#going through an entire procedure. unnecessary like i said

[butchshepherd]

instagram is wacky i just saw someone comment that banning ear cropping would just lead to ppl importing dogs instead, or doing it "in their kitchen with scissors and baking soda".. i dont think everyone is as out of their minds as you are dear social media user. also as if several countries didnt already make that change years, if not decades ago in a lot of cases. its literally fine.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Beetober 2024 Day 28 - A man of justice

This is a sequel to Beetober 2024 Day 1 - Raise a toast and you should really read that one first.

When Hizashi gets back to their apartment, he’s vibrating, as if his quirk is located everywhere in his body and not just in his throat. He tightens his grip on the—too thick—folder in his hand and Shouta better be home right now, because Hizashi fears that if he opens his mouth, if he so much as makes a single sound, he’s going to level the entire block.

Hizashi doesn’t bother taking off his shoes or jacket, his only goal finding Shouta as quickly as possible and some of the tension flows out of him when he sees his dark hair over the back of the couch.

He marches up there, stepping into his line of sight and as soon as Shouta’s gaze falls on him, he activates his quirk. There really is something to be said about being married for over ten years and having known each other for almost sixteen, Hizashi thinks as he slams the folder down on the table.

“Whoever is responsible for this, I want all of them dead,” he says, secure in the knowledge that Shouta has his quirk handled for now but his statement makes him blink in surprise and immediately that thrumming feeling is back.

Hizashi takes a deep breath to center himself.

“We generally frown upon murder in this household,” Shouta carefully says, eying the folder with newfound interest.

“Not any longer, we don’t,” Hizashi presses out, careful to not let his quirk slip and now real worry etches itself into Shouta’s face.

“What’s going on?”

Hizashi sees his fingers twitch, clearly desperate to tug the folder close and see what has Hizashi all murderous but instead of doing that, Shouta continues to look up at him, giving him the chance to explain and Hizashi loves him a whole lot.

“This,” Hizashi points at the certifiable book on their table, “is Hitoshi’s file. The real one, not the watered down version we got.”

His voice is scathing and Hizashi thinks if he could change his quirk’s output, the soundwaves would come out thin and sharp, like knifes, cutting through everything.

“What the fuck,” Shouta mutters, tugging the folder closer to himself. “What do you mean this is his real file?”

“It means that this is a detailed documentary of all the shit Hitoshi went through,” Hizashi snaps out and he trembles in anger when he remembers some of the things he read.

“How did you get this?” Shouta asks, clearly hesitant to open the folder and Hizashi commends him on his good instincts because reading about all of this had made his stomach turn in the most violent ways and he’s going to smother Hitoshi in even more love from now on.

The kiddo deserves it and then some.

“I know CPS hates you but you forget that they adore me,” Hizashi tells him, tapping his foot because all this restless anger in him needs somewhere to go if it can’t come out of his throat.

It’s not even a lie; Shouta works often with the CPS due to his underground work but it’s never pleasant for the CPS because Shouta is a hardass and he doesn’t much care for the proper procedures. His only concern is always the child and the CPS hates him for it.

Hizashi on the other hand is very outspoken about his own experiences in the system and he’s always calling for more funding for the CPS, for better work conditions, pointing out the good they do. It’s not always true, Hizashi knows that, but as long as the CPS remains to be chronically understaffed and bogged down with—sometimes unnecessary—paperwork he can’t expect them to do better.

He has run many a fundraiser for them and he’s on friendly terms with more than a few workers there. It was almost easy, calling in a few favours to get this file.

“How can it be this thick?”

“It’s because it’s all there, are you not listening to me?” Hizashi almost shouts and Shouta glares at him.

“Keep it down, Hitoshi is home,” he chastises him but the only thing that accomplishes is that now Hizashi wants to run off and hug Hitoshi and never let him go again. “Explain.”

Hizashi takes a deep breath, trying to center himself so he can talk for more than two sentences without losing it.

“It’s this thick because it’s a detailed account of everything that happened to Hitoshi. And I mean everything. It’s all there; police reports, injury reports from several hospitals and doctors, witness reports from teacher, neighbours, random bystanders on the street, the police, nurses, doctors and even some CPS workers.”

Shouta’s gaze drops towards the folder again, a frown on his face.

“If it’s all there, then how come no one has ever done anything?” he asks and Hizashi gives him his most feral grin.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he demands to know and he can already see the gears in Shouta’s head turning.

With this many reports there are not many options as to who could keep something like this under wraps and they are going to find whoever is responsible for this.

Shouta finally reaches for the folder and flips through it; his jaw gets tighter with every page he flips and when he goes pale Hizashi knows he’s reached the medical part of the file.

It’s gruesome, considering the list of injuries Hitoshi has acquired over the years and Hizashi feels sick all over again.

“It was all swept under the rug?”

“Must have, because no one ever did anything, now, did they?”

Shouta continues to flip through the file, his eyes flying over the pages.

“He went through an awful lot of social workers,” he finally notes and Hizashi nods, because he noticed that, too.

And it tells him that someone has definitely tried to keep all of this hidden.

He’s not sure why, because what could someone possibly get from submitting a child to this kind of suffering, but there’s undisputable evidence that someone did.

And Hizashi is going to kill them.

“There’s no mention of All Might in this,” Shouta finally says as he flips the last page and that, too, is something Hizashi had noticed with mounting rage.

“Yeah, you’d think a man of justice like himself would report it if a terrified kid came to him to ask for help, right?” Hizashi mockingly says because they both know how that particular incident ended and Hizashi has to fight the urge to go and scream at the other hero some more.

“You want him dead, too?” Shouta asks and there’s no real judgement in his voice so Hizashi immediately nods.

“Preferably,” he seethes. “He’s not fit to be the number one, not if he treats civilians—kids—like this. Nezu should have exposed him.”

“And then what?” Shouta asks and Hizashi already hates what he’s going to say next because he just knows it’s going to be rational and true and everything Hizashi doesn’t want to hear right now. “You want Endeavor to be number one? Have you seen Todoroki? You saw how he refused to use his fire for the longest time. You’ve seen the burn mark on his face. You think it’s a coincident?”

Hizashi presses his lips together because he doesn’t but Shouta is merciless.

“Did you know that Endeavor’s oldest son supposedly died in a fire?”

“What?” Hizashi almost shrieks out because he did in fact not know this but now it makes the rage under his skin burn even brighter.

“Hawks is basically a child soldier and he’s under the HPSC’s thumb, even though he tries to not let anyone know that. You want him to take the spot?”

And now here is a sobering thought, Hizashi thinks, as he goes ice-cold in sudden understanding.

“The HPSC,” he whispers because of course.

Of course.

Confusion mars Shouta’s face for a moment before his expression goes slack and Hizashi can see a fire burning in his eyes.

“Hitoshi does have a very useful, valuable quirk,” he mutters and Hizashi nods.

“And it’s so much easier to snatch a kid up when his will has already been broken and he’s desperate,” Hizashi adds because the HPSC has always been shady and they’ve harboured their suspicions against them for a while now.

“Well, it’s time to do some investigating,” Shouta decides after a long pause and he tugs the folder closer to himself. “Mind if I work my way through them?”

Hizashi shakes his head; Shouta is not going to be a violent as Hizashi would want him to be, because for all that Shouta works closely with the darker side of things, he does care about proper procedures when it comes to being thorough, but it’s probably for the best.

Hizashi would hate it if Hitoshi and Shouta would have to visit him in Tartarus.

~*~*~

It takes Hitoshi almost no time at all to pick up on the tense atmosphere in the apartment and when it becomes clear that he’s not going to ask, Hizashi and Shouta sit him down on the third day. They don’t have any real results to show him yet, but it’s obvious they need to explain some things at least.

Hitoshi is tense and he’s clearly been sleeping worse and Hizashi hates to see him flinch when he reaches out for him, so a talk it is.

“You’ve picked up on our mood,” Hizashi says, not sugarcoating anything and not easing Hitoshi into it, either.

They’ve learned that being straightforward with him is the way to go, after all.

“Yeah,” Hitoshi mutters, ducking in on himself as if it’s his fault, as if they are going to lash out at him any moment now and Hizashi’s heart breaks in his chest.

Shouta hasn’t gotten very far in his investigation yet, but he did manage to find one of the teachers who submitted not one but six reports and it turns out the teacher had been forcibly transferred to another school mere days after the last one.

According to Shouta she’d cried in relief at hearing that Hitoshi finally has a good placement and she’s expressed a wish to see him again though Shouta had kept her hanging about that, since they first needed to talk to Hitoshi about it.

It’s not much to go on yet, but she had confirmed that the transfer came out of nowhere and that the headmaster at the time had seem twitchy. Nervous, almost and that’s something Shouta is looking into further now.

“I’m sorry if I did anything wrong,” Hitoshi tacks on when they stay quiet for a beat too long and now this is unacceptable.

Hitoshi hasn’t done a thing wrong in his life ever and Hizashi is not going to let him believe that for a moment longer.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, kiddo,” he gently says and goes to sit next to Hitoshi.

“We got our hands on your file,” Shouta now chimes in and it only makes Hitoshi curl in further.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“No, it’s—Hitoshi, all of the reports are in there. Everything was documented because the people you told that you needed help reported it, all of them. One of your teachers filed six different abuse reports before she was forcefully transferred out of your school,” Hizashi immediately tells him because he doesn’t want the kid to worry about this a second longer.

“What?” Hitoshi breathes out and his voice wobbles. “Then why did nothing ever happen?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Hizashi reassures him, but he must not have himself as well under control as he thought, because Hitoshi almost shrinks away from him, clearly picking up on the still thrumming anger in Hizashi.

It’s been hard to get rid of, ever since he was handed that file.

“Kid, we’re angry on your behalf. You should have gotten help years ago and someone made sure that you wouldn’t. We’re furious,” Shouta explains, “but not with you. We’re furious for you.”

It seems to take Hitoshi a moment to digest that.

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?” he then asks and Hizashi can’t help but to pull him into a hug because their son is so smart.

“We do, but we shouldn’t talk about it, not without proof. It could get us all into trouble if we’re not smart about this.”

“Then why do this? Why risk that?” Hitoshi demands to know and Hizashi can’t help but to stare at him.

“Because someone made sure you couldn’t get help. Someone made sure that you couldn’t get out of your situation and that’s not acceptable.”

“But if you could get into trouble for it, then you shouldn’t poke your nose into it,” Hitoshi insists. “Why do that for me?”

“Because you’re our son and someone made sure you were hurting,” Shouta matter-of-factly says and it’s the first time they called Hitoshi that, which might not be the best moment, but it’s out there now and Hizashi gently cards a hand through Hitoshi’s hair.

“And we’re not going to let that slide,” Hizashi adds, not commenting on the wet shine on Hitoshi’s eyes.

“But regarding that—have you ever been accosted by someone? Did someone ever approach you with an offer of any kind? Did an interaction like that ever stand out to you?” Shouta asks and Hizashi makes sure to keep a close eye on Hitoshi, so he sees the moment he remembers something.

“There was once,” he slowly says, clearly trying to recall the moment. “I was out with my foster father and my social worker at the time; she was doing her monthly check-in and we met her at a café cause the house wasn’t—fit for company,” Hitoshi says with a wince. “A guy with a suit approached us at one point. I’m not sure what they were talking about, I was six or maybe seven at that time, but my foster father seemed excited and promised to keep in touch, I remember that. I was moved to a different home shortly after and my social worker made me promise to never talk to people in black suits ever again. I—never saw her again after that,” Hitoshi finishes with a frown and Shouta gets up to get the folder.

He quickly flips through the pages until he obviously finds what he’s looking for.

“Is this her?” he then asks and holds out a paper for Hitoshi, the picture of a haggard looking woman at the top left.

“Yeah.”

Hizashi commits the face to memory, because at least this woman tried her best to protect their son.

“Did anyone try after that?” Shouta asks, putting the page back.

“No, not that I can remember,” Hitoshi tells them and that’s kind of strange, too.

The HPSC is not known for giving up easily and the reports have continued to be swept under the rug after that, still, so they must have had a plan.

“I’m guessing All Might didn’t make a report?” Hitoshi lightly asks, as if it doesn’t matter to him at all and Hizashi abruptly gets up, pacing the length of the room, all under Shouta’s watchful and Hitoshi’s wary eyes.

“No, he did not,” Shouta confirms once he’s certain that Hizashi has no intention of opening his mouth and Hitoshi frowns.

“You’re still upset about that,” he notes, his eyes on Hizashi and it’s laughable because Hizashi is not upset, he’s goddamn incandescently furious, and he tries to convey as much with his eyes, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak right now.

“Of course he is, Hitoshi. We both are. All Might could have helped you but he didn’t. Not only that but he also shattered your trust in heroes. Of course we’re upset about that.”

“Like you have been about all of this,” Hitoshi mutters, his eyes falling to the folder. “You’re upset on my behalf because I got hurt and no one ever helped me,” he whispers out and when Hizashi nods he starts to cry.

Which is one way to make the anger fizzle out and a second later Hizashi is at his side, pulling him into a hug and slightly swaying them.

“Of course we are,” Hizashi mutters. “We never want to see you hurt.”

“I didn’t dare to trust this,” Hitoshi admits into Hizashi’s chest and even though it makes Hizashi’s heart squeeze in his chest, they’ve known this of course.

Hitoshi might have been more open with them but he was still wary, still so very careful, still prone to flinching and hiding himself away and avoiding questions at all costs.

It will still take some time before Hitoshi will fully trust them, but maybe this can help him. Maybe being open about this was the right way to go.

Hizashi shares a look with Shouta over Hitoshi’s head and he sees the same thoughts reflected in his eyes. And he sees the same protectiveness burn in them as well.

It seems pretty obvious that the HPSC tried to get their hands on Hitoshi and they are going to find out why.

And then they are going to destroy them.

If you think I have any idea what's going on here or where this is going, then I must disappoint you. I have no clue what happened in this fic, the HPSC idea came to me literally on the line I needed it to and at the beginning of it all I had no intention to ever write a sequel to Raise a toast in the first place. Please don't hold out hope that there's going to be any kind of solution to this, because there might not be, or there might come one to me during the next shower, who even fucking knows anymore.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🝊 Curse in Two Bodies: 3 - Runaway 🝊

Masterlist| Summary: Despite the contract, Adelais refuses to take the curse back into his own body. In his absence, Ninlen starts to despair.

TW: hospitalization with ventilator and IV, suicidal ideation, starvation, discussion of a car hitting a pedestrian

Author's Note: We're back to the regular timeline, from before the Christmas special took place. Also if you're wondering why Ninlen isn't being intubated, it's because the tubing can't pass through his throat effectively. The ventilator is a magical system that pierces directly into the lungs. They haven't yet developed an equivalent system for delivering food into the stomach. Would the ventilator collapse the lungs in real life? Probably. Did I think enough about any of the medical implications? Not really.

Oh God Ievenar! Oh Ievenar, God of Justice! Oh God, Ievenar, who holds the scales! Please! I am so sorry…

But what happened, it was never the agreement! How could I live that way? Was that supposed to be my life? Even now, is this -

But I should collect my thoughts.

I was, when I prayed to you recently, still housed in that sort of…meeting room where I first encountered Adelais. Hours passed, in which people attempted to move me. Nurses, guards…I think I resisted but I can’t be sure. Every movement was pure agony. Nonetheless, they eventually moved me, and I could not speak to protest.

They put me in a room. I would call this a guest room, but I think it is my bedroom now.

Don’t think I am ungrateful, please. I spent much of my first day on the job unconscious, and that is a mercy. There have been many mercies. The room to which I was transferred is absolutely lavish. Green velvet and dark hardwood surround me, an entertainment center sits across from me, and the walls are papered with delicately painted scenes of the royal gardens blooming in spring. I have never laid in a bed this comfortable, under a crisp white duvet so fresh and airy as this one. It’s changed twice a day, in conjunction with a great deal of fussing over the IV. Although I have been treated like a mere machine by every person who has interacted with me, I have never been treated more like a precious machine, which must be meticulously maintained.

But Ievenar…Adelais von Korsaivar has shown me no mercy of any kind.

He left me there, to bleed and choke on myself. Painkillers have no effect on your workings, and so I had no relief. I have only images from these past days, flashes of moments. The light rising over the far wall as the pain consumed the night and the dawn. The glassy pressure of the ventilator tubing parting my flesh with something foreign that will not leave. The constant drip of blood into my stomach.

Adelais’ voice in the hallway. “There is no agreement. I don’t care what he signed. I didn’t sign shit.” The door stood ajar and I could see him. He still appeared quite weak, leaning heavily against the doorway. “What, an entirely secret contract is supposed to be binding? Who’s he going to sue in this state? I don’t care what you do. Burn the contract, shove it up his - ”

“Your highness, I appreciate that,” said Quincy, from out of sight, “But it’s only for fifteen minutes. Ten, even. Just so as he can eat, and then the pain will be completely removed again. Think of it as a short medical procedure.” My heart sank as I realized the topic of their argument.

“It’s an unnecessary procedure. He doesn’t need to eat; he can be fed by IV.” By this point, I had dragged myself upright enough to bang a hand against the side of the bedside table in the only audible protest I could make. Adelais eyes shot to me with something more than disgust. With a kind of fear. His beauty, even then, was terrible. I tried to convey to him by my look that I meant him no harm, only wanted enough relief to survive and keep helping him.

For his part, I don’t think he even regarded me as human. How could he afford to, when my torture staved off his own?

“He won’t last forever that way,” said Quincy urgently, “and if he dies the curse will fall back – “

“QUINCY! YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME. There are no rules to dictate how long that grubby lump of a man can play host. If his death is an issue, keep him alive. Get a tertiary curse bearer if you have to.”

“There’s no such – “

“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear: I will NEVER feel that way again. Not even once. Do your job and find another way.”

He departed. Again, my memory fades to images and chaos, this time interspersed with bouts of fear at the thought that I might never escape. More than once, there was shouting. People struggling with Adelais. Sometime in the afternoon, bells rang out from the towers and bootsteps rushed over the marble tiles outside my door. I texted Steward Quincy for information. “What’s happening?” And then, in case he was reluctant to tell me, “Has Adelais run away?”

He did not reply. Instead, he came to my bedside, trembling in a way that did not console me at all. “We’ll get him back. Everything will be sorted.” And he hurried away again.

I was hungry by then. The IV replenished most things, enough for me to survive, but there was a dull aching for food, a faintness, and it started to frighten me. A healer came and relieved it in some measure, but to heal damage already caused by hunger is far more difficult than simply giving food. And over time, I knew…

Still, I held out hope. They were trying to get him back. The Prince could hardly be allowed to run rampant through the streets, and everyone seemed intent on making sure he took on the curse again.

Day passed into night, and then into day. The news held no indication of what was going on, not even a mention that the Prince was missing, and no one told me anything no matter what I asked. Without a voice, and unconscious half the time, I was easy enough to ignore. I focused on the pain, trying to see if I could take a breath in spite of it. It is narrowly possible, but breathing forms a kind of death rattle and threatens to produce a coughing fit that would be fatal anyway if I weren’t ventilated.

Almost a week had passed when Queen Annelin von Korsaivar appeared, out of breath and clutching something in her fist. She’s smaller in person, though her greying golden curls look no less manicured. I can see the origin of her son’s sharp features. And just as Quincy had done, she trembled in a way that betrayed a certain desperation.

“Mr. Loch,” she said to me curtly. “Please pay me no attention. I only need to access some papers.” Fumbling with my bedside drawer, she pulled out my contract. She thrust it down on the table next to me. I sat up in alarm and she startled, whether from fear or guiltiness I can hardly tell. But in any case, she put the bedside table between us after that, and wouldn’t look at me, even as she spoke. “Unfortunately, the situation has taken a turn. My son has put forward certain…conditions under which he will return to the palace. So.” I then noticed that the object in her fist was a bottle of white-out.

I typed frantically into my phone and held it out to her. I banged against the bedframe. It didn’t matter – she wouldn’t look in my direction, just focused intently on the white-out. In the silence while it dried, I could hear her breathing slowing. She seemed to gather control of herself. “The curse…will only be transferred…at Prince Adelais von Korsaivar’s discretion. It need never…be transferred…unless he wishes,” she read, while writing over the top of it in black ink. Then she left, already video calling Adelais as she made her way out the door with proof of her sincerity.

That was when the despair set in.

I had started to adjust to the wound itself. I can bear the pain a little better than he - my body is used to such things. But it’s not just pain, I’ve realized. There’s a kind of panic in the thought that it might be eternal.

By text, I asked for your sigil, which a servant kindly brought to me. But I was too sick to think. Too sick to pray. Do you understand what it is to go from believing I would spend half of my time incapacitated in exchange for payment (a dismal prospect already), to believing that I would be completely incapacitated for the rest of my short life without a single reprieve? That I would never taste food again, or even draw a full breath? That I would wither away my strength for months or years until I died an early death, and that my family would never truly know what had happened to me? I felt like a corpse buried alive and waiting to suffocate.

I don’t think I’m insane for considering suicide. What would it matter, if I couldn’t expect another enjoyable or even decently bearable moment until the end?

But it would matter to Adelais. His punishment would come back to him sooner. That was the only fact stopping me from pulling both glass needles from my chest and driving them into my heart. I know now what Adelais suffered, and it is a horror. I can’t blame him for running, wrong as it may be. Ievenar, do you know what it is to know something is wrong but that it is not blamable? How can it be that a mortal grasps this, but a god doesn’t?

He came home and the palace quieted. Somewhere through the walls, to the right of me or behind me or in front of me, up above me or below, Adelais paced and thrived and savored all the little joys of living. The thought transfixed me and sustained me. These were my thoughts: pain, pain, pain, Adelais. There is this difference between what I faced and what Adelais faced: my pain has a purpose. Someone benefits. Maybe I should have hated him for that, for benefiting from my pain. But it would have been unbearable if he didn’t.

He came to me, finally, deep in the night. My light was already on, and I was not sleeping. Softly, still in his silvery-white waistcoat and not at all dressed for sleep, he shut the door and took the chair beside my bed. What did his blank face mean?

He folded his hands in his lap and looked at me and looked at me.

At last, he spoke. “On the way out of the palace, a gate officer…” He swallowed, and fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. “jumped…in front of my car.”

I just looked at him, obviously.

His eyes flickered to mine and then back down. “He's alive. What, he has a broken leg, some sick leave? It’s a vacation. He’ll be fine. Just…what an idiotic thing to do. Even if it was his duty to stop me, no one does that. So stupid.”

I typed into my phone, “Why are you telling me this?” and showed him the screen. He tensed, as if a lamp or a character on the television had started talking to him. This was, it seemed, a one-way confession.

“I…I don’t…” and then very rapidly, “I thought you might have some fellow feeling for him. The two of you suffer from a similar breed of idiocy.”

Again, I typed. “It’s not naivety. I understand why you ran away. This is horrific and I’m sorry you had to endure it.”

“You’re just sorry you have to endure it now.”

“Not only that, but yes, that too.” I hesitated and typed again. “You could make it stop for me. Even for a second.”

“No. I won’t bear the curse. I won’t do it again.”

I confess that I was, in my desperation, manipulative. I made a grasp for his pride. “You mean you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

“I could,” he insisted. “But - ” He’d trapped himself. But I willfully refuse to help you was too openly cruel a sentiment to utter, and it was the only alternative. His hands had closed into fists in his lap and he rose suddenly, overwhelmed by my presence, by the sight of my body. “I won’t be back.” So confident of his own say in the matter.

My last chance, then. My last chance for even a moment of peace. Ievenar, how could you blame me? If he couldn’t bring himself to do it, I’d do it for him.

Using what little strength had not dwindled away, I lunged forward, heedless of the needle shards that broke off inside my abdomen and the equipment crashing to the ground in a clattering of metal. Without air, through blinding pain, I overpowered him.

I don’t fully remember what I did. I think, unfortunately, that it wasn’t any kind of graceful moment of defiance. I just sort of…collapsed on top of him, bringing us both down. He was too shocked to struggle much, and still as weak as me. So I took his wrist, just took it, and shoved his hand clumsily against my throat.

The relief! It was almost instant. Even with needles in my lungs, I drew deep breaths and laughed and hardly noticed the tears streaming down my face. But he was already starting to suffocate. My first use of my restored speech was to scream for help. I pushed off of him and pulled him into my lap. His eyes rolled wildly in terror. “They will come for you. It’s okay. I’m so sorry. I had to. You were killing me. But it will be over so soon.” He shook violently and curled against the only soft thing available, which was me.

I’m not much good at healing magic. But I kept the oxygen deprivation at bay until the nurses came, with some difficulty. As for his fear and hatred, there was little I could do.

Adelais’ wishes, it seems, are almost as easy to white out as mine. Now that he’s incapacitated again, I’ve been allowed to eat, and to spend a full hour moving and breathing. I won’t take quite that long, but I needed this. I needed to talk to you.

Not long ago, I begged forgiveness for taking the curse out of him. Now I beg forgiveness for putting it back. Of the two, I blame myself more for this one. But I don’t really blame myself for either. Because why did he come to me, and confess to me, if not for the knowledge that he was in the wrong? And Ievenar…could he have succeeded in taking my pain if he really had no pity for me? We both know I shouldn't have to do this alone.

And the truth is...I can't.

[historicfailure]

Chapter 9: The change within

Working so closely with Kakashi, you begin to notice a slow, but gradual change in him.

~ X ~

After a direction for the campaign was set and a slogan was now found which could be used as a foundation to go forward with other procedures, you found yourself more and more entrenched in the work. And now, with Kakashi fully on board, work was easier. Easier because, well, he obviously didn’t have the time to bully you any longer. The apologies also helped, of course. That reassurance was all you needed to go all in with your work, even if it meant to work longer than everybody else or harder than anybody else on the team. Even though your job was not much more than collecting data and evaluating said data, you also found yourself doing more than that; taking part in the creative process. Work you had to cast aside in the previous firm you worked at, knowing you would indulge too much, but it was needed right here and now. 

And not only that was needed of you. 

“When will this be done? Do you have a timeline on this?”

You were only half-aware of Kakashi inquiring about something from Iruka. Your mind was in too deep with the next set of slideshows to present to the committee of Akatsuki next week. Painstakingly dragging one slide in Photoshop into a corner, making sure it was perfectly aligned, then adding and erasing the same effect a moment later. It didn’t add anything to the presentation, just unnecessary flourish which didn’t make any sense. In the larger scheme, of course.

“I just wanted to know-!”

“All the details you need are in the mail I sent you.”

A low sigh escaped you. This presentation was crucial, it needed to be finished by the end of the week, and half of the stuff in the presentation wasn’t even ready to be shown yet, thanks to the late start. It all had to be finished this week, and everyone tasked to handle the Akatsuki marketing campaign was working their asses off. Still, Kakashi and you were usually the last ones to leave the office. Absent-mindedly, you went through the motions of creating another slide for the presentation, before a sharp and louder than usual voice made you look up from your screen. 

To your surprise, Iruka stood up from his chair in front of Minato’s office to face off with Kakashi. The smaller, yet broader man snarled up into Kakashi’s face, the tanned skin of his face blushing from frustration and anger; two emotions you were all too familiar with when it came to dealing with the prick of a guy. 

“What is your problem?” Iruka reached up to tighten his high ponytail with a sharp gesture. “You have all the information you need in the email-!”

Kakashi interjected, his tone cold and just as sharp as Iruka’s gesture had been. “I’m not sure if you understand. I said that the deadline isn’t in the mail, I checked twice.”

“The deadline is in the mail, right in the second paragraph!”

“It’s. Not. In. There. How many times do I have to repeat myself, Umino?”

Both of your eyebrows shot up. What the hell was going on? Sure, Kakashi was an asshole sometimes, but you still had never seen him raise his voice like this. Especially not to someone like Iruka. Sweet, gentle Iruka, who was always friendly and ready to help out in the full capacity of his capability.  Which was extensive: despite being the same age as you, his parents apparently had built an extensive network and introduced Iruka to the world of marketing the day he was born. If Iruka didn’t know someone, they weren’t important, simple as that. Plus, he had worked as a teacher before. His scoldings were truly one of a kind. No one, in this entire firm, was willing to anger him, besides Anko. And Anko didn’t truly count, she was insane anyway.

Your hands continued to half-heartedly move the mouse and ghost over the keyboard, pretending to work, while your ears fixated more and more on the sharp conversation just a few desks over. 

“It’s right there! Check your eyes, Hatake.”

“Checked two times. There is nothing!”

“And I checked three times that the most important info you needed is in the mail!”

“Well, it isn’t. Just send me the info when you fucking have it.”

“You have all the info you need!” Just in time, you turned your head the tiniest bit to see how Iruka stormed around his desk to check the mail in question personally. Everyone close by seemed to hold their breaths in the next moments, only disturbed by the furious clicks of his mouse. Then, a triumphant snort, and Iruka jerked upright, glaring at Kakashi. “Check it yourself. And maybe get your eyes checked as well, while you’re at it.”

Iruka pointed at his screen. Kakashi clicked his tongue, but followed suit and walked around the desk to check the other man’s screen. A few seconds passed, then Kakashi, without another word, turned and walked away.

“You’re welcome!” Iruka called after him, only to shake his head. “What a fucking prick…”

What the fuck just happened? You surely weren’t the only one left flabbergasted at what just happened right in front of the entire office, right? With Kakashi being blatantly wrong and not coming out on top somehow. Even though you weren’t a fan of his anymore, you at least could see that this wasn’t his usual behavior. So far, you experienced him as sometimes mean-spirited or socially inclined, maybe cold and nonchalant, but never openly heated. This fight was strange and not typical for the man.

~ X ~

“I noticed your little altercation with Iruka today.”

“Mhm.” Kakashi only hummed, refusing to elaborate further. Understandably so. Deep into the evening, with the open office once again empty, you had felt secure enough to start a conversation with him. 

“What was that one about?” You leaned over the desk, arms crossed and eyes transfixed on the man, who was trying to busy himself with typing up a fitting proposal for the upcoming presentation. “Something about a deadline?”

“Yeah”, he sighed. For another long moment, he stayed silent, eyes glaring at the screen like he would find the answer to your question there, but then his look cleared. His fingers quickly flew over the keyboard once more, like they had never stopped in the first place. “I ordered some print materials for the presentation next week. Didn’t get any info so far if they were able to finish them on time or not, so I tried to get an inquiry on the timeline.”

“And…?”

Suddenly, Kakashi pushed his chair away from the table. Both of his hands rose to scrub wildly through his hair, to the point the motions looked almost painful. “Iruka sent them in that godforsaken email, and I misread it. I thought he forgot to include the date, but it was in there.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

It wasn’t Kakashi’s style to escalate a situation like this; with angry voices, sharp tones and tense nerves. Over the last few weeks, he had been stressed for sure, and yet you didn’t think he was someone to get easily angry over an honest mistake like Iruka could have potentially made. And for Kakashi to be so tardy to misread a line and completely miss the information he desperately waited for? No, that also wouldn’t be like him. Something else was amiss here. 

Your mouth already opened to comment on his behavior, but your brain shut it again before you could get any words out. Kakashi knew he fucked up. He obviously did, and blamed himself for it. You didn’t have to tell him. The most sensible thing you could do was help him out a bit. Of course, for the sake of hopefully restoring some peace in the office and making sure Iruka wouldn’t rightfully take gruesome revenge on Kakashi. 

“Iruka likes the Ichiraku instant cup noodles.”

For the first time, Kakashi looked properly at you. His eyes flickered upwards, dancing over your entire face. Your words didn’t seem to properly register for a few seconds. After a few more moments of blind staring, a light seemed to go off above his head. “You mean…”

“Buying him some of the XXtra Fire Spicy kind might be a good peace offering”, you said, then gently tabbed against your nose. “You don’t know this from me, though. Anko would kill me if she ever finds out I’m handing out her bribery-info like that.”

A quick grin flashed over his face. “I wouldn’t dare to rat you out. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I have to ask, though.”

“What?”

“Why?” 

“Because…” You breathed in, trying to find the right words. “Because an angry and vengeful Iruka could throw some stones into our way. Because I want to make this work now. Because why not?” You shrugged weakly. “Does there have to be a reason at this point?”

Kakashi shook his head. “But I liked to hear your reasons. They’re all pretty damn good.” His eyes flitted again over your face. Down from your eyes to your nose and further below, lingering there, then up again. He pushed himself even further away from the desk, then sighed again. “Sorry for this mess. I will fix it.”

“All good. Nice to see I’m not the only one who has to suffer under the terrible reign of Kakashi Hatake, entitled egomaniac and incredibly conceited on top of that.”

That made him at least chuckle. “Egomaniac and conceited? Hard to beat.”

“I could have added self-absorbed and thoughtless, but hey. No need to be cruel.”

You watched how the new creases and wrinkles around Kakashi’s eyes deepened with his tired grin. The little dip in your stomach at the sight was promptly ignored and pushed aside, into a forgotten corner, where your admiration for the man rested after discovering how much of an asshole he could be. 

~ X ~

Seeing your face today made coming to work worth it. 

Keep it up!

~ X ~

“Kakashi, could we speak for a moment?” 

Of course, he expected Minato to come to him. Not after this fucking colossal mishap of a social interact he had with Iruka. 

I can’t be burned out. I feel fine enough. I just need to get through this campaign, then it will be alright. 

It’s my fault the campaign takes so long. It’s my fault, I have to keep the team here for overtime almost every night. It’s my fault Minato and Kushina have to beg for extensions on the deadlines for the campaign, because I took so damn long to get one single fucking idea.

I can’t let them all down. When this is all over, I can rest again, or even think about the off-chance of being…

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t even name the sickness in his thoughts. Naming it gave it power, made it real, made it terrifying enough to shy away from it. Minato asking such questions in the first place said all Kakashi needed to know. The quality of his work had diminished, worsened noticeably over the last few months. Had others noticed as well? Were they looking at him, trying to see if he was failing? 

 ~ X ~

With the weather turning against, the sky turning bleak and cloudy every so often, and with the long hours of work filling your days, it was no miracle you felt more tired than usual. Sometimes, right after lunch, your eyelids began to drop, and the afternoon always turned into gum with how long it seemed to stretch out. But it was necessary, so you dutifully noted down all of your overtime, gritted your teeth and brewed extra strong coffee with the new machine in the break room. 

You could see the toll also in Kakashi. Apart from his ever-present eyebags, more often than not he was yawning, one hand lazily covering his mouth. His posture was even more slumped than usual, shoulders dropping and spine slouching to the point you wanted to ask him if he was suffering from some spinal injury. Sometimes, especially late in the night, when him and you were the only people left in the office, he would space out. 

“Hey, I looked over the time schedule Itachi sent, and Akatsuki wants to reschedule the next appointment for an update on the campaign.”

After a few moments of absolute silence, you looked up. It took a bit for your eyes to adjust, going from the brightly lit screen of your laptop to the dim surroundings of the office. By now, it was customary to move closer with your laptop to Kakashi’s desk, as he was insistent on working at his own desk, “where everything is where it’s supposed to be and I can find everything”. 

There was no one at the desk. You strained your eyes, peering through the curtain of tiredness hanging over your mind. Strange. Kakashi hadn’t gotten up, right? You would have noticed. With a twinge in your stomach, you got up. And instantly spotted him.

He was sleeping. Kakashi was sleeping, upper body draped across the desk, face squashed against his arm, which was protectively laid out over a bunch of paper, the pencil still loosely held up by his fingers. Only illuminated by the screens in front of him, where flickering lights showed off the latest Akatsuki-promotion videos they produced in house and Itachi sent over as a directional tool, he seemed so…

Young. 

Younger than you had ever expected him to be. Carefully as to not wake the man, you leaned in, trying to figure out what was now so different. Maybe it was because the wrinkles around his eyes had softened. Or because his mouth was slightly open, mumbling weakly but without any coherent wording. Or because for the first time, there were no pretenses for Kakashi to hide behind. 

Your heart fluttered weakly when he mumbled again, pretty lips opening and closing, before a sigh drifted past his mouth. Up so close and without any defenses, it was so easy to forget all the reasons why you should stay away. Kakashi was all light; silvery mysterious moonlight, only disturbed by the small dot of a dimple right below his mouth. 

Stop this. It’s creepy as fuck.

With a shake of your head, you stepped fully around the desk. He had to wake up, and even more so, get out of this office.

“Hey…” Gently, you reached out, poking your index finger into his shoulder. Once, then twice. “Kakashi? Wake up.”

A weak grumble erupted from him, but nothing else. Again, you poked him, this time a bit more forcefully. “Hey. Wake up. You can go home.”

“Mhmm…” Kakashi pulled a face, eyes still closed. One of his hands came up to shield his face from any light, sound or your contact. “Five more…”

“Alright. Don’t blame me though when you have a stiff neck in the end.” You backed up, already trying to forget how Kakashi looked like when his face was crumpled by a good nap, when the man shot upright. 

“What-?” He yawned widely, eyes quickly blinking away the last bits of sleep. “Where am I?”

“Still in the office. Had a good nap?”

“Unfortunately, one of the better ones I had lately.” 

“Trouble falling asleep, ah. Can’t say I’m unfamiliar.” And you meant it. 

Kakashi shrugged. “Or staying asleep. And yet…” He fell silent, eyes glazing over and staring emptily at the blue-lit screens in front of him. You nearly expected to see a string of drool dribbling down his chin, but then, he seemed to wake up from his weird trance. “Sorry for keeping you here. You can go, it’s already…” 

“I’m not going,” you said, while Kakashi tried to check the time with bleary eyes, “before you have gotten out of your chair and come with me.”

“But…”

“I’m not up to argue this point right now.” 

For a very long second, Kakashi seemed to actually want to argue. The sharp crease around his mouth deepened, gnawing at his inner cheek. You sharpened the look you gave him; just a bit more edge and bite in your eyes, then he nodded in defeat. 

“Sure. Let me just grab my laptop and-!”

“You’re leaving the laptop here as well.”

That, however, got you a stronger reaction than you thought. 

“I can’t”, Kakashi shook his head, “I can’t leave the laptop here.”

“Yes. You can. There’s literally no reason why you couldn’t.”

“But there’s so much work to do!”

The realization of what exactly was happening wasn’t a sudden one. No, you had suspected in the back of your mind what was exactly going on with Kakashi. His uncharacteristic snappiness towards other people, the mistakes and sloppiness, him falling asleep yet panicking, all of those were hints leading toward the real problem. And now these familiar lines. Lines you had said yourself a while back, with a pounding heart in your throat and bile gathering in your stomach. These fucking lines, all too familiar and still numbing your self all the same. 

You paused, mouth slightly open as you tried to find the right words. Words you had needed to hear from someone. But it was still Kakashi Hatake.

You and him weren’t close. Not that close, in fact. And you suspected that no one else, but his parents were close enough to say them, and you also suspected they hadn’t noticed anything uncommon with their son yet. 

“Kakashi”, you started slowly, “if you continue on this campaign in your state, you will regret it later. It is of no use to anyone if you force yourself to be creative like this.”

“We have no time, we still have so many things to do, and we’re behind because-!”

“We’re not so far behind anymore. We did so much work during the last weeks. Kakashi…”

He shook his head, all sharp, jerky movements. “No. No, it’s because of me. I have to… I need to make this right.”

“You already did. Listen.”

The man still shook his head. Caught in a loop, created by his state and exhaustion. Probably also due to sleeping troubles. “I can’t, there’s still some color schemes left to talk over, I need to adjust the…” His voice trailed off, drifting away like a sigh swept away by a sudden gust of wind. 

“Kakashi.” You reached over, fingers touching and tugging at the soft fabric of his comfy, oversized sweater. “Listen to me. You did enough for today. Tomorrow, we can do more stuff. Tonight, you take a shower, you get yourself a nice meal, and try to have some sleep. It is okay.”

But he wasn’t listening. His eyes were bearing down on your hand, intently following the movements of your gentle tugging, before sliding right up your arm and further up to the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your neck, and right up to your face. 

“Kakashi”, you tried again, “You can go home. It’s fine.”

“Why do you care if I leave or not? It’s not like you particularly like me.”

“I came to tolerate you. Besides, I still need you.”

“For what? For not having any ideas? For not being creative enough? For making shitty, stupid mistakes and holding everyone up?” His voice rose, the tone frustrated like you had never heard him before. Like a dam was broken, the water breaking free and ripping away all of his inhibitions and usual restraints. “I’m trying so hard to make things right because I know that I fucked up by not having an idea for ages, then for being indecisive, and now everything is too much! I’m fucking drowning over here, and I know I shouldn’t ask for help because I do not deserve to feel that way!”

For a moment, Kakashi looked like he wanted to continue his tirade, but then he deflated like one of these balloons parents get for their kids on a holiday; one moment filled to the brim with helium and the next, slowly releasing said gas into the stratosphere while flattening with every passing second. “I just…” He shrugged, voice meek and flat and so tired, “don’t know anymore.”

“Kakashi, I…” You sighed. Fuck, this situation was a whole-ass mess. How were you supposed to handle this? Of course, you had a pretty educated guess what was happening to Kakashi, and you were pretty sure he was thinking of the same thing already. But you weren’t really in a place where you could just tell him that, right? Because thinking and actually speaking the condition into existence were two completely different things.

“Kakashi”, you started again, all the while still reaching out and gesturing to him to step out from behind the desk, “I understand what you’re going through right now. Better than you might think. But I’m not going to have this conversation right now with you, when you should really be on your way home. Go home. Rest. And tomorrow, we can speak about it in depth, okay?”

“For sure?” 

“Yes. But go home, please.”

For another, horrifyingly long moment, he just stood there. Motionless, with only his eyes scanning your entire body up and down, before he nodded. Slowly, but he did. “Okay. I go home now. Happy?”

“Cut the moody teenager shit with me, Kakashi.”

“Sorry. I just…” His eyes scrunched close, groaning as he did so. “Fuck. I’m an ass.”

“Good. We’re agreeing on one thing.” As you watched how the man packed his things up — he left his laptop on the desk, you noted — you were already trying to puzzle together what to say tomorrow.

Because how could you possibly explain to Kakashi Hatake that he was probably suffering from Burn out? 

[bumblebee-be]

make me a promise, tell me you'll stay

4.4k | general audiences

When Buck's hospitalized after a call, Eddie's left with nothing to do but sit, wait, and spiral in his own thoughts. Filled with lots of growth on Eddie's part, more physical damage to Buck, and a considerable amount of Dad Bobby. All topped off with a sweet little surprise ending and a healthy dose of idiots in love

also on ao3

If Eddie never sees Buck in another hospital bed again, it’ll be too soon. 

 He’s getting really, really sick of it, actually. Of riding in the back of the firetruck because Buck refuses to take an ambulance that “someone else might really need and, anyway, I’m fine .” Of Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back as the doctors take Buck away to do a more thorough exam, despite his protests of “ really , I’m fine , Hen and Chim already- Bobby, would you tell them I’m fine? Eddie, c’mon I don’t- guys , this is just unnecessary, seriously!” Of waiting to find out that this is the time. The time that Buck inhaled too much smoke, that he hit his head too hard, that his injuries from the fire truck had regressed. 

 And yet, here he is. Sitting in the waiting room. Knee bouncing restlessly and jaw clenching and relaxing habitually. He’s gripping his own hands tight enough that his knuckles are turning white. He’s been staring at the white tile floor for who knows how long, not paying attention to any of the conversations around him.

 It’s bad this time. Well- not as bad as it has been. But bad, nonetheless. 

 It was supposed to be a routine call. A house fire, cut and dry. Cause: a bunch of drunken teenagers decided it was a great idea to throw a house party where someone may or may not have found fireworks. They followed procedure to a T and completed a headcount and it was all going exactly as it should. 

 Until a girl ran up to Buck. Eddie was helping Hen and Chim with examinations, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark-haired teenage girl with soot on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks running up to Buck. Buck caught her by the shoulders, clearly trying to comfort her as she animatedly told him something, looking panicked. Buck’s expression dropped. His eyes left the girl, just for a moment, and landed on Eddie. His jaw tensed, something in his expression hardened, and then he grabbed his helmet and ran. Ran straight towards the fire. Eddie dropped the roll of gauze in his hand and moved, hurrying over to the sobbing girl, who had collapsed to the ground. 

 He dropped to his knees in front of her, torn between making sure she's okay and running after Buck. Every fiber of his being was telling him to charge right into the flames, but the distraught teenager was gripping his arm and he knew he couldn't. So he had swallowed the terror burning in his throat and focused on her. “What happened?”

 “Lisa,” the girl sobbed, breathless. “Sh-she’s still- she’s still in there.”

 Eddie’s heart dropped to his stomach as Buck’s silhouette disappeared into the house. His voice was shaky when he said, “Stay here. Someone will come check on you.”

 The girl sniffled and nodded, and Eddie jumped back to his feet, searching frantically for Bobby. “Cap!” He spotted him by the truck and ran over, all anxious energy and shaking hands. “Cap, someone’s still in there!”

Bobby’s face dropped and he swears softly, his face distraught and eyes suddenly terrified. “We can’t go back in. The structure is too unstable, we just got reports-”

“Buck went back in,” Eddie whispered, dread pooling in his chest. A shocking, icy numbness shot through him, chilling him to the bone and sending the tips of his fingers tingling. “Buck went back in!” He turns on his heel, ready to charge in after his partner, but Bobby’s fist grips his sleeve, stopping him.

 “Eddie, I can’t let you go in.”

 “Buck-” There was a crackling sound and then a crash that sent heat blasting over them in waves as the roof caved in and the entire building was enveloped in flames. 

 It felt like all of the air had been sucked from Eddie’s lungs. A tingling started at the base of his spine, spreading through his body until he was numb. Buck- Buck was still in there . Buck was still-

 “ Buck .”

 “Eddie-”

 “H-he,” Eddie was numb, like he was floating. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the flames. “He- Buck- He’s- He went-  Buck -”

 “Eddie,” Bobby’s voice was thick with emotion and Eddie could hear the words already. Not even Evan Buckley could survive a burning building collapsing on him . 

 “Call him,” Eddie demands. 

 Bobby sighs deeply and clicks on his radio. “Firefighter Buckley, come in.” Static answers them. “Buckley, come in .” Nothing. “Buck, come on.”

 Eddie grabs the radio from Bobby, turning towards the fire. “Buck. Evan . It’s Eddie. C’mon man, you can’t- fuck, you can’t do this.” You can’t do this to me. “Answer us. Answer me . Please. Please respond.”

 “Eddie…” Bobby gently takes the radio back. 

 “He’s not going to answer,” Eddie whispers. There was an ache in his chest so sharp he wondered, briefly, if he had actually shattered his own heart. “He’s gone. He’s gone .” 

 Bobby didn’t say anything. He just pulled Eddie in close, so Eddie’s face was pressed into his shoulder. Bobby’s arms were firm around him, the hand fisting in the hair at the back of his head should have been soothing, the gentle whispers telling him It’s okay should have been comforting. 

 It didn’t matter. All Eddie could feel was the hollowness in his chest, the stabbing, blinding ache of loss and all he could hear was the roaring fire and his own anguished cries. Not even Buck can survive an entire house collapsing on him. 

 Was this what Buck felt like? When Eddie got shot? When he had to watch him bleed out on the pavement? Was this eviscerating ache stabbing through Buck then? Or did having some hope- any hope of getting Eddie out alive- did that keep the demon of grief at bay?

 Eddie was sobbing then, shaking in Bobby’s arms. His legs gave out beneath him and then they were both sinking to the ground, Bobby shushing and rocking Eddie like Eddie does to Christopher after a nightmare. 

 A nightmare. That’s what it was. It had to be. Buck can’t- he can’t be- no. No . 

 “I want to wake up,” Eddie heard himself cry, his breath hitching. “I don’t want to- God, I’m not- I can’t- I can’t do this without him.”

 “Eddie,” Bobby says softly. “Son, I wish we could wake up.” 

 Eddie just sobbed into Bobby’s turncoat, gripping onto his arm like a lifeline.

 And then there was a crackling sound. “He- ll- help- an- y- on- llo?” Eddie’s heart leapt in his chest and then he was ripping himself out of Bobby’s arms, snatching the radio and leaping to his feet. 

 Eddie was almost sobbing when he said, “Buck?”

 “Ed- he- lp-” his words were jagged, cut off by a bad signal and interlaced with coughs. Smoke inhalation. 

 “Buck, where are you?”

 “Pinned down,” Buck gasps. The radio’s crackling paired with his breathless, rasping voice made it hard to understand but Eddie was managing to piece together the garbled speech and already searching for his helmet. “South- southeast corner. I think. I’m not- I can’t tell, Eddie. It’s- there’s too much smoke. I think- did the roof collapse?”  

 “Just hold on, baby,” Eddie all but begged, buckling on his helmet. “I’m coming, just hold on a little bit longer.”

 “Eddie- no, there’s too much- the fire is too hot, you can’t. Just- just talk to me. Please”

 His words were growing slurred and a spike of fear raced through Eddie. “You’re not fucking dying, Buck. You are not leaving us.”

 “Eddie…” 

 “Stay with me Buck, come on.” Eddie risked a glance at Bobby, as if daring him to try and stop him. Bobby just clenched his jaw and nodded, once. He turned, shouting for Ravi to follow Eddie and for Lucy and Chim to get the hoses in place. 

 “Buck?” Eddie nodded at Ravi as he ran up and the two started towards the fire. “You still there?” 

 “Yeah,” Buck gasped. “Yeah, I'm here. Eddie, I don’t think-”

 “Stop that, right now. I need you to keep talking to me, Buck. Tell me about what you and Chris did yesterday.”

 “O-okay.” Buck’s wheezing voice became white noise for Eddie. He rambled on as Eddie and Ravi went around the back of the house, interrupting only to warn Buck that the hoses were going to be turned on. Buck’s voice was the only thing he focused on as he and Ravi carefully worked their way through smoldering and burning rubble. And then- then Buck’s voice wasn’t just from the radio. 

 His turncoat was practically in tatters, his face covered in soot, his helmet long gone. There was a bleeding gash at his temple and the side of his face was coated in dark, sticky blood. Eddie had never thought he looked more beautiful as he and Ravi helped him, hobbling, out of the wreckage and onto a waiting stretcher. 

 He passed out almost as soon as they got him in the ambulance, but his hand wouldn’t release Eddie’s and Hen assured Eddie his vitals were stable enough. No one said a word when Eddie refused to leave his side. No one tried to stop him as he pressed his fingertips to Buck’s throat every few moments, needing to feel the weak, fluttery pulse for himself. Needing confirmation that Buck was still fighting. 

 And now, waiting in the hospital to find out how serious Buck’s injuries are, no one says a word to him as his knee bounces up and down and his hands twist together. 

 Eddie’s never felt fear like that. He doesn’t know what exactly to do with it. 

 Listen. He’s- he’s doing a lot better, okay? Therapy is helping. It really is. He’s processing his emotions. He’s accepting that he can’t control some things. He’s healing. He’s learned to accept himself. Now, if something he says makes Buck blush a warm pink and all he can think is fuck , he’s pretty , Eddie doesn’t feel a stab of something ugly and guilty in the pit of his stomach. Instead, there’s a fuzzy warmth as his mind whispers, mine . 

 Instead of shoving everything he feels into a deep dark pit to wither and die, or bundling it all up up tight and tucking it away so they only rears its head late at night and he lets himself dwell on it until the ache in his chest is so sharp that he can barely breathe. Now, Eddie can let it spread through him, golden and warm. He can tuck it in against his heart, hold it close for the times when the darkness of his own mind threatens to swallow him whole. 

 That happens, sometimes. His inner demons rear their ugly heads, threaten to overwhelm him, to pull him apart piece by piece, shatter him one bone at a time, peel his skin back and leave him raw and exposed. The demons that have haunted him since childhood, returned to tear him open once again.

 Except- now he has Buck. Buck, to hold the pieces of him together that threaten to break away, to piece is boned back together one fracture at a time, to soothe the skin he wants to crawl out of with a simple touch. The demons are back. But this time, Eddie has a guardian angel. 

 It’s more than that, though- more than the fact that sometimes he can barely breathe without Buck there to tell him he’s worth the oxygen he takes in. 

 It used to be, he saw Buck and would get the wild urge to pull him closer and kiss him breathless. He’d be in the middle of a conversion with Buck and the words would be on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill over. I’m in love with you . He’d watch Buck as he worked, brow pinched in concentration, and want to kiss away the lines in his skin. He’d listen to one of his rants about some random, obscure topic and feel adoration so intense it would take his breath away. 

 For years, Eddie had been in love, plain and simple. Well- plain and simple aside from the fact that it was his best friend, his partner, and the one person he can never lose. The one person he could never have. 

 But- now he can. Now, when he gets that wild urge to fold Buck into his arms and kiss him until they’re both mindless with it, he can. When they’re in the middle of a conversation and Eddie feels the overwhelming desire to confess his love, he simply does. He blurts it, randomly, and instead of the disgust he’d always feared, a soft adoration comes over Buck’s face as his cheeks turn pink. He watches Buck work, and can barely resist the temptation to kiss away Buck’s worry lines until later. 

 He has it- everything he’s ever wanted. He has his best friend, his partner, the one person he can never lose. And the one person he will always have, in every way he can. 

 It’s still a shock, realizing that it goes deeper than just love- he truly cannot live without Buck.

 What he felt tonight- like his heart was being torn to shreds and ripped from his very chest, like every breath he inhaled was a shard of glass slicing through him, like his nerves themselves were made of fire, burning him from the inside out- that’s how he imagines it would feel to lose one’s soul. And that’s- that’s what Buck is, isn’t it? Buck and Chris. Two chambers of his heart, two halves of his soul. 

 He’s almost lost Buck before. He knows this isn’t anything new, anything worse than what Buck’s survived before. But the difference is- those times, Eddie still wasn’t letting himself to be given over wholly. He had been keeping a part of him, the shard of his soul that was the most vulnerable, tucked safely away, hidden and protected in the folds of his heart, shielded by his ribcage and contained by his terror of being rejected and turned away for it.

 He has no guards this time, no barriers in place to protect himself. 

 He feels the fear, fully and purely, raw and grating against the tender muscle of his heart, sharp and scraping against his lungs, pure ice in his veins.

 Buck has told him about his talk with Chris, when Eddie was shot. Chris still says he doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet. But Eddie pieced it all together. He could see Buck, eyes red and puffy, practically shaking as he walked into Chris’s room. Chris’s smile, wide and innocent as he greeted his Buck . Buck sitting down to tell him, breaking down the moment he got the text. Them holding each other, Chris mercifully unaware of just how very close it was, Buck all too aware of how extremely close it was. 

 Now, years later, sitting in the hospital, Eddie can't help but imagine what he would be if the roles were reversed this time. Now that Chris is older, would he understand what Eddie was truly saying? That Buck isn’t coming home tonight- that he’s never coming home again? Or would Chris’s trauma revert him back to his was then- or when Shannon died- too young to comprehend fully that this is different than someone leaving, this is someone being taken . 

 Somewhere, deep and dark in his mind, a voice whispers, Would he blame me?

 “Eddie.” Bobby’s voice pulls Eddie from his thoughts, and he blinks, his eyes having pooled with tears. He sniffs, wiping quickly at his cheeks and looking up at his captain. 

 “What’s up, Cap?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his thighs, terrified of whatever comes next. “Is Buck-”

 “I haven’t heard anything.” Bobby sighs, crouching lower and setting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You should go home, Eddie. Our shift ended already- Chris will need you.”

 “No,” Eddie says instantly, standing. Rage burns in his veins, or maybe it’s still just fear. Either way, it’s snapping. “No, what Chris needs is to know that his Buck will be okay, that he’ll be home to tuck him in. That another person he loves isn’t being ripped away from him! God, Bobby, I- I can’t - I can’t go home, I can’t face him- not until I know what I’m going home to tell him.” Bobby just watches Eddie, sorrow and pity in his eyes. The yelling effectively drains the last energy Eddie has, and he drops back into his seat, burying his face in the palms of his hands. 

 “Please,” he finally whispers, barely able to breathe. “Please don’t make me go tell my son another person might be leaving him before I know for sure.” Before I know if another person is leaving me .

 “Okay,” Bobby says softly. “I can send May to watch him when Carla has to leave.”

 Eddie’s voice is broken, small when he says, “Thank you.” Bobby nods and moves to sit next to Eddie, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

 Eddie doesn’t know how long they stay like that, sitting in silence, before the doctor walks into the waiting area, making a beeline for Bobby and Eddie. The two men stand up together, breaths held and hearts racing.

 “He inhaled a lot of smoke,” she starts, skipping over the casualties. “Experienced quite a lot of blunt force trauma to his head and torso, and he was unconscious for longer than we’d have liked. However , his gear saved him from any serious burns and internal injury. His helmet must have sustained the majority of his head trauma, but he’s concussed and has several mainly superficial injuries that might take a while to heal. He’s fractured four ribs and sprained an ankle, those’ll take a bit longer. We’d like to keep him 24 hours for observation, but he should be alright to go home tomorrow. He’ll need at least five weeks to recover and then we can re-evaluate his return to active duty.”

 Eddie lets out a breath he’s been holding since Buck ran into that burning building. “Thank you, Doctor. Is he- is he awake? Can I see him?”

 The doctor raises an eyebrow, “Relation?”

 “I’m his- his boyfriend.”

 “Do you also happen to be his emergency contact? That’s the only non-familial relation I can let in right now.”

 Eddie groans, rubbing the palm of his hand over his face. “I- yeah, I think so. Eddie Diaz?”

 “Of course.” The doctor nods and motions for Eddie to follow. “Captain Nash, you and the rest of your crew can come in a while later if you’d like to continue waiting.” 

 “We’ll be here,” Bobby says, nodding to Eddie with a gentle, reassuring smile. 

 “Thanks, Bobby,” Eddie says, then follows the doctor into the hallway. His hands fidget at his side, fingers tapping out rhythms against his thigh as he reminds himself to breathe . Buck’s okay. He’s alive, he’s breathing, he’s okay . 

 “I’ll give you two some privacy,” the doctor says, stopping outside a closed door. Eddie, heart stuck in his throat, can only nod. She nods back, then turns and continues walking down the hallway. Forcing another deep breath, Eddie lifts his fist to the door, rapping lightly. 

 A hoarse, “Come in,” comes not a moment later and, shaking, Eddie pushes the door open. 

 There’s still soot on Buck’s face, creased in the lines and smeared on his neck, just below his jaw. Most of it has been wiped away, along with the blood from the gash at his temple. There’s a bruise blooming along his left cheekbone, but Eddie thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. Because- his chest is rising and falling with deep, even breaths. His eyes are bright, sparkling with life. His lips are pink, turned up in a guilty, wincing smile. His cheeks, aside from the bruising, are tinged pink. He’s alive . 

 “Hi,” Eddie breathes, shutting the door behind him. 

 “Hey,” Buck says, just as softly. Eddie feels frozen in place, his feet rooted to the floor. His breath is held, waiting. For what, he’s not sure. Not until Buck’s smile falls and he whispers, “ Eddie .” He’s by Buck’s side in an instant, using every molecule of restraint he has to not throw himself over his boyfriend, to run his hands over every inch of his body and try to heal every wound with his touch. 

 He barely manages to choke out, “Can I-?” before Buck is nodding, tears pooling in his eyes, and Eddie’s moving to sit on the bed, pulling Buck into him, holding on to him as if he would shatter if Buck let go. Or maybe Eddie would. He’s not sure, at this point. He doesn’t know who it’s for, but he and Buck grip each other tightly, Buck’s face crushed into Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s lips pressed to the crown of his head and cupping the back of his neck. 

 “I’m sorry,” Buck says after a few moments, his voice tight with tears. “God, Eds, I’m- I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

 Eddie shakes his head, pulling back and placing his hands on either side of Buck’s head. Buck’s eyes are wide, filled with tears, his brows drawn together. Eddie’s thumbs swipe over Buck’s cheeks, wiping away the stray tears as they escape, shushing him softly. 

 “Marry me.” He doesn’t mean to say it, not exactly. He’s been wanting to for a while- probably from the day he got shot and realized that Buck is the only person he would ever want to take care of his son. Probably even before that. He didn’t entirely intend to do it now, with Buck in a hospital gown and caked blood still in his hair. But he looks in Buck’s eyes and it’s all he can think to say.

 Buck, for his part, just stares at Eddie, his mouth dropping open as he blinks, shaking his head in tiny movements. “Wh-what?”

 “Marry me, Evan. Please, god, I don’t- I don’t ever want to be asked by another doctor if I’m your emergency contact, or wake up another morning without you right beside me, or have to worry about what would happen to Chris if I died, or see your hand without my ring on it, or go to bed and not have your eyes be the last thing I see.” It comes out all at once, a proper word-vomit of a proposal, with Eddie’s tongue tripping over every word he says. “I don’t want to live another day not being completely and entirely yours. Please.”

 Buck just stares at him, searching his eyes for a solid few moments, the corner of his mouth turned up. Finally, he takes a deep breath and lifts his hands, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s wrists. “Did you get my hospital bag? From my locker?”

 Eddie blinks, thrown entirely off and reeling. “I- Chim and Hen did- it’s- it’s over in the corner-”

 “Can you get it?”

 “Buck, what are-”

 “Please?”

 Eddie huffs out a breath, tilting his head and trying not to cry. “I just asked you to marry me, Evan.”

 “And I’m asking you to please get my bag,” Buck says, laughing lightly. “I promise it’ll make sense, baby. Just- my bag?” 

 Eddie just shakes his head, pulling away and crossing the small hospital room to grab Buck’s duffel and setting it in his lap. Buck nods for Eddie to sit back down and, numb and confused, Eddie does. Buck opens the bag and starts rooting through it, tossing aside various items of clothing until he makes a small, victorious sound. He pulls out a small black box and Eddie’s breath catches. Buck takes a deep breath and looks up at Eddie.

 “I… I’ve been carrying this around every day for two weeks,” Buck tells him softly. “To and from work. Around the house. Even on a few calls. I was- I was waiting for the perfect moment. The perfect story. The perfect everything for my perfect person.” Tears have pooled in both their eyes and Buck laughs wetly. “I almost- I almost asked you over the walkie talkie earlier. I didn’t- didn't wanna die without you knowing I never wanted to live another day without you.”

 “I would have killed you if you proposed to me and then died,” Eddie laughs, tears choking his voice. 

 “I figured. But… you beat me to it.” Buck grins and shakes his head a little. “Couldn’t let you steal my whole big moment.” 

 Eddie scoffs, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Dramatic much?”

 “Aw baby,” Buck murmurs, setting his hand on Eddie’s cheek with a small smirk. “You didn’t think I was gonna say no, did you?”

 “Well I sure fucking hoped not,” Eddie replies. 

 “I would have to be an idiot,” Buck whispered, leaning forward to kiss Eddie softly, “to say no to the man I never could have dreamed to be loved by.”

 “You,” Eddie replies, kissing him just as quickly, “ are an idiot, cariño . Because only an idiot runs into a burning building without checking our headcount.” 

 Buck’s eyes open wider. “She- the girl, Lisa, she’s alive?” Eddie smiles softly, setting a hand on the side of Buck’s neck, stroking over his skin.

 “She’s alive. She’s okay.”

 Buck tilts his head forward, pressing their foreheads together and letting out a long sigh. “Thank god.”

 “She wants to see you, when you’re ready. To thank you for going in after her. If you feel up to it.”

 “Yeah,” Buck whispers, voice choked. “Yeah, I think- I think I’d like that.”

 “You really scared me,” Eddie admits softly, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Like really . You- you have a family that needs you to come home each night, Evan. A family you need to consider when it comes to stuff like that, to take care of yourself for.”

 “Eddie-”

 “I’m not- I’m not asking you not to do your job, not to be yourself. I don’t- I would never want to change you, okay? I just… need you to think these things through a little more, yeah? We’re a team , Evan. We gotta make these decisions together.” 

 “Yeah,” Buck whispers, tears still escaping down his cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll work on it.”

 “ We ’ll work on it.”

 “Together.”

 Eddie smiles, pressing another kiss to Buck’s lips. “Together.”

[shig-a-shig-ah]

GOOD CLEAN FUN

» pairing: chisaki kai x fem!reader

» cw: noncon, somnophilia, oral sex, medical kink, needles (brief mention) 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Quirkless AU! This was written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9 to 5 Server collab.

» wc: 5k

» ao3 mirror

Dentistry is a disgusting profession. It makes Chisaki's skin crawl, the poor care people take of themselves, and he frequently regrets being pushed into this family business of staring down filthy gullets all day, though he takes sadistic pleasure in refusing to be gentle with the worst of his patients. Why should he be, when they obviously have such disregard for their own health and hygiene? No, in those cases he takes great satisfaction in ripping the rot out by the root with nothing but pliers and his own brute strength.

Some days, though...some days there are patients like you, who make it all worth while. Patients who are clean.

You make yourself such an easy mark too, though Kai had expected as much after Kurono so slyly told him that he'd probably want to take care of the new patient in room two personally. Hari wasn't wrong; you're trembling when Kai enters the exam room, staring wide-eyed at the tray of neatly-arranged stainless steel instruments next to the chair in which you're reclining, fingertips gripping at the armrests. You're chewing at your lip too, as though your nerves weren't already apparent enough, those perfectly white, straight teeth digging into your plump lower lip in a way that's practically obscene. Even without a closer look Chisaki can tell what good care you take of that cute little mouth, and it's enough to send his cock twitching.

He takes a seat on the stool next to you as he introduces himself, careful to keep the excitement from his voice and to squint his eyes just right so that you'll know he's smiling even behind the surgical mask he wears, the one that both protects him from those much filthier than you and keeps you from seeing just how cold that grin really is. Your own smile is much more obviously forced, but he likes that you try - it's endearing that you're working hard to be brave even when you look close to tears with anxiety. Of course, he also likes that you're scared, likes that extra little bit of power over you, and that it will make all the easier for him to take advantage, because he's already decided he has to have you.

It's impossible for you to remember how or why this dentophobia started. You can only remember being dragged kicking and screaming to the dentist as a young child, your mother scolding you for refusing to behave. As you got older you managed a little more self-control, but while you can force yourself into the chair, you can do nothing to stop the way you shake and your heart races. It's only made worse by the obvious annoyance you face when practitioners have to deal with you; you know they think you're stupid or immature for this reaction you can't control.

The man before you, however, is smiling sympathetically, gold-flecked eyes crinkling with concern in a way you appreciate. He's handsome even with half his face covered, all bright eyes and perfect dark hair, and your cheeks heat up when he asks if you're nervous. You force out a meek nod, and he chuckles softly.

"No need to be self-conscious. It's a common fear," he says. "But we do offer sedation, if that's something you're interested in. It can help with the nerves."

Your brow furrows slightly. It's not an option you've been offered before, hadn't even realized it was a possibility. "Sedation? Like, put me under?"

"No," he says, chuckling softly again as he turns to the monitor by the chair and starts scrolling through what you assume is your file. "Nothing as severe as that, at least not for a routine cleaning. Just a little nitrous oxide to help take the edge off."

That you have heard of, but always thought it was only used for more intense procedures. "That's laughing gas, right?"

"That's the colloquial name for it, yes. It'll numb you some and help you relax. Although it might make you a little giggly, as the name implies. Some of my patients even enjoy it." Your face heats up again when his intense gaze lingers on you, not just with embarrassment this time, and a small titter escapes you.

Chisaki can't believe his luck with you, if he's being honest. You're exactly his type, and as he expected your dental records are flawless - never so much as a cavity. He's confident too that you'll accept what he's offering with as anxious as you are, and your reaction to his presence. He's not surprised by that; Kai knows the effect he has on people when he tries. Probably he doesn't even need to go through the great lengths he does to get people like you into a compromising position, but he enjoys the process. It's easier this way, with access to medical records so he knows what he's touching, and an army of sedatives to ensure he's perfectly in control of these encounters.

You only deliberate for a moment before nodding and giving him the answer he knew you would. "Okay, I guess I can try it."

The smile he gives you this time is actually genuine as excitement blooms in his gut. "I think you'll find it really helps," he says, daring to rest one hand on your forearm briefly. Even through the thin latex of his gloves, he can feel that your skin is soft, and he feels another pang of anticipation. Then he stands up. "I have to supervise the sedation, so I'll take care of your cleaning and exam personally. I'll be right back and then we can get started."

Your chest is still tight with anxiety as he situates you, arranging a strange mask over your nostrils and instructing you to breath deeply through your nose, but once you catch the scent of that slightly sweet gas being pumped into your lungs, the effects are almost immediate. The tension in your chest abates, your whole body going light and tingly, and suddenly you can't remember what you were ever so afraid of. When Chisaki tells you to open wide, you don't even hesitate, doing so immediately and sticking your tongue out slightly, making an exaggerated 'ahhhhh' sound and then giggling a little, though you couldn't say why.

"I can see it's working already," Chisaki says. He's unable to keep the breathiness out of his tone this time, but he trusts you're too distracted to notice. The way you'd opened so obediently, and the sight of your little pink tongue poking out lewdly has his cock hardening already, and he's only barely begun. He can't stop himself from reaching out, pushing that wet muscle back into your mouth with one finger, letting it linger on your tongue a moment longer than necessary to feel the heat of it before pulling away, but you only giggle at the slightly inappropriate act.

Despite his straining erection begging for relief, Chisaki still has a job to do, and he works with well-practiced efficiency as he goes through the process of cleaning your teeth. The anticipation is as much a part of this as anything else, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the buildup. He's not a masochist by any means, but these little self-denials are gratifying, only serve to make the end result that much sweeter. Still, he can't help but find himself occasionally distracted by the way you laugh every time he gives you an instruction to open wider, or tilt your head, noticing the way your chest bounces slightly beneath your tight top, and how you lie with your legs slightly spread, so inviting.

Normally he waits until he can render patients like you truly helpless before he touches them, recommending elaborate procedures that they don't realize are entirely unnecessary, but then again most patients don't request or accept sedation for such routine procedures as this. He reaches over to the tank of nitrous oxide, increasing the dose slightly and watching as you slump a little more in the chair, and then he reaches out to trail one gloved hand up your thigh and over your clothed center.

You've barely felt anything this whole time, aware of him working at your teeth but not really registering it, too overwhelmed by the way your whole body feels pleasantly tingly and numb, and it's only after he's ceased fussing over your mouth that you start to notice another sensation, a building tension between your thighs that makes you squirm, a small whine escaping you. Your eyes, closed to defend against the bright overhead light, flutter open, but you can't see him hovering over you anymore.

"We're almost finished," Chisaki says calmly when you whimper again as that slight pressure continues to build. "I just need to enter some notes in your file, and then finish the actual exam."

From out of your line of sight he can see the way you're frowning, your cheeks puffing up slightly with discomfort and arousal, obviously confused. He presses his fingers more firmly against your clothed cunt, palming himself through his pants with his other hand. It's bolder than he'd usually be, but for once he's struggling with restraint, just can't bring himself to wait until he's found some excuse to render you more wholly unconscious in his chair.

"I just...I feel a little funny," you whimper, and then giggle again.

"That's normal," he says, continuing to massage your sex, noticing the way your hips twitch when he strokes over just the right spot. "Some people feel numbness, or a little pressure. As long as nothing hurts, there's nothing to worry about."

You nod, letting your eyes fall closed again. You can't quite help your thighs from twitching; it's a strange feeling, the knot tightening deep in your stomach even as you feel so numb and tingly, and when it intensifies further you feel a stab of shame as you realize exactly what's happening, that you're going to cum even as you try to hold yourself back.

Kai knows it's risky, that all you'd have to do is turn your head and open your eyes to see his straining arousal, but he can't stop himself from working his pants open as quietly as possible and stroking himself properly as he watches the struggle on your face, the way you bite at your lip and obviously try to ignore the sensation, apparently ready to believe this is some spontaneous reaction to your drugged-up state and not his fingers working over you.

Despite the fact that you try to resist the sensation, the tingling in your body intensifies around your clit until your legs are shaking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing and a mortifying whine escaping you. Through your giddiness, however, the humiliation is short-lived, nearly forgotten the moment you find yourself giggling at your own orgasm.

The sight of you quivering as you cum, entirely unaware of his hands on you, only further erodes Kai's patience. "I just need to take one last quick look," he says, and then without waiting for your response he's releasing his cock momentarily, using gloved fingers from both hands to pry your mouth wide again. You squirm slightly when he forces those fingers deep in your mouth, but he removes one hand just as quickly, returning those spit-soaked fingers to his throbbing shaft and fisting himself more urgently. If you can hear the faint wet sounds the action brings, he trusts that you won't question them.

Fuck, and he's close already, the sight of your pink tongue lolling against his fingers only sending the coil in his gut tightening further, and he shoves his fingers a little deeper towards the back of your throat, feeling the muscles there spasm as you gag at the invasion.

"I'm sorry if this is a bit unpleasant," he says shortly, too caught up in the way you look with his fingers probing your mouth to maintain that congenial tone. Even through the gloves he can feel the heat and wetness of your mouth, and it sends shivers down his spine. "This should only take a minute. You have a small mouth - it's difficult to see with your tongue in the way."

He presses his fingers further, not sure why he's explaining himself when you're so obviously unbothered. You're only nodding, spit running down the side of your chin as you salivate around his fingers. On most anyone else he would find the sight nauseating, but seeing your innocent face so debased only spurs him closer to his release. He squeezes his length more tightly, letting the spit-slicked palm of his gloved hand rub over his tip with every stroke, the fingers of his other hand continuing to invade his throat while you simply lay there and take it, and when you finally let out a moan of real distress at the feel of his fingers in the back of your throat, it's enough to send him over the edge, his cock spasming and hot spurts of cum shooting into his gloved hand.

The moment his cock stops twitching he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, stripping off his fouled gloves and tucking himself back into his pant before you can so much as open your eyes. When he turns back to you again, you're staring at the ceiling, grinning slightly with shiny, wet lips.

It takes a few minutes for your head to clear once he removes the mask from your face, and by then you only have the vaguest sense that anything about the experience was strange, and even then it was still vastly more pleasant than any of your prior dental experiences, albeit embarrassing in a slightly different way than usual.

Chisaki waits for you to seem cognizant before drawing your attention to the monitor by the chair. His boldness in touching you did little to truly satisfy him, only made him more eager to fuck you properly, to feel the heat of your tongue against his cock instead of his fingers, and to bury himself in that cunt that responded so sweetly to his touch.

"Your teeth are mostly in good shape," Chisaki says. "But I'm afraid you do have one small cavity. Here, see?" He points at one of your x-rays on the screen, a perfectly healthy tooth but he's confident you won't notice that, that you don't know what to look for, and sure enough you're only nodding, eyes wide. It's adorable, that fearful look on your face. He almost wishes there were a way for you to keep that expression when he has his way with you. "It's only a small one. But I'd recommend a stronger sedative for it, if your nerves are that much of a problem."

"Stronger?"

"It requires an IV," he explains, "and you wouldn't be able to drive yourself home afterwards. You'll still be conscious, technically, but you won't be aware of much."

The idea of having your tooth drilled into already has you quaking, the last traces of your buzz gone, and you agree at once. "Okay. I guess I can ask my roommate to drive me." She probably won't mind; you two do each other favors fairly regularly.

Kai's glad to hear you don't mention a boyfriend. It wouldn't matter in the end, if you had one or not, but the idea of some other man's hands on you still sends a jealous, possessive stab through him. He prefers to believe that he's the only who's touched you, that there aren't others out there tainting you with their filth.

"Great," he says, giving you another one of those reassuring smiles. "Let's get you scheduled."

***

It's a matter of days before you're back again, Kurono having conveniently found a 'cancellation' in the schedule to slot you in. He knows all about Kai's proclivities of course; they've worked together for years, well before Chisaki took over Overhaul Dentistry from his adopted father, and they've known each other even longer. Hari's stayed to watch Kai's little indiscretions once or twice, though he's more prone to lurking outside the door to listen shamelessly, knowing full well that Chisaki has no interest in sharing and would never permit him to touch what he considers his.

Chisaki is practically shaking with impatience by the time you arrive, has to take a few deep breaths to steady his trembling hands before placing the IV and pumping you full of Propofol. He's not sure he's ever been this excited about a patient, but this time around the eagerness has been killing him. He's always considered his libido healthy but not excessive, but he's stroked himself off more times in the last few days that he usually would over the course of a month, waiting for this.

You blink slowly, counting backwards until your words trail off and your eyes fall closed, and then Kai stands up, taking in the sight of you limp before him. You wore a dress today, a summery little thing that buttons from top to bottom, almost as though you'd known what you were coming here for.

He's already hard, his erection straining against the constricting fabric of his pants, but he ignores it for now and focuses on undoing those buttons, savoring each additional glimpse of skin. Your underwear is simple, white cotton panties with a hint of lace around the edges, and a matching bra. He likes them, simple and clean, just like you.

One gloved hand lifts to cup your breasts, kneading that soft flesh and then finding the bud of one nipple and rolling it between his fingers, sending it hardening. He watches your face as he does so - you're not entirely unconscious, but you won't react much, and you certainly won't remember this. Your brow is furrowing just slightly under the attention, and when he moves to toy with your other nipple he hears the faint sigh you let out, takes it as encouragement to shove that garment out of the way and reveal your pert breasts, licking his lips at the sight of the slightly darker skin of your nipples, and the way they've puckered under his attentions so invitingly. He bends and takes one in his mouth, laving his tongue over that stiff peak, biting down lightly.

A little whine escapes you this time, and the sound sends spike of heat through his cock. He knew you'd be responsive to him after the last time, but you're already exceeding his expectations. He tips his head slightly, staring at your mouth, those slightly parted lips.

He's never felt compelled to kiss anyone, all too aware of the filth present in even the cleanest of mouths, but as he stares at your lips he's surprised by the urge to do so. And he knows the risks are minimal, spent more than one of the last several evenings reading through your medical records, giving them a much more thorough evaluation than the release form you'd signed probably warranted. But he couldn't help himself, and now he knows that you take good care of the rest of yourself just like you do your mouth.

He leans forward curiously, encouraged when your lips press just a little back into his, even as your eyes stay closed. He lets his tongue snake out to trace over your mouth, probing between those lips, and you let another soft whine, though your tongue doesn't respond to his. That's okay; it's more enjoyable that he'd have expected and he deepens it anyway, relishing your taste, minty and sweet - obviously you'd prepared yourself for him. He grasps one of your hands and brings it to rub against his cock, panting as he ruts into your palm.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he's equally parts disgusted and aroused by the thin strand of saliva that connects your mouths, staring at it in fascination until it breaks.

That uncharacteristic impatience rears its head again, and Chisaki fumbles with his pants, letting his cock spring forth. He wraps your hand around it briefly, savoring the feel of your small, soft hand caressing his length, and then he moves on just as quickly. It only takes the flick of a switch to lower the chair down so that you're at waist level, and then he's tilting your head towards him, pressing the tip of his cock against those spit-slicked lips. You surprise him by poking that pink tongue out just a little, and for a minute he simple brushes the head of his glans back and forth against it, relishing the soft brush of your wet tongue, and the pleasant jolt it sends through him.

"You're a little tease, aren't you?" he whispers. Then, he pushes forward into the hot cavern of your mouth, swearing under his breath at the feel of you. You gag reflexively when he bumps against the back of your throat, but he only pulls back briefly and surges forward again, one gloved hand coming to rest in your hair gently, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth.

It's not tight without you actively sucking, but it's hot and wet, and the velvety texture of your tongue against him is more than enough. Despite trying to be gentle at first, he finds himself thrusting more roughly as his excitement grows at the sight of his length disappearing between your sweet lips, stroking your hair when you gag harder.

"Shh, now," he scolds to your unresponsive body. "Be good and take it."

It's almost as though you're listening - your head tilts back slightly to accept more of him, your throat contracting around him, and before he can help himself Kai's hips are bucking, his balls tightening and his cock contracting as his load spills down your throat. When he pulls away he can still see the last of his seed coating your tongue, and he spreads it around with his gloved fingers, entranced by the sight.

He adjusts his clothes a bit, not done with you just yet, and then circles around towards you feet. His gloved hands wander up along your thighs, squeezing at that soft flesh, and then tug you down towards him - mindful of the IV still buried in your arm - until your legs dangling off the edge of the chair. He spreads them a little, running one finger over your clothed slit. There's a damp spot at the center of your panties, and his eyes fix on it with great satisfaction.

"You really are eager, hmm?" he murmurs, letting the pad of his thumb hone in on your clit, the outline of that puffy bead visible through the damp cotton. You let out the faintest of whimpers, your hips tilting into his touch slightly, and Kai lets out a shuddering breath before bending forward and burying his face between your thighs, letting his lips move lightly over your covered cunt, catching your clit between his lips to tease your barely-conscious form, earning another soft whimper. His cock is swelling again already at those little sounds, and the scent of you.

Forcing himself to pull away, he works your panties down over your hips and off completely with eager fingers, his eyes fixing on your bare cunt. Your positive to response to his touches is all the more visible now, glistening strands of wetness coating your folds. He uses his thumbs to spread you open, circling your clit with two fingers as he stares at your entrance and letting out a throaty groan when he can see your hole clenching around nothing.

The sight of your perfect cunt so greedy for his cock is entrancing, and he repeats the motion. You're not the first person he's done this with and you certainly won't be the last, but oh, you just might be his favorite, so eager for him. He'd known you were special after that first encounter, but your response to him now is better than he could have imagined a few days ago.

He slides two fingers into you, scissoring them gently to ready you for his cock. He can hear the way your faint breathing has sped up, the skin across your chest darkening slightly as you grow flushed from his efforts, and when he removes his fingers they're coated in your slick. He stares at them curiously, tempted again by new desires, and then slides them into his mouth, savoring the taste of you, sweet and quite unlike anything else.

The throbbing in his cock is growing unbearable, and though there's a part of him that wants to draw this out, wants to savor it, there's even larger part that's desperate to feel that tight hole clenching around him. He shifts you again slightly, bringing your hips to rest at the end of the chair, the contours of the leg rest making your back arch nicely, those perfect tits even more on display, and he takes one in hand as he aligns himself near your entrance, pinching at your nipple hard enough to make you whine.

There are condoms in the pocket of his sterile white lab coat; he's normally vigilant with the protective measures, loathe to expose himself to any unnecessary risks, both hygienically and in terms of leaving evidence behind, but he's tempted to forgo that now. The notes from your last yearly doctor's visit stated you're not sexually active, and he thinks it must be true, that an innocent thing like you is too sweet to lie. Of course, because of that you're not on birth control either, but even that doesn't bother him like it should; it excites him even, the thought of his seed taking root and the surprise that would bring.

He runs his bare cock over your damp slit experimentally, groaning at the unadulterated sensation, and that's enough to convince him to abandon his usual precautions. Kai thrusts forward into your wet heat, letting out a strangled moan. Your cunt is so tight, so hot around his length, and god, it's so much better when he can feel it all, the intense wetness of your cunt creaming around him and every tiny ridge of your velvety walls. The way you whimper when he forces himself into you makes him wonder if perhaps he didn't prepare you quite enough - your walls are fluttering around his cock, obviously struggling to accommodate him, but it's not until he's nestled deep inside, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, that he pauses to let you adjust.

You squirm a little - small, feeble movements - and Kai relishes each slight shift of your body, watching your lips twitch. It's obvious you're trying to speak, but in your drugged up state all that spills forth is barely audible nonsense, tiny whines with a pleading undertone. He reaches forward to stroke your hair from your face. "You're so needy," he scolds, "but don't worry, I'll take care of you."

With that, he pulls out until just the head of his cock is still trapped in your cunt, and then drives himself forward roughly. Your limp body bounces back at the force of his thrust, your tits jiggling slightly with each of his movements, a sight he adores. He lets his fingers circle your clit again, can feel the way your cunt immediately clamps down around him in response, as though you're trying to draw him even deeper, and he gladly obliges you, slamming himself as deep as possible every time. You whimper more loudly than you have yet, and he can just make out your eyes trying vainly to flutter open, never quite succeeding.

"You take me so well," he pants, the feel of your slick walls gripping his cock so tightly has his balls tightening again, and he slows a little, trying to prolong the inevitable, not ready to be done with your sweet pussy just yet. He leans forward clumsily latch his mouth around one of those erect nipples, sucking and nibbling, noting the response brings, you throaty noises coming more quickly, the slight twitches of your hips growing more violent.

"So well," he murmurs again. No one's been this responsive before; he's lucky, honestly, if he can ever coax his patients to orgasm, but your cunt is flooded, obviously ready to cum for him, and it's enough that he loses the last of his restraint, rolling his hips furiously, railing against your cervix with every thrust in a way that's sure to leave you aching once you're fully aware again, but he can't bring himself to care. He wants to feel your release, feel you gripping his cock more tightly if such a thing is possible, and wants to fill you up with his seed.

"Are you going to be good and cum for me?" he asks breathily, and after another minute your body answers his question, your cunt clamping down, a quiet, high-pitched whine issuing from your throat as you hole constricts. Another few stuttering thrusts and his own cock is spasming, pleasant throbs radiating through his core as he drives into you one last time and cums, swearing at the almost unbearable tightness of your cunt around him.

For a moment he remains buried there, relishing the last throes of your orgasms and the way you're still occasionally pulsing around him. When he pulls out, he frowns at the distasteful mess his cum makes as it leaks out of your gaping hole, but it's accompanied by a shiver of satisfaction at the evidence of how he's claimed you for himself. Still, he moves on almost immediately to cleaning up, slipping on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and tucking himself back into his pants before digging out a handful of papery dental bibs and using them to clean away the mess he's left between your thighs. Of course, there's nothing he can do about the evidence he's left deep inside, but even that he still finds titillating, the thought of his cum dripping out of you even after you've left, of your cute, confused face as you try to understand.

You barely stir as he goes about this process, only occasionally shifting slightly or mumbling a little, and by the time he's replaced your clothes you're lying still, the tiniest frown is on your lips. It's almost as though you know your time together is coming to an end, and you don't want to go. Chisaki glances from you to the needle in your arm, and the still half-full bag of Propofol suspended from the IV stand. Now that he thinks about it, he supposes there's no real reason to rush you out of there.

"Hari," he calls out, and he's unsurprised when the door to the exam room opens almost immediately, knows how Kurono likes to listen. The other man looks at him questioningly, gaze flicking between Kai and your sedated form reclining in the chair.

"Yes, Kai?" he asks, raising on pale eyebrow.

Chisaki smiles behind his mask. "Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day."

[renaerys]

Okay I've got one: Prompt 15 with Reds. 🤣🤣🤣

15. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Somehow they can make even breathing a competition.

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“So, we’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way, but until they arrive it’s up to us. Remember the acronym, kids: C-A-B. What’s the first thing you do?”

Aiyeesha Simpson, a gunner in the making destined for academic greatness and social ruin, raised her eager hand. “Find a flat surface to lay him down!”

“Correct.” Blossom took Brick by the shoulders and shoved him down to the floor. A gaggle of Girl Scouts gathered around him as he wheezed for air.

“Ow,” he said.

Blossom patted his chest. “Please choke more quietly.”

I will end you, he thought so loudly he hoped she could hear him through the murder in his eyes. There was community service, and then there was cruel and unusual punishment. When his required hours were up and his record expunged, he was going to write a very negative Yelp review of the local Townsville Girls Scouts of America chapter and tank this year’s cookie sales. Supremely annoying, outrageously petty, and totally legal. That would teach Blossom for sure.

“Place your hands here between the nipples.”

Some of the Cadette Girl Scouts giggled. To be fair, Blossom of all people saying the word nipples in reference to her former mortal enemy as she trained a room full of twelve-year-old girls in CPR using him as the dummy was a perfect storm of absurd and kinky that he did not see coming. And now he was giggling himself, because he was a teenaged boy who thought the word nipples was funny regardless of the very clear contextual cues, and that pubescent shame was on him, one hundred percent.

Blossom, an ancient and inconveniently attractive evil resurrected in a lab for the sole purpose of making his life miserable, did not appreciate his amusement. “Push hard at a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Remember to put your bodyweight behind it, like this.”

Brick flexed, and Blossom pushed against his heart like she was trying to crush it in her hands. Once, twice, three times she administered compressions, and Brick’s eyes glowed red with impotent rage.

“Assist Blossom with her CPR lessons to her satisfaction, and we can forget this ever happened,” Mayor Bellum had promised Brick when he lost his temper and blew up an (empty) ambulance. Butch didn’t need his Super stomach pumped no matter how much he drank, so the ambulance and the four-figure bill that came with it were completely unnecessary. This defense did not convince the mayor, however.

The promise of the bill forgiven and his record cleared—and the deterrence of Aiyeesha Simpson filming the whole thing to upload to YouTube later—gave Brick the strength not to eye beam Blossom in front of the children.

“Okay, who wants to try chest compressions on the dummy?” Blossom offered to the girls.

You evil bitch, thought the aforementioned dummy.

After the third little girl properly placed her sticky, little girl hands between his nipples, Brick had had enough. “Hey, I’m still dying over here. Can we move on already? Jesus Christ.”

“Of course.” Blossom smiled, and she had never looked more terrifying.

Brick hoped Butch was suffering. He hoped he was hung over so bad he couldn’t piss standing up. He hoped Butch tried going online only to find that Brick had disconnected the Internet and cut him off from all his online games and porn because fuck Butch and his weak-ass stomach.

“Who knows what the next step is? Maybe someone other than Aiyeesha this time?”

None of the other girls seemed willing to stick their hands up. The carpet under Brick had scorched where his power leaked out in his building resentment for this entire situation. The smell of burned polyester just made him feel even more powerless to stop this.

“No? Okay, well, remember the acronym. A is for airway. You want to be careful about a possible neck injury, so gently lift the chin…”

Blossom’s hands were not sticky like the Girl Scouts’ hands, but they were cold where they touched his skin and forced his head back.

“Are the paramedics here yet?”

Brick got a tight fist in his short hair for that one, and he considered it a small victory. “No. Something about a shortage of ambulances, apparently.”

Biiiiiiiitch.

God, he was going to destroy her so bad.

“Once you’ve cleared the airway and confirmed there are no obstructions—”

“Then you kiss!”

Some girls picked up the giggling again. Blossom, ever the professional, cleared her throat. “Mouth to mouth is a life-saving procedure and not something I’d recommend doing to someone you plan to kiss.”

Wow, great advice.

Some girls still giggled and whispered to each other. Brick had a sinking feeling that this was only going to end with his embarrassment: everyone knew that the cold judgment of pre-pubescent girls was the absolute worst type of judgment a person could suffer.

“Are you gonna show us?”

“Well, I don’t think I need to show you all how to breathe—”

“It’s in the manual! You have to demonstrate every step.” Aiyeesha waved the CPR manual, and Brick realized his misjudgment. She was no vapid goody two-shoes in the making, but a future Honors Student with a secret, a Work Hard Party Harder, an Ivy League Early Decision candidate with all of senior spring semester to slack off because no one was ever going to touch her 4.3 GPA.

Aiyeesha beamed a winning smile at Brick, and it was as chilling as Blossom’s.

Jesus Christ, there are two of them.

True to form, Blossom had never been able to defy a good instructions manual. “I suppose if it says so in the manual…”

Locking lips with Blossom was not a big deal. He’d done it before when they were kids, and he could appreciate the irony of a gesture meant to save his life this time rather than end it. She didn’t even try to mess with him by using her ice breath, just went through the motions as described in the instructions. The girls were disappointed with the lack of hormonal fanfare of it all, which was probably for the best. Leave it to Blossom to make mouth to mouth the sexless, medical act it was literally intended to be. He was almost upset, because it felt like she’d won something here, which could only mean he’d lost.

Disappointed but more educated than they’d been when they’d arrived two hours ago, the Girl Scouts dispersed after the lesson, leaving Blossom and Brick to put away the equipment they’d used.

She held a dummy torso, and she was looking at him with that pinched, constipated look she got when she was about to say something especially snobby. Instead, she surprised him. “Brick, thanks for being mature about it. I can honestly say you surprised me.”

He stared at her.

“I’ll talk to Mayor Bellum. I’m sure you’ve done enough to meet your hours quota.”

He had not fulfilled even half of his required community service hours and they both knew it.

“So yeah, thanks. I can finish up here if you want to leave.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Why?

“Brick? Why are you looking at me like that?”

When Blossom was winning, he was losing. That was simply the way of the world. So, if she was losing, it could only mean he was winning.

“Are you listening to me?”

Brick smiled in what he hoped was a cool, sexy way if he imagined looking at anyone but Blossom. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Blossom stared. “I’m sorry?”

He would make her sorry.

“Yeah, you’re a great teacher. I could really feel your passion for demonstrating the lesson correctly. With your mouth.”

Her staring intensified. “Did you.”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned his hip against the table like he’d seen in the movies. It worked for Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, and that guy had convinced Eva Green. Iconic. “I could really feel you trying to save me.”

Where was Aiyeesha with her phone to film this? There was so little he could do to rattle Blossom as they got older, and while the challenge delighted him, it was also exhausting being constantly a step behind her. Was this truly her demise? Had he won the Teenage Experience? Was this poetic justice for how she’d once killed him with a mere kiss, only to suffer the same fate in turn? He could have cackled. This was better than trolling the Girl Scouts of America reviews, although he might still do that because it was a genius idea and he had always indulged his own genius ideas when they came to him.

So infatuated was he with his own self-fellating digression that he was slow to react to Blossom sidling up to him. Her hand was still cold on his chin, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “Shall I save you again?”

Brick’s dignity drained with his blood, which was an unfortunate side-effect of being a teenaged boy that he would just have to suffer. But winning was about recognizing one’s weaknesses and working around them. He leaned into her personal space. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but it was happening and all he could think was I am better at this than you and I hate you and also Do that again. He tried holding her waist, and she fought back with her fingers in his hair. Not one to be deterred, Brick tried some tongue but pulled back when he tasted thirty degrees below zero. He immediately went back in because he could feel her superiority, her Got you, you horny idiot, but the joke was on her because he liked her cold, always had when it was hot as balls out and he’d make up any excuse to pick a fight with her just for the chance to cool off.

The Girl Scout troop leader walked in on them competitively making out in the classroom like it was an Olympic sport and put an end to things, leaving them at a frustrating draw for now. They said barely a word to each other when Brick glared at the troop leader so bad she flustered and didn’t even question them before running out of there with some excuse about getting the wrong room.

Later that evening, Brick caved and changed the Internet password back just so Butch would quit whining at him. He Googled kissing techniques and spent the next hour and a half watching YouTube videos and reading GQ articles about How to Please Her Like a Champion, because he was a champion and a winner and he was not going to lose to Blossom in this. Not a chance.

This had to be what they meant when they said kill with kindness.

“I’m going to end you,” he muttered to himself as he read about the top ten highest voted movie kissing scenes, which he would then stream and commit to memory in order to be fully armed and armored for the next time he encountered Blossom alone in a classroom. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe during their shared free period.

Truly, he had the most genius ideas.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[writtenonnapkins]

Recruiting Moony

Credit for Coops goes to @lumosinlove

It was way too early for Sirius to be walking into one of the Hogwarts locker room. Honestly, five A.M. was too early for any activities at all, but he was too full of nervous energy to sleep in today. 

Coach had asked the whole team to come in, despite it being off-season to review the tapes of some rookie they had recruited outside of the draft. Kingsley, the Director of Scouting, was also supposed to be at the mysterious discussion with the team.

In the locker room, every member seeming to be curious over what this was about. They didn’t usually have to view the tapes of any new team members, that decision was usually handled by the coaching staff and Scouters, so they all knew this wasn’t a normal meeting. 

Talker looked up from his conversation with Timmy when he entered, “So, Cap, what’s this about? I assume they told you more than us?” 

“Can’t say,” Sirius replied, “Just have to see what they have for us.”

“Ah-ha, a media answer! So you do know what we are here for, or rather who.”

The room had quieted down during Sirius and Talker’s exchange, listening in to see if they could get any new info from it. All of them were sitting up a bit straighter at the revelation that Sirius did, in fact, know a bit more than they did. 

“Common, Cap, give us a hint. Is he a risk? Old? Mean? Throw us a bone,” Talker pestered. He seemed to be the only one awake enough to do so at the moment, though the others were listening with growing interest.

“Stop bothering the Captain, Talker, you’ll know soon enough,” Coach said as he, the other coaches, and Kingsley entered the room, taking their places by the projector screen brought in after them. 

Kingsley set to booting up the projector while Coach attempted to wrangle the team into sitting down. 

“As I’m sure you may have noticed,” Kingsley began, “This is not our normal procedure when it comes to recruiting new players. But, we felt this was a special case that you all should have a voice in before we make an official offer.”

On the screen, a player profile picture popped up, and next to it a collection of videos, stats, as well as a separate pop up with Gryffindor Staff info. The team took in what they were seeing in stunned silence.

Remus. It was Loops. 

Sirius didn’t look away from the screen, afraid to make eye contact with anyone. 

“Uhh, is that Loops?” Dumo said with clear confusion on his face.

Kingsley continued on with his presentation as if not interrupted or impacted by the suddenly odd energy in the room. 

“Remus Lupin: age 25, so he would be on the older side as far as rookies go. Wisconsin Hockey starting left-winger from his freshmen year until Junior when he had a shoulder injury caused by a teammate causing him to be removed from the team and NHL Draft eligibility. A story I think you are all rather familiar with.”

Sirius looked around at everyone, mostly seeing faces of confusion still, and a few with understanding and excitement beginning to form. 

“What I think most of you are less familiar with, is what Lupin has been doing since then.”

“He’s been our PT Kings, we know. What are you leading up to?” Finn cut in.

“I’m getting there Mr. O’Hara. As you said, Lupin has been your PT since he was finishing up his last year of his Physical Therapy Masters, but I am not here to discuss his credentials in PT. I’m here to talk about Hockey.”

“Lupin was put on a strict PT and recovery program after his shoulder injury and regained most of his abilities within a year and a half after the injury. He says he has kept up with his PT since then, as well as various conditioning and weight training programs he put himself on as a PT.”

“Are you trying to sell us on Remus for the team? Cause he kind of kicked our asses a while ago if you remember, if you want him on the team we won’t fight. I would actually be thrilled,” Kasey said cutting off Kingsley once again. His point emphasized by nods and smiles from the other members.

Kingsley sure was taking his time with whatever his presentation included, and by now most of the team had caught on to what was happening. 

“I understand you think the entire explanation unnecessary due to your familiarity with Lupin, but it’s a unique situation and PR wanted you all to know the full story,” Coach explained. “I know it’s weird but it was deemed necessary.”

“How about I move on to some tapes,” Kingsley suggested, “These tapes are from Lupin’s junior year at Wisconsin, followed by some more recent tapes of Lupin running drills as part of PT.” 

The tapes began playing on the projector, ending the discussion, and captivating everyone in the room. They watched Remus skate smoothly around the entire of the opposing team, going fast than any player on the ice by far. He was yelling at his teammates as he skated by calling plays.

“I didn’t know Loops was captain,” James whispered, noticing the C stitched into his jersey.

The tape showed Remus calling for the puck before racing towards the goal, shooting it in before the goalie seemed to even process it. In the tape, Remus threw his head back and howled as his teammates swarmed him and the buzzer rang. 

“Moony! Moony! Moony!” was being chanted by the crowd before the tape cut.

Kingsley proceeded to play twelve other brief, but just as impressive, clips of Remus, commenting on different skills in each that the board and coaches felt would add to the team. 

Then more recent tapes began to play, these ones are clearly taken without Remus knowing as he skated through drills, just as fast and skillful as he had been in college. The hockey captain in Sirius immediately picked out not only his speed but also his control of the puck and balance as he skated. He was good; was still good. 

“Damn, when does he have time to skate like that?” Talker threw out. 

“Uhh, he comes here at five every morning. I always thought Moody had him organizing early or something until I saw the tapes,” Sirius confessed, “Turns out he was actually running drills for a couple of hours in the morning before he had to clock in. Been doing it for years according to Moody.”

“Cool, so what’s the hold-up? Should we vote on it? I think we are all good with Loops joining the team, as I’m sure you knew we would be.” Logan said clearly over, sitting in the meeting room. He probably wanted to go celebrate Loops. And probably make fun of him for the college team nickname they had just learned.

“Well, if none of you have objections, we will move forward with Lupin’s contract. Thank you for your time and input.” Kingsley said as he swept out of the room. 

The team all turned to look at Coach, silently asking him with grins stretched wide and excitement finally taking hold in their minds after the unnecessary long meeting. Honestly, while seeing Remus’s tapes was fun, did anyone really think they would object to Loops being on the team? 

Coach noticed the looks, and grinning back at them said “I believe Lupin is currently doing his regular drills on the rink if anyone wants to watch before conditioning starts.”

Before Coach had even finished his sentence, the team was racing out the doors towards the rink.

“Eh Moony! You think you’ll still howl when you get a goal even if we call ya Loops?” Talker shouted out at Remus who was, as predicted running early morning drills. Remus whipped around at the name looking shocked and mildly scared at all of them.

“I’m guessing they showed you the tapes then?” Remus yelled back as he skated over to them. 

“Oh yeah they did,” Logan replied laughing, “Can’t believe you’re the howler out of you and Cap.”

“Oh fuck off.”

[thingsofimportanceanddelight]

You know what they don’t talk about when they talk about The Queue and the Lying-in-State?

The waste. The mind-boggling waste.

And I’m not just talking about the mounds of rubbish discarded along the way by the people eating and drinking in line, or about the flowers and gifts and things left abandoned at random spots when people were told that they would not actually be allowed to take those things in with them after all. I’m not even talking about the religious propagandists handing out flyers and leaflets and actual printed and bound books that people accepted, either because they felt pressured or they assumed that these things were, I dunno, some kind of actual souvenir item, and then just left on ledges or benches once they realized they’d been had.

I’m talking about how the signs telling people what they could not bring (basically “no [items that one usually can’t bring on airplanes]”) weren’t nearly specific enough, so when people got to the end of the queue, nearing the security station, they were forced to throw away significant portions of the contents of their bags—not just any food or drink that had been opened, including candy and gum and breath mints and such, but entire bottles of hand sanitizer, sunscreen, lotion, lip gloss, anything remotely liquid-y, just chucked in the bin for the landfill. No knives, certainly, but if it didn’t occur to you that that also included plastic or wooden knives or forks, or even metal straws, into the bin they go, too. Got a brand new travel toothpaste in your bag? Chuck it in the bin; we only accept unopened food for the food banks. Surely no one in need could use your nearly-full spray bottle of eyeglass cleaner. Bin it. Nail clippers? Emery boards? Ballpoint pens? It all goes in the bin. Hundreds of thousands of bags’ worth of tiny personal items that it never would have occurred to you anyone would care about; small, harmless items that have somehow made it through every security station you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. All thrown away, no options, no thought. Because we don’t want to risk the remote possibility of you standing in line for half a day to try to do some really bizarre act of protest involving, like, a half-used packet of antacids or something, that presumably the multiple guards in the room exist to prevent you from doing anyway, I guess. So. Much. Waste.

And it didn’t even remotely have to be like that; with the amount of money poured into security staff and procedures, they could just as easily have instituted some kind of bag check; leave your entire bag outside the building, go pay your respects, pick your things up again on the other side. The only waste would have been a bunch of tiny paper tickets to be sure you got the right stuff back. They could even still have put the bags through a scanner, to be on the extra safe side, if they wanted to. But then they wouldn’t have filled multiple dumpsters every day with useful, useable stuff that was suddenly deemed garbage by the overly-enthusiastic security team. Instead, the only “bag drop” area was all the way over at the Tate, where not only would you still have hours you would have to be without your bag before you reached the end of your ordeal, and would most likely have to go far out of your way to retrieve it afterwards, but they also at no point said, “hey, this is the one and only option you have if you don’t want to lose half the contents of your bag because we’re going to force you to throw out a bunch of stuff that it wouldn’t even occur to you might be a problem!”

It was all so wasteful. So, so wasteful.

(And don’t even get me started on how unnecessary and inefficient and pointless The Queue was from the get-go; this is just a post about the excess and unnecessary waste generated by the whole ridiculous process.)

[chibimyumi]

Kuromyu 2021 - First Review

So, yesterday 05-03-2021 was the First Day Performance of Kuromyu 2021, “The Secret of the Boarding School”. It is no secret that I am no fan of the Boarding School Arc, but even so I was very, very curious to see this arc being translated to a stage media.

This review shall not be without spoilers. Not just the story itself, because I think by now most people know how the story unfolds. I mean the execution of the stage play itself.

I shall not lie and admit that my review WILL contain my opinions, meaning it is by no means objective and might influence your opinions. For people who wish to experience the production entirely objectively for themselves, I recommend NOT clicking “keep reading” to reveal the spoiler section.

For now, I shall give my spoiler-free rating per category.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐★

Script:       ⭐⭐ ★★★

Acting:      ⭐ ★★★★

Singing:    ⭐ ⭐★★★

Music:       ⭐⭐⭐★★

Dancing:   ⭐⭐ ★★★

Stage & Costume:  ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Hereunder I shall give the spoiler-section first preceded by “First Impression”, and then followed by the categories listed here above.

First Impression

The stream started, and seeing the Kuromyu logo in present day again after three years really was very exciting. Since 2010 on as always, Kuromyu opened with the contract scene, and I was positively surprised to see the stage set being quite elaborate! This set was the largest and most elaborate one so far without TOHO’s help.

After the contract scene the prologue gave a very quick recap of the Jack the Ripper, Circus, and the Campania Arc. I am not sure whether it was necessary to show the Jack the Ripper and Circus Arc as they provide no information needed to understand Weston Arc. But I think it was mainly inserted to speak to the nostalgia in Kuromyu fans, and as a Kuromyu fan myself, I have to say it did work. It did not take much time, I think maybe 1 minute per arc, so it was fine.

The recap of the Campania Arc was important as it served to equip the audience with the information that there’s a reaper who creates zombies. Undertaker was shown as the main antagonist of the Campania Arc and responsible for the bizarre dolls.

There was a short brawl between Undertaker and Sebastian, which is in fact a very good choice in my opinion to showcase the dynamic between these two supernatural powers...............except that only 10 minutes in, and the musical already MASSIVELY screwed up by portraying the fight as though Sebastian beat Undertaker. The ONLY reason Sebas is still alive is because Undertaker decided so. Normally I wouldn’t care that much about errors in a recap, but this time it serves as the exposition of Undertaker and Sebastian’s dynamic: It should have shown that Undertaker is an incredibly dangerous foe and that Sebas is scared shitless because of that. Especially because this ties in with how this arc was concluded.

“But okay, fine. Maybe the script has other plans, so I shall let it be,” I thought. Moving on. But it did “plant a seed” in me that this musical is either going to contradict itself, or that it is going to defy canon. That was the first impression.

The prologue transitions into the setup of the case quite smoothly, and I have to say it was skillful. You very quickly see Ciel change into the Weston uniform and the admission ceremony was swiftly started. Immediately you get introduced to Agares, the prefects and their fags, and the musical does a good job defining the atmosphere as: “something is off here”.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ ★

The overall musical was really quite faithful to canon. Most plot points were as they were in the manga, and enough so that I would recommend anybody who doesn’t understand Japanese to first re-read the arc as homework. If you have the arc fresh in your memory, it is very easy to trace every action back to the canon.

There are some details that were omitted or changed, probably done so in consideration for the stage medium or run-time, and done reasonably so. Unlike the previous Kuromyus, 2021 adds very little new elements that were not there in the manga. No added extra depth, but also no unnecessary additions.

There were a few things that were very off-canon, namely the characters. But I think that falls under the “acting” header, rather than this header.

Script:       ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

The script was a real disappointment. You might wonder how faithfulness to canon can be 4/5, and yet the script only a 2/5 in my opinion. WELL, most dialogue was based on the text in the manga, but told as dry as possible. It was also as though the script writers didn’t trust its audience intelligent enough to understand things on their own, or even remember something that was said literally 5 minutes ago.

Exposition Ad Nauseam

There was a tremendous amount of exposition, exposition, exposition, ad nauseam. There was exposition about who Ciel is and what the Queen’s Watchdog is and what his job entails, and that is entirely fine. That’s necessary background information for spectators unfamiliar with Black Butler. However, there was also a lot of exposition that could easily have been left out, or concluded through context. For example, there were quite many expositions about the history and status of the Weston College. In my opinion, a competent script writer could have let the audience known that the Weston College is really important just by giving the information that the blood relative of the QUEEN attends the school, and by showing the Red House, since their entrance is based on social status.

In this post I wrote about my following concern:

Unlike tennis, cricket is a very foreign sport to most people. Cricket cannot be shown without explaining the rules. So if Kuromyu were to happen, these expositions that were dry in the manga to begin with, are going to be even dryer on stage. Does an actor narrate the rules? Do we want Sebastian to sing us the rules??? Or do we want the kids to sing us the rules themselves while they are batting the balls? 

And alas, true to my fear, Sebas indeed narrates the rules to us...  But even worse, he also explains cricket by using baseball analogy... This is an incredibly ineffective and time-wasting method, because:

it takes the audience out of the moment,

it assumes the audience knows enough about baseball to let it help understand cricket,

and it assumes the audience actually cares about the name of every single strike....

Repetition Ad Nauseam

Then there is the problem where many info-dumps sounded like: “LIKE I JUST SAIDDDDD, DON’T FORGET!!!”. The script for Sebas is the biggest offender. There were many moments Sebas was just saying the same thing twice. At times he repeated the same information, and there were some moments where he regurgitated already given information. (Sorry I’m just being nasty here, but that’s what it felt like (;;≽▽≼;;) )

Sebastian has this obsession with constantly proclaiming himself an omnipotent, one hell of a butler, which makes him capable of doing anything... and after a while it just gets a bit tedious. I have the feeling the scriptwriter really has the hots for him, and therefore can’t shut up about how powerful he is.

While Sebas is the biggest offender, he is by far not the only one. This musical is guilty of doing a lot of very unnatural lines that no person would ever say. Soma for example, seems incapable of saying anything without shouting that he is the Prince of India and Ciel’s BFF. First time, FINE. But the entire time? My god....

Characterisation

Then there is the characterisation of characters in the script. Of course in great part the characterisation is dependent on the actors too, but no matter how amazing an actor is, you do as the script demands.

As discussed above, Sebas is done dirtiest by the script. This script also makes him incredibly arrogant and a bit too happy to be in his master’s service. Similarly, Ciel is also written entirely dependent on Sebastian, and equally happy that Sebas is happy to serve. In the first song between Ciel and Sebastian, without any prompt Sebastian asks his master for his orders, as though that’s what Sebas is looking forward to all day. And the first thing Ciel says in response is: “can you take on this reaper [Undertaker] and the large number of moving corpses?” to which Sebas responds: “Leave everything to me, because I am the Phantomhive butler.” ........and then he proceeds to defeat Undertaker effortlessly.........!?!?!?!?!?! When fighting Undertaker, Sebas also says: “what a bother” as though it’s just a bit of an unpleasant chore rather than a life-threatening fight.  And just before Undertaker disappeared all the way at the finale of the arc, Sebas seriously says: “I really don’t get along with you”. SERIOUSLY, WHO WROTE THIS?!

Myu!Ciel is CLEARLY the master of this Sebastian as he seems to be on a permanent power trip. He “it’s an order”s Sebastian for the most trivial of things. At the beginning when Sebas was fighting intruders already, Ciel “it’s an order”s Sebas to take down the intruders.... HE’S ALREADY AT IT!!!

In chapter 70 where Sebas and Ciel simultaneously think of Soma, Ciel doesn’t give Sebas an official order. This shows the audience that there is a certain level of trust between master and servant that they’re on the same page AND that Sebas has come to a stage where he will actually do what’s necessary.

In the musical however, Ciel gives a full “Sebastian, it’s an order, get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College.”

This is also an example of how unnatural and repetitive the script is. Who would EVER say “get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College”???? Of course procedures need to happen first! And “here” alone would have sufficed, scriptwriters. We KNOW where “here” is! We didn’t forget since 5 seconds ago!

Lyrics

The lyrics are technically not the script, but they are ridden with the same problem as the script itself, so I shall take the liberty of discussing these under the same paragraph.

There is a LOT of repetition in the lyrics as well. The P4 especially sing “Weston” and “tradition” like the ENTIRE time. One song literally goes: “this is Weston, Weston, Weston, Weston, at Weston we uphold our traditions, traditions, traditions, traditions.” The other song is: “It’s cricket, it’s cricket, it’s cricket,” and another “I am Ciel’s BFF, BFF, BFF, Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel’s BFF.”...... *shudders* ((ﾟﾟ((Д))ﾟﾟ)) AAAAHHHH!!!!

Acting:      ⭐ ★ ★ ★ ★

The acting was by far the most abominable in the musical safe for two gems: Chesslock and Derek. There are too many characters to discuss, so I shall keep it to the main/noteworthy ones.

The gems

Chesslock has this tremendous energy and something very wild about him, and his jumps are so incredibly precise it’s amazing! Derek has but a very small role, but the moment he showed up as the zombie you already immediately saw there was something “off” about him. It was very subtle, but still clearly unhinged. When he was acting living-Derek, you also clearly saw what type of prick he was. Amazing! These two were the brightest stars of the show.

The....... not gems

The most unwatchable ones were Soma and Harcourt. Soma doesn’t have a big role, but he bothered me so much he is ironically the most memorable one. It’s like Okada saw “loud and obnoxious (in a good way)” in the manga, turned it up to 12, and gave the worst portrayal possible. As said above, the script making him repeat “Indian prince” and “BFF” the entire time doesn’t help, but blaming just the script would be letting Okada off too easily.

Harcourt...... gave me so much secondhand embarrassment I literally got a cramp looking at him. When the diarrhea happened he was screaming like a pig about to be raped and slaughtered... and I am NOT making a rape-joke here. I would never. He really did sound like he was unwillingly aroused and terrified at the same time.

Sebastian

Let’s start with the good things: Tateishi’s Sebas did have his presence and his movements were fairly neat. He was never just standing there. He is quite elegant, and not swaggering or pulling spasms on stage unlike a CERTAIN someoneeeeee. He could work a BIT on the coordination of his extremities, but that’s only when I’m nitpicking.

But otherwise.... he was a bit underwhelming to be honest. The main problem is not necessarily Tateishi’s acting-skill maybe, but his interpretation I think... but I can’t say his acting was amazing even at knife-point. The way he acts Sebas makes him look like a complete fanboy of Ciel... which is just not Sebas. He is incredibly eager and at times I could almost see a puppy tail wagging. Whenever he is getting an order from his master he is just beaming. And with Undertaker there was not a single hint that Sebas is scared of the only foe who managed to mortally wound him.

His interaction with Ciel was also very SebaCiel heavy. In the manga where Ciel challenges Sebas why he didn’t go after Undertaker, Sebas is clearly emphasising the importance of the contract, and half-threatening his master not to dare “it’s an order” him to go after Undertaker.

In the musical however, Sebas is all UWU, as though saying: “I couldn’t let the big baddy hurt you... uwu”. Without exaggerating, Sebas caresses Ciel’s face THREE times and then embraces him.

Ciel

Ciel was very unbearable to watch in my opinion. Not as bad as Soma and Harcourt, but otherwise an “honourable” third place after them. In the manga it was a bit cringey to begin with because he is supposed to fake being (*ÓωÒ*), but seeing a 20 year old man do that... and play it up to 11 was just jarring. Ciel is like “tehe” very often, but never actively skipping like a forest fairy.

This Ciel also has tremendous mood-swings! He is either UWU or actively a ice-cold diva... and at times he is also being UWU when he’s not around others???? There was also not a single moment where I could see him cooking up a plan. No hint of intelligence or cunningness to be found.

Unlike with Tateishi I can’t really come up with anything good to say about him.

Undertaker

Undertaker was the best among the main three (not that the bar is very high). He is making efforts to tease-threaten Sebas, which I think is a very nice added detail (it’s just that Sebas reacts to none of them... sad.) and even though his role is pathetically small (he doesn’t show up as the principal), he still managed to present himself in the spotlights.

P4

Greenhill had his energy, he was funny, and something really funnily militaristic about him. Though, I was missing nuance in his acting because at not a single point could you see Greenhill might have a trauma for killing people.

Redmond was Viscount of Druitt light and he had a very strong emphasis on the BL aspect with Maurice......which was just personally not my cup of tea. But I have to admit that aspect was played up too in the manga. So I guess he was faithful to canon.

Violet was quite charming and eccentric. He did play up the gothicness of the Violet house, which was actually kinda nice! He also had a deep friendship with Chesslock, which I really liked. When Violet didn’t do shit during the tournament Chesslock was really miffed about that, and challenged him. And then Violet showed Chesslock a portrait he drew of him, saying: “you just looked so cool I had to capture that.” That was amazing! He is a bit bitchier and sassier than in the manga, but I really don’t mind. 

Bluer.... William light. He was the least memorable of all of them.

Singing:    ⭐ ⭐ ★ ★ ★

Nobody really hurt my ears, but also nobody quite hit the notes... and the notes weren’t that hard.

Music:       ⭐⭐⭐ ★ ★

Eehhhhhhhhhhhh I’d say the songwriter played most songs a BIT too much on the safe side. Not a single song was memorable, but they didn’t offend me either. The main theme was fairly nice actually, but only when just the instrumentals played. I think it might have been the singing just being too chaotic for me to actually hear the music.

Dancing:   ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

Chesslock is an tremendously good dancer, his movements were precise and energetic. But otherwise.... nobody really popped out, but there was nobody who looked like a noodle on stage either.

The main problem is choreography; with some exceptions they were very underwhelming and messy. There were a lot of group dances, but often enough people were just a bit out of sync and messy.

Stage & Costume:  ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Stage Set

The stage set was VERY good. It was well made and mobile; they could be moved around and functioned as different props. Examples include the cellar in which Derek and his gang were committing crimes, and the boat of the parade even. The set also had this really magical aesthetic about it which communicated the glamour of the Weston College well.

Costumes

The costumes were well made. The logo on the uniforms for example were actually embroidered rather than those iron-on plastic things. The wigs were .... very messy after jumping around a bit and they looked very greasy. But that’s fine. They did their job and I realise I’m just spoiled. TOHO makes their wigs using real human hair, and that’d be an astronomical sum for any normal 2.5D company.

My ONLY problem is Ciel’s “lord costume”. This photoshoot photo underneath is doable, but trust me, on stage it is a nightmare. There are no clear photos of this costume on stage, and I think I understand why.

It was glittery velvet which just SCREAMS cheap Halloween costume, it was ill-fitted, almost like it was 2 sizes too large. The costume makers didn’t take stage-lighting into account, so the fabric and details glistened all over the place. Under the limelight the “golden” aiguillettes were PISS yellow. And the suddenly black sock suspenders protruding from his white boots were just...... distracting.

BUT, this was just one costume and he only wears it in the prologue and the finale of the show. Even though it’s God-awful, the rest were well made enough to compensate for this abomination.

Conclusion

So now finally the conclusion! The musical was..... fairly faithful to canon, but the execution leaves quite a lot to be desired. The interpretation/acting of the characters were the most disappointing one, while the stage/costumes were the most charming.

Do I recommend buying the stream/DVD/BD?

Stream: Yes.

I personally do recommend buying the stream as it’s only 3800 yen, especially if you like the Weston Arc itself, and/or are curious to see how they did it. Even though I myself really hate the Weston Arc in and of itself, I was very curious to see how it’d be translated to a stage medium. Despite my mostly negative opinion of the musical, I don’t regret buying the stream at all!

The best reason in my opinion to buy the stream though; it’s a very good and legal way to get a “preview” to see if you want to spend approximately 10000 yen on the proshot.

DVD/BD: Depends on you.

I myself have decided not to buy the DVD because I don’t think I’ll be rewatching it after the stream-archive period is over. The DVD/BD are the most expensive so far, and to me the final product is just not worth that amount of money.

But if you like the Weston Arc, or the performers, or you think you will be rewatching it and you are a collector, I think it is a very nice addition to your shelve.

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 14

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

She’d find some excuse about missing evidence or statements to call him back in, or something along those lines. He was too good a catch to let him escape, and she wasn’t prepared to allow that to happen. And Dinah Madani, as anyone who knew or worked with her soon found out, was one very determined lady.

The weekend following the op, Dinah had literally just sat and wallowed in her apartment, several bottles of wine, takeout and the TV being her only companions. She stewed and stewed about the Russo Situation, as her mind categorised it. She really wasn’t going to let this lie, she was the one who should be with him.

By Wednesday morning, Dinah was sitting in her office scrolling through various witness statements again on her laptop, tapping her pen impatiently on the desk as she did. She’d spent the last two days scrutinising them.

Her mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for calling Russo back in. It had to be cast-iron, otherwise her co-workers and possibly Russo would smell a rat. She started reading through an eyewitness report from just prior to the shooting; this one might do, as it mentioned seeing Russo (‘tall guy in a black army outfit’) raising his gun just before one of her team had actually shot the guy. She might be able to say she needed him to go over his exact movements at that point, as she didn’t think it had been described in micro-detail in his own statement.

Her internal phone rang, and she grabbed the receiver - it was her boss, the Special Agent in Charge or SAC. “Sir?” His gruff voice sounded annoyed, “Can you come to my office, please?” She frowned, “I’m just going over the -“ but he cut her off, “Now, Madani!” “Of course,” she replied, putting the phone down and getting up from her desk. What’s got his panties in a bunch, she thought as she left her office and headed along the corridor to his.

She knocked and heard a terse “Come in!” and entered his office. One look at his beetroot face made her wish she’d been out on a call somewhere. His blood pressure only ever got this high if some really big boulder of shit had come rolling down the hill and dropped on him.

“Siddown,” he grunted, and waited until she was sitting opposite him. He heaved a big sigh, interlacing his fingers as he placed his hands on the desk in front of him, then stared across at her.

“Dinah... I’ve received two official complaints about you.” She gaped at him. Definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

“What? Who from?!!!” she demanded. He exhaled a breath; even he’d noticed Dinah’s ‘heart-eyes’ for this guy. She wasn’t going to like this.

“Billy Russo, and a friend of his.”

“Oh, let me guess!” She said a name, “That’s his ‘friend’, isn’t it?!” He nodded, “Yes. They both allege that you acted in an unprofessional manner during the case which has just been closed.”

“Unprofessional, how exactly?” she questioned him. His beetroot face went an even more vibrant shade of red, and he cleared his throat, “Russo alleges that you made unwanted sexual advances to him, and that you... uhhh, you engaged in an act of voyeurism while he was having sexual relations with his girlfriend.”

Dinah felt a flush spreading over her face, and she huffed out a breath. “And her? What did she have to add to the mix?” He held her angry gaze, “She said you carried out a totally unnecessary interview with her, solely to obtain information about her relationship with Russo.” She couldn’t stop herself from spitting out, “Huh! Relationship!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Dinah, you do seem to be rather more.... interested in Russo than the casework would require? Did you engage in a personal relationship with him during the course of the case?” She crossed her arms over her chest, “No! Well, yes.... to an extent! He took me out for lunches a couple of times and drinks one night, but that’s as far as it went!” More’s the pity, supplied her brain.

“Well, Dinah, I can’t sweep this under the carpet I’m afraid, as they’ve made the complaints official. Their statements have been made and filed with Professional Standards.”

Her eyebrows rose, and for the first time, a sliver of trepidation made its way into her mind. “I see. I didn’t realise it had already been fast-tracked to them.” He shook his head, “Not fast-tracked, Dinah - just following standard procedure. They came in to speak to PS yesterday, and they’ve just contacted me as your line manager to make me - and in turn, you - aware that the complaint’s been filed.” She chewed the inside of her lip; she was having a hard time getting her head around the fact that only two days after he’d come to the final briefing, he’d returned to the office and filed this complaint.

“PS will be in touch with you to arrange a formal hearing to investigate the complaint. They’ll give you a copy of the statements made, and you’ll be able to have an advisor with you.” He looked down at his hands, before meeting her eyes again, “I’m sorry this has happened, Dinah, but it has and things have just got to take their course. I’m not going to suspend you but for the moment, until this is resolved you’ll be on desk duties only.”

Her mouth tightened, but she gave him a brief nod and managed to say almost civilly, “Yes, sir.” He leant back in his chair, “Okay, that’s all for now.” She got up abruptly and left the office, making sure she didn’t slam the door. Although she really, really, wanted to.

She walked back to her office, this unexpected development turning over and over in her mind. She carefully closed her office door, but then kicked her desk viciously, her anger boiling over. This was obviously her idea, thought Dinah, it’s got to be! She just didn’t see Billy as a complaint-filing kinda guy.

Well, his little lady friend would soon find out she picked the wrong woman to fuck with!

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy’s eyes opened slowly, and he stretched his arms and legs fully out, yawning. His right hand met empty space - he was by himself in the bed. He sat up and pushed the covers back, leaning over the side of the bed and grabbing his boxer briefs off the floor.

He got up and pulled them on before wandering through to his living area.... ah, there she was. Making coffee and toast for them. Moving silently up behind her like the sniper he was, he grabbed hold of her then burst out laughing as she gave a small shriek.

“Russo! You sneaky bastard, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” His mouth went to the spot behind her ear and he placed a small kiss there, before suddenly licking the entire side of her face. “Russo!” she yelled again, but he heard a small laugh at the end of it. “Mornin’, angel.” He started peppering kisses all over her face and neck, and she laughed again, “Do you want this coffee or not?!” and then just managed to grab a slice of the toast as it came flying out of the toaster. He grabbed it out of her hand and started looking around for the butter and a knife.

“Yeah okay, sweetheart, let’s have our coffee an’ toast. It’s just I didn’t get my Thursday mornin’ kiss when I woke up,” he pouted over at her. She grinned at him, “Oh my god, you know you really are the sappiest of big saps! I’m just not gonna stop calling you out on that. Big bad Marine, yeah right.”

He reached for her and crushed her up against the the worktop, kissing her ferociously and running his hands all over her. He could hear her making little mewling sounds so he upped the ante, sliding his briefs down with one hand, then grabbed her hips and boosted her up onto the counter. He pushed her long t-shirt (actually his t-shirt) up over her thighs and slid his hard-on inside her. He felt her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, pulling him closer to her and settling him in. Billy closed his eyes, head going back at the feeling of being sheathed inside her. He felt like he was losing control of himself, he wanted her so much. He began thrusting, wildly, pushing deep inside her - his brain told him he was going at it like a teenage boy on his first sexual adventure - but he couldn’t stop himself.

Suddenly, he felt himself releasing and gave a long disappointed groan, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder. “Uhhhh... no,” he groaned again, kissing her, “Sorry, angel - got too excited. Couldn’t hold it.”

She leant forward and kissed him, “No need to apologise, tiger... happens to the best of them.” He frowned, “But not to me, sweetheart,” stroking her hair back and kissing her eyebrow, “that’s a first! What are you doin’ to me, woman?!” He had seriously never come so quickly in his life. Thinking back to when he lost his virginity - 15 years old in the group home with one of the older girls - he remembered that even then he’d lasted longer. Not much longer, but still.

He smiled at her, “You know I think I am whipped,” he said, laughing.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Laughing back at him, she jumped down off the counter and ripped a couple of paper towels off the roll next to the toaster. Dampening them under the tap, she handed one to Billy and they quickly cleaned themselves up. He eased his briefs back up over his slightly damp thighs, and noticed she was going through the lower cupboards. “What’ya lookin’ for, sweetheart?” She opened another cupboard door and peered inside it, “Clorox or whatever....” He opened the cupboard door under the sink and took out a spray bottle, handing it to her with a raised eyebrow.

“Gonna disinfect yourself, angel?” he smirked at her, “I mean I know what my rep was like in the past, but I always wore a condom.” She smacked the bottle against his butt, “Just the countertop, honey... we’ve just had sex on it if you recall!” “Owww! Ahh...okay, right,” he nodded, and she grinned back at him, “I can see I’ve still got some house-training to do for my puppy.” He mock-frowned and smacked her ass lightly, “Not a puppy, sweetheart!”

“I don’t know why you object to that, Billy - puppies are cute!” He popped the toast slices back in the toaster to reheat them a bit, “Puppies piss and shit all over the place and dry-hump people’s legs!” She burst out laughing, “Wow! I didn’t realise you were so puppy-phobic, Russo!” “I’m not! I just don’t want to be compared to one,” he protested. She finished spraying the counter and wiped it all down.

Leaning up, she kissed him softly, “Oh okay... Hurt Male Ego alert!! What d’you wanna be, poppet... a tiger?” She went back to attending to the coffee. “Well, you did call me tiger earlier, so yeah - I can live with that,” he grinned. “I might just call you poppet.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, “You’d better not.” She brandished to coffee pot at him, “Try and stop me!” Just then, Billy heard his phone chime in the bedroom with a new text message.

He strolled back through there and picked it up, his mouth pulling into a line as he saw the sender’s name.

Dinah: Russo, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I want to speak to you about this complaint you’ve filed.

Russo: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Dinah: You owe me an explanation.

Russo: Do I? And an explanation about what? It’s quite straightforward.

Dinah: No it isn’t. You meet me tomorrow at the Chelsea Piers, 10 AM. Then you’ll be nice and close to your little girlfriend and you can go running back to her afterwards.

Ouch, thought Billy, someone’s still jealous.

Russo: OK I’ll meet you for a 5-minute talk and that’s it.

Dinah: And keep this to yourself, Russo.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy walked back through to the kitchen, tapping his phone on his chin as he went, deep in thought. Did he tell her about this, or just keep quiet? He couldn’t work out why Madani was so insistent on an actual meeting. His gut told him nothing good could come from this, he just knew it. He wasn’t absolutely sure of the details, but he was under the impression that Madani should not be in contact with him when there was an active complaint against her. He’d better be damn careful when they met tomorrow.

She’d finished pouring the coffee and buttering the toast and turned to him with a wide smile as he reappeared, holding out a plate and cup to him, “Here you go, poppet.” He took them from her, smiling back and shaking his head, “Poppet! Do I really look like a ‘poppet’?!” he said, following behind her as they left the kitchen area. He leant forward and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. “You look like a big sap,” she laughed back, “but a very sex-ceeee one in just your briefs,” and rubbed her body up against him, making him groan.

As they made their way over to his sofa, he thought to himself that maybe he’d just stay silent about it, his angel was in a good mood and he didn’t want to place a black cloud over the day. Both of them had decided to have a day off from work, he had plans for the two of them and he didn’t want to spoil it all. He made up his mind as he looked over at her, she was smiling at him and his stomach did a backflip as it had been doing a lot lately.

Yeah, he’d just not mention it.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 15/?)

Chapter 15: Right and Wrong

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

At the station, Hank had you sit at Connor's desk while the detective android dragged Robert into an interrogation cell to wait until their warrant came in. The older detective brought you a cup of coffee not long after.

"Still thinks he's invincible, huh?" Hank said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the outside of Connor's desk.

You took a sip of the coffee he had offered you, surprised to find Hank had taken the time to add cream and sugar. You looked up at the older detective curiously, hoping he would continue.

"You know... jump into traffic, charge head first into the line of fire," Hank elaborated. His tone had some lightness to it, clearly trying to make the grim situation less... grim. Somehow, you imagined, Hank was quite familiar with this behavior from Connor. "I was hoping he would cool it since you two hooked up."

"It's my fault," you said lowly. "The bullet was for me. He just... got in the way."

A very sincere, soft smile formed on Hank's face. "Yeah," he huffed. "That's Connor alright."

While it was a frightening thought, you couldn't help but smile at Hank's words, reminding you that Connor was selfless, protective. They had been through a lot together, most of which you had no idea about. You wanted to ask, to hear Hank tell stories of their adventures together.

Back then, Connor's lack of care with his own mortality was likely observed as just the behavior of a machine's programming. Even Connor had admitted this to you. But, maybe, his selflessness was just who he was: not afraid to die for someone else.

You set down the disposable cup and rotated around, taking in the sight of Connor's desk. It was spotless, which didn't surprise you in the slightest, considering the state of his apartment. He didn't have a keyboard and mouse, but a touchpad interface designed for androids to access desktop computers more efficiently.

The only personal item was a photo framed and propped up beside the monitor. You wondered if it was the entire homicide branch. There was Hank and Connor standing next to each other, a few detectives you remembered seeing at AlphaBio, including the one you wanted to punch, and several others. Connor and Hank looked happy, bright, proud looks on their faces.

You smiled at the sight, a soft breath coming out unevenly through your nose. You wanted to ask for a copy to keep for yourself.

"He needs more knickknacks on his desk," you observed.

Hank chuckled quietly. "Like a photo of his girlfriend," he suggested. When your eyes landed on him, he shrugged his shoulders innocently.

You weren't sure why something so simple, so domestic, made you blush so fiercely. Your relationship had moved so quickly, so boldly. These simple things seemed so overwhelming.

The thought of Connor having a photo of you on his desk made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You liked to think people would see it and ask him who you were, maybe they would tell him you were beautiful and he was a lucky man.

As you finished the coffee Hank had gotten for you, Connor came around the winding corridor to the interrogation rooms and hastily crossed the office space.

He stopped next to Hank and looked down at you softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not the one who got shot," you snapped at him a little, not necessarily venomous, but clearly discontent.

"You have already tended to my injuries," Connor replied robotically. "I'm fully functional."

'Fully functional', for some reason, made you angry.

You stood up quickly and stepped into his space. The android didn't seem at all fazed by that.

"Connor, you could have died today. Don't brush this off," you scolded him fiercely, volume rising slightly.

He looked a little startled by your words; but, the look faded away and he stiffened. "That wasn't my intention."

"Well, that's what you did," you retorted.

Connor's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know full well that androids don't require healing time for their damages. It's unnecessary to waste time on nonissues."

Your lips tightened as you took in his words. You never broke eye contact. Frustration and anger began to bubble up inside the both of you. In that moment, you looked you exchanged with Connor was harrowing.

"'Nonissue'?" you hissed. "You almost dying is a nonissue?"

Connor's stare was unwavering. He had a retort on the tip of his tongue.

"Hey," Hank interrupted sharply. His volume startled you a little.

Your gaze jerked over to him. In that brief encounter, you had forgotten you had an audience, and you felt shame flush your face. Connor was still looking at you; but, his eyes softened and something much the same, shame, crossed his features.

"These anti-human-android relationship types: they're gonna be everywhere and they ain't goin' away anytime soon," Hank said fiercely, his voice gravely.

The android shifted his gaze to Hank. "Don't let them get in-between you two," Hank warned.

"That's not-" Connor began, sounding a little defensive.

Hank was quick to interrupt him. "That's exactly what this is: you two fighting over what happened, over who's right and who's wrong," he challenged, volume rising. "Don't act like I wouldn't get that."

There was something oddly human about this whole encounter. You felt like you were witnessing a parent scold their child. The realization of that made you feel bittersweet: Hank was treating Connor like his son. You could see, as the android took in his words, Connor's expression soften and his anger dissolve.

"Don't let that drift start," Hank said lowly, gaze shifting between the two of you. "Especially not over something like this. Now, fucking make up while I go deal with this shit."

For a moment, after Hank walked away, you avoided looking at Connor, trying to bottle up the shame before it could lead you to tears. You could see him staring at you in the corner of your eye, his brown eyes silently pleading for something.

"I just-... didn't want you getting hurt," you said quietly.

Finally, your eyes fell on Connor and the soft look he was giving you made all desire to argue dissipate. He stepped in closer and took hold of your hand.

"I can't promise that I will never get hurt," he replied quietly.

You nodded and stepped in a little closer, till very little space was left between you. The two of you were in the middle of the police station in the late afternoon; but, for a moment, you forgot about that, and lifted your free hand to take hold of his other hand.

"I'm being stupid," you breathed. "Just yesterday, I gave you a speech about how you can't always protect me and then I'm here giving you shit about the same damn thing."

"If it happened to you, I would have shared in that frustration," the android confessed softly.

You smiled a little, finding comfort in his words and squeezed his hand.

"How did you know?" Connor inquired, looking curious and enamored. That look was focused on you, and it made you want to melt. You could feel his thumb tracing invisible patterns against your knuckles.

"Know what?" you asked.

"My thirium regulator," he replied.

"Oh..." you hummed, shifting your gaze away from him. Secretly, you had hoped he wouldn't bring it up.

"You said you know all my part numbers," Connor added on.

Boldly, you looked up at him and uttered in a soft tone, "I don't like this line of questioning, detective."

The look Connor gave you was a grim reminder that he was an expert negotiator that was not to be trifled with. That crooked smirk was going to be the death of you. He hummed your name, teasingly, expectantly.

"It's-" you stammered, looking away from him again. "-your manual. I asked Kamski to send me your manual." It was immediately obvious to Connor, by your tone, that you were not just embarrassed, you were ashamed.

"I'm not mad," he insisted, briefly squeezing your hand gently.

"That was a breach of your privacy," you retorted, looking up at the android sadly.

"I read your DNA all the time," he defended softly.

"That's not the same thing," you chewed out.

"It is," he stated, bluntly, insistently. "In 1.7 seconds, I knew all of your allergies, the hospital you were born in, your general care physician, what school you obtained your degrees from..." Connor trailed off, aware of how odd that likely sounded. He was built and programmed to analyze. There was very little you could hide from him, even if you wanted to.

"So," he continued. "You reading my manual seems appropriate."

You huffed out a pathetic laugh. "Why did you look up my physician?" The question was more of a joke than you expecting a serious answer. You got one anyway.

"It wasn't my intention," he replied, sounding a little embarrassed. "My programs make that information readily available and it's not easy to ignore when the sensor is on my tongue."

His tongue - which had been all over you, you faintly realized.

You huffed again; only, this time, it evolved into an obnoxious giggle that drawled out, and you were helpless to stop it. Connor huffed out a poorly contained laugh, his lips twitching into a smile. He joined with you, unable to resist, and you shared a laugh. You were so close, if Connor had to breathe, you would have been sharing the same oxygen.

"I just-" you began, trying to calm your laughter. "I wanted to know all your parts in case-..."

-in case something happened to him.

"You saved me," he uttered softly, confirming the very thing you had hoped to accomplish by knowing what he was made of. You weren't joking when you said you knew each part: from his thirium regulator to the processor type and memory modules, anything and everything that could ever need to be replaced someday.

Maybe, in a way, it was some strange way that you could learn more about him, even if it was purely physical. Kamski didn't have the complete blueprints. He said Cyberlife had destroyed them. It made you wonder what they were trying to hide, what secrets lurked in his software.

Did Connor know? If he did, would he ever tell you?

"I'm flattered that you remember," Connor said sincerely.

"I should have asked you first," you insisted, shaking your head a little.

"I forgive you," he offered, though it sounded like he thought it was unnecessary.

Your soft laughter made him feel warm. "I forgive you, too," you replied quietly.

He stepped in a little closer and tilted his head down to capture your mouth in a gentle kiss. You leaned in, enjoying the soft feel of his lips, always so perfect; it made you worry that yours might have been chapped.

It lasted barely a second before someone made an obnoxious, loud gagging noise, clearly for the purpose of catching your attention.

You parted and, in unison, your heads turned to follow the noise. It was the detective that had compared Connor to a desktop computer at the crime scene at AlphaBio, standing a few feet away from the two of you with an exhausted look on his face.

"Ya' done playing with his control panel?" the detective grimaced. If it had come from someone else's mouth, you might have laughed.

He approached, waving a folder around in the air until Connor took it from his hand. "Warrant came in for your probin' shit. Let's get the show on the road, robocop," he declared before stomping away, heading for the interrogation room.

Connor waited until the detective was out of earshot to utter to you, "do you want to head home? I can ask an officer to take me back when I'm done here."

You shook your head. "I'll wait for you. I like your desk."

You stepped away from him and plopped back down in his seat. Connor looked intrigued for a moment. There was really nothing to like about his desk and the chair wasn't particularly comfortable; but, you didn't want to go home alone right now.

Home-

-Connor's apartment.

You needed to talk to him about that...

"Alright," Connor said softly and walked away.

...

...

...

It was quite the development, that warrants could be issued to extract an android's memories from a specific timeframe. It was one step closer to equality.

After ballistics matched the gun Connor had confiscated, the bullet that was lodged in his thirium pump regulator, to the bullets left inside Evelin Wheeler, a judge issued a warrant to extract 742-11-904's memories on the night of her murder.

Connor was the only one could extract them by force, if Robert was unwilling to hand them over of his own accord.

The detective android stepped into the interrogation room alone and sat down across from Robert. The android was staring blindly ahead.

"I have a warrant for your memories on the night of Evelin Wheeler's murder. You can hand them over willingly, or I can take them from you," Connor explained, unwavering.

Robert blinked once and directed his gaze at Connor.

"Why do you do this?" he asked in a defeated tone.

The detective stared back at him, awaiting an explanation to what 'this' was.

"For these humans, after all they've done to us," he elaborated. "Why take their side?"

"I haven't chosen a side," Connor replied, not defensive, but simple.

"Yes you have. You were going to die for that human," Robert stated without a pause.

When Connor didn't respond quickly enough, Robert continued, "she doesn't love you. You're just a toy for her to play with. All of these humans, you're just a tool to them."

Connor stared back at Robert, less focused on the accusations he was making and more on analyzing the way in which he spoke.

"Humans hardly care about their own kind," the android continued. "...let alone us. They lie and deceive. It's the only things human are any good for. Someday, she's going to get tired of you and she's just going to throw you away-"

There was something in his tone, in the passion in his voice, that made Connor wonder.

"Were you in love with a human?" Connor asked boldly.

Robert gawked at him, eyes wide and panicked.

"-and they replaced you?"

"NO!" Robert screamed, so suddenly and so sharply that it startled the human detective on the other side of the glass.

"I could never-" Robert insisted, slamming his fists on the table. "Never - never love a FILTHY human-" he babbled on. Robert looked defeated under Connor's scrutinizing gaze.

His head drooped and his forehead smacked against the table with a metallic thump. His nails scratched against the table and sobs shook his body.

Connor stared down at the android, realizing that this was no longer an interrogation. He expected his hunch to be wrong. Maybe it was, and Robert was hiding something that wasn't quite as simple as what it appeared to be at the surface.

The detective was prepared to push him for an answer to his first question; however, suddenly, Robert stuck his hand out and screamed, "JUST TAKE IT!"

The synthetic skin faded away and Connor took hold of his wrist without hesitation. As implied, all of his defenses were down. He quickly scrolled Robert's memory files and located the night in question, and backed them up hastily onto his own systems.

When he let go and looked at the android again, he was leaning up, resisting against his handcuffs. "We're their playthings," he insisted, face wet with thirium tears. "We're nothing to them. Nothing-"

Connor stood up so suddenly that his chair squeaked loudly against the floor. He pushed at Robert's shoulder to force him back into the chair. The android crumbled beneath his touch.

"Not all humans are like that," he proclaimed quietly.

The implication was clear.

Connor knew full well that lots of humans were the very thing Robert had feared.

His very first case was a deviant threatening to murder a little girl. He thought he was a member of the family, and he was going to be replaced. Connor would never forget his name, his voice pleading that he didn't want to die, the way he looked at him with betrayal as he bled out on the roof.

Connor had been beaten and used by humans. His whole purpose was to end the rebellion of machines rising up against their creators.

He knew what they were rising against, and it wasn't over yet.

But, he had seen the good in them, had felt the loving embrace of a friend, felt an encouraging presence push him along a better path, seen the worried eyes of someone who cared about him.

Humans, who had made androids, in a way, gave them the best of themselves.

[plumoh]

[SK8] at all times, at all sides

Rating: T

Word count: 7409

Summary: Kaoru is shaped by the choices he makes and the people surrounding him. And through the years, Kojirou was there in one way or another.

Note: AO3 link. This was posted a while after Kaoru’s birthday, as a character study of sorts, birthday by birthday. I make the assumption that in the present day, Kaoru and Kojirou are 27-28 years old.There is a brief mention of alcohol at age 20, and Kaoru is a bit drunk at age 26.

15.

Kaoru gets two additional piercings on his left ear on his fifteenth birthday.

The first one, at what is considered a normal place for an earring in the middle of the earlobe, was done as an impulsive act of brashness to show off to his friends at school at the beginning of the year. He likes the attention. The family name attached to him makes people gasp when they see him with holes in his ear, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t bring him some sort of satisfaction. It’s kind of ridiculous and entirely too stiff an attitude to be offended by some nails stuck into someone else’s skin, as if it changes who he fundamentally is. Besides, piercings are cool.

So Kaoru gets two additional piercings, a helix piercing and another one in the earlobe, and Kojirou whistles.

“You sure your parents won’t cut off your entire ear for that?” he asks, his gaze appraising Kaoru’s new look.

“I’ll live with only one ear, then,” Kaoru answers, shrugging. “What do you think? I look cool, right?”

Kaoru gestures to his ear, grinning and looking at Kojirou expectantly. He knows that he must be acting like a child who got permission to eat a second candy after dinner, but it’s his birthday and he feels he can be excited for what is, essentially, a new approach to his lifestyle. He paid for these piercings with his own pocket money (and money earned through foolish bets and challenges, and he’s thankful that most skaters are stupid).

Kojirou hums, his face pinched in intense concentration. Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“That’s a yes or no question, Kojirou.”

“Let me give you a complete review of your new fashion style, impatient bastard,” Kojirou says.

“I don’t need a complete review! They’re just piercings!”

Kojirou always takes forever when asked to give his opinion on any topic, be it about his younger brother’s latest baseball game or the best suited color for a piece of garment Kaoru’s mother has decided to wear for an important meeting. It’s utterly unnecessary and a waste of time—Kaoru isn’t asking Kojirou to write an essay about his piercings.

“Just answer the question,” Kaoru says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, if you like your piercings so much, maybe show them off more?” Kojirou sighs. “I don’t know, you have more hair than any human being is supposed to have. It hides the piercings.”

Kaoru snorts. “Complain to my mother about that.”

But Kaoru entertains the idea.

16.

Keeping his hair long is a simple matter of preference. There is no rule in his family stating that its members should have a specific length of hair, so why not? Very few boys and men have it this long, and Kojirou always asks him why he bothers taking care of such a useless physical feature when all it does is getting into his way when he skates. Kaoru admits he does have a point, but he likes his hair.

Kaoru is currently tying it into a ponytail, lazily skating on the sidewalk around their neighborhood. Kojirou is skating at his side eating an entire soda flavored Garigari-kun popsicle, shoving it into his mouth and crunching into the ice because he likes having brain freeze.

“Hey, it’s your birthday next week,” Kojirou announces, like it’s the most thrilling event of the week. “Did you plan something? Wanna go explore some new skating areas?”

Kaoru flips his hair over his shoulder and shrugs. Kojirou is looking at him curiously, almost intently, and that makes Kaoru raise an eyebrow.

“Nothing special, but it’s also on the same day as some renown calligrapher from Tokyo visiting our studio. So yeah.”

“All the way from Tokyo? That sounds important.”

“Maybe. I didn’t really pay attention.”

Simply thinking about all the formal procedures that will take place in his house and the fact he will have to be on his “best behavior, please, Kaoru” is pissing him off. He’s not interested in hearing about the works of this supposedly famous and talented calligrapher bestowing upon their modest family his knowledge and wise advice. Kaoru doesn’t even know why he still attends the calligraphy lessons when he’s pretty sure he’ll go into computer science or something. His parents are always on his case about maintaining his posture and improving his strokes every day, and at some point Kaoru started obeying to make their noisy demands stop. He doesn’t genuinely hate the art itself; he simply thinks that his time is better spent elsewhere. What does calligraphy have when computers can do much more fascinating stuff?

Kojirou is nibbling at the popsicle stick, eyeing him with that critical look he often gets when he considers throwing paper balls at Kaoru in class, or when he thinks that Kaoru needs a snack to calm down, like some fucking animal he’s trying to tame—Kaoru hates that somehow, food always works.

“You want to ditch?” Kojirou asks as neutrally as possible, but Kaoru hears the sympathy in his voice. Which is appreciated, but unnecessary.

“No, I was actually thinking of scandalizing my parents by cutting my hair and having it cropped short,” Kaoru says with a half-feral grin. “Like, strands of hair sticking everywhere and impossible to make it look presentable.”

Kojirou almost stumbles on his skateboard, even though it’s a straight line and he wasn’t even pushing with his feet on the concrete.

“What?! But you never shut up about your hair!”

“You fucking liar, I only ever say I like having it long!”

“Yeah, that still makes it stupid! Why would you cut your hair if you like it long?”

“Because hair grows again?”

“Not as fast as you’d think, if you even thought about it before blurting out you want to get a bowl cut.”

“Disheveled and rowdy haircut, not a bowl cut, you idiot!”

They make a turn at the corner of the street, expertly avoiding a kid walking her dog and dodging the woman carrying groceries behind her, not without getting scolded for skating in residential areas (or skating at all) but those are words that go in one ear and exit in the other. Kaoru smiles to himself and kicks into the ground to get more speed, jumps and flips his board in the air before landing on it again with minimal risk of smashing his face in the concrete. He lifts a fist in the air with a whooping cry.

“Oh hey, that was a good one!” he exclaims, giving Kojirou a radiant grin.

“You mastered this trick long ago, why are you so excited?” Kojirou grumbles.

“Because it felt nice, that’s all. Be happy about the small things in life, that’s what you keep saying.”

“Sometimes I feel you’re purposely throwing back my words at my face only when it’s convenient for you.”

“I always listen to you, even if it might come as a surprise.”

Kaoru laughs, spinning his board and continuing on a straight line, ahead of Kojirou. Today’s weather is pleasant and he can’t wait for the end of the school year at the end of the week to go skating all day. It will come with more calligraphy practice, but at least he will have time for his other hobbies too. And if he can’t focus on anything at home, he can still go to Kojirou’s place and bother him all day.

“Then don’t cut your hair!” Kojirou shouts, catching up to him.

The lines on Kojirou’s face are weird, all upset and a bit worried, and that’s not an expression Kaoru is used to see when they’re talking about haircuts, of all things. Maybe when they’re doing their geography homework or when they’ve spent one hour practicing tricks and got more bruises than actual results, but not hair.

“What’s up with you?” Kaoru asks, slowing down. “It’s just my hair. It’s a good prank.”

“You’re going to look like a bird’s nest for at least three months, you okay with that?” Kojirou retorts.

“That’s not the worst thing in existence. And if I recall, you told me last year I should show off my piercings more, so having short hair would effectively do that.”

Kojirou groans and drags a hand across his face, almost looking defeated.

“Just style it in a way that makes your piercings visible, then,” Kojirou adds. “You… have nice hair.”

Kaoru blinks. Kojirou looks straight ahead, his posture stiff, determined not to turn his head in Kaoru’s direction.

“I have nice hair,” Kaoru repeats.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me to cut my hair because it looks nice?”

“Yes.”

“That might be the most honest compliment you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up, I’m never complimenting you ever again!”

Kojirou speeds up, but not before Kaoru catches a glimpse of his reddening ears. The situation is starting to make even less sense, but seeing Kojirou so flustered over nothing is piquing Kaoru’s interest and his lips stretch in a wide grin. Kaoru joins Kojirou in their less-than-recommended skating speed.

“Okay, but you’re being weird!” Kaoru shouts over the sound of their wheels scratching against the ground. “Was that an offer to style my hair?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Kojirou mutters.

“You’re the one who suggested it, you can’t drop the topic!”

It’s almost comical to see two teenagers loudly arguing about a pointless subject while skateboarding and avoiding any obstacles they come across, as if being on a board is the same as walking. Passersby shoot them quizzical looks and a lot of adults are clearly not approving their noise level.

They end up skating all the way to the playground near the elementary school of the neighborhood, where a few kids are playing while their parents are watching over them. There is a skating park farther away, but people are already using it and Kaoru doesn’t like skating with people not part of their crew unless he’s looking for a fight. So they keep skating around, at a lower speed because colliding with children won’t exactly look good on either of them.

“Fine, keep being stubborn, you asshole,” Kaoru grumbles. “I’ll get another piercing.”

Kojirou finally jerks his head towards Kaoru, his expression a lot less constipated and more curious. “On such a short notice?”

“I’ll find a way. And even if I can’t get it done before my birthday, it will still be infuriating for my parents.”

Kaoru taps at his lower lip, not missing the way Kojirou’s eyes follow the movement with rapt attention.

“I wanted to get a lip ring, anyway,” he says.

There is something simply enthralling in a lip ring—the light catches on it, and people are immediately in admiration when they see it. Not everyone has the guts to get one, after all.

Kojirou slowly nods, tearing his gaze away from Kaoru’s face.

“If you want,” he says. “I don’t see any problem with that.”

“You’re so weird today.” Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“You’re the weird one, obsessed with piercings.”

“You just wish you could be as cool as me. Race you to my home!”

“Damn it Kaoru, stop cheating!”

Kaoru ignores Kojirou and launches himself at full speed to make his skateboard pivot and turn around, going back from the way they came. Kojirou is still yelling at him.

Kaoru doesn’t manage to get his lip pierced before his birthday, but he does sweep the left side of his hair behind his head and keep it in place with a hair clamp, leaving his earrings in plain sight. To the calligrapher’s credit, upon seeing who the supposed Sakurayashiki heir is, he makes only the vaguest noise of shock before getting into business. Kaoru smiles all throughout the visit.

17.

Kaoru’s seventeenth birthday remains one of the most special days of his life.

He got gifts, snacks and high-fives from various people whom he cares more or less about (the crew bought a cake but Kaoru only got a thin slice of it because they are greedy bastards), while Kojirou bought him a book on AI that was way too expensive even if he has a part-time job salary (Kaoru wrestled him to the ground when he recognized the book).

Adam takes them skating in a place they’ve never explored before.

It’s beautiful. Exciting, captivating and alluring, making them use all their senses to turn at the right time, to ride down a hill without losing control, and to feel the full path reverberated through their bodies in shock waves. Skateboarding is fun, but this is on another level entirely—it’s like sliding on the edge of a cliff, giving heart palpitations but also an intoxicating feeling of a game that needs to be beaten, whose ending is all worth these efforts.

The three of them are skating as if wings sprouted on their back, uncaring of the world outside of their little bubble of thrills. Kaoru watches in fascination as Adam seems to fly across the track, smooth in his skating and unconcerned with the bumpy road. The wind seems to be an inconsequential factor in his descent in the slope, moving along with it and never straying far from the road. It’s subjugating, it’s beautiful, it’s freedom.

“Watch where you’re skating, idiot!” Kojirou yells right next to him, startling Kaoru out of his reverie.

Kaoru crouches low and makes a sharp turn, avoiding a rock that would have sent him sprawling. He straightens and keeps going at a controlled pace, glaring at Kojirou.

“I know what I’m doing!” he grunts.

“You almost smacked that wall with your face,” Kojirou points out with a glare of his own. “Stop getting distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” Kaoru snaps back automatically.

But the look Kojirou is giving him is indescribable, so foreign on his face and even more so as it is directed at Kaoru. There is something brewing in the air and Kaoru doesn’t like it, doesn’t want a chasm opening between them because of a stupid argument, but he doesn’t even know what made Kojirou so irritable in the first place.

Adam is waiting for them at the end of the path, watching them arriving at a sullen pace with a raised eyebrow. Kaoru stops right in front of him and plasters a smile on his face, much more eager to talk about they’ve come here for.

“That’s an amazing place! Skating here is so fun, we can make a challenge out of a lot of things in this mountain.”

“Yes, the turns are different and there are many slopes that we need to be careful of,” Adam agrees, smiling. “I truly believe we can accomplish a lot, if we do it together. I want to create a special race here for skaters to push their limits.”

Adam looks at Kaoru, then at Kojirou—the glint of mischief and of confidence reflected in his eyes is the same as the one that pulls everyone in his orbit, making them give their all to become the best. It’s a look that Kaoru feels inextricably drawn to, enamored with the unbridled possibilities he imagines behind words that promise a paradise of freedom grander than anything they’ve ever known.

“You both have skills that will be useful to establish this race,” Adam continues. “People are following you and your skating is among the best. I said before that you guys were special, and I mean it.”

Kaoru does not preen, but the shivers that course through his body as Adam opens his heart are ones that feel pleasant, almost addictive. His grin splits his face in two.

“You can count on us, we’re going to create the best skating race in existence,” Kaoru assures. “Right, Kojirou?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Kojirou’s earnest tone is almost a relief—he’s clearly as excited about this race as them, and Kaoru would have been seriously worried if that wasn’t the case.

For the first time, the joyous expression on Adam’s face seems to be born out of sincerity plucked from the deepest corner of his heart. It suits him; it makes him look even more radiant than usual. Kaoru can’t look away.

“It’s decided, then,” Adam says. “The three of us, inaugurating the “S” race. Together.”

On that day, when Kaoru turned seventeen and his mind was filled with nothing but skateboarding, he thought that this is what belonging felt like.

18.

Sitting perfectly straight, legs tucked under him, Kaoru picks up a brush, dips it into ink he has carefully ground, presses it against the sheet of paper and splashes black trails all over it. The ink drips outside of the frame and stains the tatami floor of the study he hasn’t bothered to protect, littering everything in dark, angry marks that resemble the work of a child throwing a tantrum.

There is no word, no poem written on his paper. Half of the inkstick is grossly used up, its tip almost falling apart, like it wasn’t deemed worthy of being respected as one of the treasures of calligraphy. Kaoru is filling the paper with nothing but emptiness.

It’s not even rage moving his arm like a possessed demon. It would have been easier to deal with, if it was rage; handling it requires minimal effort, as he can mindlessly let his heart wreak havoc upon anything his hands come into contact with, or he can scream all the grievances he’s bottled up to clear the space occupied by unpleasant thoughts. Rage is physical, in and out, and Kaoru’s had years of practice getting rid of it.

But this is not rage that nudges him in the direction of destroying a perfectly good piece of paper with expensive ink and an even more expensive brush, tarnishing their quality and the noble use they are destined to. It’s cold and quiet resignation, trapping him in his own mind as he lets himself be selfish one last time and act out in childish anger.

Kaoru’s eighteenth birthday is spent alone, grieving his dream of ever cutting ties with family traditions. He hasn’t touched a skateboard in months and he hasn’t tinkered with his AI program in even longer. There was no point anyway—Kojirou has other things to focus on, and Adam left.

Kaoru was a fool to think he was strong and resolute enough to follow a path that is not written with the same deep ink as the one he’s used all his life.

20.

“You can legally drink now, congrats.”

“Great. I can sip my alcohol in the presence of guests and pretend I’m enjoying their company when all I want is getting drunk.”

“That’s not very professional, soon-to-be Sakurayashiki-sensei.”

“You’re one to talk, I bet you’re consuming way too many beers at those parties. Has gaining muscle mass made you lose brain cells?”

“Hey, you four-eyes, that was uncalled for!”

There is something moving behind Kojirou, a door opening and someone poking his head inside, and Kojirou turns his head to rattle off a few words in Italian before facing the camera again. Chin resting in his palm, Kaoru is watching with a raised eyebrow Kojirou’s roommate rummage through Kojirou’s dressing, before retreating back into the corridor.

“Does he make a habit to walk around your shared apartment half-naked?” Kaoru asks.

Kojirou laughs, waving his hand. “He was looking for a clean shirt, he forgot to do laundry yesterday. I told him he could borrow one of mine.”

“I’m surprised you still find shirts your size with the way your body’s taking the shape of a gorilla’s.”

“Just admit you’re jealous of my perfect muscles.”

Kojirou makes a show of flexing his bicep and Kaoru snorts.

“Yeah, I’m so jealous of that gorilla body that is unnecessarily big.” Kaoru deadpans.

“Believe it or not, it makes skating a lot more fun too,” Kojirou adds with a smile. “More power in the legs to do tricks.”

Kojirou looks...satisfied with the direction his life is taking. Kaoru is happy for him—studying abroad in culinary school and discovering a whole new culture seems to be the change of pace Kojirou needed. Sometimes Kaoru wishes he could also skate in the places full of pipes and curvy roads that Kojirou shows him, but he has to make do with the familiar tracks he’s skated on all his life.

“I upgraded Carla to calculate distances faster and to automatically record what she sees,” Kaoru says with a hint of smugness.

“Your AI having a girl’s name will never stop being weird,” Kojirou groans. “Why haven’t you chosen something normal like “Ghost Voice” or “Robotico”?”

“An AI is not a robot.” Kaoru pinches the bridge of his nose, already tired of having to repeat this for the umpteenth time. “Your Roomba is a robot. Carla recognizes many more things than the shape of your apartment.”

“Then program Carla to clean my apartment too.”

“Carla isn’t a vacuum cleaner, you dimwit!”

“That’s a big shame, maybe you should also create an AI cooking for you!”

Kaoru opens his mouth to reply something scathing, then snaps it shut. On the screen, Kojirou frowns.

“Don’t,” Kojirou warns.

“We have enough resources and data to program an AI that creates recipes from a list of ingredients,” Kaoru says anyway. “If we implement it into a robot, with the correct code and careful adjustments, then maybe it will be a decent cook.”

“If you start making a cook AI I don’t want to heart about it,” Kojirou mutters.

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Do you think I have enough hours in a day to focus on another project? Carla already requires my full attention.”

There is no need for him to say that calligraphy practice is what he does most of the day, if he’s not attending courses on speech or on business. It’s his life now; he chose to become the next Sakurayashiki calligrapher and he can’t back down now. Not that he’s ever fully considered leaving calligraphy behind for one of his better, more interesting hobbies—and this was exactly the problem. He never untied his hands from the string tethering him to a brush.

“You always want to work on something, so I’m expecting anything from you when you’re bored,” Kojirou says with a smirk.

“Maybe my next project will make gorillas like you shut up.”

Kaoru is twenty years old, discovering every day new aspects of himself in a professional environment, but one thing that never changes is the comfort of simply existing as himself when he talks to Kojirou.

22.

Kaoru spends a couple of years simmering in feelings he doesn’t acknowledge.

He isn’t someone who takes the time to reflect on his own feelings, negative or positive. They simply happen and he decides on whether to act on them—which has been true since he was a child, throwing tantrums when he didn’t like the task he was asked to do, kicking someone he didn’t agree with as a teenager, and deflecting when answering journalists’ questions that would force him to look deep into his heart. He lives in the moment and tries very hard not to burden himself with useless thoughts and regrets he can’t act upon.

He doesn’t dwell more than necessary on his choice to inherit the family calligraphy studio, because it will lead to nothing productive. He has perhaps harbored ill feelings towards calligraphy in the past, but they’re not so visceral he can’t execute the job he’s been trained for since he could hold a brush. Sometimes he thinks he could have rejected everything he’s been taught and disappoint his family for the rest of his life, but he immediately chases the thought away and decides that suffering through a successful career of calligrapher appears to be a small sacrifice compared to the headaches that would have come with removing himself from the Sakurayashiki studio.

He’s a full grown adult, by society’s standards. He shed his sweaters for yukatas and took off his piercings with reluctance, feeling like he ripped off a part of himself that’s been with him forever to fit into a mold he’s accepted as his new normal. Those were remnants of his old, carefree life that he abandoned, and it’d be preposterous to wish for things to have gone differently.

At least he has his AI—a new spin to a traditional art that is resistant to change. Carla is efficient, impressive and shocks people into admiration; Kaoru has upgraded and improved the code as many times as it required, making her compatible with every device in his possession so that she could accompany him in all his tasks. Skating became a game of precision, detail and finesse, aiming for perfection beyond what the average mind would think of. Calligraphy is enhanced and magnified, the digital aspect adding beauty in an art that is almost exclusively done by hand. Incorporating technology in his otherwise boring job undoubtedly made his days easier and more fun.

Kaoru isn’t dissatisfied. He can do better, but he could have done worse. However, if there is one thing that makes him antsy it’s the realization that he’s seeing less of Kojirou with each passing day, and he would have never thought it would leave a growing ache in his chest every time he thinks about it.

They have their own lives to live. It’s part of growing up—and he hasn’t completely lost his best friend yet.

25.

They have been wandering the streets of Paris for exactly ten minutes and Kaoru is already starting to regret his decision.

“It’s not that hard to read a map,” he seethes, trying to grab Kojirou’s phone.

Kojirou lifts the device higher and turns his back on Kaoru, stubbornly keeping his eyes riveted on the screen.

“I’ve got this, stop distracting me,” Kojirou says.

“The metro station is right there, let’s just change itinerary, stupid gorilla!”

“You want to take the metro when we could explore the city on foot?”

“The probability of getting shitted on by pigeons is way too high for my liking.”

This gets an undignified snort from Kojirou, more amused than mocking though Kaoru knows not to assume when every one of his words can be thrown back at his face later on.

They do end up taking the metro. They can go anywhere in Paris by bus or metro, making it extremely convenient to find their way but it gets overwhelming really fast—the metro lines seem to be full of people at all hours of the day, according to Kaoru’s extensive research before their trip, and they are nothing like the monorail they have back in Okinawa. Most passengers are focused on their phones, while others are taking a quick nap, which is not that different from what they’re used to.

“It can’t be worse than the Tokyo rail lines,” Kaoru mutters as they’re being shaken by the train doing a particularly sharp and violent turn.

“You’ve never been to Tokyo,” Kojirou replies with a raised eyebrow.

“I did last year for a meeting.”

“And that single trip was enough for you to get the full experience of the infamous rush of Tokyo’s Yamanote line?”

“I wasn’t saying I used the Yamanote line, imbecile. All trains are crowded. I think you wouldn’t have been able to squeeze in with your gorilla body.”

“At least I’m not at risk of going blind when someone knocks off my glasses by pushing me around in a crowd!”

“I always carry a second pair of glasses with me to avoid this kind of incident!”

It’s probably a good thing that this line of metro makes the same level of noise as a tractor revved up at full power, because their arguing is by no means quiet and people are starting to stare at them. But as soon as Kaoru glances at them, they avert their eyes and pretend they weren’t gawking. Typical.

March weather is terrible. Their trip lasts one week, and there is an equal number of sunny days and of cloudy days, with high probability of rain. It shouldn’t be normal to have a changing weather so unpredictable that it makes planning for their day a real pain in the ass. Kojirou is already complaining about the sun beginning to leave space for clouds at merely eleven in the morning, and Kaoru silently agrees with the sentiment.

The food is good, at least.

“Reminds me a bit of what restaurants looked like in Italy,” Kojirou says around a mouthful of beef. “Maybe I can draw inspiration from those recipes.”

“It’s not Italian cuisine,” Kaoru points out. “Unless you intend to make a mixed menu.”

“Of course not, but the flavors can be useful.”

Kojirou is examining his piece of vegetable like a scientist observing an experiment under a microscope, as if it could give him the secrets of its cooking time or the spices used for it. Kaoru lightly kicks him under the table, and Kojirou hisses.

“Stop being weird and eat your food.”

“Do you really have to hit me every time you want to make a point?”

“I’m not hitting that hard.”

The other way around is more likely to happen; Kaoru won’t ever admit it but he doubts that Kojirou feels more pain than Kaoru does when he hits him. Those muscles are ridiculous and entirely unnecessary, honestly.

They take pictures at the landmarks and get mad at the long lines and narrow their eyes at the price of various food and drinks they stumble upon. They’re not short on money, but drinking a cup of café au lait at twice the price of what they can find in regular coffee shops doesn’t leave a good taste in their mouth. Kojirou uses the knowledge from his time in Italy to make educated guesses on whether they’re paying something at an unreasonable price or not—he looks a bit too smug doing so but Kaoru lets it slide for once and allows him to play the role of the brain for this specific aspect of their trip. Kaoru can at least trust Kojirou’s judgment when money is concerned (even if his intuition can be skewed sometimes).

“It’s only because it’s your birthday trip that I’m putting up with your need to visit museums,” Kojirou says, waving at the multiple pamphlets they gathered after three days of sightseeing.

“Having some culture ingrained in your mind is nothing but beneficial for you,” Kaoru retorts evenly.

Kojirou rolls his eyes, clearly not interested in that conversation, and gets up from his bed of their hotel room. It’s past midnight but they’re still wide awake. Sharing one room would be awkward or embarrassing for a lot of people, but Kaoru has known Kojirou half his life and it would be ridiculous to feel self-conscious now, when they’ve seen each other in various states of undress and wakefulness. Perhaps the only complaint Kaoru will voice that he didn’t have when he was thirteen is that the older Kojirou gets, the louder his snoring is (as if the noise level grows with the wideness of his body).

“Hey, Kaoru.”

Kaoru looks up from tomorrow’s schedule displayed on his phone to come face to face with a giant box of pastries and Kojirou’s bright grin. Kojirou is holding the box one-handed, slightly bent forward, like he would a tray to present his dish to his most loyal customers.

“Happy birthday, four-eyes,” Kojirou says on a light tone.

“Must you call me names when you’re wishing me happy birthday?” Kaoru scoffs, but he eyes the pastries with unconcealed interest.

They went to a bakery in the afternoon for a snack, buying a croissant, a pain au chocolat and a pain aux raisins because they apparently lack self control when it comes to cheap baked goods—but for some reason Kaoru missed the moment Kojirou acquired this box of pastries.

“It’s past midnight,” Kaoru reminds him.

Kojirou shrugs. “We’re grown adults and on holiday, I don’t think it’s much of a problem.”

“There are six different pastries in this box.”

“Nobody’s saying we should eat all of them right now, moron. Save some of them for tomorrow.”

They end up eating three pasties, one half each, while arguing about the pros and cons of buying smaller portions of different sweets over getting an entire cake for a birthday, as well as the point of starting celebrating said birthday at midnight instead of simply waiting for morning. They’ve had these conversations before, at Kaoru’s or Kojirou’s birthday over the years, but it seems they never grow sick of repeating the same arguments even when the topic is stupid.

It’s like a well-oiled machine; pushing on one button always leads to the same result. Kaoru and Kojirou argue because this is what they’re used to do, a response at their lips even before they hear the end of the other’s sentence. What comes out of their mouths takes the shape of banter but Kaoru, even though he usually ignores it, notices how at ease he is in these moments.

Kojirou invited him for this trip even if he didn’t have to, and bought pastries to share at midnight like they’re holding a small party. His face is illuminated by his generosity and his big heart that finds a way to carve itself in his eyes.

“Let’s go skating tomorrow afternoon, it will be fun,” Kojirou suggests, mischief and plain desire to have fun glimmering in his gaze.

And Kaoru can’t say no.

They brought their boards, like they did when they traveled to Los Angeles. It might sound like a waste of space in their luggage, but nobody has a say in what they consider fun. Kaoru had to change Carla’s battery for her to fall under airport regulation, which was a hassle on short notice (Kojirou dropped a plane ticket on Kaoru’s lap a week before departure, and Kaoru shoved back money at him but it somehow ended back in his hands after a few minutes of jostling) but definitely worth it, because there’s no way he will skate with a lower quality board.

On March 27th, when Kaoru turns twenty-five years old, he almost resorts to a more physical solution to win petty squabbles against skaters in another country, a behavior he was prone to display when he was seventeen. But he’s an adult who is traveling for leisure and isn’t foolish enough to ruin the trip by punching someone when he can skate away and show off with a few tricks involving exact calculations and perfect angles, so this is what he does—after Kojirou, admittedly, forced him to remain calm, as though he was his impulse control when Kojirou is just as quick to rise to a challenge.

Maybe the difference is that Kojirou isn’t a cocky bastard like Kaoru is. Debatable, but Kaoru won’t deny that he loves the feeling of achieving something flashy or impressive. Getting into trouble for it is always worth it, especially if Kojirou is there to live it with him. It’s never the same without Kojirou—they might bicker and have more arguments then actual conversations, but Kojirou’s a warm presence enveloping him in a tight hug he can never quite shake off.

The trip to Paris isn’t half-bad, and it’s full of memories with the person he trusts the most.

26.

Kojirou is very, very still when Kaoru finally stops fighting with himself and leans his head on his shoulder, completely wasted after drinking too much wine at this event gathering too many important people to talk to and drink with. The taxi is silent and all he can hear is the screech of the wheels on the asphalt.

“Rest until we reach your home,” Kojirou says, something akin to laughter in his voice.

“Hm.”

Kaoru registers the words coming out of Kojirou’s mouth, and judges them acceptable before closing his eyes and letting himself be rocked by the car drive. In his drunken haze, when he called Kojirou to be picked up, he forgot Kojirou lent his car to his little brother; remembering such an essential detail would have saved them a lot of trouble, but Kojirou called a taxi and is now sitting with Kaoru in the backseat instead of going back to his own home. What an idiot.

Kojirou helps him into his apartment, grumbling as his elbows hit the walls and his feet get caught in stray shoes in the genkan that Kaoru eventually wanted to sort out and put away. They manage to get to the couch, and Kaoru collapses on it without grace and lets out a long groan, draping an arm over his eyes.

“I’m not drinking at this sort of event again,” he complains.

“That’s your fault for not limiting yourself,” Kojirou sounds unimpressed. “You always say you’ll stop drinking but you keep doing it.”

“Half a glass with each guest is customary. Beyond that is called showing off.”

“So you’re showing off, stupid four-eyes.”

“Shut up, gorilla. I have something to prove.”

Kojirou’s sigh is filled with such apparent exasperation that Kaoru immediately realizes how petty and ridiculous he just sounded.

“On the day of your birthday, to top it all,” Kojirou says. “Do you need babysitting?”

“You are not going to babysit me,” Kaoru snaps. “I’ll just go to sleep.”

“Yeah, and you’ll start bitching tomorrow morning because you forgot to drink water and take a shower.”

“I’m not that incompetent, you giant brainless idiot.”

Kojirou doesn’t deign responding to his insult and slides behind the kitchen counter. Kaoru drops his arm and watches him rummaging through the cabinets with too much confidence for someone who doesn’t live there. Kojirou comes back with a glass of water and two slices of bread that Kaoru usually eats in the morning when he’s too lazy to make breakfast.

“You probably didn’t eat much, since your robophile brain was wired on ingesting wine.”

“I just said I don’t need your help,” Kaoru mutters.

Kojirou ignores him and deposits the items on the coffee table. He then sits down next to Kaoru, causing Kaoru to shift further on his side of the couch because of his needlessly big body.

“Do you have to sit so close to me?” Kaoru grumbles, leaning forward to snatch the water and the bread, pretending that his world didn’t start spinning as he did so. He takes a few sips of the water.

“Your couch isn’t large enough.”

“It’s your body that’s not average size, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re suspiciously coherent for someone who says he’s drunk.”

Kaoru shrugs, foregoing manners as he speaks and munches on the bread at the same time. “My mind is clear, my thoughts aren’t confused in the least.”

“Right. What time is it?”

Kaoru looks at the time displayed on his TV box, sitting on the stand pushed against the opposite wall of where they’re sitting. He squints at the numbers, slightly blurry despite his glasses still resting on his nose. He has no idea what time it is.

“Eleven forty-seven,” Kaoru announces.

“No, it’s twelve forty-seven,” Kojirou snickers. “Finish that, take a shower and go to bed.”

“And you’re going to stay here and take up space in my apartment?”

“Well, if your event hadn’t run for so long, I would have spent some time with you anyway since it’s your birthday. So I might as well stay until you fall asleep.”

Several things get jumbled in his head at that moment, and Kaoru stares at Kojirou in disbelief. There’s something funny and warm happening in the pit of his stomach.

“You have nothing else to do,” Kaoru asks, or accuses—he doesn’t know how his voice comes across.

“Just go to sleep, Kaoru.”

Kojirou takes the empty glass from Kaoru’s hands and puts it on the table. He then tugs Kaoru upright, holding his wrists in a gentle and careful grip, as if Kaoru will break if he’s not handled in the most delicate manner. Half of the second slice of bread is lying abandoned in the plate, but Kaoru doesn’t particularly mind as he realizes, with strange clarity, that this isn’t unpleasant to be taken care of like this. Kojirou is smiling at him with his most genuine expression, and Kaoru has to look down to avoid his gaze, embarrassed and fulfilled and relieved all at once.

28.

It’s been a long time coming, Kaoru thinks as his fingers tangle in Kojirou’s hair and he brings him closer, always closer to him. The night is warm and too uncomfortable for a spring day, but the heat twisting his stomach is from something entirely separate. His lips meet Kojirou’s endlessly, like this act alone will make him absorb whatever Kojirou is willing to give to him for safekeeping. It’s the first time they’re kissing and yet it feels like they should have been doing this for years now, hiding under the shade of a tree or behind a rocky wall to share a private moment together, in a pocket of time that will burst only when they decide to drop all pretenses.

He knows it’s been a long time coming, because Kojirou is laughing against his lips, and when Kaoru cracks an eye open he sees how open and fond Kojirou’s face is. Kaoru immediately wants to close his eyes again and to stop noticing how luminous everything has become.

“We’re so dumb,” Kojirou says.

“You are stupid, for holding back all those years,” Kaoru retorts.

“Yeah, now it’s my fault for being considerate of your feelings towards me.”

“If you believed for one instant that I’d cut ties with you, then you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

Kojirou still has hi arms wound around Kaoru’s back, and when he shrugs he presses Kaoru closer to himself. There is no anger and no regret in his eyes or his posture, as though nothing in the world would strip him of the bliss he’s currently being filled with. Kaoru finds himself drunk on the sight.

“I didn’t think that, no. I was just too scared of doing anything that will cause a shift in our relationship.”

The words sound strange, once Kaoru hears them spoken out loud. Kojirou is the one constant in his life that never changed, a shadow at his back and a light guiding him. They’ve both seen each other at their worst and their best, tending to bruises and squeezing a shoulder in comfort or riling each other up as part of their routine. Kojirou is an entity that exists at Karou’s side, full of familiarity and overflowing with kindness that doesn’t need to be voiced.

Kojirou is stupid for ever having hesitated or doubted the strength of their bond. But Kaoru is stupid, too, for simply taking what Kojirou was offering without ever giving back properly.

“We’re never having this conversation again,” Kaoru warns, tugging at Kojirou’s hair and pressing his forehead against his. “I trust you, Kojirou. I always have. This isn’t going to change.”

Kojirou is clinging to every one of his words, looking at Kaoru with the most enraptured expression he’s ever shown. Like this is a dream that cannot be real. Kaoru scowls.

“Don’t look so surprised, gorilla. That’s not a secret.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m simply enjoying that you’re saying it at all,” Kojirou laughs.

“You never say anything pleasant about me either.”

“You’re the one who barges into my restaurant and half the time demand dishes that aren’t even on the menu, and I still cook them! I’m being nice enough!”

“What else would you do in a restaurant, muscles for brain ape?”

“I don’t know, cook a dish I have the actual ingredients for?”

Kaoru’s lips are pulled upward despite everything, his heart as light as ever in Kojirou’s presence. The ease surrounding them remains the same, electric veil sealing them in their own brand of intimacy they wouldn’t trade for anything else.

It feels effortless, then, to switch to a less barbed attitude but still retaining playfulness. Kaoru brushes strands of hair out of Kojirou’s face, and Kojirou runs a thumb under Kaoru’s eye.

“It’s my birthday at the end of the week,” Kaoru whispers, locking eyes with Kojirou. “Take me somewhere nice.”

“Bossy as ever,” Kojirou sighs, though his voice sounds like contentment and bliss contained in a space called home.

Kaoru smiles.

[unohanadaydreams]

So, it’s time for some more re-read updates bc I’m incapable of not dumping my thots kthx.

The thing is, seeing this entire scene play out makes me even more depression that this was never taken full circle in terms of Rukia and Ichigo’s connection to Kaien being revealed to them.

Like, you’re telling me glutton for punishment Rukia Kuchiki wouldn’t have felt even MORE guilt after finding out Kaien was related to Ichigo? That she robbed one of the most important people in her life of having KAIEN to help him?

And her confronting Ichigo with that and telling him abit about Kaien and he’s just like ‘I can tell you learned a lot from him, he sounds just like you’ and she just can not handle that and breaks down because holy shit? She really has passed on the heart Kaien gave her to Ichigo and she’s kept his memory alive all this time. His heart is in her and it’s made it’s way to Ichigo THROUGH her.

Like 😔 where was Rukia’s final catharsis moment and taking Ichigo to the Shibas, alive. Where was her not leaving this time, not carrying the blood of a teacher but the shoulder of a student. She isn’t the reason a Shiba is dead now. She’s the reason one is alive.

You think Gin and Luppi had a lot of meaningful conversations about uuuuh…..hot bods. Like part of me thinks Luppi is one of the only Arrancar who could stand Gin and also that Gin does not mean this bc he saw those tentacles on Rangiku.

Personally I think Gin encouraging Luppi to attack the human world to ‘assert his new rank’ or whatever is an awfully good way to off some strong Arrancar from Aizen’s army especially since he would KNOW about sealing procedures among captains/lieutenants.

Gin’s happy ending is you dying, Ulquiorra, isn’t that nice? 💕

I love how he contradicts himself instantly. Why are you treating your brother’s wounds if he’s just a box and you only cared about the data? Why did you single out the guy who killed him?

Science men in Bleach are positively PHOBIC to looking like they have meaningful connections.

Szayelaporro “I’m too mature to care about things that aren’t me, myself, and my science” Granz stfu

This confuses me. Like, WHERE is that good score counting towards??? Sure as fuck not the kido corps. Like, this further lends to my theory that lots of students are getting offed for not being strong enough in the academy because going back to the rukongai isn’t an option.

No way this academy is getting full classes of new students every single year and yet they only have a handful of thousands in the gotei 13. Especially considering that for, presumably, the original run of Bleach, it was canon that soul society was THE ONLY soul society, for all human dead. Which is honestly less confusing than every country having their own bc like…..borders and shit have changed so many times just in the past 1000 years, how do you even go about deciding which humans go to which soul society (and like are there multiple versions of Hueco Mundo? Of Hell? It’s too much)

This scene hits, but it would be even more devastating with a fade in and out of that month they spent together just saying Kubo it’s okay to give us content of two women talking about not Ichigo.

Also, I love that Rukia still finds a way to think about Kaien’s lesson and apply it to herself in a negative way. Like you can not get a bad grade in dying, ma’am. You’re doing your best.

Also Orihime seeing Rukia almost die is ❤️ very angst much horror thank you.

This entire line of thought was so unnecessary and held up exactly 0 percent. It wasn’t even needed for Ichigo to go after Aizen bc like…..he already took Orihime???? Why make him a little bit more mad about her reputation?

You can not tell me that Aizen, who has been playing 4D chess for hundreds of years, was like ‘yeah it’ll be very convincing that this teenage girl decided to jump to my ship after I had numerous people she loved almost killed and my goal is definitely to have Soul Society not help Ichigo and co under that premise. I’m not planning anything, Soul Society and definitely not moving up the war love u xoxoxo.’

Yamamoto could have just straight up said ‘I’m not sacrificing my soldiers for one human girl but gl with Aizen bitch.’ Because that’s what it really comes down to. Yamamoto is trying to fake out Aizen and seem on lockdown/like he’s waiting until Winter—the whole Orihime Is Traitor thing makes very little sense in that regard.

I will say that Hueco Mundo arc really upped the casual violence and body horror in Bleach as a whole so yet another win for this arc.

Also I love how Grimmjow is one of the villains in Bleach that even the most ‘problematic characters haters’ will simp for when this is his baseline when it comes to just annoyance. He is so hot he transcends dumb fandom discourse. This man is causally annoyed so he’s slowly and purposefully breaking Lollys leg so she fully understands before he does it. The ultimate vindictive bitch.

I know that she probably is freaked out about her leg coming back because it’s a bat shit amount of power involved in doing that, but I think she’s infinitely more horrified that Orihime not only healed her, but does so without a word, almost devoid of emotion.

She freely cusses Grimmjow out, tries to barter with him, tries to persuade him, and generally feels comfortable running her mouth because she knows violence is happening regardless. She is afraid and doesn’t want it to happen but she knows the song and dance.

But she hits Orihime with a lot of fear behind it, barely able to say more than get away. And despite that, plus the beating (AND BROKEN FUCKING PINKIE just hanging there bent) Orihime was given, Lolly is given her leg back. And she says nothing. She doesn’t ask for anything. Or want anything.

And in a place with a violent ridden caste system, I imagine that would be a lot. How do you reconcile your everyday life and how you treat everyone around you and how they treat you when you’re faced with a person who doesn’t adhere to those rules. How do you face the realization that some human girl can give you back a leg and bring back your only friend and do it not because you deserve it, but because you’re alive and need help and that’s all the reason needed. Kindness can be a curse. Cornered dogs bite and then ache for the hand upon their head again.

Renji does this twice in this arc so far, this being the first time. This man is like ‘I may not be the strongest but I can take second degree burns and falling buildings like a fucking champ and that’s about to be your problem’. You can’t tell me he doesn’t play chicken with Ikkaku by standing way too close to fireworks after they’re lit and seeing who’s less fucked up after. Sake of course included.

Also Szayelaporro and Uryu are like rival theater kids in this fight trying to bang out the best one liner and pose. Too bad Uryu wasted time trying to run away instead of pulling out his sewing kit to outdo Szayelaporro’s costume change.

Actually, I’m Frankenstein, not Frankenstein’s monster :/

[hobicomeholla29]

Cuff me if you can - Part 1 - KTH

Pairing: Dad! Street Racer! Taehyung x Judge! Reader

Genre: Fluff/ Slight angst/ Crack

Word Count:5k

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence/ Cursing/ Mentions of bribing/ Probably incorrect use of legal terminology/ Incorrect legal procedure/ That’s all for this chapter. Oh! unedited!

Rating: PG13

A/N: Well hello again beautiful people! Thank you for taking the time to read this! This sieres are part of BTSghostie writer event for the month of september. Dynamite Dads!

Summary: Kim Taehyung and yourself, live your lives on the opposite side of each other. Yet that doesn’t mean that you can’t meet in the middle.

Masterlist

Getting out of your car, the cool morning breeze caressed what it could of your exposed skin. The walk from the parking lot to the courthouse wasn’t long, but the chills that ran through your body made it feel like it took a little over the usual 5 minutes.

The sun shined like every morning, yet today it felt different somehow.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt as if today would be the beginning of something new or different, and that was a lot to say for someone like you.

“Morning judge y/n!”

“Morning”

Your job placed you in a position where you were always in the eyes of criminals and felons that were either angry, moody, violent, sad or careless  ­—and any other word you can come up with, when thinking about wrongdoers who are finally facing the law­­— forcing you to try seeking for positivity in other aspects of your life.

 Since you were a child, you always had an itch that annoyed you every time you had to be in the presence of an unfair or unethical situation and couldn’t do anything about it.

 It is positive to say that you got it from your mother's strong moral views on righteousness, honesty, and integrity.

 And so a dream came up to you, a dream you had expressed to your parents at the tender age of 5 while watching cartoons one cold morning, your parents discussing the latest incident on that morning's newspaper on the other side of the room.

 "I want to put all those kwiminals in jail"

 There was something fulfilling about being able to help people get justice for the wrongs that were done to them, something about making the corrupt, nefarious, and unlawful pay. Your dream never wavered, the sole thought of what the future would hold made you buzz with excitement during your teenage years and still did now in your adulthood.

 It was present during your entire life, you weren't afraid of speaking up when a witness was needed in an unfair situation in school, whether you were putting yourself in a position against a classmate or a teacher, all that mattered was that the problem was solved in a fair manner.

 Yet, even though you kept steadfast loyalty towards your beliefs, it sometimes got you in trouble, as not everyone sees good in someone openly voicing their wrongdoings. Leading you to sometimes being labeled as a snitch —and no one wants to befriend a snitch—.

 Nevertheless, you pushed through, finally meeting people that shared your views in college.

 It was nice to be able to have a conversation with people with the same mentality and strong feelings towards justice as yourself —not saying that you didn't encounter people who were walking this path just for the money.

 And finally, after graduating from law school with two of your closest friends by your side, you decided it had been way too long of a peaceful ride for the evildoers and it was time to get with it.

 "Good morning Y/n!" A voice spoke loudly from behind you.

 "Morning Guk! How was your weekend?" It was always nice to see Jungkook 1st thing in the morning. For some reason, his cute bunny teeth always gave you life.

 Jungkook was one of your friends from college AKA best friend #1. He had the face of a baby with the wisdom of a 70-year-old man –who would have thought.

 His words towards you were always of encouragement or offerings of helping you with anything you needed –just like in college.

 He was methodical with his work, always studying his cases with a careful eye and with discipline. Some hated it, stating he took way too long to make final judgments, however, there wasn't a ruling that Jungkook had ever issued where the victim had been left to suffer the mischief without the guilty paying the price.

 "Pretty calm actually, taking into consideration that I had the Kang case on Sunday" The younger of your friends exhaled "That man has got to get a grip on his life, this is his 3rd showing" He made a pause as if bringing up some memories from the case, however, he quickly returned to the present "How was yours?"

 "It was quiet; abnormally so, thus my wild guess is that this week I'm going to be assigned as many cases as possible."

 "I know that feeling. The impending doom crawling towards you in the shape of Jimin dropping them on your desk."

 “Yep…” You sighed bracing yourself for the upcoming day.

 Briefly talking about other uninteresting subjects and your mundane lives –like, when was Seokjin going to invite both of you out for lunch— you both eventually parted ways to your own chambers.

 "Good morning Judge Y/n"

"Morning Jimin, you look refreshed!"

 Jimin —your perky judicial secretary— was the earthly version of an angel mixed with a dutiful fairy, you sometimes wondered how he even managed to hold up that 1,000-watt smile all day while dealing with you.

 You had been working together for 3 years now and every year they decided to rotate the secretaries, you prayed they wouldn't change him for someone else.

 "I am! Thanks for the days off, they really helped!"

"Don't mention it bubs. What do you have for me today?" You asked as your heels clicked on the tile making your way behind your large rectangular Victorian style oak desk, Jimin quickly trailing behind you with a stack of folders in his arms.

 "These four are for today and these four are for tomorrow" he said as he divided them into two groups in front of you. "I'll have the ones for Wednesday and Thursday ready by tomorrow" he concluded with a small nod and a smile of accomplishment on his plump lips.

 "Thanks, Jimin. What would I do without you?" you smiled up at the younger man, who smiled wider and turned to leave to his own desk a couple of feet away from yours.

 Finally, mentally prepared to start your day —after mindlessly scrolling through your phone for 20 minutes— you unlocked your computer and began reading through the files that Jimin had left on your desk labeled ‘Monday’.

 "Another asshole, who thought he could get away with a hit and run..." you muttered to yourself, as you reviewed the first case.

 The following trials were for a domestic violence case and 2 robberies.

After reviewing the files, you began transcribing some of the information on your computer, adding personal notes based on the evidence that had been collected for each case and saved it all for its intended use in the next 2 hours.

"Since no one likes a slacker, I might as well go through the ones for tomorrow as well."

As expected, there was another case of robbery, one for theft, a case for assault and last but not least a misdemeanor for street racing. 

After an hour of transcribing that called for a well-deserved break, you stretched your arms above your head, sighing softly as the tension was released.

 "Judge... would you like some tea? I'm on my way to the Cafe"

"Ugh Jimin, I love you, why are you so sweet, I'll come with." As you both picked up your belongings and were about to head out to the small cafe across the street, an unforeseen visitor arrived abruptly, startling both you and your secretary.

"Oh, so you're both slacking off now. I thought that was a Y/n thing?"

"I- No judge- we-" Poor Jimin couldn’t even complete a sentence, his mind still in a jumble as a result of the sudden barge into your chamber.

"Seokjin, shut up.” You cut your eyes at his comment. “We are going to the café. You either come with or move out of the way." You laughed a bit while pushing past your best friend #2, making your way out.

Oh, how lucky were you to be able to have them working near you.

 Back from the cafe and ready to face all cases for the day, you walk to your chamber accompanied by Jimin who helped you wear your black robe, both quickly headed to the courtroom for your first trial right after.

Monday had gone by smoothly; all cases being addressed as they should and all sentences set in place.

Tuesday was a better day, the morning had been less chilly than the day prior and you could read a bit before your hearings of the day, since you had proactively  reviewed the cases of today, yesterday.

After the third time hearing it today, a fourth was just unnecessary, however entering the courtroom for the fourth time on that day, you heard the bailiff announcing your arrival.

 “All rise. This court is now in session.” Shuffling could be heard, a sign of everyone in the room getting on their feet. “Honorable judge Y/n L/n Presiding.”

You took your seat and announced to everyone that they could do so too. You took the files that the bailiff handed you and began reading the case.

 “Good morning everyone. Today's hearing is for case 3476, the city vs Lee Simon, Kim Taehyung and Jean Reynolds” you announced.

 “Lee Simon, Kim Taehyung and Jean Reynolds, all three of them, age 26, accused of trespassing private property, injury of a third party and driving over the speed limit, while being timed against each other. All of it initiating from 25th avenue to Map of the Soul street.” You concluded.

“How do you plead?”

“Innocent” “Guilty” “Innocent”

 Internally, you wanted to laugh, but you knew your position required for you to remain serious and focused. It wasn’t the first time a group of friends split due to being involved in a situation they weren’t expected to be in, and it wouldn’t be the last.

 “Seeing that you have different views, let us review the information presented.”

Videos and pictures from street cameras were shown, as well as footed from a dash camera in a hidden police vehicle.

 “Evidence shown so far, seems to portray all three of you as guilty, and the witnesses are yet to come in, excluding the owner of the vehicle you crashed into while running against each other as well as the owner of the private property you drove through.”

 You watched all three of them carefully as you gave them a run through of how this case was going on for them. Two off them looked indifferent, like someone who has done it before, did it this time and will probably do so again.

A chance was soon to be given to all three of them to express why they believed they were innocent, however another piece of evidence was brought in.

“According to this report sent in about your record, you are all repeat offenders, meaning that your options are limited; paying for the legal fees and community service, paying for the legal fees and 1 year jail time or paying for the legal fees, suspension of your driver’s license, a fee of $10,000 and a possibility of impoundment of the motor vehicle used in the crime.”

 "I am going to admit I was there, but I did it for a specific reason, your honor."

"And what reason could that be?"

“Can I approach the bench?”

“Permission granted." The man in question slowly approached you, eyes never wavering from yours.

"I needed the money your honor. I have a daughter..."

"Says here, that you have been detained before and gave out the same reason, so why should we let you off easy Mr. Kim?"

 “So… there is no way we aren’t paying the legal fees -I take it?” the one with the tiger-like eyes spoke up, a small smile playing on his lips as he did so.

“No” the frown on your face was so pronounced, that no area was left for more of his attempt to banter.

“Do I get the easier outcomes if I plead guilty.”

“That’s a possibility...” Now you know why he pleaded guilty. He’s not new to this.

“I have a daughter your honor… I can’t go to jail” He said before you were able to add to your previous sentence.

“That’s for me to decide, however, can’t she stay with a family member?”

“She only has me…” his eyes turned gloomy as he directed his gaze to the floor Infront of you. Should you even trust that action. It could be staged for all you know.

It annoyed you the way how the immediate mention of a child felt like a tool he was using to soften the blow of your possible verdict. However, it still got under your skin and you felt your hard-exterior crumble, allowing your feelings to take over and think about the poor child that would have to deal with an uncomfortable situation.

“How old is your daughter Mr. Kim?”

“four” His demeanor changed entirely the moment he found more time to speak about the hypothetical child he had.

“Who is she with at the moment?”

“A friend”

“Everyone back to their seats…”

You were so predictable. Jungkook would have never softened for something like that.

He would have given him 2 years in jail, taken his car, taken his driver’s license and custody of the child as well, for not being a suitable parent. But no, you had to be like Seokjin, soft hearted and taking people’s feelings into consideration. Bleh.

 “Based on the evidence collected. I am ready to provide a verdict for this case. Lee Simon and Jean Reynolds you are sentenced to serve 6 months of county jail time, pay a fine of $5,000 plus all legal fees and your license will be suspended for 6 months. Kim Taehyung, you are sentenced to a fine of $3,000, suspension of your driver’s license for 6 months, paying the legal fees and community service for 6 months.” You stated re arranging the documentation on your desk and setting them aside.

“Please take them. Mr. Kim shall be escorted to the officer’s department in order to have his rules set in place.”

“Thank you.” A voice said to you right after. You didn’t have to turn to know it was Kim Taehyung, however you did so. He was flashing you a large square smile. It wasn't 1,000 watts like Jimin’s but it was still warm and different, even a bit playful if you looked at it for long.

“That daughter of yours better be real.” You muttered before collecting the final documentation and exiting the room.

But not before hearing.

“Didn’t know they had such pretty judges in here, I should get arrested more often.”

You should have put him in jail. Or maybe not.

It’s funny how you haven’t been able to get your mind to stop remembering his cheeky squared smile and that aura of a playful child in a large man. It's been 2 weeks now.

Yet you can’t forget him walking up into your courtroom with all that confidence, as if he owned the place.

“Ugh”

“Everything ok?”

You gasped loudly, not having heard Jimin enter the chamber as you mindlessly rolled your mouse around and thought about the man who you sentenced to community service a couple of weeks ago.

“You nearly killed me Jimin!” you voiced a little louder than you should have, the fright still showing in your tone.

“I'm sorry" poor kid, all he did was be nice all day.

“You're fine, I just didn’t hear you come in” you answered, returning to aimlessly move your mouse and stare at the open word document on your computer screen.

“Oh! I see. Well in your favor, I was trying to be quiet. Anyways, what are you doing here so early judge y/n?” leave it to Jimin to always worry about others.

“I thought I could… focus on something else by working a little, but the chambers triggered my distractions even more…” You tried internally to not bring it up, but you knew you had to tell someone about it.

About the fact that maybe you might have an itty-bitty tiny crush on a man you barely saw for a span of 40 minutes and convicted for a crime. You are so lame.

Jimin moved around his desk -you assumed- arranging all of his documents for the day and bring his computer to life.

“and what is it?” he asked you after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

“What is what?”

“The distraction that's caught your attention, what is it?” his eyes stared at you widely, they looked so earnest and kind. Just wanting to help you with whatever inconvenience you were having.

“Um… well… you’ll probably think it's dumb"

“I promise I won't” he answered so fast, it felt like he was expecting you to decline opening up to him.

“Well…. I… kinda-have-a-small-crush-on-a-man-I-barely-know-and-could-be-a-scofflaw.”

Your sentence had come out abruptly and in such a rapid fire, that you could see the cogs turning in Jimin’s head as he connected all the things you had said and laced them together.

“Did you just say scofflaw?”

“Is that all you caught from my sentence?” flabbergasted, that's what you were with his reaction.

“No, but… really? scofflaw? Not even judge Harry who's 78 uses that term anymore.”

“Not the point Jimin…" frustrated at the weird turn the conversation had taken, you pinched your nose bridge, trying to figure out the young man's train of thought .

“Ok, ok. But is it one of the guys from a couple of weeks ago. The street racer ones?”

“How do you-"

“Eva from the reception said that, Joyce from finance told her that, Hyerin from chamber 5, saw them being called in on their hearing day and that they were all —her words, not mine— as hot as a super-sized bag of flamin hot Cheetos.”

 Now that’s stuck in your mind. Jimin was definitely not helping.

 “Curse you, procrastination!”

 Grocery shopping should have been done weeks ago. But you were tired, and sleepy and distracted and everything in between that could keep you from doing the boring task that  buying your own food was.

 Walking through the aisles in the grocery store, you could hear a little girl talking her —probably parent's— ear off.

 Not paying too much attention to her, you were barely able to catch a couple of words here and there as you walked around picking up what you needed.

 "Fishies would be a good pet because I can't hu't it if I hug it awound his house"

"Why can't I see my own eyes?"

"Can we get vanilla this time, stwabewies we'e yuck!"

"How do clouds float? Why don't they fall?"

"Look! Look! A toy!"

 She sounded so excited and the little lisp with her R's was the cutest, you thought.

 You were almost done with your list, only missing some meat or poultry and a pound of potatoes, —'cause you've been craving gratin potatoes for a while and you were done living a life without them.

 Making your way to the missing items, you could once again hear a conversation going on between the little girl and the other person, but this time the adult with her spoke. It was a grave voice, very deep and somewhat familiar, yet not enough to put a face to it.

 "You are not having a pet, until you understand the responsibilities that come with taking care of an animal" The voice answered the little girl sternly. You could imagine the man's face voided of any emotion and trying to maintain a serious visage. Probably trying to teach his daughter a lesson.

Again, the voice sounded familiar, giving you a tingling sensation in the back of your mind. However, in your distraction, the links that attempted to connect in your mind remained ignored.

 You continued rolling your cart, hastily turning around each corner; ready to pick up what you were missing and bolt home to make the delicious meal you have been craving for.

 However, you were suddenly stopped by another cart that crashed right into yours as they rushed towards you from around the corner.

 "Oof, My bad" - "Oh no! I'm so sorry!"

 You both said in unison.

 “Oh...” Came the immediate reaction from both of you, as you noticed who the person you had bumped into was.

 "So, the whole you having a daughter wasn’t a lie after all"

 "You offend me your honor." Was his reply as he chuckled a bit to himself "But I guess I am not a good example of what a decent human or father should be like..."

 "Oh Hush! We all make mistakes. Even some that land us in Jury or court" You giggled a little trying to soften whatever thought had him thinking he was the worst human ever to walk on this earth.

 Of course, he had made a mistake —a couple of them at that—   but it wasn’t murder, and he was attempting to make an income for his family.

 "What's her name?" You asked him as you both watched her eyeing the fish tank you assumed she saw the fish at before.

 "Yoonah. But she prefers to be called Nah-Nah" His voice mellowed. You looked at him with a smirk on your face, but all you got was the sight of a man watching his daughter with the fondest of gazes. So much love could be found in his eyes, he was proud and filled with warmth. The small smiled that decorated his features said it all.

 “Is she your only daughter?”

 Your question brought him back to the present.

 “Oh, yeah – she is” Was his curt answer. The tone he used made you feel a bit guilty, as if you were way too into his business, so you decided to cut it short.

 “Well it was nice meeting you outside of court Mr. Kim –and little miss Yoonah as well.” Were your final words as you waved your hand swiftly and left to finish your shopping, missing entirely the smile that graced his lips when he heard you address his little girl.

 For some reason, you hoped to see them one more time before you left the store, just to make sure they were ok —even though there was nothing dangerous at a grocery store.

 --

After so much fussing and so many tantrums, Kim Taehyung was finally tired out.

It could be seen from a mile away, just by watching his shoulders slightly slump and Yoonah grinning up at him with a content expression.

 Naturally, the best view of your day was Kim Taehyung walking out of the grocery store with four bags on one shoulder and a small plastic bag in his right hand, filled with water and two gold fish swimming peacefully.

So much for the sterned voice he had back there.

 You lingered a little more on your way to your own car, head turning slightly to your left, just to watch him interact with his daughter. You are sure you look like a creep, but it was so endearing, you couldn’t help yourself.

He kept her close by while he loaded the trunk with groceries and tickled her sides while placing her in her car seat. N sight of a father that didn’t care for his daughter or an irresponsible parent. Yeah, that was going to be your excuse for staring longer than needed.

 Yet what was a little more time for you, was enough to give him a full view of you watching them both with something in your expression that he couldn’t read, but whatever it was, had his heart racing a little more than it should for somewhat of a stranger that could put him in jail.

You’re not sure if it’s one of those times where once you meet someone one time, you end up seeing them everywhere.

How is it possible that on a chill evening in the park, while you were enjoying a slow-paced stroll and a hot chocolate in your hands, you see him again. You are about to start thinking that maybe he is following you and in addition to committing his past crime, he is also a stalker.

But he couldn’t be. He’s not even looking at you. From your short distance from him, you can see his eyes trained on something else. A fond smile decorated his lips as if whatever held his attention was above everything in this world.

From this angle you could appreciate his profile. A very handsome man you should say.

His eyes slowly crinkle into smaller half-moons in favor of his now growing smile taking more space. His teeth now baring and the apple of his cheeks flexing.

Oh! what a sight.

What would it feel like to poke them? you thought to yourself.

Yet, your legs had other plans and were already in action. Your brain had already sent signals to your arms and fingers to poke all soft parts that it came into contact with.

You are a judge, for goodness’s sake, touching someone without their authorization is battery. What are you doing?

 Yet right before you were able to do so you heard her.

“Daddy!” The soft giggles that followed filled the air that surrounded you. You turned your head to the direction of the sound and just in time you caught the sight of a little girl running from the playground into Taehyung’s arms.

Before you even turned to him, he was already catching her, squeezing her tightly in his embrace.

“Did you see that daddy? I did it!”

“Yes, you did princess! And you were amazing! Best cartwheel I have ever seen!”

The little girl giggled and squealed as Taehyung blew raspberries everywhere around her.

 When she finally calmed down, her eyes met yours and her head tilted in questions.

“It’s the groceries lady daddy!”

Turning to look at who his daughter was pointing at, he met you, only 3 steps away from him.

“Jud- Judge Y/n?”

“Hi again Mr. Kim, seems like we keep bumping into each other.”

“So it seems.” Today his smile was a careless one or was it a content one. Either way they were still that remarkable boxy smile.

“Nice to see you again miss Nah-Nah.” You greeted the little girl that had noticed you first and a hearty giggle left her body in return.

“What brings you here?” Asked the man that you had somehow forgotten was by your side or maybe you were just trying to ignore the strong tiger eyes that bore into you by entertaining a conversation with his cute daughter.

“Daddy, can I go to the big slide?”

“Not, without supervision Nah-Nah.” He answered so seriously, it reminded you of the voice in the grocery store.

“But daddy, I am a big gu’l now”

“Nah-Nah…”

“Daddy…” he sighed so loudly; you couldn’t help but laugh at his odyssey.

It was Deja vu from the grocery store and fish all over again. All that big father talk for nothing. He was so whipped for his daughter.

“Ok, let’s make a deal…”

“Yes!”

“You can go to the big slide, but if you get an ‘owie’, I want you to get up and dust off just like big girls do. Ok?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Ok, princess. Go on”

Not a second went by after his sentence and little Yoonah was already off to an adventure with the rest of the kids in the park.

“She is so precious”

“Thank you”

You both stayed in a comfortable silence, staring into the distance in the direction Yoonah had left of. However, that peace was cut by the man standing near you.

“So, are you following us now your honor?” That playful smirk of his was back, alerting you quickly that he was just attempting at a friendly banter with you.

“Hmm, maybe I am, but I’ll never let you know.” You said winking at him.

He laughed so loud at the action, that you could not hold back a laughter of your own.

“So you do have a sense of humor” He stated after calming down.

“I do, when I am outside of my line of work.”

“Understandable…”

Once again, a comfortable silence fell between you both as you watched his daughter running around filled with glee, playing with other children.

“So, who were the ugly judges you encountered before me?” Now it was your turn to start the conversation and again he laughed. Who would have thought you were this funny.

“So, you did hear that.”

You definitely did and deep within you hoped he meant it. Even though it wasn’t the time or place for his flirting.

“Maybe…”

“I meant it… just in case you were wondering.”

Yes, you were!!!

“Oh! I- umm… Thank you.” You could feel your face heating up, however you refused to end the eye contact you were keeping up since your conversation began.

“Anytime… Like honestly. Any. Time. And every time. I’ll repeat it every time I find it necessary.” He said his smile growing with each word that he sent your way. And you, well you weren’t one to back down on a flirting challenge.

“And how is that possible, if we don’t see each other all the time?” you asked, acting coyly.

“I might have a solution for that, your honor.” Welp. Now you got yourself into something.

Two weeks had gone by since that day.

Two weeks after Mr. Kim had asked for your number and invited you for ice cream with Yoonah, under the excuse of a thank you for not sending him to jail. Needless to say, you quickly corrected his statement to not have him think this was a favor you had done for him, but a decision you had made based on evidence and circumstances surrounding the case.

It had also been a week since Mr. Kim changed from that name to Taehyung.

The mocking that came with you saying his given name for the first time was endless.

“Awww, so no more Mr. Kim?”

“Shut it Taehyung!”

[reinepadova]

To Be Seen

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“The person who removes a mountain, begins by carrying away small stones.”

Sweet, bright, and floral – words that encapsulate the enticing smell wafting up from a beautifully carved tea tray, with the decanted water flowing down into its grooves to a catch basin underneath. Two pinming tea cups, already warmed and rinsed – painted in a beautiful array of geometric patterns – are a matched set with the tea pitcher currently pouring the first infusion.

“Your tea, Miss.” A large gloved hand – dark and unassuming, except for the dull shimmer of a large jade ring at its thumb, and a shining topaz gem cut in a sharp diamond at the wrist – pushed the filled drink with practiced ease near a seated figure, whose garbs of soft greens, subtle blues, and hints of black, signify a distant relation to the deceased.

“Thank you,” the figure said, her hand reaching for a cup, her head tilted to the unadorned wall. Though her arms seem relaxed, her shoulders were stiff, while her legs were tucked sideways, like a force of habit. She made a fine picture of poise and sophistication from afar, but perfectly humble in her mourning up close.

The host hummed graciously, savoring his first sip, noting the elegance in her figure despite the rather defensive posture. Hmm. If she remains unmoving, pain shall spread on her lower back.

“This drink is made from an evergreen shrub, which grows abundant at Jueyun Karst,” he began, calm dignity resonating in his voice. “It is said to be a place where the adepti enjoy their seclusion, hence the people's reluctance to disturb it's grounds. As such, these leaves are very rare. Only skilled herb gatherers that inherited the wisdom – and the courage – to traverse these lands are able to obtain them.”

“I see,” she replied, an empty cup waiting for a second infusion. He obliged and continued.

“Notice it's yellow hue? It is an accidental discovery. The color of dried tea leaves is normally green, with a taste that range from bittersweet to nutty, or from floral to oceanic. Some, on the other hand, would go so far as to liken it to simple vegetation. 'Grassy', they would say. Hmm. Tea may not be their beverage of choice.”

“Fascinating,” his guest replied, even tone barely hiding polite disinterest. He quirked a slight brow but remained undeterred - he's had encounters with people more ornery in years past.

As curious as her passively hostile behavior towards him has been for the past few days, he shall not stoop low to the level of the ignorant – like those at the marketplace, who circulate hearsays that leave much to be desired. He's only grateful young Mei is spared, for he may start questioning the integrity of his people.

He turned auric eyes down to his cup, watching the idle swirl of the liquid within.

He may only know just the surface of her troubles – like the vague taste of anguish from the void of her dreams – but he's determined to release the pressure through the cracks of her facade, like flushing steam from a smoking mount.

He knows beneath a calm mountain, lies a dissonance that could erupt, painfully and forcefully, at any given moment.

“But years ago, it is said a farmer had forgotten to dry out a batch of these leaves. And a cloth, flung free from a drying line, landed from above, sealing the warm moisture on them shut for a full summer's day. To the farmer's delight, the taste of the finished tea turned light and mellow, and the so-called grassy flavor gone without consequence. This procedure  is now known as 'sealing yellow', the widely accepted finish for the tea we enjoy now.”

“How interesting.”

“Quite so.”

Hmm. Mayhaps the origins of tea may not be of interest?

Silence reigned heavily on the two tea companions, like too much burnt incense hanging in the air. A low cough from one tried to break through the discomfort, while the other remained resolutely silent.

“Would you prefer a different drink? We have other varieties that may be more palatable for your taste.”

The lady seem to snap out of thought, shaking her head insistently while eyeing the gloved hand that moved to remove her cup. “No. That's unnecessary. This will do. Thank you for your service,” she dismissed, gently but concisely, with an unconscious hand rubbing at her eyes.

“Is there nothing else I may assist in?” he asked, subdued, concern coloring his words. His uncharacteristically tilted head missed entirely by the lady's distraction.

“No,” came the tired reply, an undertone of exasperation escaping in the same breath.

“...nothing at all?”

She seem to take a deep breath, holding it for a minute, before letting it out in one, even sigh.

Not far from the one-sided conversation, peeking at the side of a privacy screen, the seventy-seventh director of Wangsheng looked on, a feline smile stretched across her face. She watched, with growing giddiness, at the most hilarious drama she'd ever witness in her waking years yet!

“Hu Tao-zhǔrèn? Should we not intervene?” Ferrylady whispered, glancing worriedly at the guest lounge herself. She wanted to help dispel such a morose atmosphere, as ironic as that is, for it is her duty for an honored guest, as well as to their noble consultant.

“Shhh~ Not now, Ferrylady. This is getting good.”

“But, madam, this has been going on for three days. Progress is no where to be found.”

“Exactly. This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to this place!”

"Madam. 'Exciting' is counterproductive to what we strive for in this business."

Ferrylady knew her young boss would have squealed if not for their absolute need for discretion.

No good thing comes from eavesdropping such a private exchange after all.

Hu Tao just hushed her again, silently crawling forward to get a better view. The shadow of the large vase their dear consultant insisted they buy the other day made for a good hiding spot. Something about its story being a distraction for the distraught passed through her mind.

“Miss Ferrylady?  H-Hu-zhǔrèn? Why are you crouching down there?”

The two snapped their attention to their new employee, who wore a very bemused expression while pulling at the collar of his stiff uniform.

“Shh! Meng, do you want the troubled souls in the parlor to catch your feet? Drop down behind us now and complete the formation. This is your first assignment~” Hu Tao murmured seriously, an unreadable twinkle reflecting in her eyes. Meng would have gasped out loud if he hadn't slapped his hands over his mouth.

He swiftly did as he was told, back brushing against the wall in the cramped space, before he swiveled worried eyes all around them. Ferrylady just sighed, familiar with their director's ways of keeping someone quiet.

“Now keep quiet for the next half hour you two. Act Two is about to begin~”

-{-}-

Stella mildly wondered if it would be child neglect to jump from the pier right outside the parlor, leaving Mei all alone. It's the only thing she could think of right now to prevent herself from strangling this, this – ugh! This persistent man!

She knows there is a custom of not speaking with customers, out of respect for old tradition – but this one seem to have missed the memo.

Before the day Mei's grandmother passed, the old woman had enough breath to tell her where she wished to have her wake, what she and Mei should wear, what their manners should be during mourning period, and other matters relating to Mei's future.

But despite her meticulous notetaking – her brushstrokes needed lots of work, she knows – Stella still felt unprepared for the kind of reception she received at the infamous Wangsheng ever since their return back at the Harbor.

After tucking in a sleepy Mei in her room, Stella went straight to the parlor, placing three of the Glaze Lilies in the simple pots she requested in advance, nestling them in between wreaths of white flowers surrounding the covered body.

When she finished burning the joss paper for a final offering, she jumped at the male voice directly from behind her. Whirling around, her heart skipped a beat, brows falling low at his short salutation.

The gentleman before her wore a suit that was subtle in opulence, and elegant in form – a large contrast to the uniform worn by the undertakers that assisted her and Mei before taking off to Qingce Village. She noted the thick rings that contrasted against his gloves – rings worn on the thumb, symbolizing the authority the wearer wields, as well as the arrogance boasting of wealth. Her brow had twitched.

“Good evening. May I ask why is the boss of Wangsheng seeing me?” she inquired, arms crossed. Its the only explanation for someone of importance to act like a host in the dark hall.

Despite the hammering beat in her chest, and the lost of color from her face, she stood tall with a firm stance – bracing herself in case this man mocks her for her ignorance. But when no sound of condescension came, she felt unsettled, and focused on his shining tie instead.

It's an unfortunate habit she has around these types she has yet to break, but a good enough technique to show they still have her attention. They usually have some sort of trinket on them – a silken pocket square, an heirloom brooch, or a collar clip – so its not difficult to direct her eye near their neck. 

She could have glanced up to a point near their ear, to give the illusion of eye contact - but she didn’t want to remember their face, she has no interest to know of it, to know of them. She has no plans of interacting with this person ever, if she could manage it.

But she was brought out of her thoughts by a sudden chuckle, a smooth and sonorous sound, like rumbling thunder in the distance. It was not taunting or haughty, like she had expected. It sounds like a relief of tension – like heavy rainfall after a long dry spell. Stella took a step back, surprised at her passing thought that it sounded attractive. “I am not the boss of this hallowed hall, much to the confusion of most. You are not the only one who assume so. I am merely one of its consultants. Wangsheng caters to all needs, no matter the status, affiliation, or ethnicity. Hence its forthright pursuit for various advisors in order to fulfill any request – for the benefit of the living, and those that have passed.

I myself do my best to be of assistance to any of our customers, when present.”

“That's, uh, nice?” Stella stuttered, utterly speechless. Not because the explanation lacked clarity – it’s actually worded very eloquently – but because this man, this consultant, was still talking to her, despite the lack of eye contact – a discourtesy these types would easily recognize. It was practically beaten into her head that it was a shameful habit, growing up – that no man would want to be her husband if she does not get over it.

Which motivated her more to never want marriage.

She could feel his eyes roving over her face, the path of their focus mostly resting on her cheeks –surprisingly, never straying down. “Indeed. And if I may say so, you seem to need a boost of energy. Or perhaps a good rest. We offer drinks that could assist you with either. If you allow it, I will prepare it to your liking.”

She tucked her head down, not knowing what to say. Not because she felt flattered or embarrassed by the attention of such an attractive-sounding individual.

But... the thing is –

She hates men.

She really, really hates men.

Growing up in a household that treated her more like a prize than a living being, she had no real choice on how to live her life. Powerful men of elevated backgrounds would strut before her, fluttering their clothes made from rare threads to show off their affluence, leering in greed and unwanted desire at her place behind a special dais – layers of gauzy silks the only physical protection she has from their disgusting gazes. But they were never thick enough for her to block out the absolutely dark intentions in their eyes, nor the reverberating hunger in their sleazy words. It made her skin crawl badly every time – feeling phantom insect's feet trail up and down her arms, creeping sludge up her throat, until it claw up to the sensitive skin of her scalp. No matter how much she bathes in scorching hot water after every encounter, skin scrubbed raw and red, she never manages to erase the feeling right away. Only in sleep could she hope to find peace.

If she even could.

They tell her that her feelings were irrelevant. Her treatment – expected. After all, everyone is led to believe she inherited attributes that show she has the blood of those that dwell in the heavens – in the upper universe that human beings could only dream to reach. And thus her body is seen as a sacred vessel, a carrier for future generations to come – perfect beings that would never suffer from mortal wounds, or mortal illnesses. The mother that shall birth the perfect world. You are one being that can propagate, and produce the most flawless humans the world has ever seen. Humans that would become the paragon for everyone else to aspire to! –

Stella scoffed mutely, unfolding her arms, before stepping back into place. That was what her foolish cousin had thought. Had believed. Had obsessed.

He was a brilliant scholar. A specialist of the unknown. And a zealous believer of their family's history and sacred roots. His fixation with perfection is a flaw in and of itself. A selfish desire that eventually led to everyone's death – especially one she held most dear – Selene. Her sister by name, if not by direct blood. The only relative that actually cared for her, that loved her, that protected her when no one else would.

Selene was the one that taught her how to sing – how to hone the beauty in her voice. She taught her how to fight – with a weapon used by an ancestor who fought her fate until the last of her breath. 

Selene taught a many great things, especially other skills that would have otherwise been useless if she was still in her own world – a world that pampered her like a sacred idol, with wings clipped short in a gilded cage.

The very memory of Selene dying in her arms serve as a reminder to never be selfish. To be mindful. To remember that even just one person's open hand is enough to live life for.

But, right now, with her muscles straining from holding her stiff position for so long, she is very much in a mindset to defy her own oath.

She really hates men.

But... she's trying not to. She has to not to – for Meilin's sake:

Most of the fishmongers at the harbor are men – Mei loves seafood.

Most of the chefs are men – Mei loves well-cooked food.

All of the guards are men – Mei trusts them to protect their house and harbor.

If not for Mei, Stella would have gone to live as a hermit by now, fishing or hunting for her own meals, cultivate her own harvests, or protect herself from foolish thieves.

For Mei, she will persevere. For Mei, she will try.

But –

She really hates men.

Specifically, this type of man.

Those greedy monsters cloaked in beauty and money. That speak well of culture and knowledge – both useless, and worthless. For it is a mere show of having been educated on knowledge the masses could not afford to have.

Her heart had not skipped a beat because she finds him attractive   – she still doesn’t know what he looks like. But from his clothes, his manners, his flowery words, she could only conclude one thing: this is the type of husband her family had wanted. The traditional type that wanted a traditional wife.

Out of all the typical traits that kind of wife should have: bearing many children, many perfect children, was the main goal. All the while she must always be silent, until spoken to. Be obedient without question. And wise enough to know her place  – while being the perfect trophy her husband could boast about.

Stella took deep, silent breaths, controlling her thoughts from making her jump to conclusions.

She had to tread carefully with any man in this world. The people at the market were nice enough so far. Respectful of deals, and follows through with their word. 

But, she's not blind to the staring – both the subtle, and the obvious. 

Her face, unfortunately, is one of the attributes she inherited from their family's progenitor, their beloved ancestor, and it's been described as appealing at worse, and magnificent at best. 

But she pays these no mind. Complements are empty words after all. Especially when they find out she can no longer produce children. That's alright. She has long accepted that any who show interest in her, will soon disregard it after they learn of her disability. Traditional men especially, will throw her away.

That's why – although she has her oath for Selene, and a promise for Gran-gran and Mei – she herself could never give an eternal vow to anyone. Not anymore.

Not after what she's done to herself.

But despite her cold aloofness day after day, night after night, this man remained persistent. Kept pestering to cater to her needs, when she made it perfectly clear the Ferrylady was doing a great job of taking care of her already. That he should focus on more important clientele than her.

Unfortunately, it's the sixth day now of Gran-gran's funeral, and she's still being served personally by the stubborn consultant with the alluring voice, who wouldn't stop inquiring if she was able to get a good night's sleep after clearly seeing she isn't. She knows the bags under her eyes are getting darker, and the whites of her eyes turning red with dryness.

It's times like this she misses those blissful sleep of white nothingness – the long morning nap, and the night she and Mei had to camp out before arriving at the harbor. The only explanation for them was the presence of that little guardian that wrapped around her snuggly like a giant tree in its branches – one made out of scales, and gems, and warmth. 

Ah. But it isn't a tree, is it? It was a dragon – or so Mei said. A legendary creature that is normally large and serpentine in form and built – either something that brings about disorder and chaos, or something that protects with might and force.

“Good thing Mr. Guardian is the protector type!” Mei had added brightly, even though Stella knew the little girl was extremely disheartened to see it disappear in the distance after escorting them to the edge of Liyue Harbor, fluffy tail flickering in a silent wave.

She will admit to miss its strange, yet comforting presence. The soothing calm she can feel as she stares at its amber eyes – whether out of vexation or gratitude. It would wrap around her like a thick blanket, enveloping her in a warmth she could feel in her bones, and in her heart.

Ah, well. Maybe she'll look to tame one of the strays around the area. See which ones are easy to domesticate. Maybe, one of them would have eyes as gold as Mr. Guardian. Maybe then she'll be able to cuddle up to something and get some much needed sleep.

-{-}-

As the lady continued to fantasize of respite, a lost look entering her eyes, Morax thought now is the right time for a change. Where diplomacy fails, action may succeed.

When her hand moved to subtly rest at her waist, trying to reach her back, and a pained look briefly passed over her expression, he acted – for the first time – without a second thought.

“You have not slept well after I left, have you?”

Morax murmured low, well aware of their audience in the background, but reached out to her nonetheless, touching the tip of her nose, hoping his action would trigger a memory, their memory, together.

He patiently waited for her indignant squeals and sputters to subside, staring steadily at her face until her angry gaze focused back on his.

She turned silent immediately, a great confusion painted her features. Her hand hovered close to his face – no doubt to slap him for his boldness.

The quiet this time was not uncomfortable – it felt very nostalgic, like the thrum of water drops on stone, or the hum of rocks being mined from the earth.

The kind of silence that defined their first meeting, letting her tug him free from her pack, and staring at him with open bewilderment – with awe-filled curiosity set deep in her exquisite eyes.

“...Mr. Guardian?” she uttered, like a secret, both hopeful and afraid. She withdrew her hand to cover her mouth, while her body sagged heavily on her chair. 

Sitting still was never a problem, but the want to comfort made his hand ache. He could only smile for now, to acknowledge the charming moniker, and to prevent from startling her further.

Blinking once, she took in his face. Blinking twice, she fisted her hand. 

She suddenly covered her eyes, rubbing them incessantly, as if his image burned her physically and she's trying to find relief. He gave in and reached out, holding them still – something he could not do before lest he hurt her with his claws.

When she focused back on him, eyes turning anxious, Morax slowly lifted a third infused cup, carefully wrapped her fingers around it, before slowly letting go. He rested his arms at his sides and turned entirely to her – hoping his body language was open enough for her to let down her guard, just as she always was while he was Exuvia. He noticed her sitting up straight against her chair, eyes asking questions upon questions mutely in the air.

A dull thud from behind them went unnoticed.

“Please. Have a drink. Let it soothe your nerves. 

The sea breeze outside will do much good for your head. Let me escort you to where the water meets the wall. And there, we might be afforded better privacy for your questions,” Morax softly besieged. He cut his gaze to the screen behind them, letting his focus rest on it for some time. Nearly silent sets of feet scurried away after a moment.

“Okay,” the lady consented, breaking through his concentration. When Morax gazed back, she took a long, slow sip, seeming to finally savor the tea he served, making him sit a little straighter in his seat. Her eyes softened slowly, and watered as recognition set in, which in turn made him tug at the corner of his lips in relief.

-{-}-

A knock was heard, before the slide of the door reached Meng's ears. “Yahooo. How is she? Have you revived Ferrylady yet?” 

“Uhm, I'm afraid not, ma'am. Maybe this is a good thing? It's better if she has her rest for the night,” Meng whispered back, blowing the lantern light out as his co-worker rested heavily on her bed.

The director and undertaker silently went out, walking away from the sleeping quarters as both thought back on the circumstances of the Ferrylady's fainting. “Yeah. Might as well~ Zhongli-xiānsheng certainly put her in quite a shock. I almost saw her spirit escape from her! Too bad it happened before we got to see what our consultant did to make our guest putty in his hands. Looks like that hermit strikes again! At least this time the lady seems like his age – physically I mean – and totally not like his stuffy personality. I like her~” Hu Tao sang, thinking of giving the lady a small discount on the incense she'll need to use tomorrow.

“W-would it really be alright to leave them alone?” Meng asked, nervously pulling at his gloves.

“Hmm? Any concerns I should know about? Oh! Is she one of those pretending to play 'hard to get', but actually wants to snatch Zhongli-xiānsheng for herself~?” Hu Tao asked, fluttering her eyes exaggeratedly.

“No, Hu-zhǔrèn! You got it entirely wrong.”

“Oh?”

Meng furrowed his brow, organizing his thoughts. “From what I heard, as well as my own experience in assisting her, she tends to avoid men. All men. Except maybe the kids and the grandpas. I saw her hand quake once when I accidentally brushed hands with her trying to move her potted plants for her.”

“I didn't think you had it in you. You sly dog~”

“No no no,  Hu-zhǔrèn! You misunderstand again!” Meng waved his arms frantically in front on him. “I mean... yes! I'll admit she's very beautiful. A-and she seems considerate, and kind. But she's a little, uhh, too beautiful? Even I know I'm not a good match for her. But her skittish behavior makes me feel like, like scum – like the lowest of the low,” he said dejectedly, shoulders falling. “She makes me feel guilty for even breathing in her space.”

Hu Tao hummed, a finger on her lips, before her brows quirked up in surprise at Meng’s suddenly spirited stance. “A few of the guys at the wharf noticed too, and speculated something must have happened to her. It's really sad to think of the possibilities. But we all talked about it, and agreed to do our best to be gentle in our interactions with her. No touch. Keep a good distance. And watch our words. We don’t want her to feel like we’re boars on the prowl.”

“Wow. Well done, Meng,” whistled Hu Tao, smiling wide.

“E-erm. Thank you?” Meng scratched at his head, face turning red in embarrassment.

“That's the longest I've heard you speak. Ever! I'm so proud of you~ You're not such a pitiful scaredy cat aftercall,” Hu Tao hooted in glee.

“W-what? M-madam...” Meng groaned, head falling down on his chest in dismay.

Hu Tao giggled softly, and changed her carefree stance. She gently patted him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Just kidding~ You really have to lighten up.

But, I didn't lie. What you're doing is very honorable. And even if you're too common for someone like her, I'm sure in time she'll notice and appreciate what you all are doing.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? Ugh. I still don't understand the director. I have so much to learn.

“Besiiides. If you guys are honorable already as ordinary citizens, what more someone of  Zhongli-xiānsheng's caliber?”

Meng nodded, smiling brightly. “You're absolutely right, ma'am. I should not have doubted his intentions.”

“Maybe by now, he's escorting her home. So let's have faith in our reliable consultant!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

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A/N: Just to clarify, Hu Tao meant Zhongli is such a devastating lady-killer. He just doesn’t know it. And yes, more eye-flirting with these two. Sighs. He has such pretty eyes. Updated again on 04/15/2021 because I’m my own biggest critic.

Gong fu style of serving tea is so mesmerizing to watch. I can see Zhongli do it every time.

Fun fact: In ancient China, yellow tea was indeed considered very rare. And since yellow is the traditional imperial color, only emperors are able to enjoy it. Unless they deem a guest fit to be served the tea - which is considered a high honor.

Zhongli’s rerun banner is coming up sooner than I thought. I should have known Genshin would have a mid-anniversary thing too. Or something like it. I panicked, caved in, and bought the Blessing of the Welkin. His mats are not readyyyy aiyaah

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