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songsformonkeys · 5 years ago

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Conference Call (maxwell lord x reader)

summary: Maxwell fucks you while taking a conference call. There’s no plot here. None. Just stupid filth

word count: ~4100

rating: explicit

warnings: Slight soft!Dom Maxwell if that needs to come with a warning.

notes: Sooo...this happened. I don’t know how to feel about it...

Ao3

Conference Call

”I want you to wear this,” Maxwell says and gestures towards a big white box on the table. The two of you are in his penthouse apartment. It's after midnight but neither of you have clocked out from work yet because you had been forced to schedule a conference call with a rivaling company in Europe and the different timezones are a pain in anyone's ass.

Maxwell isn't too happy about the arrangement but had agreed on the condition that the telephone meeting could be held in his home office. You had agreed, knowing which battles that were worth picking with Maxwell and realizing that this wasn't one of them.

You had showed up with plenty of time to spare before the call, hoping that you and Maxwell would have a chance to go over the Paris proposal once more. That had been twenty minutes ago and so far the only things that have happened are that Maxwell has insisted on having a drink, has quizzed you on next week’s meetings, and now has revealed that apparently there is a dress code for the evening.

”Maxwell... Mister Lord, may I remind you that it is a conference call and that the other participants won't actually be able to see us. I hardly think that a wardrobe change will be necessary,” you point out, a little annoyed at his unwillingness to focus on the task at hand.

Maxwell sets his drink down and stands up from the barstool where he's perched. He walks over to you and steps so close that you can smell his expensive cologne. The scent reminds you of other times when he's been this close and you briefly close your eyes.

”And may I remind you whose job it is to set the rules here. The outfit is for my benefit, not theirs, and I'm telling you that I want you to wear it.” There's no mistaking the order behind his words and you suddenly worry just what might be in that box.

”Am I making myself clear?” he continues and you nod.

”Crystal clear, Mister Lord,” you reply and he smirks.

”Good girl. Now go change and meet me in the office.”

You pick up the box and head to the guestroom down the hall.

As you set the box down on the bed and open it, you are immediately met by a vision of pale pink tulle and your eyebrows raise in surprise. You take the tulle garment out of the box and hold it up in front of you. It's a short, see-through, maribou robe, complete with the feather trimmings and everything. It's...angelic, for a lack of better word, and very much what you have come to learn that Maxwell appreciates.

You carefully set the gown down on the bed and return your attention to the box and the other things it contains. The next thing you pull out is a lace balconette bra in the same pink color as the gown, along with a pair of matching lace panties.

When you hold the panties up you notice there's an odd seam down the middle and... oh wait that's not a seam, but a slit. Your cheeks feel hot as you run your finger over the fabric, before setting them down and picking up the last thing that's in the box. It's another box and you can tell just from the design that it contains jewelry. When you open it you almost gasp. Resting on black velvet is an absolutely gorgeous diamond choker necklace. The symbolism of that doesn't escape you.

You look at the items on the bed and don't dare to wonder how much money Maxwell has spent on this ensemble. He is, for the most part, smart about what he spends his money on, but this isn't the first set of expensive lingerie that he's bought for you.

Worried about keeping him waiting for too long, you quickly slip out of your own clothes and into the ones Maxwell has provided for you, even though clothes might not be quite the right word for it.

You look at yourself in the full-length mirror of the guestroom, and have to admit that you look good. The color suits you and you feel more at home in this than the black ones he'd bought for you last time.

You debate whether or not to leave the gown open or tied closed with the silk band around the middle. You settle for tying it closed, thinking that Maxwell will probably enjoy untying that for himself. Studying your face closely in the mirror, as you fit the necklace snugly around your neck, you come to the conclusion that the lipstick you've been wearing all day doesn't quite fit with the image and you grab some paper to wipe it off, leaving your lips bare but stained slightly pink.

You take a deep breath and adjust the diamond choker just a little, before you leave the guestroom and walk towards to Maxwell's home office. The apartment isn't cold but you still feel your skin tightening into little goosebumps.

Maxwell is bent over a file, reading, when you stop in the doorway. You know he knows your there by the way his hand twitches for just a fraction of a second before turning the page, but he still makes you wait for a few more seconds before looking up. He doesn't say anything as he eyes you up and down, and his face is impossible to read as always. Then he lifts his hand and beckons you over with a finger.

He pushes his chair back when you reach him and a pleased smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. The relief makes your shoulders relax slightly.

”They suit you. Do you like them?” he asks, pursing his lips to keep a smile in check. You nod

”Yes, Max-.” He raises an eyebrow at you. ”Yes, Mister Lord. They're beautiful. But...forgive me, I don't quite understand...”

”What don't you understand, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to smooth a hand over your hip, pulling you another step closer. He touches the silk band tied around your middle, grabbing the end of it and slowly pulling.

”We have scheduled a conference call with Paris, in 15 minutes. There isn't any time to...” you trail off as the bow is untied and the robe falls open, revealing the rest of your lingerie to Maxwell's hungry gaze.

”I am well aware,” he says, ”And as you are well aware, Perrault and the morons he calls his team are exceptionally boring so I'm gonna need some additional entertainment.” He lets his eyes rake over you in a way that makes it perfectly clear that you are that additional entertainment.

”Take a seat,” he orders. He smiles at you dangerously and leans back a little further in his leather seat. You feel your cheeks heat up as you sit down on his lap. Maxwell spins the chair around and pushes it closer to the desk.

”So, since you've been begging me for it all evening, let's go over what my stance on this is again, before they call,” he says, as if this is just another briefing in the office, as if you, through the slit in your panties, can't feel the fabric of his pants drag slightly against your folds every time he shifts.

”Well,” you begin, clearing your throat, and Maxwell reaches around you to hand you the file that you have meticulously put together for him over the past week. When you've accepted the file, Maxwell lets his hand rest halfway up your thigh, heavy and warm.

”Well, their offer is very generous, ” you start over, then stop, as his fingers inch a little higher.

”Go on,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his tone. He pulls the pink tulle out of the way so he can caress the inside of your thigh softly. This isn't the first time Maxwell has touched you, but it is the first time he's wanted you to comment on the details of a business proposal as he does so. You try and collect yourself and speak with confidence.

”But I think we should be a little worried about their connection to St Petersburg. Their...uhm...their revenues have been in decline ever since la...last October.” You try to keep your voice steady but Maxwell has carefully pushed your thighs apart and is now dragging his index finger along the opening in your panties. The featherlight touch makes your voice hitch and your hands shake.

”So the offer is an attempt for them to save face?” Maxwell comments, thoughtfully, slipping his finger between your lips to stroke the hard nub of your clit. ”A way to get to sit at the table with the big boys.” You keen quietly.

”What was that?” Maxwell asks, rubbing your clit a bit faster.

”I mean, yes... I'm sure that's their reasoning behind...oh... behind the proposal. But you...ah... you have been looking for a way to expand to the European market and... and this...this could provide an opportunity for you as well.” Your thighs are quivering and you're gripping the file so hard that the edges dig into your palms. You want to grab Maxwell and pull him in for a kiss, but that's a mistake you've made before and aren't dumb enough to make again.

”So I'm considering it?” Maxwell says with curious hum. You have been over this several times together already and you have no doubt that he knows where he stands in all of this, but just wants to hear you say it out loud. His finger is still lazily stroking you and it feels so good. You allow yourself to lean back against him, just a little, and he lets you.

”You want them to sweeten the deal,” you tell him as you feel his lips barely graze your neck. Maxwell isn't much for kissing during foreplay so it takes you a little by surprise. You continue. ”Find a way to get them to... ditch St Petersburg and we'll reap all the benefits from acc...ah...accepting this proposal.”

”And we'll run St Petersburg into the ground,” he finishes for you, and you nod.

”That's an additional bonus,” you agree and Maxwell chuckles.

”Ruthless,” he says but his tone is appreciative.

”I thought you hired me to look out for the company, sir, not to be kind,” you can't help but comment, a little sarcastically.

”Watch that smart mouth of yours,” Maxwell whispers into your ear and pulls his finger out from between your legs. He holds it up in front of your face. ”I can think of far better ways to use it.”

You open up as he presses the finger against your lips and you suck the digit into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks slightly, you can taste your own arousal in the pad of his finger. You swirl your tongue around it and make a soft hum at the back of your throat because you think Maxwell will appreciate it. You let your lips move back and forth, slowly, over the ridges and knuckles of his finger. Maxwell just watches you silently.

When the telephone rings a couple of minutes later, it takes you by surprise, and you start. Maxwell pulls his finger out of your mouth and wipes it on his pants. You move to stand up, but he pulls you back onto his lap, securing you in place with an arm around your waist. You can feel the hard line of his cock press against your ass.

”Did I tell you you could leave?” he growls, low and dangerous, in a way that sends shivers up your spine the way this tone of voice always does.

”I'm sorry, Mister Lord,” you apologize.

Maxwell picks up the phone to answer

”Perrault! Bonjour! How are things in Paris?” he greets the person on the other side, immediately dialing up the smarmy businessman persona. You hear the person on the other side mumble something in response and Maxwell laughs, loud and fake. They exchange a few more pleasantries as a couple of other people connect to the call. Maxwell is tapping his fingers against your side and you can tell that he's already bored.

You strain to hear what is being said on the other end of the call but it's difficult and Maxwell's responding hums give away little information. He's loosened his grip around your waist and is now running his fingers along the edge of your bra. Your own hands are gripping the fabric of the gown lightly. Maxwell hasn't told you what to do and as much as he appreciates you taking initiative at work, he's usually of the opposite mind in these situations.

Maxwell continues to talk and you continue to sit perched on his lap, anticipation mixed with a hint of worry, building. He's pulled one of your breasts out from its lacy confines now and is absent-mindedly rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. Every now and then he gives it a pinch and you jump slightly. You don't need to see Maxwell to know that he's smiling.

Suddenly, Maxwell pats the desk in front of him and it takes you a second to realize what he wants. When you do, you stand up from his lap. Maxwell stands too and you can see his erection straining against the pants of his suit.

He pushes the gown off your shoulders and it falls to the floor. Then he places a hand on your chest and guides you to sit down on the desk. You do, but Maxwell keeps pushing until you are lying flat on your back across the cold and smooth surface. He stands hovering above you, phone in one hand as the other push your legs up and apart. You feel incredibly exposed but would be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you that really got off on just that.

Maxwell holds a finger up to his lips in warning and then, without much preamble, he reaches down and pushes that very same finger into you. You have to bite down hard on your lower lip not to gasp out loud. Maxwell pulls his finger almost all the way out before inserting another. Your brows draw together in a frown and your mouth falls open on a silent moan.

”So run that by me again, exactly what you think the benefits would be for me and my company, in this scenario of yours,” Maxwell tells the people on the phone but his eyes are locked with yours as he sets a slow pace for fucking his fingers into you. His eyes look almost pitch black from lust and as he curls his fingers slightly upward, you feel like your own eyes are about to roll to the back of your head.

The speed of Maxwell's fingers steadily increase when the people on the other end of the line are talking but slow down when he makes his own replies. It's the most delicious kind of torture and you feel your pleasure building and building. You suddenly know that there is no way you will be able to stay silent when you come, and so you desperately tug at Maxwell's arm to get him to stop. But instead of pulling his fingers out or stopping, he just shifts the phone so he's holding it up against his ear with his shoulder and uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth. You watch him with wide eyes as he sets a brutal pace with his fingers and you barely last a minute before you come so hard your vision blacks out for a moment. Maxwell's palm doesn't manage to entirely muffle your loud keen and you panic as you're sure it must have been heard on the other end of the call. The whole world is completely silent for a couple of seconds as you wait. Then there's mumbling on the phone.

”What's that?” Maxwell says, looking completely unfazed as he rests a sticky hand on your stomach. You're still frozen in the spot. Maxwell chuckles, ”Oh that. Just a little kitten I'm looking after...Oh, you have a dog?... you don't say? Well, pets sure do bring a certain kind of joy to our lives, don't they? Now, will you gentlemen excuse me for just a minute so I can make sure that she is happy and won't interrupt us again? One minute.”

He sets the phone down on the desk and you immediately start mouthing silent apologies. He covers your mouth with his hand again.

”I'm trying to work here, Kitten,” he says, keeping up appearances, in case his voice can still be heard on the phone, ”And I can't do that if you're gonna continue to mewl like this, you understand? I don't want to have to lock you out.”

You nod furiously to show that you have understood. Maxwell removes his hand. He picks up the phone again and looks like he's just about to speak when a dangerous grin suddenly stretches across his face. You feel a lump of dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

”Gentlemen! Sorry for the interruption...oh you are too kind!... Well as I was just saying, the proposal is not bad, but it needs some refining. Why don't I hand you over to my assistant and she can help you go over the numbers?”

If you thought there was anyway you would have gotten away with running, you would have. You shake your head as Maxwell holds out the phone for you. You giving the most begging look you can muster, silently asking him not to do this. Maxwell's hand doesn't move an inch but his eyes soften a little and, in a gesture of kindness that's slightly out of character for him, he mouths you've got this.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone and clear your throat, attempting to get your voice in order. Maxwell sits back down in his chair to watch you. You start to sit up but he shakes his head and you admit defeat, lying back down and holding the phone up to your ear.

”Good morning, Gentlemen,” you say, in a voice that sounds more normal than it has any right to sound, considering the circumstances. You actually hear Maxwell chuckle in the background and close your eyes to shut him out. You can do this, you tell yourself, almost echoing Maxwell's encouragement. You've gone over these numbers so many times over these past weeks that you could probably write them down in your sleep. If only you can focus on them and not the fact that you're currently spread out and mostly naked on your boss' desk then things will go just fine.

Maxwell sits back and lets you do your thing, looking slightly impressed at how you're adapting to the situation. However, in true Maxwell fashion, he soon gets bored with listening in on just half a conversation and you feel his hand run up your calf, caressing it. You bite your lip as his hand goes past the knee and smooths down the outside of your thigh. You have a sneaking suspicion where this is going.

Maxwell positions himself between your legs and as you listen to the accountant on the other end of the line, you lift your head slightly to meet Maxwell's gaze. He gives you a dark smile and lowers his face, just slow enough for you to brace yourself for the first touch of his tongue. You still start when it comes and Maxwell reaches up to place his hand on your stomach again, holding you in place.

You brace yourself for more but his tongue is surprisingly gentle and Maxwell alternates between licking and kissing along your folds. It feels nice but it isn't enough to drive you crazy and you know he's doing it on purpose. He's keeping the touches light enough that you're still able to talk. For all his attempts at seeming threatening, Maxwell doesn't actually want you to make a fool of yourself, or him for that matter.

This feels more like a reward than a punishment. Not that you have any plans on pointing that out to Maxwell, in case he's unaware.

He lets you finish up discussing details with the accountant, it’s gone well and you feel surprisingly proud of yourself, but then Maxwell impatiently stands up and motions for you to hand the phone back to him. You do and he demands to know if there are any questions regarding your counter-proposal. You hear the person on the other line begin to speak and Maxwell rolls his eyes.

”Monsieur Perrault,” he interrupts, ” I can hear we're not quite in agreement on this yet. So why don't we go back to our respective teams, see what adjustments we can make and I'll have my assistant schedule another meeting in about a week? Sound good?”

You hear the slightly confused mumbles of agreement on the phone.

”Excellent! Well, in that case, I wish you, gentlemen, a good day, and thank you for your time.”

Maxwell just about slams the phone back on the receiver and when he turns to you, there's something feral in his eyes. Before you have time to say something, Maxwell grabs you and drags you off the desk. He spins you around so that you're standing with your back pressed against his chest. He reaches around your throat and pushes your head back so he can whisper in your ear.

”You did so well, sweetheart!” he praises and you feel pride swell in your chest, ”Their fucking incompetent excuse for an accountant didn't stand a chance against you.” He grinds his hips against you and lets out a low moan.

”Bend over,” he orders and you do as you're told, leaning over the desk and resting your cheek against your forearms. You hear Maxwell get his pants open.

”Gonna have them eating out of our hands by the end of next meeting,” he says as he lines himself up. Then he thrusts home and you cry out as his cock fills you up, in one rough motion. Realizing just what kind of fucking you're in for, you reach out and grab the edges of the desk to keep yourself steady. Maxwell is already gripping your hips hard and pumping into you. You gasp with each thrust. The gentleness of his tongue during the call is gone. This is him, taking what he needs. And you, willingly giving it.

”So fucking good,” he praises again. You're not sure if he's commenting on your performance during the conference call or your current performance. His breathing is getting more ragged with each thrust.

Maxwell leans over you and presses his lips against your shoulder. It's not quite a kiss but right now you don't care because he's fucking you senseless and that's enough. Enough to have a second wave of pleasure crash over you as you come, clenching hard around Maxwell's cock.

Maxwell's thrusts are becoming erratic. He says something against your shoulder that you can't quite hear through your daze of pleasure.

”What?” you gasp as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

”Tell me you love me!” It's more of an order than a request but right now you are willing to give him anything he wants so it doesn't matter.

”I love you...” you pant, ”I love you, Maxwell”

That's all it takes and in the next second Maxwell presses his face hard against your back and comes, deep inside you.

He holds you through his orgasm, lingers for only a few moments after before standing up and pulling out, leaving you feeling empty. He tucks himself back into his pants and picks the robe up from the floor and hands it to you.

”You know where the bathroom is,” he says, voice a little distant, ”Go clean yourself up. And it's late so if you want to you can spend the night.”

You nod and thank him, not quite able to meet his eyes before you walk towards the bathroom on shaky legs. Maxwell calls your name before you reach the door and you turn back.

”Yes?”

”...My bedroom is the third one on the left... just so you know.”

#maxwell lord/reader #maxwell lordxreader #maxwell lord #wonder woman 84 fiction #my fanfiction

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allmightluver · 4 years ago

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First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed.

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries. But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 2.5.9 “The Man With The Bell”

The clock is ticking. Cosette has less than 15 minutes before she might die if she doesn’t get warm. This is a reverse of Fauchelevent’s rescue from under the cart: then, the clock was ticking as the cart sank in the mud, and it was Valjean’s quick action that saved him. This time, it is Fauchelevent’s presence that saves Cosette.

The weird surprise of being Known is something Valjean suddenly has to contend with here, in a very different way than he did a couple chapters ago. This is the first time that someone recognizes him in a place where he does not wish to be recognized, and who reacts positively. I can imagine how weird this would be, since a) Valjean’s other experiences of being recognized have all been negative and b) he really, really does not want to be Known, at all ever.

I often forget just how much of this novel is narration, until we get to a block of dialogue and it’s like taking a little break. I wonder what the percentage is of narrative/expository writing vs dialogue in the Brick.

Valjean has two main reactions to any problem that he sees: run from it, or throw money at it. The exception to this rule was the Champmathieu affair, which forced him to face Everything head on. But after escaping the Orion, his instincts are run or, if he has to face it, attempt payment. It’s an interesting commentary on how fucked up capitalism is and how it has fucked over our main characters. Valjean knows that most people aren’t going to do unusual or sacrificial things from the goodness of their hearts, but he does know that money talks and is a very persuasive tool. If he can’t appeal to someone’s better nature, he can appeal to their greed and/or need.

"Did you fall from heaven? There’s no doubt, if you ever fall, that’s where you’ll fall from.” Fauchelevent is such an odd person, and I know that “fell from heaven” is a common phrase, but I also can’t help but think of Lucifer. It’s uhhh not a very Catholic perspective, I don’t think, but my best friend is a religion major and recently wrote a paper for grad school which, long story short, had a section talking about Lucifer’s fall being the first zone of exception and his suffering being the predicate for human suffering. I don’t think Valjean is a First exactly, but he is a Symbol of human suffering and the things that excessive and unjust punishment or exile from society can do to a person. Valjean didn’t fall from heaven in the same way as Lucifer did (as in, willingly or knowingly) but he did suffer from the same sort of exile; the exile from society, being forced into a state of exception where his life and rights are controlled, diminished, and ultimately rejected by the state. Fauchelevent is saying that Valjean is an angel on earth, something good and sacred. But it also fits that he is a fallen being whose Fall and suffering are both created by and maintained by the state, a State which proclaims to be following the values and wills of god and religion.

Okay I’ve just realized that Fauchelevent isn’t actually that weird. He’s “weird” because his friendly peasant way of speaking is so damn normal in this unfamiliar and strange place that he seems like the weird one.

“Ah,” said Jean Valjean. “You. Yes, I remember you.” This cracks me up because I have absolutely had interactions like this where I don’t remember someone until they either do something familiar or are like “Yeah we met at xyz thing!” but then I still totally don’t remember their name so I just have to be like yep I definitely remember you uhhh you person yes I do. It’s been quite a few traumatizing years, I’m not surprised Valjean doesn’t remember Fauchelevent’s name, but it’s still funny.

But at the same time it’s also indicative of how Valjean functions when doing his good deeds (which Fauchelevent will call him out on at the end of the chapter). He sacrifices himself or is selfless or charitable because he feels it is his duty, but he doesn’t stop to get to know the people he saves. He crawled under the cart and saved Fauchelevent at the risk of both being crushed himself and being exposed to Javert, but he didn’t speak to Fauchelevent in person after. He broke in and left money for struggling people in M-sur-M but he didn’t really talk or get to know them (smiled to avoid speaking, gave to avoid smiling, and all that). He’s “the beggar who gives alms” at Gorbeau House, but he only does so at night when his countenance is shadowed and to beggars who, I assume, are not necessarily inclined to want to get to know their benefactors. He will do the same thing later when Cosette is grown up, giving donations of money or clothes or food to the poor and even going to their homes to give, but never actually getting to know them.

Part of this is definitely because of his fear of being Known and the danger that brings to him, but part of it I think is also a fear of falling back into that poverty.

Side note: are the melons symbolic in any way? I don’t know anything about plant symbolism. (Also I love the hilariously simple, “Oh, I’m covering my melons.”)

“I know that you cannot do anything dishonest, and that you have always been a man of God.” Fauchelevent puts so much faith and trust in Valjean and, aside from Cosette, he seems to be the only one who does. The barricade doesn’t necessarily distrust him when he arrives, but they definitely find his not-shooting-anybody style of combat odd, at least until he offers his clothes. But Fauchelevent is immediately trusting. Part of it, also, is Valjean’s liminal existence within this liminal space. What I mean is, the whole convent is a weird place, where Fauchelevent is not allowed to know things or see people, where he is given instructions or commands and can’t question them. So Valjean requesting that he help without asking questions doesn’t faze him because why would it? He’s spent the past however many years doing exactly that for the convent nuns, and I’m sure he feels more indebted to Valjean than the nuns themselves too.

@everyonewasabird has already written a couple posts on “ingrate” and on Fauchelevent calling Valjean ungrateful, so I don’t really have anything more to say about it that they didn’t already cover. (Although I do have one thought about Champmathieu but I think I will reblog their post and put it on there.)

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 2.5.9 #les mis #les mis meta

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huntsman-ash · 4 years ago

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LiveThoughts: RWBY V8E6

Second attempt at this since last time Chrome just DIED for no reason...

Im going to put literally the entire thing with Cinder under one note; Called it.

Its a great set of stuff, sure, but it doesnt relaly tell us anything we didnt already know about Cinder, and I personally feel it doesnt really explain why she turned out the way she did. I feel like we’ve had another weird twist of the situation again...M+K? Coronas fault? Who knows. Either way, this section isnt great by my taste and I kinda skipped most of it.

Few things to note though; Apperently in Mistral scrubbing by hand is still more viable floor cleaning tech than using Dust.

The wind vane on the roof has the Rooster Teeth symbols rooster on it.

The hotel Cinder is bought by is named the Glass Unicorn, fittingly enough for...several reasons.

The coffees behind the stepsisters when we first see them are the animated versions of the real life stuff RT put out just before this season went live.

No one seems to notice the fact cinder has orange eyes. I wonder if weird eye colors are just a THING in Remnant?

The control collar/shock thing is incredibly inefficient in design, since it doesnt actually hold on to her very well. A more effective brace/choker design would have worked better.

The song that goes on during all of this is...kind of obvious and a little bland? Fitting for younger Cinder I guess.

Mmm. Random greasy huntsman.

I guess in Atlas its fine to laugh at struggling teenagers?

Im going to assume there’s a 3+ year gap here where she gets older, cause she stops being smol and gets closer to how we see her now.

Also even here, in Atlas...really? The most effective way to clean these carpeted floors is to have a TEENAGER SCRUB THEM BY HAND?

How do you scrub...I assume its carpet anyway?

And how you tell civilians are lame in Atlas; they are impressed...by a sword. Just a sword. A boring, half-cut sword. Losers.

I assume this would be Cinder’s semblance manifesting. Also note on the desk; “we do not serve faunus”. Well THAT doesnt surprise me.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHE. Get fucked Cinder. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

I dont even feel pity for her, this is funny to me. Also the fact that this kind of shit aCTUALLY EXISTS is...amusing to me. Like, really? So I guess indentured servitude is a thing in Remnant too.

And this is why Cinder likes to use swords. Really. Wow. LAMEO.

Huh. Dual maces. Interesting. Thats a prety cool weapon. Looks like they open up too. Bet he could bash some skulls with that.

“Hurting them isnt going to make your life any better”. Um, excuse me? I think hurting them is the very best thing to do in this situation. At least, for the moment anyway.

Huh. So she’s ten at this point? Even as a child, shes older than she looks.

And training montage. Huh. Or at least I assume it is. I get the feeling being able to go where you want too and do what you want too is the main reason Hunters exist. There must be crazy tight immigration laws...or, maybe, its just that traveling between kingdoms is stupid dangerous cause of Grimm. I think the latter is most likely considering every form of public transit extra-kingdom we’ve seen (even between cities, see Argus Limited) has some kind of defensive weaponry. Limited and ineffective, for th emost part oddly.

So you can take the exam at 18. Okay cool. Pre-that must be prep school. Wonder what happens if you wash out? Also I like how this dude is just “yeah, 7 years of training, we got this.”

I think this is the first time we’ve seen the other side of the moon. Or at least, the proper other side...bloody hell I STILL dont know how all those piesces are still held in place, the thing looks like it should start yeeting bolides at Remnant.

Better still we see it MOVE, rotate in time to the passing of years. So it literally does rotate on its own axis, and more importantly, unlike OUR moon, its NOT tidally locked. We only ever see the same side of our moon. REmnants rotates MUCH faster. Also it doesnt seem to have phases like ours does. I’ll check on why that is.

Well at least we have an explanation for why Cinders so damn good at fighting people. Trained by an Atlas Huntsman.

Also as a note the device is quite literally just an electrical Dust crystal attached to a necklace. Things the most inefficent torture device Ive ever fucking seen.

Wonder how often they have to change the crystal.

And there goes the moon rotating again.

I like how NO ONE comment on the blade going missing and that guy never came back for it. I guess he must have just bought a new one.

I get the very distinct feeling they wont just let her go honestly, permission or not.

AWWW WE DONT EVEN GET TO SEE CINDER MURDER THE SISTERS. Also no blood. Odd. Good kill on the stepmother though. Oh, that NECK CRACK. I like how all the bitch can do is try and shock Cinder, like, uh...adrenaline up? SHE HAS A SWORD? MAYBE FIGHT BACK?

Hah. Weak ass fuckin Atlas people. Also the clock going off in the back ground twelve times. How fitting. Welcome to midnight.

Also shes kind of glowing here cause the room is dark, and I find it amusing this is probably the last time she wears white.

And THERES the Cinder we know

Sick ass music, cool. Also THAT is an interesting semblance...I guess he turns himself to metal? Also DAMN his aura broke after THAT? Hes a Huntsman...ah who cares. Again probably in Cinders memory more than anything. Which at this point is probably about as reliable as a coked up hookers.

SHANKED. Sucker. You shoulda seen THAT one coming.

And thats all it took to get the shock collar off. Lol.

So what happened to the hotel? Did they just...write it off? I mean four people got murdered in there...

And now we’re back on the whale. HOW THE SCREAMING FUCK DID CINDER JUST...

Wow. She just got up after eating that blast. Fucking plot armor.

Merc making the hard calls honestly. Im actually gonna watch all of this now which is nice because I want to know whats happening in the real world. PITY MORE THAN HALF THE EPISODE WAS THIS FUCKING FILLER.

I like how Cinder just...goes quiet the moment she realizes shes lost Mercury. Not that he was USEFUL mind you but if I had to guess she liked being the boss. But now shes...basically back where she started.

So the whale is basically a ship. It has a bridge. Probably Salems throne room.

Man, Oscars literally just RTs punching bag this season isnt he? Literally in this case.

His clothes are still scortched too which I find interesting. The black eyes also staying. Auras not back up then? Aura repair and regen seems...werid half the time. Like RT does what they want with it.

Ah so someone finally says it...but at the same time what exactly does Salem have to fear? If she cant fight the whole world...what could they do? Maybe overwhelming her? It...Im having a hard time putting the “she cant be stopped” with “shes afraid of fighting all of Remnant”.

Somethings missing here. I know it.

The sound of the “door” opening reminds me of the Flood doors in High Charity in Halo 3s Cortana. Fleshy twisting.

Mention from Hazel, but AGAIN...no details. I guess if you nail down how she can do stuff its harder to write?

Glad someone made a comment on the futility of the Hunter academies.

I really hate how Salems giving us creepy mommy shades.

Hmm. So yeah the bridge IS the throne room/command deck. I like how Neo doesnt give a fuck is just casually kneeling.

Ah okay THATS why he grabbed the scroll.

Heh. Interesting. How exactly does this work I wonder.

...Why does Salem have a ring. Has she always had that ring?

Neo looking at the Hound like “oh, I could ride this thing”.

Oh cool the Ace Ops. And they’re arguing, shocker. Sounds like Elm doesnt trust tech either. No shock there. Idiot.

Atlas elite. Yeah, right.

Huh, is this a Manta with landing gear? I guess they do have them...seems kind of silly to have them so high up though. I guess thats what the thing under the door is for, so they can deploy a ramp. Man, I really dont like Atlas’s airship design.

Hare needs some fuckin suppresants.

Annnnddd...here we go, things go straight to hell. I was warned of this. I am going to try and not be mad...but from what Ive heard the incomptence of the military in this particular section is astronomical.

Huh. So...Grimm can be convirted into a rock-punching liquid? Interesting. Has that always been a thing or... Also why the fuck are you jsut standing there in awe, go kill the fucking thing! Fucking Specialists.

...that is all it took to get through Atlas’s shield? THAT?

I also love how no one does anything. Ironwoods like “wait what the fuck”. Come on bro.

And...thats the Atlas navy. Everyone. Two lasers. One of which missed. Remind me again what exactly these things are used to shoot?

Wait, no, that took down part of it, and then the rest is, surprise, hitting the soft rock on the outside.

THERE goes the shield.

Hang on a second, how long have those giant squid things been there?

And...what. The whale just approaches, nothing happens? You’ve got 12 fucking ships there, shoot the fucking thing.

Again, WHY IS NO ONE DOING ANYTHING?

Oh, it just beach-headed. Okay fine, whatever.

Im not really worried.

Lets see how RT makes this WORSE though...

And thats this weeks episode.

#rwby #rwby v8 #spoilers #rwby spoilers

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theonetheycallhannah · 5 years ago

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A Mage’s Blood

Summary: Anathema of Velena and Geralt of Rivia meet their match in the center of a city torn apart by a deadly threat.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 7k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, and violence. A bit of fluff No smut for now, but stay tuned. Also, warning that it’s stupid long AGAIN! Like why am I so inspired to write about these characters and this story when I can’t work on my own book?! Not fair!

Inspiration: See previous inspo note-nothing has changed!

Author’s Note: Gosh, this story has been so fun for me to write. I’ve loved playing with Geralt, even if some of this maybe isn’t strictly canon for him. I adore the new characters I’ve created, too, as short lived as some of them are. As far as the fight scene at the end, I didn’t go into a lot of detail, so if you have a clear idea of how the monsters in question would look fighting Geralt, I’d be open to a collaboration and a rewrite. For now, reader, please use your imagination. also, she’s not beta’d because, of my three friends who would beta my work, one is too busy, one doesn’t give a fuck about this fandom, and the other thinks I’m cheating on Richard Madden and refuses to contribute to this “dalliance” with Mr. Cavill. lol! so...i read it two or three times and i pray. lol!

Tags: @fcgrizi @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy@lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended!

There was cold light hitting the canvas overhead. It was just after dawn. Her internal clock could tell, too. Could feel it in the air pressure and in its chill. Last night the tent had taken on the orange hues of firelight. A passionate, warm light. This was so different. The scent of their union had faded with the starlight, but Anathema could still feel the burn of Geralt inside her. The abrasion of his whiskers where he'd made a meal of her body. All over, really. The evidence of him was everywhere. Everywhere but her bed. She rolled over to see him gone. She sunk deeper into the downy mattress and pillows. So much for the meaning of it all he'd touted before he'd ravaged her, she thought, suddenly bitter. Until she saw his belongings in the corner. She felt the space where he'd laid beside her all night. It was still very warm.

At that point, she heard a kettle whistle across the tent in the makeshift kitchen. She whipped her head around just as the flap in the tent fluttered open, admitting one witcher, holding a bristle brush in one hand, and a bundle of herbs in the other.

"Morning." he greeted, a warm, and very content smile on his face.

"Morning." she was shy, and somewhat awkward. She couldn't figure why. This man had lain her bare. What had she to be embarrassed about around him? She made herself continue with confidence, even if it was forced and sounded less than authentic. "Did you sleep well?"

"I, uh, suppose so, yes." she looked confused. "Witchers don't really sleep in the traditional sense that often. It hadn't been that long since I slept, so last night, I rested and recuperated my body by meditation. I mixed up a few potions, which always require some meditation to set. And just before dawn, I came out to feed and water the horses. I walked them around the water a bit so they could drink and get some of the tasty clover that tends to grow there. And I found some fool's parsley." He held up the bundle in his hand to show her." When we got back I put the kettle on for some tea and was brushing them when I heard it singing." He indicated the kettle with the brush in his dominant hand.

He was leaving something out. His space on the mattress wouldn't be so warm if he'd been gone that long.

"Your place in the bed is still warm, Geralt." she raised a brow at him.

"Ah," he said pouring the boiling water over the gauzy pouches in the cups he'd set out, "yes, well…I wanted to be next to you for a while before you woke. Your breathing when you sleep is a bit hypnotic. Did you know? You have a tendency to…moan." She blushed furiously. She hadn't really known, but had her suspicions something was…off about her…snore, as her mother called it. Her friends, such as she had, were never allowed to sleepover, nor was she allowed to visit them for such frivolity. She had thought at first her mother was just being cruel, because her sisters got to go to their friends homes all the time for overnight visits. But she sometimes awoke from light sleeps to a moaning sound that could only have been herself, as she was alone in her room. This made her think that perhaps her mother did her one small mercy in avoiding public scorn, no matter her motives, which were probably self-serving on some level.

"Oh, uh…I didn't think to warn you." She muttered apologetically. He sat his wares down and walked to her, knowing that she needed comfort, but confused as to why. He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, raking each knuckle along her petal-soft skin.

"You sound ashamed, Ana."

"I guess it's in my blood." she looked down. Laying into the feeling. He took her chin in his hand and wouldn't let her.

"No." he protested roughly. "It's in your past." He leveled his ember gaze at her, stealing her breath, but not for any salacious reasons. This was poignancy at its most rarefied from Geralt of Rivia. "Just because we bear the scars of our pasts doesn't mean we must also carry the weapons that cut them into our flesh." he wiped a tear from her cheek. "Once we stop carrying them, those scars they made can heal so much more easily. And they can't hurt us anymore." He smiled at her. "Mind you, I'm still working on this, and have yet to master it."

"It's still good advice. It's the right advice. And I needed to hear it." she pulled him close and leaned her head on his firm stomach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and cradled her head in his massive hand.

"I think we all do from time to time." he paused, she felt him take a few breaths in and out. "Whether we heed it or not. It's…filed away somewhere. And we can take it out and live by it when we're ready."

They stayed like that for some time. Their tea chilling on the table. Neither of them terribly interested any longer in anything but the warmth of the other. Eventually they broke apart realizing that they had a purpose here on the outskirts of this now obliterated kingdom. Deeply sighing, they looked at one another.

"I should dress." she heard his chest make a deep rumble in mild protest. "Come, now, we have a monster to find, Geralt. Trust me, though, the sentiment is shared and reciprocated." She stood up on the mattress so she was about a head above him, and kissed his forehead, then proceeded to hop down, nude as a bird, pretending that his eyes on her didn't make her want to haul the blankets over her head and walk around like a ghoul until she decided what she would wear today. But she refrained, allowing herself to be bare and to try to just be comfortable with it. He turned, reluctantly going back to the duty of preparing the horses to break camp.

She twisted her hair into it's standard coil high on her head after donning one of the new outfits Giltine had conjured up for her. She felt almost unstoppable in the two piece crimson number. The neck was wide, showing off her shoulders and neckline. The sleeves would have been generous even had they not been slit open on top and held together at the shoulders, elbows, and wrists by jeweled buttons to match and coordinate. Red, black, and brown gems sparkled in the small settings as she tested the flow of the majestic sleeves. It fastened fitted in a wrap around her midriff. The slacks were of the same fabric and color and could have passed for a skirt. They were high waisted, almost meeting the blouse, ankle length, and flowing like an evening gown as she walked. Knowing there was also an element of danger possible, Giltine had fashioned her a simple, but elegant leather jerkin to wear over her torso. It featured several long and wide strips of deep brown leather running from the top hem to the bottom and lacing at the side running through bronze grommets. The one embellishment he’d made was a small sunburst embroidered on her left hip. “Warriors always have their crests or symbols embroidered on their dominant sides. I thought I’d give you an edge and confuse them. Make anyone who might attack you go for your strong side.” He’d explained. She truly appreciated the thoughtful gesture. Overall, the body armor was ideal. It curved where she did, and didn't pinch or poke where it shouldn't. It wasn't meant to hold anything in. It was meant to keep things out.

She swathed on a touch of color to her face, minimal at best, tied up her weathered brown riding boots and went out to see how close to ready Geralt was.

He was brushing Clove now, Roach gleaming in the morning light with his own freshly brushed coat. Both horses were nibbling contently on the grass below them as Geralt explained about the different varieties of vampiric nemesis.

"While the fleders can stun ya good, alps and bruxae will downright get into your head before they drain you. They're just more powerful. And I…" he trailed off when his eyes met her, appraising the new look with clear, if subtle approval. Her arrival ceased his grooming motions, as well, which Clove vehemently protested in the form of a petulant whinny.

"I don't think she appreciated you stopping. And I'll have to admit, knowing the power of both your touch and your voice, I don't blame her in the least. By all means, continue your lecture…professor." she half teased, as she stepped up to her horse to scratch her chin as she liked. That calmed her down considerably.

"Ah," he replied, "I tend to…think out loud…around horses…and it sounds like…okay, I fucking talk to my horse."

"I'm the same. Clove here was an excellent listener on the ride from Aretuza. I'm sure she won't tell anyone my secrets." she smiled up into the mahogany orbs, patting the mare's cheek affectionately.

"So the horse knows you better than I?" Geralt raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in accusation.

"Now, Geralt, you mustn't be cross. We just met. I've been riding Clove for almost a week now."

"So how long will you have to ride me before I know all of your secrets?" he teased, she scoffed in shocked amusement.

"I have never!" she was speechless. Not expecting him to twist her words like that. "I…I need to finish breaking this campsite down. It's approaching mid morning. We have so much still to do!" she hurried about, blushing furiously, taking up the tent stakes and checking for lost or abandoned items. She heard Geralt laugh behind her. And shout "You look beautiful, by the way." to which she squinted back a very satisfied smile, and shouted at him "thank you," while her back was still to him. She also thought she heard him ask "Is she always like this?" and she was certain a very affirmative whinny came from Clove. Traitor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In less than a half an hour, they were saddled up and mounted with all of their supplies. Geralt had donned his sturdy and studded leather armor today. The sun caught the steel studs in the leather, as well as the silver wolf medallion on his neck. He had never taken it off, and her spell last night to doff his clothes hadn't affected it. It normally worked on jewelry.

"That medallion you wear?" she began. "What magic does it poses?" she asked as they road nearer the fallen city.

He worried it in his hand for a moment, then put it down, and tried his best to answer her.

"I can't really say. It was imbued by the magicians of Kaer Morhen. All I do is tune it to whatever frequency I want it to pick up for me. Magic or monster." He looked at her, his eyebrows raised to her look of dissatisfied confusion, but he did not go on. She continued her questions.

“So…it senses magic and monsters?”

“Yes, that’s why I was able to come to your aid last night, actually. As we were riding by your camp, I felt it start to…sort of shiver. It knew the drowners were close. When I looked around and saw you there ready to face them on your own, apparently with just your dagger…I couldn’t let you die. And at the time, I was sure that would be your fate.”

She relived the event, which she should have found terrifying, she guessed, but either she was too confident in her abilities, or her adrenaline had won out.

“Lucky for me you were riding by and had it tuned to monsters.” She smiled.

“I usually do unless I’m in a safe area and actively searching for something magical. And lucky for me you noticed I’d grabbed the wrong sword!” He grinned back at her.

They rode along through the streets of the deserted city for a while in amiable if not comfortable silence. But the question pressed against Anathema's mind, trying to escape like pressure in your ears on a deep dive into water.

"So, it's probably no business of mine, so you're not obligated to tell me, but I do have to ask…last night you mentioned having your reservations about mages and travelling companions. Why is that?"

"Hmm. You're correct. It is no business of yours." She felt a sting at his coarseness until he continued. "And while you're right, I'm not obligated to share that with you, there are a few reasons that I'm going to give you a little background."

"Are you going to tell me the reasons, or just, start with the exposition?" she teased. He shot her a playful scowl.

"I think the reasons will become apparent as I explain, but feel free to ask at the end."

"Proceed."

"I should probably start many years ago when I first met the mage in question. Her name may be familiar to you. Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"You…you know…Yennefer? THE Yennefer of Vengerberg? She's the most powerful sorceress to come from Aretuza since the Lady de Vries herself!" Ana was shocked. To her core.

"I know her. I know her well, Ana." he looked at her pointedly, implying the sort of carnal knowledge with which she was only recently familiar. Oh.

"I see." she nodded. Coolly, but silently simmering with questions and a sort of confusing jealousy that pulled her in many directions. He continued.

"So, I met Yen when my former travelling companion became cursed by a Djinn. I needed a mage's help to break the enchantment or he would die. It's a long story, but…the general point was that she wanted the djinn's power for herself, which would not have worked. Through the whole process, Yen and I became…sort of, bound by fate…destiny…some might say."

She tried to process the fact that he called her Yen. He had pet names for the woman she so idolized.

"Our paths crossed several times since then, lastly on a mission that Jaskier, my companion--and friend, although I've been reluctant to call him that because of how ill the term suits me--was very keen to take until he learned of her involvement, knowing the…effect she had on me." this piqued her curiosity, but she filed it away for later inquiry.

"The campaign went fairly well until its very end, when, through a string of unhappy circumstances, Yennefer found out that the reason for our constantly being thrown across one another's paths was something less than destiny, after all." he paused for effect, which worked, and then continued.

"Back when we'd first met, and she was trying to imprison the djinn within her, she had no idea that I was the one to whom the creature was bound to grant it's three requests. She'd thought it was Jaskier. I had too, until I found out the contrary, in rather spectacular fashion." he reminisced, another question she would queue for later. "So for my last wish, I asked for her life to be bound to mine. When she found out…she was…well, she was pissed. And she stormed off, assuring me that I'd lost her, as I was unwilling to do." he looked down to Roach's black mane and scratched it to soothe his huffing that had began. Horses were so perceptive to the moods of their riders.

"Her leaving had left me…particularly surly." she raised her eyebrows. Surly was his default, she had gathered already, so for him to be even more surly than his normal self was actually a bit frightening. "Jaskier had sensed I was…cross. And as a bard, talking about things helped him. Despite years of riding with me, he never quite managed to grasp that I was not built that way. I wanted to be left the fuck alone. And when he tried to engage with me, I snapped. I blamed him for all my misfortunes. When in fact, a great many of them, he tried to steer me away from. I fear I may have broken his heart."

There were a few moments of silence for Ana to process Geralt's confession and for Geralt to recover himself from finally talking about this difficult event which, she gathered he really hadn't relived much, save for discussing with Roach, perhaps.

"So that's why I've been reluctant recently to associate with mages or take another companion. And why one combined, you may be able to tell could be a very complex idea for me."

She nodded. Geralt was, perhaps in love, for lack of a better word, with Yennefer, and she had left him because of this…misunderstanding. Which, yes, she could see where she was justified, and where Geralt should have mentioned this fact as it affected both of them much sooner. Being in Yennefer's shoes, she may have done the same.

Regarding his companion and bard, Jaskier, who he clearly felt a kinship and affection for, and maybe even an actual love, she was heartbroken for him. Saying goodbye to Codrick had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. He was the only real family she'd ever had. And her feelings for him were so complex. But she was sure if she'd hurt him like Geralt had hurt Jaskier, she would feel a regret of similar intensity.

"What are you thinking, little mage?" he coaxed after several moments of only muddy clops, skittering rodents, and shrieking crows.

"I was thinking about how I'd feel in your situation." she answered truthfully and thoughtfully. "I've mentioned my friend Codrick before, I know, and I think I had similar feelings for him as you had for both Jaskier and Yennefer. He was my closest confidant and he cared more for me than anyone else, including my family. And…for lack of a better way to describe it, I was in love with him. Or I felt like I was. It would never have worked. He was promised to Claretta, the fishmonger's daughter. Even though she could never give him what I could. Or that's what I told myself. I utterly worshipped him. I couldn't have had my fill of him had I spent my every waking hour with him. He was just so pleasant and kind. Easy. And just the man I thought I wanted. But my father wasn't interested in arranging a marriage for the family rat, anymore than Codrick's father saw me as a proper match for his future blacksmith son."

She let that sink in. The idea that she was the only one who could have pictured a future for her and Codrick and let the grief pass. Let something die that had never lived. And moved on.

"Had I lost him in the way that you lost either Yen or Jaskier, Geralt…well, I'd probably be about ready to give up on the idea of love and friendship, myself. Hell, even now, I'm aching just remembering the last time I saw Codrick, and thinking about how long it may be before I see him again. It may be forever. In all probability, it will be. But at least I don't have your regret. I said all I needed to say to him. I told him how I felt, even though it didn't change anything about our futures. I would have regretted those unspoken words."

"Well, aren't you a comfort. You're really making me glad I agreed to this partnership." he bit at her with sarcastic cheer in his gruff voice.

"Oh, Geralt, don't take it like that. I didn't mean--"

"Shh." he held up a hand to stop her talking.

"Don't think you'll get the last word just because--"

"Shhhhh!" he repeated more vehemently and drew his silver sword. "Silver." he whispered, and she drew her silver dagger from it's scabbard at her hip and her steel sword still coated in silver oil. The horses then began sensing something in the air. Something sinister. They began to buck and whinny, especially Clove, who was not used to monsters like Roach was.

"I think we should go on foot a while. Roach will always find me, so there's no need to tie him up. What about Clove?" Geralt rasped.

"Got it covered." Ana whispered before muttering an unintelligible incantation with a hand outstretched toward each of their mounts. They took their leave of them with loving pats, and looked after them fondly for a moment.

"What did you do?" Geralt asked, curious.

"Quick protection spell for them both. And I bound them to one another. So when Roach comes back to you, Clove will come back to me." She worried telling him might bring up his past with Yennefer again, but…he asked. He grunted. But thanked her.

"Don't worry. I'm not judging you at all for the way you behaved to…the people you…lost." she tried to comfort. He was not interested at the moment.

"Just now, I'm a bit more concerned about us getting drained by a Bruxa. Maybe we can continue that discussion later, Ana." he growled at her. They drew closer to one another and advanced in a natural tandem maneuver toward the city's center. Geralt watched where they were going, Ana where they had been, and they each took in as much of their periphery as they could. Birds took flight from long-held nests and rodents retreated to safer dens as the witcher and the mage slowly worked their way inward. To the danger. And Ana hoped not to their death.

A blood curdling scream came from one of the hovels just outside the palace walls. Ana turned to look at Geralt who paused to smell the air, grasped his medallion to check for monsters, and raced off toward the obvious peril. Great. Now she had to, as well. She wondered if being on journeys with Geralt meant running toward danger more often than not and if perhaps Yennefer and Jaskier weren't a tad better off outside his company.

But then she found him in the small shack. One pitiful room that was all things to a family of gods knew how many. Now held one small, filthy little girl, who couldn't have been aged more than eight. The hovel was covered in the evidence of a bloody attack, but no corpses. This little child was all that was left. And she looked like she'd just awoken from the grandfather of all nightmares. Her eyes were wider than coins, and dark with fear, pupils dominating the hazel irises ringing them. Eyes bloodshot. The poor thing had scarcely slept, probably in days. Geralt held her to his chest, kneeling to her height to do so. Her hair was dark, by the look, although it had clearly been a very long time since her last bath, if she'd ever even had a proper one in such a place.

Geralt shushed and soothed her. Petting her filthy hair and holding her tight, as if she were his own, which she knew to be impossible.

"There there, shhh. It's alright, girl. Everything is going to be alright. You're safe with us. Don't cry. I've got you. Hush now, child. Sh-sh-sh." perhaps the skill with horses had transferred to children. Perhaps witchers learned this sort of thing in their training. She just knew she did not. But he was terribly good at it.

"There, now, that's better, isn't it?" she nodded, still whimpering a bit. "What's your name, child?" he asked, kindly. More kindly than Ana had ever heard anyone ask anything. Let alone Geralt speak, save for some choice moments last night…

"Geeta." she said, shyly.

"Geeta. What a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty girl." he smiled and pinched her chin. She blushed furiously. "Tell me Geeta, do you know anything about what happened in the town? Why isn't there anyone here?"

"They…the women…came!" terror flooded Geeta's big eyes along with the fearful tears of the haunted.

"What women, Geeta?" he asked her, a knowing concern in his deep voice. They both knew. But still hoped they were wrong.

"They came, in the night, they didn't have clothes, their eyes were red, and their hair was dark…and…the singing!" she bellowed in tears, reliving the night that the Bruxae laid waste to her city.

"There, there, child. They're gone now. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you now." Geralt soothed her. "Where did you see them, child?"

"First, out there," she pointed out the window. "Then…" she looked tearfully around the room at the walls, which were spattered with something that, although now was brown, had once been deep red. Her family, however many of them there had been, had met their doom right here and she had somehow survived. What a strong little thing she was.

"Oh, little one." Geralt cradled the girl against him as if he was the one who needed comfort, and not she. Ana had given up holding back her own tears and let them fall freely down her lovely face. What would become of this poor waif, orphaned by monsters, her entire community wiped out by a blood-thirsty coven of Bruxae, and rescued by two of the least equipped and prepared people possible to care for her. Well, she shouldn't speak for Geralt. He was clearly killing the parenting thing. Regardless, if she came with them, she would be in perpetual danger. But then again, she'd come away from her last encounter with the she-beasts physically unscathed. Geeta may fit in swimmingly with the emotionally unstable duo.

Geralt looked up, hearing something with his mutant ears that the other two could not. Both of the females could, however, pick up on his spike in adrenaline and blood pressure at the sound, and his complete change in demeanor.

He held Geeta firmly by her shoulders and commanded her fullest attention.

"Now, Geeta, I need you to tell me, how have you kept yourself hidden from the monsters since…since that night? Is there somewhere safe in here?"

She pointed to the corner of the kitchen area where there was a cupboard, small, but well large enough for a seven-year-old child. And it soon became evident why she'd been safe there. A silver tray hung decoratively on the outside, apparently a family heirloom and not used daily.

"That's very good, sweetheart. Now, this is my friend Ana. And she and I are going to be out here practicing some fighting so we're good and ready for when we need to fight the monsters. It's very important so that we don't hit you by accident that you stay in there no matter what you hear. Don't come out until one us comes to get you. Do you understand?" she nodded. "Tell me what you're going to do for me."

"I'm going to stay in my cupboard while you and Ana practice fight, and I won't come out no matter what until you get me.

"There's a good girl. Now, get in there, and shut the door, nice and tight. And try to be quiet too, so you don't distract us. And here, I bet you're hungry." He winked at her, handing her an apple, a loaf of bread, and a small wedge of cheese he'd had in his satchel. Such a sweet moment when something so scary was afoot.

Once the child was safe and secure, the adults could properly panic.

"Geralt…what the fuck…are we going to do? How are we supposed to fight off a whole coven of Bruxae?! I've never even seen ONE!"

"I know," he said, grumbling in agitated fear, but holding on, she thought, for her, perhaps. "Bruxae are very rare, which, we should see as a mercy, but also, we are never as prepared for them as we could be if they were as common as bloedzuigers."

“So how do we do this?” Ana asked, stifling her own fear and apprehension about this battle.

“Well, we have a couple of options. We could leave. I can have Roach and Clove here in five minutes, we could abandon this quest, which almost seems doomed from the outset, forget the reasons we came here and just live for…” there was a pregnant pause where he said so much while saying absolutely nothing . “For the moment, I guess.” And she was ready to hear “themselves” or “each other.” But he couldn’t say it, apparently.

“And our other options?”

“You could take Geeta and run."

"Huh…I know we've only known each other a short time, Geralt, but I didn't have you pegged as a jester." Ana replied to his suggestion, entirely non-plussed and unamused.

"I'm not joking, Anathema. You two have a shot now while the Bruxae are far enough away that you can't hear them, but once you can, it will be unlike anything you have encountered before. It will hurt, physically and emotionally."

"It's not happening; I'm not leaving you to tend with gods know how many Bruxae on your own! You'd never survive, Geralt! THAT is what would hurt me physically and emotionally!"

"And if you're hurt during the fight?" he countered. "What of me? Hmm?" he stood there, panting at her in a panicked rage, eyes wide, nostrils flared. "If I get you killed--"

"Stop right there. You are not responsible for me. I insisted on being here in the first place, and it is by my own agency and accord I remain. If I die, you are to feel no guilt or responsibility. Understand?"

"Hmph." he assented, back to non-verbal replies. At least it was something. "I still don't have a plan of attack."

"Well, I may have some thoughts on that. I don't think we SHOULD attack them."

~~~~~~~~~

Ana had been marginally familiar with Bruxae prior to today, but had never encountered one. In theory, though, she knew their weaknesses from a mage's standpoint and what she could do to give Geralt an advantage. Geralt had a few signs in his arsenal that would be effective on them, as well as his silver sword. He didn't have time to mix any extra potions, but he had a small vial of Black Blood, which would make him toxic to any Bruxa who bit him, and a few extra vials of Kiss, Swallow, Tawny Owl, and some others. She knew a detoxifying spell that would help him recover from taking extra potions, and as an extra precaution, although it wouldn't be as effective as pure silver, he used some of her silver oil on his steel sword. He would be able to fight with both hands, at least for a while, this way, and do more damage. She re-oiled her steel sword, and had her silver dagger at the ready. She also rubbed a bit of the oil around the door handles and window latches and frames, in case they tried the house, where she would be providing ranged support under cover. She'd fortified the hovel with her enchantments, just as she had the campsite and tent the previous evening, as well as a few extras that she hadn't thought of then that might help today.

She could hear them now, faint and distant, but still began to feel a twist in the pit of her stomach. She also wanted to cry, but she didn't know why.

"They're getting closer. Here. This will help." he pulled out a large bundle of cotton tinder from his satchel, tore it in half, and gave it to her. "Roll a bit up and pack it into your ears. It won't get rid of the symptoms entirely, but if you keep your mind on something that makes you happy, the pain shouldn't steal your focus from the fighting." she looked at him, smirking.

"What?" he asked, the shadow of what could have been a darling grin if it just tried a bit harder passed his face.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just…wondering what makes a witcher happy enough to drown out the song of the Bruxa?" she smirked at him as he ran a whetstone over his silver sword.

"Oh, plenty, little mage." he allowed himself to show the faintest smile as he sharpened his blade with that satisfying sllllllank. "We witchers live for bloodshed, you know. Once the fighting starts, I may not even need this cotton. I'll be in such a splendid mood, I'll be able to take the Bruxa song undiluted." He had found his sense of humour. Thank the gods.

"What about you? Thinking about stealing your blacksmith away from his fishmonger's daughter, little mage? Is that going to be your happy place?" he asked, checking the blade he'd just sharpened, finding it satisfactory, and asking wordlessly for Ana's silver dagger to do next.

She let out a huge sigh indicating her thoughtfulness on the matter as she handed him her weapon. If you'd asked her the same question last week, she would have said yes in a heartbeat. But now…after last night…even though it was foolish, perhaps, her happy place was sitting across from her in the desecrated hovel sharpening her dagger for battle. She didn't even have the heart to tell him that she could do it with magic so much more quickly. But he'd kind of stolen her heart, this big, grumpy oaf with a heart of gold.

"Well, Ana? Are you going to ride back into Velena, turn your rival into a trout and take that boy for your own, or aren't you?"

"Hahaha, well, it's most tempting, and if we make it out of this alive, I'll call it an option. But, umm, no, I don't think that's my happy place." she looked at him, squaring off with his gaze, unable to look away, but unable to speak her truth now. It would hold too much weight now, with a battle so near with such an uncertain outcome, that speaking her peace seemed…both overly sentimental and a bad omen.

Speaking of bad omens, the Bruxae were getting closer, their sickening song getting louder.

"I'm going to get into position. Are you ready?" they both stood, nerves causing them both as much unease as the Bruxa song, and for which no amount of cotton would ever help.

"I'm ready." she responded. Ready for it to be over, she thought.

"Good. One more thing." he added. He stood before her and pulled her to him in the most warm and filling hug he could have managed, armor or not, and then kissed her so deeply, thoroughly, and lovingly that she saw stars.

"Remember, don't give yourself away too early. Try to pick off the outliers and portal them away so the body count doesn't draw attention. And be safe."

"Don't forget to give the signal when you need me to detox you. And don't be a hero and wait until you're on the verge. Let's keep your toxicity low and manageable. I'd rather cast my spell a dozen times when you're more or less okay than have to worry about you passing out because you've only asked me twice. And you be safe, too."

“Be safe” seemed to translate into something more meaningful. He picked up his swords and headed out the door.

She held it together well as he left her. Fought back the tears with a valiant effort until she turned to the small crate on which he’d lain her dagger…and his wolf medallion. How did she miss him taking it off? She’d hardly had her eyes off him the whole time they were strategizing. Her eyes filled with tears now. She picked up a small note that was tucked under the hilt of the dagger. It read:

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m going to want this back after the fight. -G”

As messy as the scrawl was, the G was rather elegant and ornate, by comparison. She pressed the note to her lips and tucked it into her jerkin, near her heart. She slipped the medallion over her neck and chuckled. The wolf, which normally rested high between Geralt’s meaty pecs, now hung halfway to her belly button. He was so thick and broad. She'd barely noticed last night. There was hardly time. She regretted it now, not memorizing everything about him. The very shape of him. Every curve and ripple. Every plane and divot. If they got out of here, she'd be sure to do that. They'd make love at least once more before they parted ways and she'd see to it to document every perfect inch of him.

She was stunned out of her reverie by a shiver emanating from Geralt's medallion. The Bruxae were getting closer, but weren't singing. At least not loudly. She felt bad for wearing the medallion, which she felt was one of Geralt's best advantages over them. It helped maintain the element of surprise. But he must have had his reasons. Maybe he thought she needed the silver more than he did. It hardly mattered now, as the decision was long made and unchangeable.

He stood in the middle of the city street, eyes closed, listening, breathing in the crisp chill of the dusk. A Bruxa could function in the light of day, but they preferred the night. They were stronger outside the reach of the sun. Geralt thrust his steel sword into the dirt in front of him, downed the vial of Black Blood potion, and took a knee, casting Quen around him to protect himself from their imminent descent. He held his silver sword in line with his spine, hoping to deflect a few of the more timid creatures and make them easier for Ana to pick off. As they entered the street from above, floating in as if they were spores on a breeze, they began to test the shield around Geralt. It was the gold of pure sunlight, but didn't seem to cause them discomfort. Only curiosity. There came about 14 in total, Ana counted.

Their skin was almost like looking straight at the moon and each had hair so black, it was barely visible against the night sky. Their eyes were like rubies, and blood red, as were the tips of their fingers, if that’s what they could be called. It was as though talons, sharp and pointed as knitting needles grew from their hands. As Geeta had reported, they were completely nude, and had they not been so terrifying, Ana thought they may have been beautiful. Perhaps they were, once.

She started to portal them out of the hot zone as Geralt's shield weakened, and to the rooftops across the street…the top halves to one building, and the bottom halves to another. She'd been able to take out no less than five when the dwindling numbers were noticed by the others. They began to shriek in earnest and the Quen shield began to flicker, giving out under Geralt's new stress from the song, only partially blocked by the cotton tinder he'd packed into his ears.

He spun into motion now, drawing the steel from the ground and thrashing with both swords at the she-beasts as they advanced on him. He caught limbs on some, and drew blood on others, but it was not enough to take them down. He took a moment to cast Quen again so that he could safely take some more potions. Ana would later deduce that he took Kiss to rejuvenate him and Blizzard to increase his reaction time. He also signaled Ana to hit him with her detox spell. A good plan, and almost too late, three potions in. She'd have to watch him more closely if he was going to hold out like that.

Ana continued to pick off the Bruxa outliers, as Geralt cut down the ones that he could until they were down to just two.

They were clearly the strongest ones and Ana couldn't get to them before one was sinking her teeth into Geralt's neck. Ana felt her stomach drop. She didn't want the Black Blood to come into play…even if it would be effective. She heard him mutter a "fuck" as he struggled to staunched the bleeding wound. The dying Bruxa had also dropped him on his ample arse as she was gasping for breath through inky, sputtering lips. She had gotten a heroic measure of Geralt's tainted lifeforce, and was now paying the price. Ana smirked. Served the monster right, she thought. Until she heard the most chilling cry of all.

"SISTEEEEEEEEEEEER!" The last surviving Bruxa rushed to the one clinging for life in the dirty streets of the city they had eviscerated, red tears streaming from red eyes down a chalk pale face. "Shay! Shay, my sister! Do not leave me!" Ana almost felt pity. She'd had sisters, after all. And she loved them. As they did her, in their way.

"Meena…Meena, I'm cold." Shay, the dying Bruxa uttered and breathed her last.

"You MONSTER!" Meena, the last Bruxa of the coven spat at Geralt.

"You're one to talk." he chided her, having none of it.

"All we desired was the girl. But we couldn't find her. She hid from us. She hides still. Her blood is the cure."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Geralt was confused. Good. Ana was certainly confused, as well.

"We were cursed and a Mage's blood is the only cure. The little girl who lives in this hovel was the only conduit for leagues that my sisters and I could find. We needed her blood. But these…humans…wouldn't give her up."

Ana was piecing it all together now. That silver platter was no accident. Geeta was like her, and her parents were protecting her…in a cupboard…the irony was so rich, Ana could scarcely process it. And now, this Bruxa wanted to drink her blood to…what, become normal again? Would any mage's blood do? She was guessing. Ana was about to do something very heroic…or very stupid…the two, she knew, were often only distinguished by purpose and outcome.

"What about me?" Ana asked as she stepped out into the street from the small home.

"Ana! NO!" Geralt shouted at her.

Meena hissed in Ana's direction, startled by the appearance of a new adversary. "Who are you?"

"I'm Anathema of Velena. I'm a mage. And much better equipped to sustain a bite than the poor little girl you've been hunting." she stood her ground with a proud strength, unafraid of the demoness before her.

"I don't see why it would hurt to try." Meena laughed cruelly in her throat and darted toward her.

The rest, was a very dark, cold, and rather bumpy blur.

Parts 2 and 3 coming soon!

#netflix the witcher #the witcher #fanfic #henry cavill fanfic #geralt fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia #henry cavill

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turquoisephoenix · 5 years ago

Text

Perfect Chemistry

A Skylanders one shot

Dr. Krankcase/Mags. All it takes is a slip of a tongue and before you know it you're accidentally admitting that you have romantic feelings for your best friend from Inventor's School.

The sun was already setting in the cloud-filled horizon of Skylands, distant clouds on the western horizon glowing like fresh coals in a burning furnace.

Just this morning, Skylanders Academy - beacon of hope, symbol of virtue and peace in a turbulent magical world littered with monsters and villains - held a giant celebration to welcome four new Skylanders into the fold. While it was common for someone courageous enough to be made a Skylander (Master Eon was never considered very picky about who he granted the title, provided the recipient had proven themselves worthy of the title) was what made this day special was that it heralded the end of an evil chapter. The end of a nightmarish era.

Four of The Doom Raiders have given up crime.

After several years performing community service and training under the watchful eye of Master Eon and his most loyal followers, Wolfgang, The Golden Queen, the Chompy Mage, and Dr. Krankcase were now all considered fit to rejoin society and were all awarded new jobs as both Skylanders and teachers at the Academy. The Doom Raiders as a villainous organization had now ceased to be.

Some of the members of the Academy wished that it was all of the awful criminals - Chef Pepper Jack, Dreamcatcher, and The Gulper were all considered to be at large and major threats to the peace that the Skylanders upheld - but this was still considered a major victory to celebrate. It proved that evil could change, even if it took several years of sorting through books at a library to do so.

And with their newly awarded freedom - and their declaration that they would never use their powers for evil ever again unless they want a life sentence in Cloudcracker Prison - the Academy threw a party in their honor.

And boy, what a party it was. Even as the sun was setting and the hours were winding on, the party showed no signs of slowing down and looked to be rising to a fever pitch, with everybody in the Academy taking advantage of the excuse to eat as much food as they could, dance until their feet felt ready to fall off, and talk to the new members of the Academy staff while under the influence of caffeine and various snack products. The enchilada sauce flowed freely, as did the music from several local bands. The kitchen fires burned around the clock just to supply enough refreshments to everyone who showed up.

One ex-Doom Raider, however, wanted a break from the celebrations. Dr. Krankcase, tray of party favors still in one hand, kept glancing out the window and at the setting sun as if searching for an exit. That isn't to say he had fun today, of course not, but while his former partners in crime were still taking the center stage, either through queenly proclamations that they declare their powers to be a rightful force that will make all the bad guys tremble or through unprompted guitar solos that shook the dust off of the Academy's foundations, Dr. Krankcase was now just hanging back near the back of the party with Mags and her friends. Mags was the only non-Doom Raider he knew at the party, after all.

Mags had noticed that Dr. Krankcase was giving subtle hints that he no longer wanted to be there anymore, even if he refused to say so out loud. She had known him for so long that she was able to pick up on the tiny cues that he gave when it was obvious that he was no longer having fun at a social gathering, especially one that was filled with questions from future coworkers. His jokes became just a little more forced, his body language became tight and more hesitant, his eyes kept searching for possible escape routes, and his smile had turned from something bright and cheerful to something that had the grimace of a caged animal.

He seemed too afraid to leave on his own, possibly in fear that someone would somehow find it suspicious and immediately take away his recent accolades and throw him back in Cloudcracker Prison (anxiety was funny like that) so when Mags suggested they head over to her workshop, he practically jumped at the opportunity.

That's what friends were for, right?

"Man, thanks for saving me back there, Mags. I'm not used to so much festivity and merriment thrown in my direction." Dr. Krankcase said as he entered Mags' workshop, breathing a sigh of relief as his legs clicked noisily across the floor.

When the ex-Doom Raider had last visited her workplace, there was so much stuff on the floor - wrenches, half-finished blueprints, cans of oil, that sort of thing - that he had such a hard time getting around and instead stood awkwardly in a corner. Now, there was a clear path cutting through the place, the organized chaos instead being pushed off to the sides where they couldn't get caught on his spider legs. He appreciated the gesture. With how well his cybernetic wooden legs worked, a lot of people forgot that they were still considered mobility aids and that he couldn't stand in places that people with two legs could.

"Aww, it's no big deal!" she said, hanging her silly stovepipe hat on a stand near the door. "Although personally I think ya were doing a great job with all them questions and-" Mags stopped herself the moment she saw her partner follow her lead and also remove his hat. "...Cranberry, are you wearing a toupee?"

The mad scientist looked up, radiating a similar aura of a dog caught with a stolen bagel in its mouth, and smiled sheepishly. There was an unfortunate blue hairpiece perched on her froggy companion, several shades darker than the actual hair sticking out on the sides of his head. His face began to turn pink as he looked away from her.

"Well...you know, I wanted to be prepared in case some accident knocked my hat off during the party! You know how it goes. I didn't want my new coworkers to see my massive bald spot, and...well..."

He trailed off, realized how lame he sounded, and ripped the hair piece from his head as he immediately gave up. His massive bald spot, normally hidden by one of his many tall hats of choice, now glistened in the workshop's lighting.

"So yes, yes, I'm wearing a very bad toupee," he held it away from him between two pinched fingers in disgust. "A very damp one at that!"

Mags put a hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle as he unceremoniously chucked the hell toupee in a wastebin. "Ya wanna relax while I get yer gift ready? It'll take a couple minutes to get it set up and ya look like death there, buddy."

Thankful for the invitation, Krankcase flopped on a dusty old couch that Mags kept in her workplace, his legs curled up like a dead spider as some of the legs pierced the worn out arm rest. His modified body shape was good for standing but not so much for more leisurely poses; couches were now the preferred method of relaxation over a chair. He stretched, his back and neck audibly cracking, as a lazy smile spread on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice, Mags."

He listened to her leave into the next room and allowed himself to gaze around the area. He loved that Mags' workshop was like an extension of herself. Most of the space in her workshop was dedicated to her profession, with wrenches and blowtorches and screwdrivers hanging on the walls, but on occasion he'd spot something like a kitten poster or a little ceramic puppy hanging out alongside cans of oil or belt sanders.

There were almost no hints that Mags had originated from the Underlands - a place where vampires, werewolves, and zombies lurked in dusty ol' crypts and mansions - except for one aging photograph that showed her standing next to her parents and five other siblings. Even in the photograph, her parents looked like they were glaring in disapproval at the legless amphibian laying on their daughter's sofa.

But then, as he was left to his thoughts and as he studied Mags' knickknacks and workshop decorations, the butterflies in his stomach returned anew, this time bringing forth the bubbling feelings he kept suppressed. His smile slowly morphed into an uneasy frown as he began to fiddle with one of his bottom tusks. Ah yes, that was a problem. He wasn't sure what caused it - what made his brain flip the switch and change his thoughts into something more potent - but lately he's been having feelings for his best friend. Somehow it almost felt criminal.

'No, don't make it awkward...' he told himself, dragging a hand across his face. He couldn't say it out loud, but he loved Mags. He loved everything about her, her bubbly, positive personality, her immense knowledge in everything science. He loved her accent, the way she would crack a silly joke even in the face of danger. He loved how excited and loud she would get when she was getting close to a breakthrough in an experiment. He loved the way she smiled, the way she still was friends with him even after all the awful, evil things he's done in the past. He even loved her stupid hat, even if he thought his taste in headwear was far superior.

And he was absolutely afraid of ruining all that by saying the wrong thing. What if his tongue betrayed him in the worst possible moment and he said what he was really thinking? Would she hate him? Would he lose his best friend over some stupid emotions?

"Here it is!" Mags cried suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. Almost guiltily, Dr. Krankcase scrambled to his feet.

Nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

"Mags..."

Standing before him, next to a very excited Mags, was an exact double of the wooden legs that were holding him upright. He slowly walked over to it, his arm outstretched like a sleepwalker, until his fingers grazed the top of it. It was made from the same wood and everything, and all the bolts and joints were at the exact same size. She got the measurements down exactly, when he didn't even build a working blueprint for his wooden spider legs.

"You...you built a replica of my legs?" he asked, leaning forward to examine it even more closely. He lifted a leg up and started testing the joints, then he moved one of his own legs next to Mags' gift and eyeballed the two inventions together, admiring Mags' handicraft. There was absolutely no difference, beyond the fact that only one pair of legs had a Dr. Krankcase sitting in them. It was unbelievable.

"They're not functional, before ya ask. You're still the only one who can bring this type of wood to life. But this has been a little pet project o' mine that I've been fiddling with over the months. I'm slowly learning how yer legs work so that, if something...you know...were to happen while you're out on a mission doing heroic, dangerous things, I could help repair them. It just seems like something to ease your mind just in case something terrible happened."

Krankcase was speechless. After spending an entire day keeping up appearances and trying to play it cool, he lost his composure.

"Mags..." he paused to take a deep breath. Words were suddenly catching in his chest. He ran a hand down his face as tears caught in his eyes. "No one's ever offered to help me like this before."

Mags elbowed him playfully, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aww, it's such a small gesture for the man I love."

Time seemed to stop for both of them. It was the tiniest slip of the tongue - something that Dr. Krankcase thought he misheard - but, like the wrong ingredient thrown into an alchemist's pot, there was an immediate explosive response and suddenly everything in the recipe changed.

"I MEAN-" Mags began, her face instantly turning beet red. She began to gesture wildly with her hands, emotions suddenly flaring up. "Aw shoot, I meant that in a platonic way! I didn't mean it like as in LOVE love, that would be real awkward ta just spring that on ya just now, aw diddly-di-darn, I mean, some things just slip out, boy howdy, I've been working so late and I'm tired andand-"

"Mags! It's okay!" he shouted. Inwardly, as he watched her fidget nervously, he noticed that Mags' accent got even thicker when she was flustered. It was adorable to him, one of the many quirks that made her beautiful in his eyes, and something about it made the ex-Doom Raider feel bold.

He was a Skylander now, after all. Skylanders were supposed to be flexible and adapt to any situation.

"To be quite honest, I love you too."

It was a shot in the dark, one that made his mind scream out in anguish for letting such an important secret out, but it had the perfect effect. Mags didn't tell him that their friendship was now over, she didn't react in disgust at such a display of utter pigheadedness from some frog with a doctorate degree. Instead she froze in place and stared at him blankly like a newborn fawn.

"Wait, you...you do?"

He nodded.

"...Really?"

Her voice sounded so small, so fragile, so unlike the Mags he's known for so long. That's when it hit him. Gears spinning in his head, his eyes fell back on the replica of his own mechanical legs, the result of months of studying his own handiwork just so he would never have to worry about an injury making him unable to repair his legs himself. He wasn't the only one hiding secret affections for a best friend, too afraid to speak up in fear that it'd just alienate the other person and their long-term friendship would be ruined forever.

Dr. Krankcase and Mags were the two smartest scientists in all of Skylands, capable of bending the very fabric of reality with their inventions, and yet both of them were unable to see what was developing between them.

Without thinking, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed her close, burying his face in her bright purple hair. He felt her flinch, but then her hesitation vanished and she relaxed in his embrace and put her arms around his waist.

"Really." He replied back, trying to imitate the dashing hero in a romance novel. His attempt at being suave failed instantly however as his bottled-up emotions overwhelmed him. His voice ended up trembling and the tears he was holding back began to fall on her head. A weak sob escaped his lips and his body shook. He wasn't sure if this was real or not.

"I just didn't think..." he paused as words were getting harder to use. "-you'd want someone like me."

Mags didn't respond as she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat flutter anxiously. She didn't have to ask what he meant. She had frequently checked up on him while he was doing community service and on occasion he'd tell her that he was afraid that them continuing to be friends would tarnish her reputation. After all, she was a hero of Skylands while he was a disgraced criminal. She helped people, he hurt people. She saved the world from destruction, and he once built a doomsday device. Their friendship persisted, but lately, he was voicing his doubts more and more.

'Because he was falling in love with me,' she realized as she remained pressed up against him, breathing in the wood chip and hint of acid smell that lingered on his clothes. Dr. Krankcase's hug lingered; he was so touch-starved that he was almost afraid of letting go, in fear that this golden opportunity would slip through his fingers.

He was always like that, she mused to herself. Doubting himself and his ability to live up to her achievements despite looking outwardly prideful. Even when they were alumni at the most prestigious inventor's school, Krankcase was afraid that becoming friends with her would reflect badly on Magdalena Sibylla-Bronwen Soulstealer the II, daughter of one of the most famous vampires in the Underlands.

"Of course I want to be with you. I'd be fine living the rest of my life with you if I had to." she said softly, arms still around his waist.

She loved Dr. Krankcase, she could finally admit that to herself. She loved everything he was, every little piece of his maniacal personality, his talents and strengths as well as his flaws. She didn't mind at all that he had creepy spider legs. He was a cunning scientist just like her, a man of alchemy and engineering, and also a fearsome warrior. She almost felt a little guilty for admitting this, but she even loved his time as a villain, if only because it made his current achievements that much richer. He was once evil, but he also had the strength to realize what he did was wrong and pull himself out of his wicked mindset.

At those words, Krankcase's mind started to ponder the possibility of spending the rest of his life with her - would they get married? would they have kids? - and something about it activated his deep-seeded anxiety and his body went into fight-or-flight mode. He instantly pulled away from her, an action so swift that Mags nearly fell over, as he tried to slowly walk backwards out the front door. Everything was happening too fast.

"You know, Mags. I should...I should get going." he said, panic flooding his voice. "T-Thank you for the present, it was...I'll be real, it was the best thing I've ever received in my life-BUT I think I've stayed too long, I'm kinda making things awkward right now, I don't want anyone in the Academy to get any ideas and start talking-"

Mags approached him swiftly, her hands gently resting on his shoulders, stopping him from running away. They made eye contact and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke as they both gazed into each other eyes. Without realizing what he was doing, Krankcase leaned forward until both of them felt each other's breath on their face. Two of his spider legs adjusted themselves so that they were on opposite sides of her own, gently framing her with his own cybernetics.

Mags drew herself to her full height. Now it was her turn to be bold.

"Let them talk."

And with those words, she pulled his face towards her's, fingers caught in his fluffy blue hair, and gave him a kiss. It was clumsy, a sloppy first attempt from a scientist so inexperienced in romance that most of her experience - save for the time when she dated Cali for a brief couple of months - came from TV shows and crinkled paperbacks.

But like most of her science experiments, it had the desired result. He leaned into her kiss and they both melted into each other, savoring the moment. Dr. Krankcase put a hand behind her head, running his fingers in her purple hair. When they finally pulled away, both of them needed some time to catch their breath.

"Wow..." was his only reply. It snapped him back to his senses; the panic was gone and he was back to his charming self.

Then, his mouth curled into a wide grin, his bottom tusks framing his lovely set of fangs.

"Well? Did it work? Did I turn into a prince?"

It was a dumb joke, but it also broke all of the tension that was hanging in the room. Mags immediately started cackling like a hyena like it was the funniest joke she's heard in her life, leaning her head against Krankcase's chest as he too started laughing.

"Sorry! Sorry! It was the perfect moment-" he tried to explain, but he was cut off when Mags jokingly punched him in the arm.

"You're such a dork!" Mags shot back.

Krankcase quietly embraced her again, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Even without his face visible, Mags could feel the grin that was spreading across his face. She smiled back. To both scientists, everything outside of the workshop was now forgotten. The party was forgotten. All fears of gossip were forgotten. All that existed now was their beautiful romance blossoming between the two of them like the most wonderful result of an experiment.

"Yes but I'm your dork."

#skylanders #dr. krankcase #dr krankcase #mags #Mags (SKL)#krankcase #turquoisephoenix tells a story #fanfic #shipping #romance #the two dorks finally admit their feelings

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frangipanilove · 6 years ago

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THE PHILADELPHIA ANGLE (or Noah’s t-shirt theory part 2)

AMC recently posted a teaser to the Rick Grimes movies, where we see a helicopter fly towards a city skyline. It was eventually revealed that the city in question is Philadelphia, indicating that Philly will play a significant part in the films. Of course, we still know almost nothing about this project, but for now I’m gonna assume that Philadelphia will at least make an appearance in the films.

To me, the new teaser and the Philadelphia connection was extremely interesting, because I’ve been spending some time analyzing a scene that incidentally is the only time in the history of the show (that I can remember) that there has been a Philadelphia reference.

The scene in question is the one from 2x8 “Nebraska” where Hershel has started drinking again and disappears from the farm. Glenn and Rick go after him to try to get him to come back with them. They find him in his favorite bar, and while they’re in there trying to convince him to come back with them, two strangers enter the bar. It is revealed that they have traveled from Philadelphia. A fight breaks out, and the two strangers are eventually killed.

I have been working with that scene for a while, because it contains some really interesting symbolism that I’ve previously discussed here:

https://frangipanilove.tumblr.com/post/183736635005/sirius-and-the-north-star-or-pigs-feet-and-frosty

Although I’ve spent a lot of time analyzing the symbolism in the bar scene from “Nebraska”, I’ve been unsure on how it fits into the larger picture, and also on how it is relevant from a TD perspective. I know the scene is significant, but what does it tell us? How is it relevant to Beth?

The newly released teaser for the films offers a new piece of the puzzle, and I’ll try to explain how below.

A few weeks ago I posted my theory on Noah's t-shirt, where I explain my thought process on how Noah's t-shirt ultimately points to episode 10x2 and/or 10x10. Of course we are all aware of how the «Get Well Soon» clock poster from Beth’s room at Grady possibly points towards these two episodes, and we have seen multiple theories on the significance of that clock poster over the years.

My take on all of that is explained here

https://frangipanilove.tumblr.com/post/185522170650/noahs-t-shirt-theory

The interesting thing about the newly released teaser is that it offers a connection to a sort of continuation of Noah's t-shirt theory, because in the bar scene from 2x8, one of the Philly guys is also wearing a very interesting t-shirt:

Where Noah's t-shirt had the words «one one recording studio» written on it, the Philly dude’s shirt has a picture of a shark as well as the number 11 on it. Apparently the text and the shark refers to a 11-U baseball team from Manahawkin, NJ, and the number 11on the back of the t-shirt is written, well…»one one».

Like, you know…

...like the text on Noah's t-shirt.

What a tremendous coincidence!

Two t-shirts, several seasons apart, both with an animal image as well as the number 11 (or “one one”, if you will).

It’s almost as if there is a theme..

The shark t-shirt refers to a baseball team. This is a huge point, and something I will have to adress in a separate post. But for now, keep in mind all the baseball references around Beth, such as the bat seen by the train tracks from 4x10 “Innmates”, and Glenn picking up a bat while literally saying “Beth” in 5x9 “WHAWGO”.

Further, let’s talk about the shark on the t-shirt. Wanna know where else we saw a whole bunch of sharks in the same scene? In Noah's house, in his brother’s room where we saw Tyreese get bit, causing him to hallucinate. And as we all know, Beth was a part of this hallucination.

Beth, as well as a bunch of sharks.

There’s a picture of a shark on the wall behind Beth, along with a painting of a dog, there’s a shark in the book shelf, there’s a poster of a shark behind Bob, as well as a giant shark’s head coming out of the wall next to him. There’s also a shark-shaped surfboard-like decoration on the wall behind the fabric with polar bears on it. I talked about the polar bear fabric in the Sirius/North Star post that I linked to above. I’ve also talked about the polar bear symbol in several other posts, such as this one

https://frangipanilove.tumblr.com/post/185964198900/fear-the-walking-dead-a-guide-to-understanding

and this one

https://frangipanilove.tumblr.com/post/186222365190/fear-once-again-serves-as-a-guide-to

And next to the polar bear fabric, there’s a clock.

Ah! The clock.

We’ll never tire of talking about clocks, will we? Take a good look at the clock from Tyreese’s hallucination. Beth is staring at this clock in the picture above, so it must be important.

The hands point to the numbers “5″ and “10″. To be fair, one could argue that the hands point to the “5″ and the “9″, which would make sense, as this is episode 5x9 after all. It depends on how literal you want to interpret it. In my opinion, an approximate interpretation is sufficient, and I maintain that the clock could be interpreted as hands pointing to the “5″ and the “10″.

But remember what we’ve talked about (in Noah’s t-shirt theory among other places), that on an analog clock, the number “2″ (which indicates the hour) can also be read as “10″ (indicating minutes). So both of the numbers “2″ and “10″ can be read as “2″ and “10″. Or they can be read 22, whickh is pretty spectacular for reasons I will elaborate on later in this post.

In this particular clock from “WHAWGO”, there’s also a hand (whick probably indicates the set alarm) that points to the “8″. So we have a set of hands that can be interpreted as pointing towards episode 5x10 “Them” which is when the music box woke up.

And we have hands that can be interpreted as pointing to episode 8x2, which is the episode forshadowed by Noah’s t-shirt theory (link above), the episode when we saw the “Blue Heron” painting behing Rick.

But guess which episode in also points to!

If you swich around the numbers “8″ and “2″, you simply get 2x8!

Episode 2x8 “Nebraska”.

Which is none other than the episode I mentioned above, where we have the Piladelphia dude in the shark t-shirt, with the number “11″ (one one) written on the back. Can you see how this all creates a pattern? It’s a complex pattern, but a pattern none the less.

Further, 5x9 “WHAWGO” is the episode following 5x8 «Coda». The clock has hands pointing to both the number “5″ and the number “8″, which of course means it can be interpreted as pointing to episode 5x8 “Coda”, when Beth “died”.

Gimple ensured us of the importance of the clocks. This is what he meant.

As I explained in my Sirius/North Star post (link above), sharks were referred to as «dog-fish» back in the olden days. So that’s another tremendous coincidence, don’t you think? Shark references doubles as dog references, “shark” and “dog” references can be used interchangebly. It certainly puts the dog painting and the shark pic on the wall behind Beth in the above pic in a different perspective.

The Philly dude’s shirt had a picture of a shark on it. Noah's t-shirt had a stylized version of the «Blue Heron» painting seen behind Beth in «Still», and later behind Rick in 8x2 «The Damned».

Also, as I’ve repeated several times, I believe “beer” and “bear” are in reality the same symbol. We get a confirmation of that here, where there is a polar bear directly above where the word “beer” is written on the fridge behind the bar. I’ve also argued that the “bear” symbol is a reference to the star constellation Ursa Minor, or Lesser Bear. In North America, this constellation is usually referred to as the Little Dipper, and as we know, the North Star (Polaris) is at the end of the Little Dipper. The polar bear on top of the fridge confirms this connection (polar bear points to Polaris, the North Star). And the North Star is a major Beth symbol due to her picking up the DC spoon in “Still”.

The heron incident in 8x2 “The Dammned” was foreshadowed all the way back in season 5 (again, see Noah’s t-shirt theory) and while confirmation bias will sometimes play tricks on your brain, causing you to interpret «evidence» in a way that favors or confirms your pre-existing beliefs, that was not the case with the Blue Heron painting from 8x2. I had worked out the theory on it years before 8x2 aired, and I sat down to watch the episode, prepeared to see something related to «resurrection». In the «Noah's t-shirt» post I explain in more detail how I reached the conclusion that led me to anticipate major «resurrection» symbols in 8x2. There was, in addition to Noah's t-shirt, in 5x15 “Try”, the presence of a digital clock showing 06.30. If we interpret that as a reference to episode 6x3 “Thank You”, it’s significant that in 6x3 we witnessed the infamous «dumpster gate», tptb wanted us to believe that Glenn was dead. You know, when in fact, he wasn’t. Much like they want us to believe that Beth is dead, when in fact, she’s not.

In other words, 6x3 was the episode when Glenn DIDN’T die. It was the episode when he simply continued to stay alive.

(Also, if you read 06.30 on an analog clock, you’d find both hands pointing to “6″, perhaps referencing 6x6 “Always Accountable”, an episode full of Beth references, but that’s a post for a different day)

Other notable resurrection-themed incidents of 8x2 «The Damned» includes the «resurrection» of Morales, a character not seen or heard from in 7 seasons, and finally Morgan's little death fake out moment, where he pretended to be dead, when in fact, he wasn’t. Much like…yeah, you know.

Of course, what none of us could have known back when 8x2 aired, was that Andrew Lincoln was planning to exit the show. I’ll admit that I was confused as to the meaning of the reappearence of the “Blue Heron” painting in 8x2. However, as soon as it became known that Rick was to exit the show while still staying alive within the extended TWD universe, things became clearer. The heron is thought to be the bird from the original phoenix myth. It appeared behind Rick. He survived, although the characters believe he’s dead. The Blue Heron painting appeared behind Beth while she said “we made it”, and that is some fine symbolical evidence of both Beth and Rick being alive. The symbolism around them is the exact same.

Back to Rick. He survived only because he was saved by Anne, who arranged for a helicopter to pick him up and give him medical assistance. And by the way, I haven’t posted my “Cat” theory yet, but the main takeaway is that cats are popularily believed to have nine lives. In other words; cats are resurrection symbols. That has been my working theory for the longest time, and it was more or less formed after observing how Carol in season 3 was believed to be dead, but later resurfaced and famously stated she had “nine lives”. After Fear’s Daniel Salazar “rose from the dead” AGAIN, this time with a cat by his side, I concider this theory confirmed. Cats = “nine lives” = resurrection. I’ll definately do a more thorough post on cat symbolism later, but the reason I bring it up here, is because guess what; Anne, who saved Rick’s life, was a bit of an artist, and one of her more well-known works was this spectacular blue Picasso-style cat:

You could in fact argue that Anne’s blue cat symbolized Rick’s resurrection.

And never forget there was a blue helicopter present in Tyreese’s hallucination in 5x10 “WHAWGO”, along with all the sharks. And Beth.

And this is where the movie teaser comes in, because that helicopter that saved his life? It seems like it might have traveled to Philadelphia. I could be wrong, because it's still early and we know almost nothing about the films, but at least at this point, it seems like the helicopter transported Rick to Philly.

To have the same symbolism appear around both Rick and Beth, while knowing for sure that Rick is alive, it certainly indicates that Beth is alive also. And the heron itself is associated with the Phoenix myth, in that an (now) extinct species of heron on the Arabian peninsula is thought to have been the original representation of the Phoenix. Plus, both herons and helicopters are flying creatures. Helicopters are called “birds” in slang terms. And I also want to point out Beth “flipping the bird”, first to Daryl, then later to the burning moonshine shack.

When the Blue Heron painting (which represents resurrection) appeared around both Beth and Rick, and we know for a fact that Rick is alive, it’s logical that the same goes for Beth.

Subsequently, the very same logic would apply in relation to the shark on Philly dude’s T-shirt in 2x8, and the sharks in Noah’s brother’s room in 5x9 «WHAWGO». As I mentioned, sharks were once called “dog-fish”. I meticulously explain my interpretation of the dog symbolism in the Sirius/North Star post that I linked to somewhere above, so I won’t get into that here, but I want to mention that there were at least a couple of dog-paintings/drawings/pictures in Noah's brother’s room in 5x9.

So to try to summarize, the Philadelphia reference in the Rick Grimes movies teaser might prove to be very interesting from a Team Delusional perspective.

But there’s more. The filming of yet another TWD project has recently started up; the third spin off, currently known as “Monument”. It has been described as “TWD for teens”, and they filmed on location at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Virginia this week. Interestingly, this picture from TSDF suggests that it was transformed into “Nebraska State University”. Make of that what you will, but it’s certainly worth mentioning.

Finally, I try not to read too much into it, but I thought it was worth mentioning that the next episode of “Fear” will be called “210 words per minute”. Like I’ve previously mentioned, a lot of the symbolism on TWD seem to point to certain episode number combinations, such as 10x10 (forshadowed by Beth’s Get Well Soon poster from “Slabtown), 8x2 (forshadowed by Noah’s t-shirt theory) and 10x2 (see Noah’s t-shirt theory). In this post I discussed the clock from 5x9, and how it possibly pointed to episode 5x10, among others.

It so happens that the next episode of “Fear” in fact will be season 5 episode 10, or “5x10″. And there is a possible reference to episode 2x10 in the title. 2x10 is when Beth tried to commit suicide. Also, if you switch the numbers around, you get 10x2, which I have talked a lot about in Noah’s t-shirt theory, and ultimately it can (on an analog clock) be read 10x10. Like the “Get Well Soon” clock from “Slabtown”.

So if you watch “Fear”, keep an eye out for interesting symbolism!

#Team Delusional #team defiance #team beth lives #BETH LIVES #bethyl #Beth Greene #daryl x beth #beth x daryl

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journeysintowebcomics · 6 years ago

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Homestuck Liveblog #183

UPDATE 183: Narrative Takeover

Last time everything went wrong for so many characters. John’s fight with Caliborn went awry, Jane’s plan to seduce Jake didn’t work because he kept thinking of Dirk, and Dave and Karkaroni’s political strategy meeting got derailed by Jade deciding it was a good time for romantic overtures. So now let’s continue.

So, now that they have been dumped in middle of the chaos that’s destroying all the known existence and reality, John checks the situation. Lord English is up there, in front of the black hole, seemingly impervious to its strong absorbing effect.

Unlike his younger form, his eyes aren’t flickering wildly. They’re locked in place, an eight ball in each socket.

If I remember correctly from the booklet about pool I read like six years ago when I started playing pool for fun, the eighth ball is the last one you must sink, so I’d say it indicates it’s endgame. I think it also had happened in Arc 7. Symbolism!

Tavros is over there, leading an army, Vriska is nowhere to be seen and presumably is very dead, and Meenah was supposed to be going away, I think? Anyway, it’s fight time! Everyone already has their weapons at the ready – all the weapons that are supposed to hit Lord English pretty hard – and Rose tries to remind them what exactly their plan is. She barely gets a single word out before she’s dead.

But Rose doesn’t get to finish what she was trying to say. Lord English’s mouth roars open and a wave of energy blasts through your group. Rose is the only one caught in it. She dissolves in slow motion. You can see the outline of her body in shadow. One arm thrown up over her eyes, shoulders pulled up defensively, cape billowing out behind her. She leaves an afterimage of shimmering light in her wake and then dissipates, drifting apart like a handful of salt tossed out to sea. You can almost hear the cosmic clock counting down, tick tock, and a chime to accompany her fate: Heroic.

This fight lasted like three seconds before it all looked grim as heck for John and friends. This is going to wreck everyone’s morale and ruin whatever effective plan they had, as I really doubt Rose was supposed to stand aside and let everybody else act. They’re so doomed.

As if to underscore how screwed they are, Jade tries to use her powers and finds out the black hole up there is where the green sun used to be. It made Lord English vulnerable, but she’s powerless now too. Whooops. Kind of a big oversight. How didn’t John or Future Rose foresee that detail? It’s kind of important!

With that, two of the four are now dead and they haven’t gotten started for real. Dave is trying to cut Lord English with the cueball sword, John is...standing around, I suppose, until he snaps out of it and surrounds Lord English with wind, capturing him until he tries to smash his skull with the hammer. Lord English eats the hammer. I’m...okay, I didn’t see that coming. I appreciate the move a lot. John can’t do much else because his glasses are broken, so he can’t see well at all. Good thing Meenah is around now! What a lifesaver!

Time to assess the situation and check how badly things have turned in...like a minute or so. As I always say: a minute is quite a long time in a fight!

Ghostly Tavros and another one of John’s hammers join the list of casualties, Meenah deciding to go in for the kill. Not unless you turn into Dave, gal! Not that Dave is faring much better, he’s trying to harm Lord English but he’s way too fast, even for Dave, who is no slouch in the agility department. That’s incredibly quick, and he’s not fueled by the green sun right now. Everything is awful for the heroes here!

Meenah is launched away and I can only guess she’s dead, because in this scenario being thrown away is kind of fatal due to the huge black hole up there. Dave is under Lord English’s foot, John barely saves him by throwing more hammer at Lord English for him to eat, and tries to set up a hammer barrier to prepare that silly thing he made with the legendary Zillyhoo and Vriska’s dice. If they need a lucky hit they sure need it now!

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < waaaaaaaaaaaait

...oooooooh no. I had completely forgotten this existed. Hey, what’s new? Will you be able to defeat Lord English? At least Dave is reacting with horror, which is the right reaction when you see a copy of yourself that was merged with a cat. Davepetasprite is being inspirational, trying to psyche up Dave, and it works!

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < i know it looks pawful right now but we can do it

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < in fact were literally the only ones who can do it

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < after all

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < it is our destiny B33

You also are the last three people left here, so I don’t think it’s much about destiny at this point.

Somehow, between the three of them they manage to do real damage on this monster. John’s hitting him with hammers even if Lord English keeps eating them, Dave slashes and actually gets blood, and Davepeta scratches with the claws. The cycle continues, Lord English almost eats John’s favorite hammer, just that this time he almost gets John himself. Well then. This story is truly something.

Apparently John got injured with Lord English’s teeth or something, because he’s bleeding heavily. I swear, if John dies because he got bitten by Lord English I’m going to be astonished, because that was never a cause of death I imagine would ever happen.

You lift your chin and see it: Lord English’s gold tooth cracked off at the base and embedded in your chest. It must be stuck between two of your ribs, you think, because it hurts like a bitch when you try to breathe.

Oof, you’re in big trouble! When you have something embedded into you you really shouldn’t take it out unless you’re in a professional’s hands, so it’s pretty likely John will have that tooth embedded into him for quite a while. Dave isn’t doing too badly, managing to stab Lord English with the cueball sword up the hilt, unfortunately leaving him vulnerable to Lord English’s maw. Oh god, he has tasted human blood, everyone run! Too late for Dave, though, he gets his head bitten off.

Won’t lie, that’s pretty brutal as far as deaths go. Damn!

Obviously this enrages Davepeta, who grabs Lord English and flies up to the black hole, dragging him along. That was an option? Maybe it’d have been great to have done that much earlier, before Dave died. Really would have been nice.

The black hole—the gaping, implacable, cosmic embodiment of the dead cherub, his long-departed sister—finally welcomes Lord English home.

English and Davepeta are sucked in with a subatomic whimper. The reunion sends shock waves across the pitiful remains of Paradox Space. And then everything is wholly, utterly, and categorically silent. It’s over. Lord English is dead.

Ding dong, the witch is dead. Somehow it’s done! Excellent! Now, here comes opinions about this whole sequence.

To be perfectly honest, this left a lot to be desired. The least of my complaints is the length – for a climactic fight it’s a little bit short. Which isn’t really a problem here, given this isn’t Homestuck anymore, it’s the epilogue. The fight not getting focus is fine and dandy, honestly. I’m actually surprised we got a fight at all.

What I will complain about, though, is that for something that pretty much only Davepeta got to do something worthwhile. It feels like pretty much everyone else who intervened, both alive and dead, were there just to die. It’s pretty disappointing, really. I think I’d have been okay with that if they at least had managed to do something before dying.

Curiously enough, if this had been incorporated into the story, characters dying so fast would have been less bad. I’d say this being part of epilogues is what makes this be treated differently to how it’d be otherwise. But yeah, Lord English is dead, and there’s plenty of epilogue left. I suppose that means the political stuff is what’ll fill the rest of the epilogue in this route, no?

You collapse against whatever is passing for the floor at this moment of utterly null corporeal conditions surrounding you. It doesn’t feel possible. You’re not sure you can even trust your perception well enough to believe it. But it seems to be over. You’ve convinced yourself of this truth well enough to allow yourself to exhale. Enough to allow yourself to suddenly acknowledge the agony coursing through your body, emanating from the gold tooth lodged in your chest. Enough to allow yourself to succumb to the overwhelming urge to sleep.

He’s so dead. And so, all the Wonderkids are dead, total party kill. They tried and they succeeded, mostly thanks to a timely intervention by what turned out to be the best sprite just for killing Lord English, and now they’re all dead. I’m pretty sure by now this makes Homestuck qualify as a Greek tragedy.

Ah, there’s the conversation Rose and Dirk are going to have. She starts by talking about that novel she wrote in her diaries, the ones about wizards. She feels the story as written by the adult Rose Dirk knew from his original world didn’t have as much passion as she did when she wrote the original draft in her journals. Maybe! When you write something for a widespread public, you have to kill a liiiiittle of your own passion to tailor it for a wider audience. It’s a cynical thought, I admit, but I believe I’m right.

ROSE: Anyway, my point is that I’ve long suspected my story was a pre-manifestation of my Seer of Light powers. I was seeing beyond my universe into another.

Doesn’t sound farfetched to me, I must say. It’s possible that, from her early ages, she was unconsciously starting to tap onto the many powers and abilities that come with her title and role. I mean, Mom Lalonde was there, and I believe in her own way she’d help pave the way for the kids to achieve what was needed to triumph. She may have done something, inadvertently or not, that led to Rose writing her novel in a fit of inspiration. Who knows. Certainly not me, and it’s such a minuscule point in the vast net of Homestuck I doubt it’ll be ever touched.

I hadn’t noticed until now that in the end a total of twelve players had crossed the door into the new universe. Fun number for that. Also, Terezi’s name is among them, so she did get to the new universe after all. What happened to her?

All these numbers may or may not have significance. Hah! Well it depends on what kind of author writes the story. Given it’s Hussie, well, I’m inclined towards thinking there’s some significance. Whether the reader will find out about it is an entirely different manner, of course.

Of course Dirk has given his current situation a lot of thought, he even has theories about what’s it. I’m listening, pal, enlighten me about this new plotline.

DIRK: I mean, some of us have stopped using our powers completely. Not a whole lot of need for emergency resurrections or complex timeline manipulation on a planet that’s never had a conflict more serious than a sportsball riot or a rumpled hat shortage.

DIRK: But even aside from how often they’re used...

DIRK: Some powers don’t lend themselves to the infinite expansion of one’s mind, the way ours do.

ROSE: I see.

ROSE: So what you’re saying is, it’s more a matter of one’s aspect than it is whether one’s powers are practiced further, or allowed to atrophy.

DIRK: Yep.

So it all depends on the power. It’s not like everyone’s going to start suffering this too, it seems to be limited to what aspect it is. Perhaps Jade and Dave would go through this too? Other than them, I’m not sure anyone else would.

ROSE: In that case, perhaps Terezi had the right idea.

ROSE: Getting away from this place, I mean.

ROSE: Maybe I was a fool for imagining I could settle down here.

Ah, so that’s what happened to Terezi. She left. Maybe she had a feeling things wouldn’t go well, it does make sense she’d be feeling the awfulness Dirk and Rose feel right now. With her Mind aspect, it does make sense she would. Where’d she go, though? Is she a nomad around the world or something?

Dirk’s taking this easier than most would because he’s used to multitasking. Ah, right, he did have his dreamself and his realself, dealing with both must have given him some practice. Still, two is nowhere close to the infinity of everything, so I’m skeptic it’s as good of a training as he says it was.

ROSE: I’m caught in the liminal space between reality and reverie, where people once believed demons dwelled. But the only reason the demon is still sitting on my chest is because I refuse to banish it. All it would take is looking directly at it.

ROSE: I’m forcing myself to stumble through my life as a sleepwalker. All this pain and sorrow could go away if I would just allow myself to wake up.

DIRK: Then why don’t you?

ROSE: Because I’m not sure that the person opening her eyes will be me.

Brings to mind that about us being someone’s dream and, when that someone wakes up, it’s all over. It’s the kind of thing that brings existential crisis when you think about it too hard, isn’t it? So, if Rose here’s experiencing something similar, she’s not going to have a good time because she’s the kind of person who thinks a lot. Nobody should be jealous of these two, that’s awful.

Dirk, in what’s unusually close to sympathy, crouches and takes off his sunglasses, looking straight at Rose’s eyes. He admits he’s a very flawed person and shouldn’t be always right, and that he knows all about his own flaws.

Rose’s eyes have grown distant, almost mirrorlike. Dirk can see himself reflected in her vacant stare.

ROSE: All the pieces in their place.

ROSE: The mechanisms all running smoothly.

She says this in a hollow tone. It’s the disarming voice a puppeteer ventriloquizes for a marionette.

...okaaaay, something happened. If I’m understanding this and the next few sentences correctly, Dirk pretty much took over Rose. I don’t know why, he just did. Althoooough...hm. It’s still early. Maybe the reasons will be revealed later. But hey, you can’t say this was predicted! Also, if I had to guess, the moment Rose was taken over was when he took off his sunglasses. It just makes sense, really.

Whyyyy is the text turning orange. Dirk, are you taking over the narration?

Yup, he did, and he’s addressing the reader. He sounds pretty bitter there are readers, and brags about he can make the reader’s perspective change and turn into a character’s perspective. No complaints from me for you doing that, really, be my guest.

But I haven’t revealed myself to you just to boast about the abilities arising from the gradual obliteration of the constraints on my consciousness. I’ve only taken a moment to answer a few questions. Not ones I heard you ask—because again, you are nonspecific and therefore do not matter—but ones I imagined you asking. And by imagining these questions, they became less fake, and as such, demanded similarly non-fake answers. No, in truth, the time has come to make my presence known in order to start bringing my plans to fruition. It’s time to get down to fucking business.

Eh. Sounds to me like Dirk wants to ramble and wants an excuse to do so, even if he has to make that excuse himself. Golly, pal, you have free control of the narrative. Ramble all you want, go ahead.

To continue the narrative, John has to wake up and does so. I suppose he being sleepy and exhausted after the fight was just he being sleepy and exhausted instead of being borderline dead because of blood loss. Dirk forces the narrative to make John apologize to no one for everything that happened in the battle, and it’s all so heavy-handed even John notices something’s going on with his head. Dirk, you’re not doing a very good job at being subtle.

Suddenly you remember: Lord English’s tooth is still embedded in your chest. You panic, wrap your hands around the base, and give it a little tug. It’s excruciating. The tooth makes an awful grating sound as it grinds along one of your ribs. You gasp and lose your grip, biting the inside of your mouth so hard that you taste blood.

Can’t blame you for trying, but I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Without someone to administer proper medical care, you’ll bleed to death pretty much instantly.

Yeah, exactly! Not that there’s anyone to administer proper medical care in the middle of literal nowhere, so he’ll have to transport himself somewhere else before he touches that tooth any further. Where’s John, anyway? Is he still lying around underneath the black hole? Did he zap himself somewhere else?

On the other hand, the tooth is poisoned. So you’re pretty much fucked either way, and that’s really all there is to say on the matter.

Oh. That’s a thing now? Well then, guess you’re screwed, John. Thanks for everything, have a nice death. I suppose it would count as a heroic death because he received that fatal wound fighting someone who was obliterating reality, so being revived isn’t an option, I suppose.

John wanders around for a very long time, depressed and feeling pretty awful, until he sees Dad Egbert’s wallet. It’s a coincidence to find it anywhere in the infinite expanse of reality! John opens the wallet, aaaaand...end page! Quick, make a distraction and go check some other place. It’s the usual Homestuck style, so that’s what happens.

Jade’s explaining Dave and Karkaroni’s political ambitions to Roxy and Calliope, once again using the terms ‘neoliberal austerity measures’. I’m still unsure what that’s supposed to mean, but whatever it is makes Roxy groan, no doubt because she has heard about said measures too much already. They’re bad, and Karkaroni’s underdog populism is the counter to those, she argues. Give him a chance! Unfortunately for Elect-a-Troll 20xx, it doesn’t seem like Calliope and Roxy are very interested in getting involved in this at all.

ROXY: i just dont rly

ROXY: care about politics that much i guess

I suppose this means she’s not going to support Jane either. Hey, better for her to not be interested than for her to be on the opposite side. This is a victory of some sort.

She’s reticent to supporting anyone not only because she’s not interested in politics, but also because it’s a fight between her friends and she sure isn’t eager to going against a friend. She also knows this is something Jane has been planning for a long time, so she’s not into ruining Jane’s plans – even though she won’t really go out and say she supports Jane. I really disagree Jane is fragile, though. She’s anything but fragile.

In the spirit of full disclosure, Roxy’s the only one left I haven’t been able to crack. Her mind remains a total enigma to me, just like it always has. If I had to guess, it’s her Void powers that make her invisible, even to increasingly omniscient parties such as myself. For all intents and purposes, it’s like her thoughts don’t exist. She’s the same person, as far as I can tell. She still wears her heart on her sleeve. But the bottom line remains: Roxy Lalonde is still utterly fucking inscrutable.

Which is a very good thing for her. I wonder if this means Dirk would be unable to do anything with the narration involving Roxy, if she’s invisible for even the increasingly omniscient parties. In that case, she’s the luckiest person in this entire canon. Good thing, too, given how Dirk is a fervent supporter of Jane, so he can’t manipulate her into doing anything.

Roxy’s staying out, but what about Calliope? She doesn’t want any of this either, because it’d be stressful as all hell and that’s a very valid reason to not want to get involved in politics, especially if it’s between competing friends. At least Jade understands well enough and doesn’t insist.

Apparently Roxy asking Jade to call both Calliope and her by ‘them’ throws Dirk off to the point he has to hastily say aloud he doesn’t care and that he’s very okay with this, you guys, it’s totally okay. I don’t know, when this kind of thing is written or said like he did I can only think that person is indeed not okay with it. Dirk really should stop his rambling for once before he shoves his feet deeper into his mouth.

For a person that’s starting to be omniscient and spent an entire page mocking the reader and being vainglorious he sure is pretty concerned with keeping up the appearances.

ROXY: i mean what am i gonna do

ROXY: get married and pop out 100 bbs?

I mean, with ectobiology that’s far easier and simpler than you make it sound. You don’t even have to get married for that.

I choose to believe Dirk has gotten so flustered by the conversation about Roxy and Calliope being non-binary he chose to make Jade be unconscious. He had to stop the conversation somehow, so he made her do astral plane stuff. Smooth, Dirk, smooth as a brick.

I may as well stop here for the time being.

Next update: next time

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

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fortunei · 5 years ago

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[#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.]

#noseforsatu #wrt #hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #hildalys #disaster vampire donor AU

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makeste · 6 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 099: The Fanfic Dorms (Part 2)

Previously on BnHA: The kids returned to U.A. Aizawa promptly ripped into Rescue Squad Jr. for going off on their own to save Bakugou, and the others for knowing full well what was going down and not doing anything to stop it. He told them he expects them all to regain his trust by getting their provisional licenses so they can do that shit legally. Bakugou unexpectedly paid Kirishima back for those expensive night vision goggles and it was cute as fuck. Aizawa gave a quick tour of the dorms and the kids moved into their rooms. Then they decided to have a competition to see whose room is best, and so far it has been delightful.

Today on BnHA: The kids continue our tour of the 1-A dorm rooms. Satou ultimately wins after bribing all the others with a goddamn cake. Ochako calls Rescue Squad Jr. outside to talk to Tsuyu. They have an emotional heart to heart because Tsuyu was apparently feeling awkward and uncomfortable about the whole Rescue-Squad-breaking-the-rules-over-everyone’s-objections thing, and so was everyone else apparently, and they’re also feeling anxious because of everything that happened with All Might’s retirement and all that, even though none of them actually says it out loud, and basically all of these kids are a hot fucking mess and I’m glad they can be there for each other now to sort their shit out. The next day, Aizawa announces that they’re gonna start training to come up with new super moves for the upcoming provisional license exam.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 145 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

so here we are, one chapter away from the big one-double-oh. All Might has just retired and the world is bracing itself to enter a new era without the Symbol of Peace. the villains are regrouping with Tomura as their leader now that All for One has been captured. basically a lot of shit went down that shook the world to its very core. so now that we’re approaching this milestone, I can only imagine what kind of momentous events will be --

OH WAIT THIS IS A CHAPTER ABOUT THE KIDS INVADING AND CRITIQUING ALL OF EACH OTHER’S ROOMS SO THEY CAN ALL DETERMINE WHICH ONE IS “THE KING OF ALL DORM ROOMS”

or at least it’s starting out that way, lol

WELL I DON’T KNOW! ARE WE?? I don’t actually mind either way, as long as I continue to ignore every panel with Mineta in it as I have been doing thus far!

you see, there are two panels here of Mineta being Terrible, but I can just skip right past them!

and if I do, I end up with

DRAMATICALLY SLEEPY TODOROKI SHOUTO

it’s a highly effective reading strategy and I strongly recommend it. though I expect I’m hardly the first to pioneer this technique

wow, what

holy shit. this Ochako is amazing

and literally the chapter title is talking about how we’re moving from two digits to three digits. like, this fucking guy needs to get out of my fucking head already, it’s seriously starting to creep me out

(ETA: but like, between the chapter title and the “premium Ochako” and Deku’s fourth-wall-breaking narration wondering how long we were going to keep touring rooms, Horikoshi sure was feeling cute this chapter wasn’t he)

RED ALERT EVERYONE WE’RE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR, ALSO KNOWN AS BAKUGOU’S DORM FLOOR, I ALREADY MEMORIZED IT

anyway, Kirishima’s telling them that Bakugou already went to bed, so I guess they’re just gonna skip him. what a loyal friend and how respectful of them to comply with Bakugou’s wishes

though if they do decide to just barge in on him later, you won’t see me complaining. though they will all die though, so that’ll be sad

so now it’s Kirishima’s room!

wow. flame curtains and a goddamn punching bag. and is that a fucking boombox. when’s the last time you even saw one of those. what is this, 1998

does his wall clock have muscly arms. and he didn’t put his boxes away omg

what a scathing fucking indictment of this sweet angel. I’m disappointed, Hagakure

Shouji’s room is so empty it probably has a weird echo

there’s actually less stuff in here now than before he moved in

YO, SERO’S ROOM THOUGH!?!?

whoa. I need to check this one out in the anime to see what kind of color scheme we’ve got going on

(ETA: lots of warm and neutral colors. his is definitely my favorite room out of the 17 that we actually see. the kid has good taste)

AND NOW TODOROKI’S ROOM. I BET IT’S JUST A NORMAL BOY’S ROOM

half the girls in the class can barely control themselves. because he’s so handsome and mysterious

what the fuck

jesus did he teleport his old bedroom into this new building or what. fucking redid the sliding doors and everything

they’re asking him how he did it and he just deadpans:

WHAT ARE YOU

(ETA: look, no joke will ever top “sorry I punched you in the balls.” but this is a close second. Shouto’s delivery is key and he fucking nails that shit)

oh my god Satou’s room has an oven. he made a fucking cake. you have a whole kitchen available for use downstairs dude

he’s offering everyone cake oh shit

Satou wins hands down. it’s over. it’s allllll over

so now they’re all heading to the girls’ dorms

oh my god I fucking love Jirou so much

a fucking drum set and everything. guess this place is going to be lively

Hagakure’s room is filled with stuffed animals and flower patterns and shit. very cute and totally what you would expect

I feel like Mina somehow has the same bedspread as Kirishima. or like close to it

(ETA: is that a fucking surface pro)

and Ochako’s room is super cute and somehow even more Japanese than Todoroki’s

she even has the laundry rack. even though they probably have dryers in the laundry room downstairs

ah, now they’re finally getting around to addressing the fact that Tsuyu hasn’t been around this entire time

Ochako says she’s not feeling well

so they’re moving on, but then Tsuyu’s cracking the door open and peering after them

what’s going on here. sudden Tsuyu angst?? her of all people? my god

holy fucking shit Momo tried to fit a goddamn library and a four poster bed into her room

and I say “tried” but she fucking did it though

wow. I guess it’s really true that once you’ve slept on a king size mattress you can’t go back

now we’re actually doing the vote. we’re seeing this thing through to the end huh

Mina is describing this as the first ANNUAL King of the Rooms contest lol

obviously it’s Satou. like, was there ever any doubt. dude was a lock as soon as he whipped out that fucking cake

(ETA: so apparently Satou got six votes, meaning that all of the girls voted for him plus one extra person. since he wasn’t allowed to vote for himself, I wonder which of the guys voted for him too. also I bet you Tokoyami ended up coming in second place just because all of the guys thought his room was cool as fuck)

Shouto just wants to go to bed now

CAN HE SLEEP?? CAN THIS BOY JUST FUCKING SLEEP ALREADY??! FINE, BUT MAKE SURE YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH FIRST!!!!

this was amazing. even though my child slept through it. it was perfectly in character so that part of it was great too. his room is probably in one of those bonus things anyway

(ETA: oh so we can have three bonus pages’ worth of Ochako being poor, but you can’t be bothered to give us even a glimpse of my son’s dorm room, huh Horikoshi. wow)

oh my god, before Shouto can leave, Ochako’s asking if he can spare a minute. and also Deku, Iida, Momo, and Kirishima

in other words, Rescue Squad Jr. ohhhhh boy what is this

Tsuyu???

wow. it looks like she’s apologizing for what she said to them back at the hospital. about how them rushing off to break the rules was no different from what the villains do

(ETA: actually it might be the opposite. I have no idea. The anime makes it seem like she’s shocked and disappointed that they went even after her objections. meanwhile Viz’s version makes her out to be ashamed for trying to stop them in the first place. as for me, I got nothing. pretty sure she’s actually feeling a mix of both, which is why this got her so worked up)

wow, it’s really been weighing on her huh

Tsuyu nooo. what the fuck. Tsuyu feels?? in my fucking chapter 99

WHY ARE YOU ALL JUST STANDING THERE IS NO ONE GOING TO HUG HER?!?

so even though she’s still coming to terms with it, she wanted to come talk to them anyway so that she didn’t have to hold it in anymore. “so that I could be able to have fun talking with all of you again”

oh my godddd

and Ochako says it’s not just her. “everyone wants to erase the incredible anxiety they’re feeling”

shit

whoa. the power of the fanfic dorms strikes again?! look at these feels in the middle of my domestic fluff?!!

and like, Ochako’s making it to be more about them wanting to make up with the Rescue Squad and letting them know they support them and such, and I don’t doubt that was the main reason. but also, all of them must be feeling so much anxiety just in general. All Might’s done. there are villains out there and they’ve already been attacked twice. they just want to be normal kids sometimes and hang out and have fun

given that, I really think the dorms were the best decision U.A. could have made right now. not only for safety reasons and let’s-flush-out-the-traitor reasons, but also because right now all of these kids are going through the same thing, and it’s just good for them to be around each other so they can bond and support each other that much more. because shit’s rough right now. and it’s only going to get rougher from here on out

so wow, that was unexpectedly touching and poignant just now

and now Kirishima is coming over and putting his hand on her shoulder, which, good. like I guess he’s not actually gonna hug her since ~she’s a girl~, but he looks deeply moved and he’s apologizing and thanking her

and Deku’s watching and thinking pretty much the same things I was. about how everyone’s just feeling the anxiety and pressure and doing their best to get things back to normal

(ETA: I can’t believe I forgot to make mention of the fact that Iida calls Tsuyu “Tsuyu-chan-kun.” like, that’s peak Iida right there. “I’m being considerate of your name preferences, but we’ve still got to be proper.”)

all right chapter, you have two pages left. I’m ready for you to end on some sort of shocking and/or really cool note to lead into THE BIG ONE

so now it’s the next day and Aizawa’s telling them more about the provisional license exam

he says it’s a big deal since the licenses are directly concerned with matters of life and death. yikes, that does sound serious

apparently there’s only a 50% average yearly passing rate

(ETA: and apparently they can up and change that whenever they damn well feel like!)

YO LIKE THREE HEROES BUSTED THROUGH THE DOOR ALL OF A SUDDEN

hell yes. fucking excellent. it’s about time Deku got some sort of special move

this all reminds me that we never got Bakugou’s hero name. this fucking kid. his dorm room, his name... he just sits out fucking everything. fine, Kacchan. fine

(ETA: listen guys, I know I always say please no spoilers, but I really need someone to tell me right the fuck now whether there will ever be any scenes in which we see even just a part of Bakugou’s room. right now I’m betting on a combination of Tokoyami, Ojiro, and (surprisingly) Deku’s rooms. Tokoyami for his “everything is black” aesthetic, Ojiro for the “I barely changed up any of the original furniture” aesthetic, and Deku because I would put money on Bakugou having at least one All Might poster up in his room as well

as a matter of fact, the only reason it stops at posters is because he was too embarrassed to bring his own All Might bedsheets to school. that’s right, Kacchan. I know all your secrets.)

BONUS:

I can’t believe the bonus wasn’t Kacchan’s fucking dorm room GODDAMMIT

but this is an amazing image of All Might. I don’t even know if it goes with this chapter or not but there was nothing else to put here so

fucking legend. will never be matched. I bet he would’ve beaten Thanos. Avengers what were you even doing goddammit

(ETA: YO. DID YOU ALL SEE THAT TRAILER THOUGH. OMG)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #asui tsuyu #todoroki shouto #kirishima eijirou #ashido mina #satou rikidou #makeste reads bnha #what particularly impresses me about the kids' rooms is how many of them even changed up the ceiling light fixtures #like what teen would actually go through the time and effort to do that #these kids are all so fucking plus ultra

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kumeko · 6 years ago

Text

of fate and choices

A/N: written for the BigThreesome Zine.

Summary: The mark on her neck was no stronger than the tattoo on her thigh. The choice was all theirs, was always theirs.

...

Monday

Mirio liked mornings the best. He’d wake up in a mess of limbs, with Nejire spread out all over the bed and Tamaki curled up in a small ball. Her hair spooled all over them, a blanket, while Mirio’s hand kept Tamaki from falling off the edge of the bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he curled his arms around both of them for a quick hug before leaping off the bed.

“Mornin’?” Groggily, Tamaki sat up. Swaying slightly, he stared at Mirio for a long moment before falling back onto the bed. Nejire didn’t react, sleeping like the dead as usual.

“Morning!” With a broad grin, Mirio pecked his husband’s forehead before getting ready for work. His spouses didn’t have to leave yet, but he still had to drop Eri off at pre-school. And make breakfast. And pack her lunch.

And maybe he should have set his alarm a little earlier, he was going to be late at this rate.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he chanted as he tossed on his clothes. They were a little loose and it was only the infinite belts he wore that kept them from slipping right back off him. Nejire liked to open the buckles one by one and see just how many it’d take before he was naked.

But that was a thought for neither here nor there and Mirio was definitely going to be late.

“Nejire…made lunch,” Tamaki muttered, his voice thick with sleep. He was staring up at the ceiling, a hand covering his eyes. It was still too bright for him.

“Really?” Mirio stared at Nejire in surprise. She was already taking over the space he had left, her limbs sprawled ungracefully over the vast majority of the bed.

“I supervised.” Tamaki rubbed his eyes slowly. “It’s edible. I made sure she didn’t use anything too strange.”

Which was a little sad, because Mirio did like the strange new combinations Nejire always found. However, it was probably better if Eri didn’t suddenly realize she hated the taste of eggplant, plum, and acai stir fry. Even if they all followed the purple colour scheme.

“I love you.” Mirio pecked both of them once more before running off to wake up Eri.

Yeah, Mirio liked mornings the best.

-x-

Tuesday

“Is that your soulmate’s symbol?” Ochako leaned closer to see symbol on Nejire’s shoulder. “A sun? How cute!”

“It is, right? It totally is!” The weather had picked up recently and Nejire had started sporting less and less fabric as each day passed by. Unfortunately, Tamaki stopped her from going any further than a tank top and shorts. Still, there was always tomorrow. One of these days, he’d slip up. Besides, it was her fashion line! What did it matter if she wore almost nothing? It was hot!

“What’s your symbol?” The new temp was curious. Nejire liked that about her. Well, she liked a lot of things about Ochako but curiosity was at the very top of the list.

“A tornado!” Nejire grinned. When they first met and her symbol had etched itself on Mirio’s wrist, he didn’t really believe it was hers. Apparently she had seemed too thin, too small for something so disastrous. “A big one.”

“Ahaha, I can see that.” Ochako chuckled, nodding her head. Another thing she liked about the newbie—she realized instantly that a tornado was the perfect fit.

“Oh, wait, wait!” Halting immediately, Nejire pulled up the left side of her shorts slightly. “Look at this one too.”

“Huh?” Perplexed, Ochako stared at the fluffy cloud on her thigh. “A tattoo?”

“It’s for my other soulmate.” The second Tamaki had said yes, she had gone to the closest tattoo parlor. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Ochako’s confusion didn’t clear but Nejire paid her no mind. Summer was great, she could show off both symbols so easily now. Maybe she’d wear shorter shorts tomorrow. She could even pick out the ones Tamaki liked—there was no way he could object then.

-x-

Wednesday

The restaurant’s bathroom was empty when Tamaki entered it. Approaching the sink, he splashed the cool water on his face. Despite how long he had been working here, he had yet to get used to the kitchen’s heat.

His bangs were dripping when he looked up in the mirror. They were starting to get long—he’d have to get Nejire to cut them later. As he pushed them to the side, the cloud on his neck caught his eye. It was still there then. Good. Tracing the pattern with his finger, he sighed with relief.

He could still stay with them, then.

-x-

Thursday

“Mirio!” Deku waved as Mirio slid into the fire station.

Panting, he looked up at the clock—7:59. Puffed up with pride, he high-fived his partner. “Made it!”

“Good thing too, Yagi was already preparing your punishment.” Deku gestured behind him, to the office where Fire Chief Yagi was watching them with a slightly disappointed expression. “I’m glad you got here on time!”

“I couldn’t keep setting a bad example for you!” Mirio frowned as they headed to the change rooms. Unbuttoning his shirt, he nodded sagely to himself. “Just like Yagi, I have to give you an ideal to reach for.”

Deku blinked before settling into an easy smile. “You do that enough at work anyways!” Opening his locker, he stared down at Mirio’s wrists for a moment before biting his lip. “Could I ask you something?”

Ah, that question. It had been a few months since they had become partners—the longest anyone had waited before asking. “Go ahead.”

“…How did you know?”

Surprised, Mirio stared at his junior. “Huh?”

Deku flushed a deep red, his fingers pushing against one another as he clarified his question. “You have two soulmates, right? How…how did you know?”

Not the question he had been expecting, but Deku was always full of surprises. Proudly, Mirio showed the tornado and cloud imprinted on his wrists. “With Nejire, we happened to be in the same classroom and we just…clicked? It was almost instantaneous but she’s never had patience anyways.” Mirio chuckled, remembering how quickly his wife had searched the room for him.

“I see…” Deku had a little notebook out, his pen already scribbling away. Mirio snorted—even now, his junior was so serious. “I hear it burns a little when it changes.”

“Yeah, just a little.” Fondly, he traced the cloud he got after seeing Nejire’s. “Tamaki…he took a little longer but there was never any other choice.”

“Never?” Deku looked up at those words.

Mirio repeated firmly, “Never.”

“Do you think I’ll have to wait long?” Deku stared at the palm of his hand, at the rabbit etched on his skin. “I keep looking but it never changes.”

“Hmm…well, sometimes people never find their soulmates. It’s a huge world, right?” Mirio gestured at the wall, in the direction of Yagi’s office. “Chief never found his but he’s still happy with his husband.”

“That’s true…there are cases like that.” Deku took a deep breath before lifting his head. A determined look in his eyes, he quickly returned to changing. “Thanks!”

-x-

Friday

Tamaki’s hands hovered hesitantly over her spaghetti straps. Nejire could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His throat had been dry all evening, ever since he spotted her and Mirio coming down the stairs. Even drinking three glasses of water at dinner had done nothing to quench his thirst.

His fingers trembled. Staring up into his eyes, she saw age-old fear and doubt cloud his sight. Swiftly, she reached up and cupped his cheeks, pulling his face down for a kiss.

“Hey, listen to me.” Pulling away slightly, she pressed her forehead to his. Sometimes, touching Tamaki was touching glass; she was afraid he’d shatter. Mirio was better at handling him than she was. Her touch had always been too abrasive, leaving behind bruises and wounds whether she meant it or not.

But Tamaki was important and for Tamaki, she would try. Keeping her voice soft, she continued. “I chose you.”

“Wha—“ Tamaki tried to step back but she kept her grip firm. “It’s not…it’s not that.”

Nejire wasn’t going to play the game, not today. “I chose you. I still choose you, choose this. So does Mirio.”

If there was one thing she had never understood, it was this need to follow soulmates. To be bound to them. If Mirio hadn’t been her match, she still would have picked him. If someone else had been her soulmate, she still might have rejected him. The mark on her neck was no stronger than the tattoo on her thigh. If only Tamaki could see that, could understand that. The choice was all theirs, was always theirs.

“Hey, hey listen.” She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of him breathing. His heart was faster than a rabbit’s, she was certain of it. Opening her eyes, she stared right into his. “I love you. We love you. Did you hear that? Did you?”

His ears went red and had this been any other time, she would have bitten them. She still might, after all of this. Tamaki froze at this confession, his hands resting on top of hers instead of pushing her away.

“I love you,” she repeated. Even though he didn’t respond, his fingers didn’t shake this time as he reached for her shoulders.

-x-

Saturday

“Mama?” Eri poked her head into the bedroom, clutching a stuffed unicorn tightly. Tamaki looked up from the book he was reading and Nejire put down her Switch. “Daddy?”

“Another nightmare?” Tamaki asked, closing his book.

“Yeah…Papa’s sleeping?” Eri shuffled nervously at the foot of the bed, looking down the entire time. “I...”

Nejire was already patting the space between her and Mirio. Tamaki watched in horror as she started to roll him towards the edge of the bed to make more room. “Want me to fight your closet?”

Eri’s eyes were round as saucers as she considered it. Clambering up onto the bed, she snuggled next to Nejire and nodded rapidly. “Please!”

“Alright! Mama’s going to be a monster hunter tomorrow!”

-x-

Sunday

“And they all lived happily ever after.” Tamaki glanced over at his adoptive daughter. She looked so much like her father, even when she was asleep. Quickly, he removed the finger puppets they had all made one rainy afternoon, setting them back into Eri’s playbox.

After kissing Eri’s forehead, he quietly closed the door and returned to his—to their room. The lights were low, with Nejire and Mirio curled up to each other, fast asleep. They had left space between them, space for him.

They always left space for him. The extra toothbrush when he first started dating, the mug in the cabinet, the drawer they cleaned just for him. Tamaki’s right hand curled around his neck, covering the cloud.

Even if he met his soulmate tomorrow, there was nowhere else he wanted to be. This was home, they were home. Crawling into bed, he pecked both of them lightly. “Me too,” he mumbled, remembering Nejire’s words the other day. “Me too.”

Her eyes snapped open, arms already pulling him down before he could retreat. “I heard that!” she half sang, her voice thick with sleep. “I heard that!”

If there was one saving grace, it was that Mirio hadn’t heard it. Yet. Nejire would definitely tell him tomorrow.

#boku no hero academia #mirio toogata #tamaki amakiji #nejire hadou #miritamaneji #big three #bnha #fanfic #zine

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its-love-u-asshole · 7 years ago

Text

Rags or Riches [fic]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou

Summary: Kuroo’s idea to celebrate his anniversary with Tsukishima at Bokuto’s speakeasy sounds good in theory, with the lively atmosphere and excitement spread through glass upon glass of liquor. Surely, it’s an improvement from their usual yearly plans, but it still manages to bring every old worry surging to the forefront of his mind as he tries his best to keep Tsukishima by his side.

Rating: E

Tags: 1920s au, speakeasies, alcohol, fluff and smut, established relationship, insecure Kuroo being dumb

Note: I said I was done writing smut but I’m here again so (also this is barely smut, it’s mostly just cheese), but this time I did a collab series with @emeraldwaves for this speakeasy AU! So please read her iwaoi counterpart ;) She and I are thinking of doing more parts to this same verse where they all connect, so I’m super excited to share this first installment! Enjoy <3

Read on AO3!

Iwaoi fic here!

Contrary to what his appearance might make people believe, Kuroo didn't crave alcohol all that much. Back when the stuff littered the shelves of supermarkets and liquor stores were still open and thriving, he'd buy some beers here or there, indulge after a tough day at the office.

However, he hadn't panicked when the laws were passed, they were more of an inconvenience than something he'd have to worry about. He didn't hoard what little bottles he had left, didn't smuggle or open shifty secret bars in the backs of corner shops.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. The only time Kuroo did drink these days happened to be at Bokuto's speakeasy, and he couldn't be happier that his friend's business thrived the way it did.

Still, he rarely found himself yearning for the stuff, for the relaxed limbs and blurry vision which came with it. So why he suddenly wished for a glass of scotch was beyond him.

His biggest worry in that moment concerned something else entirely, and maybe that was the root of all his problems.

"What do you want to do for our anniversary?" Kuroo raised his head from the pillow on their shitty couch, his legs cramped and barely comfortable. He was used to it. The musty pink cushions were secondhand, and clashed so horribly with the peeling white wallpaper, but it had been a gift from his mother, so it stayed.

Plus, who was he to complain?

The carpet was scratchy, the apartment was small, and the roof sometimes leaked when it rained, but sore back or not, he got to see Tsukishima everyday, sleep next to him, be with him. This was their home, crappy couch and all.

The water from the roof dripped into the bucket they'd set up in the dining room, grating on Kuroo's nerves as he waited in the silence. He watched the blond's back muscles stretch as Tsukishima turned to him, pausing in his laundry folding to genuinely consider the question. So cute. Tsukishima's brow furrowed then, confused, and Kuroo mimicked the face back at him, not minding the white work shirt which came flying at his head.

Worth it. At least it was clean. When it was his turn to do laundry next week, he'd have to return the favor.

"Don't we always get dinner?" Tsukishima said, throwing the last of his own shirts into the basket haphazardly. He never cared much about whether his own clothes got wrinkled, but he knew Kuroo had to look presentable every day at corporate. The small acts of care made Kuroo swoon every time.

Considering Tsukishima's upbringing though, it perplexed him. The fancy clothes he'd worn when they'd first met had always been in pristine condition...

"Kuroo?" Tsukishima called again, leaning against their one lumpy armchair. Even against something so ugly, the blond managed to be graceful. Refined.

Rich.

Kuroo shook his head. Dinner. Right.

He laughed, thinking back to the somewhat pricey Italian spot he took Tsukishima to every single year. Pricey for him anyways. It was a place which probably made truly wealthy people scoff.

It probably made Tsukishima scoff.

Ugh.

If only Kuroo could do more, could show how much he loved Tsukishima in every way he could. More than just with the over frosted tiramisu cake Tsukishima devoured every time they their anniversary rolled around.

"Kei, love, you don't have to eat all of it."

"I don't want to waste it."

Because Kuroo splurged for that dinner, it was true, but he wished he didn't have to. How much longer until Tsukishima saw he could do better?

He bit his lip.

Those insecurities couldn't surface, mostly because Kuroo thought if he voiced them, they'd turn out to be true.

"Aren't you bored of that?" he asked instead, smirking.

Ah. And yet, they shone through a little. His tone was joking, but something in his stomach twisted, waiting for Tsukishima to reply with any of the proper responses Kuroo had imagined when he couldn't sleep.

"Yes, but it's not like we can afford anything else."

"It isn't like I have a choice."

"Maybe if you had a different job, things would be different."

But Tsukishima just squinted at him, like Kuroo had grown a third eye, and shook his head. "No, are you?"

It made Kuroo's heart jump, the slight disappointment in those words. Was Tsukishima lying to make him feel better, or had Kuroo managed to actually convince him things were the same as they'd been in Tsukishima's huge mansion, the one his parents owned with the sprawling grasses and butlers.

He didn't know, didn't want to know. His answer wouldn't be a lie though.

He rose up from the couch, and Tsukishima mirrored him, meeting him halfway in the middle of the old rug they'd found at a yard sale. Tsukishima felt the same in his arms as he did the very first time they kissed, slotting together just right. One day, Kuroo would get them a better couch, so they could cuddle properly.

He purred as Tsukishima scratched the back of his head, and the blond snorted at the neediness. "I'll take that as a...no?"

Ah, if only he knew.

"Bored of doing anything with you?" Kuroo said, pulling Tsukishima further into his embrace. There was no resistance, like he feared there would be, and he leaned into his boyfriend, worries fading for the time being. "Never."

Tsukishima just laughed, pulling Kuroo into a kiss, and like that, Kuroo's life was as picturesque as he'd always wanted.

Momentarily, anyways.

Kuroo sat in his cubicle, twirling aimlessly in his desk chair as the seconds ticked by. He had another hour or so on the clock before he could go home to Tsukishima, but always the efficient worker, he'd finished all his paperwork early.

"You're too good for that job," Tsukishima would tell him, not in a critical way, but with a concern Kuroo ate right up. And he was right. Kuroo wasn't the happiest here, but it kept them afloat, and he'd climb the ladder in due time. His skills were beyond these meaningless meetings and tasks though.

Looking for a new job just seemed too risky right then, and he knew Tsukishima understood. Or, that's what he told Kuroo. The blond was probably getting sick of waiting.

And thus, with nothing much better to do, Kuroo let those negative thoughts run away from him, the memories replaying all too clearly.

He looked to his wrist, where a gold encrusted charm bracelet sat. The most expensive thing he owned. It had been Tsukishima's since the blond was a toddler, a family symbol so to speak. It sparkled and gleamed in the piss colored light of Kuroo's office, and he gazed at it fondly, moving the charms one by one. It almost hadn't been able to squeeze around Kuroo's wrist, with how delicate and fitted it had been for Tsukishima, but the blond had insisted he wear it.

He did, naturally, and he rarely took it off, if only to bathe and try and force it back onto Tsukishima's wrist. It seemed too beautiful to stay with Kuroo.

Tsukishima had looked so much better in it, that day at the beach...

Though, he hadn't exactly been happy to be there.

Kuroo had noticed him for his height, above anything else, the billowing beige shirt just sheer enough to let Kuroo see the muscle underneath.

"Excuse me sir, you look like you're burning a....little...." Kuroo's voice trailed off as the blond turned to him, collarbones exposed to the harsh heat of the summer. The pale skin was colored red, and would surely get worse, but all that advice and more died on Kuroo's tongue.

The golden eyes which landed on him struck him speechless; he'd never seen ones so intense, or felt such power in a gaze. The red at the tops of his cheeks told Kuroo the blond was more of a homebody, wealthy too. The fabric of his shirt was soft, and the rest of his clothes looked fresh out the box. Kuroo knew a rich person when he saw one, but it was by far the least interesting thing about this man.

The other wasn't even trying to be intimidating though, there was just something about him, a light in the dark.

The blond tilted his head, hand flying up to touch at his already sensitive skin; he winced. "It's fine. I'm not...I won't be out long, I'm just taking some pictures with my family."

The blond didn't gesture to anywhere particular, but Kuroo could only guess the family on the nearby dock, laughing and drinking, was the subject of the statement. The blond scrunched up his nose then.

"I don't like the beach," the blond said, quickly, like he'd be insulted if Kuroo thought otherwise. The way his face twisted in disgust made Kuroo laugh, and he put two fingers against the other's skin, watching the flesh lighten and fade back to red.

If the blond was put off by the contact (which he'd later tell Kuroo he most certainly was), he didn't say, but regarded Kuroo warily.

Later Kuroo would ask, teasingly, if Tsukishima minded the touch now. Tsukishima only claimed to want more of it.

"Whatever you say, wouldn't want you to get cooked," Kuroo had said, watching Tsukishima fingers dance over where his own had just been. It would've been a shame, to ruin such beautiful skin.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, but he pulled his shirt tighter around himself anyways. He didn't seem to think tan lines were cute.

"Better than another boring business dinner with my parents," he said, kicking at the sand with a grimace. It only grew when some of it blew forward, onto his shoes.

"Business dinner?" Kuroo asked, repressing a smile. He knew all about the dinner, being an overseer of the project, but he wasn't going to tell Tsukishima. Something about hearing Tsukishima talk at the time had amused him, intrigued him even. He often wondered if that natural gravitation to him was mutual, and the reason Tsukishima had spoken with him at all. Months later, it would be confirmed.

"Some boring businessmen want to buy our beach house, I don't know, don't super care..."

"Ah, so you're a Tsukishima then?"

And at Tsukishima's surprise, Kuroo raised his hand, triumphant as ever.

"Kuroo Tetsurou, boring businessman, nice to meet you."

And later, Tsukishima would tell him he’d been reluctantly charmed, torn between wanting to punch him and stay in that moment forever.

But of course, family introductions and business negotiations were Kuroo's main game then. If he wanted to effectively get this house bought for his company, he needed to be professional.

(Around Tsukishima's parents anyways).

However, the fascination had not stopped.

The tour of Tsukishima's house was enough to make Kuroo feel like he lived in a dumpster. The dinner was held at the main family estate, the large stone steps leading up to double doors with traditional columns on either side. The grass looked pristine, and a sign for 'best garden' sat stuck in the dirt around plots of different roses. Kuroo's one bedroom was about the size of the front yard.

Inside was another story, the frames of priceless art and shining silver catching the light of the sun through the skylight.

But all that luxury and glamor, and still Kuroo's eyes followed Tsukishima the most. He looked like someone out of the fairytales Kuroo's mother used to read to him. The loose clothes, the fine bone structure, soft skin...

Sensing the attention, Tsukishima caught Kuroo's eye for the second time, and quickly covered his blush with his hand. The bracelet around his wrist twinkled in mirth.

("I did not blush.")

("Love, you're a terrible liar.")

It carried on like that the rest of the evening, with Kuroo stealing glances and whispering jokes over the boring corporate jargon which dominated the table.

Tsukishima appreciated it, and it was easy for Kuroo to see how often he was disregarded by his parents, talked over. His brother was just as powerless, but he seemed to approve of the harmless flirting going on with Tsukishima. Kuroo liked him.

Tsukishima looked like he wanted to take Kuroo somewhere else, to be anywhere but there, and Kuroo silently wondered if he always felt that way in such a grand home. He could see how it would feel empty.

He didn't want to leave Tsukishima here by himself. So, when one of his colleagues suggested:

"We'll have someone come by frequently to inspect and oversee the construction, just to make sure you're not changing anything we'd like to keep."

Kuroo volunteered in a hot second.

("Were you excited?")

("Maybe.")

For the next few months, Kuroo took every opportunity he could to visit the Tsukishima residence, and with each time, he took back more and more knowledge about their youngest son.

Favorite foods. Hobbies. Studies. What languages he spoke...

Tsukishima never made Kuroo feel dumb or less than because of his ignorance about etiquette or fine cuisine, if anything, Tsukishima loved teaching him. Sometimes he cooked for him too, and Kuroo would bring him his poorly shaped wacky cake, made in his barely functioning oven at home.

"There's no milk in this?" Tsukishima would ask, already ten bites in.

"Or butter, or sugar," Kuroo proclaimed proudly, only slightly worried about how Tsukishima would receive that.

But no, the blond's eyes just widened, and he took another obscenely huge chunk into his mouth. "Damn..."

And while Tsukishima learned about milk cake and grape pie, Kuroo got to try things like stuffed mushrooms and biscotti.

Kuroo would pronounce things wrong on purpose, just to see Tsukishima laugh.

"Whore doers," Kuroo sighed wistfully, holding up the small appetizer just in time to avoid being sprayed by Tsukishima's spit-take of seltzer.

Things were fairly perfect.

But Kuroo got greedy. He began to take and take Tsukishima's time, and the blond willingly gave it. Late night meetups, sneaking into the mansion, walks on the beach when it wasn't too sunny, fooling around when Tsukishima's parents were traveling. What ended up being a year felt like too little, too short. Not enough.

"You're not going to use Shakespeare quotes on me, are you?" Tsukishima asked once, as Kuroo scaled the side of his house to get to the blond's window.

Kuroo's shock would've put many actors to shame. "You know who Shakespeare is? I'm impressed."

Tsukishima tried to look unamused, but keyword: tried. Didn't matter, Kuroo leaned up, stealing his lips in a kiss.

In the beginning, he used to count how many they'd had, but now the numbers were so high he could only be sure they were in the hundreds. He hoped to double that.

("And I did.")

Those had been some of their last happy moments. But the off-roading began when Tsukishima's parents found out about their little affair, and the rest was history.

"Mother and father said if I stay with you, I'll be disinherited," Tsukishima sighed, swinging his legs where he sat on his canopied bed. Kuroo stared somberly at the soft sheets, the dozens of pillows. There was no way Tsukishima could give that up, not for him.

Before Kuroo could worry about sneaking out of the house, about never seeing Tsukishima's parents again, or nursing his broken heart, Tsukishima threw a suitcase on the bed.

It probably could've fit the world inside of it.

Looking back over his shoulder, Kuroo's suit jacket slipping down his thin frame, Tsukishima smiled, the most hopeful Kuroo had ever seen him look.

"Are you going to help me pack, or not?"

And despite all the reasons Kuroo could've brought up, none of his protests were genuine, and they faded into oblivion. He knew how much Tsukishima would be giving up, and yet, he'd decided to be selfish.

The first thing he packed was Tsukishima's beach outfit.

("We don't even go to the beach.")

("Doesn't matter.")

It was a memory.

Kuroo hadn't known whether to smile or cry, and he'd probably done both, now that he revisited the moment. Tsukishima's parents had been shocked as Tsukishima descended the stairs in all his usual grace, two suitcases in tow with the last of the wealth he'd ever see.

Thus, one year turned into five.

Kuroo had kept waiting for Tsukishima to tell him he regretted it all, to say he was leaving. But it had never happened, and the fear made Kuroo restless.

He wanted to make this anniversary nice, to remind his boyfriend of how much he was trying for the both of them, but he had no idea what to do. His budget would only allow so much...

But when he remembered Tsukishima, standing on that beach, he had to think of something. Something exciting, something where Tsukishima could dress up the way he used to, not just shrug on wares from the thrift shop Kuroo frequented.

And yet, he had nothing in his head.

By the time he'd completely bummed himself out with his own thoughts, Kuroo's shift was over, and he was no closer to solving his predicament than before.

But of course, Kuroo's solution came in the form of Iwaizumi's problems.

What were friends for?

"You look pretty stressed these days man," Kuroo said to him, while they enjoyed a cigarette break. The stress pent up in Iwaizumi's posture was hard to miss, as were his deep inhales and restless fidgeting.

Dude needed to get laid, or at least needed a--

"Oh," Kuroo whispered to himself, almost missing Iwaizumi's useless excuse.

"I've just been tired is all, and there's been non-stop meetings all month," the other grumbled, flicking his cigarette butt onto the pavement.

All too quickly, a plan formed in Kuroo's mind.

"Sounds to me like you need a drink," Kuroo said, perhaps too victoriously, but hey, this was a win for him too. What better place for an after dinner date than Bokuto's? It was classy enough, if not a little crowded. It would be fine. If he had Bokuto reserve him a table, Tsukishima would be comfortable. Some gambling, some drinks...

"I don't know..." Iwaizumi said, but Kuroo could see the way his eyes lit up, the way he licked his lips at the prospect of liquor.

Kuroo had this in the bag. And hey, maybe he'd even get Iwaizumi laid.

"C'mon out this Friday," Kuroo said. "I know a place."

Sure enough, Iwaizumi agreed, proving he needed little convincing.

Perfect.

"A speakeasy?" Tsukishima asked as Kuroo kissed him on the cheek on the day of reckoning. The flowers Kuroo had sent him were sitting in an old bottle of seltzer which Tsukishima had fashioned into a vase, and he grinned, tightening his hold around his boyfriend. Someday, they'd get a real garden, where Tsukishima's green thumb could be put to good use.

"Mm, Bokuto's," Kuroo said, watching the recognition and ease flow back into Tsukishima's features. He knew the blond had always secretly been fond of Bokuto, and this was proof. Bokuto would be overjoyed. "We'll go after dinner, it'll be fun."

And not boring.

And maybe it would even feel like the old parties Tsukishima would have at his mansion, enough to keep him satisfied.

Or enough to remind him of what he's missing....

Kuroo silenced his thoughts, peppering kisses against Tsukishima's jaw. None of those before they even left the house, no way.

"Is it safe?" Tsukishima asked, suspicion dancing in his honey eyes.

Kuroo smirked, nudging him. "I wouldn't take you anywhere that wasn't safe love. Who do you think I am?"

"Someone whose friend owns an illegal bar?"

Ouch.

Kuroo pushed his boyfriend away in mock offense, shooing Tsukishima towards the bedroom. It wasn't a long walk. "Alright smarty pants, just go get changed why don't you? I laid out your clothes."

Another surprise, but a more selfish one.

Tsukishima's steps faltered as he stepped into the tiny bedroom, looking at the two sets of clothes sprawled out on the sheets. "You....these are..."

They were Tsukishima's finest clothes, ones he'd taken with him from his family's house. The oxford bags were gray, so soft Kuroo hadn't wanted to put them down. They accentuated Tsukishima's legs perfectly, Kuroo knew. He'd worn them at a dinner once. Along with the plain white button up and suspenders, it was perfect for a night out. As an afterthought, Kuroo had also grabbed one of his own panama hats, another gift from his mother. It had never been able to contain his hair, so he figured Tsukishima should at least get some use out of it.

Tsukishima's face was neutral as walked over to them, not exactly what Kuroo had been expecting (although, unconcealed joy wasn't an expression Tsukishima showed often). Kuroo took it as a good sign.

"What are you going to wear?" Tsukishima asked, tracing the seam of the pants slowly.

"Huh?" Kuroo didn't see why that was relevant. "Just...work clothes." They were formal enough.

Tsukishima seemed to disagree. The blond's look was like a scold, playful but not to be taken lightly. "If I have to dress up to go eat cake and drink, so do you."

And well, Kuroo couldn't argue with that. All he could do was readjust his work suit to be a bit more fashionable, foregoing his usual jacket for a darker, somewhat trendier one (something Tsukishima had borrowed from his brother). Kuroo also ditched the tie, and Tsukishima's gaze was so hot it could burn him. He'd let it.

Later, Kuroo had to tell himself, later. No point in jumping each other on empty stomachs. Regardless, Kuroo's hands had quite a bit of difficulty keeping to themselves as they walked out into the city.

Tsukishima always relaxed into the hold, pliant in his arms, and Kuroo could only imagine how much needier alcohol might make his blond. The excitement and tension were palpable, even through their meal, and Kuroo watched as Tsukishima licked the frosting of the cake a little too slowly to be accidental at the end of their dinner.

"Tease," he whispered across the table, and Tsukishima only shrugged.

But amidst the perfect atmosphere, like always, the doubts came surging back as Tsukishima finished his last bite of tiramisu. To think cake could cause so many issues.

It wasn't fancy cake, probably not even legitimate tiramisu. A cheap knock-off, and Tsukishima had surely had the real thing before. And with that single thought, he wondered what else might strike Tsukishima as unrefined, poor.

Kuroo's mind was filled suddenly with memories of Bokuto's bar; sweaty bodies, people gambling their lives away, sticky surfaces where drinks had sloshed...

Not to mention the blatant disregard for privacy as people pressed against each other freely, kissing and touching.

Would Tsukishima be disgusted? Shocked by the indecency? Such a place had to be unheard of for an aristocrat...

This was a terrible idea. Tsukishima was going to realize how uncultured and rugged Kuroo truly was. He'd pack up and leave, back to poshness and civility and--

"Tetsurou?"

Tsukishima's voice had Kuroo blinking, reorienting himself in reality. When had they left the restaurant? He'd barely noticed they'd stopped walking, and he looked to Tsukishima, apologetic. Fuck, he'd been ignoring him. Awesome, perfect.

"Uh, we're here, right?" Tsukishima asked, and Kuroo glanced up, puzzled to find a classy bookstore sign, the lights inside dimmed after a busy day. That way, no one would know what went on beyond its walls.

Oh. They were here. Shit.

No going back now...

"U-uh, yeah, just gotta wait for Iwaizumi," he said, reaching shakily for the front door handle. His coworker and his problems were Kuroo's only saving grace. If nothing else, maybe one of their night's would turn out okay.

Tsukishima's hand stopped him from plowing onward, and Kuroo sensed the doubt before he heard it. The same tone Tsukishima had to use when Kuroo denied being sick.

"Tetsu, are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird." Tsukishima's eyes narrowed, and Kuroo couldn't help it, he felt a rush. So perceptive, always so aware. Tsukishima paid so much attention to him...

He couldn't let his weird mood ruin their night together, especially if it'd be their last anniversary...

Kuroo shook his head. No. No, it'll be fine...

But honestly, he couldn't tell rational worry from delusion anymore.

"I'm just tired, but I wanted to do something special for you so--"

"Staying at home would've been just as special," Tsukishima reassured, grip tightening in a form of concern he only afforded to Kuroo. "We can--"

"Kei, please," Kuroo insisted, smile painted on. "I want to have some fun tonight, it's important to me."

But then again...

Kuroo tried not to sound so desperate. "Would you prefer some place quieter, we can go to a music lounge instead, no drinks needed."

And then you won't have to see the debauchery in here and ditch me.

Tsukishima shook his head though, such was Kuroo's luck. Why hadn't he planned a music lounge instead? He blamed Iwaizumi.

"Didn't you want to be here for Iwaizumi? It would be nice to see Akaashi and Bokuto too..."

Not even Tsukishima's begrudging tone at having to admit he missed those two losers made Kuroo's nerves calm.

Who was he to deny Tsukishima though? Not on a night like tonight. Any insistence otherwise would surely tip the blond off anyways.

Damn it all.

Not much else to it. So, he nodded and smiled as best he could, covering it's falseness with a kiss to Tsukishima's cheek, and opened the bookshop door.

Iwaizumi ended up not being much help.

Kuroo pouted to himself, determined to make Iwaizumi pay for his nonexistent crimes at some point in the near future.

As soon as he showed up, Iwaizumi had looked totally out of place, but intrigued nonetheless. Lost in his own little world, he seemed completely fine with doing things on his own, without Kuroo's help. At the beginning of the night, such a thing would've been ideal, but now Kuroo full on panicked.

The speakeasy was in full swing, loose ties and loud laughs, indecent affections and even more indecent squandering of money...

What had Kuroo been thinking?

"Are you going to gamble Iwaizumi?" Tsukishima said, completely unaffected, cranking up that taught politeness he tended to forgo. Probably because Iwaizumi was Kuroo's friend.

Fuck, he's so sweet. Why did I bring him here?

"Uh, probably? Yes, sure," Iwaizumi responded, not even glancing their way as he took in the scenes in front of him.

Like a lost lamb, a buff one.

Kuroo's hand came on his shoulder, since despite his own panic, he knew his friend needed this. Perhaps with some encouragement...

"Enjoy yourself, Iwaizumi," he said, his voice a soft purr. He saw Tsukishima glance towards the blackjack tables at the other end of the bar, and no doubt about it, the acceptance of a challenge lit a fire in him. Tsukishima did hate the prospect of losing...

"Right," Iwaizumi replied, adjusting his tie against his neck. Kuroo could already see him sweat.

No can do.

Slowly, Kuroo pulled out his pack of cigarettes at the same time Iwaizumi did. Guess they both needed it.

"Take your hat off, loosen your tie, enjoy. You don't have to worry about getting caught," he said, because maybe that's what had Iwaizumi so uptight. Kuroo didn't have time to find out. He flicked a finger against Iwaizumi's hat before placing a cigarette between his lips, trusting him to take care of himself if Kuroo steered him in the right direction. "Tsukki and I are going to play at the blackjack table. Get a drink and join us."

The blond nodded silently beside him, no doubt also noting Iwaizumi's starstruck behavior. Kuroo had expected such a thing from his boyfriend, but the blond was as calm as ever, if not more so. He scrunched his nose at the loud thuds and laughs every now and again, but he still pulled Kuroo farther into the bar, towards the blackjack table.

Kuroo took another shaky drag before his arm found Tsukishima's waist, following him towards the unknown.

Please have a good time...

To Kuroo's shock, Tsukishima had lucky genes. Must've been a rich people thing.

"Play again?" The dealer said, shuffling the cards in one of his large hands, fingers expertly cradling the stack with practiced ease. His sleepy eyes stayed trained on Tsukishima's face, trying to tempt him, but the blond refused.

He'd won enough, but the observation was left unsaid. The dealer, a new face named Tendou, nodded respectfully as Tsukishima took his winnings. Kuroo felt like he'd been transported five years back in time, swooning over his boyfriend's fierce and often scary determination. Not only that, Tsukishima stayed his rational, if not intimidating self. From all the rounds he'd played, he'd only lost once, and the small amount he'd allowed himself to gamble was doubled in less than an hour.

Apart from that, the mood was high for them both. Kuroo's hands cradled Tsukishima's hips, and the blond didn't move away from the public display, but leaned into the touch, tracing Kuroo's hands with featherlight motions. Kuroo had lost track of the amount of victory kisses he'd received.

It almost made him forget his previous concerns, but not enough to stop him from drinking more.

Kuroo expected Tsukishima to keep playing, some weird fantasy going on in his head of them making loads of coin in one night. Of course, it was that attitude which the house preyed upon, and Tsukishima realized it before Kuroo could shake off his own alcohol fueled imaginations.

He'd already had a few glasses, but he was stressed, alright?

"Now we can get new sheets," Tsukishima said triumphantly, tucking the money safely away before leaving the huddle of blackjack tables altogether.

Kuroo followed, beyond impressed, as Tsukishima sat elegantly at the bar. Like it was some fancy steak house instead of a seedy, stuffy underground establishment.

It was another reminder of how much he didn't belong here, and Kuroo plopped onto the barstool next to him, cradling his half spent glass. If only he'd realized how much alcohol could lead to more harm than good when he felt like this...

"Tsukki!" Bokuto's thunderous voice made them both move back as his large hands slammed onto the bar, eyes widening, like Tsukishima was a ghost. "What are you doing here?"

Ah right, Kuroo hadn't warned Bokuto beforehand. He loved the guy, but keeping secrets was not his strength. He needed to stick to weights, it obviously worked for him.

Kuroo would've said so, if his mouth worked. It might've been time to stop drinking...

"Anniversary," Tsukishima said, the amusement barely concealed in his smile. He knew Bokuto didn't need a lot of words to get the point. The other looked between the two of them twice before a sly smirk wormed its way onto his features, and Kuroo was quite prepared to throw his drink at him.

"Ohoho, I see," Bokuto said, raising a hand to cup his mouth. If anything, it made him louder. "Well, you know, if you guys want I can clear a room and--hey!"

The dish rag which hit Bokuto in the face made Kuroo beyond thankful.

Akaashi walked up from where he'd been cleaning some of the glasses, easily reclaiming the dish towel as if he'd never even thrown it in the first place. "Don't be gross, Koutarou." Then, glancing up, "Happy Anniversary. I'll get you a drink on the house."

But Akaashi, ever the bastard, looked Kuroo up and down with open criticism. "Only Tsukishima though, you've had enough."

Rude.

Unapologetic, Akaashi shared a smirk with Tsukishima, setting down one glass in front of him, chipped at the side and everything. Something about it made Kuroo upset.

"Ha! He told you Kuroo!"

"Better watch it man," Kuroo smiled, his laugh dry. "Wouldn't want another towel to the face."

And the reminder was enough to refresh Bokuto's memory, and Akaashi quickly scurried away, followed by Bokuto's pout infused words. "Keiji! How could you?!"

They left silence in their wake, mostly due to Tsukishima's preoccupation with his drink, bringing it gently to his lips, like fine wine or tea.

It made Kuroo lose his sense of control, and the things he'd worked so well to hide all night came rushing out as he grabbed Tsukishima's wrist, stopping him. The jerkiness of the motion made Tsukishima jump.

"What?" he asked, peering at Kuroo with concern. He looked hot, and not in the usual attractive way. Flushed skin, sweat, with blond bangs pressed against his forehead since he'd neglected a haircut in favor of getting new baking sheets from some dining catalogue.

The exertion present didn't match with the fine fabrics he sported, or the aura he gave off. Poised, polished.

"Don't drink that," Kuroo said, putting his own drink down with too much force. "You s-shouldn't."

And then, the floodgates opened.

Tsukishima squinted, eyeing the glass curiously. He must've found nothing out of the ordinary, because he looked unconvinced. "Is something wrong with--"

"Yeah, yeah there's lots wrong with it, lots wrong with--" Kuroo gestured to the walls, the area around them, swaying on his stool. "Everything."

Tsukishima's grip on the counter tightened. "Oh?"

And curse Tsukishima for not stopping him, but the blond knew him far too well. Knew if Kuroo was even a bit tipsy his mouth ran a mile a minute.

"Yeah, it's-it's just cheap alcohol, it's too hot down here and rowdy and...and your clothes are getting dirty," Kuroo rambled, not yet hitting the point he feared to bring into the world, their world.

God, shut up.

He was being the real brat here he knew, and still...

"Well, it's kind of illegal so I wouldn't expect much less," Tsukishima replied, like it was so simple, and he regarded Kuroo warily. "Bokuto has done a decent job with it and--"

"No Kei, it's wrong for you."

The pause might've been more significant had someone nearby not dropped a glass, sending the shards out onto the damp floor.

Kuroo's point exactly.

Tsukishima finally set his own glass down, but Kuroo didn't feel much relief as it sat there in front of him. "Excuse me?"

Too much, way too much to hold back.

"Look at you," Kuroo said with a laugh, raising his hand to cup Tsukishima's face, the tenderness contradicting his frustration. He'd never been upset with Tsukishima, only himself. I love you so much. "You don't deserve this. You--you should be at some high end restaurant with butlers and gardens and hors d'oeuvres, and all that stuff your parents had!"

That you should've kept receiving. Where you should've stayed.

Even as he thought it, it was like a butcher knife to the gut.

Tsukishima's expression, guarded and upset, slipped quietly into understanding. "Tetsu..."

"You shouldn't have just one nice outfit, you shouldn't live in a tiny apartment where you have to gamble for new sheets or budget, or do anything like that!"

"Tetsurou."

"And I'm sorry you have to shop at thrift stores, and eat cheap cake, and go to the same place every year for our anniversary," Kuroo sighed, and he leaned over, lying his head against the unclean counter. He didn't care. The anger in his tone began to die off, leaving exhaustion and regret in its wake. He simply didn't have the energy anymore. The insecurities he'd kept festering inside for so long had finally drained him.

"I'm sorry I can't give you...anything. Everything. I don't know." The last words came in a whisper, and Kuroo reached for his glass, finding it empty.

How appropriate.

The rowdiness of the bar filled the space between them, and Kuroo could feel Tsukishima's stare burning into the side of his face. He expected a lot of things to happen. For Tsukishima to storm out, maybe chalk it up to Kuroo inebriation and ignore it all.

Although, Kuroo had to know better deep down, past all his anxiety. He had to know Tsukishima never swept things under the rug when it came to him. This Tsukishima, the real one, not the wealthy prince in Kuroo head. This Tsukishima took care of Kuroo when he was sick and waited for him to come home after late nights, who offered to egg his boss's house and help with job searches. It was an insult really, to consider those things as done out of pity, and not love.

So it shouldn't have come as any surprise when Tsukishima lifted Kuroo's head gently, turning it towards him in what Kuroo would call the most loving way possible, and fixed him with the most unimpressed stare he'd ever seen.

And oof, that sobered Kuroo up real quick.

"Tetsu."

Tsukishima's tone made him wince. Or, maybe it was how hard Tsukishima was squeezing his cheeks. "Yes?"

A long, fond sigh. "What have you gotten all worked up over this time?"

Those words alone put the first needle in Kuroo's poorly constructed, entirely imagined argument.

"Um."

If Tsukishima sighed any more, he'd be worried. "Tetsu, can I ask you something?"

Kuroo couldn't nod because of the grip, but he hoped Tsukishima could sense he was trying.

"Do I make you happy?"

The hesitance locked in Tsukishima's tone had Kuroo snapping his head up and right out of his hold, the answer quick and firm on his lips. "Yes, absolutely! You're my whole world."

Tsukishima knew that right? He made Kuroo happier every single day, even a minute in his presence made the days a little easier. Kuroo wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Tsukishima arched a brow. "Really? So, you don't care that you don't live in a big house or have nice clothes?"

And ah, Kuroo could feel the point surfacing, slowly but surely. But in all honesty, he'd never thought about those things. Sure they struggled sometimes, but they could afford food, and electricity, and a roof over their heads. As long as he had Tsukishima and a home, he was content.

Kuroo shook his head slowly. "Well...no. As long as I have you I don't care about any of that. It would be nice but it's not a necessity to me."

Tsukishima's smile was fond and soft, if not just a tad amazed at how thick headed Kuroo could be at times.

And then the kicker came, effectively sending Kuroo to his metaphorical knees. "Then why can't you believe it’s the same for me?"

Kuroo fixated on the high blush on his boyfriend's face, and suddenly the lighting of the bar seemed perfect for him, less grainy and less discolored.

Kuroo ducked his head despite the warmth rushing through him, the last vestiges of doubt creeping into his words. "But, don't you ever want more? Or--or think about what you used to have?"

The questions Kuroo feared the most had to be answered, he knew, but it didn't make it more tolerable.

Tsukishima laughed softly, poking Kuroo's forehead with a firmness which didn't match. "I didn't pack up and leave my life for fun you know, I knew what I was doing."

"You were young though..."

"So were you. And no offense," Tsukishima scoffed, finally taking a sip from his drink. It must've burned going down, but the blond didn't seem bothered. "I'm way more reliable than you. I should be the one asking if you regret anything."

"Of course I don't!" Kuroo may have said it a little too loud, because Akaashi turned around from the other end of the bar, but he didn't care. "I love you, if I had it my way I'd be with you forever."

"Then let me be with you forever, you dingus," Tsukishima said, laughing at Kuroo's stunned expression. "We want the same thing."

Tsukishima's confession was quieter than his, but it was all Kuroo heard. Reassurance, affection, things Tsukishima had been giving him all along. Kuroo was a real idiot.

But then Tsukishima glanced down at his glass, his smile fading in uncertainty. "If I didn't show that enough, I'm--"

"No!" Kuroo grabbed his hands, jolting him for the second time that night. Not exactly how he'd wanted things to go, but he supposed this was needed. "Don't blame yourself, this is my fault. Completely. Like wow...I really dropped the ball. Please don't be sad."

"I'm not," Tsukishima said, shoulders shaking with mirth, and Kuroo nudged him playfully.

"Hey I have to be sure, communication is key."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

Yeah, but he'd work on it.

Kuroo smiled, taking Tsukishima's hand in his own, mapping out every inch of skin. "So...you don't regret it?"

And bless Tsukishima for his fast answers. "No, and before you ask, not even a little."

Tsukishima's hand wrapped around his when Kuroo reached his palm, sweaty from the heat, but Kuroo wouldn't pull away from the warmth for anything right then.

Tsukishima shook his head, like he could read Kuroo's mind, knew every corny thought crossing it. "I swear, I can't leave you alone, can I?"

For once, Kuroo was completely aware of the love laced in those words, the knowledge that Tsukishima had no problem staying by his side.

Kuroo grinned, bright and obnoxious. "Nope, so please don't ever."

And with one last squeeze of his hand, they made it a promise.

While the back room had been tempting after such an emotional exchange, Kuroo found he missed his own bed.

Plus with the way Tsukishima had begun to look at him, suggestive and not at all subtle, Kuroo wasn't too keen on letting others hear his boyfriend's moans through the walls.

They'd relocated to one of the few booths in the place (Bokuto's treat), Tsukishima's legs draped across Kuroo's lap while he sipped leisurely at his third drink, licking the rim to savor the taste as it was drained empty.

Kuroo didn't take his eyes off him the rest of the night, and that was probably Tsukishima's plan anyways. It was uncanny really, how easily Kuroo's thoughts could flip from wholesome to filthy in the span of an hour, but well...it was their anniversary, and Tsukishima looked damn good in those clothes. Kuroo's hand dipped lower, caressing Tsukishima's inner thigh as he felt the blond struggle not to spread his legs.

Guess he wasn't that drunk.

By the time people began to stumble and bump into their table, the crowd growing as the night went on, the heat burning between them neared the realm of unbearable.

Tsukishima's hands were a lot more carefree when tipsy, roaming down Kuroo's chest, gliding over each ridge of toned muscle.

Oh, if Bokuto could see them then, totally fitting in with the lecherous crowd as they shared open mouthed kisses, tongues dancing along the seams of each other's lips.

Alcohol or not, Kuroo loved the taste, and he surged up, capturing Tsukishima's lips possessively.

Want.

It paired so well with love, didn't it?

It didn't take long for Tsukishima to drag Kuroo out the door and into the fresh air, once they'd managed to somewhat look presentable again (and once Kuroo smuggled a bottle out along with them).

Not like it mattered much to Kuroo whether or not Tsukishima's collar looked neat and tidy, it'd be irrelevant soon.

They moved quickly down the sidewalk, Tsukishima doing his best not to sway. Kuroo pulled him close by the waist, trying to help...mainly. It gave him a good chance to prod and rub against his boyfriend more, to make them both yearn for the contact.

He must've said one of his comments about Tsukishima's clothes aloud, because the blond was giggling, striding out of Kuroo's grasp and out ahead of him.

Ah damn.

Right, now he remembered what he'd said.

"Your legs look amazing, fuck I love those pants..."

"I can tell," Tsukishima teased, and his gaze should've been downright illegal. They were in public. "You made me wear them. But I'll have you know, I quite like my other clothes."

Tsukishima huffed, and the reminder of thrift stores made Kuroo smile for once, a nice change. It made the warm and fuzzies surge back, but Tsukishima always had a way of joining that atmosphere with something sensual, demanding.

The blond loosened the buttons around his collar. Kuroo watched, fixated at each delicate, deliberate movement until he found himself aching to mark up the clean skin exposed to him. Tsukishima smirked as he touched his collarbone, a hunter who'd caught his prey. "Although, right now I'll admit, any kind of clothing feels a little constricting."

A lot of things could've explained that. The heat of the bar, the alcohol still flowing through their veins, but Kuroo knew his boyfriend too well to miss the hidden message there, and he smirked, promising to fix Tsukishima's little 'problem' as soon as they got home.

Or he would've, if Kuroo had any real control over the situation. And truthfully, he didn't mind one bit as Tsukishima pulled him through the front door and into their bedroom, pushing Kuroo against the bed in a whirlwind of movements.

No, no way he'd ever argue with having Tsukishima above him, straddling him and clawing at his clothes.

Their lips met, and Kuroo growled into it, grinding Tsukishima's hips down onto his half-hard cock. They both gasped, and Kuroo rewarded Tsukishima's little whimper with a repeat performance, rocking the blond's body against his like a couple of horny teenagers. It reminded Kuroo of their first time actually, in the back of one of Tsukishima's more...expensive family cars.

As reckless and fun as that had been, Kuroo much preferred this, where Tsukishima's voice could bounce off the walls freely.

Kuroo kicked off his undergarments from where Tsukishima had already pulled them down, his hands tracing Tsukishima's bare abdomen. He'd probably ripped a button with how forcefully he'd pulled Tsukishima's shirt open, but whatever, Kuroo liked sewing.

"Mm, yes," Tsukishima moaned as Kuroo tugged at one of his nipples, his hips rutting from the pleasure. "More..."

"Yeah, me too," Kuroo sighed, sitting up to kiss Tsukishima's neck. "Touch me more."

He made sure to leave darker marks this time around, ones that wouldn't fade so easily. It was probably just Kuroo feeling sentimental, but he wanted a physical representation of that promise, a promise of forever.

Tsukishima reached down as he angled his neck for better access, pumping both his and Kuroo's cocks with slow, firm movements. Kuroo groaned, bucking into the touch. Tsukishima's hands worked wonders, and Kuroo would never be tired of them.

The blond smeared the shared precum at the tips of their cocks, moaning to himself. His other hand pulled Kuroo's head back sharply, massaging his scalp in a way so satisfying it made Kuroo dizzy. With a smile, Tsukishima brought his wet fingertips up to Kuroo's lips, prodding until Kuroo opened his mouth.

As if Kuroo would refuse.

He kept eye contact the whole time as he sucked on Tsukishima's fingers, and he continued to rub at the blond's nipples, fully determined to have those in his mouth next.

Or his neck again. Or his thighs. So many options...

Tsukishima was so sensitive right then too, back bending at the smallest pressure from Kuroo's mouth. Raising his hips, Tsukishima's pants fell farther down, and Kuroo greedily reached to spread the blond's ass apart.

Foreplay was one of his favorite parts of sex with Tsukishima, working him up and messing around together until they just couldn't take it anymore. But Kuroo was impatient. All the loving and desirous emotions from the bar were still burning in his heart, and he wanted to take, no more waiting.

However, the glint of something in the corner of his eye stalled him a bit longer.

The bottle Kuroo had smuggled had slipped out onto the bed sheets when Tsukishima had unfastened Kuroo's suit jacket, sending it flying to the other end of the room. Seeing the liquid sloshing around in the glass, Kuroo smirked around Tsukishima's fingers, reaching to pull them out of his mouth.

"Hang on baby," Kuroo said, tone rough enough to make Tsukishima jolt. He chuckled, reaching for the bottle and undoing the stopper on top. He knew he'd grabbed this for a reason...

He balanced the bottle gently, or as gently as he could (his mind was a bit fuzzy), and poured a small line starting from Tsukishima's collarbone, watching it trickle down his skin.

Beautiful...

"Hey, what are you--ah," Tsukishima gasped as Kuroo followed the trail with his tongue, and his mouth wrapped around a nipple, sucking none too gently.

Tsukishima arched in his hold, and the friction was more than Kuroo could take. He pulled back, taking a swig before offering the bottle to his boyfriend.

With mischief dancing in his eyes, the blond took it, pushing Kuroo onto his back once again.

The chill of the liquid on Kuroo's abs felt refreshing, but not as much as Tsukishima's tongue as he lapped it up eagerly, taking his sweet time. Every time Kuroo thought Tsukishima would dip lower and take his cock in his mouth, he moved back up, sucking love bites into Kuroo's abdomen.

"Fuck..." Kuroo shuttered at the thought of Tsukishima's marks on him, it had really been too long. His hands threaded through soft blond locks, scratching just the right way to make Tsukishima hum in approval. "Kei...c'mon, lemme do you."

Tsukishima snorted as he rose back up, reaching across the bed to set down the bottle and find the jar hidden in their nightstand, slicking up his fingers. "So polite..."

"Hey, I've said worse." Kuroo licked his lips as Tsukishima swatted his hand away, clearly set on giving Kuroo a show. Shit...

Tsukishima reached behind himself, and Kuroo could picture it, Tsukishima's hole slowly becoming more wet and stretched out to accommodate Kuroo's cock. He couldn't wait.

"I know," Tsukishima breathed out shakily, pushing in one of his fingers with a delighted gasp. "I like when you do."

Kuroo restrained himself, a challenge, by digging his hands into Tsukishima's thighs, squeezing and kneading the soft skin until it bloomed red from his hand prints. All the while, he stayed fixed on Tsukishima's expression as it shifted from mild discomfort, to full blown ecstasy as he stretched himself out.

His pants came out loudly, sharp sounds punctuating by little whines as Tsukishima found all his favorite spots, and all Kuroo wanted was to reach them all with his cock, make Tsukishima scream.

"Oh shit," the blond cried out, and his entire body spasmed, rocking back onto his fingers. Kuroo couldn't take it any longer. "Tetsu..."

Kuroo grabbed the lube, reaching down to slick up his cock and pull Tsukishima's hand away. The blond moaned at the suddenness, but he seemed all too eager as Kuroo lined himself up, hot and stiff against Tsukishima's ass.

The blond raised his hips, sinking down, and Kuroo's vision blacked out for a few seconds.

"Holy fuck," he breathed out, and tried his best to watch as Tsukishima fully sat down on his cock, the heat and tightness making his mind swim way more than alcohol ever could. "You feel so good, wait until--ah--wait until I put every last drop in you."

Tsukishima keened, leaning down to capture Kuroo's lips in a quick, messy kiss before his hips started to move, bouncing with no trace of the elegance Tsukishima usually held.

Right then and there, it was purely animalistic, chasing their end together.

Kuroo grinned as he tightened his hands against Tsukishima's hips, ramming up at just the right angle to make Tsukishima cry out.

While usually such rough treatment was reserved for taking Tsukishima from behind, Kuroo's thumbs digging into his lower back, Kuroo had to admit there was something extra rewarding about seeing Tsukishima's face as his jaw dropped, the most pathetic sounds leaking out.

“It’s right here right?” Kuroo asked innocently, repeating the movement without giving time for Tsukishima to adjust. "Feel good?"

"I--ha--yes, fuck yes," Tsukishima grit out, meeting each of Kuroo's thrusts as best he could before his legs started to tire, and Kuroo was actually grateful.

Now he could take some of that control back, take care of Tsukishima for a while, the way the blond always did for him in everyday life.

"Then let me be with you forever."

Kuroo groaned as he sat up, kissing Tsukishima with all the adoration he could, and used all his strength to bounce the blond in his lap, feeling his walls tighten around his cock.

They were both close, Kuroo could tell from the twitching of Tsukishima's legs, the way his toes curled.

"I love you," he whispered against Tsukishima's lips as he felt heat coil in his abdomen, his hips jerking in less precise moves as he neared his own end. "So much...love you...so come for me, come all over yourself for me."

Just me, always.

Kuroo reached for Tsukishima's cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, and it didn't take many pumps before Tsukishima was tipping over the edge. The blond tried to mutter an ‘I love you’ back, but the pleasure swallowed the words up as Tsukishima's body stiffened, his nails digging into Kuroo shoulders deliciously as he came onto his stomach.

The blond sagged in Kuroo's arms, whimpering as each new thrust bordered on the edge of too sensitive, but he egged Kuroo on, leaning back and showing off the mess on him, the marks Kuroo had left.

"You too, come in me," he whispered, totally fucked out, and seeing Tsukishima like that, cum dribbling down from his chest, was enough to make Kuroo lose it.

Kuroo pushed himself to the hilt inside of Tsukishima as he came, making sure to give Tsukishima everything he had as the sweat already began to cool against his skin.

Hell...

His vision blurred, in and out, but he could still see Tsukishima in all his glory, smiling at him in that completely relaxed, spent way.

Kuroo moaned as he pulled out, lifting Tsukishima up and off of him onto the bed. The blond seemed in no rush to get the cum out of him, that or he was too tired, because he flopped back onto their sheets, sighing happily.

They'd both needed that apparently.

Grossness be damned for a minute, Kuroo pushed his bangs back, crawling up to Tsukishima's side. Kissing him would never get old, not even when they were slow, innocent ones like this.

Tsukishima laughed into the kiss as Kuroo pulled away, shaking his head. "Feel better?"

Blushing, Kuroo ducked his head into his boyfriend's shoulder, groaning. Ugh. Maybe he had gone a bit overboard with all his overthinking this time around, and looking back it was sort of humiliating. There was no doubt in his mind that Tsukishima didn't care though, wouldn't judge him for it. Reassuring Kuroo wasn't a chore for him, and the realization made Kuroo look up again, kissing his boyfriend's forehead. No matter how many times he got too in his own head about things, Tsukishima would be there to set him down the right path, and he'd do the same in return.

"Good, because I won't tolerate any more lies," Tsukishima said, tapping Kuroo's nose.

"Technically I didn't lie--"

"Or fudging the truth, or pretending you're okay when you're really not." Tsukishima's victory grin was not something to dismiss lightly, and Kuroo didn't want to anyways. "Promise?"

After all, from here on out, he didn't think it would be that hard. Sharing with Tsukishima had never been hard, no matter what it concerned. Kisses, secrets, fears, joys, the lot.

Kuroo would give him everything.

Smiling, Kuroo nodded, and with one last breathless kiss, he knew all their promises would stand the test of time.

#adri writing #kurotsuki #kurotsukki #haikyuu!!

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myheroarabella · 7 years ago

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The Quirk Apprehension Test, Pt. 2

After a few minutes spent in the locker room with the rest of the girls changing into our sports uniforms, I found myself outside on a training field. Aizawa was standing in a circle drawn on the ground, not dissimilar to the softball pitches we encountered in middle school for our fitness tests. As more and more students grouped up, more complaints about missing the entrance ceremony and orientation were whispered. Frankly, the whispers weren't as quiet as they were, presumably, intended to be. In fact, they were loud enough for Aizawa to hear and take notice of them.

"Listen up. UA is known for its loose curriculum, and that extends to how the teachers want to run their classes. Now, if you want to go to the entrance ceremony, be my guest," Aizawa said, and a few of the girls moved to leave, "If you do, though, you won't be part of this class anymore - you'll be moved to class 1-B." Everyone who had been aiming to leave stopped in their tracks. I guess they figured out that the entrance ceremony wasn't as important as this. Whatever it was.

"Now, you remember your fitness tests from middle school, right? You weren't allowed to use your quirks for that, but now I'm allowing you to. Bakugou, would you care to join me up here?" Bakugo reluctantly made his way up to Aizawa, who spoke again. "What was your best softball throw in middle school?"

"Sixty-five meters." Bakugo grumbled, and I smirked. Only 65? Of course, that in and of itself isn't something to sniff at, I had beat him in my last exam by 3 meters. Aizawa nodded and handed Bakugo a softball.

"Now try again, but use your Quirk this time." Aizawa stepped out of the circle and backed away as Bakugo stepped in. He pulled his arm back, readying for the throw, and pitched it, adding an explosive blast to propel the ball further. I, and the rest of the class, watched the meter rise steadily. 65, 100, 250, 400, 600, 700; it was the furthest I'd ever seen a ball travel and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise, finding myself vaguely impressed. That would certainly be the farthest throw in the class. Everyone around me began murmuring, both impressed and excited at the prospect of giving it a shot themselves. Aizawa cleared his throat and got everyone's attention before speaking again in a grim tone.

"I've decided to add a new rule. We will do the fitness testing as normal, with the added usage of your Quirks. However, at the end of the test, the student with the lowest score overall will be expelled." Gasps and protests rang out around me as the seriousness of Aizawa's tone hit them.

"You can't actually do that, can you? Its not fair!" The brown haired girl from before cried. Aizawa grunted in her direction, though if one was listening closely it sounded more like a chuckle.

Did you forget about UA's ideals about teaching? I can do whatever I think is fitting, as long as my class learns from it. Now lets get to it!" First came the 50 meter dash. Again, I knew that my quirk could enhance my aerodynamic qualities and possibly hinder whoever was running with me, but it wouldn't do a whole lot of good. Even still, when my time came, I exhaled and lowered the pressure directly around me. I almost - almost - felt bad for the kid running with me; he had never spoken, that I'd heard, and it seemed the dropping pressure affected him more than most. He wobbled on his feet which dropped his speed, and I easily overtook him, finishing in a pretty 7.86 seconds. Next came the standing long jump, grip strength tests, and sustained side jump tests. Each were difficult for me to utilize my Quirk, but I still came out on the higher side of average. Finally, it was time for the Pitch. When it came to my turn, I knew that my quirk wouldn't help out much. Sure, lowering the pressure might ease the way a little bit, but not enough to hit a pretty 700 meter mark. I'd be lucky to even hit 100. Even so, it would be better than some in the class. I wound up my arm and concentrated on my breathing, that feeling of a sneeze itching behind my nose. I exhaled and let it go, releasing the ball as I did so. It soared through the air, and landed right at 101 meters. Not horrible, if I did say so myself. Just after me went the girl with the brown hair. She threw the ball and it just... kept going. The counter shot up quickly as the ball soared into the sky, until finally it blinked a single symbol - infinity. I felt my eyes involuntarily go wide with amazement, and everyone around me gasped and exclaimed about how far she had thrown. I suppose antigravity is a pretty handy thing to have at your disposal when throwing things.

I didn't particularly want to stay after I had finished, but it was the only way to find out the results and see who out of my classmates was out of the running for good. I sat through a few uninteresting throws before the very last was up, Midoriya. He hadn't done very well at all throughout the day, so he was close to the top of my list of "People Who Don't Belong Here," right below that little purple haired shit who had been drooling at my boobs all day. Midoriya wound up for the throw, but when he released, nothing happened. The ball dropped to the ground after maybe 30 meters. It was the final nail in his coffin. I couldn't help but smirk at the failure. I hadn't realized at first that Aizawa was staring at Midoriya and approaching, reprimanding him for something it seemed. Finally, everything clicked in my head. Aizawa was Eraserhead. He had erased Midoriya's Quirk right before he used it. Clever, and not unreasonable, seeing the amount of damage his legs had taken in the entrance exam. Aizawa stepped back and Midoriya wound up for another throw. Energy began to crackle down his arm, and it concentrated just as the ball was leaving his hand. The ball soared away, clocking in at 658 meters. Impressive, but when Midoriya turned to glance at Aizawa proudly, his finger was twisted, bruised, and limp. I rolled my eyes, he was still in pretty bad shape Quirk-wise. After all, he couldn't use it without severely injuring himself.

"What's the meaning of this... Hey!" Bakugo yelled, sprinting towards Midoriya with tiny explosions already forming in his hand. "Tell me what's going on, Deku, you bastard!" Before any harm could be done, several off-white cloths wrapped around Bakugo, holding him back. I sighed and rolled my eyes yet again, turning away from the stupid drama. I sat on the ground with a plop, trying my hardest to tune out the yelling. Finally after a few moments, Aizawa turned back to the class to speak. Ah, he was finally going to announce the scores, and who would be leaving. A hologram screen popped up in front of Aizawa displaying the ranks beside names. I scanned the screen and found my name. Ninth. Not good but not horrible either. I shrugged and looked for the last name. I was correct in guessing that it was Midoriya there. Too bad for him. I had begun to turn away when Aizawa's voice rang out again.

"By the way, I lied about the expulsion." Everyone around me looked shocked, but I was just disappointed. There would be no real competition now, apparently. "It was a rational deception to draw out the upper limits of your Quirks." It was reasonable enough, I supposed. "And with that, we're done. There are curriculum sheets on your desks in the classroom, make sure to look them over before tomorrow." Finally, I could get out of this stupid sports uniform. It was itchy. I raced back to the changing rooms and was back in my school uniform in record time. The other girls started filing in as I was leaving, but Momo caught me by the arm before I could make it out the door.

"Arabella -" She started, but I cut her off.

"I don't know or care about what you want to talk to me for. But if its important enough for you to put your hands on me," I snarled and pulled her hand off my arm, "You have thirty seconds." Momo lowered her eyes and took a step away from me.

"I was just going to tell you that you did well, and I was going to invite you to get ice cream with me and some of the other girls. The invitation is still open, if you want it..." She said softly, then disengaged from me and continued into the changing room. I turned to follow her back in, but thought the better of it. Perhaps it would just be better if I apologized over ice cream? I let out a soft sigh and began my walk home.

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rosesnvines · 8 years ago

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Little Mouse & Komainu: Keith’s POV

Keith’s side of this post, though it starts after school, there is a quick backstory and more details about the Voltron team. And man oh man, @kalluralove, now I really want pics of the two with their arusins! I’m just squealing at how cute Keith and Blachu got!! XD This can be for the Lion and Mouse prompt, as well as Lost and Found, maybe? But it’s mainly only a mention made by Keith about finding his place. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy these adorable babies!

The drive home was unusually quiet. Shiro usually liked to talk about the other grades he taught science to and their antics. But right then, Shiro kept glancing oddly at Keith. Keith let out a groan and gave in.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that for?”

“Just wondering if it’s the same Keith, that’s all. Whenever Allura was around, you changed, you seemed . . . different.”

“Different how? Allura was the only thing that was different about today.”

“Hmm . . . maybe you’re right.”

“Well of course I am, today was only different because it was Allura’s first day. What more did you expect? Romelle to come rushing into your classroom to greet her cousin?” Keith let out a snort when Shiro blushed slightly.

“Oh, alright, fine, just cut it out. I’m sorry, but, it was just so odd to see you act so . . . soft and kind around her.”

“Hey, remember, you keep drilling into me that as class rep, it’s supposed to be my job.”

“Alright, glad to hear all that drilling finally paid off.” But when they came to a stop at a red light, Shiro leaned in. “So, you’re absolutely sure you’re not falling in love with Allura on her first day here?”

“What? No . . . yes! I’m sure! Now cut it out!” Keith pushed Shiro back, only for the two to turn it into a playful brawl, until Shiro yelped. “Shiro! I’m so sorry! Are you alright? I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Oh, no, the light turned green. And man, you fall for that every time,” replied SHiro with a grin as the car lurched forward.

“Shiro! Come on! How do you expect me to know when you’re actually hurting?”

“Oh believe me, you’ll know,” quipped Shiro.

Keith crossed his arms. “I’m not sure if I want to know. I just don’t to go back into the system.”

“I know, Keith. Just two more years, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Except maybe helping me with my diapers every now and then.”

“What?” exclaimed Keith. Shiro merely laughed. “Oh come on Shiro, that’s disgusting!”

“What? Admit it, you were seriously wondering if I did, didn’t you?” Keith just grumbled in reply. Shiro just laughed as he pulled into their driveway. It was a pretty small house, just three bedrooms and one bath, with one of the bedrooms turned into Shiro’s office. Keith immediately walked off towards his room, but not before Shiro called him.

“Hey, Keith! You feel like Chinese or pizza tonight?”

“Chinese, I guess,” replied Keith with a shrug before he closed his door. It didn’t matter to him, they didn’t have many options thanks to Shiro’s medical bills. Thankfully, a couple of the lunch ladies would sneak them whatever leftovers they had. Sometimes it wasn’t much, but for the weekends, it usually was all they had. Shiro found out that they really weren’t supposed to do that, but they told him it was better than letting all that food, little as it sometimes may be, go to waste and tossed when someone could have it. They were also the ones who told them about the food drive that the school district did over the summer, and the two had never been so happy. With as much food as they got every week, they practically feasted that summer. Shiro didn’t have to worry about purchasing food and could save up that money for something else. Now, they were getting back into the old swing of things, lunch at school, take-out for dinner. Keith let out a sigh as he slumped on his bed. Well, this year should be interesting, what with a new Altena at school. Keith just hoped that she would come to understand why he and Lance wouldn’t let her near Lotor. He pictured Allura in his mind, she was so pure and innocent, yet he could sense a fire burning within. He didn’t want Lotor to tarnish her, to put put that fire. Keith unknowingly watched it happen with Avok before finally realizing what was happening, but by then, it was too late. He liked Romelle, he liked Bandor, he had even liked Avok too, before Lotor got to him. And now he simply refused to let another Altena fall to the influence and clutches of Lotor. He didn’t know what Lotor wanted with the Altenas in general, that not only drove Keith nuts, it also worried him. As such, he swore to protect the other three, if not for Avok’s sake, for Shiro’s as Keith did notice how close the two teachers had been getting. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Keith? I’ve placed the order, the driver should be here in a few minutes. Keep an ear out for him, please? I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks! Money’s on the table!” Keith heard Shiro walk into the bathroom and start his shower. Letting out a sigh, Keith rose from his bed, and paused. Was that there when he came in? A rectangular box was sitting on his desk, one he had never seen before. Did Shiro get him something? But that wasn’t right, Keith’s birthday wasn’t until October. So then, what was it for? Curious, he opened the box. Inside was a belt buckle with the image of a lion etched in black. OK, it actually looked pretty cool, and Keith tried it on, it fit his belt like it was made for it. But then, a flash of light emanated from it, and the next thing Keith knew, a little lion with a black mane and violet eyes was floating before him.

“Ah!” yelped Keith as he fell backwards, onto his bed. “Wh-what are you? Shiro!”

“No, sh! You can’t tell anybody about me!”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m a magical being called an arusin, my name is Blachu. I merge with the belt buckle to give you superpowers!”

Keith blinked in surprise. “Say, say what? Superpowers?”

“Yes! I can make you go faster, leap higher, jump farther, than you have ever done before! My tail can even turn into a sword!”

“A sword?” asked Keith, perhaps with a bit too much longing in his voice.

“You like swords? Nice! Yes, my tail can turn into a sword! I think we’re going to have lots of fun!” Blachu quickly covered his stomach with his paws when it grumbled and grinned sheepishly. “Um, do you have anything to eat?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “The Chinese food!” He dashed out of his room, just in time to hear some knocking at the front door. He rushed over, grabbed the money, and rushed to the door, flinging it open. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello, here is your order. That will be twenty-five dollars and thirteen cents.” Keith quickly counted out the money, and realized Shiro rounded up to twenty-six and added four dollars.

“Right, um, here you go,” said Keith, handing him the wad of bills.

“Thank you, have a wonderful day!” replied the driver quite cheerfully as he exchanged the food for the money.

“Thanks, and the same to you!” replied Keith as the driver walked away. He knew Shiro would kill him if he wasn’t at least somewhat cordial. He quickly shut the front door, locked it, and let out a breath. He set the food on the table as he glanced at the clock, it was pretty early, not even five yet. Then he noticed the sad, hungry little face of Blachu. He reached into the bag, fished around for a bit, before pulling out a dumpling and handing it to Blachu. “Here, try this.” Blachu inched forward and sniffed it.

“What is it?”

“It’s a dumpling. You haven’t been out for long, have you?” asked Keith as Blachu took a few licks.

“No, it’s been several years since any of us has been out.” Blachu decided that dumplings tasted good, took the food from Keith, and began chewing on it.

“Any of us?”

Blachu nodded as he swallowed before replying with, “Yes, there are seven of us total, five cats and two mice. We cats do the majority of the fighting while the two mice, though they are excellent warriors, are better off using their powers, the power of quintessence. They can revert all damage done by a monster, like nothing had happened. We cats must protect them at all costs because without them, nothing could go back to normal.”

“And, what are these monsters? Do you have a special power?”

“The monsters vary, sometimes they are true monsters and must be completely destroyed, sometimes they are people being controlled by an evil entity, and we must find the symbol of their controller to break the spell and enable the mice to revert them back to normal people. And yes, we do have a special power, it’s called forming Voltron!”

“Huh?”

“When the five cats are together, we can form a giant robot! I am the head and chest, the cheetah is the right arm, the lynx is the left arm, the panther is the right leg, and the tiger is the left leg. Then there are the two mice, the white house mouse and the brown field mouse.” Blachu paused as he took another bite and glanced at Keith oddly.

“Uh, what? Why are you looking at me like that for?”

“Oh, um, it’s just that, the holders, or the paladins, of the black lion and the white mouse tend to fall in love and get married,” blurted Blachu.

Keith blinked. “Say what?”

“Keith, is everything alright?” Keith and Blachu paused and slowly glanced at the bathroom door before Keith snatched up Blachu and the dumpling, rushed into his room and began taking out the few homework assignments he had.

“Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine! Just, just one of the problems was worded weird, that’s all!” Keith quickly shouted back. He and Blachu let out a breath when they heard Shiro laughing.

“Alright. Did the Chinese food come?”

“Yeah, about a couple of minutes ago,” replied Keith.

“Good. I’ll be out in a minute to take care of it.”

“Alright!” Keith let out a grin as Blachu chuckled softly before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Dumplings are good. Can I try the rest of the Chinese food?”

“Alright, I’ll see if I can sneak it in here for you.”

“Thanks! Oh, aren’t you wondering?”

“Wondering about what?”

“You haven’t asked why you yet! Everyone else I’ve ever been with asked that question.”

“Well, would it be weird if I said because this felt right, like, I’m meant to do this?”

“Whoa, you’re already thinking like that?” asked Blachu.

“Yeah, well, before, when I was in foster care, I felt . . . lost. I wanted to know what my purpose was. When Shiro came and got me out, becoming my legal guardian, I thought I had something of a purpose, making sure that he was alright, but, it didn’t seem like it was what I was meant to do. Then I met some people, I got it the most when I met this girl today . . .”

“Ooohhhh,” said Blachu.

“Hey, don’t you start either,” Keith mumbled.

“But you do like her,” said Blachu with a grin.

“Didn’t you say that whoever’s with you gets together with the white mouse?”

“Yeah, but you don’t know if she is the white mouse,” quipped Blachu. The two became quiet as they heard the bathroom door open and Shiro’s footsteps walking into the dining room as he hummed. Keith moaned.

“I’m so glad he’s not a music teacher.” Blachu snickered. Just then the phone rang. “Oh good.”

“Hello? Oh, hello Mr. Holt! I actually wanted to talk to you . . . wait, what?” There was a pause. “No, I haven’t seen Katie since school ended.” Another pause. “Say what? A robotic what is attacking the city?” Keith and Blachu glanced at each other in alarm.

“A robeast,” whispered Blachu. Keith jumped up and walked to his door. “No, no, I’ll head out right now to look for them. I’ll bring them to my house until everything passes over, alright? And I’ll call you when I get back. You’re welcome sir.” Keith opened the door to his room as Shiro returned the phone to its receiver.

“Shiro? What was that about?”

“Apparently Mr. Holt is worried, Katie’s not back yet, and there’s some kind of robotic beast attacking the city. I’m going out to find her. You’re staying here.”

“Wait, what?”

“In case anyone else calls. If Katie’s still out, that means she’s still with Lance and Hunk. If their families call, I want you to let them know I’m looking for them. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“But, Shiro!” began Keith, only to be cut off by Shiro closing the front door behind him. “Ugh! Blachu!” Blachu zipped around the corner. “How do you merge with the belt?”

“You have to say, Blachu, roar out!”

“What? Oh, never mind, we’ll talk about that later. Blachu . . .” Keith was interrupted by the phone. “Well, at least it’s now rather than later,” he mumbled as he quickly picked up the phone. “Hello, Takshishi residence.”

“Hello, is Shiro Takashi there?” came a female voice.

“No, this is his brother Keith. May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Mrs. McClain, I’m Lance’s mother. I’m with Hunk’s folks right now, neither one have come home! And there’s a monster on the loose!”

“Yes ma’am, I know, that’s why Shiro’s not here. We just got a call from Principal Holt, Katie’s not back yet, and since she tends to hang out with Lance and Hunk, well, we’re on our way to look for them. As soon as we find them, we’ll bring them here and call you to let you know that they’re fine.”

“Oh thank you so much! You’re such an angel! I could just hug you!”

Keith bit his lip to keep from sounding disgusted. “Yes, I’m sure you would. Um, could you please pass the word to Hunk’s folks? We’ll be sure to call you when we’re back.”

“Thank you again so much!”

“You’re welcome. Um, bye!” said Keith with a smile, trying to get her off the phone. Not to be rude or anything, but, he needed to go.

“Good bye, and good luck!”

“Right,” he said, before he hung up the phone. He turned to Blachu, “Let’s do this. Blachu, roar out!” Blachu flew into the belt buckle, and the changes happened instantly. Keith was in a red and white suit with a black mane-like hoodie. But he didn’t pause to glance at his new outfit, he rushed out the door, leaping and bounding through the streets. Where should he go first? How was he going to find the robeast? Was a mouse already on the scene? He hoped not, as Blachu had said, they were good fighters, but they were needed to repair the damage the robeasts, or any monsters, had caused. Apparently none of the cats could do it, only the mice. Which did make them pretty important. With a grunt, he leapt to the top of the buildings to try and get an idea of where to start looking. It didn’t take long to see the path the robeast had carved out of several buildings, and the throngs of screaming people running in the opposite direction. “Well, that was easy,” he muttered as he took off in the direction the screaming people were running from.

“Katie!” Keith paused, was that the Katie Shiro was looking for? He glanced around, sure enough, it was Katie Holt, dangling from a twenty-story building. How did she get up there? Lance and Hunk were running towards her. “Hang on!” shouted Lance. Keith let out a soft growl, they weren’t going to make it in time, she was about to lose her grip.

“Lance, Hunk!” Katie called out, right as she lost her grip and fell. Keith jumped for her, grabbed a hold of her, flipped in midair, and landed on his feet.

“Whoa, that was awesome!” exclaimed Hunk as he and Lance approached the two.

“Team Voltron! I have your precious mouse lady! If you don’t show up when I get to zero, I will cut her in half!” came a voice over the din. Keith let out a gasp, that was the robeast, and it had a mouse! He practically shoved Katie into Lance’s arms.

“Take care of her!” he shouted before turning and rushing off in the direction of the voice.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!” That’s right, keep counting as loud as possible, lead me to you, even though it’s a trap, though Keith. He rushed down a couple of streets and turned a couple of corners, he could tell he was getting close. “Five! Four! Three!” He turned another corner, and saw the robeast, looking like an odd contraption of robot and bat. He had his sword out, over the spot where the mouse lady, the white mouse, in fact, was struggling with two poles wrapped around her. She just about had enough room to squeeze out and drop to the ground. Keith unclipped his tail and rushed forward as it changed into a sword. “Two! One! Zero!” The white mouse dropped to the ground and the sword came crashing down on her. But Keith had arrived.

“Stay down!” he ordered as he lifted up his sword to meet the robeast’s sword, hoping that it could take it. A sharp clang rang out as the two blades met, but Keith’s sword stayed intact, and Keith found he could match the robeast’s strength.

“The black lion of Voltron,” muttered the robeast as its lips curled into an evil grin. So, it was looking for the Voltron team, but why? Keith quickly glanced over its form, he couldn’t see a symbol that indicated that this robeast was under control of somebody, but Keith had a feeling it was, and whoever was controlling it was looking for Voltron for some reason. Keith pushed up on his sword, sending the robeast’s sword up, and kicking it as hard as he could to give him and the white mouse some breathing space. He turned to give her a hand up.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She took his hand and stood up.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied with a smile. She paused, and the two gazed into each other’s eyes. Did she know that every other person who had had the white mouse would end up with whoever had the black lion? But that wasn’t the only thought in Keith’s head. Why did she seem so familiar? He snapped out of his thoughts, they had a mission to finish.

“Were you expecting to take care of the robeast yourself?” he asked.

She seemed to shake herself from her own thoughts before replying with, “No, just keeping it from hurting innocent civilians until you arrived, that’s all.” She pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms. He didn’t even realize he had still been holding it. “Though, if you hadn’t gotten here when you did . . .” she began.

He walked towards her, finishing the thought, “We would have lost you, and from what my asurin was telling me about the mice, that’s not a good thing.” The robeast could be heard groaning, reminding Keith that they weren’t out of danger yet. He readied his sword, and noticed that she had a whip. “Wait, is that a whip?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied. Keith thought fast, if the robeast’s symbol wasn’t on the front or that sides that he could see, then maybe it was on its back. An idea began to form in his head and a grin began to form on his face.

“I think I have an idea. You see those poles there and there?” he asked, pointing out two poles opposite of each other.

The girl let out a gasp. “You want me to trip him?” Keith’s grin grew bigger, she was smart and caught on quick, he liked that.

“Yup, but keep your whip slack until I give you the signal, alright?”

“Right, but, what’s the signal?”

Keith thought quickly. “I’ll nod at you.”

“Got it,” she said before taking off for the poles. Keith kept his focus on the robeast, he didn’t want it to guess at what his plan was, nor did he want it to catch the white mouse again. The robeast finally got up and locked eyes with Keith.

“Hand over the belt buckle of the black lion, and I will stop rampaging this city!”

Keith scoffed, “What are you talking about? We’re just getting warmed up.” The robeast let out a roar and charged, but Keith didn’t move a muscle. He was waiting for the robeast to reach the right spot before signalling the white mouse to pull the whip taut. He waited and watched, and when the robeast finally reached the right spot, Keith glanced over at the white mouse and nodded. She pulled, and the robeast went tumbling over. Keith jumped up and took a quick look over the robeast’s back. Ah-ha, there it was! A glowing purple symbol, there, on the left side of its back, though, it looked oddly familiar. Keith brought his sword down on the symbol and heard a distinct snap. He glanced at the white mouse as he jumped off, shouting, “Use your powers now!”

The white mouse raced forward and raised her whip high, shouting “Power of Quintessence!” Keith watched in amazement as the whip detached from its handle and whirled around the robeast in a pale purple whirlwind before expanding to include the entire city. When it returned to the white mouse’s hand, the city was back to normal and the robeast was a normal, yet confused, person.

“Whoa!” Keith whispered. He shook himself out of his stupor and ran towards the white mouse. “That, that was amazing!”

She grinned at him. “Thank you! Whoa.” Keith reached out his hands and grabbed her shoulders to steady her as she stumbled. “I guess that’s why we need two mice,” she chuckled.

“Are you going to be alright?” asked Keith, worried that she had used too much power. They had better find the rest of the team and fast if they were expected to make it through the day without collapsing, especially her.

“I, I think so, just need to sit for a minute,” she replied as she allowed him to steer her towards a chair. Keith tried to figure out what made her so familiar to him when they were rather rudely interrupted.

“Oh wow! That was so cool! How did you guys do that?” Keith nearly blew his cover by letting out a soft growl when he realized it was Lance who had spoken as he recorded them on his camcorder. Katie and Hunk weren’t far behind him. Of course, they had followed Keith. But he only got even more annoyed when Lance tried to get close.

“Hey, back up! Can’t you tell she needs some rest?” Keith snapped as he pushed Lance back from the white mouse. Why couldn’t the idiot just leave girls alone?

“So, you’re superheroes, huh? What are your names?” asked Lance, training the camcorder on Keith. Keith let out a moan, he really hadn’t thought of a name. Well, wait, what about all those Japanese stories that Shiro’s family liked to tell? Wasn’t there a lion creature? Oh yes.

“Ugh, you can call me Komainu.”

“Komainu?” asked the others. Clearly only Shiro and Keith really knew that much about Japanese mythology.

“Yes, the guardian lions of Japanese mythology. You must know your Japanese mythology quite well,” came another voice. Keith’s eyes widened as Shiro walked on to the scene, he just hoped Shiro didn’t recognize him.

“Mr. Takashi!” blurted Hunk.

“Just Shiro outside of school, Hunk,” came Shiro’s reply. Keith quickly thought of a way to get out of there, Shiro had found the three he had been looking for, it was only a matter of time before he’d take them back to their home.

Keith quickly spoke, “Yeah, well, I need to go, have a lot of other things to take care of today.” He paused and turned to Allura, he was still worried about her. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

She nodded at him, a soft smile on her face. “Yes, I will be, thank you.”

“Oh, we didn’t get your name!” blurted Lance. Keith rolled his eyes and bit his tongue, someday, that kid was going to get it.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, I’m a little too tired to think right now. I think I should head home and sleep. I’ll get back to you on the name.”

“Hmm, how about . . . Little Mouse? I mean, no offence, but you look like a mouse,” said Hunk. Keith had to agree with that, she looked really cute as well. But, what about the other mouse? What name would the other mouse have?

“Well, that is the idea, but there is going to be another mouse joining our team, so, I don’t know if that will really work,” she replied.

Keith shrugged, the name was already growing on him. “We can figure that out when the other mouse arrives. For now, I think Little Mouse works.”

“Hey, shouldn’t you be going somewhere?” asked Lance, somewhat annoyed.

Keith shot him a glare. “And I will be, once I make sure that you stop annoying Little Mouse long enough to go home and get some rest.”

“Um, I didn’t agree to the name . . .”

“Hey it works,” said Lance with a shrug.

“It is kind of catchy,” remarked Keith. He just didn’t want to admit just yet that he thought it was as cute as she was.

“Oh, alright, Little Mouse it is. You’re right Komainu, it is kind of catchy.”

“Glad you agree. Now, are you going to go home, or should I carry you there?” he asked as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No! No, no, no, thank you, I’ll, I’ll go home now, thank you.”

“But can’t you stay a little longer? There are so many questions I want to ask!” quipped Lance.

“You’re going to have to wait for a time when she’s not so tired, alright?”

“Komainu has a point, you should let her go home and try again next time, alright?” said Shiro as he placed his hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“Oh, alright. As long you promise me an exclusive!”

“I’ll consider it,” replied Little Mouse before she lept away. Keith quickly followed suit, going off in one direction before quickly changing course and following Little Mouse from a distance. He could tell that she sensed him following her, but being a black lion meant he could use the shadows to his advantage and managed to keep out of her sight. When he noticed that she seemed to be getting close to her destination, he quickly turned and rushed back home. He had to get back before Shiro and the others! Panting, he realized with a grin that he made it back before them and dashed into the house.

“Um . . . Blachu, roar out!” Blachu came flying out of the belt as Keith’s suit disappeared. Keith took the Chinese food, fished out two dumplings, and placed the rest in the fridge. “Whew, that was close!”

“No kidding!’ replied Blachu between happy mouthfuls of dumpling. “And we still made it back before they did!”

“And before that robeast could kill Little Mouse!”

Blachu seemed to shiver, “That was a real close call.”

“So, how did I do for my first day?” asked Keith.

“Awesome! You’re really good! Almost as good as my last paladin!” Blachu paused and seemed to grow sad.

“Blachu?”

“I really miss my old paladin, we had such great times. You remind me so much of him. But, I guess that’s part of the reason why I like you a lot, Keith.”

“I like you too, Blachu. And it’s alright, you can still miss him.” Blachu flew to Keith’s cheek and rubbed his cheek against it. Keith let out a soft sigh and rubbed back. The two paused, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock. “Quick, Blachu, my jacket!” whispered Keith as he held it open. Blachu ducked in before Keith made his way to the door and opened it. “Shiro!”

“Hey! Sorry it took so long, but, we kind of had a little adventure,” said Shiro as he ushered in Lance, Hunk and Katie.

“There were two superheroes!” blurted Hunk.

“And Komainu saved me!” Katie quickly added.

“And Little Mouse is so adorable!” cooed Lance.

“Wait, what?” OK, first Allura, and now Little Mouse. Did this guy ever take a break?

Shiro let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll let them explain, I have some phone calls to make.”

“Oh, Mrs. McClain did call, she was with Hunk’s family.”

Shiro nodded. “Thanks Keith.” He went to making the calls while Lance, Hunk, and Katie explained everything that had happened. When the robeast had attacked, the group had been on their way to the mall to take a look at the new game system being shown that day. But then the crowd running form the robeast came in, broke them up, and Katie retreated to the closest, tallest building to see if she could find her friends when the robeast walked by, smashing through the building, leaving Katie trapped with nowhere to go but down. From there on out, Keith knew the rest, but it wasn’t hard to add in exclamations of awe or astonishment as Keith had no idea how awesome he looked when he moved, he just acted, thinking only of the mission, destroying the robeast. They also convinced Keith to instruct them on some Japanese mythology, eventually learning not just about the komainu, but also about a few other large cat-like creatures. Shiro eventually interrupted them with a little announcement.

“Listen up everybody, I’ve called your folks, they’re going to meet us at Olive Garden.”

“Alright, food! I’m starving!” quipped Hunk, the first one out the door.

“Don’t you ever think of anything else besides food?” quipped Lance as he followed him.

“Don’t you ever think of anything else besides cute girls?” Hunk shot back.

“Uh-oh, shots fired,” quipped Katie.

“Well, I’m taking Hunk’s side, I’m hungry. Three dumplings isn’t exactly very filling.”

Shiro blinked as he locked the door. “Then, where’s the rest of the food?”

“In the fridge,” replied Keith. “Hey! No, you’re sitting in the back!”

“But I called shotgun!” replied Lance as Keith dragged him out and practically tossed him in the back with Hunk and Katie.

“Too bad, this is Shiro’s car, I own shotgun.”

“If you two are going to fight about it, I’m giving it to Katie!” stated Shiro firmly. The two sat down and buckled their seatbelts grumbling. It was a little while after Shiro had pulled out of the driveway that Hunk attempted to break the tension by talking about Italian food. Katie soon joined in, being Italian herself, and the conversation eventually got the other three to open up about what they were going to get. And though Lance was still annoying, talking about how cute both Allura and Little Mouse were in one breath, Keith’s spirits were still high. He had found his place, and quite possibly a future girlfriend, according to Blachu, but he had never been happier.

#kallura #kallura positivity #kallura positivity month #kalluramonth #lion and mouse prompt #can also be lost and found #because of Keith

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