#has someone calculated how fast you have to punch to set your own hand on fire...???

[aphantimes]

I love this scene so so so so so much. It’s a demonstration of Knuckles’ strength, but also shows some INSANE precision. If he just had brute strength with no technique behind it he WOULD NOT be able to do this. He’s EXTREMELY skilled and I loooove seeing it demonstrated like this. And the fact that he doesn’t even break a sweat? He isn’t exerting himself at all here? It makes me wanna know what him going all out looks like!!!

[bokoutoe-retired]

— #43 “i love you to the moon and back” & #44 “you’re stealing the blankets”

characters; gojo satoru, gn! reader, ft. itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, nobara kugisaki

synopsis; working at jujutsu tech comes with it’s risks, but with your husband at your side you think everything will turn out just fine

total w/c; 1475

warnings; canon-typical violence, blood, major injury, hospitals, iv’s, uhhh, non-canon timeline ig? i haven’t read the manga so i apologize for any inaccuracies about how curses and jujutsu sorcery works

「a/n」 thank you to @construct-witchlyght for requesting!! i’m so sorry it took so long but i actually really had fun writing this and i feel good about it! hope you enjoy it <3

being a counselor at jujutsu tech never really meant just being a counselor. sometimes it means being a teacher and instructing a couple classes, other times it means getting called out for exorcisms. despite your job title, it’s shockingly rare you get the chance to actually, you know, be a counselor.

and this was certainly not one of those times. the grade 2 curse you, itadori, fushiguro, and kugisaki are currently dealing with is not relenting. whatsoever. it’s attacks are quick, fast, and calculated. the four of you have done a good job avoiding them so far, but you're not sure how much longer you can keep it up. both you and itadori are hustling to land your blows, slowly chipping away at the almost overwhelming defenses of the curse. nearby fushiguro’s shikigami are working in rhythm with the flying nails of kugisaki’s hammer to take out the weird army of cursed goonies the grade 2 has. they’re not powerful by any means but their numbers add up. the two first years are doing a good job of dwindling their forces

the fight drags on and on, hit after hit, and dodge after dodge, it’s tiresome but necessary. by some miracle, there’s a glimpse of the end as yuuji lands a hearty punch on one of the chins of the curses many mouths. as it makes contact it’s accompanied by a loud, resounding clap, the cursed energy packed behind the hit leaves the air of the abandoned warehouse buzzing. the powerful attack brings the curse down to its last legs, yet it’s still angry, and determined to take you all out. you glance over to check on the other pair, and see they’re exorcising the final lackey. 

‘good, they’re safe now’ you think, but you’re allowed only a mere moment of relief before your attention is directed back to itadori and the grade 2. itadori is still stumbling from the blowback of his own power as the curse lets out a booming roar and you see it gear up for an attack with the sharp claws on one of its four arms. he’s stumbling right into the claws’ path and doesn’t have nearly enough time to completely dodge. panic boils over  in your chest and you feel your body move before you think about it, out of pure instinct to protect your kids. the long arm of the curse swings down and you rush towards the pink haired first year, shoving him out from underneath the approaching claws. hot, searing pain rips down from your shoulder and through your chest. your vision immediately turns spotty but you can see itadori tumble a few feet away from the force of your push. you must’ve screamed without realizing it because immediately all three students are calling out your name and rushing to finish the curse off.

you register that somewhere near you the curse bursts into smoke and spare puffs of cursed energy. it’s finally exorcised, but you're too focused on the feeling of warm, sticky blood seeping from your wound and the bitter taste of copper in your mouth to take note of who officially finished it off. the energy from the curse tapers off into nothing but residuals and suddenly three sets of footsteps are rushing towards you.

“y/n-san!” itadori is the first to reach you, calling out and falling to his knees at your side. “why would you do that?!” his words are frantic but his actions are gentle as he moves your head to rest on his knees. you can almost see the tears welling in his eyes from, in your opinion, misplaced guilt. he looks around searching for help of the other first years. behind him nobaras foot taps incessantly against the cold stone floor. she’s hurriedly dialing someone on her cellphone, presumably ijichi and fushiguro is tearing off his jacket. he does much better job of hiding his worry, but if your eyes were a little more focused you’d be able to see the slight shake to his movements as he bundles the fabric and presses it to your wound. you little out a little grunt of pain, the coarse texture agitates it but does a good enough staunching the steady trickle of blood. despite their lack of experience, it’s not hard for them to recognize this is bad. nobara finishes her call, before pocketing her phone and joining the boys on the ground next to you. she takes the edge of her sleeve, wiping off the small bit of blood dribbling from you mouth. you weakly attempt to swat her hand off, the last thing you wanted was to worry your kids or have them fuss over you.

“‘toru would kick my ass if i had let one of you kids get hurt” your words are slightly slurred but you speak with a little chuckle, referring to your husband while trying to make light of the situation. you even reach up to pat yuujis cheek reassuringly a couple times.

“well now gojo-sensei is gonna kick my ass for letting you get hurt!” he looks like he’s about to continue but the sound of screeching car tires interrupt him.

“ijichis here, lets get her up. y/n-” you can hear megumi talking, but your consciousness is slipping and you can’t decipher exactly what he said. you feel three pairs of hands start to lift you off the ground, the blood making it a little more difficult. as you look up the dots clouding your vision get bigger and bigger, the last thing you see is the crease of nobaras brows as she yells out to someone.

when you wake up, you feel your situation before you see it. the first, and maybe most important thing you feel, is the presence of your husband cuddled into your side. you feel his hair tickling your neck, his body pressed against your uninjured side and his fingers intertwined with yours. just knowing he’s there is enough to instantly put you at ease. your eyes finish adjusting to the bright morning light streaming in from the window and satoru shifts in his sleep, unawarely tugging the thin hospital blanket from your body. 

“you’re stealing the blankets,” you whisper to him as you squeeze his hand in yours, but your voice comes out a little more strained than you had expected. even with his blindfold on, you can tell he’s woken up as he lets out a little hum and adjusts himself on the small hospital bed. with the both of you it’s a tight fit, but you make it work. he’s careful not to jostle you as he sits up and gently brings you to lay on his side instead of him on yours. he’s mindful of your ivs and monitors, all while keeping your hand in his and making sure to drape the blanket back over you.

“rough night?” he asks, the hand of the arm wrapped around you comes to lightly brush over the bandages wrapped snug around your torso. the pain isn’t nearly as bad as it was before you blacked out. whatever meds they’d given you had turned the sharp stinging into a dull ache. but if you were being honest your whole body ached. a long, strenuous battle on top of a deep wound would do that to a person.

“rough night.” you confirm with a little chuckle, relaxing even further into his hold. the room is silent for a moment as he catches your eyes searching the empty room for something that’s not there. he presses a kiss to your temple, bringing your attention back to him.

“they went back to the school,” he states, already knowing that you were looking for the trio of first years, “and before you ask, they’re fine. all three made it out with nothing more than a couple scratches.”

“good, thats good,” you respond while smiling up at him. if those three were okay, any pain, wound, or hospital visit would be utterly worth it.

“i’m lucky i get to say the same for you, my love. itadori told me what you did” he lifts up his blindfold and gives you a look that resembles that of one he would give a student while scolding them. but behind it, you can see the deep amount of worry held in his bright eyes.

“i did what i had to, they're just kids” you shrug as best as yougiven your condition.

“i know, i know. very admirable of you,” he jokes a little before his tone turns serious “but please, don’t scare me like that ever again. you mean the world to me and i don’t know what i’d do without you. i love you to the moon and back, my dear y/n”

“i love you too satoru, to the moon and back”

[eliemo]

Something Long and Stupid

Summary: Remus knew he wasn't a good person. He was Deadpool, a killer for hire, "the merc with a mouth." He'd come to terms with what he was a long time ago. He didn't need Spiderman to remind him of what he was.

He didn't need Virgil to come into his life and make him question it for the first time

TWs: Violence, threats, strong language, blood

Notes: Superhero au, Spiderman Virgil, Deadpool Remus, enemies to lovers Dukexiety

New project that nobody asked for. I know I should finish my ongoing wips before starting a new one but I do not control the hyperfixation.

(Part 1) (Part 2)

When Virgil kicked Remus in the chest and sent him hurtling off the building into an active construction site, Remus found himself thinking about how they’d met.

Honestly, it hadn’t started off much better. Spiderman was a piece of shit who thought he was so much better than Remus just because Deadpool killed some people every now and then.

Well, that had been the first impression anyway. They hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot.

Remus had been doing his job, thank you very much, he was a mercenary for hire, it wasn’t like he’d been going after a gang of strangers for fun. And he certainly hadn’t needed help.

There were three of them and one of him, just some standard thugs that had been causing a bit too much trouble for people with more money to spend, their names already set to pay for Remus’s rent this month.

He’d unsheathed his swords, (guns would make it over too quickly, and what was the fun in that?) letting the assholes get their hopes up by grabbing for their own weapons and then—

Then all his targets were all suddenly covered in webs, firmly plastered to the nearest wall with threats and screaming that Remus ignored in favor of whirling around, slicing the air with his blades.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

Spiderman was half hanging off the wall, stepping back down onto the ground when he saw Remus staring. “You’re welcome,” he called, like Remus had asked for him to come in ruin is fun.

Remus scoffed, because rude. You don’t just steal someone’s kill like that. But at least they were immobilized now, which meant shooting them and getting the day over with would be a piece of cake. The webs weren’t budging no matter how frantically they kicked.

He yanked his gun from his belt to do exactly that, only to have another web (seriously, fucking spider webs had no business being this strong) wrapped around his wrist, another pulling the pistol right out of his hand.

“Uh, motherfucker?” Remus took a step back, furiously grabbing at the lingering webs with his bare hands, grimacing at the way it clung to his leather. “Jeez, you want me to decapitate them instead?”

“They’re already down,” the asshole said, like Remus hadn’t noticed. “Back off, Deadpool.”

Remus didn’t have time to be surprised that Spiderman knew who he was, far too busy wanting to run over and punch him right in his stupid masked face. “Ok, clearly you don’t know my deal. Move it, Webs.”

“Then you don’t know mine,” he said, masked eye staring blankly from underneath the hood over his suit. “I’m not letting you murder defenseless people.”

“They’re not fucking defenseless.”

“They’re not breaking free,” the spider said. “The cops will take whoever I capture for them. Call them and leave.”

Remus scoffed and tightened his hold on his sword, wondering if he really wanted to get into a fight with Spiderman in the middle of the afternoon. It was only fucking Tuesday, he was too tired to deal with this shit. “And they can take them in body bags. Give me my gun back.”

Remus was a good foot taller than him, and loaded with about three times as many weapons, but the masked asshole didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. God, he was probably smirking under his suit.

“I finished the fight, I get to decide.” He turned around, his back to Remus like he didn’t even care. “Maybe try to be faster next time.”

“Oh, fuck right off with that,” Remus snarled. “Fuck off. Fuck off and suck a fat dick, you fucking—”

“Either you walk away, or I leave you tied to the wall.”

“Kinky,” Remus smirked, even if Spiderman couldn’t see it under his own mask. “But fat fucking luck. No way in hell am I letting some bitch in black and purple spanx steal my kill.”

Spiderman actually had the audacity to sigh, like he was dealing with a petulant child. “Nobody’s getting killed.”

“You know, I’ve got more than one gun,” Remus said, mentally calculating how fast he’d have to move to shoot every single person in this alleyway. “I’m playing nice. Get out of my way.”

“You’re not shooting someone who can’t fight back.”

“Oh, are you the moral police?” Jesus, Remus wanted to punch this guy. “Man, fuck off. It’s none of your business.”

He grabbed for his other gun, only to immediately feel something wrap around his waist and legs, yanking hard and lifting him into the air. He shouted something he really hoped no pedestrians were close by enough to overhear, doing his absolute best to give Spiderman his coldest glare as he was slammed against the brick wall, upside down, held firmly down by fucking spider webs.

“Oh, you bitch.”

Remus twisted and thrashed, and while he could feel the webs giving way already it would be a good few minutes until he was free. That fucking asshole.

“Next time I see you I’m cutting off your spider ass and hanging it on my fucking wall!”

Spiderman ignored him, and Remus watched as he grabbed the thugs Remus was supposed to kill and one by one swung them out of the alleyway before disappearing completely.

That whore.

It hadn’t been long, unfortunately, until they’d met again, and Remus had of course tried to punch the asshole right in the head.

They’d ended up on the same rooftop, which was even worse because Remus came up here to relax. Spiderman had just been sitting there, legs dangling over the edge as he watched over the city, looking almost peaceful with his hood down and the sun beating against his mask.

So Remus had immediately vaulted over and swung at him as hard as he possibly could.

And then he’d missed, because of course Spidey had to have fucking inhuman reflexes, which was bullshit. He’d ducked away and managed to jump to Remus’s side before Remus even registered that his fist had met nothing but air.

“Can you leave?” Spiderman asked, so unbothered it only made Remus angrier. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Making sure people don’t get killed,” he said, moving back towards the ledge. “You should try it sometime.”

Remus crossed his arms, watching the vigilante in disbelief. “You get that I’m a mercenary, right? You’re surprised by the killing thing?”

“I’m not,” he said, and he still wouldn’t even look at Remus. “But I’m stopping it when I can.”

“Oh? So you’re ruining a small business?” Remus threw his arms out and turned towards the ledge overlooking the bustling city. “Spiderman doesn’t support small businesses, you heard it here first, folks!”

Spidey was staring at him now, and Remus had a sneaking suspicion he would not appreciate the look he was being given if the mask was taken off. Asshole.

“I don’t support killing people, Deadpool.”

“Sucks,” Remus said. “You should’ve stayed out of the way. If I wasn’t so kind and generous I would have shot you.”

“You mean if you hadn’t been tied up and defenseless,” Spiderman corrected, and Remus was right back to wanting to punch him. “You’re lucky I didn’t get you arrested.”

Remus dramatically put a hand to his chest and gasped, walking along the roof’s edge. “Oh no. What ever would I have done? I’d be defeated! My one weakness. C ops.”

Spidey didn’t respond, but he did get up and move away when Remus got a bit too close to where he was perched on the ledge. Ha .

“Maybe I should have called the cops on you, Spidey,” Remus added. “They’d finally catch the masked menace. Some jail time might humble you.”

“I’d be fine,” Spiderman said. “I wasn’t the one tied to a wall.”

Remus hopped back onto the roof with a growl, grimacing at the reminder of how long it had taken to get those webs off his suit. “Yeah, don’t do that shit again. Seriously, I can and will end you.”

“Get in line behind half the city, Deadpool.”

Remus scoffed, something he apparently did a lot of whenever talking to Spiderman, and followed him across the rooftop. “Man, your ratings are shit. At least I don't act like a hero.”

It was hard to see, barely noticeable, but Remus saw Spidey’s shoulders tense, just a bit. Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Good.

“I don’t act like anything,” he said, and it was just a little less cocky than before. “I’m just trying to help people.”

“Oh, so you’re playing hero.” Remus grinned, moving until he was crouched right in front of the vigilante. “Ooh ooh, let me guess...you’re in college. You’re ...22. Maybe 23, or 24. You got these big bad powers one day and figured you were the only one in the whole wide world who could protect the people who couldn’t protect themselves.”

Spidey didn’t answer, just looked at him with that blank, unamused stare, so Remus continued. “Or were you born with them? Doesn’t seem like it, you’ve only popped up in the last two or three years—”

“It’s none of your business,” Spiderman cut in, and Remus smirked. “And you’re wrong, for the record.”

“Oh I am, am I?” Remus asked, amused despite himself. “If nobody wants you, why are you even trying?”

Spidey was tense now, and doing a real bad job of hiding it. “Maybe I don’t give a shit what people think.”

“Right.” Remus didn’t need to see the guy’s face to know that wasn’t it. “You do realize how much money you could make with those powers, right?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m fine doing what I’m doing.”

Remus looked him over, he’d seen spidey all over newspapers and on TV before, but this was the first time actually talking to him in person, besides the other day when the asshole had ruined his afternoon. Honestly, it was kinda underwhelming. He expected the suit to be higher tech, at least.

“Are you broke?” he asked. “You seem broke. I could make you a way better mask, by the way. It looks like shit.”

“I’m sure,” Spidey said, completely ignoring his generous offer. Rude. “And how much do you get paid for killing people?”

“A lot.”

Spiderman hummed nonchalantly, no longer looking at Remus. “Well, I’m glad it’s worth it.”

“It is! I sleep like a baby in my king sized bed.” And yeah, that was a little bit of a lie. Barely.. He wasn’t living that luxuriously, New York was expensive as shit, but based on his tech he was way better off than Webs.

“That’s wonderful,” Spiderman said and damn, apparently the masked menace was capable of being a sarcastic bastard as well as a cocky asshole. “You done pretending now? Can I go?”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Yeah, ok.” Spiderman was back to sounding arrogant, and Remus couldn’t remember why they were talking instead of fighting to the death. “I know you sleep like shit.”

Remus actually laughed, humorless and cold, because what the fuck?

“Oh yeah?”

“Nobody kills for a living if their life is going great,” Spidey said. “What horrible trauma pushed you to that decision?”

Oh, this motherfucker. This piece of shit. He was so dead when Remus could catch him off guard.

“Nobody puts on a costume and fights crime when half the city wants him dead if his life is going great, either.” Remus smirked, moving to try to get Spidey to look at him again. “At least I get money for it. No student loan debt at 26 is pretty nice.”

He probably shouldn’t have given the vigilante that was quickly turning into his sworn enemy his age but eh. What was he gonna do, kill him? Remus didn’t stay dead.

“That’s great,” Spiderman said. “And all it cost was people’s lives.”

“Yep!” Remus hoped it came out cheery enough to piss him off a little more. “Think of it this way, Spidey. They’re gonna die anyway.”

Spiderman immediately straightened up and stalked to the other end of the rooftop, clearly wanting the conversation to end. Mission accomplished. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s true!” he called, just to drive home the fuck off a bit more. “Someone would have gotten to them eventually.”

“They’re still people, Deadpool.”

Remus shrugged. “Good people don't get hits put on them.”

“Maybe not,” the vigilante agreed. “But good people don’t murder in exchange for money, either.”

Remus barked another laugh at that, more genuine this time because... yeah? Duh. “No shit. I never fucking said I was a good person.”

“You’re lucky you haven't killed anyone innocent yet.” And goddammit there was that ‘hero’ shit again that made Remus want to throw up. He’d just been starting to have fun, too.

“It’s still not your business.”

“It will be,” Spidey said, perched on the ledge in a way that would make Remus dizzy if he cared. “Stick to killing criminals and we'll be fine.”

“Oh?” Remus followed, smirking in a way that would probably get him punched if he took off his mask. “Are you gonna come get me if I’m not good?”

“That’s my job.”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Remus teased. “I’ll wear something sexy for you.”

“Gross.”

“Love you too, Spider Babe!”

Spidey scoffed, responding with a gloved middle finger when Remus winked. Remus watched a web shoot from his wrist, and suddenly Spiderman was gone, swinging across New York rooftops, leaving Remus to try to figure out how he was getting down.

Remus honestly hadn’t expected to see him again. He was fucked in the head, but he didn’t have any plans to lose control and start killing everyone in sight. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a villain Spiderman needed to spend time tracking down. New York was busy enough for both of them already.

He did plan on chucking the nearest heavy object at him if he ever saw Spidey swinging past. That never ended up happening. Not that he cared. He didn’t miss him.

He expected to catch a glimpse of him eventually, maybe close enough to yell a few lighthearted threats or call him names, but nothing as entertaining as the argument on the roof.

What he hadn’t expected, was to run right into the masked menace while walking home in the middle of the night.

Remus had just finished a job, something standard and quick, and after wiping the blood from his blades he’d decided to take the long way home. The sun had set, the night air was crisp and relaxing, and it helped Remus forget about the blood stains he needed to wash away.

He’d been cutting through sidestreets, mentally mapping out how to get back to his place. He turned a corner into an alleyway, and—

And there was Spiderman, hunched over himself and leaned against the wall like he’d been using it for support, shaking, gasping, and completely drenched in deep red blood.

Remus froze, and Spidey did too as soon as he registered Deadpool standing just a few paces away, the two of them staring silently for what felt like an eternity.

“Dude,” Remus said when he found his voice. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Spiderman was clutching at his chest, black and purple suit barely able to hide the red stains, leaned heavily against the brick wall as he watched Remus warily. “Nothing.”

“Don’t be stupid. Whose blood is that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he snapped, and his voice was wavering. “Keep walking.”

Remus took a step forward, frowning at the way the vigilante went tense against the wall. He ignored it. “Whose blood is it?” It came out more of a command than a question this time.

“Mostly mine,” Spiderman said, and Remus could see it pooling around his gloves now that he was closer. “It’s fine.”

“Why’re you bleeding?”

“None of your business. Go home.”

Remus tried to get a better look from where he stood, well aware that approaching might not be the best idea right now. “Was it a gun or a knife?”

“It was none of your business and you need to go away.”

Remus watched him, incredulous, because the idiot was barely standing and losing way too much blood way too quickly, and he was pretty sure Spiderman didn’t have Remus’s whole immortality deal.

“You really want to bleed out on the street like some street thug?”

The vigilante hesitated, and Remus listened to the way his breathing was turning into awful sounding wheezes. “I’m...not going to bleed out. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah?” Remus challenged, probably a bit more aggressively than was needed for someone who looked like they were about to keel over. “Walk over to me then.”

He’d expected the lack of response, but even though the eyes built into the suit were practically lifeless (he really should get him some more advanced goggles. He’d be a lot more approachable if his eyes weren’t so blank) Remus could still see his whole body tense in fear.

“No,” he said, low and trembling. “Fuck off.”

“Spidey, this isn’t a joke.” Jesus, that was a lot of blood. “You’re gonna bleed out.”

“And you can throw a party—”

“Fucking come here.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he wasn’t going to just stand here bickering with the city’s hero until he dropped dead. But Spidey still shook his head, pressed even further against the wall now, and Remus sighed. “Fine.”

Remus took a few steps forward, initially planning on prying his arms away to get a better look at the wound, but Spiderman flinched back, trying to scramble away like Remus was coming at him with a weapon.

Well, Remus supposed that made sense. He had threatened to kill him a couple times last time they spoke.

“Chill it, Spidey.” Remus crouched a bit, suddenly painfully aware of how much taller he was, carefully holding his hands out. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shot back. Which...yeah, fair. “I know you want to.”

“Does it look like I have a knife in my hand?” Remus asked. “No. Chill out and let me see.”

Spidey didn’t pull away when Remus took his shoulders, but he did flinch as soon as Deadpool touched him, probably involuntarily. Remus ignored it, focusing instead on figuring out where the blood was coming from. It was almost impossible in the dark lighting, especially up against the black suit.

“It’s...not that bad,” Spiderman rasped. “Seriously.”

Remus wasn’t buying that for a second. “What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened,” Spidey said, arms still wrapped firmly around himself. “It...there were five of them and one of them got lucky with a knife.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Remus pulled back, trying to figure out what to do. “You are stupid. Where?”

He only hesitated a moment. “Uh, my chest. I heal fast.”

“Jesus. How fast?”

Spiderman shrugged, then obviously regretted it when it pulled at the stab wound. “Hopefully fast enough,” he said. “I’ll be fine tomorrow or I’ll be dead.”

“Jesus,” Remus said again, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? “Sit down. Jesus Christ.”

Spidey thankfully did as he said, though Remus suspected it had more to do with the fact that he couldn’t keep himself standing anymore rather than actually following instructions.

He wasn’t fighting anymore, almost limp as Remus took his wrists and moved them to his sides, but he did look like he was ready to bolt the second Deadpool made one wrong move.

Like he wouldn’t fall right on his face and hurt himself worse if he tried.

Remus could see the source of the blood now, a deep gash across his upper chest that had apparently sliced the black and purple suit like butter, still gushing crimson with each passing second.

Shit.

“Alright, uh.” This wasn’t his expertise in the slightest. Other than digging out some bullets, Remus didn't have to tend to his wounds. “I don’t think I have any fabric or...oh, your hoodie. Hand it over.”

Spiderman stared, and if he didn’t hurry up and get with the program Remus was going to knock him out and handle this himself. “Why?”

“Because you’re bleeding out. Give it.”

Spidey at least had the sense to listen and carefully peel the hoodie away from his suit, sliding it down his arms even as his gloved hands shook violently. Remus couldn’t help but wince at the noise Spiderman tried to choke back, because that had to hurt like a bitch.

“Maybe, like...lay down?” Remus suggested. “Yeah, do that. It’ll help.”

Spidey still hesitated, even as the blood continued to flow and he started to slide down against his will. “I...need to see what you’re doing.”

Remus sighed, bunching up the hoodie and pressing it firmly against the wound, ignoring the strangled gasp that came from the vigilante. Blood was quickly soaking through the cloth, and Remus just pressed harder.

“I’m just putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” Remus said. “If I wanted to kill you I’d leave you here. If it stops bleeding you’ll heal, right?”

The only answer he got was another wet, trembling gasp when Remus pushed harder, Spiderman’s blood soaking into his gloves. It took a second for him to realize he was grasping at Remus’s wrists, his hold weak.

“H-hopefully,” Spidey managed, and he really didn’t sound great. His eyes were drooping, and Remus figured the biggest danger right now was letting him fall asleep. “Or, you know. I’ll die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Remus said without thinking. “I’m gonna stop the bleeding, you’re gonna heal with whatever weird powers you have, and then you’ll be less of a careless idiot next time.”

A few moments passed without an answer, and for once Remus wasn’t entirely sure how to fill the silence. The only sound between them was Spiderman’s labored, ragged breathing, which at least sounded a bit less shaky and faint as Remus continued to press down.

“What are you doing?” Spidey asked eventually, catching Remus completely off guard with the stupid question. “Why are you...trying to help?”

Remus wasn’t trying to do anything. He was helping. The city’s beloved hero would have been dead five minutes ago if he hadn’t managed to interrupt Remus’s perfectly nice, peaceful walk.

He hadn’t even really thought about it. Remus was an asshole, a murderer for a living, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t the guy who was going to leave New York’s savior to bleed out in an alleyway.

Besides, he’d been the first person Remus had been able to have a somewhat entertaining conversation with in months.

“Somebody’s gotta save everyone,” he eventually settled on, still pressing hard against the wound. “And I refuse to be the city’s only mouthy vigilante.”

Another beat of silence, and for a moment Remus thought he might have fallen asleep. “I don’t...save anyone. And I’m not mouthy.”

“You do,” Remus argued. “And you are.”

“I don’t,” he snapped, and at least he didn’t seem inclined to argue about the mouthy thing. “You do your job better than I do.”

Remus took a moment to look over the bleeding hero. He was weak and trembling, and probably dangerously pale and clammy under that suit. The blood flow had definitely slowed, but it hadn't stopped. There was a good chance he wouldn’t remember a damn thing Remus said to him tonight.

And if he did, it’s not like he really gave a shit, anyway.

“I’m a mercenary,” Remus said. “Anyone can kill someone. It takes something a lot stronger to save them. So shut up and stop being self deprecating.”

Spiderman shuddered when Remus carefully peeled back the bloody hoodie, leaning in to get a better look at where they were at. Either he was just that good at fixing stab wounds, or Spidey’s healing powers were gradually starting to kick in.

Remus decided to go with the former. He deserved it.

“I got someone killed tonight,” Spidey said, quiet and unbearably sad. “She...she died because I wasn’t fast enough, and I didn’t—”

“You can’t save everyone.”

The vigilante pulled his hands away from Remus’s wrists, like he’d just realized he was holding them. “I should have tried harder.”

Remus sighed. “You tried hard enough. You did fine.”

That was apparently the end of the conversation, Spiderman falling back into silence as Remus went back to making sure he didn’t start bleeding all over the place again. He didn’t have anything on him to properly clean it up, he wasn’t sure he even owned a first-aid kit, but Spidey’s breathing was starting to even out, and after about ten minutes or so the blood stopped flowing completely.

“You, uh...you good?”

“I’ll be fine,” Spiderman said, and it didn’t sound like a desperate lie this time. He still looked like shit, but he was able to slowly sit up on his own. “Not dying this time. Just...still hurts.”

They were plunged back into silence, slightly less tense than before but no less uncomfortable. Remus eventually relinquished his hold on the hoodie when Spidey was able to carefully take it from him.

Right, he was fine now. Remus didn’t need to stay, it wasn’t his business anymore. It hadn’t been his business to begin with.

“I...owe you,” Spiderman said, almost like it was strange for him to admit. “So, thank y—”

“Don’t thank me, Spidey.” God, this had been a mistake, hadn’t it? “Seriously. Just buy me a pizza sometime and we’ll call it square.”

Spiderman stared for second, unsteady hands holding his own hood to his chest, but the small laugh that escaped at least sounded genuine, and no longer quite so pained.

“Ok,” he said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Remus hesitated before standing, not really sure if it would be more rude to leave or stay at this point. Spiderman probably didn’t want a mercenary for hire standing over him while he was wounded, whether Remus had saved his life or not.

Remus was still just as far from a hero as the villains Spiderman fought, and both of them had a reputation to keep.

“You sure you’re ok?” Remus asked. “I can like...stay. Or call you an ambulance or...something.”

“I’m good,” Spidey said, sitting up with a small hiss of pain until he was propped up against the wall, breathing still heavy. “You stopped the bleeding, I’ll live. You can go home, Deadpool.”

“Right.” He carefully stepped around the vigilante, still keeping a close eye on his chest to make sure the bleeding didn’t start again. “Just don’t die after all my hard work. My gloves are fucking soaked.”

Spiderman scoffed, but it was more good natured and light than it had been the last time they talked. “You got it.”

Remus kept walking down the alley, only turning around once more before turning the corner at the end. “And don’t forget my pizza, Spidey!”

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi! I love everything that you write and heh I am a fan! 😄 tbh this is my first time requesting something on Tumblr! If you don't mind and if I am not being a bother...can you write about how the guys would react If MC suddenly starts making meme references? I don't know how I got the idea but I am REALLY curious. And love you! :D

Hiya! Tyvm for the kind words, and apologies that this took a while! I hope you have the chance to enjoy it regardless ❤️❤️❤️ Love you too, sweet pea! I promise to get to the next request you’ve sent ASAP~

Aight but this would be hilarious because the range of the reactions is just ungodly. I will be putting this under a cut after Napoleon so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash, but all the suitors are included below otherwise! 

Comte is the one that recognizes a few, but didn’t really stay in modern times long enough to be as well-versed as a Gen Z kid might. Regardless he finds the wittiness and absolute chaotic fuckery to be delightful, and will 100% support the harmless nonsense. It never fails to get a laugh out of him

Mozart that first day be like: “Buzz off MC I hate you” MC, because she likes swinging bats at wasps’ nests: “Well that’s not very cash money of you” Mozart: ?????????? Comte, giggling in the bg like the secret fae he is This one’s just because I’m petty, but after the events of Comte rt I just imagine them encountering Vlad again and MC’s just “I lived bitch.” while Comte is flipping him off behind her lkjahgkjhdsg

Comte @ Leo when he finds the latter under his desk: Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.  MC: wheezing from the hallway as she’s about to give him his letters

MC: So how was your day, honey? Comte: Good, good--briefly had to go beastmode upon the punk that pilfered my lint roller MC, biting her lip to keep from laughing: So does Leo still have his kneecaps? Comte: for now.

Comte, @ literally anyone upsetting the MC: I won’t hesitate, bitch

Comte: Be careful with my emotional baggage, it’s designer

MC: What if I was evil and ran towards you at very fast speeds Comte: My arms are strong, I would catch and hug you

Leo and Dazai are the ones that don’t have a single reference point but are filled with so much dumbass chaos energy that they just. Understand immediately???? Nobody knows how or why, but they just catch on so fast--adapt the language in a matter of weeks. Never underestimate the power of combined boredom, depression, and humor

I swear to god I just see MC taking them their Blanc/Rouge and being like “here you go sir, one enslaved moisture” and they just go fucking hog wild from day one. MC starts impersonating Theo when he leaves the room around Dazai, like fake deep voice “you all only hate me because you do not like me and I am mean to you. grow up.” Or like the MC meets a baby on her travels with Leo around town and she holds them and says v seriously and sagely “So you are Baby? I have heard tales of your exploits.” and Leo about loses his shit right there. They both think MC is the funniest person alive--they’ve never been more eager to throw a ring at someone in their entire life.

Also a bonus for my beloved Dazai:  MC, facing even the slightest inconvenience (like dropping her fork) in the most dramtic voice possible: Life is not daijoubu. Dazai: wheezing

MC, after watching Theo turn down a woman at the bar in the meanest way possible: bro quit letting the darkness consume you u r scaring the hoes Dazai, literally rolling around on the ground, half-drunk and dying:

MC, walking alongside Dazai and stopping to stare at her reflection in the River Seine. Dazai’s expecting some sad or twisted shit, since people often feel comfortable talking about those things around him, but instead she just: “Oh, it’s you. The source of all my problems.” And he about falls into the river from shock HAHAHA

At this point don’t be surprised if his next book is about an absolute madlad woman similar to MC

Napoleon finds it to be a delightful quirk more than anything? He doesn’t really understand it, but he finds it funny when they change their voice for effect or speak in exaggerated tones. If it’s just comprehensible enough for an outsider to understand--or Sebas gives him context--chances are it’ll send him into a laughing fit

For this one I just imagine MC singing that Ratatouille meme song obnoxiously bad while cooking, and Napoleon and Comte are just so wildly amused by it bc it makes zero sense and it’s only vaguely French at this point

MC @ Napoleon while they’re cooking brunch: Can I offer you a nice egg in these trying times?

MC, conflicted because she’s tired and wanted to sleep in but also got to see Napo’s cute sleeping face for a few hours: For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5AM on the day I can sleep in. Sebas: Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise MC: early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch Napoleon: laughing in agreement

Isaac is the type to be bewildered and concerned at first (especially when he hears the more nihilistic ones hoOOOoooOO BOY) but eventually begins to understand it’s some bizarre attempt at humor (that hurts Zack baby). While some part of him laments that it reminds him of Dazai and he’s secretly jealous of how she and Dazai bond over it, he will sometimes join in the chaos when the mood strikes him and he’s feeling mischievous

Isaac: How are you feeling? MC: Oh, I’m not Isaac: seconds from dialing 911 Isaac: Are you okay? MC: Oh yeah dw I just suffer from that syndrome where your neutral expression makes you look like you’re an angry serial killer Isaac: say sike rn

Isaac, tutoring MC and correcting something:  MC, muttering while redoing it: The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math. Isaac: unable to help a laugh

One time MC was avoiding Isaac for fear of hurting his feelings and he just confronts her like: Isaac: back by unpopular demand, me! What’s wrong, MC pls MC was so hecking proud of him

Isaac, telling MC about a recent discovery he learned at uni from another professor: bones typically heal stronger after they’ve been broken--so long as they’re set properly, of course MC, looking him dead in the eyes: So what you’re saying is that I should break every bone in my body until I become superhumanly powerful? Isaac: please do not, no

Mozart and Jeanne are just. Totally lost. Why are you talking like that??? Why are you making “crab hands”???? They don’t understand. Maybe never will. They reach a point where they just kind of laugh and shake their heads, endeared by the oddity after they’re used to it and have determined it isn’t a threat/insult. 

MC: It’s a cold and it’s a brooooken, Waluigi. Waaaaluigiiiii...waaaahluigi..... Mozart: surprised, then starts snickering and playing along on the piano

Arthur, asking MC very personal questions out loud because he is an idiot sometimes: Soooo MC, are you a top or a bottom? MC: I’m a threat. (If he asks a second time, the response will be “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.”) Jeanne, fighting a smile:

MC, about to punch an asshole: Your free trial of being alive has ended Jeanne, seconds from laughing for the first time in 100 years:

Also, because I genuinely can’t help myself. You know that knight meme like “Parry this you fucking casual.” I cannot stress enough that it is literally the personification of Jeanne’s entire character. I’m not even joking.

Arthur and Shakespeare are utterly fascinated by the rapid evolution of wordplay and the sheer hilarity. They will ask all about these so-called “memes” and ask for examples of them if MC can show them (either somehow accessing her phone or drawing them). MC draws Arthur the knife cat meme and he about a s c e n d s at the hilarity of it all, points and yells THEO IS HOLDING THE KNIFE. He is correct. They will be delighted and follow along eagerly, and--god forbid--will make their own based on late 19th century struggles.

Is this where Shakespeare got the idea for “What, you egg? stabs him” and “You are a saucy boy.”? I’m too scared to ask. Don’t even get me started on “The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.” That one is just too on the nose...

I can’t even imagine what would happen to Shakespeare if MC like translated vines and memes into Ye Olde English around him. Imagine she’s at one of those noble balls and hears rumors of these two guys living together and they’re so obviously gay and he says “And those gents w’re roommates.” And in the most false surprised tone ever MC just replies “oh mine own god, those gents w’re roommates.” Imagine having a wife that’s just as hilarious as you are and hits you with all the force of a bag of wet mice every time you speak in retaliation, he’s going into palpitations.

Every time Arthur does smth stupid MC just: “I Pretend I Do Not See It.”

Vincent is tickled pink by MC’s penchant for finding joy and/or amusement in nearly everything they do, and he smiles gently when he sees them muttering and laughing to themselves. He wants to be able to join them in what they love, but he has a harder time following along and understanding the darker humor sometimes. Mostly gets confused??? Please give him the easier ones to mimic and laugh when he tries--or just include him in your jokes MC. He’s babie your honor...

But he also. Will not. Stand any kind of self-deprecation or borderline verbal self-harm. He’s usually very easygoing and calm, but for whatever reason that stuff makes him go deathly quiet and upset.

MC, after something goes horribly wrong, hugging Vincent: Oh Vince, we really in it now Vincent: giggling a little despite his worries, relaxing

MC: Theo stop simping for Vincent that’s my job

MC, when Theo leaves the room and she gets Vincent all to herself: The evil is defeated.

MC: And this is where I would put my will to live...if I h a d one! Vincent: ;-; MC: oh shit, oh fuck, I was only kidding Vincent wait (MC was subsequently lectured and loved on for many hours)

Theo is conflicted because on the one hand, he loves to see you smiling and having fun. On the other, you’re clowning as hard as Dazai and Arthur and he can only handle so many monkeys in his circus. Most of the time he will roll his eyes and be the straight man of this comedy, but you might find him cracking a smile--or accidentally letting a chuckle slip past his lips now and again.

MC, after meeting Theo: I’m a nice person, but I’m about to start throwing rocks at people.

Theo, those first days: Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? MC: I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.

Theo: Every time I ask MC to explain “vibe check” to me she hits me with some kind of improvised weapon

MC, after the “incident” (you know the one): This year, I lost my dear lover Theo Theo, in the distance: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD! MC: ;-; sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Sebastian is last because oh boy. OH BOYYYYY I LOVE HIM. Okay so the way I see this happening with Sebastian is just. So wild. Because at first he’s t r y i n g so hard to be the proper butler man. He does not meme. But then he starts to drift closer to what Niles from The Nanny was, where he’ll quip and joke in private or when the situation is just beyond the amount of absurdity he can handle without making a snarky comment. Everyone in the house can’t fathom how Sebas and MC got so close so fast, but there are points where they’re just “Are they even speaking English anymore???” It’s 11 times funnier than normal because Sebas almost never smiles or laughs when memeing, the deadpan quality of his playing along sends MC every time

Has ABSOLUTELY said “HEY. PANINI HEAD. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME???” jokingly when MC made a mistake in the kitchen. They laugh about it for y e a r s

MC: I can’t date someone who keeps a lamb as a pet, that’s so weird Sebas, brushing Lotte in front of MC: MC: MC: Okay, I will make an exception because she looks very polite

MC and Sebas, fully aware of the fame some of the men will reach in modern times: We will watch your career with great interest.  (I s2g that’s like half of Sebas’ rt right there I’m crying)

Sebas rt with Lotte be like that 500 dollar Mareep meme: “sometimes a family can be just a boy, his gf, and their 500 dollar two foot tall Lotte”

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

Word Count: 2309 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Two Years Ago

Shmi sits at a desk by the windowsill in Watto’s shop, composing fake documentation for a shipment to a more legitimate planet. She used to do this kind of thing all the time for Gardulla on Nal Hutta, and she's very good at it. Forging and faking are probably her best skills. She knows legal-speak and formatting; she has a knack for coming up with random numbers and convincing names. When she has a sample of handwriting or writing style from a real person, she can imitate it flawlessly, which she has done for business leaders, crime lords, and even Senators. When she doesn't have anything from anyone real, she invents someone. She has no honest idea what the closest Senator's name really is, but she's invented a self-serious personality and a squiggly autograph that has tricked docking-receivers as far away as Rodia.

Watto has little use of this power of hers for his day-to-day needs, but he sometimes comes up with plots to trick his neighbors using Shmi’s forgeries. And, sometimes, like now, he needs her tricks to get rid of stuff, like these ten tons of toxic waste he ended up with from a bad bet, and that he now wants to pass off as fertilizer and sell to a gullible offworld farmer who won't be able to trace it back to him.

Writing isn't bad work. It’s challenging, and, malicious as it is, she knows she could enjoy it, if she let herself: getting into people's heads, living other lives, for just a short while. It is like solving a puzzle, to figure out how to make other people believe something that isn’t true. The cruel intention of the trickery is not her own, it never is, so she doesn't let that aspect of her work bother her, not anymore.

The only bad part, from her point of view, is the knowledge that her words get to go somewhere that she does not.

And the only good part, really, is that she gets to look at her little boy as she writes. He sits on the desk, next to her cobbled-together, whirring word-processor. He is carefully cleaning a fragile hyper-carburetor with a rag, putrid green gear-soap, and a very serious expression.

Suddenly Crix Spartak pokes head through the window: “Skywalkers!”

“Crix!!” Anakin nearly drops the carb, but of course his reflexes are too fast. He spins around on the desk and grins at the gladiator.

Crix leans on the windowsill -- then lifts his arm quickly from the heated clay, and leans just one calloused elbow on the sill. “Good morning, Ani.” He reaches across and tussles his hair. The boy nearly glows with happiness.

Shmi raises her eyebrows at the man her son admires so much. “Good morning, Crix. Can we help you?”

“D’you wanna go for a spin on the old speeder?”

“YES,” answers Anakin.

“We have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have 6 free days out of 7,” answers Shmi.

“I don't have any work, Mom!”

“I can think of one or two things for you,” she tells him.

“Just a loop round the block, Shmi? You'll be back in a minute.” Crix rests his head on his hand and smiles at her, looking just like a puppy.

She looks at him with a very deliberate expression. “I can't.”

“Take me!” says Anakin, heedlessly.

“Ani! You need to stay with me while I work. I don't want you zooming around, testing the limit on your tracker-bomb.”

“I've calculated for that,” says Crix. “Your tracker-bombs are the same as mine. The loop I planned wouldn't go anywhere near the limit.”

“Please, Mom? I'll work twice as hard.”

“No need for that.”

“I'll bring him back in ten minutes.” Shmi does not look convinced. “Five minutes.”

“Please?” Anakin begs again.

“Ten minutes,” she concedes.

Anakin sets the half-cleaned carb down, crawls off the desk, moves the carb onto a shelf, and climbs back onto the desk and over the word-processor into Crix’s arms.

“I'll bring him right back to you,” says Crix.

“If you don't, I will kill you,” says Shmi.

“I'm more afraid of you than any gladiator alive!” he tells her, laughing.

“Good! You should be!”

“Is that YOUR speeder?!” Anakin interrupts them.

“Yup! -- Well. Not really. But I won it, anyway.”

“It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“Ani!” Her son looks at her. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!”

“Have fun.”

“I will!”

Crix grins at her, drops a big yellow flower on her desk, and points at it. She rolls her eyes and he blushes and carries Anakin to the speeder to drive him around. Shmi can't compose at all without her little muse at her side. She sits there, worrying, as they drive somewhere out of sight. A minute passes, and she picks up the flower. She doesn't recognize it. It must be an import. He must have won this, too.

They return in just eight minutes.

   *   *   *

One Year Ago

Anakin is not supposed to be in the audience of the death match. No one wants him here, not his master, not his mother, not even Crix himself.

But he just had to come. Everyone is talking about it. He’s never known anyone so talked-about, so famous. He feels so proud. Crix is like family. And everyone, all over town, is raving about him, how unstoppable he is, what a bloody, powerful killer he is. And now Crix’s master has rounded up a spectacular squad from faraway worlds, incredible people who are paying huge amounts for the chance to fight him, to fight Crix, to fight his mom’s cool boyfriend.

They say there’s monster-men, like Wookiees, and there’s even a Mando, whatever that means. Everyone is saying they’re crazy. Everyone is saying all his opponents are gonna die, shot by Crix’s bespoke mega-blaster or crushed in Crix’s bare fists. Anakin can picture it, but he can’t really believe it; he has only ever seen those hands used for good. It'll be Crix’s grandest fight yet, maybe even the grandest fight that's ever happened in the universe. No one can keep Anakin away from such a prospect!

He has an average amount of chores, but he sets his droids on them. His newest and, by far, most ambitious droid, C-3PO, isn't much for cleaning or repairing, yet, but he can speak, a little, and write, a little more. His mom bought Anakin a fairy-tale book and assigned him to copy out the letters to improve his handwriting. Anakin sets Threepio on the task instead, and hopes that his mom won't be able to tell.

He does feel guilty, but he's too excited to feel that guilty. He sneaks out without telling her. There was a sandstorm this morning; fortunately it has passed, but the leftover wind keeps kicking sand into the air.

The arena is in a different neighborhood than the slave houses. Anakin lifts up the tarp of a delivery truck and hides in there to hitch a ride. To his surprise, the truck is full of gross little creatures called gizka. They crowd around him and rub their big faces on his legs. He pulls one onto his lap and pets its soft horns and noses.

“I wonder why they're taking you to the arena? ... Oh, I bet the gladiators are gonna slaughter you.”

He finds it kind of funny, in a sad way, that these little animals are so cheerful; that their doom is close, and they have no idea. He pretends his hand is a sword and chops it on their heads, making them coo and squawk. He laughs.

Once he hears a crowd outside, he sneaks out of the truck and hides among the people. He is far from the only urchin running around, but he does not pick pockets. His mom forbids it, and they wouldn't be allowed to keep the money, anyway.

He follows the other children and soon finds the hole in the arena’s wall which they use to sneak in and out. He fits inside the thin crack without too much difficulty, and flits around the dirty, dark area behind the stadium seating. He finds a spot with a good view, between the legs of some pink-skinned person. He leans on the bench and rests his head on his arms, and watches the battles with wide eyes.

He almost doesn't recognize Crix, in a ridiculous helmet with a big feather, but the nasty red scar across his shirtless torso gives his identity away. He's touched that scar; it feels rough and scratchy.

Crix is more than just a killer; he is a performer. He yells and growls and taunts; he makes obscene gestures and even takes bites out of his opponents, both animals and people. Anakin feels shocked and uncomfortable to see him this way, but it does not lessen his affection for him. It only increases his amazement, that one person could contain two such different personalities.

Just as the pilots and farmers had predicted, Crix wins every battle with ease. His main strategy involves shooting to stun, weaken, and disarm his opponents, and then taking them down with glamorous, bloodthirsty wrestling moves. Anakin has never seen such gratuitous and extended violence before, though he has seen plenty of people die, from podrace explosions to mechanical accidents. Until today, the bloodiest thing he ever saw was someone's tracker-bomb explode their head, but some of these deaths far surpass that one. When he starts to feel dizzy, he looks away and takes deep breaths, but he is too invested to look away for long.

Something about all this murder makes him feel cold. But it isn't a real cold. And it isn't nearly as bothersome as this heat or this wind. He rests his sweaty forehead on his arms and swallows his own spit, but it is a weak comfort. The bench shakes under his arms as the audience bangs their feet on it. Anakin marvels at their energy. He wishes he was having as much fun as they are. He really is trying to enjoy himself, and he sort of is. The thrill of it all is similar to podracing, and the triumphs are satisfying. He supposes he will grow into liking it.

After forty minutes of this action, the host announces the next opponent -- the Mando, Chahlee Tiango. Anakin watches the helmeted warrior posture and pose as the audience frantically cheers and boos.

The little boy is starting to feel bored. This would be much more exciting if they were flying around on fast ships, not shooting and punching each other. The only real difference anymore is the color of the blood. But Chahlee looks like a human, meaning he'll just bleed red, which isn't anything new.

Anakin looks at Crix, whose helmet cracked in half in the last battle. Now that his face is visible, Anakin can enjoy his confident smile. He wishes his mom were here to see her boyfriend winning so much. He supposes she would hate it.

As Anakin's thoughts wander, the audience jumps to its feet and screams uproariously. Anakin fastens his eyes back on the battle.

Crix was shot right in the chest. He crumples. A wave of sand lifts from the ground and nearly covers him, like a blanket, hiding him, as if he were never there. Tiango takes a gleeful lap around the arena.

The audience is screaming far too loudly to hear anything from the announcer. The bench is shaking too much to remain a suitable armrest. Anakin stands up straight and stares ahead.

The pink legs that had framed Anakin's view now jump and move around with everyone else, obscuring the arena with cloaks and pants and boots. The other children in this hideaway start moving around, their own views also disrupted, trying to find better spots. Some of them move in front of Anakin. He lets them. He backs off further into the shade.

“Crix…” His initial shock starts to wear away, and he feels tears cross his parched face. “You were supposed to win! They all said you would!”

He had to lose eventually. No one can win every time. Mom told me he would lose, sooner or later. Everyone dies. It's okay.

It really doesn't feel okay. But this feels like podracing, too. Failing. Losing the game. He has been close to death himself a few times, especially when Sebulba is in the match.

He wipes his eyes and holds his fingers in his ears, which are popping from the terrifying decibel level of this audience. He squints his eyes and waits for the volume to settle and the people to sit back down.

What am I waiting for, though? They'll just continue with Tiango as the new champion. I don't want to watch that.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to get another good view, but one of the other children accidentally brushes up against him, and the feeling of being touched makes him deeply angry. He doesn’t trust these other kids. He doesn’t like them. They can’t understand. That wasn’t their friend who just died. It’s too loud here. And it isn’t going to get quiet. Not for a long time.

He worms out the crack in the arena wall and sees a truck that looks similar to the one he used to get here. He hides under the tarp again -- it is now empty inside. The truck jostles along, though it doesn't take exactly the same route back. It takes Anakin a little closer to home, but then it makes a turn he did not expect. He wonders if the truck will eventually come back around to the slave houses. He has no way of knowing. He fears it will wander out of range of his tracker-bomb. He jumps off the cart and walks the rest of the way home.

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

[srose-foxfire]

“First Impressions” Part 2 ~Damirae Short Fic~

Part 1    

A/N: Hello! I apologize for the long wait for part two of this short fic. I can’t tell you how much I had to rewrite this piece before being happy with it. I wanna give you all my best work! Also this fic will follow a timeline so the next update will be around Thanksgiving week. Won’t keep you any longer and so enjoy!

P.S: Next week I will be releasing another Damirae fic where a certain character will be portrayed as a singer. 👀

Part: 2 ⬇️

His damn stomach wouldn’t stop growling all morning, but Damian manage to last a little after lunchtime. He calculated and planned all possible scenarios that could or wouldn’t happen once he went to the kitchen. Damian rather starve than have to face his sister’s friend, Raven for causing her such a fright. Needless to say, he was also avoiding his family, seeing how both Cass and Jason reacted last night proved he wouldn’t hear the end of it from last night’s incident.

Still in bed, Damian rolled grumbling and running his hands over his face. He couldn’t believe it in himself that he would cause such fear to someone. True, he didn’t mind his siblings fearing him but Raven… gosh Raven was different. He found her cross-legged in the library, doing a very late-night reading. It very much intrigued him to find someone who would enjoy literature as much as him. Damian turned onto his back and close his eyes; picturing how she looked -minus the frighten face – in her overly large purple hoodie. Her skin almost pearl-like, smooth like an opal stone, and her eyes. They were a pair amethyst that seemed to hold vast galaxies within them. Damian had to wonder if Raven was the type to dream and look at the world in a different perspective. He wanted to know more of her, but that felt like a task he wouldn’t be able to accomplish after his actions last night.

Why his siblings or even Alfred hadn’t mentioned to him there was a guest staying at the manor was beyond him. His train of thought was interrupted by when his stomach growled very loudly removing all silence in his room. The young Wayne let out a heavy sigh got dressed in a pair of black sweats and a black tank top. Damian decided to relieve his frustrations out on a punching bag in the manor’s gym. Hopefully he wouldn’t find none of his brothers in there later.

Damian arrived into the kitchen adorned with marble wooden cabinets. The counters were all covered by gold tone mosaics. First thing he went straight towards was the pitcher of black coffee, Damian wasn’t a fan but right now he needed caffeine in his system to get him through the day. He took a sip when-

“Would you like me to pass you the cream?”

Damian choked on his coffee, making him slip some back into his mug, the rest falling on the counter and floor. He set his mug down, then turn to find Raven standing behind the kitchen island, with toasted bagel in one hand and a butter knife smeared with what appeared to be cream cheese.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Raven said as she ran around the counter with two kitchen rags to help clean his mess.

Using the back of his hand Damian wiped his mouth and used the rag Raven handed him to wipe the counter and floor of his little spill. “I think I deserved that, I did scare you last night and I will like to apologize again for my unruliness.”

“I told you it’s okay.” Raven said as she bended down and help him clean up. “You didn’t know who I was or that there was a guest in your home. I would had done the same if I thought a stranger was inside my home.” Their fingertips just barely touched, making them both look into each other’s eyes for a brief moment. Raven looked away and stood up, with Damian following after her. In that brief moment, Damian could have sworn his heart had left him, leaving him utterly defenseless before her. They just stood there, no one doing nothing, not a sound escaped either of them. All that could be heard in the room was their breathing.  

Taking a moment to take in her appearance, Raven was wearing black long sleeve, tucked into a dark purpled plaid skirt that just rested above her knees. She was wearing some black ankle boots with a silver chain wrapped around the ankle. His gaze was brought back up to her face when he heard Raven clear her voice. He could feel his damn face flushed, as Raven’s own gazed kept fidgeting to the sides to the awkward silence that had befallen between them. Damian cleared his throat, “what are you doing?”

“Toasting bagels for your sisters and I.” They hadn’t had lunch?Unaware of his internal question, Raven turned around and headed back to her little station. Picking up the butter knife and spreading the remainder of cream cheese on it blade onto a now-very-cold bagel, Raven looked up to him. “You want one? I know you missed breakfast.”

“Sure,” Damian answered as he picked up his cup of coffee and went over to the kitchen island. He stood there taking another sip and just looked at her being in her own little trance. As she grabbed a bagel from the bag, split it in half and popped it into the toaster behind her. Raven walked around the kitchen grabbing a small flat plate for him to use. Damian couldn’t help but smiled and chuckled silently as he continues watching her. “I am surprised you are allowed to use the kitchen. Pennyworth doesn’t allow any of us to be in here. One of the main reasons being; one of my brothers actually burned the kitchen down once.”

“Seriously?” Raven lifted a brow towards him as the toaster jingle it’s tune and popping the bagel out. Raven grabbed them and place them on the plate she had brought, spreading on thin layer of cream cheese on either bagel. “Actually, I helped Alfred with dinner the first time I was brought to the manor. Afterwards he gave me permission to use the kitchen whenever I wanted to since I like cooking with my mom.” She lightly slid the plate over to him.

Damian grabbed the warm bagel in his hand and took a big bite. His stomach doing weird turns for finally having some food in his system. “Mm… this is really good.”

“It’s nothing too fancy just a toasted bagel with cream cheese.” Raven said politely shrugging at him. Damian took another bite make some cheese spill from the corner of his mouth.

“You got some-” Raven pointed to her own mouth, but instead of finishing her statement went ahead and grabbed a napkin from the counter; lightly patting his mouth from the cheese. Damian had gone still as a statue. They were so close, just a few inches apart. He looked down at her as she focused on cleaning him. Her actions were timid, but they held a sense like she wanted to explore the boy before her, and Damian would allow her to do such that. He so badly wanted to feel her touch against his skin, in that moment a thought crossed his mind to remove the napkin from her hand and just let her press her warm delicate hand on his face.

“Rae-rae what’s taking you so long?”

Both Raven and Damian jerked away from each other at the sound of Cassandra’s voice interrupting the silence that befallen once more in the kitchen. Raven quickly turned around and headed back to where she had a bagel waiting to be spread. Damian shot a glared at his older sister, who was sporting almost an exact copy of Raven’s outfit except hers were a combination of blacks and gold hues. She came to Raven’s side and hugged her from behind, resting her head on Raven’s shoulder as she continues to finish making their meals.

Damian cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, “you know she isn’t your butler you could each have made your own bagel?”

Cass only raised a brow at him, giving him a stern look; “so could have you.” Well she got him there. “Besides I’m still very upset with you for what you did to Raven last night.”

This time Raven sighed, as she placed the third finished bagel onto a large flat plate and turning to face his sister. “Cass, Damian already apologized, and I forgave him.”

“Well you might, but I doubt your boyfriend will forgive my rude brother.”

“Boyfriend?!” Damian didn’t mean to choke again, this time with the bite he taken on his bagel. He also didn’t mean to shout abruptly the first thing that crossed his mind. Raven was already seeing someone.He felt he was gonna be sick as his stomach did weird turns.

Both Raven and Cass eyed him curiously, his sister crossed her arms and leaned her body to one side, “what did you expect? A nice girl like Rae, has to have a boyfriend already. His name is Jasper Sky.” Cass started walking towards Damian, she stopped just in front of him and poke at his chest before continuing. “If I were you, I watched my back. Jasper was part of a juniors wrestling team, and from what Raven told us he is the perfect boyfriend. He such a gentle man, loves the same hobbies as Rae, and is very protective of her. So, you’re screwed once he finds out about last night’s incident.”

With that Cass turned around and pulled Raven along with her with the plate of bagels. Raven shot him a quick apologetic glance before turning towards the doors that lead to the stairwell towards the bedrooms. Once the door closed behind them, Damian just stood there with the half-eaten bagel still in his hand. His body wouldn’t function as his brain was still wrapping around the information he was just provided.

Raven was taken. Raven was already taken. Images of her wrapping her arms warmly around someone else, Raven leaning against this other person, and stealing a kiss from one another. So many thoughts were running across his mind, it felt the world was spinning to fast around him and he no longer had his center to balance everything out. But why was he acting like this Jasper Sky guy had stolen something from him? He wasn’t Raven’s friend -though he wished he was- nor her boyfriend so why the hay was he acting so jealous at the thought she was spending time with Jasper? Who is even named Jasper Sky?The name sounded utterly foolish to say the least, but foolish or not this guy had captured Raven’s heart and that pain him greatly.

Losing his appetite with the severe twists his stomach was doing inside of him, Damian tossed the bagel away and dropped the rest of his coffer down the sink’s drain. He groined in annoyance and ran his hand down his face as he headed towards the manor’s gym, where he would let out all his frustrations against a helpless punch bag.

Why did the universe decide to torture him like this, he had to wonder.

[silentmajesticfox]

Falling In Love With Chrollo Lucilfer

(Rose is someone from Chrollo's past, specifically Meteor City. In this story, Rose and Chrollo, along with the troupe, rekindle their relationship. Well, try to. Rose is in an arranged marriage to protect and support her little sister. This story is set a little bit before the York New Ark, and during the beginning of it. and will go throughout the ark as well.

the picture on here I found is from PINTEREST AND IS NOT MINE. whoever drew it is spectacular and amazing. I'm obsessed..

**TW !**(Trigger Warning!) please do not read if you do not agree or are triggered by - domestic abuse (this will be from the arranged marriage) - depression/suicidal thoughts -substance abuse. Now I will not go into full detail especially for the domestic abuse, it's just to go into the story for beginning chapters. possibly flashbacks . So please, again, don't read if this will trigger you. Also, this will probably be pretty violent through some chapters. thank you for reading and your time.)

Moral Of The Story

Rose never thought she'd be in this situation, unhappy and rather disappointed with her life decisions. She was sure at first, that she had calculated this and this plan was fool proof, however, she was very wrong. She might have been in love, or what she thought was love - however it had escalated to a burning hatred and a bitter after taste. A blind love turned cold due to her own inability to see this would be the result.

Sitting there applying too much make-up to cover up her black eye and a few other bruises, she would not let her get that down. She had to stay strong for her sister, Daisy. Daisy is the reason Rose is still thriving and okay through all of this. Everything she does is for her little sister. She would die for her. Literally and emotionally/mentally. She finished applying the foundation, to move on and do her eyeshadow, eyeliner, and a very thick coat of mascara, her eyes shining a ice blue.  She was wearing a simple, tight fit dress, in the color of burgundy. Her long, curly, dark burgundy hair matched the attire. With black heels. Looking at all of the jewelry her 'husband' had gotten her, maybe to buy her love back or his way of saying "sorry, not sorry." Rose huffed staring at them, not wanting this anymore, on the verge of a mental breakdown, memories for each gift being a constant reminder of why it was gifted.

Daisy soon walked in, her blonde hair and matching blue eyes light up, running to Rose, hugging her tightly from behind. Rose being able to handle pain well, just smiled and whipped her head around.

"You look beautiful Daisy." She stated, lookking at her little sisters beautiful pink ball gown dress. Only at the age of 13, it is an intense nostalgic reminder for Rose to see how big her baby sister was getting, saying she was the one whole raised her.

"Thank you!! You look beautiful too, sissy!" Daisy said, she was always so happy, and maybe some of that happiness is what Rose needed in the moment. "Are you ready to go to the ball, tomorrow's your birthday you know!"

"Yes, and let's head down there now. Only you and me will celebrate." Rose said, getting up from her vanity. "I will meet you downstairs, okay?"

"Okay, you better not take forever or I'll be mad at you." Her sister said, glaring at her sister, a laugh fallowing after before running out like a full speed train. Rose wished she could be young, hoping her sister would forget her birthday, yet she felt her mood lighten up knowing someone remembered.

Rose opened her drawer, opening a certain empty face powder jar. Grabbing The hidden key, she opened her one drawer with her bourbon. She had a bad habit formed, to think- or to forget all the bad things. She pulled out the bottle, opening it, and drinking it as if it were water. After a few more chugs, she put away and always made sure to lock it and hide her key. Walking out of the room, and closing the door. She then went downstairs into the lobby, then outside to a cold York New night.

Walking up to the limousine- she opened the door to sit by her sister, her husband sitting across from them.

"Why aren't you dressed up more? And no Jewelry?" Fred asked. (Guessing a name) Rose looked up at him, trying to think of a nice way to keep conversation. It was always those type of questions or degrading comments, not a compliment or 'how was your day?'.

"Mm... Not really feeling like wearing jewelry.. and as a matter of fact I can wear what I want." She stated back seriously. If there was a way to press his buttons, this was one of them. However, as she stared coldly back at his glare, she wasn't scared. She already knew whatever she said would bite her back in the ass.

It was late last night, Daisy had went to sleep and Rose was putting on her blue night gown. Fred walked in, boozed up and he had a violent glint in his eyes. One that unsettles her the second he walked in the room. "Rose, why wouldn't you spend any time with me and my friends tonight?.." he asked. She might have been a little drunk herself, but she knew she would have to stand her ground. Rose snorted almost, shaking her head before replying. "Because I have no need to hang out with people like you, I already told you I was done with everything that has to do with you, when your friends try so hard to be my friends.. I know they are fraud of their true intentions.." she started, so calmly that it got under Fred's skin. He walked up to her, grabbing her wrist and trying to pull her closer to him.  "No that's not it, Tell me the truth." Fred said raising his voice. She could smell the alcohol coming from his break. She wouldn't flinch, but retaliate by attempting to shove him. "This.. This right here is why! Fred! I told you I was done, give me back my Nen! I don't love you anymore, why don't you ask yourself and the other girls you were hooking up with nights before! That's why I hat-" and before she could exclaim her feelings, she got struck in the face. An echo through the halls, and it to be honest it had gone from slaps to a full fisted punch. "Maybe it's because you're terrible, you only want me for my money, and those women are more than you'll ever be, Rose! Beautiful, unlike you." He screamed, at this point she was trying to hit him back as he was man handling her. This continued for about 30 minutes, and in the end, he had won. She was exhausted and bruised, he soon left the room, to do whatever. Rose knew he had other women, but being told by someone who once loved her and she loved a great deal, she started to fall down the wall, sobbing and releasing all of the pent up pain and feelings from the past months. Hoping one day, she would retrieve her Nen from him.. in the morning he had came to apologise and give her a diamond necklace.

Rose was spacing off, thinking of what had occurred. He can't say she didn't try, and her feelings and anger was running wild. If she had her Nen, this would be a different story. However, when they got married, she let him take her crystal ball. In which all her Nen was in. It was placed in a vault in his penthouse suite. She had tried many times to retrieve it, but only would get knocked out and brought to her room. One of the reasons she sleeps in her sisters room now. Daisy tugged on Roses dress, to bring her out of her thought. She looked over at her sister, a fake smile creeping on her lips and she hugged her. Fred had also been in thought, but let the conversation drop. He had plans for her later, however.

When they arrived, it was a big, fancy building. Alike many others in York New. Daisy was the first to get out, grabbing Roses hand and almost running to the doors, leaving Fred in the dust. "Slow down, Daisy, I can't run ask fast as you." Rose told her sister, however it was a lie. She could run faster. But with her bruises and aching body, Daisy has the advantage. Rose had always hidden these things from her. However, Daisy was smarter than what she led on at times. Almost witty enough to match her big sister sometimes. She already knew what had been happening. She slowed down for a sister, before giving her and her big sisters ticket to the security man at the front door.

"Okay your clear, come in." He stated in monotone before Fred had walked up behind them to do the same. Also being granted entry, all three of them walked in. It was quite a sight, beautiful one would say. Even though her sister was dragging her to the dance floor, Rose again had thought about what Fred said. "Beautiful, unlike you." Rang in her mind. Clouding it. Seems like she did not drink enough. By the time she returned to present time, she started dancing with her sister, in which laughs and giggles were heard from them. Fred walked up to his friends and the girls in which he had replaced Rose for. She looked over a little bit, quickly looking away as he had kissed them.

"Daisy, I'm going to get a drink, would you like to keep dancing, or come with me?" Rose asked. Daisy shook her head no and flowed away twirling. Rose smiled, at how pure and genuine her little sister can be at times, even when things were rough in Meteor City. A thought that hadn't crossed her mind in a long time. Meteor City. She missed it at times, however, there were people she missed more, wondering how they were doing..

Rose walked up to the bar, sat down, and waiting for the bartender to get done talking to a man and giving him a glass of red wine. She looked over, a realization hit when she looked at the man sitting over a few stools from her. He looked all to familiar, his black hair had grown since she last saw him, a nicely fitted tuxedo and a bandage around his forehead. Those green earrings matched his demeanor. He felt someone staring at him, he looked over to stare at her. She was sure, now, with those beautiful grey eyes starting into her soul.

"Chrollo, it's been quite a while, you aged well.." She said, getting up and sitting next to him. Chrollo was observing her for a minute before saying anything, taking in her image, also being able to see through the make up. He took a sip of his wine, and shifted over giving her a smile.

"Ah, Rose. Time has been very kind to you as well." Chrollo said in a low yet polite voice, she felt chills go up and down her spine. The bartender looked at her waiting for her to say what she wanted.

"I'll take a bourbon, please." Rose slightly acknowledged the bartender as he shook his head and went to get her drink.

Chrollo was thinking to himself, how beautiful she already was when he last saw her, but now she was even more, a treasure. "So, you're a bourbon girl now?" He asked, eyeing her, taking another sip. Chrollo had already assumed what she was going through, remembering how she use to cope with things in Meteor City. He glanced at her hand seeing a wedding ring on her ring finger. He glanced back up to her face, those ocean eyes he remembered so well.

"Oh... Uh.. yeah I suppose I am. So how long has it been, a whole eight years? What have you been up to since the last time we spoke." Rose replied, giving him a smile before drinking all of her drink in one go, pushing it at the bartender nodding her head to signal she wanted more. "Sir, could you please give me the bottle, I'll pay in full, you know who's tab to put it on." She told him, as she was a regular here. She glanced over at Fred, her heart shattering a little bit more, as he danced with the one women of his she disliked the most in the most provocative way, as though there was really nothing left to shatter in her heart. Returning her look at Chrollo, his eyes were fixated on Fred now, and she saw the eyes in which she loved, truly turn dark and mischievous. As if Fred could feel the darkness staring at him, his eyes went to Chrollo's, then his wife. A rise of jealousy and anger rose, but he looked away and would address this later on, also since he was entertained very much so with the woman before him.

"So... I'm guessing that's your husband, Rose?" Chrollo asked, looking back at her. "He's a fool." Chrollo stated right after, almost done with his wine and the bartender pouring more. Rose looked at Chrollo, knowing he is one of the smartest people on earth In her eyes, realizing he had everything figured out within a few minutes. She never knew why, but she was always rather emotional when it came to talking about problems with Chrollo. Maybe it was a deep connection, or just the way he made her feel. A tear rolled down as she looked away for a moment, wiping it away. Checking in on her sister when she did so, she was having a blast dancing with a boy her age.

"Yeah, uh... I guess you could say things weren't supposed to end like this... Enough about me. I've missed you, you know I did ask you a question Chrollo." Rose replied, her voice quivering a bit but was worse as she tried to cover it up. But Chrollo was just watching her, he could tell she was quite nervous and broken, drinking her third heavily filled cup. He hadn't seen her quite like this. If Chrollo could feel anything close to caring, it would be for her. And of course his troupe. And to him, it only felt like maybe a year or two since he saw her. So much had happened since then.

"Mm... You are changing the subject. However, I won't mind answering if you tell me the answers to my questions." Chrollo slithering his words, just staring at her. She knew that was his thing. She simply nodded staring back at him, before downing another drink. "Perfect. Well, I've been with you know who, we've been quite busy. And as for the time apart, I never actually realized it had been that long.." he stated truthfully. But soon stated something that would shock her. "I do, however, know your birthday is tomorrow, isn't it? Did you ever get the letters I sent you?" Maybe this is why Chrollo always had a place in her heart. She did receive them all, but was only ever able to send him one for his birthday. Except, she was unable to this year due to her and Fred's issues, she couldn't leave the mansion for a week almost, she was beaten every time, however Fred caught notice of her and Chrollo's letters, becoming more and more furious each year. She cried for quite a while that she could not write her friend a happy birthday letter.

"You are correct, as always. I'm surprised you remember. You always did have a sharp mind." Rose said in a tipsy voice, a smile tugging on her plump lips. "Don't think I've forgotten yours either.. I'm sorry I couldn't write back a couple weeks ago, but.. happy belated birthday Chrollo." She said, opening up the slightest, giving him a hug with one arm and setting down her dead on his shoulder. Chrollo knew he could get information he didn't need, but wanted to know... And as for Rose, tipsy and all, usually she knew Chrollo came with a motive, and If he didn't, he would soon find one. She could tell something peaked his interest. But was unclear on what.

"Well, I'm assuming he wouldn't let you write me back, it's not your fault. I knew you would have, you do every year.. thank you." Chrollo smiled, as she recoiled back to her original position In her seat. "So, Rose, be a dear, and please tell me what's been going on?.."

--

A/N thank you so much for reading. Hopefully it's not to terrible, but I am going to keep writing since Chrollo is daddy and I love him. Lol. Hope you liked it and like I said in the description, please be advised there is substance abuse and domestic abuse. Don't worry, I have something planned and Fred will get was he deserves. Thank you so much for reading! Also I took this from my wattpad, so honestly the typos will be fixed. Eventually!

[soliverse]

say you love me - l.ty (part 5)

1 ⭒ 2 ⭒ 3 ⭒ 4 ⭒ 5 ⭒ finale pt 1

pairing: rockstar!taeyong x journalist!reader

genre: a smidge of angst, fluff, and humor, slow burn

warnings: a bit of cussing, possible mental illness, minor injury, and stalking (flashback to what happened in part 4)

word count: 3330

ps: It’s finally back! The story took a bit of a back seat because an ask made me realize that I have been neglectful in making sure that my stories don’t give everyone the wrong impression. If you (or someone you know) is ever feeling the same things or going through the same stuff as the main character, please do not ignore them and seek for professional help. I have removed the said part in question and I apologize if I gave out the wrong impression about mental health and treatment.

I promise to do better in the future.

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this one!

networks: @nctcreations​ @kdiarynet @kpopscape​

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You leaned on the couch and took gulps of icy water, letting out a refreshed sigh. After placing the glass back to the table, you tossed your head back and closed your eyes to calm yourself down. It was the first time that you’re able to breathe normally for the whole day.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a bruise.” He tried to reassure you by smiling like he usually does but he flinched upon moving his right arm. Your tripod had hit him on his right shoulder and it unfortunately left a baseball sized mark on that spot. You slapped yourself with both hands and rubbed it on your face at your frustration.

“I didn’t know that you’re coming home tonight.” Strength has left your body already as you let your guard down. Even speaking up takes a portion of your energy.

“You would if you’d read my message earlier.” He takes a sip with his uninjured arms and made the “ahh” sound before setting his glass right next to yours.

The guilt had made you quiet. The only thing that you did was grab the pillow beside you and bury your face in it.

Your thoughts have started to bother you again. Yuta. Work. Your mental health. Taeyong…

Taeyong felt that something else going on more than what you’re letting. He had always come home late but this was the first time that he had seen you freak out.

“You alright?”

Underneath the pillow, you shook your head as an answer.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No…”

You do want to talk about it, but something is making you hesitate. This man right beside you probably have never seen you this low before. Opening up to people is hard enough, even more so when it’s about your deepest secret.

Taeyong remained quiet and just sat there, unable to do anything. He can feel how hard it is for you to open up to people. Talking about it might trigger something again. However, it bothered him to see you so distressed and yet he can’t do something about it.

“Would you like me to… hold your hand?”

He mustered up the courage to ask you that question. Usually, he’d opt for a hug since it was more comforting. But at your delicate state, it was but that’s all he can do. He mirrored your position and tossed his back, lying on the body of the sofa. He stared at the ceiling nervously as he awaits your reaction.

“Yes…”

You voice sounded breathy; your heartbeat started increasing its speed again. Somehow, the idea of hand-holding sounded a bit too good in your head. Knowingg about Taeyong though, he’s doing it with good intentions

You felt his soft hands interlocking with yours. It was slow and calculating, careful of how you would react to his touch. His slim and veiny hand is successful in making you feel more comfortable.

It stayed like that for a while until you have finally convinced yourself to speak up. You placed the pillow on your lap and hugged it with your other arm.

“It’s him again…”

He remained quiet, listening intently and letting you speak at your own pace.

“I thought I have already gotten over this. I thought I can completely forget about everything and move on with my life.”

You felt yourself tearing up. Breathing hard, you tried to collect yourself before speaking up again. I did forget about him though; I did get some of my life back after the past few years. But what bothered me was it only takes one mention of his name and every confidence that I’ve built up for the last couple of years went straight out of the window…”

You went quiet and tried to smile at Taeyong as you hold back your tears. It felt good to have let everything out to someone. It felt like bricks were lifted off your chest at that instant.

“Y/N, I… I’m sorry.” You felt his sincerity pouring out of his words.

“I didn’t know what you have gone through, nor I do I know how to help you out.”

He turned to your side and gave you the most healing smile that you’ve ever seen.

“But you should know that you’re already doing so well. Facing traumatic paths and recovering from them are never-ending processes. That’s just how life goes, Y/N…”

You felt his grip on your hand getting tighter, rubbing itself on your palm as it adjusts.

“We just have to keep trying, Y/N. And never ever be ashamed that you need help from others. There are a lot people that are with you to support you. Get the proper help that you need without thinking much into it, hmm?”

He said as he was patting your head, trying to comfort you at the best of his abilities. You smiled as you stretched your arms out for a hug in. Something that he obligingly did.

You have started to realize that you have never let anyone seen you like this before. Opening up to people made you feel weak and vulnerable. You hated how people will look at you pityingly after sharing, making you feel like a lost cause even more.

And then there’s Taeyong.

Guilt started creeping in. He’s right, there are a lot of people that are just waiting for you to open up so they can help you. It’s not fair that your roommate is slowly becoming your hurt locker.

What you actually need right now is therapy, not him.

///

Another day comes and a knock can be heard in Johnny’s apartment that afternoon. He wasn’t expecting anyone and so he immediately assumes that it’s one of his bandmates. Specifically, the hopeless romantic, Lee Taeyong.

“Dude, I know it’s you. Just come in.”

Taeyong opened the door and as usual, he found Johnny sitting comfortably at his couch while watching some movie at Netflix. He would always hang around Johnny’s place whenever he wants to give you some time alone. It had been happening for quite some time now that Johnny had just gotten used to him being around all the time.

Taeyong placed his backpack down carefully and then sat down besides Johnny, careful not to touch his injury.

“So, something happened again huh?”

Johnny punched Taeyong jokingly in the shoulder, making him screech in pain.

“Watch the damn shoulders!” Taeyong’s hand rubbed the bruised shoulder and tried not to tear up in front of the elder.

Johnny, being the considerate friend that he is, laughed at Taeyong’s reaction.

“Dude, what happened to you?”

He said with zero hints of being concerned at all. It seems like he’s enjoying seeing his friend in that state.”

“A lot.”

“Oh, I could do this all day…”

Johnny sang one of their songs as a joke, but he retracted upon seeing Taeyong a little pissed off.

“Long story short, Y/N thought I was her stalker and tried to beating me to a pulp before I can stop her.” Taeyong said as he stretches out his arms, trying the shake the pain off of it. He also stopped the movie that Johnny was playing and grabbed his backpack. He took out his PS5 console and started setting it up at Johnny’s living room.

“Sounds like a rough night. Anything else happened?”

“Uhh. We held hands?”

Johnny snorted at younger’s answer.

“What are you? Twelve?”

He got off the sofa and sat right next to Taeyong, grabbing another console so that the two of them can play together.

“I don’t know, man. She’s in a pretty bad state last night. I don’t know how else I could help her. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about…”

Taeyong placed the console down. His expression turned grim and his voice sounded a lot more serious.

“I think someone is at the house last night.”

///

“Here’s your stop. I’m sorry I couldn’t drop you off by Y/N’s apartment. The street was small and it would be difficult to turn the van around.”

 “It’s totally fine. Walking won’t hurt me.”

 Taeyong grabbed his duffel bag and his guitar from the backseat and steps outside the vehicle. He waved at them goodbye before the van went back to the road. He adjusted the straps of his guitar case and duffel bag so he can carry them both comfortably as he begins to walk towards your place.

 It was eerily quiet at that time and something just didn’t feel right. He tried to shake the feeling off and increasing his walking pace. It didn’t take long before he can see the building from a distance.

 He didn’t know if he was just imagining things but he could’ve sworn that he saw a dark figure lurking in the darkness surrounding your apartment. He muttered a series of curses made a run for it.

 Taeyong sprinted as fast as he can, but his stuff had definitely slowed him down. Now he had gotten closer, he’s unsure whether he actually saw someone. His vision wasn’t that bad, but he was sure that there’s a figure moving towards the house.

 He looked everywhere, even going around the house just to make sure that there’s no one nearby. Just then, you saw someone leaning at the lamppost a few blocks over. He wasn’t there when you passed by the van earlier.

 The realization had hit him like a truck. That person is definitely the one that you saw earlier.

You were about to walk towards his direction when the person started running away again. You just froze on your spot, knowing that catching him was impossible.

 Feeling defeated, the first thing that he did was to go inside the house to make sure you’re okay.

Taking his keys out of his bag, he opened the door to find the house completely fine. Everything was turned off except for the lights coming out of your room.

 He was about to walk towards your room to check if you’re still awake when…

///

"HOLD ON! HOLD THE GODDAMN SECOND."

A voice came out in the middle of your storytelling. It was from woman who just came out of Johnny's bedroom and looking visibly pissed. Taeyong’s mouth went agape when she saw who it was.

She wasn't someone that you'd expect to pop up in Johnny's apartment. She was wearing her usual office clothing but its state wasn't as neat as how she always does it. Her hair was disheveled and her pink is blouse crumpled, a couple of buttons are undone.

"Abegail Li?" His mouth felt like it would drop to the floor.

On the other side, Johnny was grinning widely over his seat.

“Abby? What are you doing in my apartment?” Johnny faked a gasp but dropped the act right after to laugh at his joke.

"You're dating Abby Li? Like, Ten's sister? You know, your childhood bestfriend?" Tae still can’t believe what he was seeing. He kept on looking back and forth at the two of them, completely mindblown at the unusual pairing.

"Would you like to answer that, my dear?"

Johnny teasingly said, wiggling his eyebrows at her to piss her more. She finally realized how she looked and fixed herself, completely annoyed at her boyfriend.

"Shut the fuck up, Mr. Suh. That's not the point here! It's the fact that Y/N is in danger last night and she didn't even bother to tell me!”

"Dude, I didn't even know that she's your type. Does Yongqin know?" Taeyong asked his hyung, completely ignoring Abby’s tantrum.

"Oh heavens, no. The only thing scarier than this woman is his brother."

 “HEY!”

Her voice finally managed to pierce into the boys’ conversation.

“We have an actual problem here. Are we not supposed to talk about the Yuta situation? Y/N’s life could actually be in actual danger!”

“But we weren’t sure if it was actually him…” Taeyong said, his voice lowering from the fear of the woman’s gaze.

“And what if it is?” She said as she walked out of the living room to go somewhere. The two boys just sat there awkwardly until she comes back with a phone in her hand.

“We got to tell Sophie and her husband.” She says as she started frantically dialing Sophie’s number.

“Woah woah. Calm down woman.” Johnny stood up from his seat and grabbed the phone from her hands.

“We don’t have to involve police officer Jaehyun right away. Dude is scary af.”

Abby tried to get it from Johnny, but he just raised his arm up so she wouldn’t reach it.

“Give my phone back!”

She shouts but Johnny just laughed at the sight of this pissed, tiny woman that’s in front of him. Abby didn’t like that one bit so she backed up a bit and punched Johnny at his core. Johnny curled up from the pain and fell to floor, giving Abby a chance to get her phone back.

Meanwhile, Taeyong just sat there awkwardly as he watched the scene unfolds. It felt like he’s watching a real-life sitcom.

“Babe, I was just saying, stop overreacting.” Johnny picked himself up from the floor. His voice is hoarse from the pain in his body.

“No, I am not overreacting. Me overreacting is when I hit that punk with a ten-wheeler truck and then leave him in the streets to die!”

Taeyong looked horrified, but Johnny just mouthed she’s not really gonna do that at him.

Jesus. This couple is a shitshow.

“Fine. What do you suggest we do then?”

Abby calmed down a bit as she sat down at the couch, folding both of her hands at her chest.

“First, we tell her what you saw last night.”

///

Well, Abby meant we, she actually meant Taeyong. He was assigned (more like forced) by Abby to be the one to talk to you about what happened. It felt awkward to do so at first, but it was him who saw what happened. He felt like it was his job to tell you about what happened.

He begrudgingly packed his PlayStation back to his backpack as he was being lectured by Abby about what to say to you. All hopes of evading topics involving you that day is completely thrown out of the table. And then he started to walk away when the couple finally started going lovey-dovey after fighting at his whole stay there. It was so cheesy that it gave him a headache.

The guy decided to walk home instead of taking the bus or taxi that time. He even passed by some convenience stores at the way. He bought a pack of instant ramen and took it to the nearby park. He actually enjoyed just eating there while looking at the sunset, but something kept on bothering him the whole time. He’s just dragging out the time, possibly going home when you’re completely asleep so he wouldn’t have to face you. He dreaded to be the one to instigate fear in you once again, knowing that mentions of your ex’s name is enough to trigger a panic attack.

But eventually, time passed and he’s in front of your apartment once again. He took a couple of breaths and readied him for what he’s about to tell you. As soon as he opened the door though, he was surprised to see you in the living room. Not only are you awake, you’re completely dressed up and looked like you’re about to go somewhere.

“Oh hi, Taeyong.”

You turned around to see him, at the front door, looking completely dejected.

“You alright?”

To Taeyong, you looked much better than what you did last night. Your mood has changed dramatically. It seems like you’re doing much better than what he thought you would. This made him even more anxious at what he’s about to tell you. He would’ve hated to ruin your mood that night. And so, the mental debate in his head started to ensue.

You smiled, waiting for Taeyong to answer, but he looked like he dozed off for a moment.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

You said once again.

Finally, he was able to snap back into reality. However, he wasn’t sure whether he heard you correctly. Now he looked a lot more puzzled than what he is earlier.

“Uhh. Okay… If you’re hungry, food is in the fridge.”

You said as you walked back to your room.

He responded with “Yeah. Sure. Thank you, Y/N…” You felt like something is bothering him at that moment, but you don’t have the time for a conversation right now.

While you were gone, he’s still figuring out whether he should tell you now or he’ll just wait until you get home that night.

However, his plan shattered immediately when he saw you walking out with two luggage, one on each hand.

“Hey Tae, mind helping with these?”

“O-oh sure…”

He stood up from the couch and helped you drag the luggage out into the living room.

“I never got to tell you that I’m leaving because it was more of a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

You apologetically as you pull your bags into the driveway. You know that by leaving, you’re running away from him again. But this time, it’s actually for your own good. It’s finally time to get the help that you need.

“Uhm, where are you going?”

Taeyong asked you, trying his best not to panic knowing that Abby would kill him if he said that he never got the chance to tell you.

“Far away. Staying in this city is making me feel uncomfortable and that isn’t doing me any favors. I need some time for myself until, I don’t know, two to three weeks?”

“Oh wow…”

He felt speechless at how you just made up your mind like that. He doesn’t think that running away from everything will solve anything, but he felt like there was nothing that he can do in order to change your mind.

“What about about work?” He asked, trying to stall you from bringing your luggage out of the apartment.

“I… took an indefinite leave from work this morning.”

You took your phone out of your pocket to look at the time to hide your face from him. For some reason, this decision isn’t looking as good as you have imagined it.

“So, you’re actually serious about this, huh?”

“I’m really sorry for leaving without notice. Take good care of Felice for me while I’m gone, okay?”

You said as you took your luggage from his hand. He unhappily lets it go, but he understands that you have to go through this so you can get better. Defeated, he figured that the best that he could do for you right now is to call a cab. However, you stopped him just as soon as you figured out what he was doing.

“I won’t be riding the cab. Someone’s coming to pick me up.”

Sure enough, a car pulled up outside your apartment not long after.

“Jeno! Over here!”

The driver rolled the windows down and a manly figure showed itself to the both of you. His hair was icy blue, which was perfect because he looks cold, expression stern as he opened up the car door for you. He doesn’t look threatening, but his stare made Taeyong feel like the guy doesn’t like him at all.

Jeno helped you with your luggage. As soon as they’re in the backseat, you didn’t waste any more time and waved goodbye to Taeyong before hopping inside the car. He was left alone without having to say a proper goodbye to you.

He unconsciously walked back inside the house, not really knowing what to feel. Could you be dating a guy without him knowing?

He slumped at the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Who the hell is Jeno?

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[squidpro-quo]

For the prompt : Jaskier is kidnapped and used as leverage against Geralt (I'd be forever grateful if you did this op)

    Thank you so much for this prompt! A perfect opportunity for angst and whump and hurt and comfort, i can only hope i fit it all in here. This was a load of fun!

Jaskier strained against the rope tying his hands together, reminded of another time when the same circumstances had led to his life changing—he’d argue for the better most of the time—and now it might just happen again, except the change to his life will be that it ends. His fingers are turning numb, with how long he’d been held in the stone room it’s no wonder, only a question of how much longer until they figure out that it was all for naught. Bribing the innkeep, getting the herbs necessary to drug him, the fortified hold they’d decided to hole up in? It was all too much effort for a lost cause, but he’d kept his mouth shut for once knowing that if he spoke a word of the futility of their plan, then they’d have no reason to keep him alive anymore. 

    The door creaked; the sound of the key scraping in the old lock had him struggling to scramble as far away from the door as possible, his body protesting every movement even as he knew it wouldn’t help. They’d made up their mind. 

    “How’s the little songbird now? Ready to sing a sweeter song?” The man that entered had a grin with the curve of a sickle, sharp and cutting, to offset the fact that his lisp would have undercut any threats made in anyone else’s mouth. The sharp whistle of his breath through the cracked crags of his teeth accompanied his heavy steps and Jaskier bit back a retort about his singing’s quality in favor of staving off the inevitable by just a few seconds. 

    “No refrain? I’d heard it was hard to shut you up, not the other way around. Guess some things just end up embellished into lies, don’t they?” The look in his grey eyes grew hard.

    Jaskier knew what was coming, he might have found himself in trouble more times than he could count but he’d learned when to expect a punch by the set of a man’s shoulders. This time was no different. The blow caught him across the temple, leaving his ears ringing and the ache in his head redoubled after he’d just started to regain some peace from the pain. He slipped sideways down the wall, unable to catch himself when he couldn’t feel the stone beneath his fingers, to the hoarse laugh of the man he’d realized was the orchestrator of it all. Jaskier rested his forehead against the cool stone floor, hoping it would take away some of the pounding that he felt reverberating through his skull. Like metal clashing against metal, the clanging sounded deceptively close despite the fact that he knew it was only his tired mind playing tricks on him. 

    “Talk,” the man ordered, in a deceptively soft tone, forcing Jaskier to look up at him to read his lips and discern his meaning. “You can talk to that monster, but not to a human?”

“What do you want me to say?” Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, though his own voice sounded muted and echoing inside his head. His fear had been a thin veneer before, but now it was being poked through with the usual thorns of irritation and the aching need to be glib. “That I haven’t seen him in months? That I don’t know where he is? That I doubt he knows, or really cares, where I am either? You didn’t understand it the last time I said it, but I guess the constant whistling can get in the way of listening comprehension.” 

“The entire continent knows you’re companions, traveling together, dining together… sleeping together,” the man raised his eyebrows, before continuing, “You know him better than anyone.” 

“Do I?” Jaskier swallowed, to get the dry taste of irony out of his mouth and to keep from retching at the way the world turned blurry before him. “If sleeping together was all it took, I’d have several dozen of those I’ve courted lining up at your doors. So I’d say you’re out of luck on that shaky limb of logic.”

It was a good joke, considering he’d likely die just from the surprise of Countess de Stael riding up so many months after leaving his poems as ash in her fireplace. Or Geralt, who last he’d seen was firmly in the arms of someone Geralt had risked his life for against all odds and against all wishes, her own included. Not that she’d seemed to mind at the end. 

“Is that a note of pity I hear?” 

“I can’t do many things, fight a murderous band of men for example, but I know when I’m not wanted. I don’t begrudge anyone that.” He didn’t, he loved freely and indiscriminately, pouring his affection into the world along with his quips and commentary as an inexhaustible resource. Because what better way to try and stay a memory in someone’s heart long after the flare of passion has gone cold. He couldn’t help it if Geralt had been a never-ending well for him to attempt to fill, not realizing how he’d fallen down into it in the process and the answer he’d been chasing had been merely his own deluded echo in return. 

“He might not come for you now then—” Jaskier had a brief moment of hope at the contemplative look on the man’s face, the sliver of mercy amidst the cold calculation. “But he’ll surely come for your headless corpse. If your songs have even a fraction of truth, he’s the sort to be mad about that kind of thing.” 

Cold ice slid down Jaskier’s spine, because the man was right. Geralt was nothing if not a righteous man, perhaps surly and grumpy to a fault, but he’d fight anyone that threatened the helpless, never mind that it happened to be Jaskier. He’d written songs about it after all, he’d know. Blood pounded in his ears, the sound seeming too loud in the confines of his terror and he could almost imagine the keep itself was resounding with it, the thump of his heartbeat bouncing through the walls in an irregular series of bangs. 

The man snatched his attention back when he slid his axe free of the belt at his waist, hefting it for a better grip and leaning down to yank Jaskier upright. 

“Wait! Wait, what if you just let me go? There’s a new idea, worth considering—”

“Don’t worry, if it really doesn’t matter who ends up dead as long as it’s someone he could’ve saved then we have an endless supply of who to use. As you’ve said, it doesn’t take anyone special,” the man said, rank breath wafting into Jaskier’s face, and he wished that wasn’t the last thing he’d ever hear. 

Axe shining in the flickering light of the torch, the man shoved Jaskier into the right angle despite his best efforts to scrounge together enough strength to resist. The man lifted his arm, already evident that he wouldn’t be able to make it one clean cut and didn’t particularly care, and swung. 

Jaskier had closed his eyes, content with the darkness if that’s all that was left of life anyway, and so the sound of wood breaking from close by and the short gurgle of a last breath was all he knew before there were hands on his face. 

Calloused, rough, and warm, familiar from the many years and he leaned into them so quickly they were all that held him up. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know, but he did anyway because he needed to see, to remember the sight of Geralt leaning over him, engulfing him in his shadow and tracing the bruises on his face with a touch so gentle he could’ve sworn it was a dream. 

“Jaskier,” just the rumbling timbre of Geralt’s voice was enough to make Jaskier realize that he’d been worried, chest heaving and sword bloodied from his rush through the keep. To him. 

“Cutting it pretty close, no?” Jaskier snorted, relief making him lightheaded. Relief that he wasn’t dead, that Geralt was there. “Did you get it? He was about to cut my head off, that  kind of death offers so many opportunities for pithy jokes. Would be a shame to waste it…” 

“I came as fast as I could,” Geralt said, tone not plaintive in the slightest but desperate, as if he thought Jaskier was really doubting him. As if he hadn’t been doing just that not a few minutes ago. 

Jaskier swallowed, this time to keep the words, all the damning and too honest words he wanted to bare before Geralt, down and keep what he’d been willing to carry to the grave with him just a while longer. 

Before he could find anything to say, Geralt pulled him close, palms brushing over his ruined doublet and down to Jaskier’s deadened hands, enveloping his fingers in a grip he could’ve sworn was trembling just slightly. His other hand slipped into Jaskier’s hair, until he felt the spot last touched by the man lying dead at their feet. 

Jaskier hadn’t meant to flinch but he saw the way Geralt’s eyes narrowed at the movement and tried to stand on his own to make up for the moment of weakness. 

“In the area, were you? I don’t think you’ll get much coin for this job.” He wanted to ask, wanted to see if he was more trouble than he was worth but he didn’t want to hear the ugly answer.

“I was already searching for you, when I heard.” Geralt’s hand stayed on his back, just like when he’d carried him around in the djinn’s aftermath. “Last time I saw you, you were covered in your own blood, like now. You left… and I didn’t know where you’d gone.” 

Jaskier stumbled, both from the way the room seemed to spin beneath his feet at the change in altitude as he got up and the fact that Geralt had followed him this time, sought him out and found him. 

“I got into yet more trouble, as you can see. Nothing new there.” He rubbed his newly freed hands and grimaced at the red welts the ropes had left behind. He’d have to wear his longer-sleeved wardrobe to cover those up. He looked up to find Geralt’s gaze still raking over him, the furrow in his brow the one that always formed when he was considering something. “Did you need something?”

“You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“W-what?” Jaskier stuttered. “What does that mean?”

“I’m trouble,” Geralt continued, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “And you are too.”

    “Thank you for the astute observations… Where are you going with this?”

    “I already said it. That you shouldn’t be alone.” 

    Jaskier waited, but Geralt stared at him with the same set look on his face as when Roach gave him a neigh instead of a bump in the chest, unsure what to say. But words had always been Jaskier’s forte, even if he swallowed them down sometimes. 

    “Are you saying you think trouble loves company?”

    Geralt nodded, and that was enough for Jaskier. He’d never be empty of what he poured into the world, and so when something spilled into him instead, he overflowed. Geralt’s empty well might just have a bucket of water inside it, and he’d managed to fish it out after all. 

prompts open

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit 

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 17

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - I’m really temped to name this “How To Communicate With Your Husband: A Narrative in Many Parts by Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue” 

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4 here | pt.5 here | pt.6 here | pt.7 here | pt.8 here | pt.9 here | pt.10 here | pt.11 here | pt.12 here | pt.13 here | pt.14 here | pt.15 here | pt.16 here

By the time they are pushed into Wen RuoHan’s gaudy receiving hall, MingJue has reached some semblance of calm. 

All battle plans are only certain until the first arrow leaves the bow, and this one is no different. It would be easy to lose himself in rage over this betrayal; to question every word Wen Qing had ever spoken, every message her brother had sent. She had looked equally as shocked when they found themselves surrounded, but it makes little difference, whether her shock was genuine or an act. Whether he still dare trust her is equally as irrelevant.

The City gates have likely been breached by now, but the battle is still distant, and the palace is still under the Wen Sect control. Only a dozen people he trusts know his exact plans, and only half of those could accurately guess MingJue’s current location in the Nightless City. There will be no rescue. There will be no lucky escape. He must make peace with having lost this battle, and take comfort in knowing that the war will be won nonetheless.

Wen RuoHan is sitting in an exaggerated monstrosity of a Sect Leader’s chair, an enormous gold sun rising above his head, the entire contraption set on a platform, and resembling an emperor’s throne. A boy is standing at his right shoulder, his face blank and expressionless. Another dozen Wen Sect cultivators are lined up against the walls. There is someone kneeling on the floor in front of the platform, their head bent and hidden by a river of dark hair, their robes tattered and rust colored. It is the person’s back that catches MingJue’s gaze, crisscrossed with whip marks, a devastating length of torn skin and ruined flesh.

It takes MingJue a single breath to recognize the kneeling form. In the next, his calm is swept away in a fury that defies words. There are no coherent thoughts to his actions, no finesse, no calculation of any kind. He has never needed the saber to kill. The Wen Cultivator who had pushed him into the hall dies with a mask of shock on his face, the bones of his neck shattering in MingJue’s grip. The man’s sword, graceful and light, feels unfamiliar in MingJue’s hand. But a blade is a blade, and two more cultivators lose their limbs before the rest can react. MingJue can hear nothing but his own howl of rage. He cannot feel any pain. He is bleeding from dozens of cuts, and six men are dead by the time Wen RuoHan’s guards manage to knock him down to the ground.

Wen RuoHan seems completely unruffled, still sprawled on his throne, as if he had expected no less than a full blown slaughter in his hall.

“A-Lin,” he says, “is there anything you would like to say to your sister, before she is put to death?”

The boy at his shoulder is staring straight ahead, and his voice comes out thin but steady.

“I have no sister.”

MingJue hears Wen Qing make a sound of distress, but does not turn to look at her. He cannot look away from the kneeling shape in front of the platform. 

He is aware that the hall is now guarded by less than a dozen cultivators, and that Wen RuoHan is unlikely to have more at hand. He can hear the roar from outside the palace, a barely perceptible sound of the Jiang Sect battle drums, but neither is growing any louder. Wen RuoHan would have sent every last man he can spare to hold the palace. The possibility of a rescue seems even less viable now, than it had been only minutes ago. 

But everything is secondary to XiChen.

He is utterly motionless, his breaths barely discernible, as if deep in meditation, removed from the world around him. How can he stay so still? How can he bear the pain? The whip marks on his back cross one another so many times, that no lines can be distinguished. They must have cut down to the bone.

He does not think that he has ever truly hated Wen RuoHan before. The man is an old fool. Only old fools believe that they are somehow destined for greatness, despite their utter insignificance in the world. It is hard to hate fools, and easier to pity them. But MingJue hates him now, with a passion that feels annihilating.

“Both your sons are dead,” MingJue says, “One may have been killed by the Violet Spider, and the other on the field of battle, but they both died on the orders of a butcher. How feeble is the product of your loins, when I can have it killed without dirtying my hands? You should thank me,” he grins up at Wen RuoHan, “for eliminating such incompetence from your bloodline.”

A hilt of a sword slams into the back of his head, and he pitches forward, the blood from his mouth spraying across the stone floors.

Wen RuoHan rises from his vulgar throne, and slowly makes his way down the platform steps, the boy following behind him.

“You mean to provoke me to fight I suppose,” he says, “but there is no honor in winning against you.”

He passes by XiChen as if he does not exist, and steps lightly over the cultivator MingJue had killed. The cultivator’s sword, he carelessly kicks to the side. The boy following behind him bends over to pick it up, the movement perfunctory, as if picking up objects Wen RuoHan kicks out of the way is a matter of habit, rather than conscious thought. Wen RuoHan, who is only a few steps away from MingJue now, pauses at the scrape of the blade against the stone, and turns with a small frown.

“Put that down, A-Lin. You know I do not allow--“

There is no change in the boy’s expression. No shifting of balance, no sideways glance, no movement to his lips. The same casual movement with which he had picked up the sword, carries the sword upward, and buries the tip in the hollow of Wen RuoHan’s throat.

Time seems to stop. 

No one moves. Not the boy, not the Wen cultivators utterly frozen around them, not even Wen RuoHan, whose blood is sliding down the blade to the boy’s hand. There is a soft gurgle from his throat, and his fingers twitch, as if he means to reach up and remove the tip of the blade himself. Now, there is a shadow of an expression on the boy’s face, a faint wrinkle in his forehead. He steps forward, and the blade punches out of the back of Wen RuoHan’s neck, the blade sickeningly grinding against the bones of his spine. Wen RuoHan’s knees finally fold. The boy, seemingly surprised that the blade is still in his hand, releases the hilt and steps back, which is somehow the most amazing, but also the most ridiculous thing MingJue has ever seen.

He moves before Wen RuoHan’s body manages to hit the ground, his hands closing around the hilt while the men around him are still frozen in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wen Qing moving at the same time, snatching up the sword from one of the dead men, and immediately tuning on the live ones. The battle is short and bloody, the Wen sluggish in their shock. Four of them are dead before the rest decide that dropping their blades and surrendering is a far better option.

“Run,” Wen Qing snaps at them, “Tell the others that there is nothing left to fight for.”

They are moving before the words have even left her mouth completely, not one of them sparing a glance for the motionless body of their Sect Leader.

Wen Qing immediately turns to her brother, her expression both furious and relieved. MingJue can hear her questioning the change in their plans, and Wen Ning’s hesitant replies. But he no longer cares about their failed strategies. 

XiChen is still on his knees, unmoving, and MingJue feels genuine fear for the first time since entering the underground tunnel.

He kneels in front of him, noticing a thousand details at once. XiChen’s hands resting on his knees. The blood under his fingernails. Abrasions around his wrists that look raw and angry, as if the top layer of skin had been scraped off. The thickness of his hair, even dirty and matted with old blood, covering him like a cape. His head is bent, and his face not visible, but he is breathing. MingJue can see him breathing.

“XiChen?”

There is a barely perceptible flinch, but nothing more.

MingJue reaches out, then hesitates. He cannot guess how deep XiChen had drifted, or what the consequences could be, of pulling him out too fast.

“XiChen.”

Another flinch, followed by a slight tremor. XiChen��s fingers curl into the flesh of his legs, and the tremor becomes a full-body shiver, so violent, that MingJue can hear his teeth click. A soft gasp leaves him, then a slightly louder one, and MingJue does not have time to react before XiChen is gasping urgently as if he had ran for hours, his body tilting sideways and towards the floor. Terrified of hurting him more, MingJue does not dare grab any part of him to prevent the fall, but shifts his body so XiChen would sway into him instead. Even so, XiChen’s ravaged shoulder connects with MingJue’s, and he whimpers, palms coming up against MingJue’s chest, as if to push himself away.

“XiChen,” MingJue says again, feeling helpless.

The shivers do not cease, but the palms pressed against his chest curl in, gathering handfuls of material in a tight grip. His head is still bowed, and it shakes once, viciously, as if in denial.

“No,” he rasps, “Not-- real.”

“XiChen,” his own voice is hoarse, something painful and bitter lodged in the back of his throat.

XiChen lifts his head slowly, eyes wide and shining, shock obvious in every line of his face. His hands scramble up, his fingers brushing over MingJue’s jaw and cheekbone, as if needing to ensure that he is real.

“Is-- how?” he breathes, “Are you really--“

MingJue cups his hand over his own cheek, careful of the scraped wrist, “I am truly here.”

“Oh,” XiChen gasps, “Oh!”

He throws himself forward with no warning, arms wrapping around MingJue’s neck, feverish cheek pressing against MingJue’s own. Just as quickly, he is pulling back, face contorted in pain. His trembling hands reach up again, and cup MingJue’s face. Fingers flutter over his temples, his cheeks, his chest. They brush over his shoulders, his arms, XiChen’s frantic gaze following the touch, as if somehow trying to see all of him at once.

It takes MingJue a few moments to understand what XiChen is doing, but when he does, the realization strikes him like a blade to the heart.

“I am not hurt,” he says, trapping the man’s restless hands with his own.

“There is blood,” XiChen rasps, “you are bleeding.”

“I am not hurt, XiChen. I am fine.”

As if only now realizing where he is, XiChen jerks his head in panic, gaze falling on the empty throne. His eyes sweep over the carnage on the floor, the bodies twisted in pool of blood, and settle on the heap of gold and crimson robes.

“Is--“

“Dead. He is dead.”

XiChen shivers, and closes his eyes. His hands are tight around MingJue’s, and he says nothing else, breathing deeply and deliberately, as if struggling for composure. In this moment, their fingers entwined, their heads so close together that MingJue can feel each exhale on his skin, all else in the world ceases to matter.

MingJue will give him all the time that he needs.

[katsukikitten]

Bakugo and Y/N are the last two surviving players during dodgeball i thought it would be kinda funny whah :pp

Ask and ye shall receive. I had so much fun writing this. thank you

I present you

DODGE THIS

You slide your soft grey cotton shirt that says UA over your black laced bra sighing to yourself as you wonder why the hell a hero academy had a regular ass gym class in addition to training. You adjust your black shorts in the mirror trying hard to pull them further over your ass to no avail. There was just not enough material to cover your ass causing them to be crescent shorts. You growl in frustration, giving up as you sit to tie your tennis shoes. Mina slides onto the bench next to you wearing a shit eating grin. A grin that is always somehow contagious as you feel it begin to take form on your lips.

"Yes Mina dear?" You giggle as she practically vibrates, ready to burst with whatever "tea" she has to spill.

"I heard a rumor." She exclaims as the other girls begin to exit towards the gym.

"Uh oh. What kinda rumor?"

"The kind that seems true." She leaves it at that. As if you'd be dying to know the rest but you aren't.

Plus you know she can't stand not saying whatever juicy information she is holding in.

It kills her.

"Fine you've pried it from me." She exclaims in the next breath not even giving you time for the response you didn't plan to give.

"Bakugouhasahugecrushonyou!KirishimatoldmelatelastnightbyaccidentsoIknowitstrue." She rushes her words all together and you stare astounded as all you heard was Bakugou, crush on you.

"Wait what?!" You stand but Midnight yells into the locker room.

"Today please ladies!"

Mina rushes from the locker room, pulling you by the wrist as you're left with your thoughts.

Bakugou has a crush on you? Please he barely looked your way not to mention you two loathed each other always competing to be at the top.

Mina pulls you all the way to line up with the rest of the girls and you peer at the boys across from you.

How is it that Bakugou is directly across from you today of all days. He does not look your way and when he does his eyes narrow to slits.

"Okay today we are doing a good old fashion boys vs girls!" Midnight announces happily, "In a game none other than.."

She looks to Aizawa to finish the sentence to which he grunts at first before adding in the most apathetic tone ever uttered.

"Dodgeball." He barely opens his eyes as he snuggles into his bright yellow sleeping bag.

"That's right!" Midnight clearly holding all of the enthusiasm, "Now girls to the left boys to the right! Line up and when I yell go let the free for all begin!"

"But the boys have a bigger advantage than us by having more bodies on their team." You add as you look at how they have double the people.

"That is true but you girls are resourceful. I know you can win even with the disadvantage."

"Hey!!!" Half of the boy's team whines.

"Now no more fussing I advise you ladies get ready!"

You line up near the front mumbling to yourself. you quickly notice that you're the only girl going to grab a ball at the start.

*What the fuck* you think to yourself as you peer over your shoulder before being met face to face with a glaring set of blood eyes.

"I'll end you." He growls fingers reached out in perfect calm, waiting for the signal.

You return the glare and slide a finger over your throat not trusting your voice just yet.

"GO!"

You grab with your left as Katsuki purposefully went for your right, he aims and takes his mark adding an extra punch with the smell of burning sugar.

You block the point blank shot with your own ball just in time, thanking Kamisama for your quick reflexes.

But they must not be as quick enough as you go to counter attack, Katsuki is already deeply behind the line now being fed balls by Sero who snatches the returned balls right out of the air. Anger fuels your actions as you chuck the ball towards him.

Sero is too distracted to notice the inbound object and the ball rings home with a nauseating *PANG* that echoes across the gym.

"Sero is out!" Midnight calls as you back towards the shrinking cluster of girls.

Midnight had already called Jiro who happily let herself get hit to avoid this game and Toru.

"Shit." You murmur as you look for a ball but see that the boys hold the majority. Mina attempts to launch one at Kaminari who just barely dodges, snatching the ball to return it.

"DO IT FOR THE VINE!!!" Kaminari screams as he throws the red rubber ball towards Mina. You catch it as she flinches heated to win, especially against a certain scarlet eyed boy.

"Vine is dead bitch." You say as you hurl it right into Kaminari's face. You threw the ball hard enough that it slams him into the brick wall causing a nice outline of his body to appear.

"Oh this is so going on Tok." Jiro snorts to herself as she captured the whole thing on her phone, one earphone jack plugged into it.

"Be sure to tag me..." Kamimari adds as the ball falls from his face. He rubs his hand over the new criss cross pattern that was left behind from the ball.

Todoroki stands still looking bored waiting for someone, anyone to hit him and so you end his misery with a light toss to which he let's bound off of him back onto the girls side.

"Oh no I've been ejected from the game." He says with mock concern as Bakugou practically blows a gasket.

"YOU'RE JUST GONNA LET EXTRA HIT YOU LIKE THAT?! GO OUT WITH SOME HONOR!" He yells and you laugh aloud.

Uraraka grabs the ball that ricocheted off of Todoroki and hurls it at Deku who barely dodges.

"I..I'm sorry." He yells as he throws the ball back only for U-chan to catch it with a satisfying *pang* of the ball. He blushes and gives her a thumbs up as he takes a seat next to Sero and Todoroki.

"Damn it Deku!" Katsuki yells as he hurls a ball at her, striking her in the side. The ball bounces to your feet, you snatch it, surveying who is left. An idea seems to come to life as you spot Momo with her ball sized shield.

"Momo can you make me some extra dodge balls?" You call out and she smiles happily.

"Cover me and I can!" She shouts back as she begins creating.

"Asui-chan, Mina. Help me cover Momo and make the numbers a bit more even. Mina Ojiro, Koda, and Sato have been sticking close together. Try to get them as I take care of Iida and Shoji who seem to be doing rapid fire."

You feel the wind of a ball whoosh past your face as you turn back to face the boys who are about fifty feet away. Katsuki snarls to himself having just missed you by mere chance.

Kirishima throws a ball your way that you catch earning him a seat on the bench. He murmurs a damn before sitting in the middle of the bleachers.

"GO MINA! GO BAKUGOU!" He shouts earning a glare from both parties as he clearly has a hard time giving all of his loyalty to one of them.

Mina sends a ball home, hitting a quickly tiring Sato hard enough that it bounces right off of him and into Koda's back. Both seem to slump as you yell a "Hell yea!" to your bubblegum pink friend.

Asui supplies another ball to Mina that Momo has made. They both manage to get Tokoyami and Ojiro who also slump go join the rest of the crew.

All the girls squeal with joy, including yourself.

Katsuki narrows his eyes and aims for Momo who is currently helping you three level the playing field. He hits his target in the back while Mina was distracted attempting to get a panicked Aoyama.

He picks up the closest ball to him and sends it blindly into the girls half of the giant gym. You're confused for a moment as something purple is hurled your way.

The purple object hits you right between your breasts and it buries its self deeper as your eyes widen.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" You scream as Mineta comes up for air. Nose clearly dripping blood as he stares up at you with hooded eyes with his drooling mouth agape.

A ball hits him in the back of the head hard enough that his face smashes into your sternum leaving a bruise in its wake on both Mineta's forehead and your breast bone.

The ball is charred as it bounces off kilter to the side line. Your widened eyes meet narrowed scarlet who sucks his teeth harshly before yelling as he throws more precisely aimed balls.

"Watch what the hell you're throwing idiot. It's two v one now. We cant lose." He says as he hurls two balls back to back too quickly for either Mina or Asui to dodge.

"Get him Y/N!" They shout as you chuck a ball fast enough for it to whistle straight for that smug, overly cocky somehow hot look. He dodges at the last second and the rubber finds purchase in the face of Aoyami.

"Figures I have to do everything fucking self." Bakugou murmurs as he takes in the playing field, rubber ball in hand.

He notices that you have fewer on your side than himself. Thanks to him taking out your little dodge ball factory. He assess as he tries to calculate his next move.

You notice too that you have less balls and to be out of the precious resource the only way to win would be to catch a ball.

You had three shots, one in your hand and the other two balls near the back of your territory to his six.

Twice as many opportunities for him seemed like a much greater advantage but then again so did twice as many bodies.

And still here you stood across from Bakugou who glistens in the harsh light of the gym.

Your heart pounds as you watch him, knowing full well of his ability to strategize, he was one of the few you have ever lost to or had difficulty winning against. He smirks as he finalizes his plan and you sit their wondering when he started to look so...different.

Has that smirk always made your stomach clench?

He rears the ball back and sends it quickly towards you. The hem of his shirt rises above his navel from the jump and you think has he always had abs?

The sound of the ball singing through the air registers not a moment too soon as you hit the ball lightly enough for it to land still on your half of the court but an odd sound catches your attention and you jump high into the air.

Narrowly avoiding the ball that was clearly aimed for your lower thigh to knee area. You backflip mid air with the precious ball still in your hands, your shirt following a bit late and unbeknownst to you flashing your stomach and even your black bra to Katsuki. Your tits fight inertia to stay in their neatly laced cups.

He swallows his desire as you land like a cat on your feet.

Something is odd about your landing and it takes him a moment to notice that you no longer have that damn ball.

But when the hell did you throw it and where?

He looks a moment too late and watches it head striaght for him.

The bell rings out overhead breaking the silent tension the two of you didn't realize had filled the gym air.

The ball bounces off of his chest AFTER the last chime of the bell screaming to change classes, it falls softly into his hands.

"It seems we have a draw." Midnight announces and the class erupts in shouts.

Everyone but the two of you who seem to lock eyes across the gym as a chorus of WHAT NO WAY AND SENSEI IS RIGHT echo through out the gym.

But it falls on deaf ears as two predators size the other up.

You wondering when he had gotten so handsome. Wondering how sweat and an arrogant grin can make some one so suddenly irrisitable.

While Katsuki is awestruck at your move, having accidentally taken advantage of throwing him off guard. Him wondering when you threw that ball

But most importantly had Mina told you what loud mouth Kirishima said?

And if she hadn't when was he going to swallow his pride long enough to tell you about it himself?

[ikesenhell]

Welcome Home

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 8 AND THE FINALE. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine on my page. NOTES: AT LONG LAST. We reach the end. Thank you all for hanging in there with me. HERE @chezzkaa COME GET YOUR JUICE. TRIGGER WARNINGS: drowning, panic-inducing scenarios. Smut!

---

It took some jiggling on his part. The door was pretty well fused. Whoever fastened it in the first place meant business--and when he finally managed to kick in the steel frame, they finally knew why. 

“Holy shit,” Masamune whistled. 

It was once a standard workstation and supply closet. Whoever got to it afterward--no doubt after the blast and the worst of the fallout--had transformed its contents. A skeleton lay on a cot in the corner, cradling a pillow to its chest, apparently the victim of only old age and the gentle slip into death’s embrace. Around him, piled high on shelves and stacked across the tables, were the supplies of an old world. 

“Seeds,” she read, picking through a drawer. “These are more valuable than gold. They’re native to these parts. I haven’t seen some of these ever, just read about them.”

Masamune opened a box. “Water filters, Life Straws, radiation tests--”

She cradled her face in her hands and released a laugh. It echoed in the tight quarters. “That was the whole point of the damn ship. It was a beacon. It was leading people here for supplies.”

“See the ship, go for the source,” he mused. “Find the projector, get the coordinates, come here, get supplies that could kick start your settlement all over again. This man must’ve put in blood and sweat to get all of this together.”

“And we--” She threw her hands in the air, frustration and anger and relief and sorrow blending together. “People died for this.”

Masamune cracked open another box, revealing a huge stockpile of medical supplies: antibiotics, bandages, testing kits. True. People had died. He thought about all of the skeletons in the bottom of the well, of all the vanished and missing people. His father swam in his mind’s eye. If he held his breath and focused hard enough, he could still feel his father’s embrace. 

“Yeah,” he said. “They did. But people are also going to survive because of this. And that’s what we have to move forward with. My dad’s death is what got us here. That’s what I’m going with. He didn't die for nothing. He lead us here in the end. I’m sticking to that.”

She gave him a tender smile, brushed the hair back from his forehead, and kissed him. 

---

Going down was one thing. They still hadn’t sorted out the most important part: getting back up. They returned to the highest room, the door to the stairwell up leaking water. 

“How bad do you think it is?” She asked. 

“I mean…” Masamune sighed. “Wish I was better at math right now.”

“Mm?”

“I dunno. Mitsunari could probably calculate how much of the lower levels could fill with water and drain out the interior or some shit before it started getting dangerous.”

She fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. “That’s smart as hell on its own.” 

“Not if we don’t know how much space we have to work with, Kit.”

“Even then.” She paced around the room. “We can drain the upper level into the lower level, as long as we keep all of the doors open. We didn't close any of them further down, so we’ve got at least that to work with. If it gets too high, we can bail out into the central chamber. Without cinder blocks on our feet, I imagine we could probably tread water over to some ladders. There has to be a service ladder out there.”

Masamune chewed his lip. So soon after almost drowning, he wasn’t keen on getting back into the water. But… well, they didn't have a bevy of options, did they? There was always the chance that the others would track down where they were, but could they figure out they were in the well and still alive? 

No. Probably not. In their shoes, Masamune wouldn’t assume anything of the sort. 

“Alright.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I’ll open the door over at the stairs. You stick by the main chamber door, okay? The second the water starts really rising in here, you punch that button and get out of here. Hold onto the cinderblocks for support until you can get out.”

She eyed him balefully. “You’re giving me the job you think has the highest rate of survival.”

He knew she was too smart to fool, so Masamune just shrugged. “I made a promise.”

“No.” Fixing him with an intense frown, she gripped his hand. “We’re doing this together. We get out together.”

Masamune sighed. “Kitkat--”

“Don’t ‘kitten’ me right now.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “We’ll drain the stairwell together. You’ll need the support from the cinder blocks for that, too. If you get washed down the lower chambers, even if it turns out alright, you could drown regardless. We’re getting out together.”

He hadn’t considered that possibility. Finally caving, he grabbed her wrist and kissed it. “Dunno how I can say no when you pout like that. You got it. You’re calling the shots.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Together they set the scene. Masamune scraped the cinder blocks into place by the stairwell, wrapping the rope around his hand for support and bracing her into the wall to keep her secure. She flushed at his chest pressed to hers and didn't complain until he shot her a finger gun. 

“You’re a disaster,” she moaned, swatting at his arm. “Be serious.”

“Figured you might want a little comic relief before we possibly die.”

“Masamune!”

“I know. I know. I’m awful. Ready?”

She inhaled and wrapped her hands around his wrists, swallowing hard. “I think so.”

Now or never. He considered again if this was the only way. Once again, his mind came up blank. The only way out was up. The only way up was through the water. The only way through the water was this. 

He inhaled hard and shot a silent prayer to his father. 

“Alright, Kitten,” he murmured, groping for the button. “Hang on to me. Three, two, one…”

The button clicked ominously, and the door rattled to life. Water gushed a torrent through the sparse opening. It was a small mercy that it didn't open too quickly; Masamune barely managed to brace against the pressure that crashed through now. She gasped and clung to his shoulders, wrapping her heel into the doorframe to stabilize them. The waterfall roared past them and down the open stairwells, shoving its merciless bulk inside. He could feel their makeshift weights scraping away from them, threatening to take them both with it. 

Plan A was failing. They’d never considered Plan B. Masamune raced through his options. If the weight went, then he did, and so did she--

“Hang on to me,” he commanded, wrapping her arm around his neck. “Hold on tight, as tight as you can.”

It was a testament to her trust that she did without question. There would only be a fraction of a second to move. The door was still sliding upward, and when it was really and fully open, the pressure would be too intense to even risk this stupidity. Clasping her face tight into his chest, he urged, “Take a deep breath. Hold it tight, no matter what.”

He felt her lungs fill, his own alongside her. Two hearts, beating in sync. She won’t die. Not here, not now. All of the things he’d never let himself imagine about the future played in his mind’s eye--a house, Waŋblí Hoȟpi thriving as they watched on, the smell of bergamot in her shop and waking up tangled in her arms every day as they grew old and she only became more and more and more beautiful--

Deep breath. Don’t let go.

Masamune trusted her to hold onto him and used his free hand to grab into the door opening. It took all of his strength. The water threatened to peel him free, but he held fast. With a loud yell of effort, he pulled them both forward into the rushing tide, under the half-open doorway and into the current. Pull! With as much force as he could muster, he slung his arm to the side and caught hold of a pipe, yanking them into the space beside the door, trapping them against the pressure there. All of the merciless water crashed against him. It rushed up his nose and down his throat, choking him. 

Don’t let go. Don’t let go. Crushing his panic, he wrapped his arms tight around her body and waited. 

Seconds later--seconds that felt like hours to his frantic lungs and wheeling brain--the water level lowered and he gasped for air. At long last, it dipped below his collarbone, freeing them both. 

“Damn,” she coughed. “How did you know that would work?”

“I didn't,” he admitted. “Just that the other way definitely wouldn’t. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She shivered in the cool stairwell, but nodded, still holding tight to his chest. “Yes. I’m here with you.”

“Good.” He meant it. His sinuses were killing him from all the water, his throat raw and his muscles burning, but Masamune still stroked her hair. “That’s all I need.”

---

The rest of the walk up was almost uneventful. They passed through soaked rooms that time forgot, office chairs settled in heaps by doors. Near the top, they located the source of the leak. One of the viewing room windows was cracked. He was too tired to comment on it or care. Instead, they laced their hands together and moved forward. 

Finally--after what felt like centuries--they neared the hatch to the top. Masamune inhaled hard and hefted a loose piece of pipe over his shoulder. 

“Do you think they’re still out there?” She asked, visibly nervous.

“Dunno. We ain’t really got options, do we? It’s been hours.”

She appraised the ladder. There weren’t any other options. Someone had to go up first. Masamune rubbed his thumb over her cheek and planted a kiss on her mouth. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Would he ever get over the shine of her eyes when she looked at him? Cupping her hand over his, she leaned into his palm. “Stare down a ghost ship that haunted you for most of your life, fist fight some cultists, almost drown, all on my account, if I’m remembering correctly.”

He shook the pipe meaningfully. “I’ll fight ‘em again, too.”

“Stay alive,” she urged. “Please. There’s so much more I want to do with you. There are ten thousand places I want to go with you, so many firsts…”

In any other circumstance, he would’ve made a raunchy joke. Now--now he just nodded. “I got you, Kitten. I’m sticking around just to see that through.”

The space in his hand was cold when he withdrew, the ladder rough and rusty on his palm. His boots clanked hard on the rungs. Would the hatch even open? That was a good question. Masamune fiddled with the draw back and found it responsive. Where would this even deposit them? Back into danger? Straight into a fire fight? 

Fuck that. He was staying alive. He was staying alive for his dad, for all the people that drowned before them, and for a future with her. 

Masamune drew back the latch and snapped out of the hole. 

The orange rays of morning stretched in the sky, blue-grey clouds drifting by. Over the cornfield came the sharp sunlight. What a terrible vantage point. It blinded him; cupping a hand over his good eye, he winced and braced himself, charging out of the hole to keep from losing the advantage of surprise. 

“What the hell--!”

Everything swam into view. The well, the house, the red truck. At his feet lay the body of the older man that had sacrificed them to the water only hours ago, and standing before him--

“Hey!” Masamune laughed, swinging the pipe to rest behind his neck. “You guys tracked us down!”

Nobunaga physically restrained Ieyasu from attacking him, Mitsuhide releasing a low whistle of shock. Hideyoshi sat heavily on the lip of the silo and cradled his head in his hands. Even the Takeda-Uesugi party was there, looking equally surprised. 

“Wow,” Yukimura managed. “We--we thought you were dead.”

“Nah.” Masamune reached down into the hole and helped her out, bracing her wobbly legs against the hard earth. A cool breeze rushed around them. He could smell the far-off mountains and the prairie grass, the clean air. She shivered and he pulled her tight, rubbing her arms to warm them. She was safe. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. “But I tell you what--we’ve got a hell of a gift for y’all, that’s for damn sure.” 

---

They weren’t allowed to help with retrieving the items from the silo. Ieyasu all but banished them back to the bedroom in the little yellow house, his unbridled rage the surest gauge for how honestly afraid he’d been. Nobunaga stopped by just to let them know that the items in the Ark were invaluable, that the Takeda-Uesugi and they were working out an arrangement to split them between the two settlements and prosper, and then to order them to rest.

“Shit,” Masamune laughed, barely pausing from wolfing down the breakfast Hideyoshi had thrown together. “Are we doing orders? Didn't know we were a military outfit now. Should I call you ‘sir’, too?”

Nobunaga smiled that imperious, impossible smile. “Perhaps. That would fit.”

Truth be told, Masamune didn't need anyone to order him to rest. His body screamed for it--and, more importantly, she looked utterly exhausted. They collapsed into the bed upstairs together only seconds after changing from their soaked clothes, limbs tangled and limp. When he woke, the sun was high in the sky and streaming through the curtains, her mouth pressed into his chest. 

Wow. He carded a hand through her hair in silent reverence. He’d traveled all over the nation. He’d seen impossible things and incredible mountains, forests and oceans and lakes, and yet--here, in his childhood home--she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. She stirred under his attention and his heart swelled. 

“Hey, Kit,” he murmured. “Still tired?”

She scrunched her nose and murmured assent. 

“Go back to sleep, then. You ain’t gotta go anywhere. We can keep sleeping.”

But she shifted nonetheless. Her hand danced up his collar and neck, rested on his cheek and pulled him in. Would he ever get tired of these lips? Masamune didn't think so. She was impossibly gentle, thousands of good memories and promises of the future hanging on her mouth. He could taste them on her tongue, his own brushing against hers. She moaned into him and his whole body flushed. 

“Damn, babe,” he chuckled, flirting his fingertips over her shoulder. “Can’t make those sounds if you want to keep sleeping.”

She smiled and hooked her fingers into his pajama waistband. When her eyes fluttered open, they took his breath away. They were like the deep earth of the vast plains, the lifebringer in this land. “I was going to keep sleeping, but then you just had to wake me up.”

“Wake you up?” Electric sparks of desire pulsed in his stomach. Masamune buried his nose in her neck and lapped along her skin. “You were the one that kissed me.”

“Damn. I guess I got caught. My ruse is up.” For all her words, she didn't seem too sorry. Her hands tugged at his pants, revealing the curve of his hip to cool air. “However will I be punished for my lies?”

Masamune laughed softly against her. “Punished? Is that what you want?”

“Not exactly.”

He didn't need her to clarify. They both stripped each other instead, exchanging slow, long, tender kisses, his thumb trailing all over her until she gasped and wriggled and blushed. Her waist curved perfectly into his. His arm fit like a puzzle piece in her lower back. When he thrust inside her, the leg she slung over his shoulder rested comfortably there. All the thousands of miles he’d put between him and Waŋblí Hoȟpi, and here she was, the other half of him. 

He would never run again. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing her hands back into the bed with hers. She curled her fingers tight into his. “I’m never letting you go. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Her kiss was grace itself. All of her soul was there. He could feel it, singing through her breath, as if he were sanctified. How wrong she was. She was the sanctified one. He felt it in the gasp of her breath and every sweet beat of her heart. 

“I love you too, Masamune Date,” she murmured. “Welcome home.”

[myakkoh]

reach past the surface

(Read on Ao3 here!)

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The chandeliers hang over his head, bright and glittery as chatter fills the air, the nonsense weaving in his ears as Fox breathes. It’s not exactly his ideal mission, but he’s a soldier, one of the Coruscant Guard. He’s supposed to deal with diplomats and Senators, mostly the Chancellor, on almost a daily basis; he has to deal with them in a gala, too.

Except... he despises when he has to talk to them, and he’s still waiting for the one who’s supposed to be his partner.

They’re late, he thinks viciously as he stands next to the doors to the balcony, dressed in uncomfortable formal clothing. According to intelligence, there is a planned terrorist attack tonight during the gala. Not Separatist-related but- close enough. There is supposed to be a Jedi here, specifically Obi-Wan, except he’s been called away last minute for another mission.

And the new Jedi assigned to him is late. Not that Fox will say it to their face.

A hush of silence washes through the room, makes him frown before he silently slips through a couple of politicians to see what the fuss is. He squints at two faraway figures at the doorway, though... they do look familiar for some reason. One of the figures inclines their head, dark eyes meeting his own, and he swallows. They are steady, beautiful, and he has no idea what to do with that notion.

The other figure follows the first figure’s gaze, before blue eyes sharpen and a wide smile breaks across their face. They tug the first figure along, passing through the Senators and diplomats with polite greetings and- oh. That’s Obi-Wan, with that mischievous smile that Fox wants to kiss off of him.

“Commander Fox!” Obi-Wan says in delight when they reach him. Chatter fills up the air again, and Fox leads the way back to where he originally was. “It is so good to see you again.”

“Likewise, General,” Fox responds in kind, snaps into a quick salute, looks towards the other. A Zabrak, and by the looks of it, judging by the stony expression on his face, he’s not enjoying himself, either. “And you must be...?”

“I am Jedi Master Agen Kolar,” the Zabrak says stiffly, dark eyes glancing towards the windows. Tiny black dots catch the light, around his horns and over the bridge of his nose. The way Agen is holding himself is one of calm confidence, though the way his eyes are darting left and right shows he’s focusing on the task at hand, no matter what Fox wants to do first.

Namely, to internally swallow at how pretty Agen is, and– it’s slightly worse than when Obi-Wan flirted with him when he was on duty, which is several times, if he remembers correctly. Both of them look beautiful, though, and Fox has no idea what to do with that information.

Obi-Wan smiles, a sharp and vicious thing of glee. “Master Kolar is here to help us as backup,” the Jedi General explains quietly, offering a hand to Agen as he continues to smile. Agen stares at the hand for a moment before he snorts and takes it. “I must say, though, you look absolutely stunning, Commander, even more so than Master Kolar here.”

“I am not here to look pretty, Master Kenobi,” Agen says flatly, inclines his head as his eyes meet Fox’s. Fox desperately wants a bucket over his head so Obi-Wan or Agen can’t see his face burning, except he’s here as one of these Jedi’s partners... or both.

Oh kriff, it’s both of them, isn’t it?

“Thank you, General,” he says hoarsely instead, before trying to focus on the issue at hand. “Intelligence says that the terrorist attack would most likely happen during the middle of the gala, but there’s no telling what would happen if the said terrorist realizes there are two Jedi here. On top of that, there are still many Senators and politicians that might get caught up in this mess.”

“They may turn tail and run,” Obi-Wan says quietly, thoughtfully, strokes his beard. “Or proceed as planned. We may have to apply some rather... aggressive negotiations.”

“... aggressive negotiations,” Agen repeats, like he didn’t expect Obi-Wan to say those words. Then his lips curve into a dark, wicked smirk full of slyness. “I like that, Kenobi.”

“Why, thank you, Master Kolar, I do aim to please,” Obi-Wan says with a wink at Fox and a disarming smile, as if he knows what Fox is thinking. If anything, Fox feels like melting into a puddle and onto the ground, because he’s slightly ready to bolt for the closest barracks and hide there so both Jedi don’t see how close he is to combusting. “Would you both care to join me for a drink?”

Thire is going to laugh at him. 

“Yes, sir,” Fox says weakly, and desperately hopes Agen will knock some sense into Obi-Wan so he doesn’t have to feel himself beating up.

Agen doesn’t. Instead, he lifts his hand from Obi-Wan’s and gestures Fox to him. “I will stay here,” he says, and that is apparently the end of it. But, Agen takes his hand and places it within Obi-Wan’s hand, and his gaze is softer before he turns and disappears into the crowd.

Fox stares after him, before Obi-Wan tugs at his hand and he obeys, follows the other Jedi through the crowd to the refreshment table. Laughter and continuing chatter echoes in his ears as he tries to ignore the way Obi-Wan’s hand seems to be holding onto him tightly. It’s going to be a few awkward minutes, he can be certain of that.

“So, Commander,” Obi-Wan says when they reach the table, takes two cups of wine and hands it to him. Or not. Fox reluctantly takes one of the cups, allowing himself to take a sip before the taste of bitterness washes over his tongue, the aftertaste of what seems to be sweet honey following.

Grimaces, and places the cup back down, and Obi-Wan softly laughs. “Yes, General?” he asks after a few moments of trying to regain his taste buds back. It’s a momentary failure.

“Just call me Obi-Wan here,” the Jedi says in amusement, his eyes heading towards one side of the room. Fox follows his gaze, spots Agen swiftly moving across the room towards someone; one of the politicians, he supposes. “What do you think of Agen?” 

“General Kolar?” Fox says, raises his eyebrow as he keeps one eye on the other Jedi. Agen slightly turns his head, dark eyes briefly meeting his own before the Zabrak ducks under a tray, his robes slightly billowing in the quick steps. Did he already find the culprit? That’s startling faster than when the Coruscant Guard is trying to find someone. Shakes his head and tries to focus on answering Obi-Wan’s question.

“He seems to be...” Focused, pretty, someone he wants to get to know more about. “... interesting.”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Precisely what I think, Commander,” he says, and Fox wonders if the Jedi’s reading his thoughts and answering to both of his words in his mind and out of it. “However, you may find that Agen is a little... intense in his entrance.”

Fox stares at him. “Sir?” he manages, and–

An explosion erupts from the side of the room. Screams of horror immediately take to the air.

“Ah, just in time, too,” Obi-Wan says, pleased.

“Sir?”

Someone leaps over the refreshment table, one of the Mirialan politicians, if Fox remembers correctly, and makes a mad dash for the balcony. Fox immediately gets out one of his blasters, sets it to stun, and fires at the Mirialan. It misses, nearly hitting Chancellor Palpatine, and he grimaces.

At least he missed; Obi-Wan is already chasing after the politician, disappearing into the crowd just as fast.

Agen swings himself over the refreshment table next to him, dark eyes flickering towards him. The Zabrak grunts, jerks his head towards the balcony doors, and Fox follows him through the crowd. Something dark catches his eyes though, and Fox has to stop for a moment to stare at the offending object. A dark hilt of a lightsaber lies on the ground, a dark contrast to the white flooring. 

Fox picks it up, hurriedly clips it to his belt and runs after Agen. Do all Jedi drop their lightsabers when chasing after a criminal? Well. At least he can return the lightsaber to the Jedi later, after they arrest the politician. The crowd parts for him to easily catch up to the Zabrak, who’s standing outside on the balcony, seemingly calculating the distance between them and the garden below them. 

“Are your hands free, Fox?” Agen suddenly asks, glances towards him. He tries not to look at the Zabrak for saying his name.

“Yes, sir,” he answers quickly, peers down to see the faint outline of trees below them. It’s one of the most beautiful gardens, if he can remember the descriptions of it. Thorn had talked about visiting there with Senator Amidala once, when guarding her, joked that Fox could have a date there with someone after the war was over.

Fox had punched him. It was a warranted reaction.

Warm hands suddenly picks him up, and Fox yelps in alarm, scrambling for a hold as he’s resettled into arms. Agen looks down at him, his eyes flickering with faint amusement like a flame in the night as he holds Fox tightly to him. “We’re jumping down,” is all Agen says, as Fox tightly grasps Agen’s shoulders, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 

He feels his face grow hot. “General Kolar, what-”

The wind harshly blows against his face, cutting off his question as Agen leaps off the balcony and down to the garden. Swallows, shakes, and all Fox can do is bury his face against Agen’s shoulder and pray that they won’t get killed. He’s not used to Jedi (who are pretty) to suddenly grab him and jump off a balcony. Agen is warm, his arms secured around him as he tries not to scream.

Suddenly, a soft thud rings in his ears. Fox cautiously peers out, slightly relieved to see the ground. Looks up to see Agen tilting his head to the side, before the Zabrak gives a faint smile. “You look nice,” Agen says, almost casually, and–

“Nice?” Fox squeaks out pathetically, and maybe his voice cracks a little, and maybe he’s trying to fight off a blush.

“Yes,” Agen simply murmurs, letting him down to the ground. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he gawks at the way Agen is looking at him. Agen lifts his head, and he jolts back to reality, scrambling for his blaster as he checks if the lightsaber is still there. It is, much to his relief, and he checks if his blaster is still on the stun setting. “Obi-Wan?”

“Really, you missed the party, Agen,” Obi-Wan says cheerfully, dragging the unconscious Mirialan behind him. Fox bends down to grab his set of stun cuffs, before clicking them around the Mirialan's wrists. 

Agen snorts. “I had other business,” he answers after glancing towards Fox, and all Fox wants to do is hide somewhere so he doesn’t have to show his face. A breeze blows towards him, slightly chilly against his face, makes him duck his face and avoids looking towards the two Jedi.

“Did you now?” The interest in Obi-Wan’s low voice does not make him twitch and turn around.

Instead, he observes the Mirialan’s formal suit, kneeling down, reaching deep to pull out a flash-bang grenade. It’s not concerning, considering the Mirialan won’t be able to use it now. Fox hands the grenade to Agen, who takes it and places it elsewhere. Continues to search for other weapons on the said Mirialan as he feels eyes on his back.

Well. No more weapons at least.

He glances back, meeting Agen’s eyes as the Zabrak nonchalantly tucks his arms into sleeves as Obi-Wan inclines his head. Fox only places his hands on his knees, rises to his feet as he turns towards them. Obi-Wan seems curious to what they’re going to do next, the Jedi watches them with blue eyes that seem to shimmer gently under the moonlight.

“Anything else, sir?” Fox asks roughly, and Obi-Wan smiles sharply.

“I can think of a few things,” Obi-Wan says lightly, treads towards him slowly as Agen stands next to him, a dark hand reaching out to take his own. “But we should save it for later, don’t you agree? Preferably somewhere with a bed.”

“Yes, sir,” he answers weakly, hears Agen softly grunt before the Zabrak presses close to him.

His hand doesn’t let go, though Agen lifts a free hand to brush against his cheek. Feels his face grow warm from it as Obi-Wan laughs and takes his other hand, a wicked smile twisting on his lips. It’s surprisingly lovely, to be there with them, the way they’re standing together.

“Anything else before we go?” Agen asks, and Fox remembers the lightsaber, feels the weight of it on his belt.

“Yes, sir, there actually is.” Fox withdraws the lightsaber from his person and hands to Obi-Wan, who lifts the lightsaber from his hands with a small frown. He decides to move on, so they can have a clear picture of what happened. “I believe that one of you dropped it when we were chasing after the criminal, sir.”

A short moment of silence occurs, before Obi-Wan opens his mouth. “Commander,” the Jedi says slowly, “this isn’t one of our lightsabers.”

Agen’s hand tightens its hold on him as Fox stares. “Sir? Not one of your lightsabers?”

“The Force around this lightsaber is full of darkness. Strange,” Obi-Wan mutters, before he waves it away from them and clicks a button. A red blade springs from the hilt, humming loudly, crimson light radiating. They all stare at it before Obi-Wan clicks it off. “Well. This certainly explains why I have never seen this lightsaber before in my life. Or why it’s dark.”

“A Sith’s ‘saber,” Agen says quietly, before Fox glances up towards the Zabrak. “Where did you find this again, Fox?”

“In the gala,” Fox answers slowly, before it clicks in his mind. Both Jedi beside him grimaces, his mind suddenly racing with thoughts, theories. Impossible, but yet... if the lightsaber he just handed over was found in the gala, that means–

Agen is the one who speaks their thoughts out loud. “The Sith Lord is part of the Senate.”

[dragon-writes-sometimes]

Once Upon A Time... Not, Chapter 4: #TwinSquad

Chapter Summary: Virgil is very surprised at how strangers are coming to his rescue from the school bully, Jake Simons. He makes some new friends like that, as well as getting very confused.

Trigger Warnings: Bullying, verbal fighting, pushing, threats, confusion, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3492

AO3

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter   -   Chapter 5

Chapter 4: #TwinSquad

That sounds like… Anastacia comes into my vision, stands in front of me, guarding me. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about who you think you are! Nobody, and I repeat, NOBODY! Does that to my brother!” Anyone who doesn’t know her, everybody here except me, wouldn’t know that inside her mind, she’s screaming at herself to grab me and run. The little waver in her voice gave it away. But I’m so lucky to have her. She sets her own anxiety to the side to help me.

“What?” Jake drawls out that word. “We were just having a bit of fun. Ain’t that right, freak?” He looks pointedly at me. And earns a shove from Ann.

“Don’t you dare call my brother a freak,” she says, voice dangerously low. Oh-uh. I haven’t heard her use that voice since she beat the crap out of the only bully at our last school. He was degrading me for being trans, so he kinda had it coming. But still, Anastacia can be pretty scary when she’s in protective mode.

“Oh, I’m sooo scared. What’re you gonna do, British? Throw a teabag after me?” he mocks. Big mistake on his part, if you ask me.

“Did you just-” Oh, Ann is seething now. I can tell. To hell with anxiety, when you’ve pissed her off, you’re dead.

I look around the yard and, oh no! There are so many people! I need to get away from here! I’m on the verge of a panic attack, I can feel it! Why couldn’t I just stay at home and never see the sun again? Ann’s talking, I think. Maybe even fighting that Jake guy. At least verbally. I can’t hear them. I can’t hear anything! Wait, I can hear my heart. That’s good. Right? Oh god, I’m going to have a panic attack on the first day back to school in front of a bunch of strangers! I can’t- I can’t-

“What’s going on here, Jake?”

Who was that? Their voice sounds really calculated. But also kinda cold. Their voice broke through my panicked thoughts, though. Like Mother’s. Her voice was able to break through my thoughts. I’ve only heard their voice, but I think it’s someone I can trust. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s all a haze right now. I should probably open my eyes. Yeah, I’m gonna do that. Wait, I closed my eyes? When did that happen?

Anastacia is standing protectively in front of me, like a knight protecting their most dearest with a shield from a firebreathing dragon. No! Not thinking about that! In front of her, two other students are standing face to face with Jake. They’re talking with him. What are they saying? I try and focus on them.

“… ould leave.” The voice from earlier.

“Yeah, right. Like I’m going to. Yo, Marco! Dillan!” That’s Jake. At his shout, two other students run over to his side. “The nerds wanna fight,” Jake laughs.

“We’d rather it didn’t come to that. However, I will indulge you if you want.” This is a new voice. They sound quite dramatic. It’s one of the two who came over. They are defending me? Why? They don’t know me. I don’t know them.

I can see their back. One of the two is wearing what looks like a dark blue polo. The other is wearing a dark red jacket with a crown on. Nothing too boisterous, but still. Bold.

“Can’t you count, Garcia? It’s three against two. British is obviously too busy with her weak-ass brother,” Jake smirks.

“Numbers don’t matter in situations such as this, may I remind you. Anyone with even just a slight comprehension of hand-to-hand combat will tell you that.” The first voice.

“Indeed, Simons, we don’t need to be any more to take you fiends down.” Red Jacket does what I assume is supposed to be a dramatic pose. Pretty sure the second voice belongs to them.

“Pfft, you really think your geek can handle being in a fight, Garcia? He would lose instantly.” Jake and his goons laugh. “He’s too scrawny! If I even just gently punch him, he’d break!” Jakes goons laughed even harder at that. Well, that really wasn’t fair! I really wanna help them, but I can’t do a fucking thing right now! It’s like I’m paralysed!

“You would actually be surprised at what Logan can do, Jake.” A new voice, sounding a bit more female. Well, it looks like they are here to help Polo Shirt and Red Jacket. “And how many punches he can take without breaking a sweat or slowing down in the slightest.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Quick E coming the weaklings to the resue?” Jake taunts. I think it’s supposed to be a play at their name or something.

“Har har, real mature, Jackie.” Jake sneers at the name. The newcomer (gosh, there’s so many strangers now, I can’t breathe) only smile at Jake innocently. “You know it’s Qikkie. Q-I-K-K-I-E,” they spell out. “Qikkie. Might look weird, but it’s just pronounced ‘Kikki’.” Oh, their smile is dangerous now. They kinda remind me of Ann…

“Virgil, breathe.” Who said that?! I frantically look around. Who the hell sa- oh. Anastacia. She’s right next to me now. She’s telling me to breathe. Am I not breathing? I inhale sharply. Oh, guess I wasn’t.

She continues whispering soft nothings into my ear. I tune them out in favour of focusing on the conversation in front of us. Red Jacket is standing slightly in front of Polo Shirt, ready to defend. I must’ve missed something.

“Oh, go put a sock in it, Jake,” Red Jacket says. Jake just laughs. As do his goons.

“Hey! Attention here, hothead!” the newcomer, Qikkie, says, snapping their fingers. Nice bracelet. Why does it say ‘She/Her’ on it? “Do you really wanna turn your back on me? After what happened last year?” Jake visibly freezes. Qikkie just smiles wickedly. Wonder what happened?

“Fine. You losers win this round,” Jake grumbles, signalling to his goons to follow him as he leaves.

“You just conceded victory to us, so we are in fact the winners. Not losers,” Polo Shirt says, sounding puzzled.

Qikkie turns to Ann and me. “Sorry about him. Jake wasn’t taught any manners at all at home. He’s just a Neanderthal. Just ignore him and his brainless gorillas,” Qikkie smiles at us and offers a hand. The other two are still there, but it seems like they’re sending ordering looks to the other students because they start to leave fast.

Ann takes their offered hand after I nod an okay at her. She then gently lifts me up with both hands. Damn it! I’m wobbling a bit. My legs aren’t steady. Haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday and that push just took more of my remaining energy. I really need to eat better.

I quickly gain my balance and start signing. ‘Thanks, sis. Uhm, could you translate this next part?’ I hesitantly ask.

“Of course! Go ahead,” she says, earning a few confused looks from the others with us. Polo Shirt and Red Jacket came to stand next to Qikkie.

‘You know, it’s really offensive to Neanderthals to call him that. They were obviously much more intelligent than Jake is.’ I sign, allowing a tiny smirk to be visible on my face. Ann starts giggling a lot and has to catch her breath. Polo Shirt starts chuckling a bit as well, making Qikkie and Red Jacket look at them like they’d lost their mind. Maybe they didn’t laugh much?

Ann seems to have caught her breath again. “Huh, sorry. Right, translation. Virgil said, and I quote: You know, it’s really offensive to Neanderthals to call him that. They were obviously much more intelligent than Jake is.” And the others start laughing. Well, Polo Shirt is still chuckling a bit.

Qikkie’s laugh is light and not really that loud. Red Jacket’s laughter, however… it’s loud and boisterous and like music. Wait, what? Nonono, get it together Virgil! If you start these thoughts you’re only gonna start blushing and- and I’m blushing. Great. I look down a bit, trying to hide behind my bangs. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice, please don’t notice!

They finally start to laugh off. And Red Jacket looks at me. Oh, no! Shit! They’re smiling! At me! What do I do?! Can’t I just sink into the ground or something?!

“I like the way you think, Virgil, was it?” they ask. All I can do is stand there and look really dumb. I just nod. I’m pretty sure no one seems aware of my internal conflict. “I’m Roman. Roman Garcia. He/him.” Red Jacket, Roman, says, extending his hand but backtracks and scratches his neck instead. At least he could see I’d rather not touch any stranger at the moment.

Polo Shirt collects himself and gives a tiny attention-grabbing cough. “My name is Logan Connors. I, as well as Roman, use he/him pronouns. And we’re glad to be of assistance to the both of you,” he says and gives a curt nod. Yup. He’s the formal type. He even wears a necktie. Who even does that in a school that has no uniforms?

“You probably already caught my name,” Qikkie chuckles. “But if you forgot it already, it’s Qikkie. Picani. My name’s spelt really weird, but it’s just pronounced ‘Kiki’,” they smile. They get a look from Logan that I have no idea what means. “Oh, yeah! And I use she/her pronouns for today. I’m a demigirl, or as I like to call it: demifemale, so you can see my pronouns on my bracelet here.” She lifts her hand with the bracelet I saw earlier. So that’s why it says she/her. Cool. “When I’m wearing the ‘they/them’ pendants, you can just call me Q. You don’t have to, obviously, but it would be nice.”

“That’s really cool! I’m Anastacia, uhh, Blake,” Ann hesitantly adds. Most likely because they also shared their last names. Qikkie seems to light up at Ann’s comment about Qikkie’s bracelet. “I use she/her as well. And this is Virgil,” she gestures to me. “My brother. He/him.” I give a small wave at the introduction. And then the awkwardness starts. No one seems to know what to say now. I just try and hide behind my hair and hope Roman doesn’t look at me. I really don’t know why my body reacted like that! What’s wrong with me?

Luckily the first warning bell rings, signalling for us to get ready to go to our next class, breaking the awkward silence.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, it would be best for us to head to our next classes. We can show you to your classrooms?” Logan offers, albeit a bit awkward. He must not be all that social. Welcome to the club. I nod silently.

“We’d like that,” Ann says after she sees my nod. She checks her schedule. “Uhm, I have Maths,” she says.

“Ooh! We do too! Roman and I!” Qikkie says, clapping her hands excitedly. “We can take you there and at the same time, make sure Jake doesn’t try and bother you!” Ann nods, but glances to me. “What do you have, Virgil?” Qikkie asks me. Guess she noticed the worry in Ann’s eyes.

I look at my schedule. And smile. I have Art! One of the few things I don’t suck at and have a hard time screwing up. ‘Art’ I sign at Ann.

“Art? Cool!” Ann says, genuinely excited for me. It feels nice.

“Well, seems like you’ll be keeping me company, as I also have Art,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses unnecessarily. Must be a tick or something. He seems alright. I hope I’m not wrong like last time… “It is this way, Virgil.” I look around. Ann already left with Roman and Qikkie. I must’ve been zoning out. Wait, he’s walking away. Logan’s walking away. What do I do? Oh, right. He said he has Art too. I’m just gonna follow him.

I catch up to him pretty fast, though I do have a small limp from being pushed down on the ground. I really hope he doesn’t notice. We walk in silence. Obviously. Logan seems like someone who’s not up for unnecessary conversation, and I don’t really speak.

“So, Virgil. Might I inquire how long you’ve been unable to speak?” Logan suddenly breaks the silence. Great. “Do not worry about answering in sign-language, as I know some myself. Granted, I do not communicate in it every day. You do not have to answer if it’s too uncomfortable for you,” he adds after he, presumably, glances towards me and sees how I’m curling in on myself. It’s nice to know he actually cares about me. The least I could do after he and Roman basically saved me is answer him.

‘Well… I’m not unable to speak, per se. My throat just closes up a lot. It’s been doing that for as long as I can remember, really. So, I really just use sign to speak with others. Others being my sister and father.’ I hope that wasn’t too much for him to read. He did say he’s not the best.

“Ah. Selective mutism. I’m guessing you have heightened anxiety?” Logan asks. Wait, it’s actually called something? I thought I was just a weirdo. Huh. I do nod at his question about my anxiety. “Well, if you are called upon by the teacher, I shall translate as best I can for you if that is alright?” Again I nod.

He keeps his focus on me as we walk so I might as well ask. ‘Is there a specific reason why you know sign language?’ Pleasedon’thatemepleasedon’thatemepleasedon’thatemepleas-

“Well, a good friend of mine, his mother is deaf. I spent a lot of time at their house growing up, so I picked up a few things, well, a lot. And I’ve always been fascinated by it,” Logan explains. Well. At least he doesn’t find me annoying. Yet. I think.

We walk for another minute in silence, my mind is seriously being an asshole right now. How far away is the Art classroom anyway?! Hey, it’s my first day, alright? Don’t expect me to remember where everything is to a tee from just one tour of the school! “Logan! There you are!” someone whisper-shouts. Someone’s waving at us, standing outside a classroom.

“Ah, that is my sister, Laylin. Relax, Laylin. It’s still another five minutes before class starts,” Logan addresses the girl in front of us. She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, but you’re usually here ten minutes before. Did Patton make you look at pictures of puppies again?” she remarks sarcastically. I’m just gonna assume that it’s something that’s only happened once and Laylin just keeps bringing it up to annoy Logan. That’s what I would do if Logan was my brother.

“That was one time!” Logan near hisses. “And no. Jake had sought out a new victim, so we stopped by to help. This is Virgil, by the way,” he says, nodding to me. I give a small wave at the girl in front of me.

“Nice to meet you, Virgil. I’m Laylin, Logan’s twin. Hope Jake didn’t give you a bad impression of the school. It’s the fewest that’s actually like him.” They’re twins. Why am I surprised? It’s the only explanation as to how they’re on the same year as siblings. Right?

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. Someone’s always by my side, so Jake stays away. We got some homework, but at least it’s something we covered last year in school, so I already did it and won’t have to agonise over it.

When we arrive at school the next day, Nini is standing just outside the doors, waving at us when she spots us. “So. Heard yesterday was quite eventful, huh? Next time Jake decides to annoy you, just drop my name, and he’ll back off,” she says as we reach her.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Ann giggles. We head inside, and Nini guides us in the direction of our next class. We still have another fifteen minutes, but we’d like to be in good time, seeing as we missed the first lesson yesterday because we are new and needed a tour and everything.

The classroom’s up ahead, someone’s already standing outside the door, not blocking it though. Wait, is that Roman? Huh. His wardrobe is completely different from yesterday. Ann noticed him too. “Hey, Roman,” she says when we get close enough. He looks up, and did he dye his hair since yesterday? Because I don’t recall that grey streak in his hair. Then again, I only met the guy yesterday.

Roman starts laughing. Well, more like cackling, really. That… is not the reaction I expected at all. And from the way Ann mirrors my surprise and confusion, neither did she. I look around us, searching with my eyes as to what could be so funny. A guy (I assume, but still gonna refer with gender-neutral pronouns until I know for sure) is standing close by and looks like a confused bean. Like, literally. Looks like the definition of an innocent bean. Blue shirt, glasses, a cardigan tied around the shoulders, and a long skirt on.

“Remus? What’s going on?” they ask as they move closer.

REMUS?! The hell?! I glance at Anastacia. She looks as shocked as I am; mouth ajar and everything. Does this mean that yesterday was some sort of planned out practical joke? That they gave us fake names just to ridicule us today in school?

I can see their mouth moving, feel Ann’s hand on my arm, but I can’t hear. Shit! Not having a panic attack now! Not gonna happen! Pull yourself together, Virgil! Don’t need to make a bigger fool out of yourself than you already have. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, and out for eight. Repeat.

“…iddo?” Great, I can hear again. My eyes focus again. The others are staring at me. Did I miss something? I tilt my head a bit to the side, Ann knows it means I’m listening but think I might’ve missed something in the conversation. Which I clearly did just now.

“Hey, there, kiddo. Glad you’re joining us again,” the person in the skirt says. “My name is Patton, he/him,” he smiles. He seems really bubbly, it’s actually a calming atmosphere to be in. I smile faintly at him to make sure he knows I heard him. I can hear footsteps in the distance.

He opens his mouth to say some more, but someone interrupts. Someone who wasn’t there before. And looks like Patton. Like, apart from the heterochromia and some lighter patches of skin on the left side of their face, they are identical. And now my confused state has increased. “Could you keep it down, Remus? I could hear you all the way at the end of the hallway,” they drawl, pointing over their shoulder, down the long hallway.

“Oh, heya, Janus!” Patton waves energetically. “I made some new friends! I think.” He looks at me, smiling. He then looks back at the newcomer, Janus, and starts explaining what just happened to make ‘Remus’ laugh like that.

She smiles (Patton mentioned her pronouns somewhere in his explanation. It went too fast for me to get the context for why he mentioned her pronouns, okay?) and chuckles a bit. “I can understand why you look so utterly confused. You two ran into Roman yesterday, right?” she asks. Her voice is smooth and a bit deep. I can see Ann nod in my periphery. “It is most likely that he didn’t mention Remus at all. You just met, after all. But, they are not the same person. They are twins. Identical twins. Patton and I are twins as well if you were wondering, which I can only assume you were. We are not identical twins, but we look very similar still,” she explains, and now I feel like a total fool. And idiot. Of course, they are twins. That’s what makes the most sense. I’m getting a headache. “Oh, and I am genderfluid, so keep watch of my necklace,” she winks.

I look towards Anastacia, my anxiety forgotten. ‘I am getting a headache. There are three pairs of twins, not including us, here. This is gonna get confusing fast,’ I sign to her, to which she nods.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees, taking my hand. “But we’re here together, so we get to share our confusion,” she winks.

“Oh, this is only half of us, darling,” Janus smirks. “But we should get to class, it’s about to start. Have fun.” She starts walking back down the hall. “By the way.” She stops and looks over her shoulder. “Welcome to the Twin Squad.”