#the rancid reaction those get out of me... have class please

[feketeribizli]

bitches who make these text posts on images compilations and tilt the text boxes just a little or crop them horribly i hope your pillows are warm tonight

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 3

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Mortuary

There were always one or two friends in your life who you're never afraid will scold you or hang up on you in the early morning hours, even if the reason is because you had a nightmare about potatoes in your home growing lots of hair. Yin Zhou was this person to Lin Yan. He had two long strands of messy hair on his head, always wore unwashed shirts, and the eyes under his glasses could never focus because of how long he had spent gaming.

They grew up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same elementary school, middle school and high school, and they were each that "brilliant other child" in the eyes of both their parents. Since childhood, Lin Yan, regardless of how hard he worked, achieved the high grades that Yin Zhou could have achieved if he didn't skip class every day. No matter how good his grades were, his parents would praise Lin Yan for his diligent and hard work. After the college entrance exam, the two drank a glass of wine as a farewell and celebrated them parting ways. Unexpectedly, Yin Zhou missed half a page of questions while writing the math papers, but he still went to the same university as Lin Yan, so almost two. So the friendship continued with the constant cycle of loving and hating each other.

Later, they were divided by their majors. Yin Zhou studied electronics and Lin Yan studied history. From then on, there was little crossover with the two majors. Without the pressure of competition, the two of them became much closer, playing games, flirting with girls, talking about politics; there was no end to their activities.

The 'regular place' referred to the bar.

When Lin Yan walked in, he saw Yin Zhou shooting his shot with a girl at the bar unsuccessfully. Lin Yan called his name several times before he turned around. Yin Zhou opened a bottle of beer and his eyes widened: " Yo, you weren't responding to any of my calls or texts. Were you on a date?"

Lin Yan drank half the bottle in single breath, and said calmly, "I've got lost and was going around in circles."

"Got lost?!" Yin Zhou stared at him for a long time. Seeing that Lin Yan wasn't joking, he couldn't help but smile and said, "Are you feeling alright? If you're feeling sick, let this brother take you to the hospital."

Lin Yan was in a weird mood because of all the strange events that had happened. Now, his voice wasn't very strong either. He simply put down the beer bottle, put his hands on the table, raised his voice and shouted into Yin Zhou's ears: "I! Saw! A! Ghost!!"

His voice was so loud that most of the people at the bar heard him. They turned to look at him like he was crazy.

Yin Zhou hid his face behind his hand and muttered about how embarrassing it was. After thinking about it, he raised his head and said with a dazed expression: "Was it a female ghost? Was it pretty?"

Lin Yan was at a loss for words and the muscles on his face twitched.

Then Lin Yan explained all the night's occurrences to Yin Zhou in extreme detail, but he started regretting it halfway through. Yin Zhou obviously was eating it up, and a pair of unfocused eyes were shining with an excitement that couldn't be matched in ten thousand years. He rubbed his hands together and stammered when he heard the section of the figure under the street light: "This is too unscientific, or maybe it's too scientific. I'll apply to use one of the labs tomorrow, maybe I can figure this out!"

Lin Yan wanted to smash the beer bottle on his head.

"You seem busy, I'll head out first."

Yin Zhou caught him before he walked away and scratched his head: "Alright, alright. I'm just kidding. Have a drink first and we can go back to my place afterwards."

"Let's be optimistic. If that thing is a guy, then you've got to get rid of him immediately. If it's a woman, then she should definitely get down on her knees to see what is under your jeans."

Lin Yan was actually very grateful to him when he drove Yin Zhou all the way to his house. He thought that unreliable people would have unreliable benefits. No matter how weird things were, he would really listen to them, but he immediately regretted it once they reached his apartment. The reason was simple: Yin Zhou's room was dirty and no living person would ever be found in this room.

The sight that Lin Yan was faced with when he stepped in the door made him scream inside. It's better to go home and be scared to death by ghosts. God only knows how he lives like this. It was a 10-square metre rental with rubbish and clothes littering the floor. There were mountains of instant noodle boxes on the table. Some of them were being used as ashtrays and there were cigarette butts floating in the murky soup. He had no idea how long they were left there, but they were exuded a rancid smell.

The laptop was thrown on the bed, and there was a line of characters moving across the screen. Yin Zhou rushed to take a look, and groaned: "It's been going on repeatedly. The program has to be changed." After he was done talking, he didn't pay any more attention to Lin Yan. He leaned against the headboard, flipping through his notebook and clicked to stop debugging, tapping on his keyboard with his long fingers.

"There is food in the cupboard. If you get hungry, grab something to eat."

Lin Yan opened the cabinet and inspected Yin Zhou’s selection. Various brands of instant noodles, rice vermicelli, pickled mustard greens, a large number of ham sausages that were about to expire. . . If this guy croaks one day, the number of preservatives in him would help him survive for at least thirty more years. If ancient people had eaten things like this, it could've saved conservation historians so much time.

"Do you have any clean clothes? Mine are soaked from the rain. Could you lend me some dry clothes first."

"There's some on the ground. Grab those."

After feeling Lin Yan's murderous glare, Yin Zhou reluctantly got up and slowly opened the wicker basket at the foot of his bed: "Yes, yes, my mother comes to wash my clothes once a week, and the clean ones are here."

After speaking, he threw him a graphic t-shirt.

"You earn so much from your projects yet you live in such a shabby place. You don't even own a washing machine, and that quality of life is catching up with you. Aren't you afraid that your arrogant old man won't give you money to marry a wife in the future? Lin Yan took off his shirt, stretched the t-shirt over his head and put it on. With the shirt over his head, he asked in a muffled voice: "Help me find a pair of pants."

Yin Zhou threw his hands up and said with disdain: "You're being so picky. A person uses so much stuff when they are alive but when they're dead, they only need a coffin. Why are you being so particular about this?" After finishing speaking, Yu Guang looked at Lin Yan with a smirk. : "Xiao Linzi's figure is good, the fitness card is not for nothing."

He glanced at Lin Yan with his peripheral vision and gave a sly smirk: "Little Brother Lin is in good shape, your gym membership wasn't bought in vain."

"Don't you dare call me Little Brother Lin, I'll show you want a real man is!" Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown by the bed, wiped off the ashes, and smacked his lips.

Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown near the bed, wiped off a handful of cigarette ashes, and smacked his lips.

"Disgusting."

Yin Zhou ignored him and spoke to himself as he flipped through his suitcase. "I remember I had a pair of new jeans, where are they going. . . Huh? What's this? Did my mother leave her clothes in here?"

This was. . .

The body was made of red satin, black lining, with loose sleeves that hung down, and there was heavy embroidery around the wrists. Yin Zhou shook it out curiously. Just as he was about to hold it up to compare it to his body, Lin Yan cried out: "Put that down, don't touch it!"

Looking at Lin Yan's pale face, Yin Zhou also noticed that something was wrong, so he threw the red clothes on the bed.

"These are mortuary clothes. It's for the dead." Lin Yan said weakly.

Yin Zhou's face also changed.

"This thing doesn't belong here."

Yin Zhou looked around his room, as if to relieve the nervous atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Is it wrong? How about I call my mother and ask if she left it."

Yin Zhou looked around his room. Trying to break the tense atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Was this a mistake? How about I call my mother and ask if she put it in here?"

Lin Yan looked at the clothes and said dejectedly: "No need, I believe you."

He was getting angry, thinking that this thing was trying to provoke him no matter what, and now it was involving his friend. He was clearly trying to get a reaction out of him.

For a while, both of them were speechless. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Under the light of the bright light, the red clothes were laid straight out on the bed like paper. Despite its bright colour, it was gloomy and had a terrifying appearance. The ancient style and the luxurious fabrics exuded such a cold atmosphere that it was like the sun had never touched it.

Ten minutes later.

Lin Yan picked up the car key on the table. He sighed and said to Yin Zhou: "I'm going back home. This thing is coming after me, staying here will only hurt you."

Yin Zhou spat out: "Don't give me that bullshit. It would be stupid to go back by yourself, just stay here."

What Lin Yan wanted to say was interrupted by Yin Zhou: "We're close enough that you're wearing my pants. Won't I be the one that will have to explain what happened to your parents if there's an accident? Don't mess with me. We'll talk about this in the morning."

After talking, yin Zhou searched under the bed for a while. He found another notebook and handed it to Lin Yan: "Do you think a ghost would be able to scare us to death? Hurry up, let's get some kills on Dota!"

Lin Yan was silent for a while, opened his notebook, and said with a smile: "You asked for it, I won't go easy on you!"

The light flickered and dimmed, and the room became more and more gloomy. Lin Yan knew instinctively that something was staring at him somewhere in the room. Maybe it had a pale face, wrapped in a red mortuary, and said sorrowfully: Your death is approaching.

This must be the weirdest night in his 22 years of life, Lin Yan thought. Once the sky begins to get bright, things will be over by dawn.

The red mortuary was like a long, stiff corpse lying on the bed, the sleeves folded across the front as if to remind him that this was only the beginning.

[certifiedskywalker]

Your Rage - Din Djarin ( The Mandalorian)

Anonymous said:

I have a request!! If you don’t want to write this one, I totally get it! Sooo... I was wondering if you could write a blind!femreader who’s been travelling with Mando for sometime now and have already established a strong bond with one another. Let’s say one day blind!reader gets captured by a group of bounties that want to bait Mando and he obviously finds them. They fight, he kills all of them and he saves blind!reader and they go back to the crest and they get all soft and sweet! Thank you!

Since knowing Din Djarin, your life had become more dangerous than it had ever been before. Yet, you wouldn’t trade anything for the galaxy of possibility partnering up with Din has given you. Enough time had passed for you to grow fond of Din but not enough for you to know his anger, how strongly it burns when those he loves are in danger.

You couldn’t see your captors but you could smell them. One carried with him the odor of rotted meat and vinegar. The other reeked of predominantly stale spice smoke. Although, there were times when noxious hints of hyperfuel had you gasping for breath. Despite their shared stench, nothing was quite as vile as what you heard them say.

“Look at ‘er, can’t do nothing. Why’d the Mando take a likin’ to ‘er? Ugly thing, that one.”

“Worth more credits than you can even imagine though, Nuruka. Once we get the Mandalorian in our grasp. Riches will be ours.”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from snapping at them. Din would never slip into a trap so plainly set. Yet, you didn’t breathe a word. Silence became your strongest ally, even when the half-rate bounty hunters kicked at your cage. They were trying to draw out a reaction for you, get you to crack yourself open for them to pick at like scavenger birds.

“C’mon, ya piece a bantha foddah,” growled the one named Nuruka, “tell me all about ya lil’ Mando, yeah? You seen ‘im without dat helmet of his? Just as nasty as ya!”

You pressed your lip into a thin lip to keep from speaking. 

“Elis, its’ not talkin’ one bit! We break it?”

The sound of clicking footsteps echoed in the air around you. “Leave her be. The scanners picked up an incoming ship.”

“The Mando?” Your heart began to race at the thought of Din coming to your rescue. At first, you were relieved. He had found you, he was coming for you. The thought of seeing him again, touching him again, it brought a smile to your face.

“Who else could it be, laserbrain! Are the traps set?” 

“Heh, yeah, every bomb we got.” Dread filled your stomach at the bounty hunters’ words. You didn’t have to see Nuruka to know he was grinning. You imagined he smiled like he smelled, all rancid and slimy. “He don’t stand a chance, Elis.”

The two of them shared a deep chuckle that reminded you of the holomovies you would listen to as a child. People actually laughed like that? All on its own, the sound filled you with anger. They were so confident that Din would waltz right into their grasp. 

You knew Din and you knew that he thought things through. He would know it was a trap and you were the set bait. Din would go about your capture as he did with all thing: he would be careful. He often warned you to do the same but the fire in your heart knew no bounds.

“He would never trip up,” you snapped suddenly, unable to hold your tongue. Elis and Nuruka’s laughter died at the sound of your voice. You heard a suddenly rustling and the screech of metal as one of them yanked your cage, pulling it up to jostle you. 

“What ya say? You speak, eh, you lil’ rat! Why don’t ya start screamin’!” 

Before you could speak up again, Nuruka started to shake your cage. You could feel the anger radiating in all its’ heat from his body. From that alone you knew that whoever and whatever Nuruka was he was massive. It took all you had to keep yourself from being thrown about your cage as the bounty hunter tossed it around. 

“Stop! Put her down!” Elis’ screech broke through and suddenly, Nuruka set you and your cage down. Silence fell over the three of you. You listened, let the wild beat of your heart steady so you could focus. All you heard was the shifting of the ship in space.

“What is it E-”

“Shut it!” Elis hissed cruelly.

“Hey! Don’t-”

An explosive, a wall-shaking blast, roared up from whatever ship the bounty hunters were holding you on. You could feel the heat of the blast from under the floor which told you that the ship had to be, at least, a Class B freighter with two levels; and that Din had arrived. 

“He’s here,” Elis snapped, “get your blaster!”

You could hear their panicked footsteps as they scrambled to find their weapons.

 After the blast, the air around you seemed to hum. Jitters, pre-battle shakes, began to take hold of you and you attempted to stand in your cage. So cramped it was that, when you tried to straighten your posture, your head knocked against the ceiling. The cage was for small livestock and the bounty hunters that thrown you inside like yesterday’s trash. From inside, you would be no help to Din in the firefight to come.

“Scanners can’t pick ‘im up!” Nuruka shouted, nervousness lacing his voice.

“What?!”

A grin crept along your features as Nuruka and Elis shouted back and forth. Even if Din had set off the bombs by accident, the explosion was enough to loosen the wiring of the life-signature scanners. Essentially, Din was invisible. With the element of surprise with him, your partner stood a far greater chance.

Contented with that fact, you sat back in your cage with your arms crossed over your chest. You felt so light it was almost as if you were meditating. In knowing Din, you also knew that he would not leave you behind. So, you relaxed for the first time since your capture.

“Why does it look like that, Elis? Why is ‘er face all peaceful and such?”

“Focus Nuruka!”

“Don’t yell at me! I jus’ askin’ ya a-”

Before the brute could finish, a loud, startling metal ‘clang’ sounded in the room. A rush of air that smelled of smoke and chemicals hit your face, making you cringe. You heard Nuruka give a belly-full war cry before the blaster fire began. With a gasp, you pressed yourself to the cold floor of the metal cage. Smoke filled your lungs and you began to cough as the bounty hunters shot at each other.

With all the noise, it felt as if your ears were being assaulted; punched over and over again until all your heard was ringing. You squeezed your unseeing eyes shut and tried to focus on the sound of your heartbeat. When you couldn’t hear that, you thought of Din. You thought of his touch, the most recent time you felt his fingers dance along your neck and trailing love along your skin. You could not let that be the last time.

There was a sharp cry that broke through the ringing in your ears. A moment later, the blaster fire stopped. The air in your lung was still thick with plasma discharge and the ringing faded into silence. Suddenly, the sound of your heart filled your ears. Who won?

You stayed still as possible. Holding your breath, you played dead. You tried to, at least, until the steady sound of your heartbeat melted into another noise. Footsteps, almost as steady as your heart, echoed in your eardrums. 

“Y/N.”

You sat up immediately, your fingers wrapping around the bars of the cage. “Din!”

“Hold on, I’ll get you out of here.”

“Din, did you-”

“They’re gone.” At his cold tone, you swallowed hard. “I had to, Y/N,” Din continued as you heard him fiddling with the door to your cage. “They would have…”

He trailed off and you didn’t ask him to finish. You knew well what his words implied. If he hadn’t come Nuruka and Elis would have lost their patience. They would have killed you or, possibly worse, sold you to the Hutts; any crimelord or smuggler for that matter. 

So, you stayed quiet as Din released you from your confines. There was a rattling screech as Din opened the door. You felt his hands, strong and gloved, wrap around your wrist as he guided you out. You could also feel his rage, white-hot and still burning.

“Watch your head,” he said softly, “Y/N, are you hurt?”

And there is was, that softness you had always known from Din. You stepped out of the cage and stretched, Din’s hand still on your arm. “No, just...just tired. I want to go home.”

The hand Din still had on your forearm tightened at your words. It was a little touch, reminding you that, even though you couldn’t see him, he was always there; for you, specifically. You let him guide you out of the bounty hunter’s ship, letting Din’s hot anger cool with the movement. Whether it was adrenaline or fear, without it, Din was tired. 

As you walked, you could feel Din beginning to grow heavy. To got to the point where you lifted your arm from his grip and wrapped your fingers around his bicep. When he leaned into you, you gave his arm a squeeze. You had never felt an anger like Din’s before, not one so strong that it left someone drained. 

As you opened your mouth to ask him about it, you felt Din pull you to the side and heard a sliding door hiss open. “There’s a step, here.”

Din led you inside and you were hit with the familiar scents of the Razor Crest. The ship, the Razor Crest, and Din were the closest thing to home that you had ever encountered. It felt good to be back despite the worry that was eating away at you. 

When you and Din were safely inside the Razor Crest, you squeezed his arm once more. “Din, wait, please.”

“What? Are you hurt?” You could feel his warmth as he stood before you. With gentle hands, you reached up and cupped his helmet. 

“Please.” He knew your one-word plea and your felt his hands on your wrists. With a tenderness he reserved only for you, he placed your hands on his shoulders. You heard the hiss of his helmet as he lifted it off his head. There was a ‘clunk’ on the ground beside you and the slipping of fabric against rough palms.

Finally, Din’s hands, now bare, found your wrists again. You bit back the smile that threatened to spill over on your lips. Worry still clung to you even as you now clung to Din.

“May I?”

“Of course,” his raw voice, unhindered by his helmet, sent chills down your spine. With exploring hands, you traced your finger tips along his face. Jaw first, your trailed the pads of your fingers through his scruff. The coarse hair tickled your skin until you moved to his eyebrows. You mapped out his face with your hands, the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose; every last detail was yours to know and no one else's.

His cheeks were warm to the touch from where his anger had scorched his flesh.

“I could feel your rage,” you murmured. “I’ve never felt it so strongly before. You knew I would be safe.” Din opened his mouth, you could feel his jaw tense then relax as he spoke.

“You have too much faith in me.” He said it in a whisper, so softly that you couldn’t help but smile. “They set traps.”

“Poor traps,” you replied, “they talked about them. They rigged explosives in their own ship.” Din smiled, you could feel the dimple form in his cheek.

“So you had faith that they were inexperienced.” 

“It sounded better when you said I had faith in you,” you fired back. A few seconds of quiet passed but it was enough time for worry to take a hold on you again. “Were you scared?”

“About the traps?”

“No,” you sighed, letting your hands fall to his neck. “I know you weren’t scared about the traps. You know what I mean.” Din’s hands found your waist, pulled your body flush to his.

“Terrified.” You let your thumbs rest on his cheeks and rub the skin to soothe him. “I’ve only...I don’t feel like that often. I…”

“It’s okay, Din,” you whispered. “I’m here. I won’t leave you again.” You could feel Din smile again but it was half-hearted; a bitter smile.

“That’s a promise neither of us can keep.” You nodded and traced your thumbs along his cheeks once more. He wasn’t wrong. This life, this home, you and Din shared was wild. You were just freed from a cage that rival bounty hunters had thrown you into.

“Okay then,” you leaned towards him, enticingly close. “We do know that we’ll always find each other. We’ll always find the other.”

“Always,” Din replied smoothly. Worry melted away as Din’s voice sounded light for the first time in ages. You leaned in, pressed your forehead to his asking silent permission. He didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. Instead, he kissed you with all the softness he could.

There were no enduring flames of angry. It was only you and Din in that moment. You would always find each other in the end. Always.

[silverware-and-glasses]

The Unexpected Allure of Ronald Knox

The Unexpected Allure of Ronald Knox (6164 words) by silverware_and_glasses

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Rating: Explicit 

Relationships: Ronald Knox/Sebastian Michaelis

Characters: Ronald Knox, Sebastian Michaelis

Summary:

Sebastian stumbles upon Ronald during his first night on the Campania. After being drawn in by his soft hair and deadly sharp wit, Sebastian finds there are some things reapers are good for.

This was originally a little celebratory fic to jokingly commemorate 69 kudos on Legitimacy but it got out of hand and went on way longer than expected. But what is Sebron without some obligatory PWP set on the Campania. 

Read in full under the cut (if you’re over 18) or on AO3 in the link above

Sebastian had a whole night ahead of him.

He had never been on a luxury cruise liner before. The last time he’d spent a prolonged period in the human world the technology required to build something as grand as the Campania simply hadn’t existed. With his master in bed and hopefully asleep until morning, Sebastian had the rest of the night ahead of him to play with as he pleased. He had no interest in feigning sleep, especially not in the cramped servant’s quarters he was expected to share with the new footman. Instead he found himself exploring, wandering the decks in search of something interesting. This was how he found himself on the third class deck, in a lively little bar that showed no signs of slowing down despite the late hour. There were a few maids and valets in uniform lounging around, clearly in much the same situation as himself. Sebastian had little interest in talking to any of them, but here at least he could relax without seeming conspicuous in his butler’s attire.

Then he spotted the reaper.

Of course there was a reaper. What kind of trans-continental assignment from the queen would be complete without a reaper present? He looked like a passenger; he certainly didn’t appear to be on duty. Although he was more or less dressed in uniform, his collar lay open and his jacket was missing, no doubt discarded somewhere in his eagerness to reach the dance floor. Something drastic must have been scheduled to happen if he was here, but not immediately. Tonight he looked  carefree, dancing away with a bright eyed young woman occasionally darting in and out of his arms. He had impeccable footwork. It irked Sebastian somewhat to admit it.

Sebastian ordered a drink, only because he had nothing better to do with his hands. Being third class there wasn’t much choice, so Sebastian found himself staring down a pint of beer so dark it almost matched his clothing. He took a sip. Oh. It was putrid. But now that he’d paid for it he felt obligated to choke it down. He couldn't believe humans liked this sort of thing.

There was an empty table at one side of the room, which Sebastian sat down at. It had been hastily vacated, there were still half-finished drinks and personal effects scattered around left by a group of people clearly eager to start dancing. Sebastian paid that no mind and chose one of the chairs with no jacket draped over the back, and set to watching the dancers. There were a couple of dozen humans dancing away, but as Sebastian sipped his drink he kept finding his eyes inexplicably drawn back to the reaper. He was quite handsome, Sebastian idly found himself thinking, despite those ridiculous goggles he wore. His garishly two-toned hair looked soft. Sebastian had a fancy of plunging his fingers into that feathery fringe, tugging his head back and—

Sebastian glanced down at his now almost finished pint. Perhaps it was stronger than usual beer. His kind didn’t feel the effects of alcohol too readily, but there was at least the beginning tinges of a buzz. Enough, at least, to make bedding a reaper seem somehow no longer abhorrent.

“Whaaaaat is going on here?”

Sebastian hadn’t noticed the reaper sail over until he’d spoken. The drink was stronger than he’d thought. He tried not to let his surprise show. Without haste, Sebastian allowed his eyes to slowly climb the reaper’s form, pretending he was nothing more than bored.

“I’m enjoying a drink,” Sebastian said. He tilted his glass for emphasis.

The reaper planted both hands on the table and leaned across so that he was almost hovering over him. He thought he could intimidate Sebastian. How cute.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“You’re right,” Sebastian admitted, “it’s quite revolting.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” Sebastian drawled, “Somehow I doubt you’re here on holiday, so sit down reaper and stop embarrassing yourself.”

The reaper hesitated for a moment, then slunk into one of the free seats at the table. “Don’t call me that, someone might hear.”

“You don’t want people to know you’re a reaper?” Sebastian asked deliberately loudly.

The reaper cringed, then glanced about to make sure no one had heard. His embarrassment was endearing. Sebastian wondered how much more he could draw out of him. He imagined those milky cheeks stained red, flushed with the humiliation of losing himself to a demon. Yes, Sebastian liked that thought. He took a sip of his drink to disguise his creeping smile. He liked it a lot.

“What should I call you then?” Sebastian asked as he set down his drink, “If you don’t want me to call you reaper.”

“Ronald Knox.” He made a hand gesture as he said this that Sebastian recognised from one of another reaper he’d met. It was rather insipid. “And you?”

“I have had many na—”

“Ugh,” Ronald interrupted, “You lot are so fucking tedious with your goddamn cryptic bullshit.” He reached across the table, tugged Sebastian’s beer from his hands and, to Sebastian’s horror, started drinking from it. “Just tell me whatever name you currently go by and be done with it.”

Sebastian was too scandalised from the sight of his beer, his beer, vanishing between the reaper’s foul lips, to work up a proper reply to the taunt. Rancid as it was, the sheer violation of proper boundaries had Sebastian seething. He really would have to put this reaper in his place.

“Sebastian,” Sebastian said. “Sebastian Mic—“

“Of course you are,” Ronald remarked.

“Would it be too much to let me finish even one sentence?”

Ronald ignored this. “Guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. A disaster like this is like a buffet to your kind.”

“What disaster?” Sebastian asked, his curiosity piqued.

“You don’t know?”

“Unlike your kind, I possess no clairvoyant capabilities.”

Ronald shrugged, “Well you’ll find out soon enough.” He took another sip of Sebastian’s beer.

“Must you drink that?”

“You said you didn’t like it.”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Fine.” Ronald stood up. “I’ll get my own.”

But when he returned he returned with two, and Sebastian found himself having to force down another one of these putrid drinks. Ronald watched in fascination as he quickly downed the rest of his first one, then suppress a shudder at the sight of a whole second one waiting for him.

“You don’t have to drink it,” he said with a lilting grin.

“I can handle this much,” Sebastian sneered

Ronald raised his own glass in a mockery of a toast. “Bottom’s up then,” he said.

Not wanting to be outdone, Sebastian drank most of his glass, then regretted it when it fell thickly on his stomach. Ronald had barely made a dent in his own.

“So, what do you want?” Ronald asked, breaking the silence that was threatening to spread.

Sebastian peered expressionlessly at Ronald over the top of his glass. “I believe you were the one who approached me.”

“Only because you wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Sebastian hadn’t realised Ronald had noticed. “I was surprised to see a reaper down here,” he said.

“Oh? So you were thinking about the best way to kill me I bet,” Ronald said.

Sebastian let the barest of smiles creep onto his face. He was surprised Ronald would be so confident when he thought a demon was planning to kill him. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t.”

“Why were you staring at me then?”

This was one of the few situations where Sebastian wished that lying was possible. His master wasn’t there, no one would have to know. But something about that seemed base. The truth, he decided, would make the reaper more uncomfortable than any lie.

“Your hair looks soft,” He admitted. “I was imagining how it would feel to touch it.”

Ronald turned pink and ducked his head into his beer. Now that was the proper response. That reaction was so much more interesting than any threat could ever be. Sebastian watched as he took a long drink, recovering his dignity. When his eyes met Sebastian’s once more he’d regained his confidence. His expression even cockier than before, if that were possible.

“I’d say the same to you but your hair looks terrible,” Ronald said.

“Now that simply isn’t true.” It was time to steer away from this messy subject before Ronald had any more ideas about insulting Sebastian’s hair. “Whatever happened to that girl you were dancing with?” Sebastian asked.

“Who? Oh,” Ronald passed half glance behind him, where the girl was still dancing while occasionally stopping to glower at Sebastian. “I don’t even know her name.”

“If you were planning to bed her you’d best go back. She doesn’t look too happy with you.”

Ronald waved a dismissive hand. “She can go, I’ve been with plenty of women,” he said. His eyes met Sebastian’s, unwavering and damnably precocious. “But I’ve never fucked a demon before.”

Sebastian choked on his drink like a disgraceful human who couldn’t even keep track of his own bodily functions. Whatever Sebastian had expected Ronald to say, it wasn’t that. He found his guard shattered around his feet, and in the reflection of each jutting shard was Ronald’s insolent little grin. The preposition had come completely out of nowhere. It was obscene.

But he’d already taken too long to reply. Ronald was grinning at him with that annoying smug goddamn smirk. It was more than Sebastian could bear. For once he didn’t know how to handle this situation. Why did so many of the reapers he met seem to have this sort of interest in him? Well alright, he knew why. Sebastian was under illusions about his appearance. After all, he’d sculpted it to perfection himself. And he couldn’t deny this young man was handsome. He’d be athletic under that suit. Sebastian tried to imagine how that lithe body would feel in his arms and decided that two could certainly play at this game. What fun he could have with it too.

He recovered his face, then leaned back in his seat, peering at Ronald through his lashes. “What makes you think you’d be the one in charge.”

Ronald didn’t answer that question. “Would you like to find out?”

‘No,’ was the reply Ronald clearly expected. ‘No,’ was the reply Sebastian would have given in any other situation. But he’d drunk just enough to throw caution to the wind, and the temptation of breaking this reaper was more than he could bear.

“Go on then,” he said instead, “Show me.”

A beat. Sebastian was right then. Ronald hadn’t expected him to agree.

“I can’t exactly show you here, can I?”

Sebastian cocked his head to the side, grinning now. He was starting to enjoy this game. “I suspected so. You’re all talk aren’t you.”

Ronald, bless him, snatched up the bait. “I meant we’d better go somewhere else. You must have some fancy first class digs right?”

“Hardly,” Sebastian said, “I’m staying in servants quarters of my master’s suite.”

“Is it a private room?”

“No, I’m sharing with the footman.”

Ronald clicked his tongue. “Well we can’t go to my room, I’m staying in a dormitory.”

“Then what do you suggest.”

Ronald shrugged. “Maybe there’s a carriage in the cargo hold we can use.”

“That’s an abysmal idea.”

“Got a better one?”

He didn’t, not that he planned to admit that. To save himself, he stood up, his chair squeaking against the new tiles, and gestured to the door. “Follow me.” Much to his pleasure Ronald did, although he paused to finish what was left of his drink first. They exited the thriving hum of the bar, and were met with silence. A silence that carved right into Sebastian’s veins. ‘You’re really doing this,’ it seemed to say. ‘You’re really going to bed a reaper.’

He didn’t much like that commentary. He decided to ignore it.

“Where are we going?” Ronald chimed from behind him in that grating voice of his. Sebastian hoped he’d have something better to occupy his mouth soon, so that he wouldn’t have to hear much more of it. In truth, Sebastian didn’t know the answer. He stayed silent, allowing Ronald to follow in blind faith as he used all his senses to check each room in turn, searching for one along this seemingly endless corridor that remained unused. With each room they passed, Sebastian grew ever more concerned that they were stuck aboard a fully booked ship.

But then he struck gold. He quickened his pace, eager to reach it and ensure he was correct. It was only small—certainly not a lodging—but it would do. He pushed the door open and, without any ceremony, stepped inside.

Ronald, however, remained on the threshold.

“This is a cupboard.”

“I think you’ll find the correct word is storeroom. Look,” he tugged on a short chain above his head, filling the room with light, “there’s even electric lighting.”

“It’s a cupboard.”

Alright, so it was a cupboard. But it was a large cupboard. Large enough that they could easily stand side by side with wriggle room on either side. Plenty of space for doing what needed to be done. Sebastian conveyed this to Ronald without words, just a cold raising of his eyebrows. He could either accept this glorified cupboard, or he could be the one to give up first. It was an amazing drug pride. One small dose was all it took for Ronald to swear total obedience to him. And the poor dear still thought he was in control.

“It’s fitting I guess,” Ronald said, stepping over a bucket so that he could wedge inside. “Matches your whole butler getup.”

Sebastian shut the door behind him. Then they were alone. Ronald Knox was mere centimetres away, ready and willing to be touched. Suddenly Sebastian wasn’t sure where to start. Proper protocol dictated that this is when they should kiss, but nothing about this was proper. He shuffled closer, close enough to feel Ronald’s shallow breath against his skin.

But he didn’t kiss him.

“Get on with it then,” Sebastian said.

“You’re not going to try to set the scene a little.”

Sebastian cast a lingering gaze upon a box of toilet paper on a shelf over Ronald’s right shoulder. “In such luxurious accomodations I’d assume the scene was already well set.”

“Fair call,” Ronald said. He placed his palm flat on Sebastian’s chest, just over his heart. There was a moment’s hesitation. “You have a heartbeat,” he murmured.

“I���m in human form. It’s rather a necessity.”

“Does it ever feel like a human’s can?”

Ronald hadn’t moved, but he suddenly felt closer. The cupboard felt smaller, and his heart was growing. It seemed to move to his ears, because it seemed to be smothering him, giving him the feeling that he was underwater. All he could hear was his pulse, all he could feel was Ronald’s hand.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sebastian said.

Ronald’s smile was full of pity. “Of course you don’t,” he muttered. “I guess I just have to speak a language you do understand.” He lowered himself to his knees, but kept his hand against Sebastian’s chest, allowing his fingertips to glide down Sebastian’s body. It was joined by the other only when it reached the leather of Sebastian’s belt, and it became abundantly clear what his intentions were.

“Not one for foreplay, are you.” Sebastian remarked.

Ronald cocked an eyebrow but continued to work at undoing Sebastian’s belt, then trousers. “I’d assume the scene was already well set,’” he said.

Cocksure little brat.

His trousers were undone. Ronald’s nimble fingers were already reaching inside to free Sebastian’s length. Sebastian sighed and closed his eyes to savour the sensations he knew awaited him.

“Eager aren’t you?”

“I could do without your commentary,” Sebastian said without opening his eyes. “Just do what I brought you here do to.”

Ronald snorted but didn’t reply, as though the sheer concept of Sebastian dominating him was so ludicrous it wasn’t worth even considering. That arrogant—

Ah…

So that’s what a reaper’s mouth felt like. Sebastian leaned against the wall, savouring the feeling of Ronald’s tongue against his flesh. He felt himself rapidly hardening at Ronald’s ministrations, responding like some needy, desperate human who hadn’t been fucked in years. But oh, it was nice to just let go, to let pleasure come to him. He let out a shaking sigh as Ronald took him in as far as he’d go, then the smallest moan as he felt himself leave Ronald’s hot mouth and was exposed to the cool air.

“You’re surprisingly sensitive,” Ronald mused, before drawing Sebastian back into his mouth.

Brat. Sebastian pulled his gloves off and tossed them aside so that he could finally run his hands through Ronald’s hair. It was as soft as he’d imagined. The strands fell away from his caresses like the finest spider’s silk. Always gloved, his hands were desperately sensitive, and the dual sensation of Ronald’s hair against his palms and Ronald’s mouth against his cock had him shuddering, moaning softly.

At the sound of Sebastian’s voice, Ronald pulled away again. “Are you going to come?” He goaded. “So soon?”

A breathy laugh passed through Sebastian’s lips. “Oh Sweetheart.” Sebastian ran a thumb over Ronald’s parted lips. “This isn’t nearly enough to satisfy me.”

He twisted his fingers into Ronald’s hair then, and pulled tight. Ronald opened his mouth to protest, but Sebastian took the opportunity to push his cock past those lips again. Ronald gagged. He writhed under Sebastian’s grip and tried to free himself. Sebastian indulged in one last thrust, then let go, allowing Ronald to pull himself off Sebastian and lurch the entire half foot away that the closet allowed for.

“What the fuck do you think—“

“Take your clothes off,” Sebastian said. “All of them.”

“Are you joking?”

“You just had my cock in your mouth and you’re embarrassed now?”

“There’s barely enough room to move in here.”

Sebastian blinked. “Take them off. Or you can go. It’s up to you.”

“You take yours off too.”  

Sebastian stared at him in the dim light. He had no intention of undressing. “Start with your jacket.”

“I know how to get undressed.”

“Then do it.”

Ronald hesitated a moment, then slowly peeled his jacket from his shoulders, his eyes locked with Sebastian’s in a glower. With long, languishing movements, Ronald’s hands trailed down his body, then back up to his tie, which he ever so carefully unhooked from around his neck. Sebastian made a point of watching every painfully slow movement as Ronald undid the buttons of his shirt. He’d lived for thousands of years, he could wait for one irritating reaper to take his clothes off, even if at this rate they’d arrive in New York before he’d reached his underclothes.

The final button came undone and Sebastian finally had to intervene. “That’s enough. You’re being too slow.”

“You said to take everything off.”

“Yes but at this speed I could go back to the bar and find someone else to spend the night with before you’d even taken your socks off.” Sebastian put his hand on the door handle. “Thank you for whatever that was Knox. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.” He pulled down the handle.

“Wait…”

Sebastian released the handle. Without turning around he smiled to himself, savouring that hasty rustling of cloth as Ronald sprang to action. When Sebastian at last allowed himself a peek at Ronald’s progress, he was wearing nothing but his open shirt, and a tight, short style of underwear that had Sebastian wondering why he hadn’t taken a reaper to bed earlier.

Sebastian closed what little distance remained between them. He slid his hands over Ronald’s bare skin, brushing his nipples, then trailing down his back and cupping the flesh of his arse through that tiny undergarment.

“May I?” Sebastian breathed.

Ronald shrugged and looked away. “Go ahead,” he said. There was the faintest stammer in those words, one that made Sebastian smile to himself as he slid that sinful little garment from around Ronald’s hips. His cock sprung to attention the moment it was free of its confines, and Sebastian couldn’t help but run a hand gently over it. Ronald’s breath hitched at the touch, then he released a groan when the motion repeated.  Sebastian crouched and planted a kiss on Ronald’s inner thigh, then another on his stomach. He gave Ronald’s cock another mindless stroke and enjoyed the way Ronald’s legs started to quiver.

Sebastian realised his mouth was open, but he didn’t care enough to shut it. He wanted him. God he wanted him. He wanted to bury himself in this cocky reaper’s perfect little arse and utterly loose himself to everything around him. He climbed shakily back to his feet, eyes running up and down that splendidly toned body, and buried his hand in Ronald’s hair again, dragging him closer.

“Not so suave now, are you?” Ronald said breathlessly.

So Sebastian kissed him. It seemed like the only good way to shut him up. Ronald’s mouth was hot against his own, and so, so pliable. Sebastian seemed to get lost in it, that softness. The taste of beer was still fresh enough on his tongue that it made Sebastian feel filthy, but everything about this encounter made him feel filthy. None of this was befitting of a perfect butler. That was part of the thrill.

The kiss seemed to wear down something in Ronald. Sebastian broke away, and immediately found his lips recaptured. And then again. And again, until Sebastian found himself leaning lazily on the wall while Ronald tried to drink everything from him. It was cute, the way he thought he’d pinned Sebastian to the wall. But for now, Sebastian only kissed him back.

Ronald’s hips rolled, forcing a smootherd groan from Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian let his hands trail down Ronald’s sides, then held him in place as as he returned the favour. Ronald broke the kiss then, his eyes squeezing shut, his breath ragged. It was the opening Sebastian was waiting for. He tightened his grip on Ronald’s hips, then pushed him across the tiny room, easily switching their positions in the two strides it took to reach the other side. He pushed Ronald into the door then, glad for the fact that it opened inward and wasn’t about to collapse. Their lips met once more, hungrier this time, almost desperate, before Sebastian broke away and put his lips to Ronald’s ear.

“Still think you’re the one in control?” Sebastian whispered. For good measure he bit the reaper’s earlobe, drawing a groan of mingled irritation and arousal from beneath him.

Even Ronald seemed to know when the game was lost. “If I was in control we’d be finished by now.”

Ronald clearly hadn’t realised that he wasn’t paying himself a compliment there. But he was right, perhaps it was time to speed things up a bit. It was unfortunate they had no oil to hand. Preparation was a pain for someone he didn’t care about, but it was going to be less pleasant for both of them if Sebastian didn’t at least make some effort. If he looked for long enough Sebastian was sure he’d find something in this cupboard they could use, but bothering for a reaper he’d only just met and who he’d likely be fighting before their voyage was out seemed like too much effort. Instead he pressed two fingers against Ronald’s lips, which immediately clamped shut.

“Suck on them,” Sebastian commanded.

“Hell n—“ Sebastian shoved them in anyway as Ronald tried so speak. For a moment Sebastian was sure Ronald would to bite them, but he never did. His wide, furious eyes fell half lidded, and he began to lavish the same expert attention on Sebastian’s fingers as he had on his cock not so long ago.

Sebastian shuddered, then buried his face in the crook of Ronald’s bare shoulder. He’d known his hands were sensitive, but he hadn’t realised… he bit back the noise that built in his throat, then rocked his hips against Ronald’s once again, if for nothing else than to convince himself that he wasn’t so worked up from Ronald sucking his fingers alone. Even so, he didn’t last long. Before long he freed himself from that horribly, horribly talented mouth, and spun Ronald around so that his chest was pressed against the door. Sebastian positioned his fingers at Ronald’s entrance, then pushed them inside without any ceremony.

They went in easily enough. It may have been Ronald’s first time with a demon but it certainly wasn’t his first time with a man. Even with Sebastian’s half-hearted attempt at lubrication, it didn’t take long for his fingers to move smoothly. Under his ministrations, Ronald slowly started to turn into a writhing, mewling mess. His back arched, that smooth skin pulling taught along his sides. Sebastian ran his free hand over his back just to feel him. Oh, how he loved the feel of him.

Ronald seemed dangerously close to spilling over the edge when Sebastian withdrew his fingers. The sudden loss seemed to break him. He cried out, throwing his head back, scrambling against the door as though that might somehow bring the sensation back.

“Are you ready?” Sebastian asked. The answer was obvious of course. But he wanted Ronald to admit his need. To feel the burning shame of admitting to the arousal that was so apparent. To submit entirely to a demon.

Ronald mumbled something incoherent.

“I didn’t catch that.”

He mumbled it again. This time Sebastian did understand him, but now that he’d heard it once he wanted to again. “Once again,” he said, feigning innocence.

“I said hurry up and fuck me,” Ronald cried. He kept his face forward, so that Sebastian couldn’t see his shame, but there was no hiding the burning red that spread down his back.

“We’ll have to work on your manners,” Sebastian mused. Then, at long last, he pushed into him. They cried out as one, Ronald at the sudden intrusion, Sebastian at the sheer sweet heat that enveloped him. He only waited the duration of Ronald’s shuddering gasp for him to adjust. Then Sebastian withdrew slowly and reentered equally so, drawing out a long, irritated groan from Ronald. Sebastian laughed to himself, then picked up the pace, closing his eyes and loosing himself in the sensations. In his arms, Ronald cried out again, this time not in frustration. The feeling was mutual. With each stroke Sebastian’s wiped the clarity from his mind. This, Sebastian thought, was well worth the wait.

“Does it feel good? Losing like this to one of my kind?”

Ronald didn’t reply. He was getting close, Sebastian could feel it in every convulsion, every time he clenched around Sebastian’s cock. “‘So soon?’” Sebastian purred. However, as much as it satisfied him to use Ronald’s words back at him, Sebastian hoped the answer was yes. As much as he wanted to hide it he could feel himself creeping ever closer to that blissful edge, and he couldn’t bear to be the one to fall first.

“What’d you say?”

It wasn’t Ronald who spoke. They both froze, Ronald especially staring in horror at the closed door. Sebastian had been so lost in the moment he hadn’t bothered to listen for anyone’s approach. Truth be told, he didn’t much care if they were overheard as long as no one could link it back to him. Ronald, on the other hand, seemed mortified by the prospect. And that was a thrill in itself.

“I didn’t say anything,” came another voice on the other side of the door, closer this time.

“Weird, I could’ve sworn I heard—“

Sebastian slowly thrust in again, then cupped over Ronald’s mouth, smothering his cry, keeping it all to himself.

“Shh,” Sebastian said. “We don’t want them to overhear us do we?”

He stopped moving, but kept himself fully sheathed inside Ronald, pressed against his most sensitive spot. Ronald writhed in his arms as the voices grew closer, practically sobbing as the promise of pleasure tickled against him, never quite offering enough for release. The sheer sight of it had Sebastian desperate to start moving again. That slick body squirming in his arms, the clenching of muscle around his cock, it was driving him mad. Everything Ronald Knox did seemed to be a conspiracy to make him lose his mind. He wanted to slam him through that door, and roughly fuck him on the ground in front of whoever cared to cross their path, but he reigned himself back. He had another, slower torture in mind.

One hand circled Ronald’s cock and caressed him gently. Very, gently. He deliberately refused to create any of the friction Ronald so desired, and instead barely more than fondled him. Ronald keened at the lack of friction. He tried to grind against Sebastian’s hand, but Sebastian had him positioned in such a way that wouldn’t allow him to get any leverage. He clawed at the door in a futile grab for a better position. So pathetic. What an utterly delicious sight. Ronald trembled around Sebastian, his whole body clearly aching for release, for movement, for anything. But as long as they were in danger of being overheard, Sebastian had no intention of moving an inch. There were still humans nearby, and they were closer than ever.

“Good god what was that?” One of the voices said.

“Sounds like there’s a dog scratching to get out.”

Sebastian chuckled at this. He felt Ronald’s body catch fire, the sheer humiliation of being heard rushing through him like an inferno. Sebastian dropped his hand from Ronald’s mouth, allowing him to make whatever noises he dared to make. The reaper convulsed, now fighting desperately on his own to swallow the cries that threatened to escape and reveal all.

“Did you hear that?” Sebastian’s fingers trailed down Ronald’s chin as he whispered, then curled around his throat, not choking, only resting. A reminder of who was in control. A collar, in a way. “They think you’re a dog.”

“Should we let the brute out?” Another voice asked.

Ronald tried to push Sebastian back from the door, but Sebastian had no intention of moving. Sebastian only pushed deeper into him, forcing Ronald flush against the door. This time he swallowed his cry, but only barely. His arms were trembling at the force of keeping himself up, his whole body falling apart from the overstimulation of Sebastian’s dual ministrations.

“’s not any of our business,” the first voice said. Sebastian felt every muscle of Ronald’s body loosen as relief spread through him. The footsteps started up again, then faded to nothing.

The room once again fell silent. Ronald squirmed in his arms like a cat who’d had too much attention. Sebastian wanted to see his face. He could only imagine those crimson cheeks, the humiliation in his eyes when they were overheard. He was disappointed to have missed it. Manhandling the poor reaper like a rag doll, Sebastian pulled him off his cock and turned him around to face him. His eyes had completely glazed over, his desire consuming him entirely. Sebastian brushed Ronald’s sweat slicked hair from his eyes to get a better look, and found a delicious fury staring back.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ronald spat.

Sebastian only grinned. “Would you like to do so now or wait until after you’ve come?”

Ronald grabbed Sebastian’s face and drew him into a forceful, desperate kiss. Then, just as he was pulling away, Ronald bit down hard, until Sebastian’s blood rushed into his mouth.

“Fuck you,” Ronald said in a shuddering whisper.

Sebastian tried to keep his expression as cold as possible, even though his own senses were so alight he was almost surprised to find himself bleeding blood and not flame. He dabbed his lip with his clean fingers, pretending he was more interested in his wound than the wanton, desperate reaper before him.

“Would you prefer to stop?” Sebastian asked. He only did so because he knew the answer was a resounding no, and delighted in the expression of horror that dawned on Ronald’s face. Sebastian laughed to himself, then leaned in and kissed the dip of Ronald’s throat. He wanted to coax a proper response out of Ronald, but he knew it would take too long to work around the reaper’s pride, and Sebastian knew even he wouldn’t last that long. Instead he lifted Ronald’s legs one at a time and wrapped them around his hips, then finally, blissfully, pushed his way back inside.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” Ronald hissed between his teeth.

Sebastian thrust hard to shut him up, and it seemed to do the trick.

It was hard to get any leverage in this position. As Sebastian ground against Ronald’s prostate, Ronald tightened his grip with his legs, barely allowing Sebastian any space to properly move. Sebastian felt like he was less thrusting and more rutting against Ronald, in a frantic animalistic fervour. He found himself having to move desperately quickly to compensate for the lack of depth. But it was worth it for Ronald’s response. Locked in like this, Sebastian’s cock was wedged firmly against his prostate, and every shallow grinding rut only massaged his most sensitive part, driving him madly towards bliss. He was shaking around Sebastian, barely managing to hold himself up. Sebastian drank in that expression, that semi-conscious bliss that drenched his every feature.

And then Ronald fell apart. Even though the walls of reality were steadily crumbling around him, Sebastian kept his eyes fixed on Ronald’s face as he reached his limit. Eyes clenched shut behind his fogged glasses, Ronald threw back his head, lips parted sweetly as his orgasm hit. He cried out with abandon, the sounds alone bringing Sebastian to breaking point.

Sebastian tried to reign himself  back, but it was too late for that. One final stroke was all it took before he too was lost in the unbelievable pleasure that was Ronald Knox. He claimed those lips once more and kissed him messily through his orgasm, continuing to rock his hips as he rode out every spike of pleasure. As he climbed down from that high seat of madness, Sebastian rested his head on Ronald’s shoulder again and tried to come to his senses.

“You alright there demon?” Ronald said with a breathy little laugh that made Sebastian want to claim him all over again. Sebastian didn’t offer any more of a reply other than to hum against his hot skin. He wanted to stay there. He could have even slept there, standing up in the supplies cupboard, had Ronald not started wriggling in his grip. Sebastian pulled out at last and let Ronald down. He suddenly felt like something drastic was missing from his life.

“Let me clean you up,” Sebastian said. It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do in this situation, even if his mind still felt foggy from his climax. But Ronald waved him away.

“It’s fine, I was going to bathe now anyway.” He pulled his underwear over the sticky mess, which had Sebastian wincing.

“I wasn’t aware that third class had bathing facilities.”

“They don’t.” Ronald wrinkled his nose, shrugging on his shirt, “I was planning to break into the baths in first class. Don’t dob me in.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sebastian waited for Ronald to dress. By comparison he had very little to do, save for buttoning up his trousers and retucking his shirt. Ronald caught him watching and cast him a lazy smile, one that Sebastian deliberately tried not to react to.

“Don't worry. We’ll be seeing each other again very soon,” Ronald said, draping his tie around his neck. “Try not to obsess over me in the meantime.”

“I’ve already forgotten you.”

Ronald laughed lightly and stretched onto his toes to kiss Sebastian on the cheek. Even after everything they’d just done that one tiny act of affection caught Sebastian off guard. Creatures like him didn’t deserve such tenderness. It was all wrong.

“You’ll remember me soon enough,” Ronald said lightly. “We’ll see quite a lot of each other the night after next.”

With Ronald fully clothed, and the hallway clear as far as Sebastian could detect, they shuffled out of the cupboard, and bid a final, awkward glance at each other. “The night after next then,” Sebastian said with a nod. Ronald winked, then turned and walked away.

The night after next. Strange that he’d lived so long and yet somehow that seemed so very far away.

Sebastian’s hand drifted absently to his cheek as he watched the reaper vanish around the corner. Still, Sebastian stared after him.

So very far away.

But what could he do except wait?

[dreamofcentipedes]

Red Lotus Blooms: 8 - Burning Bright

Summary: A monster is forged in flame. As light burns out, red leaves unfurl. Crossing paths once more, Tatara and Houji hurtle towards the end of the beginning, and the ashes of the past again burn bright.

Characters: Tatara, Houji, Eto, Noro, Arima, Donato

Rating: Teen Words: 8, 766 Link to AO3

Link to Table of Contents

A/N: FINAL CHAPTER! Thank you so much to all you readers, whether you've been here from the start, you hopped on partway through, or you're reading this in the future from start to finish - every comment and kudos I've received from you gave me the willpower to see this through to the end. 

A note on ages: here, Tatara is 17, Eto is 16, and Houji is 27. It's a little under 9 years before Kaneki goes on that fateful date.

Cochlea was a uniform place for diverse peoples. Prisoners sane but for their cannibalism, guards mad but for their wives and two children, it was a melting pot of the most absurd congregation of ghouls and humans alike. Its architecture, with its circling rows of identical doorways, looked bizarre in contrast by its very unremarkability. Perhaps the effect was intentional: to differentiate the prisoner from the prison, chaos from order. The guards would not play into that fantasy, however. Houji often found himself wondering who really needed protecting here: who should be outside the cells, and who should be within.

So it came as a strange relief to meet so disgusting a ghoul as the child-murdering Donato Porpora. For a brief moment, Houji could regain some sense of moral certainty.

“And you are Special Class Kousuke Houji, is that right?”

Houji inwardly flinched at the title that still felt so ill-fitting to him. This ghoul, with his elderly but dignified aspect and his calm smile that seemed to hold secret knowledge, made the honour feel especially rancid. Like he was comparing him with Special Class Wu, a comparison he knew in his heart of hearts to be true.

“Oh, did that have some kind of impact on you? I really can’t tell, your face is solid as a rock.” The ghoul seemed disappointed behind his mockery. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

“Priest.” Houji addressed him, smoothly cutting through his nonsense, firm, clear, impassive. “You know why I am here, and why you are being kept alive.”

“Nosiness as usual then, is it?” He threw back his head with a rasping cackle that echoed behind the glass screen that separated them in the interrogation room.

The balding Warden Koumura sat beside Houji, bored. Houji was sure he had better uses of his time, but it was advised that interrogations took place in groups of two, especially with this ghoul. Arima was unavailable as he was on patrol and, though he was not fond of Koumura, he was preferable to a guard like that savage Tokage. Ultimately, Koumura could not turn down a rule he was meant to impose.

“Have you heard about any ghoul plans to breach Cochlea? Or if anyone who would be stupid enough to try it?” Koumura spat. He was obviously sceptical about these rumours, but they were the reason Houji had been assigned there as extra security.

“Breach Cochlea?” The ghoul seemed interested, for very obvious reasons. “Where did you hear that?”

“First Class Arima overheard a group of ghouls discussing the plans before intercepting them. However, they were not wearing anything indicative of allegiance to any group we know of.” Houji clarified.

“How would I know, when you’ve been keeping me in here so long…” He grumbled.

“Rest assured, an attack will not succeed. This is a maximum security prison now being guarded by myself and one of our finest upcoming investigators. So, if a breach does occur and we discover that you hid something from us, you will have outlived your usefulness. Do you understand?”

That was the view of the brass, anyway. Sceptical about the likelihood of such a bold venture, they had only assigned Arima, since he had raised the concern, and one investigator of his choosing. He had chosen Houji, for reasons he could not decipher. But that was always the way with Arima.

“Come now, you can’t blame me for hating being trapped up in here. I know you do too.”

Houji could not deny it. Caging ghouls up like animals, the pointless torture that went on behind closed doors that everyone could hear regardless – why prolong their suffering so cruelly, so meaninglessly? He may have resigned himself to the reality of the CCG’s role as humanity’s brutish cudgel, but the ghouls could at least be given the decency of a quick death.

Koumura gave him a sceptical side-eye. Houji’s demeanour did not falter.

“Indeed. If I had it my way, you would no longer be with us, Priest. But that is not my decision to make. So we most both perform our given roles.”

He had only the right to observe, to observe and do his duty. He was part of this greater, twisted whole, and so he must accept responsibility for their sins if he wanted to continue serving the CCG regardless.

Donato hinted at a sickly smile. “If I’m not mistaken, you performed that duty spectacularly in China. Is that where you developed this selfless, or should I call it spineless, ideology?”

Houji narrowed his eyes. How did he know about China?

“I’ve never been, myself. Are things much different there?” The old man went on.

Exactly the same. The same as the Japan he had come back to, if not the one he had left.

As soon as he had stepped out of the aeroplane after landing at Narita, he was hit by the same hostile air. He had thought – wished, rather – that when he returned to Japan he would return to how he was before he left. It was now woefully apparent that the Japan he had known was lost forever. Or rather, the self he had known. He was forced to look at the world through this new set of tainted eyes.

“Priest, if you have nothing of worth to say then I will terminate this interrogation.” Houji was getting tired of talking to Donato. The more the Priest talked, the more unpleasant thoughts haunted Houji’s mind. But he would cede no such reaction for that man’s enjoyment. Those days of vulnerability were far behind him.

“You’re getting more and more useless to us every day. Keep that in mind.” Koumura growled in his bullying fashion.

Donato drooped his brows like a child being deprived of his toy. “How rude. I was just making conversation, Special Class. It was no small thing, taking out Chi She Lian. An organisation of that size…that’s a lot of death.”

Blood dripping through the floorboards. A severed head. A ring on a lifeless finger.

“Although – and this is just pure hearsay, mind – I hear that you couldn’t quite finish the job. The one that got away, hmm?”

Houji’s teeth clenched like a vice. How could he know? Before he had left Beijing, he had spent two weeks fruitlessly searching for Tatara Huo. Not a trace. That was the true ghost of China – the one that had not died. It could not end while he was still out there, somewhere, in the shadows, grieving, hating, mourning…

Donato’s lips turned fully upwards now. “Maybe there’s your culprit. That ghoul must want your head more than his own life. Maybe he’s risking everything breaching Cochlea just to kill you. Tie up those loose ends.” The ghoul looked Houji dead in the eye with an expression now serious. “Would you like that, Special Class?”

Houji sat wide-eyed, staring and speechless. These had to be mind games, surely: there was no way the ghoul could know this. But Houji could not help but wonder if it was possible. Whether Tatara could truly be in Tokyo. If it was to kill him, then, perhaps…

Before he could respond, a siren started blaring.

Koumura’s jaw dropped in horror and fearfully turned towards him for an answer. Houji’s body tensed as he understood what it meant. The Priest, at first surprised, burst out into raucous laughter.

“Well, I suppose you’re about to find out! Don’t hold it against me, gentlemen, there really is nothing more I could’ve done for you.”

Houji shot him an icy look with a face of otherworldly calm. “Please relinquish that smug expression, Priest. You’ve no need of it. You will not be escaping this facility today.”

Houji rose briskly out of his chair, grabbed his attaché case, and marched out of the room with Koumura scrambling after him. The door closed behind them with a slam as they exited onto the ground floor, and Houji looked up to the great gates at the top of the prison. Slowly but steadily, they were opening.

--

Like clockwork, the heavy gates on Cochlea’s roof opened exactly on time. Tatara could hardly believe it. Eto had promised she could do it with her ‘connections’, but she had refused to specify what they were no matter how hard Tatara grilled her. In the end he decided to allow her this modicum of trust and return on a different day if it failed - after he beheaded the girl for her deception. Yet it seemed that trust was well founded. He wondered if she might have orchestrated a riot among the prisoners or something of that nature, but it looked peaceful enough down the great fall encircled by rows and rows of jail cells. That is, until the guards noticed the doorway receding.

There was no time for standing around. Tatara beckoned for his cohort, the remaining rabble of Aogiri, to follow him down the sinkhole. He jumped, and two hundred red cloaks followed him.

The ghouls unleashed hell on the guards below. Storms of ukaku shards thundered down upon them, and quinque bullets shot upwards in return. There were casualties on both sides already, but Tatara had the element of surprise. He landed on the first elevated platform in the centre of Cochlea, and immediately began sprinting, his eyes darting around on all sides for Houji. Seeing the afterimage of a white coat disappear behind an opaque screen on a floor above, he quickly rammed his kagune through the five guards charging at him simultaneously, smoothly slid it out, and launched himself into the air to an astonishing height to follow him.

He landed with a crash onto the railing, and, raising his head, stared at the now visible face of the white-coated figure with surprise and anger.

“You’re-”

“Not Houji.” The bespectacled man finished, and cut Tatara open.

--

Houji pelted through the rain of shards as ghouls descended from above.  He could not understand how it happened. Were there ghouls strong enough to open the gates from the outside? After Loong, he could not doubt it. Guards rushed out into the fray, only for several to be impaled immediately. Arima was nowhere to be seen – his patrol had probably led him to the other end of the facility. More and more of the ghouls were landing on the ground floor, white-masked and red-cloaked.

If these ghouls spring some of the inmates…

There were immensely powerful ghouls being kept here. The S-Rate Tail Brothers. Tokage’s plaything, that S-Rate Jason. Not to mention the SS-Rate Priest. Iff even some of them were to escape, it could spell dire news for Tokyo. Houji could not let that happen.

He clicked open his attaché case, and drew out Douhi.

Special Class Zhao, who had miraculously survived Loong’s onslaught thanks to the quick feet of the other survivors in getting him medical attention, had presented Houji with three quinques before he left China. Seeing Zhao’s armless stump and remembering how he had failed to fulfil Zhao’s wish of putting a final end to Chi She Lian, Houji hardly felt like he deserved them, but Zhao had insisted on rewarding Loong’s slayer. Two of the quinques were unique as the results of new studies in quinque research which combined the kakuhou of one ghoul with the cell matter of another, allowing, for instance, an ukaku quinque to be augmented with the strength of a powerful bikaku ghoul.

Such was the case with Douhi, named for the lead researcher of the project. It was a long cannon in pale yellow with curved horns protruding from either side, and it was made from the ukaku kakuhou of a Chi She Lian ghoul and the cell matter of Fei Huo.

For this reason, too, China never left him.

He pummelled out shards from Douhi that rained and slashed through the ghouls charging towards him. Even so, they were quickly swarming the place. Guards unleashed quinques and fought all around him, some pushing forward, some giving ground. Koumura was barking orders but noticeably not fighting himself, his electric baton-style quinque hanging uselessly at his side. Kagune came darting towards Houji but he blew them apart with the force of his cannon, followed by the heads of their owners.

He swung around to obliterate another kagune spiralling towards him, but lost his momentum when he saw the monstrosity. It was huge, grotesque, with jagged teeth like razor blades. The moment of hesitation allowed it to smash Douhi out of his hands and send it clattering to the floor.

The kagune’s owner appeared briefly behind it, but there was nothing brief about the tall, pony-tailed figure with his eyeless, grinning mask. He looked like trouble. Houji glanced concernedly to the far edge of their arena where Douhi had fallen metres ahead of him, but the distance was too long and the fighting too thick to retrieve it, not to mention that his opponent blocked the way. There was no chance of fighting that thing without a weapon.

He saw Koumura shrinking against the wall on the periphery of the battle. If he’s not doing anything anyway…Houji caught his eye and shouted over the fray: “Quinques!” Koumura blinked and nodded frantically, and, hesitantly raising his baton, began fighting his way to the armoury on the same floor.

As Houji watched the eyeless figure stand stock still and swing his kagune around for another attack, Houji knew that until Koumura could retrieve the weapons he needed, he would have to be exceedingly careful. He turned and dashed behind him as the kagune hurtled in his direction. Pushing his way through the calamity of ghouls and guards, the kagune found itself lost, as if confused, unable to locate Houji in the fray. Houji punched away the ghouls surrounding him with his fists, constantly keeping up his pace, knowing that if he slowed down he was dead. Yet despite his efforts, the grinning ghoul’s kagune found him again and charged at him through the crowd – eating up guard, ghoul, and anything that stood in its way.

Thankfully, Houji had calculated everything just right. Or, almost just right. He still needed to leap to the floor before the kagune bit the air in front of him and could go no further. His python of a kagune had finally ran out length. This would have not been a handicap for any other ghoul, but this was one insisted on standing still, eery and overconfident. It cocked its head to the side, confused. But the victory did not last long. Houji scrambled up and began dashing into the crowd again as slowly, it began to walk forward.

Winding and weaving through the hordes of people, ducking kagune and quinque alike in the mad fury of combat, running at the greatest pace he could muster, Houji was quickly becoming exhausted and wondered how much longer he could keep up. Finally, he heard the shout of a familiar voice over the cacophony, calling his name.

Houji leapt up and made himself as visible as he could. Before the fat kagune could devour him, Koumura hurled him two attaché cases, one of which he caught in the air. When he hit the ground, he clicked the release and sliced the toothy maw leering over his head in half. No matter how strong his opponent was, it was no match for Chi She.

The second of the hybrid quinques Zhao had given him was a koukaku-type quinque with a broad blade outlined in red and a segmented silver guard attached to a lengthy pole. Houji had recognised the quinque at first sight, save for the red. It was the poleaxe he had used to kill Loong. The already extant quinque was, in an act of grotesque irony, infused with the cell matter of its victim to create Chi She, named for the organisation that it both led and destroyed.

There was little that Loong’s claws could not cut through. Houji blitzed his way through the obstructing ghouls and darted towards the grinning ghoul, whose attention was still fixed on his mutilated kagune. With a single heavy slash, he separated the ghoul’s torso from his pelvis.

When it fell to the floor with a thud, Houji allowed himself a moment to breathe. But almost immediately, he could tell something was not right. The ghoul’s legs were still standing.

The thin strand of flesh that still stood between the two halves began retracting at an incredible speed, swinging up the ghoul’s top half with it. Squelching, the torso reattached itself, and the bloody gash regenerated as if nothing had happened. The ghoul cracked its neck.

Houji looked on in horror. What on earth was this ghoul? Such regenerative abilities were far beyond the purview of typical ghoul biology. He readied Chi She in a defensive stance as he saw his kagune regenerate instantaneously as well. He was preparing for the worst, when he heard a girl’s voice call out:

“It’s okay, Noro, I’ll deal with this one.”

The ghoul jumped backwards, and a colossal mass crashed down in front of Houji. Instinctively, he shielded himself from the blast force, but when he turned his eyes upward again he saw a thin, grinning face whose slobbering tongue alone was almost the size of his head. Houji fell back to create some distance and examined the monster in full view.

The great white behemoth was draped in a burgundy cloak, with four enormous kagune like spider legs ripping out from its sides and a set of shorter ones bursting from the top like flower petals. Its face was made up of an elongated chin, a set of four horns, and a single mad red eye. Thin arms like bird legs served as the creature’s arms while its legs were obscured by the cloak. Suffice it to say, he was dealing with a kakuja – and no ordinary one at that.

“Hooouuujiii-kun!” The creature sung in a distorted sing-song voice. Houji flinched at the recognition. How can it know me?

But then, he was thinking he was starting to recognise it as well. He had never seen it before, but he had heard the reports of the creature that had killed the wife of his mentor Mado in Houji’s absence. Could this thing be that One-Eyed Owl?

“I can’t kill you or Tatara will be pissed, so don’t worry! I’m just going to rough you up for a bit, okay?”

Tatara?

Had this thing – just said…

“Is Tatara Huo in this building?” Houji questioned desperately.

“Oh, oopsy, I said too much. Well, can’t have you interfering. Lights out for now, Houji-kun!”

The monster swung one of its chicken legs towards him and Houji lifted Chi She’s great weight just in time to block it. The force still sent him skidding across the floor, and before he knew it, one of its arachnid kagune descended on him from above. There was no time to block this one, and Houji felt his ribcage reverberate as he was knocked across the floor.

He barely had time to recover before the creature was on him again, laughing in crazed delight. Its size did not seem to impact its speed at all, and it was all Houji could do to dodge while its sledgehammer kagune came crashing down like lightning. Still, if he could avenge Associate Special Class Kasuka…

And yet, while Houji knew that was where his mind should be, it was not. He could only think of the name she had mentioned. The unfinished business which kept the memories of China swinging over his head like the sword of Damocles. Tatara. He was here. That damnable priest had been right. He was here, just for the sake of killing him; and here Houji was, fighting some other ghoul entirely.

He could make out openings in his foe’s defence, but he could not take advantage of them: because for every brief moment of rest his eyes were on the railings of Cochlea above him, searching for a white-cloaked figure amongst those endless rows of grey.

When at last, he saw him.

White cloak. White hair. Red mask. And the awed hatred burning in his eyes when they briefly met with his. Without a doubt, it was Tatara Huo. The heir of Chi She Lian was in Tokyo.

And he was fighting Arima.

This was bad. Arima was too strong, even for a Huo. Houji had seen his skill firsthand in the Clown Operation, and he had been promoted two ranks since then after forcing this very same Owl to retreat in their last encounter. Sure enough, he could already see Arima’s strikes ripping Tatara apart; at this rate, if Houji did not get up there in time, Tatara would die at the hands of a complete stranger. He could not allow that. It had to be him. For Tatara’s sake, and his own.

The Owl was quick to exploit his distraction. A clawed hand smashed him down into the Cochlea floor, and he coughed up blood as pain quivered through him. Then it hoisted him into the air, lifting him by his collar above its ecstatic face, its overgrown tongue licking the bone where its lips should be.

“Ah, but you know…I am hungry…”

There was no time for this. Houji had to leave. So with one sudden swing, he cleaved its tongue in two.

“AaaaaaAaAAAAAAAAAAAAAeEEEEEEEEEEiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIII”

The ghoul gave a cartoonish scream as it shook the blood off its broken tongue to splatter onto the floor, and in that gory mass followed Houji. His coat and suit thoroughly bloodsoaked, as the ghoul raged he pulled himself out of the red water and called for Koumura. The Warden, holding his own against the ghouls surrounding him and the remaining guards, perked his head up.

“I’ve spotted a highly dangerous ghoul. Please hold off the ghouls here before I get back!”

For all his personal failings, the Warden was an Associate Special Class Investigator. Backed up by his guards, he should be able to handle the heat for a time, at least. That was what Houji told himself. The Warden’s face went completely pale.

“But this is a highly dangerous ghoul!”

Houji paused in his dash for the stairs, and tossed Koumura his Chi She, which he caught between fumbling hands.

“You won’t lose with this.” Houji assured him, and ran for the other attaché case which Koumura had thrown to him before. It felt right, that this should be the one to end it.

He clicked the release, and Hollow swirled up his arm.

This was the third of the quinques Zhao had bestowed upon him. Wu had written a proper testament after all, albeit just a list of curt demands utterly devoid of sentiment. One of those sundry requests was that Houji inherit her quinque. No reason given. Whether it was out of any fondness for him, or if it was meant to teach him some kind of lesson, or if it was just some incomprehensible prank, Houji could not tell. To the end, he could not understand that woman. But if Hollow would put her killer to rest, that would ease the memory of yet another lost soul.

Leaving Koumura hacking away at his enemies with Chi She, Houji ran through the door to the stairway. He only prayed that he would make it in time.

--

Houji. He had seen Houji. Through the rage of blood and searing pain, Tatara was sure he had caught his eye. He was fighting some enormous ghoul, probably one of the escapees. Tatara had followed the smell to where he was: the smell that had filled his soul with such a confused anguish. He was sure that, somehow, after this long, long, year, he had smelled his brother and sister again.

For a brief, fantastical moment, Tatara imagined that they had somehow been returned to life. That they had come here to save him. When that beautiful dream was deflated and Tatara realised the gruesome truth, he went through the pain of losing his family all over again. There was only one thing it could really mean.

Kousuke Houji had perverted the bodies of his family into his personal ghoul-killing weapons.

Knowing this, he could not abide Houji’s breath a second longer. He could no longer waste time on this immovable enemy. But every time he tried he tried to turn his back on the dove, the dove would burn his back to smithereens.

His quinque was a peculiar model made from four metal planks that came together to form a lance and split apart to fire balls of electricity. The combination of short-distance and long distance fighting techniques, as utilised by the tremendous skill of its wielder, rendered any of Tatara’s attempts to either attack or escape completely useless.

Some of his hits Tatara managed to dodge within a hair’s breadth; but most connected. He could barely stand from all the wounds littered across his body. Great stretches of flesh were torn off and blackened from the force of the thunderstorm bursting from his quinque. There were huge gashes across crucial tendons in his arms and legs, and more than he could count across his chest. His face, too, had a disfiguring scar slashed straight across it that set his eyeballs stinging like they had in front of the burning house at Yangshuo. That was the last time he had ever felt so helpless. It was as if all the strength he had tireless worked to gain had evaporated in an instant.

I still can’t accomplish a single thing.

The dove, on the other hand, was completely unharmed.

Tatara collapsed to the floor with another shock from the lightning quinque. His loathing for the dove for holding him back from Houji yet again had been overwhelmed by an almost religious sense of fear. No single person could be this powerful. As he struggled to raise his head from the ground, the man stepped over him, all in white, with the light shining off his glasses and his lance still buzzing with power. The image was godlike.

He felt, then, that more than Houji, more than himself, this was the true face of Death. This man not much older than himself, with his long blue hair and cold mien, was assuredly the reaper. And to think they had crossed paths out of such random chance…

“You’re sturdy, aren’t you…” The reaper murmured as he raised his quinque over Tatara’s head.

He could not die this way. He could not die at the hands of some stranger dove, not after coming all this way. Not with Houji still breathing. He would not let even the reaper deny him that right.

Tatara’s kagune blasted from his back and slammed into the quinque, scattering it to the floor. The dove looked to where the weapon clattered away in mild surprise and dashed to retrieve it. This was Tatara’s window of opportunity. He pulled himself up, and, with a draconic roar, activated his kakuja.

The flesh was not half-formed around him before the dove sliced off all of his limbs. Tatara’s roar vanished into the air. The reaper had already retrieved his quinque and closed the distance.

It was over.

As something shattered within Tatara’s soul, his waking mind plunged into oblivion.

--

By the time Houji finally reached the railing where he had seen Tatara fighting, it was empty. Blood coated the cold metal, but there was neither ghoul nor investigator to be seen, dead or alive. He looked into the distance left and right, clutched the edge of the barrier and searched up and down for any sign of the two. There was nothing.

Houji yelled a cry of frustration that was lost beyond his throat, soundless and impotent. He hung his head in remorse that he had come too late again. And when he did, he bore witness to the bloodbath below.

Koumura, and all the guards who had fought with him, lay dead, their bodies bloody and savaged. The carcass of that mutant kakuja lay splayed out amidst the carnage. A little girl wrapped in bandages skipped over the abundance of death with the ghoul in the grinning mask in tow. Some of the ghouls had joined their victims, but not nearly so many.

As soon as he saw it, he was snapped back to his senses, and he knew he should have never gone after Tatara. That Priest had scrambled his brains. If he had simply stayed where the battle needed him most, this tragedy could have been avoided.

Raising his head, he saw ghouls spread out all across the facility, running towards cells and smashing open their windows. Houji realised with horror that it had only been a portion of their forces he had fought on the ground floor, and that first and foremost, it had served as a distraction. He had been so concerned with keeping the Priest and his fellow SS Rates behind bars, the ghouls had exercised free rein over the rest of the prison, releasing C Rates and B Rates and A Rates and S Rates alike.

There were more guards than those who had fought with Koumura, but they were evidently ill-equipped to deal with the threat, and there was no sign of Arima. That left it to him. He readied Hollow.

This was the last time, he swore. The last time he ever let his conscience get the better of him.

Pulling the trigger, he unleashed hell from above.

--

When Tatara awoke, it was dark, and it was raining.

He lifted himself off the ground with the stubs of his half-regenerated arms as the water assaulted his face like tears. He could not see anything in the blackness. Wherever he was, it was not Cochlea.

He had failed to kill Houji.

He tried to stand, but his legs were only stumps, too. Pathetically, he fell head first into the watery concrete with a clang of his mask, grazing his already swollen face. How did he end up like this? He tried to lift himself again.

“Kishou really did a number on you, huh, Tatara?”

Tatara started at the voice, and almost fell over again. He recognised it. That crooning, mocking tone was the last thing he needed right now. He ignored her and drew out his kagune. He smashed it into the paving stones, dragging his incomplete body behind it.

“Woah woah woah, where are you going?” She asked. Tatara could just see her through the darkness by the single glow of her red eye.

“Cochlea. To kill Houji. Where else.” He growled. His throat was coarse, his voice pained and too quiet to sound as firm as he intended.

“Ugh, seriously? And here I thought we taught you a lesson. You’re a stubborn bastard, I’ll give you that. Stubborn and foolish.”

Tatara twisted his form around in bewildered anger. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he could see the outline of her mummified form. In the shadowlight, those rabbit ears on her hood made her look like some kind of devil.

“What – are you saying…?”

“I’m saying my buddy just fucked you up, on my orders.”

Tatara’s eyes dilated. That couldn’t be. There was no way that could be.

“How do you think we got into Cochlea in the first place, numbskull? He let us in. Kishou Arima is my partner in crime. Oh, but don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

A dove? Working with a ghoul? It was impossible. Unheard of. She was lying. She had to be lying, messing with his head.

“I started the fight.” He argued back, between coughs of blood he caught in his mask. “I came to him.”

“And you saw him because he was on his way to fight you. Oh, and for the record, that’s why I positioned him there in the first place. Told him to spread some rumours about an impending ghoul attack on Cochlea, and to bring Houji along, of course.”

Tatara was becoming furious. What was she saying? She had been orchestrating the situation, the whole time?

“Ah,” she continued rambling, “he was a bit of a wildcard, though. We weren’t able to rescue as many ghouls as we wanted because of him. He killed one of our guys for every prisoner we sprung, which was kind of a pain. But this,” her eye shone down at him through the darkness, “this makes it all worth it.”

Tatara lost it. He ripped his kagune from the concrete and sent it swirling around Eto, trapping her in the same constrictor hold as before. She stood motionless in its folds as the dirge of heavy rain resounded around them.

“What are you talking about?” He screamed. “You only went to Cochlea because I made you!”

“No,” Eto responded unperturbed, and in a flash she suddenly expanded. A gigantic kagune emerged from her back and swung up her arm, knotted and swollen, the size of a car, with hundreds of branches like withered trees and human hands. Tatara’s kagune hold was broken in an instant, and the hand at the head of Eto’s abomination now caught Tatara’s throat and hoisted him into the air.

“You went to Cochlea because I tricked you.”

Tatara thrashed uselessly, wheezing for air. He could not breathe. Everything burned. The monster beneath him grinned with a daemoniacal aspect. It was dark. It was cold. He could not move his arms. He could not move his legs. Why was this happening?

“We’d planned to infiltrate Cochlea for ages. How else would we have been able to do it in two days’ time? When you wouldn’t join us the first time, I asked Kishou to plant himself and Houji in Cochlea so you would come along on this little mission of ours. He heard all about your past from Houji, and I heard all about it from him. I wanted nothing better than to snatch the object of your desire right from under you, exactly when you were so close to dying just the way you want. Then, I wanted to really teach you about death. That was Kishou’s specialty. So he sliced you up good and proper and gave you back to me before I made my getaway, which brings us up to now.”

Tatara hated the woman below him more than even Houji at that moment. He hated her for going to such lengths just to make him suffer, and when he thought about how he had fallen for every trap she had set, he began to fear her too.

“Then you – you let me win?!”

“Duh, and the drones you killed were far from my best people, either. After you tried so hard turning them into charcoal and taking down Noro, I decided I didn’t want to deny you your victory. Nothing better than a shot of overconfidence to show you how unprepared you really are. You were always joining me in Cochlea, whether you agreed to come along, I made you come along, or I tricked you into coming along and let you think it was your own idea. I figured the last option would be the best one. I wanted to break you in the right way.” Under her bandages, she seemed to lick her lips. “I am an author, after all.”

The world distorted below Tatara. Amidst the shadows he thought he could see an army of demons, and the sky began undulating like a sea of fire. Between the hell in the sky and its spawn on the ground, Eto’s small form seemed to flare up like a rising flame, synchronising with the twisted form of her gargantuan arm.

“Ah, but Tatara,” her voice seemed to carry on the red ocean, rising, “I didn’t do this because I hate you or anything. Actually, I really like you. I really want you to join Aogiri Tree. That’s why I did it.”

It was all sound to Tatara. Senseless sound. The primal religious terror that Tatara had felt with Arima, he now felt with Eto. They had the power to mean nothing at all.

Eto released her grip, and with panic Tatara came crashing to the ground, smacking his head against the concrete. It made him dizzy, but he retained enough consciousness to see the form of the blurred demon in front of him approach with the scores of laughing night behind her. She lifted his chin, and brought her faceless face close to his, boring her red eye into his own.

“Your brother and sister sacrificed themselves for you, but how are you using that life? You’re running around like a mad dog, living in pits and on roadsides, biting strangers just for the sake of biting them. You justify it to yourself, if it’s all for the sake of killing Houji, Houji, Houji, Houji. But this has nothing to do with Houji. It’s not for the sake of your family either. I think, Tatara, deep down, you really just want to kill yourself. Am I wrong?”

“Y-You are-”

“Not.” Eto cut him off. “I can see it. In these.” She brought out two fingers, and pressed them hard into Tatara’s eyes. He screamed.

“Don’t you think your brother would have wanted you to continue the legacy of Chi She Lian? Don’t you think that’s why he protected you? You can’t do that alone, but that’s exactly what you’re doing. Chi She Lian wanted to build a better world for ghouls, but you couldn’t care less about that. You don’t even care about avenging their deaths. If you kill Houji along the way, well, that’s a plus, but when push comes to shove, you want to fight Houji so you can die against Houji and join your family in the pit.”

“N-no, that’s not-“ He shouted out desperately in his blindness.

“True.” Eto cut him off. “It’s true. I can taste it. In these.”

Tatara felt fingers tugging at his mask, and he heard its metallic clatter on the pavement. Then he felt something warm descend on his lips. It sucked on them like seawater, and something wormish slipped in, sliding against Tatara’s tongue, tugging it forwards. He felt compelled to reciprocate. He just wanted something warm to cling onto. Everything hurt. His body. Her words. Everything.

It was lasting too long, and he was struggling to breathe again. But when the warmth left him and he heaved for air, he missed it with a paranoid intensity. He moved his lips motionlessly.

“Want more?” He heard Eto’s voice coo down to him.

He nodded frantically, dignity long gone, desperate only for the warm bosom of something like love.

“I’ll give you more.” Came her voice, maternal and soothing.

He felt something touch his bottom lip, but it was not warm. It was cold, and sharp, and it stabbed right through it. Tatara screamed.

“Sh, sh, sh, sh.” Eto whispered softly in his ear. “No more noise. I’ll do your speaking for you.”

Then she began to sing.

“Tyger, tyger, burning bright,”

He could feel string being pulled through the hole behind the needle, and then the same pain on his top lip.

“In the forest of the night,”

He felt too terrified to scream any more, and after each stab came the string, closing up his mouth, one by one.

“What immortal hand or eye,”

He did not know if he would ever be able to scream again.

“Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

Her movements stopped, and Tatara knew that the stitching must be complete. He was too horrified to risk speaking, so she spoke for him, whispering the words he needed to hear.

“You can still atone, Tatara, you can still honour your family’s legacy. I mean to change the world through Aogiri. There are forces at work that only Kishou and I know about, who want to keep everything exactly the way it is. Aogiri is the only organisation that can stop them. The only force that can truly save our species. We will create the world Yan wanted to see.”

Her voice calmed Tatara even through the residual agony burning on his lips. Here, it sounded soft, honest, itself pained, unlike the ruthless mockery and interrogation of before.

“You’re lost, confused, lashing out after everything was taken from you. I understand, I used to be the same. But it’s okay now. I’ll make everything better. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

The pressure lifted from Tatara’s eyeballs, and he opened them with a flutter of fear. He could see Eto lit up beneath the fire-sky, her bandages unravelling to reveal her bare skin and her beautiful face, looking at him gently through one green eye and one red. Tatara breathed faintly through his stitched mouth in awe.

“I will become your God.”

At that moment, he thought he fell in love with her.

--

Three days after the assault on Cochlea, Special Class Houji stared out from his office window at an afternoon sky awash with the first splashes of sunset. The redness of its waves sank his mind even deeper in its ruminations. He had only one thought that came with fire.

His office was otherwise empty, save for the entry, to his surprise, of First Class Arima. They hailed each other in greeting as Arima walked over to Houji’s desk.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Special Class Washuu.”

“Oh?”

Arima pre-empted his question. “The guarding of Cochlea was my operation, so it was only me that they questioned. They didn’t blame you for its failure at all.”

They should, Houji thought to himself guiltily. It felt as though he was constantly being lifted up by others and protected for his misdeeds. A demotion or two would have been more than warranted.

Arima seemed to notice his fallen face. “Our conduct was not subjected to scrutiny. The other Special Classes are unanimous that we mediated the damage as best we could. It was Koumura and his lax administration that was lacking. He should have taken the threat more seriously, and, so Special Class Washuu said, so should have his father the Chairman. But with the number of ghouls you killed in particular, they are certain many more would have been released were it not for your presence.”

Arima spoke with nothing like consolation or pity, but in the same controlled, professional voice he always had. It made Houji feel more confident in his judgement. Although ghouls as dangerous as Jason and the Tail Brothers had made it out, he had at least kept his promise to the Priest, who was still rotting away in his cell curmudgeonly.

Despite that, he knew his inner sin. And despite that, he still could not stop himself from asking, one last time:

“First Class Arima, thank you for your words. But I still have one question, if I may.”

Arima looked down at him expressionlessly. “Go on.”

“What happened to the ghoul I saw you fighting with? It had a white cloak with a flame pattern, and a red iron mask.”

There was a hint – just a hint - of surprise in his reaction. “Ah, that one. It got away. It was surprisingly strong.”

“Even for you?”

Arima gave a polite, artificial smile. “Even for me.”

Houji gave such a smile of his own as he turned his attention back to the reddening sky.

“Thank you, First Class Arima.”

“Special Class.” Came Arima’s voice in acknowledgement, followed by his receding footsteps.

Too strong for Arima…

If that was true, Tatara would already be his brother’s equal. Houji turned his gaze to the cases containing the quinques he had retrieved from Cochlea, and remembered all the blood that had been spilt to make them. When the day came to finally end this struggle, he knew much more would follow.

When the day comes.

For now though, Houji knew better than to try and rush things to a conclusion. For now, he would pursue his duties in the CCG to the utmost of his ability, just as he always had, and put his personal desires aside. One day, he knew, he would finally meet Tatara in battle; but he would come to that day the long way round.

Forgive me, Tatara. I cannot give you peace yet.

--

The lotuses were in bloom.

Full red colour burst brilliantly on the flowers floating in the pond. Their leaves were stained as if from blood, but they had become something beautiful. Tatara pondered how far they had come since the shrivelled shrubs of the Yangshuo retreat. The flowers may be different, but his eyes were the same.

“Ah, he’s here.”

Eto’s voice called to him from the side. She was not wearing her bandages today, but appeared to him as he first saw her – or not quite. She too had bloomed. In what he had once seen as a childish nuisance he now saw the very spirit of power.

There was only one who could rival her. At the top of the slope from the forested alcove, where the pond lay hidden in the empty cemetery, stood the white-coated form of the reaper. Standing there, Kishou Arima appeared as a concentrated sunbeam, radiant in burning majesty. Tatara could truly believe he was the One-Eyed King.

There was much to this world Tatara had not known which Eto had shown him. V. The Washuu clan. Half-ghouls and half-humans. She told him about her past and Arima’s both, and about their plan, to raise a successor to achieve their dream of uprooting that warped root and creating a peaceful world for ghouls. He was reminded of how Yan had groomed him for that very similar role, and had saved him, in the end, for that purpose.

He and Eto ascended the slope to meet Arima. The King could not come down to his subjects. When they reached the top of the hill, Tatara fell on one knee before him.

“Welcome, Tatara.”

“King.” He responded with deference, his voice muffled behind his mask and stitched mouth. Now that he had fully regenerated, he was presentable for the ceremony. Eto had even ordered a new robe to be spun for him for the occasion; but not an Aogiri one. It was a Chi She Lian robe, decorated with the same licking flames at the bottom, but free from all the dirt, filth and blood of his old one.

“You seek to join Aogiri Tree?”

“If I may have that honour.”

“The honour would be ours.” Arima’s face was pensive. “I have heard you are a ghoul of ambition. Certainly, besides Eto you are the strongest ghoul I have fought in my career. Few have lasted so long against me. But, you are not the heir we are looking for. Do you still wish to join us?”

Tatara knew as much from Eto. That was another reason she had him fight Arima: they had decided that the messiah they needed was a ghoul strong enough to kill him. Again like Yan, their commitment to their mission extended beyond the parameters of their own lives. But Tatara had not managed to lay a dent in Arima. Despite Yan’s hopes, he was not the saviour the ghoul world needed.

“I do, King.”

His insufficiency for that role had been hammered into him excruciatingly in his one-sided ‘fights’ with Arima and Eto both, but he had found peace with it now. There was another way to honour Yan’s legacy.

He would take on the role Yan did. He would advance the cause of Aogiri Tree to raise up the true messiah, who would finally save the ghouls from their damnation to torment and tragedy that Tatara knew so well. Yan had thrown him into the fire to make him strong enough to survive, and that was what Tatara meant to do this world. How had Eto put it? To take this fucked up, piece of shit world, fuck it up even more and then give it a factory reset.

“Your humility does you credit. It is a small organisation yet, but I have full confidence that you can take it to greater heights.”

Arima released his attaché case, and brought out his lance-like quinque. Tatara did not flinch.

“In honour of your strength, your heritage, and the role you played in the honourable cause of our martyred comrades in Chi She Lian, I hereby dub you a leader of Aogiri Tree.”

Arima tapped his quinque lightly on each of Tatara’s shoulders. The honour surprised him. He felt greatly humbled. Eto was smiling widely at him, and he was glad his mask obscured the blood he felt rushing to his cheeks.

“Looks like we’ll be working together closely, Tatara.”

Arima nodded. “The two of you and Noro will bring the organisation forward while I maintain my cover in the CCG.”

“King, I will not squander this honour you have given me.” Speaking so ceremonially, Tatara felt like he was performing once more in the disciplined rites of Chi She Lian. It gave his life an order he desperately needed.

Arima gave another nod and looked towards the sunset. “With that settled, I should be leaving. Oh, one last thing.” He fixed Tatara with a steady gaze. “Houji asked after you.”

Tatara lowered his head.

“Is that so?”

“Do you still want to kill him?

There was no doubt about that. He could never forgive the lives he took from him, especially not after he made them into his quinques. But he had already seen where haste had taken him. He turned his eyes upwards again.

“The work of Aogiri Tree comes first and foremost.”

Now he had a real reason to live, there was no need to rush things. He would continue the work of Chi She Lian first and foremost, and take his revenge the long way round. His God was different now. Arima gave a small smile, and Eto did too.

“I see.” Arima responded. “Then, fare well, Tatara. I wish you luck.”

“King.” Tatara lowered his head again in respect. When he looked up again, he could see Arima’s snow-white back descending down the cemetery path. They waited by the pond fo r a little while longer to put distance between them.

Tatara rose and felt his shoulders. A leader of Aogiri Tree. Arima had given him quite the gift. He had been blessed, many times over, and not just by Arima. His very ability to stand there that day, watching the lotuses float by and the sky fall into deeper depths of red – his life itself – was a agift to him from Fei. The purpose symbolised by his robes and the mask he felt on his face were given to him by Yan. And the stitches he stroked beneath it were bestowed upon him by Eto.

They carried her unique scent. They smelled of human and ghoul, of blood and of lotus petals.

Looking back, it was scents like this one that Tatara had followed from the start. The smell of the flowers had taken him to the catfish pond, and the odour of blood had taken him to that ghoul in the alleyway. The stink of power and vengeance had summoned him to the Longxia’s den, whereas Fei had merely followed Tatara’s scent, and Yan a scent greater than either of them could detect. The doves followed that bloody miasma to Xuhangli, the same reek that brought Eto to him; and the whiff of Houji’s blood, blended with that of his family, had brought Tatara to Cochlea. Everywhere, anywhere, the strength of their noses had led them to destruction.

But even so, he wanted to see where Eto’s scent would lead him. That predatory instinct to follow the smell of something more was common to ghouls and humans alike, and he could no more defy it than he could shut out the roaring of the flames that burned in his brain since that fateful day in Yangshuo. No matter where it took him, he knew that the smell she was following came from something real, if just out of sight. So he would follow the smell of her. With these stitches, she had given him the promise of a new world.

She turned to him as the burning sky cast her in a light as terrible and beautiful as herself.

“Let’s go, Tatara.”

“Mm.”

Together, they walked down the graveyard path beneath the setting sun, towards the great ghoul dawn.

[jesus-otaku]

I feel so productive guess what I finished!!

I finished another fanfic chapter!!!!

It’s not one of the more popular ones I’ve written but I love it all the same and I am so happy I got this done. It needed some love.

Title: Shut Up and Dance (Part 2)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Word count: 2923

This is the prequel/origin story for this swing dance AU fic: (x)

Part 1 is here: (x)

My personal playlist for this part: (x) (x) (x) (x)

Also available on AO3: (x)

I’m seriously so proud of myself for finishing this, I’ve been in such a slump lately that this is like a miracle. This is a miraculous fanfic in more than one sense of the term now.

“Besides, I've got to start making a name for myself. Won't be too long before I have to fend for myself in the grand old world. Might as well get a head start now.”

________________________

“Noir?” the director echoed when Lucie asked him about the mysterious student who had interrupted their practice. He made a face like something rancid had been stuck under his nose. “What on earth do you want to know about him for?”

“It's a long story,” Lucie answered, trying to sound dismissive. On the inside, she was practically vibrating with impatience. She needed to find him. She had to know if her guess was right or not. Otherwise she was going to go crazy wondering. “Please?”

The director sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lucie wondered if he was getting a headache, and if the student he called “Noir” was the cause of it. “Destin Noir is a senior performing arts student. He used to be a theater concentration—that lasted for all of a semester. Now he's going for a dance concentration. And of all the vexing, arrogant, pretentious students I've ever met in that department, he's the worst. He's one of the most talented students we've ever had, and he knows it, and he flaunts it. Five minutes around him and you'd see what I mean. You'd want to punch him. You don't want to meet him, trust me.”

Lucie bit her lip against the protests she wanted to voice. He hadn't seemed that way at the dance club. Yes, he was talented, and yes, he could be a little cocky, but it hadn't been nearly so bad as to make her want to hit him. But then, she supposed, she might be mistaken, and this Noir might have nothing to do with Kwami Dance Club or the Chat Noir she'd met there.

But those eyes and that damned smirk …

“Thank you,” she said. “I'll take that into consideration.”

~

Most of the seniors who were sitting in the hall outside the dance auditorium waiting for their turns gave Lucie odd or dirty looks as she passed. She shrank under their eyes. It was painfully obvious that they didn't think she was meant to be there, and what made it worse was that they were right. She had no business snooping around like this. She wondered what Fu would have said. He was so insistent about the aliases at the dance club that she wasn't sure what he would say about her trying to figure out Chat Noir's identity. Probably he would have been disappointed if he knew. But she tried not to think about that. It was Chat Noir who had come barging in on her civilian life first, she reasoned to herself, so if he was found out he only had himself to blame.

As soon as she stepped inside the auditorium, she felt her jaw drop.

It was definitely him.

A wildly fast-paced jazz tune was playing over the auditorium speakers. Onstage was the student who had walked in on her class' acting practice. And he was dancing with unbelievable, split-second precision that told her there was not a single day that went by without him practicing. It wasn't the dull, bored precision of someone who had practiced to the point of tiring of the choreography, though. He was grinning in that devilish way that Lucie recognized from her nights at Kwami Dance Club, and every movement was full of energy and exuberance. She felt her way to the nearest auditorium seat without taking her eyes off him, and sat down to watch him finish.

It didn't take long for him to notice her. Lucie wondered how he could see much of anything past the stage when all the stage lights were so blindingly bright. But his eyes fell on her in the middle of a tight spin, and she saw his eyebrows snap up in surprise. The smirk slipped for one brief instant. He didn't lose any of his precision, though, and he finished the rest of his dance as easily as he'd begun.

The professor who was watching from the front row gave him a small smattering of applause. “You're golden, Noir. Don't know why I bothered having you come for rehearsals today. Although … well, something was off about those faces you were making towards the end there. But you don't usually do that, so I'm not too worried. Just something to keep in mind for our next practice.”

“Will do,” he promised, but he wasn't looking at the professor. He was staring straight at Lucie. “Am I done here?”

“I see no reason to make you stay.” The professor jerked his thumb towards the doors. “Get out of here and enjoy the sunshine. And send Lemoine in on your way out, will you?”

Noir had already hopped off the stage and was on his way to the exit on Lucie's side of the auditorium. “Sure thing, professor.” When he reached Lucie, he gave the smallest of hand signals for her to follow him, and continued on his way out of the room. Lucie scrambled to her feet and followed him out.

He didn't say anything at first, just kept walking down the hall until he stopped in front of one of the girls waiting there to murmur a few brief words to her. The girl jumped to her feet and headed into the auditorium. Then he looked back to see if Lucie was still following, and left the theater. Once they were out on the green in front of the theater, he stopped and swiveled to face her. “All right, little lady, may I ask why you're following me?” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You're a freshman, aren't you? A little young to be chasing after a senior, don't you think?”

Lucie wondered if he was trying to play dumb. Didn't he recognize her the way she'd recognized him? She'd thought so, when she'd seen his reaction in the auditorium. Why was he trying to act like he didn't know her? “I'm not chasing after you,” she answered. “Not like that, anyway. You're Chat Noir, right? From Kwami Dance Club?”

If her guess was right, he showed no signs of it. He just raised an eyebrow at her dubiously. “Do I look like a cat to you?” he replied.

“That's not—come on, you have to recognize me. The girl you've been teaching? Ladybug? It's me.”

He still didn't show any signs of recognizing her, and Lucie began to wonder if somehow, unbelievably, she had been mistaken. She had been so sure. How could it not be him? Then she caught the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes, and she realized he was toying with her. Oh, he knew who she was, all right, and he was messing with her to see how long it would take her to get him to admit it.

“Doesn't ring a bell,” he said. “What kind of a name is Ladybug, anyway? Your parents must have been pretty cruel if they named you after a beetle.”

“That's not—you know as well as I do that that's an alias!” The director had been right. She did want to punch him. “Come on, I know you know me. You called me little lady a minute ago.”

He shrugged. “I call any girl shorter than me 'little lady.' Doesn't make you any more special than any other short girl on campus.” Lucie gaped at him incredulously, fumbling for a retort, and he turned to leave. “See you around, little ladybug. Good luck with that one-act play of yours.”

“Wait a—come back here! I wasn't finished—”

“My professor told me to go enjoy the sun,” he said, “and that's exactly what I plan to do. Besides, don't you have a practice of your own to go to? If I remember freshman drama class correctly, there should be a play rehearsal going on right about now.”

Lucie looked down at her watch, and cursed. He was right. She was going to be late. As much as she wanted to go after him and drag him back over here until he admitted he was Chat Noir, she couldn't.

She was going to have to hunt down the elusive cat some other time.

~

Things were tense the next time Lucie stepped into Kwami Dance Club. She could sense it as soon as she stepped through the door. She slipped on her mask and scooted over to where Chat Noir stood beside Fu, who was addressing the tall, imposing man who went by the alias Papillon. A young woman who was probably very beautiful under her turquoise mask was standing next to Papillon, her arm laced through his. Lucie recognized her as another regular, but couldn't remember her alias.

“It wouldn't be that hard to expand,” Papillon was saying to Fu when Lucie came up to Chat Noir. “Within two or three years, you might even be able to open other locations around Paris.”

“You know how I feel about your image for the dance club,” Fu replied with a harsh look in his eyes. “I cannot consent to such a deal when I know what it means for Kwami Dance Club.”

“Papillon, maybe we should just leave it be,” the woman said to him softly. “If Fu doesn't want to sell the property …”

“What's going on?” Lucie whispered to Chat Noir.

He jerked a little in surprise and looked down at her. He must not have noticed her come up. “Papillon's been hounding Fu to sell Kwami Dance Club for weeks now. He wants to do his own thing with the property.” His nose wrinkled ever so slightly in disgust. “Some big corporate plan, from what I've been able to gather. He's got a lot of cash and wants to turn the place into another money-maker.”

Lucie frowned. “What's wrong with the way it is right now?”

Chat shrugged. “Heck if I know. I think he just wants more money to spend.”

“Fine,” Papillon said loudly, interrupting Lucie and Chat Noir's conversation. Something must have happened while they were talking. “If you're going to continue being this foolish, Fu, then I'll just take my business elsewhere. Let's see how long you manage to keep this place aboveground when your regulars have somewhere better to go.”

“Papillon,” the woman next to him hissed in warning. Her grip on his arm visibly tightened.

“I suppose we'll just have to see, then, won't we?” Fu replied. “Perhaps you'll find that the regulars here are more than happy with the way things are.”

Papillon scowled at that, but “we'll see” was all he said. He straightened his suit and stomped out the door, with the woman hot on his heels.

Fu turned to Chat Noir and to Lucie. “I'm sorry you two had to see that. You had a question for me, Chat Noir?”

“Never mind my question,” Chat Noir said. “You've got enough on your plate. The swing competition's not nearly as important as all that.”

“You're wise for your years,” Fu commented. “Sometimes it's hard to believe you and Papillon are around the same age.” A small frown appeared on his face. “At least, when Papillon gets into one of these moods, that is.”

“The swing competition?” Lucie  repeated.

“A little one,” Chat answered. “It just started a couple of years ago. It's not until June, so there's no hurry for him to answer my question anytime soon.”

“Let me guess,” Fu said. “You want to enter again.”

“If you don't mind having someone represent the club,” Chat Noir replied. “The prize money might do you good if Papillon goes through on his threat.” He rubbed his fingers together, as if to suggest the prize was a hefty one. “Besides, I've got to start making a name for myself. Won't be too long before I have to fend for myself in the grand old world. Might as well get a head start now.”

“You would need a partner,” Fu pointed out. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Funny you should ask.” Chat Noir wrapped an arm around Lucie's shoulders. “I think the little lady here would be perfect for the job. She's new, but she learns fast. She'd be ready to take on the best by summertime, no problem.”

“Is she interested in participating, though?” Fu asked.

Lucie looked up at Chat Noir. If he was who she thought he was, he could easily have his pick of partners. He had enough talent to dance with whomever he wanted. And if he thought she was good enough, if he thought she had enough skill to be his partner in a dance competition, maybe even to help him win the competition …

Chat Noir grinned down at her, and shot her a playful wink. Lucie hadn't known him long, but somehow she knew that was his way of saying he had complete faith in her. It was the only encouragement she needed.

“I am,” she said.

~

Things went by in a bit of a blur after that. Chat Noir had been instructed to teach her as much as he could before June, and he took the instruction seriously. Lucie thought to herself that at the rate he was going, she would learn everything by the end of December. Already he had taught her at least seven new moves, and it had only been half an hour since she had agreed to compete.

“All right, I know you have a supernatural energy supply that allows you to dance all night without getting tired,” she said finally, “but I don't. Can we take a break for just five minutes? I need a drink.” As much as she liked swing dancing, going for a full half hour without so much as a minute's rest was exhausting. She was fairly sure that her bangs were getting pasted to her forehead by sweat.

Chat, vexingly, looked just as energetic as he had before they'd started dancing, but he nodded his consent. “I forgot you still haven't built up your stamina much.” He led her over to the sidelines, where they could watch the other dancers, and helped her into a chair. “I'll go grab that drink you wanted. Water?”

“Please.” She didn't think any of the alcoholic drinks would be a good idea when she was so thirsty.

“Be right back, then.” He was gone as soon as he said it.

Lucie swung her feet back and forth beneath her chair and waited for him to return. She wasn't sure what to think of him anymore—he'd been so irritating at school the other day, toying with her like that, but now here he was, offering to enter a dance competition with her, teaching her, and even getting her a drink. More and more, she thought his alias suited him. He had all the caprice and mischief of a cat, and the self-confident air to match. It would be interesting to compete with him. Would he still be as patient with her then as he was now? Or would the arrogance the director had told her about take over?

A cup of water in front of her face shook her from her thoughts. Chat Noir had returned. “Here you are, little lady,” he said with a grin. “One cup of water.”

Lucie took the cup and flashed him a grateful smile in reply. “Thank you, Destin,” she said without thinking. Then she realized what had just come out of her mouth, and she cringed. Stupid! She still hadn't gotten him to admit who he was!

Chat Noir stared at her for a minute, his eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. Then he seemed to collect his wits and smirked. “Destin? Who's that? Are you already tired enough you're going delirious?”

Lucie flushed and took a long sip of her water. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now he would have two places he could mess with her. “Someone from school. It's not important.”

“A boyfriend?” Chat asked. Lucie nearly choked on her water.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I hardly know y—him! And he's a senior anyway. That would be a horrible idea.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Chat said, “but I'll take your word for it. But he must be pretty handsome, this Destin, if you're mistaking me for him.” He waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly.

“I've seen better,” Lucie replied airily. Two could play at this game.

“Then you must have very discriminating taste.” He leaned back against the wall next to her. “It's funny, though. I was just accosted the other day by a freshman who looked very much like you. At least, the way I imagine you looking under the mask.”

If he got any more blatant about their encounter at school without admitting that he was Destin Noir, Lucie thought, she really was going to punch him. “Were you, now?”

“A funny coincidence, isn't it? She mistook me for someone else, too. Seemed very frustrated about the whole thing when I told her she was wrong.” Chat smirked at her. “I imagine you'd have been a bit more patient if you were in her place.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Lucie finished her water and handed the cup back to him. “Depends on the way in which I'm being told that I'm mistaken.” She waited for him to throw the cup away, then held out her hands. “So, what's next?”

Chat took her hands in his and led her back out onto the dance floor with his usual amused smirk. “You tell me, little lady.”

Lucie wasn't sure what he meant by that.