#i hope this came off as informative and interesting rather than condescending or whatever

[entropyvoid]

@labyrynth Imma more heavily push back on that pushback because while you do have a point that western and Chinese audiences in general have pretty different ideas of what’s masculine and what’s feminine, my point is that Aventurine’s design, (and much of Penacony in general) is pretty clearly heavily based on 1920’s America, and I think deliberately mixes specific aspects of both men and women’s fashion from that particular time and place, when masculine and feminine fashions were very much separate. To be more specific, his design slaps a lot of details, ornamentations and overall motifs you would have only really seen in women’s fashion on a masculine silhouette. (This still applies despite him not being from Penacony - his design is still very much meant to evoke it, he is still considered a Penacony character, and I’d argue that aside from just story reasons literally all of the playable Penacony characters being from elsewhere is meant to be reflective of how a large part of the US in that time period, especially in big cities on which Penacony was based (coughNewYorkcough) were absolutely chock-full of first and second gen immigrants because up until acts passed in 1917 and 1924 implemented literacy tests and heavily restricted immigration, all you had to really do to become a US citizen was just show up on a boat but I digress.)

Also it gives me an excuse to blab about fashion history and character design in general. A lot of the links I’ve provided go more into detail and provide visuals, I’m largely just summarizing and picking out what I think is relevant.

We’ll start with the most obviously masculine aspect of his design, which is his silhouette. He’s wearing a three-pieced suit, a long overcoat, (none of which ever really looked anything like what Aventurine’s wearing but we’ll circle back around to that,) and a fedora, all pretty normal menswear stuff in the 20’s and a good while after. Of note I’d like to point out that mens fashion (like women’s fashion, but not as dramatically) became a lot more structurally simplified in this period, with the button count on suits sometimes going way down to 1 or 2 buttons, which is pretty much what Aventurine’s got going on. [https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/1920-1929/ and https://vintagedancer.com/1920s/1920s-fashion-men/]. …Tumblr wouldn’t let me link it the same way I did everything else, for some reason. Damn jank-ass webbed site.

Flapper fashion included a very large variety of outerwear, but I’d like to direct you to look at some of the fur-lined winter coats here, and then maybe take another look back at Aventurine’s coat.

Feathers were a very common adornment in women’s fashion at the time, particularly on hats and in feather boas. Peacock feathers were a popular choice. (As well as ostrich feathers, particularly for boas.)

Peacocks as a motif in general. Since Japan opened its doors to trade in 1858, a lot of new inspirations that western artists and designers took from slowly seeped in, the peacock included amongst them, wherein it very quickly became associated with beauty, exotic luxury, and vanity. [x] At the beginning of the 20th century it began to appear on accessories, [x] and starting in the 1910’s, female stars began dressing as peacocks on stage, and “the male bird became a symbol of exotic femininity and fantastical extravagance.” This was despite the long-held superstition (in western theater and in general) that peacocks were bad luck because they embodied the evil eye, [x] though the opposite holds true in Chinese culture, where they symbolize good luck, as well as beauty, dignity, and heavenliness. [x] In the context of Aventurine I find this especially interesting, because frankly, I’d argue he’s really got all of the above going on rather than one or the other.

I’d argue that just because a character is made by a Chinese game developer, that doesn’t mean that western symbolism, sensibilities, and influences don’t come into play, especially when the character is pretty explicitly based on/inspired by western culture and they know the game’s got a worldwide audience. Take Dr. Ratio as another example - he’s obviously Greek themed and his outfit evokes a toga. The swirl pattern all over it is probably a golden ratio visual pun. He’s wearing a golden laurel pin in his hair, a symbol of honor and achievement worn by artists, athletes and scholars for thousands of years, and it’s got the same number of leaves on it as he has PhDs. The little gem on his chest is tyrian purple - a color historically reserved for royalty, reflective of him having an incredibly distinguished status. He’s got an owl on his shoulder, which is a symbol of Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom. Interestingly enough, according to that thing I linked earlier that explained a bunch of the symbolism of different birds in Chinese culture, it would seem that owls are a bad omen, because of their big scary eyes and the fact that their call sounds like a word for gravedigging in certain dialects. And honestly the whole not being recognized by Nous thing could be seen as ill fortune, while overall he could easily come off as negative or gloomy, especially if you’re playing with the Chinese, Japanese, or Korean dubs, where his voice is a lot more… I guess stoic? (I love English dub Ratio but he is a lot more… emotional sounding? And perhaps that too is something that more suits broadly western sensibilities. Idk.)

Point is, though Chinese symbolism may not have been thrown out the window there, he is nonetheless clearly heavily influenced by the symbolism of the culture he’s inspired by, with both fused to make something that works for both audiences. I don’t think Aventurine is really any different. I think to ignore the feminine aspects of his design within cultural context assumes that the Chinese character designers (and the writers they work with) just didn’t do their research well enough and slapped masculine and feminine fashion together by complete and total accident, which I think does them a disservice, especially when they pack so many designs full of meticulously researched little symbolic or cultural details.

I also think that the issue of trying to get queercoding past Chinese censors seriously complicates any discussion of a given character’s masculinity/femininity or gender in general, and Hoyoverse has like, a whole history with tryna depict queer people anyway (original Bronya/Seele HI3 comic kiss, anyone? Chinese government specifically saying no femboys allowed and then explicitly naming Venti, anyone???) But like, that’s a whole nother can of worms.

I spent literal months going “man I wish they’d release a character with a flapper-inspired design for Penacony since it’s inspired by 1920’s America and whatnot” whilst maining and constantly staring at Aventurine the entire time before it clicked for me that he’s the resident flapper and his outfit is basically a 50/50 fusion of both masculine and feminine 20’s aesthetics actually and that’s like pretty cool

And then I went “but what if we dialed the flapper aesthetic up to 100” just for funsies because I wanted to see what it’d look like. So here you all go

[mochegato]

I Can’t Fight This Feeling

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

This was supposed to be an easy job, the last thing he had to do before Talia would think he was ready and let him go on his own path.  Trail the heroes back to the Guardian, steal his miraculous, wait until the heroes detransform, steal their miraculous.  Lure the villain out and steal his miraculous.  Child’s play. He didn’t need years of training for this.  

But then they were kids.  Kids who started the same age as him.  Kids who weren’t being protected as they risked their lives protecting everyone else.  Kids who actually cared about the people they worked with.  Kids who weren’t self-righteous, condescending, assholes. Kids who deserved to have good lives. But they were kids who were sacrificing their lives for this fight and he could help with that.  

Once he finished the mission, they could have their lives back.  He takes their miraculous, tracks down Hawkmoth and takes his miraculous, and everything goes back to normal for them.  Their lives can go back to normal, like none of this even happened.  He just needed to track down Hawkmoth, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.  He didn’t know what the heroes had tried already, but they were civilians.  

Everything he found out about Ladybug, or rather Marinette Dupain-Cheng, indicated that she had no detective training.  He had been trained by the World’s Greatest Detective and the League of Assassins.  Even if the butterflies were impossible to track, he should be able to find something that would lead him to the villain.  Then he takes that asshole’s miraculous, and the heroes, more specifically Marinette, could have her childhood back, what’s left of it anyway.

He just needed to get started and since he knew Marinette’s identity, that made her the weak link, so he’d start with her.  He’d been hoping he could track her to the Guardian, but she hadn’t gone to him.  Probably because knew she was being tailed.  She hadn’t done anything definitive to show it, she was too good for that, so if he didn’t know the signs, he would have missed it.  But he did know the signs, so he hadn’t missed them.

He could see the way her shoulders would tense up when he was watching her soothe to one of her classmates when they were panicking. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered around the playground just a little longer than was normal when she was babysitting.  He could see it in the forced even breaths when she was feeding strays.  He could see it in the way she would be in a design trance, focused on sketching, her eyes bright, and she would suddenly snap her head up, snap her book closed and head home.  He could see it in the way her smile suddenly strained when she was helping a stranger.

After another few weeks of trailing her, he had finally decided it was time to take her miraculous.  Instead of trailing her to the Guardian then take her miraculous, he’d take her miraculous and trail Chat Noir to the guardian.  He was the second in command, therefore he was the most likely to approach the Guardian with the information and come up with a plan. Whatever plan they came up with didn’t matter, as soon as he knew where the Guardian was, it was over.

Now, he just had to come up with the perfect time to take it, without hurting her too much in the process, which was going to be a challenge no matter when he did it.  There was no way she would just let him take them and while he could definitely overpower Marinette, he was hoping to do it with as little violence to her as possible.  Everything he’d observed so far about her told him she would likely already feel like she failed once he took them, he definitely would have.  Hopefully she reacted better to it than he would have, because back then, when he worked with Bruce, when he had a home, or thought he did, he would have gone into a deep depression.  He already knew it was going to happen, but he didn’t want to make it worse. She didn’t deserve that.  She didn’t deserve any of this.

The easiest way seemed to be to knock her out as painlessly as possible.  So here he was, following her, hanging back more than a respectable distance so he wouldn’t alert her to his presence and waiting for the perfect opportunity to isolate her and use the tranquilizer dart in his pocket.  And that would have been the way things went except it seems fate had a change of plans, in a way that only a crowbar to the side of the head could do.  This time it wasn’t a clown wielding the crowbar, but the effects were just as devastating.

There was a somewhat sheltered part of the park Marinette was walking through, trees on either side of a narrow walkway, shielding the area from prying eyes.  If she kept the direction she was going, she’d walk right through it, and that was where he’d strike.  He gripped the dart tighter in his pocket, prepping himself for what he was about to do to her.  He’d just picked up his pace when someone burst through an apartment building wall. Or rather, something did.  

An akuma calling himself the Shusher jumped at the kids in the park, wielding a crowbar of all things, to silence all of Paris. Each hit stole a bit of volume, until it stole their life, which to Jason’s horror, he demonstrated on Marinette. She’d acted immediately, jumping in front of the kids, giving them time to run, drawing him away from the direction they ran.  She’d dodged well for the first few swings, but after that, she’d grabbed his arm and kicked his kidney.  If the man hadn’t been an akuma, Jason was positive he’d be on the floor, but with the magical reinforcement, the akuma didn’t even flinch.  Instead, he swung hard, and with the close proximity, she didn’t have the room to dodge this time.

Jason froze at the first swing.  Why did it have to be a crowbar?  He couldn’t get his body to move.  He couldn’t react.  He couldn’t help.  And he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  The first hit knocked him out of his stupor.  The sight was horrifying.  His body finally moved, but slower than normal.  It didn’t seem to respond to him like it usually did.  He didn’t reach them until Marinette was already on the ground, no longer breathing.

He watched the blood seep out from under her until it had saturated the ground around her.  A sickeningly satisfied smile spread across the akuma’s face as he examined Jason to see what he would do.  Jason looked to the side toward the sheltered part of the park and back to the akuma. He pulled his hood over his head until the only part of him that could be seen was his glowing green eyes.

“Game on, mother fucker,” Jason growled as he sprung at the akuma, catching him around the waist and rolling toward the shielded section of the park.  He let the akuma attack him, backing him up until they were fully shielded on all sides by the trees.  Once he was sure nobody could see them and no cameras could record them, he leaped up and attacked the akuma with a volley of kicks and punches that would have left any normal human dead and unrecognizable within seconds.

He continued to attack the akuma until he heard the miraculous team arrive.  He kept the akuma distracted while Marinette’s team found her body and took a minute to mourn.  When they approached with a new found determination, he backed into the trees, effectively disappearing from the scene.  The akuma switched targets quickly, more interested in taking the miraculous than continuing a pointless fight with him.  Jason watched the akuma jump away and the team follow him.

The fight was long and messy without their leader there to guide them and them emotionally thrown off by her death, but Jason kept a close eye on the news coverage of it in case he had to step in. Every fiber in his being was pushing him to join the fight and tear the bastard to pieces, slowly and in the most painful ways possible.  But he couldn’t do that.  If he did, Talia would know what he did, that he intentionally betrayed them.  He wouldn’t last the week, let alone Marinette.

And regardless of the outcome of the fight with the heroes, the man wouldn’t survive the week anyway.  Jason was going to make sure of it.  That thought was the only one running through his head as he watched Marinette’s lifeless body strewn out on the ground, her arms at odd angles, the bruises starting to form, the spots where the crowbar hit starting to puff up.  He could no longer make out the shape of her face.  Her eyes, which had always been so bright and hopeful and passionate, were now lifeless and dull.  

It stole his breath away.  He felt a sharp pain in his chest that wouldn’t go away, worse than if he would have taken a hit to the chest from the crowbar.  Which is exactly what should have happened.  He had training.  He had experience.  He should have been the one to jump into the fight, not Marinette.  She didn’t have any of that and she jumped in to save those kids.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long and she still did it.  

And he wanted to be angry or surprised but he wasn’t either.  Because he’d done his research.  He’d been observing her for over a month now in and out of the suit.  That’s just who she was.  That’s who he was supposed to hurt.  God, the idea of being the cause for her eyes to dull over hurt.  But he kind of was, wasn’t he.  And his plan, if he went through with it, would do it all over again.

After an eternity, a wave of pink and red ladybugs swept through the area, returning the surrounding buildings to normal. Marinette gasped back to life. She jolted up to sitting only to slump immediately after.  She took a few shuttering breaths before reaching up to feel her ears.  “No, no, no, no,” she started panicking and searched her surroundings.

“They’re gone,” Jason answered the unasked question.

She stared at him wide-eyed, fear lacing her eyes, quickly turning to a furious glare.  He held up his hands in surrender.  “It wasn’t me.  It was your friend so she could fight the akuma.”  She looked at him doubtfully, but nodded.  She was healed after all, so the akuma must have been defeated.  She kept her eyes on him and slowly urged her body to tense in preparation for whatever attack he had planned.

“Relax.  I’m not going to fight you, kid.  I’m not looking for a fight today… except maybe that guy with the crowbar,” he growled the last part of his sentence, his eyes wandering in the direction the fight had gone.

“No!  You can’t do that,” Marinette exclaimed loudly, almost lunging at him, but collapsing back down almost instantly from the shock of movement to her system.

“Are you serious, Goody Two Shoes?  He killed you.  He beat you until you stopped breathing.  He took your life from you with no remorse and you’re going to protect him?” Jason barked.

“It wasn’t him.”  Jason scoffed at her.  “I’m not saying he’s a good guy.  I don’t know him.  But, the akumas, they change a person, morph them, make them into someone they aren’t. It isn’t them.  And I don’t want anyone dead because of me.”  She met Jason’s glare with a determined one of her own for a few seconds before she looked away.  “And it’s Marinette, not Kid or Goody Two Shoes.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at her and pressed his lips together in frustration.  “Fine. I won’t kill him.  But you need to be careful because the League of Assassins is after your jewelry.  And stop telling strangers your name.”

Her eyes snapped back up to meet his.  “What is the League of Assassins?” she asked cautiously. “And like you didn’t know my name already.  You know it. Use it.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes.  “And you wouldn’t believe me about the League if I told you.” He shook his head lightly, but the serious expression on his face was enough to scare Marinette.

“Try me.”  Her voice held more confidence than she felt.  Like she was challenging him.

“It’s a league … comprised… of assassins.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed out a long suffering breath.  He gave her a charming grin, maybe the first authentic, happy smile he’d given since before he died.  He looked in her eyes and suddenly turned away.  His smile faded to a frown.  “There's a timer on this peace.  They want the miraculous and they want them before you defeat Hawkmoth because they know they’ll have no way to track them once you’re not using them anymore.”

He looked back in her eyes.  “They'll send somebody else as soon as I leave here.  They’ll send more.”

“Someone better?” she chuckled mirthlessly.

Jason scoffed and gave her a roguish smile.  “Oh Pixie, there is no one better.”

Marinette actually laughed.  “Well then, I've already survived the best.  I'm sure I can survive the rest,” she said defiantly.  “And I told you to call me Marinette.”

Jason smiled proudly, but quickly shook it off.  As long as Hawkmoth was active, they were in danger, she was in danger and he wouldn’t be able to protect her.  The only way out of it was to become him.  “Not unless you're willing to kill them. They're not like me.  They won't walk away when they see who you are.  They'll keep coming until you kill them.”

She looked at him curiously.  “And who am I?  Who am I to you to make you stop?”

Jason looked away, his eyes unfocused for a moment before returning to her eyes.  “You're like me, like I used to be.  But better.  You're who I should have been, who I was supposed to be.”  His head whipped around to the sound of people calling her name. “Time’s up.  Good luck.”

“Wait…” she called after him.  She tried to get up and go after him, but he was already gone before she could ask more questions.

Two weeks later she received an email addressed to Pixie with a clear video shot through a window of Gabriel Agreste transforming into Hawkmoth.  A week later, she, Chat, and the rest of the team took him down, with video documentation of the whole thing and Officer Raincomprix as a witness.  Ultimately, once they knew who to go after, it was actually extremely easy to sneak in camouflaged and immobilize him.  They just needed that last piece of the puzzle.

The justice investigation was quick, as was the trial. Everyone involved was eager to get it over as quickly as possible, and with incontrovertible evidence against him, Gabriel didn’t have much of a defense to give anyway.  Waking up Adrien’s mother took a bit longer, but with the help of the monks in the temple, she made a full recovery.  Marinette’s memories of the previous three years, however never did.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @jayjayspixiepop @aespades @how-to-function-properly

[dear-yandere]

☽ darling, don’t leave me.

yandere! jojos + dio. general headcanons. tw: mentions of physical abuse, gaslighting, confinement, and noncon (dio’s part).

art credits: rosuto, ぴの, wW 武 Ww, unknown, suan, tumbleweed.

Jonathan Joestar is obsessive.

A true gentleman, Jonathan knows better than to let his feelings stray from his control. Still, he’s never been one to pursue love, so these feelings are entirely new. He courts his darling like any other self-respecting man of his time, allowing them the space to choose whether or not they desire him too. He doesn’t take being turned down personally as he’s perfectly content with merely being by his darling’s side. Even seeing them fall for another man is something he cannot force himself to intervene in; every smile and laugh not directed at him hurts far worse than any punch he’s ever received, but Jonathan thrives in seeing his darling happy and carefree.

Clingy as he may be, he isn’t above taking a few of darling’s possessions should the opportunity present itself. A head band or hair tie here or there, perhaps a pair of gloves or a hat his darling is sure to not miss — Jonathan is surprisingly adept and subtle at stealing and keeping these little trinkets. Darling may notice a few missing possessions, but it’s nothing Jonathan can’t laugh off as a misplaced item and easily replace with something new and extravagant. Money isn’t a problem, especially when it comes to his sweetheart. If it means they’ll stay by his side — or even look his way as more than a friend or confidant — he’ll give his darling the world.

Overbearing and well-meaning as he is, even gentleman aren’t without their flaws.

“You don’t have to feel the same. All I ask is that you don’t leave me.”

Joseph Joestar is protective with a hint of possessiveness.

Acting much more like an older brother rather than a lover — similar to his grandfather Jonathan — Joseph is hyper-aware of anyone that might hurt his sweetheart. He’s not sure how it came to be this way, really; it’s a first for him to not know even his own feelings. His darling is easy enough to read, and perhaps that’s what got him into this situation, where even the slightest brush of skin against his or the mere sound of them saying his name sends his nerves on edge. He likes the attention they give him when he acts like a brotherly figure; there’s no need to worry about unwanted feelings developing between the pair. At least, darling doesn’t have to worry, because Joseph falls in love despite his precautions. It isn’t until a competent rival appears that Joseph becomes rather intensely possessive and competitive — a rival like Caesar.

He hates losing, especially when he had his eyes set on the goal first. The moment a suave man like Caesar sets their sights on Joseph’s darling, he’ll turn snarky, snappy with even his darling. It’s a brutally stark contrast to the playful, chipper demeanor he usually bears, but it’s easy for darling to play it off as him having a bad day — until he doesn’t relent. His grip is harsher these days, his tone more grating and condescending whenever darling shows interest in his rival. At some point, he’ll lash out whenever they show interest in any man other than him.

If his insecurities and one-sided love are kept unchecked, he has no qualms with cutting his darling’s connection to anyone he deems a threat.

“Of course I’m jealous! You’re mine! You need me!”

Jotaro Kujo is manipulative with a hint of sadism and lucidity.

With a cool and collected exterior, it’s easy to convince his darling that everything they believe is wrong. Even a lionhearted lover will doubt themselves; or rather, Jotaro would seek an individual like this out. He’s used to women and men swooning over his good looks and alluring physique, though he doesn’t care much for the attention. Even when he degrades and admonishes his admirers, they fawn and swoon over him — it’s nothing short of disgusting, really. 

His ideal darling — the only type of person he’d seek out, rather than let come to him — is someone with a steel heart, someone hellbent on rejecting his words as law, someone who puts up a fight. Degrading and humiliating them will be a treat, a fun little challenge to come home to. He doesn’t want them to enjoy this in the slightest; he wants them to slowly break, to slowly doubt every piece of information they hear unless it comes from his mouth. Even the death of a loved one will seem surreal, exaggerated, fake unless he says so himself, and even then he won’t allow his darling that sort of luxury.

Once he’s tied his darling down (with a ring, and with ropes), they won’t see very much of him. As he pursues his career in Marine Biology, he’s often away on business trips, his only excuse for long periods of absence being “it’s too dangerous”, or some slew of insults thrown his darling’s way. He isn’t fond of divulging much of his personal life with them even if they are the love of his life; to him, secrets come hand-in-hand with relationships. Darling’s life is in danger simply by association; it’s best to act as if they don’t exist. Still, that doesn’t mean he’ll let them slip through his fingers. When he wants something, he’ll get it even if it’s eventual. 

Darling was doomed the moment he found an inkling of interest in taming them.

“Don’t look so scared when I’m around. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

Josuke Higashikata is protective with a hint of delusion.

Sweet and compassionate as he may be, Josuke isn’t immune to feelings of inadequacy, jealousy, and obsession. He rationalizes these feelings as merely being protective of a good friend of his, but it’s not until his friends point out that what he’s feeling is love that he truly understands why his heart pitters and patters like raindrops when his darling’s around. He completely understands if darling doesn’t return his feelings — these things take time, he’ll say — but he doesn’t take kindly to jealousy of any sort. A mere mention of liking someone else will have him moping and distancing himself, but he’ll stay around just enough to ensure his beloved’s protection.

Josuke wouldn’t fare well with a darling who’s familiar with getting under his skin. Even an insult or two to his hair isn’t enough for Josuke to give up on his one-sided love; if anything, it’s an opportunity. Crazy Diamond has the power to heal after all, and when Josuke’s emotions run away from him, his darling may end up with more than a few cuts and bruises. Bones will be shattered, blood will be spilled, and apologies will fumble past trembling lips as darling’s abuser fixes them up — as if nothing ever happened. The only trace of evidence are the tears in Josuke’s eyes and the excuses on his lips — this easily becomes the norm. Both he and his darling will constantly tread along eggshells, the former worrying that his actions destroyed any chance of a relationship and the latter worrying the next time they step out of line, they’ll die.

But Josuke wouldn’t let his sweetheart die, no. He can heal whatever wounds they may receive, even its its from him. He’s a platonic yandere, at worst, and an overbearingly violent one at best. 

“Please don’t scream. People will think I did something terrible to you.”

Giorno Giovanna is manipulative with a hint of protectiveness and lucidity.

This soldato is cunning and intuitive, a natural-born leader with charisma rivaling his true father’s. He turns heads wherever he goes, inspires everyone he meets — it’s almost laughable how easy it is to twine people around his fingers. As a mere Passione soldato, he isn’t much threat to his darling, but as don, any hope of escaping his suffocating love is slashed. His control reaches farther than his darling can ever tread, and although he understands why his little coccinella would go so far as to run away, the thought of being without them is inconceivable. How can he protect them if they’re not at his side? Without him, darling could fall in love with the wrong person, someone who wears a mask and will hurt them once they’ve settled down together; without him, darling could fall in love with a monster. His step-father was like that, and he’d made Giorno’s childhood a living hell. So how could he let his darling tread that same path?

With a well-behaved darling, the don is a fairly normal lover... once they get past all the bodyguards and paranoia-filled lifestyle. Unlike his father, Giorno is not sadistic in the slightest; rather, seeing his darling in physical or emotional turmoil hurts him. He’s more apt to manipulate them in subtle, gentler ways rather than through brute force or threats. After giving them a new identity, he’ll keep them someplace safe, a private island off the coasts of Italy, somewhere heavily guarded and devoid of life except for his beloved and their bodyguards. It’ll be lonely, he’s sure, so he’s certain to visit whenever he has an ounce of free time. But even he can’t replace one’s need to feel social, safe, normal. That’s just the price his lover has to pay as the future spouse of a mafioso.

If he lived a different life, there’d be no need for all of this. Giorno’s love is bittersweet at best, but that realization isn’t enough to let his darling go. They need him, perhaps just as much as he needs them.

“I really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? You’re so pretty when you smile.”

DIO is sadistic, manipulative, and possessive.

Love has never done much for him, not in the way feeling powerful has. He prefers ruling over others rather than giving someone the ability to rule with or over him. His darling is nothing more than a plaything, at best — something to pass the time, something to sate his curiosity. Just how far can he push them before they crumble between his fingers and shatter like a precious gemstone? He takes pleasure in testing these boundaries, humiliating his darling as if that will help him understand this odd feeling humans call love. It’s possible for him to truly fall in love with his darling, but they will never take priority over his desire to end the Joestar bloodline. Perhaps, once he accomplishes this goal, his darling will be something nice to come back to, something stagnant and forever his.

He’ll go to lengths to break his darling, over and over again, see how much torture they can withstand before they realize that crying out or begging gets them nowhere. Will they hide their defiance under a facade of obedience, or will they truly break? It’s all an experiment to Dio, but either way, he’ll force them to be his little sex slave — sometimes, if they’ve behaved particularly nasty, darling will be the sex slave of his devoted followers, a little reward for being such wonderful subordinates. 

Apart from sexual torture, he’s keen on testing his darling on tidbits of information from the books he reads — completely mundane and often vague questions designed to make his little slave fail. It’s just a precursor, really, because he likes seeing them shine with determination only for it to shatter before their eyes. Punishments always follow, usually humiliation or sexual assault of some sort; though if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he won’t shy away from physically hurting his darling. All the better to break them with.

It’s a miracle if darling survives this little game of his, but if they do, he’s certain to keep them around for far longer than he originally anticipated. Being immortal can get so boring, you see, and what’s the fun of bottomless money and endless casual sex if he can’t keep an entertaining and worthy slave here or there?

“Tell me you love me as I fuck you into the mattress.”

[astralaffairs]

so hear me out- mafia!thom where mc is a spy! working with the rival group or the government (probably run by hamilton) and gets caught? I’m just a simp for e2l~

ok but this prompt is FUN !!!!! ugh the tension

in which thom is a meanie >:( and james isn’t a softie

-------

“...one of Hamilton’s soldiers. Yeah, we found her down by the docks with a couple others; looked like they were trying to make a hit where we planned our drop.”

“Really? What happened to the others?”

“Got away. She was stationed closest to us, but by the time we got our hands on her, everyone else was starting to split.”

“Some loyalty.”

When Y/N found herself gradually beginning to drift into consciousness, disembodied voices polluting the dank, cold air around her, she found a splitting pain in her head and a dull ache in her shoulders. Cautiously, she cracked an eye open, squinting in the low light as she found herself in some clichéd, nondescript warehouse. Figures.

Her ass was getting sore from the metal folding chair she’d woken up tied to (seriously, they couldn’t have sprung for anything more luxurious?), and the harsh metal of the handcuffs around her wrists was digging into her skin. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out, if only vaguely, two — likely male — figures standing leaned against the wall, chatting about her circumstance as casually as if it were the weather. She sniffled, her nose running in the cold, and she itched to wipe at it. She sniffled harder.

“...She awake?”

“It sounds to me like she is.”

Y/N’s pulse began to accelerate as she heard footsteps echoing across the concrete floor, headed in her direction. She didn’t dare lift her gaze. She searched for any way out of the bind she was in — even if she could pick off the handcuffs, her ankles were tied to each of the chairs’ legs.

“Glad to see you conscious.” The voice was flat, cold as he finally addressed her, and Y/N swallowed hard. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, head still bowed, instead responding with, “Where am I?”

Her tone was gruff, as menacing as she could manage with as small, weak as she felt, but the man who’d addressed her laughed. “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours. Surely, you understand the concept of a quid-pro-quo?”

“You first.” Her glare was burning as she forced herself to look him in the eye, and while the man next to him looked annoyed, he remained entirely undeterred.

“I’m rather surprised that you think yourself in a position to be making demands.”

She scowled. “C’mon, what d’you have left to lose, telling me where we are while I’m your captive? God knows you’re just going to end up moving me, assuming I live that long.”

“A bold assumption,” one of the men said, tone dry and irked, but the man directly in front of Y/N gave him a tired look.

“Aaron,” he warned. “I’ll handle this.”

“Then handle it”

He visibly rolled his eyes as he turned back to Y/N, and the other man (Aaron, apparently), retreated to the outskirts of the expansive room, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“Anyway,” he went on, and Y/N huffed, yanking at the rope binding her arms to the chair. She knew it was futile, but it was more for her discomfort than any genuine attempt to escape. “It seems to me you have even less left to lose than we do. And you must know that we have other, less pleasant means of getting what we want, so it is in your own interest to comply.”

Y/N hesitated a moment — surely, once they’d taken her captive, they’d rooted through her belongings, opened her wallet, screened her for weapons, and checked her ID. Was this just some kind of intimidation technique? A power play? He was unfortunately correct; she didn’t have much to lose.

“My name’s Y/N,” she grumbled, finally. “As though you haven’t already torn through all my documentation.”

“How perceptive of you. Most try a few pseudonyms first.” His smile was serene. “This just might be fun.”

“What might be fun? Torturing and killing me? Throwing my body out to sea?” she bit back, the fury in her gaze never wavering, but he raised an eyebrow.

“What would make you think such a thing?” Mocking offense saturated his voice.

“I know you’re part of Jefferson’s fucking mob.” She yanked at her handcuffs; they clanked loudly against the chair. “I’ve heard about what you do to people.”

“Oh, have you? Thomas will be pleased with our notoriety.” As if on cue, three pairs of footsteps echoed behind Y/N — one of them must have been Aaron’s, as he was suddenly nowhere to be found, but the satisfied smile the man in front of her wore told her that she wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Her eyes widened. Surely, they didn’t bring Jefferson himself to come see her, right? Dealing with captives was grunt work, not the responsibility of a mafia boss. She tugged and picked aggressively at her handcuffs, desperate to find a lock she’d be able to release.

“James.” The voice came from just behind her, a sadistic mirth in the man’s tone as he addressed the man who stood before her (James, apparently). The footsteps stalled at the exact moment Y/N grunted, throwing her shoulders forward with the link of the handcuffs caught on the chair’s edge. To think that she might actually be able to break her hands free was a desperate hope, but the man behind her laughed — not a taunting, mocking laugh, but one that made it clear how genuinely entertaining he was finding her pathetic struggle.

“I gotta say, when you told me you got one of Hamilton’s crew, I didn’t believe you at first.” A chill ran down Y/N’s spine when he circled her, and though she didn’t have any desire to look him in the eye, her curiosity overwhelmed her. When he reached her front, Thomas Jefferson, in the flesh, blood, and magenta business attire, crouched before her, and she swallowed roughly. He still managed to dwarf the chair to which she was tied. “But that mark is unmistakable, huh?”

Her skin burned as his gaze fixed on her neck, where she’d been branded just above her collarbone upon being sworn in as a member of Alexander’s mob. She turned her head away from him.

“She isn’t just any of his soldiers, either.” While James’s voice came from her left, Jefferson didn’t move, watching her with pleased intrigue. “She’s a Hamilton by blood.”

His eyes flashed with delight; his grin widened. “Oh, is she, now?”

With her head turned, Y/N inadvertently met James’s content stare, and though she didn’t waste a moment in tearing her gaze away, Jefferson occupied the remainder of her line of vision. She couldn’t help it when he caught her eye, and she couldn’t seem to look away. The way he watched her was predatory.

James hummed in confirmation. “His sister.”

“No.” His surprise was unmistakable, as was his perverse triumph. When she sneered back at him, he finally drew himself up to his full height, giving a satisfied chuckle. He turned to James. “Where would I be without you?”

“Same place, worse administration.”

“You got that right,” Jefferson said. “Just think about everything we’re gonna be able to do with her. She’s just the leverage we’ve been lookin’ for.”

“We searched her when she arrived, but nothing she had on her person gave us any new information. Her phone was a burner.”

“Normally, I’d call that disappointin’, but,” —Jefferson glanced back at her with a smug smile, if only for a fleeting moment— “we don’t needa dig up any of their communications when we’ve got the primary source all to ourselves.”

“If she’s really a Hamilton, I doubt she’s just going to talk that easily.” A feminine voice came from behind Y/N; she’d assumed Jefferson had entered flanked only by men. “Don’t get overconfident.”

“‘Course not, Maria. I know the limits of my own strength.” Y/N resisted rolling her eyes. “But I can tell she’s gonna be fun to break.”

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut; she wasn’t sure if she was more disgusted by the words they were saying or by how they were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there to listen. Maria scoffed. “Be careful. We need her responsive if we’re going to use her as bait.”

“Please. Bait’s thinkin’ too short-term. We can do a whole lot more with her than that.”

“Seriously? But if we keep her around—”

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Y/N cut them off forcefully, looking up unabashedly with rage in her gaze. No one seemed so much as taken aback by it, hardly reacting to her outburst, and Jefferson met her eyes with an entertained smile, taking a step toward her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, we know.” As he leaned down, Y/N could feel him looming over her, and any of her confidence in her actions was leveled. He hooked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and she grit her teeth.

“No one’s forgettin’ about you, here. After all, you’re the guest of honor,” he cooed, and his soft, condescending tone made her skin crawl. When she tried to jerk away from his touch, he gripped her chin. “And such a pretty little thing, too. ‘S a shame you’re a Hamilton, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind havin’ you all to myself.”

“Get your hands off me,” she snarled, and he laughed.

“You’re adorable, actin’ as though I’m gonna listen to a word you say.” He plastered on a pout, and she was shaking when he reached up to cup her cheek, run his thumb across her bottom lip. “Y’know, it’d do you well to learn who’s in charge here. As of today, I own you, and you’re lucky I like a challenge.”

“You don’t own shit,” she spat, but her voice trembled, and he raised an eyebrow. She could feel her eyes welling up. “My family’s coming for me. And when they do, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Now, don’t tell me you really think that?” Mocking pity saturated his voice, and when Y/N only stared back at him blankly, he went on, “Nobody’s comin’ for you. If they really cared about you, they wouldn’t have fled so easy at the docks at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn’t have abandoned you there.”

“Excuse me?” was all she managed to say in a shaky, breathy whisper. He nodded sympathetically.

“That’s right. I know all about how your family left you for dead.” Her eyes stung when the first tear rolled down her cheek, and Jefferson brushed it away. Despite his contrived pout, satisfaction shone in his eyes. “Aw, no need to cry. ‘M sure all that hurts to hear, but you’re with us now. Your family’s the least of your worries.”

“I fucking swear,” she said, and despite the determined look she wore, her tears were now falling freely, “I swear, no matter what you do to me in here, I’m not going to break. I’m not going to let you break me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no need to be scared. I have every confidence in you,” he assured her, “but I don’t intend to try and break you.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed, and he smiled.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” He leaned in closer to her, and as he eyed her expression, he smoothed a piece of her hair back, wiped the tears from under her eyes. “And you don’t have to be. If you can be a good, obedient little girl and behave yourself, I think you’ll be surprised at just how gentle we can be.”

“And if I don’t?”

"You will.” The words were spoken with a degree of authority that sent chills down her spine; he spoke as though this were an inexorable truth. “I’m not gonna have to break you, and I won’t bother to try. You’re gonna give in to me all on your own, and it’s gonna be so much sweeter that way.”

“You’re delusional,” she seethed, and the smile that split his expression was wide, confident, but above all, unsettling.

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, he finally pulled back from her, looking beyond smug as he redirected his focus to the group, but he quickly adopted a harsh tone. “James, Aaron,” he barked, nodding toward the chair she was bound to. He caught her eye one final time, and while panic flashed in her gaze, he was beyond satisfied. “Set up a room for our guest. Looks like she’s here to stay.”

[bigasswritingmagnet]

When History Comes Calling Ch 6/14

art by @snuffes

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes! “How come Joker gets a whole bed and I have to sleep on a couch?” 

“Because I have brittle bone disease, and you once won hand to hand combat with a krogan.” 

“I have to sleep on a couch too, and I’m not complaining.” 

“Because you fit on a couch, Esteban. You’re couch sized.” 

“You could ask Garrus if you can bunk with him.” 

“No thanks. I’ve been shot all the times I want.” 

A faint pinging noise. 

“Shepard says if we don’t bring breakfast in ten minutes she starts breaking windows.” 

“Ah jeez. Garrus! Come on! We gotta go before Shepard pisses off the nurses again!” 

“I hope they let her out soon, I don’t know how much more of her that hospital can take.” 

“Well the doctor says…” 

The voices faded as the speakers passed out of the bug’s range. Kiryn very nearly scowled in his frustration. This was the third time he’d missed out on information of Keris’ medical status. 

He needed to get more listening devices. One for every room of that stupid, oversized cavern of an apartment. Nobody ever stayed put when they started a conversation, even an important one.  He never should have wasted one in the office. Nobody spent any time in there, because it was Keris’ office, and she was in the hospital. 

The kitchen had been a good call, but apparently people had conversations about highly confidential top secret Alliance projects anywhere they damn well pleased, up to and including the bathroom. Weren’t these people supposed to be professionals? One of them was the Shadow Broker for crying out loud.  

The emails had been worse than disappointing. They had been concerning. Not in content, but in quantity. He had expected the bulk of his sister’s communication to be work related. But out of an entire year’s worth of correspondence, barely fifty of them had been entirely unrelated to her work. At least they had been relatively positive messages, mostly requests to spend time together in a non-combat situation. He just hoped Keris had taken them all up on that offer. She never seemed to reply to the emails she got. 

Kiryn sat up, startling the man on the other bed. He wasn’t sure what to make of the man, who went by Tucker. He couldn't possibly know Kiryn's reputation - he was from a colony just outside Alliance space, and this was the farthest he'd ever been from home. He'd been a beet farmer, of all things. 

Kiryn had never threatened him. In fact, Kiryn barely spoke to the man. He spent most of his time staring silently at the ceiling, listening to the conversations via his listening devices. Tucker couldn't hear anything, Kiryn had made sure, so there was no way that was worrying him.Kiryn was never rude or angry or moody; he kept up his neutral expression as he always did, showing no emotions whatsoever.

So why on earth was Tucker so afraid of him?

“Good morning,” he said.

“Mmhmm,” Tucker said, dropping the datapads he’d been trying to sort. He started to retrieve them, only to drop them again when Kiryn stood up. Kiryn stared at him, trying to think of something to say that would reassure the man. The only thing that really came to mind was ���don’t worry I only kill people for money and I promise I wouldn’t take a contract on you if anyone offered it”-- and Kiryn suspected that wasn’t quite going to cut it.

“Have a nice day,” he said, finally. Tucker shrank away from him as he slipped out the door. What a strange man. 

  As obsessive as C-Sec was about keeping tabs on the refugees, they sure weren't doing a very good job of watching all the possible ways in and out. This had been a loading dock, which meant there were all sorts of service entrances. Sure, those doors were locked, but they used the same keycards as the open entrances. All Kiryn had had to do was get his hands on a security pass -- neatly snagged off a passing officer too busy talking on his omnitool -- and he could come and go as he pleased. There was one door that the cameras didn't quite reach, around a corner the guards didn't bother to keep an eye on.

Kiryn was becoming quite fond of C-Sec, in a condescending sort of way. Bless their little hearts, they tried so hard. If Kiryn had been interested in doing any real damage, they'd never catch him until it was far, far too late. Truly it was fortunate that everyone was too busy trying to get themselves sorted out to even think about the kinds of political maneuverings that required murder.

He found that he enjoyed exploring the Citadel. So much of it was a novelty: being able to disappear so easily into the crowd, not needing to keep constant watch for security systems or guards, to keep to his own schedule rather than that of his target, to just casually be . He could go into a store that caught his interest without a purpose, or sit on a bench and watch people go by, or even just meander aimlessly around with no destination in mind.  

Perhaps this was what it meant to enjoy freedom.

He didn't even need to be efficient when he did have a goal in mind. He could go to the wards and find the quiet little shop that discreetly sold the tools of his trade, buy some more listening devices, and take himself up to the Presidium for lunch before heading back to Keris' apartment. No rush at all, so long as he got there before visiting hours ended. He'd been listening in for long enough to get a good sense of everyone's schedules. They tended to take shifts at the hospital with Keris, but they also had their own jobs to do. In general, the apartment was all but guaranteed to be empty between 10 am and 3pm.

"I'm getting a little worried about you, Garrus," said Tali'zorah vas Normandy, and Kiryn nearly choked on his noodles. Reaching out to grab a napkin, he turned the silver holder until he could see beside him. Only one seat away, three of Keris' friends were sitting down to lunch.

Of all the worst luck... He hunched his shoulders and tried to be as invisible as possible. They don't know what you look like, he tried to remind himself. For that matter, they didn't even know anyone had been in Keris' apartment. They weren't looking for anyone. But if they did figure it out, he couldn't risk someone looking at the security cameras and remembering the guy at the noodle place.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine," said Garrus Vakarian, the turian his sister was, actually, as a matter of fact, dating for real. Kiryn still hadn’t figured out what to think about that. 

"No, Tali's right. You spend every minute you can in the hospital." James Vega was even bigger than he sounded.   

"Where else should I be?" Vakarian snapped. Kiryn watched his reflection jab irritably at the electronic menu. "I can do my work from there just fine."

"I know," Tali’zorah said, gently, "but you don't do anything else. Or go anywhere else. At all."

"You want me to just leave her in there alone?" There were even fewer turians in batarian space than there were humans, so Kiryn wasn't as good at reading them, especially when distorted by a reflection. But even he could hear anxiety pretending to be anger when he heard it.

"C'mon, Scars, we're not saying you should never visit her. But she's not going anywhere. She's fine now, she said so herself."

"She said she was fine when she was barely out of the coma, too," Vakarian said. "After what happened last week, you still think she's fine?"

Last week? What had happened last week? Nobody had said anything last week. Unless they'd said it out of range of the listening devices. His hand tightened on his chopsticks, his ears straining to pick up every word over the bustle of the crowd.

"It was just a bad reaction to the medication. The doctors fixed it."

"And if she has a bad reaction to this stuff too? What then?"

Kiryn tried to remember to keep eating, to just blend in, be another member of the crowd. Everything suddenly tasted foul; it was hard to swallow. He agreed with Vakarian whole-heartedly. A mental image of Keris sitting small and alone in a dark hospital room, flashed across his mind. Just the thought made him feel cold. These were supposed to be her friends!

"Hey, can you pass the soy sauce?"

The voice was so unexpected Kiryn looked up. He turned away again, but the damage had been done. Vega had seen his face. Kiryn slid the bottle over, muttering something, trying to look engaged with his soup.

"Hey, do I know you? You look real familiar, man."

No. No, no, no, no.

He shook his head, his stomach twisting into knots.

"Military, right?" Shit . "I was stationed out on Arcturus Prime a few years back; were you ever out that way?"

Kiryn shook his head firmly and stood.

"No."

"But--"

Kiryn turned quickly and left, knowing this was suspicious, thinking of a thousand better ways he could have handled it... but his heart was thudding against his ribs so hard he couldn't breathe. 

He should hold off on going back to Keris' apartment for a few days, until the incident had faded from their minds. He wasn't going to. The reminder of just how much information he was missing was not one he could easily put aside. What if Vakarian was right, and something did happen and Kiryn never knew about it?

He would just need to be quick, and careful.

This time he did not go in the front door, even though he knew the code. He could not risk being seen by the cameras out front. But he'd had a chance to get his hands on blueprints of Tiberius Towers and the buildings beside it. There was a parking garage beneath them. All three had access. 

He walked faster than he should have. The adrenaline and something tight in his chest he couldn't understand drove him on. He found the elevator and stairwell. He took the stairs, but only two flights. There was the opening to the air vents. Unpleasant, slow, and difficult, but much, much safer. No risk of being seen. He could be absolutely sure no one was in the apartment before he entered.

The added bonus was that it forced him to slow down. He had to focus on making as little sound as possible, regulating his breathing, and counting the floors as he went. The cold air in the vent went a long way to clearing his mind. By the time he was high up enough, his heartbeat had slowed and he could think straight again, although he still couldn’t shake that tightness in his chest. 

It had been an unfortunate coincidence, and he hadn’t handled it well. However, given that no one knew about the bugs, no one was on the alert for any strange behavior. As far as they knew, he was just a weird guy at the ramen place. Right? Right. 

So just calm down and get a grip. Everything was fine. 

There was a series of laser tripwires criss-crossing the vents leading to Keris’ apartment. Before he could pull up his omnitool and figure out how to deactivate them, they turned off. That was….weird. He checked their schematics and found that they had genetic sequence readers, just like the door. They didn’t seem to be set to track any coming and goings. The alarm was simply wired not to go off when certain people went by. And apparently the readers weren’t very advanced, if 50% was close enough to do it. 

It might have been making his life more convenient, but he wasn’t any less annoyed at how slipshod Keris’ security system was. She should really know better.

Kyrin had a lot of little tools in his kit, things that weren’t necessary but made his job easier. Some were quite specialised. You couldn’t get past everything with an omnitool. Of particular use was a device that looked almost like something you’d find at a dentist’s office, which was able to unscrew things from around a corner. Like, say, the screws to a vent cover from inside the vent. 

Kiryn was at the top of his field for many reasons. His physical prowess and tactical skill made him one of the best. But there were two things that made him the best: he minded the little details, and he always always managed his escape routes as he went. It was for this reason that, despite his urgency, he took the time to strip the screws and glue them into place on the vent cover, so he could come and go with ease. 

This time he was not going to dawdle. In, plant the bugs, get out. He’d go to the wards and find a hotel that charged by the hour, ridiculous or not, and work on his sniper rifle. That would make him feel better. Or at least calmer.

He put a bug in every room in the apartment, every hallway. Under every couch, the poker table, the conference table, hidden in the branches of a tree, at the bottom of a painting. One in the bar, at the far back where it couldn’t be seen. 

Nothing was ever going to happen to Keris that Kiryn did not know about. Not anymore.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It’s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

[generalasshattery]

Bi-han (Sub Zero)/Reader Angst part 4

It’s time for one of my favorite series! This story deals with themes of domestic violence so a trigger warning is in play. This chapter also starts a discussion about bdsm relationships that will really kick off in the next chapter. No smut. Yet. Anywhoo I had a blast writing from Bi-Hans perspective this time, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And here you can read part one, part two, and part three.

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There was something on your mind, that much was clear. It had been almost a month since you shoved your way into his apartment and you hadn’t left since. You’d started going back to work, but that was the extent that you’d venture out without him. It would be easy to draw the loyal dog comparison, but you were so snarky while putting on a tough front that a yappy little ankle biter would’ve been more accurate. Not that he minded that, in fact he rather enjoyed your bluster. At first you’d ask, ask for one more night before you went back home, then one day you tested it. Pretended you forgot to ask and watched him cautiously all day to see if he’d comment. He had pretended not to notice. You weren’t so lacking in subtlety that it would’ve been obvious to anyone else, but despite the short length of your time together, he knew you extremely well.

It had been mostly out of boredom at first, he’d known instantly that he was going to enjoy you. You always had some bleak comment or grim joke for every occasion, he’d thought at first you saw the world as he did. It didn’t take long to realize while many of your professed ideals lined with his, your actual ideals were far less harsh. For a person who said the world is awful, you spent much of your time worrying over the well-being of others, even (or especially) people that didn’t deserve it. You’d taken to talking cruelly about your former boyfriend, your way to cope, but he remembered all the times you’d come to his home, worried, because the man had made a dark threat against himself. You claimed to be relieved he was gone, but the fact you spent so much time talking him out of killing himself that it was unlikely you truly were. That was a thought he kept to himself though, letting you process this on your own terms was for the best.

You were someone that had the whole world convinced you were tough and unfeeling, but the truth was you were fragile. He’s not certain exactly why, but that had drawn him to you. He had some theories on why that was, but nothing he was willing to explore. It didn’t matter why anyway, he enjoyed you, which could have been a very real problem for him. It was a problem for him. You sitting there looking agitated because there was something on your mind was a problem. You were a powder keg of emotions ready to blow up in a moment, but he needed you to be calm enough to deal with the dead man he’d killed for you.

He shouldn’t have done it, not for any moral reasons, but strictly out of functional ones. He was on a mission, and this drew attention. You had already been an issue before this even happened. He’d known long before it happened he was going to have to make a decision, he’d known either you or your ex was going to die. He’d heard the threats every time you wanted to leave from behind the thin walls of your apartment, and he knew they were meant with cruel sincerity. It was the most peculiar way he had ever held another’s life in his hands, indirectly, and through potential inaction.

He’d originally resolved to deal with it like a last loose end before he left. Handle your boyfriend before he left town, that would’ve been ideal, really. Then he wouldn’t be in this situation of trying to keep you stable and capable. He was going to abandon the plan though, before he the boyfriend even forced the issue. Listening to the fights and seeing your wounded body was making concentrating on the mission hard. It would’ve been better to do it while you were away though, have a nice note waiting for you that he’d left you and was gone forever. Best laid plans and all that.

“You know,” you started with that tone you used when you wanted it clear you had opinions to share. He’d been ignoring you this whole time he was working out, he was mid crunch when you finally decided to interrupt.

“Are we ever going to talk about things?” Your arms were crossed over your chest, and your legs were crossed in an almost aggressive way from where you sat on the couch. Not to mention that scowl you wore quite often, every time he saw it, it made him want to grin at you. Sometimes he almost did, if only because he knew it’d get a rise. He didn’t deliberately provoke you though, nor would he ever. Though there’s been no verbal confirmation you had silently agreed to many things by staying with him, and violating the trust that came with that was something he wouldn’t do. He’d already decided you were his, as long as you were willing to be.

“What things?” He asked, with the way your brain worked, how quickly thoughts seemed to circle your brain and how little control you had over them made it impossible to determine what you were specifically obsessing over.

“Like that you’re a hitman,” you said it so matter of fact that it made him stop his crunches to raise his eyebrows at you. This was a conversation he did not want to have, but if you wanted to discuss it he’d be honest with what he could, which would be almost nothing.

“Not exactly,” he finally responded and went back to the crunches.

“Do you prefer the word assassin?” It was a snarky question, but not antagonistic. You weren’t trying to pick a fight, you were gathering information. You’d learned quickly he wouldn’t be baited into arguments the way anyone else in your life was. That you could say your feelings, express your anger and receive an even response. He wasn’t sure if it was because you found that soothing, or because you saw no point in it, but you’d become much less aggressive quite quickly.

“I take whatever tasked I’m assigned. Sometimes that’s taking out a target, sometimes it’s stealing something, kidnapping, intimidation...” he trailed off, making it clear that there was more things he could add on.

“I get the fucking point,” you said, still sounding more snarky than irritated. You had a crass way of talking, sometimes with more swears than regular words. Another way you tried to show the world you didn’t care.

“And?” He asked as he laid back after his last set of crunches and then rubbed a hand over his face. It was still early in the morning, early enough that you being so awake meant you’d been stewing on this since you woke up. So he wasn’t going to let you derail, otherwise you’d be sighing and glaring all day long.

“And what?” You were watching him closely, and not just in that way you usually did while he was working out. It was no mystery to him that you always managed to be in the room when he was shirtless and exercising, but things had not yet become physical. That was intentional. He had no interest in taking advantage of you in a poor state. If he was going to fuck you it would be because you wanted it, and not just a distraction. Besides there were things you had to agree to first.

“I know you didn’t start this conversation to clarify my job title,” he said as he rose to his feet and used a towel to wipe the sweat off his brow. You were silent for a moment and when he finally looked over at you, you were nibbling on your lip. You were thinking so hard about what to ask he was certain it was going to be something he was going to have to dissuade your interest in.

“What’s,” you started but took a second and began again, “what’s happening here? Where’s this going?” A man with more humor would’ve laughed, you were asking a killer about your relationship status with him. You hopped from one dangerous man to another, a woman with good survival instincts you were not.

“Ah,” he said after a long moment, because he wasn’t a man with more humor. He was a pragmatic realist, and while getting to keep you would’ve been extremely beneficial to him (and not only because it would allow him the best opportunity from letting you get in the way), there were plenty of concerns to be addressed.

“Ah, what?” You asked cautiously offended by the dismissive noise.

“I thought we were about to have a different conversation,” he said and he watched your face turn dark. So you’d decided not to have that discussion on your own accord, he knew sometimes he didn’t give you the proper credit for your intelligence.

“Should we be?” You knew the answer from the bitter sound in your voice.

“No, I couldn’t give you anymore answers than what I have,” a simple response as he tossed the towel to the side. He then moved to stand before you, arms matching your crossed ones and peering down on you in the couch. You shrank just slightly, enough to prove that you were still somewhat intimidated by him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. But what he even more was that implicit trust that had you carrying on the conversation anyway.

“That’s what I assumed,” you said and straightened back up to look like a tough girl again.

“Clever little brat,” he said and reached a hand to gently stroke the top of your hair. Something you immediately leaned into.

“Condescending jackass,” it sounded earnest, but the way you tilted into the petting undercut the words. You enjoyed these sort of moments as much as he did.

“What we’re doing here is up to you. I don’t know when I’m going to be leaving again, and when I go, you can’t come with.” His tone was even, but not unkind, he wasn’t intentionally insulting you, but... there were few people he could picture doing less well then you within the Lin Kuei.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for your life, Bi-han,” you said, and he was impressed once more just how well you understood somethings. That little statement alone meant you knew this was short term, and that you were pursuing it anyway meant you wanted to try in spite of that.

“You most definitely are not,” he said, and let his thumb draw over your cheek, “but until then, if you want to be more than we can be. I don’t think I need to explain to you why being in a relationship with me is different.” You rolled your eyes at him, and it took a lot of self control not to pin you to the couch and put some humility back into you by making you beg. He’d have you squirming for him later, though.

“Because you kill people or the dominant thing?” You asked so bluntly it made him snort, he couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss you condescendingly on the forehead. It was a little disappointing he couldn’t keep you permanently.

“The killing thing won’t impact your life further,” he said in a tone that attempted to end the conversation.

“You can’t know that,” you voice sounded suddenly small, and he had to remind himself you’ve dealt with severe trauma recently. He could keep you safe from problems on his end, that he was certain of. He had control of that, at least, about who knew about you, and what you knew. No one was going to look for the random woman he slept with while working.

“I do, but yes, “the dominant thing,”” he redirected back to a more comfortable subject. Which was in itself odd, for most people sex and all that came with it were awkward things. Things that were supposed to just happen perfectly, and no one ever need to discuss the details. He loathed that. Lucky you weren’t so prudish.

“You know, I may be a masochist but I’m not an obedient sort,” you said tilting your head to kiss his finger when he moved to grab your chin to keep your gaze on him. The mere thought of you turning into an obedient little sub was ludicrous. No, you challenged authority, and he had no doubt you enjoyed being put back into place.

“I wouldn’t be interested if you were,” it was the truth. There were many men, women, and everyone in between that were prepared to follow and obey. He didn’t want that, he wanted you.

“So what does that mean for you, and how things would work for us?” You asked, your voice dropping lower, even your pupils dilated, you were getting excited. He was too, he could feel that growing need he’d successfully suppressed for you for too long. So he leaned down to take your lips, to dominate your mouth for the briefest of moments

“That depends,” he said when he finally pulled away. Your face was flushed, lips parted like you were asking for another. Eyes wide and staring into his, he knew things would be progressing quickly from this point.

“On?”

“How much control you’re willing to part with.”

[seafoamkazuo]

Does Schrodinger’s Cat have Nine Lives?

Prologue - Prev - Next Chapter 2: Alley Cat Pairings: None so far.

This new crop of students was already turning out to be handful. Though he supposed he should have realized that as soon as he saw the footage from the Entrance Exams. It certainly did not help that Midoriya kept breaking limbs while trying to use his quirk. Aizawa sighed as he took eyedrop and applied them to his eyes. Though, they had managed not to make him want to expel them. Of course, he’d have to see after Rescue training if his opinion of them would remain positive. He was hoping that Rescue training would at least give Midoriya a reason to use his quirk in a way that so self-destructive. Well that was the issue with problem child one, right now, he was dealing with problem child two.

He took out his phone and glanced down at the picture. The image was blurry and it looked like only the briefest glimpse of her was caught. He had to give it to her, the kid knew how to stay out of sight even if the image gave the idea that the kid was actually panicked. It looked like a mad dash, a calculated mad dash but it was the sort of movement that was only honed after years of careful practice. He sighed and pulled his scarf up. The Unknown Caller or Cat Burglar if that was what they were calling her now; Sachie Komuro was her name. The police had managed to pass along that much information in the least. Her quirk was discovered to be called Schrodinger’s Cat, when they searched the registry, at first it had just been a quirk called Cat but after further events her mother discovered it had further capabilities. A cat that had the ability to store items inside it though the capacity was never stated according to the record. Some of the items removed from the cat came out in parts and not how they went inside it. It was certainly an interesting quirk but it certainly did not explain some aspects about the situation. There were no signs of break in at a majority of the crime scenes Sachie Komuro had been at. At least none on her part. When the villains who had been caught had been shown a picture of the girl; none of them seemed to recognize her but some had recognized the cat who was her quirk. Which probably meant there was more to it than what was currently known.

The only other instance or report outside of the Unknown Caller cases had been a shooting from around when the girl was 12. Her father had been the victim and it appeared she had only been saved because a nearby hero had heard the shot. It had been noted that she was acting quiet and reserved though they had assumed she was probably in shock. It had been noted as an act of random violence but the case was still open to this day. He had asked the detective working on it and apparently all he recalled about the situation was giving the girl his card after escorting her home. They had wanted to speak directly with Haruka Komuro about her husband’s death but the woman was neither answering calls or appeared to be home at the time they had dropped Sachie off. Sachie apparently was rather convincing with excuses as to why her mother would not answer because they had left her there after she had promised to have her mother call them. After a few days they came back to discover the house empty and the only belongings missing being those of Haruka Komuro. Sachie and her Father’s belongings being untouched. Which now made sense of why the detective had been her only contact. What did not make any rational sense was why it had been allowed to happen in the first place.

Aizawa let out a sigh before heard loud crashing. He immediately began moving towards the source, hopefully it was nothing but with his luck it was probably some sort. He rounded a corner in time to see what looked to be the side of a dumpster crumple against a wall and seemingly jumping after it was Problem Child two.

---

Sachie Komuro was not having a good night. She flinched as her face got smashed into the side of the wall. Tell-tale sign that the man was getting impatient, his quirk was activating. Why he was so mad was the question of the day. “Took me long enough to find ya, ya damn stray. Did you decide to play hero in another town?” She was in a different town, made sense why the streets were different. “I thought I told you to stay in Saitama.” The man applied pressure to her head it felt like he was going to crack her skull. If she wasn’t developing a bruise of the side of her face earlier, she was now. She forced herself to relax limbs going limp. She hoped he’d take her lack of struggle as apology enough. It was not like she was actually sorry though. She did not realize that she was in a whole other area. The man let go of her face and Sachie caught herself placing a hand on the wall as Schrodinger emitted low cat growls and hisses at the man from below. She watched him raise a foot before pausing and thinking different of it. He then stepped to the side a bit so she couldn’t get away. “Listen…. I’m sorry I started this conversation on the wrong foot. I was just trying to keep you safe.” Sachie flinched, he sounded like her father. He was trying to emulate the man. Too bad, that phrase only worked on her because of her dear old dad’s quirk. “If you stayed where I knew you were, I wouldn’t have had to track you down. If I don’t know where you are, I can’t protect you now can I.”

Sachie figured that it would probably be okay to talk now. She glanced up at the man making eye contact, “Someone picked me up… I did not know I’d left. Might stay in this area though seems safer.” The man’s eyes narrowed at her last comment. He was not happy with that. Though it did not seem like he was going to push it. She glanced to the side again and assessed the situation; she figured she probably couldn’t escape so she’d have to talk her way out. “… What did you need? You don’t usually look for me unless you need something.” She grimaced again as she rubbed at her cheek, it was sore but clearly not broken.

The man smiled; it was a perfectly put together business smile. She found it disgusting, “I just had a business opportunity I wanted to share with my famil- “

“We’re not family. My father was. I never shared sake, and I’m not your Sister.” She spit out before the man could finish his sentence. She heard metal squeal and glanced at the nearby dumpster and the man pinned her in closer. She glanced up at him, the smile was still there but was showing cracks. So much for talking things through. Maybe she could get him to throw her and she could escape that way. She had a feeling that she knew something that would but how could she work it into the conversation.  Schrodinger jumped and climbed up her back before scarfing around her neck. They yawned in a catlike way before digging their claws lightly. Well, Schrodinger was ready in any case. “Besides… I thought you were all told to stop playing at that by actual yakuza. Or are you lot still willing to drown in blood.” She had her hands in her pockets now, she could feel them beginning to shake and while she was fairly good at schooling her features her hands were always a dead giveaway. She felt Schrodinger sinking into her shoulders slightly. She hoped it wasn’t too conspicuous. “You should stop playing games old man… Otherwise you’re going to die.”

The metal of the dumpster bent further inward as the man growled before letting out a sigh. He removed his hand from the metal it was indented in the shape of his hand, “I know your game Sachie. I’m not going to fall for it here.” Sachie cursed under her breath, she really just wanted to be out of here. She glanced at him and noted she was still pinned in, “Back to business then, lil sis.” Sachie grimaced before a piece of paper was shoved towards her face.  She raised one of her hands taking it from him and then tilted her head as she saw the image. “So, I was thinking you’d be able to put these containers into your cat and then- “ “Are you an idiot?” Sachie began as the man stuttered, shoved the paper in her pocket. She glanced over at him. His smile was cracking again. In this situation, “I feel like you’re messing with me,” perhaps she should be condescending in order to create an opening. The man grimaced as she continued speaking, “You should know how my quirk works or were you the sort of person too dumb to tell.”

“You shut your mouth brat!” He grabbed her by the arm hand digging into her flesh before twisting and Sachie started in pain and pulled her in to the side.

“Not very creative with the insults are you- “she barely got the sentence out before her world spun and she was flung. There was a brief moment of shock as she realized that she had been thrown harder than she expected him to. She threw her arm out to break her fall so she could roll out to safety. Though by the sound of the crash she made this situation was going pretty terrible. Sachie pushed herself out of whatever she got thrown into and looked ahead towards what was clearly a dead end but she noticed some crates so maybe she could jump. It was worth a shot at least. She hopped up onto the pushing herself off in order gain height be able to hop over the fence. She glanced backwards to make Schrodinger was in place before she realized she needed to duck. She tilted forward as a part of dumpster she had been pinned up against flew over her head. She sucked in a breath as her foot caught the edge of the fence and she fell forward awkwardly bracing herself on the ground. She heard a slight cracking sound as she rolled back up onto her feet. She could see a slight bend in her wrist where she botched her landing. She flexed her fingers only to feel a shooting pain travel up her arm only slightly dulled by the adrenaline running through her veins.

She looked up as she heard another shout as the fence behind her bowed in with another large portion of the dumpster sent it flying her. She should probably have kept running but instead she froze up. Sachie Komuro killed by a dumpster in a back alley; it almost seemed fitting. Sachie felt something solid wrap around her midsection and she was immediately tugged to the side. She hit something solid and not wall-shaped for once. She flinched as a hand lightly grabbed her shoulder another moving to support her standing placed below her elbow. “You okay problem child.” She slowly looked up and tried to pull away though his grip on her only became firmer, “stay here.” The voice was calm but she felt a chill go down her spine. She felt herself drop into a crouch as he moved towards the threat. She brought her arms up in order to cover her face burying her face and blocking out the scene in front of her. She felt her heartbeat loudly in her ears as panic began to set in. Why was Eraserhead here? She could hear Schrodinger yowling and hissing their claws sinking into her shoulders but the noise was getting fainter with the panic.  She stared at the ground her field of vision tunneling before everything went dark.  

---

“Five minutes… I take my eyes off you for five minutes. Don’t go disappearing on me again, Problem Child.” Aizawa could only sigh as he called in the police to pick up the villain. He frowned, he had made a miscalculation and the kid had disappeared again. The real question though was that look she gave him. He tightened his capture scarf around the thug’s hands activating his quirk as the man tried to break out again. She seemed absolutely terrified but only as soon as she made eye contact with him. Most people would be more concerned with the person actively attacking them not the person stepping in between. Either way at least now he knew she was in the area, might make it easy to track her down.  Meanwhile nearby a cat watched at a distance tail moving with annoyed flicks before being snagged.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Have some proper content from me lmao ( AO3 )

It’s been a long one…  He’d already been tired for the briefings and whatnot in the morning, which was followed by a day spent on retrieving smuggled support items with the League. It was fun, he supposes… the sneaky mission impossible thing. Much more enjoyable than lying through his teeth, at the very least. Then it turned out that the loot included some extra booze in courtesy of Giran, leading to this impromptu celebration that’s been going on for hours. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if not for the fact that it’s past 11pm already and he needs some goddamn rest. An all-nighter before illegal activities? Never again.

Whatever high quality drink there was in the two bottles draped in Cyrillic text sure packed a punch, though. Tomura was worryingly unaffected and Sako was keeping himself together, but a lick of the stuff knocked Jin and Himiko the fuck out and had Spinner in the corner humming off-tune to whatever came on the radio. Doesn’t stop him from chugging down what’s left in one go, though.

All in all, on top of wistfully thinking of his bed, Hawks would be lying if he wasn’t rather buzzed, too.

But even that’s no excuse for this.

“I’m not sure what I should be more upset about,” he mumbles with half a pout on his face, breaking the quite possibly hour-long silence. “The fact that I’m spending my last few hours off on a Saturday night slow dancing with a dude in a dump, that it’s you of all people, or… that I’m actually enjoying it.” He’s being slowly but surely lulled into sleep, in fact. Concentrate, man. Shake off the warm coziness and concentrate.

There’s a short, easy-to-miss hum that has an almost content ring to it. “You were the one to scrape me up from the floor, remember? Any and all complaints are on you, feather duster.”

That’s fair; a smile ghosts his lips, but he doesn’t bother with an answer. One of Dabi’s cool hands gets bored of tugging at the cluster of feathers on the small of his back since forever, so it digs into them, earning a pleased sigh from Hawks as he snuggles a little closer. The asshole doesn’t even smell that bad for someone who barely showers… a little pungent, a little burnt. Must be his quirk’s doing. It sterilizes everything.

“… you sure have become comfortable around me,” the villain notes as he plays with the red plumage, slowing the hardly-dance (that started as another hardly-dance with a bouncy idiot dragging his even more drunk ass around, making him almost throw the fuck up in the process) down until they come to a halt. There’s a thoughtful look on his face. “Especially for what a nervous, jumpy wreck you are.”

Hawks lifts his head from the shoulder in a moment of vague clarity; he’s… right. For starters, he wouldn’t be clinging to Dabi like this if he was even remotely sane, the guy could grill him on the spot without effort if he wanted to.

Could. But he also knows… that he won’t.

“Well… your own damn fault for making me feel safe,” he sighs eventually after the spark of common sense slips away, and leans his chin back down. Fuck, he really needs to crawl into bed asap. But first he’ll have to, well… wake up. Then pocket the rest of his feathers so he can take the midnight train relatively incognito… then either take the elevator that he hates up to his apartment, or take the currently inhuman effort and get all of his feathers from both the bag and his room to zoom up. And hopefully not hit the one closed window. Ugh.

“Oho, and I almost blamed it on the booze. Thought you didn’t trust me?”

He moans in annoyance; there’s a mocking smirk hidden in Dabi’s voice. “Hell yeah, I don’t. But, like… you never made any remotely suspicious moves. What am I supposed to do right now? Kick you in the nuts, for which this is a golden opportunity for, by the way… maybe headbutt your face, earning a number of piercing imprints? Or just, like… scream? Oh nooo~, big bad criminal has me in his clutchesss~”

The overdramatic damsel whines earn a breathless laugh from the other, who then pulls away. “Okay, okay… show your face, midget. Look at me, you hear?”

“Anyway, I just ‘ave no energy for that shit,” Hawks continues unperturbed and motionless in not wanting to let go as the logorrhea wave goes on. He already misses being warm. Bummer. “Hell, you don’t trust me and just gave me the back scratching of the decade! What’s the deal with that, huh?” Two cold, rugged hands, which are pretty much the polar opposites of Dabi’s heated torso, come up to cup his face and tilt it upward.

“See?” SEE?! There he goes again. Still, being touched this gently is really… nice. It’s not something he’s used to… nor something he would have thought Dabi capable of being, to be frank. He can barely keep his eyes from closing. “This is what I’m talking about. My shit is safe. About-to-fall-asleep safe, with that big fucking payload of safety that you dropped on me. I’m gonna sleep pretty damn sound tonight, if I say so. Huggin’ my pillow and shit, like a bear… full of honey. At hibernation station.” Wow. Nothing he says makes fucking sense anymore. Thinking before opening his mouth is everything but an option right now. Oh, one more thing: “ … and I’m no midget,” he adds while lifting both pointing fingers.

“Mhmm, mhmm,” nods Dabi after every other line, observing the hero’s pink-tainted face. “… I’ve suspected as much, but you really are more than just a little tipsy,” he concludes then as a matter-of-fact. He taps Hawks’ face a few times with a hand. “I’m warning you that there are no pillows to brood on around here if you dare fall asleep on me, chicken.”

“Hrmm… Whatever. Your bony ass will do. Is warm.” … okay, whoopsy-daisy, he definitely should not have said that. Even if he finds all this touching enjoyable beyond words… and admittance. Speaking of which, the hell is even Dabi’s game? This shit could be taken as interest.

… wait. Wait, fuck…  what if he is being flirty!? Abort, ABORT.

The adrenaline rush that comes with the thought dissipates like half of his exhaustion; Hawks peels his eyes open to take a good look at the villain. But his first reaction is to squint. Then squint even harder.

“Waiiita’seeec… are you… sober? Already?” His voice hitches high with disbelief and wings flare in a hiccup of scorn. “How the fuck, you downed like half a bottle of that shit! You were a mess— no, a disaster!!” he continues in an accusatory tone, with puffed wings of indignance and air karate chops, as if being the bigger mess at the moment was supposed to be a jab specifically at him. It’s Hawks who’s supposed to be the sane and rational one around these parts…! It’s him!!

“My body’s long burned through that shit, birdy,” Dabi informs him, his face infuriatingly and inexplicably neutral while sporting the smuggest barely-smile on his face.

The comment itself, on the other hand, rouses a goofy snort-giggle from Hawks, which reminds him of the fact that he is, in fact, everything but sober. ‘Burned through it…’ fucking hell.

Unimpressed head shake; Dabi lets go of his face and takes two steps back while putting his hands on the hips instead to have a good, condescending look at the other. Hawks is trying his best to suppress the giggles, and is leaning to wherever gravity takes him before his wings, relatively small as they are now, do their damnest to correct his balance while on autopilot.

He finishes his checkup with a deep sigh. “Yep… as wasted as they come.

“ You,” the hero points at him, tip of his finger as eerily rigid on target like a chicken’s head while he sways around lightly, “were near passed-out on the floor, young man.” The corner of his mouth is still twitching as his face is getting redder.

“Not anymore. You are about to kip over, though,” he states, tilting his head. “And damn if I’m not gonna watch you try not to.” Having said that, he steps forward with a hint of an amused smirk to give a tentative shove himself.

Hawks leans back fast and far enough from the impending hand of doom that it would indeed make him stumble backwards, if not for grabbing onto Dabi’s jacket. The villain connects with his target meanwhile- via finger flick to his temples.

His wings reflexively flap once as he’s yet to retain balance of any kind, and Hawks feels the redness creep up to his ears in embarrassment, then he peeks downwards… but the stars just aren’t aligned to put the returning idea into motion. Not if he wants to avoid falling ass backwards, that is. He sticks his lower lip out a bit, still staring. “… should ‘ave kicked you in the groin while I had the chance.”

“Too little, too late. Face is up here, bird brain.” He pulls the hero back onto his wobbly legs by the collar. “Get your wings flapping and your ass home… you are a hilarious mess.”

“Good enough for a joke… But, an absolutely ill-advised suggesshon. Drunk,” he says, pointing at himself with his free hand (as the other has yet to let go of Dabi), then back at his wings; “as small as they get while rede— reartaning… retaining funky– fuck it, they are… just big enough to lift me. When I’m not fucking like this. There.” Damn, if he’s stuttering, all hope is lost. Next time he’s packing snacks to drown out the booze before it drowns him. He wouldn’t risk flying like this either way, but damn it all, if Dabi really is fully sober… god, he’ll never let him live this down, will he.

“‘Flapping’ around like this would actually end up about as well as that horrendous mobile game did for any of us,” Hawks moans then. “Which you would pay to see, I know. Anyway, what I’m saying is… that the only way I’m flying right now… is if you chuck me, pal. And that ain’t gonna get me anywhere.” Even getting to the nearest train station would be a hassle by flight. Actually… it will be a hassle, no matter what, his legs are not exactly—

“WoAH…!” is the single most natural reaction he has to… well, being lifted off the motherfucking ground like a toddler. “The hell are you doing?!”

This is not something that just happens to the one guy on the block with functional wings, you know? When Hawks wants to leave planet Earth, it’s out of his own volition. It’s also him who divebombs villains or snatches various people off the ground, or from the air, it’s never the other way around. This? This is weird, this is unnatural, hell… literally unheard of, actually?

Because he can’t, for the life of him, remember anyone, ever carrying him. Not even as a child.

Not this way, at the very least… he has been on a stretcher a couple of times, but that’s never a good experience… you don’t land on one without a good, all kinds of painful reason. It feels nothing like this. This… this actually feels…

“Giddy up, then, because I’m taking you to the station. I sure as hell don’t feel like dealing with you in the morning,” Dabi huffs, interrupting the other’s epiphany. A drunk Hawks, he can deal with; he’s tolerable, if not, dare say, adorable, but hungover Hawks?! That just sounds like a living nightmare. He’ll have to deal with his own headache in a few hours. He’ll pass on this, hard.

“… you’re unnecessarily heavy for a half-pint canary,” he mumbles after a few steps; the bird has some muscle to his name, but is no body builder. And a shorty. He’d be impressed if said weight wasn’t literally on his shoulders. Also… he’s a little worried about the hero’s sudden silence. He’s got enough presence to hold onto him, though, so the guy can’t be that far gone.

“… Well,” Hawks drawls after a pause, “fun fact, Dabi… when at peak condition, my wings add up to roughly fifty per cent of my body weight. We’re being hella easy on you.” He gives a tentative swing with them, barely missing the villain’s head with his right one.

“Do that again, and I’ll make sure that you won’t be able to fly for a month.”

He lets out a soft laugh at that. The warm, alcohol-induced tingles still dancing at his fingertips may be a factor to consider, but he’s thoroughly enjoying this.

Not him being the one to fly just to get his head over the sea of people, gasping for air, even without the crowds being present… is an experience for sure. And being so much taller while still rooted to the ground one way or another, and able to see everything there is to see on an empty street at night feels straight-up sublime, and the wind that the freight train passing them carries with itself is blowing through his hair as the ka-chak, ka-chak of it quickly fades into the abyss, and, and…

… this is nice. Holy shit, is this nice.

He closes his eyes for a moment… which, of course, ends up not being just a moment, but the rest of the trip. He doesn’t even notice Dabi stopping until he speaks up.

“Your stop, Tweety. Wake the fuck up, man, I’m not your perch.”

“… ah.” The disappointment slipped through that one… oh well. The fact that he gets dropped about as gently as a sack of potatoes doesn’t help, either. He actually fell asleep there, didn’t he.

He takes a look around; they stopped at the end of the alley almost opposite the station. That’s good… he has yet to put on a shitty disguise. AND has his feathers attached, that one won’t do at all, into the bag they go, and out of the bag the strack suit comes. While he’s waking up and doing his thing, Dabi’s already sneaked over the fences of the next two houses and struts up to the platform from the street corner one over. With a head scratch and a sigh, he trods towards the entrance a minute later, too, attempting to look like someone who’s on villain trail.

The doors of the train slide open, and he collapses opposite Dabi, who’s fiddling with his phone. A few seconds later he pushes the button to slip back out. There’s a fresh note folded to as small as humanly possible left on the seat, lost next to baked good crumbs on the left, a piece of chocolate wrap just past that, and a lone piece of gum that looks as if it had been there for a while.

“‘He’ better send a message so I know he wasn’t murdered, kidnapped, or arrested on the way home,” Dabi says as the doors close, muffling the last bit. He turns around.

Hawks lifts a hand as a sign of understanding. The villain nods and swings his own arm in a half-hearted wave as he leaves. He takes a look around the outer walls before slinking back out and heading off to the opposite direction they had come from.

Hawks is left alone with his thoughts in the empty car. Eventually he remembers that he has a KFC cap at the bottom of the otherwise empty bag, too, along with… two leftover nuggets from yesterday that he forgot about. Cold and probably stale, but shit, that’s a godsent right now. As the train leaves the platform and he bites into his surprise reserves, he starts pondering.

Somehow… he’ll need to make him do that again.

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 5)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 5k story words: 20k (so far) chapter: 5/? rating: t warnings: language genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[previous chapter]] [[first chapter]]

Dan woke up to a persistent vibration coming from under his head. Sleepily, he pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to dig his phone out from under his pillow with his eyes closed. Finally, his fingers latched around the phone and he tapped the answer button without processing who was calling.

“About time you answered, Daniel. I’ve called three times today.” His mother sounded annoyed, but not distressed.

“Sorry, Mum.” Dan forced himself into a sitting position, propping up against the headboard. The curtains were drawn tight over the window, blocking almost all light from entering the room. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly 8:30. I thought you said you had a busy day today. Are you’re just now waking up?”

“Huh?” Dan rubbed his free hand down his face, trying to wake himself up. What am I supposed to do today? Mentally, he ran through his to-do list. Grocery shop, working on writing new music, plan Germany — Ah, yes. That’s what he was supposed to be working on today. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t answered any of his mother’s questions. “Yeah, I just woke up. I kind of had a late night last night.”

“Oh.” His mother’s voice was clipped. “I suppose you and Isabella did something after dinner, then?”

All at once, the previous night’s events rushed back to him. Fuck. “Um, no, actually. I, uh… I didn’t spend any more time with Izzy last night.”

“Oh?” The tone of his mother’s voice shifted. “Why was that?”

“You were at the same dinner as me. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

His mother was silent for a minute. Dan wasn’t sure if she was hoping that he would elaborate, but there was no other information he was willing to volunteer on the matter.

Eventually, his mum spoke again. “It’s been a long time since you introduced us to anyone you’ve dated, you know.” Dan could tell that whatever she meant to say, that wasn’t it. Or at least not all of it.

“What’s your point, Mum?”

“Just that after you broke up with Alex you implied that you weren’t planning to bring anyone else home unless you were… how did you put it? Sure of them?”

“Correct, that’s what I said.”

“Does that mean you’re sure about Isabella?”

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Camel.

“You practically forced me to bring her, remember Mum?”

“You’ve been dating nearly a year, surely that’s long enough to mean that you’re sure of someone.”

“That’s… one thought.”

“She’s talking about wedding rings, how else am I supposed to think?”

Dan fell forward, burying his face into the fluffy duvet. “God, that actually happened, didn’t it?”

“I think you should really consider whether this is the person you want to marry.” Dan tried to interrupt, but his mother kept barrelling on. “Out of all of the people you’ve brought home, she’s by far been the worst. She was rude and controlling and condescending. You’re lucky your sister is so confident or I’m sure your girlfriend—” the word was dripping with distaste "— would have upset her.”

“Mum— ” Dan sat back up, shoving the duvet off him. If his mum was going to get into this conversation, he needed coffee.

His mother kept talking, ignoring his protest. “I cannot believe you’re serious about someone like her, Dan. Do you not see how vain and self-absorbed she is?”

“Listen—” Dan tried to interrupt her again.

“And the way she talks about you, it’s very concerning dear. I don’t want to speak out of turn—” Too late there, Mum. “— but she seems to only be interested in your relationship for shallow reasons.”

“MUM, STOP.” Dan all but screamed. “Let me talk, will you?”

His mother sighed deeply, but didn’t say anything else.

“I’m not thinking of marrying Isabella. That was the first time I’ve heard her mention a ring and — well, that’s not where I’m at in this relationship.” Dan grabbed a plain black mug from the cabinet.

“Then where are you in this relationship?”

“I’m not serious, I promise. I’m, uh…” Dan trailed off, not sure how phrase this gently for his mother. “In it for pretty shallow reasons, too.”

That shut his mother up.

There was almost a full minute of silence while his mother recovered. While he waited for his mother to piece together what was so shallow about their relationship, Dan began pouring coffee grounds into the coffee maker.

“You mean you’re using her for publicity and money too? Your career is going plenty well on without that!”

This time, Dan was the one shocked silent. Dan snapped out of it when the coffee grounds were overflowing from the basket onto the counter. Shit fuck. Desperately, Dan tried to shovel some of the grounds back into the bag.

“Dan? Are you still there?”

“Sorry.” Dan called it good enough and flipped the machine on. Guess the coffee is just gonna be strong today. “Um, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“What do you mean?” Dan was baffled.

“She’s clearly using you, Dan. You know models rarely get the kind of recognition that very famous singers do and, well, I get the impression that that is what she is looking for. I don’t know what you could possibly be getting from her that makes it a fair exchange. The way she treats you is dreadful, and it’s so obvious that she —”

“SEX!” Dan interrupted before he could process his own words.

“What?”

“I don’t know what you think I’m in it for, but, um…” Dan trailed off, fiddling with his empty mug.

Finally, his mum seemed to get the picture.

“You’re telling me you’re just in this relationship for sex?” Her tone was eerily neutral.

Dan could feel his cheeks burning. “Well, um… Do we have to have this conversation, Mum?”

“Yes, Daniel. This is important.”

“Jesus fucking… It’s not just that…” Dan tried to think of how he’d phrased it to Louise last week, and find a less descriptive way of saying it to his mother. “Look, being in a relationship is nice right? You get a lot of… stuff that you wouldn’t get if it were just… that.”

“You’re going to have to be more transparent.”

“She likes going out to bars and restaurants and she pushes me out of my shell, which is good sometimes. She’s affectionate and can be really nice, I swear. I know you didn’t see that last night, but I promise. I just like being with her, when it’s just us, and she’s. You know. More herself.” Less shitty, Dan tacked on in his head.

His mother silently contemplated his words. “But you’re not thinking of marrying her?”

“Fucking hell Mum, I already told you. No.”

“And it’s not serious?” She sounded hopeful, happier than she had the whole phone call.

“Not to me.”

“It clearly is to her. Does that mean it may become serious?”

“Look, Mum.” Dan ruffled his hair. “I’m not dating for a life partner right now. I’m just dating.”

“Well, Daniel, I’d highly advise you to stop seeing her before things do get serious.”

“What happened to liking and supporting everyone Addie and I bring home? You adored Adaline’s last boyfriend and he was a dumbass.” With more force than necessary, Dan pulled the coffee pot from the machine, a bit of it sloshing out and burning his hand. What a great start to the day.

“You know I support you, and your sister, no matter what. And that’s why I’m saying this. Isabella seems like danger, mark my words.”

“Jesus, you make her sound like I’m dating the fucking devil or something, Mum. She was nervous, she wanted you guys to like her. Sure, she was… a lot, but that’s not how she is all the time, okay? And just because she’s more extroverted than me doesn’t mean she’s controlling.”

“She didn’t come across as controlling just because she’s more extroverted, she came across as controlling because she seemed to have very strong opinions about how and where you spend your time. Don’t think I didn’t notice her reaction to you giving Adaline that ticket.”

“Oh.” What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? “I mean… to be fair, she’s gone on the last few little trips with me, so I can see where she’s coming from.”

“I don’t care if you’ve taken her on a million trips, she still shouldn’t expect that you bring her somewhere and be mad when you don’t. I can’t fathom why you’re dating her if you aren’t serious. Surely you could find sex elsewhere. I’m not sure if you realize this, but you’re famous.” Right. That was where he got his snark.

His cheeks had only just calmed down from the last time his mother made him talk about his sex life, but they flushed red hot again.

“Mum, I told you. It’s not just… sex.” The word came out strangled. “That was a poor choice of words earlier. It’s more than that. It’s nice to have someone who always wants to do something with me, especially when we decide just to lounge at her place and watch a movie in bed together. You know I’ve always been a physical person and I can’t get that from a friend and I certainly can’t get it from a… fuck buddy.”

“So find someone else to have intimacy with,” she said, almost begging.

“I don’t have time for that, Mum. I’ve been traveling almost constantly and now I’m working on a new album.”

“Get one of those dating apps that your sister uses. She’s been on three dates since she’s been single.”

“Right, I can see that going fantastically. I’m sure famous people have great luck finding meaningful relationships on Tinder.”

“Okay, well maybe you’re right there. But regardless, darling, I want you to be happy, both now and in the future. I think you need to remember that by dating her, you are closing yourself off from other relationships. And even if you are only looking for something temporary and light, you can do better than her, Daniel.”

Dan’s phone started buzzing. He pulled the phone away from his ear enough to look at the caller id. “Mum, Louise is calling me. I need to answer this.”

“Tell her hello and I expect her round for dinner soon. Think about what I said —”

Dan cut her off before Louise’s call could go to voicemail — and before she went into another lecture. “Goodbye, Mum. Love you.”

Phil was mopping up the rainwater that customers had tracked in when the door chime rang. Great, another customer to bring in more water. Phil started to make his way back to the register, looking up at the new customer.

“Dan!” He smiled brightly.

Dan looked adorable — a mess, but adorable. He was sopping wet from the rain, his hair drenched, and his white jumper soaked through and clinging to his body. In his arms, he was carrying a young girl — maybe five or six. She was wrapped in what appeared to be Dan’s black raincoat. He flashed Phil a brief, but warm smile before turning his attention to the girl.

“Okay, Darcy, down you go.” The girl shook off the raincoat as Dan lowered her to the ground. In her hands, she was holding Dan’s phone, coloring books, and a laptop.

“Here you go, Uncle Dan.” She held the objects up for him. Dan took them from her hands, setting them on the bar. Phil briefly thought through his last conversation with Dan — he’d said that his sister was turning eighteen? Or nineteen? Regardless, this couldn’t be her child, right?

“Thank you. Darcy, can you say hello to Phil? Phil, this is Louise’s daughter, Darcy.”

“Hi Phiwl!” The little girl — Darcy — waved up at Phil eagerly. “Can I have something to drink?”

Phil waved back at her as Dan lifted her into one of the high chairs at the counter. “Of course, but what do you tell Mummy?”

The little girl put on a stern face and wagged her pointer finger around. God, she’s the cutest. “Uncle Dan said no sugar!”

“Good girl. Now, how about some hot chocolate?”

She clapped her hands together. “Yayyy!”

Finally, Dan properly looked up at Phil.

“Hey Phil,” he said, dimples on full display.

“Hey Dan.” Between Dan’s cute interaction with a tiny child and his deep dimples, Phil couldn’t stop smiling. He dragged his eyes over Dan’s outfit once again. His black jumper was soaked completely through. “You’re wet.”

“Am I really?” Dan deadpanned. He pulled out his wallet — which was somehow also a bit damp — and smiled again. “I only had one waterproof jacket and I figured better me than her.” He jerked his head towards Darcy.

How sweet. “Why’d you go out at all? It’s downpouring out there.”

“The wifi cut out at my flat and I desperately need to do some work today.”

“I see. So you’re going to be here for a while?” Phil wiped down the counter where Dan was dripping water.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind Darcy and I bothering you,” Dan said with a nervous chuckle.

“Of course not. You look freezing though.”

“Er, yeah. Didn’t think this through.” Dan pulled the wet jumper away from his chest slightly. “Sorry, I’m getting the floor all wet. You were just mopping, too.”

Phil shrugged. Secretly, he thought it was worth the floor getting wet again if he got to see Dan looking so adorable. Plus, his wet jumper was clinging a bit tighter than usual and… well, it didn’t leave a ton to the imagination.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t finished anyway.“ Phil tapped his employee id into the ipad. "So a hot chocolate and triple espresso, one sugar?”

“Yup,” Dan nodded. He lowered his voice. “Go a little light on the whipped cream, though, will you? I’d rather her Mum not completely kill me.”

Phil giggled. Apparently Dan was the fun, only somewhat responsible, uncle. But then again, “only somewhat responsible” was probably the best you could hope for when that uncle was a loaded, famous musician.

Phil swiveled the ipad around to face Dan and grabbed two mugs, moving down to the espresso machine. He’d long since stopped telling Dan how much he owed, partially because it was often the same, but mostly because it always made Phil feel more awkward when Dan left a fifty percent tip.

When Dan was done paying, he held up a finger at Phil and mouthed be right back. Phil watched him out of the corner of his eye as best as he could while he made the coffee. Dan had returned to the little girl and was helping her pick out a picture in her coloring book while trying to dig out the crayons from the small box. Honestly, he’d probably be better off just letting her get the crayons out; his hands were much too big to be easily fitting in the box.

“Which one are you going to color, Darce?”

“Hmmm. I like this one and this one.” The little girl pointed to two of the pictures. “I wanna make one for you for your fridge-a-gater.”

Dan smiled at the little girl, playing with her ponytail. “I’d like that. You pick which one.”

The little girl looked at the book with serious concentration. “I’m gonna do Eeyore because you were all grumpy this morning.”

Phil could see Dan trying not to roll his eyes. “That will look great on my refrigerator. I’ll be right over there okay? Let me know if you need me.”

The little girl was too entrenched in her coloring to respond. With a quick glance back at the girl to make sure that she was okay, Dan slid down the bar until he was in front of Phil. He leaned his long arms on the counter and rested his head in his hands, flashing Phil another wide smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. Flirty?

“Long time, no see.” Phil sat Dan’s coffee down in front of him. “Drink up, Mr. Grumpy. Apparently you need it.”

“Shut up. I had an early morning, okay? My mother decided to call at eight thirty.”

Phil looked up from the hot chocolate he was making, unamused. “I’ve been here since seven, I don’t want to hear it.”

Dan shot him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, well, I was up super late, okay.”

“For your sister’s birthday thing! How was it?”

Dan winced. “I don’t want to get into it. She was great, family was great, food was great. Isabella, not so great.”

Ah, right. Isabella.

Phil didn’t know much about her, other than what he saw in the media. Dan rarely talked about her — really only bringing her up if he was on his way to meet her. From what he’d seen online, they looked fairly happy. They were always photographed out and about, usually at bars or fancy restaurants. Phil knew how relationships in the public eye could be though — sometimes they looked amazing from the outside but terrible from the inside. From the little he’d heard Dan mention Isabella, it didn’t seem like the best relationship. But, hey, who was he to judge.

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Phil said.

Dan made an expression that, if there wasn’t a child present, would probably have been accompanied with a fuck it. Instead, he brought his coffee cup up to his lips, taking a tentative sip.

“Ah, warmth. That’s great. I’m freezing.”

“Oh!” Phil suddenly remembered. “I have a jumper in the back. It’s dry. You could put that on if you want?”

Dan’s eyes widened. “Yeah that’d be great, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’ll be right back.”

Phil ducked into the back room. Well, more of a closet really. He opened his backpack and gently unwound the jumper from his camera. With less care than he should, Phil set the camera back in his bag and headed back into the coffee shop.

“Here,” he threw the jumper at an unsuspecting Dan. The jumper smacked him in the face and fell to the counter with a soft thud. “It’s a bit off brand for you, sorry.”

Dan held up the bright blue jumper. “Pugs not drugs?” he read, laughing. “God, Phil, you’re too precious for this world.”

Phil could feel the blood rushing up to his cheeks. Dan had always been known for his high end, edgy fashion sense. Phil’s quirky pug jumper was probably really different from what he was used to wearing. Phil hoped it would be okay.

Dan looked towards the door and then Darcy, who was concentrating on her coloring. Seeing that nobody was around, and with absolutely no warning, he pulled the soaked white jumper over his head, leaving him bare chested in the middle of the coffee shop. Phil could see cursive words inked down his left ribcage. Oh god.

Suddenly, Phil was worried about blood rushing to a different part of his body entirely.

“Yes, Daddy.”

The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop them. Luckily, they’d come out in a joking tone, at least, but he still couldn’t quite believe he’d said them. Before Dan could so much as react, Darcy interrupted.

“Why did he call you daddy, Uncle Dan? You don’t have any babies.”

Dan trained his eyes on Phil, quirking an eyebrow.

“That’s a good question, Darcy. Apparently Phil doesn’t realize that I’m definitely not a Daddy. I’m much too little.” Dan said slyly, his tone not-so-subtly hinting at a double meaning.

Phil choked on air and did his best to remain composed. He didn’t feel like he was doing a great job. How could he? Dan was standing just across the bar, shirtless, and dropping hints that he was into, well, that.

“That’s… something to remember.” Phil’s voice came out husky.

Dan winked at him. Was Dan flirting with him? “I bet Phil wants to be a Daddy though.”

Phil swallowed thickly. He glanced over — Darcy appeared to have lost interest and gone back to coloring. His eyes flickered back to Dan, feeling daring. “Not exactly the name I’d choose, if given the option.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up, looking both stunned and interested. “And what name would you choose, if given the option, Phil?”

Phil leaned his elbows on the counter and placed his head in his hands, much like Dan had earlier. From this position, he was eye level with Dan’s chest. It wasn’t a bad view. “You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Dan looked down at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his parted lips.

“Sir?” Dan’s voice sounded strangled.

For the first time since Dan had pulled his wet jumper off, Phil finally sensed he had the upper hand. Curious to see Dan’s reaction, Phil lowered his voice. “Good boy.”

From where he was leaning, Phil could see a deep red flush spread across Dan’s bare chest, up his neck, and into his cheeks. His head fell back in a quiet groan. “Jesus, Phil. Warn a guy, will ya?”

The groan that tumbled from Dan’s lips sent Phil’s mind to dark places. He had visions of Dan making that noise from underneath him as Phil kissed down his neck. If Dan was so reactive to being called “good boy” in a coffee shop, Phil couldn’t even begin to imagine what it did to him in the bedroom.

Phil shook his head, trying to drag his mind back into this moment and away from… thatimage. Forcefully, Phil let out a gruff laugh.

Dan gave him an unamused look, still looking suspiciously pink, and defiantly pulled the jumper over his head. The sweater hung a little looser on him than it did Phil. Dan’s hands were just barely peeking out of the sleeves and his sharp collar bones were jutting out above the neckline.

Those collar bones. They should be illegal. Phil had to bite back the urge to trace his finger down them.

“It looks good on you. It’s good to see you in —” Phil cut himself off before he could say my clothes. “Colors,” he amended.

Dan fiddled with the hem of the jumper. “Thanks. It’s a bit different from the monochrome, huh?”

“It is. The monochrome is good, too. This is just… brighter.” Sexier.

Dan chuckled, pulling himself together, and opened his laptop as he sat on the stool nearest Phil. Phil knew Dan had to work, but he wasn’t willing to let Dan stop talking to him just yet, especially not when it was possible they just been flirting.

“So, what’s it say?” Phil asked, nodding his head at Dan.

Dan looked back up from his laptop quickly. Clearly, he wasn’t too opposed to a distraction. “What’s what say?”

“Your tattoo.” Phil leaned across the bar and poked Dan’s side for emphasis.

“Oh!” Dan smiled. “It’s ‘don’t waste your time, or time will waste you’. It’s a line from—”

“Knights of Cydonia,” Phil finished for him excitedly.

“Yeah.” Dan tilted his head. “You know Muse?”

“I love Muse,” Phil corrected. It felt like the more he learned about Dan, the more they had in common.

“I like Muse and you like Muse, let’s be friends.”

Phil laughed at Dan’s antics. “So what inspired the tattoo?”

“One, Muse is amazing.” Phil nodded his head in agreement, smiling widely. “Two, they are kind of who got me really into music. Three, it’s a good motivator.”

“I like it, it’s cool. It looks good on you.” Phil’s voice unintentionally dipped low again.

Dan blushed again — god he blushes so easily. “Thanks.”

Phil was about to mention the idea for a tattoo he had, but was interrupted by the door chime. He looked apologetically at Dan. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Dan smiled back. “No worries, I should probably actually do some work, seeing as that’s why I came here and all.”

Phil walked back to the register to serve the customer, who fortunately only wanted a simple coffee and a muffin. Dan beamed at him from behind his laptop when Phil walked passed him on the way to the bakery display. Without thinking, he grabbed an extra muffin, setting it down in front of Dan on his way back to the register.

Dan glanced up and mouthed “for me?” Phil sent him a quick nod and handed the customer her bagged muffin.

When the customer was gone, Phil sat down on the employee stool and pulled out his phone. His eyes flickered up to check on Dan, almost out of habit. He saw that Dan had torn the muffin in half and given the bigger half to Darcy. God, he’s just too perfect.

Suddenly, Phil was hyper aware of the fact that Dan had a girlfriend. He was in a relationship. He probably had fans that ignored that fact all the time, and here Phil was totally disrespecting the fact that he wasn’t single.

Embarrassed, Phil turned his attention back to his phone, deciding to let Dan work uninterrupted for a little while.

Dan must have a fairly short attention span, though, because it wasn’t forty five minutes before he was pestering Phil.

“Whatcha doing, Philly?” Phil lazily glanced up from his phone, a little surprised Dan was talking to him.

“Oh, you know, twitter, tumblr, the usual.”

Dan leaned forward over the lid of his laptop. “So you do have a twitter!”

“Yeah, I thought we established that.” Phil sat his phone down on the counter, confused by where the conversation was going. He hadn’t said he didn’t, he’d just… not wanted to give his username to Dan, that was all.

“Does this mean you’ll finally give me your handle?”

Phil wavered for a minute. What was worse, Dan looking him up on twitter, or Dan getting offended that Phil wouldn’t give him his username? Well, odds are he would find out eventually, so…

“Under one condition.”

“Deal.” Phil was taken aback at how quickly Dan responded.

“You haven’t heard the condition!”

Dan shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. Deal. What is it?”

“You can’t look me up until you’ve left the coffee shop.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dan groaned, not looking pleased.

“I’ll know if you break your promise,” Phil threatened, wanting to make sure that Dan would keep his end of the bargain.

Dan looked unamused. “Yeah, yeah. Just tell me,” he whined.

“AmazingPhil.”

Dan instantly turned back to his laptop and tapped at his keyboard.

“Hey! Hey! I told you to look me up later!” Phil complained, darting down the bar, and lightly pushing on the lid of Dan’s laptop.

Dan laughed, pushing it back to its fully open condition. “I’m just writing it down, you spoon.”

“Oh.” Phil felt a little chagrined. “Right, sorry.”

“Although on second thought…” Dan closed his laptop lid, eyes gleaming excitedly. “I’ve sent all the emails I need, so I guess I’m done here. Darcy, are you about done with your picture?”

Phil grimaced. He should have known Dan was incapable of delaying gratification. Well, at least Phil wouldn’t be in the room when Dan found out.

Darcy held up her coloring book. She’d moved on from Eeyore to a picture of Tigger and Pooh.

“Perfect.” Dan helped her pack up her things and wrapped her back in his raincoat, making sure the laptop was tucked in well, too. It had mostly stopped raining, but Phil didn’t blame Dan for being careful.

“Well, Philip,” Dan said, turning back to Phil. “It’s been lovely, as always. I’ll be following — I mean, seeing you soon.” Dan laughed at his own joke, gave Phil a quick two fingered goodbye salute, and gathered Darcy up in his arms.

“Tell Phil bye and that you’ll see him soon, Darcy.”

“Bye, Phwil!” Darcy waved her tiny, adorable hand in Phil’s direction. As disappointed as he always was when Dan had to leave, Phil wasn’t completely sorry that Dan was leaving now. Phil wasn’t sure if he could continue looking him in the eye after giving him his twitter handle.

Phil grabbed Dan and Darcy’s mugs to put in the dirty bin and spotted Dan’s shirt on the counter.

“Wait!” Phil almost yelled. “Your jumper.”

“Right!” Dan circled back to the counter, and Darcy grabbed his wet jumper. “Oh, that reminds me, did I leave my coat here last night?”

Phil looked around in confusion. Dan had left his jacket here? Then he remembered the black peacoat in the backroom that had been here when he’d arrived to work. “That’s your jacket in the back? I thought it looked familiar.”

“Black and depressing, who else could it belong to?” Dan said humorously.

Phil rolled his eyes at Dan on his way to the back room. When he brought it back out, Dan was still holding Darcy.

“Er,” Dan mumbled. He tried to extend one hand far enough from Darcy to take the coat, but it wasn’t enough to be able to hold it.

“Um, here.” Phil muttered back. He walked up behind Dan and draped the coat around his shoulders. His fingers lingered a beat longer than they strictly needed to, and he could have sworn he heard Dan’s breath hitch.

“You can bring my jumper back to me next time I see you, yeah?”

Dan turned around to face Phil. Suddenly, they were very close, even with Darcy between them.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll do that. See ya, Phil.”

“Buh bye Phiwl!” Darcy yelled again.

When the door shut behind them, Phil sank onto one of the stools to collect himself, letting out a deep breath. Had this afternoon really happened? Phil wasn’t sure. Dan had a girlfriend, after all, so there was no way he’d been flirting — and besides, Phil didn’t even know if Dan was into guys. But it had felt like they were flirting. It had felt like there was something there.

Barely ten minutes later, Phil’s phone lit up with two notifications in quick succession.

“@danielhowell is now following you.”

“@danielhowell: @AmazingPhil hey there you snek”

let me know what you thought :) i was v excited about this chapter

in case you’re curious, this is the original summary i gave @auroraphilealis for the last scene: Phil goes and gets it for him and Dan strips off his wet jumper and undershirt right there in the middle of the coffeeshop and phil is like yes daddy.

[[next chapter]]

[iminclinedtowriting]

Love Yourself (Chapter 5)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 5k story words: 20k (so far) chapter: 5/? genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[previous chapter]] [[first chapter]]

Dan woke up to a persistent vibration coming from under his head. Sleepily, he pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to dig his phone out from under his pillow with his eyes closed. Finally, his fingers latched around the phone and he tapped the answer button without processing who was calling.

"About time you answered, Daniel. I've called three times today." His mother sounded annoyed, but not distressed.

"Sorry, Mum." Dan forced himself into a sitting position, propping up against the headboard. The curtains were drawn tight over the window, blocking almost all light from entering the room. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly 8:30. I thought you said you had a busy day today. Are you’re just now waking up?"

"Huh?" Dan rubbed his free hand down his face, trying to wake himself up. What am I supposed to do today? Mentally, he ran through his to-do list. Grocery shop, working on writing new music, plan Germany — Ah, yes. That's what he was supposed to be working on today. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't answered any of his mother's questions. "Yeah, I just woke up. I kind of had a late night last night."

"Oh." His mother's voice was clipped. "I suppose you and Isabella did something after dinner, then?"

All at once, the previous night's events rushed back to him. Fuck. "Um, no, actually. I, uh... I didn't spend any more time with Izzy last night."

"Oh?" The tone of his mother's voice shifted. "Why was that?"

"You were at the same dinner as me. I'm sure you can imagine why."

His mother was silent for a minute. Dan wasn't sure if she was hoping that he would elaborate, but there was no other information he was willing to volunteer on the matter.

Eventually, his mum spoke again. "It's been a long time since you introduced us to anyone you’ve dated, you know." Dan could tell that whatever she meant to say, that wasn't it. Or at least not all of it.

"What's your point, Mum?"

"Just that after you broke up with Alex you implied that you weren't planning to bring anyone else home unless you were... how did you put it? Sure of them?"

"Correct, that's what I said."

"Does that mean you’re sure about Isabella?"

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Camel.

"You practically forced me to bring her, remember Mum?"

"You've been dating nearly a year, surely that's long enough to mean that you're sure of someone."

"That's... one thought."

"She's talking about wedding rings, how else am I supposed to think?"

Dan fell forward, burying his face into the fluffy duvet. "God, that actually happened, didn't it?"

"I think you should really consider whether this is the person you want to marry." Dan tried to interrupt, but his mother kept barrelling on. "Out of all of the people you've brought home, she's by far been the worst. She was rude and controlling and condescending. You're lucky your sister is so confident or I'm sure your girlfriend—” the word was dripping with distaste "— would have upset her."

"Mum— " Dan sat back up, shoving the duvet off him. If his mum was going to get into this conversation, he needed coffee.

His mother kept talking, ignoring his protest. "I cannot believe you're serious about someone like her, Dan. Do you not see how vain and self-absorbed she is?"

"Listen—" Dan tried to interrupt her again.

"And the way she talks about you, it's very concerning dear. I don't want to speak out of turn—" Too late there, Mum. "— but she seems to only be interested in your relationship for shallow reasons."

"MUM, STOP." Dan all but screamed. "Let me talk, will you?"

His mother sighed deeply, but didn't say anything else.

"I'm not thinking of marrying Isabella. That was the first time I've heard her mention a ring and — well, that's not where I'm at in this relationship." Dan grabbed a plain black mug from the cabinet.

"Then where are you in this relationship?"

"I'm not serious, I promise. I'm, uh..." Dan trailed off, not sure how phrase this gently for his mother. "In it for pretty shallow reasons, too."

That shut his mother up.

There was almost a full minute of silence while his mother recovered. While he waited for his mother to piece together what was so shallow about their relationship, Dan began pouring coffee grounds into the coffee maker.

"You mean you're using her for publicity and money too? Your career is going plenty well on without that!"

This time, Dan was the one shocked silent. Dan snapped out of it when the coffee grounds were overflowing from the basket onto the counter. Shit fuck. Desperately, Dan tried to shovel some of the grounds back into the bag.

“Dan? Are you still there?”

"Sorry.” Dan called it good enough and flipped the machine on. Guess the coffee is just gonna be strong today. “Um, no. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"What do you mean?" Dan was baffled.

"She's clearly using you, Dan. You know models rarely get the kind of recognition that very famous singers do and, well, I get the impression that that is what she is looking for. I don't know what you could possibly be getting from her that makes it a fair exchange. The way she treats you is dreadful, and it's so obvious that she —"

"SEX!" Dan interrupted before he could process his own words.

"What?"

"I don't know what you think I'm in it for, but, um..." Dan trailed off, fiddling with his empty mug.

Finally, his mum seemed to get the picture.

"You're telling me you're just in this relationship for sex?" Her tone was eerily neutral.

Dan could feel his cheeks burning. "Well, um... Do we have to have this conversation, Mum?"

"Yes, Daniel. This is important."

"Jesus fucking... It's not just that..." Dan tried to think of how he'd phrased it to Louise last week, and find a less descriptive way of saying it to his mother. "Look, being in a relationship is nice right? You get a lot of... stuff that you wouldn't get if it were just... that."

"You're going to have to be more transparent."

"She likes going out to bars and restaurants and she pushes me out of my shell, which is good sometimes. She's affectionate and can be really nice, I swear. I know you didn't see that last night, but I promise. I just like being with her, when it’s just us, and she’s. You know. More herself." Less shitty, Dan tacked on in his head.

His mother silently contemplated his words. "But you're not thinking of marrying her?"

"Fucking hell Mum, I already told you. No."

"And it's not serious?" She sounded hopeful, happier than she had the whole phone call.

"Not to me."

"It clearly is to her. Does that mean it may become serious?"

"Look, Mum." Dan ruffled his hair. “I’m not dating for a life partner right now. I’m just dating.”

"Well, Daniel, I'd highly advise you to stop seeing her before things do get serious."

"What happened to liking and supporting everyone Addie and I bring home? You adored Adaline's last boyfriend and he was a dumbass." With more force than necessary, Dan pulled the coffee pot from the machine, a bit of it sloshing out and burning his hand. What a great start to the day.

"You know I support you, and your sister, no matter what. And that's why I'm saying this. Isabella seems like danger, mark my words."

“Jesus, you make her sound like I’m dating the fucking devil or something, Mum. She was nervous, she wanted you guys to like her. Sure, she was… a lot, but that’s not how she is all the time, okay? And just because she’s more extroverted than me doesn’t mean she’s controlling.”

“She didn’t come across as controlling just because she’s more extroverted, she came across as controlling because she seemed to have very strong opinions about how and where you spend your time. Don’t think I didn’t notice her reaction to you giving Adaline that ticket.”

“Oh.” What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? “I mean… to be fair, she’s gone on the last few little trips with me, so I can see where she’s coming from.”

“I don’t care if you’ve taken her on a million trips, she still shouldn’t expect that you bring her somewhere and be mad when you don’t. I can’t fathom why you’re dating her if you aren’t serious. Surely you could find sex elsewhere. I’m not sure if you realize this, but you’re famous.” Right. That was where he got his snark.

His cheeks had only just calmed down from the last time his mother made him talk about his sex life, but they flushed red hot again.

“Mum, I told you. It’s not just… sex.” The word came out strangled. “That was a poor choice of words earlier. It’s more than that. It’s nice to have someone who always wants to do something with me, especially when we decide just to lounge at her place and watch a movie in bed together. You know I’ve always been a physical person and I can’t get that from a friend and I certainly can’t get it from a… fuck buddy.”

“So find someone else to have intimacy with,” she said, almost begging.

“I don’t have time for that, Mum. I’ve been traveling almost constantly and now I’m working on a new album.”

“Get one of those dating apps that your sister uses. She’s been on three dates since she’s been single.”

“Right, I can see that going fantastically. I’m sure famous people have great luck finding meaningful relationships on Tinder.”

“Okay, well maybe you’re right there. But regardless, darling, I want you to be happy, both now and in the future. I think you need to remember that by dating her, you are closing yourself off from other relationships. And even if you are only looking for something temporary and light, you can do better than her, Daniel.”

Dan’s phone started buzzing. He pulled the phone away from his ear enough to look at the caller id. “Mum, Louise is calling me. I need to answer this.”

“Tell her hello and I expect her round for dinner soon. Think about what I said —”

Dan cut her off before Louise’s call could go to voicemail — and before she went into another lecture. “Goodbye, Mum. Love you.”

Phil was mopping up the rainwater that customers had tracked in when the door chime rang. Great, another customer to bring in more water. Phil started to make his way back to the register, looking up at the new customer.

“Dan!” He smiled brightly.

Dan looked adorable — a mess, but adorable. He was sopping wet from the rain, his hair drenched, and his white jumper soaked through and clinging to his body. In his arms, he was carrying a young girl — maybe five or six. She was wrapped in what appeared to be Dan’s black raincoat. He flashed Phil a brief, but warm smile before turning his attention to the girl.

“Okay, Darcy, down you go.” The girl shook off the raincoat as Dan lowered her to the ground. In her hands, she was holding Dan’s phone, coloring books, and a laptop.

“Here you go, Uncle Dan.” She held the objects up for him. Dan took them from her hands, setting them on the bar. Phil briefly thought through his last conversation with Dan — he’d said that his sister was turning eighteen? Or nineteen? Regardless, this couldn’t be her child, right?

“Thank you. Darcy, can you say hello to Phil? Phil, this is Louise’s daughter, Darcy.”

“Hi Phiwl!” The little girl — Darcy — waved up at Phil eagerly. “Can I have something to drink?”

Phil waved back at her as Dan lifted her into one of the high chairs at the counter. “Of course, but what do you tell Mummy?”

The little girl put on a stern face and wagged her pointer finger around. God, she’s the cutest. “Uncle Dan said no sugar!”

“Good girl. Now, how about some hot chocolate?”

She clapped her hands together. “Yayyy!”

Finally, Dan properly looked up at Phil.

“Hey Phil,” he said, dimples on full display.

“Hey Dan.” Between Dan’s cute interaction with a tiny child and his deep dimples, Phil couldn’t stop smiling. He dragged his eyes over Dan’s outfit once again. His black jumper was soaked completely through. “You’re wet.”

“Am I really?” Dan deadpanned. He pulled out his wallet — which was somehow also a bit damp — and smiled again. “I only had one waterproof jacket and I figured better me than her.” He jerked his head towards Darcy.

How sweet. “Why’d you go out at all? It’s downpouring out there.”

“The wifi cut out at my flat and I desperately need to do some work today.”

“I see. So you’re going to be here for a while?” Phil wiped down the counter where Dan was dripping water.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind Darcy and I bothering you,” Dan said with a nervous chuckle.

“Of course not. You look freezing though.”

“Er, yeah. Didn’t think this through.” Dan pulled the wet jumper away from his chest slightly. "Sorry, I'm getting the floor all wet. You were just mopping, too."

Phil shrugged. Secretly, he thought it was worth the floor getting wet again if he got to see Dan looking so adorable. Plus, his wet jumper was clinging a bit tighter than usual and… well, it didn’t leave a ton to the imagination.

“Don't worry about it. I wasn't finished anyway." Phil tapped his employee id into the ipad. "So a hot chocolate and triple espresso, one sugar?"

"Yup," Dan nodded. He lowered his voice. "Go a little light on the whipped cream, though, will you? I'd rather her Mum not completely kill me."

Phil giggled. Apparently Dan was the fun, only somewhat responsible, uncle. But then again, "only somewhat responsible" was probably the best you could hope for when that uncle was a loaded, famous musician.

Phil swiveled the ipad around to face Dan and grabbed two mugs, moving down to the espresso machine. He'd long since stopped telling Dan how much he owed, partially because it was often the same, but mostly because it always made Phil feel more awkward when Dan left a fifty percent tip.

When Dan was done paying, he held up a finger at Phil and mouthed be right back. Phil watched him out of the corner of his eye as best as he could while he made the coffee. Dan had returned to the little girl and was helping her pick out a picture in her coloring book while trying to dig out the crayons from the small box. Honestly, he'd probably be better off just letting her get the crayons out; his hands were much too big to be easily fitting in the box.

"Which one are you going to color, Darce?"

"Hmmm. I like this one and this one." The little girl pointed to two of the pictures. "I wanna make one for you for your fridge-a-gater."

Dan smiled at the little girl, playing with her ponytail. "I'd like that. You pick which one."

The little girl looked at the book with serious concentration. "I'm gonna do Eeyore because you were all grumpy this morning."

Phil could see Dan trying not to roll his eyes. "That will look great on my refrigerator. I'll be right over there okay? Let me know if you need me."

The little girl was too entrenched in her coloring to respond. With a quick glance back at the girl to make sure that she was okay, Dan slid down the bar until he was in front of Phil. He leaned his long arms on the counter and rested his head in his hands, flashing Phil another wide smile.

"Hey there," he drawled. Flirty?

"Long time, no see." Phil sat Dan's coffee down in front of him. "Drink up, Mr. Grumpy. Apparently you need it."

"Shut up. I had an early morning, okay? My mother decided to call at eight thirty."

Phil looked up from the hot chocolate he was making, unamused. "I've been here since seven, I don't want to hear it."

Dan shot him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, well, I was up super late, okay."

"For your sister's birthday thing! How was it?"

Dan winced. "I don't want to get into it. She was great, family was great, food was great. Isabella, not so great."

Ah, right. Isabella.

Phil didn't know much about her, other than what he saw in the media. Dan rarely talked about her — really only bringing her up if he was on his way to meet her. From what he’d seen online, they looked fairly happy. They were always photographed out and about, usually at bars or fancy restaurants. Phil knew how relationships in the public eye could be though — sometimes they looked amazing from the outside but terrible from the inside. From the little he'd heard Dan mention Isabella, it didn't seem like the best relationship. But, hey, who was he to judge.

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good," Phil said.

Dan made an expression that, if there wasn't a child present, would probably have been accompanied with a fuck it. Instead, he brought his coffee cup up to his lips, taking a tentative sip.

"Ah, warmth. That's great. I'm freezing."

"Oh!” Phil suddenly remembered. “I have a jumper in the back. It’s dry. You could put that on if you want?”

Dan’s eyes widened. “Yeah that’d be great, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’ll be right back.”

Phil ducked into the back room. Well, more of a closet really. He opened his backpack and gently unwound the jumper from his camera. With less care than he should, Phil set the camera back in his bag and headed back into the coffee shop.

“Here,” he threw the jumper at an unsuspecting Dan. The jumper smacked him in the face and fell to the counter with a soft thud. “It’s a bit off brand for you, sorry.”

Dan held up the bright blue jumper. “Pugs not drugs?” he read, laughing. “God, Phil, you’re too precious for this world.”

Phil could feel the blood rushing up to his cheeks. Dan had always been known for his high end, edgy fashion sense. Phil’s quirky pug jumper was probably really different from what he was used to wearing. Phil hoped it would be okay.

Dan looked towards the door and then Darcy, who was concentrating on her coloring. Seeing that nobody was around, and with absolutely no warning, he pulled the soaked white jumper over his head, leaving him bare chested in the middle of the coffee shop. Phil could see cursive words inked down his left ribcage. Oh god.

Suddenly, Phil was worried about blood rushing to a different part of his body entirely.

“Yes, Daddy.”

The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop them. Luckily, they’d come out in a joking tone, at least, but he still couldn’t quite believe he’d said them. Before Dan could so much as react, Darcy interrupted.

“Why did he call you daddy, Uncle Dan? You don’t have any babies.”

Dan trained his eyes on Phil, quirking an eyebrow.

“That’s a good question, Darcy. Apparently Phil doesn’t realize that I’m definitely not a Daddy. I’m much too little.” Dan said slyly, his tone not-so-subtly hinting at a double meaning.

Phil choked on air and did his best to remain composed. He didn’t feel like he was doing a great job. How could he? Dan was standing just across the bar, shirtless, and dropping hints that he was into, well, that.

“That’s... something to remember.” Phil’s voice came out husky.

Dan winked at him. Was Dan flirting with him? “I bet Phil wants to be a Daddy though.”

Phil swallowed thickly. He glanced over — Darcy appeared to have lost interest and gone back to coloring. His eyes flickered back to Dan, feeling daring. “Not exactly the name I’d choose, if given the option.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up, looking both stunned and interested. “And what name would you choose, if given the option, Phil?”

Phil leaned his elbows on the counter and placed his head in his hands, much like Dan had earlier. From this position, he was eye level with Dan’s chest. It wasn’t a bad view. “You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Dan looked down at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his parted lips.

“Sir?” Dan’s voice sounded strangled.

For the first time since Dan had pulled his wet jumper off, Phil finally sensed he had the upper hand. Curious to see Dan’s reaction, Phil lowered his voice. “Good boy.”

From where he was leaning, Phil could see a deep red flush spread across Dan’s bare chest, up his neck, and into his cheeks. His head fell back in a quiet groan. “Jesus, Phil. Warn a guy, will ya?”

The groan that tumbled from Dan’s lips sent Phil’s mind to dark places. He had visions of Dan making that noise from underneath him as Phil kissed down his neck. If Dan was so reactive to being called “good boy” in a coffee shop, Phil couldn’t even begin to imagine what it did to him in the bedroom.

Phil shook his head, trying to drag his mind back into this moment and away from… that image. Forcefully, Phil let out a gruff laugh.

Dan gave him an unamused look, still looking suspiciously pink, and defiantly pulled the jumper over his head. The sweater hung a little looser on him than it did Phil. Dan’s hands were just barely peeking out of the sleeves and his sharp collar bones were jutting out above the neckline.

Those collar bones. They should be illegal. Phil had to bite back the urge to trace his finger down them.

“It looks good on you. It’s good to see you in —” Phil cut himself off before he could say my clothes. “Colors,” he amended.

Dan fiddled with the hem of the jumper. “Thanks. It’s a bit different from the monochrome, huh?”

“It is. The monochrome is good, too. This is just... brighter.” Sexier.

Dan chuckled, pulling himself together, and opened his laptop as he sat on the stool nearest Phil. Phil knew Dan had to work, but he wasn’t willing to let Dan stop talking to him just yet, especially not when it was possible they just been flirting.

“So, what’s it say?” Phil asked, nodding his head at Dan.

Dan looked back up from his laptop quickly. Clearly, he wasn’t too opposed to a distraction. “What’s what say?”

“Your tattoo.” Phil leaned across the bar and poked Dan’s side for emphasis.

“Oh!” Dan smiled. “It’s ‘don't waste your time, or time will waste you’. It’s a line from—”

“Knights of Cydonia,” Phil finished for him excitedly.

“Yeah.” Dan tilted his head. “You know Muse?”

“I love Muse,” Phil corrected. It felt like the more he learned about Dan, the more they had in common.

“I like Muse and you like Muse, let’s be friends.”

Phil laughed at Dan’s antics. “So what inspired the tattoo?”

“One, Muse is amazing.” Phil nodded his head in agreement, smiling widely. “Two, they are kind of who got me really into music. Three, it’s a good motivator.”

“I like it, it’s cool. It looks good on you.” Phil’s voice unintentionally dipped low again.

Dan blushed again — god he blushes so easily. “Thanks.”

Phil was about to mention the idea for a tattoo he had, but was interrupted by the door chime. He looked apologetically at Dan. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Dan smiled back. “No worries, I should probably actually do some work, seeing as that’s why I came here and all.”

Phil walked back to the register to serve the customer, who fortunately only wanted a simple coffee and a muffin. Dan beamed at him from behind his laptop when Phil walked passed him on the way to the bakery display. Without thinking, he grabbed an extra muffin, setting it down in front of Dan on his way back to the register.

Dan glanced up and mouthed “for me?” Phil sent him a quick nod and handed the customer her bagged muffin.

When the customer was gone, Phil sat down on the employee stool and pulled out his phone. His eyes flickered up to check on Dan, almost out of habit. He saw that Dan had torn the muffin in half and given the bigger half to Darcy. God, he’s just too perfect.

Suddenly, Phil was hyper aware of the fact that Dan had a girlfriend. He was in a relationship. He probably had fans that ignored that fact all the time, and here Phil was totally disrespecting the fact that he wasn’t single.

Embarrassed, Phil turned his attention back to his phone, deciding to let Dan work uninterrupted for a little while.

Dan must have a fairly short attention span, though, because it wasn’t forty five minutes before he was pestering Phil.

“Whatcha doing, Philly?” Phil lazily glanced up from his phone, a little surprised Dan was talking to him.

“Oh, you know, twitter, tumblr, the usual.”

Dan leaned forward over the lid of his laptop. “So you do have a twitter!”

“Yeah, I thought we established that.” Phil sat his phone down on the counter, confused by where the conversation was going. He hadn’t said he didn’t, he’d just… not wanted to give his username to Dan, that was all.

“Does this mean you’ll finally give me your handle?”

Phil wavered for a minute. What was worse, Dan looking him up on twitter, or Dan getting offended that Phil wouldn’t give him his username? Well, odds are he would find out eventually, so…

“Under one condition.”

“Deal.” Phil was taken aback at how quickly Dan responded.

“You haven’t heard the condition!”

Dan shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. Deal. What is it?”

“You can’t look me up until you’ve left the coffee shop.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dan groaned, not looking pleased.

“I’ll know if you break your promise,” Phil threatened, wanting to make sure that Dan would keep his end of the bargain.

Dan looked unamused. “Yeah, yeah. Just tell me,” he whined.

“AmazingPhil.”

Dan instantly turned back to his laptop and tapped at his keyboard.

“Hey! Hey! I told you to look me up later!” Phil complained, darting down the bar, and lightly pushing on the lid of Dan’s laptop.

Dan laughed, pushing it back to its fully open condition. “I’m just writing it down, you spoon.”

“Oh.” Phil felt a little chagrined. “Right, sorry.”

“Although on second thought...” Dan closed his laptop lid, eyes gleaming excitedly. “I’ve sent all the emails I need, so I guess I’m done here. Darcy, are you about done with your picture?”

Phil grimaced. He should have known Dan was incapable of delaying gratification. Well, at least Phil wouldn’t be in the room when Dan found out.

Darcy held up her coloring book. She’d moved on from Eeyore to a picture of Tigger and Pooh.

“Perfect.” Dan helped her pack up her things and wrapped her back in his raincoat, making sure the laptop was tucked in well, too. It had mostly stopped raining, but Phil didn’t blame Dan for being careful.

“Well, Philip,” Dan said, turning back to Phil. “It’s been lovely, as always. I’ll be following — I mean, seeing you soon.” Dan laughed at his own joke, gave Phil a quick two fingered goodbye salute, and gathered Darcy up in his arms.

“Tell Phil bye and that you’ll see him soon, Darcy.”

“Bye, Phwil!” Darcy waved her tiny, adorable hand in Phil’s direction. As disappointed as he always was when Dan had to leave, Phil wasn’t completely sorry that Dan was leaving now. Phil wasn’t sure if he could continue looking him in the eye after giving him his twitter handle.

Phil grabbed Dan and Darcy’s mugs to put in the dirty bin and spotted Dan’s shirt on the counter.

“Wait!” Phil almost yelled. “Your jumper.”

“Right!” Dan circled back to the counter, and Darcy grabbed his wet jumper. “Oh, that reminds me, did I leave my coat here last night?”

Phil looked around in confusion. Dan had left his jacket here? Then he remembered the black peacoat in the backroom that had been here when he’d arrived to work. “That’s your jacket in the back? I thought it looked familiar.”

“Black and depressing, who else could it belong to?” Dan said humorously.

Phil rolled his eyes at Dan on his way to the back room. When he brought it back out, Dan was still holding Darcy.

“Er,” Dan mumbled. He tried to extend one hand far enough from Darcy to take the coat, but it wasn’t enough to be able to hold it.

“Um, here.” Phil muttered back. He walked up behind Dan and draped the coat around his shoulders. His fingers lingered a beat longer than they strictly needed to, and he could have sworn he heard Dan’s breath hitch.

“You can bring my jumper back to me next time I see you, yeah?”

Dan turned around to face Phil. Suddenly, they were very close, even with Darcy between them.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll do that. See ya, Phil.”

“Buh bye Phiwl!” Darcy yelled again.

When the door shut behind them, Phil sank onto one of the stools to collect himself, letting out a deep breath. Had this afternoon really happened? Phil wasn’t sure. Dan had a girlfriend, after all, so there was no way he’d been flirting — and besides, Phil didn’t even know if Dan was into guys. But it had felt like they were flirting. It had felt like there was something there.

Barely ten minutes later, Phil’s phone lit up with two notifications in quick succession.

“@danielhowell is now following you.”

“@danielhowell: @AmazingPhil hey there you snek”

let me know what you thought :) i was v excited about this chapter 

in case you’re curious, this is the original summary i gave @auroraphilealis for the last scene: Phil goes and gets it for him and Dan strips off his wet jumper and undershirt right there in the middle of the coffeeshop and phil is like yes daddy.

[mayquita]

Finding The Savior (1/?)

This story came to my mind a while ago, but I decided to focus on my other projects instead. This week, however, my muse had other ideas. I intend to return to this fic at some point but I can't promise anything. Still, maybe it could work like a one-shot?

@saraswans , you’re the best, thank you for everything.

A/N They made us believe that during the time of the dark curse, Cora and Hook remained frozen in the Enchanted Forest. After the Nemo episode, it turned out that it was just time that remained frozen, so I'm going to stuck with this idea.

Summary: Twenty-two years after the cast of the dark curse, Hook is tired of waiting. The moment he finds a way to escape from the Enchanted Forest, he sets a goal, to find The Savior and accelerate the process that will allow him to finally get his long-awaited revenge. Canon Divergence.

Ao3 / Ffnet 

Part 2

(This is unbeta’d so apologize in advance for all the mistakes) 

The Enchanted Forest, twenty-two years after the cast of the dark curse

The sea breeze whipped Killian's face as The Jolly Roger sailed through the water at full speed, the sails of his precious ship dancing to the rhythm marked by the wind. Sailing had always brought him a sense of freedom. Before him, the open sea, endless destinations at his disposal. He would only have to turn the wheel and they would go in search of new and unexplored territories, new adventures, new dangers that, far from intimidating him, would make the adrenaline rush through his veins with expectation.

That feeling of power given by the sea had faded away little by little. The hundreds of years trapped in Neverland had taken its toll, but the last twenty-two years trapped under an imaginary dome at the mercy of a demon disguised as a woman had managed to drain almost every last drop of his patience. Where before he saw an infinite sea now there was only an invisible and impenetrable wall that prevented him from advancing in his desire for revenge.

He was tired of waiting. The idea that his fate depended on the success of an unknown person, The Savior, was not exactly appealing. His stomach clenched in knots in frustration, an uneasiness crept over his body, preventing him from functioning properly.

Maybe for that reason, or maybe because of the overwhelming feeling of having Cora watching all his movements, always hovering around him, like a prey animal ready to jump at the slightest chance of betrayal, he decided to go sailing, hoping against hope, that, this time, he would find something, a magical item, a potion, some sorcerer, anything that would allow him to keep going and not stay stuck in this hell of Enchanted Forest.

To his amazement, his prayers were heard soon, or rather luck decided to finally give him an opportunity. Whatever the reason, he was not going to waste it. At the time he found a magic bean, he knew with complete certainty that his days under this infernal dome were numbered. It was a chance discovery, he would not remember the act as a big feat, but the result was the same. He found the bean hiding in an abandoned chest on the side of the road along with other treasures. Perhaps in another time, he would have gathered all the jewels and gold doubloons that shone in a tempting way. This time, the object that sparkled most was that little bean. The object most desired by him was now in his possession, giving him back the reins of his own destiny.

He had to suppress the urge to open a portal just at that very moment, his hand tingling due to the contact with the bean. Instead, he clenched his jaw as he curled his hand into a fist, trapping the bean inside. He tried to calm his inner anxiety, stopping his impulsiveness and keeping the mind cold. Only then could he achieve his goal. To do this, he needed Cora's help, one last push that would allow him to know all the information he needed to develop the plan that had begun to form in his mind.

This time, when he stood in front of the helm, he did it with a new determination, his steel gaze not losing sight of the horizon, all his muscles tense as his hand and hook grabbed the rudder, the magic bean well hidden in a place that only he knew, his heart thudding in his chest with anticipation.

Two days later, he walked towards Cora's chamber, carrying his passage, the object that would return him to his path of revenge, well hidden, but ready to be used immediately in case of any eventuality. Before entering, Killian took a deep breath and swallowed hard dragging down his inner turmoil.

Once in Cora's presence, he put a false grin on his lips, his features creating a mask of arrogance as he displayed his pirate swagger.

The woman studied him briefly, walking around him while commenting, "to what do I owe the honor? Are you tired of playing with that toy that you call a ship?"

Killian clenched his jaw as he bit his tongue in an attempt not to respond to the insult to his ship. Instead, he decided to bring up his ace up his sleeve. "Maybe the reason for my return is to show you a little discovery."

His nonchalant voice and tight grin seemed to get Cora's attention. She stood right in front of him without stopping her scrutiny, arms crossed over her chest. "And what would that be that might interest me?"

"Maybe there's a way to speed up the process and break the curse ahead of time." He offered, feigning a certain indifference, although his stomach tightened. It was the moment of truth, though he had already decided in advance that, whatever Cora's reaction was, he was going to throw the bloody bean, even though he had to drag her along in the process. He had set himself a challenge and there would be no one who could stop him. Not now, not after having spent years and years waiting for an opportunity like this.

Cora raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head slightly. "I'm listening."

Her penetrating gaze indicated that he had managed to capture her interest. Good. Now he had to maintain the facade only a few minutes more and soon he would be traveling to a new realm. He held her gaze for a while before releasing his proposal while keeping a calm voice. "I'm going to travel to the place where The Savior is and I'll find whoever that person is. I'm going to convince her or him to travel to that place..." He closed his eyes as he raised his hand and waved his fingers as if trying to remember the name of the place.

"Storybrooke?" Cora tentatively offered, her eyebrows went together in a gesture of confusion.

And here it was, just what he needed. A name. His stellar performance had paid off, he thought as he tried to keep his features straight, without showing any emotion. "Thank you, Storybrooke, that's it." He savored the name, knowing in advance that this was the place where the crocodile was hiding. "As I was saying, I can convince The Savior to break the curse, so you'll have your daughter and I'll skin myself a crocodile sooner than expected."

Cora narrowed her eyes, continuing to study him. "You forget that we are frozen in time and that there is no way to travel to another realm." Her condescending tone with a certain hint of malice, made his facade almost wobble. But now that he could almost touch his target with his fingertips, he was not going to lose his temper by being offended by this woman's words.

"Oh, but maybe there is a way." He waved his eyebrows, drawing his fake smile even wider.

"And what would that be?" Her voice became more demanding, even though, she tried to mask it with a false smile that matched his own.

"Why a magic bean, of course."

Cora's eyes widened in surprise. "You got one?"

"Perhaps..."

"Enough playing, Hook." She approached him, invading his personal space. "In case what you are telling me is true and you have, in fact, a magic bean, what makes you think that I would let you go alone?"

"With all due respect, milady, there's no magic to the place I'm going. I think you'll be safer here, while I do the dirty work. You know what I mean..." He winked at her, not letting himself be intimidated in the least.

Cora shook her head as she rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. "And why have not you left already? You don't need me, apparently."

He shrugged, showing indifference, though impatience began to grow inside him. Every second he spent talking to her was a lost second in his search. "I needed a name to direct The Savior, and you just gave it to me."

"You're playing with fire, pirate. You're not aware of the dangers out there." Her threatening tone continued, but a shadow of approval crossed her eyes. She had nothing to lose, after all. He was offering her the possibility of achieving her goal with little effort.

"I'm a survivor, I have lived worse, I assure you."

Then, Killian pulled the bean from its hiding place, but kept it out of Cora's reach, protecting it against a possible change of mind.

"You better focus on your mission, no distractions, otherwise I will find a way to get to you and make you regret your crazy proposal." She mumbled raising a threatening finger.

"Of course milady. Do you want me to say a word to your daughter from your part when I first see her?" His entire body trembled with anticipation, though he forced himself not to lose his composure. Not yet.

"It's not necessary." She rejected his suggestion with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I will be there at the same moment when the curse is broken." Her lips twisted into an evil smile. "And now hurry up, before I change my mind."

Without thinking twice, Killian tossed the bean onto the floor and a vortex opened instantly before them. Before letting himself be sucked into the portal, he gave Cora one last triumphant smile as he winked at her. If everything went well, he would not have to worry anymore about that demon. Then he jumped into the void while holding his breath.

He felt the suction instantly. While his whole body contorted and his sight was blinded by the intensity of the movement, his mind did not lose the marked objective. He muttered frantically “Find The Savior, find The Savior ”.

After a few seconds that seemed eternal he fell to the ground with a thud while the portal, and with it, his return passage, disappeared before his eyes. He barely had time to kneel and look around in an attempt to inspect the surroundings, when his eyes detected a giant contraption approaching him at full speed. The last thing he saw before being rolled over, was a yellow monstrosity that hit him brutally. Then everything went blank.

Boston, six years later

When Emma woke up, the morning had already announced its beginning through the rays of sunlight that filtered through the window of her bedroom. After cracking up one of her eyes, she closed it again, snuggling under the shelter of her sheets, feeling a soft warmth spread all over her body. As she was about to succumb to sleep again, a thought crossed her mind causing her to sit up with a start as her lips curled into a wide grin.

She turned her head, checking that her husband was still asleep. Maybe she should be the one receiving that kind of attention, but she didn’t hesitate to sit astride him carefully so as not to wake him up too soon. She had other plans for it that included a more pleasurable way.

She stared at his features for a moment, his long lashes stroking his cheeks, his lips parted slightly letting out a faint snore. He seemed so young in those moments, with no trace of worry, only an expression of perfect calm.  

A thought flashed through her mind, her memories traveling to those first months of their relationship, when he used to wake up in terror, drenched in sweat while mumbling nonsense after suffering one of his usual nightmares. To her relief, as their relationship settled, his nightmares became more and more sporadic to the point of disappearing almost completely.

Emma shook her head slightly, causing those thoughts to disappear and instead focused again on her goal. She leaned over him, brushing her lips against his ear as she whispered, "happy birthday to me."

Then she straightened her back, her gaze searching expectantly for his reaction. His eyes remained closed, but his lips drew a soft smile before murmuring, "indeed, happy birthday, my love."

Slightly disappointed at not being able to see his intense blue eyes yet, she insisted, tracing a path of kisses down the line of his jaw while her fingers drew delicate patterns on his bare torso. "Uhm, since today is my special day, should not I be the one receiving some unique treatment?"

Her husband chuckled softly, "let a man recover from the intense activity of the night. Or perhaps my lady was not entirely satisfied?"

Her cheeks flushed at the thought of such activities, while she still felt slightly sore in the right places. She bit her lower lip, ready to continue playing for a while longer. "I thought it was a foretaste of what was to come," she breathed on his skin, her lips a few inches from his.

"You're insatiable, woman." A low rumble escaped his lips as he opened his eyes finally, giving her that predatory look she loved so much. She could not resist it anymore, crushing her lips against his in a searing kiss.

Their moment of passion was short-lived, though. Just as their tongues began to dance together, a sound from the other side of the aisle interrupted them, breaking the spell.

"Mama? Papa?"

They both groaned in annoyance. Although their four-year-old daughter's voice still carried traces of sleep, Emma knew from previous experience that if they did not heed her call, Lizzy would run fast in search of her parents.

"It's my special day…" She mumbled against his lips as a reminder.

Her husband made a sound of disappointment as his hand squeezed his eyes. After letting out a deep sigh, he released himself from her embrace and stood up. Emma relished in the vision of his perfect naked body while he searched for his clothes scattered on the floor of their bedroom.

Before opening the door, he gave her a sparkling look full of promises, making her whole body vibrate in anticipation. "This is not over, Emma."

"I don’t doubt it for a moment, Killian."

When he disappeared in the direction of Lizzy's bedroom, she leaned back against her pillow, a contented smile remained on her lips. She had a feeling, something told her that today, the day she turned twenty-eight, would be a special and perhaps unforgettable day.

Thanks for reading :)

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Bastian & Efi (for lack of a better title) 2/?

Part 1 here.

Sorry for any inconsistencies with the previous bit, I wrote them months apart and the blurbs I wrote today were written from memory. I did a quick check-through to make sure they were at least mostly on point but there may be a few pieces missing or adjusted. 

Efi didn’t visit for a week. It was discouraging.

Not that he had expected to, but he didn’t see Orisa either. He had the feeling that she was a private nurse for Efi and not actually a part of Watchpoint.

The doctors and nurses poked and prodded at him. They changed his bandages and gave him medicine and the male nurse returned every once in a while to give him a very embarrassing sponge bath.

Orisa visited one afternoon with a book and a few pieces of paper. She explained that Efi had been very sick though she was vague about what kind of sickness.

If Bastian was able to, he wouldn’t have asked more anyway after he saw the bone-deep worry in Orisa’s strangely golden eyes.

She explained that Efi missed Bastian and had asked Orisa to visit him in her place so that she could deliver a book and drawings that Efi had done for him.

Efi hadn’t wanted him to feel forgotten.

The nurses visited and tittered around him as they checked his injuries. He could feed himself with supervision, and the nurses turned it into a social party amongst themselves. They ate lunch with him but it was more as if he were a statue they had all clustered around.

The doctors visited and fiddled with his IVs but acted as if he were inanimate, less interesting than their phones or pagers.

Efi did not visit, but Bastian read the book she gave him and ran the fingers he had left over the wax lines from her crayons.

Dr. Kayode visited the day after Orisa had given him the book and message from Efi. Through the crude speech board they had created, Bastian asked for a coloring book or scrap pieces of paper and markers or maybe crayons. If the man knew why he was asking for such things he gave no sign except to offer Bastian a wide smile when he returned with the requested items.

It took some time to be able to work with…well, anything really, and Bastian relished the challenge.

He was finishing his first drawing when Orisa snuck in, well past visiting hours. Efi was unconscious over her shoulder but Bastian couldn’t see her with how she was bundled up.

Orisa smiled when Bastian offered the picture – it was crude, some kind of jay that he vaguely remembered seeing one day in the gardens with Ginny. The drab blues and whites were too boring so he turned it gold and white and green and orange like a sunny day in the park. Orisa assured him that Efi would love it and as soon as she woke up, she would present it to her.

She also left the news that Efi may be doing better and if the medicine didn’t make her too sick, they may be able to visit when she was awake. Orisa smiled tiredly and Bastian tried to do the same as they left.

Efi visited the next day. Her chocolate skin was sallow and she looked too thin but whatever nausea was hanging on her face was eclipsed by the wide grin she gave him when she saw him awake.

She was very sick, she told him as she apologized for not visiting. They called it ren…ren…rental? Rental failure! They had her on medicines and doing something involving a big needle and a scary machine that made her sleepy.

Renal failure, Bastian realized but didn’t say. She meant renal failure.

Efi curled into his side and he hoped that he didn’t smell too badly but if he did she gave no sign that she was bothered by it. Orisa found them napping like that later as she very gently picked Efi up and carried her away.

To his surprise, Orisa leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before she left and thanked him in a voice that was quieter than a whisper.

It was pure luck that Bastian saw Dr. Winston later that day. The other doctor wasn’t in a rush though he looked exhausted. The man still helped him set up their crude speech board and Bastian asked – Efi – renal failure?

The other doctor made a face and reminded him that he couldn’t disclose patient information.

Bastian rolled his eyes and tried not to make it seem so condescending. There were more things on his mind than usual, clamoring for attention like a schoolbus full of excited children.

That night, Bastian stayed up late, going over lists and pros and cons in his head.

He wrote down his thoughts as well as he was able to and when the nurses came the next morning he tried to get their attention.

As annoying as it was, he wasn’t entirely surprised that it didn’t work. When they left he pressed the CALL NURSE button.

Again, no one came.

He waited for a while, would have ground his jaws if he could, and then pushed the button again.

When no one came once more, he considered his options carefully. The crude hospital-issued prosthetics required to hands and he only had two fingers and a thumb, making good use of his walker was out of the question. He wasn’t attached to any monitoring devices anymore – no EKG, no breathing tube – so creating a malfunction that would set off alarms was also out of the question.

But…there was a wheelchair in the corner.

Giving the nurses one more chance, Bastian mashed the button with his thumb and waited for fifteen minutes.

Forgotten, he grumbled in his own mind, rolling his eyes as well as he was able to. Well and truly forgotten.

Carefully tucking a corner of his note into his mouth and gripping it with his lips (and hopping he didn’t drool all over it), he eased down the railing and regarded the distance between the top of his bed and the ground. In the past it hadn’t seemed like such a height but knowing of his attempt at jailbreak…

Very carefully he wrapped his remaining fingers around the railing and eased his broken legs over the edge of the bed. His broken knee was of no help and stuck straight out but his other leg was nearly as useless, trapped in a cast as it was. He had no boot on it as no one had expected him to move around as he was doing and even though he wasn’t resting any weight on it, he could already feel the plaster slipping against the smooth tile.

Pick your battles, he told himself grimly and set his eyes on the next step: getting to the damn wheelchair.

Gripping the railing as well as he was able to, he eased himself over the edge and gingerly added weight to his good leg. Unsurprisingly the cast slipped on the slick tile and he ended up on the ground.

He grunted when he hit the unforgiving tile but was fortunate that he took the brunt on the impact on his hip and shoulder and the meat of his butt rather than his skull but he almost wrenched his good arm out of its socket to prevent such a fall. Biting back the cry of pain, his hand slipped and he was well and truly trapped on the ground. The cold tile seared a line of not-quite-pain up open back of his medical gown and he sighed, resigning himself to his fate of being trapped on the tile until lunch or whenever someone decided to visit him.

At least his junk was covered, which was a small miracle.

He had taken his note out of his mouth and the tile was very slowly starting to warm under him when Orisa ambled in. She frowned down at him in a nurse’s patented concerned-slash-disapproving look and shook her head as she helped him up and back on the bed despite his adamant gestures to go into the chair.

Wait, she advised, rolling her golden eyes as she found blankets and cushions which she placed into the chair before lifting him – as if he were a child, or a doll, and Orisa was strong – into the chair as he wanted to. She fussed over him some more, fluffing pillows, settling his gown, and sliding on the prosthetic limb he had been presented by the hospital.

Patting his cheek absently, she unlocked the wheels of the chair, placed his note in his hands, and began rolling him out of the room.

She asked him as they walked why he didn’t call for a nurse and with an annoyed grunt, Bastian mimed pressing the CALL NURSE button on the arm of his chair and she only sighed once in sympathy. The nurse’s station was empty when they passed it and the phones were ringing incessantly.

When Bastian pointed it out to Orisa with a questioning glance up at her, she made a face and said nothing. She wheeled him down the halls and through what felt like a hundred doors before the blank walls were gradually taken up by construction paper drawings and decals of fish and zoo animals.

Orisa explained that this was the children’s ward and that Efi was in for a “little visit” but the doctors didn’t want her to leave her room. Since Bastian was more mobile than she was at the moment, Orisa was sent to fetch him.

She added very quietly that Dr. Winston thought that seeing her friend would do her good and he read a thousand meanings in the tiny waver he heard in her accented voice.

Seeing him, Efi nearly shrieked with glee and Orisa helped Bastian hide his crude notes when she tried to hug him. The girl was connected by a spider’s web of machines and nodes and perhaps his horror must have shown on his face because Efi squeezed his hands reassuringly and told him that it wasn’t so bad.

He didn’t like that she seemed so used to giving such answer and did his best to distract her from all of the needles and nodes and tubes exploding outward from her tiny body.

The thing was that whatever was happening with Efi made her tired; she fell asleep after an hour of chatting away with Bastian and something fragile in him crumbled to see her seem to sink into her pillows and blankets.

Orisa came back, seeming to somehow sense that her charge was unconscious and told him in a whisper that she’d take him to Dr. Winston. She handed him the note back and pushed him out of the room and down the hall.

The man had visited Bastian far more often than was warranted, considering he was a pediatrician, but he still seemed surprised and pleased to see him again. He helped Orisa to move the chairs in his office to accommodate Bastian and his chair before the nurse patted Bastian’s shoulder and left to give them privacy. She closed the door behind her.

Pulling out a blank notebook, Dr. Winston asked Bastian how he was and they absently moved around societal norms to pretend that they had simply met each other without business to speak of.

Dr. Winston was too polite to outright ask why he was there, so Bastian took it upon himself and passed over the first note. EFI, it said. RENAL FAILURE. SAD.

Yes, Dr. Winston said, peering at Bastian cautiously over his glasses.

Bastian pursed his lips and passed over the next. KIDNEY? AB+ ME & EFI

The doctor very carefully put the note down. He cautioned that there were more factors for compatibility than just blood type. His hand twitched toward a stack of folders on his desk.

DO TESTS, Bastian’s next note tests. I WILL.

Dr. Winston asked if he was willing to do all of the tests necessary, was willing to go through all of that work and pain and frustration to test if he was compatible with Efi. There was a lot to be done, a lot of painful tests and in the end he might not be a match.

TAKE ANYWAY, Bastian’s next to final note said. FOR EFI OR NOT.

The doctor pursed his lips. There was more at stake and more issues than simple consent, he warned Bastian. He wanted to know if Bastian was willing to go through all of it for a child he hardly knew.

Bastian handed over the last two pages in his hands. One was his final note: EFI IS A CHILD --> HAPPY; the other was one of the pictures that Orisa had brought over while she was unable to visit.

For a long moment, Dr. Winston looked down at the picture, an odd look on his face. He informed Bastian that they needed to work on his penmanship while he reached for the phone.

The first step was payment.

Through their crude speech board, they agreed not to tell Efi or Orisa (or the Oladeles) of their covert plan. In the end it wouldn’t matter anyway, since after all of the tests and orientations, Bastian was delivering a kidney regardless.

They both just hoped that it would go to Efi.

Bastian had languished long enough on his own without answering the pressing questions of why he was at Watchpoint and now was the time to learn the answer. He met an accountant, a very shy woman by the name of Satya Vaswani, who was one of the many in charge of bookkeeping at the recovery center. She explained to them in very clipped words that there were regular payments scheduled with an account though who was paying she wasn’t entirely certain nor was she really able to disclose that information. What she could tell them was that the invoices were sent to a P.O. Box somewhere in Indiana and payment was sent via check and through a direct deduction from an account.

In essence, all of Bastian’s medical bills were more than paid in full.

She knew who he was – it turned out that she was one of the few that did – but the other person in the know, a nurse named Athena, had been told to keep his identity a secret. After some gentle cajoling by Dr. Winston, the only one of the pair able to do so, Satya admitted that she found it more than ridiculous but all of the bills were paid early or on time and the excess was used to assist in other areas.

Knowing that Satya knew who he was, Bastian carefully told them that Indiana was the site of one of his parents’ larger estates and one of the largest production company of the military robots that made his parents’ company famous. She couldn’t tell him the information due to confidential issues – this was said with a pointed look at Dr. Winston who shrugged – but she admitted that it seemed likely that his family was paying for it.

When Dr. Winston asked why they were accepting double payments and not trying to return the rest, Satya gave him a sour look that told him clearly that he shouldn’t try to tell her how to do her job. She explained in an overly-patient way that betrayed her annoyance that they had tried but whatever payment they tried to return was in turn paid again. Whoever was approving the double payments had been doing it deliberately though for what reason, none of them could guess.

The next difficulty was the legality of it.

They called Athena in – it turned out that she was working at that time, which was fortunate for them – and she was able to give them more information…after scolding Bastian for being out of his room and missing lunch. Their meeting was put on hold for a moment while she fetched Bastian a tray and Satya shyly volunteered to go with her to get lunch for Dr. Winston and herself, as she was still needed for the meeting.

It left Bastian alone with Dr. Winston who after excusing himself, checked a few emails and went through a few folders while they waited.

Athena was a brisk and almost sour-faced woman. She watched Bastian like a hawk but didn’t try to help him more than he needed it. As embarrassing as it was, it was nice to know that she was looking out for him. She even gave him a few hints and tricks that he hadn’t yet figured out about operating with two fingers, a thumb, and half a forearm.

When everyone had eaten, the meeting continued and Athena gave her piece of the story after swearing them all to secrecy.

The Metzen family – here, Bastian winced and couldn’t help it – declared Bastian dead. One of the reasons she was forced to enter Bastian’s information in as “John Doe” at first. She had locked down the system for a few months until she decided it was safe enough and let Dr. Winston (who had apparently been the one to authorize his new patient bracelet) change the name.

Legally Bastian wasn’t dead – he didn’t have a death certificate as that was, strangely enough, one of the few things that Watchpoint wasn’t able to do – but according to everyone else, he was. He had been saved by a strange twist of legality but she cautioned that she was fairly certain that he was wiped from all wills or rules of succession for Metzen Industries. Aside from the miracle payments for his stay at Watchpoint, there was unlikely to be anything that addressed his survival.

When asked, Athena admitted that she wasn’t certain what had happened to him, either. The mud and branches that had covered his body when he was admitted – as well as the state of his body – gave her a few hints, but she wasn’t certain she could hazard a guess.

He asked about Ginny and Athena shrugged. Five other people had come in at the same time as him but none of them had been named “Ginny” and none of them were left at Watchpoint. The way she said it implied that they were all dead and he resolved not to ask more.

Without his words, without the use of his lips and tongue, he couldn’t ask any more about her or explain what she looked like and not for the first time his forced silence frustrated him. He put it aside and tried not to think of coconut and strawberries, of green eye shadow and smirking purple lips.

The meeting continued.

[ladysnausages]

Where There’s Smoke_C2

Note: Hi all! I’m back with chapter 2! The next chapter is already in the works also so hopefully I’ll have that done very soon!

I hope this chapter does not disappoint!

Also! Where There’s Smoke now has a lovely cover page courtesy of the talented and amazing @fainttwinkling . It wasn’t actually made for this story but it fit so well that she is letting me use it for WTS! (such an angel she is)

Here’s a link to her beautiful piece right here!

Chapter Links

C1 C2 C3 C4

Where There’s Smoke

Chapter 2

Sequacious

              Natsu had a special kind of disdain for parties and events like these.

They were stuffy and elitist and always left a foul taste in his mouth. More than anything else, he hated what they reminded him of. Memories he would rather leave buried and forgotten but he knew too well that he would never – could never – let himself. And he expected his time here to be no less unpleasant even if his end goal was drastically different from what he was used to.

              And so here he was, putting on a brave face and wading through the throngs of buzzed socialites, politicians and businessmen as he scanned all the passing faces for his elusive target.

              He heard so many people buzzing about her, some gushing, others resenting. She was either lovely or condescending, naturally beautiful or synthetically altered, intelligent or ignorant. A lot of these to the same person. It was a cruel group to be amongst, so quick to sing their praises but just as quick to stab in you in the back. He could not stand such people. And he could not wait to be free of them.

              Reaching into his blazer, he pulled his phone out and brought up a picture of the girl he was assigned to. Lucky Lucy Heartfilia. Heiress to the Heartfilia Conglomerate, one of the wealthiest and most esteemed families in the country, if not the world. It was nigh impossible for him to find this girl in this crowd where all the surrounding faces seemed to look more alike the longer he was around them. And in all honesty, he really was not interested in playing hero to some spoiled socialite who probably never offered an ounce of gratitude to the lesser folk, yet here he was.

              He sighed as he stuffed the device back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. Ordering a drink, he leaned back against the countertop, sipping casually as he observed the crowd, guests and staff alike. With a calculating eye, he looked for any inkling of a threat.

His organization had received information just hours before this moment that the Heartfilia heiress was in danger and that someone needed to be dispatched immediately to protect her. There was undeniable proof that Tartarus was the one behind the hit but there were noticeable irregularities in their actions for this job. Which in turn led Natsu’s organization to the conclusion that they recruited the assistance of an outside source. Who is was, none of them could say just yet – which made this that much more of a headache to deal with. Essentially they were flying blind. And, as his luck would have it, Natsu was chosen to watch over her. And he would reluctantly indulge that responsibility if he could just find her.

              “Where the hell is she?” He muttered into his glass of whiskey, tugging at the scarf around his neck. His was patience steadily thinning. The enemy was somewhere in this room. He surmised if he could locate the threat then it would be a simple matter of neutralizing him and finding out where his cohorts were hiding. Then he could be on a trail to stopping them from the inside instead of playing babysitter on the outside. And were he to be so fortunate, he would have to handle this with absolute discretion. Lord knows that if he made a scene here, the boss would have his head and his ass mounted on the walls of his office before he could even explain himself.

              “Looking for someone special?” Initially, Natsu thought the question was directed at him. He turned his head slightly but there was another man at the bar. Something about him seemed familiar and he did not trust the man for that very reason.

              “Lucy Heartifilia.” The man answered. Natsu’s senses went on alert though outwardly he made no indication. He maintained his composure, wanting to see where this conversation would go. It would not be the least bit surprising if someone were looking for the Heartfilia heiress but with their intel everyone is considered a suspect until otherwise proven.

              The bartender laughed heartily, shaking his head. “You’re going after Lady Lucy? That girl takes no notice in anyone’s advances. I think it’d be in your best interest look elsewhere.”

              “So you know where she is?”

              He shrugged. “If you’re that interested in getting shot down, she’s right over there.”

              Natsu, out of the corner of his eye, caught the full view of the man’s face when he turned. He had a tattoo on his forehead, above his left eye. He remembered that mark. He had seen it just once two years ago. Bora of Prominence. Amongst the worst kind of stain on humanity. He had been a criminal on the rise, one who took control of a human trafficking ring and was quick to make a name for himself in the criminal world. If he were here, then Tartarus was likely endorsing him. Tartarus wasn’t exactly in the business of keeping people alive but Prominence relied on it. A strange partnership but an ultimately unsurprising one.

              His jaw clenched. Stick to the plan. With everything he had in him, Natsu removed himself from the bar. He downed the last of his whiskey and set the glass down. Bora ordered another drink, stating that he would take it to Lucy himself.

Natsu quickly walked away and made a beeline for where he saw her. He watched her whisper to a guard and sneak out of the door he had just been watching moments ago. If she were alone, that may likely make it that much easier for him to talk to her. Or she could just as easily blow him off. He hoped he could find a way to get through to her as neither of them had the luxury of him not.

A new guard had taken up the vacant post in seconds. “Tch, of course.” He hoped she did not get too far. It would already be tricky enough to explain how he ended up a foot within the restricted section, much less halfway around the mansion.

              He looked over his shoulder to see Bora touch his ring and hold his hand over the glass of champagne. There was no doubting it anymore, Bora was definitely the one who was sent after Lucy Heartfilia. He had a penchant for charming and drugging his victims before dragging them away to a living hell – which was probably why he was sought out to assist them in whatever plot they had in motion. And in forming an alliance with Tartarus, Bora would be that much more troublesome to bring down.

              Focused back on his main priority, Natsu was preparing to remove the replacement guard but just as he resolved to do so, he heard several glasses shattering and a loud yell behind him. A waitress had tripped and all the contents on her serving tray had been flung at a guest, effectively soaking and infuriating him. The man began yelling at her as she profusely apologized, drawing the attention of the surrounding guests and staff, who were to intervene. He used the opportunity to slip away.

              He took long strides down the hallway and as he rounded the corner, he saw her out on the balcony. Her blonde hair was now untied and she seemed more relaxed, as if this was a place she was more interested in being rather than being showered in affections and pleasantries.

              He stepped outside

              “I’m still waiting for your help, you know.”

              He paused, half expecting her to be talking to him. Was she already aware she was in danger? Had his cover been completely blown? When she made no acknowledgement to him, he finally spoke up. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

              It was made apparent that she did not know he was there from her reaction. She spun around, clearly startled. “Wha-what are you doing here?” He stayed still in an effort to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. She curled slightly in on herself. “My bodyguards will realize I’m missing in about three minutes.” He could read her bluff easily.

              He brought his hands up in mock surrender and stepped back. “Wait, hang on. Nothing like that, just got a little lost on my way to the john.”

              She seemed to be able to just as easily read his bluff as she responded. But nevertheless, she relaxed, if only marginally. She remained cautious, not taking her eyes off him. He was almost impressed at how well she stood her ground. So the princess had a backbone after all. “Yes, clearly. Go back the way you came and make a right. There’s an usher who can point you in the right direction.”

              “Thanks.” He smiled automatically. She was strangely interesting and he could not help but smile at her. It was becoming more clear that there was something different about her, something special. Perhaps his initial judgement had been off the mark.

              She smiled back at him, softly. “This area is technically off limits so you should head back before they throw you out.”

              He feigned ignorance. “Ah, that’s why it’s so empty.” He turned to look back at the doors, nodding. “Well that makes sense.” She actually doesn’t seem so bad…a little weird maybe. He grinned at her over his shoulder and was amused when he saw her alarm. “I’ll head back and stay out of trouble.”

              Natsu took just a few steps forward before he realized he would accomplish nothing if he just walked away now. He had nearly forgotten he was on a job and that he was here to protect her. He turned around and walked up to her, still keeping his distance. It would make him seem less imposing if he was considerate of her personal space. He held a hand out to her and smiled. “By the way, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Natsu. Natsu Dragneel.”

              “Lucy Heartfilia.” She held her hand up, delicate and dainty, just like a noble would. It just looked as if she had no arm strength whatsoever to him. Though judging from her appearance, she most likely didn’t.

              Suddenly he was unsure what to do with it. He was not about to kiss her hand. She probably would not like that, from what he heard the bartender say. And so he decided to awkwardly shake her fingers, much to her surprise. “Okay then. Nice to meet you, Lucy.” Without thinking, he added, “You’re kind of weird.”

              “What?” She snapped.

Within just two short minutes, he had seen her face go from surprise, incredulity, exasperation, kindness, worry, allure, confusion and now anger. She was very expressive. It intrigued him and he found that he liked to see all the different faces she could make.

              “You come wandering over here with that lame bathroom excuse and you have the audacity to call me odd?”

              “Weird.”

              “Whatever!” She turned her back to him and he was surprised at the colorful language that was coming out of the mouth of such a seemingly well-groomed heiress.

              He stepped forward to the balustrade, leaning against it casually. He suddenly regretted thinking so poorly of her. Without thinking, he spoke. “Being weird isn’t a bad thing. I mean, doesn’t it just mean you’re unique?” He looked up at the stars like he had seen her doing when he first saw her out here. “Like all those stars up there. They’re all different. I am, you are, Jimmy working the valet is. So don’t worry too much about someone calling you odd.”

              She rested against the stone next to him and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Weird.”

              He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever.”

              They were quiet for some time, comfortably. He wondered if it had always been this pleasant to just take in the view of the stars. He could not really recall a time when he just took the time to admire them, to admire anything, but standing here with her, he felt an unfamiliar peacefulness. It was as if his past had no longer had a hold on him and he was able to live in the present for the first time in a long time. He did not want to step away from this moment which is why he took the time to linger.

              However, he had work to do. Especially now that he had identified the agent.

              “I should head back, it’s probably about time to get moving anyway.”

              “Ah, yes, of course.” There was sadness in her words but he had a responsibility, even if she was unaware, to make sure she was safe. She was his assignment and he would see it through to the end. After these few short minutes, this job no longer felt like a waste of his time. Even if only slightly, he was actually wanting to protect her. She continued, “There will likely be a guard already in front of the door. If he gives you trouble, just say I invited you out here.”

              “They won’t believe that.” He already knew they wouldn’t.

              “Right,” she laughed, thinking briefly, “just say ‘Miss Spetto won’t like you picking on Lucy’s friends’ and that should work.”

              He chuckled. “Got it, thanks.”

              She bowed her head slightly, offering a silent you’re welcome with the motion.

              He walked back to the empty hallway, wondering the best way to keep her away from drinking all together. Who knew what Bora would plan if – or rather when – she rejected him. He would figure something else out to keep that creep away from her all together.

He stopped. “Oh, one last thing before I go.” He knew this would frustrate her but he could think of no better way to get her to stop her and to tease her. “I would recommend you not drink anymore tonight. You reek of booze.”

              “What is with you?” She yelled as he scampered off, snickering to himself. Maybe it was not the most appropriate way to tell her but the less she knew, the better. It would make things infinitely easier to not have the Heartfilia security team interfere. Not to speak less of their capabilities but getting wrapped up in this would be way more than they ever bargained for.

              He pulled out his phone, texting his partners that he had a slight change of plans. And it would likely involve punching that asshole Bora in the face.

              .

[faemoria-arch]

Musings and timeline exploration re: Golden Age/’Sci-fi’ verse; pt. i This part is literally all pretense. It is so much pretense. It is too much pretense.

I already have a summary of my golden age verse on my info page, and as far as backstory goes, the beats of Toothiana’s canon history are mirrored very closely. But, this verse can span over a lot of different settings and events, so I wanted to venture into them a little bit. Namely because it’s my go-to verse for so many crossovers - practically any that would involve or entice the use of cross-planetary travel ( A.k.a. practically every sci-fi setting ), and not to mention interactions with quite a few GoC characters themselves. Small disclaimer that not only is this all just personal headcanon for the most part, but it is also just what is presumed for the sake of setting and interaction in this verse unless I have reason to determine otherwise. That is to say if your character has something integral to their story or your portrayal that is heavily at odds with this, there’s really nothing that can’t be adjusted. As per usual, I come up with this stuff almost entirely to provide myself with context for Toothiana’s behavior, and not for me to demand any GoC characters adhere to even if they’re mentioned here.

i. Some pretense to the pretense: For those who might not be well versed in vague lore of a somewhat obscure children’s book series, the Golden Age refers to a time of peace supposedly across the entire universe ( lol )   led by benevolent Constellation houses and such. The threat to this peace came in the forms of Fearlings and Nightmare Men and Dream Pirates. The protection of this peace came in the form of the Golden Armies, led by Kozmotis Pitchiner. In an effort to remove the threat entirely, the Constellations built a lead prison somewhere in the abyss, the Golden Armies threw all the mean things into it, and Kozmotis stood watch at the gate. At some point the Fearlings trick Kozmotis into opening the door, they decide he’d make a fine meat skin, thus the creation of Pitch Black who goes on to end the Golden Age because happiness is gross.

ii. What my verse changes or expands in this regard            - For one, it takes place before, or entirely circumvents, the lead prison box thing.             - Fearlings on their own are the primary, uncontained eldritch-like threat. Nightmare Men and Dream Pirates are just... mean dudes that also cause problems sometimes.             - The Golden Age is a bit more localized as an empire of smaller empires. As in the vastness of space is recognized, and the influence/power of constellation houses/etc. is understood to have its limitations in different parts of the universe - ranging from complete control over some territories, to places that wouldn’t recognize a single house name, let alone issue them any level of authority.             Presumably if there is a concept that cites interaction and any form of partnership/truce/general overlaying structure to what civilizations across space - or this area of space - are not blatantly hostile in some regard, one can assume that this ‘Golden Empire’ is a part of said system.          - The idea of being in an age of peace is relative to where in the empire you happen to be; And the benevolence of any house is questionable at best and laughable in most cases, but either way politics are politics, and politics are hellscapes.          - There is a rather small planet hub of sorts, that I refer to as the Gilded City, which one could consider the capital of this Golden Empire. It is one of many locations that is not under the rule of any specific house, and it serves as a few things.                 1.  It is where the heads of Constellation houses ( or their representatives ) meet in groups and squabble over politics, sometimes with people from other places that have come to squabble over politics, and literally everybody knows how to smile in a way that says ‘i will kill you’ and the pleasantries fool no one but everybody does it anyways.                 2. It is an actual city. Where people like... you know. Live. It is a very well-off and class-centric place, primarily made of a population that believes they are the center of a peace-filled universe thanks to the Golden Army, which is idolized but also taken entirely at face value. Any concern for threats of Fearlings and the like are afterthoughts - if anything - for the ones who don’t have to deal with them.                The average person in this city is not malicious by any means, but... pretentious and caught in their own little bubbles. They tend to find many ‘outsiders’ to be interesting in a condescending way, and give a sort of snooty-tourist vibe should they visit worse-off places.        - Technology through the empire is of varying advancements, but arguably magic is as well. One can rationalize how magic ‘works’ based on any crossover���s canon or character’s perception, whether it is actually advanced technology and biological adaptations, or more abstract or spiritual. ( It varies within the empire itself, as explored further below. ) Either way there tends to be less ‘blinking lights and chrome and laser guns’ and more ‘glowing runes and parchment and swords’. ( a’la the technology of Asgard in Marvel’s Thor )

iii. The Sister of Flight        - The Sister of Flight were a very small race, seemingly indigenous to a rather small planet as well, though it is possible the first of them existed before the planet itself did based on scripture. As a species they essentially held the same abilities and connection to memories as Toothiana - as the Guardian and Queen of Memories - does in this blog’s mainverse, omnilinguistics and all. Just with countless years more experience and an intuition for working with memories as a practice rather than a taken role, bordering on instinct.         - The Sister of Flight never made an effort to leave their planet physically - they rarely even left the mountains - but at some point the remains of civilization from ( presumably ) a neighboring one found theirs and sought refuge, after losing their own home to Fearlings. Being allowed to stay, this population eventually expanded into its own civilization over many generations. The Sister of Flight let this occur with very little interference, but were regarded as protectors and well-respected; To some point nearly deified. ( Though understandably so, given that they were just as the Sister of Flight generally are on this blog: Seemingly unaging, kind of ethereal, also kind of terrifying, etc. )         - It became practice to - in summary - journey with a small crystal to their domain, reflect on ones past, and request a specific memory be put into the crystal for preservation and future recollection. Eventually their planet was found and taken into the Golden Empire as one of many that did not fall under the authority of any specific Constellation. This trickled information about the planet and its inhabitants to other places as people came and went more frequently, until eventually pilgrimage across entire galaxies in order to meet the Sister of Flight became far from unusual.          - Of course the general ability to thoroughly and precisely tamper with memories was one point of interest all its own, but anybody hoping to have their ( or someone else’s, or something else’s ) memories magically erased or changed were going to find themselves out of luck almost every time. They might have been helped or advised in how to go about accomplishing what they wanted, but aside from mere moral values, the general rule of thumb is a constant on this blog: Forcing memories to do anything can easily break a mind and the Sister of Flight didn’t really want to bother with anybody that had that little respect for how powerful memories actually are.         - Moreover, the crystals that formed in the planet and were used for this practice turned out to be rather versatile and valuable themselves ( because of sci-fi reasons. energy, material properties,... light sabers. pick your poisons ). Mining became the other point of interest bringing more people in and out.         - As a whole, the increase of traffic had its fair balance of positive and negative influences, with some of the positives being advancements in technology, better access to resources and information, cultural exchanging, etc. It was a mostly welcomed thing, even if the Sister of Flight were content to stay put themselves.         - Unfortunately, Fearlings make their way to this planet eventually as well, centuries after that first group landed seeking refuge. It is a threat that is recognized before it happens, but some mix of time or orders of priority or possibly declarations of futility, lead to the planet not receiving any defensive aid from the empire. Whatever the reason, the Fearlings take a dramatic toll on the general population, and completely wipe out the Sister of Flight with ( of course ) one exception.

[jalmostauthorblog]

How I Came to Meditation

Fade in

Tibetan bowl music plays

Jacob

(calm tone)

This is Tibetan bowl music, it’s made by rubbing a wooden stick - I don’t know the proper name for the instrument - along the interior of a brass bowl. Just listen to it for a little while.

Music continues to play

Jacob

It’s soothing, isn’t it? It’s meant to help with meditation: sit and listen to it with your closed, slowly  breathing in and out, focusing on nothing but the rhythmic humming of the bowl as it fades into the distance. Monks do it to gain spiritual enlightenment, to detach themselves from the physical world and gain access to higher form of existence. I’m an atheist, I don’t believe there’s a higher form of existence than this one; I believe you die, and that’s it, no reincarnation, no heaven, no hell. But everyday, I find the quietest space I can, and sit and listen to this for ten to twenty minutes, just so I can be ten percent less manic about everything going on in my life.

Intercut sounds: Car horns honking, people’s voices in a crowded dining hall, loud abrasive rock music

Silence

Tibetan bowl music plays again

Jacob

This lyric essay is about meditation, and how the various stressors in my life, including my struggles in school, relationships, and really, life in general pushed to rely on it as a necessary tool for maintaining my sanity.

(Music fades out)

Jacob

It’s ironic, I thought going to college would turn me into an adult, that jumping into an environment where I’d be on my own for the first time in my life would magically endow me with all the skills necessary to successfully navigate the real world. In truth, it made me feel like a child, dealing with the crushing sense of incompetence that comes from having to do things you’re not entirely sure you know how to.

Intercut narration

Jacob

(mildly anxious tone)

Read chapters one through eighteen of ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thursday; Memorize anatomical terms for lab practicum; jog for at least thirty minutes every morning; remember to eat healthy; read at least one news article to stay informed; get involved around campus; schedule time to meet with your professors; join Linkedin and start making connections; update resume - oh shit, I don’t have a resume; revise essay for Principles of Literary Study; read a book for fun; get eight hours of sleep.

(Calming nature sounds play)

Jacob

Before I came to Rutgers, my life was simple: I lived with my parents in their house in Lake Hopatcong, they paid for all my food, clothing, and utilities; even though I was an adult, they didn’t mind still providing for me, I cleaned up around the house, never got in trouble, and kept to myself. I was also working on my associate’s degree at County College of Morris, in Randolph. To be honest, I would have rather gone straight to a university, but my final grades from high school were not impressive, so community college was my only option. CCM wasn’t easy, but I never found myself having panic attacks, at least until my last semester there.

It was spring of 2016, and I only needed two more courses to get my associate’s degree, the only problem was, they needed to be science classes. I’m an english nerd, having to dissect frogs was never my forte. My first trouble came when I had to take my first exam for Concepts in Biology - basically Biology for non-bio majors. I had studied my notes for almost two weeks, but when I sat down to take the test, it all just escaped me, there questions to things I didn’t remember going over in class, lists of terms that all seemed to be describing the same thing. When my mom picked me up that afternoon, I was a nervous wreck.

sound of heart pounding

            Jacob

I told her everything I just told you, and that I was afraid I’d fail, and not graduate in time to transfer to Rutgers. She did the typical mom thing, told me it would alright, then suggested I go online and try to find a video or something about relaxation exercises. Like any 23-year-old, I was hesitant to take my mother’s advice, but I knew I didn’t want to feel like this anymore, so I went to YouTube and searched for “meditation,” and found a twenty minute exercise led by a pretty, dark-haired woman named Melissa. I closed the blinds in my bedroom, started the video ….

Sound of heart pounding stops

Jacob

(relieved tone)

… and it worked. Twenty minutes later I opened my eyes ad felt better than I had in … I don’t know how long. It was like magic, everything came to me clearly and I could concentrate. I played the video and did the exercise every other, and finished out my last semester at CCM with Bs in both my science courses. Now, all my classes are in subjects I actually enjoy, I still get stressed from time-to-time about the work I have to do, but now I have a tool I can pull out of my pocket anytime I need it.

When you think about it, school is easy, you just follow directions, do whatever the teacher or the professor asks you to do, with your success depending on how much effort you’re willing to put in - work is pretty much the same, as is paying your bills, cooking, and taking care of your house. So many of the big parts of adult life that people complain of as being daunting, really aren’t, if you just follow the instructions. Of course, there’s one component of living in the real world that doesn’t come with instructions; one crucial, mysterious part of life that can be absolutely disastrous to navigate if one is not properly prepared.

(‘Mowgli’s Road,’ by Marina and the Diamonds starts playing)

Jacob

(sarcastic tone)

Relationships! Aren’t they just so much fun? Isn’t trying to find another human being, whom you find attractive, and who finds you attractive, and with whom you have enough emotional and intellectual compatibility to enjoy spending time around, as-well-as confess your deepest held hopes, dreams, and fears just sooooo easy? Especially when you consider the fact, that you have to pick this person out of the seven billion some odd people on this Earth? No? Well welcome to my world ass hole.

Romance has always eluded me, my parents didn’t talk to me about it growing up, nor did I want them to, I wasn’t interested in dating in junior high and high school, I just didn’t think it was the right time to do such things; and even if I was interested, I still wouldn’t have asked my mother and father for advice, for reasons I won’t go into here. As I would find out later, however, I was only screwing myself over. When I started at community college, I thought love would just happen to me, I’d meet a cool girl, and we’d just hit it off. But, that did not happen. I had no idea how to engage with women I was interested - literally no idea. And if one happened to be interested in me, I would magically lose all my social skills, I’d curl up into a fetal position, and find that I had forgotten how to use my mouth to communicate.

Again, I just didn’t know what to do, dating doesn’t come with a syllabus, there’s no rubric for asking a girl out, and you can’t go to office hours to learn where your flirting needs improvement. Yes, you can learn how to do these things, but I just was never able to: my older brother is gay, so I can’t talk to him about women, and I was never good at making friends - boys or girls - so there was never anyone I could ask about these things. Like any awkward, lovelorn boy in the twenty-first century I turned to the internet - I don’t mean porn, pull your mind out of the garbage.  I found articles on where to meet girls, how to approach them, what to say and how to hold their attention, all of it sounding reasonable. But, like any book worm, I know that it’s one thing to read about something, and another to actually translate it to the real world.

‘Mowgli’s Road’ fades out

(condescending, self-deluded tone)

So I decided to wait until I transferred to university, to an environment where I thought I could more easily pursue my quest. I convinced myself that community college just wasn’t a good place to find love: it was a county college, so people were coming from all over, and it just wouldn’t be convenient if I met someone I liked, and they happened to live in another town. No, it wouldn’t be convenient at all.  Also, these were only community college girls, they weren’t at the intellectual level I needed for a partner, the girls at university would be much more suitable.

So I’m at university, no more excuses, I’m surrounded by women my own age, here (I assume) looking for the same thing I am … and I just can’t make it happen. The closest I came was last semester, when there was a girl in my creative writing class I had a crush on. I planned it all out: before class started I would politely ask her to step to the side with me, where I would look her in the eyes, and ask her if she would like to go out with me. If she said yes, great; if she said no, I’d just brush it off: ‘Oh, that’s cool.’ But sure enough, I chickened out. I waited until class ended, and slipped her a note with ‘Will you go out with me?’ hastily scribbled on it. She picked it up, saw what I had written, and put the note away without even looking at me.

Down tempo, angry rock music starts playing

Jacob

(bitter and distressed)

I’d see couples walking around holding hands, here moaning from bedrooms late on weekend nights, and just become consumed with slow-burning rage, I’d want to scream at people: ‘Why is it easy for you, and not for me?’ And it felt good a while, it felt good getting angry, at least for a little while. I know that this was no way to live, so I did what I know I had to do.

Angry rock music stops

Silence

Tibetan bowl music plays

     Jacob

Meditation functions in the opposite way people think it does, people think you’re supposed to clear your mind of everything, when in fact, you’re supposed to focus on whatever is causing you distress. Sitting there, my eyes closed, I thought of all the anger I felt at not being able to figure out love, and I realized, all that anger I felt, was anger at myself. I realized the reason I kept stopping myself from doing things the way I knew I was supposed to, was because I was afraid of doing everything right and still failing. When the music stopped, and I opened my eyes, I knew that if I wanted to find love, I needed to admit there were things about myself I needed to work on before I was ready to give my life over to another person. I had to stop beating myself up because my life wasn’t what I thought it should be. How could I expect someone to love me if I couldn’t love myself?

In the West, and especially here in America, I feel like we’re conditioned to not look within ourselves for the source of our problems. We think everything can be solved by changing our external circumstances, by buying things, taking pills, blasting our emotions at the people and things that make us angry. We’ve surrounded ourselves with so much noise, that we’ve forgotten what it truly means to listen. That’s what meditation does for me, it helps me to detach myself from all the commotion crashing over me, to be in the moment, and realize, that even though I’ll always have problems in my life, I have the tools within myself to stop them from controlling me.

Music fades out