#the way he says this line is dripping with 'older sibling making you go talk to your crush' energy

[sandwrrm]

"Go, be with your friend, Ahsoka"

Anakin knew she and Barriss were gay asf secret girlfriends and absolutely supported it, you can't tell me he didn't

[puckinghischier]

jack & luke loving quinn’s gf almost as much as he does bc suddenly they have an older sister they can call for advice on the most random things…

“so, hypothetically, if i wanted to get a pedicure, would they give it to me since i’m a guy?” jack asks you over the phone.

you stop in your tracks, right in front of your car, baffled at the question. “jack, is this seriously what you called me four times about?”

“i mean, yeah. you weren’t picking up. thought you and quinn might be screwing and wanted to break that up as soon as i thought about it,” he admits like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“jack!” you scolded, scoffing at his crudeness. “i was picking up some snacks for the guys before their game today. i couldn’t even get to my phone if i wanted to,” you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“you make it sound like you were ignoring me on purpose,” he says, basically being able to hear the pout on his face.

“i wasn’t not ignoring you on purpose.”

he smacks his teeth at your answer, returning to his original question. “anyways, will they do a pedicure on my gnarly man feet or no?”

you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you, opening your door and finally sitting down in your car. “yes jack, they’ll give you a pedicure. are you actually going to go get one?”

“yes! dude, have you seen my feet lately? they’re disgusting. plus, quinn was telling luke and i about that time you made him do one with you and how much better his feet felt in his skates afterwards.”

you think about the fact that quinn now has monthly pedicure appointments with you, not shocked at all that he shared the information with his younger brothers.

“jack! is that y/n? i need to talk to her!” you hear luke yell in the background of jack’s call, stopping whatever response you were about to give.

you hear shuffling, insinuating the exchange of the phone. “hey! y/n! so, i need your advice.”

“hi, luke, i’m good, thanks for asking! how are you?” your voice drips with sarcasm.

“yeah, hi and whatever,” he dismisses you. “so, if you were a girl, would you rather your date wear a pink shirt to show he’s not a toxic guy, or would you rather him wear blue or black to show he’s serious about the date?”

once again, you pause. you look over to the side, as if there’s an invisible camera there and mouth a ‘what?’

“okay, well first of all i am a girl-“

“well yeah, but like…a real girl. one that isn’t dating quinn and would be ready to hop on the luke train,” he interrupts you, earning his own roll of your eyes.

“as i was saying,” you ignore his interruption, “i am a girl, and i don’t think it’s that serious? wear whatever you wanna wear. if she likes you, she likes you. if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. i don’t think wearing pink is going to either hurt or help the date.”

the line is silent for a moment. “i think i’m going to wear pink anyways. you know, just to let her know i’m not a douche,” he finally speaks.

“okay, well, if that’s what you want to do, then do it-“

“thanks, y/n! bye!” you’re cut off yet again, hearing the line go dead. groaning, you call quinn, letting him know you’re on your way with the food.

“hey, baby! you get the catering order yet?” quinn’s excited voice fills your car as you turn it on and put it in drive.

“yeah, i got it. on my way now. just got off the phone with your idiot brothers,” you tell him, pulling out into traffic.

“oh god, what did they want this time?” he asks you, knowing how often you’re plagued with calls from his siblings.

“well, jack wanted to know if he could book a pedicure appointment even though he’s a man, and then luke wanted to know if he should wear pink on his date so he doesn’t look like a douche,” you give the short version of your conversations.

quinn lets out a laugh, not at all surprised at his brothers.

“quinn, we’ve gotta set some ground rules. i can’t keep doing this. i don’t know how you dealt with this by yourself for all these years. and god, your sweet mother. i feel for her,” you say not entirely seriously, knowing they call ellen more than they call you, if that’s even possible.

“baby, they love you. you’re the big sister they never had, they’re just excited to finally have someone to ask this stuff to other than mom. because mom usually tells them to figure it out on their own,” he chuckles, knowing how much both luke and jack have told him they loved having you around.

“well, i’m about to take the ellen approach because they make me want to pull my hair out sometimes, those disgustingly lovable heathens,” you tell your boyfriend, never really being able to say anything bad about the brothers. they’re like excited puppies anytime they get to see you in person, and it does melt your heart a little bit each time.

“i’ll talk to them about it,” quinn’s still laughing at how you can’t help but talk about how much you love his brothers, even when you’re aggravated at them. “just focus on getting here. i miss you, wanna see you before game time.”

“okay, be there in like-“ you stop talking when your ringtone blares through your car.

“god, its jack again. i gotta go, i’ll see you in a few minutes,” you groan, ending the call to answer the interruption.

“what is it this time, jack?”

[sparklepirate]

Alright, final thoughts on Brisingr.

You know what half the book was dwarven politics but I ate that shit up.

The more I read these again the more I appreciate the nuance of Eragon's character. It's super rare for me to like a main protagonist as much as I like him, but he has so many things going on. He's heroic, but in a deeply existentialist way, which leads him to be a bit cruel/callous towards his brother. He is smart and a quick learner, both academically and on his feet, but he does and thinks some of the stupidest things sometimes. He was forced to grow up so fast, so while he often comes across as mature and self-assured, internally he is still just a kid, or perhaps a very, very young man, and that kid part of him still shines through sometimes. He does and will do what he has to do to help the world, but he is constantly surprised to find new avenues of guilt when confronted with various consequences of his actions, but he still presses on. He is still learning his place in life not only as a dragon rider and a hero, but just as a person in general, and I think that's so cool and interesting to read! And he's also dealing with the trauma of the everything that's happening to him, but doesn't quite yet seem to realize that he isn't alone in his feelings. He is a dork, and I love him, and I want to be his friend, and I want him to accrue a whole squad of older sibling figures to help him through his stuff.

Along the lines of trauma, I hope he and Roran get to talk about this stuff. They both have moments of berating themselves over being weak for having strong feelings about killing and participating in a war, and I wish they would talk to each other and realize they were not alone. ... Murtagh too but that's just wishful thinking. I'll just have to write that myself I suppose.

Saphira is also so good queen of my heart and my soul she is beauty she is grace if she were a human she would rip apart a rat with her bare hands and teeth and do a kegstand immediately afterwards with the blood still dripping down her face but her makeup would be FLAWLESS while she did it ❤️

This felt like the first book that really drove the point home of how close the two of them are, because this is the first time they had to be truly separated from each other. Every time they reunited and they were just so filled with joy and love I just 🥺

As always- Murtagh deserves better!!! He and Thorn!!! He is in this position because he was too compassionate for Eragon (being led to the Varden), and then Thorn (swearing fealty to save him), and no one really cares about him but he still hopes and he still loves!!! Obviously, like, being on opposite sides of the conflict no one is going to not try to kill him, they kind of don't have a choice, but... Damn. I won't say too much more about him until after Inheritance but like. Damn. Justice for my husband.

On that note, the absolute betrayal he must have felt upon finding out that Oromis and Glaedr existed. Granted, by him becoming a dragon rider it was already too late for them to help him, but still. It's just kind of a tragic circumstance that everyone was so powerless in this situation, and like... Being literally possessed by Galbatorix for a bit there was. Hmm. Bad. I'm sure we'll be dissecting THAT in the new book.

It makes me wonder how much of this situation could have been prevented if the elves and the dwarves weren't so consistently self-serving. I think that's what makes Nasuada such an effective leader in comparison to them. She will get shit done, and she will set aside pride whenever she needs to to achieve the best results. Now, she has her flaws, which I know are explored more in Inheritance, but I can understand her constant frustration with the other kingdoms refusal to help or share important secrets that could have helped them sooner/prevented bloodshed.

And as far as secrets go... I don't know. It's hard to gauge "should have" or "shouldn't have" with most of the things Oromis and Glaedr neglected to tell Eragon and Saphira (or anyone), but the eldunarí feels like the most cut and dry. I guess they weren't anticipating Thron hatching but like. If that's the source of Galbatorix's power... It might have been useful for literally anyone to know about that before now. Arya didn't even know, for god's sake.

Speaking of Arya, I like her way way more this read through!!! And I do not ship her and Eragon literally at all sorry I'm a hater ❤️

RIP Oromis though sucks that you died.

Onto Inheritance!

[oldmanaemon]

Terracotta King and the Moon

Kilik often found himself staring out the window of his room. He lived in an old dilapidated hut and sometimes he could hear the creaking in the wood beneath his feet and cracking of the foundations. Especially when it was raining outside he could hear water finding its way in but he could never find where the dripping sound was coming from. He sometimes wondered how it felt to run in the rain, play in the mud and jump in a puddle or two and make a mess. He imagined how it would be like when he got home and his parents would tell him off but still give him a clean pair of clothes after and some warm food.

He didn't have any of those things. He never knew his parents. He lived with his grandpa who was strict and swore him off from going outside most of the time, let alone to go out and play. "You are a man grown, you don't need live in your own head like those good for nothing street urchins!", his grandpa would often yell, "when I was your age I was a captain in the grand imperial army of his Majesty, Chin the Conqueror. He was the mightiest of men and brought the world justice and peace, until that accursed and painted outlaw avatar deceived him with an offer to duel and then buried him alive after crippling him. May she forever rot!"

"But grandpa, the stories say he died due to his own hubris. He-"

"Have you been speaking to the ealderman again? He's a Beifong. Do you know what the Beifongs are? They come from an ancient line of tyrants. Everything they have in wealth they stole from the people of the earth kingdom. All of it!, " his grandpa rebuffed. Kilik did not want to anger his grandfather so he stayed silent. The ealderman would often come by to bring them food since what he made at the tea house was never enough to feed both him and his grandfather and Oak Beifong saw how skinny he had gotten at the teahouse and how he barely fit into his clothes since he spent his allowance to feed his grandfather.

"You don't have to choose. I'll speak to the owner and I'll make an extra allowance for you as well. I knew your parents and they'd never forgive me if I watched their only child starve while his stubborn and wretched grandfather cursed them in their graves." Oak tried to be considerate but Kilik loved his grandpa and didn't like people talking about him irreverently. Even Oak's late father called him General Beila until his passing despite the two never liking eachother.

"I shouldn't. My grandpa would object-"

"Fine, how about I hire you for a few quick deliveries every week and you can tell him it's from work. I'm sure your grandpa wouldn't deny your work ethic or the rewards from your own hard work, even if it's from a Beifong."

"I'll discuss it with him. Thank you."

"No need to thank me, it's my duty to look after everyone as Ealderman. Especially Alia and Othek's kid. Here's a retainer fee, as proof I'm serious about hiring you and something to show your grandpop. Tell him I have his favorite mix of dried cocoa leaf and tobacco chew again. I'm sure he'll get a kick out of that since the fire nation blockade recently ended and cocoa shipments have resumed again after 10 years." Oak bowed and left the teahouse in a hurry. Kilik didn't know what reception awaited him with this news. He appreciated the extra allowance all the same but Kilik kept thinking about Yun and if she ate yesterday. He ran to her house after work and brought her some bread and her favorite jelly treats. Both of them lost their parents but unlike him, she had no older family left and had to help feed and raise all her siblings in an old shack alot worse off then his. She almost never ate herself, making sure every bread crumb was saved for them. Kilik wanted to give a few loaves but after seeing her give almost everything to her siblings he pulled her outside of the house and secretly handed her his loaf of bread and jelly tart.

"Please.." He started trying his best not to cry, "you need to eat if you're gonna take care of them, Yun. Please eat.."

She stared into his teary eyes, her expression tired and stiff. Where Kilik used to find joy and curiosity, the eyes that met him were empty and void. They both cried and she ate as he watched and he mustered a smile to let her know it'll be alright.

"I know, Ealderman Beifong gave you this money" she finally started. 'You don't have to explain it. He probably knew you'd help us since I denied his offer of help. Our families don't like the Beifongs but I'm glad you're able to put that blood fued aside." She smiled and Kilik could have sworn no sight, not even that of a full moon on a clear night was more pleasant.

" You know the Beifongs were royalty, once?" Yun began. "They ruled the earth kingdom as elder kings in the old times, at least that's why father would say. They were called the Terracotta lineage. The last king unified the earth kingdom's many peoples but to do this he shed too much blood. And for this his subjects hated him. But in his old age, this battle hardened and undefeated conqueror king lost something dearer to him than even his unified kingdom. He lost his wife to childbirth and nearly lost his only child in the process. The child was a girl he named Cira Luna. He loved his daughter so much he vacated his seat as king to a viceroy so he could attend to his sickly daughters every need. His court found his new obsession and abandonment of his throne a betrayal and sought to force the return their war hungry general and king as they feared the newly unified fire nation would come to invade them at the first sign of weakness. They weren't going to let him walk away." She stopped, looking at the few bites on the loaf of bread Kilik gave her. She barely ate anything.

"You can do both you know. I'm not going anywhere.."

"But your grandfather? Won't he.."

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I want to hear the rest of the story. But first, eat up."

They shared a few laughs and she took a few big mouthfuls of bread and continued with her story: "it's said that they called her Cira, the Moonstone princess and so enamored was she with the moon that her father, one of the greatest earthbenders that ever lived would bend the very earth and moon so that the full moon would last nearly a month. It was said that only under the light of the full moon, her illness would wane and regress but after great exertion her father would fall ill himseld and would not be seen for days and even weeks. These months came to be called blood moon months, and among with iymt camr a great number of disasters. The oceans would swallow entire islands and coastal towns disappeared overnight. But this did not hinder the great Terracotta king. He would repeat this for two years until one day, his daughter suddenly passed away in her sleep. So distraught was he that he swore the bring down the very moon to revive his daughter instead of observe her funeral rites and as it's said, his court nobles who very well might have poisoned his daughter to end his distractions and ruin of the kingdom with his lunar machinery, they were powerless to stop him from destroying the earth from the grief of this father over his beloved daughters death. And he was almost successful. Before he died of terrible exertion, it is said the moon grew so close to the earth that it set the sky on fire. Being old and having exerted himself too many times to give his daughter so many full moons in her short years of life, he had a heart attack and died shortly after.

The immediate Beifong line ended there and the other line of Beifongs were immediately exiled with whatever wealth they already had but all of their history would be expunged and erased, lest the Terracottas return and destroy the earth kingdom and the very world with it."

Yun smiled and they laughed at the thought of someone bending the moon. "You think that's possible? Could a fire bender one day bend the sun as well?" She asked as she ate the jelly tart.

"Who knows. Someone once said the air nomads used to bend tornados, typhoons and hurricanes. If that was possible why couldn't a water bender bend oceans or even someone's blood?"

They looked at eachother in amusement and laughed at the suggestion. "Like bloodbending!" Yun cried out, "Someone should write a horror play about a bloodbender and breathbender, can you imagine?!"

"A breathbender? Like an airbender that can bend the air in your lungs? What a scary thought? We should write it! We'd be rich!' Kilik exclaimed and they joked the night away, suggesting more and more outlandish bending abilities.

It was a night to remember.

[sukirichi]

wine: ingredient 27 + spice 1/11/19 for feral!megumi pls and thank u 👀 💕

— unstoppable

now that megumi’s had a taste of you, there’s nothing stopping him from having more.

meal order: 27 (siblings’ friend au) + 1,11,19 (breeding kink, dumbification, dirty talking)

feral megumi x fem! reader

content/warnings: nsfw, breeding kink, dumbification, dirty talking, feral megumi, the breeding kink is MASSIVE, we’re talking about babies here so just tread lightly, unedited fic. megumi is really uh...FERAL, so get your holy water

masterlist ! my milestone event !

Megumi’s large palm covered your mouth, preventing the lewd sounds of your moan to echo around the room. His cock is buried into you to the hilt, your walls spasming around him like crazy while you stare up at him with large eyes.

His eyes are narrowed, teeth sunken into the swell of his lips as he watches his fat cock plunge in and out of your squelching hole. He’s wanted to do this for so long, to finally claim you as his, but it was just so damn impossible to be near you when his older sister never left the room. 

Megumi couldn’t even remember when or how this started. All he knew was that one day his sister brought you home for a sleepover or whatever, and the first thing he noticed was your smile.

You cowered under his sharp gaze when he caught you rummaging the fridge that night while his sister was already sound asleep, and Megumi was half sleepwalking with the same mission as yours. Through his tired daze, his cock immediately hardened at the sight of you bent over as you reached down, ass perked and tits free from a bra.

Before any of you could realize what was happening, Megumi tugged your wrists, dragging you to his room where you were now laying on his bed, legs wide open and begging for him to go harder.

“G-Gumi, please,” you whined, eyes rolling at the back of your head. It was too dirty; Megumi’s grip on your hips kept slipping because of the sweat coating both of your bodies, the loud sound of skin slapping against skin barely muffled under the sheets. “Ha-harder, Gumi, fuck, right there,” your hips snap forwards to meet the harsh thrusts of his cock, his fingers teasing as he rubs your clit.

“Say that again,” Megumi groaned in your ear, nipping at the flesh when your nails gripped at his ass to pull him closer. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. You’re so fucking tight around me,” at his words, your walls clench around him, aroused that your best friend’s seemingly quiet younger brother had such ability to exude this sexual prowess.

Megumi didn’t miss the way you tighten around him, small gasps hidden through his palm. He laughed at your state, but follows your command anyway.

He moved upward and leaned closer to you, removing his palm from your hand to wipe away the hair plastered on your sweaty skin. “Moan for me,” he demanded, pupils blown wide with lust while his pace slowed down. You’re left gasping and shaking under his arms when Megumi begins a torturous pace of pulling out his cock inch by inch, letting you feel the way the veins on his dick kiss your wet walls before slamming back in one go.

Your breasts bounced at the thrust and your tongue lolls out, gasping for the air he’s deprived you of. Always having been eager to please, you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, moaning as loud as you could. Megumi’s thrusts increased in pace at how good you were for him.

“Fuck,” Megumi planted his palm beside your face, thumb pinching at the tongue that was making a mess all over his pillow. “Look at you, so fucked out. You’re a naughty little girl, aren’t you? I bet you really wanted me to fuck you – walking around with that ass and your tits hanging out. What would you do if my sister finds out?” he latched his teeth into the crook of your shoulder, faltering for a moment when he hits your g-spot and you scream around his cock. “Fuck, baby, you’re not even trying to be quiet. You’re basically begging to be caught, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t answer him. All you could feel is Megumi’s harsh rutting, his cock hitting places deeper than your fingers or any man could. “N-no,” you defended yourself lamely, eyes closed while Megumi squeezes your cheek. “I’m a good girl, ‘Gumi, I’m g-good for you, oh,” you fist the sheets beside you when he hits a certain sensitive spot that has you seeing white.

Megumi growled at your submission, chuckling when he saw how your pussy eagerly sucked him in. “Your pussy looks so pretty wrapped around my cock,” he used two fingers to spread your lips open, sucking in a breath once he saw that his dick was already creamed white. “Such a dirty little girl – but you’re good for me, aren’t you? You’ll always warm my dick, yeah? Such a good fucking girl – I could fuck you all day and ruin your insides until you’re mine.”

Your eyes snapped open at his words, mouth falling open.

“Well?” he questioned, snapping his hips harder when you only clutch at his bicep, panting wordlessly. “Shit,” Megumi snickered, “Have you gone too dumb to answer me, baby? Too fucked out on my cock?” He leant down to suck at your tits, hands coming up to tug at his hair at the overwhelming sensation. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel. Tell me.”

“F-fuck,” was all you ever managed to say, your legs aching and sore from him pushing into you relentlessly. Megumi didn’t let down one bit, only prompting you to voice out your pleasure to please him. “S-so good, Gumi, too much, your cock is too much, fill me up, fill me up, please, I want—”

“You want me to fuck a baby in you?”

You nodded, too lost in your own heaven and hell to even make sense of things anymore. Megumi nipped at your flesh, his cock already twitching inside you. It seemed that both of you had the same thing in mind because Megumi pushes your legs open wider for him, allowing him to hit deeper and his strokes longer than before.

“I’m going to fill you full with my cum, okay?” he rasped into your skin, and you cry around him, cheeks pressed into his pillow that smelled a lot like boy shampoo. “You’re going to make me a dad and you’ll be such a pretty mommy, belly round with my kid and bulging with my cum.”

“Y-yes, Gumi, please, fuck a baby in me,” you drawled out, your arm reached out behind you to grasp at the headboard. The way Megumi snapped his hips to yours had your head and body shoving backwards, the friction against your skin hot and irritating, but you couldn’t care anymore. Your head is empty, thoughts filled with nothing but being such a young mom with Megumi fathering your kids, your pussy soaked in his cum and stomach round with life. “Baby, baby, baby,” your words were incomprehensible, hands running everywhere just to feel him close to you. “Fuck a baby in me, Megumi, come on, do it for me.”

“So fucking precious,” Megumi praised, and you thought – no, you believed – he’d already be satisfied when he stills, his toned abdomen clenching as Megumi groaned, releasing his load inside you.

Like the good girl you were, you spasmed your walls around his twitching dick, fingers fumbling to scoop all the dripping cum back into your body. Megumi didn’t pull out as he kissed you, his hands curling into a fist to grapple at your hair, both of you moaning breathlessly into each other’s mouth.

“So full,” you gasped, wincing slightly at the oversensitivity. “Thank you, Megumi. I-I feel so good, heaven, yes, fuck.”

Megumi laughed at how fucked out you are. But he wasn’t done with you yet, not when he’d already had a taste of what your pussy felt like. He couldn’t erase the image of you walking around with a huge belly mothering his kids, igniting something feral within him. Before you could open your eyes and pull him out, Megumi flipped you over, hands pulling your ass flat on his crotch while your face planted on the pillows.

“Me-Megumi!” you gasped when you felt his dick lining up at your entrance again, his cock still impossibly harder.

“What, baby girl?” he challenged with a sinister undertone as he rubbed the tip of his cock into your flushed, squirming lips. You were so wet that he slid inside easily and you both took a sharp breath; just like him, you were still so ready, ready to be fucked again. “I’m not done with you yet,” his hand came down to push your face onto the neck until you’re struggling to breathe, but it only urged Megumi when the lack of air had your walls suffocating him.

With a dark laugh, Megumi exhaled into your ear, the warm breath sending chills down your spine. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, until you’re so sore and filled with my cum you’re begging me to save you from my misery – and you’ll take it all a good girl. I’m not stopping until I know for sure you’re carrying my child.”

Before you could say anything else, Megumi had already fucked you so hard he got his wish; to see you sprawled on his sheets, drooling and crying all over his pillow, and he remained true to his word.

Megumi didn’t stop until your belly was bulging with his cum.

He’d gone absolutely feral, and he was unstoppable.

[bokettochild]

Sisters, Scoldings and Seaside Memories

My excuse? I wanted to write the Oracles meeting the heroes and it spiraled into some Legend angst, because, well- this is me.

I do have a prompt I blame for this though, so go yell at the folks at @linkeduniverse-prompts for inspiring me with this idea.

The heroes had landed in Legend’s world again, jolted across time and space by yet another sudden switch, one that had left them more shaken and out of sorts than normal, and which, quite to everyone’s panic, had nearly made Four pass out. As was, the smithy had clutched ahold of the nearest hero at the moment, Legend, and refused to let go, resulting in his getting picked up and carried by the vet after they had figured out where they were.

The fact that they had been dumped so close to Legend’s house (they were only just a half an hour’s walk away) had unnerved the vet, and a few others, but there was no sign of monsters as far as their scouting crew could tell, even with the heavy rainfall, and if Hyrule, Wild and Twilight all agreed that the path was safe, then no one else was going to be the one to question them. After all, if you can’t trust the two best survivors and the best tracker on their team, who could they trust?

Ravio had greeted the group with open arms and cheerful welcomes, pulling the sopping smithy out of Legend’s hold and cooing when the multi-colored hero hadn’t even protested. Legend didn’t appear too very put out about it either, just shaking his head with a smile that he hid behind dripping bangs as he’d removed his shoes and barked orders at the rest of them to do the same.

While Legend stoked the fire and grabbed a blanket for Four, who Ravio was settling in his own favorite overstuffed arm-chair (if Ravio hated Legend's rocker, then Legend had already condemned that chair to the furthest corners of the dark world), the rest of the heroes stood about toweling themselves off and looking around. Ravio had reorganized again, although he’d left a few things, like the strange mask on the wall and a few other decorations, alone. It looked nice, cozier, although a bit less like a shop. When asked why, the merchant had waved off the curious looks from both the heroes and his housemate.

“I figured with all y’all visiting so much I’d probably better work out of the shed. It took a bit of tidying up- now Mr. Hero, don’t look at me like that, it was a mess! Anyways, I tidied it up, moved most of the things into the basement where you can get at them easier, Mr. Hero, and set up shop! Now y’all won’t have to worry about my things getting in the way.” Ravio smiled brightly as he finished, patting Four’s head and ignoring the smithy’s irritated look and looking pointedly at Warriors instead.

It was clear that Ravio’s adoption of Legend and Twilight’s use of the word ‘y’all’ was bothering the poor captain immensely.

The evening progressed as usual, with Ravio humming off key as he bustled about the house making ready the bedrooms for the heroes’ use. Wild, perhaps in wake of the pie incident, had finally been granted access to the kitchen, which allowed him to make dinner while the others offered Ravio their aid.

As “host” Legend had been assigned the task of sitting with Four until the smithy felt a bit better. The vet had at first protested leaving all the work to the others, but Ravio had finally persuaded him by pointing out that Mr. Smithy shouldn’t be left alone to stew too much in his thoughts, and wouldn’t Mr. Hero like to make sure the Hero of the Four Sword was quite alright in this particular Hyrule? Why that worked, or why Ravio had used that specific wording was unknown to the others, but Legend caved quickly after that, changing into a horridly oversized tunic and joining Four on the couch, the smithy leaning against him while the two talked over mundane things like metal imbalances in weapons and other such matters.

Time hadn’t been able to hide a snort of laughter as he caught wind of Four very casually explaining proper cooling methods to use on newly forged swords to a flushed veteran, and Legend had looked one instant away from snapping back about a recent mishap involving such a task, only stopped the smith’s continued softness of voice and weary eyes.

The knock on the door only sounded however, once most of the others had already bustled into the kitchen, leaving Legend and Four to eat their dinner together where the smith would be most comfortable and Legend couldn’t scold Twilight for his ‘wolfish’ manners at the dinner table.

Considering the vet had trouble keeping himself clean, Warriors had quietly commented that maybe the other boy didn’t exactly have room to be complaining about table manners.

The sound at the door was lost to those in the kitchen as they chattered and laughed, but to the two heroes in the living room it was clear as day, and startled them both so much that they both fumbled with their bowls, violet clashing with brown as sheepish smiles marred both their faces, light laughter on their lips at their shared startle.

The knock sounded again, this time urgent, repetitive and with a desperate air.

Amusement flickered to worry as Legend had risen from the couch, the line of his shoulders tight with worry as he’d reached for the sword he’d left at the door before even daring to lay his fingers on the door handle. Four’s own hand had scrabbled for his blade, but he’d remained sitting, tense and alert with his ears pricked forwards and eyes sharp against whatever might be outside.

There were a few things Legend was expecting to see when he’d opened the door; royal guards coming for the bounty that the king had still failed to lift from him, despite most all of Hyrule knowing by now of his innocence of the crimes attributed to him, or maybe it would be a villager desperately reporting a monster attack down in Kakariko, he had thought it strange they had been dumped so conveniently close to home with no danger immediately evident.

What was on the other side however was not any of the things on his mental list.

Three cloaked figures stood outside the door, two of them nearly looming over him as a pair of sharp blue eyes stared at him from beneath the shade of a hood, stern and wary, but not entirely devoid of concern. “Link! Oh, thank heavens you’re here!”

“Nayru?” The vet blinked in surprise, gaze falling first on the Oracle in front of him and then to her sisters, standing behind her and wrapped tightly against the rain. And for lack of anything better to say, or even think, he opened the door a bit wider, motioning vaguely with the sword still in his other hand. “Come in.”

Four’s eyes followed the three girls as green, red and blue had brightened the dimming room, the bright hair and clothes of the three Oracles strangely out of place in the muted tones of Legend and Ravio’s house. Legend stashed his sword back against the wall, taking the cloaks from the three ladies and hanging them on hooks with everyone else’s as Nayru turned to him with her face drawn and eyes flickering sternly.

“Link.” Nayru began, frowning down at the vet, who stared up at her with similar seriousness. “It has come to my attention that there has been a temporal and chronological anomaly that seems to have been following you, I’ve come to ask-”

“Four!” Farore’s trill broke through the tense atmosphere as the Oracle of Secrets rushed over to bundle the Hero of Four Swords into a hug. “How? Oh, my stars! It’s been so long! You look so much older!” The girl exclaimed, holding the sheepish smithy at arm's length and inspecting him. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Although, I suppose it seems like less time for you. Linky! How on earth did you rescue him?” That stopped the smithy silent, and he stared up at the greenette before him curiously as she chattered on, worry in her eyes. “Is that why he looks ill? Did you-”

“Farore.” For maybe the first time in his life, Legend actually managed a half decent growl. Sure, he still squeaked a bit, but it was low and harsh enough to nearly count.

“How-” Nayru frowned, blinking slowly at the smithy seated on the couch while Din waved to him quietly.

“Boys, is everything-” Time’s voice was cut off as the three Oracles spun to stare at him, color draining from their faces as Din buried her face in her hands, Farore tensed and Nayru stiffened, sharp blue eyes turning to Legend with a glare.

“I told you to never play with the Harp of Ages!”

“I didn’t!” Legend snapped back, glaring up at the older girl with something similar to a pout. For the other two heroes, had it not been for the painful tension of the situation, they may have smiled at how much the interaction looked like a pair of siblings arguing over a valued toy.

“Then how is he-” Nayru flung a hand out to point at Time, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. “-here?” The Oracle faltered, gaze turning back to Time in confusion before settling on Legend again. “Wait, which hero is that again?”

“Ouch.” Time deadpanned, completely on instinct.

“Hero of Time.” Legend returned with a scowl.

“Wait.” Farore stared from one hero to another in confusion. “Isn’t he dead? Linky, are you- have you been rescuing-”

“This one didn’t die.” Legend returned, looking increasingly done with the situation while Time and Four both winced.

“Split timelines, remember, Fare?” Din offered with a pained smile.

Nayru scowled, pinching the bridge of her nose as her other hand settled on her hip. “Link, I swear, the Harp of Ages isn’t even supposed to be able to cross realities! Do you know what you’ve done? Link, I know you miss her, but searching across time and space for her just doesn’t work! You’re going to-”

“I didn’t use the freaking harp!” Legend shouted, and to the surprise of both of the others, tears were gathering in his eyes. “So could you just not-” The vet’s voice broke as teary indigo glared up into startled ocean blue. “Could you just not bring that up? I know better, Nayru! Besides, which one of us is it that broke the timeline last time, huh?”

“That wasn’t me.” The blue-haired maiden sighed. “We both know I had no control over any of what happened. But your point stands, I’m- I’m sorry for accusing you.”

“Good.” Legend wrapped his arms around himself, a single tear trickling down his scowling face as Din flew over and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, Sunshine, she didn’t mean it! We’re just worried is all, you know that, right?” The vet didn’t answer, but he did melt into the hold of the young woman as she patted his back gently.

The others chose that moment to make their respective appearances, peeking around Time to see Nayru standing awkwardly beside the embracing Oracle and Hero while Farore and Four exchanged a Look.

“Legend, who is this?” Hyrule frowned, instant regret flooding over his face as he saw Legend swipe the end of his over-long sleeve over his face with a violent sniffle and a huff, releasing Din as the red-head sighed sadly.

“The Golden Goddesses.” Time answered instead, nodding politely to the three ladies, who all offered him awkward smiles in return.

“The Oracles actually.” Nayru corrected with a strained smile. “Apologies, Forest Hero.” She inclined her head respectfully. “I meant no disrespect, it’s only that you are quite similar in appearance to another hero from this world, one that is near and dear-” The woman’s voice stuttered to a halt as she stared at the others peeking out from behind the eldest hero.

The room fell to silence for a brief moment as Nayru’s face fell, eyes widening dramatically as her shoulders slumped. “Is that- Link, how many Heroes of Courage are in your home?”

“Nine.” Legend huffed, crossing his arms and looking anywhere else but at the girl. “Counting me anyway.”

“Nine Heroes of Courage.” The Oracle repeated, dumbstruck, before rubbing her hands over her face. “That’s like half of all of Hylia’s Heroes in all! Why? Why would so many be gathered in one place? How did you even meet them?”

The vet shrugged, still not meeting the baby-blue eyes that turned his way in desperation. “A lizard. Also, portals.”

From where she was now sitting next to Four, Farore nodded. “That sounds just bizarre enough to be true.”

At Nayru’s nod of agreement, Din reached out to ruffle Legend’s pink hair. “Just like you to get pulled along in something like that, isn’t it, Link?”

The soft chuckle earned a hesitant smile from the vet as the others pushed further into the room, only to freeze again as Nayru’s startled again, staring across the room at Warriors, eyes full of horror. “Oh no. Not you!”

The captain blinked in surprise, offense taking over as he stared at the young woman. “Excuse me?”

Nayru shook her head, no long paying attention as she cupped her cheeks. “No, not the blasted Hero of Warriors! Oh, why me!”

“Okay, now that’s just offensive.” The captain huffed, crossing his arms indignantly as Legend chuckled softly.

Sharp blue eyes made the captain still again as the Oracle of Ages whimpered softly. “Of all the people in your home, Link, you had to have the one Hylian that my daughters obsess over? Why?”

All eyes turned to the vet, who now looked similarly dumbfounded and horrified, blinking slowly at nothing as one hand buried itself in his long bangs. “My niece has a crush on-” the vet viably gagged, face screwing up as he looked up to meet the confused stare of the captain, “-Oh my gross!”

“Seriously?” Warriors huffed with a glare before throwing his hands up, voice raising slightly as he spoke. “Could someone kindly explain why all of you suddenly find me disgusting?”

“Not you.” Din laughed. “My nieces just have something of an obsession with you, and Nayru’s sick of it. Add to that that-”

“Of all the people,” Legend interrupted with a horror filled mumble. “For my nieces to have a crush on, it had to be my brother? Just- oh that is just so incredibly gross!” Violet met twinkling red as the vet leaned back to stare at Din. “Why do the ladies in my family always have such weird taste in men?”

“Says the guy who had a crush on his now sister.” Farore sniggered, now fully wrapped up in the blankets with Four, despite no one having noticed either of them move. The smithy didn’t appear to mind either, his smile matching that of the Oracle of Secrets’, even if he didn’t appear to know exactly what was going on any more than the rest of them.

“It wasn’t a crush!” Legend near shrieked, stiffening as his face turned nearly as red as the long hair that shimmered in the firelight behind him. “You get asked to dance by a girl you don’t know and see how you act!”

Nayru, now somewhat recovered, grinned impishly at the blushing hero. “That’s right, besides, I’m pretty sure our little brother had a crush on a certain farm girl.”

“I didn’t like Ropely like that!” The vet huffed, brightening further. “Or Malon, if that’s what you’re implying. She’s my freaking cousin and that would just be gross.”

“Malon is your what now?” Time blinked, confused.

“I have a Malon in my time too.” Four offered, very unhelpfully, as the eldest hero looked like he was descending into mental acrobatics. “She works near castle town and even lives on a ranch. I think Malons are a constant in our worlds, just like Zeldas.”

“I don’t have a Malon...” Wind mused quietly while Time began to look increadibly distressed.

“It’s a family name.” Legend huffed, rolling his eyes as his blush began to fade. “Mine was named after our great-something-gramma. The same is probably true of Mamalon, Time. She’s probably named after an ancestor from Four’s time or something.”

“Great!” The smallest Oracle exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can I please make you recognize that my babies are in one place for once?”

Her sisters stared at her, blinking slowly. “Um, Fare, that’s sort of why Nayru just had a freak out?” Legend snorted but his...sister? Ignored it.

“Yes but,” Farore nodded at Four, who she’d once more wrapped in her arms. “Look!”

And they did. Four was cuddled up with a resigned smile, looking positively tiny in the Oracle’s hold and, admittedly, rather cute. There was not one person in the room left unaffected, and several actually cooed when Farore hugged him tightly, burying her face in the smithy’s hair. “All of my babies, I love you all so very much!”

Warriors laughed at that, shaking his head. “What, do the Golden Goddesses have favorite heroes too? I thought that was just Hylia!”

“Unfortunately, that is the case.” Nayru shrugged. “We can’t help getting attached, just like any other Hylian.”

“Who are who’s favorites?” Wind chirped; eyes eager as he stared from one Oracle to another.

It was Din who answered, wrapping her arms around Legend’s shoulders as she stood behind him, smile warm even in the chill of the evening as she stared at the sailor hero. “Sunshine here’s mine, he’s my baby brother after all!”

“Adopted, as all of our other siblings are.” The Oracle of Ages interjected, earning her a pout from her sister and a laugh from the heroes.

“Nayru’s favorite is the Hero of Time, it’s why she calls him by a nickname, and Farore, well...” The red-head grinned to where the youngest of the three Oracles was cooing and fussing over Four. “I think you can guess.”

“Do any of you have second favorites?” Wind pressed, curiosity flickering in ocean blue and silver.

“I haven’t had enough experience with most of the other heroes to really say, although the Hero of Wild’s never fails to make me laugh when I watch him through Nayru’s mirrors.” The Saesonal Oracle laughed, making the hero in question flush lightly. “Both for his pranks and clever antics, and, of course, having a horse named after you means you simply have to adore the owner!”

“Farore has several favorites, she’s just only ever interacted with Link and Four.” Nayru chuckled. “She’s quite fond of those who had to strive for Courage though, so I suppose the Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of Winds likely tie for her second favorite.” The two boys in question grinned brightly at each other. “As for myself, I find that as the Keeper of Time, I have quite the fondness for its hero. Although, my baby brother and brother-in-law are also dear to me.” Twinkling blue settled on Sky’s flushed face as the Oracle winked. “Hylia could have chosen no one better to be her lover, and I approve the match wholeheartedly.”

Sky proceeded to flush a color o one had known existed and quickly lower himself to the floor, smiling madly and covering hisface with his hands, earning tender laughter from the blue-haired maiden as she turned her attention back towards the other heroes.

“And for some reason, I’m the only hero left unfavorited.” The captain sulked.

“If it’s any consolation.” Farore called out. “Our other baby sister thinks you’re cute! She says she’s glad you married her daughter!” The Captain Hero choked, and it was only due to Twilight thumping the others back that the poor man didn’t choke right then and there. “The same goes for the Twilight Hero, Lolia absolutely adores him!”

“How did the same goddess choose us both? We are nothing alike?”

Warriors coughed in what might have been agreement.

Farore only shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same reason she adores Ravio so much, it’s the hero who makes an impression on her world that earns her favor.”

The heroes in question took their time processing that, and in the meantime, Legend darted off toe retrieve dry things for his elder sisters, only to come back to Ravio chattering to the three, who’d now gathered on the same couch as Legend and Four had been on earlier, all answering his questions fondly and politely while Farore continued to suffocate Four with hugs. The smithy didn’t seem to mind though, resting easily, eyes glimmering reddish-brown in the fire-light as the Oracle of Secrets toyed with his ong hair.

“I brought warm clothes.” Legend called, offering the things with a brief shuffle of his feet. “They’re Fable’s, but I don’t think shell mind.”

Ravio frowned, looking up at the offered garments with furrowed brows. “Are you sure that will warm them enough, Mr. Hero? It would be horrible if your poor sisters caught cold!” Grenn flickered knowingly, and Legend huffed as he met the expectant gaze.

“Fine, I’ll brew some cider, since I expect that’s what you suggest?”

“Oh! Mr. Hero, how kind of you! I didn’t mean to ask, but since you’ve offered I’m sure your lovely sisters will love to have some!”

Din straightened in her seat, eyes sparkling brightly. “Cider? Oh, Link! I haven’t had your cider in ages! Please make some! I’d actually kill for a cup about now!”

And really, who was the veteran hero to argue with the will of the Oracle of Seasons?

“He’s made you cider before?” The Oracle of Ages frowned.

“Oh, all the time! The whole circus troupe loved it! Auntie Impa always used to beg him for the recipe, but it was that one thing she could never convince him about. It’s absolute heaven, Nay! You’re going to love it!”

The bluette huffed, crossing her arms and faking a put. “He never made me any cider.”

“Because you tried to kill me!” Legend’s voice called back from the kitchen, making the three girls startle slightly. “If you hadn’t, maybe you could have tried some along with Ralph and Raven.”

“I wasn’t- I was- Link!” Nayru spluttered as a cackle arose from the kitchen. “I was under mind control!”

“Still tried to kill me!” The vet chirped back with far too much cheer considering what he was saying. And really, none of the others could argue his point, either because they didn’t understand what was being discussed or because it was true.

Cider was passed around after a brief wait, during which the others had made idle small talk and Farore had finally agreed to release Four from her grasp. The short hero still sat at her side, trading smiles with the three Oracles as he chatted amiably with them, clearly familiar with all three and quite happy to see them again, even with the drama from before.

No one brought up what Farore had meant about ‘rescuing’ him.

When Legend finally emerged from the kitchen, Ravio’s tray stacked high with mugs of steaming cider, silence had quickly fallen save for the quiet sips and louder slurps of the three as Legend handed out the mugs, finishing with the three Oracles and promptly plopping himself down in their midst, entirely uncaring of the looks they exchanged over his head while Four shifted a bit closer to his brother.

“Link,” Nayru settled her mug in her lap and stared over at the pink-haired hero, unfortunately gaining the attention of the rest of the chain in the process. “About earlier, I really am sorry for accusing you. It was wrong of me to assume-”

“You already apologized, it’s fine.” Legend cut her off, yawning softly as he sipped his cider.

“No, it’s not. But I’d like to make it up to you.” The mug was set aside as long fingers had begun to glow with a soft blue, catching the vet’s eyes and making him stare as the Orale of Ages waved her fingers gently, a blue orb appearing in her grasp as a soft smile graced her delicate features. “Anything you’d like to see, baby brother?”

Violet eyes stared fixed on the orb, glistening slightly with wonder as the vet floundered, nearly spilling his cider only to be rescued by Four’s quick thinking as the smithy removed the mug from his grasp. “A-anything?”

“Anything.” The Oracle reaffirmed.

Legend stammered softly for a moment. “C-Could I see Raven? Where he is now?”

There was some murmuring from the others, curiosity and confusion in their tones as Nayru frowned. “Raven lived four-hundred years ago, Songbird, he’s dead now.”

“Oh- uh- I knew that.”

“I can show you what he was doing today four-hundred year ago though.” She laughed softly, spinning the orb in her hands slowly before turning it to face Legend. The veteran hero stared intently, brows furrowing slightly before his eyes widened and he was pushing back into the couch and away from the viewing orb.

“Oh yuck! Nayru! That- ew!” At the girls’ laugher he shot them all a glare. “I did not need to see a woman eating my mentor’s face!”

“That would be kissing.” Time smirked. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“That’s my ancestor though!”

“And I knew that would happen.” Nayru giggled. “That was a prank, here’s the actual thing.” A small child and a man looking suspiciously like Time appeared on the surface of the orb, both lying on the floor of what might have been a farm-house as the little one played with a few small toys, the man watching with a fond gaze as he relaxed, looking as if he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

“They look happy.” Legend hummed, gaze softening as he watched the duo a moment more before smiling up at his sister. “Thanks.”

The bluette smiled in return. “I accused yo twice though, so you may have a second. What else would you like?”

Anyone who was watching could see the conflicted emotions flying through Legend’s eyes as he stared at the now blank orb, the vet fidgeting with his rings and long sleeves as he gnawed his lower lip, torn about something that remained unknown to the others but clearly was tearing him up inside. At long last however, the vet’s voice, small and vulnerable, more so than they’d heard even when he was half asleep, spoke his request. “I’d like to see her.”

Ocean blue eyes softened as the Oracle nodded, spinning her orb slowly before handing it over to the vet as the scene of a beach crossed the surface of the ball.

A girl with curly red hair and sparkling eyes sat on the beach, voice rich and lovely as she sang ou a tune that had the vet’s eyes watering as he smiled as the vision, his brothers crowding close curiously as several of them muffled soft gasps.

“Marin?” The voice of a boy rang from the orb, gentle, uncertain and young, but resemblant of Legend’s own in an odd, gentle way.

“Link! Don’t startle me like that!” The girl laughed, shaking her head and making her curls bounce as she smiled over at a boy maybe a bit older than Wind.  The lad was dark haired, but pink showed through at his roots and while he carried a sword on his back, he looked relaxed and at peace with the world around him, face gentle and unmarred by worries or fears as he walked across the sand to where the girl sat. A dopey smile and light blush touched the kid’s face as the girl, Marin, gently patted the sand at her side. “Join me, you’re done running errands for everyone now, right?”

“For today.”

“Good.” The girl reached up, tugging ‘Link’ down next to her firmly. “Lay down.”

“What?”

“Lay down.” Marin ordered. “You need a break. You’re always running everywhere and helping eveyone else, you need a bit of time to yourself.”

A smile pulled at the boy’s features. “Yes ma’am.”

The girl snorted, but patted her lap and tugged at the green tunic of the other, resulting in him at last laying on the sand, head in her lap as she smiled down at him. “You’re going to rest now, because tomorrow is a busy day for us.”

“Oh?” Already there was a dreamy quality to the boy’s voice as he relaxed into the hold of the girl, her fingers tugging gently through tangled black hair as she nodded.

“Yes. We have to sleep in until nine, and then eat a big breakfast before taking a long walk on the shore. Then, you’re going to help me conquer a huge basket lunch before you can then defeat being awake for an hour. After that, we have to chase the tide until it tires, and then dance in victory over the ground that it’s lost.” The boy laughed softly, lashes already fluttering softly across rosy cheeks as the girl continued. “Then, you and I are going to sit here and watch the sun go down, and we will sing it to sleep along with the island until the sun comes up.”

“And what then?”

“And then we do as we please!”

“We build a fire.” The boy hummed. “And I’m going to make you cider so good you’ll be ruined for any of your silly teas.”

“Hey!” The girl huffed, purposefully jostling the lad’s head as she huffed down at him. “My teas are good!”

“Not as good as my cider.” The boy replied, opening one eyes to grin up at her, a cheeky smile on his face. “Just you wait, you’ll see.”

Marin shook her head, eyes glistening gently as she ran her fingers through Link’s hair again. “I suppose I will.”

The orb shattered as it hit the floor, dissipating instantly as the heroes collectively startled.

“Legend?” Four rested a hand on the vet’s shoulder, staring in concern at the other boy, who hid behind his bangs with a faint sniffle.

“Thanks , Nayru.”

“Do you want me to fix it? I can give you another-”

“No, I know what happens.” Legend waved her off, sighing heavily and offering a teary smile. “I just wanted to see her again.”

“Well then you should have said something!” Warriors exclaimed, catching the attention of all gathered as he stared at the vet, caught between a grin and a scowl “Had I known you were Marin’s prince charming I would have said something by now! For pities sakes, the girls have been trying to hunt down her world since the war ended!”

Legend blinked.

“She’s still not home?” Wind frowned. “But, it’s been months!”

“No one knew where she belonged, she didn’t even know, said she knew nothing of Hyrule’s history, only that there was a hero.” The captain shook his head. “Hard to believe the sweet hero she described is this here ass, but who am I to judge?”

“She’s alive?” Legend stared.

“Yes,” The captain smiled slightly, gaze warming as he met the vet’s. “But between Cia, Lana and Midna, we never-”

“Midna too!” Twilight exclaimed, pushing into Warriors’ line of vision with a shocked face and watching the captain immediately fly through every shade of shock imaginable.

“Love of the goddess...” Warriors breathed. “Both of you? The two famed sweethearts of my team are the biggest asses I know? You have got to be kidding me!”

The Oracles laughed, or in Farore’s case, cackled, at the plight of the captain, and the other heroes joined in.

“Wars, I’m not even mad.” legend chuckled, shaking his head, and Twilight nodded in agreement.  “But I will say this, we can’t get to your Hyrule soon enough, and when we get there, Time, know for a fact that I don’t need to wait till I’m older to understand that thing earlier.”

“Okay, that's just gross!” Wind exclaimed. “I do not want to see Legend kissing someone! That’s just- oh yuck!”

The vet threw his head back and laughed, and no one could really help but join in. Except Wind, who scrunched up his nose in disgust while Wild and Hyrule shared a confused look.

[fruitcoops]

ok so firstly I love any loops and jules fic but secondly could we have one where jules is having a really tough time (either missing loops/ picked on etc. ) and then we see loops (not coops) surprise him and is just so protective - just sibling fluff that’s it

Oh Jules, I’m sorry I did this to you. What a wonderful prompt, though! I’m always down to write sibling fluff! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for bullying (older kids picking on younger kids)

Contrary to popular belief, Jules didn’t brag about his brother every minute of every day. There was no point, and he wanted to be known for his own talents rather than living in Remus’ shadow for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, some people didn’t seem to understand that.

A balled of lined paper smacked into the back of his head. “Heads up, Loopy!”

Jules threw the ball back; it bounced off the end of the table and hit the ground pathetically. “Nice shot,” Aidan snorted as he passed, bumping his shoulder against Jules’ and making him stumble. Several people laughed. His face burned with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I bet your brother’s really proud of that,” Luke sneered. He was a big kid, far bigger than Jules both in height and muscle even though he was only a couple years older.

“Don’t talk about my brother,” Jules said, much quieter than intended.

Luke raised his eyebrows. “What’re you going do about it, Loopy?”

“Just shut up.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” He leaned across the cafeteria table and Jules fought the urge to back away. “Huh? Your brother? He’s never around.”

“He’s busy.”

“He doesn’t want to be here.”

“He does,” Jules insisted, feeling his throat tighten. “He does, he just doesn’t have time—”

“He’s a celebrity, dude, no wonder he doesn’t want his tagalong brother around.”

It’s not true, Jules told himself. It’s not true. Time and time again, Remus had told him that hockey came second to family, but after months of not seeing him it was starting to feel false. “Shut up.”

Luke shifted in his seat and folded his hands. “Face it, Loopy: your brother’s not around because he’d rather spend time with his cool friends than an annoying little kid.”

“Leave me alone.” Jules’ voice cracked and Luke grinned.

“You’re gonna cry?” he asked, full of false sympathy. “Aw, poor baby.”

“It’s not true.” It was getting harder to believe the words. “He visits whenever he can.”

The lunch bell rang before Luke could retaliate; he ruffled Jules’ hair too hard to be comfortable and left, already laughing with his group of friends. What a dick, Jules thought as he swallowed down the tears.

He made it through the rest of his classes in a daze and walked home on muscle memory. It was a cold day for April, but maybe he could blame his red-rimmed eyes on the wind. Maybe Luke is right, part of him argued. There wasn’t a lot of evidence, but it was enough to make him want to throw up.

“Hey, baby, how was your day?” his mother called when he opened the door.

That was the tipping point, the tiny pebble that shattered the cracked glass dam holding back his tears. Jules sobbed once, dropped his backpack on the floor, and ran for the safety of his bedroom. “Jules—” The slam of his door cut his father’s concern short.

He grabbed the family picture off his wall and threw it across the room—there was no glass or frame, only tape, so seeing it flutter to the ground was far less satisfying than he had hoped. Remus had him on his shoulders for the picture; they all looked so happy. Jules sat down on the other side of his bed and buried his face in his arms, letting the emotions he had been holding in for three full hours flood out.

Deep down, he knew Luke was a liar and a bully with nothing better to do than pick on younger kids. That didn’t mean his words hurt any less.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the door. “Go away!”

There was a brief pause, then another knock.

“Just—just please give me a minute, mom!”

“I’m not mom.” Jules’ heart skipped a beat. “Can I come in?”

You’ve never been around to help me before. Anger reared up in his chest. “No!”

Remus hesitated for a moment. Jules hoped he was shocked, stunned, hurt. “Okay.”

There was a rustling noise; he looked around the foot of the bed to see a shadow in the crack beneath the door. “Are you—what are you doing?”

“Sitting down.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Mom, make him go away!”

“What did I do, Jules?” Remus sounded sad. There was none of his usual teasing in his tone. The anger twisted around in Jules and he scrubbed at the tears and snot on his face.

“When did you get here?” He knew he was being rude; his mother would have given him a pursed-lips look if he talked like that to anyone normally.

“A couple hours ago. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It’s a terrible surprise. Go away.”

“Not until you tell me what I did.”

Jules took a few shallow breaths before answering. “You’re never here. Never.”

“I know. I’m s—”

“I hate you,” he sobbed, bringing his knees tighter to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

There was a long stretch of silence on the other side of the door, but the shadow remained. “That’s fair,” Remus said quietly.

“No, it’s not!” Jules clambered to his feet and stomped over to the door, wrenching it open. “It’s not fair! I shouldn’t hate you, this is your job! You should—you should—”

Remus looked up at him from his crosslegged seat on the carpet. “I should what?”

“You should yell at me. Or make me open the door, or do anything that makes me angry at you.” He sniffled and hugged himself.

“When have I ever yelled at you?”

“The rat. And the water balloons. And when I stole your sticks. And when I froze your underwear.”

Remus winced slightly. “Fair point. I don’t keep yelling once you’re in the room, though, right?”

Jules deflated. “No.”

“So I’m not going to yell at you. Also, your bedroom smells weird, so I don’t want to go in there unless I have to.”

A smile tried forcing its way out and Jules covered it with his best scowl. “My room doesn’t smell weird.”

Remus sniffed the air, then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“Why are you here?”

“Mom said she was getting ice cream.”

Jules perked up. “Did she?”

“No.” Remus held up the car keys. “We can fix that problem, though. Go get your shoes.”

“Can I drive?’

“If you can convince dad, sure.” Remus stood up and mussed his hair; his hand was gentle, though, unlike Luke’s. It was a welcome change.

He grabbed his sneakers from under his bed and hopped down the hall as he pulled them on. “Dad, can I drive?”

His father didn’t even look up from the paper. “When Hell freezes over, buddy.”

“Lyall,” his mother scolded from the kitchen, though her eyes crinkled at the edges. “Remus, remember not to swear around your brother!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he said, holding the door open for Jules as he shrugged his coat on.

They drove in relative silence, save for the Top Rock Hits of the Eighties cassette that they had each heard half a billion times. Remus pulled into the Dairy Queen drive-thru and rattled off Jules’ favorite without even having to ask. Somehow, that both soothed him and upset him even more. He handed the cone over carefully, stuck his blizzard in the cupholder, and started driving in the opposite direction of the house.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Jules asked, licking a stray drip of vanilla off the cone.

“I don’t think I can, seeing as we’re related.”

“You can. You don’t have custody.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Why don’t you, Mr. Fancy Degree?”

“This might surprise you, but they don’t exactly cover the intricacies of kidnapping in PT school.”

“Shame.”

Remus made a noise of agreement around the straw of his Blizzard as they rolled to a stop at the red light. “So, are we going to talk?”

“We already are.”

“Dude.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He made a face when a chunk of Oreo got stuck the straw. “If you get that out before the next light, you can have a sip.”

Jules took it and squeezed the thin plastic. “Luke Sanders is an asshole.”

“Language.” The car stopped again and Jules showed off the unblocked straw. “Do continue, though.”

“You’ve hit every red light since we left the house. That’s got to be a curse.” He took a long sip, then handed it across the console. “You like hanging out with me, right?”

“Obviously. You’re, like, my favorite person.” Remus gave him a confused look.

“Okay, cool.” Jules felt his hands start to shake again, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from his ice cream. Just hearing him say that made a tsunami of relief run through him. “Cool.”

“Did Luke Sanders tell you I didn’t?”

“He said a lot of stuff.”

Remus pulled into a parking lot, then took the key out and turned in his seat. “Like what?”

Jules shrugged one shoulder. “That you don’t want to be here.”

“And?” His voice had softened.

“And that it’s my fault, since I’m an annoying little tagalong.” Jules picked at the paper wrapper around his cone and didn’t look up. “He’s got a p—”

“If you say he’s got a point, all your underwear is going in the freezer.” All traces of gentleness were gone from his tone, leaving tightly-controlled fury in its place.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t—” Remus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t apologize, Jules.”

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah, because some little shit was picking on my brother and I wasn’t there to kick his ass.”

“I can handle it.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him even more. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you told anyone?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be a tattletale.”

“Jules, there’s a difference between being a tattletale and reporting a bully.” Remus tipped his chin up. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Jules’ lower lip wobbled. “I missed you. I always miss you, but he’s been really awful recently and he keeps saying the same stupid stuff over and over.”

Remus’ nose and cheeks reddened. “I missed you, too. If I could be here all the time, I would.”

“I know it’s not your fault, and I know you’re busy.” He wiped away another tear and tried to pull himself together. “But it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Remus agreed. “It’s not fair that I’m gone nine months out of the year, and it’s not right that people are making fun of you for it. Hang on for a second, okay?”

Jules nodded, still drying his cheeks. Remus got out of the car and jogged to the other side, then opened the passenger door and gestured for him to get out; as soon as his sneakers touched the ground, he was lifted almost a foot into the air. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he managed, burying his face in his brother’s neck.

Remus kissed the side of his head and held him close. “I’m sorry I’m not around more.”

He hooked his chin over Remus’ shoulder. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Will you be here whenever you can? I know that might not be often, but just…when you can.”

He felt Remus’ chest hitch against him. “Always,” he whispered. “Always.”

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

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A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

[hotwings0203]

This is so utterly stupid but I have a few HC’s about Muslim Dabi(again obv this isn’t canon I just think it’s funny)

-Dabi would def be the type of Muslim dude who claims to be super religious cuz he never eats pork and “goes to the mosque to pray”(which is actually just code for hitting a blunt in the back of the parking lot w Hawks and Shigaraki💀), but yet smokes^^ and still has hella sex with like every other girl who bats her lashes at him from across the dining hall

-he also is a big cat lover, he claims since the Prophet Muhammad had cats of his own it’s sunnah to keep one

-on Eid namaz he’s the most dripped out one at the session, I’m talking black kurta dress, nice ass watch, slicked back hair...but funny enough, no one has actually seen him in line for the prayers themselves

-if he were back at home with the rest of the Todoroki’s, he’d most definitely be THE MOST spoiled one. Fuyumi would get on his ass for not cleaning the dishes, but he’d wave her off and tell her it’s training for her to be a better housewife for her future husband(cue a soapy sponge thrown at his head)

-Snitches.Constantly. Bro like this dude catches Shoto on his phone when he’s supposed to be doing a dua? Boom, instant callout followed by a long ass lecture about how he’s straying away from his religion and how he’s going to hell just because he spent one measly moment on his device instead of praising da lord

-Hes also always telling fuyumi to cover up her sleeves that come just a bittt before her wrists, claiming that she’s showing too much skin(especially when Hawks is over, that fucker’s got his eyes on every single one of his family members). But she’s quick to point out his secret tattoos, piercings, and hair dyes. He just scoffs and pulls the “women were created lesser than men so it’s okay for me to act a fool but not for you” card🙄stg I can’t stand him

-Since he’s the closest to Natsu, he’s always giving Eid money to him the most. The dude will slouch against his favorite brothers’ door, watching him play 2K. “What do you want?” Natsu asks with no real malice, not taking his eyes off the changing screen, furiously clicking away on his controller. “Mom says you gotta iron your clothes, Fuyumi’s doing her own so she can’t do yours as well. Oh, and Eid Mubarak by the way.” Natsu pauses him game and stands to stretch his arms above his head, groaning at the tendons popping in place on his back. “Yeah man, you too-what’s that?” He points to a fat parcel in Touya’s hand. The white-haired boy grins and chucks the bulging package at him, which Natsu catches easily. His eyes widen when he tears open the cream-colored paper envelope and reveals dozens of bills exceeding the usual 5-10$ family limit. “Yo, what-how-thanks Touya!” He sputters, throwing the package on his bed and throwing an arm around his brothers’ back in a man-hug. Touya rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a smile at Natsu’s excitement,(something he’s always wanting to be the source of) pounding his back to let go before he asphyxiates. He lets go and Touya smirks before heading towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Oh, and I’d thank Sho-turd as well while you’re singing my praise.” Natsu stops in his tracks and looks suspiciously at the withdrawing slender figure. “Why?”. Touya’s voice is distant as he moves to close and lock his door. “‘Cuz it’s his money after all.”

-The two brothers are always waking up at Sehri the earliest in Ramadhan, just so they can scarf down a majority of the food in the fridge and go to sleep without having to interact with the rest of their family at sunrise. And in the case that their family DOES wake up in time to see them chomping down food made for a WHOLE FAMILY and not just two boys, Touya is quick to grab his keys and jacket and cackle that him and Natsu are going to iHop to eat some more. Natsu ofc is quick to follow pursuit, throwing an apologetic grin towards his parents and other siblings.

-When they’re at the mosque and Enji has somehow bullied him enough to sit the hell down and actually ATTEND the lectures for once, Touya still has one up his sleeve. Planned out strategically, he always simpers to Rei that he wants to donate to the mosque, causing her eyes to water and a handful of cash thrown his way, her voice wobbly as she praises her son for actually taking the foundations of his religion seriously. Unbeknownst to her however, this just means that he’ll take a little bit more than he gives. Hawks will be standing at the front of the hall, bowing his head and using his silver tongue to graciously thank the many men and women who come forth to drop their allowance into the money basket. When he sees his best man approaching, he has to stop the smug grin from reaching his ears, instead slanting his brows and holding the basket out to the now black-haired thief. “Glad to see you’re taking eternal damnation seriously, for once,” Keigo flashes his perky whites and Dabi drops Rei’s money into the donation basket, dipping his hand a little lower for a second. “Glad to see you’re still standing here like some busboy peasant, as usual,” he fires back, the two boys catching each other’s eyes and stifling their cackles as the patched hand withdraws, a copious amount of bills in his hand, more than what he put in.

-100% steals shoes. Usually you hear about older men doing this, but age aint nothin’ but a number to Dabi, baby. “Nice kicks,” he nods to a boy Natsu’s age, noting the blue and black minimalist patterns adorning the shoes. The boy recognizes Dabi as one of the most revered figures at the mosque (and the most featured by adults. Who’d want their kid hanging out with the eldest Todoroki as an influence?) and bobs his head excitedly, spewing out the manufacture and release dates of the shoes. Dabi looks at the fanboy amusedly, continuing to lean against the shoe rack as more people crowd around and start to push the boy inside. “See you later Dabi!” The eccentric kid calls out as he’s pushed into the hall by grumbling uncles. The ravenette snickers fo himself, “Yeah, but you won’t be seeing these shoes anytime soon.”

-A notorious playboy in the community. Uncles glare at him, unable to scold him outright for his shenanigans due to his father’s close presence, and aunties steer their children away from him at dinner parties. Speaking of, Dabi’s at a dinner right now. He’s lighting up a joint in amongst 3 mesmerized girls sitting on the floor in front of him and 2 jealous dudes his age in a locked room, away from all the screaming little kids. “Wow Dabi, doesn’t it burn?” The youngest of the three girls asks him with imploring eyes. He smiles a charming smile down at her and he thinks he sees the other two swoon. “Nah, sweetheart, you get used to it after a little while. Don’t be like me though, keep yourself pure and clean,” he shoots a wink at them and they giggle, faces turning red. The other two boys sitting at the far end of the bed scowl at his successful flirting, but Dabi doesn’t care for any of them, honestly, they’re just target practice. Right as he inhaled the fumes of another puff, a little body throws itself at the door, banging its fists on the wood. “It’s time for food!” They all jump at the intrusion and chuckle as the intruder runs away, containing to scream about food being served. The group gets up to leave and exits through the door, but Dabi takes his time. He wasn’t done with his joint, and he has to waft the smell away anyways when he leaves. He’s opening a window to let out some air when he heads a soft shuffle from behind him. “Shows over guys, go eat-“ but when he turns around, the oldest girl of the three stands before him, fiddling with her hands and looking at the floor. “Um, Dabi? I know you said not to try it out by ourselves so...I was wondering if you could-if you could teach me how...?” She looks at the half-used roll in his hand, and he looks from the blunt to her face. He looks behind her. A closed door. Perfect. Taking a step forwards, he relishes in how she takes a hesitant step back, the breath in her throat catching but she still doesn’t back down. She looks to him like he’s a god, and he feels like one right now. And so he steps closer until she’s backed against the wall, his lids lowered to her wide ones, and he placed a hand next to her head. “Didnt your mom ever tell you not to take things from strangers?” He ghosts by the shell of her ear, and she shivers. “She never told me the strangers would be this hot,” and he has to laugh a bit at her tenacity. He pulls away and flops back on the bed, signaling for her to join him. “Well come one then, I’m hungry, better hurry up before I change my mind.” And 5 shotguns later, Dabi barely wipes off her bright pink lipstick from his face and straightens his kurta along with his hair before bounding down the steps, eager for food. At his command, she comes down a minute after him as to not cause any suspicion, but it doesn’t stop Rei from shooting him a knowing glare from the living room as he piles his plate with food. He shoves a veggie roll in his mouth as he turns to join the boys in the dining area, but his path is blocked by a large woman. “I know you’re up to no good. The children told me what funny smell was coming from the room upstairs, and I know you’re to blame, Touya Todoroki. I respect your mother a lot so I won’t make a scene here-“ he interrupts her, mouth half full with a roll, “-I mean, you already kinda are,-“ but she continues her tirade. “-I don’t think you’re a good influence on these kids, especially your siblings. What self respecting family would be okay with their son acting like a hooligan, having piercings, smelling like weed?” He smirks and swallows before swerving around her. “I don’t know Aunty, why don’t you ask your daughter? She didn’t seem to mind my, ah, influence.”

-When they were all younger, there was a time where End*avor wanted the boys the toughen up a bit and stop messing around so much. He brought the family up to the mountains in a nice cabin, purposefully choosing an area with farms nearby. It was around the time of Eid-e-Adha, so naturally goats and sheep’s were going to be sacrificed for the family feast. Touya already knew what was going on, so Enji left it up to him, a scrawny preteen boy to take over the initiation. Fuyumi wanted to come to the farm too, but Touya glared at her and told her to stay home because “girls are too emotional for this.”(he really did think that, but above all he held a secret soft spot for his only younger sister). Natsu and Touya both started heading down to the field to pick out a goat, and ofc little Shoto wanted to come along to. He begged and begged for his older brothers to bring him along and to not leave him at home for once, and with a sly glance to Natsu, Touya relented. He leaned down to Shoto’s eye-level and asked with serious eyes, “You sure?”. Shoto nodded eagerly, standing straight up as to look more solemn and mature. Natsu held back a snicker and grabbed Shoto by the collar as they dragged him out to the pasture. Oh, the little boy was in heaven among the bleating sheep and fluffy coats. “Go ahead, pick one out!” Touya said eagerly, nodding to the clueless toddler to choose a sacrificial sheep. And so the heterochromatic child pointed to one, looking to his big brothers for assurance, to which they gave an excited nod. Shoto yelped with glee and spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking with the soon-to-be-mutton chops, completely oblivious to its grim fate and creating a bond with the animal. So when it was finally sunset and the time came to start preparing for the feast, Touya walked over leisurely to Shoto, pushed the grubby hand away from the animal’s collar, and started pulling the creature towards the chopping block. “W-what’re you doing?” Shoto asked uncertainty. “Well, we gotta eat, right? Thanks for picking out such a fat sheep, ‘wonder how it’s gonna taste,”. The eldest grinned with malice at his youngest brother, who started to sniffle and ball his fists. “You’re lying! Leave it alone!” He cried out. “Nope, m’not lying, ask Natsu.” Natsu turns to Shoto and shrugs his shoulders without any real regret. “You’re the one who wanted to come along, right? Think of how proud dad will be of his favorite-he finally sacrificed his first sheep!”

-the first time he was ever asked to lead the namaz, Keigo and Tomura kept kicking the back of his legs so he would fall over while trying to recite the prayers, and in turn he’d immediately whip around in the middle of the whole damn hall and shoot fire at the two howling boys. Needless to say, he was never asked to read again

(one would think since Dabi knows sooo much about being a gOoD mUsLim and how to follow the rules he’d take some of that advice HIMSELF)

[kozozaki]

Unloyal Royalty

Pairing: Tubbo x Reader

"Y/n, please don't leave," Eret pleaded, but you knew he didn't mean it.

"I am not as blind as you think, you don't want me to stay because you care, you want me to stay because you know Dream would be upset with you because I left," you stated, your tone going from angry to soft and saddened.

You and your older brother were arguing under the gates to the castle you shared because you wanted to leave.

Eret opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, "Don't come at me with 'I do care', because you don't! It's such bullshit! No one cares about me! When Mexican L'manberg framed us for killing Karl, they didn't try to frame both of us, only me!" You laughed sadly.

"That's not true-"

"Yes, it is! You always do this, every time I want to leave, you just saying shit like 'everyone cares, don't lie to yourself' and I come running back to the castle. Not anymore, I'm gone, for good this time!"

You ran away before his words could get to your head again. You didn't stop running until you reached the hub portal. You debated going to see Tubbo, but he probably didn't want to see you, not after what happened yesterday. Tommy understood what it was like between Eret and you, he was one of your best friends before he was exiled. You haven't visited him yet, Dream barred you from going to visit him because "The queen shouldn't concern herself with dumbasses who can't shut their mouths." Such a stupid excuse.

Now that Dream held nothing against you, you could see him. Eret went to see him a couple of days ago, and luckily for you, he saved the coordinates (coords are now a system of measurement don't question it djjwnw-) of the portal in a book. You entered the numbers into the compass you had in your bag and as soon as you entered the Nether, the compass started working.

The journey towards the portal was long and boring and dangerous, but eventually you made it. You didn't expect it to be so high up. You cautiously stuck a hand through the portal, before going through completely.

You ended up in what seemed to be a plains biome. There was a village surrounded by dark oak trees. You seemed to have come out of a fixed ruined-portal. You studied your surroundings for a bit longer, before hearing a soft, echoing voice.

"Oh, hello Y/n!" You smiled and turned around, recognizing the voice as Ghostbur's. You were hit with a wave of sadness. You'd always think of Wilbur as a substitute older brother. You would always run away to L'manberg or Pogtopia when you got into fights with Eret, and he never failed to make you feel special, even when he was lying. "Are you okay? Do you want some blue?"

Ghostbur wouldn't lie to you. "Sure," he placed the currently clear blob in your hands, you could already see it shifting colours, "thank you."

"No problem! If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" He was like a brother to you all the same.

"I haven't visited Tommy yet, I really missed him."

"Oh, follow me to Logstedshire then!," you did exactly that, "In all the memories I have, Tommy and you were inseparable, I remember, years before L'manberg even existed, you and Tommy thought you were biological siblings." You didn't want to talk about siblings anymore.

"Y/n?" You looked up from the ground to see Tommy. But he was different. His clothes were dirtier than usual, a few rips in the hem of his shirt. You didn't care, immediately running towards him, somehow confining the much taller man in a hug, "Why are you here? Didn't Dream tell you not to visit me, will I get you in trouble?"

"No, I'm not the queen anymore, he has no leverage over me," you answered simply, but Tommy seemed much more bothered by it than you.

"You aren't the queen anymore? What happened? Are you okay? I swear if Eret did anything to make you leave, I'm gonna start stabbin shit!"

"Tommy no! Calm down. Eret didn't do anything specifically it was more everything getting to my head."

"Whatever happened, you're here with us now, right?" Ghostbur is too kind.

"Right. I might go to L'manberg sometimes though. I... I still need to apologize to Tubbo," you admitted, mentally preparing for Tommy and his many questions and concerns.

"Apologize to Tubbo? For what? What happened with Tubbo?" You would never be entirely ready for Tommy.

"Tubbo and I got in a big fight yesterday because I was stupid, the reality that you were exiled didn't settle in until then," you wanted to scream at your own idiocy, you regretted snapping at Tubbo more than anything.

"Well then what the hell are you here for, go apologize to Tubbo!" he quickly shoved you in the direction of the portal.

"But Tommy I just got here-"

"No, you aren't allowed to come back until you apologize to Tubbo," he huffed and walked the other way. What he didn't know was how bad the fight actually was. There was no way you could even see Tubbo without crying.

The trip back to the hub portal wasn't different at all, except this time you were more on edge, your mind racing with hundreds of ways this could go wrong. You saw Ranboo and Fundy yelling at each other, but you quickly realized it was just their usual banter.

You had no idea where Tubbo would be. "Hey, do you guys know where Tubbo is?"

"Oh, hey Y/n. I think he's at the docks actually."

"Thanks, Ranboo!" You sprinted past them towards the docks smiling as they resumed their arguing, but your smile apparated along with your speed when you saw Tubbo. He looked sad. He wasn't wearing his blazer, only a shirt and tie. The bee that was resting on his hand flew towards you. Stupid adorable bee.

Tubbo looked behind him to see where the bee went, and his eyes widened. He instantly looked away again. "Why're you here, Y/n?" he tried to sound like he didn't want you there, but really he wanted you there more than anything.

"T-Tubbo, I... I'm sorry, about yesterday, it was out of line, I shouldn't have-"

"Damn right you shouldn't have, that hurt Y/n! You acted like I don't miss him too!" Tubbo being upset really hurt you, especially because you're the reason he's angry.

"I'm trying to apologize-"

"Right! I'm sorry! Get on with your 'apology' then," the way that sentence was dripping with sarcasm pushed you over the edge.

"Tubbo I'm trying to apologize genuinely so if you think that this is fake or forced it isn't I just want to be on good terms with someone I love again!" You were too unsettled to realize what you had said until Tubbo pointed it out.

"You... you love me?" He no longer sounded upset, more relieved, and happy.

"Ah, fuck, shit. No," he looked sad again, and you instantly took it back, "I mean yeah, I do, but I didn't want you to know that, for like, at least the rest of my life-"

Tubbo placed a hand on your shoulder and laughed, "Y/n calm down, it's okay. I love you too."

Your face turned a deep shade of red, "Jesus I didn't expect you to be so forward about it."

"Do you want to stay here and talk for a while?"

"Yeah! Wait, I have to tell Tommy and Ghostbur I won't be back for a while."

"Tommy and Ghostbur? Nevermind. Don't tell them, you'll take like half an hour, I'll die of boredom!"

"Fineeeee. Tommy was right, you are clingy."

"That was just uncalled for Y/n."

[bestiesenpai]

firsts with fushiguro megumi

Sushiguro is here lads! To do what? Simp! How much? Badly! When? Now! Femme pronouns purely so I can use the term ‘big sis’

TW: blood(but it’s very brief), drinking too

First meeting

When Fushiguro came to Tokyo Tech, he knew there’d be other students there, older than him and his same age

He went into the school with no particular intention of dating any of his classmates, or really dating anyone to be honest

But then, why does he find a third year so cute? He wasn’t here for any of that, it wasn’t Rupauls best friend race!

He hasn’t even said a word to you and you’re already capturing his heart, and really all you’re doing is talking to Inumaki and the other second years, laughing with them and just hanging out before any lessons start

He doesn’t realize he’s scowling and glaring right at you in his attempts to figure out his feelings until you come up to him with an annoyed look on your face

“Hey, any reason you’re fucking staring at me like that?” You spit, one hand on your hip and the other pointing at him.

“What?” He says it harder than he wants to, his brows raising up slightly. He was staring at you? You seemed mad too, what was he supposed to do? 

“Sorry.” The answer must not have been good enough for you because you let out a grunt.

“That’s all you have to say, you little creep?”

“(Y/N), don’t get so worked up.” Maki tries to calm you down, but you push her away.

“No, I wanna know why he was staring at me like that. Do you have a problem with me, first year? We’ve never even met before, so what’s your deal?”

Shit. Shit this was really bad and only getting worse.

“I-I didn’t mean to.”

“Well you did, so explain yourself.” You reply immediately, scaring him more. Crossing your arms over your chest, you cock your head to the side. “Well? You gonna answer or what?”

How was he supposed to explain that he was looking at you because he thought you were pretty and he wanted to talk to you but he was too nervous?

“I uh-” Clearing his throat, Megumi’s eyes bounced to his upperclassmen. None of them were trying to calm you down anymore and they actually seemed a little scared themselves.

“Speak up.” Snapping your fingers at him, you got closer, almost bursting Megumi’s personal bubble.

“You’re pretty.” He squeaks out, flinching at the way you raise your eyebrow. “Woah!” With one sweep of your legs he’s sent tumbling to the ground and onto his back.

“Fuck off and stay away from me, you weirdo.” Stepping on his stomach, you walk on top of him and out of sight to the dorms. Megumi lays there, staring at the sky in silence with his hands clutching his abdomen.

“Sorry about (Y/N), she can be a little testy.” He’s being helped up by Panda, with Inumaki standing just off to the side.

“(Y/N).” He says your name quietly, looking at the place you’d just disappeared to. Royally fucking up your first meeting, he’d have to fix your relationship with him sooner rather than later.

First hangout

After that fateful day, Fushiguro doesn’t see much of you because, you’re actively avoiding him

And when he does see you, you always make the comment that your day just got ten times worse from just having him in your vicinity

It hurt to have you say those things, especially because Fushiguros crush on you hadn’t diminished at all

He saw the way you were with others and it made him yearn to be a part of that

He’s also gotten his ass beat a few more times for somehow always being caught staring at you and Gojo laughs every time, even video taped it to laugh at later

The only time you actually hang around him - and not of your own accord - is before the goodwill event with Kyoto. Since you’re not allowed to participate, you’ve been tasked with helping him train

And it’s not going very well...could this even be considered a hangout?

“That makes five, shitty-guro.” It’s the fifth time you’ve knocked him into the dirt with just your fists. It’s in Megumi's mouth, the taste of the dirt, and he feels its grit between his teeth. His arms shake hard as he forces himself up to all fours and then to his feet.

“O-one more time.” There’s a cut above his eye that’s started to trickle blood into his line of sight and he hastily wipes it off. Fighting you reminds him of his fight with Todo, how overwhelming it was to be on the receiving end of the onslaught of attacks.

“Really? You must have a fucking pain kink or something, sicko.” Spitting on the ground, you roll your neck and take your stance, fists in front of you and feet spread apart. “But let’s see what you got.”

Megumi doesn’t think when he comes after you this time. Before, he’d tried to make calculated moves that would all just end in his defeat. You were either too quick for him to execute them or you’d already thought two steps ahead and dodged.

As your fist just barely misses breaking his nose, Megumi does manage to tackle you onto the ground. There’s a brief tumble and he can’t exactly make odds or ends of the world, but he rolls you on the ground and manages to pin your arms and legs to your side.

“Ha...I did it.” It’s all he can think to say, stupidity flashing across his brain at how dumb he sounds. You wiggle underneath him, quickly giving up and settling onto the dirt.

“Okay so hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me you fucking moron, you’ve barely landed any punches on me this whole time.” Rolling your eyes, you turn your face to the side and squeeze your eyes shut. “Go ahead.” Picking up his fist, Megumi looks at it and at you. It’s true, he’d barely striked you, only landing a few punches by lucky chance.

“I-I can’t.” At least not like this. Although he wasn’t one to believe in pulling punches or going easy during training, he didn’t want to hurt you like that, particularly with you down like this.

“Well I can.”

“Huh?” It happened again, a move he wasn’t prepared for. Arching your back hard, your leg swings up, pushing him up your body but also nailing him in the back of the head with your foot. He lurches forward, part of his leg hitting you in the face.

He’s face down ass up in the air, once again tasting the dirt underneath him. You don’t miss the opportunity to kick him in the ass and make his face drag across the dirt before falling over completely.

“What the hell…” Looking up at the sky in wonder, his face stings from being rubbed so hard, and he sits up slowly. His vision is swimming, but he can see you holding your nose and tilting your head back, blood dripping on your hands.

“You couldn’t punch me in the face, but at least you managed to do some damage.” Your voice is funny with your nose blocked. Scrambling to his feet, Megumi pulls out a handkerchief he has and holds it out to you.

“Here, use this.” You squint at him, eyeing him up with scrutiny. Taking the cloth from him, you lower your head a little and take your hand away. Megumi watches the cloth quickly become crimson, soaked with your blood.

“Thanks shitty-guro.” Turning your back on him, you shrug your shoulder and begin to walk away. “Don’t expect this back, I don’t want you harvesting my DNA to make some weird sex doll clone.” Your words make him chuckle despite the harsh tone you gave them. Megumi stays where he is for a little bit to collect himself before taking a break himself, watching you laugh at seeing Nobara swung around by Panda.

First confession

Fushiguro Megumi had to be completely psycho, because after that training day his mind runs even more rampant with thoughts of you

You stop avoiding him as much now, you still don’t speak directly to him most of the time but if you have to you take the seat next to him if it’s the only one available

But Megumi doesn’t get to fantasize about you as much anymore since you’ve gone ahead and graduated and left him behind(how rude)

Now that he’s in his third year, he’s better at controlling his emotions and whatnot

So when you come around to the school to chat with Gojo or he sees you on missions, he doesn’t stare like he used to and he can have a barely decent conversation with you

And for some increasingly annoying reason, you and Itadori have taken a great liking to each other

It’s like a sibling relationship, Itadori looks at you with sparkling eyes and calls you ‘big sis (Y/N)’, the two of you text each other quite frequently and you’re always willing to put an arm around his shoulder when the two of you are hanging out

“You what?” Megumi stops dead in his tracks in the dorm building hall, utterly stunned by what Itadori just said.

“Hm, you didn’t hear me? I said I have a crush on big sis (Y/N), I want to confess to her.” Itadori says it so plainly that it sounds simple enough. And it really is, he knows Itadori won’t beat around the bush with this, and that’s what makes it that much worse.

“You can’t.” Megumi says before he can help himself.

“Why not?” Now Itadori is looking at him in confusion.

“Be-because I-” It’s too embarrassing to admit outloud. He hasn’t told anyone about his crush on you, it was a secret he’d take to the grave. But that doesn’t mean other people didn’t take notice, he could tell people knew(everyone knew) but they never brought it up.

“Don’t tell me you like big sis too!” With a gasp, Itadori narrows his eyes at Megumi. With a burning face, Megumi nods yes, shame washing over him. “You can’t, she doesn’t even like you.”

“I know!” Throwing his head back, Megumi slams his forehead into the nearest wall and groans loudly. “Believe me, I know.”

“Seriously, this is what you called me here for, Kugisaki?” A fit of giggles erupts behind him and Megumi whips his head to the side, mouth wide open in shock at seeing you and Nobara behind him, a disgusted look on your face while Nobara is laughing.

“Mhmm!” She’s busy trying to hold her laughter in and failing at it.

“Big sis!” Itadori waltzes right up to you and hugs you, receiving a few firm pats on the back. “I don’t really like you like that, Nobara just wanted to see if Fushiguro would admit to his crush on you or not.”

“Don’t worry, I caught on.” Ruffling his hair, you release him from the hug. Sauntering up to Megumi, you flick him in the forehead. “I always knew you were a freak, a little pain freak.” Flicking him again, you sigh and take a step back. “Well since I’m here let’s watch a movie or something, give ol’ shitty-guro a break for once, looks like he needs one.”

“Awesome!” Itadori is already rushing to prepare his room for guests.

“Big sis, will you order takeout from that one place?” Nobara asks, grabbing your hand excitedly.

“Geez, you guys are gonna bleed me dry!” You gripe, and then a sick smile crosses your face. “Good thing I kept Gojos credit card info from the last time he made me order food.”

“Woo!” Bouncing on her heels, Nobara is already rattling off the things she wants to order.

“Let’s go shitty-guro.” Catching him by the collar, you drag him down the hall and to Itadori’s room.

First date

After accidentally confessing, Fushiguro actually feels better now that you know

You don’t immediately start to treat him differently, but the edge in your voice when you speak to him is softer now, less defensive than it used to be

And he was finally able to explain that all those years ago, he had been staring at you because he really did think you were pretty

There’s no time that you hang out together just the two of you, Itadori and Nobara are always around chirping about ‘big sis (Y/N)’ and hanging around

It’s only when there’s an ‘accidental’ mixup in schedules and the both of you end up together at korean bbq, conveniently with Itadori and Nobara both not answering their phones

“Do those idiots really think I don’t know what they’re doing?” You huff across the table, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room. Leaning back in your chair, you can see Megumi pointedly avoiding looking at you.

“We can go if you want.” He says, eyes still trained on the barbecue in the middle of the table. You sigh heavily and Megumi closes his eyes, ready for you to leave almost immediately.

“Nah it’s whatever, we’re here now might as well make the most of it.” Picking up a menu, you point at him with it. “Order whatever you want, big sis (Y/N) will pay for it.”

“Y-you’re not my big sis.” Megumi mumbles as he picks up his menu, instantly regretting what he said.

“No? Then what am I to you?” Your smirk tells him all he needs to know. You want to hear him say it again, confess his feelings and blush like an idiot. And with the way his cheeks were currently burning, you were already halfway there.

“You know what I mean.”

“Hm? I don’t think I do.” Now planting your elbows on the table, you grinned like a fool. “What are you saying, shitty-guro? Do you want me to be more than that?” If you weren’t in public, Megumi would have yelled from embarrassment. But he didn’t get the chance to do anything, as there were two guys approaching your table.

“Can I help you?” Your smile instantly dropped, expression turning as cold as ice as you glared at the two of them. They looked closer to your age, maybe a few years older, with more muscles than Megumi could ever hope to pack onto his lean frame.

“We saw you from our table and were wondering if you wanted to join us? We got plenty of booze and food.” Their attempts at picking you up were laughable, and you did just that, letting out a snort and waving them away.

“Not interested.” Flipping a page on your menu, you go to point at something and talk to Megumi when one of them puts a hand on your shoulder.

“C’mon, ditch your little brother and co- fuck!” Snatching their hand off you, you nearly broke their fingers with how hard you bent them backwards.

“Listen you fucking creeps.” Standing up, you twisted the arm of the man that had touched you. “I’m just trying to enjoy this dumb little date, eat some dumb food and then go the fuck home.”

“Okay! Okay!” He sobbed. The whole restaurant was looking at you now, shock written all over their faces.

“It better be okay, because I won’t hesitate to break your fucking kneecaps if you so much as look at either of us.” Pushing the man away, you let out a huff of air and sat back down.

“So…” Megumi muttered as the two men scrambled away.

“What? Don’t tell me you think I went too far, you know I don’t care.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” Wringing his fingers together, Megumi looked at you with a shy grin. “You said we’re on a date?” Your brows shot up in surprise, nearly disappearing into your hairline. That’s right, you’d called it a date. He could see you working over the words you wanted to say, and chuckled when you dropped your head in shame.

“Yeah, maybe I’ve come to like you too. It helps that you stopped being a damn creep and grew up.” Covering your face with your hand, you laughed bashfully. “Yeah, shitty-guro, I got a bit of a crush on you too.” Laughing again, you raised your head and were met with his pink tinged cheeks and shocked mouth.

“Really?” He wasn’t easily stupefied, but hearing you confess to liking him was something he never thought would happen. He didn’t even think you considered him a friend, let alone a love interest.

“Yup.” Taking a drink of your water, you calmed your racing heart. Megumi copied your actions, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “I guess I should stop calling you shitty-guro, huh? Megumi?”

“Ach-” He was instantly choking on his water, spitting some of it out onto the table and his lap as he forced his head down. Nearly falling from his chair, his whole face was scarlet and he felt lightheaded. You’d always referred to him by that mean nickname or just his plain last name. Hearing you say his first name made him panic.

“Jeez maybe I won’t say it if this’ll be your reaction every time.” You teased, throwing napkins at him. While he was busy cleaning up, you ordered for the two of you and handed the menus away.

“No! No, you can keep saying it, I was just surprised.” Coughing out the last remnants of water, Megumi straightened up and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Alright, Megumi.” Saying his name a little sweeter just to tease him, you thanked the waiter when they brought a couple bottles of soju to the table. “Let’s have fun on this date.”

First kiss

Megumi was sure he had alcohol poisoning that night after getting back to the dorms

Who knew one person could drink so much? He also quickly learned that his tolerance for alcohol was quite low, given the many times he threw up in an alleyway while waiting for Ijichi to come and get him

He didn’t need to worry about you stumbling home, by the time he had left you were already climbing into a cab

The next day, he had the worst - and his first - hangover and was incapacitated the whole day, unable to move unless it was to throw up or drag himself to the bathroom

Nobara and Itadori had to make sure he wasn’t actually dead most of the time

When you texted him and asked if he wanted to join a karaoke session with Itadori and Nobara, he almost said no, remembering how your last hangout ended

But he said yes, not wanting to pass on the opportunity, especially considering that you messaged him first

“Woo, big sis!” Nobara cheers as you and Itadori scream some dumb song you barely know the words to, hanging off each other like drunken fools. And you are, or at least Itadori is. You’d supplied the alcohol, the same as the one you’d drank with Megumi earlier, and it was clear to see that it had an effect on everyone around.

“God I’m so bad at singing!” You laugh loudly and breathlessly once the song is over, collapsing right next to Megumi on the couch. Your head had landed near his and he could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks; you weren’t outright drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“Itadori, we’re doing this song!” Nobara hops up, taking the microphone you’d left on the table and standing with Itadori near the TV screen.

“Megumi, drink up.” Flicking the cup in his hand, you take note that it’s still nearly as full as when you first mixed it for him.

“No thanks, I don’t think I can drink after last time.” You laugh at him, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder at his serious tone.

“Really, I scarred you that badly?” Your forehead lands on your hand and Megumi can feel you shaking with every drunken laugh that you let out. He nods, not that you’re paying attention to see. Carefully, he puts the cup down on the table so you don’t accidentally spill it.

“I thought I was going to die.” He says, and it makes you laugh even harder. Trying to sit up properly, your body feels heavier than before and you don’t nearly use enough strength, and you end up falling onto him. “Oh!” Megumi quickly wraps his arms around you to keep you from rolling off the couch, and part of your leg is on top of his.

“Sorry gumi, guess I’m a little drunker than I thought!” That nickname was new, making Megumi’s face flush with painful heat.

“I-it’s okay.” Curtly nodding, he tries to avoid how close your faces actually are to each other. You’re close enough that he could kiss you without moving too much, your breath fanning across his lips and your forehead nearly bumping into his, your head bobbing as you try to keep yourself upright.

“Gumi, we should kiss right now.” Your statement makes a strangled noise come out of his throat, and Megumi takes a quick look at the other two in the room. They’re busy singing and trying to outdo each other on high notes.

“I-”

“Do you want to?” Planting a firm hand into the couch cushions, you push away from him slightly. “It’s okay if you don’t, I won’t pressure you.” You’re already moving away without giving him time to decide.

“I do!” He nearly shouts, slapping a hand on your shoulder to stop you from moving.

“We can wait, it’s fine.” Nodding to yourself, neither you nor Megumi are ready for his next move. Without thinking, he pushes his lips onto yours, tasting the alcohol still fresh on your tongue. He’s clumsy for his first time, unsure of what to do but closing his eyes all the same.

Your hand comes up to rest on his thigh, pushing yourself closer to him. Your mouth opens slightly, tongue coming out to brush his lips and he opens immediately. He can really taste the alcohol now, feeling like he was getting drunk just from the kiss.

“Woo! Big sis (Y/N)! Big sis (Y/N)!” Nobara and Itadori have stopped singing and are now cheering for you as you make out with their best friend and classmate. Letting them go on for a few more seconds, you pull away laughing.

“Will you two shut up?! You’re killing the mood!”

“We are the mood!” Itadori counters, and he dodges the TV remote you throw at him.

“Yeah, this is a big accomplishment!” Nobara grins. The two of them are swaying on their feet, obviously heavily intoxicated and loving every minute of it.

“God.” Slapping your forehead, you turn back to Megumi. “This is the last time I’m giving you guys liquor.”

[imagine-loki]

Hiding In Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight

 CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 10

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

 ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies? RATING: General Audience

NOTE - I finally got my ass in gear and finished something, thank Loki.

Raven gave him a withering look. “Again with the ‘she’ and ‘her’. You are going out of your way to be insulting at this stage.” “But you are Raven? Not ‘Breanna’?” Loki demanded. 

“My grandmother called me Breanna. It’s one and the same.” She dismissed. 

“You hid yourself as a maid?” 

“I did.” “Why?” “I heard so many stories about you, so incredibly conflicting, I wanted to see for myself.” “So you pretended to be a maid? You…” Loki’s eyes widened. “You scrubbed my toilet.” He grimaced at that thought. 

“In fairness, whatever else was ever said about you, your hygiene is impeccable.” 

“Why?” “I told you.” “But why?” 

“I learnt you are intelligent and can understand many languages and are very much able to comprehend the spoken word so I don’t think I need to repeat myself again. I know it is something you also dislike. You told me that the first day I spoke to you.” She walked around a little. 

Loki studied her for a moment. Watching how she walked, so obviously well-bred and the manner in which she was speaking showing a significant education. He shook his head slightly as he spoke. “My brother said time and again that the Elven princess was raised in a manner that was meek and subservient. You have been insubordinate since the day you walked in here.” 

“How can I be insubordinate to you, we are of equal standing. The extra children of the ruling monarch, merely existing in the slight offchance our older siblings do not make it to taking the throne.” She challenged.

“I think your father would rather a republic than have you on the throne.” Loki pointed out, his tone half of anger, half merely stating fact. 

“I think he would too but the law is that I can take it regardless of my gender, I just need all four of my brothers to not get on it and have heirs.” She eyed him with intrigue, watching the glut of emotions swirling around in his face. Anger seemed to be winning as the most notable one. “I suggest airing your anger now. It will make this easier in the long run.”

“Was my mother in on this all along?” “Yes. I wrote to her to get her words on your character. Sadly, she gave the view of a biased and loving mother. So, convinced I would see your personality for myself in other ways by being your maid, she suggested I take Tatianna’s place for a few weeks. I can see you have a good rapport with her, so I can see why she would think that.”

Loki felt his anger rise at his mother’s involvement. “My brother, my father?”

“For the Allfather to know anything, he would have had to have come to your rooms whilst I was here, he never did, ergo, he never knew anything of it. Thor was not part of the plan. What I had not anticipated was that he recalled the few occasions that he met me in passing while talking to my brothers over the centuries, especially in Vanaheim. He confronted me, wanting to know why I was playing such games. He did not agree with it but the Allmother and I convinced him to remain silent.” 

Loki’s lip curled in anger at his brother knowing such things but also knowing that he had the excuse of being told to say nothing. Not that it would save him from a few choice words and more than a few spells and hard blows when Loki would be able to inflict such on him again. “You spied on me, and you thought it wise?” He scoffed in disgust. “How did you envisage this little reveal going? Pray, do tell.” “I suppose it’s obvious that I had not thought through that fully. I was hoping the Aesir I was meeting was actually a nice being so I would at least feel guilty.” 

Loki’s brow rose at that. “You have the audacity to say such things with all your deceit.”

“You literally are nicknamed the God of Lies, tricks and mischief, I would have thought you would have been impressed if nothing else.” “I am anything but.” He became irate at her answers. “You have no right to speak to me like this, you deceitful wench.” He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “Get out.” 

Raven felt hurt but understood fully and had expected him to react in such a manner, sighing, she walked to the door. “Well, it’s done now anyway.”

“What?” Loki had no inkling as to what she was referring to. “Getting this conflict out of the way. I was getting bothered waiting for it.” She spoke as she walked through the door. 

“You anticipated this, really?” He did not believe her. 

“I anticipated this, at best. I thought you would fly into a rage and throw me out at worst but then again, I thought you had not arrived for lunch because you had realised who I was and were giving me the very much expected silent treatment. Something I would wager all the ore on Alfheim I am going to be receiving from this point forth. I did not think it would last this long.” “What would last this long?” “This conversation. It lasted far longer than I had expected.” She shrugged as she walked to the door. 

“Did you really learn to be a maid for this?” “I hardly knew how to be one before. I had to at least pretend to know what I was doing.” “You were so desperate to try and make a fool of me?” “It was never about making a fool of you, Loki. I told you, I wanted to know what to expect here. I tried to find out by other means but to no avail. Unlike you, I had to move to another realm and live with a man I had not met in almost seven hundred years outside of the briefest of moments.” “So you thought the way to get to know me was to scrub my toilet, that is your thinking of me? That is what you considered in getting to know me? I honestly expected you to have little self-respect with how you were raised, what with it being a misogynistic realm but you really do not have any self-worth with how you acted.” He walked over to the main door of his rooms to open it. 

“Well, when your muscles ached and you wanted them relieved and when I neatened your belongings, you did not complain and don’t you ever look down at those who clean your toilet. You would not last five minutes in the real realm without your seidr, you pretentious prick.” 

Irate at her venomous words, Loki walked forward towards her but stopped suddenly when she flinched as though expecting to be struck. As much as he wanted to say something as vitriolic back, he refrained. “Your little stunt was nothing more than pathetic and ridiculous and your name calling even more so, but it clearly was futile because if your observations were even the slightest bit accurate, you would know I would never lay a hand on you.” 

“I knew that. If anyone will bear any physical brunt of this, it will be Thor.” 

Loki had to admit, she did learn something in all of this with that comment. “Yet, you flinched as though expecting me to strike you?” “I am not a warrior, I have not learnt how to not flinch when someone rushes forward. But I know you would not. If you had been a risk to me, I would never have come here alone.” She ensured to look him in the eye as she spoke to show her sincerity. 

Loki had to admit, that was a valid excuse and indeed statement regarding her safety. “Good, at least you grasped that much in this.” He opened the door fully and indicated outside. 

“I guess the deceitful wench will leave the pretentious prick to his day, then.” She walked towards the door. 

“Norns but you have to have the last word, don’t you?” Loki pushed the door shut again with some force. “You’re supposed to be silent.” “You literally said one of the things you were looking forward to least about being married to me was that you loathed the idea of a subservient and silent wife. My father should have had someone warn you, I tend to be too sarcastic for my own good, always have been, but you noticed that already too.”  “If I had only known.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from every syllable he spoke. He looked at her for another moment. “How could you possibly have thought that we could even attempt to build anything on this?” “You never wanted to build anything, you spoke terribly of me the whole time I was here. You would not even use my name.” “What is with you and that particular issue? Why does it matter so greatly to you?” Loki snapped. “You are like a dog with a bone.” 

“What is your obsession with not using it? You have nothing but contempt for me, both in your actions and your words, and have done so before you even realised it was me and do not think for one second I have forgotten your horrid words to your little friend about me, much less my realms’ people. Whatever damage I have done to the idea of creating a cordial relationship, you clean blasted it off the realm long before.” “I already told you, I do not think such, I was just venting.” “I told you in that very same conversation that I do not suffer fools. And if you think me to believe that statement, you are calling me one also.” “I bear no ill thoughts to the Ljósáfar. I would not have my seidr be so strong but for the ability to wield it perfected on Alfheim. I have nothing but respect for the race, you as an individual, on the other hand, not so much since you decided to try and trick me.” “There was no try, I succeeded in doing so.” There was some smugness to Raven’s smirk. 

Loki’s lip curled in anger at that statement. 

“I recall that day too that you wished to show me that you have no ill against my race, yet my parents and brothers did not deserve the respect required to welcome them, did they?” She shook her head. “You don’t respect us, you respect no one, not even yourself.” This time, she walked to the door and opened it, not wanting to speak to him any further. 

“What comes of this?” Loki asked, not wanting to acknowledge her fairly accurate analysis. 

“I do not know. You were adamant before, I am nothing but a duty. As a prince, you will be forced to do such duty. Our parents will not forfeit this agreement. My parents because it ensures I am no longer a burden, yours because, as you so crassly put it before, it solidifies my father’s alliance. So I guess we simply avoid one another outside of required interactions. I will not bother you, and you will ignore me. When this farce is done, I will stay in my rooms, you in yours and since I know Thor is being forced to court soon, we do some form of ritual dance that he has as many children as my father and we will not be required to do such things and you can have your conceited little harpy mistress and be happy.” 

Loki was going to spit a comment back at her about the woman in reference but he noticed the genuine hurt and heartache in her features that startled him to silence on that matter. He quickly analysed her words again while she seemingly attempted to recompose herself. He did not know what in her statement caused her to react in such a way but it did startle him. “I am still trying to fathom the reasoning for all of this.” 

“I wanted to know the true Loki, the one not putting on a facade for his father, or society, the being I would see every single evening after a long day.” “For what purpose?” “I spent my whole life having to be silent in public and mostly silent in private. I spent it being told how to act and who to speak to and how to speak to them. I wanted to know if I had to do that for the next few thousand years again or if it would be different. That is why I did it. I wanted to know if I could finally have someone to actually care for me as a being and not expect me to be what they want me to be, nothing more than a living doll. Norns, but you are right, had I but known.” And with that, she left the room. 

[justcourttee]

I love your sibling Jasonette, so may I please have some more? *Raises gruel bowl*

A little angsty, a little sweet. I hope you love this one too :)

The Birthday Gift

Jason was having a shitty day.

Marinette was supposed to call him when her plane touched down at Gotham Airport, but that was hours ago and she had yet to return a single message. On top of that, stupid Bruce blindsided with yet another intervention with Batman Incorporated and how yes there are terrible villains out there, but we are not the judge, jury, and executioner. A load of hypocrites if you asked him. Finally, Roy stood him up for a drink at their favorite bar due to a meeting with Oliver.

So he could honestly say he was not surprised when a handful of Joker’s thugs dropped in on him on his self-pitying walk home.

“Look, guys, today is not my day. I’ll let you off easy if you leave now.”

The men’s painted smiles sent shivers down his back, reminding him just a little too much of the original. They said nothing as they circled him, waiting for him to make the first move, a mistake he had made many times with them.

“C’mon dudes, can’t you give a guy a break. It’s my birthday today and even my own sister stood me up.”

One of the men began to snicker as if he found the idea of Jason’s loneliness funny. Maybe it was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to laugh with them. The sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention. He felt his whole body stiffen as the maniacal laughter reached his ears. No one else sounded so deranged, so crazy, but it couldn’t be. The world didn’t hate him this much right?

Wrong.

“Well, well, well, little Jason Todd. Oh my, it’s been so long, you’ve grown so much.”

Joker himself in all of his clown prince glory. His smile sickened Jason’s stomach to the core.

“What do you want, Joker?”

The clown’s face frowned in mock hurt as he placed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite agent of chaos? Now now little bird, I’m not here as a threat, I’m here to offer you some birthday fun! After all, you always were my favorite little Robin. It’s why I treated you so much more tenderly than the rest.”

Joker reached up to wipe a fake tear from his face before allowing the grin to stretch it’s way back slowly. Jason’s mind was racing with possibilities, the number one being an exit strategy. Four men, all deranged, plus the Joker himself. It wasn’t looking great, but there was no way this clown was going to kill him twice in this lifetime.

“What’s this gift you mentioned? So kind of you to think of me on this day.” It took everything he had to hold back the sarcasm from dripping off his tongue. His hand moved in the slightest, trying to reach the gun he had tucked in his waistband.

“I’m glad you asked-”

Before he could finish his sentence, a figure dropped from the rooftops, landing on the nearest goon. The three remaining men all reached for their weapons, but could never touch them. Something shot out, gripping their guns and pulling them into the abyss of darkness. For a brief second, Jason allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Maybe the old man finally remembered his birthday, maybe he was here to help him. But as the figure stood, taking a step into the light, he felt his heart drop. A small girl stood in front of him dressed in a skintight black suit, small red dots lining her sides. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, her mask solid red matching the side of her suit.

“I’ll give you one chance Joker, let go of the boy and I’ll let you go.”

There was a tense silence for a moment before Joker laughter tore through the air.

“A child! Are you Batman's new birdy my girl?”

The small figure stiffened as Joker’s men began recovering their wits, some drawing pocket knives, others closing in with their bare hands.

“Do I look like a bird to you?”

Jason had to hand it to her. The kid had guts to stand before the Joker and insult his jokes, but he knew the clown’s patience was running thin. Sooner or later, he was going to give the order and the thugs would tear into her. He was so close to his gun, but any sudden movement could put her in danger now.

“Now now, it sounds like you need an attitude adjustment. Why don’t you ask Jason here how it feels?”

His smirk was sinister and with the flick of his hand, the thugs all jumped. They were fast, but she was faster. One by one she knocked them out, flipping and twirling with grace as she dodged each attempt on her life. Jason’s fingers finally wrapped around his gun, a sense of relief flooding through his body.

This was what he needed to shift the fight, but something stopped him. Numbness spread through his limbs as he lost his grip on the gun, the weapon clattering against the concrete. He vaguely recognized the hand on his back giving him a shove forward, but he couldn’t put his arms out to save himself.

“No!” The girl tried to rush forward, but she was distracted as one of the thugs landed a punch, knocking her off her balance. They managed to subdue her, holding her still as Joker moved forward to examine the new curiosity.

“Quite interesting. How do you know my Jason?”

The girl’s eyes clouded over as she mustered as much strength as she could, trying to pull her arms free. Joker raised his hand, a sickening smack coming from the girl’s face as a red mark began to form. Jason tried to move, he needed to protect her like she tried to do for him, but it was impossible.

“Now, I asked you a question. Show some respect for your elders!”  His laughter only enraged the girl.

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Oh, you mean, like this?” Joker raised his leg, landing a kick right into Jason’s ribcage sending the clown into a fit of laughter. “Or this?”

“Stop it! No! Jason!”

He knew the voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn’t focus on it, not with the endless pain rolling in.

“All you have to do is answer the question! You have the power to stop this dear.”

Jason tried his best to raise his head to look at her properly, but the best he could do was land one eye on the girl. The face, mask or not, he knew that face. Joker raised his foot once more, stopping only a millimeter from Jason’s face.

“He’s my brother! I swear if you hurt him again I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you.”

Jason felt the realization flood through him as his heart dropped. She didn’t abandon him. She was right here. Marinette.

“I see, I didn’t know my dear Jason had a sister. Honestly, I wouldn’t expect him to be related to someone so weak.”

He reared back his foot again, delivering yet another blow. Jason heard Marinette yell in rage, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“What the-”

Jason couldn’t see anything, he could barely move from the paralysis and the bruised rib cage. He heard the sounds of commotion sending panic through his body. These weren’t like the villains Marinette faced in Paris, these were rougher around the edge, their only goal to kill. Parsian villains killed, but almost always on accident, collateral damage. These men did it for fun.

He tested his fingers, a sense of urgency flooding through him as they twitched under his strained effort. Jason just about had his full hand in motion again when five shots rang through the air sucking the breath from his lungs.

“Bug? Bug are you alright?”

Jason couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face and trickled into his voice. She was the only family that mattered to him, the only one that ever cared for him. Using his good hand, he attempted to flip himself, only succeeding in straining his wrist.

“Bug!”

Two hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into their lap, his head lolled backward before a soft touch helped him prop upwards. Two shining blue eyes stared down into his, a splatter of blood staining her mask.

“Bug what did you do? You don’t kill.”

She shook her head, dropping down to hug his numb body.

“I only wounded them. They crawled away carrying their stupid clown leader. Jason, I was so scared they were going to kill you.”

He felt a hot tear hit his face and then another. Soon her tears mixed with his own as the shock faded away. He almost let that asshole kill him again and in front of Marinette.

“Hey, hey, no tears on your birthday.”

Marinette wiped away his before she took care of her own, a shaky giggle escaping her lips.

“Mari, why didn’t you call back? I was so worried.”

The feeling had returned in both his arms as he tried his best to move his legs next.

“I was trying to finish your birthday gift, you know how I get when I’m sewing.”

It was Jason’s turn to laugh, still shaky as well as he tried to push what had happened out of his mind.

“What did you get me?”

“A new jacket. I know leather is your favorite and you always seem to ruin the ones I make you.”

They both shared a laugh as Marinette shook her head.

“Let me see if we’re lucky tonight.”

Marinette gently set him back on the ground as she called upon her lucky charm, only to throw it directly into the air with her signature phrase. Hundreds of small ladybugs circled his body, a warmth spreading throughout where they touched.

As they disappeared into the night sky, Jason tested his legs, a small smile tugging at his lips when they moved at his command.

“You know how much I love that thing right?”

Marinette shook her head as she called off her transformation catching a small, exhausted Tikki.

“You know how lucky you are that I transformed before they laid a hand on you right?”

Jason gently shoved her shoulder as she stuck her tongue out at him. As she finished caring for Tikki, she turned her full attention to him, slipping off the oversized jacket she was wearing.

“Here, this was your gift. It was the only way I could think to protect it without leaving it up on the rooftop.”

He slipped off his older jacket, a gift from his last day in Paris, and slipped on his new one, relishing in the perfect fit.

“You know, you’re a miracle worker Marinette. And since you’re in town, I think we can now use that phone of yours to contact Damian.”

“Don’t even think about it, after all, you don’t want to end up like those thugs.” Her tone was playful as she handed him back his fallen gun.

“I think I could take my chances.” He threw his arm over her shoulders as he guided her out of the alleyway. “Now, how about you  buy me a birthday drink?”

“How about not? This is the States, my friend, I’m technically not legal here.”

Jason cursed under his breath earning a laugh from the smaller girl as they headed down the avenue. Jason felt his phone buzzing from his back pocket, most likely Bruce calling him about his Joker encounter (which he had no doubt he already found out about), but he didn’t have the energy for yet another lecture on his birthday. Not from him.

“Are you going to get that? It could be your family?”

Jason looked down to meet her concerned eyes, a sight that melted his heart. He shook his head, planting a small kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ve got the only family that matters right here and that’s the best birthday gift anyone could ask for.”

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @rebecarojas07 @ash-amg

[imagine-darksiders]

Homesick - Chapter 2

Behind the door.

Warnings: implied child abuse, abusive parents, blood, nosebleeds, angst, themes of childhood trauma, ptsd

Tags: Darksiders, DeathxAzrael, hurt/comfort, angst, Reader, Found family, Reader needs a hug

Chapter 1

---

“What lays beyond that door?”

Azrael's innocent question causes you to stiffen and your steps falter on the landing, knowing precisely to which door he's referring, but unwilling to even spare it a backwards glance.

The momentary delay hardly lasts for more than a second and goes seemingly unnoticed by the angel, whose gaze appears too focused on the locked, mahogany door that stands quiet and guiltless at the furthest end of your landing. Hanging back near the top of the staircase however, with eyes sharp and turned just enough in your direction that they catch the hitching of your chest, Death does notice.

Then, he blinks, and you're suddenly twisting your head over a shoulder to look beyond Azrael at the door in question, a smile on your lips but not in your eyes.

“Oh, that's just a storage cupboard,” you say casually, waving a dismissive hand through the air and continuing your journey to the opposite side of the house, “I've been in and out of there all week stacking boxes of junk up to the ceiling. Now, come this way, all the best human-y stuff is stock-piled in my bedroom.” 

You're too quick to disregard the door, too eager in turning to walk towards your room on stiff legs and Death wishes the angel would turn to look at you so he might also see what the Horseman sees, if only to confirm that he isn't imagining things.

Alas, letting out an intrigued little hum, Azrael clasps his hands loosely behind his back and sweeps after you, all the while pivoting his head this way and that to take in everything your humble home has to offer.

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

You had so nearly forgotten what the joy of discovery looks like in another person. To see the eyes of someone else grow wide and bright with unbridled wonder at a world you've long since lost a taste for.

Azrael's fascination at the most mundane of human objects manages to put a genuine smile on your face, though the ensuing pain still throbs like the beat of an insistent drum every time your cheeks press against your bruised eye.

Luckily, the angel appears to have missed your subtle wince.

After first having dragged him away from your television, you've managed to introduce him to many of humanity's other wonders that lay dotted around your bedroom.

Before long, Death had even slunk inside to join you both, taking up the mantle of an uninterested observer and absently perusing your book collection in the corner whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings on of his companions.

You've perched yourself comfortably in a bean bag, content to simply sit back and observe whilst Azrael explores your room, his wide, white wings folded neatly against his back in order to spare some of your ornaments from being knocked off their shelves. 

“This... ursine mammal,” he says, pausing beside your bed and poking a finger into the fur of an old, stuffed bear sitting atop your pillow, “Does it serve some purpose?”

You're too preoccupied with fighting back a laugh to answer him right away, and by the time you realise he's watching you expectantly, Death pipes up in your stead, cutting off any explanation you might have offered.

“I imagine it's only there for decoration,” he muses, casting a critical eye over your bookcase and the dozens of unread stories scattered about on the shelves, “But then, I have to wonder if half the things in this room aren't just ornamentation.”

Knowing what he's implying, you spare the back of his head a scowl. It isn't as though you've had a lot of time to read those books he gave you, not between rebuilding your own home and helping humanity come to terms with life post-apocalypse.

“Ah!” Azrael's head shoots up and he tears his eyes from the bear, glancing towards you instead. “It is symbolic, no? In resembling a most ferocious predator, this bear represents the perfect guard for your home.”

He looks so damn pleased with himself, you almost don't bother to correct him, instead wrestling your grin into a pensive frown and nodding slowly. 

“Uh, sure! That is a pretty... exciting way to look at teddy bears.” Hopping to your feet, you make your way over to the bed and sweep a few of Azrael's primary feathers aside, picking up the toy bear and squeezing it to your chest. “But mostly humans use these for comfort at night, when we sleep. We usually get given them as children. And, as we grow older, I... guess we just get too attached to get rid of them. Most humans keep their childhood toys long into adulthood.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Death huffs, shaking his head with a smile hidden beneath the bone-mask, “You humans will get attached to anything that sits still for long enough.”

Azrael, on the other hand, looks as though you've just revealed to him one of humanity's greatest secrets. Rubbing his chin in thought, he says, “Remarkable! I've heard that humans are rather famous for the bonds they forge with other species, yet I never imagined that could extend to inanimate objects as well.”

“Yeah, you'd better believe it,” you smirk, placing the bear down on your pillow once more, “Someday I'll have to tell you about the woman who married the Eiffel Tower.”

At once, the Archangel blinks hard, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair line. “A tower? Surely that’s a jape?”

So perplexed is his expression, you throw back your head and let out a bark of delighted laughter. “What are you, Shakespeare? Nobody says ‘jape’ anymore, Azrael!”

Off on his own side of your little bedroom, Death's neck twists around slightly to regard both you and the angel as you engage in a light-hearted back and forth about the use of archaic vocabulary. He doesn't even realise that one corner of his mouth has begun lifting at the sight. 

There is a truth about the Horseman that even he is reluctant to acknowledge, and that is that the constant slew of bad things happening in the Universe is... wearing. It’s wearing. To be on a constant path that always seems to lead towards battle or tragedy? Sometimes it feels as though his entire existence has merely consisted of one battle after another. 

He saves one world, only for another to be torn apart, he destroys a species, and another asks him to fight their war for them, he helps the makers but in doing so, inadvertently kills their elder. Century after century - a millennia of bloody battles and terrible sacrifices and trying to keep his siblings safe - If he ever stopped to think about it... 

Death’s eyes slip slowly shut. 

He has worked... so hard, hasn’t he? Is it really so wrong if he enjoys these moments of fleeting repose? 

All of a sudden, a strangled sound leaves Azrael's throat and Death is yanked from his peaceful reverie. “Y/n!?” the angel exclaims, his expression shifting to horrified in less than a second, “You're bleeding!”

Apparently, mentioning your name and blood in the same sentence is enough to get Death's voice to crack as he whips around properly and barks, “What!?”

Baffled, you raise a hand to your nose, dabbing at a sticky wetness gathered there whilst the taste of salty liquid drips onto your upper lip. “Oh, so I am,” you observe casually, only to have a pair of chilly hands curl unexpectedly around your forearms. 

Without warning, the terrifying visage of the Horseman is looming mere inches from your face and in another instant, one of his hands presses itself to your forehead and firmly – albeit gently – tips it backwards.

“Um... Death, we've talked about this. Personal space, remember?”

The Horseman remains eerily silent as he stares transfixed at the blood oozing from your nose and you squirm uncomfortably when the grip he has on your arm begins to grow even tighter. Meanwhile, his wordlessness allows Azrael to fret aloud in the background.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the angel mutters, pacing back and forth behind Death, never tearing his eyes from the red straining your face, “You shouldn't be having all this excitement. You should be resting.”

It's difficult to hold back your groan of exasperation as you lift your arms and knock Death's hands aside, stepping out of his reach.

“Oh for - It's just a nosebleed! Honestly, what has gotten into you two?” With a hefty sigh, you skirt around the rigid Nephilim, dodge one of Azrael's wings as it tries to curl instinctively around you and march into your ensuite bathroom.

Almost immediately, the angel tries to follow, but he swiftly has the door pushed shut in his face before he can enter and soon, they hear your voice filtering out to them from the other side. “I'm not a baby, guys! Nosebleeds are no big deal, it's just happening because of... well, you know.”

Azrael's stomach twists itself into knots at the sight of yet another locked door standing between himself and his human friend. He's about to call out for you to let him see the damage when an icy chill sweeps across the room and he turns, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of Death staring at him through unseeing eyes.

The old Nephilim's body has gone completely still and there's a haunted look about him, as though he's lost, or perhaps trapped in another time, another place.

“Horseman?” Azrael murmurs uncertainly, feeling the cold prickle at the hairs on the base of his neck. Seconds pass and he receives no answer. Hesitant now, the archangel reaches towards Death's shoulder and, when he isn't immediately shoved away, places a hand on the frigid, solid muscle that bunches under his gentle touch. “Death,” he tries again, and this time the Horseman's head snaps up to stare at him, as if only just realising he's there.

The angel ducks his head to better catch Death's eye, his voice soft enough that only the two of them can hear it. “Are you alright, old friend?”

A long silence stretches between them with only the faint sound of running water from your bathroom tap to fill it.

Then, giving a start, Death roughly shrugs the comforting hand off his shoulder and stalks past the angel towards your window, leaning his elbows heavily against the sill and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Azrael's concern. He doesn't think the archangel has ever been that close to him before, close enough that the subtle scent of old books and clean linen invaded his nose and chased away the awful stench of your blood, effectively leaving his mind clear once again. 

'Idiot,' he chastises himself, eyes still wide behind the bone mask. How could he have frozen like that? In front of Azrael no less. Creator, he'd never live that one down. He had – for lack of a better word – panicked, and it's as embarrassing to admit to himself as it is to have been caught panicking. But...

The sight of your blood... The smell of it, sweet and strong enough that it even settled on his tastebuds...

It's pathetic, really. He is Death. He's seen and caused far more bloodshed than arguably any being in any realm. So why then does your spilled blood hold his dead heart in such a cruel and unforgivably tight chokehold?

The redundancy of taking a calming breath isn't lost on him, yet he does it anyway, tipping his head up to peer out of your window, chest rising and falling with motions he could only have picked up after spending so much time around you.

It's begun to rain, he notes idly. Tiny droplets of water patter down onto the dusty window panes and Death follows the path of one until it merges with several others and is lost in the fray.

Down in the streets below, many passers-by have dived for shelter, yet there are still two figures who remain. One is an angel, whose golden complexion shimmers when raindrops trickle steadily down his face. He's standing in the shadow of a water-logged bus stop and beside him, leaning just a little too close, is a serpentine demon, scales black and glittering like obsidian. The odd pair rest almost shoulder to shoulder underneath the bus stop's awning, each sharing a brief respite from the rain with what was once a well-loathed enemy.

Death blinks upon seeing that their hands are intertwined. Dainty, golden fingers curl loosely around clumsier claws and suddenly, the Horseman feels as though he's intruding on their secret moment, so he turns back to face your room.

Azrael has drifted closer once again and there's a knowing expression on his face that causes Death to frown. Sure enough, the archangel spares your bathroom door a hasty glance before he looks at the Horseman once more. “...Death,” he says slowly, “It's... all right, you know. If seeing Y/n’s blood upset you-”

Hackles are raised in half a second, a set of sharp teeth clack together and Death hisses, “You think I'm upset?”

Judging by the flat look he receives, that is precisely what the archangel thinks.

Despite the obvious vehemence behind Death's tone, he's careful to keep his voice down, ever mindful that you're only a room over. Perhaps getting defensive isn't the best idea.

“There is no shame in it, Horseman,” the angel coaxes softly, “Y/n is my friend as well. There has already been far too much human blood spilled this century.” He casts another, baleful glance towards your bathroom, quietly adding, “I didn't think I would be seeing it again, not this soon. And especially not from our human.”

...Our human.

Death is unnerved by how natural that sounds coming off Azrael's tongue.

Expertly, the Horseman wills his shoulders to slump and his muscles to relax, then, with an unmistakable air of indifference, he folds his arms across his broad chest and turns himself deliberately away from the archangel, glowering at your bedroom wall.

And Azrael, wise enough to read the standoffish behaviour for what it is, allows his mouth to fall shut because he knows that, as far as Death is concerned, the conversation is over.

He has a care not to release a weary sigh. But with you shutting him out physically and the Horseman shutting him out verbally, it's difficult for even the composed archangel to keep exasperation at bay.

Just then, your voice calls out to them from the other side of the door. “Ugh, sorry about this guys. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. I'll just be a minute!”

“So long as you're all right,” Azrael replies.

When he receives no response from you and no further input from Death, he lets his head drop into a disappointed nod, pressing his lips together. Suddenly, his presence feels a little too big for the space he's occupying. He needs to think.

Azrael leaves your bedroom with a far heavier heart than he'd gone in with, raking his fingers through fine, white hair and expelling a soft breath from his lungs, as if that might alleviate the weight settling across his chest.

So far, this first visit to your home has not gone as he'd hoped it would. Through no fault of your own, mind. But trying to focus on taking in everything you show him whilst he knows you're in more pain than you're letting on is woefully distracting. That's without even mentioning the creeping sense of unease that has been hanging over him ever since he first stepped foot through your front door. 

Briefly, Azrael wonders if Death had noticed the way your breath hitched slightly and your reply had an almost imperceptible, underlying tremor when he asked you what lay beyond the door at the end of your landing. He'd have to ask the Horseman about that later, when he's in a more talkative mood.

Already, the archangel can feel the beginnings of a frown forging crevasses down the centre of his forehead. He composes himself in another breath and finally lifts his eyes from the carpet, only to stop in his tracks. 

That door – that unassuming door to your cupboard lays ahead of him, quiet and solid as all doors should be, just sitting there under a flickering light bulb, as though it had been patiently waiting for him to notice it.

And notice it, he does, because something about the door has changed since he saw it last, something so obvious, yet also entirely unsettling.  

Where it had once been shut tight, now it stands ever so slightly ajar.

Despite everything in him screaming that he must respect the privacy of his host, Azrael's curiosity grows too bold and he finds himself treading silently down your landing, his shoes making no sound on the grubby, cream carpet. Drawing to a halt, the angel's keen gaze sweeps over the wooden door, taking in hairline cracks and mottled rot that a hundred years has left upon it like battle scars on a warrior's face. Slowly, he roves his eyes down to the dull, brass door handle and he immediately falters, doing a double-take.

Sitting atop the handle is a very noticeable, very thick layer of dust.

His brows knit together until they nearly touch and he reaches out to swipe a finger delicately along the brass. When he pulls away, he lifts his hand for an inspection and, sure enough, the pad of his forefinger is now sporting the same, grey substance.

'Why would a door you claimed to use recently have so much dust upon the handle?' The feeling of unease that had been stealthily keeping to the back of his mind now pokes its head out a little more, creeping forwards, daring him to acknowledge it.

'Something's wrong...' a quiet voice tells him.

Azrael's hand reaches out once more, except this time, it curls around the handle entirely and rests there for a moment as the angel's mind starts to race. 'Y/n.... Are you hiding something from us?'

As soon as the thought enters his head, he can't shake it loose. 

Yes - he trusts you - he knows you'd have no reason to lie to him, and especially not to the Horseman. And yet... Clearly there is something beyond this door that you're trying to divert their attention from and whatever it is has you spooked.

Feeling more and more like a common criminal, Azrael keeps one ear on the room behind him and slowly begins to twist the door handle, wincing when its rusty springs catch and squeak in protest.

His wings shiver with anticipation as he pushes the door open.

What awaits him on the other side is decidedly not a storage cupboard...

“A... bedchamber?” he murmurs to himself. 

Within an instant, he's hit by an oppressive wave of must and wood rot. The smell spills like liquid from the room and seeps into your hallway, causing the archangel's lips to curl, though he's quick to smooth his expression out again because there's something far worse lingering below the initial stench, something that – even after a hundred years – still clings to the peeling wallpaper and broken, dust-choked bed in the corner of the room.

It isn't quite magic, more like the residue of a dark and terrible memory. Azrael knows as well as any angel that memories can be immensely powerful things and capable of haunting a place long after the living are dead and gone. Hesitating, he takes a moment to steel himself before stepping over the threshold and entering that old, foreboding bedroom.

At once, he notices that, as with the door's handle, absolutely everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, the television on the wall, the various, glass bottles that stand on a table at the room's centre, amidst which sits a single, yellowing glass.

Against the wishes of his own nose, Azrael takes a brief sniff at the air and grimaces.

Alcohol.

Even the most pious of angels would recognise it.

He dismissively turns his attention from the bottles and glides over towards a worn dresser that stands to the left of the bed, a bed that stinks of an odour he desperately tries to ignore. Upon the dresser are a vast array of what you;d once called 'photographs,' all of which sit inside basic, wooden frames. Inquisitive, Azrael bends down and peers at them, a soft smile worming across his face when he sees a familiar human grinning back up at him.

You couldn't be much older than four or five, but he'd recognise you at any age. It seems even as a child, you possessed that same, mischievous spark in your eyes.

You're standing alone, and in spite of a clear gap where a tooth has fallen out, you're beaming up at the camera so hard, he imagines your cheeks had to have hurt. In fact, the more Azrael inspects the photo, the more he thinks your expression most resembles a grimace, not a smile. He shrugs it off however, and moves on. After all, the facial structure of humans is such that they're capable of expressions far more complex than those of angels or demons. Perhaps he’s only misreading it. 

The next picture sees you looking a few years older, sitting in the lap of a tall, angular man wearing a white shirt that looks to have been frequently stained by all manner of substances whilst his face is stretched into a grin that makes Azrael's skin crawl. Captured in stillness, it looks menacing and shark-like. Worse still is the large hand that seems to have secured itself like a vice around your thigh, squeezing noticeably into the little, blue leggings you'd worn that day.

You aren't smiling as widely in this photograph....

The archangel's face begins to fall as well.

Humming, he moves on to the next picture and in an instant, that creeping unease suddenly rings in his head like an alarm bell.

Again, you're older here, perhaps early into your adolescence, and the smile you'd sported before is barely there at all. The same man is standing behind you this time, and his long, gangly fingers are clamped down over your too-small shoulders, fingernails digging so hard into the bare skin, the resulting indents are even picked up by the camera.

Your lopsided wince that could be mistaken for a smile at a glance shows off one side of your mouth and in it, Azrael can clearly see that you're missing a tooth.

He may not be the most well-versed on human biology, but he's definitely heard that children only lose the same tooth once. And that the process is a natural one.

Through the lense of the camera, your younger counterpart seems to peer up past the glass frame, past the fabric of time and space and straight into Azrael's misty, pale eyes, a silent yet clear plea in the tilt of your brows and the whites of your knuckles.

'Help me.'

All at once, the archangel feels sick. He staggers backwards, away from the dresser and doesn't even notice the golden halo on his back is thrumming with protective magics, pushing them outwards to envelope your entire house.

He doesn't need Jamaerah's second sight to know that you were afraid of that man who's eyes are stained the same colour as yours. Hazarding a guess as to why you were afraid causes Azrael's throat to tighten.

Swallowing hard, he tries to regain his composure. The archangel has always considered rationality to be one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal and if there was ever a time to use it, that time is now. 

'Perhaps... I am mistaken,' he reassures himself, 'I don’t know human customs nearly as well as I-’ 

“Azrael?”

The angel gives a start and jerks his head around to face the door, only to find Death eclipsing it, his eyes blazing like twin fires.

Stepping forwards into the room, he hisses, “What are you doing in here?”

The Horseman is quite certain he's never seen Azrael look so guilty.

Instead of giving him an answer though, the angel slowly breathes, “Where is Y/n?” Soon, he droops in relief when Death throws a thumb over his shoulder and replies, “Still in the bathing room, tending to a bloody nose... You didn't answer my question.”

Beckoning the Horseman closer, Azrael keeps his voice to a hushed whisper and holds the last photograph up in front of him.

“What do you make of this?”

Azrael's behaviour strikes him as so uncharacteristically odd and secretive, Death actually hurries over to him and snatches the picture frame from his hands, making an effort not to appear curious about the room he's never been inside. The angel watches raptly as Death scans the photographs with his luminous, orange eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the Horseman's fingers tighten around the little, wooden frame, hard enough to make it splinter and Azrael knows his worst fears are being realised. He hadn't imagined it.

Death sees it too.

“You guys shouldn't be in here.”

A tiny voice, low and trembling calls from the doorway and the angel's gaze snaps up. Death, in the meantime, remains too fixated on the photograph to bother acknowledging your presence.

Azrael drifts towards you cautiously, as though you'll bolt at any second. He tries to decide whether it would be better to apologise for invading your privacy or ask you why you look so terrified.

“Y/n,” he starts, paying attention to the way your hands turn over one another incessantly, “We were only-”

“... How... How did you get in? The door was - it was locked! You can't be in here... Get out!” Your voice raises in pitch. There are tears leaking from your bruised eye, swiftly turning the skin underneath it slick and shiny and there’s still a trace of blood underneath your nose.

Death finally lowers his gaze from the photograph and holds you captive under a wide and menacing stare. “A storage room, was it?” he asks curtly, showing you the picture clutched between his ever-tightening fingers.

The moment you lay eyes on it, your back goes rigid and all the blood drains from your face. “Put that down!” you demand and lift your foot as if to take a step inside the room, but as soon as you cross over the threshold, you seem to remember something, and quickly jerk yourself backwards, stumbling into the hallway again and sucking down a ragged gasp, blurting, “Just – Just don't touch it!”

“Why not?” Death drawls and tilts his head to one side, calculating, “It can't be that important to you. You've had it locked in this storage cupboard for these past two years.”

He's pushing you, Azrael realises with a sinking feeling, he's trying to provoke you into an honest reaction, no doubt. The archangel doesn't like it, but he likes the look of that man in the photograph even less.

“That's none of your business!” you snap, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your ribs. Unfortunately, your response only seems to stir something in the Horseman, who draws his head back as though you'd struck him a physical blow and he growls, “I hate to disappoint you, but it is my business where your welfare is concerned.”

“My welfare stopped being your concern about two years ago!”

Death falls silent, jaw clenching.

He'd be remiss to say that your comment hadn't struck at a place he guards jealously. He's painfully aware of the angel's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head and he nearly squirms at the pitying look he's receiving.

It would seem that Azrael knows him a little too well.

“You never once stopped being my concern...” the Horseman mumbles, his gaze moving down to the image in his hand. A younger, smaller you peers back at him with woe caught like sleep-dust behind your eyelashes. Death's eyes shoot back up to you again, the softness gone from his voice when he growls, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tensions are high enough that Azrael doesn't think it prudent to mention you'd lied to him as well.

Apparently, a direct confrontation was not the best way to deal with this delicate situation, a fact that becomes clear when you cinch your jaw shut for a moment, gaze flickering to and fro between the angel and the Horseman.

Seeing two of your most trusted friends standing in his bedroom with a symbol of your shame and your trauma held quite literally in Death's grasp sends your heart rate skyrocketing, fear like poison dripping down into your stomach. You can hardly believe they'd invade your privacy like this. Death especially, who knows better than anyone the necessity for keeping some secrets buried.

He doesn't need to learn about that part of your history - neither of them do. You don't want to have them worrying. And God forbid they should pity you.

Squaring your shoulders, you spin about on a heel and begin to march purposefully down your landing to the stairs.

“Where do you think you're going?!” Death barks after you.

Chest heaving, you pause on the first step and cast a heavy frown over your shoulder at the Horseman, matching his ferocious gaze without a single blink. “If you won't leave that room,” you tell him, “then I'll leave this house. And I'll thank you both to be gone by the time I get back.” 

And just like that, you continue to descend your staircase and disappear below the wooden balustrades. Seconds later and there's an almighty 'slam' that signals you've had an altercation with the front door before leaving through it.

For some time, the house is weighed down under a blanket of silence as the pair of unearthly beings are left to stand in the aftershocks of their actions.

“Oh dear..” Azrael's stare is vacant, worried, and he has several fingertips pressed to his lips. “I fear I've reopened an old wound..”

“No. This... isn't your fault,” the Horseman sighs, “I should have addressed this sooner. I've known for some time there was something Y/n didn't want me to know. And, I suppose, I'd always suspected that this room might lead to some answers.”

Taken aback, Azrael turns a mystified look onto the Nephilim. He'd expected Death to lay the blame upon his feathery shoulders, after all, he was the one who first ventured into this so called 'storage cupboard' and upset the proverbial applecart. Still, he finds it somewhat odd that the Horseman – a nosy creature if ever one walked the nine realms – hasn't ever tried to see for himself what lay beyond the door. Tilting his head, the angel asks, “You never thought to investigate?”

At the question, Death averts his gaze and shrugs one of his pale shoulders. “Admittedly, no, I did not.”

“Well... Why?” Azrael presses, though he already has an inkling.

After a moment of frowning pensively at the photo in his hands, the Horseman turns to look at him and he's once again thrown off by the level of emotion in those wild, striking eyes. Death really has grown since knowing you.

“I never brought it up because....” 

“.... You didn't want to jeopardise your friendship,” Azrael finishes for him softly, and Death is only grateful that he didn't have to say it himself out loud.

At the same time, the two of them peer back at the photograph and the archangel is surprised at himself for the anger that boils in his lungs at the sight of that man’s hands on you. Death however, isn’t in the least bit surprised at the presence of his own rage. 

“Horseman...,” Azrael says, his voice eerily calm, “You don’t supposed.... Y/n might be trying to hide something else, do you?” 

"The bruise...”

Furious, orange eyes meet cool and misty white. 

“It isn’t out of the question,” Azrael breathes, “A random attack from human zealots? Or-” 

“- Or something a bit closer to home,” Death finishes as he tosses the photo onto the nearby bed and turns to face the door. 

Outside, rain continues to hammer relentlessly on the house whilst a streak of lightening illuminates the bedroom and the two, imposing beings inside, one with dark magics crackling at his fingertips, and the other with a halo of solid gold on his back that thrums with violent energy as the glyphs on his wings begin to glow electric blue. 

Without a word, the Angel of Death and the Grim Reaper slip from your house and stride out into the coming storm, their ancient minds focused solely on tracking down their human.

[salemsbones]

Lonely Stars Chapter Six

Trigger Warnings: self hatred, silbing arguing, heavy mentions of blood, violence, spell use of "Sectumsempra", mentions of scars

Age 16      Regulus had barely left my side after he discovered what I had done to my arm, he saw straight through the fake smiles I gave other people and saw the true me that was numb and feeling terrible about what Sirius had said. He made sure I was eating enough food, attending all my classes and actually sleeping at night, every morning he would be waiting outside of the Ravenclaw common room for me, and he would walk me to breakfast where he made sure I ate at least a piece of toast, and then he would walk me to my classes, and when those classes were finished, he would be waiting outside to walk me to the next one. I think he's nervous that I'm either going to disappear into the Forbidden Forest or try to kill myself, neither of which I would do.      Regulus and I were waiting in the prefect bathroom, Regulus had convinced Sirius to talk with us after he finally admitted what I had done to myself and my arm less than a week ago. The prefect bathroom was spotless, each of the white marble counters gleamed and the large golden bathtub that was the size of a swimming pool looked eager to be filled with fancy soaps and bubbles. Regulus leaned against a wall, examining his pristine fingernails, while I sat on the sink counter, impatiently clicking my own fingernails against the counter.      I jump off the counter, my boots thudding against the floor, "He's not coming." I say with annoyance.      "He's coming Aurelia, he said he would." Regulus said, trying to calm me.      "He said we were dead to him Reg, he's not coming." I say, disappointment dripping from my words. I let out a small sigh and go to leave the bathroom when the door swings open revealing Sirius. He looked the same as always, leather boots with mud stains, dark pants, untucked shirt and sweater vest with his tie untied.      "Sorry I'm late," He said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking guilty.      "We didn't think you were coming," Regulus admitted, pushing himself off the bathroom wall and coming closer to us.      "You're still my siblings, I still care about you." Sirius says, looking between Regulus and I.      "But not if we have the Dark Mark right?" I say with disgust, crossing my arms over my chest, staring daggers at Sirius.      "Aurelia I-" Sirius began but was cut off by the sound of footsteps coming from the far entrance of the prefect bathroom. We all turn towards the approaching footsteps to see Severus Snape, a older Slytherin in Sirius' year. He had a big smirk on his face and was twiddling his wand between his fingers.      "Awe," He mocked. "What a nice family reunion."      "Piss off Snivellus." Sirius growled, clearly not wanting to deal with the Slytherin boy at the moment.      "Oh, I don't think I will," Severus smirked, his eyes flickering from me to Regulus to back to Sirius.      "Severus please, this will only take a few minutes then we can talk." Regulus tries to reason only to be met with a viscous glare from the older boy.      "I don't want to speak to you Regulus, I want to speak to Sirius," He says slyly, his wand passing through his fingers smoothly.      "We're in the middle of something greaseface, leave us alone!" Sirius spat, getting frustrated by Severus. Within a second, Severus' wand had stopped twirling between his fingers and was pointed at Sirius.      "Severus!" Regulus yelled, sounding almost like Father when he is angry. Severus only ignores him and continues to point his wand at my brother.      "You don't get to tell me what to do after you nearly killed me Black." Severus sneered, his lip curling.      "What are you talking about?" I ask, having finally rediscovered my voice.      "Your brother locked me in the Shrieking Shack with that monster he calls his friend!" Snape yelled, glaring at Sirius.      "Don't you dare call Remus a monster!" Sirius yelled back, his hands balling into fists.      "That's what he is! Bloody werewolf should be put down." Severus spoke, causing Sirius to whip out his wand and point it back at him.      "I didn't lock you in there, I simply told you the shortcut we use to get there." Sirius says surprisingly calmly, justifying what he did.      "You could've had me killed! I could be dead and it would be that beasts fault!" Severus bellowed, his voice echoing off the porcelain walls. I can hear the hiss of Sirius' voice as he goes to cast a hex him or one of his friends made up but before he could form the words, Severus yelled his own spell, "Sectumsempra!"      Without even knowing what could possibly be the effects of the spell Severus had just cast, I push my brother out of the way and am hit with a violent jolt that I can only describe felt like a thousand knives piercing my skin. I fall to the ground with a heavy thud, suddenly feeling pain all over my body and as I look down I see the cause; my clothing was torn and I had deep cuts where it looked like invisible knives had slashed their way through my flesh and I was bleeding heavily. My hand hovered over my stomach, where I was bleeding the most as dark crimson blood started to pool around me and within a split second, both Sirius and Regulus were by my side.      "What did you do?" Regulus shrieked, looking at Severus who looked stunned.      "I- I didn't know it would be this bad," He stuttered, clearly also not knowing the effect this spell would have. His face looked shocked, the blood rushing from it, almost making him look as if he would be sick.      "Fix it!" Sirius yelled, looking from me to Severus desperately. "Take it back!"      Severus shakes his head dumbly, looking at me in fear, "I-I don't know it yet."       Before my brothers could say another word, he was running from the bathroom, his feet nearly slipping on my blood that was flowing heavily and staining the once beautiful marble floors.      I could hear moans falling from my mouth, whimpers and tears running down my face, my hands were shaking and the edges of my vision were fuzzy. My ears felt like they were stuffed full of cotton, the voice of Regulus sounding like it was a hundred years away as he tried to reassure me that it was okay, that it wasn't as bad as I thought it was.      "Go the hospital wing, tell Madam Promfrey what happened. I'll be there in a minute." Sirius ordered, looking down at my bloody frame. When Regulus hesitated, trying to absorb the words just spoke, he barked "Go!"      Regulus runs from the bathroom, also almost slipping on a smear of my blood. I felt Sirius' arms snaking around my back and under my knees, cradling my bloody body to his chest as he lifted me from the floor, making me whimper and whine in protest of his movements. "You're okay, it's okay," He breathed, trying to reassure both me and himself.      "I'm sorry," I whisper, my words slurring as vision goes in and out of focus. "I'm sorry, please don't be mad at me."      "I'm not mad Lia, I'm not mad anymore. It's okay, you're okay." He whispers, walking gingerly over my blood, careful not the slip. He tried to walk as smoothly but as fast as possible, trying not to disturb me as I babbled endless slurred apologizes.      My vision tried to focus as Sirius' pace began to slow, we were near the hospital wing. Sirius' untied Gryffindor tie was stained with blood, my blood. He tried as gently as possible to kick open the door that led to the hospital wing, the same mud stained boots he's been wearing for the past two years, the same mud stained boots I gave him for Christmas after he said how much he wanted them from a local Muggle shop. I could barely hear the stern voice of Madam Promfrey, the head nurse, ordering Sirius to lay me on a cot as she filled her arms with even more medical supplies that she was currently holding.      "How are you feeling Miss Black?" She asked as Sirius laid me down, my blood immediately staining the clean white sheets beneath me.      "Sleepy," I whispered, my eyelids threatening to close.      "No sleep!" She said quickly, using scissors to cut through one of Sirius' old shirts he let me borrow months ago in order to get closer to the damage.      "No sleeping Lia," Sirius whispered, kneeling beside me, taking my hand. Regulus kneeled beside Sirius, placing his own hand on top of Sirius' and mine, "Gotta stay awake for a bit okay?"      "Keep talking Lia, stay awake," Sirius pleaded, squeezing my hand tightly. He looks to Regulus quickly, the gears in his brain turning as he thought of an idea. "Promenons- nous dan les bois," He began to sing lightly, a song he used to sing to Regulus and I if we ever had nightmares as children because our parents never would. It was a silly song in French about a wolf loosing his underpants but it always calmed me down.      Regulus joined in on Sirius' song, singing the next line quietly, "Pendant que le loup n'y est pas,"      They wait for me to sing the next line, repeating the previous verse a few more times as my mind cleared, remembering the words say to me countless times, "Si le loup y etaitt il nous mangerait."      The song continues, my eyes threaten to flutter closed every so often until Sirius squeezes my hand, bringing me back to consciousness as Madam Pomfrey tries to clean and stop the bleeding. Madam Promfrey steps back from the bed and whispers gentle words, making me very calm, and my slurred words turned to quiet whispers and then to silence.      Before Sirius or Regulus could protest, Madam Pomfrey raised her hand to silence them, "It's just a healing spell, it will calm her mind and make her drowsy."      "Is she going to be okay?" Sirius asked, hoping to hear positive news but dreading the words Madam Pomfrey may say.      "She will heal." Madam Pomfrey says, nodding her head.      "And the cuts?" Regulus asks, looking back at me with hopeful eyes.      "They will heal, but the scars will be permanent."

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii​‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command.  I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!” 

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--” 

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production.  We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.