#i am abnormal about her on an entirely different level

[ghostcreaturetypething]

Artist credits:

@sunfloowerlatte-art

@utenapilled

@raspberry-arev

@sunfloowerlatte-art

@sunfloowerlatte-art

@kiaraalazulu

@raspberry-arev

@kangaruthi

Unknown

@raspberry-arev

@kerosene-art

@sunfloowerlatte-art

It's Emotional About Nona hours again lads

[literallys-illiteracy]

New Trailer thoughts and notes:

Oh wow im so gay:

Mommy? sorry. Mommy? sorry. Mommy? sorry. Mommy?

I dont even like Rodion, in fact i still dislike her but... Uh. wow?

Theres not too much to note here, im the EGO person not the ID analysis person (at least for now :3), but for the skills.

Skill 1 appears to be 2 coins piercing. Skill 2 appears to be 3 coins, likely Piercing. Skill 3 appears to be 4 coins, almost certainly Piercing as well. Unlike the other 2 La Mancha Land ID's we've received so far, she seems to have a skill 4 rather than an empowered skill 3, being Dulci's Finale attack, which appears to be 4 coins of AOE piercing.

Finally, she appears to mark the return of playable clashable counters, hopefully we get an unbreakable coin counter, but thats just being a bit too hopeful.

also this ID has the most fanservice of any in the entire history of the game, and of COURSE it needs to be on a character that i dislike just so i cant thirst as hard over her.

Fell Bullet Yi Sang:

First i want to note some things about the art within this EGO's art; most notably is the shattered glass effect and presence of the fluchshutz itself in the background, while it does appear in Heathcliff's fell bullet ID, with its back facing heathcliff's, instead it appears in the centremost shard, with its barrel facing Yi Sang's head.

This note is furthered by the awakening line making mention of "The gun barrel on *My* viscera", rather than another's as in the fluchshutze's story.

The second divergence from Heathcliff's art is the lack of the fluchshutze's traits, having not the halfed face covering that heathcliff had, nor the reddened scarf. This is notable for the main reason that, in the awakening animation of heathcliff's, his face was entirely obscured with said mask of the shooter — These differences in appearance could be due to a number of reasons, even as an arbitrary choice, but it is likely due to resonance with the EGO itself, Heathcliff's being much stronger and thus taking on more traits of the abnormality.

The third divergence and one i will return to later, is the lack of a pendant. If you look at the shooter's art, at Heathcliff's fell bullet art as well, there is a clear pendant visible around their neck, the last remnants of their loved past. Keep note of that i suppose.

Now onto the awakening skill, something interesting to note is the fact that it seems to hit an ally as well as multiple enemies, shooting through heathcliff's Heart'(?), (its not a visible enough detail to note for sure, but i am assuming that this is intended), just in the same way that the devil's final bullet peirced the heart of the freischutz. Also, I think that PM still don't really know how guns work, because, just like the Thumb's "Muskets" that is a rifle. Im not particularly into guns but im 90% sure so.

If we're counting friendly fire, then it seems to have an attack weight of 7, with the latter coin (as he fires twice) seeming to only hit 2, the ally and one of the enemies targeted by the first.

The Corrosion is interesting, the sprite making Yi Sang take the form of a mirror, likely the form of the pendant itself (although there are like 4 mirrors in the sprite so take with that what you will). Contrast this with Heathcliff's corrosion sprite, being that of the heart, for that same reason that Heathcliff seems to be the one used as a friendly fire target in the awakening, for the devil wishes for despair, and to eventually claim their heart.

The corrosion appears to have one coin, and about 6-7 attack weight, once again counting Heathcliff, who remains in the very centre of the ironsights, (Or scope rather, as the gun is changed in the corrosion to include one, despite the art of the Fluchshutz' depicting the ironsights.

The screen that flashes before the shot is "IFF system - Level 3: Deactivated". From what i've found, an IFF system is "Identification Friend or Foe" which should be pretty self evident to its relation here.

Ill make a longer/separate post discussing the WHY of Yi Sang getting this EGO, and any other tangents along the way, but from what it seems, this is likely going to be a Pride or Gloom skill (if i were to guess), and have 2 coins on awakening. It seems to be the first awakening since SOUPCLAIR to be indiscriminate.

[wlwanakin]

AO3 Wrapped: Writer's Edition

tagged by @cheesenames and @animazi <3

Words written this year: 2,004 published, who knows how many unpublished

Works written this year: only one that i actually completed and published lmao. i started approximately 7 fics though

Work Most Proud of: a vile hunger for your hammering heart is, again, the only one i've finished. however i am earnestly very proud of how it came out. i think it's some of my best writing and i shocked myself by actually finishing it too

Work with Most Hits: since i only published one thing this year that is the answer. the fic with most hits overall is mercy killing, which is like three years old and was my first foray back into star wars fic after years of not writing anything for this wretched fandom

Fav title: i am bad at titling things and regret the titles i've given most of my fics, including vile hunger lmao. i tend to steal titles from other things, and in this case i stole an episode title from interview with the vampire that itself was taken from the novel. and the thing is that the passage in the book is about louis drinking from claudia to the point of death and grappling with how this desire to drain her contradicts what he actually wants and to me it's a turn of phrase that viscerally evokes violent grief, and on that level it's fitting, but also the fic itself was inspired not only mainly by the show (louis doesn't slit lestat's throat in the novel, it's all claudia) but also by an entirely different episode than the one whose title i stole. i really should've called it the thing lay still but it didn't quite evoke what i want and i could not get the phrase "a vile hunger for your hammering heart" out of my head. it just sounds prettier. all this to say, my favorite fic title is for one i have yet to release onto the world (because it's unfinished)

Pairing You Wrote the Most For: anidala lmao. i have a rotation i go through but i always come back to anidala

What Work was the Quickest To Write: i finished vile hunger in like a week after coming up with the idea a month or so before? i worked on it in spurts before locking in and writing the meat of it within a week. that like never happens so it was pretty crazy, i'm usually really slow. fastest ever would probably be mercy killing though i wrote that in like five hours in a sleep-deprived daze. both of these are anomalies

What Work Took You Longest To Write: i'm a ridiculously slow writer (which is why i have published only one fic this year) and i have also only finished like ten fics in the decade i've spent writing them. most of what i write takes six months to two years and gets abandoned rather than finished

How Many WIPS do you have for next year: i'm working on a bunch of stuff right now!! i've posted my list of wips before, but the big focuses are a one-shot about anakin and sabe being all weird and tense with each other while anakin represses gender dysphoria, a potential sequel to vile hunger which is mostly about post-partum psychosis, and my biggest project which is my modern au yuri anidala murder road trip fic

Longest Work of the Year: i only wrote one

Shortest Work of the Year: only wrote one

Fav character to Write: in general it's probably anakin because he's just so fundamentally fucked up and abnormal and to convey that you really have to develop a distinct voice. and it comes fairly easy to me because anakin's personality and issues just so happen to be fairly similar to mine and i can get really cerebral in his pov and that's my favorite. i have grown extremely fond of writing padme lately, though. she used to be a bit of an enigma to me in terms of writing her pov but i've been writing so much padme pov lately and i've finally gotten a grasp of the narrative voice i want to give her and her brand of neurosis is just so fun to delve into

Which work of yours have you re-read the most: vile hunger. i actually really like what i did with it!

Total Kudos this Year:

Total Hits This Year:

Total Bookmarks This Year:

Total Subscriptions This Year: skipped all of these bc i wrote one fic. just check that

What Do You Listen To While Writing: whatever music i'm into at the time. my writing go-tos are mitski, florence + the machine, keaton henson, ethel cain, phoebe bridgers, hozier, sufjan stevens and artists adjacent, but sometimes i try to match the tone of my wip and sometimes i just pick whatever i wanna listen to writing nonwithstanding. i wrote a lot of stuff to depeche mode and fontaines dc this year. the i saw the tv glow soundtack was also a big writing album for me. right now my go-to writing music is against me! and the smiths

Fav line or passage: most of my favorite passages are from wips and idk if that's allowed but this one from vile hunger is one i liked so much i used it as my summary:

She’s always thought Anakin is prettiest when he’s asleep. He rarely fell asleep before her, and she treasured those rare times he did, studying his face, the near-angelic softness of his relaxed features. Soft isn’t a word most would use to describe Anakin, but it’s always the first word she thought of on those nights, watching him in the early stages of this comfortable, nightmare-free sleep he could never get anywhere else. It was something no one else got to see, and as much as she wished he could find peace outside of her she still selfishly treasured that he couldn’t, that she got to have moments like those that were totally and entirely hers. He looks the same as he did on those precious nights, even with blood still seeping from his gaping neck. She’s cradled his head like this countless times, always gentle to ensure she wouldn’t wake him up, endlessly grateful to have him in her arms and pushing back the ever-nagging fear that one day he’ll return to her a corpse. And now he has returned to her arms again, peaceful and pretty and dead and totally and entirely hers.

tagging @officialfoxsquadron and idk who else bc most of my writer friends aren't super active on here!! but if u wanna do this go crazy

[foster-the-world]

Better?

In the ongoing saga of figuring out my child's healthcare needs we stopped his daily asthma medication. After an August 3-4 weeks of a terrible asthma flare up which ended up with a does of steroids' we decided to try a maintenance med. I had been very reluctant because the side effects can be hyperactivity/aggression. More hyperactivity is the last thing my child needs. His behavior had been pretty out of control during his August asthma flare up. We notified the school nurse about the med update - who had encouraged me to try out the med. I thought I told the teacher but maybe did not.

Anyone it seemed to be working really well. He was not coughing in October for the first time in years. We hadn't noticed any behavior changes. However, he was not sleeping well. Which is very abnormal for him. This had started during the summer asthma flare up - so assumed it was that. It makes sense you won't sleep well if you are coughing constantly and generally feel shitty.

The school had not reported any behavior changes to us. I ask regularly - while trying not to be too annoying. She noted he has good days and bad days hyperactivity wise. Which is the norm.

Then the neuro psych office sent someone by to do an in class assessment. Apparently his behavior was really terrible. He had a really terrible in office assessment the day before. I'm assuming it was a hold over from that. Also the teacher told us "someone" told him the neuro was there to assess him. The whole point of sending a different nuero was so he would not know they were monitoring him. He does not like being assessed. The teacher also tells the neuro pscyh his behavior has gotten worse and worse over the last month. She thought it was because the class had added two other high energy boys. Which is entirely possible. He def matches other kids energy. Or it could be because of the meds!! If the teacher had discussed with us I would have 100% considered that. I was on the look out for bad behavior. I am so annoyed the teacher did not tell us. The Director of the school apologized. The teacher said she is always "transparent" with the Neuropsychs. As if, we didn't want her to be transparent. We expected her to be transparent with us first! I had seen her the day before the in class assessment. She mentioned how he is really nice to the younger kids. Then said he has good and bad days. She mentioned he had been putting things in his mouth. I said I'd send in chewy necklace. None of this screams "behavior has gotten worse and worse."

Anyway we can't risk more hyperactivity. Talked with his doctor and took him off the same day. He fell asleep immediately that night. He's been back to sleeping really well every night since. Seems calmer to me. His teacher says he has been better over the past week. But the biggest difference is he has almost 100% stopped stuttering. Since August his occasional stutter that only came out when he was tired was happening all of the time. Since Friday I've heard it twice.

Now the question is was the medicine really changing his behavior? Or was the medicine causing sleep interruptions and that was causing the behavior changes? I suspect the stutter is because his brains moves faster than his mouth. The internet tells me its a common ADHD (and autism) thing. The problem is exacerbated when his body is especially out of wack/tired.

Of course, within 24 hours of stopping I can tell the cough was coming. It's not bad, yet. Just a few coughs here and there. It actually has not been cold outside here so will see what comes. Luckily, his asthma is entirely of the cough variant. His oxygen levels are always fine. Sometimes a little wheezing but nothing serious. No asthma "attacks."

There are various other asthma meds we could try but now I'm even more terrified to try anything. The poor kid's body is constantly fighting against him. It also does not bode well for trying ADHD meds. I feel like his body is always going to pick up the worse outcomes. Considering taking FMLA over the summer to try out some meds. If they make him more hyperactive/aggressive with us it's fine. It ill If he does it at school it can get him labeled.

I'm def not going to give him a full steriods dose again unless its a real medical emergency. His behavior was out of control for a week after that.

The two other high energy boys were moved to a different class. Not sure why, obviously not my business. Someone mentioned they are going to add another teacher to his class. I'm going to follow-up to see if that is true. I'm reminding myself that teachers are very busy. My kid is one of 12 kids. Its probably not fun to report bad behavior to parents and some people are better at it than others.

Going to his school tmrw for the Halloween parade. Looking forward to it.

[generalluxun]

Miraculous Movie Character Headcanon

So I know I have zero to go on, and odds are this is wrong, but I have at LEAST until 2026 before it matters, so...

Chloé Bourgeois headcanon: This Chloé actually despises both of her parents. Her upbringing is largely the same as show Chloé, but she's made the connection that no, neither of them really love her as a daughter. She's a prize/trophy at best and an annoyance at worst. She openly resents them, but as with most kids she's powerless to do much about this fact, and so it comes out as bullying outbursts.

Some supports for this:

She neve mentions her parents, or calls for daddy on anything. The closest we get is a 'Do you know who I am?' which is a very general notion of self-importance, not the same level of parental-desperation.

Sabrina's far more independent around her. This is not a minion/master relationship like S4/5 tried to pedal. While it's still clearly more take than give on Chloé's part, it doesn't feel like Sabrina *has* to be there. She knows what Chloé is like, and that she can leave. She chooses not to. There needs to be more there under the hood for this to be the case.

The times Sabrina does look scared is when Chloé is raging out. This distinction makes me think she's mad *because* Chloé is raging and those outbursts scare her, perhaps as something abnormal. No Chloé's not a saint, she's a snob, but the intensity of these explosions is something abnormal.

What does this mean?

I dunno! It could lead to some very different interactions, and is mostly fun for laying around with.

Her path to change would be very different for one thing. Since a lack of self worth and feeling a loss of control in her life(parental inflicted) is the root. Heroing and learning to build her self worth by doing good things rather than by tearing those around her down seems like a solid path. This would be an interesting reflection of Marinette's own Journey in the first movie. Marinette believed she was nothing, and beat herself up for it. Chloé believes she's nothing, and beats everyone else up for it.

Zoé could be entirely different if she is brought in. Chloé might absolutely love the idea of a family member who is *not* her parents to be family with. If sisterly-conflict is needed you could have Zoé's absolute desire to be one big happy family clashing with Chloé's desire to have nothing to do with her parents.

Just some overall ideas that came to me and might be fun to explore in fanfic.

[raidermomma]

Some of my favourite lines from my own fic, because I am a shameless exhibitionist.

*

Sephy was having a bad day in a week of bad days, which was rapidly becoming a month of bad weeks.

*

“How did you know that?” Rimmer sneered, in much the same tone as someone might ask, “why have you got two heads?” or “do you know your ear’s just fallen off.”

*

Of everyone though, her favourite person to level her complete lack of tact at was him. He had the emotional range of a tea bag, he was as enlightened as a black hole, he needed to remove the stick from up his arse. Sometimes it seemed wherever he turned there she was, like a five-foot nothing conscience attached to his hip.

*

She grinned and threw her popcorn at him. It sailed through his head and landed on the floor, where it crunched under Kryten’s foot as he came in.

*

“I was trying to get rid of him.”

“And you couldn’t think of a way to do that without starting a one-sided food fight?”

“Apparently not.”

*

“I didn’t recognise the genetic structure. Biologically speaking, they were a completely new life form.”

“She has a point there.” Sephy put in. “You are always saying his laundry basket could be classified as its own biome.”

*

Lister knew it had to end sometime. Rimmer and Sephy getting along was like the Earth suddenly spinning backwards on its axis, or a giraffe trying to get off with a gazelle. It was abnormal, it went against all known laws of physics and nature.

*

Lister was pretty sure they were both sufficiently sloshed to make the elephant in the room a little bit more manageable. It was still elephant shaped, but it had shrunk a bit. It was a baby elephant, or maybe a stunted elephant. Possibly a tapir.

*

“Sephy, please tell me you know the difference between kissing and sex. Because if I need to explain the birds and the bees to you we’re gonna need more whisky.”

*

“He’s such a dick.” Sephy said, apropos of nothing. Lister was forced to agree.

“No argument here.”

“A monumental dick.”

“Absolutely.”

“A colossal dick.”

“Oh, colossal.”

“Just an enormously stupid, lanky, clumsy, inconsiderate, stupid dick.” She forewent the glass completely this time and swigged straight from the bottle. “And I want him.”

She put her forehead on the table.

*

They weren’t supposed to keep drinking until the conversation veered right off the track, ran over the baby tapir or rhino or whatever the smeg it was, and went into the undergrowth.

*

"What were you thinking?”

“I was ordering a taxi.” Sephy rolled her eyes. “What do you think I was doing in the shower?”

*

“For once would it have killed you to listen to me?”

"It’s killing me having to listen to you now.”

*

“You are very lucky.” He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Very lucky that dingbat of a computer jettisoned the bomb without telling us, or our innards would now be our outers. Our guts would be a brand-new constellation.”

*

“Oh look.” She said, sounding mildly surprised. “My guts are still where I left them. Where did you leave yours Rimmer, in a jar under your bed?”

*

“I would prefer it,” he said pompously, “if you kept my arse out of it.”

“Rimmer, your arse is the last thing in the universe I want to think about.”

“Well so’s yours.”

“Fine. Then you won’t feel the need to watch me leave the room.”

*

She picked up an entire handful of mashed potato and smashed it full into his face.

*

“Four weeks!” He whined for the fifth time that afternoon. “Four weeks! You think they’d be over it by now!”

“Yeah.” Sephy was only half listening. “Mad how attached some people are to their bodies.”

*

“What? Oh no, that wasn’t a line.”

“Good job.” She dragged on her cigarette. “It was about as original as a cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.”

*

“There is a definite thirty-degree angle there. Honestly Lister, you couldn’t draw a straight line in a dot-to-dot.”

*

The tree said nothing, by dint of the fact it was a tree.

[jacklucian2000]

꣑୧Krausker kinky sex꣑୧

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Warning ! Smut ! Very kinky sex ! Electro shock play ! Hardcore bondage ! Domination ! Warning ! Warning ! Warning !

Wesker ran his hand down Krauser's abdomen with gloved fingers pressing down on certain parts analyzing his shape. Wesker was comparatively small to Krauser, a big hunk of a man. Krauser agreed for Wesker to examine his disease. The plaga left various mutations that altered the host’s mind but for an odd reason, Krauser’s mutation obeyed his mind. Even after the death of the plaga’s master Krauser still was left functional. It was not so different from gaining only the benefits from Midas' touch. Krauser was laid across the cold operation table his shirt lifted allowing Wesker to feel for any deformities in his intestines or the fat of his abs. Although Krauser was strong and muscular his body was still high in fat. It wasn’t abnormal but Wesker was perplexed as to the reason Krauser hadn’t burned it off.

“I never took you for this sort of man Krauser.” By this sort of man, Wesker meant a man who’d donate his body for science. Wesker slid down to his pants revealing his trembling quim. Wesker doubled over.

“I never took you for a woman.” Wesker went up to Krauser’s chest.

“It’s polite to ask a gal before undressing her.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking a gal.” Wesker said snarkily. He would’ve peaked up more but Krauser kicked his leg up knocking the wind out of Wesker through his side. He fell down but swiftly dashed grabbing Krauser’s chin.

“Listen you primitive transvestite. I don’t care if you’re a man, a woman, or a zoo animal. You are a mutated failure that this worthless species conjured up and I’ve been nice enough not to tie you down and gut you but if you make this difficult I will switch up to make this something entirely non-consensual, the umbrella way,” Wesker dropped Krauser’s face, “I shouldn’t even recognize you as a human with how much you changed your form. You became some neanderthalic animal only capable of destruction. Now I ask politely for you to behave before I throw you in a cage and treat you like a diseased mongrel.” Krauser smiled.

“Well hey, I’m not complaining.” Wesker ripped off Krausers’ top.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“C’mon, doctor. You didn’t sound against it.” Wesker cut off Krauser’s binder.

“Do you still have them?” He asked now prodding at the muscular chest covered with a layer of fat.

“Yeah. I didn’t want the surgery.”

“Why?” Wesker now was squeezing searching for any possible breast-related illnesses.

“I don’t like doctors cutting me up. What if they botch it?” Wesker chuckled a reply.

“Either way there’s not much to remove.”

“That’s a nice way of telling someone they’re flat”

“You want them bigger?” Krauser pondered the idea.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind that.”

“You’re fucking weird.” Wesker scoffed then explored lower.

“I wonder how weird you could be~” Krauser flirted.

“This visit is purely for scientific discoveries.” Krauser watched Wesker practically stick his head down between his thighs.

“I see handcuffs and collars in the corner,” Krauser observed.

“For the animals.” Wesker grazed Krauser’s unshaven vaginal lips.

“Cold hands.” Krauser yelped.

“Have my children and I’ll do it.”

“What!?” Krauser was caught off guard by Wekser’s offer.

“I wonder if you’re mutation and mine would be passed down to our child. A parasite and a virus.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Does doggy disagree?” Wesker teased.

“How about a first date?”

“You human’s and your rituals”

“You’re human too genius.”

“Yes I am a genius but my genetic mutations have elevated me far from your pathetic species’ level. At this point, I’d be what you would call Homo sanctus.

“What the fuck is that.”

“A theorized species that would be the next evolution of humanity, sanctus being holy.”

“Fine but we do it twice every day.”

“Until you’re pregnant.”

“Fine, we keep our relationship after?”

“That will depend.” Wesker picked up the collar. “Don’t talk, or move.”

“Doctor Wesker, you’re going to need to do more

For me to obey than just commanding me.” Wesker put the collar on Krauser.

“Roll over.”

“N-” The collar shocked Krauser’s neck.

“Shhh, that was fifty. I can heighten the voltage. The average a human can take is 500 but you’re special. Now roll over.” Krauser rolled onto his stomach. The way Wesker ruled over him so easily. Every suitor could try to break Krauser but his strength and endurance would make his outer shell impenetrable. Wesker dominated him like he was a puppet. Krauser glared at Wesker.

“Safeword’s red. If you summon the courage to talk. Let me up this about two hundred volts.” Wesker twisted a dial on the collar. Krauser felt anxious for what was to occur next. Wesker’s cold gloved hands caressed Krauser’s back sliding down his spine. Krauser shivered softly grunting the collar sending shocks unlike anything causing him to jolt and scream activating the collar again. Wesker pinned Krauser down fastening him to the table.

“You really need help with this amount of voltage? Minus the uncontrollable body spasms I am astonished you’re alive. Of course that plaga must increase your tolerance. You could’ve died.”

“THEN ST- AHH AHHH” Krauser fell back into the table.

“Shhh be a quiet boy. Just submit and feel good.” Wesker softly pressed against Krauser’s rectum. “Here,” Wesker moved down sliding across the perineum pressing against the fourchette, “or here.” Krauser didn’t respond.

“Talk, I must know.”

“Yo- AHh ah!” Right as he tried to speak the collar shocked him. The volts caused him to scream resulting in cries of pain. He broke down crying screaming at every shock sending volts throughout him.

“Aww poor puppy.” Wesker lowered the voltage. “Your endurance is impeccable.”

“Please, ngh.” Krauser groaned softly at the pain.

“I get shocked too, every time I touch you but the difference is I can’t complain.” Wesker stuck his finger into Krauser’s vulva.

“Should I prep you or not?”

“Please…”

“Major Krauser, are you tired? Well, it wouldn’t be right to reward you for screaming and crying. I’ll remove the collar. It’s only right since it’s your first time with me.” Wesker went away and took a vibrating device. He removed the collar and cast it aside.

“For the first five seconds, you don’t utter a sound or I tie you up and feed you dog food for a week.” Wesker opened Krauser’s lips.

“You have large labia. Even your labium minus is huge.” Wesker pulled on both labia, pinching them and rubbing them between his fingers. He spread open Krausers’ lips then rubbed up and down the slit. He turned on the vibrator and then rubbed it up and down the lips in exchange for his finger. He continued rubbing it against Krauser until juices began to leak. Wesker moved the vibrator up pressing it under the clitoral hood causing Krauser to jolt and squirm around.

“You’re quiet but antsy. I command you to stop moving.” He pressed the device against Krauser’s thigh until Krauser could contain himself and calm down. Wesker continued his stimulation pressing it up the clitoral hood. Krauser stayed still his breathing heavy. Spontaneously Wesker shoved two fingers in curving them up. He pulled his finger out examining the coat of cum dripping off of them. Krauser’s face was scrunched and his breathing was hitched.

“I’m going to fuck you hard so I expect you to moan like you’re touching heaven.”

“Yes sir.” Krauser panted.

Wesker stuck the tip in then almost immediately shoved his hole phallus into Krauser’s sloppy wet hole. Krauser screamed then moaned each thrust. Wesker’s dick pounded in and out colliding against Krauser’s unshaved quim. Wesker was gripping hard to Krauser’s v line slamming his pelvis to crash against Wesker’s hips. Wesker slid in and out with force ignoring how tight Krauser was. Krauser panted feeling his cavern get bigger and bigger as it grew to fit Weskers massive dick. Krauser’s entrance had a stinging pain that slowly faded as he could feel nothing but pleasure. It felt like so long but then finally Wesker filled up to Krauser’s ovaries with thick warm sperm. Wesker exited panting. He jumped on top of Krauser kissing him passionately savoring his tired lips.

“You’ve been so good today Krauser. I think I won’t mind our arrangement.”

“God- You’re something.”

“I’m everything.”

[mermaidsirennikita]

I’m not sure if it’s the absolutely abysmal weather where I live or what but I am feeling super depressed (the kind where you’re like huh my life has no meaning and everyone else has everything figured out and I’m so alone…) Anyway I want to treat myself to a new historical romance and I’ve been eyeing Beauty Tempts the Beast by Lorraine Heath - which I know I’ve seen you recommend. All this to say I love Lorraine’s books but they’re not always what I would call upbeat so do you think that one would be a good choice or can you recommend anything better given my situation? I also realize after writing this that it may be time to book another session with my therapist!

Well, first off, I'm sorry you're down! I promise you everyone else doesn't have it figured out because I don't lol, but I've felt this way quite often in my life (... like from June to October last year with no stop) so I get it. I hope that it cools down soon. I love therapy and it's always something I'd recommend.

Re: Beauty Tempts the Beast--I definitely wouldn't call it one of Lorraine's darker books, and I don't think it would've made mY mood worse if I was down, but I also have a very high tolerance for sad fiction and I also feel that I seek out that stuff sometimes when I'm down, on like a weird sympathetic level.

Things I'd give a heads up about:

--the entire conceit of Sins for All Seasons is that the Trewloves (all but one) are not their mother's biological children; rather, they were all illegitimate, with different bio moms, and left at a Ettie Trewlove's doorstep. She was a baby farmer--basically, this is a thing where women would take illegitimate children on for a fee. They were either paid to care for the kids, often in subpar conditions, or they were paid to like... quietly kill them. Ettie basically got besieged by guilt/lost her kids after quietly letting two babies die (.... yeah ..... I was never... 100% on board with Ettie, even though she was humane about it lol) so she took on the Trewloves and raised them on her own. (They love her, it's fine.) So while I wouldn't say this has a HUGE dark shadow over Beast's (the hero) backstory it is a thing... to be aware of. I mean, Beast finding his bio parents is a huge deal, but the whole baby farmer thing is more of a shadow over the series.

--Beast has a physical abnormality that people made fun of him for. It's not super visible with the way he presents himself, but it was hard on him and I was very "oh baaaaaby :(((" about it.

Overall, definitely lighter than, say The Scoundrel in Her Bed (the darkest Sins for All Seasons book but also my favorite lol). Definitely lighter than say, Between the Devil and Desire. But angsty enough.

For lighter stuff, I would always recommend, of course, Tessa Dare. Her Spindle Cove series is so fun, especially A Week to Be Wicked. I also love Any Duchess Will Do, though the hero does have a very sad backstory (no spoilers, but it's not abuse-related). When a Scot Ties the Knot and Goddess of the Hunt are also books of hers I'd recommend. They're funny and sexy and overall lighthearted, though not without emotion.

Stephanie Laurens writes a hilarious book. They're older and they're usually wacky, often with a funny mystery plot that's like, glaringly obvious and an alpha male hero who has A CONQUEROR'S SPIRIT. A Rake's Vow is a ridic cozy mystery vibe in which our hero Vane goes to a house party, some shit gets stolen, they're like "VAAAANE YOU'RE SO GOOD AT FIIINDING" and he's like yes I am I shall find the culprit (it takes him the entire book even though it's very clear but the mystery is just a framing device lmao) and in the meantime this fatherless teen boy starts idolizing him, but the teen boy's sister Patience is like NOOOO VANE IS SUCH A WHORE MY BROTHER CAN'T BE LIKE HIM!!! And Vane is like "True! But hurtful!" However, by then he's already decided she's The One so he begins a hot pursuit.

Scandal's Bride is another great one, though of course heads up the heroine drugs the hero for their first time (her first ever lmao) because she wants to get pregnant by him without him remembering (it's a long story). His reaction to this is just "freaky; I'M ABOUT IT" and they spend the rest of the book fucking like bunnies in Scotland while a MYSTERY is afoot. I'm not even gonna lie, this is a new favorite of mine. I don't care. Richard and Catriona are FREAKS and they're perfect for each other.

A Secret Love is another funny one wherein the heroine disguises herself as a veiled widow in order to get the hero to help her out with a financial fraud mystery. Which is ridic because they were childhood friends, but because they grew up and got horny they started hated each other (as they want to rip each other's clothes off). Wild. Insane. They fuck without him knowing who she is. At least twice. Love it.

Vivienne Lorret writes a really cute, light, sexy time! I'd for sure recommend The Wrong Marquess (best friend's brother, dislike to lovers), How to Steal a Scoundrel's Heart (mistress contract, "cold" hero), and Never Seduce a Scot (cat and mouse across Europe, duke with glasses, a big WHOOPS).

Alexandra Vasti's Halifax Hellions books are soooo fun. They're technically three novellas about the Halifax siblings, Margo (on a roadtrip chase with my brother's best friend who's secretly in love with meeee), Matilda (secretly kinky and on voyage with a kinky duke I drew porn about), and Spencer (I have a SECRET WIFE AND NOBODY TOLD ME????).

Alexis Hall has a duo of super lighthearted queer historicals--Something Fabulous (m/m, stern grumpy proposes to a woman and when she flees, starts chasing her with her sunshiney frivolous twin brother, ass eating and RIDICULOUS DUELS ensue) and Something Spectacular (genderfluid lovelorn lead is supposed to help her ex gf hook up with an nb castrato soprano, only for said rockstar soprano to go mmmmm I'd rather fuck yooooou; they also accidentally inspire a gay poetry orgy).

Elisa Braden's Midnight in Scotland series is so fun. Some heavier stuff happens (check TWs), but I would say that tonally she is much more lighthearted than Lorraine, and the books are quite hot.

[darry-rules]

Diplopia

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend.

Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.”

I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never end up pushing myself. And if I never pushed myself, I knew that I would never end up amounting to anything. And if I never amounted to anything, I knew that I would spend the rest of my life forever regretting the courage I never had. So, yeah, no pressure.

“You’re right,” I lied, texting her exactly what I thought she wanted to hear.

I appreciated the support, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you just want to be a sad sack of shit, you know? Plus, I don’t think she understood just how screwed I truly was.

“I got to hit the books, I’ll text you later,” I followed up with.

Realistically I knew that I probably had no more than two hours of good work left in me. I had been studying non-stop for the last few months and was on the verge of mental collapse. But I figured if I could get just one more chapter in today then I would at least have a fighting chance. So, grabbing my textbook, I took a seat at my desk and got back to work.

I was elbow-deep in dysrhythmia review when a loud bang suddenly pierced the silent stillness that filled my apartment. My heart skipped a beat as my brain fought to process this abrupt shift in auditory perception. The building I lived in was nearly one hundred and fifty years old so I had grown rather accustomed to its chronic creaks and cracks, but this was different. This sounded intentional. Assuming that it was nothing more than my shady downstairs neighbor though, I quickly brushed it off and went back to studying.

“A QRS complex with a bizarre appearance and a duration of 0.12 seconds or more signifies some abnormality in conduction through the ventricles. A bundle branch block is a type of intraventricular conduction defect involving impaired conduction from the Bundle of His to one or more of the bundle branches. A blockage at the level of the….”

A second bang rang out.

“For Christ’s sake,” I mumbled, slamming my book shut.

A seething sense of irritation swept through me as I got up from my desk. Not picking up his dog’s shit was one thing, but acting a fool a few days before one of the most important tests of my entire life was unacceptable. I was not about to let anyone, especially this asshole, ruin what I had worked so hard to achieve. I was going to pass that test even if it killed me.

Letting out another sigh, I staggered over to the bathroom. I wanted to make sure it was actually him before I did anything drastic. Plus, I had cannulated my foot an hour or so earlier in a procrastinatory effort to practice my IV skills and now had five hundred milliliters of normal saline compressing my bladder.

I listened carefully as I loomed over the toilet. My bathroom sat directly above his bedroom so I figured if I was going to pinpoint the source of the sound this was the best place to be. I didn’t get much chance to investigate though as three more bangs rang out in quick succession. Only, this time they were exponentially louder.

“Dammit,” I cursed.

To my surprise they didn’t sound like they were coming from the apartment below me though. Rather they sounded like they were coming from somewhere beside me. Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought they were coming from Claudette’s place, Unit 4.

I had lived next to Claudette for the last eighteen months and admittedly knew next to nothing about her. I knew she was a nurse, originally from New Orleans, drove a silver Jeep Renegade, and used lavender fabric softener, but that was about it. Outside of that she was more or less a perfect stranger.

Unlike the pain in the ass below me though, who had been running what sounded like a lawnmower off and on for the past few days, I never had any issues with Claudette. She was quiet, she was clean, and she kept to herself. In fact, prior to today, I hadn’t heard a single peep from her. Regardless, the bangs were very clearly coming from her side of the wall and I knew that if I didn’t do something, I would never pass my exam. So, after finishing up my business, I washed my hands and made my way out into the kitchen.

A large bay window adorns the far wall of my dining room. Sitting parallel to my kitchen table, it serves as the unofficial focal point of my sad little domicile. From it, you can see practically everything: the front yard, the parking lot, most of the side yard, and even the vast majority of Secretary Frazier Street. My buddies and I always joke that if shit were to ever hit the fan it would serve as the perfect sniper’s nest. One that would put even the Texas School Book Depository to shame.

So, taking my spot in front of the window, I peered out into the expanse of land laid out before me. I scoured the porch, the driveway, the train tracks, the neighbor’s yard, and as far up the street as I could, looking for any potential sources behind these bangs. But to my dismay, I found nothing. No Claudette, no shady neighbor, no wandering meth head, no mangy mutt, no feral tomcat, nothing. Nothing at all.

Defeated, I wandered back to my bedroom and took a seat on the bed. Two thick fleece blankets were stretched wide across the back windows, blotting out the afternoon sun and shrouding the space in a lair-like darkness. Looking around, I realized just how truly depressing the place had become. In the span of just four months, it had gone from a normal bachelor pad to something more akin to a medieval dungeon.

I pulled back the blankets and was met with the spectacular image of fiery red hills rolling across my backyard. Its views like this that remind me why people don’t leave this godforsaken place. You can take the boy out of the hills, but you can’t take the hills out of the boy.

It took me a few sweeps to finally locate the perp, but once I did, I knew exactly who it was. Standing directly in front of the dumpster, with her back turned towards me, was Claudette. Being the only black woman in town, it was more or less a dead giveaway. Her ebony skin and long black braids might as well have been alien features here in Whitesburg, a place whose name is ever fitting.

Speaking of Whitesburg, it is about as Podunk as you can get. Situated in the heart of coal country, it serves as the unofficial frontline of the war on the American Dream. A place where fentanyl, booze, meth, and poverty reign supreme.

The more I watched Claudette though the less typical townie I saw in her. She didn’t have the same slumped stance of a dope fiend nor the stereotypical shaky gait of a boozehound. Rather she stood perfectly erect and perfectly still. Frankly a little too erect and little too still. In her arms, she clutched a red bundle, one which she cuddled close like a mother might an infant. She stood like this for a whole minute straight. Two whole minutes straight. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine whole minutes straight without even the slightest flinch.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes.

Since day one of medic school, I had been balls to the wall, foot on the gas, stressing hard over every medication dose, cardiac rhythm, and trauma protocol. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a night off and it showed.

I put my glasses on and looked back out into the yard below. My gaze zeroed in on the dumpster, but to my surprise Claudette was nowhere to be found. All that remained was a red sweatshirt that hung limply from its lid.

My pocket buzzed.

“Dinner is five minutes out, got your favorite,” a text from my girlfriend read.

A Crunchwrap Supreme, chicken quesadilla, and Code Red Mountain Dew. I was one lucky son of a bitch.

I was just about to text her back when a muffled voice rang out from somewhere back behind me.

“What are you doing, baby?” The voice yelled.

Living in a glorified slum, I heard random voices all the time. The voices of strung-out junkies, sleazy call girls, bratty kids, and pissed off wives regularly rattled the roof of my ancient apartment. But much like the boisterous bangs, this voice was different. This voice was riddled with panic. A primal panic that I hadn’t heard since my little sister almost choked to death when I was eight.

“Baby!?” The voice insisted.

Its pitch seemed to grow with each passing word.

“You hear me?” It called out again, pulling me back towards the kitchen.

Having relocated to the sniper’s perch, I could now see a candy apple red Dodge Durango parked in the middle of the driveway. One whom I could only assume belonged to the middle-aged black woman standing anxiously at the front door. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling she was looking for Claudette.

“For Heaven’s sake,” the woman scoffed.

Right then a blacked-out SUV turned onto Secretary Frazier Street, kicking up thick clouds of dust in its wake. It came to a rolling stop at the end of the driveway and a stocky redhead clad in a bulletproof vest and rainbow-tinted Pit Vipers stepped out. He muttered something into his radio before approaching who I assumed to be Claudette’s mother.

The duo exchanged hushed words before my attention was drawn back down to my buzzing pocket.

“Your Doordash order has arrived,” a text from an unknown number read.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

Talk about shit timing.

The familiar crunch of crushed gravel brought my gaze back up and I watched as Medic 25 and Engine 50 lumber on down the street towards us. Whatever was going on here was obviously much more serious than I had originally thought and to make matters worse, my dinner was now being held hostage somewhere out there amongst the growing mass of Letcher County’s finest.

”Baby, please! You are scaring us,” Claudette’s mom belted out.

My mind reeled as I tried to think up alternative routes. Usually, I used the building’s main entrance anytime I left the house, but considering this path took me right past Claudette’s front door, I was suddenly very wary to take it. But outside of dropping drown from a second story window I really had no other option. It was either take my chances with Claudette or have Hot Pockets for the fourth night in a row. And lord knows my GI tract needed a break. So, taking in one last deep breath, I made my way to my front door and grabbed the knob.

A faint scent of lavender filled my nostrils as I gripped its weathered brass. I don’t know if it was just because I was in the comfort of my own home, but something didn’t feel right all of a sudden. I had dealt with dozens if not hundreds of unruly patients over the course of my career, but for one reason or another I was dreading the thought of facing Claudette. I don’t know how to explain it, but something just felt off.

I turned the knob and pushed. My heart was beating out my chest at this point. Instead of finding my melanated neighbor though, all I was met with was mounds of mismatched clutter. I breathed in a sigh of relief. Heaps of clothes, piles of books, and stacks of cheap furniture lined the tight hallway that Claudette and I shared. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that she was moving out, perhaps having been evicted given all the racket.

I held my breath as I weaved through the mountains of junk, doing my best to keep as low of a profile as I could. About halfway down the hallway though I came to Claudette’s apartment. Her door was wide open and a faint rustling oozed out. Despite my curiosity, I didn’t stop to investigate. I just kept moving forward, making a beeline straight for the stairs.

The weight of a thousand worlds was lifted off me the moment my feet made contact with the top step. I was almost there. Ten more and I would be home free. But before I could even manage to take another step, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing at the bottom of the steps was Claudette.

I almost didn’t recognize her at first. Her greasy hair, saggy skin, and sickly stature made her look more ghoul than human. But I knew it was her because she stood with that same stillness. An awful stillness that sent icy shivers snaking down my spine.

“He-he-hello?” I stammered.

No response.

She just stared blankly ahead. Her fixed gaze boring a hole in the adjacent wall.

“Claudette?” I called out.

Still nothing.

I couldn’t tell if she was frozen in a catatonic state or just high off her ass. What I could tell though was that she was in bad shape. Like involuntary seventy-two-hour hold shape. I mean shit, I don’t think she even knew I was there and I was standing less than five feet away from her.

After some silent deliberation, I finally decided to just bite the bullet and walk right on past her. I figured that if she truly was having some kind of psychiatric emergency chances were that she wouldn’t even notice me. And if she did, I figured I could probably outmaneuver her anyway. So, with soft steps, I did just that.

I was past her and less than two steps away from the building’s front door when I first heard it.

“Don’t believe him,” a hollow voice whispered.

My legs went slack. Every part of me said don’t do it, my mind, my body, and even my soul begged me not to turn around. But being the mere mortal that I am, my curiosity ultimately got the best of me.

Standing in the same rigid fashion, with her gaze still stuck on the adjacent wall, was Claudette.

“What?” I asked with a noticeable crack in my voice.

She turned her head with an impossible slowness.

My hands began to tremble as I met her gaze. I never really got a good look at her the first time around, but now that we were face to face, I could see just how truly lifeless and marbled her eyes had become. Like those of a taxidermized animal, they did nothing more than reflect a carefully crafted illusion of existence.

I could feel my pulse beginning to spike: ninety, one hundred, one hundred ten, one hundred twenty, one hundred thirty, one hundred forty, and so on. There probably wasn’t enough Adenosine in the entire world to bring me back down at this point, for it was becoming increasingly obvious that this was not your run-of-the-mill psych call. This was something far stranger.

Panicked, I spun back around and busted out the front door. Tripping and falling, I almost took Engine 50’s Lieutenant out with me.

“We looking for you?” He asked, helping me to my feet.

An army of concerned faces flanked him.

My chest heaved in and out as my brain somersaulted.

“No,” I finally blurted out.

Hearing this, the Lieutenant blew by me with profound indifference, a motley crew of firefighters and paramedics hot on his heels. I quietly slipped by them, still in somewhat of a shocked daze, and stumbled out into the front yard. It was here, amongst the growing convoy of emergency vehicles, that I eventually found my DoorDash driver and retrieved my dinner.

“Is my baby okay?” A familiar voice called out.

I turned to find the same woman from before watching me from across the yard.

I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what to say. Hell, I didn’t even know what to think. Whatever was wrong with Claudette was far beyond my paygrade. She needed a shrink or maybe even a priest, but definitely not some washed-up EMT barely making it through paramedic school.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” I lied, trying my best to hide my telling squeak.

A look of relief washed over her.

“Oh, thank God,” she exclaimed. “I thought I was going to lose her too.”

I felt my face twist.

“Too?” I asked, quickly realizing that my question was probably inappropriate.

“Yeah, her momma up and lost it back in ’98,” she admitted.

My eyebrows arched.

“I am Aneeka by the way,” she said, outstretching her hand. “Claudette’s aunt.”

I shook it and spent the next few minutes chatting with her. She told all about the supposed “curse” that plagued their family. Apparently, just about every generation since she could remember had experienced some kind of horrific tragedy. Her great-great-great-great-grandmother was a slave of Madame LaLaurie’s, her great-grandfather was strung up by a lynch mob, her father shot himself shortly after returning home from Vietnam, and her baby sister had spent the last two decades fighting crack-induced demons in a state-run psychiatric facility just outside of Lexington.

But despite all of this Claudette was said to be different. The light of her aunt’s eye, she was the one supposedly destined to break this awful curse. After all, she had a great job, a strong work ethic, a good head on her shoulders, and loads of promise. But that apparently all went out the window late last night when she started neurotically texting about “depraved doppelgangers” and “twisted twins”, swearing that her apartment was “haunted” and that she was “possessed”.

It suddenly all made sense. The banging, the cops, the hallway, her vacant stare, her unflinching stillness, everything. Despite what they may think, I had a sneaking suspicion that devils and demons weren’t to blame for their family’s unsavory history though, but rather it was largely due to the effects of mental illness and systemic oppression.

I was trying to find a polite way to excuse myself when the front door suddenly blew open with a familiar bang. Out from it poured a parade of first responders with Claudette sandwiched tightly in between them. From what I could see she wore the same lifeless look from before, one that now made a little more sense given her lineage.

The paramedics escorted her out to the ambulance while the Lieutenant convened with Claudette’s aunt. Right before stepping up into the truck though she stopped, swayed for a moment, and spoke with a toneless indifference.

“She lyin.”

I looked over at Claudette’s aunt.

“Look at her eyes.”

She returned a concerned gaze.

“That ain’t me.”

My mouth dried.

“C’est un diable.”

My stomach churched.

Then without any further explanation, she calmly climbed up into the ambulance and was gone, bringing an abrupt end to my wild afternoon.

I spent the remainder of the evening trying to study. After about two hours of mindlessly staring at my textbook though I finally threw in the towel. The motivation just wasn’t there. Plus, I knew I could use a night off. So, with seemingly nothing else to do, I popped a thirty-milligram edible, poured myself a stiff drink, and prepared for blast off.

I was standing at the end of my childhood cul-de-sac when I finally came to. Staring up at an oppressive grey sky, I watched as an old-timey helicopter descended upon me. Its wired frame swayed side to side as its single occupant, a James Dean lookalike clad in a Cold War era army uniform, looked down at me.

I squinted hard trying to make out his face. His chin was honed and angulated, cheekbones high and tight, hair slicked back and greased, and his 5 o’clock shadow was sharp enough to draw blood. For some strange reason, I felt like I knew this man, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how. Despite having no idea who he was, I felt oddly drawn to him. Almost as if I had known him my entire life. It wasn’t until I got a good look at his eyes though that I finally figured out why. Hidden amongst a paternal warmth were the eyes of my grandfather. The same grandfather that I had lost to cancer when I was eight and spent the rest of my life idolizing. Only this version of him looked to be stuck in 1952.

The moment I realized it was him a deep sense of longing set in. Nearly two decades worth of love and admiration came pouring out of me as hundreds of precious memories flooded my mind. Fat tears of joy began to stream down my face as the helicopter landed directly in front of me. I had so much to ask him and even more to tell, but what I wanted most of all was a hug, a hug that I thought was dead and buried long ago. But right as I reached out to embrace him, I woke up.

Orange beams of bright morning sun poured in through a break in the blankets. Despite the oppressive stench of bottom shelf bourbon that wafted off of me, I felt good. Focused, motivated, and thoroughly refreshed, I was ready to take on the day. Shit, I was ready to take on the year.

I sat on my front porch and took in fresh gulps of sweet morning air as I laced up my sneakers. Remnants of Claudette’s episode still littered the upstairs hallway. I had a feeling that it was going to be a long time before I saw her again. Putting these thoughts aside though, I finished with my shoes and took off on a long run.

My path took me up hills, across hollers, over streams, down valleys, and through thick sections of backwoods. While I ran my mind wandered in every which way. I thought of friends, family, work, and school. Israel, Palestine, the 2016 World Series, and even Kanye West’s infamous Hurricane Katrina video. But it was while reviewing the various doses of Midazolam that I first saw it.

Roughly a hundred yards up ahead of me was a small slender silhouette. Bathed in a deep blood red, it looked humanoid in almost every sense. I watched as its tiny frame bobbed up and down rhythmically against the brush and brambles. I couldn’t make out any specifics, but we looked to be heading in the same direction, venturing deeper and deeper into the surrounding forest.

I usually wouldn’t think much of this. I passed by people all the time on my runs: neighbors, farmers, miners, drivers, and sometimes even the occasional moonshiner. But not here. Not in this particular stretch of woods. This was one of the few remaining places left untouched by the tainted hands of civilization. It was a hidden gem amongst an over-constructed and undervalued world and one whose foliage was so thick that you damn near needed a machete to navigate through. Regardless, I continued on, eventually losing sight of the silhouette as I neared my halfway point.

A lone shingle hung loosely from the abandoned cabin that sat rotting away in the middle of the woods. I found this dilapidated relic a few years back and have used it as my turnaround point ever since. Stopping to catch my breath, I glanced around at its crumbling façade. I expected to find signs of a visitor: footprints, broken twigs, shifted soil, etc., but found nothing. The place looked just as undisturbed as the day I found it.

I was less than a mile out from my apartment when I caught another glimpse of something red up on the horizon. It had the same blood-tinted hue as before, only this time it seemed to be headed right for me.

The figure was twenty yards and closing by the time I finally recognized it for what it was. Standing four foot nothing and wearing a blood red “Louisville Football” sweatshirt was a kid. A boy to be exact who was probably no older than seven or eight.

Twenty yards later and the boy passed without incident. We didn’t exchange words, we didn’t exchange glances, we didn’t even acknowledge each other’s existence. We just walked right on by like two ships passing in the night. Despite our close proximities, I didn’t get a good look at his face. His hood was up and his eyes were buried in the ground below. Outside of the sweatshirt, really the only other identifying aspect was his obnoxiously sweet floral scent.

I was back inside my apartment and halfway up the stairs when it hit me. The sweatshirt. Blood red and lined with thick black trim, it was the same one that I had worn when I was his age. And when I say same one, I don’t just mean the same style, but rather the same exact sweatshirt. Like shared an identical burn mark right over the “Lou” same.

A heavy tightness filled the center of my chest. Things had gone from strange to downright creepy in the blink of an eye. I mean there was no way this was merely a coincidence, right? Regardless, I wanted no further part of it. So, without hesitation I bolted back up to my apartment and slammed the door shut.

I spent the next few hours fixated on the boy in the red sweatshirt. I tried anything and everything to distract myself. I read, I studied, I did pushups, I did sit ups, I watched tv, hell I even tried watching porn, but nothing seemed to take. I was obsessed.

But then, just as things couldn’t seem to get any stranger, a familiar bang rang out.

“Hello?” I called out in a forceful whisper.

The flowery stench of artificial lavender filled the cluttered hallway that I was now creeping down.

“It’s Patrick, Claudette’s neighbor,” I repeated, this time a little louder.

I tiptoed towards her door. It was still just as wide open as she had left it, only now an eerie stillness seeped out. I groaned. Either someone was messing with me or I was losing my goddamn mind.

I stepped inside and inched my way forward, clomping my feet in an effort to forewarn any potential occupants. I didn’t want to catch a paranoid pill pusher or schizophrenic Satanist by surprise, especially since there are enough ARs and AKs here in Whitesburg to fund a small army. Now I don’t know exactly what I expected to find, maybe a drug den or voodoo temple given her recent behavior, but it surely wasn’t this. Not the everyday run-of-the-mill subsidized apartment that lay before me.

A half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese sat rotting away on the kitchen table. Outside of the mess in the hallway, nothing really looked out of the ordinary here. There were no bloody pentagrams, no dirty needles, no belt-fed machine guns, nor even a single bottle of liquor in the entire apartment. If anything, the place just looked sad. So much so that it would have likely driven even the most sound-minded individuals mad as well.

I searched every nook and cranny of that God-forsaken apartment but didn’t find a single thing. No human, no demon, no cat, not even a freaking ant. I was about at my wit’s end. I knew that if I stayed here any longer, I would likely end up on the same floor as Claudette. So, I left.

Back at my place, I caught a rare glimpse of myself as I walked by the bathroom. I couldn’t recall the last time I had shaved, let alone bathed. My face was scruffy and grey, my eyes sunken and bloodshot, my hair frizzy and matted, and my clothes filthy and worn. If I was a cartoon character, I surely would have had little green stink lines wafting off of me.

I shed my soiled rags and jumped in the shower. The warm water did wonders for my grimy body, but little to ease my troubled mind. Like a dog chasing its own tail, my thoughts ran in circles around themselves.

I was all toweled off and pulling a dull razor across my face when I first saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, in the reflection of the mirror, I caught a fleeting glimpse of something red flash behind me. Before I could investigate any further though a sharp pain tore through my chin, pulling my attention back forward.

“Shit!” I cursed.

A thin river of blood streamed down my neck.

“Relax, Patrick,” I said as I balled up a tiny piece of toilet paper.

“It’s all in your head,” I assured myself, pressing the ball hard against my chin.

I let out a deep sigh before peering back over my shoulder.

Nothing.

I smirked.

I was officially losing it.

After finishing up my shave I threw on a towel and wandered out into the kitchen, putting on a fresh pot of coffee while I worked to calm myself.

“Caffeine, a shower, some fresh clothes, and I’ll be good to go,” I sang with feigned confidence.

A small part of me believed that if I said this with enough conviction it just might actually come true, but an even larger part of me knew that this was bullshit. I was headed in a dangerous direction and nearing a tipping point. Stress, paranoia, schizophrenia, demons, devils, whatever this was, it was winning.

The coffee finished brewing and I poured myself a cup. I took a big whiff of it before venturing out into my bedroom. Rich and nutty, it smelled just like the thing I needed. I put on a fresh pair of drawers and swung open my closet door only to be met with the crashing sound of shattering ceramic. Dangling in between my high school letterman and camo Carhartt was a blood red Louisville Football sweatshirt. A blood red Louisville Football sweatshirt with thick black trim and a familiar burn mark.

I froze. And by froze I don’t mean that I was just scared shitless, but rather I was legit frozen in place. Paralyzed: like couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe. Hell, I couldn’t even feel the 150ºF coffee dripping down my foot. It was then that the banging suddenly returned in full force. Coming from every direction, it filled my tiny room with a deafening roar. If I could have moved, I would have run, spoken I would have screamed, blinked I would have shut my eyes, and breathed I would have held my breath, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen solid and at the complete mercy of…

I awoke in a cold sweat sprawled out in the middle of my bed. A familiar stench loomed thick in the air.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

“What the hell happened?” I asked out loud.

My head pounded and my stomach lurched. I couldn’t tell if I had just woken up from a nap or a full night’s rest. I could still remember the events of this morning, but now all of a sudden they felt strangely distant.

I grabbed my phone and swiped it open. “4:03”, stared back at me in big white print.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

I never slept in this late.

I was just about to call my girlfriend when my gaze was suddenly pulled back towards my closet. Tucked away in the corner, its door sat wide open, revealing its inner contents. And hanging by their lonesome in the middle of it were my letterman and Carhartt. No red sweatshirt was anywhere to be found.

I breathed in a sigh of relief. I guess it had just been a dream after all.

An incoming text rattled my phone. It was from my Uncle Jim, my mother’s brother and the current owner of my apartment building.

“Hey Pat, got some bad news. Claudette passed away last night. I’m going to swing by tomorrow and start cleaning up. You free to help?”

A frown creased my face.

A second text came through. This one from an unknown number with a 504 area code.

“He lyin.”

A lump began to form in the back of my throat.

A third came through.

“Look at his eyes.”

A fourth.

“That ain’t you.”

I could feel my throat starting to close. There was no way it was her. Even if Uncle Jim was wrong, I knew she wouldn’t have access to a phone. Cell phones are strictly prohibited in psych wards and there was no way she was out already. Someone had to be messing with me. It was the only explanation.

“WHO IS FUCKING WITH ME!?” I exploded.

I don’t know where it came from, but a blind rage suddenly tore through me.

“HUH, MOTHERFUCKER!?”

My face flushed.

“I AM NOT CRAZY!”

The veins in my neck began to quiver.

“YOU HEAR ME!?”

My vision blurred.

“FUCK!”

I opened my mouth to issue one last forceful proclamation, but was immediately met with…

It was pitch dark by the time I finally awoke. My sheets were now soaked and my mind was coated in a dreadful fuzziness.

“What is happening to me?” I cried.

Thick tears began to well up in my eyes.

A single bang rang out.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

A second bang rang out.

I needed help, serious help.

A third.

By this point, I was laughing hysterically. The line between fact and fiction had grown so blurred that I felt like laughter was my only remaining defense. Well, that and one other thing, but I wasn’t quite there yet. So, instead I picked up my phone and dialed.

“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” A hollow voice croaked.

I wet my lips.

“525 Secretary Frazier Street,” I said.

A fourth bang rang out.

Only this time it sounded like it was coming through the phone.

A fifth bang.

Tears began to stream down my face.

A sixth.

My mind began to crack.

A seventh.

“No,” I pleaded.

An eighth.

A hollow cackle spurted from the other side of the line before one last phrase was uttered.

“C’est un diable.”

And with this, my mind finally went. The few remaining shreds of sanity that I had so desperately held onto were pulverized into a thousand tiny little pieces. I closed my eyes and for the first time in my life I wished I was dead.

It was the faint scent of lavender of all things that ended up bringing me back around. I opened my eyes expecting to find myself back in bed, stuck in the same fucked up version of Groundhog Day, but instead was met with perhaps the most bizarre spectacle I had ever seen. Standing before me was me.

Roughly four foot tall and clad in a blood red Louisville Football sweatshirt with black trim and a burn mark right over the “Lou” was me. Only this me wasn’t the same me that I had seen in the mirror earlier. Nor was it even the same one that I remembered seeing over the course of the past fifteen years. Rather this was the me that obsessively read comic books, ate Doritos for dinner, and struggled with multiplication tables. This was the me that had yet to be kissed, yet to get drunk, and yet to be sullied by the crushing realities of life. This was eight-year-old me.

I stared at myself with dumbstruck eyes for what felt like hours. This was beyond crazy. This was beyond logical. This was pure lunacy. If it wasn’t for my eyes, I probably would have been scared shitless, but just like my grandfather’s, they expressed an ethereal sense of warmth that instantly melted my worries and wrapped me in a euphoric sense of love. One that echoed the sheer pureness of youth.

With trembling hands, I reached out to touch me. A part of me was hoping to feel something, to know that such a purity could actually still exist, but another part of me was hoping to feel nothing because I knew that if I did, life would never be the same.

My fingers connected and were met with soft, warm, skin. Like a shot of good coke straight to the dome, it filled me with an ecstatic sense of ecstasy. One that was so strong that I could have been standing in the selection line at Auschwitz and still been on cloud nine.

I leaned in to embrace myself. This was it. I was finally getting the hug I wanted, the hug I so desperately needed. But right as I felt my childish arms lock around me, I saw it. The warmth that had lulled me into this vulnerable state of trust was snuffed out right before my eyes and quickly replaced by a haunting sense of nothingness. The same haunting sense of nothingness that I had seen in Claudette.

I tried to break free, but it was no use. The harder I fought, the tighter my arms held. I was stuck, forced to gaze into the depths of my own crushing nothingness for the rest of eternity. So, I gave up. The months of unending stress, the days of psychological torture, and the complete utter lack of hope had finally done it. It had broken me for good. So, with a rare calmness, I grabbed the nine-millimeter from my nightstand, put the barrel in my mouth, and pulled the trigger.

“Tonight, on WLKY 32, a rash of unexplained deaths that rocked the small town of Whitesburg can finally be laid to rest as investigators have uncovered a methamphetamine manufacturing lab in the downstairs unit of a local apartment building. Located in the five hundred block of Secretary Frazier Street, the building experienced two suspicious deaths in the span of forty eight hours, prompting a thorough investigation by local authorities. A spokesperson from the Letcher County Sherriff’s Office stated that a search warrant conducted late last night revealed the illegal narcotics lab as well as an indoor generator that was being used to power the operation. Investigators believe that the generator’s toxic fumes leaked into the building’s upstairs apartments and played a major role in the tragic deaths of two of its occupants. No arrests have been made at this point. Officials are asking the publics help in identify a person of interest. Last seen leaving the apartment in question, witnesses describe the suspect as a young male anywhere between four and five foot tall and wearing a blood red “Louisville Football” sweatshirt with thick black trim and a burn mark over the “Lou”. If you or anyone you know has any information regarding the matter please call our crime stoppers number at (502) 893-3671

[butterfly-ribbon]

i think about this so much in the context of mizuki's gender being listed as "unknown" and how trans ppl often cannot talk about their gender even if they wish to? even if a trans woman wants to be properly recognized as a type of woman, the world isn't really a safe space that she can comfortably be like "i'm a woman" bc if she were to do this she might either be accused of lying or being male. this reality is precisely why mizuki always avoids making definitive statements like this so she opts to saying things like "i'm just me" or "i just like cute things" bc she can't assert her identity without any pushback and she doesn't want anyone else to decide her self for her (there's also a lot to say about this in the context of transmisogynistic caricatures/stereotypes in anime & manga and how they're often subjected to "humor" that draws attention to their "maleness" and how mizuki as a fan of anime, films, etc. uses her genre awareness to navigate the world but that's a different topic).

i also think ppl often don't go up to others and say "i'm a girl! i'm a woman." bc that just isn't how ppl tend to talk? literally no girl in this game introduces or talks about herself in that way. the idea that mizuki has to use that kind of language to be legitimized in the first place is inherently disrespectful to her as a person especially as someone who's tired of having to explain herself or feel like she constantly has to prove something to ppl who don't even care enough to listen. she also doesn't think "why don't ppl see me as a girl" and instead she's thinking "why can't ppl accept me for who i am" bc it isn't just about Being a Girl, it's about how being transfem affects that perception. it's about how even when someone sees her as a girl, there's that asterisk. she doesn't know how to reach point of feeling like she's truly accepted bc of this and the closest she's gotten is niigo seeing her as a cis girl, which isn't even subtext, it's just implicit to the entire premise of her narrative.

so even if mizuki doesn't directly say "bc i'm a girl" or "accept me as a girl" when her classmates ask her why she does the things she does, it's a huge mistake to assume that she doesn't wish to be recognized as one bc this ignores wider context abt transmisogynistic hypersurveillance and objectification of transfemininity as a form of erasure of personhood and dehumanization? mizuki is someone who strives to assert her positionality as a woman as is both an assertion of how the standards of womanhood affect her and how she wishes to navigate the world as a woman in spite of this. this is made even more interesting by the parallels with mafuyu whose character arc is largely about how womanhood as a coercive state is pushed upon her by her mother and society, but it's also equally pushed upon mizuki as a trans girl very violently and is an aspect of transmisogyny, and trans women inherently fail to attain the standard of womanhood while being policed for this, so mizuki's position as a woman is against the imposition of womanhood (mizuki even when being "cute" is still not the ideal girl, bc her idea of fashion is lolita, and we know how lolita exists within so much of broader culture being for non-conformity and reclaiming femininity). there are always ppl trying to argue that mizuki can't be trans or that ppl are "boiling her down to her gender" (which is just pressure to stop calling her a girl) bc mizuki never explicitly said that she wanted to be recognized as a girl, she said that he just wanted to be herself, and she said that she likes cute things, so she is not trans, right? this is obviously transmisogyny, but such interpretations are interesting on the metatextual level to me bc they're the same form of transmisogyny that mizuki is subjected to within the story in that they're all saying "it would be a pain to be a girl, so you should just be content with being a 'boy' [Abnormal girl, nonperson, thing] who just likes cute things or some other ambiguous existence." bc these ppl refuse to engage with how the primary groups who know mizuki never draw attention to these things bc they see her as a girl and the thing about day to day life is that we all have to make assumptions to some degree about ppl we don't know or aren't close to based on their external presentation. however, we also have an understanding of mizuki's internal world.

mizuki makes such a good study of how fandom parses/engages with gender and the nuances of ambiguity around womanhood especially when transfemininity is involved.

[tetsunabouquet]

It really is difficult to be an traditional artist in a more digital artist space sometimes. Like so many don't know a fuck about facial proportions, I even spot artists I actually like praise something about being art goals whilst as an illustrator I am like, 'This shouldn't be something you'd strive for! Look at the lips, they are far too big! Lips generally fall perfectly in between the space of one's eyes, regardless of wether they are as full and fake as a drag queens! At best you will be able to draw a straight line from the corners of the mouth to the white of the eyes, lips never are that big that you can draw a vertical line from the corner of the mouth to the iris! Her tits are sagging like a 40 year old woman's too despite the rest of her being drawn like a young woman, it just fails at anatomical levels! Its one thing to enhance facial features to abnormal proportions because you want to give off a certain vibe or aesthetic like my most recent horror painting Vrijheid where I purposefully made the mouth similarly large so the grin itself looks more unhinged and creepy, its entirely a different thing when you draw mouths like that and think that is how they should be drawn.' I swear, graduating illustration is turning me into such an art snob, which in a sea of actually artistically untrained digital artists is a constant test of, 'Honey, just don't look at it. It will go away when someone makes a stupid meme post. Don't be mean, I repeat, don't go in the comment section and be that critical bitch. Look there's an unfinished painting to your right, and its not like your artistic journey is over yet either missy!' And then I just sigh and grab my own acryllic flasks, to console myself with how traditional art values seem to be dying.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 4)

Summary: Reader has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, which her Professor is hellbent on making a little bit better. A/N: If y’all thought you hated Kyle (bathroom bitch boy), just wait until you meet the new antagonist (of the female variety) here... I hope you all enjoy! 😚 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Sexual themes/fantasies Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

Einstein once attributed his genius to his childlike sense of humor. Studies performed since then have largely proven his point — funny people tend to have higher IQs, which makes sense when you consider the cognitive and emotional intelligence required to produce humor.

Spencer Reid was no exception. The only problem was that his humor was so remarkably niche and impossibly specific that barely anyone could understand the punchline. He insisted to me that he’d gotten better over the years, which I only barely believed… until he told me a joke that hadn’t left my mind since. A joke that he described as ‘just crude enough to make it palatable to the layman.’

"Caffeine and Viagra are both phosphodiesterase inhibitors,” he’d said — a slow start if there had ever been such a thing. But I held on to hope, hanging on the ecstatic, guileless smile he wore. And boy, was I glad I did, because what he’d said next broke me into a frankly embarrassing fit of giggles that returned with the memory every time.

“Which explains why both of these drugs keep you up all night."

The poor barista stuck working the busy early morning shift eyed me like I’d grown two heads when I once again devolved into laughter for no apparent reason. I almost felt embarrassed about it, but then I reassured myself that if she’d heard Dr. Spencer Reid tell a drug-induced-boner joke, she would also laugh about it forever.

I’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Not in a perverse way, either, despite his increasing comfort in breaching such topics in my presence. It was more like I’d started to infuse him into my every day, finding him in whatever way my brain would allow. While I made my way to his office, I breathed in the soothing scent drifting from the cups that were precariously perched in flimsy cardboard.

The smell took me back to quiet moments in his office. The kind of simple serenity that accompanied silence between two people who need not speak to share ideas. Where the second you looked away, you felt their eyes follow you, like the universe couldn’t maintain its structural integrity without one of you looking at the other.

It was intoxicating and alluring; so easy to lose myself in. Something I knew was dangerous for a number of reasons.

For example, when I am not paying the utmost attention to my surroundings, I have a tendency to lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. I also tend to… drop things. Especially hot and otherwise dangerous things.

Things like the two cups of coffee that finally became too much for shallow, defective cardboard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screeched as I became acutely aware of every place where scorching hot, drenched clothing hung on angry skin. Normally, I would at least try to sound more dignified while on my way to work, but it hardly seemed like it mattered anymore.

I was too busy hurriedly tearing at my shirt and dropping everything else I was holding. I’d gotten three whole buttons on my shirt popped by the time I remembered it wasn’t technically necessary. I dropped my bag immediately at the thought, tugging on the hem of the shirt and trying to bring it over my head.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t regained my grace, and in the muddled mess of fabric, I’d also grabbed hold of my undershirt. Which meant that whoever was walking through the empty halls of the early morning in academia would find me, with my stomach exposed and clothing dripping while unintelligible curses flowed freely from my lips.

I expected most people would probably just turn around and leave. I probably would’ve. The giant splatter of coffee and the absolute idiot slipping in it were beyond saving.

But there was at least one person who saw the mess and stayed.

I smelled his cologne before I felt his hand was pressed over the bare skin of my lower back. Despite the fact my skin was burning, it welcomed the warmth of his touch. My body stopped at his command, waiting for him to break me free of the paradoxically frozen state I was in.

He pulled the shirt back down, just enough that I could see him when he wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders and started guiding me into his office, which I’d somehow managed to almost walk straight past in my daze. I wished that I could go back there, to the imaginary world where he hadn’t just seen me half disrobed and cursing while covered in the coffee that I’d meant to give to him.

Spencer’s hands left me once the door was shut, probably trusting, or at least hoping, that I could figure out the mess on my own. Oddly enough, I didn’t notice any signs of him staring at me. Like he only felt comfortable looking when I was clothed.

I tried not to think about it. Once I did manage to free myself of one of the shirts — without further flashing my boss — the anxiety brewing inside of me burst out in the form of frantic shouting.

“Hi Professor! I’m so sorry, I spilled the coffee!”

“Yeah, I... saw the puddle,” he mumbled, throwing a cursory glance back at the hallway before his eyes met mine with a terrifying level of compassion, “Are you alright?”

“Besides the boiling liquid on my skin and the horrid embarrassment? I guess,” I mumbled back before shouting, “Shit! This is why that woman sued McDonald’s! Why do stores serve coffee like that?!”

Spencer didn’t really say anything. In fact, he kind of just stood as frozen as I had been, staring at everything around me rather than meeting my eyes again. But while he seemed somewhat cool and composed, I continued to tug at my clothes to try and avoid the friction. It was then that he cleared his throat, covering his face just like he’d done when he saw me in an arguably more provocative position the week before.

Arguably, I said. I should have known that Spencer would win any argument. I should have considered why he was making such a point of not looking at me while I clawed at the white undershirt turned beige. But I didn’t. Not until I looked down to inspect the state of my skin.

I realized then that Spencer had been trying to figure out a way to inform me that not only had the coffee turned my shirt a different shade — it had also eliminated the opacity.

He could see my bra. Spencer Reid, my boss, was trying not to stare at my very clearly visible bra.

“God, this is the worst Monday of all Mondays!” I whined between half-sobs, “and Mondays are already bad, Professor!”

There must have been something else in that cry, too. Something akin to permission. Enough for him to step closer, managing to avoid looking at my chest in the process. I’d entirely forgotten that he’d wrapped me in his cardigan until he pulled it tighter around my shoulders like his own version of an embrace.

“That they are, Bunny.”

If my skin had been heated before, it turned to flames at the use of the nickname. It was honestly a pure work of magic that the liquid on me didn’t turn vaporize the second I’d heard the word.

Bunny?

I pushed the thought away as quick as humanly possible, focusing instead on the way my clothes were going from uncomfortably hot to frigid as a result of the usually refreshing air conditioning. But when I was once again reminded of the obvious undergarment, I sighed.

“I can probably ask a friend to bring me a replacement shirt, or just go to class like this,” I thought aloud, “No one really looks at me, anyway...”

Spencer’s response came immediately, his hands flying up in protest as he shouted, “No!”

I wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, or even which part of the statement he was objecting to, so he was met with a wide-eyed, slow blinking stare.

“I-I mean, I have a shirt you can borrow. I don’t want to subject you to any further embarrassment,” he explained at a significantly more appropriate volume, “You can just wear my extra shirt.”

He turned away from me before I could respond, shuffling through something hidden beneath his desk that created more questions than answers for me.

“Why do you have an extra shirt?”

“Go bag,” he said in the most nondescript manner. It wasn’t necessarily abnormal, either. The question I’d asked didn’t spark any concerns in his mind, but it also wasn’t the question that I felt needed to be asked.

What I really wanted to say was caught in my throat. My hands clamped together in front of me tighter than my jaw that resisted opening to make way for the thoughts that felt more scandalous than they should’ve been.  

“U-Um, Professor don’t you think—“

“Here you go,” he offered with a smile. I took the large, plain black shirt with a hefty dose of caution, my hands shaking along with my broken voice that still couldn’t finish the sentence from before.

Spencer finally noticed the struggle on my face, and I watched his body move from comfortable to defensive in a matter of seconds. Like he was worried he’d done something wrong in trying to be kind.

He hadn’t, but I felt like I had.

“Won’t people... you know?” I mumbled, motioning a hand between the two of us, “I’m showing up to your class at 8AM wearing your clothes…”

I thought that the words alone would be enough. I thought that the gesture was overkill. But Spencer was still staring at me with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought.

I was going to have to say it.

Won’t they think we’re having sex?

There was no way I was going to be able to say it.

“Aren’t you concerned about people getting… the wrong idea?” I blurted out, instead.

The confusion on his face shifted to a clever little self-assured smirk so fast that I almost missed the transition. My stomach flipped from the sight, but then he spoke again, and what had felt like it was filled with butterflies turned to rocks.

“I’d much rather them gossip about something that’s not happening than watch the young boys ogle you instead of paying attention.”

It wasn’t the words, but the way that he’d said them. Like they were silly, like the idea of us being together was so preposterous it could only be entertained by people he perceived to be children.

I was foolish, too.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said with a wave, “Just worry about making this Monday a little bit better.”

“O-okay. Thanks,” I whispered, turning and running from the room only to be reminded of the mess I’d made. But the pool of tawny liquid on the floor wasn’t the most disastrous thing anymore. That honor was reserved for the state of my heart, begrudgingly continuing to beat despite being broken.

Scooping up my bag that I’d abandoned before, I tried to allow myself to be happy about the little things. For instance, the fact that the shirt Spencer had handed me was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt in my life. It made sense, considering the sensory issues he always described.

Still, I waited until I was in the safety of a bathroom stall before I buried my face in the fabric. It smelled just like him, a mixture of freshly done laundry and vanilla. Much better than the cheap, burnt coffee that covered me. Funny enough, that sort of smelled like him, too.

By the time I slipped into his clothes, I had almost forgotten his joke entirely. I was too lost in the joy of sweater paws from his cardigan and fabric that felt like a hug. Or at least, what I’d imagined a hug from him would be like.

The energy it provided me was a better pick-me-up than any cup of coffee had ever been. I kept my squealing as quietly as I could, bouncing in place just like the nickname he’d chosen to let stick. But before I returned to him, I felt something. A small, noticeable weight in one of the cardigan pockets.

If I’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, if I’d reminded myself that they were his clothes and not mine, I would’ve let it be. I wouldn’t have pulled the little object from its safe hiding spot. It would have stayed locked away, leaving me none the wiser of its presence.

But I didn’t think about it, and then there I was, holding onto the sobriety token I should’ve seen coming.

Not that it was a bad thing; I already knew Spencer had a history with drugs. He’d mentioned it in passing in class and was deeply involved with a number of volunteer programs around the area. At one point, I’d even taken it upon myself to research his history.

That research, while I regretted it now, feeling that it violated his privacy some way or another, led me to a second conclusion. As my thumb ghosted over the embossed number five, I realized that Spencer had been sober since he was released from prison.

My heart swelled with pride and relief that felt shameful. I didn’t want the token to have such a profound effect on the image of him I’d already crafted in my mind. Lord knew I didn’t need any more reasons to idolize him. And, at the end of the day, I’d only discovered this information by happenstance.

Part of respect, I decided, meant ignoring the way that fate seemed to push us together. If Spencer ever wanted my opinion on his sobriety or strength, surely, he would just ask. So, I slipped the chip back into the pocket and made my way back to him without worry for what it meant.

While I had no worries, Spencer was another story. I’d barely even made it through the door when he saw me. All of the papers he’d been holding immediately fell from his hands the same way the coffee had fallen from mine.

“Oh no! My clumsiness was contagious!” I laughed, bolting over to help him only to find his face an unhealthy shade of red. He chuckled back but said nothing else as he scrambled to pick up the loose-leaf that had splayed itself all over the floor.

Once we were back on our feet and as collected as we could be considering the circumstances of the morning thus far, his eyes met mine again. His cheeks were still flushed, unable to focus on anything specific and choosing to traverse my body the same way his hands had on Halloween.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in a way that made me wonder if he knew I could hear him, “I was distracted by how unfair it is that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

It was my turn to be flustered, but Spencer didn’t let the moment drag on. He tore himself away from me in every sense of the word, marching past me and halfway exiting the room before he found the courage to look at me again.

“Are you ready to head to class?” he asked as if it were an option.

I suppose to him, it was. For a second I imagined what the future would hold for us if I’d said no. What would he have done if I begged him to stay with me, instead? What if we rebelled against expectation and remained locked away in his office until we grew tired of one another? What if we never did?

My mind filled with fantasies of Spencer’s hands freely feeling my skin the way his clothes could. I could hear soft, breathy sounds of desire shaped like my name. For all of my inexperience, he would still find me intoxicating. He would grow drunk on me the same way a child finds endless joy in sweets that really ought to make them sick.

Then again, maybe he had grown used to the sugar. Maybe he wanted something more mature, a bitterness like molasses that was only earned from years I hadn’t had yet.

Regardless, I couldn’t really get into any of that. Instead, I just flashed a very awkward thumbs up to the man fifteen years my elder when I droned, “Sure am, Professor man.”

As stupid as it felt to do something so juvenile, the smile he gave was worth it.

“Alright then, Bunny,” he answered with his own little peace sign, “Let’s hop along.”

——————————————————

It hadn’t even been a week since I saw her, scantily clad in the plush, socially acceptable equivalent of lingerie. It’d been even less time since I admitted my own weakness to her. I’d replayed the memories of her visceral responses to my touch enough times that I should be sick of it. But there was no tiring of her.

I considered deleting the photos she’d sent me, convinced that it was cruel to keep them when she’d only sent them while inebriated and undoubtedly exhausted beyond belief.

But when I woke up in the morning, my stomach still reeling from the knowledge of what I’d done, all that she’d sent was a curious collection of emotes and a very brief note.

“Oops!” she’d written, “Bad bunny?”

I put that phrase out of my mind immediately, unable to handle the way it incited the desire for destruction in my veins.

“I’m always glad to hear that you are safe.”

That was the end of the conversation, and I was grateful for that much. Even the few words we’d exchanged would haunt me until I saw her again. Of course, the torture ended there, but only for a few seconds before it was replaced with other images and words.

It’d been hours since I’d found her flailing about half-naked in the hall while uttering rushed curses that sounded too crude for her lips. It’d been hours since I felt the soft skin of her lower back and became lost in an entirely different set of fantasies.

It’d been even less time since I saw her standing at my door, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater and staring at me with nervous, shifty glances. Completely unaware of just how beautiful she was in her simplicity. How much more torturous it was to see her wearing my clothes than any lustful suffering that lingerie or nudity could elicit.

I thought that it would get better throughout the day, but it didn’t. It only got worse.

I’d stepped out of my office for barely half an hour, but I returned to find her curled up on the plush chair. Her shoes were slipped off, revealing colorful socks that clashed with every other neutral color she wore. It somehow made me want her even more.

I stayed stuck for a few seconds longer, watching her with bated breath and shameless admiration. She was so caught up in the papers on her lap that she didn’t even notice my presence until the door clicked shut. It was then that she turned to see me, allowing a smile to blossom across her face despite eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What’s all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the collection of bags hanging from my wrists.  

“Did you know…” I started before my heart stopped at how she always leaned forward with excitement whenever I started a sentence that way, “that food is one of the best ways to solve a terrible Monday?”

“Which scientific study did you get that from?”

I paused again, debating telling her the many studies that would support such a theory, but then decided against it. Instead, I sought out her laughter and childlike joy that always brought out the best of her.

“Garfield,” I answered.

Sure enough, the office filled with the melodious sound of her happiness. I moved as quietly as I could, thinking back to when I was younger and thought of how powerful bottled laughter would be if I could capture it. Hers would surely right so many wrongs.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but I figure it’s the least I could do.”

She approached me to assist before I’d even made it to my desk, and although I thought her hands were far too soft to be bothered with something like this, I allowed her to help.

“You could do nothing, you know. It was my own fault.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

She laughed again, shier and shrinking into the sweater as she tried to find her place in such a domestic activity as sharing a meal with me in private. I thought of how it was a taste of my dreams.

Because as often as I did fantasize about her, undone, bare-skinned, and defenseless to my desires, I just as often envisioned her just like this. In fact, I found those fantasies more dangerous. They couldn’t be written off as mere lust. They were another, scarier thing.

“Well, lucky you I am an exhausted, broke grad student, so free food will always win me over,” she muttered, half-sarcastically but just sad enough to bother me.  

“Duly noted,” I said.

I hid away the promises I wanted to make. That if she were mine, she would want for nothing. That I would give her everything she needed to bloom. That I would prune away any neighboring flower that dared get in her way or block the sunlight. There would be no need to worry of predators or pollinators intruding, because she would belong to me and only me.

I would be her earth, her rain, and her sun. I would be surely and shamelessly selfish.

Her shoulders rose with a cheeky, excited little giggle once she had collected her food. I wanted nothing more than to let her enjoy it to her heart’s content… but there was a problem.

“Nuh-uh, no way,” I chuckled before she had a chance to return to the chair with her precarious paper plate, “Get in the other chair.”

Her face scrunched up, bouncing back and forth between the two seats in the room like she’d heard something so strange that it must have been a mistake.

“Wh— your chair?”

“I will not have you ruining another shirt today,” I explained. It caused the confusion to quickly shift to an embarrassed frustration within seconds. Just as she opened her mouth to protest my teasing, I continued with something I knew would tie her tongue until she could no longer argue.

“If you’re so worried about what they’ll say when you show up in my shirt, just think of how they’ll talk if they catch you wearing nothing.”

That stubborn little thing still tried. Her mouth floundered, strange sounds of protest starting but never finishing until she gave up. She sulked over to the seat with an odd amount of self-satisfaction. She settled into my space as comfortably as she always did. With an ease that was almost unsettling to my tired, tortured heart.

Swapping places with her for that little bit of time was a good idea. I hadn’t expected that it would bring me as much serenity as it did. My usually busy lips kept their focus on the food, opting to listen to her ramble about any and everything that came to mind.

It wasn’t until she was fifteen minutes into an explanation on her paper that I realized how little I’d tried to learn about her life outside of me. Whether it was self-preservation or narcissism, I’d never decided. But what I was certain of was that it had been a brutal form of self-sabotage.

Because as I sat there, watching her clumsily, excitedly swinging her fork and proving my point that it had been a good decision to give her the desk, I saw her for in a different light than before.

She was not just a beautiful, mysterious flower peeking through the concrete. She was the trembling giant, the clonal colony of thousands of quaking aspen trees. An extravagant network of roots that flowed far beyond the seed that started them.

This sprout might be new, but her soul was ancient and celestial, wise and immortal.

“Who knows?” she sighed, coming to a natural conclusion of a story I had almost missed while lost in daydreams and metaphors, “Maybe one day I’ll be a professor, too.”

“You’d be good at it.”

For once, it felt like she accepted the compliment without a fight. I considered it progress all the way up until she shot back a thinly veiled taunt.

“Thanks. Means a lot from someone who has 4 stars on rate my professor!”

“Don’t forget the chili pepper,” I jokingly returned.

“Not sure I’d get one of those.”

I knew that my disagreement wouldn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things, so I opted for a slightly-self-centered flattery instead.

“Just show up in that outfit,” I said with a nod that barely hid my actual intention of focusing my eyes on the rest of her, “you’ll be golden.”

“You gonna let me borrow it in ten years?” she hummed.

It was a dangerous proposition, an implication that made the pitter-pattering in my chest unbearable. Rather than chasing her down the rabbit hole of fantasies, I just chuckled before I answered, “You know how to find me.”

Then it happened again. Her face slowly changed, growing from a cautious optimism to a yearning. A subtle hint of words left unsaid. And although she wet her lips and set down her fork, the words never came out. They stayed stalled in her throat, and there was no discernible way for me to drag them out of her without hurting the both of us.

When a loud knock resounded through the room, the thought ended altogether.

“Come in,” I grimly announced, recognizing the intrusive sound as the death rattle for whatever might have been said.

As the door opened, I realized the same time (y/n) did that we had forgotten that the rest of the outside world wasn’t familiar with our dynamic. They didn’t have the backstory of how she’d perched herself on my chair with her shoes off and wearing my clothes.

Torn between scrambling to take more socially acceptable positions and the knowledge that our hurry would make us look even more suspicious, we both opted to remain frozen in place like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

When the door opened, however, I was somewhat relieved to see someone I found completely unthreatening. My closest colleague, a woman that should really terrify me all things considered, seemed mostly perplexed when she found a young girl in my seat.

She quickly turned to me, drawing out her words as she asked, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I... interrupting something?”

“No, what can I help you with, Candy?”

“I was hoping we could talk about my current paper proposal.”

She paused, and I took the moment to follow her glower to the flower still stationary behind my desk. (Y/n) stared back, seemingly frightened by the presence of the other Professor.  

“If you’re busy with... office hours…” Candy muttered before turning back to me, “we can always set up a meeting for a better time.”

Before I could address the possible tension or implication, the girl at my desk sprung to action, clearing off any sign of her presence as she spoke.

“You know, I actually need to get going.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t look at me when she answered, “Yeah, I’m sure your papers are more important.”

If I’d turned back to Candy, I might have seen the condescending scowl that was driving her away. If I’ve had any inclination or desire to look at Candy, I would have realized that (y/n) wasn’t trying to escape from her connection to me. She was just trying to get out of my way.

It didn’t make it any harder to watch her leave. I took solace in the fact that she held tighter to my cardigan, trusting me to keep her warm by proxy as she ventured back into the real world. The world where we couldn’t be in peace.

“Thanks for the advice, Professor,” she said before she left, “You were right. As usual.”

One last smile was shared, somber but sobering. A necessary break from the intimacy of the moment.

“See you in class.”

The office felt so much duller without her radiance, but my disappointment would have to wait. As much as I actually didn’t mind the world knowing how my heart hurt from her absence, I knew that it was best I didn’t let it impact her academic career.

“Sorry again for the intrusion,” my colleague said in a much happier voice.  

“It’s not a problem at all.”

She must have noticed the way it sounded like a lie, because her tone quickly shifted back to a slightly disgruntled confusion.

“I didn’t realize she was your student, too. What class is she in?”

It was juvenile, really, the way my heart fluttered so ridiculously at the mere mention of her existence. The excuse to discuss her again.

“Oh, did she not tell you?”

Candy just shook her head with a blatantly false smile.

“Unsurprisingly modest,” I laughed, making my way back over to my seat and running my fingers over the wooden armrests like it would be the same as touching her ghost, “She’s my TA.”

“Oh… I see.”

“She was the only one who would put up with me,” I offered with a chuckle. Self-deprecating humor was the only reliable personality trait I had. It was also, unfortunately, one that most women in my life despised and refused to let sit.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

It sounded less sweet coming from her. I wrote it off as a product of the differences in their species. While the hummingbird of a girl who’d just flittered away was used to only drinking the sweetest, purest nectar, the bird of prey who’d entered relied on the work of others to gather the sweetness before they were devoured.

That wasn’t to say she was cruel; hawks are as much a miracle of nature as hummingbirds. I simply related to one more than the other. I understood one while the other remained a mystery. And I loved mysteries more than myself.

“So, you wanted to talk about your paper?”

“Oh! Yes,” she chirped, passing the packet over to me now that I’d found my way back to what she probably deemed my rightful place. “The conference is coming up so much faster than I anticipated, and I would love to hear your opinions on my first draft.”

I’d already started to read the first page when she spoke again, uncharacteristically bashful and anxious, “Since we’ll be presenting together, I figured...”

“Yeah, no problem at all,” I interrupted, not wanting her to dwell nor expand on the thought of us doing anything together any more than necessary, “I can send you mine.”

It felt curt, blunt, and off putting when I said it, but she didn’t take it as such.

“Wonderful. You have such a unique voice when you’re writing. It’s very refreshing.”

Immediately, a memory appeared at the forefront of my mind and led to a laugh that I couldn’t contain. Candy seemed pleased at the sound, and I felt the need to explain.

“Thanks. (Y/n) likened it to Ray Bradbury at one point, although in different and less flattering words.”

I could hear her clear as day, quoting my words with an overdramatized effect before laughing, ‘Pack it up, Bradbury, you’ve got more science stuff to explain.’

Of course, we both found her laughter-ridden explanation of the ‘meme’ far funnier than the original joke. She was probably the only person in the world who never seemed bothered by explaining everything to me ad nauseam.

“She is... certainly a choice as a TA,” Candy strained upon scrutinizing the smile that had returned to my face for the first time since (y/n)’s departure, “Will she be joining us at the conference?”

But then the guilt returned, wiping the smile from my face and replacing happy memories with deviant thoughts and fears.

“Oh... you know, I haven’t asked her.”

“That’s perfectly alright! I think we’ll do just fine without her.”

“Right...” I whispered, glancing back down at the stack of papers in my hand before setting it in the tray designated for (y/n). “I’ll have her look at your paper just in case.”

A lull in the conversation stretched past the point of comfort for both of us, and I glanced up at the woman I actually felt guilty for ignoring in place of fantasies that would probably never come to be. She hadn’t even done anything to warrant my disregard. She was an attractive woman — as beautiful as she was brilliant, really — she had worked very hard to garner my trust and academic collaboration. At one point, I had considered her one of the few potential candidates for something more than a purely academic partner.

But there was something about the way she looked at the honeyed girl that made my hair stand on end. A defensiveness and instinct that couldn’t be ignored.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that was all,” she said as she broke from what I presumed to be her own daydream, “I hope your semester keeps going well.”

“Thanks, I hope yours does, too.”

I meant it, despite the aforementioned concern. I wished her well in the semester for both selfless and selfish reasons. I wished her well because she deserved it, certainly. But the other reason, the larger one, was that I hoped she would remain distracted. I hoped that she didn’t notice the way I would slip away from her affections to chase those from a more interesting challenge. One that remained mysterious, with hair covered in pollen and lips sweet with ambrosia.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid.”

I failed to respond to her again before the door shut because my hands were already busy with rekindling contact with another.

“I have a proposition for you, Bunny.”

“Sounds ominous. I’m in.”  

The fact that the response came before I could even shut off the display was so characteristic of her that I had to laugh.

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” I observed, to which she once again immediately responded, “Your point being?”

“I’m afraid this is an obligation that does require some expansion before agreement.”

Her response was slower, then, and I could almost see her with a slight panic and overwhelming curiosity that grew stronger by the second.

“Ominous and vaguely unsettling,” she said.  

I considered drawing it out further, letting her imagination truly run wild with the possibilities. But then I realized that if she thought hard enough about it, she might reach the same place that had immediately come to my mind.

“Would you like to attend the upcoming conference with me?” I relented, almost stopping there but then frantically tagging on the conditions I knew would be most likely to cause hesitation. “You’d have your own room, of course. The department and I will help with funds.”

But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to be worried.

“A cheap weekend away from school where I get to be a nerd with you?” she sent with another set of small, smiling faces I was only just starting to understand, “Of course I’m going to say yes, Professor!”

“Perfect. I’ll arrange it.”

“I can’t wait!”

Although I felt the same, I forced myself to end contact again. I put my phone out of reach to prevent myself from spoiling any more of my fantasies than I already had. I didn’t need her to second-guess the possibilities of a weekend away together now that she’d already agreed to it.

The thought alone sparked guilt anew. Through the entire interaction, I’d infused each word with a charge that shouldn’t have been. Each line was far more provocative than it needed to be.

It was just an academic conference. Most people found them terribly dull, not to mention physically exhausting. It would not be a time away like most couples dreamed of because we were not a couple in any sense of the word.

Yet… I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps there weren’t as many differences as one might think. Because while yes, most people would be bored, I didn’t think Bunny would be. Clandestine meetings made between conference meetings sounded exactly like the kind of dreams we would share.

I believed it so strongly that my mind had already drafted several narratives that would suit her. I pictured her and I sharing company in public, unafraid of public displays of affection — innocent, childish kinds, of course — because we were miles away from those who might care.

That drunken, lust-inducing, half-lidded gaze from the week before would return. Except this time, I would taste the wine on her tongue, my hands sliding not over fluffy fabric, but the same skin that I’d felt for the first time that morning.

Behind our door, I would teach her so many things. Things that she would have begged me for. Things that others would see written on her skin in the shape of my fingers and mouth. Things that she would carry with a straighter back and dripping down her legs.

I didn’t just want to destroy her. I wanted to break her so that I could build her back with gold-laced lacquer. She would be my kintsugi creation full of sugar and honey, just imperfect enough that the sticky residue of her sweetness would slip through the cracks to coat everything she touched.

And then she would touch me, and I might finally feel like I deserved anything at all.

——————————————————

| Part Five |

[ragingbookdragon]

The Best Of Us

Batfamily x M!Reader

Word Count: 3,035 Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: And here we are with a Batbrother fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

It wasn’t an inferiority complex. Not really. He wasn’t prone to anger or any of the other symptoms listed under it—and he checked. Multiple times. But there was something about being the only non-vigilante in his family of vigilantes that made him feel inadequate compared to the rest. Bruce had the Justice League, Dick and Jason had their own fantastic groups that saved the day, and Tim and Damian were still in school, but even they had their groups too. Hell, even Alfred still had contacts from his days in MI-5. And yet, he had none of the skills his brothers or father had, no extensive martial arts training, master detective skills, or weapon mastery. He was completely normal—or maybe abnormal in this case. And on some level, he resented that he couldn’t be like his family—maybe he did have an inferiority complex.

***

The greatest thing in (Y/N)’s mind about still being allowed to live at home was that no matter what, there was always food around to eat—Alfred saw to it that every growing man in the house had enough to eat—that being said, their grocery bills were outrageouslyexpensive.

He balanced his tablet in one hand, the other hand adjusting the tie around his neck as he stepped into the kitchen, quick to raise the tablet in time to avoid whacking his youngest brother in the head.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking his seat at the table, just after Jason’s. A chorus of tired, ‘mornings’ came back at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, loving the enthusiasm this morning, guys.”

Jason snorted and propped his chin on his palm, watching (Y/N) for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand how you’re always so chipper in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee that Alfred set down. “Someone has to be the ray of sunshine in this group of gray clouds.” (Y/N) cast a glance at Dick who was shoveling eggs into his mouth. “And it seems like our eldest is busy feeding his bottomless pit.” Dick was fast to shoot him a glare, that he returned with a smile.

Just then, Tim trudged into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and plopped down in his seat, immediately shoving the plate in front of him to drop his head onto the table.

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” (Y/N) sighed, flicking at his tablet for a moment. “You’ve seriously gotta take a day off to recuperate.”

“What do you think we do during the day?” Dick retorted, taking a swig of milk.

“Okay I think you’re confusing the entire day with the first half,” he reasoned. “When I say take a day off, I mean the whole twenty-four hours.” He glanced at everyone, and the only person who seemed to not be tired was Alfred, and that’s partly because (Y/N) believed he was immortal. “You guys are gonna run yourselves into the ground,” he said. “I just don’t think—”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/N),” Damian interrupted with a glare. “We know our limits better than you do.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. This conversation had happened many times before and it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m not saying I know them better than you Damian, I’m simply saying that you guys should take a day to relax so that something doesn’t happen on the job that you can’t control.”

(Y/N) glanced at his father. “Dad, c’mon, you know I’ve got a point.”

Bruce hummed and flipped the page of the newspaper. “So does Damian.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t have to worry so much, (Y/N). We know what we can handle.”

He stared at Bruce for a moment then scowled. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he muttered, and Damian was fast to chase his comment.

“I don’t know why you bother either. You’ve never once experienced what we do every night.”

(Y/N) met his youngest sibling’s glare. “Just because I don’t stick my neck out for each person in this city night after night doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like to be exhausted.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you know what it’s like to be exhausted from blood loss because you’ve been stabbed or shot? Or to be exhausted from saving the lives of innocent people? You do?”

“I—” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, then he snapped it shut and looked away with a darkened expression, tasting something sour in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian finalized, and in the wake of the uncomfortable tension, a cellphone went off.

Everyone started looking for theirs, but (Y/N) muttered, “It’s mine.”

He picked it up and put on a cheerful voice. “Good morning Angela…yes, I just got the floor plan…” he tapped at the screen on his tablet. “Do me a favor and move the people from table eight to table three. Mr. Robinson is better friends with Mrs. Grace and will certainly give us a warmer atmosphere in that area.”

(Y/N) paused and listened, then he stood from the table and pushed his chair in. “Let me get to the office and we can situate the rest of the guests for tonight…alright, see you soon. Bye.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, then took the black backpack that Alfred was holding to him. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master (Y/N). Have a pleasant day at work.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was anything but amused. “I have to give a speech tonight in front of the entire company and three different magazines.” He glanced at Bruce. “Think you’ll be able to attend tonight? It’d mean a lot to me.” Bruce grunted, his way of telling (Y/N) that he’d try, but to not hope for a miracle.

It was fine, he was used to parentless ceremonies and events. He cleared his throat and shrugged on the backpack, making his way to the garage door.

“See you guys later.”

***

He’d given a few speeches in his short twenty-four years, and while he’d never say he was an expert on public speaking, he did know his way around a podium. That being said, every time he had to do a speech, he felt like vomiting—nerves he chocked it up to.

(Y/N) cast a glance around the packed ballroom, quietly groaning at the massive amount of people. His own table was empty, save for Angela and thank god for him, Lucius. He couldn’t help but frown at the name tags sitting in front of the empty seats.

“Wondering where the rest of the gang is?”

He met Lucius’ eyes and gave a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to think they took my advice and took the night off but…something tells me that the night called to them.” His lips pulled downwards. “I’m not going to act like this is a surprise, Lucius. I couldn’t even get them to show up for my university graduation.”

(Y/N) smiled and stood up, grabbing the notecards beside him. “What makes you think I could get them to show up to this?” He left the table and moved to the side of the stage, waiting for his name to be called. His fingers briefly shifted to his chest, feeling his heart fluttering beneath chest, nerves causing his breathing to come in short bursts. (Y/N) shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting a pleasant smile cross his face as the presenter called his name, and walked up the steps.

The bright flash of photography momentarily blinded him, but he smiled through it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Centennial Inside Alliance Award Ceremony.” He flashed everyone a million-watt smile. “My name is (Y/N) Wayne, and as many of you know, I am a senior editor for Inside Alliance. It is my pleasure tonight to recognize Inside Alliance’s top writer for the year.”

(Y/N) glanced around the room, making sure to catch the eyes of the hundreds of guests.

“Inside Alliance was created on August fourteenth, nineteen-twenty by a group of immigrant mothers and fathers who wanted to bring knowledge of their homes and cultures to the rest of world. Some of those countries being Germany, Romania, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Israel, and many, many others.”

“The production of their valuable time and extensive care created one of the greatest magazines that is still in business today, that brings attention to the worldwide issues that many groups face, while still connecting to their roots of educating the public on cultures and groups.”

He smiled. “It is with my upmost honor that I congratulate and introduce Miss Flora Janaliyeva, one of our newest and greatest writers that has joined Inside Alliance, and the winner of tonight’s Inside Alliance Award.”

(Y/N) turned to the side and grinned at Flora as she ascended the stairs. Her long black hair was braided down the length of her back and she wore a bright and floral-patterned gown. She reached (Y/N) and he reached with his right, shaking her hand, and handed her the glass award with the other.

“Miss Janaliyeva, it is with honor and congratulations that I give you this award for your excellent talent and recognition of ability from Inside Alliance.”

She smiled brightly and accepted the award. “Thank you, Mister Wayne, the honor is mine.” He nodded politely once more and descended the stairs as she began her speech, quietly taking his place back at the table.

“Well done, Mister Wayne,” Lucius smiled and (Y/N) let out a deep breath.

“I’m just surprised I was able to do that without stuttering or panicking.” He glanced over, smile lowering slightly. “Lucius, are you alright?”

The older man dabbed at his forehead and nodded, though when he breathed, it sounded labored. “I’m fine,” he assured, then reached up to rub at his chest.

(Y/N) shifted. “I don’t think you’re alright Lucius.” He leaned over. “Are you having chest pain?”

“I—yes,” he grit out then met (Y/N)’s gaze. “My chest is getting—tight and I…and I—”

He started to slump over and (Y/N) shot to his feet, eyes widening with fear. “Lucius!” The yell startled the crowd and Flora, who all looked over at the two.

(Y/N) pulled the older man back and pressed his ear to his chest, listening. He pulled away and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

He helped Lucius to the floor and immediately pressed his palms to the man’s chest, starting compressions. His breath came in panicked spurts and he kept looking at Lucius’ face.

“Just hand on Lucius. You’re going to be okay.” (Y/N) kept at it until the EMT’s arrived and they knelt beside them.

“Let us take over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Lucius would die, but one of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder while the other slide their hands underneath (Y/N)’s.

“Son, we’ll take it from here.”

(Y/N)’s arms went slack, and he let the medic pull him away, watching as they took over and started moving him onto the stretcher.

“Please, save him. He’s—he’s friends with my family I—”

The medic nodded firmly. “We’ll do all we can.”

And all (Y/N) remembered was someone ushering him into a taxi heading for the hospital.

***

The first people that arrived were Lucius’ family who were grateful for (Y/N)’s actions, but the young man could barely grimace as they disappeared into the hospital room, leaving him sitting outside, his head in his hands. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought back to what the ER doctor told him.

***

“Mister Fox is in a stable condition, but you have to understand, Mister Wayne, his heart is very weak.”

“But—but he’ll be okay right?”

“Based on Mister Fox’s past conditions, he’s verging into heart failure. His heart is too weak to keep up with what the body needs.”

“And…and what does his body need at this point?”

“At this point? A new heart.”

***

He sucked in a breath and fought to keep the sob from escaping his throat, just as heard, “(Y/N)!”

His head shot up and he saw his father and older brothers coming down the hallway. (Y/N) clambered to his feet.

“Dad I—” he started, but cut off as he choked on a sob, and Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding (Y/N) as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I tried my best but—”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, a firm, but gentle hand coming to rest at the back of his son’s neck. “You did all that you could.”

He pulled back and wiped his face. “But Lucius needs a new heart, and I don’t know what to do. I should’ve seen this coming. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few weeks and I—”

“(Y/N),” his father said firmly, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He met Bruce’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

His libs wobbled and he whispered, “But if I were like you guys, I would’ve seen something earlier. I didn’t and now…” sighing, he added, “and now Lucius needs a new heart, or he’ll die.”

Bruce’s sigh was heavier than (Y/N)’s and it made his chest heavy. “We’ll get Lucius a new heart, (Y/N).”

He lowered his head and lamented, “I’m sorry, dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder then lead him towards Dick and Jason. “Take (Y/N) back home for the night. I’ll stay here with Lucius’ family.”

They nodded and led their brother down the hall, arms firm across his shoulders in a comforting way. They didn’t say anything, knowing that there wasn’t much to offer, but their support was enough for (Y/N), even if he felt horrible.

***

For being the World’s Greatest Detective, his son was evidently the World Best Hider, because it took Bruce a long time to finally find (Y/N). He stepped quietly over to the form sitting on the ledge and took a seat beside him, silently gazing out at the backyard. A bottle appeared in his vision and he focused on it as the smell of whiskey reached his nose.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked but took the bottle anyway.

“Jason gave it to me earlier.” He watched Bruce take a sip. “Figured it fit the occasion.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds like Jason’s way of dealing with a problem.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, simply enjoying the calm around the manor and night.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Bruce suddenly said.

(Y/N) sighed and set the bottle down, kicking his legs out off the roof. “Lucius said he hadn’t been feeling well recently. And I just passed it up to getting older.” He looked at his father. “If I’d actually paid attention, then I would’ve seen the symptoms.”

“Do you actually know what the symptoms of heart failure and heart attack are?”

“I…no, not really.”

“Then you couldn’t’ve known.” He looked at (Y/N). “Lucius works in my office every day. If anyone should’ve known and seen it, it should’ve been me.” Bruce shook his head. “But you did everything you could at the awards ceremony, and that saved Lucius’ life tonight. You did good.”

“I could’ve done better.” (Y/N) muttered. “I should’ve. I’m your son and I’m practically useless to the family but—”

“Woah, woah,” Bruce interrupted, brows furrowing as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

(Y/N) turned to him. “I am the least useful person in this family. I mean you and the guys are these crazy intelligent, vigilante master detectives and I’m just me.” He wiped away a tear that fell from his eye. “I can’t speak seven different languages or solve murder cases with a single strand of DNA left at the scene of a crime. Hell, I can’t even throw a punch.” He sighed heavily. “The last time I tried, I broke my hand.”

Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I just want to be like you guys.” He lowered his head. “I just want to be normal and not an outlier in the family.”

Bruce simply stared at him for a long moment, and while he’d never been privy to let his emotions show on his face, he let them this time—shock and shame. Shame that he didn’t see his greatest achievement suffering.

“(Y/N).”

He didn’t look up at first, but then he did. “Yes sir?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Forever?”

His father sighed. “Son, I…I never wanted you to be like us.”

He gaped at Bruce. “What?”

“(Y/N), every person in this family is driven to do what we do because of our childhoods. You’re the only one who doesn’thave any skeletons in his closet.” He stared at him. “We wish every day that we could be like you and not a day goes by that we don’t think that.”

“I…what?” he floundered, absolutely bewildered at the idea that his father and brothers wanted to be the most boring person ever. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is.”

“No.” (Y/N) huffed. “I’m me. I’m plain and boring, work a nine to five job me. I mean I write for a magazine for god sakes! And you guys save the world!”

Bruce chuckled. “And what we wouldn’t give to be just a bit more normal like you, son.” He shrugged. “You think you’re inferior because you’re not a vigilante, but you’re the one thing that keeps us all sane. You give us the perspective of someone who isn’t what we are. Of someone who’s completely normal.”

He reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “And being normal? Being you?” Bruce squeezed firmly. “I don’t want you to be anyone else.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and though he felt tears in his eyes, he didn’t blink, didn’t let them fall. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Bruce smiled heartfully. “You do, (Y/N). Everyday. Because you’ve always been the best of us.”

[in-tua-deep]

Are you into my hero academia? What about an AU or crossover with tua?

UHHHH I am technically, like, peripherally? I watched some seasons of the show like two or three years ago and since then have simply absorbed all content through osmosis, reading fanfiction that has canon events, and my sister telling me about the arcs of her fav characters lmao

so a crossover hmmm

First of all you'd have to like, establish whether bnha is an alternate universe or just The Future If No Apocalypse with quirks being traced back to the descendants of the kids born without mothers

So let's say it's that - the glowing baby was the "first quirk" but the truth is people had powers before that. But - well, the Umbrella Academy was obviously a marketing gimmick to those in the future! There were even comics based on them

In the future, you might find some of those comics in museum exhibits dedicated to depictions of powers in the pre-quirk era, but they're just fun depictions and much less popular than, oh, DC or MCU comics which are also in the exhibits!

End of s2 doesn't happen I guess in this au?? No sparrow academy at least lmao. So, the Umbrella Academy stop the apocalypse (again) and the Commission threat is? Neutralized? Whatever. They decide to jump back to the future

Five warns them that time travel is a crapshoot, that he has no fucking idea when they'll land beyond some nebulous "future" because Five can at least control the direction if not exactly how long

Also, Five is like. Super tired. Incredibly tired. Homeboy still has a healing gut wound, time traveled twice, has been jumping all over the place, gotten even more injured, experienced paradox psychosis, and managed to undo time all in the space of like, two weeks. There actually more than that but we don't have time to get into how fucking tired Five is from his ~Month of Hell

Like genuinely this is like putting someone almost delirious from lack of sleep in the driver's seat of a car and expecting to get to your destination in one piece

But hey, the siblings are like "do it uwu" and Five has sacrificed everything for them already so why not get behind the wheel again

So Five jumps them, and of course something goes wrong because Five has pushed his powers like a great big rubber band and honestly it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip and it snapped back to hit him

So here be the umbrella academy: spilled out into the future like a cup of bad coffee.

Five probably isn't in too good of shape tbh, like they're hundreds of years in the future (but hey at least confirmation of no apocalypse am I right) in a world full of superpowers and Five is like. bleeding from his ears and nose probably idk

Let's handwave a little bit - Reginald made them all polyglots so the squad all speak varying levels of Japanese. Allison is the best at it, Five is second best but tends to use more archaic words bc he had missions in Japan back when he was with the commission, and Klaus is third best.

(Ben is the worst bc he decided when he was 16-and-dead that he didn't have to do anything regarding lessons and maintenance and hasn't given a shit since - but also he's dead so)

So you have a bunch of weird adults with a bleeding child in like, an alley who have appeared from nowhere

so of course heroes get involved

Anyway, the squad get taken in and Five is conscious but like, barely? And he's not going to let himself get separated from his siblings again fuck-you-officer and there is a lot of confusion

anyway detective tsukauchi ends up getting involved and ends up having to hear this batshit story and be like "...truth." which sends all kinds of people scrambling because fucking time travel? Like yeah, it's been theorized to be a possible quirk but there's no recorded cases of any sort of time travel that is for more than 24 hours let alone hundreds of years

"I'm an adult." Five says sourly, "I just happened to be returned to my 13 year old body when I time traveled one time."

"True." Tsukauchi says, feeling his soul leave his body, but like. absently. the way he does when he's called in at 2am after getting off of work at midnight.

"I'm 58." Five says.

"Lie." Tsukauchi says, because this is a headcanon hill I will die on.

"I'm probably 58, but it was hard to keep track. I'm at least 50." Five corrects.

"True." Tsukauchi sighs like these six (seven? they keep referring to another sibling and Klaus said 'ghost' like that was fine and it registered as true and Tsukauchi is not nearly paid enough for this) are not giving him a migraine by just existing

on the bright side there's like, probably protocols in place for individuals who are Legally Chronologically Adults but thanks to quirks are Not Physically Or Not Mentally Adults with tests to determine if the individual needs a guardian or not

though i'm gonna be honest idk if Five would pass the test bc he literally cannot take care of himself at all, has never paid taxes or understands how to exist legally, and also his emotional maturity is stunted as all hell. also like. we don't actually know how much being in his thirteen-year-old body affects his mental state but yeAH Five is vibing

anyway Tsukauchi probably phones a friend on this bullshit because Time Travel Child alone is probably enough for the Hero Commission to be like "find a way to control and use it or nuke it from orbit" and that's not even touching whatever the fuck Klaus is doing (shit gets real once 'dead men tell no tales' stops being true) let ALONE Allison's whole deal

on the bright side like, at least Vanya isn't getting side-eyed that much bc Big Destructive Quirks aren't exactly unknown? if vanya wanted to i guess quirk suppressors exist for that until extensive training on how to control a super powerful quirk happens

Tsukauchi in the group chat: Aizawa please I am literally begging you to take this bullshit on

Aizawa: in this economy? with my class?

RatGod: lol we'll take them ;3c

Aizawa: no

Anyway they probably end up having to live at UA while Five insists on trying to get them home still and everyone else is like "oh hey we used to be child soldiers as well! (:" and Aizawa is like "i hate everything about this and everything about all of you but also like nedzu is making me interact with you so :/"

nedzu is out here vibing like "lol i just don't want the hero commission to get their little paws on these time traveling fuckers, i think you should make then teaching assistants or something"

honestly the siblings are probably like. figuring out how to function in the bnha universe and getting like, legally registered and stuff while Five ferally refuses bc that's like saying he's giving up on getting them home and he can do this

Recovery girl tries to heal him a little when he arrives and he passes out for two weeks like, immediately bc homeboy is running on fumes and spite at this point

also i think on principle it would be REALLY FUNNY if the squad got to tag along with the class bc like. Five is thirteen and the class are all 15. this does not sound like a large age gap. anyone who has interacted with teenagers know that the class would squint at Five and be like "who is this sassy lost middle schooler."

I feel like when I was a sophomore we were still like "freshman... babie" even though we were literally only one year older.

i think the difference between the umbrella academy and school kids would be pretty funny like. objectively the bnha kids are lowkey child soldiers?? like they're 15 and fighting villains but like, there's all this red tape and laws and stuff but,,, deku still be breaking his limbs in a child fighting ring against equally superpowered children for like. entertainment and sponsorships sooo

but also like Five would be like "oh cool when is the experimentation class"

"the what"

"you know, when your powers are pushed real hard by putting you in different terrible situations while your dad and sibling stand by with clipboards writing down the exact voltage it takes before you can't use your powers anymore when being electrocuted"

"hound dog's office is right there. therapy is available to you at any time. i need you to know this."

all might calls Luther "my boy" like one (1) time and Luther just breaks down crying probably because he is starved for positive attention

klaus and midnight get along like a literal house on fire, aizawa tried his best to keep them apart for as long as possible but god damn

(klaus: your name is shimura nana??

all might: immediately dies choking on blood)

i feel it absolutely necessary to point out that aizawa, present mic, and midnight are all like, 30? and the umbrella academy are all between 29-early 30s? they are PEERS but like. the umbrella academy are more chaotic due to childhood trauma

the umbrella academy probably get offered to like. also train to be heroes. i mean,, there HAS to be some sort of track for people who change careers right?? you don't have to cement your future as a hero when you're 15 i'm sure there must be something and the squad already have experience if they want to go be legal heroes

diego probably does at least?? diego just vibes honestly. diego gets momo to make knives during a team exercise and they just go feral on everyone else and it ends with diego highfiving momo and someone getting way to close to being stabbed for comfort

Five might just be. legally enrolled as an Actual Student? But also i think it's funny to picture the entire squad just. all in the back of the classroom with luther trying to fit into a high school desk as they take notes on the laws of The Future surrounding heroics

every word out of the umbrella academy's mouths just make everyone more concerned on principal but like, five and klaus are probably the worst offenders. Klaus just says whatever comes to mind with no filter and Five doesn't get what people would consider to be abnormal anymore like

Five: yeah our dad bought us when we were babies and experimented on us throughout our childhood in order to make an elite team of child soldiers superheroes, it happens

Todoroki: ...have you heard of quirk marriages?

izuku probably has an aneurism bc he's is the only person who might recognize them from the comics because you know ya boy extensively researched the idea of heroics in pre-quirk eras (batman was an inspiration alright???) and might dredge up a memory of a less popular comic series

Five: I can time travel but it is very hard, which is why we are hundreds of years in the future. And why I look like a child.

Kaminari: so are you a kid or not?

Five, serenely: whatever is most convenient for me at any given moment

Mina: hell yeah game the system

they have a brief lesson on astronomy and Luther raises his hand like "ooh! i was isolated on the moon for four years and did SO MUCH research" and then just gets up and starts infodumping like way too much information on the moon

Izuku sitting there like "damn if quirks hadn't popped up we could have achieved so much in terms of space travel. please tell me more giant man who lived in pre-quirk era."

Vanya finds out about the quirkless and is like "oh mood that genuinely sounds like my childhood, being ordinary in a house full of extraordinary people, and then i found out that i did have powers but only much later in life after i had already been emotionally scarred by the experience"

deku: vanya we have so much in common

iida and uraraka: concerned noises

aizawa: hound dog. therapy with hound dog for all of you.

there's probably some conflict with like, the hero commission wanting to get their hands on the time travelers?? but probably especially five and klaus as a) time travel and b) ghosts (the hc def has bodies they would like to stay buried)

five has a pavlovian reaction to anything with 'commission' in the name and hates them on site, probably plays into his age in order to become a ward of UA or something to protect him from the commission a little bit.

(this makes nedzu Five's legal guardian. aizawa has his resignation papers all prepped in a drawer marked 'in case of emergency' but let's be real, if nedzu wants to take over the world aizawa should probably be on the rat-bear's side of things :/)

five: ah, i do recall the inhumane experimentation that we were subjected to

nedzu, who was experimented on: haha same hat! want me to dig up the location of reginald hargreeves's remains so you can spit on them?

klaus: nah no worries we dumped them out in the courtyard unceremoniously like, a while back. how long ago varies for each of us because of time travel!

luther: you said hound dog's office was down the hall and to the right?

on the bright side, Luther probably feels like. way less self conscious about his body, partially bc of his fighting and all that in the 60s but also bc !! now he genuinely doesn't feel like a freak. no one even gives him a second glance. one of the teachers looks like a slab of cement with a face. gang orca looks Like That. there is literally a student with an entire bird head and goth aesthetic. Luther does not stick out at all

allison and shinso bond over having "villainous" voice-based quirks

allison and shinso having worn muzzles at some point in their youth as punishment 🤝

aizawa probably helps train vanya as well with the whole, being able to erase a world ending quirk safely thing he's got going on which makes for a very nice safety net

i don't think vanya would want to be a hero at the end of things though. maybe the assistant teacher in the music class or something?? all vanya wants is to be able to not end the world

i feel like as time goes by, five brings up trying to get home less and less. part of that is because like,,, genuinely what do they have to go back to?? Allison has Claire, but like. I'm 100% sure the first thing she did in the future was try track down Claire's records and found out Claire was like. fine. became an adult, had a family, probably became the ancestor of the first "quirked" kids who officially popped up after light baby. had a good life, died at an old age etc. etc.

they start settling into the bnha world with like, "we can always hop aboard the five express into where the fuck ever" as a plan Z if things go completely pear shaped (again)

i'mma be real, five himself doesn't give a fuck as long as there is a) no apocalypse and b) his family is alive. Like that's it. His bar is so incredibly low and yet his life keeps fucking trying to limbo under it

i just think it would be funny to have like, Five trying to get along with his "peers" and make friends while the siblings do the same but like, in the staff room

also think it would be funny for five to just walk into the staff room and get coffee occasionally.

a teacher: why is a student in here -

Five, sipping coffee: i'm an adult

nedzu like "what kind of guardian would i be if i didn't teach my new son all the tunnels around ua so he can pop out wherever"

five like "hey new dad can i put stashes of supplies all around ua of weapons, money, food, and other assorted things that might be useful if one needed to fight or make a run for it" and nedzu is like "haha just put your list of what supplies you want in your go bags on my desk and i'll critique it later!"

anyway a bnha/tua crossover would be incredibly chaotic but probably very funny

[mystic-sky]

This is just a request, but do you think you can write something short about gojo meeting his s/o who is a poc and how he’d react to her curly hair 🥺👉🏾👈🏾 the fandom is still pretty new so there’s not a lot of poc drabbles out there if any at all.

Here you go bby, I hope you enjoy 💕✨

Summary: An AU where you’re a sorcerest whose stationed in Japan due to the National Sorcerer Exchange Program I just made up lol. Even though it’s your first encounter Satoru is a big flirt, as usual✨💘

Word count: 1.7k

It was annoying, being one of the few special grade sorcerers based in Tokyo. Satoru Gojo often wished he could duplicate himself at least three or four times, just to reduce some of the workload stress he had. The older he got, the more he wished he wasn’t the strongest- and that’s a pretty surprising statement on his end.

He felt he couldn’t catch a break. Between special grade work, his students and now looking after Yuji Itadori, who hysterically swallowed a special grade object, he had a lot on his plate.

It was hardly a burden for him. He only wished he could be in multiple places at once. This way, he could make sure the higher ups wouldn’t mess with his students, who meant so much to him.

In sight of the increased special grade activity in Japan and several other countries, the first ever Sorcerer Exchange program was implemented by higher ups across the world. It would ensure that special and first grade sorcerers were evenly spread out and or placed in regions that needed special attention. Satoru wasn’t particularly fond of anything the higher ups did, but this idea wasn’t so bad.

“A government funded, international sorcerer exchange program,” Yaga informs Satoru, who sits across from him, idly drinking his tea.

“And how does this work exactly?” Satoru raises a brow at Yaga before dropping cubes of sugar into his cup, stirring loudly.

“For 6 month spans, high level sorcerers who applied to the exchange will be stationed in different countries to regulate curse activity.”

“Sounds like it pays more. Nanamin might like that.”

“It does, depending on your skill level.” Yaga sits back in his seat. “We’ve already received a few sorcerers from America, Africa, China, Russia-”

“All special grade?” Satoru interjects.

“Currently the exchange program only allows special and first grade sorcerers. Considering the high levels of cursed energy around the world this year, it would be best if we avoided any casualties by placing inexperienced sorcerers in the wrong places.”

“That reminds me. You’re prohibited from participating, considering we’re a red area. Until cursed activity improves here you won’t be allowed to participate.”

“Aww c’mon, you guys suck.” Satoru cocks his head back, sighing loudly.

He already traveled a lot for special grade missions but never for more than a few days. Now there was a whole six-month program and he wasn’t allowed to participate in it? Then again, he couldn’t leave Yuji here with the possibility of the higher ups trying to hurt him again. He promised himself he would protect all of his students.

“There are several meetings I must attend tomorrow and I’d like for you to be there. Don’t be late.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Satoru is already up and gripping the handle on the office door.

“I’ve also decided to assign a co-teacher to your first years, for your shorter stationed trips every now and then. She’s an extremely talented special grade from the exchange program. So you needn’t worry of a repeat of the detention center incident with Yuji.”

He had already swung the door open, towering above your body in the door frame. Your nose is barely touching his jacket, and hand almost touching his chest as you were attempting to knock. You take a step back, a bit startled.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I tried to knock,” you say, looking up at the blindfolded man in front of you. “I’m looking for Masamichi Yaga?”

Satoru is startled by your flawless Japanese, considering you’re clearly not of Japanese descent. He took note of your tan skin and big, curly hair that was pinned back in certain spots to display your face.

What a cutie.

“No, I’m Satoru Gojo. Principal Yaga’s the one sitting behind me.” He’s not entirely surprised by your appearance, considering he’s traveled all over the world to fight curses. “And you are?”

You almost think he’s flirting, considering how smooth the question was. Also, you’re now recognizing who he is, cheeks reddening a bit.

“I’m (Full Name). You’re the special grade I’m going to be subbing with for the first years! I’ve heard great things!” You politely bow a bit.

“I know.” His grin large and cocky as he steps out the way, allowing you to walk in. “No need to be so formal though.”

You’re slightly put off by his attitude, but principal Yaga interjects quickly.

“(Last Name), come in. I’ve been awaiting your arrival. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Yaga is on his feet now, bowing towards you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m excited to work with you all.” You say as he motions you to sit and have some tea.

Satoru has found a reason to stay in the room, plopping down beside you and taking up his tea he had previously abandoned.

“Thanks for sending Ichiji to the airport to help with my belongings. I brought so much stuff, I hope it wasn’t too much for him.” You brain flashes back to Ichiji struggling to hold all of your luggage outside the baggage claim.

“Pffft, feel free to call on him whenever you want. That’s what he’s here for.” Satoru assures you, flashing you a toothy grin. You get the feeling that he probably made Ichiji’s job a living hell.

“I must say, Ms. (Last Name), your Japanese is remarkable. How did you become so fluent?” Yaga asks, filling your cup.

“I’m flattered. I taught myself what I could before attending (insert random ass college name in Japan) University. I’ve always admired Japanese culture so I studied it pretty hard. I can also speak (Native language, if you have one) and (two other languages of your choosing).”

“Wow, your Japanese is better than most locals.” Satoru chuckled. “And you’re pretty too. Lucky me.”

You shifted in place on the sofa. The most powerful sorcerer known to man was sitting beside you and he was complimenting you.

“Thank you,” you say loosely, picking up your teacup.

“Ahem,” Yaga interrupts, earning a tiny snort from Satoru.

“He hates it when I flirt.” Satoru whispers as he leans over towards you. Your face feels a bit hot, and you decide it’s from the steam of the tea in your face and not the handsome man leaning a bit too close to you. You set the cup down after the lightest sip.

“I hate to get down to business so soon Ms. (Last Name), but I’d like for you to get settled in as soon as possible. I’ve mapped out a few assignments for you this week. This is your first.” He slides the first report across the table.

“There have been several reports of abnormal cursed energy in Shinjuku City. It’s likely a special grade. I’d like for you to get to the bottom of it. It shouldn’t be a problem, considering your level of expertise. I’ve forwarded the documents to you as well.” The glint in his glasses makes you chuckle a bit. You flip through the report briefly.

“I skimmed this one on the flight. Whatever it is,” you begin, taking out your phone, “seems to be luring children. This corresponds with the rise in missing childrens’ cases I read about in Shinjuku.”

You place the article on your phone down on the table for principal Yaga to read. You liked to do your own research on locals news to see if curses had any sort of correspondence with a certain area’s events.

“You think a curse is kidnapping children?” Satoru suggests.

“It’s just a hunch. It’s nothing I haven’t encountered before.” You bite the nail on your thumb, realizing the inevitable.

“Unfortunately, if I’m correct, those children most likely aren’t alive.”

You stand up, firmly.

“I trust you’ll take care of it then,” Yaga hands your device towards you.

“Most definitely,” you look at your watch. “And I’ll be done before dinner.”

You offer the principal a smile before you slip on your trench coat, eager to take on your first mission.

“By all means, it can wait until the morning after you’ve rested.” Yaga persists.

“Nope! Not when children are potentially involved. I can’t risk it.” You straighten your clothes, and bow once more. “I’ll report back soon.”

“(Name) doesn’t let jet lag stop her from doing her job. What an admirable woman.” Satoru cooed.

“Well, Gojo-san, it was a pleasure meeting you.” You begin to wave but Satoru is on his feet, and right behind you, making you stumble back again.

“Oh no, I’m coming with you.” He grins. “I’ve gotta see what the most powerful special grade sorceress is capable of in person.”

While you had heard of your own nickname before, you hated when people called you that. You tried your best to be humble about it. There’s always new ways to improve your cursed technique, even if you don’t know how yet.

“So you do know who I am,” you shifted your stance, hands on your hips.

“I’ve heard a few things,” he says slyly. “But I’d like to see them first hand.”

“Hmph, alright then. I suppose you can show me around Shinjuku. It’s been a while since I’ve been there.” You flip your hair, making your way towards the door.

“And it’s your lucky day, I feel like showing off.” You say, peaking over your shoulder.

“Great, it’s a date.”

You stop dead in your tracks, just two steps out of Yaga’s office.

“What?”

“Even after four years of university in Japan? I said, it’s a date.”

The door shuts behind him, and his grin is even more smug.

The audacity.

“You’re not going on a date with me unless you ask me properly.” You roll your eyes, swaying down the steps. So this was Satoru Gojo.

“C’mon sweetheart, we’d be iconic as hell— the strongest man and the strongest woman? We’d be unstoppable.”

“I don’t even know what you look like underneath that thing.” You say, motioning towards his blindfold.

Oh , but you lied. You’d seen his Instagram.

He was a selfie fanatic. That and a cake fiend.

“Wanna see right now? Will it change your mind?” His voice low and steady behind you.

“I’ve got a curse to excorcise.” You roll your eyes, speeding up ahead of him. It didn’t help much considering his legs were so long.

“You know you wanna,” he bends down, voice deep in your ear.

“I’m not listening~

You’re far ahead of him now, attempting to hide the heat on your face and hearing deep chuckles echo behind you.

“Ah, this is going to be the best six months ever!” He laughs heartily.

A small smile crept on your lips.

Maybe it would be.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XVII - - - - Part XVIII - - - - Part XIX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“I want you to understand that what we’re going to ask of you is entirely beyond the scope of duty and therefore completely voluntary. You are more than free to refuse participation, at any point, with absolutely no consequences.”

Deep within the Healing Halls best-kept medical secret, Eights quelled beneath the full might of the GAR’s highest and most lauded Generals. Yeah I’m sure whatever they ask I’m going to want to say no. Honestly, what kind of soldiers have they been working with?

“What can I do to help, sir? Sirs?”

“I know this might be shocking, but we have reason to believe the GAR is...compromised.”

“Sir?”

Eights thought furiously. This wasn’t about the healers who were hiding them, or the Jedi his battalion never received, or the decommissioning he had escaped. This was bigger.

The General Windu spoke calmly, “We suspect that you may have been trained or conditioned at some point without your knowledge to unquestioningly follow orders, orders that would usually be beyond what you would typically obey. With your permission, we’d like to try and activate that order in a restrained environment in order to gain more information, with the hope of finding a way to help the troops resist.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand. You’re just going to give me an order and ask me...not to obey it?”

General Koon nodded (General Koon! General Koon and General Windu were talking to him at the same time!). “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s possible that the order will do more than that. The only way we believe this could possibly work” Koon glanced to the man at his side. “And we...do believe this threat is real, is if you suffer from some form of brainwashing. Activating it might cause irreparable brain damage. Activating it might damage or kill the parts of you that make you you. Even if it doesn’t- the ideal scenario is we find something- an intentionally designed tumor perhaps- and surgically remove it. And brain surgery also has its own risks.”

Eights swallowed around a lump in his throat. 

“And this is something that could be going on with...my entire batch?”

General Kenobi winced. “The entire GAR I’m afraid. Every clone.”

The General of the 212th! Commander Cody’s General was here! Talking to him! Telling him existentially terrifying ultra classified intel!

The trooper stared up from bed in disbelief. If anyone besides three of most respected generals in the entire GAR (not including Buir Ti) was telling him this he would accuse them of bantha crap fear-mongering, if not outright treason. Instead he was just...outraged.

“What would the order make me...us...do?”

Windu took a deep breath. “Attack us. Try and kill the Jedi.”

“I would never.” Eights straightened up even further. “We would never betray the Jedi- it’s- never. We were made for the Jedi and even if we weren’t- you’re the only ones who treat us with an ounce of respect.”

“No one is questioning your loyalty,” the kind Mon Cal healer (whose name he had never asked for fear of getting her in trouble if this ward was ever discovered) said, obviously trying to sooth him. She spoke with heart-breaking earnestness. “The fact that you would never choose to obey such a command just makes the possibility of something forcing you to do so that much more horrifying.”

“How would something like that even get in our heads? The longnecks designed us to serve the Jedi, why... I’m sorry Generals. I didn’t mean to get out of line.”

“No need to apologize. You have every right to be angry about this intrusion, as well as any number of things,” General Kenobi reassured him, smiling sadly. “We don’t know to what extent the Kaminoans are involved with this plot. Not precisely.”

Eights nodded, clenching his one remaining fist. “I’ll do it. Whatever you need from me. I can’t let my brothers have something this big looming over them without any intel.” I’m not exactly front-lines material anymore anyway.

“Are you sure?” Mace Windu’s eyes seemed to stare into his soul. Eights stared right back.

“I am. When do we start?”

It didn’t take long to shave the soldier and connect a number of glowing vital readers to his skull. He was ushered into a chambered observation room with what appeared to be a sfaraday cage hastily built around it. 

“Alright, whenever you’re ready.” Bant (Master Eerin apparently, but she told him to call her Bant) said.

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Let’s start off small, see if we can learn anything without fully activating the order.”

General Kenobi took in a deep breath. He looked calm, but Jedi always did. The General took in another breath. Kriff, two deep breaths. That’s Jedi for freaking out, isn’t it? Right?

Fuck.

“Does Order 66 mean anything to you?” General Kenobi braced himself, staring intently at the trooper in his seat. 

Eights wracked his brain furiously. Sixty-Six...that was...

“It’s...a little familiar? Sorry sir, I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere but...I can’t recall.”

“That’s perfectly alright trooper, not to worry.”

A Twilek healer he didn’t recognize spoke into a micomphone from the other side of a transparisteel window. “His frontal lobe might be lighting up a little, but it’s nothing abnormal, and not enough to triangulate for anything intrusive.”

After several variations on the same question as well as a number of scans of different ‘levels,’ the questioning escalated to orders, as well an extremely uncomfortable mock fight that he would probably tell his grandchildren about, provided he survived today, and also was allowed to have grandchildren.

Still, Eights couldn’t quite recall ever learning an Order 66 and was starting to relax, thinking the whole thing was some sort of horrible separatist lie.

They left him alone for an uncertain amount of time before returning with-

“Quickdraw?!” Eights jumped up at the sight of his commanding officer arriving via hoverchair, nervously saluting with his left hand.”I didn’t know you were here!”

“Just got out of bacta. My spine’s not quite what it used to be after the blast,” the lieutenant responded wryly. “At ease, Eights.”

“Our apologies again for waking you prematurely,” General Koon said softly.

Quickdraw waved the General off. “I’m honored you did. For something as serious this- well I’d hardly forgive myself if I just slept through it.”

Quickdraw locked eyes with Eights. “I’m supposed to try giving you ‘the order’ now- General Kenobi suspects that as your superior officer, I might be authorized to trigger whatever the hell the longnecks put in our heads.”

Eights swallowed hard. “The longnecks, sir?”

“Who else?” Quickdraw asked in a tone drier than Jakku. He spun in the chair to face General Koon. “How are we doing this?”

After a brief discussion, the troopers ended up on opposite sides of a sound-proof transparisteel divider, an comm channel open between them. Eights plugged his ears and gave the order first. And giving Quickdraw an order was almost but not quite as weird as giving an order that would apparently make him try and kill Jedi.

Nothing happened and they swapped, this time with Quickdraw using a waxy covering to block his hearing.

His lieutenant stared at him straight through the clear divider and ordered him to execute Order 66. This time he finally remembered his training, and realized he was woefully outgunned. Oh well, he was a good soldier.

Eights stood up. The only visible change in his expression was a widening of his pupils. There was no malicious intent palpable in the force- he didn’t even look angry- just determined.

He lunged at the Jedi next to him, only to hit an invisible wall. He threw himself at the barrier desperately while the traitor backed out of the room and escaped. The wall finally dropped, but it was too late, he was locked in.

Sighing, he picked up the chair with his one good arm, slamming it repeatedly at the door frame. Good soldiers follow orders.

On the other side of the observation window, Quickdraw stumbled back horrified, reaching for his ears before hesitating. General Koon softly tapped his shoulder and indicated they should leave. 

“I’ve got a location.” Master Che said quietly as the lieutenant was ushered into an antechamber and the activated trooper continued to beat at the door. “It’s a small but clear patch lit up like the festival of lights- I don’t know why it didn’t turn up in scans but...I’m as confident as I can be. Worst case- it’s a small enough area that removing the grey matter shouldn’t...well it won’t kill him. It’s enough to go on for microscapel surgery.” General Koon nodded, then tilted forward, weight falling heavily in his palms on the counter before him.

Vokara rested a hand gently on his back “...I was hoping it wasn’t true as well.”

Master Koon flinched away. “I am sorry and glad to say you do not understand my feelings on the matter. I think...my apologies but I need some time to meditate.”

“Of course.”

Koon rushed out. After a moment Master Windu stepped in, radiating similar distress as Master Koon. Master Kenobi followed, looking grim but also happy. 

‘Oh I’m glad Koon isn’t around him right now,’ Healer Che thought wryly.

Perhaps sensing the mood, Obi-Wan sobered. 

“I’m sorry it’s just- I didn’t actually see the order get activated. Of course I believed it wasn’t a choice- and I’m obviously not glad that anyone’s will could be taken so easily-”

“You don’t have to explain anymore,” Mace offered quietly. “I can understand why seeing this would be something of a relief, all things considered.”

The Head Healer nodded in agreement before taking charge. “Kenobi, go in with Eerin and help her sedate him. I’ll prepare for surgery.”

“Wait- shouldn’t we try other permutations first? It’s possible that once activated, a clone might be able to order a superior officer-”

“And it’s also possible that if a lieutenant is activated, the entire army will turn,” Mace snapped. Obi-Wan bent his head, chastised. 

“Right. Yes. I’ll go- find Bant.”

An extremely long hour later, Master Che returned from surgery. Masters Mundi, Koth, and Yoda had left to and fulfill the other thousand and one duties of a council member not unravelling a Sith conspiracy at the heart of the Republic, while Master Aerdo had been dispatched to talk with Quickdraw as well as some of the other troopers in the hidden Medical bay. 

“It’s a chip,” Vokara said grimly. “Native biological material, but clearly a chip. Like you would find in a droid. Far more complex than any slave chip I’ve ever seen, and no explosive component. It would only turn up on a level five brain scan. I didn’t even think to run it before- it’s overly invasive and typically useless.”

The reduced meeting crumpled at the sight of the infinitesimally small object of control, carefully encased in a stasis slide and placed delicately on the conference table.

Proof of Obi-Wan’s future, a future that the group thought they already believed.

“We should get Master Nu,” Adi Gallia said quickly, “We’ll want our top researchers analyzing it as soon as possible.”

Koon nodded sharply. “Agreed.”

The Tholothian Master stood, “I’ll go at once- we should probably keep any mention of this off comms.”

As Master Gallia swept out of the room, Plo Koon wrenched his gaze from the stasis slide to face the healer. “Master Che, what is Eight’s status?”

“Unconscious and restrained, but he should wake up soon enough. It...might not be a bad idea to have another Jedi nearby when he does.”

Koon and Che left the room, taking the chip with them and conferring quietly.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, elbows on the table and face in his hands.

Master Windu exchanged a glance with Anakin. 

Finally Obi-Wan spoke, tentatively addressing Bant, “Could it be possible for someone...besides a clone to be chipped? If Palpatine had access to them as a child...”

Bant drew back, gaze flickering to Anakin. “I- we would have to study it more-”

Anakin interrupted, shifting in his seat. ”Master- what did I do?”

“It- it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you anymore that the person who fired on me was Cody.”

Bant exchanged a glance with Mace, before clearing her throat with a soft gurgle. “Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone to talk this through.”

The Mon Cala Healer stood and exited rapidly. Windu exchanged a glance with Skywalker before he left. “Talk through everything, understood?” Anakin nodded.

The door shut, leaving Master and Padawan alone. “I feel like I’m missing more than two and a half days,” Obi-Wan muttered wryly. “I don’t remember you three having a non-verbal communication system consisting of eye-contact alone before.”

Anakin chuckled once then immediately grew somber, picking at a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe. A thousand thoughts were swirling in his head, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I- did I hurt you? Is that- is that why you stabbed me, you thought you were defending-”

“I did what?!” Obi-Wan paled, jumping up from his seat.

Anakin winced. “It’s nothing, that’s actually not important. I’m healed anyway so forget I mentioned it-”

Obi-Wan moaned, stumbling backwards over the fallen chair. “Of force- when you were trying to save me- I had a blade. I cut you down-” He tripped backwards, collapsing to the ground.

“Master!” Anakin lurched forwards, but the older Jedi scrambled back.

“I forgot my spray bottle in there,” Bant whispered outside the door. “Do you think it’s too late to go back for it?”

Mace peered subtly through the small window in the door. “Yes. They’re already on the ground. I think they’re both crying.”

“It’s been less than a minute!”

“Yes.”

“...We should go.”

“Yes.”

Unaware of their muffled audience, the two continued their conversation.

“Don’t- don’t touch me!” Obi-Wan gasped, back hitting a wall. “I don’t- I don’t deserve-”

The young knight reared back, falling from a crouch to his knees, “Is this...about the Tuskens again?

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. “The Tuskens? What about Tuskens?”

“You don’t...remember?” The air grew cold and Anakin forced himself to continue, “What- what we talked about in the cave?”

“What we- I-” Obi-Wan thought furiously. “...Anakin. What did...what were you apologizing for in the cave? What- what did you think we were talking about?”

“Oh gods.” Anakin paled now, shuffling back.

“What are they doing now?” Bant asked the taller Master.

“They’re taking turns chasing each other back and forth on their hands and knees. They both look like they’re seconds away from passing out or throwing up.”

“I...is this a human thing?”

“No. What? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know! Do you think this is how they usually talk to each other?”

“I think perhaps they don’t talk to each other, and that’s why they’re like this.”

“Right, right... I really want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Hm. I don’t.”

“Why are you also standing outside the door then?”

“I want to be ready to intervene if they start trying to kill each other.”

“FORCE”

“Quiet!”

“Sorry. Sorry. You think they fought then? In the...other timeline?”

“...It would explain Obi-Wan’s shatterpoint remnants better than anything else.”

“Not to mention the spice.”

“I thought we were politely ignoring the spice.”

“...and then I brought her back to the homestead for burial.” Anakin bowed his head, tears streaming against his will. “I thought...Master I know I can’t fix this but I’m sorry- I already stepped down from my position as General so I wouldn’t be in a position to kill anyone else- I need you to forgive me.”

“Oh Anakin.”

“What? What happened?” Bant asked urgently. 

The Master of the Order appeared unruffled in the force and human visible light, but the tips of his ears were heating up in infrared. She stood on her toes to see in.

“Oh- they’re hugging? Seriously? That’s what you’re embarrassed to see?”

“They’re clinging to each other like younglings. It’s undignified for a Jedi Master and Knight”

“Alright that’s it- we’re going. I really don’t think Anakin’s going to jump from crying and hugs to murder.”

Unaware of their newfound privacy, the two inside withdrew from their embrace, still sniffling slightly. 

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said in a shaky tone. “I swear I won’t let you down, I’m going to do better.”

“I know, my padawan, I know. I’m going to be there to help you this time, I’m not going to leave you alone with- well I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Anakin smiled wetly at Obi-Wan’s careful avoidance of Chancellor Palpatine’s supposed Sith alter ego, refocusing on Obi-Wan and making intense eye contact.

“What did you think we were talking about?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “It- it never happened.”

“Ori’vod, please. You- you mentioned younglings. I did something else unforgivable didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan smiled but didn’t look up. “And i forgave you anyway. Even when I thought your apology was just a fantasy. But it wasn’t, it was real, and- and the people actually are unmurdered so...it’s not worth talking about it.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, gut roiling. “You...really think I might have a chip in me?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up. “I...don’t know. I didn’t even know that Cody had a chip in him.”

“You just...were suddenly betrayed by everyone.” 

“Not...everyone. Most who refused to fall in line were executed, of course, but there were a few senators who stood with the Jedi, secretly.” 

A new wave of cold terror passed over Anakin. “What happened with the other senators?”

“Like I said to the council earlier, from what I heard they cheered Palpatine on. Thunderous applause.”

“That’s not what I mean- Padme, Was Padme alright?”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands, shuddering.

“Anakin- I don’t know what to tell you,” he said in muffled voice. “I don’t want to deceive you but- things were dark. If I tell you everything now, I’m afraid of what you’ll do.”

Anakin winced. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not...evil. I just...I messed up, and I want to make things better.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and pulled Anakin so they were seated next to each other in a mirror of the false peace a few days earlier. Anakin leaned into his Master’s side, feeling the cold retreat. “You’re not evil Anakin, but what you did to the Tusken village wasn’t exactly a small thing. I- look- Ad’ika-”

Obi-Wan hesitantly placed an arm around Anakin’s shoulder and the cold retreated a bit more.

“If the council accepts my plan, we’re going to have time together over the next few weeks, to talk more about...everything. We’re going to end the war- save everyone. I know the cave wasn’t what either of us thought it was, but it still meant the galaxy to me. I love you, no matter what...and that conversation, what you said. Well, it gave me the strength to go on, to do what I needed to.” Obi-Wan froze. “Not my, um, self-inflected injuries- that’s- obviously that wasn’t your fault-”

“You thought you were hallucinating. I know.” Anakin smiled, feeling honestly amused at the absurdity situation for the first time. “I’m going to mock you for that for the rest of our lives, you know that, right?”

“I look forward to it.” Obi-Wan smiled.

A vise that had been clenched around Anakin’s heart since he broke down the door to their apartment finally relaxed. “You really weren’t trying to kill yourself,” he sighed happily.

“I was attempting to stay alive. Honestly concerned about dehydration. I wanted to stay in the daydream, but I knew I couldn’t. And part of that was because you gave me the strength to keep going. Sorry I did such a bad job honoring that but, well. You know. Thank you, Anakin. For saving me twice over.” Obi-Wan’s voice was utterly earnest, though it was a touch more embarrassed than he was used to after the single day of utter unrestraint. 

Anakin’s eyes welled up. “I’ve been- I hated that you would just leave like that, give up-”

“Never Anakin,” Obi-Wan vowed. “I will never give up on you, or this galaxy.”

He twisted so he could throw both arms around his padawan.

“I swear by everything I am I will keep going. It’s... in my nature but gods is it easier with you besides me.”

“Even though i’m a child murderer twice over and once removed?” Anakin joked weakly, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan shuddered. “Too soon, Anakin. Too soon.”

Part XXI