#have you seen the stinking fish man

[himi-wiz]

Tags. Tags are absolutely right.

Don't get me wrong I find Dark Era Dazai's still an idiot who lacks the sympathy or patience to mould someone that's obstinate amd full of rawness properly as Akutagawa but there is no way he views his apprentice as a mere tool. His whole thing is he's the one that's no longer human compared to the rest of the world that clicks together in society.

Sorry friend I know you kin Aku but you're actually wrong about what he means to Dazai. Also I wasn't joking. This is literally me pointing and going "This is what Dazai said was his reasoning for why he trained him like that." This is an example of how Dazai feared Aku would treat all his problems when he first met him. I only worded it as a joke because I'm funny like that.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It is very, incredibly important not to get attached to someone who will no doubt be leaving you high and dry to die stranded on an island any day now—be they man or fish. And you are definitely, definitely following that rule. For sure.

🌶️ Obligatory Warning for Mild Spice

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The next morning, there was a conch shell set beside the familiar offering of half-mauled fish.

The insides were a shining, pearlescent pink—smooth and sleek. You picked it up curiously and turned it over in your palms. You’d never seen such a complete one before. Normally they were at least a bit dinged, cracked here or there along the thin edges. But this one was practically perfect. It sat heavy and warm in your palm, and you brushed a finger along the rough ridges.

You looked up and the Siren was lounging at the shoreline, waiting expectantly.

“Thank you,” you said. “It’s really pretty.”

He preened, the fins along the side of his head fluttering wide and colorful. You huffed, amused, and set the shell neatly at the forefront of your slowly accumulating corner of Things. You’d rebuilt the little shanty shelter that he’d had his seagull minions pick apart into useless nonsense that first day together, and it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep some of the sun off your shoulders at the height of the afternoon and would probably (maybe) hold up under a bit of rain. And that pleasantly cozy hovel of yours was where you’d been keeping your Stuff. The best sticks for poking at the fire, a rock that you’d found with a dip in the middle that made it sort of, almost a bowl if you squinted hard enough, bunches of drying beach grasses that you’d been tediously twining together into bits of rope and other nonsense. That sort of thing.

You placed the conch shell on the roof of it, prodding at it with the tips of your fingers until it sat just so. Like a figurehead on a ship. The crown jewel on your little mess of ferns and driftwood.

“What do you think?” you asked, turning back to the Siren. “Really brings the room together, huh?”

He puffed something under his breath and rolled those amethyst eyes of his, but there was a curl to his lips that looked far more amused than irritated.

You trudged back over and plopped beside him in the sand, the soft, low roll of the waves playing against your toes.

“Today feels like it’s going to be gross again,” you sighed, squinting up at the sun overhead in distaste. The big ball of glowing fire had barely crawled its way over the horizon and already it felt like the world was beginning to steam.

The Siren curled his claws around your ankle and tugged.

You arched a brow at him and he pushed his stupidly, perfectly shaped ones up right back. Like he was positive that he could out stink-face you with ease.

“It’s too early to swim,” you complained.

He tugged again.

“I can’t be in the water that long. You’re going to turn me into a prune.”

He said something back, mouth quirking in irritation, and you focused hard on the shape of it. His expression smoothed with that familiar, near-eerie perception of his and he was reaching forward to dig his free fingers into the sand at your hip.

‘Don’t know what that is.’

“It’s like a—” you frowned, waving your hand around your head. “Y’know. A fruit, that’s gone pruney. A prune.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest human he’d ever met, and to be fair you very well could have been. You doubted it was an extensive list. And even if it was, you tended to have a proclivity for landing near the top of those illustrious sorts of rankings either way. At least that’s what your Captain saw fit to remind you ad nauseum.

So, like the very mature and intellectually competent person that you were, you kicked a mess of seawater right into his face. And then the Siren was screaming something silent and mad that had all the goosebumps on your arms popping up to say hello, and he was dragging you into the shallows ass first. You skidded along the wet sand and landed in the white surf with a laugh that you had to swallow real fast. Because if you drowned in three inches of water just because you couldn’t manage to not choke to death on a giggle fit, you’d never forgive yourself.

.

.

That night, you were lounging by the fire with a belly full of seared snapper and the Siren curled just as contentedly only a few feet away. His fins were splayed out across the damp sands, and you couldn’t help but compare them yet again to some of the finest, spun silks you’d ever seen. Even when they’d been pinched and shredded beneath the prickly teeth of your ropes, they’d still been lovely. But now that they were near-fully-healed, the spread of them was truly impressive.

And they were. Almost healed, that is. You could barely make out the trailing, scar-puckered lines of even the biggest tears anymore. Which was good! Great, even. Because that meant he’d be able to begin his journey home soon, didn’t it? And then at least one of you would manage to get away from this barren mess of rocks and sand.

There was a thump against your thighs that had you jolting back into focus, and you looked down to see a pair of familiar, gem-cut irises staring back in the dark.

The Siren was glaring up at you like there was a Purpose to his sudden loss of personal boundaries, and you blinked down at him in confusion. After a long moment of nothing but your silent gawking, his brow started to pinch and the skin around his eyes went tight with irritation. The fins along his ears rippled like a pissy cat raising its hackles in preparation to lunge, and you cautiously placed a hand against the edge of one. The grumpy fluttering stopped all at once, and if you were a touch more sun-poisoned you would say that those delicate, purple pins relaxed against your palm. Either way, you were clearly on the right track. So you let your fingers trail down towards his temples, and then to the salt-curled waves of his hair. His eyes slipped closed with a pleasant rumble that you could feel all along your skin, and you puffed in half-hearted irritation. Prickly, fussy, bastard man.

You weren’t really sure what he wanted, but for now the gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp seemed to do the trick. After a few cycles of lazy petting, you let your fingers catch in some of the softer, pale hair beneath his fins. It was a bit tangled—possibly from all that frilly posturing of his—and you carefully began picking apart the small knots there one by one. Once those were cleared away, you found yourself with little else to do but sit and play with the newly freed waves of lavender-tipped gold. You tucked one strand over the next, twisting the familiar pattern of a simple braid beneath your palms.

“Deuce grew his hair out at one point,” you chattered idly as you wove those silky locks together beneath your fingers. “That’s someone from my ship, by the way. Deuce. Anyways. He thought it’d make him look more rugged, or whatever. But he just ended up looking like some rogue, sea elf, and everyone was teasing him about how he’d gone for ‘windswept sailor’ and ended up with ‘foppish, little lordling.’ So he chopped it all off again.”

The Siren hummed, and you could feel it against the pads of your fingers.

“Which was a real shame,” you continued. “Because obviously I spent all that time learning to braid it, but also because it actually looked pretty nice—OUCH! What is your problem—"

You yanked your hand away from his sharp teeth and cradled your smarting fingers to your chest. Because the stupid fish had bitten you! Not hard, or anything. Just a little nip. But it’d still hurt. If less as a genuine injury and more as a sting to your pride.

The Siren spat something quick and harsh under his breath, turning up his nose like you’d been the one to err here, and not his wandering fangs.

“What?” you huffed, reaching out to flick at those purple fins in irritation. They twitched against the side of his head to smack at your fingers. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to call anyone else pretty, your highness?”

The Siren rolled his eyes with a look that screamed ‘well, duh,’ and you forced your irritation to override the little, bursting bubble of fondness in your chest. So silly, so silly. This ridiculously primped fish of yours.

“Well, too bad,” you grouched, tugging at the end of that half-bound braid. “Just because you win ‘most attractive specimen on the island’ doesn’t mean you get to tell me to pretend I’m blind on top of being deaf. Let me have something, you prick.” And it wasn’t like it was much of a competition—seeing as the entrants were you, him, and the octopus (if you were being generous). Less of a contest and more of a merciful slaughter, perhaps. A kindness that you were even allowed to share the same stage at all.

The Siren muttered something low and amused under his breath, the amethyst in his irises twinkling with the crackling, orange light of the embers beside you. He reached up to twist his claws along your palm and snatch the hand he’d so viciously nipped—bringing it down to eyelevel to observe it more closely in the dim glow of the fire. There was a steady trickle of blood bubbling up along your thumb. Honestly, not much worse than a papercut. Nevertheless, his brow quirked at the soft trail of red and his gaze jumped up to yours with a pointed sort of curiosity.

“What were you expecting to happen? Humans are fragile,” you huffed. “At least more than you are. It’s not like I have scales or things to keep me safe.”

His mouth tucked down on a frown, and his tail swept irritably back and forth through the sand.

“What? It’s not like you didn’t know that,” you tried, awkward. Because he ate stupid, little flesh bags like you for breakfast. Surely he ought to be well aware that there wasn’t much there. Just skin, and muscle, and all the gory, gooey bits beneath. Just like how you knew what it felt like to bite into a piece of bread, or the crunch of an apple. Solid enough to survive in its own right, but something that would give beneath your teeth easily enough that calling it anything other than ‘delicate’ would have been a gross exaggeration.

He turned your palm this way and that, brow pinching down more and more with each fresh prick of crimson. His tail beat against the sand and his talons curled up and away from your skin—like he was worried just touching your fragile, little, egg-shell of an exterior would burst it.

“It’s fine,” you blurted out, still far too confuddled over his progressive panic. You pulled your hand away from his claws and popped your finger in your mouth. “See?” you garbled around the faint taste of copper. And then pulled it out with a pop to show him the slowing trickle. “Totally fine. Just a scratch.”

The Siren watched that little bubble of red with all the vigilance of a hawk eyeing its super, and then he was snatching your wrist back between his talons and dragging your hand down towards his own mouth. And oh my God, this was it. He’d finally decided to eat you after all. What was it? Had your oh-so-breakable human foibles finally pushed him over the edge? Or was it the blood? Were Sirens like sharks? Driven to hungry frenzy by the very scent of your—

There was a gentle, wet warmth along your skin and you blinked through your hysteric descent into adrenaline-manic-mania to see the Siren carefully cleaning the blood along your cut, just as you had only moments before—his tongue running smooth lines along the teeny wound until the sore skin was tingling and spotless. Granted, his endeavors were carried out with a great deal more delicacy than your earlier example of just shoving your whole finger into your mouth like a gremlin, but…

“Uhm—” you spluttered, too gobsmacked to come up with much else. “You—ah—you don’t have to—uh—"

The Siren grumped something at you that you could feel the shape of against your palm, and then returned to diligently wiping away each new drop as it appeared. It was a strange sort of sensation. Not bristly like a cat’s tongue, but certainly not all human. There was a sting to it—something hot and prickly. Poison, maybe? Or… something. Whatever it was, it had the hair on the back of your neck rising to attention and a shiver working along your shoulders. He kept at, silent and meticulous, until finally—finally—the bleeding slowed to a stop. He hummed and turned your palm this way and that, looking over the drying nick in your skin like an artist admiring their work.

Once he was content with whatever it was he’d been searching for, he tucked your hand back along the fins at the side of his head and butted up against your palm in as blatant of a ‘get back to work’ as you’d ever seen.

You swallowed the weird mess of something that had clawed its way up to tangle your tongue and dug your nails back against his scalp just to give yourself something to do other than—than—

“I hope you don’t expect me to do that for you,” you babbled, still far too out of your head with What In The Fuck Was That to do much but gawk like an absolute imbecile at the fact that he’d actually, factually, just—

The Siren rolled his eyes and reached over to drag the point of his talon along the sand at your hip.

‘No need. Already healed.’

You barked out a startled laugh and tugged at the ends of his hair. Your fingers caught at the edge of the braid you’d been weaving, loosening one of the twining sections, and he was hissing and swatting your hands back into place—poking around with his dark claws at the little end you’d fussed with until it was exactly how it had been. And then was dragging your hands back to the half-woven bulk of it with a pointed snarl that was clearly an order to finish what you started, human. Or else.

“Okay, okay, jeesh. I’m on it.”

The Siren trilled low and rumbling under his breath, and beneath the weight of your palm it almost felt like the steady drone of a cat’s purr. Warm, and pleasant, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite place. The thin strands of chain-twined-rope you’d woven to make his necklace pressed into your thighs with a scratchy tickle, and the pretty piece of sea glass at its end reflected the low light of the fire in a kaleidoscope of purples. His fins flicked against your fingers in a steady tempo, and when you gave in and pinched one he was rolling onto his side to shove the full weight of himself into your lap. You whined, and bitched, and complained about suffocation, and the stupid bastard of a fish just smacked his tail indignantly against the wet sand and draped over you even more.

Seven, he was such a nightmare. And you were going to miss him so, so much.

.

.

The next day passed in much the same way as the one before, and the day after that, and the day after that. And as pleasant as it was, you couldn’t help but feel like the headsman's axe was hanging over your neck. Always there—just a breadth away from falling.

You were fixing your Siren’s hair—redoing that braid of his that he insisted you tuck into his golden locks each and every morning—and normally he was quite responsive to your prattling. Flicking you with his fins and curling his tail along your ankles as you rambled. A silent, steady way of expressing his interest when you couldn’t hear his own responses in return. But today he was… distant. Amethyst eyes locked on the grand expanse of the ocean before you with a forlorn sort of expression on his face. The water was still and quiet today, with sunlight bouncing off the low, rolling waves in a pretty glimmer like the glow off his own, shining scales.

You trailed off, fingers falling from his finished braid to twist in your lap. And he just kept staring. Fins half-pricked along the side of his head and gaze heavy with focus.

You swallowed around the tightness in your chest and forced a smile. You hopped to your feet with a merry, little bounce and reached down to pat him on the shoulder.

“It seems like a nice day for a swim,” you said, and ignored how you could feel your nerves eating through the words. The wobble of them in your throat.

The Siren startled, as much as someone as grandly majestic as he could really do such a thing, and turned your way with a fondly exacerbated huff. He held up a hand, like he was expecting to drag you along with him into the lulling tide, and you shooed away his fingers. His brow pinched and his mouth turned down at the corners.

“For you, I mean,” you clarified. Like your blatant stepping away from the water’s edge wasn’t an obvious rejection in its own right. You turned back out towards the ocean beyond your little cove. “Your fins are doing a lot better, aren’t they? You could probably stretch them a bit, right? With how smooth the waters are today.”

He hummed, considerate, gaze skirting out to track your own. You swallowed around another ball of prickling ice in your throat and kept your grin buoyant and encouraging.

And then he turned back and offered you his hand again.

You frowned, confused. “I can’t follow you out there.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to dig his talons into the damp sand.

‘I will swim with you.’

A pause, where he reached out to poke at your ankle with a pointed jab, jab, jab before finishing off with a—

‘Like always. Stupid.’

“Oh, yeah? Well, I won’t be so stupid when you ditch me halfway out and I drown in the riptide,” you harrumphed and his eyes narrowed grumpily.

He dragged his claws through the sand in short, angry jerks.

‘Won’t leave.’

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, swallowing stiffly again when that curl of awful something tightened behind your ribs. Hoping you could manage to choke it down. It sat heavy and unpleasant on the back of your tongue, like food gone off.

He underlined the ‘won’t’ with hard, pissy strokes.

“How about this,” you tried, because man oh man, you couldn’t do this. It was going to turn you into a ridiculously weepy, clingy mess if he kept talking (writing?) like this. “Prove that your fins work well enough to keep you up and alive before I risk it. And then we can go from there.”

The Siren huffed, sending the longer ends of his hair flipping out to the sides. But those gem-cut eyes of his kept flicking out to sea, and you could see the tip of his tail twitching back and forth—like he was itching to just leap forward and swim. The fins along his ears pricked up again, and then he was turning his nose up at you with some petulant comment under his breath and diving forward into the surf. He smacked his tail down with a splash!, drenching you in a mess of salt and seafoam. You spat, and hacked, and scrubbed the water from your eyes.

“Great way to prove you won’t try and drown me!” you called, hands cupped over your mouth and still spluttering around lingering saltwater. He reared up quick enough to swipe another wave your way before slipping back under, and you laughed through the spray of mist.

You settled yourself back in the sand, ankles crossed and chin pillowed in your knees, and watched the shadow of him dance just beneath the surface—starting in his familiar, looping circles before slowly venturing towards the mouth of the cove. He paced along the breakwater, pectoral fins cresting above the waves to glint bright and sleek in the light of the morning. And then he was darting forward with a great beat of his tail, spraying salt behind him as he dove towards the depths. You waited, anxious, as one moment faded to the next, and then—finally—there was a burst of frothing bubbles as he broke the surface with a great, curling leap—fins flared wide like the wings of a great bird and scales shining like jewels. It was nearly effortless, how he crested over the water. Diving back down in a mess of spitting mists with a flick of those long, trailing fins. He leapt up again, twisting in the air to crash down on his back and it almost looked like he was dancing. You could see the white flash of his grin even from all the way where you were sat. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so happy. Truly, a sight worthy of every grand tale you’d heard of the Sirens of the Sea.

He circled the mouth of the bay at least a dozen times more—fast, and wild, and breaching the waves in a burst of seafoam like he was trying to give every pod of dolphins out there a run for their money. Gradually, he began to lose steam, and those grand leaps melted into soft curls of his tail in the tide. And honestly, this was the part where you expected him to sink beneath the surface and glide off into the sunset. You braced yourself for it—for the moment that golden head of his would vanish beneath the water and never pop back up again—but instead he bobbed closer.

The Siren rolled in with the waves, panting, and flushed, and looking like someone coming off of a marathon. The muscles all along his torso were jittery with the strain of it, and he looked positively exhausted. Ecstatic beyond compare, but exhausted. He slipped up the damp shore with wobbly arms and came to a stop at your side before very gracelessly and rudely flopping the entirety of his sopping wet bulk onto your person and squashing you into the muck.

You squawked, rightfully indignant, and he just puffed against your neck and let his tail smack harder against your flailing legs.

“You’re going to crush me!” you wailed, shoving at his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes and curled his fins along your hips—spreading himself out in the sands like your complaints held no merit whatsoever. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours, and the rabbit-fast thump-thump-thump of his heart. His skin was so warm. You could even feel the heat of it off his scales, which you hadn’t even thought was possible. Weren’t all fishy, scaly things supposed to be cold? Slimy, and gross, and like poking a wet blob of some unmentionable gunk scraped off the hull of a ship? Instead it was just… smooth. Glass-polish sleek and all warm muscle twined along your much, much smaller self.

You cleared your throat and turned to blow a frustrated raspberry against the sand.

“You do realize if you break all my bones that there isn’t going to be anyone to cook your stupid fish for you anymore.”

The Siren grumbled something against your shoulder that almost felt like the breathy puff of a laugh, and then he was collapsing all over again with a sigh that ruffled all the soft, short hairs at the nape of your neck. He scrubbed his cheek against the curve of your throat and you froze. Because it almost felt like—was he purring?

A deep, low, tremulous thing that you could feel rumbling against your skin. Like laying a hand against a mast strung too tight in a storm. Or maybe more like that one time you’d found a stray cat lounging in the sun by the docks—the sweet, old thing chirping softly beneath your palm in a lulling drone that tickled all the way up your arm.  

The Siren’s purr wasn’t quite like either of those things, but perhaps a mix of the two. Dangerous but warm, powerful but cosseted. More predator than pet, and, well, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? And honestly, it was pretty nice. A language you could feel rather than hear, something just for you.

So you let yourself relax beneath the weight of his scaly bulk with a sigh that wasn’t quite as aggrieved as you would have liked, and his tail twisted another loop around your calves. His fins spread around the pair of you like a roll of fine silks, and while the texture wasn’t exactly soft, they were delicate enough not to feel suffocating or coarse either. Sleek and cool to the touch, and maybe the thickness of canvas. And there were just so many of them. Long, and trailing, and ruffled along the edges like the folds of a fine-boned fan. Your weird, purple blanket. If Riddle ever found out you’d been using a Siren as bed linens, he’d probably have an aneurism and scrub you in one of the scullery buckets for a week straight.

It was stupidly easy to fall asleep like that—wrapped up in lavender and plum, with the thrum of his heart next to yours. You napped all through the afternoon, and only woke up once the sun had set over the horizon.

You blinked awake to stars in the sky and a strange, scratchy sensation at your hip.

The Siren had apparently finished up whatever little bout of insanity that had made him think you’d be the perfect impromptu pillow. He hadn’t gone far—or even anywhere at all really—but he was propped up at the hip now instead of crushing you into the shore. His hand was resting just beneath the hem of your shirt, right over the origin of that bizarre, ticklish feeling. You blinked again to clear the salt and sleep-grit from your eyes, and realized it was his talons. Not ripping, or tearing, or rending. Just very, very carefully tracing a set of shapes into your skin. The same three symbols, over and over. Up, and down, and up, and curled.

He traced those shapes again, and again, and again. It was almost—you’d think it was letters, if not for the strange, swirling pop of them. Almost like the words he’d written in his own language all those days ago. His claw dragged along the skin there in the faintest prickle, leaving slowly growing streaks of red in their wake with each repetition. You opened your mouth, ready to ask him what exactly he was so painstakingly etching into your hip, and paused.

You’d realized over the past however many weeks you’d been marooned on this little crescent of sand and stone that maybe Sirens weren’t all you’d thought them to be. And that maybe you really didn’t know much about them at all. Something about the slow, cautious way that his claws were tracking along your skin made you think that this was another of those things that you just didn’t get. And going by how quiet he was, how stalwart and careful he was being not to let the knife-sharp curves of those talons dig too deep or do anything other than trace back and forth, and back and forth, it might be something… Something important. Or at the very least something that you had no business bothering him about.

Least of all if he’d be leaving any day now.

So you tossed your head back on a very loud, very dramatic yawn and used the ensuing stretch to gently swat his hands away.

He didn’t look put out by your ridiculous show of flopping around and scooching out of his grip, so that was good at least. You sat up and rubbed at your eyes, and he just kept staring. Kept to his place in the soft, wet sand not a foot away and eyes sharp in the lowlight of the evening.

“Well,” you chuffed on another yawn. “I’m starving. Dinner?”

The Siren rolled his eyes and dipped his chin in what could perhaps generously be classified as a nod. He reached up to flick at the mused braid in his hair with a pointed scowl—twisted and tangled from the salt of the sea and his earlier rambunctious tomfoolery. You sighed, overly put upon, and hefted your way to your feet.

“Yes, yes. And I’ll fix your stupid hair.”

Another nod, this one far more pleased, and the Siren settled himself neatly back into the low roll of the waves to watch you work.

.

.

The next morning when you clawed your way back into consciousness, the Siren was already awake and staring off into the distance.

The fins along his head were pricked in that same, focused way from before that made you think of a hound dog catching a scent. There was a strange sort of energy about him—not quite nervous, but certainly not anything comfortably at ease either. Unsettled. Jittery. The end of his tail flicked against the sand, and the fins along his spine curled and arched to an unsung tempo.

You followed the path of his leer and didn’t see much of anything yourself. Just an endless stretch of blue in all directions with the occasional white crack of a wave breaking along its surface.

His tail smacked at the muck again and you felt something tight and stupidly, stupidly selfish curl in your stomach.

You swallowed it down, just like you’d said you would. Because you’d meant it when you’d told him he deserved his happy ending, and you weren’t going to let the rotten, nervous thing growing in your guts stop him from having that. Not that you could even if you wanted to, but it was the principle.

“…are you going to swim again today?” you asked, and one of those fins swiveled in your direction. You came to stand at his side and curled your toes in the sand to keep yourself steady. “You should, you know. To make sure everything is really all fixed.”

The Siren tore his gaze away from the sea to cant his head at you with a sharp, suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

You held your hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. You want to be able to go home, don’t you? Back to your pod?”

He frowned, tight, but his glare flickered back out to the mouth of the bay like he couldn’t help himself.

After a long, long moment, he reached out and dug his claws into the sand.

‘Not safe yet.’

You arched a brow. “Oh, come on. I’m sure it’s fine. If anyone could make it back, it’d be you.”

He turned back your way and arched a brow, looking entirely unconvinced.

You huffed and crossed your arms. “Don’t get all modest now. You’re the most obnoxiously proud person I’ve ever met—fish or otherwise. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

His brow pinched again, and there was something almost like worry sparking in those amethyst eyes of his.

“Look—” you said, reaching out to plant a palm against his shoulder. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always just come right back here, okay? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

You weren’t going to think about how nice that sounded, and how absolutely, bitterly selfish it was to hope that he’d turn right back around and head back. You weren’t.

The Siren’s brow pinched and he turned back to the open water, fins rippling against his sides and mouth twisted down at the corners.

You tugged at the braid in his hair.

“Don’t make me tie you back up again just so I can drag you out.”

He scoffed and spat something at you that looked like it was properly bitchy, and it had your lips quirking on a smirk. But prissiness or no, he’d started to let himself slip down against the surf, to lull deeper into the shallows and flare his fins at his sides for balance rather than a show of irritation.

You swallowed the last, lingering bite of dread at the back of your throat and offered him a winning smile.

The Siren huffed, and right before he sunk all the way into the water, he set his talons by your feet and scribbled—

‘Do not do anything stupid.’

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved off. “Sure.”

He underlined the ‘do not’ with a harsh sneer that could have made paint curl and the fiercest of generals quake in their boots, and you burst into peals of too-fond laughter.

“Okay, okay. I promise. Swear.”

He nodded, firm, and finally—finally—sunk beneath the surface with a grand, sweeping beat of his tail.

He circled the whole of the bay once, twice, thrice, and then set out past the breakwater with another of those bounding leaps that looked like something straight out of a painting.

You sat and watched the rolling waves until the sun was high in the sky, and then long after it had begun its creeping descent. Fat and sluggish over the horizon, dripping gold along the water like the strokes of a paintbrush. Until there were no shadows in the tide, no purple fins popping up from beneath the surface to smack at your ankles. There hadn’t been for hours now. The glint of his tail had slowly grown further and further away, and you’d been staring out at nothing for longer than not.

You stood with a sigh, legs wobbly and prickling with static as you stretched out of your scrunched up crouch.

You moved towards your little shanty hut and carefully readjusted the conch at its helm so that it sat just so. You stepped back with a soft nod and began your familiar trek towards the other side of the island, dutifully ignoring the stutter in your steps and that tight, miserable something twisting in your guts that you refused to name.

It was fine. He’d be home soon, surely. With his pod—his family. Which was what you’d wanted. And now… well, you had to go catch some dinner for you and your octopus. And there was no use waiting around.

.

.

You fucking sucked at fishing.

Which was a lesson learned with miserable, sopping wet consequences. You sat in front of your stupid fire, ringing out your stupid, soaked shirt, and sneezing in the chill of the night air. You’d never been responsible for hauling in food on The Rose Queen, and the Siren had basically been feeding your stranded ass from day one (whether intentional or otherwise). And so now here you were. Fishless, friendless, and freezing.

You sighed, miserable, and carefully made your way back to the familiar, little tidepool in the crags. You knelt down by the teeny pool of water there and the octopus inside was immediately scurrying for cover. When no tasty treats rained down overhead like the gift of some benevolent god, it slowly creeped its way out from beneath the stones with a trudging sort of paddling you wanted to call pouty.

“Sorry, little guy,” you huffed. “I don’t have anything for you today.”

You reached forward and the octopus panicked—trying to flee so fast that the poor thing wound up twisting itself in knots. Its stubby tentacles curled and flailed uselessly in its puddle, and you tutted in sympathy. You scooped the blob into your palms and immediately four sets of tentacles were curling around your fingers like a lifeline. Its little suckers pulled at your skin with sticky smacks as it tried to burrow away into your skin. And Sevens—OW! What the Hell!

“Chill, chill!” you squawked, trying to wrangle the thing more securely into your hands and stop it from pinching the flesh clear off your bones. “I’m just—would you—look, I don’t want to drop you, okay? So would you just—"

The octopus screamed, and you didn’t even think that was possible. You could feel the sharp, yowling vibrations of it all along your fingers and a few of the gulls nesting along the rocks took off into the air with a harried flurry of feathers and scrabbling claws. Their wings thwacked the back of your head and you swatted them away with a shrill scream of your own. Why did everything on this stupid island have to be a no good, dramatic, serenading, piece of shi—

“Fine!” you shrieked, feeling your molars ache with it. “Begone!”

And hurled the thing as far as you could over the edge of the rocky shore. It landed in the water with a lackluster plop of fat bubbles and immediately darted away like a prisoner fleeing captivity. And not, you know, the benevolent hand of the very lovely pirate who had been feeding and caring for it all these weeks.

You kicked angrily at a mess of pebbles, and then swore loud and furious when all it did was scuff up your toes and prick bruises into your heels.

You trudged back to your stupid, little hovel and collapsed miserably into the sand.

Here you were, trying to be noble, and kind, and give all of these ridiculous sea creatures the second chance at life that you would never have. And what did you get for it? An empty stomach, an aching heart, and gravel in your fucking feet—

“Well,” you chattered to yourself. Pleasantly poisonous and tendons jumping in your jaw, “I suppose at least it can’t get much worse.”

Which should have been the universe’s signal to do something truly petty. The skies opening overhead in a torrential downpour. Your little, stick home collapsing under the sheer weight of your patheticness. A crab scuttling up from the depths just to pinch your toes. Something like that.   

Instead, there was a gentle breeze that tickled your cheeks and coaxed you into looking out over the horizon.

There was something there—something in the distance that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were curled up suffering in the sand. You sniffled past angry tears and scrubbed the back of your hand over your nose, and then let that touch of wind guide you forward on wobbly legs.  You had to climb all the way up the salt-slick rocks to get a good look at it. But there it was. Not too far at all actually.

A ship.

Large, and wooden, and cresting through the low rolling waves with all the ease of the monstrous vessel it looked to be. There was a silver insignia emblazoned on its side, but it was still too far away to make out the particulars. But you didn’t care, because it was a ship. An actual, factual ship.

You waved your hands high over your head and shouted at the top of your lungs.

And holy shit, holy shit—maybe the universe didn’t actually hate your poor guts. Maybe there’d be a happy ending to this whole thing after all.

You watched in the distance as an anchor dropped, and you had to stop yourself from tumbling off your rocky perch in your excitement. One of the small dinghies was lowered into the water and a gaggle of crew climbed down to man it. Slowly but surely, that little boat grew closer, and you sprinted down to the shoreline to meet it.

A man with short, dark hair climbed over the side and met you halfway. His eyes were soft, and brown, and kind, and he offered you a warm smile when you nearly tumbled straight into him in your haste—catching a hand around your arms and helping keep you upright.

He said something polite that you assumed was the usual sort of greeting and intrigue into how exactly you’d managed to find yourself in this state of affairs, and you hastily made to explain your situation as you always did.

‘Thank you—I can’t hear, but I can write and read—And I—’

Your train of thought cut off sharply, and your rambling explanations with it. The brunette was already nodding your way in sympathy and rattling off instructions to his crew. They were all decked out in slightly differing variations of the same, white and navy uniform. With golden buttons and sashes glinting in the low light and silver pendants pinned to their breast pockets. Your doe-eyed savior turned back your way and offered you his arm with another of those sap sweet smiles that lit his cheeks in a merry, rosy pink.

You hesitated, throat bobbing around something tight and cold that curdled along the back of your tongue.

Twining songbirds, wings frozen in flight as they soared up towards an endless sky.

The intricate, little emblem stared back at you proudly from its place on his chest, and you couldn’t help but think of the Siren who’d only just left your cove a few hours before.

‘Not safe,’ he’d demanded, dragging you away from the wreck so frantically you’d nearly drowned from it. ‘Not safe.’

The brunette’s smile wavered at your hesitance, and he wrapped his hand around yours to tug you into the boat.

You climbed in on wobbly legs, because—what else were you supposed to do? Stay stranded on this little patch of sand and stone until you starved to death or went mad from loneliness? Run? From sailors with swords on their belts as long as your arm? To hide on an island that you could traverse in its entirety in a half hour or less? You were always one to happily snatch up the weird and wonderful opportunities life could present to you and run them into the ground, but now… What else was there?

You were settled against one of the small, wooden benches and the brunette shucked off his jacket to drape over your shoulders and the silver songbirds glinted in the low light. He offered you another of those warm, warm smiles before turning to call an order to his crew.

You sighed, miserable, and slouched against the siding—fingers dangling down to brush along the surface of the water.

‘Do not do anything stupid,’ your Siren had said.

And you’d really been hoping to last more than twenty-four-freaking-hours before inevitably breaking that promise, but it seemed the universe really was out to get you after all.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[s1nk1ngst4rg1irl]

CHAPTER ONE: ����𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷?

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

╰┈➤ 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷?

╰┈➤NOTES: If you couldnt tell (cuz my writing sucks) you are a first year and daichis a 3rd year!! :). also couldnt contain my kiyoko crush lol. Also this ones pretty short lol

╰┈➤WARNINGS: you get smacked and cursing

╰┈➤WORD COUNT: 1.1K

╰┈➤masterlist

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚

“Kenma! Get your ass on the bus and tell Lev to hurry up and leave that poor cat alone!” Today was not shaping up to be a good day. You had woken up puffy faced and your hair refused to lie the way you wanted it too. Then, Yamamoto had decided today was the day he would try and actually hold a conversation with you, buying a coffee that he spilled all over the front of your shirt. So here you were, in suffocating heat wearing an old stinky back up jersey and screaming at the top of your lungs so that maybe, just maybe, you could make it to your destination on time.

“You know maybe if you weren't so snippy all the time you’d have moree friends, hey if you be a little nicer you might even meet someone at camp!” Kuroo chirped, leaning out of his open window from his comfy, cushioned seat in the air conditioned bus and looking down at you. Mustering up all the strength you had left you turned to face him and grabbed his collar, dragging him out of the bus face first. “Hey! Hey! I'm sorry ok?!! Put me dow- AH”

“You can manage herding the stragglers into the bus, cant you cap’n? Have fun and don't wake me up till we get there.”

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Um, Y/N? We're here.” You peeled your eyes open, it was sweltering, the colors around you blurred together into a deep purple. “Y/N? Practice is almost finished so the managers need you to help clean up and serve dinner.” Dinner? Managers? Practice? Oh. Camp. Yawning and stretching, you thanked Fukunaga for waking you up, trailing behind him to the kitchens, stopping in your tracks as you see the most gorgeous woman you've ever seen. She meets your eyes and smiles and you swear the world stops. 

“Im kiyoko, nice to meet you! Ill show you the ropes.” You stand there, opening and closing your mouth like a beached fish, trying to find words that won't embarrass the crap out of you. 

“Y/N! Im Y/N! Its super nice to meet you too!!” god you're yelling, and the rest of the managers and some of the players are turning towards you like you're a madwoman and oh dear you should’ve never agreed to this oh god.

“Y/N! Finally done sleeping huh, well quit slacking off and come help us clean up in the gym!” You turn around to see your delightful savior sent from above, annnnnd its Yaku. Whatever. 

“Coming!, ill see you around!” you say, Kiyoko smiles, handing you a stack of towels before waving you goodbye.

The Gyms stinks of man sweat at icy hot, and you've barely taken two steps inside before you’re ambushed by yamamoto.

“See? We have a manager too!! Isn't she pretty!!” and all of a sudden your vision is blocked by a scary guy with a buzz cut and- a child?

“Hey,” you say, bending at the knee to get to eye level with him “Are you lost? This is a gym, not a playground, here call your mom on my phone, you know her number right?” You watch as he grows redder, from his ears to his gelled up hair, and then Yamamoto and his delinquent buddy are laughing hysterically, slamming eachothers backs with open palms .”Hey, this is serious, you know if you guys were walking on the street right now you'd look like kidnappers with those hair cuts right?” That makes them stop their tracks, buzzcut- you think Yamamoto had called him Tanaka?- turns to Yamamoto and says.

‘Wow, she is totally hot”

“I know, right? Isn't it just the best when she insults you?”

 What the hell is wrong with these people, you sigh to yourself, muttering under your breath and getting to work on wiping down benches before you are absolutely bulldozed by a spike straight to the face. Before you hit the ground and everything fades to black you see the face of a beautiful angel, looking down at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen. Like those choco donuts that inuoka always eats before practice. (He says they help him dig better, so far its not working very well.)

So this is how it ends, looking at a stunning man in a stinky gym. You were going to kill Kuroo.

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Hey! Step away from the light, away from the lighttttt.” You feel a light slap to the face, then a harder one. Blinking away the ache forming in the back of your eyes, you see a fuzzy outline of Kuroo, or rather 2 Kuroos, oh, or is that 4, and there's 4 Levs behind him and 4 Yakus and then there's the giant clump of red and black jacket wearing losers. So this is hell huh. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you were a little nicer like Kuroo had said. Was this karma? But then the image of Kuroo is pushed away by an arm, a buff, tan arm, and replaced with the face of the angel. 

“Hey, you ok? Sorry about that, my team’s a little rowdy.”  And he tucks an arm behind his head and the muscles ripple and oh god. Karma isn't real, this was heaven, you reach an arm out to touch his face, his stunning face sculpted by some god. His face is cold...and... sweaty? Wait. Was this real? Were you fondling this random, real guy's cheek, in front of your whole team?? In front of half the campgoers?

 You push his face away as hard as you can at this revelation, wiping your eyes with balled fists as you get up, swinging your arms around to stay balanced as everything spun around you.

 “Shit! Sorry, I'm A okay, no problemo over here, just a quick question though, is this place built on a hill cuz everything's kinda slanted!” you blurted. You were making a total fool of yourself in front of your one true love, this was terrible. Glancing over to Kuroo for help, you saw his eyes flitting between you and the angel, a look of slight disgust creeping onto his face. God you wanted to punch that stupid face of his.

“It didn't really look like it-" The angel spoke. Was his voice always like this? It felt like angels were pouring honey into your ears. "Not to sound rude its just you were laying there for a long time, and you were kinda drooling.” Honey turns into lava and the angels are demons with spiky hair and volleyball jerseys laughing at you maniacally. When would the world just swallow you up already, his first impression of you must have been a drooling madwoman. This was terrible. Abort. Abort. Abort mission, new mission: get back to the dorms as soon as possible and then chew Kuroo out.

“Oh no! It's fine, everythings fine, um, I should get back to the dorms!”

“ Let me walk you back to your dorm to make sure you're ok.”

“That's fine, Kuroo owes me so he'll walk me back!" you squeak, ignoring the look that the middle blocker send your way.

“Oh.. well ok! But take my jacket, it must be cold.” God, chivalrous and hot? Who were this man's parents cause you'd like them to send a letter of thanks for putting him on earth.

“Thanks.” you say, taking the jacket from him. It was soft, and big, and it smelled like fabric softener. "I'm Y/N”

“Daichi.” and with that, you grab Kuroo and speed walk out of the gym.

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Are you kidding me, this is worse than when you wanted to bone squidward!”

"... Shut up."

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

[assistant-of-drama]

Assistant Noah's World Tour!

After Newfoundland...

Noah listens as he hears Alejandro angrily rant in spanish, while brushing his teeth.

The sarcastic assistant is covering his mouth and trying his best not to laugh, as he stood near the confessional door.

Apparently, the charmer doesn't like the sock flavored chowder that Heather made for him.

Even though Noah mostly forgives Alejandro for almost leaving Owen behind back in the Amazon, he may have been the reason Heather had gotten Owen's socks in the first place.

Alejandro opened the door to give Noah the stink eye. Did he already find out what Noah did?

"I'm glad that you find my suffering so hilarious." Alejandro grumbled.

So, he didn't.

Noah shrugs with a chuckle. "Well, you were kinda asking for it, considering that you tricked two guys into kissing fish and stole Heather's possible alliance with DJ."

"What can I say. She had a clever idea and I wanted to steal it for myself. And be honest with me Noah, would you rather kiss a fish or have someone else do it for you?" Alejandro asks smugly with a raised eyebrow.

Noah squints his eyes and purses his lips. "...Touche."

"That's what I thought, amigo." the charmer then winks playfully, wrapping an arm around the assistant and leading him to first class.

Noah leans into Alejandro's touch, the back of his head by the taller man's strong chest, as he asks a curious question. "By the way, how did you have time to paint those eyes on the fish?"

"I'm sure that you're smart enough to figure that out on your own."

"I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman."

"Come now Noah, we both know that I'm not."

As they entered first class to enjoy its comforts, Noah allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts.

Noah wishes he could hate the guy. He wishes he could hate the True Alejandro as much as the Fake Alejandro. He wants to hate that greasy eel. It'd make things so much easier. But the truth was, he didn't hate him at all. The true Alejandro was clever, crafty, cunning, a bit dorky and had a sense of humor that Noah could appreciate. The Fake Alejandro was just a Spanish Prince Charming Wannabe.

Alejandro's brain was even sexier than his body, and that was saying something. It was the thing that drew Noah in, made him want to be near him, even when he knew it was wrong. It was the one thing that made Noah feel like he wasn't the only one with a mind like this. They were two misfits who had found each other in this mess of a competition, and somehow, it worked. It was a strange, twisted sort of bond that they shared, and Noah wasn't sure if he could ever explain it to anyone else.

Although Noah acts like he's not interested, deep down he honestly wants nothing more than to drag Alejandro to the cargo bay and kiss the beautiful, brilliant evil genius all day long. It's the last thing he'd ever admit to, but it's the truth. They could give Bridgette and Geoff a run for their money.

Even though the True Alejandro is interesting and fun, at the end of the day, Alejandro is only here for the money. He doesn't care about Noah or anyone for that matter. Noah has seen with his own eyes and Alejandro himself told the assistant. Nothing and nobody else matters. Only the million dollars matter.

As much as it hurt Noah's little heart, it's the truth and the cynic can accept that.

He accepts it... if only he knew about the conflict in Alejandro's own heart.

[ryiju-muunie]

Afraid to start; Got your heart in a headlock

Usopp/Zoro Roronoa Warnings: ambiguously post time skip but it’s probably not accurate shut up, aphrodisiacs, awkward conversations, awkward confessions, angst with a happy ending, no smut Word count: 4814 DESC: Chopper wanted some mushrooms, Usopp wanted to bond with Zoro alone, and Zoro was hungry.

NOTES: I had this amazing idea from reading the lovely Lagneía by zoldsick! I really liked the premise and kind of did my own spin with Zosopp because I have seen not enough people writing for them! C'mon!! Don't make me flood the tag with my own stupidity!! I'm not very caught up to post timeskip so if this is inaccurate ignore it and be nice to meee :)) Also I did use google translate in latin so if it's not accurate suck my dick :))))))

“Okay, I need you two to gather some supplies with us. Do you think you can do that?” The commanding voice of Robin flowed through her shipmate's ears, forcing them to stand straighter underneath her tout gaze. She stared with crystal blue eyes, hair pushed back into a loose ponytail as she continued, “Chopper is looking for different mushrooms and foliage to create different medicines. I’m assuming this won’t be too much trouble.”  

“I mean if you want, I can do it myself!” The small reindeers voice made Usopp look down at him, as he peered out from Nico’s legs. He had a different cap that adorned his head, something forest green. It was made to blend into the wilderness of the island they had docked at for the day. This island was covered in an overgrown jungle that would have sent the sniper back into bed for another twelve hours if he could help it.  

“Relax,” Zoro chimed in from beside Usopp, “We can split up. Me and long-nose, you and Robin.” He motioned with his head to the two in front of him, barely giving the ‘long-nose’ in question a second glance.  

Nami had been adamant they stopped at this island to gather fresh supplies, as she had heard it was overgrown with fruits and vegetables. Maybe Sanji had pressured her into stopping here, or Luffy’s incessant protests that they needed something new to eat instead of the same fish they had been getting for weeks. Usopp didn’t mind gathering for Chopper, especially since the scary Robin had asked, and especially if he had help from a strong man like Roronoa Zoro. Although, that wasn’t to say the Great Captain Usopp couldn’t hold his own! I mean, he could forge through these kinds of brush in his sleep!  

And this would be a good chance for the sniper and the swordsman to bond a bit. They had known each other for well over two-years, and barely exchanged more than a handful of words. It felt like wherever Usopp was, the green-haired man avoided. Maybe in the beginning they were closer, but something shifted after they were separated, and they couldn’t be in the same room alone without Zoro finding a way out to leave.  

Did the brunette stink? I mean, he always tried to shower regularly. And he didn’t snore that loud. Maybe he was too intimidating for the swordsman to handle, so they couldn’t be alone in fear of having a battle to the death? If that was the case, why would Zoro be okay with them searching for mushrooms and other junk by themselves now? 

“Perfect,” Robin smiled, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes, widening a friendly smile, “I’ll go ahead down. We can meet back in an hour?” The two crewmates nodded and the other two were off onto the island. Trees hung out over the beach, cascading shadows down onto the sand. It looked dark from here, looming into the blue sky overhead.  

Usopp went to speak, opening his mouth awkwardly but he was stopped by Zoro’s rough words, “We can probably get Luffy to come with.” There wasn’t a chance to respond, as it was posed more as a statement than a question. The moss-head immediately turned to walk back into the ship, to find his captain and soil the bonding moment they could have had together.  

“Luffy’s probably going to slow us down,” the sniper willed himself to say, feigning confidence. He wasn’t scared to voice his opinions, no! That would be silly. Why would he fear the much taller, much scarier swordsman who slowly turned to face him again.  

Zoro widened his good eye, raising his eyebrows along with it. As if to say, ‘And?’  

“I don’t want to have to watch out for both of you, you know,” the sniper crossed his arms over his chest, which today was covered by a green shirt [sticking to the green theme of fitting into nature], “And he’s probably busy.”  

“Watch out for the both of us?” That seemed to be the only part that stuck to Zoro, making his expression tighten, “You don’t need to watch out for me at all, long-nose.” He pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh, a movement he instantly regretted as the swordsman’s gaze darkened. 

“Which way is North?” Usopp asked instead, knowing he’d win the argument.  

Roronoa rolled his eye, pointing up, “This way, obviously. Do you think I’m stupid?”  

As he spoke, the brunette pulled out the compass he had workshopped himself to look a bit cooler than the bland one he had found on an island a few weeks back. It was fully functional, just boring. He shoved the compass in his friend's face, which showed that, no, North was not upwards.  

That settled it, and the two were off on the island. Usopp insisted Zoro go in front, in case he started to wander, which evidently happened a lot. It was like herding sheep, as he kept having to correct his path. There was nothing at the edge of the jungle that looked to be what Chopper was looking for, so they kept going. The sniper knew that there was some mushroom that the deer had wanted to study. It was pink with small red dots adorning the large head, with a yellow base. It was distinct, and with their luck, they could find it.  

That wasn’t to say they were going to leave empty handed. Usopp was collecting random leaves and flowers as they went for himself, although he knew the doctor could use them if he shared.  

Zoro made a sharp right, and the sniper followed behind him, letting a silence fall over the two. To some it could be described as comfortable silence between two long-term friends, but he would describe it as awkward. Usopp didn’t know what to say that could bridge the gap. Clearly something had changed and he was out of the loop as to why that had been. Did the moss-head realize he secretly hated him and everything he stood for? Were they no longer friends but estranged cabin mates? God, the thought made him a little nauseous.  

“What are we looking for exactly,” Roronoa asked as he pushed aside some vines with his forearm, looking back at his crewmate with a narrowed eye, “So I know.” To get this over with, was what Usopp phantom-ly heard at the end of that sentence.  

“Oh! A Nulla Excitatione mushroom. They’re native to thick rainforests and wet places,” he explained, realizing he knew more about this subject than he typically thought, “It’s a small mushroom with a pink exterior and little red dots.”  

“So,” Zoro paused, stopping his steps to look at the other, “Like the mushrooms that the fry-cook makes for us?”  

“Well technically but-” Usopp was cut off with a wave of Zoro’s hand and a dismissive, “Okay.”  

The sniper felt himself deflate a bit. He was interested in technology and creating, yes, but plant life was another hobby of his also. Secretly, when Robin had even recruited him for this, he was excited to gather stuff for his own collection to test. No one liked to hear his ramblings, maybe aside from Sanji, but even then, he knew to a degree he was being tuned out.  

“You know you don’t have to do that,” he muttered, letting a rock get kicked from the toe of his boot toward a tree to his right.  

“Do what?” The swordsman responded, although the brunette was surprised, he even heard him. Well great, now he had to say what he was thinking. But the Great Truth-er Usopp could do that! He could speak his mind whenever prompted! Except, he didn’t really want to say what he was feeling at that moment. It wasn’t like the other man would listen anyways.  

Usopp swallowed, “Never mind,” he pushed forward, until he was ahead of the green-haired male, brushing past different plant-life to make a clear path. He didn’t hear footsteps behind him, but he realized he couldn’t find it in his heart to care. So, what if that big burly idiot got lost? The sniper knew someone could locate him easily, especially since this island wasn’t that big. Knowing Sanji, he’d probably run into the moss by accident and force him along on his own errands for fruits. 

There was another wave of silence, as Usopp continued to push branches and vines away from his person. He wanted to venture deep enough into the wilderness, and further away from Zoro, to get some peace and quiet. But he knew, when the footsteps started up again, that he was being followed by the lug.  

This silence was different, it was visibly tense. There were clearly words that needed to be exchanged, but there was no chance any of them would acknowledge it. Zoro was never the feelings type. He never said anything he didn’t have to, or anything that would lead to sappy moments. All Usopp could tell was the only thing going on behind those eyes were thoughts enthralled with sake … and swords.  

Up ahead, Usopp could see a clearing. And more importantly, he could hear it, too. Water, fresh water, rushing down from a hill, was what he could sense. As he broke through the last branches of thick brush, he saw it. A small waterfall coming from a mountainous lump of boulders, spouting out clear water into a large pond that seemed to break off into different streams further back. There across the bank were mushrooms, littered with colors, all for him to collect for their doctor. And some for him to take for himself, of course.  

It was different from anything he had ever seen before. The sniper had never seen mushrooms growing inside a brook, let alone at least twenty. He found himself rushing to the site, prying off his shoes and rolling up the cuffs on his overalls to step into the water to start collecting. There were purple, yellow, even green mushrooms, but no pink. Well, he didn’t need the pink mushroom if he had all these other ones. Which he carefully plucked from the water and plopped into his bag.  

“Why did you come if you’re going to do nothing?” Usopp asked, peering over his shoulder, as he hunched over, at the green-haired annoyance behind him. The swordsman stood behind him, grumbling a bit as he sat down onto a large boulder beside the pond.  

Zoro let out a huff and got up, smiling tightly, “Happy?” And he turned, going to wander off by the edge of the clearing. At least he had some semblance to know not to wander off too far, but the other didn’t care much if he did.  

“This stuff is like what curly cooks for us, right?” Roronoa called out after a bit.  

Usopp replied in a hasty, “Yeah sure, Zoro,” as he pulled out a small book with plant names, images, and descriptions. The best thing he could do now as he collected one of each mushroom was identify them to better expand his knowledge.  

The sniper flipped through the pages, matching up pictures to the mushrooms he collected. He stepped out of the water and sat back on that boulder, taking his time to make sure he was right in his comparisons. He had to be, and it made him proud. If no one else cared about his interests, at least Chopper would be content with what he found. And he decided to keep at least one mushroom for himself, the green one. Maybe he could dissect it to find out more about its biology…  

All of Usopp’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard a loud, “AW FUCK-” Followed by rapid coughing behind him. He jerked his head around to see Zoro hunched over, holding his throat with one hand, while the other pounded a fist against his large chest. Of course, he had to go and do something stupid. Of course, when the sniper was almost at peace.  

“What did you do?!” Usopp sneered, hopping off the boulder to fully assess the damage.  

He was horrified to look upon the scene and see a half-eaten Nulla Excitatione mushroom lying on the grass as Zoro gaped over it, “Are you serious,” he blinked slowly. 

“You said it was like what the cook makes us you-” Zoro let out a cough and a strained, “Oh my god-”  

“I didn’t! You didn’t let me finish my explanation or I would have said they’re both mushrooms, but one you shouldn’t ingest!” Usopp balled his fists by his sides as he continued, “This is why you- This is- This is why I hate being around you!”  

It was something he didn’t mean to let slip. Something he didn’t realize he felt. Something he knew wasn’t a lie. But something he wished was, as Zoro looked over at him with a tense expression.  

“Zoro…” Usopp tried but he was cut off with a glare.   

“What’s gonna happen,” Zoro coughed into his hand, attempting to stand up straight but falling forward onto his slacked knees, “To me?” Another round of rapid coughing escaped his lips as sweat began to build on his forehead.  

The sniper knew that this mushroom wasn’t good to ingest due to some kind of side effects, but he wasn’t entirely sure what the side effects were. So, he opened the small booklet and flipped around until he saw the name in giant letters before him. The picture almost identically matched the mushroom rotting on the ground, and the description made his mouth run dry.  

A nervous laugh left his mouth, and he closed the book, “Nothing bad.”  

“You’re lying you-” Zoro wheezed, “-Goddammit- Tell me what it said!” His face was growing warm by appearance alone, although the other didn’t doubt, he was probably burning up.  

Usopp knew it would do no good to omit the truth and lie, as the swordsman was probably already feeling the effects by this point. And he knew if he was transparent, the quicker he could leave the man to … deal with it.  

“You ate the Nulla Excitatione mushroom, or as it translates to: The Arousal Mushroom. Ingesting it almost instantly puts your body into a full blown ‘arousal attack’ and it won’t let up for at least thirty minutes,” he inhaled, “To an hour.” A tight smile appeared on his face.  

“Why the hell did Chopper want this?” Zoro spoke through gritted teeth, leaning forward to cover his face and hide the apparent erection straining through the pants he opted to wear today.  

“Probably to use it in medicine to help blood flow,” Usopp shrugged and looked away, “I should probably leave-”  

“No,” Roronoa rasped, looking up to make intense eye contact with the sniper before him. There was something in his eye, something artificial. It looked like he wanted Usopp there for one in his life, whether that was in that way or just to be there as comfort. It was sweet for a moment, but turned to bile in the brunette's throat. His friend didn’t want him there, he wanted something to use through his heat. It was understandable, sure, but it threw salt in the wound that he wasn’t wanted before, and he was only wanted due to a messed-up mushroom.  

“You’re not in your right headspace. It’s better if I leave you and wait at the ship for an hour. Then I can come back,” Usopp dismissed the look and turned to head back to the brook, so he could grab his shoes and leave.  

The green-haired male made a strangled noise, “Just… Stay. I need you here…” He spoke in a loud whisper, as if it was becoming painful to speak.  

From reading the effects of the mushroom, Usopp knew it was plausible. When someone's body was sent into that kind of mode, it was hard to do nothing but … complete. He tried not to think about it too much, to think of Zoro in that light.  

“No, you don’t,” he exhaled, grabbing his shoes and fitting them back onto his foot, “That’s the mushroom talking.” Usopp turned on his heel and peered over at his friend again, seeing him leaning forward on the grass with his elbows resting to the ground. His head hung low, hidden by shuddering shoulders, forcing himself to breathe through his increasing pain.  

He hesitated for a moment, before heading back to stand before him, “Just trust me-” 

“Long-nose-” Zoro croaked as the brunette continued. 

“-It’ll be better if you handle this on your own-” 

“Sniper-”  

“-That way you don’t embarrass yourself with stuff you don’t mea-”  

“Usopp.” His voice was a cracked plea, something that sounded hollow. It didn’t sound like Zoro, no, it sounded like a shell of himself. It sounded like he wasn’t the strong man who could handle anything, but someone who had lost everything and needed a friend. But as much as the other wanted to believe it was genuine, he knew it was because he was the only one standing there.  

Zoro raised his head, locking his dark brown eyes with Usopp’s lighter colored ones. His iris was covered with a blown-out pupil, that only a faint rim of color was enough to discern he was human. There wasn’t any lust behind his eye but rather pain, embarrassment, even some shame.  

“I need you here,” he whispered, barely above a murmur. Barely audible with the flow of water from those rocks behind the two, splashing into the pond below.  

“No, you don’t, Zoro, that’s just your stupid lust-filled, mushroom eating brain talking- which by the way,” he pressed his hands together, “Why did you- Why did you eat it!? Why in your head did you think it was okay!? You never listen to anything I say! You never- never even let me finish, to tell you not to eat it- even though I should’ve known I should’ve said that because you’re you, and, of course, you’d eat it!” Usopp inhaled, “You don’t want me here Zoro. You don’t want me- you don’t even speak to me. When was the last time we hung out after Boin Archipelago? O-Or even before that? You avoid me like I have Usopp-is-annoying-and-should-be-avoided-itus, which is not contagious- if I had it!”  

Usopp wasn’t sure why he was speaking, why he was saying all the things he felt. All the things he meant but knew he should have kept under wraps. All the things he thought would fall on deaf ears to be ignored the very next day. But it felt different. Zoro had nowhere to go and nowhere to turn to because of his stupid mushroom eating habits, and he was forced to listen- no, forced to confront something that was probably apparent to everyone. He had to face the fact that he was treating the sniper differently, as if he wanted to throw him overboard the first chance he got.  

Zoro simply stared at him as sweat dripped from his brow. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily the most perfect time to say, as he looked like he was struggling to stay conscious. Their eyes were connected, interlocked, with something intense. It wasn’t lust, it was a standoff. The brunette wasn’t backing down from his feelings, feeling that bravery, he almost rarely ever got. And the swordsman was letting him bare his soul, his heart, all his frustrations.  

They fell into an overwhelming silence, letting Roronoa’s labored breathing fill any gaps from the small waterfall. Then he looked away, down to the grass where sweat fell from his chin onto blades of green, “I don’t avoid you.” To that Usopp made an offended noise, “I don’t try to avoid you.”  

“Why? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends,” the sniper's voice was turning unsure, as if he was worried, he had crossed a line with his words.  

“You hate being around me and I avoid you like you have Usopp-annoying… whatever,” he huffed and turned his head to the side, “But we’re friends?” 

Usopp had to admit it sounded like they weren’t friends at all. He swallowed loudly and knelt, before he plopped down onto the grass and brought his knees to his front, “I guess not.”  

Zoro lifted his head and groaned, “I don’t know why I avoid you,” he exhaled and closed his eye, furrowing his brow, “You make me feel weird. Ever since Kuragiana you…ve changed,” he ended that word with a strained voice, as if it hurt him to say that. Which was, again, very plausible.  

“Weird? Do I stink?” He raised an eyebrow.  

“No. More like I feel like I probably do,” Roronoa finally lifted himself up from the ground, kneeling with his back hunched. His shirt was drenched in sweat as if he had fought ten bad guys with eleven more to go. It hadn’t even been an hour yet, so they both knew this was nothing compared to what would happen later.  

Usopp let out a laugh, “You? Self-conscious? That’s not funny.”  

“You make me nervous,” Zoro sighed, trying to say what he wanted to say without saying it, “Like, nervous nervous.”  

“Saying it twice means nothing to me,” the sniper looked away with mock annoyance, “I don’t make anyone nervous, unless you’re talking about my enemies.” A laugh came tumbling out of his lips as he attempted to lighten the mood that wouldn’t lighten.  

“I’m serious long-nose,” he looked down at his shaking hands, which balled up on his thighs and dug into his skin, “I think I avoid you because I-”  

“Don’t want to talk to me? I already know,” the brunette spoke as Zoro continued slowly, dragging out his words.  

“-Like you.” He nodded his head slowly, trying his best to don a smile but it looked more awkward and pained than anything else. As if he was struggling to keep sane and the only thing, he could do was clench his jaw repeatedly, to stop those artificial urges from plaguing his mind and infecting his actions.  

Usopp stopped, his body turning stiff. He what him? He what? He couldn’t- The great Swordsman Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro- couldn’t like the- Great Captain God Usopp- at all! There wasn’t a chance in hell that the reason he had been avoided was because there were romantic feelings at play! Especially since that meant he was in control of this situation. Usopp held the cards that could throw off his friend and send him into a spiral of embarrassment or at least a moment of being content while in this situation.  

“You don’t,” he let out a nervous laugh, “That must be the mushroom talking! Hello, it’s the arousal mushroom for a reason! Hahahhaaaaa!”  

Zoro let out a groan, “God, you’re so annoying, my feelings for you aren’t necessarily sexual, idiot. Maybe I like you romantically.” 

“And why would you do that?” He asked, although he didn’t mean to let those words slip out.  

“I don’t know,” Roronoa turned his head to look away, with his jaw clenched unnaturally tight, “Maybe it’s because you’re amazing, and you’re funny, and you’re a damn good fighter when you’re not cowering like a bitch. And you make everyone stuff, but you don’t make me anything,” he looked at the sniper, this time baring his soul, “Why don’t you make me anything?”  

But he had, fuck he had. The number of things Usopp had tinkered with for the swordsman that he hid away never to see the light of day could [and definitely did] fill a box. A new sword sling, makeshift handles for blades he had come across on different islands he thought Zoro would like. Even a mug he molded from clay to hold his damn sake. All of it was thrown into a box that he pushed deep into a crevice of his workshop, never to see the man they were made for. All because he thought that the man wouldn’t like it, because he thought the man didn’t like him.  

Well, this was funny.  

Usopp opened his mouth a few times to speak, but all that came out was an awkward giggle that didn’t hint at anything he wanted to say. Zoro’s eye narrowed and the other could sense he was taking it the wrong way. The rejecting way. He didn’t want to reject the green-haired man at all. It was weird. He never wanted to reject him, but he never considered him romantically. Well, maybe that was a lie. The brunette had thought about him like that maybe once or twice but pushed it away to work on anything and everything else.  

“You don’t have to laugh,” he grumbled, going to stand up but finding his legs hadn’t found their footing yet. So, he slumped back onto the grass and fell onto his back.  

“Zoro,” the sniper breathed out, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as he gathered his composure, “I have a box of stuff I made you. I-It’s all stupid stuff, like mugs and new swords. I never gave it to you because I thought you hated me, isn’t that funny? It’s like, if we ha-had talked then none of this would’ve happened!” 

Usopp opened his eyes to see one brown one staring back at him, the pupil almost a quarter smaller than what it had been several minutes prior. There was a faint blush across Zoro’s face that wasn’t there before, that the other man was sure wasn’t because of the arousal mushroom. And there was a small, just a crooked smile adorning the swordsman's lips as they watched each other.  

“Now what?” Zoro asked, breathless, looking up at the sky.  

The brunette blew air out of his mouth and fell back beside his friend on his right side, turning to face him, “We still need to wait out your mushroom.”  

Zoro looked down at him, “I meant… not the mushroom,” a tan hand came between them, motioning to the pair as they laid on the plush grass.  

Usopp took his spare right arm and lifted it up, so he could lay just a bit closer. He didn’t care if his friend was sweaty, it was something he didn’t realize he had been longing to do since he heard that confession. The moss-head stared, letting it happen. Like he was made of malleable jelly, for the other to put into position.  

“Well, I like you,” Usopp started, but he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.  

“Like, like-like, or like?” He raised an eyebrow.  

“Like-like-like…?” The sniper furrowed his brows in confusion.  

“You like-like-like me?!”  

“No! Repeating words means nothing to me!”  He sat up, leaning on his left elbow as he smacked the other's chest.  

Zoro let out a laugh, and rolled his eye, wrapping the arm that Usopp had forced beside him, around the other man's shoulders. It pulled him in and made him brace against the sweaty warmth that was the swordsman, who needed a shower after this. 

“Romantically or not?” The moss-head clarified, stretching his free hand up into the air and clenching his fist, before unclenching it, and repeating the process.  

At that, Usopp paused. It felt right to be beside Zoro, to be close to Zoro, to talk to Zoro. As if there hadn’t been any awkwardness in the past. As if the avoidance was just that, in the past. All of it was gone and he was left with a new future that the other man could be a part of all he had to do was confirm.   

Instead of speaking, he pushed from the green-haired man and hovered over him, staring down with a softer gaze. The original mission of getting mushrooms was far from his mind. The original plan he had for his entire day was out the window, now he just saw this swordsman below him. Whose hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and whose skin was flushed from a flame burning inside his body.  

And instead of speaking, Usopp leaned down [in an act of rare bravery] and pressed his lips to Zoro’s. It was a quick and chaste kiss that made the tension in the sniper's body release as a faint exhale.  

Zoro grabbed the brunette’s shoulders and pulled him back, staring with a wide eye, “Mushroom. Get off. Right now.” His voice was strained, and he looked as though he was fighting demons to keep his distance from the other man.  

“O-Oh right!” Usopp leaned back, crawling away to create some distance, “Sorry.”  

The swordsman’s eye was closed, as he attempted to steady his breathing, “When this wears off,” he pressed his lips together, “I’ll show you a real kiss, that’s all me.” 

Usopp was going to hold him to that. 

[caspers-multifandom]

Just A Little Push

|| Masterlist ||

Don't we just love an indecisive man. Welp, least he pretty.

____

Soap had known Price for years, knew him to be strong headed and wise – always ready within a tactical situation. The man had saved his life on multiple occasions just by using his head and getting a plan into action. He had the upmost respect for him and would always look up to the older man.

But right now he had to take a photo of the silent stunned expression as he gawked at the poor woman who’s face was the shade of a beetroot. When he took the photo and sent it to Gaz and Ghost he could still see Price was frozen.

“Ya gonna scare the socks off her ya keep starin’ like tha’” He teased as he slid his phone back away.

Price blinked and seemed to click back into reality at that moment. He shook his head and cleared his throat as he took in his bearings and then turned to Soap.

“Go take the rubbish out, I don’t pay you to do nothing.” Price demanded as he put his own phone away finally and turned back to one of the coffee machines behind him.

Soap gaped like a fish above water as he tried to retort but gave up when Price didn’t acknowledge him and left to take out the rubbish in the back.

Price watched out of the corner of his eye to see Soap disappear and then let his shoulders sag. He rested his hands on the counter and hung his head with a deep exhale. He could feel the sweat building on his back, some on his forehead too. He took his cap off his head and wiped away at the layer building before replacing the cap and leaning against the counter again. Idiot. You see one woman and you’re a stinking mess, get a grip!

Price couldn’t help but let his eyes trail from the cups of coffee he was making throughout the rest of the afternoon. They would start on the task at hand, then he would be waiting for a machine to finish pouring the shot into the cup, then his eyes would raise above the machine and land right on the woman and her mother. She became much more relaxed as time ticked by, her mother made her laugh and her smile was radiant. The crinkle by her eyes, the rosey tint in her cheeks – hook, line and sinker.

*

The night came, the cafe was closed, and Price was sat with his head in his hands as his friends snickered and teased him after Soap re-enacted his earlier embarrassment. They had all met at the local pub down the road from their cafe, it was a steady night and Price was only half thinking he should’ve declined Soap’s offer for a drink.

“You’ve hundred percent convinced the woman that you’re a creepy stalker.” Gaz chuckled and took a swig of his pint.

“Shut your trap.” Price grumbled into his own pint as the rest chuckled at him.

“Come on Price, least let us see her.” Soap begged.

“You’ve already seen her, you serve her.” Price raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve never seen her.” Gaz raised his hand in level with his face.

Price exhaled heavily through his nose and leant back on his stool. He pulled his phone out and slid it over to the boys like a pack of mutts and they were instantly looking through the profile of the woman he had matched with.

“Aurora Wells, damn she is a beauty.” Soap gawked at the phone.

“She’s a teacher at the primary school near the cafe. Seems Price has a teacher kink.” Gaz teases. Price glares at him over the rim of his glass.

“Good hips.” Ghost comments and then turns back to his own pint.

All three men look at him as he lifts his balaclava up to his nose and drinks his beer.

“Well, he ain’t wrong.” Soap shrugs and looks back at the phone.

Price thought he could poke his own eyes through his head with the way he drags his hands down his face. He should never have let these boys sign him up to this app.

“So are you going to say hello to her?” Gaz asked as he passed the phone back – much to Soap’s disappointment.

“Not with you muppets hounding me.” Price puts his phone away.

They continue their drinks through the next couple of hours, pushing onto ten o’clock before Price calls it a night. He had deliveries in the morning, and he didn’t need to hear any more of the lads questioning when he was going to give this match a go.

He left Gaz and Soap stumbling together back towards their flat with Ghost following behind them with his hands in his pockets. Price lived the opposite way so began his trek home on his own.

The phone in his pocket burning a hole in his leg.

* 

The lunch rush was finally breaking down into the last few people that always ran late for everything. Price and Gaz were behind the counter, Soap running tables and Ghost was handling the food in the kitchen. Fridays were the busiest days in the week, followed closely by Mondays. With Ghost’s waffle special on Friday’s, it made the day even busier.

“So did you message her?” Gaz asks as he stands next to Price at the counter. Price was wiping down the coffee bean machine while Gaz was steaming some oat milk for an order for a middle-aged woman on the opposite side of the counter.

“What’re you sprouting about now?” Price sighs.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Gaz chuckles to himself.

Price was already exhausted of this conversation.

“No.” He grumbles and finishes wiping the one spot of coffee that just refused to come out. Gaz tuts at him as he adds the milk into the ceramic mug and places it on the receiving counter for the lady waiting. Once she had walked away Gaz span onto Price and crossed his arms at the older man.

“What’s got you so worried about it? You’ll message her, maybe go out, maybe even have fun.” Gaz hinted. He then quickly dodged the cloth that Price threw over his shoulder at the young man.

“Butt out of, Kyle.” Price warned as he started to restock the coffee beans into the machine.

“Fine. I’m going out back for five.” Gaz shrugs then walks past Price to go through the kitchen.

Price was starting to become more irritated than interested because of all the nagging he was getting from his men. He had half a mind to delete the app from his phone and never give it another thought.

That was until he turned around to serve the new customer who just walked in and froze. Because standing on the opposite side of the counter was the schoolteacher that he matched with.

[cloudninetonine]

Please...please...just a crumb of Koridai (fuck the other one). I'm starving, my crops have wilted, I miss my little stink stink, I want to ruin his life like he ruined mine 😢.

Why is this literally the funniest fucking ask- HBDIUCBIHFCIUCR4RC THE DISRESPECT TO COURAGE'S NAME HAS ME HOWLING DEHXFCHUCFHUCHECEDNCDE

I GOTCHU THO BRO- this is set before the duo meet Courage btw ~~~~~~~~~~

The streets were bustling with people, calls echoing from the market about produce, children laughing as they played and fishermen either hauling in their catch of the day or setting sail for fishing- Koridai’s hometown looked to be pulled right from a fantasy, which was no surprise seeing as this entire scene to you was literally a fantasy come true!

Even so, you were in wonderment, holding onto Koridai’s hand, his grip firm (already 3 close calls of you wandering off had put the fear of the Goddess into him) as he manoeuvred through the people, mouth moving miles a minute as he spoke.

The Kingdom of Koridai practically bordered the Kingdom of Hyrule, only split by the seamlessly never-ending tides, so after a day’s journey by boat you had entered the country and the hero had practically dragged you to experience his hometown. 

“-you should have seen the guy's face! He stunk of fish guts for weeks! Serves him right for messing with my brother!” Koridai laughed, merry and light as you walked through the marketplace, your eyes wandering to each stall “Golly, it’s been so long since I’ve explored this town! The last time I was here I was setting towards Gamelon!”

“Shame, this place is beautiful.”

When he glanced back at you, his mouth upturned in his familiar little smirk you rolled your eyes. “Not as beautiful as you~”

“Damn, flirt.” Lightly you pushed his shoulder, nothing much happening with his hand still tight around your own and he tugged you back to him with a laugh, your head falling to his shoulder. “Lay off, will you.”

“Awh but you’re too cute!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not too bad looking yourself, pretty even.”

“Pretty enough for a kiss?~”

“Nope.”

He deflated like a child, whining your name with puppy-kicked eyes while you laughed, eyes creasing in joy when your gaze met a small stall sitting in the corner, a lone old lady patiently waiting for a customer with her abundance of stock, your sight catching a beautifully made ring that shone in the light of the sun. Hypnotising in a way, your feet gently brought you towards the stall, Koridai following along when he perked up.

“Lynne!”

The older woman’s pointed ears twitched, old eyes narrowing before she seemed to light up in a similar way. “Oh, Link! It’s been so long.”

The small woman waddled to meet the man halfway, their hug a gentle one as you watched from the sidelines, intrigued and intruding all at once as the two conversed like old friends.

It was nice seeing Koridai like this, the hero persona pushed aside to show the kind young man behind it. No smug playboy, but a mature hero who knew where his roots stood, it was like looking through the walls of a tiny old shack to see the happy and content family within- the phrase “you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover” came to mind as they continued to talk until finally, Lynne turned to you.

“And whose this, Link? Your lover?” You tensed, your face growing in warmth as she gently grabbed your hand, looking up at you brightly. “You possess such kind eyes, my dear, I hope Link is treating you well.”

“I- We- He’s actually-”

“Oh, you bet!” He grinned, arm wrapping snugly around your waist and bringing your closer to his side, nuzzling against your cheek as a sign of affection. 

It…it felt nice, your face heating with a more adoring flush as your hand fell to hold his still against your hip.

You only felt (very) a little giddy when he grinned against you.

“Oh, I’m so glad, such a handsome couple, here-” She reached forward, grasping the ring you had been eyeing in interest earlier and handing it towards you gently. “I could see you were looking at it. Please, take it.” 

Your heart skipped at the pure gesture. “But I couldn’t just take it, at least let me-”

“Oh, no, no, consider it a gift.”

She gently laid it in your hand, the small jewellery still sparkling even as you protectively curled your fingers around it, looking up at the woman gratefully.

“...Thank you, Ms Lynne.”

“Lynne is fine, sweetheart.” She smiled, her wrinkles adding a motherly touch “Off you go now, if I know Link he still has much to show you of the town. Go on!”

She waved you away, the both of you yelling your farewells as you disappeared deeper into the crowd until Lynne was no longer in sight, you still tucked firmly to the taller man’s side as you walked, his thumb rubbing at your hip over your clothes.

“She’s sweet…” You mentioned after a few moments, still flustered over her mistake.

Koridai’s ears flickered happily at the words. “The sweetest! She used to cook dinner for the kids on our street so that our mothers could have a break! Haha!”

You chuckled at that, studying the beautiful ring once more before slipping it onto your finger, rubbing gently at the crested gem before looking back at Koridai whose eyes were already settled on you.

The bustling town never felt so empty when staring into those eyes of emerald green, the calls of the people never sounded so quiet as you put on your focus on him. You couldn’t deny that Koridai was handsome, beautiful, the best of every compliment that came to mind and the same giddiness from earlier came to hit you hard as he leaned closer, looking at your lips and then at your eyes.

So cliche, but even a cliche like this wouldn’t stop the pounding of your heart.

“So, about that kiss?” The man’s voice was a whisper, soft against your ears but still filled with his usual eagerness. 

“What about it?” Cursing mentally for sounding breathless, you settled your hands on his shoulders.

“Think you could spare your hero just one?”

…Hell, what was one kiss?

Your mouth moved to answer, both of your just a breath away-

When someone shoved past, your yelp comical as you felt your body begin to drop only for Koridai to tug you back towards him, his pout cute as he yelled out a frustrated “Hey, watch it!” back at the man who brushed him off, vanishing behind a wall of people.

The blonde turned back at your giggle, hand moving to cover your mouth to muffle it when it got a little too loud.

“God, that was so fucking cliche.” You were yanked back up, still against the hero’s chest as you chuckled. “Of course, just as we’re about to kiss someone has to ruin it.”

This whole world was just full of these things, huh?

“I-It doesn’t have to be ruined!” He stammered, not wanting the moment to end. “Listen, it was just a small fumble but-”

You held his face when you kissed the edge of his lips, soft, sweet but lingering as the man relaxed against your palms, ears flapping rapidly with hearts practically dancing in his eyes when you finally pulled away, once again giggling at his face.

“Golly~” The sigh was breathless, similar to your own voice not even a moment ago. “I think you missed~”

With a smirk, you pulled away. “Eh, maybe next time.”

“H-Huh?! Not, wait, (Name)!”

[corneille-but-not-the-author]

Family's in town

Most people would say that having family coming is a good to very annoying thing. Families are, after all, very complicated. Sometimes, they fight, sometimes they make peace. Sometimes, a family is all someone have.

Today, in my opinion, the idea of my family coming leans towards the "very annoying" side.

I have never been too close with my brother. Ian and I are, after all, polar opposites. He's a very careful man, and crafted his reputation as the perfect judge, father and husband with utmost perfection, while being a non mage. Most of the time he's a very polite man, discreet, some would say timid, applying the law day by day and being a model citizen, while I'm this country's president, and one of it's most hated public figures. Staying at the head of the country for the last five years has been a nightmare, and I'm, now more than ever, navigating on thin ice, because I'm a mage.

Even physically, we are so different. He's short haired, with brown eyes, someone not so special, except for his clothing, the white and gold of the Guilds looks pretty good on him. In contrast, I wear only black and gold, traditionnal atttire of the Inkan President. My hair is long, and i've got blue eyes. The only thing that would sell us as brother and sister is our nose. The exact same nose, to the tiniest detail.

A burden, for most of my life.

So, having to welcome him to my office this evening feels like a burden too.

When he steps through the door, though, he looks a lot different than last time we've seen each other. His eyes are haunted, his suit looks a bit dirty. Even though he still has this unsefferable smile, this time it's wavering.

"Ian ! Come, come !" I welcome him with a smile of my own. Because I'm the older sister, and I should always be in control. Of everything. Mother and Father taught me well.

"Cassandra, by the Gods...if you knew how i'm relieved to see you in good shape."

Those types of dithyrambic comments are not that common from him. Most of the time, he tries to stay very calm, very polite, so seeing so much affection while I go for a handshake, and him for a hug, is very, very strange.

"Ian, you worry me. What is going on ?"

"I'm on a case. A big case. Did the Guilds warn you ?"

Not at all, no. I walk him to a chair, while i get behind my desk. They are gone, the days when the Tyrant was sitting in a tiny room to work. Now, Inkan Presidents get at least a very big office, with the best view possible on the largest and most populated city in the world.

Not that it soothes me, most of the time. Rather, this vision is meant as a way to see our own responsability, to this city, to this country.

"I needed to warn you, as fast as I could. "

"Warn me of what ? Speak up, Ian, I do not have all your time."

His smile wavers. I hate when he does that. Coming and talking and saying he knows best only to reel whenever i express anything else than contempt or false joy.

"Cassandra, I'm investigating the cliques."

My blood freezes. I turn around slowly, look at my brother. My own smile disappear.

"What...?"

"The cliques. We have found something big. A list of all donators to the Order Party."

I feel my heart thumping. Maintaining a straight face is not easy. I was worried about my brother coming, now, I'm worried for him.

"I see. It's a big case indeed."

"Yes ! We have about a hundred names on this list. All proeminent figures from the Cliques."

"And don't you think that's too big of a fish to fry, Ian ?"

His eyebrows raises on his face, while he crosses his legs, uncertain of what to answer.

"What do you mean, Cassandra ?"

"Look outside."

He hesitates, for a bit, before standing up and looking at the window. The city may seem calme, today. But everybody with even a tiny neuronal connexion knows it's an illusion.

It boils, under the surface. It reeks. It stinks.

Some are throwing the forbidden word. Revolution.

"Do you see, Ian ? They want the mages dead. They want a whole part of society dead. By investigating the Cliques, you're going to light a spark. And this spark..."

"I can't...it's about justice, Cassandra. You're the president, goddammit !"

He's angry. That's unusual, too. Why does this particular case makes you so passionate, Ian ? Do you happen to know more than what you revealed ?

"Peace, Ian."

"No. I need an explanation. Why would you try to stray me from giving justice ?!"

I sigh.

"Because I need some public order in this forsaken city. And your ability to stir the pot has been nothing but a trouble, those last years."

"I was trying to help you !"

He stands up, slams his hand on the desk.

"That's enough, Ian. Hear me, now. You will go back to the Guilds and tell them that if I hear about such a list or anything similar in the next six months, i'll make sure their budget is cut in half by the end of the year."

He stays silent. Why wouldn't he ? He's always thought he was so much better than me.

But if I have to bribe the entierety of both chambers so that he never talks about such a list ever again, I'll do it.

Because i simply cannot let him destroy this country. Even if he's my brother. Especially because he's my brother.

He looks at me in disbelief. Grit his teeth. Please, show your true self, Ian. Show me you're just a prick, and not someone I respect despite our differences. Show me a beast, I'll show you a mage.

But after a few seconds, he just walks to the door without a word. There is a moment I'm tempted to stop him.

The door closes.

Without me knowing it, this would be the last time I would see my brother alive.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

I've seen some of your deadpool pred stuffs and was hoping I could get some more from ya as it's really good

Yeah, definitely! I haven't done nearly enough with this guy anyway.

"Seriously, is that all you have to say?" D.eadpool complains, looking down at his bloated stomach. "'Let me out!' 'Help me!' 'I'm melting!' 'Blorp!' Get some new material, seriously! You sound the same as the last twenty guys I ate!" He pokes his gut, his finger sinking into the soft sphere. It wobbles a bit, but his prey has long since digested down into slop. "Great, this guy's a terrible conversationalist, too. When am I going to find the right man for me?" D.eadpool pouts, crossing his arms while his stomach churns wetly. D.eadpool grabs the next guy that he'd knocked out. A rancid belch to the fact wakes the man up, though. "Oh well, plenty of fish in the sea. Maybe you know something." He starts cramming the man down, devouring him just as greedily as he had the first several. He's gotten a hit for a rather elusive man, one that even he's struggling to find. Thankfully, D.eadpool got a lead and is now casually plowing through some crime gang he can't recall the name of, one member at a time. One of them is bound to have some information he can use, and there's no better method of getting it than taunting them with the slow and inevitable demise of boiling alive in his stomach! At least, that's what he thinks, and that's why yet another dazed man ends up splashing down into the thick sludge in his belly. There were a few more guys lying around, all knocked out thanks to him. if none of them have any info, then he'll just have to move higher up on the food chain around here. He'll figure out what he needs to know, one digested soul at a time. D.eadpool presses down on his stomach, shoving the struggling man back into place in the boiling bit. "No need to get feisty. Just tell me what I need to know..." However long it takes, D.eadpool is going to walk out of here very full, so it's a win for him either way. It's just a matter of how many thugs he's going to digest before he's done.

"W.ade, I swear to god, let me g--" S.pider-man is cut off by a wet gulp from D.eadpool, sending him down the hatch and sloshing into the anti-hero's gut. D.eadpool belches wetly and pats his stomach a few times as he feels his treat start to thrash around inside. "C'mon, S.pidey, we both know you like it~" D.eadpool teases, pushing down on whatever bulges try to shove outward. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. Someone was bound to eat you. I mean, this is a vore story, so it was going to happen." S.pider-man pushes outward again and D.eadpool lets loose another crass belch. Some muffled words don't get past the thick gurgling and fat of his gut. D.eadpool pats his stomach a few times and leans back on the couch he's on. "I know, I know, you're melting alive but think of it this way--out of everyone who ate you, it was me! Your favorite guy! And I know how to treat my prey right." A few more shoves get all those bulges back into place and D.eadpool starts to knead over his gut, groaning happily. "There you go...just settle down, S.pidery. Let ol' D.eadpool take over...I've gotcha now..." His guts churn heavily and S.pider-man tries to struggle more, but the best he can manage is shifting around and making the gut sway. He's already being worn down by D.eadpool's stomach and the kneading isn't helping. He'd never admit it...but it all feels kind of nice. D.eadpool belches harshly again, pushing his fingers a bit deeper into his gut. "Woof, starting to stink up a storm out here. Guess it can't smell too pretty in there, though." He pats the side of his gut a few times, making it slosh wetly. S.pider-man isn't struggling anymore, just curled up tight in the gurgling tank. "See, I told you you'd enjoy yourself once you relaxed. I'm gonna melt you down good, better than anyone else could. Just try to go to my ass, alright? I could use a bit more weight back there." He presses down on his stomach again, his hand sinking in a bit. S.pider-man will be gone in the next couple hours, and by the follownig day, he'll just be a bit more heft on D.eadpool's body and a belched-up suit, if it survives. But he'll always belong to D.eadpool, and that's all the anti-hero really cares about.

Hands rub over D.eadpool's engorged gut, making him groan with pleasure. "You know, this is kind of fucked up," he says, lifting his head a bit to look at the guy rubbing his gut, "so it's a good thing I like fucked up." He can see that his little belly rubber blushes at that. D.eadpool leans in closer to let out a rank belch right into his place, the stink of old meat thick on his breath while his guts churned. His latest 'hit' was put in by some random college student who was a bit sick of his douchey roommate and his douchey friends. D.eadpool has killed for less, so he was more than happy to take on a good four-course meal. Of course, he didn't think he'd be getting some free belly rubs from the guy who gave him the job in the first place. Not that he's complaining, of course. The four guys had been beefy frat boys, and while they went down easy, they felt like cement in his guts. So the nimble hands working their magic over his stomach is more than welcome for D.eadpool. He hits the belly rubber with another crass belch, making him blush bright red that time. "Hey, you don't need to be so embarrassed. I know a guy who gets off to this stuff, too. I don't judge." He lays his head back against the couch again with a pleased sigh and simply lets the college guy do his job. D.eadpool's guts groan and churn wetly, steadily working down all that college meat with ease. His guts round out and get softer, the rubbing hands sinking deeper into his belly as time goes on. D.eadpool makes sure to belch good for his helper since he seems to like it so much. He hacks up a few things in the process--some mismatched shoes, a baseball cap, someone's underwear, and a few bones. They end up splattered around the apartment's living room, all dripping in drool. Not his problem, though. After a couple of hours, D.eadpool has a taut, gurgling pot belly chugging along the last bits of college boy. He gets up and pins the rubber down, pressing his gurgling stomach against him and belching into his face one last time. "Thanks for buying me dinner, kid. If you have anyone else you want to see gone, you know who to call." He gets off the couch, leaving the dazed student behind as he saunters out of the dorm room. He hopes he gets more jobs like these. It's cute when he gets some flustered guys to watch him eat.

[terrence-silver]

Would terry have more trouble taking beloved who is famous/ a celebrity?

---

-"In 1983,"- Demetri holds up the old, tattered gossip periodical they've fished out of Mrs. Moskowitz's attic stash of dusty trinkets and forgotten keepsakes, reading carefully, wide eyes following every line, every word like it was lifechanging --- like they could find the Yeti or the Sasquatch hidden somewhere among the many columns, Hawk perched up beside him on the squeaky floorboard surrounded by boxes, scoffing, clearly not appreciating the great mystery they were so close to uncovering together. -"After their subsequent movie one hit wonder one the Red Carpet, the dazzling career of one of Hollywood's and LA"s aspiring sweethearts takes a sudden nosedive nobody foresaw coming."-

He acutely feels Hawk's amused eyeroll burning a hole in the back of his head.

How was this not exciting for him!?

Binary Bros, uncovering the puzzle behind a 80's mega-star slipping into obscurity?

Practicality overnight!?

Sus.

-"Reports on retiring from public life took the jet-set of Hollywood by storm."- He narrates on, the article, admittedly, being incredibly and annoyingly vague. Offering no real intel. Only suspicious amounts of formality. Followed by pictures of aggrieved fans circling the streets of LA in front of MGM studios strewn all over the glossy page. Maybe it was easier to disappear back then. No Internet. No Instagram. Nobody slipping into a celebrity's DMs. Just speculations and handwritten fanmail. Landline phones at best? He continues, practically out of breath, finding a quote. -"'Our goal is privacy and civilian integrity. Just that. We ask to be respected in our decision.' Beloved, as affectionately nicknamed by their fanbase, not wanting to give any statements had their acting manager explaining, having no further comments."-

Beloved? He supposed that was a stage name of sorts? Like Cardi B? Weird.

But that bit of dialogue by their manager ---

If that didn't stink, Demetri didn't know what did.

Not even extensive True Crime Google searches or sifting through Missing Person reports gave him more clarity than what they right right in this celebrity gossip magazine from, like...what? Thirty years ago? Forty? Man, his parents haven't even met back then. They were both still kids!

-"C'mon. It's just some ancient, unconfirmed conspiracy theory from back when the dinosaurs were still roaming the planet."- Hawk shrugs and Demetri turns the page, finding sudden epiphany. -"No, no! Listen to this, though!"- He perks up, tugging at Hawk's forearm, nearly jumping on the attic floorboard with the flashlight he was holding in his hand. Wasn't even dark. He was just doing it for the spooky vibes, to be honest. He found it! Found what he was looking for! Photographic evidence, receipts and all! -"Pictured with Corporate Business Moghul, Charity Entrepreneur and one of LA's most eligible Billionaire bachelors, Terrence Silver."- The description under an image says and how did he not find this online? Was this just conveniently fine-combed off of the web? -"The young starlet's colorful choice of date, deemed controversial by some still declared the most photogenic Red Carpet couple of '83."- There he was, Ponytail Sensei --- Sensei Targaryen --- eons younger, dark haired for contrast, looking like one of those shiny, perfect Ken dolls, hand in hand with the object of their research. They were a thing! Like, together-together. -"I knew it!"-

He holds up the tabloid, pointing at it vigorously, feeling victorious.

Gloating just a teeny, tiny bit.

It was The Valley's very own unsolved urban mystery!

-"You nerd."- Hawk laughs from where he was sitting, knees bent under him, chilling on the busted parquet that has definitely seen better days, still skeptical. Okay, alright. Demetri saw how it was. His amazing talents and privately investigative research in tandem were clearly not appreciated around here. That was his thanks then? -"Yeah, some asshole from the newspapers retiring like a million years ago and dating some Bond Villain who hasn't changed his hairstyle in decades. Spooky."- He shakes his head, wiggling around his fingers and pursing his lips for emphasis, clearly unimpressed, taunting him, making fun of the whole concept, about to get up and climb down from the attic and just about ditch him. Call quits on this whole project. -"You and your head in the clouds, I swear."-

A realization hits Demetri like a train at full speed.

-"What if he like, you know, went all Fatal Attraction?"- He grabs Hawk by the elbow, stopping him in his tracks, whispering like the walls suddenly grew ears. -"What if, there was a kidnapping involved and he scooped them up, got his Doctor Evil scheming and Scrooge McDuck connections to erase all traces of them and has been keeping them in some crazy mastermind lair all these years? You know, like a hostage? Made it seem like it was just some out of the blue retirement?"- Demetri lets it all pour out, without filter, saying exactly what he was thinking no matter how insane it sounded and it kind of did sound insane, admittedly; feeling himself fall into a frenzy of rambling regardless, all his long weeks of thinking and thinking, trying to figure the mystery out and it all so suddenly made sense. Cobra Kai's current new Sensei, no matter how surface level nice he seemed, had more than one skeleton in the closet and this was one of them. But, if that was the case, just how powerful was this guy? The frozen intensity in Hawk's eyes matches his in the darkness of the attic illuminated only by their flashlight and for a second, Demetri thinks he's believed and then --- Hawk snorts loudly. Then he chortles to top it all off, grabbing him by the shoulder, startling him. Very funny. Hilarious.

-"Yeah, wow, okay, I don't believe that. Nobody can pull that off."-

He pats him on the back, leading him downstairs.

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: The Nautilus Bloweth

((I thought I was done with FFXIVwrite for the year, but then I started thinking about the nautilus… So here's Fal being a hater after knocking back a few drinks. Imagine him slamming an empty glass on a table and making all sorts of wild gestures and fart sounds in accompaniment to this rant.))

"Sharlayan was ready to take their best and brightest to the moon and leave the rest of us to rot?!? Why am I not surprised. My dad studied there and he's just about one of the most brutally practical, humorless dicks you'll ever meet. Never did a thing out of the goodness of his heart. But I digress. I'm not gonna discuss my daddy issues. I'd need a few more drinks or to hear a few more of all your nice juicy confessions about sex or murder before that, hmm? No one up for that?

Annnnnyway, the damn Sharlayans are sooo happy to hoard knowledge under the guise of "not interfering" with the rest of the world. But I think I know the real reason they hoard their knowledge. It makes me sound like a backwater hick to say this… shit I AM a backwater hick to the likes of them… but they just enjoy thinking that they're better than everyone else. LOOOVE IT. Did you know they fucked off out of the Eorzean alliance right around the time the Garleans decided to try conquering the world? They think they're so above it all, shit…

You know what I think is hilarious about the Sharlayans? The fact that they have a nautilus as their national symbol. A nautilus! I used to find their shells on the beach in the 'Ciels and old Rymmharr the Maelstrom sailor told me everything he knew about them. See? That's what you do with knowledge. You share it. There are a lot of things to respect about those floating shell... things, but they respect them for all the wrong reasons.

But yeah, I've seen fossils in the 'Ciels that look EXACTLY like those shells I could find on the beach at low tide right now. It's barely changed in gods know how many millennia. They might tell you 'oh well you can't elaborate on perfection you know' and that might be true for the animal, but it should never be true for people. We should always be learning and growing, making ourselves better AND helping others get better! I think it just goes to show the fact that they refuse to change no matter how much evidence piles up about how wrong they are and no matter how close the wolf gets to their door.

And did you know its a scavenger? Mucking and sqeulching and blurping around in rotting whale innards and old fish heads. Scavengers have a damned beautiful and absolutely sacred duty and the nautilus is no exception, but a real scavenger recycles what it eats. It puts life back into the lifestream and nourishment in the soil and in the water. But what do the Sharlayans do? Just take it out of the cycle. They eat the knowledge others produce and keep it for themselves without putting anything back. Greedy fat bastards.

The funniest part of all this is that the damn things swim ass-backwards! Its perfect, isn't it. Fucking perfect. Sharlayans just looking at their own asses, enjoying the smell of their own farts as they pbbbbttthhhh through the water while the rest of us are trying to look forward and keep this damn world together.

And lastly, it doesn't even live in Sharlayan waters! It lives around warm coral reefs! If knowledge is so fucking important to the Sharlayans, you think they'd know more about their own goddamn national symbol.

Knowledge seeks no man, huh? Blow it out your brine-stinking, corpse-eating asses!"

((After this he'd probably try to tongue kiss the nearest person and then start a singalong.

Also "The Nautilus Knoweth" is the name of the BGM in Old Sharlayan.))

[daeificatio]

women fear me fishermen love me - a bro story | team verdane, byleth & frederick drabble

With no equipment, almost no money and in a land he had no knowledge about, this truly was a pickle. But sitting around and wallowing in worries wouldn’t improve their situation, so Byleth decided to act quickly. During their short reunion, the professor decided to check out the shore and the docks while accompanied by Frederick, a Knight of Seiros.

Now, the choice was strategic, very much so.

The first thing Byleth noticed once they made contact with the townspeople after they seemed rather wary of some of them. Part of him understood why- after all it was a small town and they all had hailed from a different continent, but it could still cause them issues. In particular, the professor noticed how he was one of those who wasn’t seen with the most comfortable gaze by the locals.

Hardly a novelty to him, but upsetting all the same. At the very least in Fódlan he knew why he was called the Ashen Demon- in here…he didn’t know why they seemed to fear him. Was his appearance and mannerisms truly that unsettling? It was hard to tell. Perhaps this land had an entirely different culture of behavior that he had yet to understand. Regardless, Byleth wouldn’t allow himself to think too much about his condition. There was no good from self commiseration, much less in a situation like this.

But it was that wariness by the locals that led him to choosing the docks. Although he was an ex-mercenary and his social skills were pitiful, if there was one thing Byleth was more or less used to was interacting with gruffy, seasoned and roughed older men. Mercenaries, guards, soldiers, sailors and fishermen were all common figures he’d come across throughout his life under Jeralt’s Mercenaries, so here he felt more comfortable. And, of course, the presence of Frederick did help.

"I neglected to introduce myself," he said, apologetic. "My name is Frederick."

Byleth knew that the big guy was faculty- well, not quite faculty, but one of those Knights of Seiros. He had spotted him here and there before, but never talked with the man. "My name is Byleth." A pause. "Nice to meet you." Be polite...the girl in his head quipped every now and then. "...most fishermen seem to have left already." Less people to talk to, but less eyes on them. "Sailors are easier to talk to. I think."

Byleth has had almost no bonds formed in his 21 years of life, but he still acknowledged the good that came from tagging along someone you can at least trust with your safety. Frederick seemed by all means a good, loyal man. A good companion, which only made the professor more confused once he noticed the locals seemed even more wary of Frederick than of him. The docks were already rather empty- most fishermen had already left as it was midday, coupled with Frederick’s presence…it was difficult to approach.

"I would agree with that," he said. "Let us find a sailor and ask first if we are the only ones shipwrecked. I... worry for the others I was traveling with."

"...me too." He wasn't particularly close to anyone on that ship but many of them were his students and colleagues all the same. He needed to know if they were okay.

No sailors or fishermen seemed keen on giving them any attention other than stink eyes- that if they didn’t just flat out turn their back to the duo. It stung, to be unwelcome in such a blatant way, but Byleth took it in stride. If they couldn’t approach anyone to talk, then they could at the very least find other means to draw attention. His first idea was to fish and see if they could sell their catch to someone, hopefully the deal making it easier for them to communicate and also getting them some coin. After all, they were short on money…and they had to pay the inn.

And then of course, because nothing is ever supposed to be easy in this damned world, everything in this town seemed rather pricey. The fees of the inn already had Byleth doing a low whistle deep in his mind, but now the prices to buy and rent fishing supplies…a net was well over the amount the professor and the knight had together. The rod wasn’t too cheap either, and it didn’t really seat well with Byleth busting their gold this early with fishing supplies.

Not when they could use what their mothers and nature gave them: arms.

Arms were, my all means, for free. Byleth had two of them. Frederick had two of them.

In the end, a plan was formed. Frederick bought a bucket with plenty of bait. He’d give Byleth some of it and he’d attempt to grab a fish straight out of the water with nothing but his bare hands. The looks of absolute shock from the locals didn’t go unnoticed by the professor, but he couldn’t care less- right now they had a priority.

Roll D10= 1, no fish!

Roll D10= 5, almost!

Roll D10= 5, catch!

Their first catch was a small one that nearly escaped, but Byleth managed to grab it at the last second. In his eyes any catch was a good catch, he wouldn’t let himself be discouraged.

…much less considering how fun this was. Even though his face was very much blank and his eyes were transfixed on the water below.

Roll D10= 2, no fish!

Roll D10= 3, no fish!

Roll D10= 5, almost!

Indeed, fishing in these waters was truly more difficult than in a lake or river. It wasn’t often that Byleth got to fish like this at the shore, but it was an experience nonetheless.

Roll D10= 8, catch!

Another small one, not much different than their previous catch. They still had plenty of bat and plenty of time. Though it wasn’t visible on his face, Byleth truly was enjoying this. Sure, the entire situation was less than ideal- being trapped in this continent with no equipment, almost no money and almost no information of where to go and how to traverse these lands, but this specific moment was fun. Standing fully clothed at the shore with a trusted companion, getting to fish in the good old raw style. He was genuinely enjoying this moment. The professor was very much quiet, but he wondered to himself if Frederick would be willing to fish with him again like this sometime in the future.

Well- that was the future. Right now he has to focus.

Roll D10= 10, a big one!

Particularly when he felt something pull at his arm with quite a bit of force. It was no small fish trying to tear the bait off his grip- no, this was a truly, truly big one. Byleth instinctively wrapped his arms around it to try to subdue it, but it was quite obvious that he couldn’t do it alone. “Frederick, help.” 

It would go like any other unarmed hunt, except trickier considering how the fish was in its element and if their grip were to falter, it would readily escape. With no sword or dagger with him, they’d have to knock the fish out with their bare fists if they wanted to get it out of the water.

Byleth punches Fish! Roll D20= 10 Fish HP= 3.5 Byleth HP= 9 Frederick HP= 9 Frederick punches Fish! Roll D20= 17 Fish HP= 2 Frederick HP= 8 Byleth punches Fish! Roll D20= 16 Fish HP= 0.5 Byleth HP= 8 Frederick punches Fish! Roll D20= 12 Fish HP= 0 Frederick HP= 7 Fish has been captured!

It was, indeed, an experience. Byleth had been confident that they’d be able to subdue the fish thanks to Frederick’s muscles- he was a big, strong guy, so it was only natural that he’d be able to knock the creature out with a couple blows. Although both men did get jostled around by the fish, they came out of the water drenched and victorious with a massive fish on their hands. And their act wasn’t at all ignored by the locals- as soon as Byleth regained his bearings and looked around, he spotted some fishermen and sailors staring and whistling at them.

The fishermen on the dock actually seem a bit impressed by this spectacle. Most of them stopped what they'd been doing to watch you both thrash around in the shallows, but the size of the fish is what really gets them. One of them whistles at you as you drag it ashore.

As they drag the fish to shore, Frederick looks down at their prize (as well as the other two small fish Byleth had caught), and then frowns. "All right. What do we do with these now?"

Byleth was pleased- even though it didn't quite show on his face. They managed to get a really big one. "The fishermen seem impressed as well. We could try to sell them." Or...perhaps, try to spark up some conversation.

Frederick nodded, and picked up the fish so it would not drag on the ground. "Ah. Point the way, professor."

Felt weird. But this was no time to hesitate- if they were open to communicate, then the professor would take the chance. Although the fishermen still seemed wary of Frederick’s presence, their view of Byleth had apparently been slightly improved. Though feeling a bit put off by his companion being rejected still, the professor approached the fisherman.

One of the fishermen seems pretty impressed by Byleth's catch, though his compliments aren't forthcoming. He'd been in the middle of tying up his own boat when the whole fight had gone down, so he'd seen most of it. He nods toward the fish left with Frederick. "Not bad. We thought you were crazy diving in like that. Still do, honestly. But I guess crazy gets you something nice once 'n a while. What's your name? Never seen you here before."

Seeing how the fishermen seemed more open to talk now, Byleth decided to take the chance. Leaving the big fish with Frederick, he stepped up to talk with the man. "The lack of a rod or net won't hold me back. If I need to use my hands then so be it." He pushed some wet hair away from his face. "My name is Byleth. Me and my big friend came here by boat from another land but got shipwrecked because of a storm."

"That guy?" The fisherman glances toward Frederick, skeptical of the use of the word "friend." "Well, I'm short a man this week. I can give you a real rod if you wanna fill in for 'im. I'll pay ya too. Though if you wanna catch things with your hands, I won't stop ya either." With that, he holds out his hand. It's ruddy, with calloused palms. "Name's Ramin."

"Yes. He's big and looks scary, but he's very strong and kind. His help is very valuable." If he could find a way to get those people to change their view of Frederick to be a more positive one, he'd try- even though he pretty much only got to know Frederick now. As for the job...it could work for their situation. He could aid with rent, and this would get him a way to communicate with the locals and get information on this land. "Deal." He took off his wet gloves, revealing pale and skinny hands- but calloused all the same, to shake the other man's. "Good to meet you, Ramin."

Ramin still seems unconvinced on the topic of Frederick. He leans in close just in case he’s in earshot. “I’ve seen men like him before. You’d be wise to cut your ties sooner than later. Bad luck will follow you otherwise.” He straightens back up and gives Byleth’s hand one final shake. “What’re you planning to do with your catch, friend?”

That was strange. Frederick didn't look like a bad-luck type of guy to the professor. He looked like your average knight-dude if anything. "Bad luck? What do you mean?" Byleth kept his voice down, slightly tilting his head to the side in an attempt to showcase clearer curiosity and compensate for his blank stare. "Me and my friend were thinking about maybe it in the market."

"Just be on your guard around people like him," Ramin says with a stern eye, and that seems to be the last he'll say on the topic. Suddenly he brightens and thumbs Byleth on the chest with the backs of his fingers. "How 'bout you sell it to me? I'll pay ya better than those misers in the market. Even found something nice on the beach earlier that might interest you."

"...I see. Thanks for the warning." Not wanting to push his luck and undo the progress he had made in communicating with the fisherman, Byleth let go of the topic even though it still bothered him. Again, Frederick just looked like any other knight in his eyes. "What do you offer for it?" One dark brow slightly arched in interest at the 'something nice on the beach'. It could be nothing...but it could be one of their missing equipment. Who knows.

"Come here." Ramin motions for Byleth to follow him over to his boat. He steps down into it, the vessel rocking slightly as he does, and then drags a weighty shield out from under the seats in the back.

"How 'bout a trade?" He shows Byleth the shield. "Caught this in one of my nets earlier, but I don't have a use for it. You look like you've seen a few fights. Might come in handy."

Byleth follows Ramin into the boat, seemingly at ease though his eyes carefully watched his surroundings. Ramin seemed like a fisherman like any other, but one could never be too trustful considering how this was an unknown land. His attention however was caught by the sight of the shield being held up- he had seen this before, at their boat. It belonged to that one young Blue Lion girl. "I'll take it." Any recovered equipment was already progress. "You're a good dealer, Ramin. Thank you." He offered the fisherman his hand to shake.

Byleth has acquired the Iote’s Shield!

As soon as the teacher made it out of Ramin's boat with the shield in his hands, his shoulders almost unnoticeably dropped in relief. Behind focused cobalt eyes and a pale blank face, Byleth was actually slightly nervous throughout the entire exchange. During his entire life it had always been his father Jeralt who was in charge of those situations- that or some other man from the merc band, but never Byleth. Instead, he’d always stand back and watch as deals were made, still too young and too inexperienced both with people and words to try it himself.

And now…he did it. By himself, without his father being there to give him a push or start the conversation for him. Byleth didn’t consider himself a spoiled child, perhaps sheltered in an odd way at best, but social situations still gave him a chill down his stomach and a burn on his chest that he could only assume would be the replacement of a thundering, anxious heartbeat if he had one. Well, he was able to at least return to his companion…or rather companions, seeing how a young girl from their group had joined Frederick, with good news.

At a steady pace, Byleth returns to his companion- well...two companions. A young girl with green hair that he had spotted in their boat before had joined Frederick. "Hi." He greeted the two, then turned to Frederick. "I talked to the fisherman. I sold the big fish to him because he had this...shield. This shield belongs to a student from our group, the small one with red hair. This means most of our equipment is most likely underwater or scattered around at the beaches." He paused, then a glimpse of disappointment manifested in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried to tell them you weren't a scary person, but they didn't budge on their opinion." He knew how bad it felt to be feared and avoided by others all too well, so he truly felt bad for Frederick. "Well, we can always fish again. We have plenty of bait." He turned to the small girl. "Want to help us?"

Frederick frowned just a little, but didn't want to press Tiki. Dragons were such strange beings, and he would have plenty of time to think about the how and why of her age later. Instead, he put a hand on the back of her head, patting a little like one might a small child. "See? He said we can fish again," he said as an attempt to placate her. He looked up at Byleth and offered a confused expression. "Why do they think I'm scary? Should I speak with them? I mean no harm."

"I don't know. I tried to press but he just didn't budge." He curled a finger under his chin for a moment, before shaking his head. "I don't think it's wise. Most are afraid of you, but some could get violent. I don't want you to be attacked." He looked back at the young girl. "It's okay. We can fish more. We can catch another big one."

He picked up the bucket of bait and looked into it. "We could definitely attempt to catch more... perhaps then, you and Lady-- I mean, Tiki," he corrected. "Could I attempt to sell them? We do need to pay for our rooms... and food. And of course, supplies as well. Unless we wanted to look for our lost weapons first, which might also be a good idea. I've lost both my lances, I'm afraid."

Though she was distraught over the loss of her fish, Tiki slapped her face to pump herself up, nodding when the suggestion for another fish to be reeled up was offered. "I would love love another fishy! Then we can use it to feed everyone! Share food to make friends and be happy after what happened." Jumping down from Frederick's shoulder, Tiki smiled wide at the professor and the knight despite her swollen eyes. "Then once we are done, we can find everyone's weapons again!" Throwing her hands up wide and gesturing at the sea. "Ban-Ban said the best fish is caught earlier after all!" She insisted.

The professor looked between the two of them, then at the shield in his hands. It was slightly grimy with dirt and algae, but his judgment wasn’t wrong- it truly was a piece of their equipment and by the looks of it, it seemed like someone’s prized possession. Though he didn’t know the shield’s name or history, he knew it belonged to that one red haired young girl, Maria.

With blank but not unfeeling eyes, he nodded at their promise to fish again later and do something about their catch, maybe a nice big meal for everyone. It seemed like it could be fun. The girl in his mind made a quick comment- about how she had never seen him consider something ‘fun’ outside of training and fishing with his father.

For once, the comment wasn’t the sassy type he’d usually ignore. Assuming the warmth he felt in his chest was the beginnings of hypothermia, the professor moved on to at least take the shield back to its owner.

[fuzzydreamin]

for the writer meta asks, 3, 4, 14, 16, and 19

Thank you! Under the cut for being a bit longer~

3: What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Uh, every scene where I have to figure out the inbetweens and getting from plot A to plot C? Not every scene gets to be fun, but I mentioned previously that I do enjoy having the slow to give those scenes a greater payoff, but it's still not all that fun to write.

Seriously though, I have many scenes that I am excited to eventually get to - mostly the "and heres where we figure out how everything's going down" scenes. The climaxes of individual events.

4: Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

The bodies of the raiders still littered the road, stinking as rot began to take them, with, thankfully unmutated, flies buzzing around them and laying eggs in every wound and orifice they could find. Nora nearly gagged as she stepped around one, trying not to think about the fact that they were here because she had personally shot them and left them to decay. It had been them or her, she tried to remind herself. “You know, it’s nasty work but these raiders were carrying useful supplies. Ammo, stimpaks. That kind of stuff.” Preston commented, stopping to kneel down and inspect the body Nora had just passed, “People need everything they can get out here, and you can’t really be too picky about where it comes from. It’s best to loot them before someone else does.” Nora figured the emphasis was on those someone else's being other raiders and similarly unsavoury characters. It certainly did make sense to take what they had for their own survival's sake, but he wasn’t kidding about it being nasty - as Nora knelt to search the pockets of one of the rotting bodies herself she had to retreat for a moment as her gag reflex kicked in, leaving her spluttering on the side of the road. Though thankfully nothing came up this time. It took her two more attempts before she managed to fish the items out of the dead man's pockets.

Nora's first time actually looting a dead body (I don't count her picking up the laser musket, since that was on the ground and not in the dudes pockets). It's not something she naturally thought to do on her own, and it's not something she can just easily brush off and not think too much about right away either. She's never handled dead people before, and these guys are dead from her own hands - and also two days old and smelly.

14: At what point in writing do you come up with a title?

Mostly just... whenever I do? I try to have the majority of the story - or at least the larger beats - thought out and work out something that will reflect the story either symbolically or maybe more literally.

In the case of 'Give Me Sanctuary', I had a lot of it figured out before I started working on it and knew that ultimately it's a story about finding yourself and where you belong in the world. It's pretty easy to link that to the literally named Sanctuary Hills for being where the story starts and ends and is often returned to in between. It's probably one of the locations that will be seen the most in the fic, also becoming a home or at least temporary refuge for most of the main characters. So, I knew I wanted 'Sanctuary' in the title. After that I was just looked up songs using that word to find playlist vibes and landed on Shelby Merry's 'Sanctuary' - I was already familiar with her work and the song was indeed major vibes, so I took the a line from that song and made it the title. Another line from the same song is currently the working title of 'Book 1' for the fic - since it'll be done in parts. Might keep it, might not.

As for working on Al's story at some point, it still might change but for now it's 'Icarus into Acheron'. This is because their story is more about a descent into (self)destruction, and 3 in general has a lot of themes and references to religion and mythology, so it vibes with that.

Overall I don't stress on names too much. I just look at the story and symbolism, and go to songs or poems for inspiration if nothing comes to me right away. I also prefer to keep them short, either 2-4 words at best. Any more than that and I feel it's more of a sentence than a title, but it's not a hard rule.

16: Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

Nope. lol. Just kicking myself to write at all. Which I am, just slowly rn.

19: Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Character remembering/recalling things. Guessing at things. A lot of being in their head in general. Might do that too much...

As for tropes, I'm not sure if/how it's classified as one, but I like giving characters that are flatter or more overlooked in the base content more to their characterisation. I like to expand on their motives and mentality.

I'm the kind of person who see's a minor character tied to just a single but important part of the story and I jump on them to dig my claws in and drag them back into the light like a cat playing with a mouse. I must dissect it!

[rafalestorm413]

Wonder Tummy Jisung Chapter 6 Mystery

TW: burps, mention of vore

Alone in front of a paper sheet, Jisung was sitting in a quiet corner in order to draw. It was for him, a good way to evacuate stress. He didn't notice Bangchan passing by, just as he pulled out a wooden pencil. The burp alarmed Bangchan, even more so when he saw the pencil effortlessly slip out of his throat. Completely panicked, he took out his phone to call 911, thinking he had suffocated.

"No! Don't do anything ! I'm fine, really.."

"But where did the pencil come from?"

"My belly…"

Bangchan didn't seem to understand. What kind of creature was he talking to?

Jisung backed up as far as possible against a wall, terrified that Bangchan didn't want him anymore. He dared to look him in the eyes, but he couldn't find the slightest trace of anger in them. Just deep sadness. So, was that why Jisung was so close to a lab? With a slightly clumsy gesture, he hugged him. He wasn't going to kick him out.

A little surprised, the youngest let him do. He desperately needed a hug…

"Don't move, I'll be back…"

He watched Bangchan leave, and come back with something strange. It looked like ultrasound equipment. Bangchan plugged the device into the TV, while Jisung was shaking in his corner. Soon, his six new friends gathered around him and Bangchan, who seemed to be their leader.

Minho shook his hand, giving him a reassuring smile.

"We just want to understand… It won't even hurt…"

Bangchan had chosen Minho to oil Jisung's belly. They were closer, and he knew the youngster wouldn't say anything with Minho. Bangchan then passed a small cold device over his skin. Images were shown on a screen. A hollow cavity, filled with various objects, and covered by a thick layer of fat: the blubber. Bangchan found no sign of another digestive organ. He lowered his head, thinking that the scientists might have turned an innocent man's life into a nightmare. Unless…

Maybe by helping Jisung find a place in the world, a role in which he would be useful could help him feel better. He noticed Minho's stuff inside Jisung's belly and concluded that Minho must have had the same idea.

"Hey, Jisung."

Bangchan squatted in front of him.

"Would you like to keep our things? …"

The youngster nodded. He loved swallowing things, even if he didn't know why.

Everyone presented a few things they cared about to let Jisung keep them carefully, thus marking the beginning of trust.

Hyunjin meanwhile, didn't seem to share the same good mood as the others. The only thing he cared about was making room in his bedroom.

"You better not damage them, whoopee cushion~"

Hyunjin affectionately ruffled her hair.

In the evening, Bangchan invited everyone to the living room, where boxes of pizzas and bags full of hamburgers were waiting for them.

Jisung didn't understand. Apparently there was food in it. Innocently, he picked up a cardboard box and put it to his mouth. Minho took his arm.

"Oh no, it's for eating, not for storing. You have to remove the box before…"

He opened it for him, revealing a pizza.

"What is it?… It's a fish?…"

"No… The best thing is that you taste it~"

Jisung took a piece and swallowed it. He didn't take the time to chew, but he could taste the slice as it slid down his esophagus.

Hyunjin was eating a burger while looking Jisung up and down.

"A madcap who doesn't know what a pizza is, seriously I would have seen everything."

"How do you want him to know if we don't teach him?"

Minho was doing his best to teach Jisung every ingredient that made up his pizza. But this one was so hungry, he only half listened. He looked at Hyunjin after his meal was finished.

"What is that ?"

"A hamburger, don't you know either?"

Jisung shook his head. Hyunjin sighed and handed the one he was eating.

"Taste it, but hurry up."

While he expected to see him bite into it, the opposite happened. He swallowed it…

"This belly on legs which stinks like sardines has just eaten my dinner!"

This remark earned him a slap on the head from Minho. He continued to internally curse Jisung. In fact, he liked her. And he really liked his ability to swallow anything and everything. He had to admit that he had enjoyed being swallowed, by the way. But that was his little secret.

About an hour later, in the bedroom, Minho noticed Jisung's unhappy expression.

"How are you, little man?

"Hyunjin is mean to me when I didn't do anything…"

Minho sat down next to him, hugging him gently.

"I'm sure he loves you a lot… But he just doesn't know how to say it…"

Jisung sighed. He burped two pajamas before putting one on his bare skin that smelled of soap. Hyunjin was exaggerating. He did his best to get the smell of fish off him by showering every night for a good half hour. The pajamas looked like a shirt. Too small for him, he decided not to button the top and let his stomach hang out, after all Minho would be the only one to see it.

Minho had never seen anything so beautiful and cute in his life. He put his hand on Jisung's chubby belly and began to stroke it. He thought he had a nice shape, and so soft too If you looked very closely, the white hairs looked like tiny feathers. Minho thought that, under the skin, under the fat, and under the strange muscle, was hiding a whole other dimension. A totally unknown new universe, that no one had ever visited… Except Hyunjin.

[danielpulse85]

Daniel had never been so sure he was about to die. Deep down, though, he had to admit that perishing at the hands of a group of brutish thugs after a disastrous Halloween party he hadn't even wanted to attend had a certain dramatic flair. The Cobras, despite their violence, were at least considerate enough to hold him up when he could no longer stand. Kicking a poor guy while he was down? No, that would be ugly and dishonorable. Every breath hurt so much that Daniel was certain something inside had broken.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell to the floor, knowing he was losing consciousness. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was a shadow moving with ninja-like precision, taking down his attackers. In Daniel's mind, this shadow earned the title of hero with absolute honor. Darkness enveloped him, bringing with it a silence that was almost comforting.

His return to the world of the living was marked by the warm sensation of a damp cloth on his forehead, a horrendous smell of herbs, and the realization that he probably no longer had bones but splinters in their place. With a pathetic groan, he tried to wipe the cloth off his face.

—Let it.

—It stinks. What is it? —Daniel looked around, disoriented, his brain too busy processing pain. The room was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a weak lamp that cast eerie shadows on the walls.

—Smell bad, heal good.

—Where’s the other guy? —He obeyed and, instead of pushing the cloth away, held it tightly against his skin. The old man was right; it gave a strange relief despite the horrible smell.

—Who?

—The man who rescued me. Where did he go? —Daniel half-joked, but even in his half-functioning mind, he rejected the idea that the old janitor had done such a deed.

—You? No.

—Why not?

—Because... because... —Daniel stopped himself just in time before he said something stupid. He felt as useless as a rag doll, trying to figure out which parts of his body he could move without wanting to cry out in pain.

—Because... old man?

As he poured two cups of tea, the elder smiled in amusement, as if he also found it funny to fight so well at his age. Meanwhile, Daniel tried to get up, but his body protested. The pain in his ribs jabbed him hard when he tried to straighten up. The binder he wore was burying itself into his wounded skin, plus a feeling of continuous suffocation he was more than used to.

Mr. Miyagi's arms invited him to try again, this time with the assurance that he wouldn't fall if he didn't have the strength. For a moment, he felt like a small child being helped by his father. The warmth and firmness of Miyagi's hands conveyed a calming mixture of security and respect.

—Drink tea, feel better.

The hands that showed him how to hold the teacup were tender but firm, almost as if they hadn't just torn five strapping boys to shreds. Daniel wouldn't have believed the maintenance man in his building was capable of such a thing either.

—How come you didn't tell me?

—Tell you what? —Miyagi asked with mock innocence, busy with his cup of tea.

—That you knew karate?

—You never ask.

Good point, but he'd seen him try to learn on his own and hadn't said anything. He must have been laughing at him when he saw Daniel repeating clumsy moves in front of a magazine.

—Well, where did you learn it?

In Daniel's mind, the image of the older man in a Karate Dojo seemed impossible. The lights flickered slightly, creating an almost mystical atmosphere as Miyagi spoke.

—Father.

—But, I thought he was a fisherman.

The old man put his cup aside so he could use both hands to accompany his story.

—In Okinawa, all Miyagi know two things: fish and karate. Karate come from China, sixteenth century, called te, "hand." Hundred year later, Miyagi ancestor bring to Okinawa, call karate. "Empty hand."

Daniel nodded. There was something truly sacred in that explanation, centuries of teaching from father to son that intrigued Daniel, making him feel like it was something significant and important, that he could be part of.

—I always thought it came from Buddhist temples and stuff like that....

—You watch too much TV.

—That’s what my mother tells me.

Daniel wondered if Mr. Miyagi had children who would have learned their ancestral martial arts from him.

—Have you ever taught anyone?

—No.

Mr Miyagi put the rag back on him, this time over his sore jaw. Hell, he'd hoped Miyagi would offer to teach him after seeing him in trouble. But Daniel wasn't going to give up so easily.

—Would you?

—Depend.

—On what?

—Reason.

—How’s revenge? —It was so obvious. What other reason would he have? More justified than trying to balance things out after a clear homicide attempt.

—Look at revenge that way, Daniel-san, start by digging two graves.

—At least I would have company.

After smiling at his own joke, he set the cup down in front of him. He wasn't going to let the attempt at wisdom dissuade him from seeking help.

—Fighting always last answer to problem.

Daniel switched the cloth in his hand and, while checking that his jaw indeed hurt when he opened it, he tugged at his binder a little to try to breathe better.

—No offense, Mr. Miyajee, but I don't think you understand my problem...

—Mi-ya-gi —the older man emphasized his name again— Understand problem perfect. Your friend, all karate student, eh?

—Friend? Oh, yeah, those guys. —Now that the herb had done its job, Daniel amused himself by looking for damage to his face. His mother was going to be mortified when she saw him.

—Problem attitude.

—No, the problem is, I'm getting my ass kicked every other day, that's the problem.

His face hurt just above his eye, and as he touched himself, he noticed the wound had been cleaned and a band-aid applied where the skin had split open from the blows.

—Because boys have bad attitude. Karate for defense only.

—That's not what these guys are taught.

He put his hand between his binder and his ribs to take a breath, as if that could help.

—Hai, can see. No such thing as bad student, only bad teacher. Teacher say, student do.

—Oh, great, that solves everything for me. I'll just go down to the school and straighten it out with the teacher, no problem.

—Now use head for something other than target, Daniel-san.

—I was only kidding.

Daniel half-smiled, incredulous at having to explain that point.

—Why?

—Because I'd get killed if I showed up there.

—Mmm, get killed anyway.

In another circumstance, Daniel would have laughed at the calmness with which Mr. Miyagi took a sip of his tea after such a statement. But maybe it was worth a try.

—Would you go with me?

Miyagi immediately denied it, as if Daniel had suggested something foolish.

—No can do.

—You said it was a good idea.

—For you, good idea. For me, good idea not to get involved.

—But you're already involved.

Saving him that night hadn't been getting involved? Now it looked like he wanted to wash his hands of him like it was nothing.

—Tttt, very sorry.

—What? Ah! Thanks for nothing then!

He threw the rag away and stood up angrily, completely ignoring his body's protest at the sudden energy.

—Well thanks for nothing then! Thanks for nothing. Like I didn't have enough problems already. Now I gotta carry your weight too. Thanks. Don't do me any more favors, pal, alright?

—Daniel-san...

—What? —He stopped abruptly, keeping his hand on the door.

—Ok, I go.

Daniel undid his steps and approached with a smile. For a moment, he wanted to hug him but regretted it at the last instant.

—Oh thanks! Thanks Mr. Miyajee.

As soon as he was near him, the man raised his hand and brought the wet cloth he had recovered to Daniel, pressing it firmly but gently against his sore skin.

—Miyagi —he corrected him.

—Miyagi. Hey, what kind of belt do you have?

Mr. Miyagi pulled away to place his hands on the belt, giving him a huge smile.

—Canvas. J.C. Penney. $3.98. You like?

Daniel made no effort to laugh.

—No, I meant…

—In Okinawa, belt mean no need rope to hold up pants —he laughed heartily, at Daniel's expense.

—How funny!

—Daniel-san...

—What?

Mr. Miyagi returned to a serious, solemn countenance.

—Karate here —he tapped his head— Karate here —he tapped his heart— Karate never here —he pointed to his belt— Understand?

—I think so.

Daniel nodded slowly.

Mr. Miyagi stared at him and, after a second of silence, when he saw him again with his hand over his ribs, he asked:

—Daniel-san... The garment under shirt? Get hurted before?

Daniel froze for a moment. Fear began to creep up his throat as he brought his hand to his shoulder, where he tucked his fingers between the binder and his skin nervously. Now that he had gained an ally, it was the worst time to be exposed like this. Would Mr. Miyagi refuse to help him when he told him the truth? No one outside his family knew, not even his closest friends in New Jersey. And here, miles away from home, in a city full of hostile strangers and teenagers trying to kill him, was surely the least likely place to find someone who could understand. A drop slipped from the cloth he held against his face to his cheek and he closed his eyes for a moment. The liquid remained warm, and that terrible grassy smell stung straight up his nose, but it made him feel safe. He wanted so badly to feel like he could stop pretending with someone that he began to speak before he could think better.

—I use it because... look, it's complicated, but I'm different, you know what I mean? That helps me to hide some shapes that my body shouldn't have.....

Miyagi remained silent, waiting for him to continue with his explanation, and when after a while he didn't, he insisted again.

—Daniel-san, no too old to no understand....

And yet, it seemed to Daniel that he really didn't understand. Who could?

—They were wrong about me, okay? When I was born, the whole world, even the universe, thought I should be a woman, but it was just a mistake. Heaven gave me this fragile body and I'm a little stuck here. But I know for real that I'm a man, and this garment....

He lifted up his shirt, to show the binder, but also the bruises on his skin, leaving a nauseating floral pattern where Johnny had kicked him.

—It helps me that no one notices this mistake, but I'm not a woman, I've never been anything close to one.

Miyagi nodded slowly, put his hands to his chin in a thoughtful gesture and pondered for a moment. Daniel could have revealed himself as a girl to stop the physical abuse; even that group of savages would accept without a whimper that they couldn't beat her and that would be the end of her torture. But he hadn't. Not when he had been pushed off a cliff, not even that night, when he knew he had arrived just in time to prevent a tragedy (and much to his chagrin, not only save Daniel, but prevent those boys from ending up in jail). Not even when his life was in danger would he back down, and he respected that so much.

—If you say you are a man, no can deny it....

He admitted finally, and opening his eyes, he looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, trying to find some difference. Now perhaps he could force himself to notice how thin his shoulders were, or a slightly more pronounced curve to his hips. But little else, nothing he hadn't seen in hundreds of other guys like him. If he trusted what he saw, he would never have doubted that Daniel was indeed a normal boy, too stubborn, proud and skinny, but perfectly normal.

Daniel had been playing with his foot while Mr. Miyagi had been thinking. Now there was no turning back, and the fear that he had been wrong clawed at his stomach with every breath of air. But his words, as simple as they were, were the first words of sincere acceptance he'd ever received in his entire life. If every muscle in his body didn't ache, he would have embraced him.

—No, no one can. —With a smile, he now continued on his way to the door. Good night, Mr. Miyajee... Miyagi, Miyagi... Tomorrow morning?

— Ten o'clock.

—Sure... Amm thank you for helping me with my "friends" tonight.

Gently, Daniel closed the door and left Mr. Miyagi alone.