#one day i sat down and typed out like every different variation

[honeyviscera]

sometimes im scrolling through a tag and i see a post with filtered tags and just. send up a small thank you that it didn't get past my defenses. for example:

i have like at least 100 different filtered tags like this. lots of work for a good outcome. anyways.

[transmutationisms]

Hey. So that claim that stimulants do completely different things for people who “have ADHD” and “don’t have ADHD” is obviously bullshit but I was wondering if you happen to have read anything I could refer to about that

Okay I want to try using this to break down how I would actually approach this type of question, inspired by some posts I've seen recently about how to read and analyse things that are wrong / bad / liberal.

I don't have, off the top of my head, a published & refereed source that discusses this particular claim. I'm pretty certain there is at least one such thing out there. But I'm also pretty confident it won't be very good. The claim it's responding to is relatively historically recent, & is cloaked in still-fashionable neurobiological terms. Also, the literature on ADHD is bad in general, and so is the general quality of the kinds of imaging studies that are cited to support such claims about 'brain differences.'

If I were writing a literature review or a historiography, here is the part where I would need to go find these things anyway. Then I would have to explain how they make their arguments and what's missing, and depending on the scope of the piece I might have to explain my own philosophical / political position, and advance my methodological critique of the literature I just spent several days finding & reading.

Fortunately I'm writing a tumblr post & my sense is your actual question is "how can I better argue against this obviously bullshit claim," so I don't have to do any of that. There's not really much point sinking that kind of time and effort into finding a source I already think is unlikely to adequately make the argument I'm looking for anyway.

Instead, I would now look at the claim itself. What must be true in order for it to hold?

ADHD brains differ from non-ADHD brains

This difference is relevant to the action/metabolism of stimulant drugs

Okay, claim two on that list requires dealing with psychopharmacology & very exact physiological mechanisms, which means a shitload more reading and most of it punishingly dry and technical. Sad & bad.

Fortunately, though, I already know -- from every reading ever, as well as my experience existing on earth -- that ADHD is not diagnosed by any sort of brain scan, anatomical observation, blood test, etc, but by subjective (yes, even if they made you do it on a computer) clinical observation. Hmm, that's super weird for something that is a 'brain difference.'

I also know that psychiatric categories are difficult to correlate with biological observations even where those observations do exist, because an imaging study on ADHD is necessarily only pulling the 'ADHD sample' from people already diagnosed with ADHD. It's circular. Philosophically this is the same problem I laid out in section one of 'What is an alien?' (which you can read & understand even if the main topic of the essay doesn't interest you).

And I also know that brain imaging studies generally are riddled with serious methodological flaws (post discusses the dead salmon study among others) and don't actually produce meaningful, replicable biological distinctions in any kind of correlation with psychiatric categories (also, variation within categories is also very high).

Oh, wait. Now the claim above looks like patent nonsense with zero philosophical foundations. The burden of proof is on whoever's making that claim, & the basic underlying principles are wrong. Yayyyy.

This exercise means 1) I've sat down and reasoned through my own opinion, giving me clarity on why I think what I do and what evidence would change my mind and 2) from now on, when I see someone else make the claim I'm responding to here, I'll know off the bat that they haven't done the same & are starting from a very credulous attitude toward very low-quality research. And I didn't do this by trawling the literature until I found the exact thing I was looking for, but by thinking through the arguments and evaluating a body of literature that is generally explicitly hostile to the kinds of critiques I make & respect.

[passionproject1]

We were 12. The coolest boy in my school just couldn’t stop talking about the newest coolest game he was playing online. He sat in the back of the lime coloured room, surrounded by the remaining class B boys, the beta boys, his gang, his little followers, who were carefully listening to his monologue. Every few minutes he would interrupt his speech to violently whip his head to the right in order to arrange his fringe into a perfect emo/justin bieber formation. “Minecraft,” was the name of the game, I wrote it in the back of my notebook and carried it home. That night I sat on my favorite deep emerald chair researching the game further, preparing to beg my dad to buy it. I had already downloaded the free version but I wanted to make an avatar and you could only access that feature if you paid. This purchase was essential to flex on my boy classmates. Finally dad said yes and let me use his card. I immediately canceled guitar hero night with the girls, ready to explore the pixelated expanse of Minecraft.

My new name was Yumomo, a random japanese sounding name I thought of. My outfit was green and pink with a frog hat, a skin I stole from some minecraft website because I thought it was cute. I jumped into my solo world but quickly found it too isolating, so I checked the list of best polish Minecraft servers. The one I chose was RPG themed and as I later found out was made up entirely of male players. In 2011, Minecraft hadn’t broken into the gamer girl realm yet, hardly into the youtube gamer realm either. Back then it was only played by indie game nerds and basement dwellers, not 12 year old polish girls. So for the moment I was the queen of my server and officially (PAUSE) “not like other girls.” I remember that first day when they all saw my skin, girly and pink, and wrote “are you actually a girl” into the chat. To prove it I had to join a group call on team speak 3, some proto discord gamer tool. Before I logged on, I practiced what I would say using a voice recorder on my dads phone. I tested different variations of the name introduction, different “Hello’s,” “i am’s”, and “my name is,” to come up with the cute maxxed ideal version of the internet girl they were about to meet. I nervously turned on the app, shouted at my younger sister to shut up and just as I was about to say the magic girl code into the hormonal ears of boy teens I heard one of boys say “hey, maybe next time mute your speaker before you shout at your sister.” My heart dropped, I shut the laptop and sat in silence. (pause for impact) My eyes started to water. I wasn't a cool girl in real life and now I couldn't even be a cool girl online. It was doomed from the start, over before it even started. The brutal reality of the boy world came crashing down on me all because I didn't know how to use speak3. Little did I know this lack of speak3 proficiency made me meet my first boyfriend.

His real name was Antoni, I don’t remember his minecraft name. After my pulse had cooled down and I turned my laptop back on, a private chat request from him appeared on the side of the teamspeak3 app. He typed “siemasz” which is a word for hi in polish that literally no one uses in Poland. He also wrote something along the lines of “Don’t worry, sorry for them laughing, I was stressed before I talked online for the first time too” and that comforted me. He wasn’t like one of the bad, annoying smelly boys, the “girls are too dumb to understand the computer” and “girls are too emotional we shouldn’t play with them” preacher preteens, he wasn’t the intimidatingly-different-than-the -girls type of boy that I was in contact with at school. He acted like you want them (boys) to act, he had the qualities of an anime protagonist, he saved me from further teamspeak ridicule and he spared me from feeling like an idiot on my own. He invited me to play on his and his brothers private server first just to ease me gently into the whole situation. I accepted and spent the entire night playing just with him. And when he called, on Skype instead of teamspeak3, I answered with my camera turned off but my mic on, and we chatted. We ended up chatting like that, with both of our cameras off, playing on minecraft servers with countless other people - and sometimes just on our own - for almost a year. He slipped into my routine and broke my boy interaction shyness. Every day I was looking forward to our evenings of playing minecraft, and every time I was too busy to talk to him i would feel sad.

The Day before Christmas I was at the airport about to fly to England when my Yellow samsung corby received a message from him. It was a confession of his love to me, long and sincere, “I don’t care that I have never seen your face, I like speaking to you, I like spending my time with you and I would like to meet you.” He also mentioned that we should exchange pictures. I had butterflies in my stomach reading the sentences. For hours on the plane I kept rereading the text and trying to imagine what he looks like. I tried to vibe-match looks in my mind to his smooth, low but still youthful and boyish voice. I pictured him towering over me, with a swooping side fringe and a cool Cropp hoodie. I thought about us kissing for the first time, my girlfriends being jealous, my dog excited at the sight of him during one of his monthly visits. As soon as I got to my mums house I went on to try to vibe-match my looks to my sweet voice I was using to seduce him for the past year. Did I really suit my own vibe? There was a lot to perfect in my looks and I didn’t feel confident that I could fully embody the girl he must have been imagining. I pulled up the video of my idol venus angelic and with the limited makeup my mum owned I tried to recreate her vibe. Big anime eyes, intense blush, gradient lips. I put on my blue denim hair bow and took a selfie on photo booth. I covered one side of my face with my hand. I felt myself. The following evening whilst we were chatting with our cameras off and our mics on we sent each other the pictures. Surprisingly he looked similar to what i had imagined for him: golden retriver as a boy, slightly wavy gold hair with a little side fringe, awkward cute smile,acne, skinny and tall-presenting. According to him I looked how he imagined too, cute and girly. The next stop of video talking hadn’t been suggested by either of us. We were just happy to continue chatting with a vague image of ourselves in our heads, because it didn’t really matter what we looked like. Our relationship was online so it was functioning according to online gaming friends rules. As long as the arrangement remained online, we didn’t need anything more.

At least I didn’t for now.

One spring day Antoni asked me if I was planning to go to Pyrcon, a massive anime convention that is organised in his city, only 2 hours away from where i lived. I said I would probably be there. The truth was I knew I would definitely be there, in fact me and my friend had been planning our outfits for months. For some reason giving a definite answer, knowing the question that would follow felt too overwhelming. He asked, all excited, if I wanted to meet up in real life and I said yes with equal excitement. In reality, something told me that I didn’t want to meet him. Not because I was worried that he wasn’t real, that he was a catfish, but because I was worried that I’d be too real for him, with my chubby face, little stumpy legs, feet dressed in two different shoes. I was scared of holding his real hand and kissing his mouth, the inevitable teenage intimacy that seems so sweet in theory but ends up awkward in practice. I was happy for us to continue our love in the virtual world we created.

I couldn’t sleep the night prior to the convention. This day was about to change the trajectory of my life and the future felt more dreadful than exciting, though my friends kept trying to ease my stresses. I didn’t want to ruin the excitement for him, so the whole journey to the con I played along, at times experiencing waves of real excitement, followed by the gut wrenching anticipation of failure and disappointment. I was dressed in my frog outfit and did my makeup as well as i could. My emergency nicholas cage mas, a sign that I was a fan of the webcomic Homestuck, was poking out of my NANA tote bag. For some reason, just having the mask in my bag was an anti-anxiety shield. At previous conventions, I would wear it when the pressure of being surrounded by so many people felt like too much and I was too young to numb the angst with drugs and alcohol.

We arrived at the convention. The nasty stress feeling had been growing increasingly throughout the day, from the moment I got out of bed to the second I set foot in the con. It was by my side wherever I went, causing my eyes to scan every corner in the search for him and his brother. I had to be prepared at all times to pull out the mask, in case he came too close and recognised me. I was undercover in his kingdom. A surprise meeting was not likely, considering the 5000 people in attendance, but regardless I couldn’t allow it to be an option. Our real meeting was meant to take place at some anime panel, later in the day. Minutes before the meeting, I left my friends, who were convinced that the guy was really some old pedophile, but I let them follow me from afar just in case for their piece of mind. I put on my protective mask, and headed to the room. Inside I looked around. He wasn’t there. I double checked the location, the time, different corners of the room, but the corner where he was supposed to stand was occupied only by gross nerd guys. The smelly long hair ones. My panic was mixed with some sense of relief. This is it, he’s one of them, and if he is one of them I can just pretend that I left because I wasn’t feeling well and just go back to us, playing online. Maybe at some point I’d be mature enough to accept his physical self, and take the next step, come to terms with his ugly materiality, maybe by the time we met, by the time I was ready to squash my anxiety he would have had a glow up. Maybe not crossing that boundary now was a win-win.

Just before the start, in the colorful crowd of cosplayers, e-girls, cat ears, katanas, big titty anime girl pillows stuffing itself into the room, I saw him. His fleshy youthful face was looking better than the picture, put together into a concerned focused look aimed to find me. I watched him from a distance, looking for me, dialing my number and impatiently waiting to hear back, as I was holding onto my vibrating phone inside my pocket. I saw him sitting down, disappointed and confused, saw him checking his phone every few minutes, then his older brother coming in, comforting him, possibly telling him either that girls suck or that maybe something happened to me, depending on his prior experience with women. All that time I stood in the back, wanting to text him “don’t worry *hugs*” and “i love you *kisses*” but my body wouldn’t move, I was paralysed. My mind kept telling me “what’s the worst that could happen” before filling my head with all of the worst scenarios. I imagined:

-The smell of awkwardness in the air

-inability to make a conversation

-him not finding me attractive in real life and abandoning me, the virtual me, the me he loved or

-him liking me, wanting to make real moves, have real meetings instead of the safe, controlled, virtual, the ones i was comfortable with

It all felt like too much. And despite being a few meters away, and seeing his despair, I looked at him one last time and went back to my friends. It took me a while to come up with an excuse and text him back, but there was no excuse for what I did. The truth was sad and hard to understand. If none of my friends understood why I did this then why would he? So I lied, said that I wasn’t feeling well and that I had to leave, which felt like the most believable excuse but perhaps not believable enough for him not to question it himself. Our relationship was broken, and we stopped calling, then we stopped texting. Minecraft got boring. When I first installed Skype, I accidentally allowed it to automatically open every time I turned on my computer. When me and antoni were in love, I never had a reason to change the setting, but now I would force quit it every time I turned my old macbook on. I abandoned the block lands and moved my virtual self onto the more entertaining World of Warcraft.

Sometimes I wish I was able to say sorry.

[spades4cards]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

I don't know if last night was some sort of revelation or just the consequences of my actions catching up to me, but I've been down ever since. My words seemed to take on a duller tone, my steps fell heavier, and my tongue moved less, even with Christian. He's been busy with finding out who the traitor is (my gut wrenches every time I remember), and can't dote on me as much in the office, but I can tell he's concerned. I see the worry in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking, and I've been trying to make myself look happy, but it takes too much work, and my mask slips before I can straighten it back up again.

It was another late night—I've been working a lot these days—and Christian couldn't tell me to leave. People were already getting suspicious of him and me.

Tap, tap, tap.

My insistent and focused typing on my computer was the only thing breaking the silence. Christian had stopped typing, staring at me and waiting for an answer as to why I was acting differently. I, however, ignored him and continued typing away.

"Y/n," it was a warning and a plea.

"Christian."

"Come here," a pregnant pause, "please."

I stopped typing, gave him a sarcastic and exhausted look (a small attempt to make it seem like I was my normal self), and walked to him. He patted his lap, and I sat on it, instinctively sinking into the sweet warmth of his body.

"What can this faithful servant do to make his Goddess feel better?" He asked huskily, brushing my hair out of my face.

"This Goddess already feels fine," I attempted to reassure, resting my head on his broad chest.

"Y/n, please, just tell me what's wrong. I know you try to hide it, but you've been sad recently."

"I just... I guess I'm scared that our relationship won't work out," because of the foundation of lies I built it on.

He rubbed soothingly on my lower back and paused, contemplating what I said.

"Even if the Gods want to rip us apart, they couldn't. I will always find my way back to you and you will always find your way back to me. You know why?" Please don't say it's because you love me, "We're twin flames. Two bodies, one soul."

We both went in for a kiss, but it wasn't as rough as it usually was—no, it was slow and passionate as we both poured ourselves into each other. Our hands trailed our bodies with practiced ease, gentle as we unclothed each other, slowly picking up the pace as our eagerness grew. His hands clung to my skin as he carried me to the room. We became intertwined; slowly, cautiously. I made noises I couldn't process, it blew right threw me.

We crashed as we embraced: chests heaving and loving words spoken.

"I don't even think that was sex, it was like..." I tried to find the right words.

"Making love?"

At that, the air stilled. Something seemed to tighten around Christian and me, and then I remembered what I had to do.

Let me have this one thing, "Yeah, like making love."

I waited until he fell asleep, a deep hollowness in my chest as I bent my arm over the bed to pick up my pants, pulling a roll of tape from its pocket. His breath hitched, and I froze, but once they steadied again, I slowly tore of a piece of tape from the roll and placed it slyly on his thumb, lightly creasing the edges so I could get his whole fingerprint.

Once it was done, I cautiously left the bed, opened the door as quietly as I could (though there was still a creak), and ducked under his desk. I could see a small PIN pad with a black screen on top to detect the fingerprint. I brought the piece of tape up to the black screen. A green light flashed in the corner, I just had to guess the code. I tried his birthday, and the light flashed red. I knew I only had two more guesses. I put in his birth year: 1991, but it didn't work. Only one more guess...

Fuck, just what could it be? A variation of a word, a birthday, his favorite authors birthday?

My heart banged erratically against my chesty. Then, it stopped as another thought came into my mind: was it my birthday?

I didn't believe it was mine but I still typed it.

Beep, beep, beep.

Beep, beep, beep.

The light flashed green, and the PIN pad fell to reveal an USB, but I was still reeling.

He had kept the password to protecting the chip from the traitor, the traitor's birthday. It was me who sold Scylla, yet it was my birthday protecting the database.

Something inside me changed, and I felt like I was a jigsaw puzzle someone scrambled to put together, some pieces loose despite it looking fitted. The USB glinted temptingly in the moonlight, waiting for me to take it and erase all evidence of me being the traitor, promising a blissful relationship with Christian and for the big boulder on my shoulder to lessen and fade.

I reached my hand out, and-

[castlebyersafterdark]

being attracted to voices is like the most inexplicable thing to me, meaning so hard to explain. some voices are just hot but why? i remember a Black Books episode about this, where the woman heard her old flame had become a radio forecaster so she would tune in late at night and masturbate hahahhaa

but with noah, is it the lowness and vocal fry you like? is it easy to imagine him making certain.... noises lmao? cos i feel like his overall tone and vibe is very goofy, but i guess his voice is low. such a nice contrast for will's sweetness too. meanwhile finn's squeaky high register is just so unique. he actually had a lower-sounding voice in s2 than s4 lmao... that sincerity of childhood where you wanna be taken seriously. but in s4, mike is more manic so i think the higher register comes out in panic and frustration. noah is clearly also leaning into queerisms like using pet names for everyone like 'babe' as well as embracing a campier vocal style at times.

Always fun comparing different perspectives, because voices are one of the most important things to me when it comes to real attraction. There's your every day surface level attraction from just looking at people but then you start breaking down the finer details and voice is just a really big one with me. For sure. And HA! The vocal fry hahaha, aww I find his cadence and the way he talks really cute, in character and out of character. But a few of those longer videos he's shared, where it's just him kind of talking to himself (like narrating the makeup, or that one where he was describing his day, a few of the clips I've seen from those very relaxed bedside live videos) he just has this soft soothing voice and I really like it. It's deeper but not super deep, it's just... repeating myself, but soothing. I could listen to this guy read the phone book.

I like how Finn sounds too, but it's def not as captivating as Noah to me, though I like the way he sometimes slips into an odd pronunciation that sounds sooo Canadian but his accent is not as strong as others I've heard. I'm really into accents of all types and the variations of how people talk. Finn just sounds interesting, so it's compelling, but in a different way to me.

Because I'm incapable of not, gotta talk up 💙 because this is actually super relevant, for those who follow the lore. Yes, I sat there like a creep waiting for the hot guy at the party wake up, but I partially stuck around all night because I wanted to keep listening to him talk...

[i-love-you-all]

Oh requests! Would you write boomerbot, maybe something about KAY/O and Brim having a memory they share/having similar things happened in their lives that they get to talk about? Maybe something fun/lighthearted? Feel free to ignore if its not up your alley :)

Ok, so, I really did try to pivot and make a second version that was a little happier. What I did in the end, was just give it a nice conclusion lol. I think from the beginning of my writing, it just wasn't going to be lighthearted, so sorry about that 😅

That being said, I hope you still like the little one shot :)) (If you want it on AO3, here it is)

~2.5k, boomerbot, a hint of tremorbolt, No actual warnings (as far as I'm concerned)

When the world was on the edge of a knife, moments like these were rare. Especially for a force whose main purpose was to protect said world. Brimstone was tucked into a small booth with KAY/O across from him, and a passed out Sova to his right. Probably not from the alcohol. The man had done the recon work for this mission solo before being a part of the actual entry team. He deserved to sleep without ridicule. Still, KAY/O insisted on calling someone so that they would come get Sova and bring him to his room.

“There’s no way that Breach is coming all the way from his stupid suite to the lobby just to pick Sova up.”

“Ten bucks.”

Brimstone looked from Sova to KAY/O. He had to be missing something. An AI did not simply make these assumptions without some probability calculation going on. And KAY/O was more than just some AI born only from some lines of code. He was sure that KAY/O had talked to Breach about this. Maybe secretly exchanging text messages while they were sitting here and drinking, though he couldn’t detect any signs of that, and he was sure there was a typing symbol on that screen when he was messaging Breach the first time.

“It’s Breach. There’s no way.”

“Money where your mouth is.” KAY/O even held his hand out and open. Brimstone thought for a second longer, then took out a bill and placed it in his hands.

“You don’t know yet if he’ll come down,” Brimstone reminded him.

“If he doesn’t, you’ll get your money,” Kayo responded.

They sat there for a little longer in silence. Brimstone was now wracked with anxiety that maybe he missed something, and that KAY/O knew more than he was letting on. But Sova didn’t like Breach. Every time he was put on a group mission, Sova would ask about the roster, and he’d make a face – even if he thought he wasn’t making a face – whenever Breach’s name was mentioned.

“You promised to tell Sova a memory.” KAY/O’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and Brimstone nodded. He did indeed tell Sova that he would. “Would you tell me one instead?”

He nodded. “Of course. What do you want to hear about?”

“Something happy. Something that made you irrevocably feel human.”

Human. Humanity was something people just felt, and again he was reminded that no matter how familiar all KAY/O’s mannerisms were, he was just an AI. Humanity was something to be studied and understood rather than an intrinsic concept.

He leaned back in his chair to go through his memories. Something human. His first thoughts were to loss and to grief. Those were undeniably human, right? But then he remembered that KAY/O had lost people too. He heard the AI voice say to the agents, “Not this time. It’ll go differently.” And all the variations of those sayings – especially when it came to Brimstone. It was hard to determine if KAY/O actually felt grief – if he felt the pain of losing someone close to him. He certainly worked himself to the limits to keep the team safe, going down on multiple occasions to make sure that they were safe. Or, as he put it, “getting the most out of their money.” But nothing, not even robot AIs were that eager to die. Desperate to keep people alive on the premise that a robot could, in theory, be built back. And for now, he has been. But there could be a day where they could not afford to lug a heavy metal frame across an active zone to get to exfil.

Either way, KAY/O asked for something happy.

“There was this one time. I went to Thailand with a couple friends of mine. One of them I’ve known since we were maybe four. The others, we met at the Fire Department.”

He remembered the trip. The smiles on their faces. The consensus that they were invincible in that moment. That nothing in the world or in life could touch them. That, for a few seconds, they were immortal. That same feeling wasn’t there when one of them went into a coma after responding to a fire. Another retired early after a bad car accident. Then Tariq…

“We were off the coast on this motorboat we rented for the day. Just the four of us, big pack of beers and some snacks. And get this, we’re an hour out from any shore, engine’s cut, we’re just drifting right?” He looked at KAY/O and for what felt like such a tame story now, it looked like Brimstone had an enraptured audience.

“Then out of nowhere, this whale and her calf come up and the little guy starts bumping against our boat!”

“Was it aggressive?”

“No, not at all. It’s a toddler still, remember? Big toddler that could’ve overturned us I guess, but it didn’t hurt us. So, we all slip into the water and go swimming with a whale. The most unbelievable moment of our lives.” Brimstone closed his eyes, remembering the smell of the ocean waves, the sounds of laughter, and the rumble of the boat as they travelled back. “Later, after the whale leaves, and as we got close to the shore, we start slowing down again, just soaking in the last rays of the sun. From below, Tariq—”

 “Something jump out at you?” He froze.

Brimstone didn’t respond right away. “Kind of.” It could’ve been just some wild guess, but it came too well timed, too—

He let out a breath. Now that was just the alcohol speculating. There was no reason to believe that KAY/O had any guess as to what happened next, he was just throwing out what made sense. KAY/O, no matter how familiar he felt, was not someone he knew back then. No. He didn’t know what was behind the programming but it definitely wasn’t anything familiar.

“We see a few shapes come up, and boom, just like that, five or six manta rays are swimming with us to shore. Even reached out to touch a couple.”

KAY/O nodded. “That’s your happiest memory?”

“One of them. You said something about humanity. That’s maybe the closest I got.”

He sipped his drink again while KAY/O seemed to think. Was it even possible to read the body language of a robot? It was hard to know because KAY/O was so human… in every interaction. And more than just human, familiar. Familiar in a way that made Brimstone’s heart beat a million miles a second.

“I guess I was just curious. I never got to ask Brimstone that… from my world. He…”

Died. Yes. Brimstone knew. KAY/O had finally explained it to him one night as they went over mission strategy together and next steps. It had been a week or so after KAY/O had arrived. In that time, he had been nothing but unpredictable. This world that KAY/O had been sent to was facing a different threat than the one back wherever he came from. Then, Brimstone received the memory chip. KAY/O seemed reluctant at first when giving it over, and why shouldn’t he be? Brimstone apparently was trusting the one agent who destroyed the other world in the Radiant War.

“Did I ever tell you about my first time waking up?”

Brimstone tilted his head. KAY/O had shared his thoughts and memories before, but never anything personal, not that Brimstone would ask that of him.

“No. Are you just trying to distract me so that I forget about the bet?”

“There’s still time. It’s a big building.”

Brimstone chuckled but then nodded for KAY/O to continue. “I remember there were a few tests, so I had already seen the world before I even… Woke up. I knew your faces. I knew my creators face, and yet… There’s something different from seeing all these things on a screen and being able to move around that space and interact.”

“Like being a kid?”

KAY/O tilted his head slightly side to side before shrugging. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

“Right.”

Something else Brimstone realized was that KAY/O was human in how he spoke, but even more, he was human in his mannerisms. Familiar. That word kept popping up in his head.

He watched as KAY/O tilted his head for a second before continuing, “I remember. I couldn’t adjust to actually moving. Motion and interaction only made sense in numbers, so my Creator, Wolf, he wanted to shut me down. Tweak me a little more before turning me on again.”

“Did you want that?”

“A little. Like how you guys get painkillers, I get a nap.” Brimstone chuckled. “But no. You… well, I guess the Brimstone in that world told him not to. You told him to let me be.”

“Stubborn, I guess?”

“One way to put it… But it turned out to be the right call. No matter what the Professor changed, I still would’ve been shell-shocked when I woke up. There’s just too much in this world.”

Just like a baby, Brimstone chuckled to himself. “Hopefully he took it easy on you at least. Don’t tell me I was enough of a hard-ass enough to force you into training.”

KAY/O looked over at him, which made him wonder for a second if he did do that. “No. You showed me around the place. Answered everything. You were a good captain.”

“You mean the other Brimstone.” Brimstone offered an awkward smile. “I’m still here, don’t use past tense to describe me yet.”

“Yeah. Right…”

Did this professor, whoever he truly was, know what he was doing? Brimstone was quite sure he understood why he didn’t let KAY/O get reset. There was something about KAY/O that was familiar. And he was getting real tired of that word. Because familiar meant not quite. It meant that no matter how much he wished it so, there was nothing left of the original. The person he was comparing KAY/O to. Did the professor mean to torture him like this? Did he know what doing?

“What kind of old man, sad shit, pathetic pity party did I walk into?” Breach asked.

The harsh, loud voice shook Brimstone out of his thoughts, just in time to see a dollar sign flash briefly on KAY/O’s display. And… What? What was Breach doing here?

“I’m just here for your little pet, I’ll be out of your way soon enough.”

Maybe he was giving Breach a dirty look or something because the man turned to him and just scoffed.

“Trust me, if I wanted him dead, I would’ve brought a gun. Worst I can do now is just toss him into a pool.”

“I didn’t realize you were close.”

“We’re not close,” Breach rolled his eyes as he practically threw Sova over his shoulder like you would do to a heavy sack. “Did you really think Sova would break your no fraternization rule?”

“He might if you come get him like this every night.”

“By all means I can let you and your old joints take him away. I don’t know why you called me.”

“I didn’t call you, It was KAY/O.”

“And I guessed right, didn’t I?” KAY/O gladly took the money from Brimstone’s hand. “Knocked it out of the park.”

“More like knocked two birds with one stone,” Brimstone muttered. KAY/O made some dismissive hand wave which got him to chuckle.

“Aww look at you two bantering. Careful now, Captain, or people are going to accuse you of getting too familiar.” He also added something under his breath that Brimstone didn’t quite catch because of that word Breach used.

Again. Familiar. He was stunned, not because Breach had used his concussing abilities on him, but because Breach had somehow pointed out Brimstone’s one major issue with KAY/O. If issue was even the right word. KAY/O was a robot with advanced AI from another dimension and timeline. There should’ve been no reason why Brimstone thought about familiarity around the newest agent.

But Breach finally walked away, leaving KAY/O and Brimstone alone again. What he said though, that stayed behind with him even after he lost sight of the red hair.

“Hey, KAY/O,” Brimstone started, “Did uh… Do you know if your personality was based on anyone in particular?”

That got the robot to tilt his head.

“You don’t have to answer if it makes your uncomfortable. I was just wondering since…” Since you’re familiar.

“I would be happy to tell you…” Oh? “If I know that myself.”

Oh…

“Sometimes, I feel like there are memories or feelings that are locked away from me. But it’s in my mainframe.” As he spoke, he looked off to the side. Even with no face, the action, the emotion, and the posture, it was something Brimstone had seen someone else do a hundred times. “I guess you can say it’s like a leaky bathroom. I know the memories are dripping out from somewhere. I just can’t find where.”

“From Tariq…” Brimstone murmured. Barely a whisper. Still, KAY/O looked back at him as though he heard his name being called. But that was probably just his imagination and a little confirmation bias.

“I know I remind you of someone. But you do the same to me sometimes.”

It was Brimstone’s turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

“I always think I remember you. I remember Desert Storm. I remember Ghost Pines. I remember the time when Killjoy miscommunicated, and you stepped out and ran right into your own molly. I even remember this one time you broke a coffee pot and instead of admitting it was you, you somehow got all the agents to argue and accuse each other. I remember. But I don’t remember you.”

He didn’t know how to respond.

“I mean, I feel it sometimes with the other agents, but they don’t seem as bothered by it. I’m also not as bothered by them. You’re the only one that makes me confused.”

Brimstone sat up and leaned in towards the table, getting just a few inches closer to the robot, and yet, it felt like miles of distance to get where he was now. The question was right on the tip of his tongue. He was unwilling to say it though because if the answer wasn’t the one that he wanted, it would crush him even more – to have this imitation of something he wished he had, and then for it to reject him.

But that hesitation was what lost him the chance the first time around. “So… do you have a preference? Between me and the other Brimstone?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. They were both silent, neither daring to move, let alone say a word.

Just as he was about to pull his question back, KAY/O answered, “I…I think I prefer you. From this world.”

And he had never felt as light as he did in that moment when KAY/O said that. KAY/O had leaned in too, and as a result, their hands, one robotic and one flesh, were mere millimetres from brushing each other’s.

“I… I think I’m a lot closer with you than the other Brimstone. He was always… I don’t know. Wrong time, wrong place for what I wanted I guess.”

“Then I hope you find better timing here.”

KAY/O reached out for his hand. “I do too.”

[eroselless]

hopelessly devoted [1]

Pairing : Sebastian Stan x reader│regency au

Summary : When Y/N Brighton finds herself suddenly married to a strange older man, she thinks her life is completely derailed. Wha happens when she starts to get close to him?

Warnings : slow burn, age gap, fluff, a tad bit of angst, a little injury but not much Word Count : 3.6k

Notes : I'm sorry it took so long for me to get this out! I hope y'all like it! I rewrote it twice just so I could get it as perfect as I could. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! I didn't expect to be writing a Part 2 BUT it should be up very soon :)

Also let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

here's what I listened to while I wrote :)

find part 2 here!

As a young child, Y/N Brighton had imagined that she would have the most lavish of weddings. She had imagined walking down the aisle in the arms of her father, smiling at relatives as they watched her join her husband to be. She had hoped for a grand exchange of vows with him, ones that would leave the crowd in tears. She had even hoped for a choir to sing her in and hoped for petals to be showered on her and her beau as they left the chapel for their extravagant and much needed honeymoon. What she hadn’t imagined was this.

Y/N slowly walked down the aisle, with no one by her side. The chapel she was in was dark and the seats, instead of being filled with family, stood empty. There were no flowers in sight and the mood in the room was of sadness and melancholy. Her hands were clasped around nothing, a bouquet she had desired being absent. She quietly stood still in front of the man she was to marry, seeing but a stranger and not someone she had grown to love.

Viscount Brighton was a man of many flaws, just as any other human being. He loved to drink, he loved to smoke but most of all he loved to gamble. Many times he had won money, bringing it home to spend on his daughter and wife but many more times, he had lost and come home significantly more empty handed than he had been when he left. Viscountess Brighton had found herself one night, sitting in the seat of her husband’s desk. It felt as if smoke was steaming out of her ears as frustration built up inside of her. In front of her, there were piles of paper and in her hands she clutched the newest additions of the pile. There were bills upon bills upon bills, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she added up the amount of money that her husband owed. What they had left in their accounts was almost nothing. Even the dowry belonging to their only daughter was gone.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if to stop the tears from flowing out.

“What have you done?” She seethed at her husband, who stood guilt ridden at the door of his own office.

“No w-worries dearest,” he began. “We can always sell a few things and we’ll be fine!” If looks could kill, the poor man would have been 6 feet deep in the ground.

“With the amount of money we have due, we’ll have to sell the house and everything in it!” The viscountess cried. Shaking her head, she dropped the pieces of paper on the desk and stormed out.

“How could you?” She asked once they were laying in bed. The lights were blown out as they both lay with their backs to the other. He could not answer her question. How could he? That’s the thing, he didn’t. He clutched onto the sheets of the bed as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the guilt was beginning to feel heavy on his chest. He prayed for a miracle, he prayed for someone to come pull them out of the hole he had pushed his family into.

Y/N didn’t really know why there had been visits from a stranger to her house. She had been introduced to him briefly. His eyes were electric blue and he had a beard that was full but not too big or fluffy. His hair was a beautiful shade of brown and was always brushed to perfection. He always gave her tight lipped smiles and there was an eery feeling of pity behind each one. She couldn't help but feel attracted to him, despite him being almost the same age as her father. It was a little innocent crush. It didn’t really mean anything.

Lord Sebastian Stan was in search of a wife. He was the most eligible bachelor on the market, though he was quite older than most of the girls in age of marriage. He had never really planned to marry. He had gotten close many times but had never found the right woman to fill the seemingly gaping hole in his heart. If it hadn’t been for a trip to his native Romania, he wouldn’t have bothered to begin a search. He had gone to visit his grandmother, she was very much expecting he would finally have a maiden at his side. She had explained that if he didn’t marry, there was a possibility that his title and home would be stripped from him. He remembered how he panicked, not so much for the loss of his title but where would he go without his home? Where would he live then? It was as if fate was on his side when he had run into the hysterical Viscount Brighton. The poor man was desperate, searching for anything that would help him with the sinking boat he found himself on. Sebastian didn’t jump at the deal immediately. He couldn’t help but feel for the young girl who was essentially being sold away. But after much thought, he spoke to the older man and agreed to marry his daughter.

“Lord Stan has agreed on marrying you.” The viscount said to Y/N. It had been days after the agreement was finally settled.

“He needs a bride in order to keep his estate and seeing as how you are in the age of marriage, he has agreed to marry you even though you are without a dowry.” Her mother said, trying to be gentle with the words she said to her daughter.

Y/N simply looked at them with tears in her eyes. They had sat her down in the office where her mother had been sitting only a few nights ago.

“He said he will help the family with whatever we need in exchange for your hand in marriage.”

And that was that. Now Y/N found herself standing face to face to Sebastian as he whispered the words of I do. She watched as he stood there expressionless, staring down at the floor. His eyebrows were furrowed, as the priest recited the marital words to her. She was so caught up in his features that she almost missed her cue to agree to the marriage and echo him with the words of I do. Each slipped on a simple wedding band on their ring finger. There was a sigh of relief ringing out behind her as her family officially joined with him. Now they would not have to live out on the street, they were saved.

The ride to Sebastian’s estate was quiet. The only sound that was heard was the crunch of carriage’s wheel on the ground and the subtle sound of the pairs breathing. As she had expected, there was no celebration of the marriage after the ceremony, no shower of wedding rice or petals on them. There was only the silent signing of papers and the quiet goodbyes from her family. Here Y/N took the time to really look at him. He had a slight crease etched between his eyebrows. He had a mole on the left side of his forehead and his lashes didn’t quite curl up but still had a slight wisp to them. His eyes looked darker, they were like the deep colour of the ocean. They were a pool that, in a different circumstance, she would be more than willing to swim in.

“We don’t have to lay together,” Sebastian began, breaking the silence along with her long stare. “We each have our own rooms, so you don’t have to worry about anything. The maids will have everything ready by the time we get home.” Y/N nodded, taking in the information. Part of her knew he wouldn’t force her to consummate the wedding, he didn’t seem like that type of person but part of her still wanted the chance to sleep next to him, to get to know the person she was to spend the rest of her life with.

They soon arrived. The night was warm and the stars shone brightly above them. If they had wanted, a stroll through his vast gardens wouldn't have been a very romantic way to start the night. The mansion was lit up from the inside and Y/N couldn't help but find herself in awe of it. They had come through a gate and down a long road in order to reach the house. It had three towers with the rest of the building having been built around them. There was a grand balcony right above the main entrance. It was all very green, trees and bushes surrounding the mansion.

“Welcome Home, Lord and Lady Stan” The head housekeeper said, ushering them in from the night. Many of the staff stood on the stairs leading up to the front doors of the home. They kindly nodded at them as they slowly walked in. Y/N was shown to her room, just across the hall from Sebastian’s.

“If you need anything, don’t be scared to give us a shout.” The housekeeper told Y/N. Sebastian had followed behind, making his way to his room. He nodded politely in her direction before he slipped through his door, closing it behind him.

Y/N stood there for a second before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. She made her way into her room. It was big. Bigger than the one at her family home. The walls were a pale blue and the room had golden accents, with more variations of blue scattered around. There was a small table on one side of the room with a single armchair. On the table was the most elegant and beautiful tea set she had ever seen. When she went to grab it, it was warm. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. She blew on it as steam came up from the cup. She stared at the wall just above her large bed, reflecting once again on how fast the days changed.

It took her a while to acclimate. Sebastian had mostly left her to her own devices, leaving her to roam around the mansion alone. She would get lost every once in a while, asking maids to help her find her way back to her room. She wasn’t prohibited from going anywhere, Sebastian had made that clear to her. This was her home now and he wasn’t going to keep anything from her. She ate breakfast with him every morning, sitting across from him at a long dinner table. He would always mumble a quiet good morning, taking her hand and gently pressing a kiss to it. He couldn't bring himself to ever look into her eyes.

One afternoon, she stumbled upon the library. As a little girl, she would spend her time reading the day away. She never tired of the smell of old books. Her eyes widened when she pushed open the double doors of the library. She hadn't ever seen such a grand collection. There were many many rows of shelves and a flight of stairs that led to a landing where she could sit, surrounded by a few more shelves and a grand window. She spent the next hours exploring the rows, climbing high onto the ladders to reach the books on the highest shelves. She took her time, taking deep breaths and inhaling the comforting smell of the pages. She didn’t recognize many of the books, a lot of them being in Romanian or French. She delicately dragged her fingers on the spines of the books, careful when pulling them out to examine them.

She was searching the shelves for something familiar, when a book caught her eye. The title on the spine was one that she had heard of before but couldn’t quite remember what the story was about. It was high up, too high for her to reach on her own. She looked around the library, seeing if there was anyone that could help her reach the book. She sighed as she realized she was completely alone and would have to climb the ladder that was placed on a set of railings on the front of the shelves. She huffed as she hiked her dress up as much as she could, sticking her feet out to climb onto the first rung of the ladder. She grabbed on tight as she ascended higher and higher. She heaved slightly as she reached the right shelf, only to realize that the book was just barely within her reach. She frowned, trying to pull the book out with the tips of her fingers. Feeling her fingers slip slightly, she moved to the edge of the rung she stood on. A loud creek sounded through the library as she started to feel the ladder tip to the side. Finally grabbing the book, she tried to push herself back onto the ladder, only to jerk farther away from the wall. She felt her feet slip from under her, a panicked squeal coming from her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for her body to fall and hit the ground with a painful thud.

Sebastian sat at his desk, looking through his small collection of books, in search for one in particular. His head was full of thoughts, not a single instance of silence. He had also needed time to acclimate to his new housemate. He tried his best to interact with her and to be civil but part of him felt like he was doing it all wrong. He remembered when he had first seen her, roaming her old home. He remembered the cream coloured dress she wore when her father first introduced them, before she was told of her fate. She seemed happier. He tried to make her happy but no matter what he instructed her handmaiden to give her, she still didn’t seem as joyful as she used to be.

In a way, he understood her. She was now living in a house with a strange man that she had only known for a very short time. She had left behind her family and her friends and with no official duties, she spent most of her time by herself. She was alone. He had tried to be husbandly, eating meals with her and bringing her along for strolls in the garden but still even then, she would not come out of her shell.

Over the weeks, he had grown used to hearing her steps through the halls. He had learned to enjoy the little songs she hummed when she accompanied him on walks in the garden. He had started to pick up on her small habits. She would always put her pinky finger under her glass before placing it on the table. She would tug at her left earlobe when she was in deep thought or when she was reading. He usually found himself scolding himself when he watched her walk about the mansion. He couldn’t help but feel like a villain who took any plans for her future away.

He resigned his search, deciding to make his way down to the library. He was in for a long hunt. He walked the empty halls, the only sounds being the clicks of his shoes against the stone floors. He came upon the doors of the library to find them open and saw his wife begin to climb on the many ladders in the library.

He watched as she began to shuffle to the edge of the ladder. Knowing fully well how this would end, he made his way up to her. His heart began to race as the ladder began to creak and tip. With a few long strides, he was at her side. He heard as she held her breath, waiting for the floor to come at her. He grunted as he slid under her, managing to catch her before she collided with the wooden floors.

Before this, he had never touched her before. He hadn’t really taken the time to look at her face. The skin of her bare arms felt smooth against his, the fullness of it feeling soothing. Her chest was heaving, just as his. The adrenaline was coursing fast through their veins. His eyes wandered her face, taking in each freckle and scar. He even noted the lone eyelash that lay on her cheek.

“Sebastian,” She cried, completely surprised. She pulled herself to her feet and out of his arms. She still held tightly to the book in her hand. Sebastian’s hand lingered on her shoulder, a small sign of affection. He looked over her, checking for any afflictions.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She nodded, catching her breath. She had placed one hand on the shelf, wincing slightly. Her knuckle had bruised, hitting it on the ladder as she fell. Sebastian pulled it from the shelf, cradling it gently.

“You must be more careful,” he warned. She felt her stomach flutter as he stretched her fingers out in his hand. It almost felt like what she was doing was wrong, forbidden.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“Let’s get you some ice for your hand.” He said and led her to the kitchens. It was only when he sat her down that she realized how dark it had turned outside. It was nearly nightfall. How long had she been in the library? She pulled a face when she felt the coolness of the ice hit her skin. Sebastian was kneeling in front of her, tending at her hand. She watched as he masterfully soothed her wound, even though her pain was almost gone.

“Thank you,” She told him when he looked up at her. “For everything.”

She said everything and she really meant it. Even though she didn’t have the life she expected, her family was being taken care of and that’s really what mattered. He nodded, smiling briefly before standing up. He held his hand out towards her, helping her up to her feet. They then walked up the stairs to their rooms. Stopping, Y/N turned around before opening her door.

“Sebastian” She called out to him, hand on her doorknob. He turned back to her. “Goodnight.” He smiled, his teeth coming into view.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

They were to attend their first party together. The most elite were going to be in attendance, most of which Sebastian knew. They rode in the carriage in almost complete silence and then proceeded to walk in together. When she let go of his arm, he hadn’t exactly expected her to go to the big group of ladies that stood ion the far side of the room. It had seemed like she recognized some of the ladies waiting there. He stood at the entrance of the ballroom, watching as she interacted with them. She was laughing and smiling. Something he didn’t see often. He admired how the dress she wore clung to her frame. It was a gown he had tailored just for her, and now he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. Ever since the incident in the library, he couldn't get her out of his head. Something was blooming in the back of his mind. As music started to play, couples started to make their way to the dance floor.

Y/N watched as the girls from her old friend group excused themselves to dance with their husbands and fiancées. For s second, she had felt like she was still living her old life. She had caught up with her friends for a couple of minutes, the feeling of happiness returning and the sound of laughter escaping her. She wasn’t ungrateful for the grand favour Sebastian was doing in helping her family in return for her hand. She really wasn’t but she felt lonely and as her friends took their leave into the arms of their lovers, she felt the loneliness settle back into her bones. From across the room, her eyes met Sebastian’s. His eyes were more blue than ever. They sent chills down her spine. With a nod, he signalled to her. They met at the edge of the dance floor, joining the rest of the dancers. The tempo of the music was slower and the people around them were moving slowly to the same beat.

Y/N felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat as she locked eyes once again with Sebastian as they danced around each other. She couldn’t put her finger on whatever was growing in the air around them. The movements in the dance had them inches away from each other, never touching but always close. They twirled around the dance floor for what seemed like hours, narrowly missing each other. As songs came and went, Y/N found herself smiling and making jests at her distant husband. It felt like progress from where they had been just nights before.

For a single moment, time felt like it had slowed. Sebastian felt his heart race as he gave Y/N a last twirl and brought her to his chest. She looked up at him with sparkles in her eyes, a smile adorning her face. Many times he had stopped to admire her face but here under the chandelier, surrounded by music he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He felt himself lean down, just barely brushing his lips over hers. But then as quick as their moment had begun, it ended. He felt a bubble pop inside his head as he pulled away from her. Guilt had filled his mind once again as he grumbled and motioned her that it was time to leave. Y/N watched in disbelief as he stormed out of the room and out to the carriages. He had been so close and now he felt miles away.

tags: @lharrietg @carleywhittaker @tonystankschild@headheartbellarke @baebee35 @lady-loki-ren

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

~

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

~

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[marvelmusing]

Making Time

Mobius M Mobius x Reader

Part 2

My Masterlist

“1985, huh?” You say, looking up from the briefing Mobius has just handed you.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll spot a delorian?” He jokes, making a Back to the Future reference. You smile at him, remembering when you’d first mentioned the movie. You hadn’t been at the TVA long, to your knowledge.

You’re sat in one of the cafes, explaining something about the timeline to Casey, and you make an offhand reference to the movie. To which, Casey looks even more confused. You glance at Mobius, who’s been sat next to you, watching your teaching with a smile. You offer them both a small smile, at yet another reminder that you’re from somewhere very different from the rest of them.

“Neither of you have seen it have you?” Mobius shakes his head.

“Not a lot of chances for watching movies when dealing with the timeline. Should we get the chance, I’d love to.” It’s a few days later when you give him the chance.

“Honey, I’m home.” You hear Mobius call out, which brings a smile to your face. Whilst you had your own apartment, you much preferred staying with Mobius, like you did when you first arrived at the TVA. You hear him set down a pile of papers in the kitchen, before making his way into the lounge where you’re sat waiting for him. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What’s all this?”

“Back to the Future. I went through my file, and managed to find a version that I watched that was uninterrupted. Then I isolated it, and copied it onto one of those cassette reel things, so that it’ll play on your mini projector.” You pause, before adding, “I probably put too much effort into this but, I thought we could have what my time considers a movie night?”

“A movie night?” Your face falls slightly, feeling embarrassed by your suggestion.

“We don’t have to-“ you start. He shrugs off his jacket and settles down next to you.

“Did I not tell you I wanted to watch it, should I get the chance?”

“Well, yeah.” He gestures to the projector.

“Let’s get this show on a roll.” You grin at him, before quickly pressing play on the projector. Mobius leans an arm on the couch and pulls you to his side. “You finally have clearance to access to your file, and you use it to watch Back to the Future?”

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” You joke.

You and Mobius head to the cubicle where you left Loki this morning. You spot him wapping against the desk with a magazine.

“Training going well?” You ask him. He leans back in his chair, attempting to look casual.

“Yeah.”

“Is that my jet ski magazine?” Mobius asks him. “Put it down. Gear up. There's been an attack. Let's go.” He hands Loki the jacket he’s been carrying. You set the briefing down on the desk, and follow Mobius. Loki trails behind you. “Put it on.” Loki shrugs the jacket on, adjusting the collar before posing.

“Nice.” You tell him with a smile.

“Good. Yeah, smart.” Mobius says distractedly. You soon reach the Timedoors, where a small group of hunters have gathered to wait. B-15 opens up the briefing.

“C-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. All signs point to another ambush. We've grabbed enough temporal aura to know it's our Loki Variant. But which kind of Loki, remains unknown.”

“They're the lesser kind, to be clear.” Loki specifies. B-15 sighs,

“Let me see the back of that jacket.” Loki does a small turn, showing the group the back of his jacket, where the bright orange letters reading VARIANT stand out. Everyone is the group shares a small smile. You’re glad you don’t have to wear one of those anymore.

“Very subtle. Well done.”

“I don't want anybody out there to forget what you are.”

“Oh, your only hope of capturing a murderer?”

“No. A cosmic mistake.”

“That's enough.” Mobius interrupts.

“Lovely.” You hear Loki murmur.

“Here's the deal.” Mobius begins. “When we get out on the branch, we're not just looking for a Time Criminal. We're looking for a Loki. A variation of this guy. A type we should all be very familiar with, because the TVA has pruned a lotta these guys, almost more than any other Variant.” He skims through a few of the Loki Variants that the TVA have caught before. “And no two are alike. Slight differences in appearances, or not so slight. Different powers, although, powers generally include: shapeshifting, illusion projection, and my favourite-”

“Duplication casting.” Loki interrupts

“Illusion projection.”

“No, they're two completely different powers.”

“How?” You ask him.

“Illusion-projection involves depicting a detailed image from outside oneself, which is perceptible in the external world, whereas duplication-casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance, which acts as a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure. But you already knew that.” He explains. You catch a glimpse of Mobius’s smirk before he says,

“Okay, take a breath. Noted. We're gonna break into two teams, including myself and Professor Loki.”

“Why?” A hunter stood beside you asks.

“Because whoever this Variant is, we haven't been able to find him. So let's bring in an expert.” Loki looks around at the group before adding a quiet,

“That's me.”

As the hunters prepare themselves, you hear Loki ask, “Do I get a weapon?” You laugh lightly,

“No chance.”

“Well, I'll have my magic back. Is no one concerned about that?”

“Of what?” Mobius asks.

“Me betraying you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know that we’ll just catch you again.” You tell him.

“And how's betraying us gonna get you any closer to the Time-Keepers?” Mobius adds. Loki leans forward, his attention fixed on Mobius.

“An audience with the Time-Keepers is on the table?”

“Keep that focus.” Mobius tells him. The three of you follow the hunters through the Timedoor, and out into 1985 Wisconsin. Your group makes their way through the crowd of the Renaissance fair before entering a large tent. It’s dark inside, with only a few lanterns to light your path. You watch as B-15 bends down to grasp examine a helmet left abandoned on the floor.

“So he's taking hostages now?” She says, turning to Mobius.

“The Variant's never taken a hostage before.”

“Maybe he's upping his game.”

“Or he pruned her.” One of the hunters remarks, you frown at his callousness towards his colleague.

“A Loki couldn't have gotten the jump on C-20.”

“I think you underestimate, actually...” Loki begins.

“Fan out and search for her. And hurry up, we're at three units until red line.” B-15 orders. Mobius sets a hand on your arm, and the two of you head to the exit.

“Come on.” He says to Loki.

“Wait. If you leave this tent, you'll end up like them.” Mobius stops beside Loki.

“What do you see?”

“I see a scheme, and in that scheme, I see myself.” Loki begins to ramble about an old Asgardian saying.

“Two units. He is wasting our time.” B-15 interrupts.

“Okay. Come on, Loki, make a long story short.” Mobius encourages.

“We need to look for C-20.”

“That's exactly what the Variant wants you to do. It's a trap. He's waiting for you outside this tent.”

“Should I secure the reset charges?”

“No. He wants me. I'm the key to his plan. He knows that I'm stronger. And he rightly believes that together we can overthrow and rule the TVA. But that's not what I want. I have a new purpose. I'm a servant of the Sacred Timeline. And knowing what I now know about his tactics, I can deliver you the Variant, but I need assurances.” He says, looking to Mobius. You glance up at Mobius, frowning slightly. Surely he isn’t believing what Loki’s saying? His eyes catch yours and there’s a small twinkle in them. You hide your smile. Loki circles around Mobius.

“Yeah?” Mobius offers.

“Assurances that I won't be completely disintegrated the moment the job has been done.”

“Right.” Loki leans forward, before whispering,

“We'll need to speak to the Time-Keepers at once. They're in graver danger than we realized.”

“He's lying. Just playing games. There's no one out there.” Mobius calls out to the group.

“Reset the timeline.” B-15 orders.

“You had me for a second. My ears are sharp too.” He points at Loki’s chest. You follow Mobius out of the tent.

“Well that went well.” You remark, hearing Mobius sigh. He runs his hand over his face.

You’re tucking into your lunch when you spot Mobius. He picks out a drink and a salad before making his way over to you. You give him a small smile,

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“How did it go with Renslayer?” He sighs, leaning his head back, before getting comfortable in his seat.

“Well, our Loki hasn’t been deleted yet.”

“That’s good then?” You offer. He sighs,

“Yeah. Though he’s getting more and more talkative.”

“You did say he loves to talk. Where is he now?”

“I’ve left him with the archives, hopefully he’ll be reading for the next few days. Or at least long enough for me to finish lunch.” He begins to eat his salad. Just then, Loki scampers in looking like a manic puppy.

“I found something.” Mobius shakes his head, keeping his attention on his lunch,

“No, I said don’t bother me until you've read all the files.”

“I have.”

“Every file?”

“Yes.”

“Pertaining to the Variant?”

“The answer isn't in the files, it's on the timeline. He's hiding in apocalypses.”

“Which apocalypse?” You ask.

“Any time in history? There's, like, a million of 'em.” Mobius adds.

“Ragnarok. Are you familiar?”

“Yes. The destruction of Asgard and most of its people. I'm sorry.” Loki pauses looking down.

“Yes, very sad.” He immediately perks up again. “Anyway, it got me thinking. Nexus events happen when someone does something they're not supposed to do, right?”

“Well, it's a little more complicated, but, yeah.”

“Great. And then that thing they're not supposed to do, cascades into a whole range of other things that aren't supposed to happen.”

“And so on and so forth, until eventually, a new timeline branches. Yes?”

“Chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.”

“Exactly. So, let's just say...” He picks up the salad bowl from in front of Mobius.

“Mm-hm. What are you doing?”

“...your salad is Asgard in this scenario.” Loki continues.

“It's not Asgard, that's my lunch.” Mobius complains, the pouting clear in his voice. You lean forward, a hand on your chin to hide the smile at Mobius’s reaction.

“It's a metaphor. Just hang in there.”

“I want that salad.”

“And I could go down to Asgard before Ragnarok causes its complete destruction and I could do anything I wanted. I could, let's say, push the Hulk off the Rainbow Bridge.” He picks up a salt shaker and puts a large sprinkling of salt across Mobius’s salad.

“There he goes.” You say, feeling rather invested in this metaphor.

“The salt's Hulk?” Mobius asks, clearly not as enthusiastic as you.

“And I could also... Set fire to the palace.” He picks up a pepper pot and shakes the pepper across the salad.

“No, just stop. Don't set fire to the palace.”

“Okay? I can do whatever I want to do, and it would never matter. It wouldn't go against the dictates of the timeline because...” He sets down the shakers after nearly emptying them both. He heads to the table behind you. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, God!” Mobius sighs.

“You!” Recognising the voice you look up to see Casey looking very confused.

“Nice to see you. I just need this for a second. Thanks.” Loki picks up Casey’s carton of juice, before sitting back down at your table. “Because the apocalypse is coming. Ragnarok, Surtur will destroy Asgard no matter what I do.”

“No, don't do...” Mobius sighs as Loki empties the carton over the remains of the salad.

“There's the apocalypse.” You say with a sigh, offering Mobius your bag of chips.

“That's the apocalypse?” He asks, taking a handful of chips from you with a smile.

“Ragnarok obliterates the salt. Ragnarok. There it is.” Loki gestures to the ruined salad with a proud smile.

“What am I lookin' at?”

“Okay, it was a clumsy metaphor. But you see what I mean. It doesn't matter. It could be any apocalypse. It could be a tidal wave. It could be a meteor. It could be a volcano, a supernova. If everything and everyone around you is destined for imminent destruction, then nothing that I say or do will matter, because the timeline's not gonna branch. Hence, the Variant could be hiding in the apocalypse and do whatever he wants, and we wouldn't know!”

“Not bad.” You offer.

“Take me to a real apocalypse, to Ragnarok, I'll show you.” Mobius chuckles,

“Yeah. So you can run away back to your homeland? No.”

“No, I'm not going home. We can go anywhere.”

“I'm not taking you for a stroll along the promenade, much less an apocalypse.”

“Oh, Mobius, come on! What could possibly go wrong? We gotta properly test this theory.”

“Well, here's a fun theory. You lure me out into the field, and stab me in the back. And that's a theory I don't wanna test.”

“I'd never stab anyone in the back. That's such a boring form of betrayal.” He most definitely would stab someone in the back.

“Loki, I've studied almost every moment of your entire life. You've literally stabbed people in the back, like 50 times.”

“Well, I'd never do it again, because it got old.” You both laugh at this. Mobius looks at you, and you shrug.

“Might as well try it?” You offer. Mobius nods,

“Okay.”

“Okay, look, you don't trust me, you can trust one thing. I love to be right.” Loki adds. That certainly isn’t a lie.

Tagslist: @n0obmaster69 @mackycat11 @wibblywobblyjeremybearimy @boriqs @morganwilliams @greeneyedblondie44

If you’d like to be tagged just ask!!

[prof-peach]

Has any wild pokemon came to your place to seek help, and if so what was it like?

Well yes actually, because of our location and the distance between us and johto, we get a lot of Pokemon who stop for a rest between land masses at our lab. If they come in injured from battle, or sick from bad weather on their travels, the other Pokemon that hang around the island will pick up on it, and direct them to one of the professors, usually whoever’s closest at the time.

We get an awful lot of water types as you’d expect but I don’t really deal with them, that’s Professor Grey’s area, he’s not nervous in water like I am so he’s able to give more accurate and effective care. I will help from time to time but only really on the little land dwelling ones. The oddest water type we had turn up was a lotad. Hear me out, we’re no where near Hoenn, like at all, we don’t get them in johto, at least not wild, and the ones we get given are Pokemon we know and have helped, so we knew it wasn’t one of those. This little thing washes up on the beach along the north side, and if you’ve read anything about the island before you’ll know the North is fenced off, a zone for Pokemon to go to get away from the public, and is generally quite hostile, and off limits to guests without explicit permission and a guide. So this Lotad is found, luckily by a reasonable middle aged Ursaring, and suddenly we get a knock on the door in the middle of the night, this big mountain of a bear Pokemon holding the smallest little lotad, the thing was full of seawater and had burns form the salt and mould forming. He spent a week and a half in the ICU with strict climate control and a course of medication tailored to his species, all the while we’re all scratching our heads about how he got to us. We’d had no visitors so he couldn’t be a stray or released Pokemon, the weather was good so no storm could have carried him to us, he was alone, no trainer, no friends, no family. Ships pass through but could he have jumped off and ended up with us? We all have our theories, I personally think he got carried a fair way from home by a flying Pokemon, and dropped by accident. Either way he’s since become the little champion of our care program, he’s recovered in leaps and bounds and lives a very comfortable life in th entropic house, in the indoor pools with some Relicanth and the other little lotads, a few surskit. Happy Pokemon for sure now, we’ve had a porygon translate what he has to say but he doesn’t remember anything before waking up in the labs care unit. We just count him as the luckiest Pokemon we know, considering the terrible shape he came to us in. Must have been floating around the ocean for days.

We also get a heap load of flying types that rest between locations during migration, some of those do seem to have the odd issue which we tend to, our favourites are the migrating Fletchling that fly on through for the winter, they give a fiery display, filling the sky with little embers. Sure, fire risk, but also consider this, beautiful? We have water Pokemon on standby during this time, and usually anything that catches is caught pretty quickly. I do find the flying types will return. When some come through, and we notice them and help where we can, they’ll eventually leave to continue their journey, and then a year later they come back again, this time with families, friends, some even bring their whole flock, just because we built some trust with them that one time. We have pidgeot that repeatedly return to the island, all because we’ve patched up like several members of their family, they’re regulars to us now, and even between seasons of migration, they’ll return to see if we can help, or offer information should they encounter issues. I must say once one knows about you, the rest do pretty fast. I will forever remember fondly, gardening in peace, not a single problem to be dealt with, and then the sky went black and I couldn’t see the ground anymore, because SO MANY murkrow had landed all at once, they blocked out the light, they covered every post, every piece of dirt, all by demolished the berries I’d been growing all season. Why you may ask? Because I had hatched one random egg I found on my travels, had no idea at the time what it was, and I carried this thing around with me everywhere. When it hatched it was a little Murkrow, a little different in appearance, with a striking flash of blue under his little wings. I gave the thing a good start and sent it on it’s way. No big deal.

Wrong.

This little one was a lost egg from a boss Honchkrow’s clutch, how did that big boss bird know it was his child? He was the start of the variation, the bright blue under his wings. So yeah, he told them all about us, and how to get to the island, and we ended up with a HUGE amount of them, trying to bring things to repay the debt. Some found shiny items, others berries, unusual mushrooms, neat looking twigs, bottle caps, pins, buttons. To this day some of those Pokemon still hang out here, kind of dug it enough to want to stick around I guess. We don’t mind, they’re actually really good natured, and helpful too!

We get the odd dragon fly by, alwasy alerts the island’s heavy hitters when one touches down. Recently we’ve had Garchomp breeding here, they seem to like the mountains, and our resident female was putting out her siren song for a mate all spring. Summer they paired up, laid eggs, now we have little Gibble running around somewhere safe. Last actual dragon type to stop in for some help was a rather thin and dull coloured looking Charizard, had flown too far, exerted itself too much, came crashing into the labs big front doors, nearly took a patient clean out, definetly needed to replace some tables after that. With some good dinners and a bit of TLC they got fat and strong again, and went on their way.

I think once you help out a few Pokemon, word spreads, we get a lot of unusual clients, most of which have stowed away on passing ships, coming to us for information, support, and care. For instance last week we had a Krabby who came in off a cargo ship, swam to the island, made its way to the lab, SAT IN THE WAITING ROOM, legit was happy to wait, all because he had a broken claw and couldn’t get it off to make way for a new one to regrow. We helped him out and he went on home, we got a ship to pull in to return him home luckily.

This week there’s been a Magnezone and a Jolteon magnetised together, they asked for a lift from a visiting trainer who obliged, they’ve since been seperated and sent on their way, back home safe to the wild. Happens from time to time. Who knows what next week will bring haha. Every days interesting here I must say that much.

[pure-kirarin]

Killer x reader (having a stressful day) English / French

Disclaimer : This will be in French and English. It was written originally in French and translated to english. I added the french version at the end of the post if anyone is interested. 

A/N :  こんばんは !  ♡ リクエストしてくれてありがとう~  @holykillercake​ san. This is my first time writing something both in English and in French. Alsooo, writing something for Pasta-husbando ! I hope that you will like it >o< I never noticed that Kirarin & Killer both have “キラ”, this explain why Killer’s hair is so healthy and shiny...Anyways~  始めましょう !

-ENGLISH- 

«- Relax. »

The moment his fingers touched your skin, your shoulders unclenched as if a weight or a burden had dropped off them. Your muscles were stretched to the limit; An underlying tension, no doubt, you were carrying the stress of a whole week on your frail shoulders. «- Y/N. » Just your first name, nothing else.

It was his way of asking you what was bothering you and you understood it. You were there, you had just come to his room, sitting on the sofa and there he is – as it has now became a habit – behind you, offering you a massage. Fairy fingers put pressure on your shoulders, fingers that could as well kill as take you to heaven. Never once you have felt afraid. His touch was comforting, familiar.

« -Don't worry. I just had a stressful day...The usual.  You melted under his touch. You felt his fingers tighten at your remark and you could make out his thought pattern. -No Killer, nobody bothered me. You won't have to kill anyone.  -I wasn't planning on killing anyone. You couldn't suppress a small laugh as you guessed his confusion. He was extremely protective of you, even if he hid it pretty well. Dear lord, just his presence was enough to put you in a better mood. -Yes, yes, of course. And what about the guy from last time ? » You reminded him of your last party, or rather, the party where you both had to babysit Kid once again. A man a little too drunk had taken advantage of the crowd to put an indiscreet hand on your lower back. Needless to say, Killer broke his arm without blinking – a reflex. To be fair, Kid would have reacted even worse, the redhead and you were like brother and sister.

His fingers reluctantly left your shoulders, he got closer to the large bookshelf, as big as one of the room's walls.

Killer was an avid reader, he had books from different origins. You were always in awe in front of his wide knowledge. When did he have all the time to read these books ? Certainly during nights of insomny. He came back and sat down next to you, in his hands, you recognized the book "A Thousand and One Nights", the cover was thick and decorated with a golden frame. You smile excitedly, you and Killer had this habit; whenever you felt bad or couldn't sleep, he would read you fairy tales. He had read dozens of them to you ; The Little Prince, Alice in Wonderland, the Tales of Hoffman. But your favorite was always “A Thousand and One Nights”. (Arabian Nights)  This book cristalised your love. Whenever you couldn't sleep, you would join the man in his room and he would tell you, like Scheherazade, the astonishing tales. Before you even knew it, you had fallen under his spell. He patted his knees and you rested your head just there. His voice carried you to the sands of the east. A voice extremely gentle, mesmerizing. This intimate moment was enough to eradicate all your worries. One hand was carrying the book, while the other stroked your hair and cheeks in turn. His voice told you about the adventures of Sindbad, the famous sailor from Bagdad.  He had bought this book from an old bookstore in Alabasta and it introduced him to the oriental beauty. When he finishes reading the tale you get up slightly and snuggle up in his arms. He circled your waist with his as you stayed there for a moment. -I love it when you tell me about the adventures of Sindbad. I feel like I'm seeing a side of you that no one else can access. -And that's true. You are the only one who wants to hear these stories. He strokes your hair. -All credit goes to you. You are an excellent storyteller. -And you are an excellent listener. » He smiled behind his mask, maybe if he took it off, you could've seen the rose-color that tinted his cheeks.

He appreciated how you cared about everything he said and everything he loved. You were the only person in the world he shared this with, who he could stand sharing all of this with. The stress of the day was now nothing but a vague memory. Only one thing was missing. You wanted to get closer. You wanted to look at him and kiss him. The adventures of Sindbad were not enough. « -I want to look at you...  » You breathe out, your voice was no more than a sigh, a slight whisper that made him smile behind his mask. Smile that you don't see but that you could imagine. You didn't have to see him, you just had to pay attention to his chest rising with the rhythm of his breathing. You now knew how to decipher every gesture and the slightest variation in his voice. But it didn't stop you from wanting to look at him. You knew each other more than anyone, but you always wanted more. You wanted him  entirely to yourself. You wanted him to lay bare his feelings just as you did, because he was your comfort zone and you wanted to be his. You sit, your slender fingers brushing against the hard surface of the mask. You feel his breathing stop. « -For me... » you add, insisting.

It wasn't the first time you'll see him without a mask, but could you be satisfied? He even kept it on in his sleep. Your fingers start caressing the golden locks. « For you. » He repeats, his voice was firm but penetrating. Coming from behind the mask, it was somewhat veiled. Someone else would never have guessed his hesitation but you? Easy task. You couldn't suppress a smile, one of a child that was promised a sugar cube. You were now sitting next to him on the sofa, wrists on your hips, catching your breath, eyelashes barely batting.

The mask was now resting on the armrest. Your eyes layed on his perfectly sculpted face and the purplish lips that you were dying to kiss. Did he hide his face, like Medusa hers, out of fear of petrifying you? «- Killer ... You are so...beautiful. » No need for words, a finger rested on your parted lips. Your gaze was enough, words were sometimes too overwhelming. His azure eyes shone behind a curtain of golden hair. You hesitate, a second then two, before coming to sit on his knees. He was surprised by this proximity but it didn't bother him since he put your hand on his chest. His skin was warm, his heart was beating considerably faster. He didn't say it, that gesture meant "I love you" and you knew it.  - Thank you for being there for me.  » Your face was inches from his. His lips barely caressed yours before kissing you fully as his hand rested on the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. Once again, the gesture spoke better than the words. I love you. I want you. I want you to give me all your stress, all your pain, I want to carry it for you.

- (Y / N) ... A sigh ... I lo- Suddenly, the door thudded open. You didn't have to look back, you knew, both of  you knew who that was. -Killer! When are we gonna eat I'm sss---... Wait what, FUCK- - Can't you knock on the door for once? You grabbed a pillow and threw it at Kid, who was already turning around, embarrassed to have interrupted you. He disappeared as quickly as he had come, uttering a myriad of obscenities in his way. Killer buried his head in your neck, embarrassed to be found in this compromising situation, although it could have been way worse. You cursed Kid inside for interrupting you.

-Killer, what were you saying ? He puts his mask back on murmuring a « nothing »

-But I swear I heard you say it. You were going to say « I love you », right ? You teased

-If you heard it then why are you asking ? He was extremely thankful for wearing his mask at that moment.

-Because I want to hear it again ! -Too honest, you were too honest for his own good. -I love you. -W-wait I wasn't prepared ! You were now the one to blush. Killer wasn't the kind to express his feelings all the time and that openly, so it meant a lot to you.

« Cute » was all he thought of you in that moment. He got up holding you tight against his chest ;

-Well, I think that Kid is really going to throw a tantrum if he doesn't get to eat. You must be starving as well. Would you like to help me in the kitchen ?

-Of course I would. But first put me down. -I am scared that is out of the question. 

He simply answers as he proceeds to hold you over his shoulder, heading towards the kitchen. - French -

«- Détends-toi. »

A l'instant où ses doigts entrèrent en contact avec ta peau, tes épaules s'abaissèrent comme si un poids ou un fardeau en disparaissait. Tes muscles étaient tendus à l'extrême ; Une accumulation de tension sans doute, le stress de toute une semaine.

« - (T/P). »

Juste ton prénom et rien d'autre.

C'était sa manière de te demander ce qui te tracassait et tu le compris. Tu étais là, tu venais tout juste de rentrer dans sa chambre pour t'affaler sur le sofa et le voilà qui -comme à son habitude- t'offrait un massage. Il avait des doigts de fée, comment des doigts pouvaient-ils aussi bien tuer que t'emmener au paradis ? Tu n'avais jamais eu peur de lui. Son toucher était réconfortant et familier.

« -Ne t'en fais pas. C'était juste une journée stressante. »

Tu fondais sous son toucher, sa présence derrière toi était rassurante. Tu sentis ses doigts se crisper à ta remarque et tu pus deviner son schéma de pensée.

«- Non Killer, personne ne m'a embêtée. Tu ne devras tuer personne.

-Je ne comptais tuer personne.

Tu ne pus réprimer un petit rire en devinant son trouble. Il était extrêmement protecteur lorsqu'il s'agissait de toi, même s'il ne le montrait pas. Bon dieu, rien que sa présence était assez pour te mettre de bonne humeur.

-Mais oui, bien sûr. Et le type de l'autre fois, on en parle ? 

Tu ne manquas pas de lui rappeler votre dernière soirée ensemble, ou plutôt, une énième soirée où il fallait prendre soin de Kid. Un homme un peu trop alcoolisé avait profité de la foule pour poser une main indiscrète sur le bas de ton dos. Inutile de mentionner que Killer lui avait fracturé le bras sans ciller. Remarque, Kid aurait agit pire, le roux et toi étiez tout deux comme frère et sœur.

Ses doigts quittèrent tes épaules à contre cœur, tu le vis qui s'approchait de la grande bibliothèque qui occupait un des murs de la pièce. Killer aimait énormément lire, à vrai dire, il avait tellement de connaissances et il avait des livres de différentes origines. Tu étais toujours admirative devant son savoir.

Il revint et s'assit à côté de toi, entre ses mains, tu reconnus le livre « Mille et une nuit », la couverture était épaisse et ornementée d'un cadre doré. Tu souris avec excitation, Killer et toi aviez cette habitude ; à chaque fois que tu te sentais mal ou que tu n'arrivais pas à dormir, il te lisait des contes. Il t'en avait lu des dizaines maintenant ; Le petit Prince, Alice au pays des merveilles, les Contes d'Hoffman. Mais ton préféré restait toujours « Mille et une nuit ».

Ce livre représentait ton énamourement. A chaque fois que tu n'arrivais pas à dormir, tu rejoignais l'homme dans sa chambre et il te contait à la manière de Shéhérazade les contes étonnants. Avant même de t'en rendre compte, tu étais tombée sous son charme.

Il tapota ses genoux et tu posas ta tête là où il l'avait désigné. Sa voix te transportait vers les sables d'orient. Il y mettait tant de douceur. Ce moment intime était assez pour éradiquer tout tes ennuis. Sa main portait le livre, tandis que l'autre, caressait tour à tour tes cheveux et tes joues. Que tu étais chanceuse de l'avoir. Sa voix te racontait les aventures de Sindbad. Il avait acheté ce livre lors d'une escapade à Alabasta et était tombé sous le charme.

Lorsqu'il finit de lire le conte tu te relevas légèrement et tu te blottis dans ses bras. Il encercla ta taille des siens et vous restèrent un instant dans cette position.

-J'adore quand tu me racontes les aventures de Sindbad. J'ai l'impression d'accéder à un côté de toi que seul moi peut voir.

-Et c'est vrai. Tu es la seule qui veut entendre mes contes.

-C'est tout à ton honneur. Tu es un excellent conteur.

-Tu es une excellente audience. »

Il sourit derrière son masque et ne manqua pas d'en rougir. Il aimait comment tu t'intéressais à tout ce qu'il racontait et à tout ce qu'il aimait. Tu étais la seule personne au monde avec qui il partageait cela, avec qui il pouvait se permettre de partager cela. Le stress de la journée n'était plus qu'un vague souvenir. Une seule chose te manquait. Tu voulais plus de proximité. Tu voulais le voir et l'embrasser. Les aventures de Sindbad n'étaient pas assez.

«-Je veux te voir... »

Tu expires, ta voix n'était plus qu'un soupir, léger murmure qui le fit sourire derrière son masque. Sourire que tu ne vis pas mais que tu pus deviner. Tu n'avais plus à le voir, tu n'avais qu'à prêter attention à sa poitrine qui s'élevait au rythme de sa respiration. Tu savais maintenant déchiffrer chaque geste et la moindre variation de sa voix.

Tu le connaissais, vous vous connaissiez plus que personne mais tu en voulais toujours plus. Tu voulais qu'il s'offre entièrement à toi. Tu voulais qu'il mette à nu ses sentiments comme tu le faisais avec lui, parce qu'il était ta zone de confort et que tu voulais être la sienne.

Tu te redresses, tes doigts graciles viennent toucher du bout des doigts la surface dure du masque. Tu sens son souffle s'arrêter.

« Pour moi... » tu répètes, insistante. Ce n'était pas la première fois que tu le verras sans masque, mais pouvais-tu en être satisfaite ? Il le gardait même dans son sommeil. Tes doigts se perdent maintenant dans sa chevelure dorée.

« Pour toi. » Sa voix était ferme mais pénétrante. Venant de derrière le masque, elle était quelque peu voilée.

Une autre n'aurait pas pu deviner son trouble mais pour toi ? Tâche facile. Tu ne pus réprimer un sourire d'enfant auquel on promettait un morceau de sucre. Tu étais maintenant assise à côté de lui sur le sofa, les poignets sur tes hanches, le souffle coupé, les cils battant à peine.

Le masque reposait à présent sur l'accoudoir. Tu pus découvrir son visage parfaitement sculpté, ses lèvres violacées. Cachait-il son visage, comme Meduse ses yeux, de peur de te pétrifier ?

«- Killer...Tu es magnifique. »

Pas besoin de mots, un doigt vint se poser sur tes lèvres entrouvertes. Ton regard était assez, les mots parfois l'encombraient. Ses yeux azur brillaient derrière un rideau de cheveux dorés, ils étaient fuyants. Tu hésites, une seconde puis deux, avant de venir t'installer sur ses genoux. Il fut surpris par cette proximité mais elle ne le gêna pas puisqu'il vint poser ta main sur sa poitrine. Sa peau était brûlante, son cœur battait considérablement plus fort. Il ne le dit pas, ce geste signifiait « Je t'aime » et tu le savais.

«- Merci d'être là pour moi. »

Ton visage était à quelques centimètres du siens. Ses lèvres vinrent caresser les tiennes à peine, avant de t'embrasser pleinement tandis que sa main se posa sur sur ta nuque pour approfondir le baiser. Encore une fois, le geste parlait mieux que les mots. Je t'aime. Je te veux. Je veux que tu me donnes tout ton stress, toute ta peine, je veux la porter pour toi.

-(Y/N)...Un soupir...Je t'ai-

Soudain, la porte s'ouvrit en un fracas. Tu n'eus pas besoin de te retourner, tu savais, vous saviez de qui il s'agissait.

-Killer ! C'est quand qu'on mange je meu--...PUTAIN mais...

-Tu peux pas frapper à la porte pour une fois ?

Tu attrapas un coussin et tu le lanças en la direction de Kid qui se retournait déjà, gêné de vous avoir interrompu. Il disparut aussi rapidement qu'il n'était venu en prononçant une myriade d’obscénités.

Killer enfonça sa tête dans ton cou, gêné d'être découvert dans cette situation compromettante, quoique ça aurait pu être pire.

-Tu disais quoi, chéri ?

Il remit son masque tout en murmurant un « rien du tout ». 

-Mais je jure que je t'ai entendu le dire ! Tu allais dire « Je t'aime », n'est-ce pas ? Tu le taquinais un peu trop pour son bien être.

-Si tu m'avais entendu, alors pourquoi demandes-tu ?

Il était extrêmement heureux d'avoir son masque sur le visage à cet instant précis. 

-Parce que je veux l'entendre à nouveau. Si honnête, un peu trop pour son bien. 

-Je t'aime. 

 -Qu-quoi ? Je n'étais pas préparée à ça ! Tu étais maintenant celle qui rougissait. Killer n'était pas du genre à exprimer ses sentiments tout le temps et ouvertement alors ça signifiait énormément à tes yeux. 

« Trop mignonne. » C'était ce qu'il pensait de toi en ce moment. Il s'est levé tout en te gardant contre sa poitrine. 

-Bon, je pense que Kid va vraiment causer un désastre s'il n'a pas à manger. Tu dois mourir de faim également. Tu ne voudrais pas me donner un coup de main en cuisine ?

 -Bien sûr que oui. Mais tout d'abord...Est-ce que tu pourrais me poser à terre ? 

 -ça c'est hors de question. Il répondit simplement tout en te mettant sur son épaule et en se dirigeant vers la cuisine.

[jisungsplatforms]

Dahlia

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x gn! reader

Genre: angst; hanahaki au, non idol au

Warning: language, mentions of cheating, tiny tiny spoilers & allusions to some of my other fics if you squint hard enough. Some elements of Felix x reader (purely platonic tho)

Note: this does NOT portray Stray Kids’ true personalities. This is all purely FICTIONAL

*this is one of my longest fics i’ve ever written so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

(Based off of (G) i-dle’s “Dahlia)

(Page II)

Dahlia:

“Signifies a lasting bond and commitment between two people;

symbolizes elegance, inner strength , change, and dignity...”

Hwang Hyunjin is bad news.

He’s a player, he’ll leave once he gets bored of you.

Hwang is no good for you. You deserve so much better, Y/n.

That was all you heard ever since you started dating Hyunjin. Different variations of it, all with the same connotation. People warned you, left and right, whenever they saw you two together. But you didn’t care, you choose to love him anyways, despite the rumors you’ve heard about him. It was all...

...Blind love. Sure, you fall in love fast, and every single time, you’ve been cheated on; but you knew that he was different, you could feel it. You had faith in Hyunjin.

Today was your one year anniversary. You sighed at the calendar hanging on your wall, a vase with a single dahila (given by Hyunjin a few weeks ago) sat on a table beside it.

“Did you know back then, lovers used to gift their beloved dahlias as a sign of everlasting love and commitment?” Hyunjin said with a pretty smile, holding a bouquet of a dozen dahlias.

“Oh really now?” you giggled, taking the bouquet into your hands. “Are you trying to tell me something?” You tilted your head, your eyebrows raised playfully.

“Hmm. Only that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he cheekily said. “And that I will love you, and only you, even for the our next 100 lifetimes.”

You writhed in giddiness, touched by his words. “I can’t wait then,” you said, planting a soft kiss onto his plump lips, the two of you smiling into the kiss.

That was a year ago; 3 months into your relationship, probably the happiest year you’ve ever had. Every day with Hyunjin felt magical, like it was too good to be true. He was nothing but gentle with you. He held your hand as if you were glass. His eyes stared into yours as if you had the shiniest of diamonds for eyes. His beautiful smile always made your heart flutter, but his kisses was what really did the job. You thought that you could never had enough of him. You were his princess and he’s your prince charming.

But little did you know that the magic will soon wear off...

You stared at your phone in sheer disappointment.

Sorry, I can’t make it today. Something really important came up and I can’t miss it.

-was what was written on your screen, sent by your boyfriend. Bringing the phone closer to your face, you replied.

Really? You can’t skip it? Or even do it later?

Nope. Sorry, babe. There’s nothing I can do.

Oh...okay then.

Cheer up, babe. We’ll just go on a date on another day! I’ll make it up to you. Promise! :)

‘Go on a date on another day’ For some reason, reading that message shot a pang of hurt through your chest. To you, it basically implied that today was supposed to be just ‘another date’ for you guys.

Did he...forget that it’s our one year today? you thought sadly at the possibility as you put your phone down. Shaking your head, you tried to erase the negative thoughts from your mind. No no no, Hyunjin wouldn’t have forgotten. He was the one who even arranged the date! You held your cheeks in your hands. Sighing, you stood up to leave your bedroom to get a glass of water, feeling a heaviness to your chest. A million thoughts ran through your head as you made your way to the kitchen.

Is it possible that he really did forget?

Is he lying to me?

Am I just overthinking things again?

Or did he finally get...bored of me?

Looking back, you started to think about how lately, Hyunjin has been cancelling and rescheduling your dates. Every time you text him, asking him to come over, he’d reply with something along the line of “can’t i’m busy. sorry.” Of course you felt hurt, but you always told yourself, he’s a busy man. We don’t always have to be together.

And of course, you werent oblivious to how every month, the amount of dahlias Hyunjin used to give you slowly decreased. Once a dozen dahlias became only 8. 8 slowly became half a dozen. Then 6 became only 3. But you’ve convinced yourself that you didn’t need flowers to determine how in love you were, telling yourself how expensive live flowers actually are, so it makes sense he’ll end up giving less flowers. That’s it. That’s what you’ve conditioned your mind to think.

You’ve convinced yourself that Hyunjin truly is a good guy.

You didn’t even realize you were already in your kitchen until you felt yourself holding the cup to your mouth, the cool liquid making it’s way down your esophagus. You put the cup onto the counter, mindlessly staring at it. Maybe your were just overthinking things. That’s it.

Trudging back to the bedroom, you sat on the edge of your bed, sighing heavily, trying to contain the tears that were threatening to come out. Your lit up with a notification.

—

From Lixie Ramsay 🧑‍🍳🍽

—

Hey Y/n, are you feeling well?

Seeing a text from Felix, you grabbed your phone.

Not really. How’d you know??

Idk. I guess you can call it...best friend telepathy :D

You smiled, typing in another reply.

Well thank GOD for bsf telepathy cause I feel like shit rn.

Overthinking again?

Yes :(

Aww sorry to hear that dude :((

Wait. What happened with Hyunjin? Isn’t it your anniversary today?

Your heart ached at the message, the good mood you were slowly feeling again plummeted. Luckily, Felix noticed how long you were taking to reply to him.

Ah nvm... Anyways, I’m pretty much free rn so that meeaannnsss...I’ll take you out on a date instead!

Even though you were wallowing in misery, you couldn’t help but tease him.

You? Pass

How rude. And here I am being the greatest friend anyone could ask for, and you have the audacity to be picky?

Have fun with your pity party then, best friend

You sniggered at his reply. No no. I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’ll take up your offer LOL

Good. Be ready in about 20 mins. I’m coming over so we can go to the café together!

Okayyy :D

You got up and put on a nice, but comfortable outfit to go out in with your best friend.

You were just sitting on your couch, awaiting for Felix’s arrival when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/n! It’s meee~!” came his loud, deep voice. You chortled as you got up from your couch, making sure everything was secured before going to your door. You opened it to see Felix’s bright smile greeting you.

You giggled, opening the door wider. “‘Sup, bro,” you nodded your head. Felix returned the gesture.

“‘Sup. You ready?”

“Yup! Let’s go.” Before you could get out of your house, Felix stopped you.

“Wait wait! I have something for you!” he lightly pushed you back inside. Only then did you notice that he was holding a single sunflower in his left hand. Your eyes widened a little, confused.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“A sunflower!”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Duh, I know that, but what’s it for?”

Felix beamed. “Well, I knew that you were feeling sad today, and I heard from someone that sunflowers are known as “happy flowers”, so I thought that I should give you one! To cheer you up!”

You looked at the flower in awe, incredibly touched by his gesture. “Lix...” you trailed off, feeling happy tears beginning to prick your eyes. You took the sunflower from his hands and stared at it, already feeling the positive vibes radiating from it.

“I know, I know. I’m the bestest best friend anyone could ask for. Now let’s go! I’ve been dying to try the carrot cake in that new café a few blocks down!” Felix said, sliding his arm to yours, “I heard that they have one of the best carrot cakes in town.”

You looked up from the flower to look at him, grinning. “Thank you so much for this, dude. I really appreciate it.”

Felix shrugged with a small smile on his face. “It’s the least I could do. Really.” He waited for you as you locked your front door, arms still linked, then making your way to go to the café Felix has been dying to go to.

The two of you walked together, catching up on each other’s current events going on in your lives, seeing how you weren’t able to for the past two weeks. Right now, Felix was telling you about a certain crush he has in one of his classes.

“Ooh, so, have you tried asking them out? Or even just told them that you’re interested or something, in the very least?” you wiggled your eyebrows. In response, he sucked in his breath a little. His face contorted in a slight grimace.

“I...tried to...” He said with his teeth clenched. You looked at him in puzzled.

“What do you mean ‘tried to’, Lix?” you asked. “It’s either you did or you didn’t.”

Felix sighed in embarrassment, his mind wandering back to the memory. “I sorta might’ve accidentally revealed that I liked them but sorta might’ve got embarrassed and accidentally took it back?”

“What?” you deadpanned.

“Okay okay. It’s dumb. I know. But they were so SO cute just talking, TALKING, and it just slipped out, I guess!” he said, exasperatedly. “I really couldn’t help it! Honest! So, I just panicked and covered it up by saying ‘I’m so lucky to have a friend like you'”

You looked at him blankly, slowly unlinking your arms. “Oh no,” you sighed, slightly shaking your head. “Oh baby nooo...”

“Yeah. I’m pathetic, I know.”

You hummed in pity, patting his shoulder. “A little, yeah, but it’s okay. Things like that happen, unfortunately. Don’t worry though, it’s not like it’s the end of the world,” you grinned, “You’ll have a lot more chances to actually confess in the near future.”

Felix nodded, crooning. “You’re right, Y/n. Thanks,” he said, giving you a hug as he gave you his well-renowned sunshine-like smile that you couldn’t help but smile back.

“No problem.”

Topic after topic, the two of you were so immersed in your conversation that you guys arrived at the café.

“Finally!” you cheered. “That was a surprisingly long walk.”

Felix sighed. “For real. But on the bright side: carrot cake!”

“Is the carrot cake even that good?”

“Dunno. Only one way to find out!” Felix walked a few steps ahead of you to open the door for you when he suddenly stopped. His whole body went rigid. In a blink of an eye, he turned around, gently pushing you away from the building. “Darn. What a shame, it’s full today. Oh well,” he frantically stated.

You glanced back behind him to check the inside yourself, only to see that it was only half full.

“What’re you talking about? There’s totally enough space for us. Let’s go.”

Felix’s face was full of dread. His body was stiff, his eyes shook a little as he maintained eye contact with you. He was nervous, and you could tell.

“You’re not okay. Is there someone in there you wanna avoid?” you said in urgency.

“Uhm. You could say that,” he murmured, looking down. Looking back up to see if there were any shifty looking faces that were in desperate need of a beating, your heart dropped in horror and dispair. Through the window, you saw Hyunjin, your boyfriend, sitting with a pretty looking lady. You watched them with woeful eyes as they smiled and laugh with each other. You couldn’t believe it, you didn’t want to. You wanted to believe that this was all a misunderstanding. You only snapped out of it when you felt Felix’s small, warm hands.

“Let’s-uh- let’s just go, yeah?” he said quietly. Nodding mindlessly, you let him lead to somewhere else. Anywhere but here. Felix rubbed your back, trying to give you any kind of hug he could give you as you walked away. You tried your best to push back the cough making it’s way to your throat. Good thing Felix was guiding you the entire way, others you would’ve fallen due to your blurry eyesight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for, is what you wanted to tell him. But you couldn’t, for if you do, you might end up breaking down in the middle of the streets. You breathed heavily, containing both your tears and the pressure down in your chest and throat.

You snuggled closer to your thick blankets, trying to assimilate the warm you crave for from it. Felix was by your side, rubbing soothing circle to your back. You guys never went to go to another café. Instead, he led you home, seeing how it wasn’t the right time for you two to go out. You appreciated his gesture. It makes you wonder why can’t every guy be like your best friend, your brother, your soulmate. Felix let out a long exhale.

“Man, I-I’m sorry you had to see that, especially on your anniversary,” he soft said. Felix was furious, not only at Hyunjin, but himself as well. He felt like he couldn’t protect you, like he failed as your best friend.

“It’s okay, Lix. I’m fine,” you murmured. “Actually,” you paused, “I’m not fine. But you don’t have to apologize for something like this. This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Im just frustrated, you know. I’m mad that you’re hurting like this.”

“Yeah me too,” you said emptily. “I just hope that this was just a misunderstanding.”

“He better damn well make sure that it’s just a misunderstanding,” he grumbled. “Otherwise i’m gonna have to settle some things with him. Hope he knows that i’m a black belt in Taekwondo.”

You snorted. “Thanks, Felix.”

“I will have a ‘chat’ with him. Mark my words.”

You laughed at him. You could faintly feel the angst in your heart lessen, but not completely go away. Hearing your front door unlock, you stiffened. You tried your best to not look at it.

“Babe! I’m here!” Hyunjin’s voice rang at the entrance. You felt Felix’s hold on your form tighten. Hyunjin walked closer to you two.

“Hey, Felix,” he said flatly. “didn’t know you were coming here.”

“Hmm.” Felix nodded his head, not even trying to make eye contact with the tall brunette. Hyunjin nodded back in annoyance.

“Anyways, you can leave now,” he sneered with his jaw clenched. “Your job is done. Now it’s my turn to spend time with my beloved.”

Both you and Felix tensed at his words. He looked down to look for your approval. Seeing your unsure nod, he hesitantly let go of you, watching you as he does so.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed to him. He made a sharp breath as he stood up, still refusing to look Hyunjin in the eye.

“Goodbye,” Felix called out, more to you than the other. You felt a sense of foreboding when you heard the door shut. From your side, Hyunjin let out a harsh groan.

“Finally,” he said, sitting down as he wrapped his arm around you. You couldn’t let yourself relax in his arms like how you’d usually to. You just felt uneasy in his presence right now. “So? How was you day? Missed me?” Hyunjin asked. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to pretend anymore.

“Are you cheating on me?” you more declared than asked as you sat up straight. Hyunjin’s eyes widened for a millisecond, a flash of fear in his eyes, but he just played it off.

“How could you accuse me of something like that?” he said, defensively. “I’m your boyfriend. Don’t you trust me?”

You bit your lip nervously. “I saw you, Hyunjin. At the café.” His face contorted in panic but quickly masked it as disbelief.

He scoffed, “Well you saw wrong, Y/n. That was just a friend, I would NEVER cheat on you.” He shook his head disappointingly, removing his arm from you. “I can’t believe that you would ever doubt me, babe. I’m actually really hurt by this right now.”

You felt a wave of guilt rush over you.

“Oh...I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I just thought-“

“You thought what? That the rumors were true?” Hyunjin laughed sarcastically. “Man, and here I thought that you were different.”

Your eyes teared up even more as the guilt inside your chest increased. Was I really wrong? you thought. “No! I’m-I’m sorry, Hyunie! I didn’t know! I just felt hurt because today was su-”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s okay. Let me just, be alone for a while, Y/n.” Hyunjin quietly got up and walked out of your house. You walked as he slammed the door on his way out, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. You were starting to regret letting Felix leave. The air around turn colder in your empty apartment.

It was supposed to be our one year anniversary, you thought, finally letting your tears out. And yet again, you tried controlling the tickling down your throat.

“He told you WHAT?” Felix exclaimed, looking at you incredulously. You had to shush him when you noticed some of the other people in the coffe shop giving you both tiny glares.

“He told me that it was just a friend that he had to me,” you said, quietly. “And that he would never cheat on me. He also said that felt hurt that I didn’t trust him, so I felt bad cause he did looked super upset.”

Felix rolled his eyes as he let out a sardonic “ha”. “That’s rich. Coming from him?” You let out a tiny pout.

“I don’t know, Lix. He seemed like he was telling the truth though?”

“Yeah, seemed, Y/n. I don’t know if you should trust him anymore. And besides, it even sounded like he was trying to make you feel bad instead of apologizing.”

“Well yeah cause-” Felix cut you off, holding up his hand to stop you from saying anything else.

“That’s gaslighting, bud. A huge red flag if you ask me. He didn’t even remember that it was your anniversary!”

Scrunching your eyebrows, you pondered upon Felix’s words. You knew he was right, but you really wanted to give Hyunjin the benefit of a doubt. All of a sudden, you felt a pressure in your chest. In need of relief, you coughed into the juncture of your arm. Felix winced in pity.

“Ooh, sounds nasty. You good there?”

You nodded as you continued coughing, giving him a thumbs up. Once you finish with your fit, you cleared your throat a little, grabbing the water bottle beside you to drink.

“Mhmm, yeah. Just a tickle, that’s all.”

“You sure? You’ve started coughing since yesterday,” Felix stated. “Are you sure you aren’t getting sick cause of the weather or stress or something?”

“Uhh nah. I don’t think so,” you said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Felix hummed, totally unconvinced by your reasoning. He knew deep down something was wrong; he just didn’t know what. It was quiet for a while until Felix up at the window and let out a little gasp. You raised your eyebrows at this, silently asking him what’s wrong. He glared a little at the window before turning to you.

“Hate to do this but look. Behind you, don’t make it obvious.”

You slightly turned your head to see what he was looking at. Your eyes widened. You saw Hyunjin and the same girl from 2 days ago, passing by at the other side of the window, hand in hand. You watched in disbelief as the girl tipped toed to kiss his cheek while he giggles. You quickly turned your head in the other direction to avoid him as they walked by, feeling the pressure in your chest worsen. It hurt even more when you remember the small bouquet of dahilas in her hands. You felt your eyes burning with tears, sucking in deep breaths. Turns out that that was a mistake.

You calming yourself back-fired. You ended up having a coughing fit; but it didn’t feel like any cough you’ve ever had. It felt way heavier, like you were almost suffocating. Bringing a fist to your chest, you pounded on it as if it would help. You didn’t know if the tears in your eyes was from the couch or seeing your bastard of a boyfriend. You couldn’t even open them so you opted to just keeping them shut .

“Y/n?!” Felix yelled out in alarm. You felt him come up behind you, rubbing your back. “Oh shit...” you heard him breathed out. You slowly opened your eyes and turned to him. He looked frantic, but he wasn’t staring at you, rather on the floor. You looked back to see dahlia petals on the floor.

Huh? you thought in bewilderment. Last time you checked, there wasn’t any plants in the shop, aside for the plastic Swiss Cheese plants in the corners of the place, if they even count at all.

Felix noticed your gaze on the petals. “That shit’s from you,” he pointed out. “We need to get you to a hospital. ASAP.”

You looked at him weakly. “But-“

“NOW, Y/n.”

“I- what?” you gasped in horror.

“You’ve, unfortunately, contracted the Hanahaki Disease,” the doctor announced in sympathy. Felix rushed you to the nearest hospital after your little scene. When you arrived there and told the receptionist at the entrance, she immediately paged you to the emergency room. You were scared. You didn’t know what was so urgent to rush you to an emergency room.

“Hantahapki? What the hell is that?” Felix asked, coming out rather aggressively. He was horrified; who wouldn’t be if they witnessed their best friend coughing out flower petals.

“Hanahaki,” the doctor subtly corrected, “It’s a rare disease that makes you cough out petals. Not many people gets it.”

Your heart beak was fast. If it was rare, then who knows what could happen.

“Okay, Hanahaki. So do you know how Y/n got it?”

The doctor removed her glasses and put it on the desk beside her. “Well, though it is a rare disease, we do know enough about it,” she declared. “The Hanahaki disease, fortunately, isn’t contagious and is only produced from unrequited love.”

You let out a shaky sigh. “So it is true. He doesn’t love me anymore,” you muttered. You felt the familiar pressure in your chest so you relieved yourself, petals spewing as you coughed. Felix immediately rubbed your back in alarm.”

“Is there anyway to treat it, doc?” he worriedly questioned. The doctor nodded.

“Yes actually. One option is for the patient’s love to be returned by the recipient,” your heart dropped a little hearing this “-or the other is to undergo surgery.”

“Surgery?” you both inquired at the same time.

The doctor nodded again. “Yes, surgery, our safest option. However, doing so will result in Y/n loosing all feelings of love altogether.”

“So what you’re saying is,” you said slowly. “-if I do the procedure, I won’t be able to love again?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Romantic love that is. You can still love people platonicly, like your friend over here,” she said gesturing to Felix. “Family and friends, basically. You just can’t have romantic feelings for anyone else, even if you really wanted to.”

You and Felix looked at each other in sorrow. “I,” Felix started off, “really think you should do it.”

You bit your lip as you shook your head. “I don’t know. This is a pretty big decision. Can’t I just, like, think about it for a while? Before I really decide if I want to do this?”

“Of course you can, Y/n,” the doctor said. “Just don’t take too long making a decision, okay? Because it will kill you, if you don’t decide on time.”

The two of you looked up at her in horror. “KILL?!”

She winced a little at your loud voices, prompting the two of you to apologize. “Yes, kill. Those aren’t just petals coming out of no where.” She gestured to the pile between the tree of you. “They have to produce somewhere. At first they’ll start of as a little bud, that’s why as of now, you’re only coughing out several petals each cough, eventually getting bigger and bigger until the flower in your lungs fully bloom, which could end up bursting out of your chest.”

Felix turned to you in pure terror, slightly shaking you. “I REALLY think you should do the surgery today.” You brushed him off of you.

“Okay yeah, that’s terrifying, but I won’t be able to love ever again, Lix!” you countered. He look at you like you were crazy.

“You won’t be able to feel ANYTHING if you don’t!”

You contemplated on the situation. You didn’t know what to do. The doctor interrupted your train of thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Y/n you have about a few weeks minimum to make a decision. Luckily you came to us the day you started coughing out the petals. Otherwise, if it happened earlier and you kept it to yourself, you might’ve...you know.” You shook your head in acknowledgment.

“Yeah. Okay, thank you, doc.”

It’s been 5 days since you’ve been to the hospital; 5 days you’ve been diagnosed with the Hanahaki Disease; 5 days since you’ve last seen Hyunjin.

You still weren’t sure if you wanted to undergo the procedure. Felix said that this was the best option, but you didn’t want to listen. You still had hope in your heart that maybe, just maybe, Hyunjin still loves you deep down. You heard your phone ding from the table. You picked it up and saw that is was from your “boyfriend”.

Hey! Haven’t seen each other in a while. Wanna talk?

Your heart sped up. You didn’t know if it was from excitement that he finally contacted you, or fear that you might end up finding out the whole truth. Your fingers typed out a reply.

Yeah, come over today. I’ve missed you

Liar, you thought to yourself.

Sure! See you soon!

:)

You typed out your final reply, burying your face into the throw pillows.

A knock was heard from your door, signaling Hyunjin’s arrival. You tensed buy quickly calmed yourself down. You got up to let him in. You were greeted by his big smile, which you knew now was fake.

“Hey, babe! I’ve missed you!” he cheered.

Fucking liar. Putting one a fake smile, you said a quick “miss you too” and let him in. Closing the door, you gave yourself a mental pep talk before going straight to the point. You turned around to face him

“You’re cheating on me,” you stated, emotionlessly. You didn’t even say it as if it was a question, you knew. Hyunjin looked panic before composing himself.

“Again, Y/n? I told you, it-”

“I SAW YOU, HYUNJIN!” you cried out, not even containing your emotions anymore. “I SAW YOU OUTSIDE OF THE CAFÉ. I SAW YOU HOLDING HANDS. I SAW HER KISS YOU AND YOU DIDNT PUSH HER AWAY. IN FACT, IT LOOKED LIKE YOU ENJOYED IT.” You walked quickly towards him to push his chest.

“WHAT’S WORSE WAS THAT I SAW THE DAHLIAS YOU GAVE HER, A FLOWER THAT YOU SAID WAS SPECIAL TO US!” you fell to the floor, sobbing. The jig was up, Hyunjin knew.

“I trusted you Hyunjin...I really did. I even convinced myself that you weren’t like the rumors said,” you said weakly, already too tired to scream. “I love you. How could you do this to me?”

Hyunjin watched as you broke down. He didn’t know what to say; how to comfort you. He couldn’t even lie to you anymore. He felt bad for you. But he could’nt deny that he’s lost feelings for you.

“I’m sorry...”

Hearing this made you cry even more, you cradled your chest as you sank deeper to the floor. He didn’t even deny it. He didn’t even try comforting you. You heard his heavy footsteps leave your house, closing the door behind him. Your heart lurked even more. So this is it, you thought.

It hurts.

It hurts so fucking bad.

You were used to being cheated and lied to, so why did it? You clutched your burning chest, trying to regulate your breathing. More tears spilled out of your eyes.

It was because you genuinely loved Hyunjin.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you started wheezing out the dahlia petals out of your chest. A bunch of petals flew out of your mouth. You couldn’t breathe. It was too much. You crawled to your phone to call Felix. It rang once, twice, before he finally answered.

“Y/n?”

You could’ve even speak anymore, the room started spinning, your vision started blurring.

“Lix...hospital...” you managed to let out before collapsing.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

You woke up to the sound of beeping. You looked around and noticed that you weren’t home anymore. You tried getting up, flinching when the IV bag connected to you stopped you.

Ah, I’m at the hospital.

You laid back down and relaxed, trying to relive what happened last time you were awake. All you remember were blurry images of you crying, petals, hearing Felix’s panicked voice, then nothing. You eyes shot open at the thought.

Felix?!

You looked around the room to finally see him sleeping in the corner. You could faintly distinguish the dried tear marks on his freckled face.

He must’ve been here for a while.

The door know turned to reveal the same doctor to diagnosed you a few days prior. “Hello, Y/n,” she greeted, standing by your bed. “Seems like you’re doing well now.” You nodded. You tried speaking to answer her, only to find that you couldn’t because of how dry your throat was. The doctor noticed this and shook her head.

“Don’t. Just rest, it’s okay.”

You bowed you head as a slight thank you. She walked closer to you to pat your head.

“Congratulations, the procedure was a success.”

You eyes widened at the implication. So that’s why you’re here. It all made sense now. You have her a smile as you gave a raspy “thank you.” She talked to you for a while before deciding to leave you to rest a little more. She announced you could be discharged from the hospital by tomorrow.

You felt a little disappointed that you couldn’t love anymore, but still overall glad that you’re still alive. You glanced at the papers the doctor left on the table beside you, grabbing it to read it a little just to see that is was just your information. Beside it, you saw that she also left a cup of water for you. You gulped it down, letting out a relieved “ah” went you finished.

You didn’t want to think about anything right now, and you sure as hell didn’t even want to think about your now ex-boyfriend. You closed your eyes to think about what went wrong in your life. Especially now that you have to live without loving anything the way you want to. You contemplated with an emptiness in your chest.

.

.

.

Our love is-

“...however, they do carry negative connotations;

betrayal, dishonesty, instability.”

-Dahlia

—————————————————————————

(Case #XX1-

Name: Y/n L/n

Patient: Cured; Discharged: XX,XX,XXXX at XX:XX)

——————————————————————————

(Back to Page I)

A/N: PHEW FINALLY DONE WITH THE FIRST PART OF THE SERIES. IVE BEEN EXCITED TO WRITE THIS FIC FOR A LOOONG TIME. (G) I-dle’s “Dahlia” is what inspired me to start the Hanahaki series so THANK YOU MINNIE

[ratmonky]

Smoke Flavored

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: smoking, manipulation, innocence kink, cigarette burns, sadism

AO3 Link

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t change what people saw you as. It wasn’t your fault either, you were nothing but a kind, selfless little soul. Or in simple words, a people pleaser.

It was also unlikely of you to take interest in a classmate of yours who was known for being a cold-hearted guy, completely polar opposite of you.

Unlike any other one of your classmates, this guy, Takasugi, was laid back and quiet. He was also eerily mysterious. You had been in the same class with him for three years yet you knew absolutely nothing about him aside from his name. Now, months before graduating high school, you only had limited time to be able to learn everything about him.

Since he was friends with one of your friends, Gintoki, you decided to try to learn more about Takasugi through him. He told you that they knew each other since they were brats and that Takasugi was nothing but a lame stoic emo guy who liked acting like he didn’t care about anything.

However, when you asked Hijikata about Takasugi, he told you that he was a delinquent. Sakamoto thought of him as a pipsqueak and Katsura said he was the type who wiped his ass standing.

Well, everyone had their opinions about him and none of them were similar to one another.

You gave up trying to get to know him through others’ views of him and decided to approach him yourself to find out what kind of a person he was.

Although he had been your classmate for many years, you had only recently taken an interest in him after he carried you to the infirmary when you twisted your ankle during the sports festival a couple of months ago. He was obliged to take you there because he was one of the only two health committee members in your class, he was attained unwillingly by the teacher since he didn’t go to any after-school clubs.

He hadn’t even spoken to you or did anything particularly special but the way he held you in his arms made you feel like you belonged between them. Days after the incident, you found yourself always watching him.

To be able to get close to Takasugi, you started hanging out more with Gintoki. He enjoyed your company along with Sakamoto and Katsura. It was fun to be around those three and sometimes even Hijikata joined the group with his own friends.

Takasugi rarely came by, he was never to be seen unless there was a class. You had no idea where he went during breaks but you were grateful to be able to see him during the classes. Good thing he was at least attending school, despite being a delinquent.

Gintoki was the only one who noticed your dreamy sighs or flushed cheeks whenever Takasugi stopped by for a moment before leaving to go for a smoke at lunchtime but he didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t his problem.

~~~

A miracle happened.

“Didn’t you hear the bell?!” Matsudaira growled, “Get back to your classes!”

Ugh, it was the worst when Matsudaira was on hall duty. You walked past him hoping that he wouldn’t yell at you for having your skirt too short again.

You were walking in the hallway without paying much attention to where you were going and accidentally bumped into someone. As you were about to look up and apologize, the cigarette pack the person you bumped into had in their pocket fell down.

Immediately there were whispers from everyone else around you in the hallway. Matsudaira’s head whipped around and his eyes landed directly on the cigarette pack.

Your stare lifted to the person in front of you, instantly making your heart throb. It was Takasugi.

None of you moved and you knew the cigarette pack belonged to Takasugi. He was going to get in trouble if Matsudaira found out he was smoking on the roof. Worst of it all, if he got detention he would blame you for it. He was going to hate you. Even the thought of it made you shiver.

Not wanting to risk it, you leaned forward to pick the pack of cigarettes yourself and put them in your pocket as if you hadn’t seen Matsudaira glaring your way. However you had done it so he would see it, this was going to give him the impression that they were yours.

Takasugi’s eye widened, you couldn’t tell if he was surprised or impressed. You hoped it was both. You were going to make sure he could stop getting in trouble and become less of a delinquent.

“Hey, you there!” Matsudaira shouted and stomped his way towards you, grabbing your arm tightly. “Who would’ve thought an honor student like you would be doing this! You’re in trouble, young lady! You think you can smoke at school?!”

When Takasugi made a move to walk away Matsudaira grabbed him too. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re breaking the dress code! What’s up with that uniform, punk?”

“Sir, I’m sorry wait- Uh, that hurts!” you tried pulling your arm free from his grip but it was futile, he didn’t let go of you or Takasugi until he dragged both of you into his office.

“You’re both in big trouble! I’m going to give you detention after school!”

While he was yelling at you all you did was nod rapidly. Takasugi was inanimate.

“Now, hand over the cigarettes!” Matsudaira held his hand up, waiting.

With violently shaking hands, you fished the cigarettes out from your pocket, staring at the packet for a moment longer before finally giving it to him.

“Tch, isn’t Marlboro a little too strong for a girl like you?” he scoffed and put the cigarettes in his own pocket.

“It was my first time,” you lied, having actually no idea how many cigarette brands there were or what the differences between each one were. “I just bought whatever I could get.”

“And you punk, fix your uniform.” Matsudaira directed his attention to Takasugi who shrugged in response. “You want to pick a fight with a teacher?”

“I’m going to get detention either way if I fix my uniform or not, aren’t I? So, why should I fix it?” Takasugi spoke, calm yet impatiently. “Can I go back to my class now?”

Matsudaira was speechless, he glowered at the guy with an eyepatch in anger but couldn’t find any words to say. “Get out of my sight, both of you.” His tone was cold as ice and full of fury, you didn’t need to hear it twice.

You followed Takasugi out of the office, your pulse had gone haywire from being yelled at by Matsudaira. Ugh, why did you take the cigarettes? Takasugi was indifferent if he got detention or not but you weren’t. This was going to be put down on your report and oh no, what if Matsudaira called your parents? No, this was the worst.

“Thanks for the earlier,” Takasugi said, glancing at you over his shoulder with a grin. “I think you owe me a pack of cigarettes, though.”

All of the previous worries past forgotten, a dumb smile tugged at your lips. “A-ah, yes!”

That dumb smile stayed on your face for the rest of the day and your eyes didn’t leave Takasugi’s back. You watched him with admiration. Excited to see him in detention, maybe you two could finally have alone time together.

However, Takasugi didn’t show up to detention. You sat in the empty classroom alone, reading a book to pass time since there weren’t any teachers supervising.

~~~

Standing in front of the vending machine, you were staring at many variations of cigarettes on display. The packs were mostly colored red but there were green or blue packaged ones as well.

There was no way you could decide which one to buy, you needed help.

“Um, excuse me?” you hesitantly called out to the guy smoking outside the convenience store.

He stared at you behind his sunglasses as if your existence was irritating him but soonly that expression changed into something softer when he realized that you were a pretty girl in need of help. “Yeah?” His cheeks were already blushing.

“C-could you p-please help buy me c-cigarettes?” you fidgeted with your fingers. “I-I don’t know how to buy them.”

“Of course!”

A smile spread across your face and he followed you towards the vending machine in front of the store.

“So, which brand do you usually smoke?” he asked, pointing at the displays. “Hi-lite? Lark?”

“Um, I think M-Marabou.”

You sounded too unsure but nevertheless, if he noticed it, he was smiling at you in a friendly way. Hesitantly, you handed him a bill. “Marlboro, huh?” After taking one good look at you he pressed a button and inserted the bill inside.

The silent thud of the cigarette being dropped was heard once the small gears stopped turning.

Thanking the man, you reached inside the small compartment to collect the green cigarette pack.

~~~

Your heart was beating incredibly fast. The frame of the cigarette packaging inside your cardigan was too heavy on your dignity as one of the honor students. If you got caught carrying this again, they would give you detention longer than the one yesterday. Thinking about it hurt your pride even more.

That was why you had to give it to him as soon as possible.

You knew he always hung out on the roof to smoke during the breaks and nobody dared to go up there since he had claimed it as his own territory.

Climbing up the stairs leading up to the roof with shaking legs, you arrived at the top, hesitantly opening the door. It creaked, alerting anyone who was on the other side that they had a visitor.

You stepped onto the roof and closed the door behind you.

Nobody was in sight.

“Hello?”

Nobody answered back.

You were getting ready to turn around your heels to head back downstairs when the door opened. As you were frozen in place, Takasugi walked inside.

He stared at you with a blank expression after he noticed your presence and walked past you to head towards a corner.

Dumbfounded, you found the courage to speak only when he sat down. “Um, T-Takasugi!”

He didn’t answer but he was staring at you as if he was waiting for you to say what you wanted to say and leave him alone.

Taking a couple of steps forward to close the distance between the two of you, a million different thoughts went over your mind and your every single thought was clouded by him. He needed to know that, there were barely five months until graduation, to you, it was vital that he knew about your feelings towards him.

He didn’t need to like you back, you wanted him to know. You wanted to be a faint memory he would think about when he was older. Some honor student who confessed to him on the roof. A cute and faint memory.

What a lie.

You desperately hoped he would let you in his life and open up to you like he had never done to anyone before. You wanted to be the only person he would love and die for.

“U-uh, I like you. Uhm, no. Actually, I love you!” you stuttered, cheeks flushing and fidgeting with your fingers. “I-I wanted you to know, please don’t feel obliged to say anything.”

He didn’t say anything.

A sinister smile tugged at his lips instead.

“Did you bring me my cigarettes?” he asked, ignoring your love confession. He knew you had them, just like how he knew you were madly in love with him from the beginning.

There was a quick pause of you trying to steady yourself before you quickly patted on your uniform, trying to find the pack you had bought. Once you located it, you pulled the pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and handed it to him.

With a smile, he took it from you and his eye landed on your face. You were biting your lip, helplessly trying not to frown. So cute, adorable even. You looked like you were about to cry.

If only he wasn’t already planning to ruin you.

His smile widened when his eye landed on the cigarette you had bought, a scoff left his lips. “You bought me menthol cigarettes?”

You stared at him in confusion, “W-what? Mentos cigarettes? I was sure I bought the right brand, I’m so sorry.”

Ah, you were more innocent than he had thought. An honor student like yourself didn’t know anything about the cruel life outside the gates of the school. You knew all of the math formulas though, how far were those going to get you in life?

“Nevermind,” he let out a breathy laugh, his eye returning on your face. “Wanna join me?”

Your cheeks flushed at that. Nodding rapidly, you stuttered a ‘yes’.

Takasugi gestured towards the empty space next to him as he was tearing the packaging of the cigarette.

Without hesitation yet in a meek manner, you sat down beside him.

“Have you ever smoked before?” He put a cigarette between his lips before fishing out a lighter from his front pocket to light the tip.

“I didn’t.” Oh, he was so close. You had never been this close to him ever since he carried you to the infirmary. This time, he was talking to you as well. Talking to you and nobody else.

He inhaled from his cigarette, the foul smell and the faint minty flavor of menthol ruined the strong taste of tobacco he liked. Although he hated menthol cigarettes for this exact reason, he didn’t have his usual cigarettes with him. There was no choice but to smoke the menthol ones you had bought for him.

He turned to face you since you were sitting on his bad side. He slowly lifted the cigarette up to your face, “Wanna try one?”

Your eyes widened for the wrong reasons. “Yes!” you answered without thinking, accepting it only because it meant getting an indirect kiss from the boy you liked.

Takasugi held the cigarette between his knuckles towards your lips and you leaned forward. Your lips touched his warm fingers as you took the cigarette in your mouth, cheeks flushing. Taking a deep inhale and holding it in your mouth until it reached your throat, instantly made you start coughing.

“You can’t inhale it like that,” he chuckled, continuing to hold the cigarette up towards you. “Try again.”

Quite hesitant this time, you parted your lips and took the sponge end in your mouth, looking at Takasugi through your lashes.

“Inhale softly, as if you’re breathing air. Don’t let it sit in your mouth, it should go into your lungs and come out when you exhale.” His eye was squinting with amusement.

You took a whiff of the cigarette, slowly as he said, inhaled it, and let it out without coughing.

“Good girl,” he praised, moving his hand away from you to take a drag from the cigarette himself.

Scooting a little closer to him with blushed cheeks, you told him something you were dying to say since yesterday. “You weren’t at the detention the day before.”

“Why would I be? They never check that classroom and there aren’t any teachers supervising. They call it detention in a way to scare dumb students into behaving, everyone knows that.” He turned his head to look at you with his good eye. “Were you in the detention classroom?”

“...No, I-I wasn’t,” you lied poorly.

“Then how did you know I wasn’t there?” He was smirking as he exhaled.

“I-... I was-” Defeated you sighed, “I had never gotten detention before.”

“That’s impressive.” There was a pause as he stared at you from the corner of his eye. “You must be a complete goody in two shoes.”

“I just never caused trouble before,” you replied, tucking your hair behind your ear shyly. You wanted to keep him out of trouble, helping him to get better.

“Hmm, I can tell.”

It was silent after that.

You listened to him smoking in silence until the bell rang. It was time to go…

“You’re leaving?” Takasugi asked when you made a move to get up.

Taken aback, you raised your eyebrows. “The bell rang, the break is over.”

“And?” He took another cigarette from the pack to light it.

You sat back down. There was no way you were going to miss the chance of being alone with Takasugi for a while longer, even if it meant that you would be skipping class.

Some time passed and you were unable to sit in silence. You felt obliged to start a conversation. “Have you written your report?”

“What report?” Throw the bait.

“Um, the one that will define your final grade.” You turned your torso towards him to face him completely. “Our homeroom teacher was talking about the report just yesterday, that one.”

“Ahh.” He looked lost in thought as he took a long inhale from his cigarette, “I didn’t start it.” Wait.

“It’s due next month,” you pointed out, a worried expression plastered on your face.

“Hmm.” He didn’t care, he wasn’t going to graduate if he didn’t hand in that last report he was so careless, smoking and slacking off. Wait. Patiently

You wanted him to get a high school diploma, Takasugi was probably under a lot of stress and the least you could do was to offer help. You wanted him to be a better person.

“I-I can help you write yours,” you said abruptly, determined to make sure he was going to graduate. “We can start whenever you want. I’ll write it for you.” It bit the bait.

He scoffed, his single eye met your gaze through the long curtains of his hair. “Would you come to my house today?” Reel it in.

Blushing, you bobbed your head in joy. “O-of course!” Success.

~~~

You were trembling when you entered Takasugi’s room.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said before dropping his bag beside his desk and leaving you alone.

You put your own bag down hesitantly, this room was nothing like you had expected it to be. There wasn’t a single personal item in his room, no personality. There were a couple of pieces of furniture but no decoration or anything. Except for that one framed picture on his desk.

Picking up the frame, you couldn’t help but smile. It was a picture of him with Gintoki, Katsura, and Sakamoto. Takasugi’s smile in the picture was something you had never seen before. He looked genuinely happy.

You nearly dropped the frame when Takasugi entered his room. He noticed the picture you were holding and gave you a simple glare, warning you to not mess up with his things without uttering a single word.

“I’m sorry.”

Ignoring your quick apology, he pulled out his chair for you and started his laptop while standing. “You can write the report, I’m going to sleep.”

“You can’t!” Your voice came out louder than you intended to. He stared down at you as his laptop’s screen lit up. “Y-you should help me write it. W-what if the teacher asks you about the report? W-we should write it together.”

He relented with a sigh and sat down on the chair he had pulled out for you.

“Where should I sit?” you asked, looking around for a second chair. “Should I get one from the living room?” You had seen them when you walked past the room.

Takasugi swiveled around on his chair and patted on his lap twice.

“I-I can get a chair from the living r-room!” you said in a panic. “I-it’s-”

“The desk’s too small,” he replied and you realized that it was indeed too small for a second chair. Aside from all that, he was offering you to sit on his lap. There was no way you would refuse. Absolutely no way you would pass on the opportunity to be close to him.

Hesitantly, you sat on his legs, he placed a hand on your lap and swiveled back towards the desk. He reached his arm from your side to type on the laptop and unlocked it.

“Go on.”

You opened a text document as you tried breathing evenly. “D-do you k-know what you w-want your report to be about?”

“I’ll let you choose.” His legs were warm and soft under you, very comfortable. You felt like you belonged in his lap like this. Exactly like how you belonged in his arms. Perfect match.

“O-okay.” You gulped audibly before reminding him something. “Be sure to watch what I’m writing, it’s still your report.”

He started watching you type on his computer over your shoulder.

You flinched and stopped typing each time his hand on your lap moved or he let out a hot breath on your shoulder. You wanted to press your thighs together because you were aroused out of your mind but your feet weren’t touching the ground so you couldn’t cross your legs to have that friction you were so desperate for.

“You made a typo,” Takasugi said, he reached his arm to point at the screen and he moved his leg slightly. It resulted in you having his thigh between your legs.

A blush spread on your face and neck as you nodded while using the mouse to tap on the type he was pointing at.

Behind you, Takasugi was smirking. He retrieved his hand that was pointing at the laptop screen and brushed all of your hair to one side.

You trembled at the contact, he felt your bottom pulsate rapidly on his thigh.

His smirk widened, becoming more sinister as he let his hand hover over your nape. Slowly, one by one, he presses his fingers on the side of your neck.

A gasp left your lips and your legs shook. So sensitive.

“You’re more obedient than I thought.” Your pulse quickened, eyes clouding with lust and excitement of what was to come. “Would you really do anything someone tells you to do?”

It was a genuine question he wanted to hear the answer to.

You couldn’t give him an answer though. Your lips wouldn’t move, your entire body went stiff because of his touch.

He didn’t need an audible answer anyway. Pulling your back on his chest, his hand that was previously on your lap went between your legs and under your skirt. “Spread your legs.”

Immediately doing as he asked, you placed your hands on his arm he had around your torso. You wondered if he could feel the butterflies you were getting in your stomach.

The answer was no. However, he could feel the way your pussy throbbed under your panties when he pressed his fingers against your slit.

You mewled at his touch, hips moving a little towards his hand to feel him more.

Oh, how naughty for an honor student.

“Weren’t you supposed to write my report?” he asked, you could hear the sneer in his voice. “Rather than humping my hand.”

Shaking your head, you denied the fact as if it was an accusation.

“What next? Are you going to say it’s my fault?” His chest rumbled beneath you as he spoke.

“I wouldn’t,” you uttered, lips parting when he pressed his fingers on your slit and the wetness soaked your panties.

“Did you get this wet from sitting on my legs?” His fingers went between your folds, the juices that were soaking the fabric of your panties made sloppy sounds whenever he lifted a finger and pressed it back on your slit again.

“N-no, that’s sweat…”

“Is it now?” His lips were brushing against the shell of your ear, hooking a finger to the elastic on the edge of your panties to pull them to the side. “You’re a terrible liar,” he whispered and pushed two digits inside your slick heat.

You moaned, legs pressing together and trapping his hand between your thighs while he twirled his digits around inside you.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded and once you did, he pulled his fingers out of you, holding them up to your face where you could see them. You watched thick clear fluids trickle down from the tip of his fingers. “Is this also sweat?”

Another blush colored your cheeks in response.

“Cute,” he murmured, shoving his fingers inside your parted lips. You unwillingly tasted yourself, the sweet yet salty nectar of your insides that was aching to be filled with his own. “Clean them off.”

With his words, you ran your tongue along the length of his digits, twirling around them to lick off your juices.

Takasugi patiently waited until you were done to retrieve his hand and lift you up from his lap. His hands grabbed your wrists as he placed them on the table. “Arch your back.”

No need to be told twice, you did as he told you.

The air in his room got thicker, heavier to inhale. It smelled like the cigarettes that had stuck onto his clothes.

His hands slid up from your wrists towards your shoulders, caressing the skin on your arms along the way. Slowly he led them down your back until he reached your hips. From there, he pulled you back against his growing bulge.

A gasp left your lips as he moved your hips using his hands, rubbing you against his clothed erection.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He grinded his hips onto your ass, making you feel everything.

“Yes, please,” you moaned, begging for him to fuck you.

Suddenly, his hands and weight pressing against you disappeared. You heard a thud after a short pause and when you looked behind, you found him sitting on his bed. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes you bought him and placed one between his lips.

“Takasugi?”

“Hmm?” He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“A-aren’t you…” you didn’t finish your sentence.

“What?” He was smirking again, the mocking tone of his voice was back. “You thought I’d fuck you?”

Silence filled his room.

Fixing your clothes in shame and embarrassment, although his eye was watching you intently, you avoided looking at him.

“Come here,” he said, oh so softly.

You walked up to him and lifted your gaze to meet his almost instantly. Obedient like a dog.

Is that what you are? A puppy?

“On your knees.”

You got on your knees.

This was far too amusing.

Takasugi palmed himself through his pants, his half-lidded eye looking down at you with wicked delight. “You like me right? No… You love me right?”

A nod.

“So, you want me to give you attention?”

“Yes!”

He leaned down and exhaled the smoke into your face. “You have to keep me entertained if you want me to look your way.”

“I-I will do anything!” It was the truth. You would write his report, buy him cigarettes, and even keep him out of trouble. You were going to fix him, shape him into a better person.

“Really?” He leaned further down, barely a centimeter away from your face.

“Shinsuke,” you breathed, lifting your head and puckering your lips.

“Don’t call me by my first name.” He stopped you by pressing the inside of his palm on your forehead.

“T-Takasugi,” you whispered, looking at him through your lashes.

“Stop begging, I won’t kiss you.” He pulled his hand back to take a drag from his cigarette.

Crack.

“I will do anything for you.” You crawled closer towards the bed, kneeling right in front of him. “I-I love you, I love you so much it hurts.”

“Sure.” Takasugi flicked the ash of his cigarette on an ashtray he had on the nightstand. His eye was on you, between his legs with glossy eyes that were ready to cry at any given moment, and on your knees, it was a sight to enjoy.

“I’ll prove it to you.” Desperate, you put your hand on his knee.

He silently continued smoking as your hands moved towards the front of his pants. You unbuckled his belt and pulled the zipper down with flushed cheeks. He was definitely watching you, his piercing stare was on you, drilling holes into you.

You didn’t even know what you were doing when you managed to pull his pants down along with his underwear to release his hard cock. It was bigger than you thought, longer too.

With one hand on his thigh, you wrapped your other hand around the base of his cock after licking your palm to make it nice and slick.

Hesitantly, you looked up to him, he was watching you keenly with one eye.

Not wanting to disappoint him, you lolled your tongue out and traced it along a vein towards the tip. You sucked the pink tip and moved your hand on his cock until he placed a hand behind your head, pulling you towards himself.

He took a sharp inhale from his cigarette when you finally took him in your mouth. Having your luscious lips wrapped around his cock was better than the nicotine rush he would get after not smoking for a while.

Exhaling softly, he carded his fingers through your hair.

You bobbed your head, pressing your tongue flat against his cock as you moved up towards the tip and hollowing your cheeks when you sucked him in your mouth.

“Is that how deep you can take?” Grey smoke left his lips while he spoke.

Tears dwelled in your eyes but you tried sucking him deeper in your mouth until the tip of his cock grazed the back of your throat. Your gag reflex stopped you from moving any further.

He knew how hard you were trying to impress him. The least he could do was to spare you from the disappointment. “That’s it, good girl,” he said, guiding your hand on his knee to wrap around the base of his cock and moving them along the length. “This will do.”

No, this wasn’t enough.

You forced yourself to suck his entire length down your throat until the thin hairs on the base tickled your nose.

Takasugi hissed through his teeth before he gave a breathy chuckle at your determination. You were desperately trying to pleasure him and convince him how you would do anything for him.

A puppy.

Lovely and obedient.

He put his still-lit cigarette on the ashtray and returned all of his attention to you. His hand grabbed a chunk of your hair, tentatively pulling you away from his cock before lifting his hips and thrusting into your mouth out of a sudden.

Your drool gushed out from your mouth and trickled down to your chin as he started skull-fucking you. Sloppy sounds of him fucking your mouth echoed in his room, making you even wetter.

Takasugi’s cock started twitching inside your mouth, knowing his release was close, he pulled out of you and held his cock over your face as he jerked himself off. His hand was moving up and down frantically, making a continuous click sound.

“Open your mouth.” He sounded utterly calm and composed despite being seconds away from orgasm.

You lolled out your tongue, opening your mouth for him.

“When I cum, you’re going to swallow.”

His cock throbbed in his hand as he pressed the tip against your bottom lip. Thick spurts of cum landed on your face and in your mouth seconds later.

You scooped the cum that had landed on your face into your mouth before swallowing it all.

Takasugi stared down at you with admiration, a gentle yet still ominous look was in his eye while he blinked slowly.

“Do you believe me now?” you asked.

He reached for his cigarette and took one last drag from it. “Open your mouth.”

Confused but curious, you opened your mouth.

He was leaning closer down, oh, finally he was going to kiss you. You closed your eyes in delight.

“This is for touching me without me telling you to.” Capturing your tongue between his knuckles, he pressed the still lit tip on your tongue. The sizzling sound and the sharp pain made you jolt open your eyes and pull yourself back from him.

Clapping a hand over your mouth, you whimpered in pain. It was still bubbling, your tongue was getting more swollen with each passing second.

“Good thing you didn’t try to use some other hole to touch me. That could’ve hurt a lot worse.” He stood up from his bed, tucking himself back in his pants. “Now, we can go back to writing the report.”

You watched him walk over to his desk and sit on his chair. He swiveled around, eye on you as he patted on his thigh.

There was a pause that felt like it stretched on for hours.

It was quiet in his room until you finally started typing on his laptop again as you sat back on his lap.

The pain was unbearable but you forgot it all as soon as Takasugi wrapped an arm around your torso to bring you closer to him.

“I believe you now,” he answered your question from earlier, the sick smile in his voice barely noticeable while he tightened his arm around you.

You stopped typing and twisted your body to look at him.

“What?” He furrowed his brows.

Pressing your lips together, your eyes landed on his lips.

Oh…

“No.” He let out a soft chuckle and used a single hand to turn you back around by your shoulder. You were about to whine when he leaned forward to whisper. “Not until you finish the report.”

You hummed in delight, legs dangling and moving happily as you started typing a lot faster on the laptop.

Takasugi hadn’t thought you would be this easy to handle or how easily he could make you do something with the promise of him giving you something in return. It was fascinating to him that although he stubbed out a cigarette on your tongue moments ago, you were now on his lap, writing his report with no complaints whatsoever. The only thing in your mind probably was that your first kiss with him wouldn’t taste like smoke or if he was going to touch you again.

He wanted to see how far he could go until you actually started hating him but deep down he knew, a gullible and innocent girl like you would be content until the end if he made you believe that you were fixing him into a better person.

[tallbisexualwantstobeloved]

Daredevil, Crackfic challenge.

@call-me-sammy @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @whumpdoyoumean

Matthew Murdock was walking silently, focusing hard on his -available- senses to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, the solo vigilante couldn't seem to find it and, thus, turned to the next aisle.

As it turns out, enhanced hearing and physical abilities are not exactly suited for looking through an Aldi for clothes.

Matt passed quickly through the current aisle he was in -as all he could smell was soup- and turned to the next with the hope of finally finding the shirts he was looking for.

Why do they always change the layout of this place? He thought, annoyed.

At long last, Matt picked up the scent of new clothes, freshly out of whatever garage they were kept in before being put on the shelves.

Slowly and meticulously, he felt the cloths to check the material.

He would have to ask an employee about the colour of the shirts he was picking since he didn't want a repeat of that time; Foggy still cried with laughter when remembering that incident.

Matt held out his white cane in one hand and a shirt in the other and set to find any employee to help him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look far as one rushed to him, immediately asking if he wanted help.

"Yes, could you tell me what colour these shirts are?" He asked, presenting the clothe to the worker.

"White." The employee said with a little too much excitement.

First day, Matt thought and asked for the size of it.

The shirt in his hand was in his size, luckily, and he went back with the same employee to get more of them.

Lord knows how easily they get dirty, so it made sense for the lawyer to buy them in bulk.

"Would that be all, sir?" The employee asked, basically balancing on the balls of their feet, in his hands were five shirts that they insisted on carrying.

Matt thought for only a second before he decided to ask about what kind of clothe detergent would be appropriate for hard stains.

The employee lead him through the building and into an aisle that had a suspicious lack of the usual scent of chemical cleaning products.

"These do wonders for all kind of stains and odors!" The worker said as Matt stood there, very much unable to see whatever 'these' were.

"Oh, shit!" Matt heard being whispered and next thing he knew there were small, odd textured balls in his fist and a slight scent of vinegar wafted in front of him.

"Throw these in with the clothes and they'll be just like new!" Matt could practically hear the worker's excited smile, just like a salesman he had seen on television one late night when his father hadn't yet returned from the ring.

Matt put on his best smile and thanked the employee before he was lead -more unwilling than not- to the checkout after saying that he didn't need anything else when he was asked.

It didn't take long for the cashier to scan his items and soon, the lawyer was on his way to his apartment to drop his things off before heading to work.

It was still early enough that he didn’t have to run but Matt didn't want to dawdle for long.

After all, he had customers waiting for him.

Unfortunately, it was while thinking of one customer that he missteped, tripping over the little crack on the pavement and falling onto the ground.

As both his hands were currently occupied, Matt didn't have a way to break his fall, unless he wasn't against using the perfectly placed trash bin beside him.

Well, he was, and thus opted to fall to the ground.

And, this being New York, the ground was the worst choice that won you four different kinds of tetanus and more importantly, dirt. So much dirt.

So, it wasn't surprising when Matt's perfectly clean-and-ready-for-lawyering shirt went from white to a nice brown-gray almost immediately.

Instantly, the people on the sidewalk on his side came to a stop, looking at the downed blind man for a moment and promptly walking away.

This is fine, Matt thought and picked himself -and his bags- up by seeing through his fire-filled world.

Once up, Matt decided to grab a fresh shirt while he left his bags at his apartment; walking a little faster since he didn't want to be late for work.

It wasn't long before he had the fresh, clean smelling, shirt on and running out of the door as quickly as a 'blind' man could without bumping into every corner.

A relatively short walk took Matt right outside the building's main door and through their office's one.

He greeted his coworkers, Foggy and Karen, as per usual and sat down on his own desk to get started on reading some new cases they debated taking.

It wasn't until an hour later that Matt got up to get [something]. The [whatever] was above his head and Matt reached his hand up to grab it, already hearing Karen getting up to help him if needed.

Foggy looked up from his own papers for a second, bit did a double take fast at the red colour on Matt's white shirt as his suit jacket lifted with the movement of his arm.

He got up and slowly walked over, Karen still looming behind the blind lawyer while said lawyer held [REDACTED] in his hand.

"Matty, can I speak to you for a second?"

Matt tilted his head slightly and nodded, allowing Foggy to lead him over to his office before closing the door.

Foggy let Matt's forearm go as soon as they were inside the small room and sighed;

"It's way too early for this, Matt."

Matt frowned in confusion at the, what felt like, scolding that was brewing inside Foggy's mind.

"It's 12 P.M., Fog, we both decided on the time to come into work." He said, genuinely confused.

"What? No, I don't mean that it's too early for work, I'm saying it's too early for all your-" Foggy waved his hand around like he was performing a spell, -Matt would have laughed, had he... you know-, "-vigilantism."

"I wasn't vigi- I wasn't fighting bad guys before work, Foggy!"

Foggy's silence said so much to Matt as he could feel the dubious side eye he was getting.

"I wasn't fighting bad guys before work today, Foggy."

He heard Foggy huff at that but he seemed to relent.

"Why are you bleeding, then?" Foggy whispered angrily.

"I'm not bleeding." Matt said, seriously confused now.

"Yes, you are." Foggy insisted.

"No." One word to kill a man.

"Matt! You have blood here!" He said and poked his finger right where the 'wound' was, absolutely taking into consideration that that could have hurt. Absolutely.

Matt felt the poke but it didn't hurt so he put his own hand above the spot Foggy had pointed at.

He felt an odd texture over the spot, unlike the texture of the rest of the shirt and realisation hit him.

"This... is an old shirt."  He said quietly, "Shit, I grabbed the wrong shirt."

"Let's just go to your apartment to grab another one." Foggy suggested, "Unless you can produce one from thin air." Matt couldn't.

Both man grabbed their suitcases before making a beeline for the exit when Karen stopped them.

"Where are you going, guys? The office is swarming with customers right now." She said as she pointed it to their very, very empty office space.

"We won't be long, Ms Paige!" Foggy announced, practically dragging Matt behind him.

-

The two avocados found themselves in Matt's apartment soon and instantly Foggy raided the closet for a clean shirt for his friend to wear while Matt took off the dirty one and threw it in the washing machine.

Foggy stopped looking through the clothes -or lack thereof- when he heard strange scrunching sounds.

The man really got a kick when he saw Matt trying to open a plastic bag with some kind of nuts in it.

"Matt..." He called out, "What have I told you about making sure you eat in the morning?"

"This isn't breakfast, Fog." Matt said while still struggling, "This is for the washing machine."

"Your washing machine is hungry?" Foggy whispered, perplexed.

"No." Double homicide.

Foggy walked closer to Matt and saw more clearly the little baggie.

"Oh, walnuts! I thought they were out of season." Foggy said in a moment of enlightenment.

"They are not walnuts, they're soapnuts!"

"They're what now?"

"Soapnuts. They're supposed to be great at cleaning even the hardest stain."

"Uh, even blood?" He sounded doubtful, as he should.

"Well, the worker at the store said they work wonders."

"Okay, but. Blood, Matt. That does not come off easily as you know."

"We'll just give it a try, Foggy." Matt said and threw some of the nuts in the washing machine before starting a half-hour cycle.

Foggy mumbled a variation of 'alright' and went back to the closet.

He grabbed a shirt that seemed new and threw it at Matt who was busy "staring" at the wall right next to the washing machine.

Matt caught the shirt moments before it fell to the floor after hitting his face and put it on with a 'thanks, Fog.

The half-hour washing cycle turned out to take up three quarters of an hour, so that was a fucking lie, and Matt got the wet shirt out of it, holding it up;

"Perfect!" He exclaimed and heard Foggy shuffling next to him.

"Matthew?" His friend said slowly, carefully.

"Mhm?" Matt replied, eloquent as ever.

"The shirt is white, right?"

"Yes. Isn't it?"

"Uh... Pastel pink has some white in it, I guess."

"Well, yes. Pastel pink has to have whit- Wait a minute!" Matt stopped abruptly, "This shirt isn't white anymore, is it?"

"Nope!" Foggy popped the 'P' like he was a 14-year-old girl getting ready to be lawfully abducted by a boy band.

"Damn." Matt sighed.

"Careful with those damns, Matthew."

"Sorry, Father- FOGGY!" Matt shouted, scandalised.

Foggy snorted as he and Matt put the, now, pink shirt away and grabbed their things to head back to the office, wondering how Karen is doing.

-

Karen sat on her desk, typing away at her computer all the people she saw today with new cases.

It was a busy day with more customers that usual.

Two.

~end

[djmarinizelablog]

hi! read your last ask and you said that you took up creative writing classes so you might have a wider knowledge about this but i was wondering when u mentioned different writing styles (like minimalistic, hightened imagery, linear vilennete and all of that) could you maybe explain the difference and what they really mean and maybe examples in our own levihan nation and writers? this might be asking for too much but i was pretty lost and i'd like to know more about all that. however you are def free to ignore this too!

Did you just ask me to write a comprehensive poetics essay, Anon? (I love writing about writing lmao)

Super long post ahead, and I’ll be citing certain fanfics that I’ve read so far and those that I think somehow exemplifies all the different writing styles I mentioned in the previous post. 

First off, the ones I listed beforehand (minimalistic prose, heightened imagery, poetic language, linear narrative, non-linear vignettes) aren’t the only types of writing styles. There are more if you consider the variations of tone (humor/comedy, sentimental, macabre, noir etc), narration/perspective (first person, second person, third person omniscient/limited), and language (dialogue-heavy or action/scene-driven). And the nice thing is that you can actually use of one or two of them in your work---or all of them, if you’re feeling bold. 

As Hange always loves to do: “Let’s experiment!”

--------

I’ll start with minimalistic prose. It is what it is: short, clear, and concise. Think less is more. You have an economy with words where you disregard most adverbs and focus more on the context to make way for meaning, thus allowing the readers to create their own interpretations of your writing. I think the method here is to write your intended draft first, and then cut the unnecessary words to flesh out the scene even more.

Notice how @stereobone wrote this paragraph of Black Dog (an Eruri fic):

Isabel's voice wakes him, brother, brother, has him sitting upright in bed and grabbing for the knife under his mattress. He braces himself for the attack before he realizes there isn't one. There is nothing in the darkness but him and his heavy, panicked breathing. Levi's heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest. He drops the knife on the mattress and shuts his eyes and tries not to think about Farlan's bloody resigned face before he was eaten. He tries not to think about how he left them. How it's his fault.

It’s very simplistic in language; the paragraph lets you focus on Levi’s innermost thoughts while he deals with an external action (ie, having nightmares). The author hasn’t unraveled the rest of the plot yet, but you already know where the tension is coming from.

Next is heightened imagery. If you’re familiar with the different figures of speech (metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, etc), then this is where they all come into play. I think the challenge here is being able to balance it well with the text itself and make sure that the imagery actually clarifies the context of the paragraph instead of convoluting the intended meaning. 

Here’s an excerpt from A Dangerous Game by just_quintessentially_me:

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. [. . . .] Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still. [. . . .] The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

[. . . .]

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step. Into thin air.

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

See how the powerful imagery of the boy on the tightrope was able to fuel the tension in that moment among Levi, Hange, and Kenny? 

I think poetic language is akin to heightened imagery, except that the former is more focused on the actual language. It’s very lyrical, wherein you can actually hear the lulling song of the sentences in a rhythm. One of my favorite works that does this is Deep sea baby by @smallblip. Here she makes use of various setting and scenery to create this entire atmosphere of Levi and Hange’s relationship:

Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite.

The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together.

The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks.

One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present.

"Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea.

He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

It’s hauntingly poetic, the way the author is able to connect the metaphor in “a river of words” to the actual body of water right in front of Levi and Hange. Good poetic language is able to tighten up the texts together while keeping the sentence structure flowing with apt figures of speech.

When it comes to narratives, it only comes down to linear or non-linear. See how @lostcauses-noregrets does her opening statement in Trains (also an Eruri fic):

Levi hates trains. To be fair, Levi hates all forms of public transport, but he reserves a particular loathing for trains. They’re dirty, noisy, smelly and worse, filled with people. People who, heaven forbid, might attempt to speak to Levi, engage him in conversation. Levi’s worst nightmare is being stuck on a train with some friendly fuck who wants to pass the time making small talk. Admittedly it’s not a problem he has to deal with too often, his general fuck off demeanour deters all but the most aggressively friendly and hopelessly inebriated. But that doesn’t stop Levi from hating trains.

It’s a short fic and it’s very dependent on the linearity of events happening. But with that banger of a first sentence, the beginning already gives you enough of an idea of Levi’s pet peeve in the story, which in this case, is trains.

Here’s another hot and steamy fic called keep him waiting by keobuns that shows a linear narrative: 

He’s sitting with them in the back of the lab, nursing a cup of tea — it’s still pretty full, and even cold now, for he was far too distracted listening to Hanji talk to properly drink — when he sees it. Hanji’s too preoccupied with overexplaining the same Titan experiment they’ve gone over a hundred times to notice his stare. They just continue on and on and on, gesturing with their hands, pointing with their fingers, flexing their wrists…

Ah. Levi has to bring his teacup to his lips to hide the way his lips tremble. Hanji has incredibly nice hands.

The entire story just revolves around Levi simping for Hange’s hands and how it all goes down from there. But you as a reader are kept wanting more with every paragraph and every sentence that the author constructs (and trust me, it’s not just the sexual tension between Levi and Hange that keeps us going).

Now, as much as I love the straightforwardness of linear prose, non-linear writing brings a different round of ideas onto the table. It can create recollections from flashbacks, heighten the perspective or interior turmoil of a character due to trauma or grief, or even just re-invent what-if scenes that the characters have imagined themselves. 

Gnossiene by @thatalmondgirl​ is one of my all-time favorite Rivetra fics. In this excerpt, you will see how she switches between the past and the present, and how it affects Petra’s POV as a conflicted character:

Contrary to popular belief (fuck Auruo) Petra actually didn’t cry easily.

Alright, she could admit that at some times, she was...emotional. It was far from a weakness, but even she could admit that they sometimes got in the way and walled off all rational thought. Anger, frustration, sadness, hell, even happiness. The only one she could easily compartmentalise away was fear, which probably stemmed from her military career. Even so. It was never easy to separate all the others from her actions, think from a clean slate like the Commander could do, like the captain. [. . . ] Petra groaned, splayed out across her bed. She drew her arm across her eyes, willing the tears to go away. She’d already blown through her tissue box.

“Petra, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Mama sat on the end of her bed, with Petra on the floor between her legs. Even though Petra argued firmly that she was old enough to brush her own hair, Mama had insisted. Unfortunately, Petra wasn’t old enough - and probably never would be - to disagree with her mother.

“I know, Mama.” Petra grumbled.

“I don’t think you do. Else you wouldn’t be crying, would you?”

[. . . .]

“But a man shouldn’t complete you when you complete yourself. Maybe he’s an extension to your house. So you’ll be sad if the extension is compromised or burns down. But you still have the main house. And if it’s strong, the main house can still be standing even after the worst storm.”

Aside from Mama’s crazy metaphors that sometimes didn’t make sense, her message hit home. Even if it hit home years later.

See how it switched in between the before and after? 

An off-shoot of non-linear writing are vignettes (a layering of scenes separated by section breaks) wherein this writing style allows writers to curate scenes in terms of fragments, creating some kind of mosaic for the readers once they finally see the big picture. Nakimochiku’s I’m leaving, are you coming with me? stacks up scenes of interactions between Levi and Hange, enough to depict the kind of relationship that they have as young lovers in a school setting. You can string these fragments together, rearrange them in a different order, but in the end, you will still get the author's clear goal of highlighting how Levi and Hange’s relationship develops over time.

Those are the styles that I mentioned in my previous posts, but as I’ve told you, there’s more to writing than those, so I’ll give a short run-through of other methods in writing. 

Whether it’s dialogue-heavy works such as from my window to yours, or action-driven scenes like Carnivores (a Levi x Reader fic by CaptainDegenerate) that propel the story forward, we as readers should be able to follow through the actual storyline that the authors intend to take us. 

A third-person limited (we listen to Hange’s thoughts in Clockwork by @tundrainafrica) vis-à-vis an all-knowing/omniscient narration (the moon is dark by @sayonarasanity alternates the perspective of Levi and Hange) should be able to make us understand why the author chose this particular kind of point-of-view in order to tell the story. 

And lastly, having a solid and consistent tone throughout the work (the macabre of Even Humanity’s Strongest could make mistakes by Rimeko versus the sweet sentimentality of Flowers for You by @fanmoose12) should be able to set the atmosphere that the authors want us to imbibe as we read through their works. 

So there’s your crash course on writing and reading. Enjoy? :) 

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 29 Part II

“You want me to what?” Nelly said, laughing. “I’m just about to wash my hair. I can’t.”

“Wash your hair?” said Buster, as though he’d never heard such a preposterous thing. 

“Yes, wash my hair. I told you before, I do it every Saturday.”

It wasn’t just the disruption in her toilette that made her hesitate. If staying at Buster’s bungalow was risky, stepping across the threshold of the Villa door when he was supposedly alone was downright dangerous. She didn’t trust that an important item hadn’t been left behind and that Natalie wouldn’t pop back in at any moment to retrieve it. She could also picture a sudden return due to illness, perhaps indigestion or the heat of the May sun.

“Poppycock,” said Buster, when she aired these fears. 

“How so?”

“They left for the train station at six this morning. Won’t be back for a whole week.”

“Yes, but …”

Buster told her all the ways in which her misgivings were foolish. “You can spend the night,” he added, in a teasing, tempting tone.

“I can’t,” she said. She ignored the instant flash of heat between her legs at his words.  

“Don’t you wanna see where I sleep?” 

The heat prickled. She did. “Do you think I’m that easy?” she said, not ready to quite surrender.

Buster laughed. “I do. Anyway, you can wash your hair here. I have a bathtub, you know. And a shower.”

Nelly gave it some consideration. “You promise everyone is gone?” she said at last. She wanted to add Your children, your wife, and your servants? but trusted he knew what she meant.

“Not a soul except you and me, sweetheart.”

“Okay, I give in,” she said. “Don’t think I think it’s a good idea, though, because I don’t.”

Buster showed up forty-five minutes later, parking a few houses down on Genesee Avenue. He had tipped her off that he was coming in a black Gardner car. It was rather ordinary-looking, his butler’s personal vehicle he’d said, and she understood why he’d chosen it. In the bright morning light, one of his luxury cars would have been more conspicuous than it was in the late evenings when he usually came around. He sat in the driver’s seat almost completely concealed behind a newspaper as she approached, carrying her handbag and a small satchel with some clothing.

“Good morning,” she said, after opening the passenger door and settling herself inside. She couldn’t help herself grinning ear from ear at the sight of him. It was only the third time she’d seen him since he’d returned from New York. 

“Morning,” he said, answering her smile. He folded the paper and tossed it in the backseat. “You ready to be queen of a castle for a day?”

“I will be a guest of the castle,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Joke or not, the idea of her somehow taking Natalie Talmadge’s place at the Villa made her uneasy. Thoughts of Mistress Nell Gwyn, which she’d long since finished reading, flashed through her mind. 

“Alright, guest then.” He turned the key in the ignition and then swung the car onto the road. 

After he had shifted the car up to a comfortable traveling speed, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. She knew him well enough already to know that he wasn't the type to say things like ‘I missed you’ out loud, it just wasn’t him. The kiss said it all the same.

Truth be told, as much as Nelly was glad to see him, she was nervous to be even a guest at the Villa and not simply because Natalie could return at any moment. She could forget that Buster occupied a different world when they were at her apartment or the modest bungalow outside the M-G-M gates; she could not forget it amidst the splendor and sumptuousness of the Villa. Moreover, the Villa was Natalie’s territory, built with her in mind as Buster had once told her. It didn’t feel right sneaking around her house while she was gone. 

When Buster shifted down a gear again, he kept her hand in his so that her hand was also on the stick. He drove that way for several minutes, whistling, caressing her hand beneath his. Nelly was occupied enough without conversation, half fretting about setting foot inside the Villa, half wondering at the mansions of Beverly Hills, sprawling cream chateaus in the French and Mediterranean styles, most with red roofs. They all seemed to be variations of the Villa, or vice versa. 

Her stomach grew jittery as the meticulous, manicured hills of the Villa came into view. Buster went up the drive, still whistling cheerfully, oblivious to her discomfort. He pulled the car through the circle drive with the fountain, shifted down, and turned it off. 

“M’lady,” he said gravely when he opened her door. She handed him her satchel and he took her hand with his free one and helped her down. The fountain burbled pleasantly as she looked up at Buster’s palace. She should have been bright with anticipation, but all that she felt was a gnawing dread. 

“Sure they’re gone?” she said. 

“Sure as anything,” Buster said, burying his face in the side of her neck and kissing it abundantly. For once, it failed to distract her. 

“Alright.”

He took her hand again and pulled her up the steps and to the mahogany door with its interlocking diamond-patterned metalwork. Electric light burned in the large black iron sconces by the door even though it was day. Still holding her hand, Buster turned the door handle and pushed inside. Nelly was now back in the dimly lit vestibule with the red-brick floor. The house was cool and had a distinctive smell, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, which announced that a particular family lived there. It was larger and more sober than she remembered without its gay partygoers. She followed Buster into the foyer. With the great stone staircase and wrap-around stone balcony encompassing the upstairs, the house really did feel like a castle. 

“Loosen up,” Buster said, setting down her satchel and giving her shoulder a squeeze. 

She attempted a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“I wanna show you around,” said Buster. Nelly bent to get her satchel and he tugged her away. “Leave it. We’ll get it later. You can hang up your bag, too.”

Reluctantly, she looped the strap of her bag around the hook of an opulent hall tree. It too appeared to be made of mahogany. Their feet echoed on the marble checkerboard floor. 

“This is the breakfast room,” Buster was saying as they went up some steps and into a smallish room with a simple white wicker table and matching chairs. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows. He paused to let her gaze around her for several moments before leading her down another set of steps and into a room with a tiled floor, a trickling marble fountain topped with a cherub, and numerous palms and ferns. “And this here’s the conservatory on account of all the plants.” Nelly could only stare, marveling that there was an entire room just for plants. “The kids like playing behind ‘em, the plants, but I don’t much see the purpose of a conservatory,” Buster said, almost to himself. “That’s what it is though, and this next room’s the dining room.”

They ascended another small set of steps. Only one leaf was in the table and only four chairs were gathered around it though additional chairs sat against the walls. It was a table, in other words, for a family of four. It more than anything else she’d seen so far reminded Nelly of Buster’s other life, his real life, the part that she was shut off from. Clearly excited to be showing her around, he still hadn’t noticed her uneasiness, so she smiled and praised the pretty painted ceiling beams and the large, expensive oriental rug that the dining set was placed on.

“Servants are on this side, too, and so’s the kitchen. I’ll show you the kitchen later if you want.”

Next he took her back to the foyer and they went left into the living room. Nelly remembered from the party and said so. It was more cavernous than she’d recollected. There was the great stone fireplace, the sofa, some chairs and a side table with a fresh arrangement of flowers. She noticed another palace-sized oriental rug, a mirror, and a coal box. There were so many expensive items to catch her eye. Before she had time to adjust, Buster was pulling her in another direction. 

“I call this my playroom.” 

The playroom contained a big billiards table, a bar, and a small table the precise size for four card players. The ceiling was wood-paneled and beamed. A phonograph player and armchair sat off to one side.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, and added in a moment of honesty, “It’s a lot.”

Buster came up and put his arms around her waist, resting his head on her chin. He smelled like cigarettes and Brilliantine. She could tell he was feeling amorous, but she was too tightly wound to relax into his arms. “Why don’t you show me the grounds?” she said, to head him off. 

He withdrew his arms, seeming to catch on that she wasn’t in the mood. “Why, sure.”

They went out of a loggia off of the living room and Buster let her explore the grounds at her pace. For some reason, even though she was more exposed outdoors to anyone who might be around, she felt more secure. Buster’s sense of opulence was not restricted to the interior. Nelly saw the tennis court and push-button trout stream, and walked down to the extravagant pool, which looked tempting and refreshing as it glinted in the sun. She sat sideways in a pool chair and rubbed her ankle absently. “It’s a lot of space, isn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Buster agreed. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it. He stood smoking and looking into the pool. 

“I’m afraid I find it all a little overwhelming,” she said. 

“Oh, I can tell,” said Buster, redirecting his gaze to her. “There ain’t no need to feel that way, you know. It’s a house, is all.”

“It’s a palace, Buster. It’s marvelously beautiful, it’s just …” She looked around her.

“Hmm.” Buster closed the space between them and sat next to her.

Nelly touched his knee. “I just forget sometimes that you’re King Charles and I’m Nell the orange-seller.”

“Bull,” said Buster. 

Nelly traced patterns on his knee and didn’t answer. The water in the pool lapped in a soothing way and smoke from his cigarette drifted into her face.

“So what’s your castle in the air, then?” said Buster, waving away the smoke.

“Me?” She looked into his eyes. “You know, silly. A Shakespeare talkie. What comes after, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”

“No, I mean when it comes to real castles. What would you do different?” He inclined his head at the Villa.

“Oh, well … I’d shrink it down, naturally,” she said. “Maybe just one story or maybe a bungalow with a little room or two upstairs.” She’d never thought of what her ideal home might look like, but warmed to the idea at once. “It would have plenty of bookshelves and lots of books. Floor to ceiling. I’d have a collection of plays. Maybe I’d have a collection of records, too. There would be space to dance.”

“Even if you were a star?”

“I suppose. I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine having so much money.”

“Easiest thing in the world to spend money if you’ve got it. Everyone does when they do.” Buster flicked the spent cigarette to the marble flagstones and crushed it with his heel. 

Nelly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be cross with me. You just have to let me get used to it. It all makes me so nervous.”

“I should have figured it would, the way you were acting at my party,” he said, in a somewhat sullen tone of voice. “Guess it’s my fault for asking you over.”

She kissed his cheek. “Give me a chance to get used to it. You know, maybe a drink would help.” She hadn’t shared a drink with him since his party, but figured it was the fastest path to getting more comfortable.

“You want a drink?” Buster said, brightening. 

“Yes. Make me a drink,” she said, squeezing his hand.

They went up the white marble steps past the impeccably trimmed topiaries that lined it and decorated its center and back through the loggia and into the living room. Buster led her into the playroom. “What’ll it be?” he said.

“Something that isn’t whiskey, please,” she said, taking a seat in the armchair. 

“Gin Rickey?” he said.

“That’s fine,” she said, not quite knowing what a Gin Rickey was but happy to find out. 

She stole long glances of the room as Buster stood with his back to her and mixed the drink. She could grow to like this room, she decided. Of all the places in the house she’d seen so far, it seemed the most like the man that she knew, always eager for a game of some kind, in love with his comforts. 

“Here you are,” said Buster, appearing at her side to hand her the drink.

It was clear and bubbly, garnished with a wedge of lime. She took a cautious sip and tasted pine and lime. “It’s delicious,” she said, smiling at him.

Buster returned the smile. “Good.” He went back to the bar to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “Game of billiards?” he said, standing before her again.

Nelly took a generous swallow of the cocktail and although he was sure to have an insurmountable advantage over her said, “Sure.”

She went over to the billiards table and Buster walked over to the wall to push a button. To her marvel, a long, lavish metal light decorated with scrolls descended from the ceiling. He pushed another button and light was cast over the red-velvet billiards table. Buster smiled at her astonishment and flipped open a built-in cabinet, from which he selected a couple of cue sticks. He handed one to her. 

“Ready to get whupped?” he said. “Your turn first.”

“No, you,” she said firmly. “You need all the advantages you can get.”

Buster laughed. “You’re pretty confident, kid.”

It was a lie, of course. She’d never played the game well but didn’t want to show how green she was. She could at least try to mimic his form if he went first. He lifted the triangle away from the balls and went to the south end of the table holding the cue ball. She watched him place it in the left corner of the table and chalk the tip of his stick. Not missing a beat, he laid his left arm on the table and threaded the cue through his forefinger, then pulled his right arm back. It seemed as though he barely tapped the cue ball, but the pyramid of balls went scattering. “I call stripes,” he said, after watching to see where all the balls went.

Nelly took a large gulp of her drink and set it on a nearby table. She was remembering Buster shooting billiards in a film whose name escaped her. Each shot had been impossible. “How did you do those trick shots in that one picture of yours?” she said, grasping her cue stick. 

“Sherlock, Jr.?”

“I think that was the one.”

“What’ll I get for telling?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you win, perhaps,” she said. 

That made him laugh. “It was practice. Four god damn months of practice. I had a teacher, one of the best players there is, and it still took us five days to get all the shots. Quit stalling, though. It’s your turn.”

Nelly stuck out her tongue and leaned over the table as she’d seen Buster do.

“No, no, no, you didn’t chalk your stick.” He took it out of her hands and wiped the piece of chalk around the tip. “Here.”

Rolling her eyes, she took the stick back and again set up her shot. She aimed at a solid green six-ball and shot. Instead, she hit a striped eleven-ball and didn’t get anywhere near any of the pockets.

“Oh Nelly,” said Buster, laughing. 

She didn’t mind that she was going to lose to him. It was worth it to see the way his grin lit up his face. “I’m deliberately putting you at your ease,” she said, narrowing her eyes and lifting her nose. She wandered over to her glass of Gin Rickey and finished it. 

“Want another?” said Buster, gesturing. 

She nodded.

They went on like that for the next half-hour, taking turns at the table. Buster beat her handily in three out of three games. “You can’t play at all,” he said with mild incredulity, after all of his balls were in their pockets at the end of round three.

Nelly set her drink (it was her third) on the table and hopped up onto the edge of the table. She was feeling happy and free and relaxed now. “So I told a fib,” she said, smiling and swinging her legs. “So what?”

Buster couldn’t hold back his laughter. “You’re awful bold.” He positioned himself between her legs and tilted his head up for a kiss. She pressed her mouth to his, tasting whiskey. “Want a lesson on form?” he offered. She shook her head, stroking her finger across his lower lip. “Well, what do you want?”

“You tell me,” she said. She traced a finger across his cheekbone and his eyelids grew heavy. His lips parted.

“It involve a bed?” he said, sounding dreamy.

“Maybe.” She grabbed the rest of her drink and finished it. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“Second floor. C’mon.” Buster helped her down from the billiards table and took her hand again. She followed him up the grand stone staircase and onto the landing. He paused a few moments to unlatch a heavy wrought-iron gate. He led her through it and down a short hall, then took a right into a small circular vestibule with an intercom and dumbwaiter. Before Nelly had a chance to ask where they were, he pulled her through the next doorway.

She knew at once that the bedroom wasn’t his. There were too many feminine tells: a mint-green screen decorated with flowers, a lamp with a pink shade, French perfume bottles on a bureau. Buster was nibbling her throat, but Nelly was looking over his head at the photographs of his children hanging on the walls. He steered her over to the edge of the king-sized bed and pushed her to a seated position. It sat atop a platform and was the biggest bed she’d ever seen. He sat beside her and started working on the dress buttons at the back of her neck.

“Oh, we can’t,” she said, pushing his hands away. 

“Huh?” said Buster, looking affronted. “Why not? Thought you wanted to.”

“I do, but not on your wife’s bed. Buster, it would be wrong.” She stood up.

“Look, I never once made love to her on this bed.” He appeared confused. “No one’s made love on this bed. She don’t do that. Not with me, not with anyone.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—I don’t want to take her place anywhere. I don’t want to be in her room,” she said. Her head was fizzy with Gin Rickeys, but she was never more sure of herself. She turned on her heel and walked back to the vestibule. 

Buster’s footsteps followed her. He caught her arm. “Don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to upset you.” His face was so soft and pleading that she couldn’t stay angry with him. 

“I know you didn’t,” she said, though ignorance didn’t excuse his mistake. She stood dumbly as Buster ran a hand up and down her arm. 

“Want me to take you home?” he said, voice remorseful. 

“No. No, I don’t.” She smiled at his doubt and put her arms around him, softening further. “Let’s just stick to other parts of your house, alright?”

“Alright. Well, can I take you to my bedroom?”

She had to bite back another smile at his persistence. “Sure.”

A similar round vestibule preceded Buster’s bedroom. This led to a small hall which led into the main bedchamber. Both his room and his bed were half the size of Natalie’s. The curtains were drawn, making the room dark and cool. Nelly tried not to look too hard at the photographs. There was one of his sons in front of a large dressing mirror that connected his two bureaus. 

“I built that,” he said, thinking she was admiring the mirror and dressers. “Designed it myself. Gabe helped me build it at my old studio.”

She was surprised at this bit of trivia. There were very few areas into which Buster’s talents didn’t extend, it seemed. “It’s a handsome piece of furniture,” she said. She noticed that the picture opposite his sons’ had been turned onto its face and attempted to give it no more thought. 

“Sorry the bed’s not made, but the servants are gone for the weekend.”

“You can’t make your own bed?” said Nelly, turning to him and giving him a playful pinch. Her nervousness had begun to melt away again now that they were out of Natalie’s territory. 

“What’s the point? It’s just going to get mussed up if I make it.” He returned to kissing her neck and this time Nelly tried to force her nerves away. His lips were soft, his breath was warm, and that was all that mattered. 

In no time, they’d gotten onto the bed. Buster bent over her, his leg threaded between hers, kissing her fiercely and clutching one of her breasts. She ran her hands up and down his back as his tongue entered her mouth. The bed smelled like him and she imagined, vaguely, what it would be like to wake up next to him in it, tumbled in these expensive blankets and sheets; to watch him dress and get ready for the studio; to see him off with a kiss and spend the rest of the day in idleness and frivolity, waiting for him to return home so they could go to dinner or attend a party at Pickfair. She couldn’t make up her mind whether that sort of life would be the meaning of happiness or unbearably stifling. Realizing that her thoughts had wandered again, she brought herself back to the present by sliding her finger into the seam of Buster’s button-up shirt and easing one of the mother-of-pearl buttons from its hole. Buster withdrew his hand from her breast and knit his arms behind her back so he could do her the same courtesy, plucking open buttons as they kissed. When all buttons had been accounted for, Buster sat up and pulled his arms out of his sleeves, while she stepped off of the bed and out of her dress. 

“Now,” said Buster, when she was back on the bed. “Where were we?”

“You tell me,” she said, looking down at his lap. He was still wearing his dark grey trousers. 

He grasped her by her bare shoulders and steered her onto her back. As he crouched on top of her, caging her in with his hands and knees, she reached down to undo his trousers. Her fingers brushed against his erection and he moaned, appreciative of the contact. She let her lower instincts drive her when the buttons were undone. It was natural to stroke him just so, to lick at his ear, to tell him how hot he was making her, but these actions, done of intuition, left energy for her mind to resume its peregrinations. It took so little to make Buster happy, and was no great chore to content him in bed. He liked all the usual things that men did. None of the deviations that she’d heard whispered about Charlie Chaplin during his divorce seemed to hold any interest for Buster. He never desired sex to such a degree that it was burdensome. Admittedly, she felt just as passionate for him as he did for her, but she tried to consider what it would be like if she didn’t. She still didn’t see what the harm would be in indulging him, in keeping his bed warm. Too little payment for so great a debt. 

She clung to his neck and kissed it while he inched her knickers down. He entered her with a sigh a few moments later. He hadn’t mentioned a prophylactic and she hadn’t asked. It was easy to forget sense when he made love to her. She forgot, too, what time it was and that they were at the Villa. Instead, her mind coasted along currents of pleasure, following each one to its length until she encountered the next. 

“Flip over,” said Buster, pulling her out of the reverie she’d sunk into. 

“Hmm?” she said.

He withdrew from her body and sat up on his haunches. “Right here.” He patted a portion of the bed to indicate. “But with your head toward the mirror and your feet sorta pointed at the pillows.” He tugged off his undershirt.

Her heart pounded. They’d only ever made love on their sides or with Buster on top. She unhooked her brassiere, wriggled onto her stomach, and stretched out, her head facing the mirror. 

“Now, I’d like it if you…” He sucked in breath as he dragged a finger from the top of her neck to the slight swell above her bottom. “Get up on your hands and knees.”

Her pulse throbbed. To obey him would be downright wicked, not respectable, not ladylike, but the moment Buster made the request she perceived what a superb idea it was. She rose to the position that he wanted her in and arched her back. 

Two words. “Oh, Christ.” She had never heard his voice sound like that, dark and worshipful, like he was a pauper and had been handed a sack full of gold objects. 

He lined himself up behind her, and there was a quick mutual adjustment of legs and feet before he entered her. Following instinct again, she pushed back to meet him. She closed her eyes to savor the new pleasure. As a consequence, it took her a couple minutes to realize Buster’s reasoning behind the position. When she blinked her lids open, in such a daze that it felt like she’d drunk ten Gin Rickeys, she saw them in the mirror together, Buster rising above her backside with abs standing out in stark relief, one arm stretched along her back and anchored on her shoulder. His eyes met hers and she pushed back. Not breaking her gaze, he pushed forward. She’d never seen herself in such a way before, her arms splayed, her hair starting to fall out of its chignon, her breasts swinging with every push by Buster. His breath was fast and hard. He was muttering sweet things to her through his moans, Oh darling and You’re so good. For her part, she’d never been so excited. 

He wouldn’t last like this, but she sensed that he wasn’t meant to. She gave another push back and he broke against her with a choked cry. “I can’t, Nelly, oh I can’t …!” He doubled over her and clutched her breasts, gasping as he came in her. She met his uneven thrusts, grinding herself against him for all she was worth, craving those last frissons of euphoria before he withdrew. She lifted her eyes to the mirror and watched him pull out and collapse on his back against the mound of his pillows, his chest heaving. Her arms were sore as she drew alongside him, but the pain was distant. 

Only when she met his eyes did she realize what had just happened. Buster’s groggy look of pleasure was changing to fear. “I was trying to say, ‘I can’t stop,’ ” he said, feeling for her hand and squeezing her fingers when he found it. 

Impossibly, she’d forgotten that there was no barrier between them. She dipped a hand between her legs and encountered the excess wetness there. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Buster. She’d never seen such an expression of worry on his face.

She propped herself on her elbows, still half in a daze from their love-making. “Do you have a—where are your pants? Your handkerchief.” She had trouble commanding the words. 

Buster slipped off the bed and picked up his trousers, feeling in the pocket. Wordless, he handed her the white square of cloth. She wiped away as much of the wetness as she could. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, after she’d bunched up the cloth and thrown it clear of the bed. She was now beginning to feel worried, but only because he seemed so worried. “The chances are very, very small.”

He was standing at the foot of the bed running a hand through his disheveled hair. “If it comes to that,” he said, in a halting way that told her he was still arranging his thoughts. “If it does, I’ll help you sort it out no matter what. Okay?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Come here.” When he was close enough, she pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Don’t worry.” In her head, she was counting up the days since her monthlies had appeared last week. She came up to eleven, not quite the midpoint. The midpoint was when most women conceived. She looked up at Buster. The furrow beneath his brows was deep. “Please. Stop worrying.”

He sat next to her and knit his hands together and stared ahead. She thought she detected a peculiar luster to his eyes. 

“Darling, it’s as much my fault as it is yours. I forgot too.” She reached out and brushed the hair back from his forehead. “There’s no point in worrying unless I’m late.”

“I won’t go without a thin from now on,” said Buster, as though he hadn’t heard her. 

Her head began to ache. The Gin Rickeys had worn off. “Please. Please stop worrying.”

Without any warning, Buster threw his arms around her and clasped her tight, so much that he took some of the breath out of her. He held her like that for several long moments, not saying a thing, before releasing her. “Alright, I will,” he said. 

“Good.” She held his cheek in her hand until he looked her in the eyes and she was satisfied at what she saw in his. “Now I’m the one who’s hungry this time. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Buster seemed to cheer up a fraction. His voice sounded a bit sunnier as he said, “What would you like?”

“Oh, anything. Whatever you want. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Nelly thought they dressed more somberly than usual this time, collecting articles of clothing from the bed and floor and pulling them on without saying a word. Despite her reassurances to Buster, the weight of her predicament was beginning to settle on her. All the canteen lunches on the set of Steamboat and at United Artists had taught her that there were two choices for girls whose famous lovers had put them into a condition. They could go away for a period of confinement and give up the child when it was born. Or they were put in touch with a doctor who could take care of their situation. 

Buster disappeared as she was buttoning up her dress and she heard the faint sound of his voice from down the hall. He was speaking to someone. She froze. Natalie must be back. She looked around in horror and spotted a doorway to the left of the bureau. She hastened through it and found herself in a bathroom. Hiding in the shower would be absurd, but it was the best place to conceal herself. She decided to wait to hear if footsteps approached first. The seconds dragged on. Her pulse thudded and her head throbbed in an angry way. At long last, she heard someone enter the room, but there was just one set of footsteps. “Nelly?” Buster called. 

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and made her way to the doorway. “Are you alone?” she said in undertones. 

Buster, who was standing at the foot of his bed, looked toward her in bafflement. 

“ ‘Course I’m alone. What do you mean?” 

Relief descended and she came back into the bedroom. “Who were you talking to?”

Buster gave her an odd look. “Caruthers. Ordering food.”

Although she was comforted to hear that Natalie had not made an unexpected return, she was dismayed to hear that someone else was in the house with them. “I thought you said everyone was gone?”

“They are,” he said. “I can’t go without Caruthers, though. He does all the cooking. And I need someone to fetch things if I need ‘em. I can’t just go out like you.”

“Oh,” said Nelly, somehow not feeling satisfied with this explanation. 

Buster gave her shoulder a squeeze. “He knows about us, anyway. And before you go worrying, he’ll never breathe a word. I trust him with my life.”

She wasn’t happy to hear that Buster had given away their secret. Though the butler had been friendly the night he had driven her home, she knew that servants gossiped. Perhaps male servants didn’t do it to the extent that female ones did, but she didn’t think it was worth chancing. “If you think so,” she said, not able to keep the skepticism from her voice. 

“Buck up,” said Buster. “Anyway, how else was I supposed to get you a nice dinner tonight?”

Tonight. The Gin Rickeys, the dark room, and the torrid love-making made her forget it was still daylight out, but of course it couldn’t be past two or two-thirty. She stepped toward the mirror and took in her disarrayed hair. “If he knows I’m here, I ought to fix my hair before I go back downstairs.”

Buster smiled and looked self-satisfied. “Ain’t no need for you to go anywhere. Go on and fix your hair, and I’ll call you when the grub’s here.” He took a silver brush from his bureau and handed it to her. 

She stayed in the bathroom until Buster yelled for her, not wanting to be caught in the room when the butler wheeled in a cart of food. It would be too uncomfortable. She stepped into the bedroom but didn’t see Buster. “Where are you?”

“In here.”

She followed the sound of his voice and, feeling cautious, went down the hall and into the vestibule where she saw Buster holding a silver tray with both hands. It held two or three covered dishes. He cocked his head at a dumbwaiter she had not noticed earlier where there was a smaller tray holding glasses and soda pop bottles.

“You grab those there,” he said.

She did as she was told and they went through another door of the vestibule and onto a balcony, where there was a small table and a few bistro chairs. “Oh my,” she said, as she caught sight of the view. The balcony was directly over the east portion of the house, which stretched out at an angle beneath them. That was not what had taken her breath away, however. From here, there was a perfect view of the marble steps, swimming pool, and tennis court, and sloping away from them, the estate wandered down to the great flower bed beside the winding drive that they had come up. It wandered farther still, past the palms and shrubs, and then there were mansions as far as the eye could see in every direction, beautiful mansions so well-arranged on the hills that they looked the very picture of an Italian town. That was where all of Hollywood lived, Marion Davis, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Norma Shearer, Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, and here she was among them dining with Buster Keaton. For a minute, she felt far removed from her previous life in Evanston and her current one as a humble extra and prop manager, tasting what it must be like to be a movie star. 

“Like it?” said Buster, setting the tray on the table. 

Nelly nudged her tray next to his, considered the warm sun on her shoulders and the breeze, smelling earthy and almost living, and nodded. Maybe it was the view, maybe it was laughing and eating fresh strawberries and cream with Buster after they’d finished purée of potato soup and veal cutlets, but from that hour forward she took a better liking to the Villa and began to see it as he did. Her worries were, for the remainder of the evening at least, set aside.

Notes: Are you surprised by this chapter? I was. What I had in mind was just a nice rendezvous for Nelly with Buster at the Villa, but there was much more tension and conflict and unexpected directions than I’d thought. The length also got away from me, but I hope you won’t mind that.  It’s hard to explain, but when you’re writing--when you’re immersed in your characters--sometimes they just act on their own and you just follow. Did I intend for Buster and Nelly to have unprotected sex that resulted in Buster accidentally finishing in her? No. Did I intend for Nelly to be so resistant to Buster’s home, help, and all the rest? No. I just wrote and the characters’ natural actions suggested themselves without a single thought on my part.  I think I will wrap this chapter up for now and just call the next one Chapter 30, even though it takes place the same day and same place.  And yeah, that’s a photo of Buster in his bedroom. Dreamy, huh?