himself on his skates, Chara glanced down to find that it was Parson, the Aces’s new star and first year player, coughing and convulsing on the ice, seemingly struggling to stand.

Even though it was Parson who came at him, guilt instantly flooded through Chara as he saw the condition of the other player, and cold dread churned in his stomach as Parson let out a hacking cough, dark blood surging out from his throat to splatter across the ice.

Chara didn’t hesitate for a moment before signalling for a ref to halt play at the first opportunity.

It wasn’t until the end of the game, after the Bruins just barely scraped out a win over the Aces, that Chara fully understood what had happened. Parson had lost one of his skate blades mid-stride and, unable to control his direction any longer, plowed straight into Chara. The impact had knocked the wind right out of him and left him with a bloody nose. He’d fallen to the ice, barely able to wheeze in breath, while blood from his nose dripped down his throat as he tried and failed to stand up and locate his missing blade.

Parson somehow found him that night at the bar where the Bruins were celebrating their victory and apologized, backwards snapback hat on his head in all its glory. (It was just beginning to be recognized as his trademark.)

“I’m sorry about what happened during the game,” Parson told him, looking at him directly with an unflinching gaze. “It really was an accident. I really wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Chara stifled a snort at the idea of Parson, who stood nearly a foot shorter than him and easily weighed at least fifty pounds less, deliberately headhunting him on the ice. He’d either have to be incredibly stupid or a complete goon, and he’d seen the way Parson played and knew he was neither.

“No need to apologize,” he told Parson, hoping that his accent didn’t obscure the sincerity in his voice. “What happens on the ice is fine to leave on the ice. We know this time was an accident and not a dirty play.”

“Thanks.” Parson’s lips tugged up a little bit, like he might smile, and suddenly Chara found himself overcome by the distinct desire to see it out in full force. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Parson offer up anything in interviews but a cocky smirk.

“You should let me buy you a drink, though,” Chara continued, letting a playful warmth flood his tone. “To show you I understand your apology.”

Parson laughed and ducked his head slightly, and Chara got his wish fulfilled as he glimpsed a small smile playing across his mouth. Combined with the faint pink tinge in his cheeks, it was, Chara decided, a very good look for him.

[red-jaebyrd]

Best of you

Part one - Fight or Flight

This sequel fic was inspired by this post by @hood-ex. Thanks for the inspiration, Emily.

It had been a week since Dick, Damian and Jason had gotten back from the Fortress of Solitude. Fourteen days since Bruce had shipped them off to the Fortress to recover from their injuries. Fifteen days since Bane had beat up each of them within an inch of their life and hung them by their necks in the Cave.

Once the boys had made it to the Manor and into their own familiar surroundings they had remained in each other’s sights. Neither of them ever leaving the other alone, they were completely attentive to one another. No one had questioned it or commented on it. Even if they had, Dick didn’t care. Both of his brothers needed him and he was going to be there for them in any way he was capable. 

Jason had moved back into the Manor temporarily. He told Dick it was just until Damian started to feel safe again. But Dick knew Jason needed to be around them too.

Dick knew it was just an excuse to stay in close proximity to them. He didn’t call Jason out on it, because truthfully, he liked having Jason around. He liked knowing that Jason was close and safe with them, instead of somewhere outside Gotham in a safehouse alone.

Dick’s concern for Damian increased within their first week back at the Manor. Damian had always practiced hypervigilance when it came to his surroundings whether he was on patrol or in the Manor. It had been part of his training with the League and in turn had become a part of his personality. But ever since the incident with Bane and the hanging, Damian’s hypervigilance had morphed into paranoia. He always insisted on triple checking every room he entered and was jumpy to the touch.

After the first week back Dick and Jason had eased his burden by taking on the first and third room checks. This helped some, but Damian still flinched with every hand on his shoulder or back.

The three of them weren’t on patrol duty yet as Bruce had benched them for three weeks to heal from their injuries. Dick played Cruise Director by organizing activities for both himself and Damian leaving room for Jason to tag along, which he often did. Dick made sure to schedule in exercise to keep their muscles conditioned and downtime either in the library or the media room.

Lately much of their evenings were spent together in the media room watching a movie. On movie nights Dick and Damian always sat together on the couch in the center. Alfred the cat and Ace the dog would always follow them into the room to provide their own brand of comfort. Jason preferred to sit in the back of the room where he could keep a close watch on his brothers and the closest exit. He had even brought in a small table to use as a gun cleaning station.

On movie nights Damian had always fallen asleep first. It wasn’t surprising considering the dark circles under his eyes and his quiet demeanor. The teen hadn’t been getting much sleep at night since they had gotten back from the Fortress. On their first night back Dick had been ripped out of a deep sleep to the sounds of screaming and crying coming from Damian’s room. Adrenaline had torn through Dick’s chest as he frantically rushed to reach his little brother’s room.

The sight of his little brother clawing at this neck and gasping for air had ripped Dick’s heart apart. It had been a sight he had hoped he would never have to see again. Instinctually Dick had climbed into the bed and held Damian close to him whispering reassurances into the young teen’s ear. Damian’s whole body trembled as he clung to Dick like a life line until his sobs turned into hiccups. Dick had finally allowed the adrenaline crash to overtake his body forcing him to curl up in the bed with Damian and fall back to sleep.

After that night Dick had suggested that Damian sleep in his room. He had expected Damian to put up a fight; argue staunchly that he wasn’t a child who needed the comfort of an adult after a bad dream; that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. However, to Dick’s surprise, Damian hadn’t the energy to argue. Instead, had just nodded, grabbed his duvet off his bed and followed Dick into his bedroom. 

They didn’t tell Bruce or Alfred about the nightmares.  Damian had made them promise. But Dick knew that Bruce could hear the screaming too.

Dick knew that if there was ever going to be any healing from this incident, especially with Damian, they all needed to talk about what had happened to them. Of course that was easier said than done. Dick knew better than to think that the other two would go for it. Jason would stop coming around to avoid sharing his feelings and Damian would shut down and refuse to talk. Ideally Dick would need to be the one to initiate the conversation to get them to open up.

Truthfully, deep down Dick didn’t want to talk about what had happened to him either, but he knew he had to for Damian’s sake. The boy was spiraling quickly before his eyes, turning into someone Dick didn’t recognize and it was starting to scare him. Dick had to do something even if it involved dredging up old memories of a time in his life he would like to stay buried and forget.

Except Dick couldn’t forget what had happened because now he had fresh rope burns to accompany the old scars from the last time a rope was fastened around his neck. Thanks to Bane those old memories that had once been buried were now fresh and new every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep. Old triggers Dick once had under control were now at the forefront of his mind eliminating any progress he had made in the last three years to overcome them.

Dick had just started wearing scarves again this past winter. He had missed the warm, familiar feeling of the handmade scarf Barbara had made for him all those years ago. The way the soft fabric would protect his neck from the cold onslaught of an unforgiving Gotham windchill. He loved that scarf and it was a welcome relief to be able to start wearing it again, but now that had all changed. Right now he could barely tolerate wearing a crew neck t-shirt.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Bane had one of his goons cover Dick’s nose and mouth while Bane had hung Damian first and then beat the shit out of Jason. He had made Dick watch helplessly as his brothers suffered while leaving him to slowly suffocate. Dick had started to panic when he couldn’t breathe and clawed at the meaty hand covering his nose and mouth, but the bastard had held firm. Dick’s lungs burned as he gradually lost consciousness just as Bane had strung up Jason. 

No, Dick didn’t want to talk about any of this stuff with Damian and Jason. However, he knew he had to if he was going to help his brothers heal. This was another reason why he encouraged movie nights, and hoped maybe one of these nights Damian would open up.

It had been a week and Damian had barely said anything more than two word sentences to either Dick or Jason. Bruce had tried futilely to get Damian to open up to him, but soon handed the reins of communication back over to Dick. The irony of Bruce trying to get Damian to open up wasn’t lost on Dick. The more Bruce pushed Damian to talk, the more Damian shut down further frustrating Dick.

Dick was positive that on one of their movie nights Damian would eventually open up. He wasn’t rushing it, but Dick had hoped that Damian would start to feel relaxed and comfortable enough to talk; and to Dick’s surprise it had worked.

“I never did have the tolerance to withstand the chokeholds from my trainers,” Damian muttered completely out of the blue one night. He kept his eyes on the TV screen and his hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap.

“You’re not…” Dick cleared his throat, nearly choking on his soda. “…you’re not supposed to have a tolerance to strangulation, Dami.”

“I am. It was part of my training and the only skill I couldn’t perfect,” Damian continued, pulling at the collar of this shirt. “One time Mother had a trainer hang me with a rope. It was so tight it dug into my neck and I panicked like I always did when something was round my neck,” Damian choked out a sob at the last word.  “I asked her to call it off, to make him stop but she ignored me. I eventually blacked out. I woke up in my chambers with rope burns around my neck and a migraine. She said I was a failure; that tears and whinging was a sign of weakness; and therefore a disgrace to the Al Ghul legacy.”

Dick put his arm around Damian. He could sense where this conversation was going; that there was some unresolved guilt for actions Damian was incapable of stopping that horrible night. The boy turned into the embrace leaning into Dick’s chest.

“You are not a failure, Lil’ D. There is nothing you could’ve done to have stopped what had happened to us.”

“I was trained to be the best, Richard,” Damian insisted, gripping Dick’s shirt. “I can fight blindfolded. I can manipulate my organs to avoid major injury, I can even hold my breath for six minutes, but I could never stand to have anything around my neck obstructing my airway. I was not good enough.”

“You are the best at everything you do, Dames,” Dick comforted, kissing the top of Damian’s head. “Your mother’s standards  don’t matter here.”

They watched more of the movie in silence. All that could be heard was Damian sniffling and the occasional thud of Jason cleaning his guns.

“I used to get nightmares about it. Feeling the rope tightening around my neck and not being able to breathe,” Damian confessed, tugging at the collar of his shirt again. “Now the nightmares are back and I cannot get them to stop.”

Dick’s whole body tensed at hearing Damian recall the feeling of the rope around his neck. His palms started to get clammy as he remembered Super Woman’s barbed lasso tightening around his own neck as he struggled to breathe and stay conscious. Dick still had the scars from the barbs sinking into his skin. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was likely a good time as any to share what had happened to him.

“Me too, kiddo. I get it, but talking about what happened helps. For me that…that wasn’t the first time I had rope tied around my neck either,” Dick shared, rubbing his hands nervously along his thighs. “There was an incident with the Crime Syndicate a few years back. Super Woman, an evil, twisted version of Wonder Woman had a lasso; she called it the ‘The Lasso of Submission’. It stung and burned when she tightened it around my neck.”

Ace climbed up on the couch next to Dick. Sensing Dick’s distress, he put his head in Dick’s lap. Dick welcomed the added weight of the dog and dug his hands into Ace’s fur. The sensation helped to ground Dick so he could continue.

“It wasn’t an ordinary lasso. It not only had the power to make its subject submit to the wielder’s will it also had magical barbs that sunk into skin and held the lasso in place,” Dick pulled down his shirt collar to reveal old white faded scars that peppered along his neck among the healing rope burns from two weeks ago.

Damian’s eyes widened at the sight of Dick’s neck.

“I couldn’t wear scarves for three years and I still can’t wear turtlenecks,” Dick confessed, righting his shirt collar.

“Turtlenecks make you look like a douche…no offense,” Jason chimed in from behind them.

“Thank you for the fashion tip, Jason,” Dick sighed, craning his neck to address Jason.

“Anytime, Dickie,” Jason replied, not taking his eyes off the task of cleaning his guns.

Dick turned his attention back onto Damian.

“Thank you for talking to me about what has been bothering you,” Dick whispered, squeezing Damian into a sideways hug. “I know it wasn’t easy, but talking it out helps to get the bad stuff out of our heads.”

Damian shook his head.

“Talking about my past with the League serves no purpose other than to showcase my weakness and my inability to maintain control over my emotions. Complaining about past events that I cannot change feels futile and pathetic,” Damian said, his voice cracking at the last word. “However, lately those past experiences are all I can think about since the incident with Bane in the Cave.”

“Talking about difficult experiences and working through the trauma caused by those experiences is not a sign of weakness, Dames,” Dick comforted, keeping his arm around Damian and leaning his cheek on top of Damian’s head. “It takes a lot of strength to admit that you need help and the support of your family to help you through this time. I’m always here to listen and help you in any way I can. Okay?”

“Okay,” Damian replied, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

Silence fell between the brothers again while the rest of the movie played on. It had surprised Dick that Damian would bring up something so personal about himself in front of Jason. Still Dick was proud of Damian for opening up. It had only seemed fair that Dick reciprocated with his own fears and nightmares. Perhaps it would help encourage Damian to open up more with him in the future.

“Is the kid asleep?” Jason asked, making his way to the couch.

Dick looked over and could see the slow rhythmic motion of Damian’s chest rise and fall as his breaths came in deep and even. He could also hear the soft sounds of snoring and feel Damian’s body completely boneless leaning against him.

“Yes,” Dick answered, feeling the shift of the couch as Jason sat down next to him and Ace.

“It’s good that the kid has you to talk to about this,” Jason said, gently petting Ace’s head. “Lord knows he’s not going to talk about this shit with Bruce.”

“You have me too, Jason,” Dick assured, nudging his elbow against Jason’s ribs.

“I know, Dickie,” Jason answered, grabbing the Blu-ray remote and thumbing through the main menu.

“Do you want to talk?” Dick asked.

“No,” Jason answered, keeping his eyes focused on the TV.

Dick nodded. Jason would open up when he felt like it. At least Dick hoped Jason would one day talk to him about the hanging and how it was affecting him. Dick wondered if that was why Jason had asked if Damian was asleep.

“Did – did the League train you –,“ Dick asked, motioning to his throat. “-for that too?”

Jason looked at him with blank eyes but Dick could see the muscles working in Jason’s jaw. Jason turned his attention back to TV as he continued to fiddle around with the main menu options until he found the ‘Special Features’ menu.

“No, but Willis always liked going for the neck,” Jason responded candidly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, you didn’t do it,” Jason retorted.

“No, but, I’m still sorry that happened to you,” Dick empathized.

Jason kept his focus on the TV and swallowed thickly.

“I was supposed to wake him up so he could leave in time for a job. ‘7’clock sharp you little shit, or we don’t eat for a week,’” Jason’s lip curled in disgust retelling his story. “He was out cold and wouldn’t wake up. I had to get on top of him and shake him. He woke up in a rage and I wasn’t fast enough to get out of his way. He grabbed me by the neck and squeezed hard until I saw spots.”

Jason paused to pick at a loose thread on the arm of the couch. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I remember clawing and scratching at his hand to get him to let go. It only pissed him off and made him squeeze harder. He finally let go when Mom hit him over the head with a frying pan. Never woke him up after that day, but it didn’t matter. He always went for my neck.”

Dick didn’t know what to say to Jason, which was rare considering Dick always knew what to say to everyone. He knew Jason’s dad was an abusive drunk. Jason never talked about his time with his parents before coming to the Manor only vague stories of his experience living on the streets. This was the first time Jason had ever opened up about his dad. It was probably better to just state the obvious since empathizing only pissed Jason off.

“Your dad was an asshole for doing that to you,” Dick said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah well, others have done much worse,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dick didn’t need to be reminded. He lived with the guilt every day that he wasn’t there to protect Jason from the “much worse” and the guilt only grew in intensity as he glanced at the angry red rope burns on Jason’s neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick mumbled, his bottom lip trembling.

“Why do you keep apologizing? It’s fucking annoying. You didn’t do anything,” Jason snapped.

“Exactly, I didn’t do a fucking thing the whole time that asshole beat the shit out of you and Damian,” Dick blurted, glancing at Damian’s sleeping form. The sleeping boy stirred and shifted his position away from Dick to lean against the couch arm. Dick lightly carded his fingers through Damian’s hair.

“I didn’t do anything but watch as he strung up both of you in the Cave by your necks,” Dick continued, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. Ace whined and put his head back in Dick’s lap.

Jason turned sideways on the couch so he was facing Dick and gently placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder. The contact was welcome, but Dick didn’t feel like he deserved it.

“Stop, Dick, is this about Bane? You couldn’t do anything. I don’t – do you think we blame you for what happened?” Jason asked, tilting his head to get Dick to look at him. “This wasn’t your fault. Why are you shouldering this?”

Dick choked out a sob before catching himself. One hand reflexively reaching into Ace’s fur, with the other he scrubbed the wetness from his eyes with his sleeve.

“I couldn’t protect you – again,” Dick muttered, tears streaming down his face. “It’s my job to protect my brothers, all my brothers. I couldn’t do that for you or Dam –“

“- because that Motherfucker had his goons restraining and smothering you,” Jason interrupted. “Bane knew it would fuck you up to have to watch.”

It was true. Bane was a genius when it came to mentally and physically breaking his adversaries. He knew he could destroy Dick just by having him watch Damian and Jason get hurt. And by all accounts Bane achieved his objective. As much as he tried, Dick couldn’t get the images of his brothers’ bruised faces and beaten bodies out of his brain. Not to mention the guilt of being unable to do anything to stop it was eating him alive.

“I know you want to protect us, Dick. I know you wanted to be there for Tim. We all did, but even you have your limits,” Jason continued. “You can’t shield us from everything. Shit happens with this life and this job. We signed up for this. We chose as a team to defy the Bat and go after Bane. How were we to know we’d be walking into an ambush? Fucker’s a menace.”

Dick shook his head and clenched his jaw.

“I know what we signed up for,” Dick countered, pointing at his own neck. “I have all the scars to prove it. But I didn’t sign up to not feel safe in my own home. I didn’t sign up to hear my youngest brother screaming every night from a nightmare, clawing at his neck and gasping for air.”

Or see that my other brother is unable to go to sleep by himself without all the lights on. Dick kept that last statement to himself.

“I didn’t sign up for that,” Dick repeated, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, leaning his head back on the couch and blowing out a breath.

“I’ve never heard you talk about the Crime Syndicate before,” Jason said, changing the subject. “Was that – was that the first time you told anyone what had happened to you?”

Dick nodded and curled in on himself. It wasn’t a pleasant incident to think about, much less discuss with anyone even if he considered them to be a safe person and Jason was safe.  Aside from the trauma of having a barbed lasso around his neck and getting smothered to stop his heart to diffuse a bomb; there was also the shame of falling so easily into their trap and the indignity of having his identity exposed to the world. It was easier to just keep the humiliation and trauma to himself.

“I thought it would help Damian open up and – ,“ Dick answered, petting Ace with both hands. “I probably should have talked about it sooner. But –,”

“- you thought it would be easier to just keep things to yourself,” Jason said, finishing Dick’s sentence. “I get that, but Dick, I know you. You need to talk things out and you didn’t talk about this to anyone? Not even with Alfred?”

“I couldn’t –,” Dick repeated, shaking his head.

“You know you have me right? if –if you ever wanted to talk,” Jason offered. 

Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing from Jason. It must have shown on his face because Jason’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise.

“What?” Jason asked. “What did I say?”

“Jason, I know you and you hate talking about feelings and stuff,” Dick responded, tilting his head and furrowing his brow.

Jason briefly shifted his attention to the TV pointing the remote and turning it off.

“I hate talking about my feelings,” Jason gestured to himself. “But I know you need to get that shit out or you’ll explode.”

“Thanks,” Dick replied, giving Jason a small smile.

“So, do you want to talk?” Jason asked, reaching for the nearly empty bowl of popcorn sitting on the ottoman.

Dick considered the offer. It meant a lot coming from Jason. Jason didn’t offer himself like that to just anyone. Dick had overheard Jason giving Tim the same offer a few months ago. He wondered if Tim was able to take him up on that offer before – before he died. There was no doubt Dick would one day take Jason up on his offer, but not tonight.

“Rain check?” Dick asked, leaning his head against the couch and rubbing his eyes. “I’m pretty beat.”

Jason nodded. He turned the TV back on and began scrolling through Netflix. Dick closed his eyes and started to let himself drift allowing the pull of sleep to overtake him.

“Just promise me you’ll never keep shit that big to yourself again,” Jason said, breaking the silence.

Dick opened his eyes and sat up; an idea quickly coming to his head that would also benefit Jason.

“I promise, but you have to promise too,” Dick countered, holding out his hand to seal the deal.

Dick could see the wheels turning in Jason’s head. His eyes widened as he realized that Dick had just tricked him into agreeing to do the very thing he hates, talking about his feelings. Jason’s shoulders sagged.

“Fine, we have a deal,” Jason huffed, shaking Dick’s offered hand. “Don’t get any other bright ideas.”

“You know, if we wake Damian we can probably get him in on the deal too,” Dick joked.

“Don’t push it, Big Bird,” Jason said, throwing a handful of popcorn at Dick.

[intomymindspace]

Like or Like Like ✰ Azumane Asahi

Like or Like Like by Miniature Tigers

azumane asahi x gn reader

Through the Summer and the Fall // Haikyuu!! Songfic Series

a/n: oya oya all 😌 welcome to my very first haikyuu fic! I started watching it after finishing season 3 of attack on titan and I um 🥺 love it 🥺 so this is what happens. I make a whole damn playlist about these boys. Anywayyyyys, here y'all are. The haikus used are ones I found on Pinterest by JS Parker - I did not write them and I do not own them so please don’t kill me, I can’t write good haikus for the life of me. Thank you once again for reading and taking the time to support me and my work. The next fic in the series will be Daddyichi!

Warnings: none other than asahi and his crippling shyness

It was the perfect summer weather for a beach day - and it was a perfect way to end a week’s worth of summer training. The beach was just a two hour drive from the school, and by the time the buses had arrived, it was only ten in the morning. As the Karasuno boys excitedly clambered out of the bus, they greeted players from the other schools and began pulling supplies to set up at the beach.

Asahi was too distracted by watching you through the bus window from below that Suga managed to hit him in the stomach, causing the tall brunette to double over, sputtering in surprise. “S-suga-san!” He was met with laughter from the silver-haired boy and their captain.

I watched you through your window

I was wearing that dumb sweatshirt

“Whatchya lookin’ at, Asahi-san?” His face immediately turned beet red, his eyes going wide as he realized how easily he was caught. “I - nothing! It’s just hot!” As Suga playfully hummed in response, Daichi slapped Asahi’s back hard.

“No wonder you look like a tomato! I can’t believe you’re wearing that right now.” He looked down at the ivory-colored sweater you had knit him as a gift from the previous Christmas. Even while Daichi had a knowing smile on his lips, Asahi wore a slight frown. “Hey, I happen to like it.” Their response was a cohesive snicker.

“Just don’t forget to take it off later.” Suga said, winking. “Now hurry up, let’s get all the stuff set up.”

I looked like a goon, I was dressed for winter

Even though it was the middle of June

Once everything had been set up on the beach, everyone got down to business making sure that they wouldn’t get sunburnt. Asahi’s eyes were wide as he caught you pulling your shirt off and shimmying your shorts off to reveal your swimsuit. You were happily chatting with Kiyoko and Yachi as they had just done the same - and he couldn't help but stare. You looked really cute in your swimsuit. As your head popped up, your eyes came into contact with his, and you gave him a wide smile without any hesitation.

He had been caught staring at you again! By no one other than yourself - yet he managed to send a nervous smile back to you before whipping his head away so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice how red his face looked.

“Oya, Azumane-san, you’re looking a bit red. Are you sick?” It was Kuroo who asked him - Nekoma’s tent being right next to Karasuno’s made it easy for the captain to see what was going on. At this point, it was fairly obvious to many players that Asahi had a thing for you. Asahi responded with a quick “I’m fine!” but it was clear to see that he was flushed because of you. They were all talking in a small group with Daichi, Suga, and Bokuto - and the boys smiled at each other deviously.

I watched you get undressed

I must have turned bright red

“Maybe you should go offer to help them put on some sunscreen, Azumane-san~” they didn't think Asahi could get even more red, but he did.

“What! Why?” Asahi immediately spun again to find you lathering up the front of your body - it seemed Kiyoko was too busy helping Yachi while being hounded by Nishinoya and Tanaka.

“Well, if you won’t, I certainly will! I gotta beat the crowd!” Asahi was going to get whiplash if he kept moving his neck that fast - it had been Bokuto who proclaimed that, an owlish grin on the boy’s face. Crowd? Asahi questioned himself - only to have it answered when he noticed a few other boys from Nekoma and Fukurodani begin to walk over in your direction. As Kuroo and Bokuto followed, his eyes turned into slits - Daichi and Suga could practically see the dark aura that was radiating off the ace’s skin.

'Cause I couldn't stand to face you

'Cause I liked what I saw

Asahi felt another jab into his side, waking him from his jealousy. He looked up to find mom and dad staring at him, an expecting look in their eyes. 

“Fine! Just because I don’t want them to do it…” he practically sprinted towards you.

You were already being bombarded by boys asking if they could help you - but with a friendly smile, you turned all of them down again and again. Out of all the voices, you turned your head to find Asahi had called your name as he stepped beside you and Bokuto behind him with a pout on his face. Asahi tried his best to keep his blush to a minimum, but he wished you didn’t look as cute as you did - mainly for his own sake.

“Wou-would you like me to help you? Get your behind?” his eyes widened. “I mean - your back. Your back. I put sunscreen on your back.” He cursed himself internally - why did he have to be a stuttering mess all the time? Especially in front of you.

And maybe we should just stay friends

Asahi only blushed harder as you smiled widely at him, handing him the bottle of sunscreen you were using.

“Thank you Sahi-kun!” Could the poor ace get any more red? He simply nodded as you turned your back towards him. Moving the sleeves of his sweater as high as possible, he squirted sunscreen into one of his hands. He smirked as he heard the sad groans and sighs as the group of boys walked away in defeat.

“Oh, wait!” You immediately turned around just as he was rubbing his hands together. Worried, his eyes widened. Did you not want him to do it anymore? He immediately heard a few footsteps from behind him change direction.

“You should take off your sweater before you get - oh!” You laughed as you found the tall boy staring at you with both his hands covered in sunscreen. 

“Here, Sahi-kun - I’ll help you take it off.” He heard another round of defeated sighs.

Tell me how you feel about me

Do you like or like, like me?

“Nononono! It’s okay! I’ll be fine, you don’t need to do that!” He was surprised by your forwardness, but passed it off as you being helpful.

“Don’t be silly! It’ll be awful to wash off - especially since I made it for you~” Asahi gulped as you said that, simply nodding his head at the speed of light. He felt like his ears were turning red as he felt the tips of your fingers brush against his abdomen as you grabbed the bottom of his sweater - you took it off him with ease, avoiding getting the sleeves covered in sunscreen. He couldn’t believe that you were undressing him. Folding it quickly and putting it in your bag for safekeeping, you turned your back towards him again, trying not to ogle his well-defined body.

Tell me what you really feel

Do you like me? Just say you do

Your skin felt so soft - even under his rough, calloused fingers. He had never touched you this intimately - despite you being very close friends with him. Perhaps it was because he had only given you shoulder massages when you had more clothes on - he immediately tried to block out any thoughts relating to your body. But it was hard! He was crushing on you so badly, and all he wanted was to appreciate and love all of you.

Love. It was a word he was quite familiar with when it came to you - and immediately he was once again struck with more anxiety. The love letter he had in his pocket last night had gone missing.

I climbed up your front porch

And I doorbell ditched ya

Asahi breathed in and out very deeply as he paced in front of the managers’ room. Psyching himself up, he stopped and knocked at the door. He felt the letter sticking out of his jacket pocket - it may have been as light as a crow’s feather, but it felt like a forty pound dumbbell. He perked up, and his eyes widened as he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“Coming! One second!” His panic immediately began to set in - and he had no other choice but to flee. He couldn’t confess without the fear of blacking out - it didn't matter how many times he had practiced giving the letter to Suga. Little did he know that the letter had fallen as he ran.

And I felt so bad, couldn't cope to what I did

So I laughed myself sick all the way to my car

When you opened the door, you found no one there - you had thought it was probably one of the boys pranking you, but that was until you saw a small envelope a few feet away. Walking towards it, you saw that it had your name written on it as you picked it up. You let out a small hum as you walked back into the room.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kiyoko asked you, seeing the envelope in your hand as the other closed the door.

“I’m not sure - but let's find out!”

Tell me how you feel about me

Do you like or like, like me?

It was two simple haikus - and to make the guessing game even harder, there wasn’t a name.

I think of you, and

dream about you, in colors

that do not exist.

I’m choking on words

too scared to say: I love you.

I’ll tell you this way.

The eloquently written words made a blush rise to your cheeks as you wondered who could’ve possibly written it.

Tell me what you really feel

Do you like me? Just say you do

You were watching the boys play mixed matches of beach volleyball. Trying to keep your eyes off of Karasuno’s ace, you thought about who could’ve left you the love letter.

“Do you know who it is?” It was Yachi that had asked you, but you shook your head and she let out a small huff. “Do you have any hunches?” It was Kiyoko who asked the next question.

“Not at all! I don’t even know who it could’ve been! There are so many boys here, and so many have talked to me this week.”

“Maybe it’s Bokuto-san! Or maybe - ”

“Do you think it’s someone from Karasuno?” Your cheeks immediately tinted at the question.

“I don’t know,” you answered quietly. “But I hope so.” Your eyes immediately trailed back to Asahi, who was serving. The concentrated look in his eyes and the way his tanning skin glistened in the summer sun made a heavy blush rise to your cheeks. Little did you know that Suga had been listening in on your conversation from the sidelines - and he caught the way you looked at the ace.

Tell me how you feel about me

Do you like or like, like me?

“Oi, Dai-san! We need a plan.” When Asahi went to the bathroom during the late lunch, the captain immediately called for a team huddle. Daichi laid out a simple plan - one that required the team to make sure that no one was near the two of you.

“Will it work!?”

“Tch, it seems simple enough.”

“I can’t believe he still hasn’t done anything. It’s been at least two years.”

“We execute at sunset.”

Tell me what you really feel

Do you like me?

It was nearing sunset, and Yachi and Kiyoko had left you in the waist-high water to grab some water - and you could hear the voices of boys playing soccer on the shore. Just as the sun was beginning to set, the warmth began to dissipate as well - the ocean breeze not helping. While you wanted to get out of the water, you wanted to watch the sky change colors for just a little while longer. Kiyoko had taken your towel and Asahi’s sweater, which was still tucked away in your bag next to hers. Going up to Asahi, she quickly nudged the items into his hands, his face riddled in confusion.

“This is your time to go confess, Asahi-san. You can do it.” Asahi felt a blush creep up to his cheeks as his eyes glossed over. In the background, he could hear his teammates shoot tears from their eyes - not expecting her encouraging words to be a part of the plan. Maybe he had the strength to do it with his team cheering him on! With determination in his eyes, and a warm smile on his lips, Asahi slipped on the sweater and began walking towards you.

Tell me how you feel about me

Do you like or like, like me?

You heard your name being called out from behind you, and you turned to find Asahi standing at the edge of the water, your towel draped over his shoulder. Wading out of the water, you walked up to him as he gave you your towel to dry off.

“Thank you, Sahi-kun.” He still blushed at the endearment every time it fell from your lips - ever since you started calling him that as first years.

“Would… would you like to watch the sunset together?” He almost sighed in relief when you nodded - and you two walked a bit further away from the water. Setting down the towel, you both sat on top of it, your arms encircling your knees as your toes dug into the sand, Asahi leaning back, resting his weight on his arms.

You both sat in a comfortable silence as the sun slowly lowered, colors spreading across the sky and mixing beautifully. While you stared at the view in front of you, the only thing worth looking at in Asahi’s eyes was you. He was enraptured by the way the fading light was striking your features in every possible perfect angle, the way your hair moved slightly with the breeze, and the way you shivered slightly at the ocean’s chill.

Tell me what you really feel

Do you like me? Just say you do

His eyes widened - you were cold! His primal man instincts told him to warm you up, but his shy and gentle nature told him to abort mission - so Asahi compromised, and he immediately sat up and removed his sweater before drawing your attention away from the view.

“You must be chilly - please take my sweater.” There was a look in his eyes that you couldn't quite read properly, but nonetheless, you took the sweater from his hands and slipped it on, immediately being warmed by his radiating body heat. Trying not to ogle at his bare chest again, you decided to scoot closer towards him - so close to the point that your legs and arms rubbed against each other. You both kept your eyes on the sunset, pink dusting both your cheeks.

Asahi stayed sitting up, his hand pressing against the surface behind you so that he could stay close to your body. He couldn't resist the temptation to keep looking at you - and he strangely felt confident enough to have no shame in doing so. The way his oversized sweater somehow fit on your smaller figure so perfectly - draping over your shoulders and ending perfectly above the middle of your thighs. The sight of you in his sweater made his face flush, as it was a sight that left him wanting more of you in every single way.

“I think of you, and dream about you, in colors that do not exist.” His voice was low and soft as he recited the words from the love letter he had meant to give you. Your eyes widened in realization - it was no one other than Asahi himself who had written the letter. Looking at him, you continued the haiku, much to his surprise.

“I - I’m choking on words too scared to say,” you recited, your heart beating out of your chest. Those words had been scorched into your mind since the night before. Asahi let out a small gasp before realizing that he must have dropped the letter - this whole time he had been worried that someone had stolen it. He said your name, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you.” Both of you were blushing messes, but he knew it was his opportunity to shine. As he began to close the space between both your faces, he recited the last line, his lips so dangerously close to yours. “I’ll tell you this way.”

As his lips touched yours for just a mere second, he pulled away to look into your eyes. You knew from the look in his eyes that he was asking if you wanted more - if you wanted him to be yours. You met him halfway to the kiss - and your lips felt like they were lighting on fire as they moved with his. Asahi moved his idle hand to cup just below your jaw - his fingertips dancing at the nape of your neck as his thumb traced your jaw. He felt the way you melted into his hand and lips like you were chocolate. Before going deeper into the kiss, Asahi pulled away, his forehead gently nudging yours as his breathing deepened.

“Will you… be mine? If you’ll have me?” You looked into his mocha eyes to find that the unreadable look he had been giving you all this time was one of pure love. Asahi waited for your response - his heart hammering away in his chest. You smiled brightly, unable to control your happiness as you lunged to hug him, your arms wrapping around his warm torso.

“Of course I will.”

Thank you for reading!

~ Crystal :3

through the summer and the fall series masterlist

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BONUS

The bus ride back to Karasuno was quiet - the boys were exhausted, most of them sleeping or keeping to themselves with soft conversations. You had fallen asleep rather quickly - your head resting comfortably in Asahi’s warm chest as his arms were wrapped around you - the ace using his jacket as a makeshift pillow for his head between the seat and the window. 

Suga giggled sweetly as he took out his camera to snap a few photos of Karasuno’s new power couple cuddling on the bus, wrapped in each other’s embrace. He made sure to keep them to show his future godchildren.

[thecreaturecodex]

Daemon, Echinodaemon

Image © Wizards of the Coast, by Fred Hooper. Accessed at the Stormwrack Art Gallery here

[I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. 3rd Edition D&D did yugoloths/daemons dirty. Maybe it was a reaction to their role in Planescape, where they were the masterminds of pretty much everything. But 3e’s yugoloths got seriously depowered, and most of the new species introduced were varieties of stupid goon-monsters instead of having the depth or flair of demons or devils. The echinoloth is a case in point. The original has mental statistics of Int 6, Wis 8, Cha 11, no spell-like abilities, and barely any personality to speak of.

This is one of those monsters that already has a good conversion on tumblr, with @thecreaturechronicle​‘s version. That version hews more mechanically close to the text, and makes it the patron of death by pressure. That’s a reasonable choice for a deep-sea daemon, but the echinoloth doesn’t have any pressure related abilities other than “can survive it”. I went a different direction for my version, inspired by the flavor text of them roving the deep sea and the role that real echinoderms play as important scavengers.]

Daemon, Echinodaemon CR 8 NE Outsider (extraplanar) This creature is bipedal, but rather than having a humanoid torso is roughly spherical and is dominated by a shark-toothed maw. A squirming knot of barbed tentacles grow from its upper side. It has no eyes, but moves with malign purpose.

An echinodaemon is the representation of death both of and by scavengers. They preside over the looters of battlefields and beasts squabbling over a carcass. They sometimes form from the souls of evil scavengers (otyughs are not uncommon as sources for echinodaemons), but also arise when a cacodaemon gluts itself on enough souls in a short amount of time. They are bestial and not terribly intelligent, but cunning nonetheless.

Echinodaemons are often, but not always, found in the lightless depths, wandering the deep plains of oceans both extraplanar and of the Material Plane. They also follow behind battles or preside over tar pits and sinkholes to hasten the death of the injured and trapped. The barbed tentacles of an echinodaemon inflict suppurating wounds, and they radiate an aura of nausea. A creature that dies near an echinodaemon invigorates and heals it, making them difficult enemies to fight in environments rich with the dead and dying.

Echinodaemons are not popular among other daemon types, as they will not hesitate to kill a badly wounded daemon and return it to quintessence. They do congregate in massive tangles, especially in the wake of great conflicts. Although as an outsider they do not truly require food, they are compelled to eat the fallen, regardless of whether they were living, undead or constructs. Bits of treasure can be found in an echinodaemon’s gullet, but they do not intentionally collect valuables.

Echinodaemon        CR 8 XP 4,800 NE Large outsider (daemon, evil, extraplanar) Init +5; Senses blindsight 30 ft., blind, Perception +14, tremorsense 60 ft. Aura nausea (30 ft., Fort DC 20) Defense AC 20, touch 10, flat-footed 19 (-1 size, +1 Dex, +10 natural) hp 105 (10d10+50) Fort +8, Ref +10, Will +8 DR 10/good; Immune acid, death effects, disease, gaze attacks, poison, visual spells and effects; Resist cold 10, electricity 10, fire 10; SR 19 Defensive Abilities freedom of movement, gluttonous health Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 30 ft. Melee bite +15 (2d6+5), 4 tentacles +13 (1d6+2 plus infernal wound) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks barbed tentacles Spell-like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +12 Constant—freedom of movement At will—death knell (DC 14), greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. objects only), ray of exhaustion (DC 15) 1/day—inflict critical wounds (DC 16), slow (DC 15), summon (level 4, 1 echinodaemon, 40%) Statistics Str 20, Dex 13, Con 20, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 14 Base Atk +10; CMB +16; CMD 27 Feats Cleave, Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Multiattack, Power Attack Skills Climb +21, Escape Artist +14, Perception +14, Stealth +10, Survival +14, Swim +13 Languages Abyssal, Draconic, Infernal, telepathy 100 ft. SQ bottom walker, no breath Ecology Environment any (Abaddon) Organization solitary, cluster (2-5) or tangle (7-12) Treasure incidental Special Abilities Aura of Nausea (Su) All living creatures within 30 feet of an echinodaemon must succeed a DC 20 Fortitude save each round or be nauseated for 1 round. This is a disease effect, and the save DC is Constitution based. Barbed Tentacles (Ex) An echinodaemon deals bludgeoning and piercing damage. Bottom Walker (Ex) An echinodaemon is immune to pressure and cold damage from depth in water. Gluttonous Health (Su) Whenever a living creature within 30 feet of an echinodaemon dies, it heals a number of hit points equal to 5 x that creature’s Hit Dice. Any healing in excess of its maximum hit points is lost. Infernal Wound (Su) A creature struck by an echinodaemon’s tentacle attack takes 2 points of bleed damage each round. Bleed dealt by an infernal wound is difficult to stanch—it requires a DC 19 Heal check to stop the damage, and any attempt to heal a creature suffering from an infernal would requires a DC 19 caster level check or the spell is wasted. Success indicates that the healing works normally and stops all bleed effects on the victim.

[seijch]

futakuchi kenji + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

superhero au, action/fluff with a bit of angst

content warning !! (nongraphic) descriptions of violence, mention of alcohol

14.2k

recommended listening

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide...not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

"Your next job is an assassination," says the informant. He's tall, with blond hair going a little unruly in the wind. The real attention grabber, though, is the unblinking third eye that rests on his forehead. You feel his fingers probing at your brain, prying it open to tell you everything you need to know about your next target. This was a commonplace interaction between you; there were eyes and ears everywhere. The landscape of your mind was the safest place for secrets and information.

This time, it's some bigshot CEO allied with the Seijoh Conglomerate. He's trying to curry favor with the much smaller Johzenji Incorporated.

Negotiations are on Saturday, Three-Eyes (you'd never learned his name, not even his alias, and he'd never provided one) tells you. I've given you the location. You should know how to get there.

"Got it," you reply as his grip on your brain recedes. "Anything else?" The young man shrugs.

"The usual. Fly high. Don't fuck up. It'll look bad on all of Karasuno if you did." With that, his figure goes blurry and blips out of sight. Left standing alone at the rendezvous point, you sigh and slip into the darkness, riding the shadows all the way home.

 "Let me guess," Futakuchi says, shifting his gaze from his notepad to you, "a carbonara, extra cheese?"

"You know it." Say what you will about the simple dish, but it's been your favorite ever since the restaurant opened down the street before your first semester of university two years ago. Your eyes trace the brick walls of the small establishment, flit over Futakuchi's back as he enters the kitchen.

Due to its proximity to campus (and more recently, your apartment), you've been a regular patron since its opening. Despite this, though, it was your friendship with Futakuchi (and his employee discount) that kept a broke college student like you coming back for more.

(It started with an economics class you'd both taken in your first semester to raise your respective GPAs. You knew vaguely of each other, never having any reason to interact.

It continued the next semester with a group project for your communications class, once again shared with one Futakuchi Kenji. "Do you want to work together?" had spilled from your lips before you could think it through. You weren't friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was just the only one in the class you felt familiar enough with to ask.

"Sure," he responded. "Let's meet at the cafe close to the quad.")

"Here you go," Futakuchi says, taking you back to the present. "Without you, I'm sure this old place would've gone under months ago," he chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. He's thanking you, in his own roundabout way.

As always, you play along. "Aw, you'd miss me if I stopped showing up, wouldn't you?" He narrows his eyes at the grin you throw his way. You're sure he's about to hurl some sort of curse your way when an elderly couple walks past.

Schooling his features into something more refined, he gives you (and them) the smile of a saint. "Oh, please," he grits under his breath, "I give you three days tops before you come running back." You're left gaping at him like a fish, scrambling for a response, but nothing comes. His grin widens: he's won this one.

(After weeks' worth of research and countless cups of coffee consumed between you, the project was complete. You'd learned a lot about him — he was an electrical engineering major, played volleyball in high school, thought that Disney's Tangled was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece — and the easy camaraderie you two had fallen into made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit it to him. He didn't need his ego to grow even bigger, lest his head get too swollen to keep upright. Whenever he walked into the cafe, the very same one you had your first meeting as partners at, to order his stupid chai tea latte, you would be forced to give it to him with a bright smile and held tongue.

You might've swallowed your feelings, but they've always been there, like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom.)

Saturday comes quickly. The venue is the most opulent hotel in the city, the crown jewel of the entertainment district. The whole place reeks of cigarette smoke, a result of the casino located on the first floor. You wrinkle your nose at the smell, darting between shadows to reach the room you're looking for.

Three-Eyes needs to work on his navigational skills, you think. The penthouse suite could've been better reached by taking to the skies and landing on the roof. (Plus, you've always liked the feeling of twisting the thin, watery darkness into wings with which to take flight.) You chalk it up to needing to exercise the utmost caution, and for good reason: there are two armed guards stationed at the door. No way around it.

From around the corner, you send your shadow to strangle one of the guards, sinking incorporeal fingers into his throat. He gargles as his body falls, and you curse as it thuds on the marble floor. The other guard's on full alert now, his gun locked and loaded. He tries to move, to look for the assailant, but he can't: you've pinned his shadow where it stands.

Inky black tendrils make their way to the guard, his eyes widening. You wonder, dimly, what he must think. The thoughts people have before their lives end at your hands has always been a point of speculation for you.

Not that you ever give them much time to think; it's a small mercy, to kill someone swiftly. You may be a criminal, but you’re far from a sadist.

You crack the door open, catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

The target's running his mouth, his glass of red wine coming close to spilling with each flourish of his hands. They're decorated with gaudy rings, each outfitted with a flashy gem. A small staffing of guards watches the scene, all stone-faced and no doubt better trained than the goons you took out less than two minutes ago.

The room's nice, furnishing sleek and minimalist. It's also well-lit, bringing a frown to your face. You were at your most effective when it was dark as pitch, but the cogs turn in your head as you formulate a plan.

What intrigues you the most, however, is the young man standing behind your target. His mask covers his eyes, as though he were attending a masquerade ball and not overseeing a critical business deal. It's outfitted with...card suits. One side the spade, the other the heart, with the club and diamond in the middle. His stance is relaxed, bored, even. You're not sure who he is; Three-Eyes didn't tell you about this. He must be a new addition, you think. He's not armed. Is he Gifted, like you?

Doesn't matter. The modern chandelier above does well to light the room, but you find purchase in the shadow of a stool on the kitchen island. You leap into it, molding yourself to the darkness as you lie in wait.

"Those are the terms and conditions of our deal," the CEO from Seijoh finishes, lacing his fingers together as he leans back in his chair. "Do you have any questions?" The Johzenji representative opens his mouth, but you're only half aware of his response.

Fact: When you're assuming the form of another shadow, you can't send your own to do your bidding.

Fact: Making this quick and easy isn't possible.

Fact: Confrontation is inevitable.

Fact: You have a bad feeling about the man in the mask.

That being said, you wouldn't have gotten this far in Karasuno if you were afraid to get your hands dirty, whether you liked it or not.

In a single instant, you emerge from hiding and trap the masked man's shadow before he can spring into action. All eyes are on you, but before the CEO can sputter commands, you send an appendage of darkness to pierce his chest. He gurgles, blood spilling from his mouth, before he slumps into the chair. The red wine spills all over the plush carpet, seeping in to stain.

The guards launch into action, forming a protective circle around the Johzenji representative. They're all aiming for you.

Perfect.

Before they open fire, you lock yourself in a barrier. The shots, as you predicted, ricochet and knock out some of the lights from the chandelier. Once the roar of gunfire ceases, you force the barrier outward to skewer your attackers.

They choke, last cries strained as their bodies fall to the ground. You scan the room, all shattered glass and bleeding bodies. Well. I should clean this up a little before I leave. You don’t dwell on the thought for too long, though; there’s still one person left on the floor.

The masked man's stayed perfectly still and silent throughout this whole encounter. (Of course he would; he wouldn't be able to move, even if he tried.) "You're good," he remarks as you close in on him. "It's just a shame," he tuts, sidestepping—sidestepping?—your attack, "that I'm better." He's broken from your hold, somehow, and is out the window (when did it open?) before you can get a hold of him.

"Don't take it personally," he calls after you. "You were just unlucky." You curse under your breath; Three-Eyes is not gonna like this. You shackle the Johzenji representative to the ground, looking down at him as he quivers in fear.

"Well then," you sigh, cutting your losses, "why don't you tell me all about this deal Johzenji is making with Seijoh, hm?"

There was a young man with the Seijoh CEO, you tell Three-Eyes, though you know he's long since sifted through your memories of last night to know. I don't know if he was Gifted or not.

We have no record of him. When we meet tomorrow, I'll give you a supplement that will let you temporarily see who around you is Gifted. Take it before your next mission.

You make the mistake of letting your mind wander, and curse his stupid psychic Gift when he adds, tone bone-dry, No, not a suppository. Supplements are taken orally. He releases his hold on you and you swear you see him shake his head at your train of thought.

(Really, it's not your fault the two words were so closely related; as much as you've given to this second job of yours, you weren't ready to insert anything odd into your most personal crevices.)

"Meet in the usual place tomorrow. I'll also be giving you the details of your next mission." That's all he says before teleporting away. You glance at your phone, color rushing out of your face in record time.

"Fuck!" You fling open the service door of the campus cafe, retying your apron as you rush in. Cramming the cash from Three-Eyes into your bag, you rejoin your boss on the floor. He's chewing you out, and just as well: you've extended your fifteen-minute break to something akin to a twenty-five.

You're only half listening. Instead, you're replaying the events of last night, the man in the mask the only thing on your mind.

No one’s ever broken free before. You’re staring at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in the motion to trap a shadow. How did he do it?

"You in for a long night?" you ask Futakuchi, setting his chai latte on the table. He's come during dinner hours, rendering the cafe mostly empty.

"Yeah. The professors in my department have been working us to the bone." He stops to take a sip, nodding in appreciation. "I mean, I get it. Top five engineering school and all. But shit," he huffs as you wipe down a nearby table, "I feel like I can't catch my breath." You clean the store as he rolls his shoulders, a brief break before his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop. It's companionable, the lo-fi tunes from the speakers the only real sound.

(You were no stranger to all-nighters with Futakuchi by your side. In fact, that was the only way your project could have ever reached completion.

"College is not what I expected it to be," he'd groaned one night, the two of you holed up in a corner of the library. It was getting late: you're sure the staff was going to kick you out any second now. You looked up from your laptop to see him with his head in his hands, tablet pen still between his fingers.

In truth, you'd also been hoping for more of an opportunity to let loose. This was supposed to be the time of your life, the transitory period between what remained of your youth and true adulthood. Instead, you'd spent all your time at work, in lecture, or working with Futakuchi on this damn presentation.

None of those things were inherently bad, but they certainly weren't in line with the more...entertaining college lifestyle you'd envisioned yourself leading. To sympathize, you'd told him as much, garnering a laugh as he agreed with you.

"Well,“ he’d looked at you then, eyes hooded with drowsiness, “at least we're in it together."

Your heart leaped to your throat, and you fumbled over your reply. "Who said I was going to stick around?" It sounded less like a verbal jab and more of a stab in the dark.

"And here I thought you enjoyed the mutually beneficial relationship we had," he lamented, a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "Never again will I let you use my employee discount." You'd kicked his shin under the table and told him to get back to work.

When you'd gotten home that night, those seven words had kept you awake, tossing and turning. You were brought together out of necessity, after all; who's to say that he'd stick around once the shackles of obligation were broken?)

The amount of light pollution in the city has never done your powers good, rendering the sky almost starless, but you'll be damned if it doesn't look amazing from above. You land at the top of the old clock tower, the building standing only because of its history. It's a relic in a city bustling with modernity, and you find solace in the low ticks and tocks as the seconds pass into minutes. 

You watch cars race by, blips of color moving in the cityscape. You'd met with Three-Eyes earlier to receive the supplement (he'd reminded you once more to take it orally) and the location of your next mission. Your head still buzzes when you shake it, his influence not so easily forgotten.

Your wings drip with liquid shadow; when you'd first come into your Gift, you had been surprised at the almost milky texture of the dark. You're stretching them out, practicing your control, when you're interrupted.

"Huh," he says. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Before he finishes his sentence, you've bound him from the neck down in an uncomfortable sort of straitjacket. You tighten your hold; he's not getting away this time.

"Good evening to you too," he grins. "How rude of myself to not even properly introduce myself," he barrels on before you can get a word in edgewise. "They call me Ace." His voice is casual, like he's meeting with a friend and not tied up in front of someone who wants to kill him.

You've turned the wings at your back into razor-sharp edges that itch to skewer his poor body. One of them grazes his Adam's apple, and he tilts his head up in defiance, looking down on you. "So you're Gifted?" It's barely a question, but one you figure you should ask regardless. As much as you’d love to skip to the part where he lies motionless on the floor, the idea of never scratching that itch, never getting the answers you’ve been wanting since you first met leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks, placid smile pasted on his lips. In the blink of an eye, he's wriggled out of your binding—how? "Pretty good, if I do say so myself," he preens at his accomplishment. You make to end him once and for all, answers be damned, but he dodges every spike that comes his way. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval, leaping out of the way of a particularly nasty advance that pierces the floor. "I introduce myself, act nothing but cordial, and this is the thanks I get?" He lets loose a long-suffering sigh that only pisses you off.

"Not like it matters. I already know who you are." You try to close the distance, but he's quick to widen the gap. "The Harbinger...did you come up with that one yourself? It's a nice name, for sure. A bit vague, if anything, but oh so frightening." He's overcome with fake emotion, the end of his sentence condescending. He has the nerve to talk down to you, and you return it by pinning his shadow before he can run away again.

You're almost there. He's within reach, but your foot gets stuck in the hole you'd made trying to get to him. You curse, the sound guttural as it comes from the back of your throat. "Darn," he simpers, throwing in a pitying snap as you yank your foot out. "You almost got me there too. Unfortunately for you," he shrugs, once again free from your grip on his shadow, "I'm getting bored. Do better.” If being such an insufferable asshole was a real Gift, you’re sure Ace would be among the first to manifest it.

"Well,” he says, voice closing the door on the interaction, “'til next time, Harbinger." Before you can even try to get to him again, he's gotten a running start. Your eyes widen as he jumps from what must be a terminal height to the nearest building—and lands it.

Ace? Three-Eyes asks, once again in your head. Do you know what his Gift is? He's rewatching your encounter with him, and you ignore his snide comments about how easily he managed to wipe the floor with you.

No clue. He didn't attack me. The admission causes Three-Eyes' eyebrows to raise as he plays the encounter over again, looking at it through a new lens. Frankly, you're getting tired of seeing your ass get kicked. Definitely a slippery bastard. He's probably working for Seijoh.

We'll send an agent to do recon on their Gifted. This could just be an independent. Seijoh was fond of attracting Gifted to their cause, promising wealth in exchange for power. Three-Eyes seems satisfied with what he's seen, and you shiver as he returns your mind to you. No matter how many times he does it, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling.

"At any rate," he throws over his shoulder, "don't fuck up tonight."

Seijoh is awfully fond of glitz and glamor, and it shows: the charity banquet is decorated to the nines. A part of you longs to participate, but you're here to gather information, to play the part of the fly on the wall. The waitstaff glides across the floor in a dance of service, offering champagne and hors d'oeurves alike to the chattering elite.

Take the tablet thirty minutes before you enter, Three-Eyes had told you. Once it kicks in, any Gifted should glow orange at the edges. A memory through the eyes of a stranger had entered your mind then, and in it you saw Three-Eyes outlined in neon orange, the edges softly blurred.

Sneaking in is much easier this time, a shadow creeping far enough past the door that you can slip in without a hitch. You're prepared to assess whatever shady deals Seijoh is setting up this time, but you see a man near the door stiffen. He's glowing orange at the edges, and you swallow. The man is big, with a shock of white hair. Leaning against the wall next to him is Ace, the orange outline bleeding in the space between the two Gifted.

"Harbinger," the unfamiliar face says, voice deep. You blanch, holding your breath as he turns to face you. He's fast for his size, head whipping in the direction you move to, taking the form of a different shadow. The guard detail tonight, armed to the teeth, focuses their aim where you hide.

This is bad. Gunfire claws against your ears, and you leap out of the shadow to put up a barrier before they tear you apart. Glass shatters. A lightbulb goes off in your head, feeling deja vu tug at the corners of your brain. You break into a sprint.

The security detail picks up on your plan, aiming one step ahead of you as you run to the now broken window. From the corner of your eye, you see one such bullet speeding towards you.

It feels like the world around you slows down, like you can see each detail of the dusky yellow metal as it hurtles to the point of impact. 

This is it, isn’t it?

The bullet will lodge itself (or worse, pass through) your midsection. This opulent room will be where you meet your end. They’ll clean up your body, mop up the blood. The cleaning staff is going to have their work cut out for them, you think.

You wonder if time slows for each of your victims before you take them out. You regret not being quicker about it; you thought you were doing them a service, but this? This is nothing but agony.

All you can do is keep moving. Your feet are heavy as one moves in front of the other.

The world returns to its normal pace.

Your momentum carries you forward. The bullet is off by what must be millimetres, grazing your back. You leap out of the window.

The last thing you see as you fly away is Ace's eyes on yours, heart hammering against your ribcage.

Three-Eyes has never been the most expressive nor the most emotional, so to feel the fury rolling off him in waves stuns you silent. "You failed the mission?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question, of course; he's seen your memories. Multiple times. "You had a job to do, and you...what?" His voice stays even, but the eye that rests at the center of his forehead trembles slightly.

He exhales. His third eye stills once again.

"Look," he reasons. "I know you're pretty new around here, but the higher-ups demand results. You cannot fail. Keep that in mind next time we meet."

Your informant leaves after that, phasing out of your sight. Your failure probably reflects poorly on him, too; you've never met the higher-ups, the head honchos of Karasuno, but you figure they must be forces of nature. Shame washes over you as you return home.

For the first time since you joined Karasuno, you don't return home with an envelope of cash.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of you these days.” Futakuchi sighs when you call him out, raising his hands in surrender.

“There’s a paper due at the end of the month. My GPA can’t take it if I fall behind, so I asked them to cut my hours at the restaurant.” He’s had impeccable grades since the day you met, but you figure they weren’t entirely borne of natural aptitude. You, on the other hand, have been taking on more shifts in an attempt to offset the cost of failing your last mission.

One paycheck from Karasuno was almost twice as much as you made at your day job. You close your eyes, see rent’s due date glaring at you. Three-Eyes was right. There can’t be any more fuck ups; you literally cannot afford it.

“Well,” you hand him his latte (he’d only admitted it once, but you were the one who made his order the best), “you’ve come to the right place.”

It's been getting colder recently. The chilly night air nips at your skin, sends goosebumps up your arms.

"I get it, this is a nice lookout spot," Ace says, jolting you out of your reverie. "But really? Once was bad enough. Imagine if I found you here while I was on the clock." You don't immediately move to kill him, so he stands a respectable distance away.

"On the clock? For Seijoh?"

"Who's to say?" he deflects.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to. Just because I'm seen with Seijoh doesn't have to mean I'm working with them." He says that, but his presence alongside some of Seijoh's bigwigs begs to differ. "At the end of the day, I'm just some guy with a mask on, right?"

"No."

He laughs, incredulous. "No? Are you denying it?" He taps his mask, the ornamentation of the spade shifting beneath his touch. "The evidence is right there, isn't it?"

"I meant that you're not just some guy." When you swallow, it's heavy. You've started having nightmares about that day, ones where you don't make it out alive. You were so sure the bullet would connect...until it didn't hit at all.

More than anything, you remember the look he gave you as you ran away. It's that gaze that makes an appearance behind your eyelids every night. You've given up on trying to piece it together by now.

"Aww." Ace tilts his head, pursing his lips in sarcastic affection. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" You (once again) start to wish you'd killed him where he stood.

Instead, you say, "What did you do?" He gives you yet another look you can't decipher, another thing to mull over alone in your room under cover of darkness.

"Who knows?" he shrugs, avoiding a straight answer once again. "Maybe you just got lucky. Why do you assume I had something to do with it?"

(He has a point; all you have to go off of is a look and a feeling. You hate that he's right.)

The only noise at this point is the steady tick-tock of the clock tower and the breeze passing by, a gentle tap on your shoulder, a kiss on your cheek. You don't respond, soaking in his words. He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth.

You're not sure which you'd like to hear more.

"You said you were off the clock," you say after the silence has set in long enough to change the topic. He nods, gaze focused on the few cars on the road below. "I take it whatever...arrangement you have with Seijoh isn't permanent."

"Is work all you talk about? Man, I hope you're not this much of a stick in the mud behind the mask."

That hits a nerve. "I'll have you know I am very pleasant beneath the mask," you defend. He smirks, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Harbinger."

“Okay, be honest,” you begin, shutting the menu with a snap (as if you even read it). “Am I...uptight?”

Kenji inhales sharply, taking your menu with careful fingers. You’re well aware you’ve just dropped him in a minefield, but you watch him squirm with serious eyes. Ace’s words from the night before ring in your ears, and you’re itching to prove him wrong.

Poorly equipped to answer the question at hand, Kenji instead asks, “...You sure you want me to be honest?” He yelps when you aim to whack him with a roll of complimentary bread. “You were the one who asked!”

“You’re supposed to be a good friend!” you hiss between bites of another dinner roll.

“You asked me to be honest! What was I supposed to do?” he sputters. “Lie?” Kenji confiscates the roll of bread, uttering a mocking hum when you whine.

“Yes!” He doesn’t bother replying, muttering under his breath as he takes your order—and your makeshift weapon—to the kitchen.

You'd think that a business conglomerate with its fingers deep in the city's underbelly would do a better job at hiding confidential files. You guess Seijoh's got bigger fish to fry. Not that you're complaining, of course; this only makes your job easier.

(We've done extensive recon on this location, Three-Eyes had informed you. He was still tense with the knowledge of your last fuck-up, but you were given a mission regardless. It's where they keep their records of the Gifted in their system, hired or not.)

The job, for once, is simple. Get in. Collect the files Three-Eyes had drilled into your brain. Get the fuck out.

(Just watch out. They have this guy running point on their security. In your memory was the image of a man, hair dyed blond save for the twin black stripes running parallel lines around his head.

He...kinda looks like a bumblebee, you'd thought, hoping to draw a laugh from your informant. It didn't work. His jaw had hardened, and his eyes—unfortunately, not the third one—had rolled.

They call him the Mad Dog. If you see him, do not engage. His Gift—if you can call it that—is the ability to break bones and pop blood vessels with a single touch. Okay, yikes. You'd breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of examples Three-Eyes had given; he was often very thorough, but you were grateful he'd refrained from providing a visual this time.)

To his credit, Three-Eyes' navigation skills are getting better. Getting to the archives poses no problem, the office completely dark. If you got into a fight, you were almost certain you’d come out on top.

The only catch is the dozens of the drawers you'll have to open to find the files you're looking for. With a sigh, you fish out the small flashlight given to you by Three-Eyes the last time you were tasked with recon.

(I should also warn you, Three-Eyes said, that you might be terminated if you fail this mission. We won't kill you or anything like that, he'd assured you when you'd flinched. At least, I don't think so. But your memories of this time will be erased entirely from your mind.

His gaze was devoid of any levity, any mercy. I can put things in your head no problem, but I make no promises to be gentle if I have to take them away.)

You're thumbing through the files of the independents Seijoh has hired when you see not one, but two faces you recognize.

The first is the large man with the white hair that had managed to sniff you out from the shadows. His real name is redacted, the same as every other report, but you catch a glimpse of his designation. Bloodhound Unit 1-A. Fitting. You'd already collected the files of other members of Seijoh's bloodhounds; this was the last one on your list.

They all possessed similar enough Gifts, in the end: the ability to locate Gifted whenever they used their powers.

The second file you recognize is Ace, pictured in all his masked glory with a shit-eating grin. You stop to read this one; it’s not every day you learn the ins and outs of the biggest pain in your ass to date.

Gifted #1110 has the ability to manipulate the probability of events (moderate effect), the classification reads. This makes him uniquely suited to an escort position for negotiations with other companies.

That explains why you've only seen him around officials. You trace your encounters back to the beginning, to all his comments about luck. He'd escaped you because he'd willed it, forced the hands of fate in his favor.

This casts the events of your last mission under a different light: he let you live.

Why?

You take both reports, the last two files needed, and make your escape.

It’s midnight. The clock tower rings out behind you to welcome the new hour, but you’re not paying much attention. Bouncing around in your mind like an old computer’s screensaver is the project due at the end of the month and the need to confront Ace about what exactly happened the night of your last mission.

You're about to call it a night and leave the clock tower when he appears. "Why is it that every time I come here to think, you show up?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of cognizant thought," you fire back.

"Wow. Okay. Low blow." You manage an indignant laugh from him. "And especially rich, might I add, considering I'm the one who's come out on top every time we've crossed paths."

You don’t bother beating around the bush; you’ve waited too long to engage in his verbal sparring matches. "You really are a lucky bastard, aren't you?" It's not a question. He grins in response, as if you’ve passed a test.

"Took you long enough to notice. I was beginning to worry I'd have to spell it out for you."

Your meetings at the clock tower become routine. Ace shows up at midnight, you notice, fond of startling you as the tower rings.

("Are you stalking me or something?" you'd asked at the start. "Is your friend with the white hair sniffing me out so you can work up the courage to ask me out on a proper date?"

He laughed at that longer than was really appropriate, long enough for you to wonder what could possibly be so bad about posing yourself as a dating prospect. Second occupation aside, you were a catch and a half, and you were about to let him know when he caught his breath enough to reply. "Don't flatter yourself, Harbinger," he wheezed. "If anything," he'd sniffed, now nonchalant, "I should be asking you that question."

"What was it you just said?" You tapped your chin, coming to a realization, "Oh. Don't flatter yourself," you replied flatly. At this point, he was standing next to you. You'd turned to look at him, then. Not to look in the way you'd done several times before, but to really look at your...enemy?

You didn't know what to call him. Live saver might have been accurate, but you would rather have taken the bullet than call him that to his face. You weren't friends, nor were you enemies—not right now, anyway.

You didn't know what to make of this in-between you've found yourselves in, this space between hate and friendship.)

To throw a wrench into things even further, you find that he looks...handsome in the low light. You add the thought to the growing list of things you'd be quicker to take to your grave than admit to him.

(There was truth to the statement, though. You couldn't make out all of his face, of course, but the slicked back hair paired with a strong jaw looked promising enough. It's not like he was spindly either, body all lean muscle. You'd been staring for much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and he'd noticed. "Like what you see?"

"Not at all," you'd lied.

The worst part had been the fact that checking Ace out—sizing him up—wasn't on your list of regrets. What it was on was your laundry list of things regarding Ace that you couldn't wrap your head around.)

You learn things about him, things you'd sooner learn about a normal person instead of someone you seek to kill half the time.

He likes dogs.

(“I had one back in junior high. When I move out of the city and into a real house, I think I’ll adopt one of the same breed.” He’d shuddered before continuing. “I could never get one of those small dogs, though. All bark and no bite.”

“I think they’re a perfect fit for you,” you told him.

“Oh, ha ha. Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one on a losing streak.”)

He spends an inordinate amount of money on candy.

("You should see my pantry," he laughed. "I used to really like those like…” he was talking with his hands, gesturing in the air, “sour gummy worms back in high school. I guess the habit of buying them never wore off."

"I’m surprised you don’t have cavities."

"Please. My dentist loves me.")

He refuses to admit to crying when Mufasa died in The Lion King.

("So what if I was five?" he'd huffed, crossing his arms. "That's no excuse.")

It's humanizing.

It's concerning.

Now, when you look at Ace, you no longer see an unexpected roadblock, the joker being put into play. You begin to agree with what he told you weeks ago: he really was just some guy in a mask.

You begin to wonder when you became so quick to agree with him.

Your fork twirls around the pasta, you and Kenji sitting cross-legged on your carpet as a Marvel movie plays.

You'd been the one to suggest a celebration, having made it out of midterms alive. He'd agreed, bringing over some of your favorites from the restaurant after his shift.

The movie is good (though Kenji's uncanny ability to chime in during emotional scenes makes your eye twitch, just a little), the food even better. Before you know it, both of you are blinking bleary eyes awake in the morning light.

"What time is it?" you mutter, hand slapping the surface of the coffee table you'd fallen asleep on in an attempt to find your phone. Kenji rolls his head around in a circle, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

"Too early. Maybe around eight," he yawns, trying to once again make himself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep.

You, on the other hand, have never been more awake in your life. When you find your phone, you find that he's right—it's almost eight. Your shift starts at nine. At this time of day, it takes half an hour to get to work.

"Shit," you curse, forcing your half-asleep body to move and do as much damage control as you can manage. "I have work in an hour. You can leave now if you want, but you gotta be out when I am."

"Nah, I'll give you a ride. My place is in that direction anyway." There's something about the way he says it, his voice a touch deeper with the morning and the way it rolls off his tongue like he's said it a million times, that makes your heart clench. There's not enough time to dwell on it, so you let him stay while you get ready for the day.

(Somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, that same seed of infatuation you'd swallowed months ago threatens to sprout.)

The name Ace, as it turns out, is one he came up with himself.

"You really couldn't have come up with anything better?" you ask. "It's a nice name. A bit vague, sure," you parrot the words from your first meeting as Ace narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed, "but oh so frightening." Emboldened by his confession and greedy in the light of your victory, you tilt his chin to meet your gaze head on.

The touch is electrifying, like a spark igniting for the first time in a brilliant flame. You force it to fizzle out as quick as it came, hand drawing back in shock.

These midnight meetings have changed your dynamic with Ace. It's delicate, like a house of cards that stacks higher and higher with each encounter. You worry that the slightest deviation from what's been established might send the whole thing crashing down.

"The people at Karasuno were the ones who named me," you fumble, trying to defuse the tension. "They saw me flying when I was still learning what I was and offered to take me in."

Almost a year ago, you'd been discovered by two boys. It was embarrassing, in hindsight: you crashed into the taller one, leading to the other doubled over in laughter.

You learned that their names were Kageyama and Hinata, and they were pretty new to this whole Gifted thing, too. You haven’t seen much of them recently; once you three “graduated,” for lack of a better term, into full-time operatives, you often found yourself flying solo.

"So what?" Ace asks. "You just joined a criminal organization?"

"I didn't know it was Karasuno at first," you snap. "Not until it was too late. But I'm here now. Money is money."

"You could've just..." he lets the words hang in the air, trying to find the best response. "I don't know." Instead, he asks a different question: "Would you have joined Seijoh or done something else if not for Karasuno?"

"What difference does it make?" you ask. "When you break it down, we're the same. Our Gift manifested, so we joined the first organization willing to pay us enough in exchange for being the ones to do their dirty work. Besides," you huff, head tilted to try and find any hint of starlight in the night sky, "I'd be doing exactly what I do now if I was with Seijoh."

"...You don't sound very pleased about that."

"Yeah?" Your laugh is humorless as you chew on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I could afford it. This all started because I wanted to get in touch with my Gift and learn more about it." You bring up a web of darkness, warping it into different shapes in a show of control. "Just so happens they help me with my rent enough that I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck."

He's pensive, nodding along with your words. "You know, we should bring drinks up here sometime. I think we both need a break. You from your rent, me from my tuition deadlines. How 'bout it?"

Despite yourself, you reply, "Yeah. I'd like that." 

(Even worse is the fact that you don't think you want this to be an empty promise.)

You're at the clock tower again. The routine's stabilized into a weekly affair; it's unspoken between you two to meet on Friday nights, right as the day rolls over into Saturday morning. "Do you remember our last conversation?" Ace asks.

"About how you still owe me drinks?" Your legs are dangling over the edge of the tower, knocking against Ace's feet as the world whizzes below you.

"I thought it would be a potluck-style affair. We did establish that we're both broke, right? Why are you making me buy everything?"

"Wasn't my idea to get drunk with someone I've tried to kill," you offer. "Multiple times. I figured Seijoh's dirty money would be more than enough to afford a pack of shitty beer."

"If I'm going to drink with someone that's tried to kill me," for your benefit, he tacks on, "multiple times, I'm going to make it good. But that wasn't the part of the conversation I was talking about."

"Then what was?"

His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn't catch it if you weren't sitting next to him. "Do you ever wonder..." He's reticent with his next words, as though they're better unspoken, "what would've happened if we worked together?"

"If this is some ploy to get me to join your so-called good side," you drawl, throwing up some jazz hands, "I'm afraid it won't work. We've been over this: it wouldn't make any difference."

"No," he says. He's not looking at you, but rather at the full moon that smiles at you from above. "I mean like...a world where it's always like this." He bumps his shoulder against yours, and you become hyperaware of the lack of space between you.

(When did it lessen? You could layer your hand over his, if you so pleased. Are his fingers calloused, are they warm?)

You force the thoughts back into the dark corner of your mind from which they came. "Don't go falling for me," you warn. (You're not sure who you're warning, exactly, but it's a warning nonetheless.) "You should know by now I won't be around to catch you."

His gaze is somewhere far away when he says, "I know."

There's a warm mug in your hands and a show you're barely watching on TV. You're alone, bundled in your comfiest blankets. You and Kenji had scheduled a movie night, but you had cancelled on him, citing your neverending pile of assignments as an excuse.

Somehow, seeing him hours after being with Ace feels wrong.

You take the day to unpack everything about Ace you normally save for the wee hours of the night, when your heart still races as you return home from the clock tower. Your eyes are glazed over as you analyze his every word, every action, try your best to read between the lines.

Then it hits you.

Why bother reading so much into it? Why expend so much energy into trying to figure him out?

It's not like—

Oh.

The realization of your feelings for your sort-of enemy isn't a loud affair, not at all like glass shattering or the freefall felt after leaping out of broken windows. It's quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Taking a sip of your drink, you step into this newfound truth as though it were your favorite pair of pants.

Here's the problem with this new truth: you're pretty sure that being in love with a member of Seijoh is off-limits.

"You'd think that in a city this big, we wouldn't be seeing so much of each other," he quips. Why is he always where you want to be? It had been annoying (until it wasn't), but on this fine Wednesday night, you’d wanted anything but to see him. 

"And here I was, trying to find someplace new." Instead of the clock tower you'd both made your unspoken rendezvous point, you've come across Ace atop a skyscraper.

"Aww, I thought we were friends." Is that what he thinks? You're not sure if that's a testament to the change in your relationship or a confession just shy of what you really want.

(But is this what you want? A life of secrecy and hidden eyes?)

Ace pats the space next to him, motioning for you to come sit. You don't move. You worry that if you do, all the things you’re keeping hidden will come tumbling out unbidden.

(Would it be so bad if it did?)

"I'm fine here," you squeak. Your voice is meek, only serving to raise suspicion.

"...Are you okay?"

(What are you supposed to say to that? That you think you're in love with him when you barely know him, don't even know what he looks like? Are you supposed to tell him that even though you're on opposing sides, his eyes are the ones that haunt your dreams? How do you convey that all you could ever want is for things to stay like this, the city cloaked in perpetual night with Ace at your side and in your heart?)

There aren't any words in the English language that could get the point across.

He draws closer, as if magnetized to you. If words can't do it, maybe actions can.

You don’t think. You don’t speak.

All you do is yank the collar of his shirt towards you, crashing your lips against his. The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets.

You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he's willing to give.

(He pulls you flush against him, and later on you'll try to puzzle out how much of his reaction was instinct and how much of him was wanting for this, for you. For now, you're more than content to burn against him, with him. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.)

“I think I did something stupid,” you groan, head in your hands as Kenji scrawls your order onto his notepad. You’re his last customer, but he doesn’t bother pulling out his finest Food Service Voice for you, not when you’re like this.

“What happened this time?” His question only elicits another drawn-out groan as you drag your hands down the sides of your face. “Yikes. That bad?” Returning to his notepad, he mumbles, “Extra cheese,” adding it to your order.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue.

The food is good, as always. It distracts you a bit from the crippling weight of what you’d done not even twenty-four hours ago. You even find it in yourself to give a heftier tip than usual.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Your next meeting with Ace is awkward, to say the least. 

The haze of desire that plagued your mind that night has cleared, and you're left to face the consequences of your actions. The stars above twinkle and titter in equal parts at your embarrassment.

He's waiting for you at the clock tower. A change of pace, considering midnight is a ways off.

"Fancy seeing you here." You're trying for normalcy, but it comes out forced.

"What can I say?" There's no wind tonight, and that only serves to charge the energy between you further. "I guess we're just drawn to each other." The accuracy of that statement sinks in, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as you roll it around in your head.

"About last night—" comes out of your mouth at the same time as "Listen, what happened—" comes out of his.

Nobody speaks. You're reminded of one of the first nights you spent with him here, the silence almost companionable. Tonight, it's oppressive, suffocating you with its iron grip.

"So...are you okay?"

"Am I?"

"I mean, I guess not. You didn't answer the question last time."

"I did answer it," you defend hotly, stiffening as the words spill from your mouth. Way to go, you grimace. You've done a bang-up job bringing up the one thing you were trying to avoid. Ace shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do we...wanna talk about it?" he asks, giving a tentative poke at the elephant in the room.

"Good question." You're looking at the ground, eyes catching against the hole from your very first meeting here. "You seem to be full of those lately."

"Thank you," he replies, on autopilot. For a moment, it's like nothing's changed, the house of cards still standing. "I try my best." There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re not even looking at him anymore, instead finding much to observe about the hole you’d made a month ago.

Fuck it. You've already dug yourself six feet under—you might as well force yourself all the way to rock bottom. "You know that this," you gesture between you, "can't happen, right? You don't even know who I am."

"You seem to neglect the fact that I might want to." Not for the first time, you curse his ability to parry even your worst remarks. Right. Your heart flutters, a betrayal of the highest order.

"You seem to neglect the fact that when you're on the clock, we're at each other's throats."

He grins. "Maybe."

"Are you always this irritating underneath the mask?"

At some point in the conversation, he's come to stand one breath away. "Why don't you find out?" he whispers against your lips as he closes the distance once more.

You're seething, knuckles gone white as you clench your fists at your sides. You're not the only one pissed: Three-Eyes is about to pop a blood vessel, a vein bulging on his forehead. Whatever you think you're doing needs to stop. He plays your exchanges with Ace over, sneers when he sees you kiss like it were gum caught beneath his shoe. There are more important things than...this. 

You might have the worst informant in all of Karasuno, forced to watch as he skims through the month of private memories you'd tried to keep under lock and key. This was supposed to be a quick meeting to receive the details of your next job, but it seems he had caught wind of what you had been so eager to hide.

What you're doing endangers not only Karasuno, but you especially. There are fates worse than termination and much worse than death, he reminds you. There’s an undercurrent to his words, both a warning and a threat. See to it that you change your behavior before your next job.

"For the record," he says, quick to leave your mind, disgusted by what he's seen, "I kinda liked you. Shame you won't remember that if I have to wipe your memory clean."

He's gone before you can respond.

"You look like you just got broken up with," Kenji remarks as you shovel pasta in your mouth. When your only response is a withering glare, his voice softens. "Alright, what's going on? 

"It's nothing," you lie. You're at the restaurant to eat your sorrows away, but the reason why is a can of worms you can't exactly afford to be forthcoming about. Explaining exactly what mess landed you halfway to sobbing with each bite you take to Kenji of all people would only end with you behind bars for all you've done. "I'll be okay, I just...really needed some pasta."

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he backs off. It's a half victory you're more than willing to take. "If you do need help, you know who to call." You nod, unable to respond with your mouth full.

When it's time for you to pay, Kenji emerges from the kitchen to tell you that just this once, your meal is on him.

Kenji's taking his break, sitting right across from you as if he hadn't been waiting your table less than five minutes ago. (His manager had shouted for him to take his break in the back, but Kenji, it seems, has long since mastered the art of selective hearing.) He doesn't say much, scrolling through his Instagram feed while you eat. You continue in relative silence, the only real noise being the sound of your fork against your plate. 

You're more than halfway done with your meal when he pipes up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

He rolls his eyes at you, locking his phone and putting it down. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll be in the front row of all your stand-up comedy shows," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "Anything for my number one fan." He pulls a face. "What did you want to talk about?"

Despite being the one to start the conversation, he's clamming up. "Forget it," he says, eyes focused on the people passing by outside rather than on you. "It's not important, anyway. Just some relationship troubles," he lets slip.

"Oh?" you ask. You're in much of the same boat, though you suspect that Kenji, at least, has met someone that he can reasonably be with. "What's wrong?"

"I'm with someone right now," he blurts before he can think it through. "Or I mean...sorta with someone."

"What does 'sorta with someone' mean?"

"I mean...we see each other every now and again, but our relationship's never been clearly defined. I know the feeling is mutual, but there are some," he gestures with his hands, "obstacles stopping us from being together."

"Like?" Kenji's never come to you with anything like this before, but he's being rather secretive about this whole affair.

"We're not...meant to be together?" He doesn't sound sure of that answer himself, considering his wince. "That's not right. There are just...a lot of factors stopping us from being together, that's all."

You twist your straw between your fingers before you take a sip. "Sometimes, timing is a big factor," you tell him. "Maybe you're not meant to be together right now? In that case, it might be better to end things before they go too far." Kenji nods, soaking your words in. 

"At the end of the day, Romeo,” you remind, "the only person you have to please is yourself. What do you want?"

"The only person you have to please is yourself," he repeats. Louder, he says, "I know what I want. Don’t really know what I’m gonna do about it, but..." he rises, his break over, "you know. Thanks, I guess.”

You do, in fact, know. "Anytime."

Pocketing his phone, Kenji whisks away your empty dishes and returns to the kitchen.

Solving his relationship problems had been so easy. You only wish untangling the mess that was your own was that simple.

>> (11:08 AM) kenji: are you free after your shift today

>> (11:13 AM) you: yeah

>> (11:13 AM) you: why?

>> (11:14 AM) kenji: no reason 

Sure enough, when the bell fixed to the door signals a customer's entrance towards the end of your shift, it's Kenji you come face to face with. "The usual."

"No please?" you ask, typing in his final total.

"Sorry, we haven't reached that level of friendship yet.” He pays with his phone, the screen displaying a blue check before he pockets it. "Ask me again in a few months."

"My bad. I seem to have mistaken our months of companionship and movie nights for something other than close friendship," you say, scribbling the name Coochie-kins on the side of his cup. "How will I ever make it up to you?" Your voice is monotone as you pass his order to your coworker. A quick glance to your watch tells you that Kenji is your last customer. Untying your apron with practiced ease, you clock out.

When you emerge from the back, now dressed in casual clothes, you approach Kenji. "Well? Not studying today?"

"Nah. I needed a break. Mind joining me?"

Before you know it, you're at an arcade. It's one of those modern ones, revamped for all ages and teeming with all sorts of bells and whistles. You stop at the entrance, peering into the glass where a large stuffed turtle calls to you. "You want it?" Kenji asks.

Right now, you're not sure if you've ever wanted anything more. After a quick stop to load up a card with enough credits to make your wallet ache, you return to the crane game. "Hit me," you tell him, and he swipes the card for you, looking amused.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You're a fucking supervilain working for one of the most prolific criminal organizations in the city. This stupid crane game doesn't stand a chance.

...is what you told yourself three attempts ago. The turtle slides out of the crane's grip once more, taunting you. You resist the primal urge to bash your head against the glass, instead opting for a drawn-out groan. "Is it even worth it?" you mumble.

"Let me try," Kenji says, hip bumping against yours as he nudges you to the side. "Watch and learn." He cracks his knuckles as he grips the joystick, fingers feather-light as they rest on the buttons to engage the crane. The setup looks exactly the same as your previous tries, and you scoff as he presses the button.

The turtle goes up. Big deal, you think. It'll come down before it goes through the chute. The game is rigged, anyway.

Or not.

The turtle lands neatly in the pickup zone.

"What'd I tell you?" he asks, like it was nothing. "Sometimes it just needs that magic touch." He wiggles his fingers for good measure.

"Wh-" you sputter. "How?"

"It's like that episode of Spongebob," he explains, handing you the turtle. "Be the crane."

You resolve to beat him at something, the competitive side of you flaring up.

(It's the start of a losing battle. Kenji hands your ass to you in every game, be it skeeball or basketball or even those awful ones that demand a button pressed at just the right time. The arcade staff double, triple check the amount of points your card's accumulated.

It's kind of ridiculous, really, but you leave with a Nintendo Switch you claim joint custody over, so it's not like you're complaining.)

"Why did you call me out, anyway?" you ask, the turtle you've named Chichi (after the Dragon Ball character and not Kenji, thank you very much) in your lap. He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"I said it earlier, didn’t I? We needed a break. I also wanted to thank you for last time." It’s been a couple of weeks since that day; you don’t think you would’ve remembered if not for how out of the blue it’d been. You’re kind of surprised he’d been thinking about it, really.

"What did you do about it?"

"Turns out, I didn't have to do anything," he exhales. His voice is bitter when he says, "I got ghosted."

You wince, sucking in a sharp breath through your mouth. "Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

"Don't worry," he says. "Not like you had anything to do with it."

Your next job goes off without issue 

You don't see Ace at all.

It's been almost a month since that night. Does he still shows up at the old clock tower at midnight in search of your silhouette? You would’ve done more, would’ve said a proper goodbye, but you’ve got bills to pay. Drawing Three-Eyes’ ire is the last thing on your to-do list.

You count the cash given to you by Three-Eyes, toss it onto your nightstand. Unfortunately, this isn’t some fairy tale where you can have your cake and eat it too.

(But was it so bad to long for that bit of fantasy?)

You trade your view of the city at the dead of night for pasta and movie nights on Mondays.

Weeks bleed into months, and you draw closer and closer to Kenji. When he asks if he can kiss you, fumbles with the words a bit before you leave his car, you let him.

He leans over the center console, one breath away, giving you one last out if you need it. You let him close the gap.

You like Kenji, you do. 

But when your lips meet his for the first time, it's not the same. Ace might not be dead, but you're chasing after his ghost all the same, seeking him out in everything and everyone. What was once explosive, electrifying, even, barely manages to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It's not enough to boil over.

You'll take it.

(With your eyes closed and fingers tangled in his hair, you can almost taste the night winds on your tongue, hear the clock tower tick with each passing second. You tell yourself that maybe this is good for you, that the day will come where you see Kenji instead of longing for Ace.)

In the end, being with Kenji isn't at all what you expected. It's not at all what you wanted, either.

It's like coming home and finding out the hard way that all the furniture's moved three inches to the left: not immediately apparent...until you stop to wonder why you keep stubbing your toe on the coffee table.

"Kenji," you pant, pulling away. This is how your movie nights tend to end as of late, your hands in his hair and you situated on his lap. "What-" He's not in the mood to talk tonight, it seems, instead peppering kisses along the junction between your shoulder and collarbone. "What are we doing?”

For a minute, you think he hasn't heard you. "What do you want it to be?" He's leaning back on your shitty couch, eyes hooded and hazy. His face is framed by the low light of the action movie behind you, his chest rising and falling. You know that if you pull him back in now, you can safely bury the topic, cover it completely with your lips on his. 

They say ignorance is bliss, after all.

But your toe's been stubbed to the point of bleeding; there's no ignoring that.

You've spent countless nights examining your feelings. You've held them up to the light, ghosted your fingers along the hairline cracks that run down the sides. And despite all your introspection, the best you can come up with is "I don't know." Even as the words come out of your mouth, they feel like the wrong answer.

The three words hang in the air between you, cruel fingers of guilt and indecision digging into your skin, kissing invisible bruises that bloom purple. For once, Kenji is at a loss for words. The clarity's returning to him, you think, bloodflow returning to his brain. He goes through several emotions you can't place nor process in a matter of seconds.

It's then that you ask yourself the question: What is this to him? Some part, selfish as selfish can be, hopes that you're just as much of a distraction to him as he is to you. It's much better than the alternative; better to set each other alight instead of stoking a fire for someone else.

"Right." The word comes out in a single, stunned breath. "Well," he says, moving enough to force you onto the couch, "call me when you think you've figured it out."

You don't get a chance to reply before he's out the door. The movie you hadn't been watching seems louder now, brought to the foreground of your misery.

You tune it out.

If Three-Eyes is put off by the look in your eyes, the anger that's taken root, he doesn't show it. A tactful move on his part, really; you're just about ready to tear someone's head off if they so much as breathe the wrong way 

He has no reason to stick around. "You know what to do. Good luck." he says, waving a hand around in noncommittance before vanishing.

He's here. Of course he'd be; Three-Eyes had told you as much. Under the darkness of the new moon, you set out to strike a decisive blow to Seijoh's throat.

Tonight, you're aiming for Seijoh's headquarters, where their current leader—a man known only as the Grand King—happens to be holding a very important meeting.

Security here is no joke, and you find yourself creeping around above the shadows rather than within them. The Grand King's spared no expense, his bloodhounds roaming the halls. If you slip up, even a little, you're sure to meet your untimely demise.

The Grand King himself is younger than you expected. He's maybe a year or two older than you; much too young to be running a business conglomerate rife with seedy dealings and the law enforcement on its payroll. (He's also kind of cute, but this is neither the time nor place to dwell on that thought. You shiver when you remember Three-Eyes will no doubt catch this remark when he reviews your performance.)

Standing to his right is another man you've only heard about: the Grand King's most faithful Knight, at his side at all times. Nobody that's ever learned his power has come out alive. Not even Three-Eyes had any clue. His file wasn't with the others when you'd been sent to their archives, leaving you completely in the dark.

To the Grand King's left is Ace; you guess even the mightiest king needs a trick or two up his sleeve. You’re slinking at the doorway, body pressed against the wall, when a voice calls out.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the Grand King greets, a cheerful smile on his face. "We've been expecting you."

Shit. How did he know? You're about to make a break for it, to cut your losses, when strong arms hold yours in place. When you wriggle around enough to see who's got you pinned, you see the same bloodhound from last time, white hair and all.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you?" the Grand King asks, though there's no question about it. You grit your teeth, reach out for his shadow with your own. Your shadow wraps its fingers around his throat without remorse.

Then the Grand King snaps his fingers, and you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut.

It's bright, like he's turned the intensity of the sun itself on you and then some. You barely have anything to work with, light at all angles doing well to chase away the darkness. The Grand King walks toward you, and your mouth curls in a snarl.

He takes two fingers and tips your chin up to meet his gaze. "You're all they sent?" His brow furrows. "I was expecting more of a fight." Whatever he sees in your eyes causes him to lose interest rather quickly, his fingers dropping. He wipes them on the fabric of his pants as though you were a speck of dirt. "You're just a rookie. I was hoping Karasuno would send their biggest and baddest after me," he sighs, palm pressed to his forehead in woe. 

The Grand King has mastered the art of dramatic timing, whether he knows it or not.

There's a deafening boom that rattles your being at an atomic level. It's from the ground floor, but you can feel it shake the furniture at the penthouse all the same. You exhale, shaky and suppressing a grin.

The plan is going off without a hitch.

You've never worked with the other Gifted in Karasuno, so when Three-Eyes told you you'd be joined by two familiar faces, you knew you couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Hinata bounds in, a smile on his face. Between the taller, more intimidating men in the room, he doesn't look like much—until he bends the white-haired bloodhound to his will. The larger man's grip loosens until he lets you go, eyes unable to leave Hinata's.

The temperature drops, goosebumps snaking up your skin. Not far behind Hinata is Kageyama, eyes dark with purpose as he walks towards the Grand King. A swirling storm of snow and hail orbits him, and you feel your fingers go numb when he passes you by.

"Oikawa," he says. The Grand King's Knight moves to stop the Karasuno operative, but Oikawa holds up a hand, orders him to stand down. Despite the fact that the Grand King isn't much taller than Kageyama, he manages to look down on him nonetheless.

"Tobio." Wait, what? 

You don't get to see what happens next, your attention stolen away by Ace right as Kageyama attacks. His hailstorm takes out much of the lights with it, giving you the opening you need.

"Remember me?" he asks, smile mirthless. "I was wondering where you went. So much for getting drinks together, huh?" His jaw is clenched as he dodges the spears of shadow you fling his way. You try to catch him, to lock him in place, but he evades you every time.

"Bastard," you spit, growing more frenzied with each second that passes.

“Oh, I just got lucky," he says with a thin smile, taking off. You know he's trying to distract you, to stop you from joining the fray. You know that he knows you're drawn to him, even now.

He's running out onto the roof of the building, but you finally get a hold of his shadow. Yanking it harshly in your direction, you force him to the ground.

Your feet hit the concrete, each step inching closer and closer to the decisive ending. Ace has done nothing but hopelessly entangle you in an impossible knot; the only way out, you think, elongating your fingers into sharp points, is to cut through.

Fact: When Ace makes contact with the ground, his mask clatters, having fallen from his face.

Fact: Your eyes are wide, so wide they feel like they might fall out of their sockets.

"Well?" Ace asks, only it's not Ace.

Fact: Ace is Kenji.

It's Kenji, and he's spitting blood, rubbing the spot where his jaw connected with the floor.

It's Kenji, with nothing but malice in his glare.

"What are you waiting for, Harbinger?"

It would be so easy. One move, performed with surgical precision. You've done it countless times before. You know how to make it quick. You know how to make it painless.

But Kenji is the one behind the mask. And slowly, all the pieces begin to fall into place.

("Read it and weep," he teased, showing off his grades. "How does it feel, knowing that you're talking to the future Albert Einstein?" You knew he was baiting you into either a battle you wouldn’t win or compliments he’d refuse to let you live down. You played into it all the same.

"What the fuck," you exhaled. "Have you ever gotten a borderline grade?"

"Nope." He pops the p sound, grin on his face growing wider. "Guess I'm just that lucky.")

("Tell me about yourself," you told him, yawning with the late hour. Classes had been taking their toll on you, so you’d flown up to the clock tower to take a break. What you hadn’t expected was to see Ace there, wind displacing his hair ever so slightly. 

"What, so you can rat me out to your murder of crows? No, thank you."

"What's your favorite color?" you asked, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He’d given you a look, but responded anyway, seeing no harm in such an innocent question. At the time, you hadn’t, either. "...Believe it or not, it's actually pine green.”

"Really?" You turned your head to look at him. You were expecting maybe black or navy blue, but green? "Why?"

"I don't know. They were my high school's colors. I guess I saw enough of it around and on me all the time that I ended up liking it.")

(Sometimes, in the right light, you always thought Kenji looked like Ace. You dismissed it whenever it came up. You thought you just had a type. In a way, you suppose you do.)

You swallow in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the lump in your throat. Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. What is there to say? There's no way you can unmask yourself right now, reveal to him that his enemy and almost-lover (two different times, to boot) are one and the same.

So you don't.

Your mouth closes, sets itself into a hard line.

And you run.

Your hold on his shadow fades before vanishing entirely once you get far enough, but you don't care. You take a leap of faith off the roof, relying on your wings to come together before you hit the ground.

You're at the clock tower for the first time in what feels like forever. It hasn't changed. You’d flown here on instinct after fleeing Seijoh’s HQ. That’s not surprising, of course; you’ve been longing to feel the wind from up here for almost two months now.

"Why did you let me go?" Ace—Kenji—asks. You don't turn around, and you don't run away. In retrospect, you're not surprised to see him here, either. He must have known that this would be the first place you'd go. "You've never been the type to hold back. Why now?" You turn your head just enough to see his folded arms, his sharp glare.

"I'm just returning the favor from last time. We're even now."

"Last time, I wasn't the one trying to kill you."

"Does it matter?" You can't do this right now. Knowing who's behind the mask is too much for you to take, and you haven't even thought about the implications yet. "Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" Kenji's raising his voice, but you can't look at him. You watch the hands of the clock above move instead, counting the seconds in your head. "Like you left me alone the second things got too real for you? Was this all just some twisted game you tried to play to get in my head?" He's accusatory, poison dripping from each word. Beneath it, the question he's too scared to ask: You threw me away so easily. Did I mean nothing to you?

"I did what I had to do." He's about to lash out with some scathing retort, but you cut him off. "It wasn't my choice.

"Oh, like Karasuno wasn't your choice? It's always about what you have to do," he growls, coming so close that you berate yourself for never knowing that Kenji and Ace were one and the same. "Maybe you should start living based on what you want instead." It’s a cruel echo of the advice you’d given to Kenji, your own words twisted and thrown back into your face.

But that's the thing, isn't it? "I don't know what I want." You’re lying.

You’re lying, and he knows it.

He's reaching out for you, meaning to come closer as you aim to pull away, his hand colliding with the edge of your mask. The momentum of two opposing forces end with your mask caught between his fingers as it lifts off your face.

(You know what they say: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind.)

Kenji—Ace—goes still. His shoulders slump, anger leaving him instantly. Behind you, the clock ticks and tocks, steady despite the metaphorical rug being pulled from underneath you both. He's incredulous, whispering your name as he struggles to process the same realization you'd only come to hours before.

The fire in his eyes has gone ice cold. You barely catch your mask when he tosses it to you.

And then he's gone.

>> (12:08 AM) you: kenji i'm sorry

>> (12:08 AM) you: ididn't know i swear

>> (12:11 AM) you: can we please talk about this

>> (12:12 AM) you: please say something

>> (1:29 AM) you: i'll be here

>> (2:17 AM) you: good night

The next few nights are sleepless. You've (once again) done a bang-up job cutting both (can you call it that?) Ace and Kenji from your life. The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is roll over, unlock your phone in the hopes that the ache that's settled in your chest can find relief.

It never does. What greets you each morning, after each good night sent, is a one-sided conversation with two little words tucked at the bottom: Read yesterday.

After almost a full week of this, of mornings on your phone and midnights hanging around the tower, your phone vibrates.

>> (2:32 PM) kenji: meet me at the clock tower tonight

He's already there when you touch down, wings disappearing as soon as your feet kiss solid ground. He's staring up at the clock: ten minutes til midnight. "How long did you know? 

"I didn't. Not until your mask came off."

"I see." Then: "Did you like Ace more?"

"No." He scoffs, but you barrel on. You might as well show your hand, lay the cards on the table. "You remember back in our second semester, when we had that project? Believe it or not, I..." It’s hard to admit, even if it had been years ago. “I liked you, back then. Kenji you, not-” you’re fumbling with your words, but he gets the hint. The truth of it is enough to bring him to face you.

This isn’t a conversation between Ace and the Harbinger, this is a conversation between you and Kenji, masks nowhere in sight. The sight of Kenji set against the clock tower makes your stomach flip, his eyes boring into your own.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Took me a while to get over it. But then Ace came, and I liked him too. I guess I have a type." You're trying for humor, a shot in the dark. To your surprise, it works, drawing a chuckle from him. "And uh," you add, "sorry for...ghosting you." Kenji quirks an eyebrow. "They threatened to wipe my memories if I didn't stop. Maybe worse. I didn't wanna find out. Sorry," you tack on.

"Yeah. I get it. You did what you have to do," he says, and this time, there is no malice to be found.

There's one thing left to apologize for, but your attempts at it layer over each other.

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask.

"What are you apologizing for?" he fires back.

"I, uh." You're at your most eloquent tonight, it seems. "About the past couple of months..."

"Yeah. I have to ask...were you using me to get over," he pauses, realizes how absurd the question sounds, "me?"

"Will you be mad if I say yes?"

"No. I was," he gestures with both palms, "doing the same thing. Trying to get over getting ghosted...with the person who dropped me in the first place. Just my luck, huh?" You snort. 

"Sounds like the plot of a bad romcom."

It all connects then, ridiculousness and all. When two sets of unhidden eyes meet, they crinkle into crescents, you and Kenji breaking into laughter. When your stomach hurts and you wipe tears from your eyes, you ask, "Do you...want to start over?" It's hesitant. You two aren't perfect. There's a good chance you're going to fuck up somehow.

But you know what you want, and it's Kenji—with the mask and without.

Kenji holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Kenji. When I need to pay for tuition, I'm Ace. What's your name?"

The clock chimes then, twelve times with the coming of midnight. You take his hand.

The nights are better with Kenji at your side, leaned against his shoulder. The clock tower's pleasant as always, city alight below. It's been a long time since you've felt the need to wear a mask up here. You find that you see more of the view nowadays, anyway. "Whatever happened to getting drinks and coming up here?"

"We're both still broke," Kenji replies. "We could go and get some, but..." he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, "I'm not in the mood to move."

"You and me both."

"Next time?"

"Next time."

("I hate to say it," you mused, "but I guess you can be kinda charming when you want to be." Before his ego got too swollen, you added, "Sometimes."

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmured. There was a smile playing at your lips as you drew closer and closer to him, now a breath away. "Tell me, Harbinger," and this time, when your name came from his lips, there was no trace of anger or pain underneath, "am I going to get lucky tonight?"

"Why don't we find out?")

Three-Eyes stops your memory of that night rather early, and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but the tips of his ears are distinctly red. "All's well that ends well, right?" you ask with a cheerful clap of your hands. The corners of your mouth are curved in a smirk that your informant only responds to with a stern glare.

"I'll let it slide, but in the future, I'd recommend not...fraternizing with the enemy." His tone is clipped, which only serves to widen your grin.

"Oh, but he's not the enemy anymore, is he?"

Your informant—you've since learned that his name is Tsukishima, but you’ve grown fond of the moniker—can only sigh. "I guess not."

(After you'd left to pursue Ace, you'd only narrowly managed to avoid the wrath of Tsukishima and Karasuno's admins. Kageyama and Hinata had done such a good job without you that it didn't even matter, and for that you were grateful, even if it had meant acting as a decoy. With Oikawa under Karasuno's thumb, Kenji had come to work under Karasuno, drawn to the money—and you.

And so, you'd gained a partner—in both senses of the word—in Kenji. The once treacherous seed of infatuation had been nurtured with the soil of communication, watered with care until it blossomed into what you might even be ready to call love.)

Kenji’s waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a look that mirrors your own in his eyes. “Did he get mad again?”

“No,” you reply, holding your hand out until he interlaces his fingers with yours, “just embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.”

“First, you try to kill me, and now you’re calling other guys cute?” he asks, shaking his head. “I think it’s high time I get back on Tinder.” Your shadow, lingering behind you both, yanks at the collar of Kenji’s button-up. He chokes, a strangled noise as you grip his hand a bit tighter in response. “And you’re trying to kill me again.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Your question is answered as you trip over your own feet, almost landing face first on the pavement. When you right your balance, Kenji is laughing openly. It’s contagious, pure joy blooming in your chest.

(Out of a million outcomes, you've found yourself in one of the best ones; maybe, you think, this is what they call the luck of the draw.)

dedicated, ultimately, to @wackatoshi​: winter, i know at the time this goes up, you’re currently ia but it was your kenji fics that really kickstarted the love i have for him........

[suckerforsmylex]

Ripe Peach - Pt. 6

Peaches ducked down low to try to avoid being hit by bullets. Her thoughts were racing. Was she the “broad” the voice was referring to? He had to be referring to her. Everyone else was passed out from the effects of Mister J’s gas. Peaches watched as two oddly dressed men and one woman walked into the room. They all wore Grecian attire, befitted with togas and golden laurel leaves in their hair and gladiator sandals adorned their feet. 

One of the men leaned down to grope a woman who was unconscious. He seemed attracted to her mask, which was golden and ornate and created in the Grecian style. His toga was lined in gold and he wore a red sash and dark black kohl lined his eyes. If Zeus were a very amped up drug kingpin, you’d have this guy. In one tan hand he held a large, golden thunderbolt while the other held an assault rifle.

Are they supposed to be Olympians? What kind of Olympians talk like that anyway?

Mister J leaped down from the platform leaving Peaches atop it, naked and exposed. He landed on his feet, yanked up his pants and zipped up his fly, before flailing his arms out and throwing his head back with an eyeroll.

“Maxie! Ugh, what a waste of insanity.”

He hissed and pulled out his gun aiming it directly at Mr. Thunderbolt’s temple.

The room was silent, save for the sound of two automatic rifles being cocked. One was aimed for Peaches and one directly at Mister J. There was a moment of tension before the man with the golden toga turned to his entourage.

“Persephone! Hades! Lower your weapons. There is no need to make a mess, despite Joker’s mercurial disposition. Joker, you are a daring mortal to greet me with such disrespect. I do not blame you fully. There is a flaw that exists in your mind that causes you to forget that I am a God. I bet that broad knows I’m a God. You know it, don’t cha’ baby? You’re looking at a God right now. It’s ok to be turned on.”

The man winked at Peaches and started to circle Mister J slowly. It was clear that the guy was off his rocker. He was alternating between sounding like a typical Gotham mobster and like a mythological Grecian.

‘Great, more nuts to deal with,’ Peaches thought. ‘But nobody does nuts like The Joker.’

“How can you forget that I am Maximilian Zeus, a God among mortals.”

Mister J snarled and curled his lip, his chest heaving as he seethed. It seemed like he would foam at the mouth at any moment, until suddenly, he started to cackle. This was his murder laugh. It was chilling to the core.

“Oooooh, yes.  Let’s bow down to the God, if by God, you mean a delusional, ex-history professor who went loopy after his wife left him.”

The Joker sang the last part, plunging in deep with his taunt.

“How is old Hera anyway, Maxie? Last I saw her, she was giving out free jerks down at my club. You wanna’ come see her down at the Ace of Spades? She’s got her own spot in the alley out back. We treat her real nice though, Maxie and we let her use the sink to wash up between tricks. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HOOOOOOOO! HOOOOO! HOOOOO!”

Mister J was doubled over, holding his stomach and nearly busting a gut at his own jokes. Maxie grabbed for The Joker from behind and pushed his golden thunderbolt to his throat. Peaches could just make out at that angle, that the bolt had a serrated edge. He was going to slit his throat and J was still laughing hysterically. She grabbed the scraps of her torn off clothing to try to make a covering for herself, but the scraps wouldn’t fashion into anything resembling a modicum of respect so Peaches simply climbed over the side of the platform, stark naked. She wasn’t going to let Mr. J die by the hand of a Zeus wannabe.

Peaches tried to be quiet, but her body dragged along the side of the platform. It hurt, and the rough material squeaked against her body as she lowered herself. To make matters worse, Peaches lost her grip and fell a short way down to the floor, landing with a thud. It was far from stealthy or graceful but she got up quickly and peaked out from the platform and determined that they knew she had fallen, but couldn’t see where she was exactly.

“Take your hands off him, you creep!”

Peaches screamed it out in desperation, while still hiding herself from view. They couldn’t spot her behind the platform, making her feel safe, but she also couldn’t see Mister J or the mad Grecian. She decided to suck it up and walk out into the middle of the room. Holding up nothing but her fists, Peaches emerged and stood there stark naked and quickly found two guns aimed at her skull. The room froze and everyone was staring at her, including Maxie who was still locked on J’s throat. Maxie drank Peaches in from head to toe and then stuck out his tongue at her lewdly. He was disgusting. The Joker glared at Maxie and grinned.

“Concentrate Maxie, you’ve got your eyes on my Goddess. She’s something, isn’t she? I think we just found your Achilles heel!”

The Joker plunged a small pocket knife into Maxie’s stomach, making him stumble back, gripping the bleeding wound and yelling loudly.

“Restrain them, you fools! He fucking stabbed me!!!”

Persephone and Hades grabbed Peaches and The Joker and chained them both up, back to back. It was clear that Maxie wanted something from The Joker badly, otherwise he would have wasted them both after getting shanked. The chains were heavy and tight and tears formed in Peaches eyes.

The female goon, Persephone leaned down and smacked Peaches hard across the face and then laughed and spit at her, the frothy liquid landing on her cheek and dripping down sloppily.

“You make me sick, you fucking pudgy bitch. He calls you a Goddess?”

She walked around to face Mister J and Peaches could no longer see her long, lanky body and tussled blonde hair.

“You must be used to all of these mortals honey. We are the New Olympians! My body is sleek and my mind is all knowing.”

She reached out to caress The Joker’s face and Peaches could feel as he pulled away from her, repulsed.

“You’re going to regret laying a hand on my doll, you filthy beast,” he uttered. “Why would I want any of…that, when I can have this beautiful, juicy peach?”

J caressed his fingers across Peaches palm. It was a secret way to comfort her and she smiled amidst the terror of being held hostage by the group of freaks, dressed like ancient Greeks.

“Knock that smile off your face, bitch.”

Hades cocked his fist and punched you hard and Peaches saw stars, falling back against Mister J and everything going dark.

When Peached opened her eyes, Maxie was standing over The Joker. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him.

“Hold his feet down, Hades. We want this clown to feel every bit of my wrath.”

J cackled and Peaches could feel his muscles tense against her. Maxie was tearing into him with something, most likely the thunder bolt’s jagged edge. J wasn’t capable of surrendering to the pain. Part of his lunacy, was his love of pain, whether it be inflicting it or experiencing it and he continued to cackle hauntingly.

Persephone noticed that Peaches was awake and sauntered over.

“Gooooood Morning, pork chop, glad to see you’re awake.”

She grabbed at Peach’s nipple and pinched it hard, making her cry out.

“Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”, she yelled back at Persephone, wincing in pain.

“Oh you’re going to regret that, you stupid cow,” Persephone quipped as she brought another chain out and wrapped it against Peaches’ exposed throat. “I’m gonna’ cut you into bacon strips and feed you to your clown, after I choke you to death you whore!”

The tightness around Peaches’ throat made everything hazy and it became hard to hear. Everything slowed down and she could only focus on the sound of Persephone’s high-pitched laughing. The Joker was frenzied and shouting, rocking his body hard against Peaches in an attempt to break free. His efforts were fruitless and Peaches began to slip into unconsciousness. Then, three quick shots rang out.

POP! POP! POP!

Persephone fell to the ground limp, dropping the chain she was choking Peaches with and all of the blood rushed back into Peaches’ head, her choking and sputtering the only lasting effect of being choked.

“Hiya, punkin’! Let’s bust you outta’ these chains!”

Your savior was bent over in front of you, grinning like a manic princess. All you could see were her long legs, pigtails and smiling red lips. She unchained you from Mister J and pulled you onto a blanket.

“You breathing ok now, sugar? That bitch had that chain tight across your neck. Awww, you’re so cute! I can see why J likes ya’ so much.”

“Haaaaarrrrrlllleeeeeyyyyy!!!!!! Unchain me! What the hell are you waiting for? I’m bleeding over here.”

The Joker was agitated and trying to scoot his body across the room to face both women. It was only then that Peaches realized, that this was the infamous Harley Quinn, the Clown Princess of Gotham. She was instantly jealous, but it was hard to be upset when she realized that Harley wasn’t paying any attention to Mister J at all. In fact, she was more interested in Peaches, and while still in a dazed state, it made her laugh.

“Hey! Hold your horses Mistah’ J, I’m playing with my new friend ova’ here and I made her laugh!”

Harley squealed and danced over seductively as Peaches grasped at her sore neck, trying to soothe it and Harley leaned down and caressed her cheek.

“You hanging around with this clown? Trust me, I understand, this guy drove me nuts for years.”

“HARLEY…take off my restraints and I promise I won’t RIP YOUR FACE OFF!!!”

The Joker was momentarily harmless in his chains, but Peaches didn’t doubt that Harley was still afraid. His voice was enough to make Peaches tremble, without even seeing his face.

“Alright, ya’ green-haired, loud mouth I’m coming!”

Harley walked over and unchained him and he rubbed at his wrists, leaping up and walking toward Peaches fast. He leaned down onto the blanket with her and grabbed her face into his hands with a grin she didn’t know how to interpret.  She responded by planting a kiss on his lips.  Harley plopped down and leaned her head in Peaches lap and closed her eyes.

“He’s a menace, but he sure can sweet talk a gal, even with just a look.”

J growled, annoyed at Harley’s comment. “Shut it, Harl.” Harley made a salute with her hand and Peaches gasped as The Joker pressed his body up against hers, staining her with the blood from his cuts.