#it's very rare for my real name to be utilized anywhere

[ooc-miqojak]

Mihoyo wanted me to use their app, to get more Genshin goodies. No sooner do I start looking through other profiles and posts... and it's so many pre-teens saying "my parents won't let me have social media, but they don't know this app is social media!" And they're posting pictures from school. Selfies. Report cards. Test results. I made a few "please stop sharing personal information on the internet posts" and tried to explain why it's dangerous... then basically never looked at the social media aspects ever again. Plenty of adults will be using this app as well, as the daily check in feature gets you free stuff in game. Then you're inundated by children sharing extremely identifying information, and it just...feels dangerous. Anyone could be on there. There's safety in anonymity, and it terrifies me to think what could happen to these kids sneaking into social media without permission, so they're not being monitored and told 'hey this picture shows exactly where you go to school, take that down'. Internet safety is kinda more important now than it was when I was growing up - there was no tag showing where I was located at all times, then. And while children are extra vulnerable? No one should be showing off identifying information publicly, because you don't know who's out there, and how motivated they are to get what they want.

totally normal and not deranged thing to say

[anotherhumanpet]

Well, since Mimi has finally and successfully dragged me down into Blue Exoricst hell, I've been pondering over some head canons for the boys to help settle them into the AU.

Firstly, they're still based/living in Nevada so Dennis is tutoring under the American branch of the True Cross Academy. He's never intended to go anywhere aboard, for any reason outside of having a luxurious vacation, but shit happens and he winds up in places he shouldn't or doesn't want to be quite a bit - mainly because of his familiar, Spot.

Speaking of which - Dennis operates with three familiars, who have taken on the form of rats, and he's named them after some former pet rats he had earlier in life; Patches, Mister Whiskers, and Spot. And although the three will all do the work Dennis commands them to do, they have their own minor skill-sets which he'll try to utilize as best as he can to make them more effective. Patches is typically the aggressor/fighting force of the trio, while Whiskers acts like a guide whenever Dennis has gotten turned around. Spot is the trickiest and hardest to work with due to his somewhat unpredictable nature and abilities, as he seems to have some teleportation powers but rarely ever uses them without direct commands to do so and will often use them against Dennis when he's lost control of the familiars.

Dennis' summoning chant has granted him the ability to pick which individual demon he brings forth though, so he can afford to be a little picky about who he's summoning occasionally. When summoning in general and to get all three demons, he says, "Creatures of Gehenna, I call on thee for your aid. Lend me your strengths and help me." When summoning for Patches, he says, "--and help win this fight." For Whiskers, the mantra changes to "--and guide the way." Finally, for Spot he says "--and get me through this."

His summons is very deliberately toned as a plea for help because he's taken inspiration from Jaden's methods, and wanted to go for a gentler tone because he felt like Jaden's was too demanding. A firm hand is needed to tame demons, yes, but Dennis still wants to be gentle and friendly about things whenever possible.

Jaden, by the way, would be classified as a Knight meister and Tamer meister - if he was recognized by the True Cross Organization.

His summoning chant is simple, direct, and literal in every sense of the word. "I call upon the creatures of Gehenna to come to me, in Assiah. Give me your strength and defeat my foes!"

Jaden's summons almost always take the form of a corvid - most commonly crows and ravens. His most common/most used familiar has been somewhat fondly named Krobus; the rest are unnamed. At first glance too, the demon familiars hanging around Jaden look relatively harmless and pathetic. If you're at all familiar with the Crow Time series then you know exactly how cute and docile looking they'd appear. At Jaden's command though, they'll rapidly change shape and shift in tone real fast. And he keeps a lot of them.

I mean, a lot. And those who lurk aren't as squishy looking as the ones hanging around him at all hours of the day.

Being an independent entity though, he has no formal ties with the True Cross and probably only has informal ties at best. I'm still pondering the exact details around that though because I've yet to decide if he's fully independent, which would make him and Penny witches of some kind, or if a former-exorcist going by the name of Silas has converted people into his own legion of something, which Jaden got wrapped up in. We'll see.

[samwrights]

I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai, 

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason. 

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise. 

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Your body moves without a second thought. 

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something. 

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature. 

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family. 

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city. 

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret. 

All but you, anyway. 

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public. 

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it. 

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city. 

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city. 

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri. 

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think. 

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now. 

 The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke. 

Oh no. 

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone. 

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall. 

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off. 

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?” 

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri. 

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you. 

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak. 

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with. 

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. 

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions. 

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.” 

Dammit. 

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip. 

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances. 

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug. 

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life. 

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care. 

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply. 

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one. 

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

 You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day. 

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself. 

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom. 

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space. 

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai. 

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well. 

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation. 

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless. 

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space. 

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment. 

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer.  “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet. 

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his. 

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening. 

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere. 

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly. 

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs. 

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection. 

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer. 

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry. 

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip. 

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”  

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate. 

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him. 

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence. 

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table. 

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago. 

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating. 

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise. 

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium. 

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen. 

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet. 

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction. 

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks. 

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?” 

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground. 

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow. 

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes. 

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering. 

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life. 

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see. 

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off. 

“Thank you, Chisaki,” 

 You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books. 

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?” 

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen. 

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke. 

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind. 

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine. 

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm. 

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts. 

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct. 

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder. 

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother. 

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled. 

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered. 

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you. 

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak. 

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out. 

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look. 

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly. 

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities. 

This was about population control. 

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with. 

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh. 

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family. 

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it. 

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact. 

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home. 

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface. 

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen. 

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact. 

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response. 

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore. 

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve. 

Love. 

Those were the words you associated with him now. 

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved. 

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him. 

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain. 

As if this was never going to happen ever again. 

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him. 

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink. 

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones. 

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear. 

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all. 

Maybe you didn’t. 

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him. 

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end. 

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair. 

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans. 

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.” 

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside. 

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to. 

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface. 

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea. 

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever. 

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you. 

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that. 

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours. 

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked. 

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs. 

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones. 

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments. 

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?” 

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in. 

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him. 

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.  

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was. 

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine. 

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it. 

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.” 

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response. 

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything. 

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely. 

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you. 

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence. 

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach. 

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?” 

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along. 

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything. 

“I found you.”

 “Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back. 

Enough was enough. 

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you. 

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?” 

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within. 

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain. 

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one. 

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band. 

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

[clownbasedintrigue]

You and I // cryptalore

as part of @apex-legends-champion‘s writing collaboration, for @kamizaki-53,

bangalore/crypto, prompt word ‘singer’, sfw

more under the break

words: 2,713

note: this was meant to be out a lot earlier (think like, three or four months ago) but with everything going to absolute shit where i am, as well as personal happenings, this fell to the wayside. very to the wayside. sorry about that :/

the song used is ‘you and i’ by barns courtney, but i wouldn’t suggest listening to it as you read, the pacing i had in mind for the fic is not the same as the actual song. just keep that in mind. however, it’s a good song so i DO suggest listening to it beforehand.

this might eventually end up on ao3, if i get the chance. if so, i’ll link it. i also scrapped about another 2k words from this because they just didnt fit the way i wanted them to. if i find the energy, i plan to make that into a fic as well.

ft. gratuitous headcanons and dubious hacking

--------------------

“We’re sitting ducks up here, any rookie with a scope could pick us off.” she says, but judging by the way she leans back against the air conditioning unit, she’s not bothered by the idea.

Crypto hums in response, and tucks his legs underneath him. She’s not wrong, the wide expanse of desert does nothing to obscure their spot on the rooftop. As worrying as that would be anywhere else, his drone hovers above them, constantly scanning. If there’s anyone around, the drone will tell them.

Pulling the bag between them into his lap, which they filled with drinks and snacks before escaping to the quiet of the roof, he digs through it, hands closing around two glass bottles. He passes one off to Bangalore, and rests the other beside him as he rifles around for the bottle opener.

They rest out here sometimes. When the noise of social nights or tenseness of a newcomer makes the compound unwelcoming. The flat concrete and the surrounding sand offers peace and quiet, something the building below them often lacks. The quiet is a welcome relief.

Emerging triumphantly with the opener, he goes to pass that, too, to her, only to realize she already has the edge of her utility knife wedged underneath the cap. A bit of leverage, and it flies off with a pop, bouncing further across the rooftop and landing with the din of metal on concrete. They watch it in silence. The weight of the bottle opener-now obsolete-resting solidly in his palm.

Bangalore holds out her hand to him. He blinks, sets the bottle opener down, and softly places his atop her opened one, feeling the way hers have calloused from her work. The impressions left behind by years of artillery work and battle not having faded yet.

She turns to face him with raised eyebrows, “The bottle, TJ.”

Oh. He huffs a breath at her, stomach twisting at the abbreviated use of his real name, nervous butterflies and anxiety alike. It’s not something he hears often. Hasn’t, since Mila happened. He’s not sure how wise using it is, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

Before he can pull his hand back, she laces her fingers with his and drags it down to rest between them. His nerves turn to warmth as he gives her the bottle with his other hand, and relishes in the feeling of her palm on his.

What they have is quiet, on the down-low, moments stolen in the corner of the dropship when no one’s watching, or gentle nights like this, sitting away from the rest of the legends.

The clatter of the bottle cap draws his attention back to her, and taking the bottle from it’s spot wedged between her knees, Anita sneaks a swig before handing it to him. With the utility knife safely covered and slipped back into her boot, she leans into his side.

They sip at their drinks underneath the tranquil sky. Double moons, and stars bright enough to light up the area, the night was clear and the breeze was crisp.

Through their silence, the bass of the music in the common room reaches them, though barely. Three stories up, not a lot makes it up here, save for stray sand and the occasional legend looking for a quiet space. But tonight had been movie night, and those rarely stay quiet.

Movie night is a time where a few of them make a snack run at noon to the city, and the others pick a host of movies to watch. When the snack runners get back, usually a few hours later, they all have ‘dinner’, if junk food and sugar can count as dinner, and from ‘dinner’ to midnight, they feast, watch, and argue about the others’ lack of taste in movies. A weekly routine he’s gotten used to. Looks forward to, almost.

Even though neither of them are particularly shy about public affection, they never hesitate to take advantage of movie night, the dark of the room during which allows for the two to lean against each other, hold hands, and sneak quiet kisses without the others noticing.

Tonight, they had sat for the movie, as they usually did, and slipped into the hall before the last movie ended. Things could get loud afterwards. After a quick raid of the kitchen, and grabbing a few things from their room, including blankets, they made for the roof. Which had led to them sitting up here, with only the company of the moons, themselves, and TJ’s drone, perched up high, keeping a watchful eye from the sky.

Lowly, music drifts up from the commons room. it’s muffled by laughter and concrete, but not so much that they cannot hear the vague baritone of the singer.

“They must’ve opened the balcony,” Crypto murmurs in displeasure, resting his head on her shoulder, “The quiet was better,”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Anita falls silent, leaning her head on top of his and drinking in the melody. She pulls back for a moment, her brows scrunch and her gaze drifts away as she focuses in on the music. He lifts his head, and as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, she speaks, softly.

“I think I know this song.”

Crypto shuts his mouth and strains to listen. He hears the beat, the tune, although the actual words elude him. The notes lead each other in a waltz, music twirling out off the balcony into the desert air, a lullaby, or maybe a love ballad. He doesn’t know where it’s from, and it’s different from his usual taste, but Anita must enjoy it, from the way she sways and nods along to it

She smiles at him and relaxes, taking a drink from her bottle and resting back on the metal, closing her eyes. Her mouth moves with the words of the song, reciting a long-engrained memory.

When the chorus peters out, she is left humming to the bridge. The double moons cast double lights onto her upturned face, silhouetting the slope of her nose, brows, and soft cheeks. The moonlight paints silver on her skin, every ridge and bone reflecting the glimmer of the night sky.

“Sounds like something we used to play at home. Could be wrong, though,” she says, setting the bottle at her side. Crypto sets his aside as well, turning his full attention to her.

”Back on Gridiron, we had this crate of discs,” Bangalore mimes a box with her hands, “Along with this vintage radio. An old hunk of a thing, big as the box itself, and just about as functional. They were our grandma’s, from her grandma, and hers before that. They’ve been in the family forever.”

Looking out over the desert, she continues, “You’d put in one of the discs, and it’d play music. Old stuff. Back from when they still made ‘em. Don’t see them around much anymore. I used to pick them up anytime I saw one, maybe in salvage or a second-hand store, and add it to the box. Then when Thanksgiving came around, or some other family dinner, we’d dig out the box and try out all the new ones. We all had a blast dancing around drunk on moonshine and full of cake.”

She tears her eyes away from the skyline, and turns to him, “I miss it, y’know. Them, mostly, but the little things too. Being able to annoy the hell out of my brothers. Grandma’s red velvet. The tacky oldies music, especially.”

Crypto nods, solemn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, fingertips brushing over her cheekbones. Losing family-it’s a pain he understands well, just not one he can fix. Or would even know how. Anita rests her hand atop his and tips her face against his palm. She knows this, knows their shared pain, knows how he wants to do something about it. Right now, what happened to their families is a wrong that can’t be righted. Though he wishes there was something he could do to ease the weight of it. For both of them.

Ideas strike him like lightning. He jerks up, nearly knocking his drink over, and pulls his hand away, already putting it to use digging through their backpack before Anita can so much as blink.

”Hold on,” Crypto says, and when she reaches out to him, he looks up at her, “Trust me.”

She watches with fond confusion as he pulls out what he was searching for. His laptop, which he flips open and boots up. It takes a minute, fingers tapping on its side in the meantime. As soon as the screen comes to life, he sets about finding the artist. He can, at the least, do this much.

Pulling up code, he types a bit, scrolls through the numbers some, and slips into the compound’s encrypted network like it’s butter and his weapon of choice is a hot knife. From there, it’s a matter of getting past the password-locked music app, and pulling up the corresponding artist’s page, which he slides over to her when he’s done.

“There, not hard to do,” he leans back into Anita as she adjusts the laptop to rest in her lap, “You said you recognized the music. Is that them?”

The real-time display totes the current song in the bottom corner, while a dark page lists the artist at the top, along with their songs below. Words scroll past as Anita takes control of the touchpad and flicks down the list. Eyebrows drawn together in focus, she scans page.

With a hum, and without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Crypto, “The problem’s not that I don’t remember the songs, it’s that I don’t remember the titles. There’s a few that use the choruses as titles, I think. I’ll look for those.”

When she doesn’t seem to remember any right away, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and settles down onto her shoulder, content to stay snuggled into her side for the time being.

They stay like that for a while, nothing but the click of the keyboard and quiet music as one song ends and another begins. It’s peaceful, and if they weren’t out in the open like this, he’d have fallen asleep where he was.

Eventually, the arm underneath him jostles upward, and her warm voice calls him.

“TJ,” he lifts his head to see Anita gazing gently at him, “I found one.” He rubs his eyes and shifts upward off his place against her shoulder as she hits play.

The current song cuts off abruptly, causing a chorus of objections and confused cries to erupt from below. After a moment, the meandering music fades in and drifts above the stray noise, leaving them with only each other. Anita hums along, and Tae Joon feels his heart thrum.

“Used to dance to this one with my mom. It’s her favorite,” she pulls herself to her feet and holds out her hand to him, “C’mon. Can’t not dance to it.”

Crypto hesitates, arm half-risen at his side. He doesn’t dance. He doesn’t know how to, at least not the way she wants to. The closest he’s ever gotten to dancing is with Mila, bouncing around their shared room at a young age, or trying to learn choreographies with her, and badly, as Mystik watched from the doorway. But that was a long time ago, and they were young. This is different.

He’s about to say no, that he’d only make a fool out of himself, when she kneels down and takes his hands in hers.

She doesn’t pull him up, instead she brings them to her lips, humming still. Ever so lightly, she brushes the back of his hand with a kiss, and his stomach flips. Distantly, he realizes there’s someone singing, in the song, though it’s too quiet to make out the words. More presently, he realizes Anita is singing along, lowly, quietly, against his skin.

“Suitcase in your hand,” it comes out warmly, and his words catch in his throat as he feels her lips move, “Wave goodbye to mom and dad.”

That’s ironic, he’s pretty sure.

She turns it over, and presses a tender kiss to his palm, “Never thought I would see the back of you.”

Her voice is his favorite sound in the world, he decides. In a more poetic moment, he’d describe it as sugar and amber, like the sweet syrup she puts too much of on her pancakes, or the rising sun drifting through their window in the morning. For now, it takes his breath away and leaves his heart hammering.

She rises, and pulls him up. This time, he goes with her. He doesn’t need any more convincing.

“Mixtape’s wearing down,” she pulls him close and he takes a moment to reflect on how perfectly their hands fit together, “Crystal ships are sailing out.”

They’re close enough that he can feel her breath on his face when she sings, “Now the doors are opening for you.”

When she takes a step back away from their seat, and towards the flat expanse of the rest of the roof, he follows without question.

Hand in hand, she leads him out as she sings, “I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night,” each footstep in sync with the song.

“I wanna melt you down into the stars,” they take slow, deliberate steps. It’s in time with the steady flow of the music, low notes like a heartbeat.

“I wanna crumble, tumble, like a landslide.” as they reach the wide, open portion of the roof, she stops. One hand slips free of his, and finds its way to rest on his neck, fingers brushing over the shaved stubble of his undercut

She rests their foreheads together, and sings, “I wanna live, die, wherever you are.”

Crypto thrills at the touch, as he always does, and untangles his other hand to rest it tentatively at her waist. Yet again, he wonders how he got so lucky.

She dips down and brushes the corner of his mouth with a ghost of a kiss, “Just you and I.”

As the singer echoes the ending of the phrase, she presses her lips to his in a firm kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. With each ‘you and i’ that the song brings, she kisses him again. Peppers him with affection as they sway to the tune. A kiss to the cheek, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his lips again.

“Just you and I,” she hums against him before she pulls back, “Just you and I.”

Her thumb sweeps over his cheek as she cups his chin, her enamored gaze never leaving his. They sway in place to the music, and as the singing fades out, she hums to the tune.

In a way, he still can’t believe that he’s with her. He doesn’t know how a man like him ends up with someone like her.

She starts to sing again, voice sweet as honey, “Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea.”

She looks at him like he’s the stars, eyes full of admiration and awe.

“Tell her I miss her,” her thumb drifts over his lips, “Tell her I’m torn in two.”

In the pit of his stomach, he has a feeling this is where he’s supposed to be.

“Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight.”

Because being with her? It’s a tether in a storm, a lull in the chaos. It’s home.

“I’ll be your wild man, you’ll be my baby blue,” and when she kisses him again, he can feel her smile.

He loves it when she smiles, so he pulls her back in, and kisses her. Again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t stop. Not even as the song slips into the chorus again. The laugh she makes as he digs his fingers into her coat to keep her close, it’s enchanting, and he thinks, briefly, that hearing it again is worth any price.

He thinks that he’d do just about anything for her, anything to keep that smile on her face, anything to hear her sing again. Anything to remain by her side.

And then he stops thinking, because he’s back to kissing her, and that is far more important.

[makistar2018]

John Fogerty on the Taylor Swift Imbroglio: ‘I Know Exactly How It Feels’

The veteran rocker had deja vu in hearing of Swift's battles with her former label, recalling his struggle to win his Creedence publishing.

By CHRIS WILLMAN July 8, 2019

When we think of public battles between major recording artists and their current or former label heads, we think… well, as of late June 2019, we’ve thought Taylor Swift and Big Machine. But for more than four decades prior to that, everyone’s first go-to was John Fogerty versus Fantasy Records chief Saul Zaentz. There’s plenty about these two situations that is different — the Creedence Clearwater Revival singer/songwriter was going to battle over his publishing, not his master recordings — but there’s also enough in common that music biz aficionados with long memories couldn’t help but hear echoes of Fogerty’s decades-old struggles in Swift’s fresh laments about not being able to own her own work.

Variety wanted to see if Fogerty himself is tracking the parallels. Getting him on the phone from a tour date in Norway, we weren’t disappointed. An edited transcript of our conversation about Swift follows.

Have you followed Swift’s career or her recent travails?

I remember first riding with a 15-year-old Taylor Swift in an elevator in Detroit, and I’ve loved her and her songwriting and her records ever since. She’s a great role model for my daughter and kids in general, and she’s always projected that she’s strong and not going to get knocked down by a slight wind. When I first heard this news, I felt really empty inside, just really sad, because I know exactly how it feels, you know. It was almost personal, almost like she was a member of the family, because we’ve followed her career pretty closely. She’s a wonderful artist and she deserves to be able to continue that without having a heart full of sad feelings. I didn’t really even think of myself at all, at first. And then after about a few minutes had gone by, I just thought to myself, “Somewhere, Saul Zaentz is laughing.

”I sure recognize this situation. Because I’ve had that happen to me in a very similar way. What I fought for was my publishing – the ownership of the songs I had written. Because I was in a band, and there were four of us, and we hardly ever got along in the later years, the idea of us trying to get together and get our masters back (was unthinkable). So I was fighting for my songs, but it’s kind of the same thing. I’m appalled that she really wasn’t offered the chance to buy them, because her money would have been just as good as the next guy’s money.

Her lawyer (Don Passman) said that she was not given a chance to buy it. And I believe that statement. I don’t believe the cover-up PR spin doctors on the other side trying to say that Taylor turned down the opportunity, because there’s probably nothing more on this earth that she would want more than those masters. As in my case, it’s not so much about the money as it is about owning your children. After such a long period of having so much of the benefit go to somebody else, in the back of your mind you think that you’re finally going to be given the chance to own what you created. It’s only right. In my case, I’ve waited 50 years already. I’ve got about another five years to go of just waiting it out. 

So you have it calculated down to the moment when your publishing rights will revert to you?

Yeah, by law … My songs seemed to fall under an earlier copyright law, which was changed somewhere around 1973, I think. That’s why you hear people now being quoted talking about 35 years for their masters, but before 1970, that law was not in place. The publishing law was that the first publisher would own the publishing for 28 years, with an option —  their option — to renew one time. So you add those two together and that’s 56 years. So here we are. [Laughs.]

And Taylor may have to wait a long time for her masters. In this world of social media, maybe things can be more immediate than they were for me. As you probably know, at one point my frustration and sadness was so great that I stopped playing those songs for quite some time — about 25 years. By the way, I don’t recommend that to anyone. [Laughs.] It’s a horrible career move. It’s terrible. But that is indeed what I did. I still don’t have my songs back. So I can’t say that that strategy was a good one.

This feels like war, in a way, where each side thinks of the other as the instigator. You hear rumblings from the Big Machine or Scooter Braun camps that any future negotiation over the masters just became more unlikely because she went so public with this. Does that strike a chord with your situation?

In the court case that I had against Saul about the slandering case, my lawyer asked him when he was on the stand, “Isn’t it true, Mr. Zaentz, that you have a vendetta against John Fogerty?” And before it came out of my lawyer’s mouth, Saul had screamed at the top of his lungs, “It’s an answer to a vendetta!” You could see steam and smoke coming out of his ears. [Zaentz died in 2014.]

In a situation like this, the label and artist each tend to feel like they are responsible for the other’s success and deserve payback for it. Did Taylor make Big Machine, or did Big Machine make Taylor? You were in a similar situation, as very much the artistic figurehead and key success story of your label.

I had two meetings at Bill Graham’s house with Saul, and Saul said a few things that were a little not in reality. One of the things he said at some point was, “Well, we discovered Creedence.” They were a tiny little jazz label. Saul, before he managed to purchase the label with some financial backers, was the sales representative at Fantasy, and so we knew him through that. But there was absolutely zero artistic input or anything like that. Other than Vince Guaraldi and “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” in the middle 60s, they had never had a hit record until “Susie Q,” which, while I didn’t write it, sold about a half million records. And then even at that point, all of us were at a very small level of show biz. And if it hadn’t been for someone kind of turning everything on its end and starting to write some great songs and make some great records out of them…

As everyone with a brain knows, it is the artist. All the lawyers and the PR men and the rest can stand around and take credit for what’s going on. But without the artist, nobody’s going anywhere. And that’s true in Taylor’s case too, obviously, even though she was quite young… Think of all the numbers of people on the planet, and there are just a precious few who are gifted enough as artists to create things that get the public excited enough to want to spend money, especially in the numbers that Taylor has enjoyed for the last 15 years. People like managers and label execs and all that seem to take that part for granted when they’re making these sort of statements. If they only could have a little bit of humility and realize how rare somebody like Taylor Swift is in the universe. And she’s quite young, still. Twenty-five years from now, she’ll utilize even more of what she’s got.

Would you have any advice for her, based on your experience in being part of a public struggle like this?

Boy. Well, as I already mentioned, I wouldn’t stop singing the songs. That’s something I did, and I don’t advise that. That really harmed my career. That’s something I learned. But I did it for me, you know. That was a point of self-pride and dignity, I guess, and that’s why I did that. I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt.

But I would say that she seems, especially in this world of social media, I’m quite certain that 99% of her fans are on her side. The main thing is to have a support group. It’s horrible to have to do this alone. Especially because the name-calling starts, and when people run out of the truth, they start trying to attack your character. I think my advice would be to keep doing what you’re doing. I think her fans want her to stick up for herself, because she always has. … I’m sure she could have raised the money to have this happen. It sounds pretty spiteful that Scott (Borchetta) wanted to sell the label to her only real enemy, as far as I know. He was the manager of Kanye, and Kanye did some pretty dreadful things publicly to Taylor.

Her side has said the only deal she was offered to get her masters back was to basically…

“Give us more!” [Laughs.] I remember early on, way back, Saul Zaentz offered to get us into this offshore tax plan, and he sat at his desk and said, “Well, I’m going to get you into this plan, and in return you guys will sign a 10-year contract.” I took that back to the guys in Creedence and I said, “Uh, I don’t think this is a very good plan. He wants us to sign for 10 years so that we can have a small percentage of ourselves.”

When you stopped doing your old Creedence material for all those years, was that a matter of pride, or was it because you did think it would force their hand and finally get them to give you back your publishing?

I think it was more of a feeling that they’ve done this horrible thing to me, and gee, if nothing changes, then why would I keep doing the same thing? In other words, if you go in to negotiate with somebody, but you keep giving them everything that they want, well, there’s no pressure on them to do anything to change. It became very much a point of valor. Plus I felt that if I was out there screaming “Proud Mary,” I just thought I would probably end up in a bar somewhere, having a gig playing for 10 people, and being a complete screaming alcoholic and insane and living a horrible life. I didn’t really know a way out, but it seemed to me if I kept performing those songs in front of people, and hating myself more and more for doing it, that there would never be a positive end to that.

She would likely never do anything as radical as you did in excising old songs from the setlist, but it might influence how many she includes, if this isn’t resolved and she’s not enjoying the thought of singing them live.

Yeah, you’re very angry inside. It’s like somebody twisting the knife every day. That’s probably why I felt so empty when I first heard the news. And I’m not smart enough to know what her way out is. It would be great if people kind of outside of her circle maybe decided to help. I went to Bill Graham. I thought that he would be a fair witness, like in the old “Stranger in a Strange Land” book — a person that would be respected by both sides and could figure out the answer. But sadly, that didn’t work out either.

Good people think, “Wow, these two neighbors are just screaming at each other every single day. The rest of us should get together and figure out a way to mediate.” Perhaps her lawyer can get some people to actually get in there and mediate and try to actually find a solution for the right reason — because it’s the right thing to do. [Laughs.] I’ve just said something so blazingly unknown to the music business, but it’s the way us normal people think.

Variety

[path-of-my-childhood]

[Excerpts]

Have you followed Swift’s career or her recent travails?

I remember first riding with a 15-year-old Taylor Swift in an elevator in Detroit, and I’ve loved her and her songwriting and her records ever since. She’s a great role model for my daughter and kids in general, and she’s always projected that she’s strong and not going to get knocked down by a slight wind. When I first heard this news, I felt really empty inside, just really sad, because I know exactly how it feels, you know. It was almost personal, almost like she was a member of the family, because we’ve followed her career pretty closely. She’s a wonderful artist and she deserves to be able to continue that without having a heart full of sad feelings. I didn’t really even think of myself at all, at first. And then after about a few minutes had gone by, I just thought to myself, “Somewhere, Saul Zaentz is laughing.”

I sure recognize this situation. Because I’ve had that happen to me in a very similar way. What I fought for was my publishing - the ownership of the songs I had written. Because I was in a band, and there were four of us, and we hardly ever got along in the later years, the idea of us trying to get together and get our masters back (was unthinkable). So I was fighting for my songs, but it’s kind of the same thing. I’m appalled that she really wasn’t offered the chance to buy them, because her money would have been just as good as the next guy’s money.

Her lawyer (Don Passman) said that she was not given a chance to buy it. And I believe that statement. I don’t believe the cover-up PR spin doctors on the other side trying to say that Taylor turned down the opportunity, because there’s probably nothing more on this earth that she would want more than those masters. As in my case, it’s not so much about the money as it is about owning your children. After such a long period of having so much of the benefit go to somebody else, in the back of your mind you think that you’re finally going to be given the chance to own what you created. It’s only right. In my case, I’ve waited 50 years already. I’ve got about another five years to go of just waiting it out.

So you have it calculated down to the moment when your publishing rights will revert to you?

[...] And Taylor may have to wait a long time for her masters. In this world of social media, maybe things can be more immediate than they were for me. As you probably know, at one point my frustration and sadness was so great that I stopped playing those songs for quite some time - about 25 years. By the way, I don’t recommend that to anyone. [Laughs.] It’s a horrible career move. It’s terrible. But that is indeed what I did. I still don’t have my songs back. So I can’t say that that strategy was a good one.

This feels like war, in a way, where each side thinks of the other as the instigator. You hear rumblings from the Big Machine or Scooter Braun camps that any future negotiation over the masters just became more unlikely because she went so public with this. Does that strike a chord with your situation?

In the court case that I had against Saul about the slandering case, my lawyer asked him when he was on the stand, “Isn’t it true, Mr. Zaentz, that you have a vendetta against John Fogerty?” And before it came out of my lawyer’s mouth, Saul had screamed at the top of his lungs, “It’s an answer to a vendetta!” You could see steam and smoke coming out of his ears. [Zaentz died in 2014.]

In a situation like this, the label and artist each tend to feel like they are responsible for the other’s success and deserve payback for it. Did Taylor make Big Machine, or did Big Machine make Taylor?

As everyone with a brain knows, it is the artist. All the lawyers and the PR men and the rest can stand around and take credit for what’s going on. But without the artist, nobody’s going anywhere. And that’s true in Taylor’s case too, obviously, even though she was quite young… Think of all the numbers of people on the planet, and there are just a precious few who are gifted enough as artists to create things that get the public excited enough to want to spend money, especially in the numbers that Taylor has enjoyed for the last 15 years. People like managers and label execs and all that seem to take that part for granted when they’re making these sort of statements. If they only could have a little bit of humility and realize how rare somebody like Taylor Swift is in the universe. And she’s quite young, still. Twenty-five years from now, she’ll utilize even more of what she’s got.

Would you have any advice for her, based on your experience in being part of a public struggle like this?

Boy. Well, as I already mentioned, I wouldn’t stop singing the songs. That’s something I did, and I don’t advise that. That really harmed my career. That’s something I learned. But I did it for me, you know. That was a point of self-pride and dignity, I guess, and that’s why I did that. I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt.

But I would say that she seems, especially in this world of social media, I’m quite certain that 99% of her fans are on her side. The main thing is to have a support group. It’s horrible to have to do this alone. Especially because the name-calling starts, and when people run out of the truth, they start trying to attack your character. I think my advice would be to keep doing what you’re doing. I think her fans want her to stick up for herself, because she always has. I’m sure she could have raised the money to have this happen. It sounds pretty spiteful that Scott (Borchetta) wanted to sell the label to her only real enemy, as far as I know. He was the manager of Kanye, and Kanye did some pretty dreadful things publicly to Taylor.

Her side has said the only deal she was offered to get her masters back was to basically…

“Give us more!” [Laughs.] I remember early on, way back, Saul Zaentz offered to get us into this offshore tax plan, and he sat at his desk and said, “Well, I’m going to get you into this plan, and in return you guys will sign a 10-year contract.” I took that back to the guys in Creedence and I said, “Uh, I don’t think this is a very good plan. He wants us to sign for 10 years so that we can have a small percentage of ourselves.”

She would likely never do anything as radical as you did in excising old songs from the setlist, but it might influence how many she includes, if this isn’t resolved and she’s not enjoying the thought of singing them live.

Yeah, you’re very angry inside. It’s like somebody twisting the knife every day. That’s probably why I felt so empty when I first heard the news. And I’m not smart enough to know what her way out is. It would be great if people kind of outside of her circle maybe decided to help. [...] Good people think, “Wow, these two neighbors are just screaming at each other every single day. The rest of us should get together and figure out a way to mediate.” Perhaps her lawyer can get some people to actually get in there and mediate and try to actually find a solution for the right reason - because it’s the right thing to do. [Laughs.] I’ve just said something so blazingly unknown to the music business, but it’s the way us normal people think.

[sapphicsaro]

anya || (post) winter soldier

hello all. here is another edition to the “anya” series i’m writing. this part takes place immediately after winter soldier and includes natasha’s pregnancy. i hope you like it. its a long one! 

(here’s a link to the civil war chapter, if you missed it too! https://rechutexx.tumblr.com/post/186134602680/anya-civil-war)

thank you to @catching-vibes-and-stars and @jackxangelica for beta reading!

---

“Mister Barton, you have a message from Miss. Romanoff, shall I read it to you?”

Clint continued his practice, eyes locked on the swinging target in front of him. “Sure, JARVIS.”

“Alright. From Miss Romanoff at 2:37pm: ‘She’s already feeling excited. He’s only usually seen entertaining’. End of message. I’m sorry sir, I am not sure who she may be referencing for you.”

His arrow released from his quiver. Bullseye. 

“Don’t worry, JARVIS, I understand it. Thank you.”

“No problem, sir. Shall I turn your music back on?”

Clint placed the remaining arrows back into his quiver, and shook his head, “No, I believe I have to start packing up.”

“Alright sir.”

Clint folded his bow up, and placed it, along with his quiver, back into its case.

She was speaking in code like she always did when she needed to be conspicuous.

Safehouse.

She had been gone with Steve for a few weeks, as had become the routine. Strike Team Delta disbanded with the introduction of the Avengers, so now the two spies were free to work with any of the other members. Fury sought out Natasha, knowing she was ready for more missions, unlike Clint, who needed some time to recover from the Battle of NY. Fury asked Nat if she would keep Steve busy and give him something to help him adjust to contemporary society.

So, for the past two years, she had her new partner and was in and out of their home in the tower (which was a move for them that Stark had insisted they make).

But, he was equally as busy as her. Just not with her anymore.

SHIELD may have been utilizing him less, but Stark had found “Hawkeye” more useful for his own missions. Yeah, maybe they weren’t as eventful as the shootouts he would typically have at SHIELD, but he enjoyed the work just the same.

Stark got him home at a reasonable time and he would be in bed, hearing aids out, hours before Natasha would stumble in, kick off her boots and flop onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously.

The two would eat breakfast together, swap stories, and spend a few more hours together before they would both hit the road again.

But she sent the message: safe house.

This was their secret (one of many) and they were the only ones who knew what this meant. The steps to follow were simple:

Text is sent.

Leave wherever you are as quickly as possible.

Don’t speak to anyone.

Send Fury an “x” (he would know what that meant)

Grab a file with new identities and get to the airport.

Step one was done. Time to go.

It took him six minutes to get upstairs, grab the necessities and toss them in their suitcase.

No weapons; those were at the house.

Grab their keepsake boxes.

Toss some clothes in.

Get the new passports.

Get out.

He was used to this. Although the safe house text was rare, he and Natasha were spies. Having to flee and get out quickly was second nature to him.

Clint put on his jacket and grabbed the new passports, hello Elise and Mark. Ugh, Mark? Of all names it had to be-

“Going on vacay, Birdie?”

Tony was leaning against his front door, which in his hurry, Clint must have left open. “Uh, yeah, SHIELD called. They-”

“No they didn’t.”

Fuck.

Tony smirked at Clint, walking into the spies’ home and heading into their kitchen. He opened their fridge, giving it the once over, “Didn’t you hear the news? SHIELD is done-so.”

What.

Clint froze, letting his bag slip slowly down his shoulder, “What are you talking about?”

Tony stuck his head out of the fridge, before grabbing a beer from it. “Oh yeah, it’s brutal. Steve just sent me a message. More like a warning, actually. Apparently a bunch of you were HYDRA. Don’t know which of you to trust.”

Clint couldn’t move, there was too much to process. If what Tony was saying was really true, that meant Natasha was out there fighting against people they thought were on their side. And now Tony thinks that he is HYDRA? 

Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You think I’m HYDRA?”

“Hmm, could be. You never know, you two lovers are very hush hush.” Tony gulped at the beer in his hands, “This is terrible. What is this?”

“I’m not HYDRA.”

Tony chuckled, “Wow, I feel much better. Thank you, Barton.”

He wasn’t dealing with this. 

“I have to go.”

“What if I won’t let you?” Tony eyed him up.

“You can’t.”

Tony nodded, “Interesting.”

Clint’s eyes never left Tony’s. If he had to, he could overpower Stark, right here, right now. He’s got no suit and Clint is way more experienced and trained. But, neither of them moved. Instead, they remained silent for a moment, two men, ready for a fight in a kitchen.

“Tell me where you’re going, Merida. Seems rather odd that Steve send me that message and I spot you about to flee the tower. You know, I thought we were becoming friends too. But all that time you were just spying on me. Huh.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh no?” Tony’s beer was empty now. He placed it gently on the counter, spinning it a few times, eyes focused on the bottle. “Then why can’t you tell me where you are going?”

Clint was stuck. Tell Tony the truth? Risk the safe house. Lie to Tony? Risk everyone thinking he’s HYDRA. Fuck.

“Natasha texted me. She needed to talk. We’re are going away together.”

Tony pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

Clint tries to respond, but he pauses. He gives a second.

“Yes.” Tony looks up, analyzing Clint’s expression as if he was one of his silly little equations.

Fuck this. Fuck Tony.

“Tony, look. I’m telling the truth, if you don’t want to believe me, that’s your problem. Because you just informed me that the place I’ve worked at, for a large portion of my life, mind you, turned out to just be one huge lie. And I brought Natasha there too; I made her leave her life for SHIELD. And now, we lost everything. She texted me. No, she didn’t tell me what happened, she just texted that she needs me; she asked me to go to her. So I’m doing that. Because I love her. And if you want to try and stop me from getting to her, you’re a damned fool.”

Tony stared the archer down once more, but this time, a small grin crept up on his face. He held his hands up as a sign of defeat and headed back toward the front door.  “Fine. Go to your girlfriend. But, if I find out you lied to me, I’ll be really upset, Katniss.”

————

Fuck airports. Fuck planes. Fuck old men who can’t keep their mouth shut.

Clint hated planes. Not the actual flying or any of that, but: the people. Dear god, how he hated the people. 

He missed the jets that Tasha and him would fly around. They were private; always just the two of them and whatever music she felt like playing that flight.

Public planes were dirty and overcrowded. And when you needed a last minute flight, you got stuck with the worst of the worst. Clint had to sit between a 90 year old man who clearly had been drinking while being on medication, and a middle aged woman who continuously claimed that he had been touching her and eyeing her up.

Clint wanted to put an arrow through his eye.

But the flight was over, he landed safely in Missouri, and he practically ran off the plane.

A 30-minute cab ride led him to the familiar, run-down storage unit where his baby was kept.

His truck. Oh man. For a man friends with Stark, you’d think an old, beat up pickup truck wouldn’t please him at all. But the memories Clint had in his truck were worth more than a thousand of Stark’s fancy, self-driving shits.

Clint dug through his bag, pulling out the keys, and made the familiar route home.

Home?

No, home was supposed to be their apartment in the city, not this “safe house”. But somehow the farm house felt more like his home than the sleek two bedroom in the Avengers tower.

No, this farm house was domestic, intimate. Natasha and him were not spies here; this was where they went to hide, to be “normal”.

Nat was always ‘Tasha’ here.

Here, she wore flannel shirts and baggy sweaters. She would cook food from the market and eat dinner at a real dining room table. She would hum around the house, and sometimes Clint would hear her sing softly when she thought she was alone. At the safe house, she was softer.

Here, she could still kill you in the blink of an eye, but you would die with a record crackling Fleetwood Mac in the background.

But they were rarely here; only when they had a bad mission. Fury would send them on a “mandatory vacation” for anywhere from a week to two months and they always ended up here. They never even discussed it.

So D.C. must have really kicked her ass if Natasha willingly decided to come here.

The drive back was easy, with little to no cars on the road. And when he got closer to the house, all the cars disappeared except for his. Natasha must have left her CD in the player because Clint was stuck listening to Dvorak’s Ninth World Symphony on a loop as the radio stopped working forever ago.

He pulled up; it was getting dark now. He could see a single light on inside. She was here.

He parked, gathered his bags and headed inside. The downstairs was quiet and clean, indicating that she had barely been down here. Her shoes lay sprawled next to the door, her jacket thrown over the railing. She was upset.

Clint slid his boots off, locked the door and made his way up the stairs. He saw the light on at the end of the hall and heard the soft tunes of Ella Fitzgerald playing on the record. “Tasha?”

No answer. Clint got to the bedroom door and slowly opened it to see her curled up on the bed, eyes watery. Shit.

She looked at him, not moving, letting her eyes tell the story.

He dropped his bag by the door and took his jacket off before sliding into the bed with her and enveloping her in his arms. She stayed silent. He did, too.

He cupped her face and ran his thumb across her cheek with his one hand as the other was tangled in her hair. She laid against his chest, arms curled near her face. She locked her legs in his and he kissed her head, breathing her in.

She rarely cried in front of him. She never cried in front of anyone else. Her tears stopped, but he knew that she must have been crying before he got here. The rare times he did see tears fall, they wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he would silently hold her and she would let him. It was the dance of two people who needed comfort but were too stubborn to admit it.

They laid as the record kept spinning; now Dream a Little Dream of Me was ending and Natasha started to shift in his arms, indicating that she was going to sit up.

“It’s over.”

Her voice was rough, and it may have sounded normal to any other person, but this was his Tasha and he could recognize the pain.

“I heard.”

She shook her head, brows furrowed, but eyes starting too well slightly with tears. “This entire time, Clint. Who knew?”

Clint shrugged, sitting up across from her, “We didn’t.”

Natasha let out a small laugh. It wasn’t a genuine one. “Two highly trained spies couldn’t even figure out we were being double crossed.”

Clint smiled at her, bringing his knees up and folding his arms around them, linking his hands together. “I guess we’re shit, then.”

Natasha finally took her eyes off the wall next to her and looked at Clint, a small smile coming across her face. “Yeah, we suck.”

He didn’t want to prod, but there was a burning sensation that wanted her to tell him everything. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped. “I released everything.”

Confusion hit Clint like a ton of bricks, “Released what?”

“All of SHIELD’s secrets. And HYDRA’s technically. Everything. I released them. Now the world knows everything about me.”

Clint slowly nodded his head, trying to process everything she was saying. “That bad, huh?”

“They wanted to arrest me. I told them to fuck off.”

Clint chuckled, “I would expect nothing less.”

He had to take this conversation slow. He knew Natasha better than anyone else did. She was not a revealing person by nature, so if she was going to tell him anything, he had to keep his questions minimal and wait for her to feel ready to open up.

“Are you okay?” was what he deemed appropriate.

She sat for a moment, letting her eyes fall away from him. A short pause later, she looked back up, “No.”

Clint nodded, and stayed silent. This was different from any other time. Usually she would mask the situation, and he would follow along, pretending everything was fine until it actually was.

“We’re safe here. This is still off records. That’s why-” she let out a heavy sigh. “The public knows the person I was before. They’re not going to see me as the person I’ve worked so hard to become. The one who fought on the side of good. And now, with HYDRA, was I ever even on the right side?” She shook her head, “I need to hide out here; just for a bit. I need time for them to cool off so they don’t want to kill me.”

“Okay. We can do that.” Clint looked at her, giving her a half-smile. “It’s like another vacation.”

Natasha chuckled, “Yeah. I supposed so.”

Clint laid back down, a held out his hand, “C’mere.” She placed her hand in his, letting Clint pull her into him again. This time, she ran her hands all over his chest. Clint smiled, and held her tightly, placing little kisses on the top of her head. He reached over, clicking off the light as her breathing got heavier. “G’night, Tasha.”

————

When she woke up, the sun shined brightly through the window, glistening over Clint’s sleeping face. She was still comfortably against his chest, but she felt stiff and groggy.

She felt nauseous; crying for as long as she did yesterday (although no one saw her) would do that to you. She carefully slid out of his arms, as to not wake him, although he was the heaviest sleeper, hearing aids in or out.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, taking a glance in the mirror as she passed it. God, she looked terrible. The bags under her eyes highlighted the sleep she’d lost over the past weeks.

Her stomach hurt. Again.

All of the stress gave her horrendous stomach aches. She had lost everything she ever knew in the past weeks. Luckily, Steve was there for her, but the recent discoveries were still hard on her and it made her ill to think about where she would go from here.

Oh no.

She made it to the toilet before throwing up. Fuck. These stress aches were killing her.

“You okay?” Clint asked, standing in the door frame while rubbing his eyes from exhaustion.

Natasha stayed on the ground, head against the wall; the nausea was still there. “It’s just stress.”

“Stress?” He raised a brow at her, a slight look of confusion across his face, “Since when have you thrown up from stress?”

Natasha looked up at him, he wasn’t wrong.

The two locked eyes as if something was said, but neither spoke a word. If either of them asked the obvious, Natasha would explode. This was not an option. 

Nope. Not possible. There was no way.

Clint cleared his throat, “Um, so how long as this, uh, stress sickness been happening?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh.” He nodded, acting as if this was a conversation about what they were having for breakfast and not a literal human baby.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

“Is there a chance you’re-“

“Clint Barton, please do not finish that question.”

There would be no “p” word here.

But let’s just say he did ask. Yeah, they did have sex right before they left, but they always did. Besides, she was sterile. Nothing worked down there. Except for the extremely rare moments she would randomly bleed down there, the Red Room took away all chances of a “p” word happening. She even went undercover once to a doctor in the middle of Iowa to confirm her diagnosis. The doctor was mystified by what she saw, and her conclusion was that she was sterile. Natasha snuck out the building before the doctor could see her again.

“Okay.” He stayed against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes never leaving her.

Natasha shook her head, still leaning it against the wall as she tried to control her nausea. “Clint, I’ve told you, it’s not possible for me to have a child.”

“I know. I’m just thinking that this is like what happens in the movies, ya know? The girl is all sick and then she pees on a stick and then-”

“Clint, I love you, but please shut up or I’ll puke again.”

“Sorry.”

Clint moved away from the doorframe, instead opting to sit atop the corner of the counter near Natasha. As she sat still, he kicked his feet, back and forth, back and forth-

Oh no.

It happened again. This time she threw up hard and it hurt her throat. Clint jumped off the counter, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. He quickly knelt by her side, “Here, here.”

Natasha took small sips from the glass as Clint rubbed circles on the small of her back. “Fuck,” she coughed out. “I’m gonna have to piss on a stick.”

———

Clint and Natasha were, undoubtedly, two of the toughest people out there. Clint has put more arrows in people than he has targets, and Natasha could kill a man with just her thighs. They’ve seen death, caused death, and have been at death’s door themselves. They’ve been shot, stabbed, bruised, tortured, you name it.

And yet, the two people who have seen the most gruesome ways to die, were scared of a piece of plastic.

The trip to the store was awkward. Neither said a word; Clint just drove all the way into town, got inside the store with Natasha, bought the stick (well, a few), and got back in the car to head home. The cashier smiled at the two and gave a small thumbs up to Clint as Natasha signed the receipt.

Clint didn’t know how to feel. A baby was never an option for them. He didn’t really care though; he was happy with her. And yeah, he loved kids, but he liked the fun parts about them, not the responsibility of having a child. He was the cool uncle who shot bow and arrows and taught little kids archery, not a father.

Could he even see Natasha having a baby?

Meanwhile, Natasha was out of it. Her mind was far away from the place she actually sat in their bedroom. No, she was trying to imagine one line, clear as day, on each of the three sticks. A negative would mean that they could laugh at the absurdity of the day, make dinner, fuck, and forget they even thought she could be pregnant. One line meant she would go back in the field soon. One line meant her whole world didn’t fall apart. Again.

Fuck three minutes feels like a lifetime.

Clint was the first to break the two-hour long silence, “What if-“

“It’ll be negative.”

“But what if-”

“Clint.”

“Okay.”

Back to the silence they went as they waited for the timer to go off. When it did, they both stood up, but Natasha pushed ahead of Clint to gather the tests. Clint sat back down, waiting for her to come back.

Natasha walked back to the bed, three sticks still in her hand.

“Are you...”

“I didn’t look.”

“Oh.”

Her knuckles were turning white with how tightly she held onto them. “Clint, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll look for you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She took her eyes off the tests and shifted her focus to him, “I can’t be a mother. I’m not meant for that.” Instead of responding, Clint just nodded his head slowly. “I’m a murderer. We both are. We are not cut out for this.”

“You’re right.”

“So if- and it’s a big if- if they are positive, we cannot keep this child.”

“Understood.”

Natasha nodded and then flipped the sticks over.

Two lines, two lines, and a plus.

“Son of a bitch.” She threw her head back, letting her body flop on the bed while Clint stayed frozen, eyes locked on the tests.

“So you’re- wow.”

Natasha tilted her head towards him, “Are you happy about this?”

Uh oh. Clint didn’t know what to say. On one hand he wanted to say, no we can’t do this. But, Natasha just beat the odds, and this baby seemed like a miracle. No, not a miracle. Natasha doesn’t want the baby. It’s her choice.

Natasha had fully sat up at this point, staring Clint down as he stayed locked on the tests, deep in thought. “Clint, talk to me. I can’t hear you think.”

Clint shook his head, keeping it down, “I have a lot of thoughts…I just- I just don’t know. I don’t how I feel.”

Natasha placed a hand gently on his arm, “Talk to me.”

He moved his focus to her, her expression was soft as her hand stayed on his forearm. Clint placed his hand on top of hers and took a deep breath, “I…I feel conflicted. I know we are not meant for this, trust me, it’s almost impossible to picture us taking care of a child for even an hour, let alone forever. But there’s this part of me that’s just like: wow, we thought this was impossible and somehow this baby is there. It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I know we can’t keep a baby, it’s just we never got to even think about the possibility of this happening before.”

“It’s not stupid.” She began chewing at her lip, a nervous habit he noticed she had. “I feel similar.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve had it in my mind that I could never have a child since my graduation ceremony. And now I’m looking at three things telling me otherwise? And I’m rushing to say we can’t do this and we are spies and not meant for this, but everything is changing and I don’t know how to feel.”

Her eyes welled with tears and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean her head against him. “Hey, it’s okay, Tasha.”

“No. No it’s not.” She began to cry, and hard. Clint rubbed circles across her skin, trying to soothe her as she let tears roll onto his shirt. “Why is there a part of me that wants this?”

What. 

Of all things he thought she might say, Clint did not expect this. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and gave her a tight squeeze, “So, what if we did?”

Natasha lifted her head off of him, wiping her cheeks, “What?”

“Let’s talk about this, for real. We have two options: keep or don’t. If you decide not to, then I take you to the doctors, we forget this happened, come back home and that’s the end of it. If you decided to keep it, then we hide out here for the pregnancy, have a baby and then-”

“And then what, Clint? Spend our lives hiding a human child from the public? I don’t know if you remember this, but the public isn’t too happy with me right now and I’m sure a lot of people would love to get their hands on the child of Black Widow and Hawkeye.”

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”

“How would we stay hidden for months without anyone needing us or calling us?”

“SHIELD is gone, the Avengers are fine, we have time. We tell the others we have our own mission and that we’ll be hard to reach.”

“And when it’s born? What do we do then?”

Clint shrugged, “We raise it. We can stay here, off the radar, or we go back to Avenger’s Tower and-”

“If we have a baby, we are not raising it in the tower.”

“Okay.”

The silence returned to the room, and both of them adverted looking at the other. They sat like this, on the bed, deep in thought for what felt like hours before Natasha turned to Clint, “We should call the team.”

———

Telling the Avengers that they had their own “mission” they were going on was challenging because each person asked too many god damn questions. Luckily, Natasha and Clint were trained spies; lying was easy. However, dealing with Tony Stark was not.

He asked for check-ins, calls every week, a secret way to contact them, the whole nine yards, but neither spy budged. Natasha calmly told him that they were going to be out of service for a while and to please clean out our fridge in the apartment, the food will rot.

Clint and Natasha didn’t talk about the baby again. In fact the next time the pregnancy was even acknowledged was three weeks later.

Natasha woke up in a pool of sweat, pain accumulating in her abdomen. Clint’s aids were out, so she lightly shook him awake. “Clint.”

Clint jumped up, “Wha-what?”

“Something’s wrong.”

Clint flicked on the light, and scrambled to her side of the bed, kneeling down next to her. “What’s happening, are you okay?”

Natasha sat up slowly, “It’s my left side.”

Clint ran to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. He went back to her side, running the washcloth along her face, trying to cool her down. “Are you bleeding?”

Natasha shook her head, “No.”

“Okay.” He continued to wipe the cloth around her face, traveling down to her chest. She tried to slow down her breathing to help ease the pain as the cool water helped relieve her overheating body.

She groaned once more, this time gripping his arm tightly. He used his other hand to rub her back. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She let out a small whimper as pain ran through her again, “Yes.”

“Okay.” Clint stood up and grabbed a duffle bag, piling in a new outfit for her and some of their essentials. Natasha slowly moved, placing her feet on the ground.

She groaned once more, “Fuck.”

Clint zipped up the bag and came back to her, “Can you walk?”

“If you help me.”

He leant down, and she threw her arm over his shoulder. He grabbed the bag with the other hand and slowly went down the stairs. She continuously groaned each step they took down. “Tasha, I can carry you.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and he picked her bridal style. He carried her all way to the car and got her in the passenger seat before climbing into the truck himself and driving away.

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t scared. Sure, they haven’t talked about the baby since they kind of decided to keep it, but he was getting more attached to the bump that was forming. And he thinks she was too. Sometimes when he would look over at her, she would have a hand resting on the bump, her thumb rubbing it slowly.

He drove as careful and quickly as possible, and Natasha had flicked on the CD player to cover the sound of her moans. When they arrived, she stayed in the car while Clint ran in, returning with a nurse and a wheelchair. He lifted her out and gently placed her in the wheelchair as the nurse raced inside with her.

Clint almost forgot their undercover identities as he checked her in, but when he finished, Mark was escorted to his wife, Elise’s, room.

When he got there, he passed the nurse who was exiting the room and stared at Natasha, laid back in the bed. “I hate the name Elise.”

Clint chuckled and sat in the chair next to her bed, grabbing her hand. “Me too.”

A nurse arrived with an ultrasound, and one exam later confirmed she was pregnant, and still pregnant. However, the nurse was perplexed by the exam and called in an OBGYN to take a closer look. Natasha knew the conversation that was about to happen and wanted to launch herself out of the room, but she still needed an answer as to what was causing the pain.

Natasha watched Clint throughout their time there, his eyes bouncing back from her face to the uncovered baby bump. He would deny that he was looking at it, but she knew he was. She couldn’t lie, she had grown more attached to the baby as well. The two of them were terrible at communicating their emotions, but if they were a “normal” couple (like Elise and Mark) they would be reading baby books and designing a nursery by now.

Right now, they were just at ease with the idea of a baby. They hadn’t quite grasped the reality of the situation yet, and especially not enough to plan for the baby to arrive. Granted, they had some time. But this was probably a wake up call for them to start some conversations.

Three hours later, they were settled back at home in bed, headed back to sleep. The doctor concluded that the pain was from her uterus stretching, but because of her “unique” situation down there (when he said unique, Natasha almost punched him in the throat), her pain was going to be more extreme. He gave her a prescription for painkillers approved for pregnant women and sent them on their way home.

Now they were back in their bed, Clint behind Natasha arms wrapped around her, hands landing on her bump. She placed her hands on top of his, scooting back to get closer to him.

Eyes closed, he kisses her hair, “G’night Tasha.”

——— 

Three months went by and Natasha’s baby bump grew larger to the point where her only outfits consisted of leggings and an oversized sweater. Since the hospital incident, Clint and her made some progress on getting ready for their child. He had emptied one of the upstairs bedrooms (not Kate’s though, that room still remained down the hall), and started to build the nursery. Natasha would stop by it sometimes, resting against the door frame, watching him build. 

The first thing he finished was a rocking chair for Natasha. When it was done, he didn’t show it off to her. Instead she noticed it the next morning and ran her hands over it, noticing how well done it was. She had almost teared up when she saw his personalization of it with a “⧗” engraved on the top, but she held her ground. 

One weekend, they decided to paint the room. Clint let Natasha pick out the color and she settled with a pale yellow, something Clint was surprised by. 

“It’ll look nice in the sunlight with those windows in there,” she had told him. 

And she was right.

Even with all the progress they were making, their actuals conversations about the baby were limited. No names were picked out, no talks about parenting, nothing. Natasha didn’t speak to Clint or anyone else about her growing belly. She would read parenting books by herself, and he would watch her as he would read some of his own, but they didn’t discuss it. 

Some people would be worried, but Clint knew that Natasha was never going to change into the stereotypical mother that some thought every woman should be like. Instead, she was reserved and kept her feelings to herself, but he knew she would love this baby just the same, if not more. 

Clint could tell that she was still apprehensive about having a baby. She had spent five months at the farmhouse so far, the longest they had ever stayed before, and there was still a lot of time left for them here. He did worry that Natasha wasn’t happy here, as she was used to the high intensity, fast-paced life of a spy, but she seemed good for now. The medication helped with pain, and Elise would go to the doctor’s for her monthly checkups with Mark.

At one of the earlier checkups, they got to hear their child’s heartbeat. Natasha didn’t know how to react. Clint started wide-eyed at the screen, trying to hide a smile from forming on his face. Natasha listened intently to the “drum beat” of her child’s heart; holy shit. 

At last month’s checkup, the baby started to look more like a real baby. They gave her and Clint each a sonogram to take home. Both of them had it on them at all times, sometimes taking it out just to see their baby one more time.

Natasha was mystified. Six months ago, she thought this was impossible. She thought that she could never conceive a child, but now there was a baby in her, growing day by day. 

And they had a heartbeat. 

It was a little scary. It reminded her that this was real; that in a few months Clint and her would have a child. She knew in her heart that Clint would be a great father, but she didn’t know how she would be as a mother. Truthfully, she wanted this baby now, but she was also ready to go back to work. 

Her whole life she spent fighting, and this “vacation” her and Clint were on was the longest she has ever had to just do nothing. She had new pains everyday, and yes, the medication helped but the feeling of being pregnant and carrying around a baby inside her did not feel like the “miracle” that other women had said it was. 

She felt like a different person sometimes. This “Elise” identity felt like it crept into her own and had brainwashed her into becoming more domestic. The old Natasha wouldn’t have taken this break. The old Natasha wouldn’t be buying a stuffed animal in the town’s shop. 

It wasn’t the baby that changed her though. It was the fall of SHIELD. 

Before her and Steve’s mission to D.C., she felt like herself. She had been working at SHIELD ever since Clint had brought her in all those years ago, and they became the best at the agency. Their team was the most trusted by Fury. They had a success rate of 99 (they don’t talk about the mission in Belize where all hell broke loose and they needed backup). 

So when she found out that HYDRA had infiltrated them, she felt lost. She had a purpose before; to fight on the good side and clean out her ledger. But, knowing that HYDRA had been there the whole time, she felt that all her hard work had been invalidated. She was still the same “bad” person she was before. 

And yes, her intentions of being a good person were still there, but it felt wrong. Sure, the Avengers were a thing, and she had fought with them to save the world, but she wasn’t ready to go back. Not after the public had gained access to all her dirty secrets. 

The timing of this baby seemed too convenient. She felt lost, needing something to do after D.C. and all of a sudden she was miraculously pregnant? ерунда. (Bullshit)

Maybe it wasn’t the best way to express it, but it felt like this baby was her next mission. Strike Team Delta was back, and better than ever. Except one of the members was heavily pregnant, and the other was obsessively building baby furniture. But here they were, the two best spies, in a Missouri farmhouse, reading baby books and buying stuffed animals. 

She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted this baby. 

Yes, she would hesitate if you asked her, but that’s because she was scared to bring a baby into a world where their parents fought alien monsters and consistently were in shootouts. But she was filled with an overwhelming sense of needing to protect this child, and they weren’t even born yet. Some might not call that love, per-say, but keep in mind she was a trained assassin who grew up in the Red Room in Russia. She would never be the cutesy mom who wore proper maternity clothes and made scrapbooks. 

However, she was going to be the mother who would never allow her child to go through what she and Clint went through. She would protect this child until the day she died. Maybe she wouldn’t be going to the school’s bake sale or see the play, but she would be there when her child cried, and she would make damn sure that her child was well taken care of. 

Natasha had fallen asleep on the couch reading another maternity book while Clint was upstairs in the baby’s room, continuing to work on the crib when there was a knock at the door. 

Nobody ever came to this house. 

Clint jumped up, and instinctively ran to the bedroom to grab his gun. He slowly made his way down the stairs and peeked into the living room, spotting Natasha in the distance, still fast asleep. 

There was another knock. 

Clint stood frozen, gun aimed at the front door while he watched the doorknob twist and turn. Someone was trying to break in. They picked the wrong house. Clint was ready to fire, no matter what; no one was going to lay a hand on his wife or their unborn child. 

The knob twisted harder, until the sound of keys were heard and the door clicked unlocked. Clint took a deep breath, and the door was thrown open.

Fury.

“Hello to you too, Barton.”

“Fury? What the hell-”

“I’m sorry, my two best agents disappear for five months and you expect me to not know you’re here? Reminder that I’m the one who is keeping this house off everyone’s radar. Even after your wife published everything out there.” At this point, he had stepped into the house, walking right into the kitchen and looking around as if he had misplaced something. “Where is Natasha?”

Clint had unloaded his gun, putting the safety back on and placing it down. “She’s asleep on the couch. But I wouldn’t bother her.”

“I have to talk to you both. She can wake up.”

“Sir, I really wouldn’t-”

Fury had spotted her before Clint could finish. There she was, his best spy, asleep and clearly pregnant with a baby book on her lap. “You better tell me that’s fake and you’re really committing to being undercover.”

Clint cleared his throat and crossed his arms, “It’s real.”

Fury couldn’t take his eyes off of her, “How? I thought-”

“We don’t know. We just got lucky, I suppose.”

Some would think that this was a poor reaction to finding out someone was pregnant, but Fury face seemed softer than usual, even though it was definitely not overjoyed. 

When Natasha first came to SHIELD, Fury didn’t trust her. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with her until she proved her loyalty to him. Within her first year, she had completed every mission perfectly and could even get the job done in less time than any of the other spies. She was good. Fury liked her. She didn’t showcase emotions, just worked and did it well. Barton and her became his best team. He could trust them with the hard missions and they accepted the challenge gladly. 

After the many years they worked together, Fury had forgotten he once despised the young redhead. He had grown to care for her, almost like she was a daughter to him. 

So, when she started dating Barton, he wanted to kill the archer. He had indeed threatened him, stating that if Clint ever hurt her, he would kill him and no one would ever find his body. Luckily, the two seemed happy together and the relationship only helped their work instead of hindering it. When he proposed, the only ones who knew were himself, Phil, and Maria. The same three were the only ones allowed to know about their marriage as well, until the Avengers, of course. 

And now, they were having a baby. Fury didn’t know what to say. Was he upset? No. Was he happy? Maybe?

“Are you both quitting?” He turned away from Natasha, now staring Clint down. 

“SHIELD is gone, sir.”

“The Avengers aren’t.”

Clint nodded his head in acknowledgment, “We know.”

Fury chuckled, “And who is supposed to inform them that two of their members quit and decided to live Little House on the Prairie style, forgetting everything about their old lives?”

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

Fury raised his voice, slightly, “Well, it sure seems-”

Clint shushed him, pointing towards Natasha. He headed toward the back porch and Fury followed suit. Clint leaned against the railing, while Fury took a seat on one of the wicker chairs. 

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

“How?”

Clint folded his arms in front of his chest, “What do you mean ‘how’? Natasha has three to four more months before she gives birth and then we’ll take some time with our child before Natasha goes back to New York and I stay here with the baby.”

“When do you come back to New York, hmm?”

Clint shrugged, “I don’t know, when the timing is right? I’ll know after the baby’s born.”

Fury shook his head, “This complicates things far more than either of you realize, Barton.” Clint stayed silent; he knew Fury was right, but he would never admit it. “Sure, you can get through the next months doing what you’ve been doing. But once that baby is born, both of your lives change forever. You are underestimating how much that child will mean to the both of you. Natasha may never be ready to go back, and neither may you. And you better be careful. That child is going to need a lot of protection with the parents they’re gonna have. You may be whichever undercover names you are here, but don’t forget you are still Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.” 

He stood up from the chair, “When she wakes up, you tell her to take care of herself. And that’s an order.”

Clint nodded and Fury places a hand on his shoulder, “Keep me updated, too. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on. It’ll be just the three of us, none of Avengers will know.”

“Of course, sir.” 

Fury walks down the porch steps, “Oh, and call your little Kate Bishop friend, she’s been bugging the shit out of me.”

Fuck. Clint had been so preoccupied in the last couple months he didn’t realize that he had placed Kate on the back burner. 

It had been five years ago that he had discovered her trying to be a mini-Hawkeye. And after seeing some promise in her, he decided to began training her. She was a free spirit, and she sure acted like she hated him, but Clint had become very close to the teenager. 

No, he was nowhere near like a father to her, maybe more like an older brother? 

And he had his phone shut down for the past five months, only thinking about how the Avengers may try to contact him, and not Kate. Fuck, she was going to be pissed. 

Clint made his way back into the house; good, Tasha was still asleep. He went back upstairs, taking the gun with him so he could put it away. He went into their closet, spotting the burner phone they had for emergencies. 

He knew her number by heart, now he just had to pray she would pick up the phone. 

Three rings went by before he heard a dry, “If this is a telemarketer calling, get a life, dude.”

“Kate?”

“That’s my name. What do you want?”

“Kate, it’s Barton.”

There was a long pause. 

“Kate?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, Kate, I-”

“No seriously, fuck you. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to contact you?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You and Nat go on the run, and you don’t even tell me?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Kate, I’m sorry-”

“Stop saying that!”

“Okay.”

“Look, I know you’re on your little farmhouse and when you guys need a break, I can’t just show up but you could’ve at least kept in contact with me. You just abandoned me for the past five months.”

“Kate, I can’t apologize enough. I never meant to abandon you, something just came up and we had to lose all contact with everyone and I just forgot.”

“Glad I’m forgettable.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Fine. But what the hell happened that was so important that you completely cut me off from your life? Hmm?”

Clint didn’t know what to say. I mean, he knew he had to reveal his little secret, but this was he first time telling anyone about Natasha. 

“Hello? Earth to Barton? What happened?”

“It’s Natasha.”

“…is she okay?”

“She’s pregnant.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Shut up, you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not, I promise.”

“How? I mean, I know ‘how’, but like I thought she couldn’t, ya know, have a baby?”

“We aren’t sure. But she is. She’s a little over five months today.”

“Damn…Barton’s having a baby. That’s wild.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this though, okay?”

“Of course.”

“You should stay over soon, you got to see the nursery. I built everything from scratch. It’s pretty nice.”

“For sure. I’ll let you know when. I’m kind of busy doing some small missions of my own here and there. Nothing too intense, but I was trying to keep busy.”

“Good, I’m glad. I should go though, I should probably check on Natasha.” 

“Yeah, do that! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Kate.”

“Bye, birdbrain.”

———

Natasha was six months pregnant when she brought up baby names. Clint was in the nursery (which looked like a construction zone at this point) and she took a seat in the rocking chair, asking him if he had any ideas.

It took Clint by surprise, but he stopped his work, sat on the ground and looked back at her. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

Natasha placed a hand on her bump, which had grown a great deal at this point. “I think it’s a boy.”

Clint laughed a little, “You do?” 

“Yeah, I do. Why, you don’t?”

Clint shook his head, “I have no clue. I mean I don’t really have a way of knowing.”

Natasha started rubbing small circles across her bump, feeling the baby shifting around. Last month she felt a kick for the first time. She grabbed Clint’s hand while they laid on the couch together, placing it gently on the bump as the baby kicked for him as well. Clint couldn’t believe what he was feeling and he didn’t take his hand away for a while. Natasha let him enjoy these moments with the bump, as she knew that she got much more experience with the baby daily than he did. 

“It might be a girl,” Clint stated, fiddling with a piece of wood in his hands. “A little redhead who looks like you.”

Natasha gave him a small smile. He liked this. This little moment was nice. Sure, it was a little late in her pregnancy, but he would have never rushed her. 

“And if it’s a girl, what do we call her?” she asked. 

“Hmm. I don’t know. I kind of like shorter names like Ellie or Meg. Why, did you have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking either Sophie or Anya.”

Clint smiled, “Anya? I like that.”

Natasha looked up, “You do?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty. And Russian?”

Natasha nodded, “Yes. It means grace.” 

“Well, I think it’s perfect. What if it’s a boy? Do you have a Russian name in mind too?”

“I was thinking Sasha. Or Misha. The first means defending men, the second is gift from God.”

“I like Misha. It’s cute,” Clint replied, leaning back against the finished crib. “I think they should have your last name.”

She raised her brows, “Mine?”

Clint shrugged, “Yeah. We could like hyphenate it like the young kids do now. You know, Romanoff-Barton?”

“Hmm. I’d like that.” 

They sat in silence for a couple minutes before she spoke again, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Natasha shifted in the chair, moving her focus to her hands, still resting on the bump. “For not talking much. For keeping to myself. For not being overly excited. There’s a lot.”

Clint moved closer to her, placing his hand on her knee, “Tasha, you have nothing to be sorry for. This baby was a lot to take in, and you’re the one doing all the hard work. You can be quiet. You don’t have to talk to me about things you don’t want to. We both are new to this, we’re not going to do everything by the book.”

“Maybe we could start talking about the baby more, though.”

Clint smiled up at her, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Natasha took one of her hands off her knee and placed it on her belly, “They’re kicking.”

———

Kate stayed over when Natasha hit seven months. She only stayed for a couple days, and she definitely was weirded out. Sure, it was all very exciting, but it was very odd. The woman she knew for five years, who she had seen bloodied, bruised, shooting a gun, throwing knifes into targets, was now folding baby onesies into a dresser in a pale yellow nursery. 

It was weird. 

And now, Barton, the most sarcastic man in the world, was being gentle around her. 

Everything was changing, and Kate didn’t know if she liked it. 

For the three days she was there, she tried to keep things like normal. Clint took her shooting in the backyard, which was nice. Then she helped him in the nursery. When she first walked in, it was strange. She would have never pictured this. 

The old gray walls were now pale yellow. There was a crib, a changing table, a dresser, and a closet that had the beginnings of a child’s wardrobe. There were a few stuffed animals, a few books, and a blanket draped over the crib. 

“Wow,” she said.

Clint smiled, “I know. Weird, huh?”

“Extremely.”

Clint and her started to work on a wooden rocking horse that he had seen in one of the baby books. They fell right back into their old selves, joking around the entire time, each throwing lighthearted insults at the other. 

Kate had really missed him. He was the only strong male figure who stayed around in her life, and truthfully, she had grown to love him like family. Sure, she would never say that to his face, but, yeah, it was true. 

“So, you, uh, got a name for the little assassin yet?”

“Natasha picked some out. We got Misha Ryan Romanoff-Barton for boy, Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton for girl.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Hey, I’m not doing any of the hard work, so why should the kid just be a Barton?”

Kate handed him the hammer, sitting back as he used it. “This is weird.”

Clint kept hitting the wood piece into place, “Well, it’s not finished yet so don’t-”

“Not the horse.”

Clint stopped and looked up at Kate, whose face had turned somber. “Oh.” He placed the hammer down next to him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kate adverted her eyes away from his, “It’s just…It’s just going to be so different.”

“Yeah, it will be. But it’ll be exciting too.”

Kate bit at her bottom lip, “Maybe for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She began fiddling with the tools in front of her, picking one up to examine it, and then placing it back on the floor. 

Clint, still seated in front of her, grabbed the tools from her hands. “Talk to me, Hawkette.”

She half-smiled at his nickname for her and looked up at him, “This baby is so important to you guys. I just don’t want our relationship to change.”

Clint nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Kate, that won’t happen. Honestly, the baby will probably make us closer. We’re definitely going to need your help with them. And I want the little bugger to have their Auntie Kate around to teach them and play with them. You can stay here with us, in your room. We aren’t going to change that. You can come here any time you’d like, just as long as you tell us beforehand. We love you, Kate. And yeah, the baby is going to change some stuff, but I promise we are all going to be okay.” 

Kate nodded, grinning a little, but still looking unsure. “Okay.”

“I promise you. You’re going to be such a huge part of this baby’s life.”

Kate smiled at Clint, picked up his hammer and handed it to him, “Let’s finish this horse.” 

——— 

Natasha was officially eight months pregnant when she awoke in the middle of the night with severe pains, and a puddle of warm liquid between her legs.

The baby was coming. 

She shook Clint awake, “Clint. Clint.”

“Wha-what?”

“I think I’m in labor.”

With the word ‘labor’, he jumped awake, scrambling out of bed, “It’s time?”

Natasha let out a long moan, “Fuckkkkkk-“

“I take that as a yes.”

She shook her head, “It’s only eight months, we aren’t ready for this.”

“I don’t know if the baby is going to wait any longer.” He reached his hand out, “Here, let me help you. We have to get to the hospital.”

“No, no,” Natasha breathed out.

“No? Tasha, what are you talking about? Come on,” he reached for her again.

“Clint, we can’t. We can’t have anybody know about the baby. We have to do it here, we can hide them here, no one will know, we can-”

“Tasha, you aren’t being logical. We have to go to a hospital, we don’t want anything to go wrong.”

Natasha gripped her belly, another contraction slamming her hard. She moaned through it, “I don’t want them to take my baby!”

Oh. 

Clint bent down to her side of the bed where she was sitting, feet on the floor. He took both of her hands in his, “Tasha, look at me. No one is going to touch that baby, okay? We’ll go as Mark and Elise, and we’ll give them a fake baby name too. We can call Fury after and sort it all out. But, I’m not risking your life or the baby’s by staying here. I’m not qualified to deliver a baby, and I know you aren’t either. So please, come with me. Please?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded her head, “Okay.”

Clint got her down the stairs carefully, her groaning in severe pain as she took each step. It felt very reminiscent of when she was two months pregnant, heading to the hospital the first time. Except now, they had a finished nursery with all hand-made furniture, a car seat, a high chair, stuffed animals, books, and more onesies than either had seen in their life.

They seemed like real parents.

And they were about to be. Very soon.

It was difficult to stay undercover for both of them. Especially when the one’s in pain, and the other is trying to comfort them. Natasha had to be careful not to call him ‘Clint’ in front of the nurses who got her all set up in her hospital room. Clint had almost slipped and called her ’Tasha’ while she squeezed his hand through a particularly painful contraction. 

So, here they were, posing as Mark and Elise Leonard, about to give birth to either to Amy Marie or Alex Tyler Leonard. 

It was ridiculous. 

But they couldn’t risk anyone finding out. 

Natasha had gotten paranoid at anyone who looked at her longer for five seconds, but luckily, this town was so small that there were less televisions than there were tractors, so most of them did not known the Avengers well, or at all. 

The doctor immediately came to check on her when she arrived. He was concerned that the baby was coming too early, as she had three more weeks before she hit her due date.

One ultrasound later revealed that the baby was okay, and that they would just need a careful delivery. Hearing that made Clint feel so much better about coming here, and thankful Natasha agreed with him. If he was alone at home, he would have been so scared that something would have happened to either Natasha or the baby. Or both.

Of all the injuries Natasha had had in her life, nothing was more painful than this. This was the one thing that was most accurate about what she had heard about having a baby. 

Labor sucks ass. 

She tried to breathe through the contractions, but they hurt like a motherfucker and the fact that she had to be undercover was making her more irritable. 

Clint was there for her the whole time, like he had been for this whole pregnancy. She was so grateful for him, but in this moment, she wanted to strangle him for putting this baby in her. 

Three hours. 

She got through three hours before she was able to receive the epidural. A long needle was shoved into her back, and the nurse was stunned by how well she took it. Clint smiled at her confused face, needles had no effect on the master assassin. 

But contractions did. 

Luckily the epidural kicked in and relieved her of the pain, but this was still a lot for Natasha. 

Four hours of contractions, sweat, tears, and Clint’s hand going numb later, Natasha was at her breaking point.

“I need to push, I need to push, I need to-”

A short nurse came over to the bed, placing a hand on her leg, “You can’t push just yet, we need to make sure you are fully dilated before you do, okay Elise?” 

Natasha wanted to kick her in the face.

She got through fifteen more minutes of excruciating pain, squeezing Clint’s hand and letting tears roll down her cheeks. “Please, I have to push,” she cried and the doctor came quickly to check how far along she was. This time, she was ten centimeters dilated and the doctor’s team gathered in the small hospital room, ready to deliver this baby.

The nurses got everything set up, including Clint, who was directed on how to hold his wife and what he should be doing. Clint was sat on the bed with her, body half next to, half behind her. His right arm wrapped around her shoulders, his left pulling up her left leg. 

She looked up at him, a glimmer of fear in her watery eyes. He placed a kiss on her sweat covered forehead, “You got this.”

As another contraction hit, she cried through the overwhelming pressure to push, and the doctor was finally ready for her. “Okay, Elise!” 

Fuck that name. 

“You ready to meet your little one? On your next contraction, I need you to push.”

Natasha nodded, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the pain to build up again. When it did, she held her breath and began to push how she had read too in the maternity books. Clint held her tightly as she screamed through her first push, a pain that was far worse than she had imagined. 

It might not have been this bad if it wasn’t for the Red Room. If it wasn’t for the fact that this baby wasn’t supposed to be here. If she had instead got to live a normal life, like Elise and Mark did. 

She snapped out of her thoughts as the doctor counted up, “One, two, three, push!”

Natasha listened to her body’s instincts, pushing as hard as she possibly could. “Good, good!” The doctor said, before she stopped and slammed her head back against the pillow.

“I can’t, I can’t-”

Clint placed his head against hers, “Yes, you can, you are doing so well, you got this.”

Another contraction came over her, and she pushed again. And again. And again. 

After six rounds of pushing, Natasha was becoming exhausted, but on the seventh push, the doctor declared that the baby was crowning. He told Mark to take a peak at his baby’s head, and Clint was overwhelmed by what his was witnessing. “You’re almost there, you got this.”

Natasha pushed as hard as she could and this time, the baby’s head was out. After a second, the doctor told her, “One more push, Elise, and then you can see your baby! One, two, three!”

She pushed harder than she ever did, mustering up as much strength as she could through her exhaustion, when she felt an immense pressure release from her and heard the loud wails of a small baby. She flopped back against the bed and Clint as the doctor held up her newborn baby.

“It’s a girl!”

The two spies, heartless as they used to be, both sat astonished by what they were witnessing. Their baby, their little girl was right there, right in front of them. 

“Here you go, mama,” a nurse said as she handed the wailing child to Natasha. 

Natasha grabbed her carefully and placed the child on her chest, arms wrapped around her gently as Clint was still wrapped around her too. Natasha felt a tear roll down her cheek, “Hello, little one.”

Her Anya was here. And she was beautiful. 

Both of the spies cried as they held their child for the first time. Her little screams subsided as she became more adjusted to her surroundings. The nurses got her all cleaned up, weighed and measured her, and wrapped her up in a blanket, putting a small hat on her head.

 5lb, 6 oz. 18 inches long.  

She was small, but she was mighty. 

Their little Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton. 

[jonathantaylorthomas]

Have you followed Swift’s career or her recent travails?

I remember first riding with a 15-year-old Taylor Swift in an elevator in Detroit, and I’ve loved her and her songwriting and her records ever since. She’s a great role model for my daughter and kids in general, and she’s always projected that she’s strong and not going to get knocked down by a slight wind. When I first heard this news, I felt really empty inside, just really sad, because I know exactly how it feels, you know. It was almost personal, almost like she was a member of the family, because we’ve followed her career pretty closely. She’s a wonderful artist and she deserves to be able to continue that without having a heart full of sad feelings. I didn’t really even think of myself at all, at first. And then after about a few minutes had gone by, I just thought to myself, “Somewhere, Saul Zaentz is laughing.”

I sure recognize this situation. Because I’ve had that happen to me in a very similar way. What I fought for was my publishing – the ownership of the songs I had written. Because I was in a band, and there were four of us, and we hardly ever got along in the later years, the idea of us trying to get together and get our masters back (was unthinkable). So I was fighting for my songs, but it’s kind of the same thing. I’m appalled that she really wasn’t offered the chance to buy them, because her money would have been just as good as the next guy’s money.

Her lawyer (Don Passman) said that she was not given a chance to buy it. And I believe that statement. I don’t believe the cover-up PR spin doctors on the other side trying to say that Taylor turned down the opportunity, because there’s probably nothing more on this earth that she would want more than those masters. As in my case, it’s not so much about the money as it is about owning your children. After such a long period of having so much of the benefit go to somebody else, in the back of your mind you think that you’re finally going to be given the chance to own what you created. It’s only right. In my case, I’ve waited 50 years already. I’ve got about another five years to go of just waiting it out.

So you have it calculated down to the moment when your publishing rights will revert to you?

Yeah, by law … My songs seemed to fall under an earlier copyright law, which was changed somewhere around 1973, I think. That’s why you hear people now being quoted talking about 35 years for their masters, but before 1970, that law was not in place. The publishing law was that the first publisher would own the publishing for 28 years, with an option — their option — to renew one time. So you add those two together and that’s 56 years. So here we are. [Laughs.]

And Taylor may have to wait a long time for her masters. In this world of social media, maybe things can be more immediate than they were for me. As you probably know, at one point my frustration and sadness was so great that I stopped playing those songs for quite some time — about 25 years. By the way, I don’t recommend that to anyone. [Laughs.] It’s a horrible career move. It’s terrible. But that is indeed what I did. I still don’t have my songs back. So I can’t say that that strategy was a good one.

This feels like war, in a way, where each side thinks of the other as the instigator. You hear rumblings from the Big Machine or Scooter Braun camps that any future negotiation over the masters just became more unlikely because she went so public with this. Does that strike a chord with your situation?

In the court case that I had against Saul about the slandering case, my lawyer asked him when he was on the stand, “Isn’t it true, Mr. Zaentz, that you have a vendetta against John Fogerty?” And before it came out of my lawyer’s mouth, Saul had screamed at the top of his lungs, “It’s an answer to a vendetta!” You could see steam and smoke coming out of his ears. [Zaentz died in 2014.]

In a situation like this, the label and artist each tend to feel like they are responsible for the other’s success and deserve payback for it. Did Taylor make Big Machine, or did Big Machine make Taylor? You were in a similar situation, as very much the artistic figurehead and key success story of your label.

I had two meetings at Bill Graham’s house with Saul, and Saul said a few things that were a little not in reality. One of the things he said at some point was, “Well, we discovered Creedence.” They were a tiny little jazz label. Saul, before he managed to purchase the label with some financial backers, was the sales representative at Fantasy, and so we knew him through that. But there was absolutely zero artistic input or anything like that. Other than Vince Guaraldi and “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” in the middle 60s, they had never had a hit record until “Susie Q,” which, while I didn’t write it, sold about a half million records. And then even at that point, all of us were at a very small level of show biz. And if it hadn’t been for someone kind of turning everything on its end and starting to write some great songs and make some great records out of them…

As everyone with a brain knows, it is the artist. All the lawyers and the PR men and the rest can stand around and take credit for what’s going on. But without the artist, nobody’s going anywhere. And that’s true in Taylor’s case too, obviously, even though she was quite young… Think of all the numbers of people on the planet, and there are just a precious few who are gifted enough as artists to create things that get the public excited enough to want to spend money, especially in the numbers that Taylor has enjoyed for the last 15 years. People like managers and label execs and all that seem to take that part for granted when they’re making these sort of statements. If they only could have a little bit of humility and realize how rare somebody like Taylor Swift is in the universe. And she’s quite young, still. Twenty-five years from now, she’ll utilize even more of what she’s got.

Would you have any advice for her, based on your experience in being part of a public struggle like this?

Boy. Well, as I already mentioned, I wouldn’t stop singing the songs. That’s something I did, and I don’t advise that. That really harmed my career. That’s something I learned. But I did it for me, you know. That was a point of self-pride and dignity, I guess, and that’s why I did that. I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt.

But I would say that she seems, especially in this world of social media, I’m quite certain that 99% of her fans are on her side. The main thing is to have a support group. It’s horrible to have to do this alone. Especially because the name-calling starts, and when people run out of the truth, they start trying to attack your character. I think my advice would be to keep doing what you’re doing. I think her fans want her to stick up for herself, because she always has. … I’m sure she could have raised the money to have this happen. It sounds pretty spiteful that Scott (Borchetta) wanted to sell the label to her only real enemy, as far as I know. He was the manager of Kanye, and Kanye did some pretty dreadful things publicly to Taylor.

Her side has said the only deal she was offered to get her masters back was to basically…

“Give us more!” [Laughs.] I remember early on, way back, Saul Zaentz offered to get us into this offshore tax plan, and he sat at his desk and said, “Well, I’m going to get you into this plan, and in return you guys will sign a 10-year contract.” I took that back to the guys in Creedence and I said, “Uh, I don’t think this is a very good plan. He wants us to sign for 10 years so that we can have a small percentage of ourselves.”

When you stopped doing your old Creedence material for all those years, was that a matter of pride, or was it because you did think it would force their hand and finally get them to give you back your publishing?

I think it was more of a feeling that they’ve done this horrible thing to me, and gee, if nothing changes, then why would I keep doing the same thing? In other words, if you go in to negotiate with somebody, but you keep giving them everything that they want, well, there’s no pressure on them to do anything to change. It became very much a point of valor. Plus I felt that if I was out there screaming “Proud Mary,” I just thought I would probably end up in a bar somewhere, having a gig playing for 10 people, and being a complete screaming alcoholic and insane and living a horrible life. I didn’t really know a way out, but it seemed to me if I kept performing those songs in front of people, and hating myself more and more for doing it, that there would never be a positive end to that.

She would likely never do anything as radical as you did in excising old songs from the setlist, but it might influence how many she includes, if this isn’t resolved and she’s not enjoying the thought of singing them live.

Yeah, you’re very angry inside. It’s like somebody twisting the knife every day. That’s probably why I felt so empty when I first heard the news. And I’m not smart enough to know what her way out is. It would be great if people kind of outside of her circle maybe decided to help. I went to Bill Graham. I thought that he would be a fair witness, like in the old “Stranger in a Strange Land” book — a person that would be respected by both sides and could figure out the answer. But sadly, that didn’t work out either.

Good people think, “Wow, these two neighbors are just screaming at each other every single day. The rest of us should get together and figure out a way to mediate.” Perhaps her lawyer can get some people to actually get in there and mediate and try to actually find a solution for the right reason — because it’s the right thing to do. [Laughs.] I’ve just said something so blazingly unknown to the music business, but it’s the way us normal people think.

[seenalready13]

Broken bridges part 2

Here we go for part 2. I think this turned out pretty well, you guys can tell me what I could do to make this better, and thanks to Kannra for her suggestions in this chapter. 

During my time here at U.A., I somehow became everyone, go-to training instructor, at first it was Sofia, she wanted to be able to utilize my quirk to the fullest, so I let her in during my training sessions it was when I realized how hard I push myself, after the first set of fifty crunches, Sofia wanted to give up since I built up my stamina and durability when I was six, so I guess it’s become normal for me. I mean when we had our physical, I scored the top spot in almost every test except in the long jump and grip strength test. There was a pretty big margin between me and second place, Jodi. 

One day, Misao asked me to train with me. I'm still feeling bad about what I did so training is the most I can do. I ask to do a little sparring session with him, no quirks, just plain fisticuffs, so I can gauge him and figure out where he stands

Misao is sitting at the bottom of the amateur level, his punches are slow and predictable, he has openings all over the place, pretty typical for most quirkies, (The name of people with quirks my mom came up with) if their quirk isn’t some form of strength enhancement they rarely bother with learning proper CQB and Misao is the same. He never really fights but instead stays on the defensive, blocking and dodging throughout the fight. If I was fighting anyone else I would crush them for attempting this, but since its Misao, I’m holding back a ton. 

Since it’s him, I’m holding back a ton, to be honest, I could beat him very easily when he blocks by crushing his guard, but I don’t and instead have some fun.    

After I had enough fun with Misao, I end the fight for his sake. I faint a punch, he falls for the bait, I spin behind, grab him and the both of us over with a German Suplex. 

I get up and look at my work, the sight of Misao with his ass up in the air is too funny, I have to hold back laughing at his pain. I walk over to make sure he’s ok, he looks up at me through his legs to see me, shaking my head in disappointment, “S-so, how did I?” He asks, his charismatic charm still strong through the pain and the embarrassing position he’s in. 

“You have a very high mountain to climb,” I reply and Misao’s body gives, falling down, that the final straw, I break down laughing. He’s going to be my greatest challenge to date, I’m fine with that, I love a good challenge.

At first, there was a major roadblock, I use Brazilian jiu-jitsu, a grappling style martial art, I could only teach Misao the basics, anything after that was going to be useless to him. So we spent a whole day looking online at martial arts to find something that would be suitable for him, he eventually chose Krav Maga, perfect for him since it’s a jack of all trade with the main focus being on self-defense. He could even apply it when he has a puppet. 

Every weekend afterward, me and Misao have private training sessions together. When it came to training Misao’s body, that was easy, I wasn’t too tough on him since Misao is a long-range fighter, so I started off with light training. Somewhere down the line, we started to go out. (That’s another story I’ll save for later.)

The first few weeks were hell for Misao, it was basically me beating the shit out of him for like 6 hours with him trying his best to learn and live. He ended up being covered in bruises afterward, walking down the hall at school was embarrassing for me since everyone including our classmates mistook the bruises as hickeys and Misao had to correct them, I wanted to die since we weren’t dating at the time, it got worse when we started going out. 

Misao was getting the hang of things, his instincts and reflexes were forming. During a session, me and Misao were sparring. He goes for a grab, I break away and retaliate with a lunging kick expecting him to dodge to the side, nope. He’s a bit too slow and I smash my foot into Misao’s gut, he’s down for the count and I pull away and Misao clutches his stomach and falls to a knee, I knocked the wind out of him like he was one of Chibi’s chew toys.

"I THOUGHT YOU'D DODGE THAT, ARE YOU FOR REAL?!" I yell, being so worried that I really hurt Misao that I’m not controlling the volume of my voice, shouting everything.    

"Mm... how was I suppose to know... '' Misao wheezes. 

"TELL ME ABOUT IT, I DIDN'T WANT IT TO TURN LIKE THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!" I retort. 

"Um... Cortney?" 

"WHAT?!" I ask, voice still on full blast.

"You're shouting... like a lot," Misao responds making me realize what I’ve been doing.  

"That's because I'm worried, sorry." I calm myself down and help Misao to our dorm then lay him down on the couch and make him some ginger tea to help his stomach.

Sometime later, we could no longer hold our sessions at the gym due to some things that happened and were forced to have them at my place instead. It wasn’t too bad but my sister, Lisa, kept a close eye on us. 

When I told my family I was about Misao, they didn’t have the best impressions of him at the start, due to his woman-charmer vibe, but they quickly saw that he is very much in love with me and would even die to protect me. Except for Lisa, she is the one most opposed to us going out and has personally stated to his face that she doesn't like him, and shouldn’t be anywhere near me.  

She has always been very protective of me, especially since she had to take care of me by herself most of the time, so at times she comes and watches over our training to make sure Misao doesn’t try anything funny. It’s not all bad since she can cover the faults with my training, after going overseas in America for 4 years and winning the UFC women’s championship belt, she’s gotten even better. 

Actually, this brings me back to when I was a little girl, most normal kids beg for candy or toys, not me. I begged my sister and father to let me train with them, so I could become a great hero. I remember what caused me to beg to this day, Deku jumping into a fight to save a woman and her child from a villain on the news, that was when I knew I wanted to be a hero like him. 

He was one of my biggest inspirations, hell, I even went so far as to mimic his wind pressure attacks by rewatching videos of his fights, they’re nowhere near as strong as his but I kept going at it until I had something I could be proud of. But sis will always be first for me since she was there to help me every step of way even when Mom and Dad couldn’t, such as being me food or water when I would push myself to my limit, or patch me up when I got into a fight at school and thanks to her, she helped me become the amazing fighter I am today. 

During a spar, Misao actually manages to dodge my punch, then is able to pin me down on my back and hold me down, “Good job,” I say waiting for Misao to advance, however, he uses his quirk, which is illegal during spars, to bind my arms above my head. 

“Uh?” I’m left a bit confused for a second during which Misao grabs my sides with his free hand, my sides are stupidly ticklish and he knows it. I try to break free but he presses on harder with his tickle attack, I’m left at his mercy due to our positions.  

“Pleee-ease Misao,” I beg him to stop, I’m ridiculously ticklish, “We’re supposed to be training,” I remind him what we were doing, Misao stops his tickle assault allowing me a chance to breathe, unbind my arms and gets off from on top of me, I look away while crossing my arms angry at him for breaking the rules and to also hide my blushing face. 

“Come on Cortney, you know I hate fighting, and I could never hurt such a pretty face.” He replies while stroking my cheek, he knows exactly what to say and do to make me melt like butter.   

“Spoiled bastard,” I tell Misao and he responds by blowing a raspberry on my cheek, washing out any anger I may still have, “Stop that, it tickles.”

I can never be too mad at him since I forget to give myself breaks and he’s there to tell me to go easy.  

Time goes on until one Misao receives a call from Lisa telling him to come to get something for me I left at our house, when he gets there Lisa grabs and drags him to our training spot before throwing  

“What’s going on?” Misao asks from the very sudden invitation.

“Simple, break up with Cortney.” Lisa bluntly replies. 

“Why?” 

“Because Cortney shouldn’t be wasting her time with you, and I’ve watched you two, you constantly charm her and never take her training seriously.” She angrily answers with her evidence. 

Misao gets up and brushes the dirt off himself, but Lisa interrupts him before he can say anything, “No talk, we’ll settle this with our fists,” She retorts raising up her fists and getting into position, Misao does the same seeing as Lisa won’t listen to him. 

Misao waits for Lisa to take the first move, ready to counter, however, Lisa is right in front of him, driving her fist deep into Misao’s stomach and lifting him off the ground, “Even if I had a quirk, I wouldn’t need it to beat your ass.” Lisa whispers in Misao’s ear before flinging him at a nearby tree. He pushes himself back up to his feet where he’s stuck with a brutal kick to the chest, knocking out any wind he may have had left and pushes him to the ground.  

When Misao tries to get up, Lisa shuts him with a swift kick to the side of the ribs also flipping Misao on his side and exposing his vulnerable stomach and kicks as hard as she can. Misao can only take it as the previous attacks left him reeling in pain.

Lisa strikes three times each harder and more brutal, the third strike causes Misao to vomit the contents of his stomach, she rests her arms behind her head and starts walking away seeing as Misao has had enough punishment, “Stay the FUCK away from Cortney.” 

“S-s-selfish,” Misao croaks, Lisa turns around and sees Misao shaky trying to get up, she presses her foot on his back.

“What was that? Say that again?” Lisa viciously asks.

“You’re being selfish, what gives you any right to decide what’s right for Cortney?” Misao repeats, Lisa applies weight to her leg without any response.

“I’m protecting her from people like you, she worked her whole life up to this point, and I’m not letting you ruin this!” Lisa retorts, trying to press Misao into the floor but he’s fighting back. 

“You say that, but have even given a thought about how Cortney would feel?” Misao counters, fighting against Lisa, “NO, you haven’t, you haven’t given her wellbeing the time of day! She’ll be divested if I went through with it, and that’ll cause more damage than I could ever do if I tried!” Misao fights up to his feet and knocks Lisa off balance and socks her in the face with all his might, she falls down and Misao is now the left one standing. 

Lisa stares up at the sky, thinking about what Misao said, then covers her face with her hand, “You’re right!” she says still on the ground, “I was angry that I couldn’t be there to protect Cortney, and just attacked you with that anger for no reason. Sorry about that, it’s a really bad habit of mine.” She points out.

“It’s fine,” Misao says.

“I was blind, and have been a really bad big sister. Listen, you win, just promise me, you’ll make Cortney happy.” She asks.

“I will,” Misao promises, clutching his sides, which are probably broken. 

Lisa gets up and puts an arm over her shoulder, “Sorry, let me patch you up, also don’t tell Cortney about this, ok?” Misao nods.

“Also, let me add, you still have to earn my respect.” 

I eventually found out and was quite pissed off at Lisa for some time, I had her be Misao’s training dummy to make up for it.

[rhyaxxyn]

WIP Intro: CROSSWATER

You can argue that your home is the W O R S T, the most P E C U L I A R, the C R U E L E S T in the whole of A N D R A S T E, but I know the truth, and the truth is that C R O S S W A T E R is the worst place I’ve ever had the misfortune of living in... 

But it is H O M E.

⇒TITLE: Crosswater

⇒THEMES: Coming of age |  Power and corruption |  Prejudice | War | Self-Reliance | Oppression | Religion | Self Empowerment

⇒RATING: Teen and Up

⇒GENRE: High Fantasy

⇒SUB-GENRE: Dark Fantasy | Romance | Religion | Politics

⇒POV: Third person limited

⇒STATUS: Plotting/Outlining

In the peculiar city of Crosswater strangeness is nothing unusual. But no one mentions the thieves at the edge of town, the quiet Captain of the Guard with a hoard of secrets, the Lord and his wife with ambitious affairs, and the too smart, too good singer. After all, it has always been ordinary to them. 

Then a woman arrives in the city with a wild power no one could’ve predicted. She brings with her soldiers sworn to her name and a sigil of the distant Hell witch empire, Darah. A proposal she hopes they will not ignore. Her name is Nemesis Lorelai Macaria, and she is the last princess of the remaining witches of Hell.

She will have to befriend the master thief with a silver tongue, the siren-like woman who fears nothing and no one, the Captain who will provoke her until she snaps, the rebellious Lady of Crosswater with a quick wit, and the orphan girl from a distant land if she is to succeed in her plan. But first, she must convince them to accept her as who she is. A witch--and a servant of Hell.

It should be easy enough.

Nemesis Macaria: The hero. Crude, abrupt sense of humor. Broken childhood. Unable to empathize with many people. Usually very independent in her adventures. Seems like shes killed a lot of people but no one really knows. Talented in dark witch-craft and necromancy. Eighteen: too young for this but having fun anyway. Keeps her composure no matter what.

Cassius Verlander: The unlikely friend. Loud. Loves challenging authority. Only steals from the rich people of Crosswater because “fuck the bourgeoisie.” Mean but cannot kill anyone. A secret cinnamon roll. Angry. Greatest thief in the Andraste. Loves the black market. Knows the price of everything in your house and everything in your body.

Corvina Naida: An actual goddess. Really sweet and lets it show. Still doesn’t let herself get taken advantage of. That one friend everyone loves. Knows how to manipulate people when she wants to. Unbelievably talented. So much so that Nemesis is thinking that maybe she might just be an actual goddess. Gets ahead of herself. Too confident at times. Will love you unconditionally.

Soter Adrestia: Dick to prick to a genuinely nice guy. Very closed off. Thousands of secrets and not enough time to tell them all. Kills people but always feels guilty about. Likes insulting criminals and strangers who he doesn’t trust even though he’s probably the most untrustworthy person alive. You know the phrase skeletons in the closet? Yeah. He most likely has like fifty tucked away in his. Real ones too.

Orlaith Clearwater: Victim of whoever the fuck thought the patriarchy was a good idea. Hates her husband because she didn’t have a choice. Her life has always been trade agreements. Sick of this bullshittm. Definitely a huge lesbian. Sometimes has more affairs with women than her husband. Will do anything to destroy him. Is going to kill the next person who calls her exotic.

Eris Lada: Loyal as all hell. Would happily kill anyone for Nemesis and not feel an ounce of regret. Seems a lot older than they let on. Totally shocked by the way equality and respect isn’t common in other places. Like, wot? Secretly trying her best but failing. Will not ask for help. Everything she does is reverse psychology.

Apate Gianna: Quiet. Lowkey a huge bitch. Acts tough but really isn’t. Gives off a weird vibe. Orphaned when she was young. Grew up alone. Social queues? What are those? Has she looked at you lately? If so, she probably hates you.

Fervain Clearwater: NO REDEEMING QUALITIES. Probably the worst person alive. Misogynist, racist, homophobic, #godlover. Not even worthy of the title antagonist. Nemesis would have just killed him if not for this damn agreement. Redeeming quality? Killable.

The story of Crosswater takes place in the kingdom of Andraste. It is split in two by the Lethe mountain range. Crosswater lies along the northern coast of Andraste’s western island where the forests are abundant and the temperatures are commonly frigid. Although it is small, it holds an abundance of power over the neighboring kingdoms of Tarasi, Elpys, and Isoldé. Although the western island is the weaker of the two it still holds much political prominence, especially in Crosswater where Fervain has been lord for more than two centuries.

In Crosswater, there are two rivers--one flowing north to south and the other flowing east to west. These rivers are believed to be a center of religious power which allows a greater connection between the citizens of Andraste and The One True. Many will frequently go on a pilgrimage to this location for enlightenment. 

Humans: Within Andraste’s borders humans are the most common. The majority of them lack power and live to 75 on average. Though through rigorous studying beginning at a young age humans can hone an element. Those of which being ice, lightning, wind, earth, nature, mind, space, blood, water, and fire. It can take anywhere from ten to twenty-five years to master an element.

Witches: Witches are creatures belonging either to the Aether or Hell. Andraste and it’s neighboring kingdoms had outlawed witches of Hell after the events of the Holy War. Most witches of Hell were killed off in the drownings, though some do remain hidden in Andraste and outside its circle of power. Those witches of Hell reside in either Kenna or Dhara, of which Andraste has been at a stalemate with for the past six centuries. Witches of the Aether can live up to 2,000 years, and it is rumored that when they pass they are resurrected as angels. No one knows how long witches of Hell live for, due to the fact that they have always been hunted and prosecuted except in Kenna and Dhara where their secrets are well hidden, but many believe that when they do die they come back as demons.

Witches are born with abilities. Witches of hell are more prone to do unnatural magic, while Aether witches do natural magic in order to keep The One True’s order. Though, in cases of great strife, a witch may utilize an opposite power. Even if they are born with abilities witches can work to hone one single ability.

Angels: Rare. Sovereigns among the other species. Frequently in roles of great power. Although none have died natural deaths yet it is shown that they do age slowly and that they can be killed, making them slightly vulnerable. Angels possess the ability to contact The One True, manipulate light, and take possession of other beings, though some do have immunity to their mind control. 

Demons: Despite the fear many feel towards demons very few have met them, and most who did have lived to tell about it. They, unlike Angels, can maintain a deep connection with the Fallen One. Most demons possess the ability to use magic as well as manipulate darkness. Not only that, but they can take possession of beings as well with seemingly no limit to this power.

Dragons: Beings with the ability to shapeshift and manipulate flames, ice, clouds, or water. After many years of interbreeding, bloodlines became diluted, leading to pure bloodlines to quickly take power throughout the four kingdoms.

Nymphs: Guardians of different areas of nature. They serve the world--not Aether or Hell. Sought out in times of confusion because of their natural desire to search for balance.

Ghosts: Creatures that had once served witches during the Holy War. They have the ability to shapeshift into any animal form as well as into apparitions. When their service became unneeded they turned to work in an array of dangerous fields because of their power to shift through solid matter and remain invisible to. 

⇒

this wip is not something I planned to get so into but now that I’ve brainstormed all of this I may begin writing it while I’m editing TNO!!! I do plan on posting OC intros and more on Crosswater though probably not until I’ve finished outlining. Please ask me questions about this so I can keep brainstorming and developing my characters and the plot. 

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in Crosswater content from now on!

[spootiliousrps]

Suspicious Natures

[An Ongoing RP with the amazing @fandomrp ] 

 // [Next]

Castiel pulled his cloak tighter around him to try and ward off the chill from the night air. It seemed that these late nights seemed to grow colder and colder. He paused just briefly to glance over the rolling hills before him before continuing his patrol of the armaments. It was late but it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be; he was the Knight Commander of the King’s Arms, he took pride in his work and nothing could pull him from it. He paused to nod at one of the guards as they passed each other but said nothing. How long had he served until King John? It had to have been the better part of a decade and now that he had passed his son was due to take over. Cas had only met the man briefly, but it was enough to notice the Alpha’s reckless nature. He obviously had his reservations about the boy’s ability to rule but it would not interfere in his duties. That is… if the newly appointed Monarch allowed him to keep his position.

No, Castiel would be fine. Even if he were demoted, he would take pride in training his replacement. Though there was no real worry that he’d be replaced, not unless… Well, not unless someone discovered what he really was… He was sure the younger Prince had figured it out long ago. Sam was far too intelligent for his own good, it worried him some time… But as far as he knew the boy never told anyone Castiel’s secret and for that the Knight Commander would be forever grateful. He had worked far too hard to gain his title. Of course, he couldn’t take all the credit; if it wasn’t for Hannah, he would have never discovered how to hide his scent so effectively.

He offered another murmur of greeting as another guard bowed in respect as Castiel passed, a bit too lost in his own head to really pay attention where he was heading.

King Dean was a strong Alpha, he considered himself to be fair and just, just like how he runs the Kingdom. Though if it wasn’t for his brother Sammy, he would be lost. He much preferred to be out with the King’s Cavalry actively protecting his Kingdom. He was walking through the fields above the Kingdom, looking down on what he ruled. As he walked he noticed the Knight Commander walking towards him. King Dean jogged up to him. “Castiel isn’t in? I’ve been meaning to have a discussion with you. How about we have it now?” He asked, as he held his hand out to the Commander.

Cas glanced up as his name was called, intense gaze falling on the man in question. He straightened immediately, tension obvious in his shoulder. “Your Majesty.” Castiel greeted quickly, fist pressing against the thin metal covering his chest as he bowed deeply. “I was not aware you were out for a stroll. I apologize for not sending an escort.” He hurried before the man’s words sank, causing him to frown, thankful that his low bow hid the expression. The King wished to have a discussion this late… it did not bode well.

“Oh no, no. I did not tell anyone.” King Dean smiled. “I prefer coming out here alone. You can straighten, Castiel. Unless you enjoy the reflection of your face in my boots.” Dean chuckled warmly. “There is no need to worry about this chat, it’s just a formality. We may as well do it now when we are both free, then try to find time in our schedules.”

The teasing had the Knight Commander flushing slightly as he did as he was instructed, lips still pursed in apprehension. “I… Understand your desire to be alone, Your Majesty, however, I do not think its wise for you to venture the grounds alone, especially with your recent rise to the throne.” He protested gently, unsure of Dean’s temperament when it came to question his actions in such a manner; King John certainly wasn’t too fond of it. Still, he fell in step next to the King. “I will be happy to discuss whatever you wish, My King, if you will allow me to walk with you.”

“If I was not born the eldest child, I would have joined the quests to search for far off lands. I feel the safest out here.” He explained. “But now I have you, to ensure my safest. That if you are loyal to me.” King Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. “You would never conceal your true actions, nor lie to the King would you?” He asked.

Castiel glanced at him once more, intense gaze narrowing at the implications. “I am loyal to the Throne, Your Majesty. You sit upon it. I am loyal to you just as I was loyal to your father. If I have given you any reason for doubt or concern, I will do what it takes to make things right. All you need do is name the task.” Castiel reassured, avoiding a direct answer in regard to his ‘true actions’ and ‘lies’. “It is my honor to serve this kingdom and the royal family.”

“Do not be so offended, Commander, or one could read into it. These are just formal questions, I am asking of the staff surrounding me.” King Dean hummed. He knew that Castiel was keeping something from him, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He decided to change tack and continue on with the formal questioning. “Throughout this transition period, I’m hoping you’ll take some slack, that I may cause, I am still trying to juggle many things, and as such, I may not answer your queries as quickly as my father.” He explained. “During this time I wish for you to follow your gut, or think back to what my father would have asked you to do. Will you do this?”

Cas blinked at the request, unsure of what to make of it. “Of course, Sire.” He mumbled after a moment’s hesitation. “I will do my duty with honor, have no doubt in that.” He encouraged with a nod. “I have a request, however, if you will hear me?” He offered, gaze shifting back in the direction they walked leisurely.

“Of course, Commander. But I do reserve the right to waiver the request if it is not suitable for a King to do.” King Dean smiled warmly, he watched Castiel walk, noting the softest of the cheekbones and narrower shoulder’s usually adorning Omega men.

"Of course, Sire." Castiel nodded, unaware of the King's attention to detail. "Ruling is a difficult job, one that I am certain you are already of aware of. But a King is only a great as his people. You are not alone in your power, Your Majesty. We are all here to help lighten the burdens of the crown. Forgive my brash nature, but this includes your brother. He may be young but he is wise beyond his years perhaps he could be of use in your transition to the throne." He offered, tensing slightly as he waited for the backlash the was undoubtedly coming. Castiel had a tendency to toe the line of insubordination but it had served him well on occasion.

I speak with my brother often.” King Dean hummed, he stopped walking and turned to Castiel. “He is helping with more... mundane matters at the moment. Is there a reason you wish for me to use my brother more frequently? He has a job of his own, that we both wish for him to attend to, and a good wife.” Dean hummed. “I do not wish to take too much of him time away from either of those matters.”

Castiel paused when Dean did, turning to face him as was proper. “Of course, Your Majesty, I would not wish to imply that you would.” He rushed, obviously worried he had offended the Monarch. “It is just that I have watched the two of you for the better part of ten years now. King John, God rest his soul, ensured that your brother remain on a very strict path and while I must respect his wishes, I fear that your brother’s talents and intelligence may not be utilized to their fullest. If allowed, I believe your brother would gain immeasurable honor in a more productive role. While a scholar is an honorable trade I feel his talents may be wasted scribing others’ words.” He explained before flushing deeply as he realized how it sound. “Though I, of course, would not presume to know anyone in the Royal Family with such familiarity.” He rushed. “I am merely making assumptions off a few rare observations of the boy.” When had he become so easily embarrassed? Perhaps it was just how warm it had suddenly gotten. The thought had him tensing as he realized that that couldn’t be right, the night had been chilled just a moment ago. No, it had to be the way the Alpha’s scent seemed to swirled around them in the evening air that seemed to heat him, making him realize that they were particularly close and causing him to take a step back.

King Dean eyed Castiel as he took a step back, as his cheeks flustered with warmth. “As you are so keen to hand out unwarranted advice, how about you give me advice. You are the Knight Commander of the King’s Arms. These following days, I wish to receive a full report on one of the men directly under you. Each day, until you have reported on each of them. Their strengths, their weaknesses, and where you would advise to place them.” Dean stated. “At dusk every night. Or, of course, you can explain why you refused to answer my question about whether you’re lying and telling me the entire truth of your actions.” Dean offered, with a wry smile.

Castiel’s stomach twisted almost painful at the words, eyes growing a bit wide in surprise. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs noticeable as he quickly bent low at the waist once more. “Of course, Your Grace!” He rushed perhaps a bit too loudly. “I will have those reports ready and waiting just as you request.” He offered eagerly, pausing in his bow the action helping to conceal his worried look. “Forgive me for stepping out of line.” He added. “I meant no disrespect. It was wrong of me to assume you were in need of any such advice from someone such as myself. Though I fear I do not understand what actions you refer to, Sire. I try and conduct myself as honestly as possible.” ‘As possible’ being the key words. He had never lied to the man… Merely, provided a lack of information.

“Honesty. Yes, I agree. Yet you are not honesty about your entirety. You are keeping something from me. And as your King. If you do not wish to be demoted out of the Army, then I suggest, very wisely, that you provide all the information about yourself to me, right now.” Dean’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to piece together what Castiel’s secret could be. All he could imagine was that the Commander was an Omega, but that was surely untrue, his father would have noticed.

Cas’s brows furrowed as if confused as he straightened. “Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you wish.” He offered. “I was born Castiel Novak in a neighboring Kingdom, though I could not say which, to Charles Novak. My Mother died giving birth to myself and I do not know her name. I have too many siblings to name, most of which I couldn’t even if I tried fore I was very young when I was sold to a labor camp outside the walls of the city. After a few years among the slaves I presented and managed to escape by killing my direct caretaker and made a run for it. After a fortnight of scrounging for food I was collected by a small merchant train who cared for me until they reached your Father’s territory. I was left to care for myself with no money nor skills and thus began to gravitate towards the page boys who taught me to spar. Sir Metatron took notice of my willful nature and took me under his wing, educating me and guiding me towards knighthood. When the war broke out I served as a foot soldier beneath him, quickly rising in rank and glory on the battlefield. Until, of course, Metatron proved to be a traitor and fought against your father, may he rest in peace. Discovering this I led the rebellion against my mentor, ultimately slaying him and gaining great renown. Upon returning victorious in both the battle and the war I was given the title of Knight Commander and have served your father and your kingdom faithfully since.” He explained almost as if he had rehearsed the whole thing. He managed to keep an emotionless expression during the explanation aside from the small flash of pain that tainted his icy blues at the mention of his mentor’s death. “I hand pick each of the men in your service to ensure that history does not repeat itself and that the Kingdom’s integrity remains at its utmost strength. I wake early each morning to make my rounds, ensure my men are in peak physical and mental condition and assess any security issue that may pose itself. I eat my meals among my soldiers to boost moral and end my evening far past dusk after my final inspections. I find pride and satisfaction in my work which is why I have committed myself wholly to it. I have not, nor do I plan on marrying or having cubs for that reason. I am and will remain a faithful servant to the crown and while I hope this satisfies your curiosity, Sire, I respect your decision and have a list of men that I feel would excel as your new Knight Commander should you wish to replace me.” He offered with another bow.

// [Next]

[mooncyder]

I ain't posted in ages, cos I wanted to make sure this character was perfect but uh yeah,

This is Malmoppet

She is a twin of another warder I'm doing as part of a collab, she is a puppeteer, and she can masterfully manipulate stuffed animals, several at a time. she can do this to pretty much any stuffed animal, but the ones she brings from home, Jackie, Ace&Tooth and Moe provide more than enough utility and aces up the sleeve for it to be necessary. If she does need to get her hands dirty for whatever reason she has basically a mixture of a skipping rope, some puppet Crosses and a hag stone for a potent flail.

They're pretty broody, especially after being separated from their sister, and are incredibly secluded, quite litterally letting her puppets talk for her with ventriloquism. She can also see through their Dark, beady eyes.

Jackie in particular often comes off so differently and nothing like them , that people believe they're entirely separate from moppet and sentient. Jackie is also often the most people will see of her, doing most things in her place with a snarky attitude to boot.

Originally this was a design for a collab warder, but they said nah because the idea for it would be repeating something they already had. And I have a real habit of not letting a nice design go to waste, so they got a rename and get to stay with me, this is why one of the images has Annette instead of Malmoppet

Inspiration for Malmoppet is a variety of gothic vibes, some bunraku puppeteer vibes and general broodiness, and I always think misery from Ruby Gloom, but can't see much of a connection myself

For their puppetry it's a mix of Kankuro, the rope snake from mother 3, and an old picture of a stuffed bear with a sword and shield protecting a kiddo, by a fella on deviantart (begemott) that plus I really enjoyed designing them some unique puppets to go with it, and I could design loads of em without breaking the character too much

That being said for rollcall

We have Jackie-Lope, a stuffed rabbit that goes anywhere that Malmoppet goes, and often where she doesn't. A mixture of a protector, assistant and fashion accessory, a lot of their inspiration was originally just based off one of those backpacks you can get that look like a rabbit. For fighting the ears unzip and fold back, like a lop eared rabbit, and reveal a pair of silver pronghorns underneath, they also have retractable claws, and a potent mixture of warding herb extracts in a chest cavity to be broken in special occasions

Unlike the others Jackie appears to have some real personality, they're very much inspired personality and concept wise by a mix of Max the rabbit, Conkey from trailer park Boys and angel bunny. It's Malmoppet playing a character and it's pretty much 90% of any socialising she gets, it's a lot less anxiety filled when you're not there in person. Jackie appears to do much of the legwork on behalf of moppet, along with general mischief and occasionally returning back smelling faintly of whiskey (apparently it was a belief that jackalopes could be caught easier by leaving them whiskey to drink, thought it fit the character)

Next up are Tooth and Ace, a two headed serpent.

One head (ace) spits warding herb oils, preferably into the eyes of hags, the other head (tooth) removes aforementioned eyes. Together they constrict and incapacitate hags, it's a pretty rough way to go. No real inspirations for these fellas, apart from the constricting extending being like those water houses that fold up, despite being more like a vacuum hose. Obviously the pun is two face, and the two on the rare occasions they're actually seen about (only Jackie is really seen wandering about usually) they'll give an angel devil on the shoulder sorta interaction

Finally rounding it out is Moe-Honk

Moe is basically just a nightmare creature

A mixture of the intimidating wingspan and assholeishness of geese, and the brutally tough build of a Cassowary, dagger talons included.

Their weaponry includes a large dagger like claw on each foot, I ain't sure if you can disembowel a hag but at this point it's just a matter of time. They also have an axe like Casque atop their head, likely why their name is a pun on Mohawk, but with more asshole geese.

Finally their ace in the sleeve, their large wingspan contains a couple of large shear like blades on each wing, snapping together to sever whatever is between them.

It's a pretty tough piece of poultry. While the obvious first assumption would be hurr goose game, it wouldve likely turned out the same regardless. Geese are assholes, and any opportunity to weaponise them is a great idea. Cassowarys are just fucking brutal aswell, and having a bird would fill the cast out quite well, plus neither Jackie or two face are really suited for an extended physical engagement, whereas the brick shithouse that is Moe revels in it

Moe doesn't speak, only honks, and generally somethings going awfully wrong if they're seen outside of a fight.

This post is already huge, and it doesn't even explain a bunch of things, like how does she do the ventriloquism and puppetry (anything with one of those spiral lollipops stuck to its fur can be easily puppeted and seen through, and be communicated through while Malmoppet has one in her mouth, though she can't communicate herself during), her rank (she should definitely be a bishop, but the puppets don't answer the question and most warders are content to give moppet the comfort of not pestering) and the collab warder (its a surprise, I hope) but I've already been writing this for like an hour, so I'm done for now unless anyone has any questions lmao

Thanks for attending my ramble, I'm super grateful

[ts1989fanatic]

John Fogerty on the Taylor Swift Imbroglio: ‘I Know Exactly How It Feels’

The veteran rocker had deja vu in hearing of Swift's battles with her former label, recalling his struggle to win his Creedence publishing.

By CHRIS WILLMAN

When we think of public battles between major recording artists and their current or former label heads, we think… well, as of late June 2019, we’ve thought Taylor Swift and Big Machine. But for more than four decades prior to that, everyone’s first go-to was John Fogerty versus Fantasy Records chief Saul Zaentz. There’s plenty about these two situations that is different — the Creedence Clearwater Revival singer/songwriter was going to battle over his publishing, not his master recordings — but there’s also enough in common that music biz aficionados with long memories couldn’t help but hear echoes of Fogerty’s decades-old struggles in Swift’s fresh laments about not being able to own her own work.

Variety wanted to see if Fogerty himself is tracking the parallels. Getting him on the phone from a tour date in Norway, we weren’t disappointed. An edited transcript of our conversation about Swift follows.

Have you followed Swift’s career or her recent travails?

I remember first riding with a 15-year-old Taylor Swift in an elevator in Detroit, and I’ve loved her and her songwriting and her records ever since. She’s a great role model for my daughter and kids in general, and she’s always projected that she’s strong and not going to get knocked down by a slight wind. When I first heard this news, I felt really empty inside, just really sad, because I know exactly how it feels, you know. It was almost personal, almost like she was a member of the family, because we’ve followed her career pretty closely. She’s a wonderful artist and she deserves to be able to continue that without having a heart full of sad feelings. I didn’t really even think of myself at all, at first. And then after about a few minutes had gone by, I just thought to myself, “Somewhere, Saul Zaentz is laughing.”

I sure recognize this situation. Because I’ve had that happen to me in a very similar way. What I fought for was my publishing – the ownership of the songs I had written. Because I was in a band, and there were four of us, and we hardly ever got along in the later years, the idea of us trying to get together and get our masters back (was unthinkable). So I was fighting for my songs, but it’s kind of the same thing. I’m appalled that she really wasn’t offered the chance to buy them, because her money would have been just as good as the next guy’s money.

Her lawyer (Don Passman) said that she was not given a chance to buy it. And I believe that statement. I don’t believe the cover-up PR spin doctors on the other side trying to say that Taylor turned down the opportunity, because there’s probably nothing more on this earth that she would want more than those masters. As in my case, it’s not so much about the money as it is about owning your children. After such a long period of having so much of the benefit go to somebody else, in the back of your mind you think that you’re finally going to be given the chance to own what you created. It’s only right. In my case, I’ve waited 50 years already. I’ve got about another five years to go of just waiting it out.

So you have it calculated down to the moment when your publishing rights will revert to you?

Yeah, by law … My songs seemed to fall under an earlier copyright law, which was changed somewhere around 1973, I think. That’s why you hear people now being quoted talking about 35 years for their masters, but before 1970, that law was not in place. The publishing law was that the first publisher would own the publishing for 28 years, with an option — their option — to renew one time. So you add those two together and that’s 56 years. So here we are. [Laughs.]

And Taylor may have to wait a long time for her masters. In this world of social media, maybe things can be more immediate than they were for me. As you probably know, at one point my frustration and sadness was so great that I stopped playing those songs for quite some time — about 25 years. By the way, I don’t recommend that to anyone. [Laughs.] It’s a horrible career move. It’s terrible. But that is indeed what I did. I still don’t have my songs back. So I can’t say that that strategy was a good one.

This feels like war, in a way, where each side thinks of the other as the instigator. You hear rumblings from the Big Machine or Scooter Braun camps that any future negotiation over the masters just became more unlikely because she went so public with this. Does that strike a chord with your situation?

In the court case that I had against Saul about the slandering case, my lawyer asked him when he was on the stand, “Isn’t it true, Mr. Zaentz, that you have a vendetta against John Fogerty?” And before it came out of my lawyer’s mouth, Saul had screamed at the top of his lungs, “It’s an answer to a vendetta!” You could see steam and smoke coming out of his ears. [Zaentz died in 2014.]

In a situation like this, the label and artist each tend to feel like they are responsible for the other’s success and deserve payback for it. Did Taylor make Big Machine, or did Big Machine make Taylor? You were in a similar situation, as very much the artistic figurehead and key success story of your label.

I had two meetings at Bill Graham’s house with Saul, and Saul said a few things that were a little not in reality. One of the things he said at some point was, “Well, we discovered Creedence.” They were a tiny little jazz label. Saul, before he managed to purchase the label with some financial backers, was the sales representative at Fantasy, and so we knew him through that. But there was absolutely zero artistic input or anything like that. Other than Vince Guaraldi and “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” in the middle 60s, they had never had a hit record until “Susie Q,” which, while I didn’t write it, sold about a half million records. And then even at that point, all of us were at a very small level of show biz. And if it hadn’t been for someone kind of turning everything on its end and starting to write some great songs and make some great records out of them…

As everyone with a brain knows, it is the artist. All the lawyers and the PR men and the rest can stand around and take credit for what’s going on. But without the artist, nobody’s going anywhere. And that’s true in Taylor’s case too, obviously, even though she was quite young… Think of all the numbers of people on the planet, and there are just a precious few who are gifted enough as artists to create things that get the public excited enough to want to spend money, especially in the numbers that Taylor has enjoyed for the last 15 years. People like managers and label execs and all that seem to take that part for granted when they’re making these sort of statements. If they only could have a little bit of humility and realize how rare somebody like Taylor Swift is in the universe. And she’s quite young, still. Twenty-five years from now, she’ll utilize even more of what she’s got.

Would you have any advice for her, based on your experience in being part of a public struggle like this?

Boy. Well, as I already mentioned, I wouldn’t stop singing the songs. That’s something I did, and I don’t advise that. That really harmed my career. That’s something I learned. But I did it for me, you know. That was a point of self-pride and dignity, I guess, and that’s why I did that. I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt.

But I would say that she seems, especially in this world of social media, I’m quite certain that 99% of her fans are on her side. The main thing is to have a support group. It’s horrible to have to do this alone. Especially because the name-calling starts, and when people run out of the truth, they start trying to attack your character. I think my advice would be to keep doing what you’re doing. I think her fans want her to stick up for herself, because she always has. … I’m sure she could have raised the money to have this happen. It sounds pretty spiteful that Scott (Borchetta) wanted to sell the label to her only real enemy, as far as I know. He was the manager of Kanye, and Kanye did some pretty dreadful things publicly to Taylor.

Her side has said the only deal she was offered to get her masters back was to basically…

“Give us more!” [Laughs.] I remember early on, way back, Saul Zaentz offered to get us into this offshore tax plan, and he sat at his desk and said, “Well, I’m going to get you into this plan, and in return you guys will sign a 10-year contract.” I took that back to the guys in Creedence and I said, “Uh, I don’t think this is a very good plan. He wants us to sign for 10 years so that we can have a small percentage of ourselves.”

When you stopped doing your old Creedence material for all those years, was that a matter of pride, or was it because you did think it would force their hand and finally get them to give you back your publishing?

I think it was more of a feeling that they’ve done this horrible thing to me, and gee, if nothing changes, then why would I keep doing the same thing? In other words, if you go in to negotiate with somebody, but you keep giving them everything that they want, well, there’s no pressure on them to do anything to change. It became very much a point of valor. Plus I felt that if I was out there screaming “Proud Mary,” I just thought I would probably end up in a bar somewhere, having a gig playing for 10 people, and being a complete screaming alcoholic and insane and living a horrible life. I didn’t really know a way out, but it seemed to me if I kept performing those songs in front of people, and hating myself more and more for doing it, that there would never be a positive end to that.

She would likely never do anything as radical as you did in excising old songs from the setlist, but it might influence how many she includes, if this isn’t resolved and she’s not enjoying the thought of singing them live.

Yeah, you’re very angry inside. It’s like somebody twisting the knife every day. That’s probably why I felt so empty when I first heard the news. And I’m not smart enough to know what her way out is. It would be great if people kind of outside of her circle maybe decided to help. I went to Bill Graham. I thought that he would be a fair witness, like in the old “Stranger in a Strange Land” book — a person that would be respected by both sides and could figure out the answer. But sadly, that didn’t work out either.

Good people think, “Wow, these two neighbors are just screaming at each other every single day. The rest of us should get together and figure out a way to mediate.” Perhaps her lawyer can get some people to actually get in there and mediate and try to actually find a solution for the right reason — because it’s the right thing to do. [Laughs.] I’ve just said something so blazingly unknown to the music business, but it’s the way us normal people think.

[bestfriendforhire]

Entry 394

 December was packed with birthday celebrations.  Mick, now accustomed to being a wereraven, celebrated his birthday in our home with our friends and his family, who were regular guests at Somerset Estate.  The Storms enjoyed the opportunity to practice using their abilities in a risk-free environment as much as the rest of us.

 My parents insisted on celebrating Father’s birthday in my home as well, still gushing over my wife and asking when the baby would be born.  I knew that the feast was far larger than we ever shared for his birthday before, but the party still seemed low-key to me compared with what a majority of my friends enjoyed.  Dani insisted on entertaining her grandfather with a traditional performance from her culture.  I wasn’t entirely truthful in my translation of the lyrics for him, knowing he’d find the song a touch lewd if he understood the actual words, but my daughter’s people didn’t see it that way.

 Half a week before Christmas, Jemal and Maple slipped away for a quiet celebration on their own before coming back to the house for Maple’s larger party.  Her family’s first reactions to my home were priceless.  Rowan Ash Wood, Maple’s little sister, insisted on applying immediately after seeing where her sister worked.  Apparently, Rowan had been under the impression that Maple’s job was dull, given how little Maple told her of it.  Maple, however, insisted that Rowan tuned out whenever Maple mentioned her job.

 Noelle’s sister and brother-in-law made an appearance for Christmas, which was also a joint party for Noelle’s birthday.  Thanks to a little help from Dejon’s power, Noelle actually managed to remember her brother-in-law’s name, which shocked Jamie.  There was cake, presents for everyone, and even Noelle seemed certain that she had a wonderful day by the end.  She rarely got to be so certain about anything, making the day extra wonderful in her opinion.

 Then on December the Thirty-First, my wife went into labor.  Mother was shocked on many levels.  For one, Alma wasn’t even in pain, at least none that she’d admit to having.  She calmly told Mother about what birth was typically like for the stronger members of the Slayer family, commenting on the incredible resilience of their bodies.  She did admit that her strong fey heritage made this incredibly different in a rather important aspect.

 Alma was in contact with our child, explaining what was happening.  Our child’s mind was far, far more advanced than a human’s could be at this stage.  Months of education surely helped, but that much was very typical for someone of Alma’s station in her family.  Another shock to my parents was that Aaliyah was the one delivering the baby.

 “James, are you… I mean… I know she’s brilliant, but…” started my father, seeming uncertain on where to go with his argument.

 “She’s also planning on delivering her own child soon, so consider this practice for her.” I replied with a shrug.  We had stayed in the hallway for this discussion, since Father didn’t want to be overheard by Aaliyah, Mila, Mother, Dani, and the twins.  He still tended to forget that Mila would hear us anywhere in the house.

 “What!?” he exclaimed, looking confused and shocked by the idea.

 “I believe I told you about the artificial womb at Chad’s place.”

 “Well, yes… but…  I didn’t really want to believe it.” he mumbled.

 Patting his shoulder, I said, “Strange world, isn’t it?”

 He nodded.

 “As far as Aaliyah’s abilities as a doctor, I trust her completely.  There’s not a single question you could ask about anatomy which she couldn’t answer.  Whether you’d want to sit through the entire explanation is a different matter.” I explained.

 “She’s just so young…”

 “Unlike most mothers, my wife is completely aware of the position of her baby as well as the child’s mental state.  Being a medical doctor herself, she could manage the whole procedure using her magic if needed.  We have quite a few advantages going for us.  Besides, I’ve told you before that the child won’t be very human physically.  I wouldn’t be too surprised if I’ll have to make a repair or two around here the first time my kid throws a tantrum.”

 Father sighed and leaned against the wall.  “You’re awfully calm for a man whose wife is in labor.” he commented.

 I nodded.

 “Why do you keep looking at the ceiling?”

 “Really want to know?” I questioned.

 “Well… yes.  Yes, I do.” he told me.

 “I believe we’re about to be under attack.  Please, excuse me for a moment.  This won’t take long.” I assured him, sprinting off to take control of the magical node maintaining my vault.  Once inside, I was very aware of the asteroid Godric was guiding.  I had felt the huge quantities of magic he had been using for the past several months, but I felt a touch of annoyance that he picked today to finish his act.

 If Raine had been a little more experienced, I would have asked her to deal with this, but she was young and I was here.  Not wanting to confuse anyone who might have spotted the rock, I created an illusion of the asteroid as I vaporized the real one.  The illusion would act out the rock’s entry into the atmosphere and leave people believing that any bits that managed to land just didn’t cause enough damage to matter.

 Realizing that I accidentally isolated Godric in his manor during my flash of annoyance, I created a way for him to escape… eventually.  He’d hopefully think twice before attacking here again.

 Father was gone when I entered the hallway where I had left him, so I went in to see my wife, who had veiled a chunk of the room in an illusion of mist.

 “James!  What’s this about an attack?” questioned Mother.

 “Just an asteroid.  It’s gone now.”

 “Just an asteroid?  What happened?” inquired Father in obvious distress.

 “I utilized a rather larger energy source nearby to vaporize it and leave an illusion.  Nothing to worry about.  I promise.” I told him.  Glancing at my wife, I said, “I may have locked Godric up for a bit.  Sorry.”

 She shrugged and said, “His fault for picking today.”

 Dani laughed and said, “I can’t believe anyone would think an asteroid is a threat.”

 Father stared at her dumbly.

 “What?  Don’t you have a…” she started before I covered her mouth, shaking my head.

 “Sorry.  Dani’s ideas of defense systems can be a little out there for the technology of the world.” I explained, patting my daughter’s head when she stopped resisting.

 “Son, who can blame her given this place.” stated Father.

 “Still… an asteroid.  Are you sure we’re safe?” questioned Mother.

 Putting my parents at ease took a couple hours, but we eventually managed.  Barely two hours later, my son was born and named James Michael Somerset IV.  Mother was completely flabbergasted by the incredibly quick and easy labor, but Alma and I reminded her again that we had certain advantages going for us.

 Aaliyah’s examination of my son seemed more like a comedy routine than necessary procedure, but the little guy endured it.  He was already opening his eyes and looking around the room by the time she finished.  Alma quickly snatched our son with a spell, smiling at him as she took him into her arms.  Our baby boy started making incomprehensible noises, but he wasn’t crying.

 She had barely dressed and left the room when our friends started gathering in the hall to see the baby.  There were plenty of requests to hold our son, but Alma wasn’t giving him up just yet.  I trusted her judgement, as she was surely communicating with him still.

 Even I was shocked when my son suddenly said his first words:  “Mother, you’re shorter than I expected.  Mind lifting me higher?”

[drwhirlwind]

         AS PROMISED, here’s a plotting call !  mutuals, please give this post a like if you’re interested, and i’ll fly right on into your IMs / discord dms, if that’s what you prefer. but! i thought it might be nice to put some starter points for us to work off, so that’s coming below! obviously, our plots don’t have to be limited to these ideas, and they’re simple because they’re only starter points and can be reused for many, many situations. 

for out of fandom blogs, i will make aus / verses! as sho is my oc, i can pretty much fit him into any scenario. he was just originally built for bnha -- that’s all. as long as i know a bit about your fandom (which i probably do, if i’m following you), i’m all for working out details and setting something up so we can go wild. 

TLDR OF HIS ABOUT: in his main verse, kobayashi sho is a renowned strategist and aerodynamics specialist, with a phd in physics. he’s twenty nine years old. his quirk is air manipulation and while he isn’t much to look at in terms of pure strength, he’s incredibly precise with a very difficult to control quirk. he’s on a pro hero team called the elementals, and he probably has a reputation for being kinda hard to work with, but all the same, a very significant asset to any team. can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.

just a note that in pretty much any situation, he’s a lot to take in. high energy, loud, ridiculous, and a little... just, bizarre as a person, but his heart’s in the right place. 

HERES HOW TO SPRINKLE A LIL’ BIT O’ WHIRLWIND IN YOUR LIFE: REAL DOCTORS HATE HIM!

MENTORSHIP. 

this is probably the category that most students will fall under. please note, i also have a verse where he’s actually a teacher at u.a -- but that is not my main! please specify if you want that instead. 

internships. the elementals absolutely take on interns, and he absolutely will terrify the life out of them. just kidding -- he’s not so bad! he really, truly, genuinely wants to help young heroes grow to be the best they can. he’s probably difficult to train under, but some of his tips are pretty useful, i’d imagine!

he takes especially well to those with elemental type quirks, but he’s really not picky. 

he definitely will have about 100 proteges. can’t have just one. every single one of them will be regarded as baby whirlwind. 

teacher verse. so! he probably doesn’t teach a hero specific course, actually; i was thinking he’d not mind teaching physics for general ed. that said, he’s not against tutoring after class, or quirk mentoring. he spent the last 15 years studying and incessantly studying to learn how to utilize his abilities, and he’s eager to help others do the same. be your best self!

COLLEAGUES. 

not going to lie to y’all -- i am really dying for interactions with fellow pro heroes, if only because there is... so much we could do.  

former classmates. based on his age and the fact that he attended U.A, if your muse is around the same age group, it’s possible they went to school together! maybe they were friends, maybe they didn’t get along at all. make sure you let me know if you want them to go way back though, because he’s changed very significantly over the years. for frame of reference, he was a first year when eraserhead and present mic were third years. 

i’m going to be real with you. if your muse worked with him, there’s a very real chance they like, hate him. noting from his about, his cooperativeness is a whopping 2. he’s managed not to get fired this far in, but he absolutely has gotten into trouble with authority. he is extremely difficult to work with. a genius, but like, the worst. he’s great for coming up with strategies, but super doesn’t care if anyone thinks it’s a bad idea. 

all of that said, though, he could be worse -- as a person, he really is very polite ( very rarely does he not use honorifics ), and like, pretty charismatic, all things considered. he has a pleasant demeanor and he’s nothing if not hardworking. 

there has to be at least one person who’s questioned why the fuck he is named doctor when he isn’t one. well, okay -- he has a phd, but he got that well after he decided his hero name at age fifteen, and got it to justify the hero name. also, he wears a medical doctor’s lab coat, so, pretty misleading. he will always tell a lie. 

FRIENDSHIPS! 

as friendly and ( frankly, overbearingly ) outgoing as he is, there are very few people who are privy to less superficial side of him. i don’t mean to say that he puts on a show, because he doesn’t -- not on purpose? but he definitely has the capacity to be lax, understanding, and compassionate. he’s a great listener once he shuts up about all the literal nothing he’s ever talking about, and he’s like... he’s a weird guy, you know? and a bit of a mystery, i think -- tells a lot of bizarre stories and unnecessary ( but obvious, and never really malicious ) lies, but... you know. whatevs. 

they could be childhood friends, but again; the sho they’d know now and then are two very different people, even if that isn’t particularly obvious. 

he’s really outgoing, so he could’ve met your muse anywhere. at a bar, at the park, clubbing ( yeah, dr whirlwind clubs ), in the tree in your backyard, literally just walking on air in front of you because he can -- you name it, he’s there. where a friendship or acquaintanceship leads from there is pretty open ended. 

he runs a podcast that airs really, really late at night. it’s super weird. i don’t know what else to tell you. it’s just him talking about whatever is on his mind? i’d love for there to be one brave soul who listens to it. 

partners in crime. people he can vibe with. probably people he should never be in the same room with. that kinda thing. 

people to annoy. he’s a menace. kind of endearing though? i can imagine he has a lot of begrudging friendships. like, they don’t actually hate him but like -- they make the soul eater excalibur face when he’s mentioned. 

ROMANCE?!?!?!?!

so, obviously, i’m all in for this -- but there are a couple of things to understand first. a couple of provisions, if you will. he’s very difficult. i’ve said it before, but i mean... emotional connection is a big point in any long term relationship, and while he has a lot of great qualities in a boyfriend, he also has some not great ones. the main one being -- it’s very hard to get him to be real with you, and hard for him to be real. anyways though. 

one sided crushes. probably going to be a lot of these!! ofc, let me know if you’re not into it, but he’s pretty notorious for crushing hard and frequently on like... uh, everyone. 

he’s very, very, very flirty. he’s so flirty.  

friends with benefits. obviously, this only goes for adult muses and muns because of the implication of that, but... y’know. i feel like this also doesn’t need to be explained.

one night stands. same thing as above. but -- so, like... i don’t think he’s really sleazy about it? it could definitely create some awkward future situations of if-they-meet-again, but i don’t think he’d necessary ghost anyone either. 

dating. good luck 

i’m just kidding -- i really would love some ships for him, actually; i think he cares very hard and very deeply, and he’s like... a little emotionally repressed ( very ), but he’s workin’ on it. 

[pain-somnia]

Title: “dronk” Rating: M (no smut but it feels more appropriate than T) Pairing: SasuSaku and TenKarin Day’s Notes: Drunk Team Taka shenanigans but in a Real Life/College AU; I will possibly write more Team Taka College AU interactions (with possible changes to the Karin ships, only SasuSaku will stay the same) because @saradacchi loves SasuSuiKa friendship

She should have stopped him a few drinks ago.

And all of those shots were definitely a mistake.

Sasuke Uchiha was passed out and Karin wasn’t sober enough to worry about the way she was dragging his body as she pulled him by his legs.

Suigetsu was suppose to be holding Sasuke’s arms but he disappeared once they got outside. Karin wouldn’t be surprised if he got himself picked up and taken to the drunk tank.

I should have stayed home and cuddled with Tenten, Karin grumbled inwardly.

She propped Sasuke up so he was leaning against a streetlamp and sat on his other side so his head could roll over onto her shoulder.

“Ah, shit.”

Karin pressed the power button on her phone two more times, hoping it would come to life. No dice. Her battery had drained a while ago as she overzealously added snaps to her story.

She rummaged through the pocket of Sasuke’s utility jacket and pulled out his phone glad that he finally switched to a smartphone instead of the flip phone he used last semester.

“Here we go.”

Karin pressed Sasuke’s thumb on the home button on his iPhone and unlocked it. She was originally going to order an Uber to get them to her place but the feeling of tape on the back of Sasuke’s cell phone case was bugging her.

“What the fuck?”

Karin squinted her eyes and then removed her glasses before putting them back on when she remembered that she couldn’t see without them.

“Return...to...Sa..kura?” Karin frowned trying to remember what she knew about her friend.

They had become part of a group in their first semester when Suigetsu had forced them all to work on a project together. Karin wasn’t friends with anyone in university yet so it helped that Suigetsu dragged Jūgo over to her seat at the lecture hall.

Sasuke had been walking by, probably trying to figure out how to do all of the work on his own, when Suigetsu wrapped an arm around his neck and sat him next to Karin.

They sort of were stuck with each other ever since.

Karin scrolled down Sasuke’s contact list until she found a Sakura with blossom emoticons and a sparkling heart next to the name.

“Cute...”

Karin dialed the number and right before she realized what time it was, “Sakura” answered.

“Can’t sleep?” A sleepy voice giggled.

“No, actually, he’s passed the fuck out.”

“Umm...who’s━”

“Karin. I’m one of his school friends and I was trying to get him home but that asshole Suigetsu ran off on us.”

“And you’re calling me because…?”

“My phone’s dead and I’m too drunk to remember my girlfriend’s phone number and this idiot apparently has ‘Return to Sakura’ taped on his phone so here I am calling Sakura.”

“You sound very coherent for a drunk person.”

“Thanks. It’s a blessing.”

There was a pause and Karin thought maybe Sakura had fallen back to sleep.

“Are you somewhere safe?”

“Yeah, yeah totally.” Karin pushed back her bangs and took a deep breath. “Do you think you could come get us?”

“It would take me an hour possibly but yes. Anywhere you could go for now?”

“University Diner is twenty-four seven I could try and get us there. It’s only a block away.”

“Okay. I’ll try and get there as quickly as possible.”

“I lost my phone.”

Karin jumped, not expecting Suigetsu to say anything since the last time she saw him was in the bar.

“You didn’t have it when we went out. To prevent any regrets.”

“What was ringing in my pocket then?”

“Nothing you nimrod. Where’s Jūgo?”

Suigetsu went silent. If she wasn’t looking at him she would have thought that he passed out too.

“We lost Jūgo.”

“What do you mean we lost Jūgo?”

“I left ‘im in a safe place after he fell asleep but I can’t remember where…”

“You had one job Suigetsu.”

“To be fair.” Suigetsu took a long pause before his next set of words. “I’m drunk as fuck.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what are we doing?”

“We gotta take Sasuke to the diner. Then you’re going to look for Jūgo.”

“Can’t you just drag him there?”

“Grab his arms, stupid!”

. .

It was a total invasion of privacy. She would kill anyone if they did the same with her phone but Karin was one jager bomb too many in to care.

She was feeling wired from the energy drink but also slightly brain foggy and she needed to entertain herself somehow.

Sasuke was the weirdest person she had ever met. He had created folders for everything. Not a single app was allowed to float around on its own unless they were the apps on the toolbar.

She learned a lot about him though. He had one email account for gaming, another for school, and one for social media. Karin rolled her eyes that he even bothered with social media apps considering he rarely went on them.

She slid down the booth so her head rest on the top of the seat and sighed. Suigetsu went off to figure out where they had left Jūgo so she was stuck alone at the diner with a passed out Sasuke.

Karin balled up the wrapper to straw for her milkshake and flicked it at Sasuke’s nose. She was already bored with the games on his phone and although his dog was cute, there was only so much cute she could take before she cried because she was still kind of drunk and there was no puppy around for her to cuddle with.

Opening up the Notes app she thought she would find random class schedules and the like. Karin hadn’t expected to find locked notes.

Why would he lock notes?

Karin attempted to open one but it required a password and she couldn’t use Sasuke’s thumbprint to unlock it.

What would he hide? Photos? Sexts???

Karin gagged and put Sasuke’s phone down on the table. She picked it back up again when she realized she could use the contents of the locked notes for blackmail.

Karin wasn’t fond of scooping out the litterbox of the cat Tenten adopted and she could always get Sasuke to do it for her and a bunch of other errands.

But only if she knew the contents of the locked notes.

“Typical,” Karin huffed, blowing her hair out of her face. Sasuke was the type of person that didn’t need a hint to remind him of his password.

She groaned and stretched out her arms on the table top. Next time she was bringing Tenten along.She was her impulse control. Then maybe she would be at home getting smooches and cuddles instead of babysitting a grown ass man.

No. She would have to drag him back to her place where he would be drooling on the comfy couch she and Tenten coerced a salesman to give them at a discount. And then she would be disgusted. So then she would have to draw on his stupid pretty face with a permanent marker.

In fact, perhaps she could get one from one of the waitresses...

“I got here as quickly as I could!”

A pink haired girl plopped down across from her in the booth and brushed Sasuke’s hair out of his face.

Pink.

Pink!

“Your hair. Is pink.” Karin’s jaw dropped in fascination. She squinted her eyes and then backed away with a soft, “whoaaa..”

“Oh wow, you are drunk.”

The girl that could only be Sakura waved over a waitress and ordered a tomato mozzarella panini and cheese fries and a strawberry milkshake.

“He’s going to be hungry when he wakes up,” Sakura explained. She grabbed some napkins and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Your boyfriend is a hot mess.”

“Well, he doesn’t usually get this drunk. He doesn’t usually drink enough to get drunk.” Sakura’s mouth quirked to the side as she watched Sasuke’s nose wrinkle up when she smoothed his hair away from his face again.

“I should have realized that when after his fourth shot he shouted something about his girlfriend being his impulse control and slammed three more before promptly passing out.”

“Why did you guys go out drinking like this?”

“Well we just finished a paper and this is the first semester we could actually all go to a bar since Sasuke just turned twenty-one. But tell me how you’re his impulse control. He never talks about you outside of the small updates about what he does on breaks and every weekend.”

“How are you this coherent?”

“Like I said, it’s a gift.” Karin propped her chin on her hands and leaned forward on her elbows. “But please tell me more about yourself and Sasuke. I would like to know some embarrassing things about him while you’re here and he can’t stop me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Boo you whore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you know all of Sasuke’s passwords?”

“We believe in trust in our relationship. Of course I know his passwords. We have nothing to hide from each other.”

Karin pulled out Sasuke’s phone and flipped it around to face Sakura.

“Then do you know the password to his locked notes?”

. .

“What are you doing?”

When Suigetsu returned to the diner━without Jūgo━Karin was scribbling on a napkin and the girl on Sasuke’s lockscreen was sitting across from her sipping at a milkshake. Sasuke was still passed out except now he was propped up against his girlfriend and drooling on her shoulder.

“We’ve tried like every possible password Sasuke could have used but we can’t unlock this folder of notes.”

Suigetsu looked at Sakura and then back at Karin. He looked at Sakura again for a full minute before holding out his hand.

“Give me the phone.”

“Okay but if we can’t figure it out how are you going━”

“Got it.”

Karin’s jaw dropped as Suigetsu slid the phone across the table. Where the gray lock screen was before was a picture of Sakura looking out a car window.

“What was it?” Sakura asked, eyebrows pulled down in frustration. She should have known him best.

“Bro code.”

“You still unlocked it, Sui.”

“Yeah but I’m not telling you what the password was.”

“Whatever.”

Karin started scrolling down and was confused the further she scrolled. They were all just normal candid photos of Sakura. Why would he━

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

All of the patrons of the diner turned to look at the source of the screaming. Karin shot them all a glare.

“What? What did you find?” Suigetsu attempted to grab the phone from her hand but she slapped his hand away.

“Not for your eyes!” She snapped at him.

Karin broke her glare to peek back down at the phone but then looked back up, her cheeks turning a blazing hot pink. She looked over at Sakura and shielded her eyes with a hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, handing the phone back to the source of her new discomfort. “The first set of pics looked so normal. I didn’t think he would have those.”

“Sasuke’s got nudes!” Suigetsu gasped, a giant grin spreading on his face. He pointed at Sakura and guffawed. “Her nudes!”

“Will you shut up!” Karin yanked on his shirt hard enough for him to fall into the booth. She looked over to Sakura who had gone paler than she already was.

Sasuke continued to snooze away on her shoulder despite all of the noise.

Karin hadn’t expected to meet so much of Sasuke’s girlfriend on their first meeting.

“I can show you my tits if that would make you feel better,” Karin offered.

“No thank you. I think I should just take you all home now.”

“Sui. Where’s Jūgo?”

“Oh shit! I knew I forgot something.”