#like yadda yadda i understand about like passing to get a good job but like... that shit doesnt actually matter

[sammy-deserves-better]

Hello silly little total drama fans that live on my phone, it’s time I elaborate on one of my many au’s

The axelle spy au! Yippee!!!

So, basically, Axel works at a spy agency, obviously. She’s one of the best spies they’ve got, always successful with her operations and gets the job done good.

One day, Axel’s called in, she’s told she has to take a new recruit under her wing, honestly Axel doesn’t know how to feel.

Then she meets Nichelle, and immediately, Axel is mortified because the poor newbie has nearly destroyed the training grounds.

So, there’s a whole beginners training montage and at first, Axel and Nichelle do not like each other, Axel doesn’t like how…bad Nichelle is at this, and Nichelle doesn’t appreciate Axel’s snarky comments and somewhat harsh leadership.

Yadda yadda, their first mission goes down and it’s nearly a disaster, they barely get their objective, the building nearly blows up, Nichelle nearly got shot twice and Axel is mentally thinking that she’s never going to survive this…

Then Nichelle, who has just survived a lot for her first mission, cracks a joke, to ease the tension, just a little, and Axel just breaks into a fit of laughter.

Things get better for the duo, Axel understands that while Nichelle is not the best at combat, she makes for an AMAZING actress, Nichelle learns to appreciate Axel’s quirks and training regime.

The missions pass by smoothly, their synergy is unmatched, Nichelle gets better and better and Axel can’t help but feel so proud!

And now it’s time for everyone’s favourite part, the fake dating to get into an important gala event. They see each other for the first time in their formal outfits and just stop to stare, Nichelle nearly swoons over Axel in her suit and Axel looks incredibly flustered at the sight of Nichelle in a beautiful dress.

They get one dance in, don’t worry, and that dance makes one of them (Nichelle) realise their romantic feelings for the other. It’s a fun realisation and definitely will not result in any kind of angst. Trust me.

Aaaaaaand that’s about as far as I’ve thought, if y’all wanna add suggestions go ahead, it’s just another silly au of mine

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

you are my sunshine (not old enough ch.9)

pairing: leon x reader

cw: oral sex, only a lil smut, so much fluff, brief mentions of labor and birth

summary: the final chapter, little snippets of your life with leon <3

a/n: i'm sorry i'm awful at fluff :( i've been lowkey dreading this chapter, but i have to give them the happy ending they deserve. thank you all for reading the series! there may be more sexy spinoffs of this, but for now, this is the end <3

wc: 3.7k

ao3 link

Before Matilda made her appearance, the nursery needed to be finished. Since neither of you had any friends or relatives with kids who’d grown up that could give you hand-me-down baby furniture and accessories, you had to go on a shopping spree. A crib, a rocking chair, a changing table, a dresser - Leon didn’t even let you look at the receipt, fearing you’d pass out and endanger the baby. 

As it turned out, a crib has to be built, which was obviously Leon’s job. This was one of the few times that you didn’t protest his insistence on you doing as little work as possible during your pregnancy. You’re all for getting rid of stereotypical gender expectations, but you would’ve posed yourself as ‘just a fragile little lady’ if he’d asked you to help build any sort of furniture whether you were pregnant or not. 

There was an added plus to Leon doing all the handy work that you had not anticipated - he looked hot as fuck doing it. You walked in to offer him something to drink and you caught him lifting his t-shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead. His biceps in the tight shirt, his abs, the v-line of his hips, the light trail of hair leading down from his belly button - you caught a glimpse of it all. It didn’t take an expert in psychology or mathematics to understand the association -  sweat plus striptease equals sex. You were no longer thinking about offering him a drink or asking him how he was doing or anything other than getting on your knees and -

He caught you standing in the doorframe, gawking at him. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” He could tell exactly what you were looking at by your face. 

You didn’t say anything, just walked closer, dropping to your knees in front of him. 

“Honey, what are you doing?” he asked as if it wasn’t entirely obvious. 

You still declined to respond, mind fixated on one task, your small hands found their way to the zipper of his jeans. Before actually ripping off his clothes, you looked up, asking, no, begging, for consent. You saw the two sides dueling behind his eyes - should he do the ‘right’ thing and offer to do this in the bedroom or at least, grab a pillow for your knees, or should he give in right here and now? As usual, arousal beat reason and he nodded, gently running his hands through your hair, pulling it back for you. He sighed, fully resigning himself to the fact that he was not going to be the hero in this situation.

When his cock sprung out, ready, like it’d been waiting for this moment, Leon said, “Do you think this is wrong to do it in the nursery?”

With his dick in hand, already stroking it because you both knew how this was going to pan out anyway, you said, “Leon, we had sex to make her. It’s a human thing.”

“Isn’t a blowjob a little diff-” he tried to say, but was cut off by a groan when you licked one long stripe from his balls all the way to the tip and then immediately took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could. 

You pulled off to ask, as a tease, “What were you saying?”

“Never mind,” he said, his hand on the back of your head coaxing you to continue.

He watched your head bob up and down and said, tilting his head back as if to speak to God, “What did I do to deserve this?”

God did not respond. And neither did you, mostly because you had his dick down your throat - Leon’s not God’s - and were trying not to choke.

You might’ve told him, “you deserve so much more than this because you’re such a good person and yadda yadda yadda” or, more likely, you would’ve said, “it’s not like I’m doing you a favor, in fact, it’s mostly selfish, I’m trying to memorize the way you look right now, so I can touch myself later while picturing it”. That is, if you couldn’t goad him into fucking you. 

You lost yourself in the sounds of his moans, and your mind was entirely empty until he pulled your head away. He didn’t respond to the pout on your face, instead he said, “close your eyes,” with a devious smile. You obeyed without question and he finished himself off. You didn’t see it, of course, but you felt something hot and sticky hit your face in spurts. 

“Wait there and keep your eyes closed,” Leon said and grabbed something from across the room. 

He wiped your eyelids and lashes with a tissue because, despite being naughty enough to come on your face, he didn’t want you to get any in your eyes. 

Then he said, “you can open your eyes now.”

When you did, you smiled at him - instinctively, though well-timed because Leon had grabbed his phone and was taking a picture of you.

Half-amused, half-surprised, your mouth was wide open, but you couldn’t help laughing when you saw his shameless grin. 

“You look pretty like this,” he said, patting your cheek.

“I’m sure I do,” you said, a bit sarcastic.

“You wanna see?” he asked, proudly holding out his phone to show you the picture of yourself. 

You looked at it and said, “I suppose I can see the appeal.”

“Yeah, see,” he zoomed in, “I got a good shot of your tits, too.”

“You act like this is art.”

“Is it not?”

“A photo of jizz on my face, which as you noted, also captures my cleavage.”

“Exactly. It’ll come in handy later.”

“Double entendre?”

“Huh?”

“Come in hand-y.”

“Unintended, but I wish I had thought of that.”

“You’re a builder, a photographer, and a comedian. How lucky am I?”

“You forgot a fine artist,” he pointed out, “I did a fantastic job painting your face in my opinion.”

“Gross,” you laughed and playfully smacked him on the thigh.

He helped you stand up before finally pulling his pants back up. You were about to exit the room to find a washcloth when you said, “Send me that pic, so I can get it framed for you as a father’s day gift.”

You winked at him and then made your way to the bathroom, all the while, you could still hear his laughter from down the hall. 

You were biting your nails waiting for Leon to speak with Chris. Leon said they’d have a talk after your little dalliance with Chris while Leon was away. The guilt festered inside you until the moment Leon set up a time to meet with Chris. Much to your disappointment, you were not allowed to mediate. You really hoped ‘have a talk with’ did not mean get into a physical fight, similar to the one in the parking lot outside that club. 

He was gone for a lot longer than you thought he’d be. You knew this meant one of two things: either it was going phenomenally well or it was going catastrophically badly. 

According to Leon, it went well, and since he came home with a smile on his face rather than any bruises, you took him at his word. 

It was awkward at first. They met on a Saturday at the park because Leon was trying to quit drinking again and you wanted him far away from any temptation in case things went awry - no bars, you told him. 

Leon sat on a park bench overlooking the Potomac, watching couples walking hand-in-hand, families, friends, getting lost in thought, when Chris sat down beside him. 

“Hey,” Chris said, unintentionally startling Leon. 

“Jesus, when did you get there?” Leon, the dramatist, held his hand over his heart like he was about to drop dead from fright. 

“About five seconds ago.”

Leon didn’t respond, but refused to break eye-contact, trying to see if he could get Chris to speak first. 

But it was Leon who bit the bullet and began with, “So…” “Look, I’m sorry,” Chris began, “and I know that doesn’t cut it, but I want you to know that I mean it.”

“Were you going to tell me?” Leon asked in a prickly tone. 

“Honestly, no. I didn’t want to ruin what you two have.”

“Didn’t think of that beforehand? What if she hadn’t told me?”

Chris looked toward the sky and sighed in genuine contemplation, “I don’t know… I’ve made a lot of bad calls. If you want someone to blame, blame me.”

“Blame doesn’t get me shit. I just want to know that my girlfriend and my friend won’t go behind my back like that again.” It was a threat. And if you do… the rest was left unspoken. 

“Swear on my life. I can’t swear on hers, but she loves you, but I think you already know that.”

“I do know that, yeah.”

A woman jogging, a couple with a picnic basket, the boats in the Potomac - Leon watched them all pass in front of his eyes. Time passed quickly as he aged, and wisdom brought him the revelation. A sense of urgency, too. “Fuck it, I forgive you,” he said. 

Sometimes - far too often - Leon was too forgiving, and people had been known to take advantage of his kindness. Forgiveness was his knee-jerk response, he was a natural people-pleaser. A therapist had advised him to weigh the pros and cons in situations like this and to be a little bit selfish in his choice. This time forgiveness was the right decision. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I didn’t want to lose your friendship over this,” Chris said.

“Yeah, well, I’m getting out of shape, so you’d have an edge over me if we fought, so I feel like forgiveness is my only option,” Leon opted to lighten the mood. 

“You think I don’t already have an edge over you?”

“Are you challenging me right now?”

“No, I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Do you think you would’ve beaten me back at that club?”

“Hell yeah. You were wasted. I could’ve taken you down in one punch.” “That’s where you’re wrong. My alcohol intake would’ve lowered my inhibitions and my pain tolerance.” “Sure, but you were practically tripping over your own feet.”

“If you could’ve beaten me, then why didn’t you?”

“Because Claire pulled me away.”

“You said you could’ve taken me down in one punch. You got more than one in, and guess what? I’m still standing.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe I didn’t want to leave you unconscious in the parking lot.”

“Hmph. I guess I should thank you then.”

“Let’s just call it even… after everything that’s happened.”

And that was the last they spoke of the matter. 

The day was nice, though, so they lingered at the park. Leon watched as a mother walked by with a stroller and smiled, thinking of you. 

He realized that he wasn’t sure if Chris knew.  

“I suppose I should tell you the good news.”

“You’re retiring,” Chris said, assuming that was the answer. “Yes, but no, and who told you that?”

“Just a guess.”

Leon couldn’t hold back the secret. With a hint of giddiness, he said, “I’m gonna be a dad.”

“No fucking way.”

“Way.”

“Holy shit. Congrats.”

Chris went in for the hug, and Leon accepted. Yeah, it went well.

You weren’t sure how to feel about having a full-on baby shower, but Leon’s friends - now, your friends, too - insisted on planning you one. 

“We have to celebrate,” Claire insisted, “this is the first baby to be initiated to the friend group.”

“Initiated? Is that what they’re calling being born these days? ‘Initiation to life’,” Leon joked. 

“Ugh. I don’t even want to think about giving birth,” you said.

“Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but,” Leon said, pointing to your bump, “you’re gonna have to do it.”

“I’ve heard it’s not that bad, you know, once you get the epidural,” Chris offered.

“You’ve heard it’s not that bad? From whom?” Claire asked in disbelief. 

“Women I know,” Chris responded. 

“We’re like, the only women you know,” Claire said, “and neither Jill, nor I, have ever given birth.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need to,” Jill said, “I take care of babies

for a living regardless.” She tilted her head towards Chris, who didn’t deny the accusation.

“Agreed. I could never do the whole pregnancy thing,” Claire said, “this one is much stronger than me.” She playfully nudged you. You didn’t believe that for a second, but you were fully aware of how rough pregnancy was, and may never have wanted to go through with it if it weren’t for Leon. 

Claire appointed herself as party planner, so she gave the orders - to everyone besides you. “The future mom deserves some rest,” she said. 

“But the future dad doesn’t?” Leon said. 

“Men,” she scoffed, “you’re all the same.”

Cake, decorations, invitations - they handled it all. Leon was the one to write the guest list. You didn’t know many people in the city, but it was far from lonely. Your tight knit circle, which would soon add another member, was all you needed. 

“Just keep it short,” you said. 

Claire, Chris, Jill, who else did he know? Hunnigan? He’d pretty much patched things up with her, might as well. Ashley? Leon hadn’t heard from her in a bit. Definitely should invite Sherry, she’d come. Ada? No way. It’d be a little funny to send her an invite though. Too bad Leon didn’t have her address. It came down to this: Claire, Chris, Jill, Hunnigan, Rebecca, Helena, Ashley, Sherry (Jake, by extension), not Ada. 

“Does this look good, honey?” he asked, handing you the list. 

You didn’t look up from your book, What To Expect When You’re Expecting. Oh, if only a book could tell you. “Just tell me how many people we’re having,” you said.

Leon counted on his fingers like a grown man should. “Including me?”

“Sure.”

“10.”

You could handle 10. Hopefully, they didn’t expect anything fancy. You struggled to fit in your party outfits, and you rarely had the energy to do a full face of makeup and style your hair these days.

The day of the shower, Claire walked in at 11:30 AM, cake already in hand, frantically calling Jill. 

“I can help you put up decorations,” Leon offered.

“I don’t trust your interior decorating skills,” Claire said. 

“Fine, put me to work wherever I can be of use.” His tone was already snippy. 

You walked downstairs in a pink sundress and got a standing ovation from the two people in your living room. Claire put a sash around you that said “Mama to be”. Flashy glitter wasn’t really your style, but it was kind of cute, and apropos of the event. 

All of Leon’s friends were lovely, and you shouldn’t have been surprised - they’re Leon’s friends, of course they’re sweet. 

Ashley had always been a story to you. She looked even prettier in person than in the tabloids, and she really was America’s sweetheart, her bubbly personality was as real as her blonde hair. As it turned out, she has a great taste in baby clothes, too. 

Similarly, Sherry was only a voice over the phone until the party, granted you’d seen a picture of her once. She brought a man with her - you’d heard only a little about him, but they seemed like a cute couple. You could see yourself attending her baby shower. She seemed like she’d be a good mom. 

You were nervous to meet Hunnigan, but you shouldn’t have been. Similar to how you felt when you met Ada, you could see how Leon liked Hunnigan, and you felt bad for harboring a bit of a vendetta against her. She was nothing but friendly, and she even apologized for the fact that she didn’t let you speak to Leon while he was away. 

“No, it’s okay,” you told her in response, “I understand why you did it”. You hoped she knew what you meant, which was “you got the love of my life home safely, nothing else matters”. 

When it came time for you to open your gifts, you realized the purpose of baby showers. Clothes, bibs, pacifiers, diapers, you name it, you got it. 

You weren’t expecting a gift from Leon. After you’d opened your gifts from the rest of the partygoers, Leon stood up, and said, “Can I take my turn now?”

A hush fell over the room, as many of your friends were privy to the event that was about to unfold. Leon got down on one knee. 

“Yes!” You said before he could open his mouth to give you a speech he’d prepared and immediately forgotten. It all amounted to “I love you”, his mantra when it came to you, plus four new words: “Will you marry me?”

You nodded with your face already buried in his neck, hiding your tears from the audience that surrounded you, clapping as they watched the spectacle unfold before their eyes. 

Leon slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly. “How’d you know my size?”

“You’re a heavy sleeper.”

“You measured my finger in my sleep?”

“I sure did.”

“You did a good job picking out the cut, too.”

“I had some assistance,” he admitted, looking at Claire and Jill, who were both grinning ear-to-ear. 

As were you.  

A package arrived a day after the shower. No return address. It had your name on it, but Leon insisted on being the one to open it because he was paranoid about it being anthrax or whatever. It was not anything deadly. It was a gift, in fact. A teddy bear with a note that said, “Congratulations!” signed “A.W.”, and you both knew who it was. Ada, of course. 

“Aw,” you said, “that’s so thoughtful. I wish we knew her address so we could send her a thank you note.”

“Very thoughtful,” Leon echoed your words, but they seemed to hold a greater weight when he said them. 

“What?” you asked when you noticed the amusement on his face. 

He told you about the charm on the key to the jetski - the one Ada gave him back in Spain when he was famously rescuing the president’s daughter. 

“Would Ashley recognize it?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“I was gonna text her.”

“You have her number?”

“Yeah, she gave it to me. I’m stealing your friends and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

The baby arrived early. On Halloween of all nights. Your water broke at a get-together with friends. You couldn’t party while pregnant, but you could eat a fuckton of candy and wear a cute costume. Leon drove you to the hospital without changing his - or your - clothes, so you both showed up in costume. One day you would be able to tell Matilda how you and Leon were dressed as Daphne and Fred from Scooby Doo the day you got to meet her. What To Expect When You’re Expecting did not contain any information about how to prepare for labor when you’re wearing a Halloween costume. Like most of life’s greatest joys, Matilda Grace Kennedy took her sweet time to arrive after a long, exhausting labor.

It was all worth it. One night, looking down at your baby girl you sang to her as Leon looked upon you both fondly.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.

I love you more and more everyday.

The other night, dear, while I was sleeping,

I dreamt I held you in my arms.

When I awoke, dear, I was so happy

That I hugged you all day long. 

You’d noticed the confusion on Leon’s face towards the end of the first verse, but he didn’t comment until the song was over. Once he was done clapping for you - which made you roll your eyes - he said, “The lyrics - did you change them? Or am I misremembering the song?”

“My mom changed them. She used to sing to me when I was a baby, and she thought the song was too sad so she made up her own words. They’re hers, not mine, but I’m gonna pass them on.”

“How does the original go?”

“The ending of the first verse is ‘please don’t take my sunshine away’, and the ending of the second verse is ‘I was so sorry that I hung my head and cried’.”

“Those are depressing. Yours are better. Plus, you have a beautiful voice.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. If you sang to me, I’d fall asleep, too,” Leon said, pointing to Matilda who was passed out in your arms. 

One afternoon, you heard Leon in his home office - he was singing something. You approached quietly, knowing that if he heard you, he’d stop. On your tiptoes, you pressed your ear against the door, and heard him singing your mother’s version of You Are My Sunshine. It was a catchy tune. 

You didn’t tell him about it at the time, but that night, he was holding Matilda in the rocking chair in her nursery, and you walked in to find him singing it to her. You started to tear up and couldn’t even blame it on the pregnancy hormones anymore. 

Leon didn’t notice you standing in the doorway. He was much too focused on the little girl in his arms. Towards the end of the song, he stopped, forgetting the lyrics, so you jumped in and sang the ending for him. 

“I didn’t know you were standing there.”

“I know. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to stop. You have a beautiful voice.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“She likes it.” You pointed towards the sleeping baby. 

“I wish I could sleep like her.”

Once Matilda started sleeping through the night, so did you and Leon. According to scientists, dreams are our subconscious processing our waking hours, reliving our days in fragments. Agent Kennedy - briefly Officer Kennedy - a man married to his work who carried a gun as his sidekick, had frequent nightmares. Leon S. Kennedy, your husband who carried a little girl up on his shoulders while you walked alongside the Potomac on spring mornings when the cherry blossoms were in bloom, had only good dreams.  

[zencharm]

;

[knickynoo]

I was wondering, how long did it take for Marty to trust Doc completely? I mean, his family wasn´t exactly great in the original timeline, but he didn´t know Doc too much as well about, idk, two weeks after they met? But did Marty still see him as a trustworthy person from the beginning on or did it take some time? (just my brain giving off thoughts lol)

I think the trust was there from the get-go. Marty broke into Doc's lab, got offered the job as his assistant, and was like, Hey, cool, thanks! Btw, you're my new best friend now, kay?

No, but joking aside, I really do think Marty's trust in Doc was almost instantaneous. AND! I can turn to the comics and the time machine manual book for some "evidence" lol. (I was actually going to make a post of my own that was similar to this, so your ask is a great opportunity for me to just dump it here!)

Under a cut because y'all know me by now

In the IDW "Untold Tales and Alternate Timelines" collection, there's the story of how Doc and Marty met, which shows Marty breaking into the lab to steal the interocitor tube for his amp and getting caught by Doc. Yadda yadda, blah blah, they chit chat for a little and then Doc offers Marty a job running errands and helping him around the lab. And Marty, who had no intention of even running into Doc and certainly not of seeking employment, enthusiastically replies that of course he wants the job and he'll start immediately. And then this exchange happens...

And like. Doc is well established around town at this point as an absolute nutcase. People are afraid of him. There are wild rumors that he's building a death ray, that he's radioactive, and that he's just generally dangerous (even Needles is terrified of him). Before Marty heads to Doc's lab, he's warned by the guy at the guitar shop that he'll be risking his life by going over there. It is not in any way "cool" to be associated with Emmett Brown.

Then here comes Marty, who is well aware of all of this and probably has no frame of reference for Doc other than all the tales he's heard, and he's like, Hang out here with the supposedly unhinged mad scientist in my free time?? SIGN ME UP!

Marty literally doesn't hesitate. The kid doesn't even stop for 2 seconds to think it through or wonder if maybe this isn't the best idea. He doesn't even care about how much he's getting paid (or if he's getting paid at all). He's just excited to know Doc. This is automatic trust. And let's face it, I doubt Marty is seeking any sort of elevated social status in being the guy who knows Emmett L. Brown. Maybe there's a part of Marty that thinks people will be "afraid" of him/that bullies will leave him alone, or that people will be impressed he's befriended the town recluse, but I doubt that's even the case. (In all likelihood, being best friends with Doc probably only made Marty more of a target and further isolated him from his peers.) So, I don't think there's really anything else at play during this moment aside from Marty just genuinely immediately deciding he's going to put his full trust into this guy whose house he just broke into.

Doc's entry in the *deep breath* "DeLorean Time Machine: Doc Brown's Owners' Workshop Manual" book also recounts the day he meets Marty. He writes, "And he passed the 'Einstein test'-- the dog simply loves him. I have a good feeling about the lad, and feel confident I can trust him."

Now, that's Doc's point of view, of course, but keep in mind this is being written only hours after meeting Marty, and Doc is already confident he can trust him. Perhaps because he can tell the feeling is mutual and that Marty fully trusts him? If Doc sensed any hesitance or uncertainly on Marty's part, I'm sure he would have taken the days/weeks/however long it took for that trust to be built before being able to write something like that.

Also, just 2 weeks after their initial meeting, Doc writes another entry about how much of a help Marty is and that, "-when his curiosity rises, he is satisfied to be told 'all your questions will be answered'." I think that's another little glimpse into just how quickly that trust Marty has for Doc is solidified. Marty's got all these questions about the things in the lab/projects being built, and he's content to just be assured that it'll eventually all make sense. No need to keep pressing or obsess about the things he doesn't understand, because Doc WILL eventually explain them to him. That's a lot of trust for a 14 year old kid. Plus, this is Marty, so he's probably bouncing excitedly all over the lab, totally intrigued by every little thing and spouting off a hundred questions. Yet when Doc is like, Don't worry, I'll explain things. CALM, Marty's just like, Yes, okay, I will be ~patient~.

So, yeah, took Marty like .02 seconds to put his total trust in Doc and be certain that he wasn't putting himself in peril of being killed by a death ray.

Thanks for the ask!

[utterlyinevitable]

Dreams

a super sweet but very sad-rated mason dream i had retold to @withbeautyandrage​ and @angela8754​ as a bedtime story. 

Ok so BASICALLY it’s some time near-romance and m hasn’t figured out his feelings yet and basically bakery 2.0 happened. 

Lia had enough of his b.s. and pulled away - cutting the playboy off for good - to live her life. Go with the flow. Not spare another stupid moment for a stupid boy ever again. 

While Lia and Mason were having their tiff over the course of a week and ignoring one another at all costs (on Lia’s part. Mason was being Mason and only turning up when he was ordered to), the dogs were in town to deal with the whatever that’s lurking around Wayhaven in addition to all this bounty/trapper/rogue shit. 

Lia is at the local watering hole after a very tedious day. Sitting at the bar nursing her second drink when a familiar presence - a warmth attacking her like a radiating furnace. 

“Detective,” he says with a nod and a point to the bartender for a drink. 

She turned to her right to see Tane. 

Her brows furrowed and she expertly scanned the rest of the premise for the rest of Unit Alpha. Not a single dog in sight. Just Tane. 

He took the seat next to her without asking. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“What, you think they keep us in cages?” 

Lia had a rueful smile; “Kinda, yeah.” 

They talk and talk and get on well with their shameless banter. and eventually he asks, “What’s going on between you and dark and smoky? That thing still happening?” 

Lia scoffs so LOUDLY then says with the slightest shake of her head before taking a loooong sip, “Absolutely nothing.”

Tane raises an eyebrow. 

All she responds is, “You’ve met Mason.”

And he kinda understands.

They talk and talk some more, and the alcohol hits her but she stops after 3 - girl knows her limits. And Tane’s actually kinda cool?? 

Ok so yadda ya he walks her back to her place after last call and they hook up. 

A few days later UB, Lia and the dogs are holed up at the facility for a briefing. It went well - if you take away the utter distain and contempt coming from Adam about giving UA this job while UB focuses on their ongoing case. 

UA were the first to depart after the meeting. Before leaving Tane crosses the distance and gets all up in Lia’s personal space. Not in a creepy way, but a delicate, for-your-ears-only kinda way that has the remaining members of UB watching intently. 

His words certainly were not delicate. The were blunt and to the point though they were said in his low, raspy accent, “If you wanna go for round two come find me.” 

He kissed her cheek then turned on his heels. 

And Mason over in his dark corner by the door snarls HARD. Stares at them. Then storms out of the room before either could fully acknowledge his reaction.

Hours later she’s sitting in the living room of the warehouse reading all alone. Due to the looming danger, she’s been put on lockdown here until the dogs’ finish their mission. Mason ever-so-quietly enters and slumps next to her. Just enough space between them not to touch but still closer than they’ve been in a while. 

Neither says anything. 

Mason’s watching her out the corner of his eye and she’s trying to ignore him. Eventually he speaks uncharacteristically softly; “Are we good?” His hand resting on the leather next to her aching to reach out. He has to ball it into a white-knuckled fist to fend off the offending urge. 

She closes the book and huffs. 

(I don’t remember what happened next) They talked. They said things they needed to say. She got so so angry and so did he but he refused to let the emotion consume him. Lia was ready to walk away for good - prepared to do so. But then... but then they kiss. and he pulls her on his lap in an instant to deepen it. he doesn’t understand why he’s missed this - her so much. and gosh they’re so desperate for one another. 

Mason uses the leverage to hike her up his torso to stand and carry her to her room without breaking the moment.

The second her bedroom door shuts behind them they waste no time disrobing one another. 

Then they’re buck naked. 

She’s sitting at the edge of the bed invitingly, ready, and he’s standing before between her legs. Mason’s eyes are dark and half-lidded and he’s somehow in a trance because he says something she wasn’t meant to know and he wasn’t aware was within him; 

“mine.”

It was said like a fact the whole universe knew, uttered so softly that if he wasn’t two inches away her normal human hearing would have missed it. 

Lia brushed it off. Not bothering to think further into it - Mason always says some sort of compliment every time she’s on full display. 

So they’re doing the do for what feels like forever - certainly the longest they’ve ever been romping around. Now she’s on top and he’s looking up at her with those entranced grey eyes again. and this time says in his soft voice like earlier, he says “you’re so beautiful” as his hand comes up to cup her cheek. 

And Lia stops. Breathing first. Then all motions. And just looks at him. 

Sooo many emotions swirling in them and around them. 

And Mason holds his breath thinking he’s fucked up again and ruined this for good. He’s waiting for her to pull the trigger. 

But her fingers wrap gently around his wrist and she nuzzles further into his hand.

Nsfw things are said in between and done. And at one point she begs/demands Mason to stop makin loveee and to just fuck her because all this unwarranted tenderness is making her emotional and she’s fucking over all this shit. she wants to get off and get off him. 

When they’re done she immediately gets up and heads for the shower. No cuddling much to masons chagrin :( 

so he gets dressed slowly. Listening to her beyond the wall. 

And she’s crying. 

And he’s confused and his chest hurts because of her sobs. But he’ll let her have her moment obviously not wanting to intrude on her space.

So he’s halfway out the door and a cigarette in his lips when Nate passes, giving him a half hearted smile but reserved because of how forlorn mason looks.

“Everything okay”

“I don’t fucking know”

“What’d you say?” Nate says all too knowingly.

Mason takes a few beats trying to remember if he did actually say anything offensive, eyes glued to the floor and hands shoved in his jean pockets, “That she’s beautiful.”

Nates brows furrow.

“Now she’s crying in the shower”

“Well... if I were you, I’d make sure she’s okay. Be there for her”

Mason looks like Nate has just said the dumbest thing imaginable but turns back around into the room and shuts the door. He puts his cig in the bin and heads into the bathroom all be damned and thank god it’s unlocked.

She’s sitting naked on the expensive tiled floor and doesn’t give him a glance. Mason bounds over, sits next to her under the stream fully clothed and wraps his arms around her pulling her into his chest as she cries. For many many minutes. And he just holds her. 

When the water starts to turn icy on his sensitive skin he turns it off and pulls her up to her feet, wrapping a plush luxury towel around her and guiding her into the warmth of her bedroom. She seems to be more with it now and steps away from him, tugging the towel around her tighter to give her strength.

Mason raises a brow to ask her what’s up.

She sighs and looks everywhere but at him.

“Sweetheart,” he practically begs.

“I can’t do this”

“Do what?”

She gestures around the bedroom where everything’s in the mess they made “This!”

He’s still not getting it.

“I like you so fucking much. I can’t do this if you’re gonna say those things and it mean nothing but bedroom talk to get me off.”

He lets her words sink in and swirl around a bit. He still doesn’t fully get it but he gets that feelings can change and that this is a two-way street, so he says “Okay.”

“Ok” she replies. 

Their eyes meet so briefly. She’s trying to stay strong and keep a bit of space between them. He’s seemingly unbothered, his eyes giving nothing away. Not letting her know his inner turmoil of why his skin is itching but not in the hypersensitive way or why he said those things in the first place or why he feels like he needs some fucking air even though he doesn’t need oxygen to survive.  

Lia points a lazy finger to the door, “I need to get dressed.”

Mason nods and leaves without another word.

He closed her door when Felix beams from his doorway across the hall, “You two are back together! Wait- why are you wet?” 

Mason shakes his head and gets as far away as he can.

The end.

[1zashreena1]

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry. 

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​ ​ @symbiont13​ ​ @nicke0115​ ​​ @bunnykjm​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​ ​ @girlpornparadise​ ​ @mandoplease​ ​ @heresathreebee​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​ ​ @jetiikad​ ​ @joalsglasses​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​ ​ @demoncatstone​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ ​ @poeedamerons​ ​

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently?  We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity. 

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him. 

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35. 

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports. 

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence. 

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems.  He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister. 

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him. 

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down. 

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball 

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that. 

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing. 

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting 

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that. 

Princess. 

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap. 

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?"  His knowing grin is infectious. 

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me." 

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly. 

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York. 

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is. 

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after. 

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff. 

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah.  You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics. 

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?" 

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together. 

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together. 

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little?? 

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners. 

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go." 

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location. 

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??"  He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed. 

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

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration. 

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder. 

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow. 

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly. 

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk. 

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

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+. 

Until his phone rings. 

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego,  sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or  angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface. 

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out.  Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix. 

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was. 

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal.  For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One. 

Grand Theft. 

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking. 

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together. 

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now. 

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking.  You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have. 

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected. 

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego. 

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood. 

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

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

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good. 

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches. 

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?"  You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation. 

"I…. grrrrrrrrr."  He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes. 

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly. 

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona. 

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background. 

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

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

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps. 

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point. 

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good. 

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin. 

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth. 

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice. 

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable. 

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom. 

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable. 

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk. 

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing." 

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars. 

Armored cars. 

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars. 

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns. 

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling. 

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love. 

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

 "I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

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

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week. 

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home. 

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man. 

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing. 

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement. 

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust. 

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself. 

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck. 

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside. 

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you. 

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"  

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed. 

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs. 

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

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

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps. 

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

 "Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

 "Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

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

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed. 

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes. 

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you. 

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears. 

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?" 

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours." 

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

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

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar. 

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you. 

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds. 

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing. 

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically. 

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw. 

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!" 

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?" 

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

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

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace."  He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth. 

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly. 

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off. 

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

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

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK. 

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one. 

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal. 

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt.  Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez. 

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you. 

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded. 

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive. 

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?" 

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby."  His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly. 

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation. 

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it."  You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard. 

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain. 

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

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

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances. 

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic. 

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

 "Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable. 

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

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly. 

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine." 

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?" 

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat. 

Seven is a very good number.

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

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand. 

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down. 

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding? 

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

[actionadventureactivator]

Hiking the PCT 2021 Announcement

Did you know that Kira and I started dating by leading an outreach where we backpacked to villages in Nepal to rebuild homes after the earthquake?

Maybe you saw my wife’s post in Feb, maybe you didn’t. She expands on how in the simpler world of pre-2020 we “set a goal to hike the Pacific Crest Trail in 2021. A 2,650 mile trail spanning from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon, and Washington. Hiking this trail has been a dream of mine for the last 4 years or so and I convinced Brook that we HAD TO DO IT SOMEDAY. ”

Well, its now 2021 and we’ve hit some big milestones. Big birthdays, anniversary, yadda yadda yadda. Also I have been doing ministry in the same Org since 2012 in WI (that means next year could be 10 years in the Midwest 🤯). And though it has been overall good to or for me, I still desire more. I want to live a radical life, at least the way I live: live it with a radical emphasis. Whether its the international trips with my ministry, evenings at the skate park or BBQing, radically loving and caring for the family we create soon enough, or radically being present to God and others at a simple beach town or rural mountain town. One way to keep this emphasis in my life was agreeing to pursue a radical dream of Kira’s while it was still more attainable. They say “it’s best to act it out and understand it” - so I’m acting it out. Additionally it happens to be a good time to take a step back to:

Rest and recover physically (well, maybe), emotionally and spiritually

Reflect and refocus for the future

Realign to the vision God has given us

We will not be doing the whole thing, but we do hope to do at least half of it, maybe over 2,000 miles! We will be going from LA through the High Sierra and into the Cascades and as far north as we can accomplish within the time frame, budget and physical ability. Possibly walking all the way back to our car we’ll be leaving with my parents in WA.

I have been thinking about how this hike is not only a physical pilgrimage from Southern California into Oregon, but how it also feels like a special Pilgrimage with God. This trip feels pretty symbolic in a lot of ways.

Let me get a little philosophical. When preparing for a backpacking trip, you have to sort through a lot of gear and decide what you are bringing and what you are leaving behind. You can’t bring everything, your backpack is only so big and your legs and feet so strong. You really have to PRIORITIZE and MINIMIZE EVERYTHING. Everything you bring needs a purpose, or else it gets left behind. The items that I choose to bring had to be carefully considered, weighed, or modified. I cut down my toothbrush not to only save half an ounce, but make it fit better in a zip lock bag. The items, food, and water I choose to carry with me will be a burden on my shoulders, hips, and feet. I'm contemplating not only what gear I choose to leave behind, but also what aspects of life now will I cut off or leave behind? I will leave behind the burden of my car and it’s expenses. I won't have the distractions of Netflix or Youtube in the evening. Communication will be minimal as we will not have service for days at a time. I will only have Kira, the wilderness, and its creator. Kind of like Eden….just my wife, God and creation. I need to carefully consider every piece of gear that I will bring or leave behind, and I need to do the same to my mind and heart. What is good to carry with me? What is not? What is a burden? What will I learn to embrace or re-embrace? What will I let go of? What will I learn in packing and unpacking myself and my things? What all will I bring with me on trail, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually? How will I protect this journey with God? We want to disconnect from the internet, media, pandemic life, emails, work and be intentional to declutter and prioritize not only our backpacks but also our minds, hopes, dreams, and goals as we prepare for and go on this long hike. As I prioritize and minimize my gear and my mind, I also look forward to simplifying. My meals, joys, daily activity, and routine will be really simple. Wake up, eat something, pack up camp, hike, snack, siesta, take pictures, enjoy beauty, get really cold, really wet, really hot and dirty for days on end before I walk into town and get a motel for a night. This will be a fun outdoor adventure, but I think God has so much more for us than just that. I believe it will be a significant pilgrimage with God on many fronts.

I believe God is inviting the two of us to get out, be inspired, lay everything down, and unpack stuff in our relationship with him, with each other, and with our lives. I like how Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message captures this thought:

“Are you tired?  Worn out?  Burned out on religion?  Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.  I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.  Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. This is a time to quiet the noise of life and hear the voice of Jesus.”

It's crazy to consider how even God himself in the form of man, went out and would spend time alone in the wilderness, even for 40 days at a time. That's a lot of time with your thoughts and God. God invites us to go out with him, to learn what real rest looks like and to show us the unforced rhythms of grace. He doesn't have for us heavy burdens or loads, but a light and free way of life. And in spending this time with him, we quiet the noise of life and hear his voice. It's lot of time to clear the cobwebs out of your head and heart. I really am looking forward to this trail.

We will fly to LA on May 19th, start the trail on May 20th, and see how far north we make it. We are aiming for Crater Lake (1,300 miles) or Bend, Oregon (1,500 miles) or all the way into WA. Who knows?

In dreaming about and preparing for this trip over the last 2 years, we have been working extra hard to make it happen. We have been blessed by the generosity of others as well as different job opportunities that will help us cover the cost of the trail and bills back home.  If you would like to contribute to our trip there are a few different ways you can do so:

Care packages: we will be able to receive mail as we pass through the towns along the trail. If you want to send us a package, let us know and we can give you more details of where to direct it!

Finances: like we shared above, we have worked hard to cover our trail costs! However, finances are always helpful and appreciated!

Meet up with us: if you live nearby or happen to be passing through the areas we are hiking in, we would love to meet up and grab lunch and tell you all about our adventures 😉

[chuuoku-imagine]

Everything about Ichijiku is Anime Milf for Men n°2736289191281 and it worries me that you can't see that. She is absolutely portrayed in a male-gazey, overly sexualized way. She's not drawn with her boobs out to show that she's a strong, powerful woman who doesn't care what other people think - she's drawn that way to appeal to men.

But Hypnosis Mic is a female-targeted franchise... Of course, every gender can enjoy it, but I think the first audience target is female.

In my opinion, just because she has a typical mature body doesn't mean she's automatically sexualized...

She reminds me in certain ways of characters like Bayonetta or Shion from Psycho-Pass: they both use the sex-appeal they naturally have for themselves, because they are proud of it... And not, you know, for men.

It would be of course different if she was the character of a second zone porn anime/manga, where she would be portrayed exclusively in a sexual manner; but here, in Hypmic, Ichijiku is in a position of total power over men, which is frankly almost non-existent in a Japanese media industry where female characters are sexualized a whole lot - regardless of body type, even the so-called "lolis" - and created for male pleasure.

Also, frankly, I think the dynamic of female fans thirsting over a female character is different here (in Hypmic) than a male fan thirstying over a female character in a anime targeted to him. I think the power balance is too different to be compared.

If you look at Femme Fatale's lyrics, you can see that Chuuoku claims their identity as independant women who don't need men. It also means they consider themselves free to think and dress as they wish regardless of what men may think - patriarchy, "it's your fault if you get raped wearing such clothes", yadda yadda

Again, Hypmic is targeted towards women. Which means, in my opinion, that the male gaze dynamic can't apply.

Also, a crucial point: Ichijiku’s character is based on her seiyuu Chiaki Takahashi, who used to do gravure before being voice acting work. I think it’s very telling that the one character created after her belongs to a female-targeted franchise!

“I don’t exist for men, but I exist for myself. Also I’m glad to please the lesbians” is the message I’m getting from it

Takahashi is very known in the seiyuu world for promoting her sex-appeal in her works, and doing whatever the hell she wants - including having a wild wardrobe ever since her rookie days, as she says in this interview :

I love R&B, hip-hop and reggae and favoured wearing sexy import dresses but it seems that those elements did not give off a good impression. At the time, seiyuu mostly wore frilly clothing. “This is a job that involves voice work, why should clothes even matter?” – I tried to argue my case but because of my young age, nobody would listen to me.

She is someone very proud and independant, who takes shit from no one and gives the biggest feminist vibe I’ve ever encountered on a Japanese celebrity.

Sorry for the long post, I hope I was understandable enough😊

I'm glad to have debates about Hypmic!!

[lacklusterswirl]

Thatcher and... ?

Let’s be honest, my title abilities are poor at best lol. 

So this is a continuation of a short fic I posted a while back about Thatcher and possible death. This is kind of an aftermath of that fic. (and I know I haven’t posted any fanfic in a while, forgive me, I got reabsorbed in my original stuff.) It’s kinda sad and reminisces a lot but has a happy ending (imo) (1.8k words)

It’s based off of and includes the lyrics of You by Keaton Henson. It’s a really moving (?) song so prepare yourself if you haven’t listened to it already :)

Warnings: (Mentions/implied for all at least) death (of friends/family), dementia, injury, fighting, gun fights, canon typical violence, and mass violence (bartlett u)

.

 If you must wait…

A quick mission. That was all. After a training accident, he was taken off the roster and sent back home to recover. So, Thatcher sat on the couch with his mother’s arms around him as he awaited news. His best friend, brother in arms, was on that squad. They were unbeatable together.

Unbeatable is a strange word, no? It was supposed to mean victorious, impossible to defeat. The image of his friend at the end of the mission with a new medal and a new smile that just said that it went alright. That’s who they were… together. And Thatcher saw what the issue was now. He wasn’t there to prevent his friend from getting shot in the leg, leaving him stranded in enemy territory as his squad was massacred.

Unbeatable.

Yet that very man was still in that casket, arms on his chest, and eyes closed, draped in a flag.

… wait for them here in my arms as I shake.

.

If you must weep…

The ocean was known for many things. Thatcher sipped on his beer as he rocked with the waves. After the mission, he wasn’t the same. His mother passed, his father didn’t recognize him, and more recently, his wife had left him, saying that she couldn’t take it anymore.

Take what? Surely it must’ve been the money issue. Maybe a personality clash. But it couldn’t have been because of… what did she call it? It couldn’t have been because he was “obsessed.” It was a job – one he took seriously. That was all. He wasn’t obsessed with it, but he couldn’t stop certain flashbacks, certain triggers, certain emotions that refused to leave him alone when he slept at night.

That was all… But that couldn’t be helped.

Right? There was no other option – no other choice for him in his life. He took the chance to leave his home, he took his opportunities; he took what was in front of him like any other human was. And he was human.

… do it right here in my bed as I sleep.

.

If you must mourn, my love…

He still remembers that day, to this day. He remembers the smoke, the screams, the gunshots, the blood. All of it. It will never leave him, being on par in horror levels with the wars he’s been a part of except those fights were between those who knew why they were there. It was a battle. Not a massacre.

And even though he knows that it went well, that they did all that they could, that only Rainbow could’ve helped, he can’t help but feel a pit in his stomach, one that threatens to – no, does swallow up his thoughts and starts asking what if’s.

What if they cleared faster?

What if they could evacuate earlier?

What if the terrorists were caught before they even entered the US?

What if they could’ve gone into one of the labs and crushed the project before it began?

What if?

And that’s where Sledge found him. Pacing on the roof, and glaring at the stars as though they could’ve prevented it all.

… mourn with the moon and the stars up above.

.

If you must mourn…

Sledge was a good leader. One that takes his time with all his teammates – not just the weakest – and makes sure that they’re all alright. He is one that understand unity and team cohesion like it was as easy as reciting the alphabet. He knows how to talk and hold a meaningful, helpful conversation like it was as natural as eating or breathing to him.

And know best he does. It’s as clear as the scowl on Thatcher’s face while he’s being dragged to an empty office.

“What’s on yer mind?”

“Nothin’”

“Mike.”

A sigh. “Just a little worried that we’ve seen this before. That’s all.”

…Don’t do it alone.

.

If you must leave…

The conversation from the night before was not repeated as Thatcher was getting strapped and ready for their next mission. It was not repeated again as he gave his briefing and walked out of the room. And it was definitely not repeated right before the initial attack.

The next thing he remembers is walking into a dark building. Twenty-two kilos of cocaine, ready for sale, and one of those kilos contains a very special message. One crime hidden in another. It was here, in the shadows, where Thatcher could finally forget about his past.

It’s hard to reminisce on the past when your future was in danger.

He has a purpose in life. The same one he’s had since eighteen.

Two shots to the right, and a foot disappeared behind a shelf, though the shadow was still there. That was easy, two steps forward and turn to the right. One shot to end a life.

That was simple. One for one.

Except that the one shot could also mean something else.

There was a spray of gunfire underneath him, and he heard a thud.

“Mute!” Smoke’s voice called out over comms. “He’s down! Under heavy fire, sir!”

From somewhere below, he could hear the sound of one of Smoke’s grenades going off. “In cover! Repeat, Mute is down, and we’re in cover! Requesting immediate back-up… please.”

Without another thought, Thatcher used a breaching charge to jump down a floor and rush in the direction of the fight.

… leave as though fire burns under your feet.

.

If you must speak…

Rat-tat-tat. Thatcher took down terrorist after terrorist. They weren’t expecting a flank, and he was cutting them down like a razor to hair.

“I’m here, Mute.”

The boy didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes were glazed and his mouth slightly open, though no sounds came out.

“His gut, we need an evac.” Smoke tossed his last grenade and set it off to buy them some time.

There are four of them in this one building. Sledge’s shadow was coming up form behind them, the hammer giving him away. Evacuating Mute would be a two-person job. If he were any less confident, there would be no chance, but he actually believes. There’s a chance he can clear the floor and cover their evac on his own.

Take out the last two to the right, and one to the left. EMP the soft wall and breach through. Finish the floor. His was empty above anyways, and Sledge should have finished done down below.

“Go…”

“Mike, that’s also not a…” Sledge finally caught on to what he was suggesting.

“Nah, I’m proud of my team. Cliché and all, but I’ve had plenty of good years in my life, but he’s barely started his. Now get him help, and leave the rest to me.”

… Speak every word as though it were unique.

.

If you must die, sweetheart…

It’s a long fight. One that sapped all strength from his muscles, that softened his bones, that makes his hands tremble, but it’s a fight he takes. It’s down to Thatcher and one other man now. They see each other, know where the other is, and stare at each other with their hands tightening around their respective weapons.

Two gunshots: one pinging off a box, and the other tasting air, muscle, bone, muscle, air and then the wall behind.

One of them falls.

“Mike? MIKE!”

That voice… was it Smoke? Maybe Mute? No, he was unconscious. Probably Sledge, given that he had issues understanding what came next. Or maybe that was just the darkness calling his name.

What was it that Mark kept quoting at him? You die a hero or live long enough to become the villain? Or something like that?

Legends are always remembered. He just hopes he died fast enough.

… die knowing that your life was my life’s best part.

If you must die… remember your life.

There was a soft murmuring that slowly faded into silence. All things pass – even the complete and utter emptiness. Instead of going anywhere, he sits in that dark shell of what he can only assume is his own mind. It’s a welcome rest, and in his mind’s mind, he relives everything. The good, the bad, the really bad, and the atrocities.

There was no sun to tell him how many hours he’s been lying there. Yet in the distance, he swears he could hear his mother’s voice.

You are… You are… All you are… all.

And with that, he’s had it with this place. Wherever he is.

.

If you must fight…

When he comes to, he’s still on the floor, significantly weaker from before, but still alive. There’s a bullet in his vest, maybe a cracked rib or two, but he’s alive. His pistol was still there. That’s nice. He struggled to get to this hands and knees and crawl to cover. There were voices that definitely did not belong to his teammates. Had they gotten out? Or was he fighting a losing battle just to die as a martyr?

With a shaky hand, he measures everything, considers his strength. He might only have one shot. But that’s all he needs.

One shot, and the last body hits the floor. Then, he returns to that dark shell inside of him. There were worse fates.

… fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night.

.

If you must work…

Medal of honor, yadda yadda yadda. He couldn’t care less.

What mattered more was that he was hooked up to a machine that was listing out a very important number. That, and a friendly face was staring back at him.

“Do you want me to show you this new game I started? It’s super simple, but it’s very fun and simple to play. You’d love it.”

There was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. And from Sledge and Smoke, who stood a little farther behind the kid, they all had the same look. They admired him, and looked up to him. They’ll tell his stories to the legions of new recruits long after he himself has said goodbye to Hereford.

Isn’t this what you work for? For those who will pass on your morals and give you that piece of mind that you left the world slightly better than when you entered it.

… work to leave some part of you on this Earth.

.

If you must live, darling one…

“Hey, Mike?”

He jerked his head up and towards the sound of the voice. He must’ve been asleep, seeing as Sledge and Smoke had left, leaving Mute behind.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know… I know you know.”

With that, they shared a chuckle, and Mute gave one last nod before leaving him to fall asleep again.

… just live.

[guardiandae]

Meta/Commentary Part 1: A Little ‘XO’ Wouldn’t Go Amiss

(Spoilers below)

Wade finally learned his roomie's real name on day two, when the proposed nickname of 'Priscilla' was rejected via stabbing.

"Y'know- I usually know a guy's name before I let him penetrate me," Wade joked, gritting through the pain.

"My name is Nathan Summers. You can call me Nate. Or you can shut your whore mouth."

I’m gonna say this right now so when I finally finish the sequel of this fic, nobody can cry foul or anything or pretend that I didn’t plan everything all along from the very start of this journey: There’s a reason why Nate stabbed Wade and it’s not just to be an edgelord. This fic starts written in Wade’s POV and then switches to Nate’s, and there is so much more info revealed from Nate’s perspective that changes how interactions are colored. In the sequel, it’s not written in that style but eventually you will understand Nate’s POV and be able to look back on this (and other moments) and be like, Ah. I spent a few months just agonizing over this fic planning. The levels of depth going on here, you don’t know.

Also it’s hilarious because, the movie never really establishes Cable’s real name so hi, it’s Nathan Summers. Scott Summers’ (Cyclops)’s son, but like... older than him because future and time traveling hijinks or whatever. This is only important because like, daddy issues.

-

technically they were even sleeping together, even if Nate slept in the only bedroom because he'd called dibs and Wade slept on the couch in a pile of fast food wrappers.

Denial.

Living with Nate was weird after living with Vanessa for so long. No more kisses -- not like he wanted any.

Denial!

-

Usually when Wade got home, Nate was never there.  Hours later when Nate did come back, he'd just go to bed. Other times, Wade was hired for jobs that took days of travel to complete. There was little interaction between them and they barely saw each other, so Wade took to leaving little notes behind.

[Went to get milk. And also to put a cap in someone's ass. He's a bad guy though, so don't worry. I'll be home late. xoxo] [Forgot the milk. Also didn't cap the guy so I didn't get paid. Can you pick some up while you're out? xoxo]

So much info in one little spot. Nate only sees them as roommates, as a living arrangement and tenuous partnership to serve as an end to both of their needs. Nate has a place to live, and his only responsibility, as we learn in his POV, is to pay the rent on Wade’s behalf, with Wade’s money, because Wade is a disaster and his memory is getting worse. Not only is Wade just an annoying person who can’t take anything seriously, in his incorrect opinion, but there’s that level of guilt for feeling like a freeloader when Nate is the kind of person who’s had to fight just to survive his entire life. Wade’s little notes are so sweet, but to Nate, 1. weird 2. is this a joke? 3. stop reminding me of how much you care and meanwhile i can barely bring myself to write a note back, aaaaaa

I need to remember to revive the note-leaving between them in the sequel. It’s too cute, I can’t stand it.

-

Mercenary jobs had become harder to come by, and then work dried up. It was almost like nobody wanted to pay a guy to kill people anymore. As if there could ever be a shortage of people in the world who needed to die. But when one door closes, another opens -- everywhere he went, he suddenly saw slews of missing persons flyers. Wade had never noticed how many there were before, but he took it as a sign. He'd always wanted to try his hand at being a P.I. and Wade hadn't realized that the market was booming with families desperate to find loved ones. He offered his services as a private dick to several different people, but every single case was unsolvable. It was like they'd just vanished into thin air, but he knew that wasn't possible. It was frustrating to realize he was such a lousy dick.

Spoilers, but this is when the Thanos snap happens, and Wade is completely oblivious. Could someone who can be so devastatingly observant really be so obtuse? Or is his mind just protecting itself from such an incomprehensible reality that everyone else is suddenly saddled with? These are things Nate wonders later as well. Even I don’t know for sure. (I haven’t watched End Game and there’s still more plotline to tackle during the Snap, don’t @ me about how Marvel did it, I don’t know and I don’t care, I have my own plans)  (By the way, characters will either be snapped or inexplicably alive, and that’s not a plot hole, that’s the joke. Welcome to Marvel, the writers never fucking make sense and I don’t have to either, YEET)

[Someone tried to sell a metal arm on the black market????!! It better be Bucky's and not yours. Not like I care.] [It was Bucky's.]

Rip Buckkyyyyyy lmaooo

But also, cryyyy because Nate is busy trying to help deal with absolute fucking chaos and he didn’t really stop to consider whether Wade would be wondering what happened to him. Ow. Yeah, I think Wade definitely subconsciously registered what happened and is in total denial of reality. It’s better that way. Nobody fucking tell him.

-

There was nothing that he hated more than being ignored. Might as well just talk to himself. Which he did a lot of lately.

Foreshadowing.

-

All of the warmth left his body at once, leaving him a little breathless and dizzy. He was vaguely aware of Nate looking at him, but it was less of a 'you're home' and more of a ' why are you here?'

This whole area of the fic hurts so good because I’m gay and I love drama.

Wade coming home, literally bleeding to death on the inside and in shock because, once again, everything went to shit for him, story of his life. And he sees Nate just there, dressed down, relaxed, and has this little flash of domestic happiness because he so desperately wishes that the domestic happiness was real and that Nate actually was waiting for him and happy to see him come home, and the hard snap back to reality where Nate doesn’t even like him is soooo fucking painful lol end me. And on top of that, he misread Nate’s concern as hate/disgust for him bc that’s what he’s used to, and then he passes out on the floor and wakes up with Nate over him because I’m gay and I love drama!!!!

-

"Wade, you died for a second," Nate told him. Wade couldn't quite tell if Nate was concerned for him or just annoyed. "I had to pull a piece of metal pipe from your chest. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I got a… pipe in my chest," Wade said, pausing for breath. His lungs felt wet and heavy. He should've left the pipe in.

"Very illuminating," Nate deadpanned, letting go. "Anything else I should know?"

This moment where Nate is so very fucking concerned for Wade, but then Wade cracks a weak joke, because that’s how he copes, and Nate is like, wow, fuck it, so much for being worried about you.

[[SCREAMS IN GAY.]]

-

These thoughts didn't feel like his own, even though they had his voice. His mind was always scattered, full of thoughts that flowed nonstop like a babbling brook. Sometimes it took a lot of conscious effort to reign himself in and make sense of his own head. But these just popped out of nowhere, in bold print, in boxes that were separate from everything else.

"Am I going nuts?" he wondered aloud, whispering to himself, because honestly, he was a little afraid of his own head right now.

(A little late to be asking that.)

And this is when the ‘boxes’ manifest for Wade. But in this fic, the voices that manifest in his head are his own intrusive, negative thoughts. The depression, the loneliness, the self-hatred, the belief and fear that Nate hates him too.

-

I’m gonna recap vs a full copy and paste because the next bit is long:

-Wade is coughing up blood clots from his lungs in the morning, or trying to. -Nate is disgusted but also sympathetic and offers to help Wade out. -A really layered conversation occurs.

“Maybe if I drown myself in the bathtub, the blood clots will rinse out. What d'you think?"

Wade’s exhausted. Joking, but also dead serious. Nate is concerned about Wade making such a dark joke, but he also can tell that Wade really is struggling.

“I’ll help you.”

“Really?” Wade is relieved Nate wants to help him, at first, but then remembers he just said he wanted to drown himself in a bathtub, and becomes disheartened again because he remembers Nate doesn’t like him. “Oh. Yeah.”

From Wade’s point of view: Nate just offered to help Wade kill himself, because of course someone would get a kick out of drowning him, he’s annoying, yadda yadda.

From Nate’s point of view: Wade isn’t okay and he offered to help him with his problem, because he sounds desperate and Nate doesn’t think that jokes will help Wade with his mental state, nor will the drowning actually do anything to solve the problem (the blood clots festering in his lungs).

"I bet you'd love to hold me down and watch me struggle," he said, still thinking about the drowning idea. Then, in a flirtatious tone, "I'll make it good for you, baby. Just promise me we'll do it face to face."

From Wade’s POV: He’s making a joke about Nate drowning him, but also making a sex joke to make it funny, to mock Nate if he really does want to drown Wade, so maybe he wouldn’t do it, or maybe it’d be weird and interesting.

From Nate’s POV: Wade is flirting with him, and his humor and still really dark and Nate really shouldn’t laugh at it or encourage that kind of thing.

From Wade’s POV, seeing Nate trying not smile: ah holy fuck he really wants to drown me.

"I don't want to watch you struggle," Nate said. If he did, he'd just leave Wade alone to keep coughing up blood.

"Ah. Consensual," Wade nodded. "Okay, well, I'd be open to some over-the-clothes stuff, and whatever happens while I'm still dead doesn't count."

Nate couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think we're having the same conversation."

Wade is continuing the joke, because from his POV he’s like, whelp, this might as well be what happens.

But they really aren’t having the same conversation. There’s more like, four different conversations happening at once. Wade’s very sincere idea of drowning himself as a solution to his problems, and Wade joking about Nate drowning him as a sexual innuendo.  Nate interpreting Wade’s dark humor as a shitty attempt at flirting that he neither wants to encourage nor outright shoot down, and Nate offering to give Wade a better solution to fix his actual problem.

And Nate’s solution is to use his telekinesis to just... remove all the shit from Wade’s lungs. But he didn’t communicate that idea with Wade before just doing it, even if he did ask permission, so that’s pretty shitty and hence why we had to add the ‘Nonconsensual Telekinetic Heimlich Maneuver’ tag. smh

"That was dubious at best and now we have to add a warning in the tags," Wade sighed. "Non-consensual telekinetic Heimlich maneuver…. This is problematic now. People aren't gonna click on this."

-

This is a good spot to stop for now and continue in another post.

[thefaultinourdefault-blog]

Hi Tumblr! I’m Gay

So basically, I started a journal recently, more specifically about the process I've gone through towards accepting my sexuality, for mental health purposes. Not a big deal really, just some angsty journal entries from a closeted midwesterner. Reading Love, Simon and Symptoms of Being Human inspired me to start an anonymous blog full of these journal entries. I'm not really expecting anyone to read them, but if you do: Hi, you can call me R. Is just a single letter enigmatic enough for you?

Oof, is it pretentious for me to start a tumblr blog about myself? I mean I guess that’s what the world of blogging is all about. (But does anybody really truly blog like this here on tumblr anymore? I don’t think so-) You take a tiny piece of your day to pick up a laptop or some other smartphone or tablet thing and you write about a tiny fraction of your life that people may or may not care about. With most people though, they talk about all the good parts like how some vegan obtains this unreasonably and unattainable body in the healthiest way possible, or how some soccer mom named Karen manages a house of five children, two dogs, and a coup full of chickens. But like most things online, none of it’s real. Or at least, it’s only half real. Like youtube beauty vloggers or instagram models, you get to chose what you say online, and for most people, they chose to only show the best parts of themselves. Understandably so, if you have the choice as to how you will portray yourself, you’re most likely going to do so in the most glorified way possible.(Have my ramblings lost you yet? I bet you think I sound like some wannabe John Green character, in which case, you’re probably correct.)

I was scrolling through tumblr today, looking at other journaling and bloggy blogs, and I saw a quote:

“Advice to Young Journal Keepers. Be lenient with yourself. Conceal your worst faults, leave out your most shameful thoughts, actions, and temptations. Give yourself all the good and interesting qualities you want and haven’t got. If you should die young, what comfort would it be to your relatives to read the truth and have to say: It is not a pearl we have lost, but a swine?” -Rosamond Lehmann

You’ll probably see it too if you just look up “Journal” in the search bar. It’s one of the first results that come up. (There is, however, a concerning amount of “pro-ana” shit in the tag. Watch out, being triggered isn’t fun.) Anyways, I’m not quite sure who this Rosamond Lehman lady is, and I suppose as an English Literature nerd I should have an idea -- all I know is the tiny bits of information that you can get from a quick Google search -- but all I can say is that I disagree with this qoute on every level possible. The reason why I keep my journal, isn’t so that I can preserve the best parts of myself. It isn’t for my relatives or loved ones after I pass, and even so, if they love me any less for the imperfect parts of myself then frankly, it won't be mattering to me anyways. I'll be dead. But this journal is for myself. It’s for all of me, not just the glorified parts that I’d want to put in front of a camera, but also all the other parts; the broken, the beaten, and the damned. In this blog, I will be as honest as anonymously possible.

So here we go, you can call me R. I’m 16 years old. I’m a she/her, but I don’t really care about pronouns. (For myself, I’ll respect yours of course.) And I’m Gay. Or I guess you could say Lesbian, it doesn’t really matter what label you use to define me. Queer? That works too. As long as it’s clear that I definitely absolutely do not like males. Sorry guys, I just don’t roll that way. We can still be friends?

Some people say I can o n l y identify as lesbian; that should be my only, and if not only, my primary self-identifier. “The term ‘gay’ is gendered, and strictly reserved for MALE homosexuals.” and yadda yadda, but the thing is, lesbian isn’t really my favorite word to use to identify myself as. Like don’t get me wrong, I still use it, but it’s just not what I’m the most comfortable with. And at the end of the day, isn’t being a member of the LGBTQ+ community all about using the labels and pronouns that make you most comfortable? It’s supposed to be our space, and sometimes our only space where we can be 100% ourselves all of the time (unless you’re a pedophile.You don’t belong here. I’m sorry. Not really) 

Maybe I’m still uncomfortable with the word Lesbian because of my internalized homophobia, which, as I’ve checked, is still alive and thriving within me - like whatever it is that possessed Will Byers to know that the Mind Flayer was coming. The hatred I feel towards myself for being different is still there, it’s just not always active.

Or maybe it’s because the word “lesbian” is itself, a very gendered word. I’m a cis female, and I don’t really feel or think that I’m nonbinary, but I still feel uncomfortable when very obvious gender rolls are placed upon me. Some days I enjoy looking so adrogynous that people can’t figure me out. That’s just the way I am. 

Or maybe it’s just because I’m a very complicated human. Like, for example, what if I end up developing feelings for a Non-Binary person? I mean, I know that I find Bex Taylor-Klaus e x t r e m e l y attractive, and despite their amount of female rolls in movies and television, Bex Taylor-Klaus is, in fact, a they. And Bex Taylor-Klaus can still get it (in my dreams. I know they’re 24. You can calm down. There’s easily people far younger than me on this app thirsting over Jensen Ackles, and I’m not even really thirsting). So then, if I were to one day date or have any kind of romantic interest in a Non-Binary person that I actually know, then wouldn’t it be disrespectful or “enbyphobic” to categorize myself as a lesbian?

I think Dan Howell did a very good job describing how I feel in his coming out video. I am, in fact, a formless blob. I’m not quite sure what the world thinks that I should categorize myself as, but whatever it is, I know that it’s gay, so gay is what I’m sticking with, and when -- or if -- I eventually come out to my family. Gay is most likely the word that I’ll use.

So, how’s that for a first-ever actual blog post? Pretty boring? I thought so too, but at the end of the day this blog is for me, and it doesn’t really matter how many people do or don’t read it, and it doesn’t really matter how many people enjoy it. It just feels good to finally be able to put my real self out there, even if nobody will ever know who I am.

But if you did by some chance read this far, congratulations! You officially have all the patience that I don’t! Here’s your exit ticket:

Regardless as to your gender identity or sexuality (and yes, those two things are very separate and different), is there any celebrity that never fails to make you question your sexuality?

Signing off,

R

[dat-town]

No speed limit | Chapter 9

Summary: Some people live to race while others race to live. When an uptown girl’s and street racer’s worlds collide, their lives are bound to change. For the better or worse, it’s hard to tell. In-between rivalry and unwanted sparks, there’s definitely a bumpy road ahead (with no speed limit).

Words: 2.8k

Chapter index

The air still smelled like smoke long after the fire was put out.

Hanbin let his arm with the phone fall back to by his side when the line went dead. He looked over his friends getting interrogated by police officers who also tried to keep the reporters away as much as they could but it didn’t stop the press from taking photos most likely for a future article. Hanbin hated that they came and looked at the burned down place as if it was a circus for their entertainment, that they used their tragedy as an asset to get some attention, to blow something off as big news even if it was ‘just’ a fire in the suburbs with only a few ‘kids’ involved. They didn’t really care that that car repair shop was their life, the only sort of income some of them had and phew, it was all gone from one moment to another.

It was really just luck because they were all in the front having an early dinner after working hours and they were joking around as usually. So free-spirited they didn’t even find the smoke’s distinguishable smell suspicious. Barbeques weren’t that rare of a thing around there after all. If it wasn’t for Bobby who went into the back to get a few more beer from the fridge who knows when they would have noticed the fire spreading from throughout the entire shop. Even with the guy’s alarming warning they barely escaped before the whole place blew up because of the chemicals on fire inside. Damn, it was such a mess.

“Hey, are you ok?” A hand patted his back and Hanbin sighed as he looked over Jinhwan, who looked dead serious for once.

“Yeah… it’s just a lot,” the younger frustratedly raked a hand over his hair.

He knew he should have only cared about them being alright but that car repair shop meant a lot to all of them and with their insurance they probably won’t see a won in return of the damage. The ground was all black and ruined where the place had been once and only a few burnt metal withstood the destruction of the flames.

“Did the cops said anything?” The driver pointed at the police car that left the spot just now with all the gathered information.

“Nothing much that matters. They will contact us when they have info yadda yadda. But according to the pyrotechnician it seems to be arson. However with no cameras or witnesses around we have nothing on the possible culprit,” Jinhwan grimaced and Hanbin let out a groan because he knew what this exactly meant: that most likely they won’t ever catch whoever did it.

They had quite a few petty enemies from the races and local gangs, so it was hard to tell who it could be and why. They even laid low for a while, so why now? It just didn’t make sense. Maybe it was only a few rascals who wanted nothing more than to cause trouble and vandalise strangers’ property.

“That sucks,” Hanbin buried his face into his hands, feeling totally useless. Lately everything was almost too good to be true. Maybe this one was the payback for all the good times.

“Yeah, I know,” Jinhwan agreed, understanding well how he felt. They were all quite devastated. Yet, he tried to find directions for themselves. One step at a time. “Look, I’m gonna take the girls home. You should head back, too. We will figure out what to do tomorrow.”

The racer nodded with a sigh, knowing that they can't do much more tonight and he watched the last of his friends leave. Despite the lingering smell of burns brought by the wind and the dark patch in lieu of the shop, the street started to resemble itself when all that attention died down. He was just about to get into his car heading home as he promised to both Soyeon and Jinhwan when a lean figure blocked his way.

“Hey,” the guy greeted him.

“Oh, hi Donghyuk,” Hanbin shook hands with the neighbour dance studio’s owner. The dancer was also interrogated as a possible witness but since he had a class while it all happened, he couldn’t tell anything. “Sorry for today’s mess.”

“It’s not your fault,” Donghyuk shook his head, sympathy painted all over his features. “Look, I didn’t want to get involved with the cops but thought you might need it,” he cleared his throat as he hands Hanbin a pendrive with a meaningful look. Neither of them needs to say anything more for them to know what it contains.

“Thank you,” Hanbin closed his fingers around the small storage device, nodding towards their neighbour.

“Let me know if I can help in any way around the shop,” the guy said as a goodbye and walked away.

Hanbin stared at his fist for a while before shoving the pendrive into his pocket and got behind the wheel. I had already gotten late in the meantime and he hated to make Soyeon wait in the dark, especially around a neighbourhood he lived in. He texted her that he was on his way before driving off. There were so many different feelings overlapping inside him that it was hard to tell which got him so worked up by the time he parked a block away from his apartment. Was it anticipation to see his girl again? Fear and anger mixed because of the recent event? Excitement to figure out who did it?

Turning around the corner his heart skipped a beat when he saw Soyeon there and a small smile made its way onto his mouth despite the circumstances. She noticed him right away too, standing up from the few steps of stairs in front of the apartment building’s door. But the smile froze to Hanbin’s lips soon after because a few meters behind the girl, a black car flashed its lights and he immediately knew what it meant. Nothing good, that’s for sure.

He had his guts twisted and turned as he gritted his teeth. Walking over the parking lot, he looked past Soyeon as if he didn’t even know her but slowed down when he reached her side.

“Go inside, I’ll follow you in a minute,” he promised in a whisper, dropping his keys into the girl’s open palm, fingers grazing against her hand just a bit longer than intended before he passed by her. He didn’t look back, didn’t confirmed that she did as he asked or not but he heard a door open and close, so he hoped she listened to him.

Yet, his steps were still jittery as he walked to the black minivan and got inside. As his back collided with the leather seat, he sat next to a man in his late thirties. With his Rolex and silk shirt, blowing cigarette smoke into Hanbin’s face, he looked more like a businessman than the gangster he was. But oh well, there was just a fine line between the too around the Ring.

“Still don’t like my offer?” The Ringmaster was known for going straight to the point, so Hanbin wasn’t surprised by his recurring question coming up again but the timing was quite suspicious.

“Was it you?” he asked with lips white in a firm line but he got laughed in the face.

“What? Behind that amateur arson? Don’t kid me, it doesn’t benefit me in any way. But I have eyes everywhere,” the man shrugged and Hanbin had to admit he was right. If he wanted to get his money, taking away a part of his income was no solution. But lately, the man was trying to persuade him to take an empty position in his gang and the racer wasn’t sure how desperate he was, so he didn’t say anything.

“Look, kid, I know you love racing, you love your friends and you loved that shitty shop. I’m offering you a way out of your debts and a job with easy money,” the man said and Hanbin hated when he acted like some kind of fairy godmother. As if it wasn’t him who tossed a once 16 year old kid into such situation.

“I won’t be your runaway driver,” he shook his head, determined to not let himself get swayed. He didn’t want to be more involved in criminal acts than he already was.

“Then deliver me the money, the whole sum by the end of the month. There won’t be any more extensions. If I don’t have it in my hands, I will take everything you own starting from that beloved car of yours, understood?” the Ringmaster growled as hostile as he really was. Hanbin nodded.

“Will you leave me alone once you have the money?”

“You act like it wasn’t an honour making business with me,” the man tsked and rolled his eyes running out of patience. “Just give me my damned money back and we are done. Now get out.”

“Make sure to bet on me next week ’cause I’m gonna win,” Hanbin promised with a confident smile, hands already on the handle.

“Girlfriend?” the gangster called after him suddenly, before he could open the door and there was a lump in the boy’s throat once again. Of course, the bastard had to notice. But he couldn’t see her face, so he couldn’t know who she was, Hanbin tried to reason but he knew it was in vain. If the Ringmaster wanted to find someone, he did.

“Leave her out of this,” Hanbin said through gritted teeth, willing himself not to do anything reckless and stupid. He knew the other was doing it on purpose, he found pleasure in kicking into people already on the ground.

“I will if you fulfill your part of the deal,” the man promised but it sounded like a threat and Hanbin was glad to leave the car behind. After he made sure the minivan disappeared from the sight, he jogged upstairs in the apartment building, knocking on his own door.

Soyeon looked utterly worried when she opened the door. Her face was pale and eyes narrowed in question. But she enveloped him in her arms as soon as he stepped inside with no questions asked. He must have smelled like fire and burns but she hugged him close as if it didn’t matter at all.

“What happened?” she murmured into his chest, sounding small. Hanbin stroked a hand down her back trying to soothe her and himself, too. Feeling her close grounded him.

“I need to tell you something. Let's sit down,” he suggested quietly and even though he didn’t want to lengthen the distance between them, he pulled away and taking her hand in his he led her to the couch in the small living room.

Silence only disturbed by their uneven heartbeats followed and Hanbin didn’t know how to start. It was like ripping off a bandage, he had to do it fast to make it hurt less he knew but he was still afraid of what Soyeon might think. She had never looked down on him because of anything but his past was something that never came up and she deserved to know.

“I’m in a debt. I owe a big pile of money to someone really powerful around here. That’s why I needed the driver job so bad and that’s why I participated in more races lately,” he blurted out quickly, worrying a lip between his teeth without taking his eyes off of their intertwined fingers.

“If it’s money...”

“No, I don’t want you or anyone to pay for it. It’s on me,” Hanbin cut her off early on, not wanting to hear any of it. He appreciated that she cared but it was something he needed to deal with. He got himself into this mess and he was this close to get out finally. “I was sixteen when my parents died. In a car accident, ironically. I had nothing and didn’t know what to do with myself and got into the wrong crowds. They introduced me the Ringmaster who paid me for simple deliveries. It was only later when shit went down that I realized I helped him dealing with drugs. I lost a package, a big one full of cocaine, so he basically owes me ever since. As soon as I learned how to drive he was the one who sent me to races, so he can bet on me and take his share while it gives me time. But lately he has grown inpatient, so it was him reminding me to pay.”

As his voice died down, there was a light, encouraging squeeze on his hand. As Soyeon tugged on it, he had no choice but to look up and to his relief there was no disappointment in her caramel eyes.

“Is this why the next race is so important to you?” she asked curiously, thumb stroking the back of his hand gently. She knew well how much money that meant.

“Yeah.”

“You can do it. I believe you will win and overcome it,” she told him while pressing a kiss on his knuckles lovingly. It warmed Hanbin’s heart and calmed his nerves.

“Thanks. It means a lot,” he said and he couldn’t even express himself with words. He had the fam behind his back and they accepted him as he was, true, but not even all of them knew about his detailed background story with the local gang. And Soyeon who just barely joined these circles could have been freaked out or even ashamed of him for having such life. But instead she seemed proud that he had come such a long way and supported in everything he did.

There was tranquility in the silence that stretched between them after such confession but they couldn’t forget about the circumstances. In the end it was Soyeon who tentatively brought up the topic.

“This Ringmaster… is it possible that ha started the fire?”

“I don’t think so. But...” Hanbin stopped in the middle of his answer to take out the pendrive from his pocket. “We will see.”

He quickly get his laptop from the coffee table and once the operating system loaded, he inserted the device. It had nothing but a video file on it and they exchanged a knowing look before clicking on play. The recording showed the back area of the dance studio but also a piece of the car repair shop too. For a while nothing happened but then a car pulled up at the sideway and two masked guys got out with bottles in their hands pouring their content on and around the wall.

They watch the video in silence but when Hanbin’s muscles tensed, Soyeon nuzzled closer and tried to pry open his heavy fists gently.

It was when the two guys got back into the car that the unmasked driver leaned out of the window and threw a burning lighter onto the liquid that got on fire immediately.

“Oh no... he didn’t,” Soyeon gasped when she recognized the figure on the frozen screen. “He’s a psychopath, he has gone crazy for sure.”

Hanbin didn’t say anything, just detached the pendrive from the computer and handed it over to Soyeon.

“It’s yours,” he said firmly which confused the hell out of the angered girl.

“What?” She blinked gaze shifting between the boy and the device that held all the evidence against Seungyeon. It wasn’t just a petty little crime anymore that their father could have saved him, they both knew it but Hanbin also knew that how much damage something like this could leave on her family. A scandal, all that press, the trials...

“Despite what he did, he’s your brother. I don’t want you to suffer because of this. So it’s your choice whether we use it or not,” he explained patiently with both his hands around hers. Out of the two of them now she was the more shaken up and he wanted to be there for her just like she was there for him.

“Of course you shou-” ld use it, Soyeon wanted to blurt out immediately but she was interrupted with a request.

“Think about it, don’t decide in a hustle.”

“Okay,” she huffed out knowing that Hanbin is right even if in that moment she wanted nothing else but to see his brother finally suffer the consequences of his actions.

This time the quiet was suffocating and heavy. It felt like rain pouring from above.

“Hey Soyeon,” Hanbin whispered as they cuddled on the couch and she hummed acknowledging him. “No matter how you decide, I love you too.”

His voice was soft and fond, honest and he smiled when he finally felt her relax by his side. Everything was so hectic and messy that he didn’t have a chance to tell her earlier but he needed to let it out now. Because even if their worlds were crumbling down around them, at least their love was constant.

[fortunei]

[#3] [#4] hilda/lys, AU

a/n: experimental vampire AU with a world where vampire needs “official” donor.

hilda/lysithea

-

The first thing to do when a new vampire moved out to a new town, is applying for donor request at the Blood Bank.

The system of ‘Blood Bank’ and ‘donor for vampires’ might look absurd at first, knowing how vampires have been a food for many gruesome tales within generations with its somehow unquenchable blood thirst and yadda yadda for roman stuffs. Then again, the system allowed the vampire race to stay in harmony with humans, a mutualistic symbolism, if one may add. Frequent blood donor is proven to make body healthier, though, such frequency should only be done to a human that passed the criteria handed down by the Ministry of Health and Welfare.

“I see that you’ve applied for the donor request yesterday after your arrival,” Edelgard, sipping on her favorite Bergamot tea. Still dressed in her full black Fodlan’s Officer attire, she answered Lysithea’s quick summon for a middle-night tea time.

As much as vampire of this era can endure sunlight, they will find the night as unmentioned luxury. Perhaps it is in their genes, despite how the bodily trait changes and adapt to the coming era. Vampires easily mingle and become one with society, no longer feared and much worshiped. Some vampires even no longer has an affinity to garlic or holy water. Also, vampires can taste and ingest human food – though it would not convert as a better energy source than drinking blood.

“Your poster is already up on the main board of Blood Bank request. It shouldn’t take too long until a suitable donor is found.”

“Isn’t it kind of strange, don’t you think? With all the technologies around us, they still bothered to tuck the paper on a board. Beside the large, floating hologram board of information database, nonetheless!”

Lysithea quipped. She swiped another chocolate chip cookie from the top of the dessert tray. She checked on her phone on the table once, as the notification dot blinked furiously. Turned out, it is just another scam message, not an e-mail from the Blood Bank.

Blood Bank may hold the database of vampires available in national scope, but they could not pinpoint a new donor right away when someone moved out from one place to another. As long as the vampire has filled out the papers and posted the donor request at the Blood Bank, usually the Bank staffs will notify the vampire as quick as they can, or so they compromised.

“Well, forgive my city’s antics. It’s just my uncle who didn’t want to ditch that ancient board.” Edelgard bowed her head down slightly, though a smile played on her lips.

Actually, Edelgard is not exactly the owner of the city, it’s just that she hold a high rank on the city’s council. By Edelgard request, Lysithea is relocated there from Fodlan’s Branch Office of Derdriu to The Old Capital to collect up records of vampires as a Librarian. There can be any other Librarian beside her, but then Edelgard will always butter her up saying ‘You’ll do great here working alongside me’ or something close to the line.

“How’s your first days at The Old Capital, then?”

Lysithea found herself scrunching her forehead first before responding on Edelgard’s question.

“The Librarian here is quite strict, though I admire their thoughtfulness as I have yet to fit in their schedules. Well, I guess I should blame Lorenz for making everyone seems so carefree and wanted to get a free teatime with him ever-so-often.” Lysithea eyed Edelgard, who looked pleased at the good mention of her subordinates.

“It was nice working with them.”

When Edelgard took another delightful sip to her tea, this time Lysithea’s phone vibrated. The screen lighted up with an unsaved caller number on the top. Lysithea swiped the button to green, answered almost automatically.

“—we have confirmed your donor. The person will like to meet you two days from now at the Blood Bank around noon.”

Lysithea scrambled to seek her small planner rested beside the tea and cakes. She was waiting Edelgard earlier while scribbling her schedule of next week. Two days from now is Saturday, a weekend. She got a Librarian shift at the morning till noon. A perfect time.

“Yes, I can arrange the meeting with my donor. May I know of their identity?”

“We are sorry, but the needed documents are still on process. We can give you on the spot by the same day.”

“I see.”

Lysithea’s answer tinged with disappointment, but it cannot be helped in either way if the documents were not ready. Edelgard waited, hand supported her chin as Lysithea listened some more of the direction by the staff and finally the phone call ended.

“Well, I hope this new donor of yours won’t be as worse as your … former ones.” Edelgard mused.

Resting her back on the cafe's big chair, Lysithea sighed, despite the words being one kind of an encouragement rather than a sarcastic remark. “Hopefully so.”

x x x

Lysithea has always been a person who’s on the clock in any kind of appointment. While it couldn’t be helped that she missed the time when she is supposed to meet her supposed-to-be donor because of her own job, Lysithea couldn’t erase the dread welling up inside her.

One of the Librarian called out because of sudden sickness, so there’s only three Librarians doing the job in this fine Saturday. The Librarian’s main job is to collect ‘Archives’, an old history records to vampires and other supernatural creatures, rechecked its viability, cross-examined the sources, then putting out to the sea of database for next batch of checking until it can be available as a True Archive. Sometimes, the Librarian also took a job on translating excerpts for specific customers, since only Librarian can understand almost all old phonetic code across all races.

The technology and science might have surpassed everything in the civilization. Then again, there are many things that required human power and traditional ways.

After finishing her commissioned excerpt, Lysithea bowed the other two workers goodbye, re-stating that she is in hurry because she is going to meet her donor. The other two are happened to be human, by the way, not all Librarians should be a supernatural creature.

With a spring in her step, Lysithea took the road with most shades toward the Blood Bank, which is not exactly far from The Living Library of the Old Capital of Enbarr located. Before entering the Blood Bank, she pulled her slack pale violet cardigan close to her chest. She was sure to leave her ID card away at the workplace so no one will happen to scan or identify her by default.

Just as the name suggested, ‘Old Capital’ is a historic town with most of the historical tall brick buildings and ruins of fortress intact aside of two other big cities. Derdriu, the city where Lysithea originally been, have a lot of water-based tourism attraction aside with its skyscraper, also with popular virtual theme park infamous to all Fodlan. It is so pale in comparison.

Blood Bank is always crowded, 24/7, even more crowded than how a regular human hospital is in the dead of night. The counter clerks are mostly automatic answer machine, but there will always be vampire clerks on duty. Blood Bank is operated by vampires, though it is a mandatory for a normal human to know how it works as human is their main patron. Vampires only visit there occasionally for donor request and donor cancellation.

Unsure what to do when she arrived, Lysithea steered to one standing clerk beside the large floating hologram board.

“Excuse me, I’m the applicant number #4455484. I heard that I’d be meeting my donor today.”

“Ah, right. Please wait as I checked the registry,” the clerk accessed the menu with her smartphone. Lysithea waited as directed, clacking her soles on the parquet flooring, silently count on how long it will take for an answer.

“Your donor is waiting for you at the waiting lounge … and now, she is right behind you.”

“Behind m—“

Lysithea froze as she turned, greeted by a cheerful ‘Hi’ and an assault of hug. As though they are in friendly basis even though they haven’t ever met. She wrestled away from the surprise hug, flustered. She gave the human a strange look, but she didn’t flinch, just smile wide – a patronizing, welcoming smile.

This human has a straight pink hair donned in peak twintails. She wore something … fancy? Flashy trench coat top in bubblegum pink-ish color? An outdated vampire with no taste of fashion couldn’t describe it well. It’s like, something out of the shop’s aisles that just been there for less than a day and swiftly bought.

Overall, what is striking to Lysithea on the first impression is her scent. And her arm muscles. And her rack. Wait. She shouldn’t be thinking about the last one.

“Oh, gosh. I was about to ask the clerk of where the heck is the requester was. Been pacing the room all the time thinking whether I’ve been fooled~”

“Sorry, work got in the way.” Lysithea explained.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I don’t mind the wait,” she winked. “So, when we can start?”

Lysithea blinked at the question, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

As if on a cue, the said human flashed her neck, Lysithea jaws dropped. She can see the nape that’s once concealed. She can see the pale, supple skin. She can- “What are you talking about? Isn’t it the sip time?”

No. Lysithea. Get yourself together! Her inner self screamed. “W—Wait. No. Not so fast. And no. We don’t drink d-d-directly from humans!”

“Huh, you don’t?” she tilted her head.

The snow-haired vampire felt the urge to slap her forehead, “Is, is this your first time to donor? Don’t you read the guide book first?” she shot another clueless, innocent face, and Lysithea gave up.

“We vampires only asked you of blood when necessary, which is at most once a month, given in that bag we provided. The bag will need to be sent to Blood Bank, where we can retrieve it.”

The human did seem to pay attention and she didn’t interrupt when Lysithea said her piece. Let's consider that she understand the terms of service, then.

“This meeting is just a mandatory.” Lysithea ended her short speech, a groan from the back of her throat should be audible enough to exemplify her annoyance.

“Eh? Why? Aren’t we supposed to get to know the vampires? It is there in the guide, if I remembered correctly.”

“How, how can you give me more headaches just in a span of a minute?” Lysithea scoffed. They sure have caused a scene, and she is sure that the clerk behind them is watching … quietly. She is not wrong, however. There is indeed a passage in there for the donor and recipient to be well-acquainted. Lysithea didn't think being so friendly with the human donor will get to anywhere, though.

“That’s … just how the things are.”

The human made a long hum, unknown of affirmation or of confusion. Those garnet eyes rolled momentarily before she clapped her hands together. A Eureka bested in her, maybe.

“We should just go for the unorthodox way, then!” Lysithea knotted her brows even more. “I know a good place down the road that you may like. We can chat over for lunch, I’m hungry!”

“Wait, I haven’t agreed—“

“Come on, vampire!”

"I haven't catch your name yet."

"It can wait! I don't want to miss the restaurant's special Risotto so chop chop!"

[Oh, how she wished for Edelgard to be there, watching her to perish in yet another unfortunate encounters.]

[takerfoxx]

So…I recently finished up Shiki. And boy, do I have…opinions!

See, this anime has got me feeling more conflicted than I’ve felt about any show in a long time, and it was honestly kind of hard to watch at times. And I mean that in the best possible way.

See, on the surface, Shiki doesn’t seem to have much special about it. The plot is as follows: in a small, insignificant village in the Japanese mountains sometime in the 1980’s, a mysterious family moves into a grand, western-styled house. At first the locals are curious, but overall unbothered and welcoming. But then people start to die from a mysterious illness, in which the victims become sleepy and lethargic, isolating themselves from everyone before simply dying. What is more, soon there are rumors that those who have died of this illness have been sighted walking around after dark. As the deaths mount up, it is up to our protagonists to…yadda, yadda, yadda.

Look, the new family are vampires. They’re sneaking into people’s homes and turning them into vampires. This isn’t a spoiler, the show doesn’t bother to hide it, it’s made explicit in the freaking opening. It’s pretty much Salem’s Lot set in a Japanese village instead of an American town. Hell, the author has already confirmed that Shiki is meant to be a Salem’s Lot homage…with a few twists.

So yeah, on its surface, there doesn’t seem to be anything special. We’ve seen this kind of story before. Even if Salem’s Lot didn’t exist, it’s not like the whole vampire invasion story hasn’t been done before. In fact, given how slowly paced the first entire third of the show is, I can’t blame anyone who got frustrated and gave up. I mean, it still treats the whole vampire thing like it’s some sinister mystery that the characters have to figure out before it’s too late, despite letting the audience in on the secret pretty much from the get-go. I can really see many people pretty much tearing out their hair and screaming at the characters, “It’s vampires! You’re being attacked by vampires! It’s so obvious!”

But no, the show takes its time, slowly building tension, making us spend time with all the townspeople as they go about their lives while trying to make sense of these strange happenings. Hell, it’s several episodes before we even see any of the vampires. And of course, you have the small band of heroes who figure out that something’s up before anyone else, and they start poking around and try to warn people, only to get laughed at and ignored, and of course the vampires are secretly sabotaging them and destroying their credibility, so blah, blah, blah, we’ve seen this before!

But it is then that the show finally tips its hands, and it does so so subtly and elegantly that you might not even notice that something’s up before it’s too late.

See, we then start to see things from the vampires’ (who refer to themselves as the Shiki) point of view. We get to meet them and come to know them. And we learn what it is that really sets this story apart from Salem’s Lot.

And that is this: becoming a Shiki does not turn you into a demon. Oh, you’re still a vampire. You’re an undead being with the standard collection of advantages (immortality, super-healing, can hypnotize those you feed upon) and weaknesses (sleep during the day, sunlight is deadly, circulatory system is vulnerable, need an invitation, aversion to religious totems), that requires blood to live. But it doesn’t change who you are as a person. You’re still you, but with an unbearable thirst for blood, and it is how you deal with this thirst that can change you. Some are already nasty people who continue to be nasty people, some are otherwise decent but go along with things because what else can they do, some truly hate what they have become but reluctantly go along with it because the thirst is just that bad, and some outright refuse to hurt anyone no matter how badly it hurts. We come to know the Shiki just like we came to know the villagers, with some being pretty evil while others are completely sympathetic and others are sort of a mix of bad and good.

But what makes it kind of brilliant is that it doesn’t somehow change the complexion of the whole vampire invasion thing. It doesn’t make it some kind of misunderstanding and the vampires were the good guys all along. No, they really are invading and killing people to add to their ranks, though their motivations are more about loneliness and desire for some kind of sanctuary than to build an army or anything like that. But it still doesn’t make it right, especially since there is the new wrinkle of whether or not someone who has died rising up again as a Shiki being a chancy thing. Some do, but others simply rot, so some of the people they kill are just dead, which in a way makes things worse. They even start to kidnap people from the city as a food source. What they are doing is still monstrous, and the show makes no pretentions otherwise.

So you start to feel conflicted. It’s not that you start rooting for the Shiki to succeed (or maybe you do, but you’re not supposed to), but you do start to feel for many among their number, and want them to have some kind of happy ending.

But then the show tips its hand again, and all hell breaks loose…but to talk about that we have to go deep into spoiler territory, so if you’ve already seen the show or just don’t care about spoilers, check under the cut for the rest.

In their desperation to survive, the human resistance start to take more and more drastic measures to warn the others, with the one in the lead, the town’s doctor, who had already been outwitted by the Shiki on several occasions and had been personally warned by them, being forced to resort to horrific means in order to gain an advantage.

He uses his authority as doctor to isolate one of the infected and keeps them hidden until they die, deliberately fudging medical records so the Shiki would not be informed of their death. Then he keeps close watch on the corpse, waiting to see if it would be one of the ones to rise up.

It is, and now with one of the Shiki under his power, he closes the clinic and starts to subject his new prisoner to a variety of torturous tests, checking to see if it is indeed harmed by sunlight (she is, and graphically so), repulsed by religious iconography (she is), affected at all by drugs (she isn’t), if it can heal from any injury (she can), and so on, until he has learned all that he needs and kills the Shiki with a stake to the heart. He carefully documents the whole process, cataloguing irrefutable proof that vampires exist and now walk among them. Smart plan, but it should be noted that the Shiki herself has no idea what is going on, and is fully awake through the whole process, bound and gagged and feeling everything that he does to her. She struggles, she cries out, she begs him to stop until he gags her, because as far as she knows, she had gotten sick, passed out, and woken up to find the doctor torturing her for no good reason.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that the Shiki also so happens to be his wife?

It’s a truly horrifying scene, not only because of what he’s doing and who he’s doing it to, but how cold, clinical, and detached he is throughout the whole process. And given my rant from earlier, it should have made me lose all sympathy for him.

…and yet, it didn’t. Because I understood.

Honestly, that’s what makes Shiki work. That’s the whole point. It’s a lot of otherwise decent people who do terrible things that are wrong, that are evil, and yet they don’t lose their sympathetic points, because you kind of get it, because you can’t say that you wouldn’t do the same in their position. After all, considering the situation, what else could they have done? And even if you don’t agree with that, you can at least understand why they made the choices they make, as they always fall in line with understandable human nature.

But of course, that’s just the first two-thirds. You know that sooner or later, the rest of the village is going to wise up to what’s happening. And they do: the Shiki are finally exposed.

And then all hell breaks the fuck loose.

The script is flipped yet again, and the last six episodes or so are the humans fighting back and doing a damned good job of it too. Suddenly, the hunters become the hunted, and the Shiki are dragged out from their hiding places and exterminated. Graphically.

This ought to be gratifying to watch. This ought to exhilarating. Finally, the invading monsters are getting what’s coming to them! They brought it on themselves, after all.

But it’s not. Not at all.

Because we’ve already gotten to know several of the Shiki, some of them even before they were turned. We’ve come to empathize with them and the community they’ve built. And now, seeing them not as monsters fleeing a hunt that has gone all wrong but as victims who are terrified for their lives, who desperately seek any way of escape, who die screaming for mercy, often at the hands of their former friends, is heartbreaking. Even the Shiki leader that masterminded the whole thing breaks down crying, wondering if this is punishment for having killed so many people…but then she says that it can’t be her fault, because she didn’t ask to become a vampire, it was forced on her! So how can she be blamed for just wanting to have others like her around to keep her company? It’s a very poignant breakdown to watch, as this ancient monster grapples with her own guilt and inhumanity and the unfairness of it all.

But it goes beyond that. See, we all have a little bit of a monster inside us, and though they may have begun as innocent victims, it doesn’t take long for many of the villagers to succumb to theirs.

There are many that are just a little too gleeful about bashing the Shiki’s heads in, about dragging them to burn in the sunlight, about stabbing them and beating them with pipes, despite many of them formerly being their neighbors. Some admit to specifically targeting those that they had already disliked, while others are quicks to kill actual humans that they merely suspect of being Shiki collaborators. One innocent family that had nothing to do with anything is massacred just because one of their relatives had Shiki connections.

But even with all that violence and cruelty, it isn’t as if the roles are completely reversed. Many of the villagers outright refuse to have anything to do with the massacre because they can’t stand the thought of killing their loved ones. Others do take part in the killing, but it’s clear that they hate it, and one man, upon seeing how the Shiki are being tortured to death for no reason, proceeds to give each every one of them a merciful quick death to end their suffering before breaking down and crying. And all the while, we continue to see the damage that the Shiki’s wrought, from a meek housewife who has gradually gone insane as her family dies and rots one by one to a poor little girl who has watched her own family disappear and resorts to digging her own grave because she’s convinced that she’s next. Even the worst and most violent of the villagers gets the chance to verbally tear down each and every one of the lead Shiki’s justifications for her actions, brutally smashing all of her defenses. And though he has been portrayed as a pretty terrible person thus far, he’s actually right in everything he says.

I’m not going to give away the whole game, but suffice to say, things end pretty badly for both sides. A lot of people die, and the few survivors end up scattering to the winds to try to move on and rebuild their lives. So basically, neither side really wins. But then, it was never about sides. The plot is propelled by sides, yes, but the focus is always on individuals, about the good and bad in everyone and how extreme situations bring that out.

Of course, the next question would be how it holds up to Flip-Flappers, which I had watched immediately before. And as for that…apples and oranges, man. Flip-Flappers was a very throw everything at the wall and see what sticks kind of show, while Shiki had a concept that it stuck to from beginning to end. But I will say that Flip-Flappers didn’t always stick the landing and Shiki was more consistently good from beginning to end, but Flip-Flappers heights were higher than Shiki’s heights, and leave it at that.

Anyway, I am way behind on the Best of the Super Juniors tournament, so I’ll be taking a break for a bit. After that…I dunno, maybe I’ll put it up to another vote.

[3wisellamas]

Graffiti Wiener

(Oops, my recent fanfic kick spilled over from AT to OK KO.  tl;dr:   Darrell starts vandalizing the plaza every night and the bodega kids find it entertaining as heck.  It’s very long, set aside some time for it.  Also, disclaimer, don’t do crimes kiddos, yadda yadda yadda.)

--

It was early shift at Gar’s Bodega.  Rad opened the store that day, looked at the relatively stocked state of the shelves from the day prior, and floated to the break room for a post-wake nap.  Enid arrived second, and seeing nobody to keep her accountable she swiped an issue of Alt EDM Monthly from the magazine rack to peruse as she lounged on her counter.  As usual, KO excitedly burst through the door last, waving at his mom as she parked the car to start her own day.  But, this early on this quiet a day, his enthusiasm only took him so far into his cleaning duties.

It was too early to be at work, the three silently agreed.  Then, as if a direct challenge to their morning ennui, their boss Mr Gar angrily smashed through his office door.

“KO!  Enid!”  He turned towards the break room door in the back.  “Radicles!  Front and center!”

The three slowly marched forward, Rad in particular taking a few extra seconds to come into the store proper, yawning.  It was too early to be taking orders, the three silently agreed.

Their lack of enthusiasm only raised Mr Gar’s volume.  “You three shape up and come with me.  I got work for you.”  He stomped towards the back of the store, out the loading dock, with his employees in tow.  The four exited the building there, passed the trucks and the junkyard, and turned into the alley, where the sight that awaited them definitely made the early morning shift less dull.

Taking up almost an entire wall of the plaza alleyway was a large graffiti mural, unusually detailed and elaborate for the spray paint it was created with.  The cans of paint in question had been carelessly discarded all over the alley afterward, simply left behind in what seemed like a hurry.

“Disgusting, isn’t it,”  Gar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose behind his glasses.  “Someone vandalized the plaza last night, and today I’ve got two jobs for you!”

KO wasn’t listening.  He immediately rushed over towards the wall to get a better look.  “It’s so pretty!!”

“Yeah, this is pretty sick,” Enid agreed.  “They did this in only one night?”

Gar snapped his fingers to regain their attention.  “I have two jobs for the three of you.  First, you’re cleaning up this mess.”  He kicked a stray can out from under his feet, and pointed to a large bucket of white paint, a tray, and two paint rollers he’d set up underneath the mural.  “I want every trace of what happened here last night gone, understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr Gar!”  The three saluted enthusiastically.

“Good.”  He paused.  “KO, I only had two paint rollers and they’re pretty short, so you clean up the trash.”  

“I’m on it!”  KO gave a big smile, bouncing on his heels at the thought of having his own special mission.

“Now, the second thing…”  Mr Gar leaned forward over his employees, to gain a more intimidating presence.  “I want you three to come back here tonight, and keep watch over the plaza.  If the creep who did this comes back, you’re to stop them at all costs.  Understood?”

Enid and Rad looked at each other nervously, before giving their boss a shaky thumbs-up.  

“If this wall isn’t sparkling white when I come in tomorrow morning, I am going to be very.  Very.  Disappointed in you.”  He leaned back into his normal posture, and even a little further to crack his back.  “Welp, time’s a-wastin’, Bodegamen.  Get to work!”

All three shouted “Yes sir!” after him as he departed back towards the loading dock, leaving them to their tasks.  

KO excitedly hopped around gathering spray cans, while Rad and Enid set up the paint tray.  Enid in particular looked up at the mural again, studying the various scenes it depicted:  A giant orange dragon along the top, who seemed to be desperately chomping and grabbing at a bunch of glittering technoes in mid-flight.  In the center, a nondescript man in a cowboy hat riding a yellow horse, shooting what looked like a revolver at the dragon, and missing all six shots.  Off to one side, a cute cartoony mouse glowing a gross nuclear green, and with what looked like toxic waste dripping from its mouth.  On the other side, the artist’s tag, reading “DB” in simple, red block letters.

She sadly contemplated what she would soon have to do to the piece.

“So...who do you think could’ve made this anyway?”  KO asked as he ducked between his friends to grab a paint can.

Rad didn’t even hesitate.  “It’s Darrell.  No question.”

“Are you sure?”  Enid gestured towards the parking lot with her thumb.  “I know he’s a graffiti wiener, but usually all he does is tag our sign every now and then.  I didn’t think he was able to do stuff like...this.”

“You know any other graffiti wieners with the initials ‘DB’?” he asked, pointing towards the tag.  He coated his paint roller in the tray, and raised it to the mural.  “Welp, guess we better get paintin’.”

“Hold up a second, Rad!”  Enid put down her roller and took several steps back, motioning for him to move aside.  She produced her phone from her pocket and took several pictures of the wall, occasionally stepping to the right or the left to get a better angle.  “It’s kind of a waste to just cover it up like this, you know?”

“Dude, Enid, it was painted by a Boxbot.”

“Oh well?  I still think it looks cool.”  She took one final picture, and then swiped back through them.  “I’ve been reading a bunch of articles in Alt EDM Monthly about this DJ that also posts a ton of graffiti tutorials on Social Media, so I guess I’ve been on a real street art kick.  And this…”  She cropped a picture of the mouse portion.  “...is my new lock screen.”

“Heh, okay then,” Rad scoffed.

She put her phone away and grabbed the roller again.  “Alright, now let’s get to work.”  

I didn’t take long before the whole wall was covered in two coats of plain white, letting through no traces of the graffiti underneath.  The alleyway was spotless, with KO even finishing with the paint cans early and then using the time to collect the rest of the place’s usual debris.  It was at least an eventful start to a dull early morning shift, the three silently agreed.

--

The late shift, though, was another story.  Mr Gar had let his employees leave early to make up for coming back so late, and they were refreshed and ready for a Boxbot fight.

They took up a lookout position in a part of the fenced junkyard overlooking the alley, hiding behind a large pile of trash and robot parts.  Enid checked the time, quietly signalling to the other two to keep their eyes open, but three hours later even she was ready to call it a night.  Not even a tiny dinosaur had passed through the alley at all.

KO looked up at his friends and yawned.  “I think we should just go home.  I told Mommy we’d be out past my bedtime, but not this late…”

“You wanna take a nap, go ahead kiddo.  I’m about there too.”  Rad shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, not an easy feat in a pile of scrap metal.

“Guys, don’t stick me with lookout.”  Enid continued scrolling through her Social Media feed to keep awake, not even paying attention to her duties at all.

They heard a metallic thump, and Enid looked up from her phone. “Rad, was that you?”  She shook him awake when she got no response.

“It sounded like it was coming from the parking lot!”  KO whispered.  The three peeked out from behind their pile to see a hooded figure sneaking into view around the front of the plaza.  The intruder kept nervously looking around to make sure the alley was clear, before jogging back to the site of their previous mural.  The bodega employees couldn’t be sure in the dark, but it looked like the figure sighed as they laid a bright green backpack on the pavement and pulled back their hood.

The exposed brain case and large, single eye in the center of their forehead as they whipped their head around to do one last sweep of the area were unmistakable.

“Yep, that’s a Darrell.”  Rad pulled the other two back behind the pile.  “Ready to smash ‘im?”

“...You know what?  Hang on a sec.”  Enid grabbed Rad’s shoulder and held him in place.  “We’ve still got that white paint, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then…”  Enid let him go to peek at Darrell, squinting to see better in the dark.  “I say we just let him go.  I kinda wanna see what he does.”

KO peeked around the other side of the trash pile.  “But Enid,”  he whispered, “What about Mr Gar?  Darrell’s gonna mess up the wall again.”

“We’ll just repaint it once he’s done.”

“Oh…”  

Darrell dug in his backpack for a few moments, before finally pulling out the aerosol can he was looking for.  He popped the top off, just letting it clatter along the pavement, and shook the can vigorously before laying down the first marks of a new piece.

“Orange!”  KO excitedly whispered to the others.  “He’s using orange first!”

“Yeah.  Looks like he’s got a flame theme with this one,” Enid and KO both quietly got comfortable to watch the show.

Rad rolled his eyes.  “I guess I just don’t get it.”  He didn’t exactly stop watching Darrell work, though, from over KO’s shoulder.

The robot finished the base coat on the flames, and set the can down at his feet.  He dug in his bag again and pulled out a can of yellow, and then a can of red, using them to add variation to the flat orange.  With the flame background detailed, he placed the red can with the others and stepped back to take in his work.  Satisfied, he dug for yet another can, and started painting black vertical bars across the entire canvas.

“Aw, what’s he doing?”  KO pouted.  “He’s ruining it!”

Enid clapped her hand over her little friend’s mouth as his whispering got just a little too loud for comfort.  “Let’s just see where he’s going with this.”

As he started focusing on a portion of the canvas, though, Darrell suddenly started to act uneasy.  He whipped his head around again, scanning the alley for anyone watching his efforts.  The bodega trio ducked back behind their garbage pile just quick enough to avoid being spotted.  He stared towards the junkyard for more than a few seconds, before finally turning back towards the wall and continuing with the black paint.

“Phew…”  Enid held KO on her lap as Rad leaned back into the trash.  He didn’t do so as silently as he’d hoped, though, and a small piece of scrap metal above his head loosened and dropped, loudly skittering across the ground as all three looked on in horror.

In the alley, Darrell jumped at the noise, throwing his paint at a nearby trash can.  Like a startled rabbit, he bolted towards the parking lot, not even bothering to check what had made the sound.  As he turned the corner out of sight, the trio heard his rocket boots activate and fade into the distance in the direction of Boxmore.

Enid released a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like the entire night, relieved she could finally do so without watching her volume.  She and KO left their post to examine the fresh mural their archenemy had left behind, while Rad leaned against a clean wall nearby.

Between the black bars, Darrell had been painting a pair of hands gripping two of them when he was interrupted, one of which appeared to be melting and dripping down into the flames below.

“Huh.  He’s a tortured artist.  I like it.”  Enid pulled out her phone again to snap pictures, using the flash to illuminate the area.

Rad, however, started investigating a much more intriguing target.  “Hey, guys, look what he left for us!”  He picked up the paint-filled backpack and draped it over his shoulder.  He had forgotten to actually close it, though, and as he whipped it around about a dozen paint cans labelled in various colors fell out and scattered down the alley, which KO helpfully ran after.

“You guys, quit bein’ so loud!”  Enid couldn't help but laugh at her coworkers’ antics, though.  

“You’re one to talk, E.”  Rad set the bag down between his feet and opened it wide.  “Toss me one, KO!”

He did so, though his aim was a bit off.  Rad quickly grabbed the tossed can in midair using his telekinesis, guiding it home.  “Good shot, buddy!  Keep ‘em coming!”

While the boys repacked the backpack, Enid got to work preparing the rollers and paint tray.  It took just about as long as it had done earlier to apply the two coats and hide all evidence that anyone had vandalized the plaza once again.

“Just one thing left to do I guess.”  Enid motioned toward the backpack draped over Rad’s shoulder.  “Let’s toss that thing back across the street.”

Rad resisted.  “Actually, I got a better idea.  I’ll hang onto it for now.”  He put on the backpack a bit more properly, with both straps around his shoulders.

“What, you repainting your van with that stuff?”

“Naw, you’ll see.”  He smirked.  “Besides, maybe if Darrell doesn’t have this he won’t be able to come back tomorrow night.”

“I don’t think that’ll stop him.”  Enid sighed.  “We might want to keep an eye out for him tomorrow too.  Meet me here at midnight?”

KO and Rad agreed.  The latter checked his phone, and groaned.

“Speakin’ of my van, yeesh.  It is way too late.  I’ll drive us home.”

KO looked up at the moon, barely visible over the alley wall above them.  “Yeah…I definitely missed my bedtime.”

--

Darrell did return the next night, as the trio expected.  This time he carried a light blue backpack, with an ‘S’ and a few of what were either flowers or tiny sawblades embroidered along the top.  He was much more careful to make sure he was unwatched, however, to the point of even walking up to the junkyard fence to check behind the piles of trash.  

Luckily, the bodega employees had taken up a new lookout spot on the roof, just above the wall Darrell had taken to painting.  They peered down at him periodically as he worked, using the sound of his spray can to judge when it was safe to do so.

From that angle, it was difficult to miss the large crack in Darrell’s brain case.

“Hey, we blew him up today, right?”  Enid whispered.  KO nodded; this was definitely a different body than the one they’d chucked into the junkyard piece by piece earlier in the day.  

The robot started spraying again, so Enid leaned over the ledge, checking his progress.  So far, he had finished what looked like a portrait of himself, simplified of course, and with a sad expression on his face.  Darrell stepped back, though with his eye luckily focused forward, and she noticed he was mimicking the expression on his real face.  Then he looked down at his feet, searching for one of the colors he’d used previously, as Enid ducked back to safety.

“He’s getting a little more literal today,” she commentated to a curious KO.  He took the next turn to lean forward, with Rad tightly holding onto his hand just in case.

As KO was pulled back, he quietly reported the next developments.  “He started drawing...something around his head.”  He looked down.  “I couldn’t tell what it was yet.”

Enid scrolled through her phone.  “Rad, you’re up.”

The alien peeked down for a second, then quickly leaned back.  “He’s got teal.  I think he’s drawing my fist,” he whispered, making one to illustrate his statement.

“That’s...weird.  Is he drawing us fighting him?”

“I dunno, KO.”  Rad took another peek.  Looks like he’s got yours and I think Enid’s fists too.  And a bunch of others…

“Let me see.”  Enid set down her phone and took her turn once Darrell was distracted again below.  There were indeed a number of arms ending in fists aimed at the painted Darrell’s head -- she recognized Rad’s immediately, and KO’s with his armband, and one plain human one that had to be hers, but there were also a bright orange one, one with a red glove, a catlike yellow claw, a couple of purple ones, and a green one.  And a large open space at the very top, which she could barely examine before she needed to duck away as Darrell glanced up towards it.

The three stayed far from the edge for a while, just listening as he sprayed that final arm, which seemed to take longer than all the others.  Eventually, the sounds of the robot shaking cans and spraying paint gave way to some sniffling.  Then, the sound that they had been waiting for, as Darrell rustled through his backpack again, and all three leaned over the ledge to see the final result.

In that top spot was a bright yellow chicken claw, not just aiming at the painted Darrell but actually smashing right through his brain case, with bits of the green glass and even little fleshy chunks painted around the wound.  The robot’s eye had also been painted over with a large black X.  They momentarily glanced down at Darrell, who had stopped searching his bag and was wiping away a few tears.

The three ducked back, still silent.  Enid looked at the boys, with an expression of horror.

“Okay, he’s a really tortured artist.”

Rad nodded.  “This got dark.”

They were interrupted by Darrell shaking another can, this time much more vigorously.  Rad held out KO to watch as he began haphazardly painting what eventually turned into a crude depiction of Lord Boxman’s face, finishing with his bright red eye.  Darrell stood there holding the can of red for a moment, sadly looking at the second piece...and then angrily crossed it out.  And then again, and again -- he wildly swung the can around while spraying, as if to assault the image with the paint.  Eventually he threw the can itself at the image, and, still frustrated, even started kicking at the wall with his boot until he had finally vented all of his rage.  

He stepped back again, picked up the can of red, and quickly finished the piece by placing his tag in the corner, in red block letters:  “DB”.  He then unceremoniously kicked aside the cans he’d used, put on the backpack, and ran out of the alley, leaving the area empty for the bodega employees to descend.

Enid once again snapped plenty of pictures of the wall as KO and Rad picked up the scattered spray cans, though this time without a backpack to catch them in.  As the teens worked at covering the graffiti, Rad spoke up.

“Do you think this actually happened to him today?”

“Well…”  Enid compared the damage she had seen from above versus the damage in the painting.  “Maybe a super angsty emo-teen version of what happened to him today.  Guess things aren’t going so great at Boxmore right now.”  She looked down, and stopped.  “Wait, shoot…”

There were bright red footprints going down the alleyway a short distance, from the mural site to the sidewalk in front of the fitness dojo before they finally faded, likely from Darrell’s boots as he ran.  She remembered KO’s report of the robot kicking at the red paint and facepalmed.  

“Oh geez.  So much for cleaning up all the evidence he was here…”  She ran her finger over one of the tracks.  “It’s already dry.”

“Hang on, I think I know how to fix this!”  KO searched through the paint cans he’d collected and found the black one.  He slowly shook it as he’d seen Darrell do, then, holding it with both hands, pressed down on the top to spray a large black blob of paint onto the asphalt, covering the footprint fully.

Enid giggled, and patted him on the back.  “Vandalism is wrong, Brush Head.  But, good idea.”  She found him a lighter gray can for the sidewalk, and let KO cover the rest of Darrell’s tracks while she helped Rad finish on the wall.

--

Darrell’s subject matter wasn’t nearly as dark the next night, or the night after that.  They noticed from the roof that the crack in his head had been repaired, and he smiled and even hummed off-key as he worked, covering the wall in some more abstract, experimental images, like a door being shut in someone’s face with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on it, and a princess tiara being chewed on by a swarm of rats, and a few frogs jumping around in a puddle of oil. 

He seemed to be using the latter two to practice his shading, and even worked it into his “DB” tag, trying a gradient effect on the letters the fourth night, then a failed chrome effect the fifth night that he angrily painted over in plain red, and finally another attempt at the chrome on the sixth night that was a clear success. 

Of course, every night after he finished painting the wall, the trio painted over it once again, though not before Enid could take a photo.  She flipped through them at work on the seventh day since Mr Gar had tasked them with keeping the wall vandalism-free, until Red Action stopped her on one.

“Dude, this one’s sick!”  

“I know, right?  He’s actually getting really good.”  

“Man, it’ll really stink when you guys finally make him stop in the alley.”

Enid shook her head, trying to empty out the cobwebs and process what she had just heard.  “When...we make him stop?”

“Dude, you’ve been stayin’ up a whole week watching ‘im, right?  That can’t be good for ya.”  Red pointed out the dark bags under Enid’s eyes, and the fact that she’d dozed off at least twice since Red entered the bodega.

Enid recounted the number of graffiti murals she’d photographed.  There were seven, it had been an entire week.

No wonder she was so tired.

Enid yawned after being reminded of the fact, watching it spread throughout the store as KO and Rad both copied her.  

“We seriously have been up every night for an entire week, huh.”  She pressed at her forehead.  “Yeah, we gotta stop this.”

“I mean, it’s still cool and all, but whatever.”  Red scoffed.  “Probably for the best you just sleep and let ‘im go.  You gotta take care of yourself more.”

“What’s Mr Gar gonna think if we don’t cover it up every night, though?”  Enid shuddered.  

“Well, that’s why you gotta chase him away!”  Red unconsciously formed her hand into an arm cannon.  “Just blast ‘im a couple times, like you do when they bust over here during the day!”

Rad interrupted from aisle 2, “I can blast him tonight no problem!  Right in his robo-butt!”

Enid just shook her head, smiling.  “Rad, please think before you open your mouth for once…”  She finished ringing up Red Action’s order, waving her off as she left.  With the store now empty, Enid’s coworkers gathered around the counter.

“So, we’re really gonna stop Darrell tonight?”  KO yawned again.  

“Yeah, bud.  There’s no way we can keep this up.”

The other two were quiet, leaning against the counter to stay up.  Enid was so tired she didn’t even care they were touching her sacred space.

Suddenly Rad seemed to realize something.  “Hey, Enid, can I...try something tonight, when we see him in the alley?”

“Sure dude, what did you have in mind?”

“Remember when I took his backpack with all that paint, and I said I had a plan I was working on?”  

KO lit up.  “Oh yeah!  You were gonna repaint your van with that stuff!”  He laughed as Rad playfully punched him in the shoulder.

“No, squirt.  I was gonna do somethin’ cool for us, but it might work better to try it on him tonight.  You know, instead of just smashing his face.”  He looked uncharacteristically serious.  “The thing is, though...I gotta go get some stuff ready after we stop him.  So, can you and KO hold him there for a couple of minutes?”

Enid and KO looked at each other, and nodded.  

“Well, it sounds like we’ve got a plan,” Enid announced.  The three put out their fists, bumping them across the counter.  “See you guys tonight.”

--

For their final night of watching Darrell, the trio again hid in the junkyard, trusting that their target had relaxed enough to not look behind the trash piles again.  To their relief, he didn’t, and as he arrived Darrell simply set down his backpack and began rifling through it for the right color as usual.

“So, when he tries to run…”  Enid pointed towards the alley exit, on the parking lot side.  “Rad, you’ll catch him, then pass him off to us.  We’ll keep him here until you’re ready to go.”

Rad gave a thumbs-up, and readied himself alongside KO.  As Darrell finally selected his can and started shaking it, he loudly shouted, “Hey!”

Darrell turned around, his eye widening in shock at the sight of the alien jumping out from behind a trash pile and floating over the fence, the other two shrouded in a pink glow as he brought them along too.  He shrieked and bolted towards the parking lot, just as Enid had predicted, tossing the easily-dodged paint can in Rad’s direction.  Rad’s finger glowed as he quickly grabbed the robot’s legs with his telekinetic powers, then the rest of him, and yanked him back into the alley, where Enid and KO grabbed his arms and held him in place on the ground.

“You good?”

“Yeah, go for it!”  Enid adjusted her grip as Darrell struggled, and Rad sprinted away towards the loading dock.

“Stop it, Darrell!”  KO used a free hand to pat him on the head, to the robot’s confusion.  “We aren’t gonna fight you this time, okay?  Rad’s got a plan!”

“Oh, so what, you’re gonna turn me in or something?”  Darrell made another attempt to get free, but no success.

“No, you jerk.  We wanna talk.”  Enid paused, then experimentally loosened her grip to show she meant it.  “You cool with that, dude?”  

Darrell squinted.  “...Really?  Why?”

“Hang on, lemme show you something.”  She dug her phone out of her pocket.  “We’ve been staking you out here every night this week, to see what you paint.  And, I guess to cover it up too before Mr Gar sees.  But, we think it’s really cool, okay!”  She turned on the lock screen, showing the nuclear rat she still had on it.  “See?  I took pictures of all of them before we cleaned them up.”

Darrell looked up at the phone and, appropriately, made a tiny, scared squeak.  

“You’re...You’re gonna tell my dad I’ve been coming here, aren’t you?”  He stopped struggling, instead sitting up a bit and curling defensively into his cloak.  “That’s your plan, isn’t it?  Get me in trouble again, for sneaking out after curfew every night, with proof?”

“No, dude!”  She released her grip entirely, now that the robot was pacified.  “We’re saying we like your art!  Right KO?”

“Yeah!”   The boy giggled.  “I really liked the cowboy fighting that dragon, and that one with a lot of fire, and the snakes!  They were all really beautiful!”

Darrell paused, unsure how to even react.  “...R...Really?  You...thought they were...cool?”  He blushed, turning away from his archenemies.  “You guys thought...I was cool?”

“Eh, you’re still kind of a nerd.  But yeah, your art really is cool, Darrell.”  Enid unlocked her phone and flipped through the photos again as he watched.  “You’re getting really good.  Where did you even learn to tag like that?”

“Well, there’s this DJ on Social Media who posts a lot of tutorials.  I was just following those…”

“Nice.”  Enid flashed him a thumbs-up, but then landed on the painting of Darrell having his brain case punched in.  The robot shifted uncomfortably at seeing it again, averting his eye.  

“Is...there some bad blood going on between you and your dad right now, Darrell?”

He sunk into his cloak a little more, shrinking into the space between his captors.  “I don’t have blood,” the robot said matter-of-factly.  “But...I guess I was having a bad day.  You really saw that, huh?”

“Yep.  All of it.”  Enid shrugged.  “Sorry.”  She noticed Rad poking his head around the corner, beckoning them towards the back of the plaza.  “Hey, come on.  Rad’s got something for ya.”

“We don't know what it is,” KO added as he led the others, “but we know it’s not Lord Boxman!”

Darrell gave a small smile, and willingly followed the kid around the corner, gasping when he saw…

“My backpack!”  He dropped onto the ground and hugged it.  “I was looking everywhere for this thing!”

“That’s not the surprise, dude.  Look up.”  Rad stood proudly in front of three large shipping pallets, the kind the bodega received every day, all painted with the same white paint they had been using on the wall.  He had them leaned against the loading dock’s door, a ready canvas begging to be painted.

“Wait, these are...for me?”  Darrell stood, taking several seconds to process the situation.

“Look, buddy, graffiti-ing the plaza is...kind of illegal, but you weren’t really hurting anyone with it.  And this way you’re not actually painting anything on the plaza, and if Mr Gar doesn’t like it he can just toss ‘em and I’ll get you some new ones.”  Rad pointed to the pile of used pallets by the door.  “Seriously, we have so many…”

Darrell snapped out of his processing.  “So, I can come here at night...and tag these?  And you guys’ll let me?”  The bodega employees nodded.

He hugged his backpack tighter, not even bothering to hide the excitement on his face.  But then he thought for a moment, and set the bag down, pulling out a few random cans of paint.  

“Hey, um...If you guys want…”  He held one up towards KO.  “You wanna tag with me?  Just, like this once…”

KO happily took the paint.  “We’d love to, Darrell!”  He glanced at Enid and Rad, who just smiled and obliged, taking cans for themselves.  

The four each picked a portion of the canvas and got to work, not stopping until they started butting in on their neighbors’ art, and with the entirety of the three pallets covered they stepped back to admire the finished piece.  They could only laugh together at how much the art clashed, from Radicles’ rough depictions of muscled teal cats, to Darrell’s abstract gears and wires, to Enid’s ninja clan logos and a “DJ Fireball” tag, to KO’s very rough but lovingly-rendered painting of him and his friend Baby Teeth riding a unicorn to a hot dog stand (as he described it to his confused audience).  

Enid pulled out her phone to photograph the mural as this time Darrell scooped up the used cans into his reclaimed backpack, but as she was trying to get a clear shot Rad edged into the frame, standing in front of his section while contorting his face into the silliest possible expression.  KO almost immediately followed suit, ignoring Enid’s attempts to get the two to move.  Then Darrell backed into the frame as well, throwing an amazingly corny finger gun pose in front of his section, and Enid couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Rad?”

“On it.”  He used his power to hold the phone up and tap the selfie button as Enid took her place and ridiculous pose as well, and once everything was in place he snapped the picture.

“That was perfect!”  Darrell cried out, cracking up once again as he saw the final result.  He put on the backpack, then nervously tapped his fingers in front of him as he tried to think of what one was supposed to say to their mortal enemies after genuinely having fun together for over an hour.

“Th-Thanks for...all this.  Really.  I’ll...I’ll see you tomorrow when I attack the plaza, I guess.  Bye!”  He smiled and waved as he ran around to the parking lot again, using his rocket boots to cross the street.

The others stayed for a bit, still admiring the graffiti, but then KO broke out into laughter once again.

“What’s so funny, kid?”  Rad giggled a little along with him.

“You guys...we just hung out and painted a picture and took a funny selfie with a Boxbot.  Friend-style!”

The other two sat up in shock.  

“We...we really did, huh Brush Head?”  Enid joined in, laughing alongside KO and Rad.

“Oh man, I kinda wish we could tell Lord Boxman without Darrell getting in trouble.  I just wanna see the look on his face!”

“Don’t worry Rad, I bet he’d just be like…”  Enid made a face somewhere between ‘seething rage’ and ‘just ate the sourest candy in the world’, to the others’ amusement.  

The two picked themselves up and piled into Rad’s van, ready to finally call it a night for good.

--

“KO, Rad, and Enid!!”  The three immediately snapped to attention in front of Mr Gar, but then looked on in pure terror as their enraged boss held up a blue embroidered backpack full of spray paint.

“Anyone care to tell me what this was doing in the alleyway this morning?”

“Oh.”

“Uh…”  Enid and Rad searched for a way to explain the night’s activities, but then KO spoke up.

“The graffiti wiener came back last night, sir.  But we scared him before he could paint in the alley!”  Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Gar harrumphed before handing the bag to the child.  “Well, good job I guess.  Now go do something with this where I can’t see it.”  He stomped back into his office, grumbling something about having to throw away a bunch of shipping pallets as well.

The employees breathed a sigh of relief, returning to their daily bodega tasks.  As KO began to carry the heavy backpack into the break room, though, the Boxmore alarm blared.

“Cob, now?  Really?”  Enid pinched her septum and hopped over the counter.  She led the charge to meet the two large boxes crashing into the parking lot, which seemed to be...yelling at each other?

Darrell and Shannon both broke out, focusing more on each other than the plaza.

“Look, I know you took it, so just tell me where it is!”

“I told you like three times Mushroom-Head, I don’t know where you left it!”

“You’re seriously still saying I lost my-!”  She looked at KO, still holding the backpack, and pounced, ripping it out of the child’s hands.  “My backpack!  What the heck are you losers doing with it?!”

KO glanced over her shoulder at Darrell, now very anxious that he’d been caught in his lies, and winked.  Darrell tried to wink back in return, but it ended up as more of a regular blink.

“We stole it!  And filled it with trash!”  KO claimed, as Shannon opened it to reveal the spray cans.  She tossed the bag aside in her confusion, and whipped out a sawblade right into his face.

“How dare you, you little…”

Rad yawned as he lifted her away with his telekinesis, throwing her right into the path of one of Enid’s fireballs, which in turn redirected the robot less-than-gracefully into the pavement.  With a final power punch from KO, Shannon was down for the count.

The three turned then to Darrell, who drew out his arm cannon but otherwise paused before his attack.  

“Hey, guys, um...I’ve gotta fight you right now, but...is it cool if we hang out again tonight?”  He shrugged.  “It was really fun.”

“Honestly that sounds awesome, bro, but…”  Rad motioned for Enid to continue as he dropkicked Shannon’s backpack over to Boxmore, for her to pick up once she rebooted.

Enid rubbed her eyes, still with dark circles under them.  “We have a lot of sleep to catch up on, dude.  Maybe next week?”  

Darrell gave her a thumbs-up in response, then powered up his cannon and charged into battle.

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 46

Series Ask Blog 

Chapter 46: You’re Safe Here Part 3 Chapter Warnings: Medical Procedures, Blood, Language

Chapter under the cut

February 3, 2031, 4:36 PM

Los Angeles, California

An Iplier; the Devil. Had Schneep heard that before? It seemed familiar yet not; like he’d only heard it briefly in passing.

Setting his tools aside to be washed, he checked Mad over one more time as that processed. Hands running carefully over the unconscious Ego’s chest and abdomen so he could See what lay beneath the surface of his skin. “The Devil,” he murmured, “is…that supposed to mean something?” Careful hands making sure he hadn’t missed a stitch or bullet or shard of bone. “I…don’t think I recognize it?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Natemare ran his hands over his face with a groan. It was a wonder how that makeup didn’t smear with the action. “Cuphead musical? Fischbach voiced the Devil in it?”

Eyes widening in surprise when that clicked, the doctor nodded a little. The musical. He’d forgotten about it despite the fact his creator had voiced someone in it. That would explain why the guy seemed…upset, was that the right word? when he found out the doctor’s identity. The musical had hype for a short time, then it pretty much stopped just as quickly as it had started, it had seemed. “I…didn’t realize he was an Ego?”

“No one does ‘til they meet the guy.” When Natemare had gotten up, the doctor had no idea. But now he was rummaging through drawers and pulling out items: Fresh needle, thread, tweezers, gauze, and the like. Seeing the items reminded Schneep of the stinging in his cheek. He brought a now-bare hand up to the messy bandage-job. “Sit down, sit still, don’t be a backseat driver, yadda yadda.”

With a roll of the eyes, the Septic checked over MadPat once more, frowning at the operation table he was laying on. He’d have to see about finding a bed he could move Mad to. Would have been nice if that was a real operation room, with the space to easily maneuver the patient to get him off the table. Shaking his head, he moved to take the chair Natemare had been using for the last few hours. Schneep dragged it away from the wall, turned it around, and proceeded to cross his arms over the backrest with chin rested atop them; head tipped slightly to the side to expose the damage.

“You at least know what you’re doing?”

“Eh, sort of?” The Ego snorted and rolled his eyes when that made the doctor jerk away from him. Schneep’s harsh glare was returned with another eye roll. “Easy, Septiceye. Unless you wanna go to a hospital, I’ve got this.”

“Mph… Very reassuring.”

Natemare pulled the doctor’s glasses off, setting them on a counter somewhere out of Schneep’s view so they wouldn’t get in the way. He then proceeded to peel off his patch-job of a bandage. Schneep could just feel how easily it came off from both the blood getting on the adhesive, and from how poorly it had been attached in the first place. With his facial hair, it really shouldn’t have come off as easily as it did. It was a wonder how it hadn’t fallen off while he’d worked on Mad.

Schneep flinched away from the initial touch to the wound—tweezers digging through the torn skin really didn’t feel all that great. Natemare made an annoyed sound and waited for the doctor to settle again before going back at it; placing little chips of bone in the dish resting rather precariously on his knee. It seemed the Sharp Ego had done similar before since he was working faster than Schneep had expected, but he was by no means a professional.

“Agh—vorsichtig!”

Speaking of not a professional… Schneep had to suppress a yelp when the tool slipped and felt as if it had stabbed him.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but sure.”

All the doctor could offer was a glare at the blurry figure in front of him. “I said ‘careful.’ That fucking hurt.”

The Sharp snorted and proceeded to wave the tweezers around in a vague, somewhat wild gesture that had the doctor flinching away to avoid being smacked. “Ever heard the saying doctors are the worst patients? You’re really convincing me of that right now.”

“Is no help you don’t know what you’re doing,” Schneep muttered under his breath. It was loud enough for the other to hear—heck, he wanted Natemare to hear him!—but still uttered between clenched teeth.

A little shrug and Natemare leaned back in to pick out the rest of the debris. “Look. I’m no expert surgeon, or—what’d you used to call it? 100% Real Doctor?—but I can handle a little boo-boo like this.” He tossed the tweezers toward the sink as the doctor huffed. The tool bounced off the edge of the counter and proceeded to clatter to the floor instead. The Sharp proceeded to ignore them as he grabbed for the needle and thread he’d set nearby.

Schneep couldn’t make out the tools very well without his glasses, so the prick of the needle came sooner than he’d expected. In an unprofessional hand, the stitching involved more pulling at the torn skin and growled curses from the Septic than there really should have been, but it was over soon enough with Natemare bandaging it up (hopefully) properly.

Pressing a palm gingerly to the bandage to make sure it was secured, Schneep just shook his head and glared at Natemare. It was a good thing he’d shown up. The guy probably would have ended up killing MadPat in an attempt to save him judging by how many damn times his hands had slipped while helping Schneep out.

The doctor moved toward the counter, tripping over the leg of the chair in the process and grumbling under his breath, and groped for his glasses. He heard them get set somewhere—ah! There they were. He slipped them on and blinked a few times to let his eye adjust before crossing back to the table Mad still lay sleeping soundly on. He glanced up; met eyes with Natemare and couldn’t help but furrow his brows and cock his head. “Do you know what happened?”

“No? I wasn’t there?” Mare scanned MadPat’s chest before crossing his arms and shrugging. “Honestly though? He probably ticked off some sorta gang member, dealer, I dunno, something like that, and got peppered. Wouldn’t surprise me with him.”

Schneep’s eyes widened. “Humans would do that?” Surely they wouldn’t, right? It sounded like something straight out of the Figmental Plane.

“You must be real damn new out here. Watch the news for once and you’ll see that yeah, they would.” Weight shifted to one foot as he added, “Sometimes they’re bigger fuckin’ monsters than our kind. Stay out here long enough, this sorta shit won’t surprise you. Anyway…” He dragged one shoulder up in a shrug; tossed his head toward the door. “Dev’ll want to talk to you.”

With that, he slipped out of the room without giving Schneep a chance to put a word in edgewise. Grumbling, the doctor moved to follow.

He would readily admit that the noise when he left the exam room startled him. Machines—loud at that—had him positive the room had been magically sound-proofed. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard all that noise otherwise. It was a garage, to be certain. Not nearly as large as Schneep had imagined the place beyond the room being, but a garage nonetheless. Two vans with tinted windows, a motorcycle currently missing both wheels and propped up on a makeshift mount as two…Egos? Women? worked on it were on the floor. The doctor found himself on a raised platform just above the vans’ level, and on the opposite side of the building were panels lined up to separate small sleeping quarters that had only cots.

One of the women working on the motorcycle waved to get the doctor’s attention, then pointed toward a door near the end of the platform. She didn’t speak; just turned back to her partner as she was handed a wrench. There were other people working on the vans, or projects propped on tables along the walls. Schneep had to wonder if they were Figments or humans as he turned away to approach the door that had been pointed out to him.

He knocked once, and couldn’t say he was surprised when it opened on its own. As far as he knew, the Devil had magic and such a task would have been easy.

The room within wasn’t the sort of office Schneep would have expected from the Ego’s getup. It was sparsely furnished with a worktable rather than a desk, small filing cabinet, and a few rotating stools—two of which taken by Devilplier and Natemare. Upon the doctor’s entry, however, the Devil stood.

“Mad?”

“Stable,” Schneep answered. “He’ll survive.”

“And your—?” He proceeded to tap his left cheek. “I understand Mare is not the most…experienced in the matter, but he’s the best we have, unfortunately.” The Ego in question proceeded to scoff and mutter something under his breath.

The Septic found it in himself to laugh, however briefly, at that. “He could certainly use practice, yes.”

The Devil folded his hands behind his back, and Schneep couldn’t shake the mental image of Dark from his head with that action. But Devilplier had more color to him; a smile that welcomed Schneep to speak and bright eyes that creased at the corners. “I was curious, Doctor… Do you have anywhere to go?”

“I…” The question caught him off guard. Surely the Iplier knew the answer to that. Schneep had been staying at a homeless shelter for two months now. “I can return to the shelter, yes.”

Smile falling away, concern came over the Devil’s face. “Now, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have your creator or the other Septiceyes to go to? A man with your heart and talent shouldn’t be left to rot in some shelter.”

Schneep couldn’t find it in himself to look the Ego in the eyes any longer. He had no one to contact. No one to go to even if he wanted because he didn’t even know where they were. And really, how was he to know they even wanted him back? It didn’t seem they’d made much effort to find him anyway. “…Nein. I-I have no ways to contact them.”

One hand moved to the Devil’s chest as he approached the Septic. “I can give you a place to stay until you find them again. We would be honored to have you here, Doctor, and your talents would be put to good use.”

A minuscule nod as he took that information in was all Schneep offered. He would have a place to stay, to do the work he’d been created for. No more of that damn grocery store, no more of the shelter and prying questions about why he was there. He’d been accused more than once of not being a citizen while he was there. What did that even mean?

“I…wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” The Iplier smiled, and from the corner of his eye, Schneep saw Mare do the same for a brief moment. “The only payment I’ll expect is that you make sure my men are healthy—we’ve needed a good doctor like yourself. In exchange, you get food and a bed for as long as you need.” That smile was welcoming; those eyes soft.

Schneep found himself nodding slowly. It wouldn’t hurt to stay there.

When he voiced his acceptance, the Devil beamed.

“You needn’t worry about a thing any longer, Doctor. I promise you that you’re safe here.”