#they act like he lives in a high rise in the dead center of a high traffic metropolitan area

[overpowered-couch-purrtato]

Jiwoo: Hi! What brings you here at this hour? 😃✨🌃🌇

Everyone: … I was in the area 😶

Jiwoo’s house: *in the middle of a dead quiet suburban neighborhood near absolutely nothing*

[azazel-the-eldritch]

Sonic Movie 3 spoilers!!

I was clapping and screaming like a goddamn idiot during the whole 3rd act! Sonic and Shadow boxing in Super forms zipping across the planet was the most unsubtle Dragon Ball Z shit I've ever seen!! Also we got Live & Learn and the whole theater ERUPTED! As much as I have mixed feelings about the direction the movies are going, as well as how they altered Shadow's backstory, I'm keeping an open mind. I like that Shadow is put forth as what Sonic could've been if he wasn't allowed to heal or react to grief in a healthy way. As well, he isn't an artificial being like the games, he just came out of a meteorite? Which I guess is a more direct setup for Black Doom somewhere down the line. I also have more faith in Keanu Reeves as Shadow. He did great for what he was given. Though, I would've liked one good "Chaos Control". But oh well...

I also like that Shadow and Sonic have a heart to heart about their traumas, not unlike Sonic did with Knuckles. The two hedgehogs having such a conversation in any case is unheard of in the main series, since Sonic is so devil-may-care and Shadow is a hard-ass. So seeing it in this movie was honestly refreshing. Plus that shot of the sun rising over the Earth as Shadow remembers Maria's words is cinema. Sonic and Shadow working together and actually having some good banter and chemistry was good for how much we got.

I have to say, as much as I love Jim Carrey, I didn't much like JUST how much screen time the Robotniks have. They definitely steal the show for better or worse... Shadow is more or less background dressing or Gerald's attack dog half the time up until the Sonic's 3rd act crashout. In SA2, Gerald was long dead, but his presence was still felt throughout. He was the true antagonist all along. Here it feels very self-indulgent, which I guess is the point, but still... Eggman's redemption and apology video did get me to tear up though. Jim Carrey was intending to retire but came back for this movie, and it felt like he was saying goodbye to all of us, not just Agent Stone.

Tails and Knuckles were honestly perfect. Tails is almost 1 to 1 with his video game self, and I like that he's still very much the excitable little brother who also just wants everyone to stop fighting. Knuckles felt like a good middle ground between game and movie. He's definitely adapted to Sonic's sense of humor while still struggling with his literal-mindedness. But he also surprisingly was a bit of a moral center. Especially for Sonic when he was (justifiably) angry demanding the Master Emerald to get back in blood. Knuckles was genuinely trying to talk him down but remain firm. He does decide to have faith that Sonic would come to his senses, which ends up paying off. Knuckles actually respects Sonic as a leader and friend.

As for the post-credit scenes. Rather predictably, we got our girl Amy Rose who is... basically Thor with the flying hammer. We also got Metal Sonic, but also many Metal Sonics. I suspect that maybe the next movie will be some conflation of Sonic CD and Sonic Heroes (and hopefully reference the OVA), since those are Metal's highest points. Mixing together alternate timelines and Metal gaining independence and becoming his own warlord. Which prompts Amy to seek out Sonic and co. I do have to wonder how they'll handle Sonic and Amy. Cuz having mad feelings for Sonic is what she's mainly known for, despite there being more to her than that.

Also Shadow survived... surprisingly absolutely no one haha. I know there was talk of a Shadow series at some point, so we'll likely get more of Movie Shadow's backstory down the line. Hopefully get a proper introduction to Chaos Control.

I have more thoughts, but eh. And despite my nitpicks, I can't say there was anything I found to be bad about the movie. The highs more than make up for any misgivings. I'm overjoyed with how this series has come along thus far. There's a lot of good faith with Jeff Fowler and crew now, and I would never have guessed an animator from Shadow 05 would go on to direct the Sonic movie-verse, much less make a movie with Shadow in it.

It's a good time to be a Sonic fan :)

[the-grubdog]

Heritage Theory is Canon

I rise back from the dead (read: college kicking my ass) to say that MY THEORY WAS JUST CONFIRMED CANON. Look at the Japanese website:

Image transcript: The ruins and treasures of this planet, although different in size, are somehow similar to those we know, and sometimes even feel nostalgic. According to "The Shepard Complete History" written by the successive rescue team captains, the ancestors of the Kagiya [Giya] planet came from a "beautiful blue planet". If that was the planet PNF-404, we may have returned to our mother planet after a long time.

I WAS LITERALLY WORKING ON AN UPDATED VERSION OF MY THEORY POST WHEN THIS WAS POSTED.

I WAS RIGHT YA'LL.

I don't think I'll upload that updated version of the post, as it is (a) mostly unfinished and (b) kinda pointless now! Just know that evidence also comes from (all in Pikmin 4/related material):

Other parts of this same site

Olimar's notes on the Buddy Display, Heroic Shield, and Memory Fragment (Center Right)

A conversation you can have with Olimar post-final boss fight

Olimar's notes on the final boss

The Shepherd Family history

Also I want to share some more lore this site brings up. Because it also gives us some juicy Wraith Lore(tm) and some possible explanations for why some ships crash and others don't.

ALSO ALSO: This is all machine translated. If anyone has a human translated version, or is interested in making one, PLEASE let me know so I can reference it instead!

Image transcript: Consideration 1, small size, it doesn't have the engine power to escape the planet. Consideration 2, entering at a high speed, like a shooting star, it crashed into the planet at high speed.

Basically, the S.S. Beagle is small and entered at a high enough speed to escape the planet's grasp.

Image transcript: Unlike the space-time of the universe we know, it is believed that each time the stranded person observes the planet, it transitions to a different phase. The changes are so great that it's as if the planet itself has a will of its own.

This comes after a long description of how the planet changes every game. Just for further context.

Image transcript (with an error fixed for readability): Pikmin are always found near those lost in distress. They are friendly and devoted partners who cooperate with us to achieve our goals. However, isn't this a little too convenient? If the Pikmin are calling for a good leader to ensure the survival of their species and are preventing us from returning, it would be better to think that we are the ones being used. It falls into this category.

I don't think pikmin are evil, FAR from it... but they are still animals, animals that act to survive. You know? If pikmin ARE crashing the ships, then it's no more evil then how bulborbs eat pikmin to survive. Those are my two cents anyways.

Image transcript: According to Olimar, while inside the Amenyudo's [Plasm Wraith's] body, he dreamed of "giant humans similar to ourselves living with Pikmin and lots of other creatures." In addition, the roller-shaped stones of the Amebouzu [Water Wraith] have been found to contain minerals found in meteorites, which may suggest that they may be involved in the crash of the Dolphin. Perhaps they are dreaming of living with humans again and are causing the spaceship to crash?

WRAITH LORE. Also, note the translation of "human". There's a word on the site that the characters use to refer to themselves collectively, which the machine translator translates as "human". Based on me looking the word up on Jisho, an English-Japanese dictionary, this appears to be correct. However, as I don't know Japanese yet, I'll also clarify that "people" might also be a valid translation.

Anyways. Humans once lived with these weird creatures, wraiths and pikmin included. The wraiths missed us. Please ignore how they're also homicidal towards the starfolk.

Image transcript: One theory is that the planet meets the definition of a living organism, meaning that it is somehow beckoning us to it, and that everything we experience here is being orchestrated.

Planet is alive.

I have no idea how else to end this off.

But the planet is alive.

And it wants us back.

[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 14, 2024

Biden commutes sentences for 1,500 people (NPR) President Biden on Thursday announced he is commuting the prison sentences for nearly 1,500 people and pardoning 39 others in what the White House said was the largest act of clemency in a single day in modern presidential history. Most committed non-violent drug offenses in their late teens and early 20s. Many served in the U.S. military and all are active in their communities, either through church or volunteer work—including helping others with addiction recovery and navigating life after incarceration.

Trump says bringing down grocery prices is 'very hard' (USA Today) With just over a month until his return to the White House, President-elect Donald Trump said in a new interview it's "very hard" to bring down the cost of groceries for American families, raising questions about one of his key 2024 campaign promises. Despite grocery inflation cooling since its peak in 2022, grocery prices are up more than 25% from where they were in 2019, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, adding to frustration over long-term affordability that took center stage during the 2024 race to the White House. After Trump made prices a major part of his reelection bid, expectations are high for the president-elect actually bringing down the cost of everyday goods. It's an issue many voters cited as their largest burden, according to a July USA TODAY/Suffolk University poll.

The C.E.O.s Are Tripping. (NYT) The relationship between leaders in the corporate world and psychedelics is decades old, as recounted by Michael Pollan in his book “How to Change Your Mind.” There is now a growing cottage industry of psychedelic retreats for business leaders. Guides sell curated experiences, with names like “The Journeymen Collective,” where stifled executives go on mushroom trips that promise a spiritual makeover. A long-term loosening of corporate culture as well as the premium that American businesses now put on imagination and emotional openness (Stanford’s most popular business school elective recently was a class called “Touchy Feely”) may have primed business leaders for psychedelic experimentation. Steve Jobs declared taking LSD a critical life event, one that “shows you that there’s another side to the coin.” Sam Altman said psychedelic trips could be “totally incredible.” Elon Musk has posted on X about having a prescription for ketamine, a drug that can have hallucinogenic effects.

Terror for Mexicans as war rages inside Sinaloa cartel (Guardian) Three months of war between rival factions of the Sinaloa cartel have left more than a thousand dead or disappeared, and Culiacán in a unique kind of humanitarian crisis. Culichis, as the city’s inhabitants are known, are trying to return to normality—but are constantly reminded that they live at the whim of organised crime. The conflict burst into the open on 9 September, six weeks after the arrest of two of Mexico’s most powerful crime bosses in El Paso, Texas. The government has piled 11,000 soldiers in the city, but the violence shows few signs of ending. More than 500 people have been killed since the conflict began, quadrupling the prior rate of homicides. One body turned up in a river; another was burned to bones in a field on the edge of town. As the war goes on, the toll of dead, disappeared and displaced keeps rising—and no one can say how long it will last.

Argentina accuses Venezuela of harassing opposition members sheltering at its embassy in Caracas (AP) Argentina’s government on Wednesday accused its Venezuelan counterpart of continually harassing six members of the political opposition who have been sheltering for months in the Argentine diplomatic compound in the capital, Caracas. It also urged the Organization of American States to pressure Venezuela to allow the safe departure of the six people to Argentina. Argentine Foreign Minister Gerardo Werhein said the Venezuelan government is subjecting them to a “strategy of physical exhaustion” and “psychological terror” through prolonged harassment. The four men and two women have lived at the ambassador’s residence since March to avoid arrest. The asylum seekers are subjected to water cuts, interruptions in electricity, restrictions on the entry of food and the constant presence of security forces in the vicinity of the diplomatic headquarters.

British food fight (Washington Post) As the United Kingdom grapples with the shaky start of Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s tenure, an odd flash point has surfaced in Parliament: sandwiches. It started when Kemi Badenoch, the firebrand who last month ascended to the leadership of Britain’s Conservative Party, took an odd swipe at the humble office lunch staple in a recent magazine profile. “Lunch is for wimps,” Badenoch told the Spectator. “I have food brought in and I work and eat at the same time. There’s no time. … Sometimes I will get a steak. … I’m not a sandwich person, I don’t think sandwiches are a real food, it’s what you have for breakfast.” A spokesman for the prime minister, who represents the Labour Party, fired back Thursday when asked about Badenoch’s comments. “The prime minister is quite happy with a sandwich lunch,” Starmer’s spokesperson said. “It’s a great British institution.” And other politicians waded into the sandwich row. Variants of sandwiches appear across cultures, but the sandwich is said to take its English name from John Montagu, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich, who desired a meal he could eat without cutlery while gambling. Sandwiches are deemed a cultural touchstone in Britain.

Switzerland plans revamp of Cold War-era nuclear bunker network (Reuters) Switzerland wants to update its network of ageing nuclear shelters, which are increasingly seen as an asset at a time of greater global uncertainty, notably since Russia's invasion of Ukraine. Thanks to a 1963 law, Switzerland is already ahead of neighbours like Germany. Each of its 9 million residents, including foreigners and refugees, is guaranteed a spot in a bunker to protect them from bombs and nuclear radiation. "In the coming years, the (Swiss) Confederation wants to remove some of the exceptions to the current rules and update some of the older shelters," Louis-Henri Delarageaz, civil protection commander for the Vaud canton, told Reuters. The government launched consultations in October to ensure Swiss "resilience in the event of armed conflict" and plans a 220 million Swiss franc ($250 million) upgrade of old structures.

Russia launches massive attack on Ukraine’s energy sector (CNN) Russia launched a new widespread attack on Ukraine’s energy infrastructure overnight, with some 93 missiles and 200 drones, forcing the country to implement emergency power outages, Ukrainian authorities said on Friday. Streets in the capital Kyiv remained largely empty Friday morning as Ukraine’s air force warned of the threat of ballistic and cruise missiles potentially targeting parts of the country. Ukrenergo, Ukraine’s energy grid operator, said it was introducing emergency power outages across the country.

After Assad’s demise, Turkey is emerging a winner in Syria (Washington Post) Turkey, whose militant proxies have surged through Syria in recent days, is emerging as the outside power with the strongest hand in steering the country’s political transition. On Thursday, Secretary of State Antony Blinken met with Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan in Ankara, the Turkish capital. The meeting reflected the central role Turkey will play in the weeks to come. Turkey reopened its embassy in Damascus on Thursday, appointing a temporary ambassador after years of severed relations. Lawmakers from Erdogan’s ruling party have already taken Turkish businessmen on scouting missions to Syrian cities like Aleppo, where lucrative construction contracts may soon be on offer. Ankara is also encouraging more than 3 million Syrian refugees in Turkey to eventually return home, when conditions permit. Ten years ago, Erdogan, in a scathing attack on the Assad regime and its attacks on Syrian civilians, vowed to one day pray in the courtyards of the famous Umayyad Mosque in Damascus. That dream will soon be a reality.

Russia packs up military assets in Syria (Washington Post) Russia is dismantling equipment at an air base in Syria and loading it into cargo planes after the ouster of longtime Moscow client Bashar al-Assad, images show. Captured by Maxar on Friday morning, the images reveal two An-124 cargo planes at Russia’s Hmeimim airfield with their nose cones opened to receive equipment, the commercial firm said. Nearby, a Ka-52 attack helicopter and a S-400 air defense unit were being dismantled, most likely for their removal via the cargo planes, Maxar said. Russia used the base 15 miles south of Latakia to support the Assad regime in Syria’s 13-year civil war. It wasn’t clear whether Moscow planned to abandon Syria altogether. It has used Hmeimim to project power across the Middle East and Africa; in 2017, it signed a 49-year lease on the facility. The Russian naval base at Tartus, built during the Soviet era, supports ships in the eastern Mediterranean Sea. “It’s clear that a withdrawal is now underway,” said Dara Massicot, senior fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. But “it’s unclear if they will fully evacuate or partially draw down at present.”

American pilgrim imprisoned in Assad’s Syria calls his release from prison a ‘blessing’ (AP) An American who disappeared seven months ago into former Syrian President Bashar Assad’s notorious prison system said early Friday he was released by the “liberators” who arrived in Damascus a day after the longtime ruler fled the capital. Travis Timmerman called his release a “blessing” when he spoke to The Associated Press from a hotel room in Damascus, where he arrived late Thursday. He was among the thousands of people released from Syria’s sprawling military prisons this week after rebels reached Damascus, overthrowing Assad and ending his family’s 54-year rule. Timmerman, 29, said he had gone to Syria on a Christian pilgrimage and was not ill-treated while in Palestine Branch, a notorious detention facility operated by Syrian intelligence. He said he was freed by “the liberators who came into the prison and knocked the door down (of his cell) with a hammer.” He was detained after he crossed into Syria from a mountain along the eastern Lebanese town of Zahle in June, while on a Christian pilgrimage. His parents hailed his unexpected recovery as a "Christmas miracle" after seven months with no contact.

Bloody siege ends Myanmar army control of western border (BBC) The end, when it came for the BGP5 barracks, was loud and brutal. First, a crackly speaker calling out for their surrender; then, a thunderous barrage of artillery, rockets and rifle fire that tore chunks out of the buildings in which hundreds of soldiers were hiding. BGP5—the letters stand for Border Guard Police—was the Myanmar military junta's last stand in northern Rakhine State, which lies along the border with Bangladesh. Video by the insurgent Arakan Army (AA) which was besieging the base shows their rag-tag fighters, many barefoot, firing an assortment of weapons into the base, while air force jets roar over their heads. It was a ferocious battle—perhaps the bloodiest of the civil war which has consumed Myanmar since the military seized power in a coup in 2021. For the coup leader, General Min Aung Hlaing, this has been yet another humiliating defeat after a year of military setbacks. For the first time his regime has lost control of an entire border: the 270km (170 miles) dividing Myanmar from Bangladesh now wholly under AA control.

It’s Time to Talk About Pornography, Scholars Say (NYT) Brian Willoughby knows he’s doing a good job when parents become uncomfortable. That’s because part of his job involves telling them that their teenagers are looking at pornography—hard-core, explicit, often violent. Sometimes, the conversation is with a church group. Dr. Willoughby is a social scientist at Brigham Young University, where he studies the pornography habits of adolescents and the impact this has on relationships. In the past, many parents have tried to ignore the watching of pornography by their children, forbid its use or wish it away. But scholars who study the adolescent use of online pornography say that the behavior is so commonplace and impossible to prevent that a more pragmatic approach is required. When it comes to pornography, they want us to talk about it. The aim: to teach adolescents that the explicit content they encounter is unrealistic, misleading about many sexual relations and, as a result, potentially harmful. The approach does not condone the content or encourage its use, Dr. Willoughby emphasized, but acknowledges its ubiquity and unrealistic, hard-core nature. What’s needed, researchers say, are frank conversations between parents and children.

[luminnara]

Flying On Wings Made From Feathers and Wax | Ganondorf x Gerudo OC | Ch 1

Chapter one | Chapter two

Summary:  10,000 years before the events of Breath of the Wild, a little Gerudo vai moves to the desert and makes a new friend in the form of the young Gerudo prince, Ganondorf. The two grow up together, enjoying a worry-free life...but distant memories of a long-dead demon king and a sheikah prophecy nag at everyone's minds, and tensions between the Gerudo and Hylians are on the rise. As the years pass, it becomes clear that this little vai will play an important role in the shaping of Hyrule. Loyalty and love will be tested, empires will rise and fall, and at the center of it all is that mysterious godly power...

Warnings: eventual violence and smut

The sand is hot.

The sun is unforgiving.

The desert is inhospitable, a dry, brutal place that tests and tries its inhabitants, a vast, sprawling land that will viciously take the life of anything unsuited to its harsh days and frigid nights. Few species manage to survive in such a place, a habitat ruled over by stern gods and haunted by restless spirits.

The Gerudo, though, lived proudly in the great desert, amongst the massive skeletons of ancient serpents and hidden by the raging sandstorms that kept much of the rest of the world away. In a land in which only the strongest survive, the Gerudo chose to become stronger, to thrive in a place other races like the Hylians and Rito hardly dared to venture to.

Gerudo women were powerful and proud, building a city and several outlying encampments for themselves. They preferred to remain reclusive, despite their generally peaceful relations with the Hylians and other races occupying the verdant spaces to the north of the desert, and as per a tradition created from centuries of hardships, no men of any race were permitted within the walls of Gerudo Town. 

Save for one.

He was born beneath a harsh, burning sun, on the hottest day in a decade. Though his mother was no chief, the baby was royalty from the moment he drew his first breath and cried his first cry, and news of the new king traveled quickly. Only one male Gerudo was born every hundred years, always becoming king, as was the law, and on the day of his birth, the Gerudo celebrated. The bar was crowded, the people drinking and feasting while the new king was placed in a royal crib, a guard detail standing at the door. The current chief would continue to rule, until the boy came of age, at which time she would be expected to step down and relinquish the throne. There was almost never any resistance or arguing; this was an old Gerudo tradition, and it was always honored. The chief would take care of the tribe, as was expected of her, preparing the desert for the new king it was about to receive. 

The infant was treated as a god. His mother was a warrior, tall and proud, and she claimed that his father was a hylian voe who was large for his kind. That didn’t matter much, though; Gerudo always produced Gerudo, and while a father’s genetics played some small part in determining how a child looked, they would never be anything but Gerudo. 

This new baby, the prince of the Gerudo, was showered in gifts. Before he could stand, he was being dressed in the finest silks and most expensive jewelry, small gold bracelets and anklets adorning his chubby limbs. He was strong, his lungs capable of producing a loud, healthy cry, his small fists already packing quite the punch. The Gerudo saw this as a blessing, and surely, their prince was to grow into a capable king one day. 

They did their best to focus on all of the good signs—that he would become strong, that he would be raised with respect and levelheadedness, that he would become a ruler worthy of the Gerudo throne. Surely, with so much adoration and positivity around him, their future king would stand tall and steady amongst the harsh sandstorms. He would not wither beneath the bright sun, nor would he be burned by the searing hot sands. His mother and the Royal guard would ensure that this rare Gerudo voe would know kindness and love, and they would do their best to always ignore any creeping feelings of dread. 

“A prophecy? Bah!” His mother would say whenever the topic was breached. “There is no reason that it points specifically to this voe. It could refer to the next one. Or it could be complete nonsense, the paranoid ramblings of an old sheikah.”

“But in the ancient past—”

“In the ancient past what?” His mother would snap. “Evil will always exist in this world. There will always be a great demon to defeat, a fiend to cut down. Perhaps the next voe born into this tribe will become a monster...but not mine.”

And she would look down at the tiny face of her son, the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms, swaddled in silks, and she would find no malice there. How could she? He was innocent, an infant who was most concerned with napping until it was time to wake up and cry. There was no malice in this boy, and she would ensure that he grew up surrounded by love. There would be no chance for her son to become the demon king the sheikah spoke of. They were an ancient people, with impressive magic and wise elders...but to the Gerudo, they were just another race who turned a blind eye to the suffering of the desert dwellers. 

The sheikah were no doubt watching for a male Gerudo, waiting for their prophecy from nearly a century earlier to play out, but the Gerudo were determined to hide their king. If the hylian royal family was alerted to the boy’s presence, there was a very strong possibility that they would demand his death--and that would surely spur on yet another war that no one wanted to fight. The Gerudo would defend their king until their dying breaths, loyal to the end, and perhaps to a fault...and they would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Amongst the harsh desert sands, they would do what they did best—remain strong and secluded, putting on a happy face for the rest of the world. Their king was sacred to them, and no one, not even the ancient sheikah, would meddle in their affairs.

On his first birthday, when it was clear that he would survive to see his childhood, the boy was finally given a name. In a great ceremony, the chief and his mother presented the baby to the rest of the tribe, and for the first time, they spoke his name:

Ganondorf.

A strong name for a strong boy, one destined to become a great king. His early years were spent toddling around the palace that would one day become his, occasionally being allowed outside into the blazing sun to see Gerudo Town and the people he would rule. As all children, he was high spirited and rambunctious, and as he grew, so did his energy. It became hard for his mother and the guards to keep him inside the palace, and eventually settled for keeping him within the town’s walls. He needed to remain safe...but they knew that he needed to have fun, too.

“Ganondorf!” His mother yelled one day as he tore down the steps of the palace, “slow down!”

But her words were ignored, the prince determined to have an adventure without his mother or his guards breathing down his neck. The downside to this freedom was that he would be alone; the other Gerudo children were nervous around him, afraid and in awe of the voe that would rule over them one day, and as such...he didn’t really have any friends. It was okay, and he managed on his own, but...he would really like to have just one.

“Mother,” a little red-haired vai groaned, plopping down in the sand. 

“What is it, vehvi?” Her mother asked absentmindedly as she picked up a hydromelon. 

“I’m bored.”

The Gerudo looked down at her daughter with a bemused expression. “Your first day in Gerudo Town, and you’re already bored? I thought you were excited to be moving here finally.”

The little girl sighed dramatically, flopping down onto her back. “I didn’t think it would be so boring!”

The melon vendor snorted in amusement. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Kiluki.”

“What does that mean, Uvira?” The girl’s mother asked in confusion. 

The vendor shrugged. “It’s something the Hylians say.”

“...why do they say it?”

“When they mean to tell someone that their daughter acts the same way her mother does.” Uvira laughed. “But I agree with Ilula...Gerudo Town has plenty to offer. Perhaps she should go see it all.”

The girl sat up straight. “Yes!”

Her mother was less eager. “I don’t know…”

“Mom, come on!” Ilula rolled her eyes. “I’m almost eight. I’m practically a grown up.”

Uvira barked a laugh. “Certainly have the attitude of one!”

Kiluki shot the woman a glare. “Ilula, I just want you to stay safe. This isn’t Castle Town, things here are bigger…”

“And I’m small. I know.” The little Gerudo sighed. “But mom, look at all the guards!”

“No one gets in or out of town without them seeing,” Uvira shrugged. “I doubt even a little vai could go unnoticed.”

“See?”

Kiluki looked down at her runt of a daughter. “Ilula, I just don’t want you running off on your own until you get to know Gerudo Town better. I just want you to stay safe.”

“Well…” Ilula looked around the market square. “Maybe I can find a friend?”

“There are plenty of little vai running around these days,” Uvira agreed. “Let her stretch her legs, Kiluki. This is your home again, and there are so few travelers these days that it’s nearly only Gerudo in town. You know we take care of our own.”

“Well…” Kiluki seemed to be on the verge of giving in, and Ilula stood excitedly. “...alright. But don’t go far, and if you need something, come right back here, or ask a guard to help you, or—“

Ilula was already tearing away, her little bare feet kicking up sand. “Thanks, mom!” 

As Kiluki watched her daughter run away, she felt her chest tighten. “Be careful!”

Uvira chuckled. “I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly careful, sister. What’s changed?”

“I have something to worry about now,” Kiluki growled. “And she’s...so small…”

“That she is,” Uvira rubbed her chin in thought. “I could have sworn she was a few years younger, what with her height…”

Kiluki sighed. “The Hylian healers assured me that she’s perfectly healthy, but I’ve never seen such a small Gerudo. She’s hit all her milestones...except for the height ones.”

“So she’s a little thing,” Uvira shrugged. “Perhaps she’ll grow late.”

“Or never at all.”

“Would that matter much?”

“The world is a harsh place. I brought her here to be safe, with our people, but I fear now that the desert will be too much…”

“Kiluki, in the few hours you’ve been here, I have not once seen that vehvi show any signs of slowing down.” Uvira laughed. “You worry too much. Take her to one of our healers so they can reassure you.”

Her sister nodded. “I plan to.”

“I’m sure she’ll have no trouble making friends with the others.” Uvira smiled. “You’ll both have a fine life here, now that you’re back home where you belong.”

Kiluki tried to look like she agreed, but she was still worried. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

On the other side of the market, Ilula was approaching a group of children. They were playing a game with a small leather ball, kicking it around to each other, and it wasn’t unlike the sort of games the Hylian children in Castle Town played. 

“Hey!” Ilula called, running towards them. “Can i join?”

The girls all stopped and looked at her. She was unfamiliar, but she was clearly Gerudo, though she was...small.

“This is a game for big kids,” one of the girls said, waving her away. “Go play with someone your own age.”

Ilula stopped just outside their circle. “I am a big kid!”

“Uh, no you’re not,” she scoffed. “How old are you? Five?”

“I’m almost eight!” Ilula stamped her foot in anger. 

The girl paused in surprise. “What? No way. You’re so small!”

Ilula’s cheeks burned with rage. She wasn’t used to other kids commenting on her height; she was bigger than the Hylians her age, and back in Castle Town, they were the little kids compared to her. Here, though, she actually had to look up at the Gerudo kids, and as she did so, she began to frown.

“S-so?” She asked, stammering in her anger.

“So?” The bigger girl laughed. “So you can’t play with us!”

Ilula’s hands balled into fists. “Fine! I didn’t want to anyways!”

The other children all broke into laughter as she spun on her heel, cheeks hot, teeth clenched. She had never been treated like that, and she was experiencing her first real rage. All she wanted was to get as far away from them as possible now, and she made a beeline for the archway leading to a row of homes and bars off to the side of the market. 

As she marched away, determined to ignore their shrill taunts as they called after her, her pace quickened, toes digging into the sand with such fervor that she didn’t notice where she was going. 

“Too small? I’m not too small, I’ll show them too small—hey!” As she grumbled to herself, she suddenly made contact with something sturdy, and next thing she knew, she was landing on her butt. “Watch where you’re going!”

The something she had run into turned and looked down at her. “Oh, sorry!”

Ilula’s eyes widened as she took him in. 

“I thought—I thought there weren’t any boys allowed here!” She blurted out.

The person in front of her was a shirtless boy, a small mane of fiery red hair framing his face. He wore white silk pants held up by a golden belt, matching bands fastened around his upper arms. His skin was tan, his eyes bright amber, a bejeweled circlet resting on his head. He looked regal, as he should...but Ilula didn’t notice that. All she noticed was that he was a boy, and he was in her way.

He laughed and offered his hand to help her up. “I’m allowed to be here.”

She took his offer and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Why?”

“Because I’m the prince,” he smirked, puffing his chest out a little. 

Ilula rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He visibly deflated, unused to anyone questioning or not believing him. In a town full of Gerudo who worshipped him, nobody ever rolled their eyes like that in his presence. “Huh?”

“If you’re a prince, why are you wandering around out here?” She shook her head. “And there’s never any boy Gerudo. You’re just making things up.”

He blinked at her in disbelief. “But I—I am! I’m gonna be king one day!”

“We don’t have a king, we have a chief!” Ilula laughed, but it wasn’t cruel or mocking; instead, it was genuine, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she looked up at the boy. “Mama told me all about the chief before we came here.”

“You just moved here?” He tilted his head curiously.

“Yep!”

“Where did you live before?”

“Castle Town,” She sighed. “It was nice, I guess. The castle is pretty.”

“Isn’t that where all the Hylians live?” He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be out there. You should be with your people.”

“Duh, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Her voice was full of attitude as she rolled her eyes at him a second time. 

Ganondorf decided that he didn’t hate it. 

“Why’d you live there in the first place?” He folded his arms over his chest. 

“My daddy is a knight.” Ilula played with the hem of her shirt, rocking on her heels. “He works in the castle. But him and Mama had a fight, so she decided to move here.”

The boy made a thoughtful noise and nodded. “Well...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why?” She tilted her head. 

“Because now I have a friend!” He grinned, grabbing her hands and spinning her around. 

Ilula shrieked with laughter, and he loved how it sounded. 

“We’re friends?” She asked, giggling as she fell still again.

“Yeah! I mean...do you wanna be?”

“Yes!” She looked relieved.

“Whats your name?” He asked. 

“Ilula.” She smiled.

“I’m Ganondorf. Future king of the Gerudo.” His grin widened.

“Yeah, very funny.” She said sarcastically. “You’re weird, but I’m glad I have a friend now. I tried to make friends before, but they just made fun of me…”

The boy frowned. “Who did?”

Ilula shrugged, nodding towards the archway she had come through. “A bunch of girls in the market. They wouldn’t play with me.”

His brow creased angrily. “Why?”

“They said I was too small. They thought I was five! I’m almost eight!”

“I’m already eight,” her new friend smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They were mean.”

His frown was back. “Did they make fun of you?”

“Yes.” She grumbled, kicking the sand. 

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand again, pulling her towards the market. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, short legs stumbling as she tried to keep up with the tall boy.

“Being a prince,” he growled. 

Ilula scoffed. There he went again, pretending to be royalty. She didn’t have much of a choice than to follow him, though, and she let him drag her back to where the girls were playing.

“Hey!” He snapped, standing in front of them.

They all immediately froze and snapped to attention, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Y-yes?” One of them gulped. 

“Were you being mean to her?” He yanked Ilula forward, holding her up by her wrist as if she weighed nothing at all. She dangled in his grip, toes barely brushing the sand, but she found that she didn’t hate it. 

“N-no, Prince Ganondorf!” The girl who had bullied Ilula said quickly, taking a few steps back towards her friends.

“Then why wouldn’t you let her play with you?” He asked dangerously.

“Because—because she’s too small!” The girl stammered. “Sh-She wouldn’t be able to keep up!”

“Tell her you’re sorry,” he ordered, setting Ilula down.

“But—“

“Say you’re sorry!”

“W-we’re sorry!” She said. “P-please don’t tell my mom, she’ll be so mad at me…y-you can play whenever you want, you can be friends with us, I promise—“

“I don’t want to,” Ilula wrinkled her nose. “I have my own friend now.”

She turned away from them for the second time, spinning on her heel and marching away with her nose in the air. The girls stared after her in horror, looking back at the prince with wide eyes and gaping mouths. How could she turn her back on royalty and just walk away like that? She should be put to death for her rudeness! 

He gave the girls one last glare before turning to join the little foreigner, catching up with her short stride quickly. 

“That was awesome!” She exclaimed when they were out of earshot, stopping and turning to face him. “That was so cool, they were so scared of you! They—wait.” She paused as thoughts flew through her head. “They called you prince. Did you convince them like you tried to convince me? Wow, they’re dumb!”

He just stared at her before throwing his head back and laughing loudly. 

“What?” She asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Wanna go play?”

Ilula grinned and nodded and they were off, running through the market to have fun. 

Ganondorf showed her the aqueducts that carried fresh water throughout the city, laughing as she splashed him. He took her to see the sand seals living in pens just next to the side gate, telling her that soon, he was going to learn how to shield surf with one. After that, they ran up and down the palace steps, seeing how many they could each jump. The guards at the top of the stairs shared a bemused smile behind their veils, eyes crinkling with laughter as they watched their prince play with someone his age finally.

“This place is huge!” Ilula said, sitting down on a step. The sun was low in the sky, some of its heat finally ebbing as the evening air cooled. 

“Yeah, it is,” Ganondorf sat beside her, looking out over his city. “The desert is even bigger. It goes on and on forever.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Ilula sighed. “I can’t wait to see everything.”

“I’ll show you,” he promised. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know everything about the desert.”

“Then maybe one day I can show you Castle Town!” She said excitedly. “Deal?”

He grinned. “Deal.”

“My prince,” one of the guards from the top of the steps approached them. “It is growing late. Your mother wishes you to accompany her for supper.”

Ilula stared at the tall Gerudo guard. Maybe the whole prince thing wasn’t just a joke amongst children, after all...

Ganondorf sighed. “Can we take Ilula home first?”

The guard looked down at the runt and gave a quick nod. “Who is your mother, vehvi?”

“Kiluki,” She said, her voice suddenly as small as she felt. “She was in the market talking to Aunt Uvira…”

The guard’s gaze softened at the sound of an old friend’s name. “Very well. Let us go find her together.”

Spear in hand, she led the children down the steps. The setting sun was casting long shadows across the square, Gerudo all waving goodbyes as they headed home or to the spa or bar. The market was much less crowded than it had been during the day, shopkeepers drawing down the flaps on their stalls as they closed up for the night. 

“Ilula!” A voice called. 

“Mama!” Ilula ran forward as she spotted her mother still talking to Uvira at her stand. 

Kiluki caught her small daughter in an embrace, smiling as she picked her up and set her in her hip. “I see you’ve come back to me in one piece.”

“Of course,” the guard escorting the children said, coming to stand before Kiluki. “The prince and his friend were only playing on the palace steps today. I did not let them out of my sight.”

Kiluki’s eyes grew wide as Ganondorf stepped up next to the guard. “O-oh, my prince, forgive me—“ 

She tried to bow while holding Ilula, bending at the waist while her daughter clung to her arm for dear life. Ganondorf only laughed, enjoying the sight of such a close bond between the two, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched. 

“Ilula and I are friends now,” he told her. 

Kiluki looked at her daughter in shock. “...you befriended the prince?”

“I didn’t know he was the prince,” Ilula smiled sheepishly. 

“She didn’t believe me when I kept telling her.” Ganondorf piped up.

“...were you rude to the prince?” Her mother asked.

“No!” Ilula protested. “I wasn’t! Besides, he’s not the prince, he’s my friend.”

Kiluki shook her head in disbelief as Uvira laughed behind them. “You never cease to amaze me, vehvi.”

Ilula grinned, then squirmed in her mother’s grip. The moment she was let down, she ran forward to hug Ganondorf, and the boy happily wrapped his arms around her. He picked her up and spun her around, one of his new favorite games, his face alight with laughter as the two quickly began making plans to play in the morning.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Kiluki said to the guard as she watched her daughter and the prince. 

“Of course,” the guard dipped her head in a nod. “At the prince’s side is the safest place she could ever be.”

Kiluki nodded in agreement. She couldn’t believe how well everything had worked out. With a guard detail always keeping an eye on Ganondorf, Ilula would no doubt always be under their watch as well. Her daughter gained a friend, and Kiluki gained some peace of mind. 

“Come, my prince,” the guard said after a few more minutes. “We must let Ilula and Kiluki get home, and we must not keep your mother waiting.”

Ganondorf sighed and gave Ilula one last smile before joining the guard. Ilula waved after him as he walked towards the palace, her mother taking her hand to lead her to Uvira. 

“Well, how about that?” Ilula’s aunt chuckled. “Making friends on your very first day here!”

Ilula giggled. “He’s not just my friend. He’s the prince.”

[watevermelon]

Quiet Sort of Love | Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

✧ Summary: Manager to the Fukurōdani volleyball club, there was no doubt that Itachiyama’s Sakusa Kiyoomi was a strong ace. He brought your team to their knees on multiple occasions, but what you were not expecting was getting to know the nationally acclaimed spiker beyond just the titles and labels.

✧ Warnings: Implicating language and slight spoilers toward the end (you will be warned beforehand :)) 

✧ Notes: Buckle up boys cause this is a LONG one LMAO -> lots of fluff, angst, slight BokuAka, character development, mutual pining at one point, and just me being sentimental over one of my favorite teams  -> #SummerWrites for these! I tended to write fluffier stories

✧  Masterlist 

If someone asked you for the full story, there was no way you could explain it. One moment, you were in junior high, relatively enjoying your time on the track team. The next, you were attending Fukurōdani Academy without a clue to which club you wanted to commit to. 

While you could have rejoined the track team, you were not especially good at sprints and had only done so for your friends at the time. Now, there was a much more daunting pressure about what you were going to be committing your time to. Akaashi has suggested you take-up the open managerial role for the volleyball club, since you were unsure you wanted to truly dedicate yourself to any sport. And, somehow within a couple days of that conversation, with the eccentric introductions of second-years Yukie and Kaori, the current managers, you were attending their volleyball practice on a trial session.

Fast-forward a few weeks and it was already the best decision you had made in your first-year of being a Fukurōdani Academy student.

They were dedicated to their sport, their passion easily radiating off of them and to onlookers watching a simple set. It was what entranced you to begin with - their strong zeal that easily drew others into their bubble. Yes, you were a powerhouse school with a long history of being winners. But it was the people that encompassed the team that drew it closer to your heart.

From the confident yet silly second-year Bokuto, to the mother hen Akaashi, you made fast friends with the team and the other managers.

There were times that you had to remind yourself that Bokuto, the same Vice Captain and nationally rising spiker to gain acclaim, was the same Bokuto who had accidentally locked himself out of his dorm room only to find his lanyard in his back pocket.

And, while reminding yourself of Bokuto, you remembered the text you received from the team group-chat early that morning. You had gone home for the weekend to pick-up some stuff from your family home, the place of residence sitting outside Shibuya and a good thirty-minutes by train away from the inner city. 

But, it was a short-lived trip since the next morning you had to return back to the dorms for a practice match set with your school’s supposed long-term rivals: Itachiyama. GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

6:15 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         oh no

6:15 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>         (L/N)-chan pls tell me your awake

6:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)         (F/N)-chan you are our only hope

6:20 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)         @Y/N !!!!

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)         I’m awake!!

6:23 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         Please tell me you can pick-up some Dorayaki on your way to the school

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)         ah yes, the patented bokuto revival snacc?

6:24 haaaruki !         thnk u mom

6:24 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)          >.>

6:24 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         Thank you, (L/N)-san. 💓

And true to your word, or text rather, you stopped for the snack on your way back to the school. However, with the surprisingly crowded trains on this unfortunate weekend, you were near sprinting down the street once you got some open space. You wanted to still be on time, reasoning regardless, and with the pace of the crowd you were going to be way later than you expected. You rushed between trains, hopping onto the right transfer and letting your foot tap away in impatience as the train pushed onward.

Nearing the school, you were in a dead-sprint toward the entrance and only inwardly sighed at seeing the large school bus, from what you assumed was the rival school, covering the main gateway. You approached from the back of the bus, students filing out from the opposite end of where you were running. You did not want to glance down at your watch, afraid of the time you would see, and instead tried to inwardly navigate a way inside and around your obstacles. 

Athletic bags and groups of the students littered the area as they unloaded, forcing you to jump over their stuff if you did not want to break your speed. You were so dead-set in your sprint, you failed to notice the number of eyes on the bus following you in your run.

Just as you turned around the pillar, your speed and momentum came to a stop as you crashed into an unsuspecting student. His hands were in his pockets, a mask covering most of his face, but even you saw the surprised look as his hands shot out to steady the both of you.

Immediately, the dark-haired athlete was chastising you, “Watch where you are going.” The young man immediately pushed you off of him, not in an unkindly way but moreso he wanted his safe distance instantly.

You bowed and muttered out an, “I’m sorry!”

The glare of annoyance was obvious, but it only dropped down when he turned to look at his upturned palms, no longer hidden in his pockets but instead being stared at in a mortified way.

I mean, it’s not like you were dirty? You complained inwardly at his expression, but sucked it up anyway. You were the one who crashed into him and owed the apology anyway and so you could do your duty and then bid the supposed germaphobe goodbye.

Team Mom instincts already kicking in, you reached into your side-bag and took out a small pack of wet-wipes. You opened the container, and not one to incense him further, held it out for him to grab himself.

“An extension of my apology.” You stated at seeing his apprehension, before he took two and wiped his hands clean of your grime. 

It was hard to fight down the inward grimace at seeing this utter stranger be so offended at having even touched and breathed the same air as you.

“Komori, nice to meet you.” Another student came up to the two of you, having emerged from the pack of Itachiyama students. “Sorry for my friend here.”

“It was my mistake.” You stated.

“No worries. Nice to meet you, you on the track team?”

You shook your head before glancing down at your watch, losing more precious minutes that you could not afford to waste on a conversation like this. “Sorry, I’m running late. See you around!”

Bidding farewell to the group, who you were sure to see in just a few minutes, you bounded through the school and toward the back gymnasium. The net was already set-up, Akaashi standing toward the center as he warmed-up the spikers, matching up with their heights before the other team made their appearance.

You waved at him as you entered, holding up a bag containing half a dozen of Bokuto’s snacks, before placing it in the careful hands of Kaori. Akaashi thanked you genuinely, only to be surprised when you handed him an iced-latte in a cold glass from the store as well. He smiled, before putting it in the cooler for his undoubted headache later. Yukie looked at you with a curious smile, to which you threw two capri-suns at her - the drink secretly one of her favorites.

They thanked you before rushing back to positions and responsibilities, either continuing to warm-up or simply prep the gym for the other’s arrival. You did as you were told, then lined up to attention when the doors opened to greet your rival school.

While it was only a practice match, the team had already filled you in on the reason behind the unending tension between the two schools. Bokuto spun a tale of wild rivalry spanning generations while Akaashi stated plainly that they had not yet won against Itachiyama in recent years.

Seeing the germaphobe from earlier in the line-up, you stood quiet while the volleyball members silently introduced themselves. Your third-year captain, in his ever so passive-aggressive ire, tightly gripped the hand of the other Itachiyama captain. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead let your vision scan the line-up.

The tension was only more palpable during the game. Fukurōdani had practice matches before, but none so eerily… quiet.

Yes, there was intra-team communication and words of encouragement between teammates…  but nothing else.

During the practice match with Shinzen, your third-year teammates acted like old friends with some of those students. They even offered some pointers regarding serves between the two schools. And that school was categorized as a rival to your own as well. Shinzen was in the Fukurōdani group after all - they were your close rivals if anything.

But it seemed that the rivalry between Itachiyama and Fukurōdani ran even deeper than that.

Bokuto’s excitement, while usually cute and endearing, definitely contributed to the current atmosphere as well. Bokuto was naturally loud and with every point he scored, there was a chorus right after from yours truly. But, without an audience to drown out his cheers and the Fukurōdani third-years looking seriously quiet, the tiny Bokuto celebration grated on the nerves of the other team.

You watched the young man from earlier, mask gone from his face now and instead replaced with his own brand of quiet determination, as he ran up and smoothly spiked the ball. The action seemed so natural, it was only when the resounding slap signified again how loud and powerful he truly was, the ball smashing into the ground and landing somewhere behind the upper-risers.

That was incredible strength, you thought inwardly, feeling a similar awe you felt the first time you saw the true power behind Bokuto’s spike.

The awed expression on your face quickly squashed down to grimace, remembering this was the guy you had awkwardly crashed into earlier.

“What’s with that face?” Yukie asked, spying you from the corner of her eye. She stood parallel to you, both of you manning the standing scoreboard. Kaori was sitting with the coach, pen in hand as she took notes on the game.

You put back on your neutral visage as you flipped the score number, “That guy who just spiked, he was the one that I bumped into on the way here.”

“Sakusa-san?”

“Yeah...” You affirmed, trying to subtly point in his direction with your gaze alone.

She looked at you with an amused expression, patting you on the back in pity.

Fukurōdani lost the practice match.

And while a part of you was inwardly hissing, there was no doubt that both schools gave their all and the better ended up on top. The third-years commended the team, they were still in the process of finding their rhythm. After all, the points were not that far apart to being with. Having lost 2:1, you noted that the points were relatively close in all three sets.

Bokuto’s displeasure was obvious, complaining loudly that he should have worked on his jump-serve more, but still shaking everyone’s hands at the call of the game.

With both teams working to clean the gymnasium, you walked over to the net to help loosen it and fold the poles. Some of the team members of either side were lightly mingling, commending each other on certain skills while introducing themselves.

You spotted Sakusa in the corner, having helped put away the mats already and retreating to the spot furthest from the crowd. Fighting the urge to bemusedly chuckle at the action, your attention snapped to Komori approaching you, a water-bottle in hand.

“From your running earlier - thought you were a member of the track team.”

You smiled in a friendly manner, “Nope, just a manager of the volleyball club.”

He shot a smile back, “I see. I missed your name earlier...?”

Sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck, embarrassed over forgetting your introduction to your senior, “(L/N) (F/N), nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too!” He repeated back your words before adding, “How cute.”

You angled your head in question, surprised at his boldness and flabbergasted from replying.

He continued, “So, are you -”

“Yes, this is all good and well.” An arm swung across your shoulders as the owner cut him off, “But we better help our team out.”

Yukie shot a wink over her shoulder, whisking you to the other end of the room as someone else took over helping breakdown the net. You shot her a curious look, before your attention was grabbed back to the corner Sakusa was inhabiting.

It seemed Bokuto had found him, issuing a direct challenge to the other wing-spiker for their next match. Seeing your teammate, boisterous and loud, next to the quiet and narrow-eyed Sakusa was such a direct contrast; you had to remind yourself that they played the same role on their teams.

Bokuto grumbled the rest of the night, which only continued into the weekdays at school. You formed a study group for a particularly painful math class. And currently, said group had some vbc members crowded around a round table in the library. Most occupants preferred to spill the tea - Yukie and Konoha always had something regarding their second-year class. 

Which ironically left the younger two to herd the group. You tended to go with the flow. Which left Akaashi, the ever so smarty-pants honors student, to often lead the charge. (He also grumbled that you teased him about this fact, but you were also in the same honors classes yourself.)

You got in five pages worth of outlining before the conversation shifted. Focus on the class was easily torn as Haruki brought out a monthly volleyball magazine.

“Check it out, an entire profile on Sakusa Kiyoomi.” The libero stated, opening up the magazine as Konoha leaned over to look.

“Wow, lots of eyes are already on him.” Kaori stated.

“Anyone who saw him play during junior high would know he’s one to watch during Interhigh.” Haruki voiced.

“Well, I’m in the top four.” Bokuto muttered, arms crossed as he read along the magazine.

Akaashi sighed, putting down his pencil as his curiosity grabbed his attention, eyes straying to the article as well. Besides, Sakusa was a first-year just like the two of you, if he was this much of a threat it would be good to soak up any useful information on him

“The photograph looks a little far, don’t you think?” Yukie said with an unsure smile, pointing to the stiff Sakusa standing at least ten feet away from the photographer. “They couldn’t have zoomed in at all?”

“Maybe this is zoomed?” Konoha asked with a brow raised. 

You took a look and fought the urge to grimace aloud, you could barely tell it was him either. The action shot on one page was good, but for their interview photo he was covered completely with a mask and hat, just his eyes visible and still relatively far away from the photographer.

“Well, I don’t expect anything less from a germaphobe like him.” You commented, before turning back to your notebook. 

You saw multiple occupants’ expressions reel back in surprise before curiously looking toward you.

Kaori voiced their curiosity with a raised brow, “And how do you know that?”

“I - I bumped into him before the game!” You cursed your weak resolve, hands coming up in defense. 

“WHA?!” Bokuto asked, making you realize you only told Yukie about the prior encounter. The librarian shushed your group with a disapproving stare, before walking away. “You knew his weakness this whole time?”

Konoha laughed, “What are you going to do with that information? Sneeze on him during the next match?”

You shot eye contact with Yukie, the brunette simply shooting you teasing smirk as she leaned back in her chair. She was your older-senpai, but damn was the eccentric manager so ruthlessly teasing! Her love of food was the only clear read you could get off of her. Otherwise, it seemed like Yukie just loved to sow mischief.

“Wait. Weren’t you talking to their libero after the game? Was it Komori?” Haruki recalled, asking more out of curiosity then of seriousness.

“Um. Yes, well he introduced himself after I almost knocked over Sakusa-san.” You explained, nearly sweating buckets at some of the second-years’ gazes.

“Wait, knocked him over?” Konoha asked, glancing back down at his textbook to place a pen in it, then close it entirely.

“Well, I was running and didn’t see him when I turned the corner!” You continued to explain.

“Sure, sure.” Yukie waved off, sitting up and then sipping from her water bottle.

“I was rushing to bring the snacks - come on guys, you know this!” You defended, a sheepish smile on your face now as the other occupants varied from teasing to surprised.

“(L/N)-san, didn’t the teacher ask us to get something for her?” Akaashi cut in, already in the process of putting some of his study materials away.

You breathed a silent sigh in relief, agreeing and mimicking his actions as you readied to leave the sudden hot library. Yukie’s teasing was enough, but once Konoha and the rest started rolling it was all over from there.

“Yes, let’s get going.” You accepted immediately as you organized your school things, “See you all after class.”

Somehow, Akaashi was already up from the table and waiting for you at the door. You followed behind him quickly, going in the direction of your next class. Entering it, there were a few lingering students - some on their phone, others listening to music - but otherwise the two of you were alone.

You felt a small vibration from the pocket of your skirt, checking the messages from the infamous instigators of your group.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           Nice receive, Akaashi

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

12:15 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           cmon ahkaaashi; don’t you want to spend time with me? :C

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)            Enjoy your alone time ;)

12:15 haaaruki !           yah “studying” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Akaashi had a dead-panned expression back on his face, undoubtedly reading the same messages you had just skimmed through. The young man was so smart and quiet, and yet so silently sassy, you really cherished having him as your friend. Akaashi was the mother-hen of the group, undoubtedly, but you wondered how blessed your team was so to have such a patient and thoughtful setter in your ranks.

The two of you relished the silence of the room, sitting next to each other for this class, and resuming the earlier studying that you were interrupted from before. 

Life after this moved very quickly - thoughts of Itachiyama and the target named Sakusa was pushed in the back of your mind. Suddenly, your powerhouse of a volleyball club was having non-stop practice matches with others within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Shinzen, known for their style of combination attacks, and Ubugawa, known for their serves, were two schools in Tokyo you often saw.

But, with them, came the introduction of Nekoma High School.

You almost felt bad for Akaashi after the first training camp with all three schools. Yes, you were familiar and friendly with the other schools, but with the introduction of middle-blocker Kuroo Tetsuro and his friend Kenma, it brought all sorts of adventures for your little group. He was certainly a sly cat, wielding the art of provocation like it was his second-skin. Fukurōdani had many practice matches with Nekoma throughout the spring semester, it was almost mentally jarring how quickly the Interhigh prelims crawled up on you.

Being friends with the other schools made the preliminary matches all the more intense - near screaming in support from the stands. You were friends with people in these other schools - managers whom you shared watermelon with in the scorching sun; and, forgetting volleyball, just teenagers whom you had seen at high school house parties throughout the semester - it was entirely personal during the prelims.

And while your school fell second to Itachiyama - you were excited to see your first ever nationals tournament.

To keep the teams organized in one spot, you were all staying in a swanky hotel not far from the sports center. It seemed to be a popular spot for other teams, since you had spotted familiar red and black athletic gear in the lobby when you entered. Nekoma was standing to the side by the chairs, Itachiyama littering the opposite area of the lobby.

Bokuto immediately bounded over to Kuroo and Kenma, Akaashi following behind begrudgingly, citing he did not want the spiker to wander off and get lost. Your eyes followed them, waving a hand at the Nekoma duo as you mentally weighed joining their conversation. Scanning the rest of the room, your eyes landed on Sakusa in the nearby corner with Komori hovering nearby.

Just as you made eye-contact with the libero, he waved you over with a friendly smile.

“Hey - good to see you, (L/N)-san.” Komori greeted, you waved back and made the small walk over.

“Hey to you too.” You replied, looking at both boys.

“Hi, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated back, as curt as ever. He was leaned against the wall, hands hidden in his pockets again. His eyes skipped over you quickly before looking away and scanning the room - you fought the urge to inwardly laugh at how easy he was to read at the moment.

For someone so collected and intimidating on the court, there was something so amusing at seeing him so on edge at the moment.

You were about to say something when someone called your name from behind. Waving a quick goodbye, you skipped back over to your team, seeing it was Akaashi who was herding you back to the group. 

It was only when you got in the elevator that you realized something - Sakusa remembered your last name.

Biting your lip in confusion, you thought to the last time you talked to either boy. You only gave your name to Komori during that first initial practice match - maybe Sakusa overhead and just had a good memory? Whatever the case may be, it was not the time to be looking into things. You shook your head, focusing on the present as you turned back to whatever Bokuto was talking about.

The coaches gave you time to organize yourselves before warming up in the nearby gym. With three managers for your team, it was agreed beforehand that you would fight on equal ground for the beds. Whoever won would get the bed to themselves while the other two would share. And yesterday, Kaori claimed herself the victor and you were sharing with Yukie.

Plopping your stuff down, you all got down to business as you organized the room quickly, heading out for auxiliary practice, and then herding the group at dinner.

After dinner, you were still bursting with energy. Excitement, anticipation - all of that was coursing through your veins for the events tomorrow. It seemed that the other managers were facing something similar, since neither had taken a bath yet and gotten ready for bed. Instead, Yukie was still in her outdoor clothes while Kaori was on her phone, scrolling through her social media feed.

Yukie turned to you with a mischievous smile, her brown eyes reflecting nothing but trouble when she finally asked, “So, seen any cute boys yet?”

You sputtered at the randomness of the question, “What?”

Kaori laughed, but then admitted. “Well, we are in the area with some of the best volleyball players in high school. Can’t deny some of them are handsome.”

You could not help the giggle in response, as Yukie added. “Hmm, you right. Some of them are looking so gooood.”

“Oh my god.” There were no words you had prepared for this moment.

Yukie looked at you before incling her head, “Come on, even Bokuto is looking mighty fine when he’s in the zone.”

“I -- “ You stuttered, was she looking for a response? 

“Don’t you think Bokuto has such a fine ass?” Yukie asked, “Like damn boy you looking thicc!”

Uhhhhh.

“Lay off.” Kaori came to your defense, or so you thought. “She’s more into the Akaashi-type, right?”

“Strong, but silent?” Yukie asked, “Quiet, but could easily snap your neck with his thighs?”

You blanched at the idea of your reserved friend doing any of the sort.

“No way! He’s just a friend.” You countered immediately.

“Hmmm, sure.” Yukie responded, “When Kuroo shuts his mouth, it makes me want to put it somewhere else.”

“Bruh.” You voiced as you laughed, slapping your reddening cheeks. 

Was this something they usually talked about during nationals? The conversation seemed so natural to the both of them - neither blushing or phased at talking about the other attractive men within your prefecture. Just thinking about any of them in a romantic light had you blushing, how on earth could they talk about this so naturally?

“True, but have you seen Sakusa?” Kaori countered, the conversation carrying on.

“Sakusa would be hotter if he allowed anyone within ten feet of him.” Yukie waved off before turning to you with a wink. “Well, I saw you talking to him today.”

You thought back to the interaction with a grimace, “More like a hello before he shut-down the conversation.”

“Think he’s cute?” Kaori asked, this time.

You thought back to him during the practice match, strong and confident when on the court and mask hidden away. But then again, you thought back to all your actual interactions, and grimaced.

You answered candidly, “I mean, I’m not blind. He’s attractive, but I barely know him.”

Yukie giggled, “I’m not saying you have to marry him!”

Kaori giggled and you felt your cheeks flame-up. You felt your embarrassment creep up your throat and blurted out, “Okay, he’s hella attractive and when he spikes it sets me on fire! Like ok - can he smack my ass like a drum??”

Yukie slapped you on the shoulder in jest as Kaori’s laughter got louder. Yukie replied, “Damn girl - I didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff.”

You were redder than Nekoma’s colors at this point, embarrassment at an all time high at having admitted something that even you were not aware of. Kaori and Yukie were so easy to talk to, so funny to be around, they really took away your one brain-cell sometimes.

“But I totally agree - when he snaps his wrist against the ball… well.” She ended the sentence with raised brows, both of you catching onto her mischievous face.

Kaori giggled and you could not help but laugh aloud at this point - you loved the other managers so much, they made wild conversations like this so easy. 

You started braiding your hair, conversation shifting to the boys in class at Fukurōdani. And while you admitted it was rather small-minded of you to say, you honestly could not remember a lot of the other student body outside of the volleyball club. You spent almost every free minute of your time on the club - many of the faces outside your class blurring to the side as your priorities lay elsewhere.

Just as you finished your hair, a small sound broke out in the room, Yukie picking up her phone as it vibrated against the bed. The brunette took one look at the caller ID, got up and winked at the two of you, before leaving the hotel room entirely. You turned to Kaori with a curious look, who simply shrugged and said it was probably some cute boy she was talking to.

You accepted it casually, before getting up yourself and putting on your outdoor shoes. You still had all this pent-up, enthused energy - maybe a run would do you good to calm your mind. Voicing this to the other manager, she agreed before laying back down on her bed.

The lobby areas were still littered with other volleyball club members in their casual clothes, some from other schools and some from your own. Some of the third-years were mingling, undoubtedly high-energy for this being one of the last few tournaments they would be participating in.

Putting headphones in, you started your run toward areas you personally knew and were relatively populated at this time of night. Certain areas of Tokyo were always bustling, and so you stuck to roads nearby the main one. Your mind, which was reeling only a few minutes before, was surprising blank during your run. Your focus was on the path ahead of you and the music surrounding you - it felt that simple somehow.

No team entered tournaments to lose - that was obvious. Everyone on this level of the competition had a hug leg over the average team - geniuses, prodigies, top spikers in the entire nation - they were all gathering here for the next few days.

Your team were the protagonists of the world - that was what you repeated in your head like a mantra for the past few days.

Fukurōdani were going to do more than just compete in nationals - they were going to win, you were confident.

“Pour all your soul into each ball.” You repeated, remembering the official banner for your powerhouse of a school.

The confidence in your team was overflowing, any lingering nerves flowing away as you continued on your focused run. And so when a crack of thunder was louder than your music - you reeled back in surprise and turned your attention upward at the sky.

Groaning, you ran over to the side of a building to huddle under a pagoda awning, other people doing the same as you and crowding the area. The weather quickly upturned from a calm night to a sudden downpour. There was nothing about rain in the forecast and this afternoon the sky was a pretty blue - had you just not noticed before?

Cursing your lack of foresight, you took out your headphones and stored them in the fanny pack across your chest. Recognizing the shops around this area, you were only ten minutes from the hotel by run. But, dodging the rain and ducking under pagoda’s would probably make it about a half hour. You considered briefly waiting out the rain, but also did not want to get stuck out late in the case that it did not let-up soon. 

Already decided, you were planning out your trek back to the hotel when you scanned everyone else around you. Turning to the other people taking refuge, you could not help the surprise on your face at seeming a familiar person huddled all the way in the back corner.

Sakusa, in all his might, was emanating serious waves of discomfort only a few feet away from you.

What were the odds of this happening? Was this some sort of karmic energy from the universe, due to the conversation you had earlier?

You walked over the spiker, waving a hello and receiving a nod in greeting.

“Looks like we had the same idea, Sakusa-san.” You started, receiving nothing from the conversation but a blank stare.

Boy was he hard to talk to.

Not to be deterred, you continued. “I know the area pretty well. Feel free to come with me, so you’re not waiting out the rain too late?”

Sakusa nodded again silently, and when you turned your head in confusion on instinct, he voiced himself this time. “Thanks.”

You felt a smile crawl up your face as you turned, dodging between some of the street shops’ canopies and awnings in your quick pace. He followed you closely, not wanting to get any of the accursed rain on his bodice, you guessed. Still, it was hard to keep track of someone right behind you. 

This situation was altogether so strange - who would have thought that this would be the way you would be ending your day??

Not used to the silence - after all, your usual company was always bouncing with energy - you joked as you turned to him, “I guess this is where I should insert some proclamation of rivalry here?”

The only thing that signified he heard you was by the quirk of a smirk at the corner of his lip - was that amusement?? you wondered.

Stopping at the corner of the street, you had to run the crosswalk and make your way to the cafe’s awning across the way. You voiced this as you both waited for the stoplight to switch over.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” You questioned, filling in the dead air.

“No.”

“Ah, what was I thinking - a nationally ranked spiker like you…” You drew out sheepishly.

“No, as in my team does not play until the day after.” Sakusa explained, making you groan. You forgot - Itachiyama was seeded after all. 

“Oh, my bad.” You stated, losing all your earlier confidence to try to speak to him. 

Whatever expression was on your face must have made him feel bad, you assumed, since Sakusa turned to you and continued. “But I am looking forward to fighting Wakatoshi-kun.”

The inward book in your mind flipped open, recognizing the name and attempting to find the correct team it was associated with. “Ah, that nationally ranked spiker from Shiratorizawa Academy.”

“Yes, he is… a good benchmark to play against.” Sakusa explained, making you nod in agreement. “But our priority will be watching Fukurōdani’s match tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?”

“You took a set from us during the Representative Playoffs. We won’t let it happen again.”

You smiled at his words - just Itachiyama and Sakusa himself as a whole felt like a goal. The team was the only one ranked above yours in the prefecture. It was your goal to beat his team and him especially. Maybe it was the fact that Bokuto and him were competing on ranking that made it that much more intimate, but it was easy to look at Sakusa as a target more than just who he was: a human.

And so hearing his small admission that Fukurōdani was a strong rival, after dominating your school for so long, you could not help but smile at his candor.

“We’re there to win nationals.”

He raised a brow at your words, and while you wondered if you had overstepped your boundaries for a second, a smirk grew on Sakusa's face as he simply responded. “Ah.”

You watched the countdown timer to the other side of the street, signifying it was soon time for the both of you to break out in a spring to the other side. Both of you readied yourselves just as a car squealed past the corner, trying to beat the clock and make it before it turned red. 

It all happened so quickly, eyes darting around the area to see if there was anything you could duck behind. Chairs and tables, the usually bustling Tokyo was already wrapped up in plastic and stowed away. There was no getting away from the large splash of water on the both of you - drenching you and Sakusa instantly.

The groan from the spiker was loud above the city bustle, and if not for your mutual distress, it would have made you laugh in amusement. Sakusa was inspecting his clothes, obvious disdain and surprise on his visage. Figuring it was whatever at this point, you grabbed his upturned palm and led him to a cafe area nearby. It was closed at this point, but there was a wide awning area that would be empty by now.

You led him to one of the empty garden chairs and sat him down, uncaring if he was annoyed at you pushing him around. It was your team mom instincts kicking in at this point.

Reaching into your fanny pack, you took out some of the emergency wipes and offered the pack to him. He took it readily, taking out a few and going at his hands immediately. With your on-hand handkerchief, you patted him down at the shoulders, not noticing how close the two of you were at this point.

Sakusa said nothing to your actions, not even when you moved from his shoulders to the exposed skin of his neck, wiping off the dirty street water. The initial mother adrenaline was quickly wearing off as you stood over him, surprised that he was letting you do this after all. The rosy tinge on your cheeks was growing with every second of that lingering thought.

“Nervous?” Sakusa called you out, making you stiffen up your posture. Thankfully, he did not push the subject and instead said, “I don’t understand you. Your team hates me. Shouldn’t you just be letting me get sick?

“I wouldn’t do that, especially not even to you.” You waved off the thought, smiling as you did so. “We’re going to beat you with our own skill.”

He looked up at you from his spot, initially saying nothing to your words as you moved to take out another wet-wipe from the pack. Sakusa stopped your action, putting a hand over yours and starting, “You should be using some for yourself.”

You lightly pushed it aside, not unkindly. “It’s fine; I don’t care much. Besides, this matters more to you.”

He said nothing, letting go of your wrist, but not moving away out of your range. You took that as Sakusa’s silent acceptance, moving the wipe back to his neck area and even patting him down on the cheek. His eyes never left yours, making you wonder what could possibly be going on in that head of his.

The moment was so strangely intimate, you were silently proud of your usually easy-to-tease demeanor staying calm. Once you were done, you debated taking the seat next to him when he finally looked away. Taking a look at the world around you, the sudden downpour had actually let-up to a slight drizzle. 

You voiced your observation, recommending that you make your way back to the hotel before it possibly got worse. He nodded silently in agreement, breaking out into a light sprint toward your destination side-by-side.

By the time you arrived it was already late night, most of the lobby thankfully empty. You were not sure what you would say if Bokuto saw you walk in with his rival completely drenched. The squelch of your sneakers was obvious against the granite floor, making you wince at how others probably saw the two of you right now.

Sakusa bid you farewell with a small word and wave, heading toward an elevator at the other end of the hall. You did the same, before feeling the niggling feeling that someone had their eyes on you. Heading to the elevators, you turned to your peripheral and saw Yukie, sitting at one of the lobby tables with some random guy across from her.

Her face was alight with obvious mischief, her smirk alone was enough sign that she was going to be questioning you about this situation immediately. You winced at her expression, turning toward the elevator doors and waiting for the ding! to signify you were free from her eyes.

A thorough bath later, you were surprised the next day to see that Yukie had not questioned you at all. Instead, all energy was focused on nationals and the upcoming teams you were going to have to play against. 

Fukurōdani Academy was a powerhouse in itself and hearing the loud cheers surrounding your side of the court was enough to lift the entire team's spirits. Your audience section was fit to the nine’s - including a marching band, a specific fan cheering area, and even cheerleaders.  The team played through their games proudly, passion radiating from the team as you made it to the quarter-final on the third day.

You never got to play Itachiyama.

The third-years were retiring.

The silence on the bus was mentally jarring - no one expected your nationals journey to end this soon. Even Yukie, who was always quick on her feet when it came to comforting the other members, was eerily silent the way back to the hotel.

The only person who was still remarkably confident, was signified by the strong words Bokuto uttered when they first left the court.

“Nothing here was a mistake.” Bokuto started, mind in his thoughts as his back faced the team. You were in the middle of handing a spare hand-towel toward Haruki when you turned to the ace. “Your tosses were incredible under the pressure.”

The entirety of the team turned to the usual mood maker, one who was so easily swayed on the court over simple things, now voicing his introspective words.

Bokuto turned to the rest of you, “We will come back here next year and carve the rest of the way.”

Akaashi nodded from beside you, other second-years agreeing with their newly determined ace. The third-year captain, now sporting an anguished smile, walked over to Bokuto to place a hand on his shoulder. The other older members followed suit, proud of their young owl growing up right before their eyes.

After the game, you split up at the hotel to return to your rooms and shower. Getting ready for the night ahead of you, the third-years stated that they were going to take the team out for dinner after the strong season.

Yukie hopped in the shower first as Kaori and you packed up some of your room. The team was still going to stay at the hotel until the end of the tournament, but your long notebooks and team journals were of no use now. Combination attacks and details on the third-years were now a thing of the past. 

You had to fight the sob in your throat when you closed the folder on your captain one last time.

The silent hotel room, which was filled with giggles and teasing only hours before, was palpable against you and Kaori’s attempts to stay calm. She was affected moreso than you, having spent the last two years with the current team.

You were so occupied in your thoughts, you almost missed the silent vibration in your pocket, a notification dinging from your social media platform on Instabook.

Hey. Are you back in the hotel?

What was Sakusa doing, messaging you now of all times? 

Waving the thought away, you typed: Yeah. What’s up?

I have something for you - where are you?

The tendril of suspicion shot through you, but Sakusa was definitely not the type to kick you while you were down. You messaged him back your room details, earning back a simple ok omw and nothing else to signify just why he was coming here.

Yukie was still in the shower when you stepped out. Sakusa really was before you, in all his silent glory. Sporting his usual face mask, he took something out of his pocket and thrust it toward you.

“It’s only fair, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated, a familiar pack of wet-wipes in his hand outstretched toward you. 

You felt your smile grow, your earlier saddened disposition breaking at the strange sight. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Just take it.” Sakusa said as he grabbed your sleeve and placed it in your empty hand. 

“Well, okay.” You said with a slight chuckle in your voice.

“I meant to give it to you at the complex, but..”

“Yeah.” You finished for him, the conversation coming to a silence. “Thank you, Sakusa-san.”

He looked at you with an unwavering gaze, “Sakusa is just fine.”

“Then just (L/N) is fine too.” You added, finally feeling that you were coming to terms to some sort of odd friendship with the spiker. Holding up your phone, you motioned to it without voicing your question. “So we don’t have to rely on random appearances?”

“Ah.” He agreed, taking out his phone as you exchanged chat-ID’s.

That was the end of the conversation, him waving goodbye once it was over and walking down the hall to the stairwell. A part of you watched him go, almost smiling when you realized that of course the athlete would opt for the stairs when you were on the tenth floor.

You tried to silently enter back into the room, Kaori in the shower this time as Yukie was packing up her things. Leaning your back against the door, you tried to placate your undoubtedly rosy blush - you did not need a mirror to know that you were adorned with one now.

“Look at you - you think you’re slick?” The smirk on her face was enough warning that you were in danger, “I saw you two from the peephole.”

“He was just dropping off a gift.” You state, as if that would sate her curiosity at all. Instead, she stood up at attention.

She had one eye narrowed at you, “Right, of course. What else was I thinking - other than the totally normal gift-giving for two platonic members of rival volleyball teams.”

“Yup.” You nodded with a reserved smile, before making your way further into the room.

Yukie pushed the conversation as she got on the bed, “Are you secretly dating Sakusa?”

You flushed immediately, “It’s not like that!”

“And what is it like?”

“We’re just… friends?” You bit out, the lack of confidence even obvious to your own ears. Was that a question or a statement?

The relationship you had with the young man was strange. Were you friends? It was more like mutual acquaintances who happened to have a totally-but-also-not intimate moment. You could never really tell what he was thinking - being of very few words. 

“And suddenly you’ve convinced me.” Yukie teased, before going silent as Kaori entered the room. You took this as your escape, readying your stuff quickly and entering the shower area before she could continue.

Thankfully, Yukie dropped the subject while you were around others. Your previous, almost giddy expression, came back to a silently gloomy one as you went for your last dinner with the Fukurōdani third-years.

Any previously unshed tears slammed to the forefront when seated around your peers. Even while sad and crying, your team was loud and scorching down food in the small ramen bar. The third-years thanked you all for your efforts, for the growth you had since the start of the school year, and sent you off for the new year.

April swung around quicker than you would like. You were a newly minted second-year, priorities quickly changing almost as quickly. The questions from guidance counselors and coaches were unending: asking you about your future, what you wanted to do, what electives classes were you going to take. It was all preparation before your final year - it was almost mentally jarring against the happy and almost innocent vibe from your initial year of a high school.

Sakusa’s phone number untouched since the day outside your hotel room. 

Bokuto rising to the role of captain in his third-year was no question. But seeing Akaashi, now a second-year Vice-captain, it set all your “uwu’s on fire,” as Yukie dubbed it. He earned the role, without a doubt, but seeing the two together was so strangely heart-warming.

Bokuto and Akaashi were a strange pair, but they got along together so well, it was hard to imagine anyone else on your team with these roles. Akaashi mother hen’ed you all, but there were times that it seemed the young setter could almost read Bokuto’s mind. 

They were a perfect match, you often teased. 

Akaashi would often stare at you blankly when you reiterated this, but Bokuto would only fuel the fire. The duo were almost always in immediate distance to one another, oftentimes your captain would swing his arm across Akaashi’s shoulders or just initiate some time of close distance. After all, they were roommates now in the dorms, that was not just because they were captain and vice, you had a feeling.

It made you wonder what else was there beyond the surface.

But, you still had your own job to do as manager. By the end of the year, Fukurōdani would be losing two of its precious managers. And so, here you were, on the hunt for a first-year to take on the role and get used to the responsibilities of being manager to a powerhouse school.

Your team was focused on finding their rhythm, endless individual practices to get the first-years up to speed with the Fukurōdani standard. The regular line-up was still mostly comprised of third and second years, but first-year Wataru Onaga showed lots of promise. Standing at 191 centimetres, he earned his way to starting middle blocker on the team.

On occasion, you would be found in the library with other members of the volleyball team, studying for classes and researching upcoming teams in the preliminary matches.

You noticed how Sakusa earned himself a formal ranking among the top three aces of the country - Itachiyama now a heavy favorite to win in nationals. He was growing in regard very quickly, attention on him was a far cry from the initial rumors surrounding his first-year. Now he was on the cover of Volleyball monthly, pages dedicated to an expose of his career.

Would he even remember you?

Thoughts of the spiker were pushed away again with the onslaught of practice matches with other schools within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Captain Kuroo was no better than regular Kuroo when it came to being the instigator. If anything, it seemed like the cat hung around your group of friends even more now.

He was often seen at group hangouts, whether just going to the mall or the local arcade. It was interesting, to say the least, the combination of your loud owl and the conniving cat, their two silent wards in tow.

You had a practice match with Itachiyama around the corner. And while you told yourself that you were not disappointed in your waning friendship(?) with Sakusa, you could not help the lightened feeling in your heart when he took the time to greet you before the match. Komori waved at you as well, before stretching and getting ready.

You watched the sets with careful eyes, Yukie taking notes alongside you. Almost everything was documented - how many times Bokuto was blocked, how many successful jump serves, service aces - and this was for both sides of the court. You could not help the way your eyes were drawn to Sakusa, his flexible wrist combined with his power making a combination the bane of your middle blockers.

Yukie caught you a few times, saying nothing but wagging her eyebrows at you in a wavy motion.

Losing three to two sets, you sighed and moved to help clean-up the gymnasium. Wheeling the scoreboard to the storage room with Yukie, all volleyball members were moving about the gym to make sure it was properly organized. You stepped out to check the hammock cart holding the volleyballs, counting them to ensure that none of them belonged to the rival school. 

Should you say something more to Sakusa?

You paused, looking up from the volleyballs and frowning at yourself.

Wait… Why did it even matter? Why did you even want to talk to him? Yes, you were on friendly terms with the ace. But why did you seek him out so much? You were friends with Kuroo, so did not feel the same draw to the middle blocker as you did now? 

Why was your mind so intent on just something with the ace?

Mind reeling with these questions, it was to your surprise when he approached you.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied in a much smaller voice, attempting to put a smile back on your face, as if you needed to hide your earlier train of thought.

“Are you available this weekend?”

“Uh, wait what?” You could not help the incredulous words coming out of your mouth. 

Seriously what??? How do you go from weeks of not talking to this??

Yukie was a few paces away from you, opting to walk away from your conversation to give some privacy, after all the two of you were standing in a gymnasium filled with two bustling volleyball teams. But she undoubtedly heard that last question since her head whipped around back in your direction.

Seeing that Sakusa was actually waiting for a response, you thought back to your plans with Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma group to play the usual Mario Kart at the latter’s house.

“No, I’m free.” You responded.

Yukie laughed, before walking away entirely, as to not give away her eavesdropping.

“Ok. I’ll text you the details for this weekend.”

Not able to hide your surprise, you let out a sound of uncertainty as you raised your palms. “Wait, for what?”

“Hang-out.” Sakusa stated, as if it was such a natural event. “Komori suggested inviting you so I did.”

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the sides and letting out a small, “Huh.”

He waved you off, saying he was going to text you the details tomorrow, before joining back with his team. Yukie’s face was indescribable and Haruki sported a similar expression only a few paces away.

Their questioning gazes were only pocketed for later, passed the time the coaches had given pointers and tips to members of the team. Eventually, when the other school had all packed up and left, the third-years were quick to bombard you with questions.

“HAAAA! (L/N), how could you hide this from us?!” 

“You two have been close, this whole time?”

“Not dating, my ass.” Yukie teased as she crossed her arms.

Akaashi placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm voice cutting above the rest. “What was that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You answered candidly.

Bokuto and Haruki turned their heads in confusion while Yukie looked at you with a face asking you, really?

“Yeah, we haven’t actually spoken to each other since nationals.”

“Wait, really? That long ago?” Yukie asked this time, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. That invite really feels… out of nowhere.” You explained, your own confusion evident on your visage and reflecting back on the other volleyball team members.

“Eh, it’s probably nothing.” Bokuto shrugged as he walked away, “We hangout with other schools all the time.”

Yukie held a flat-expression toward the ace’s retreating back, Haruki following behind him with a shrugging expression. Akaashi and the brunette manager turned back to you, the female grabbing your hand as she did.

“Okay, really?” 

Akaashi sighed, grabbing your attention. “Text me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Wow, look at you Mr. Chivalrous.” Yukie commented, making Akaashi roll his eyes before turning to you seriously. You nodded in affirmation, to which he accepted and walked away.

You waved goodbye to the other members as they closed up the gymnasium, walking with the other managers back to the female dorms. 

Yukie was not letting it go at all, repeating her question from earlier. “Okay, really?”

You smiled this time, voice mocking as you responded. “Yeah, really.”

“What happened?” Kaori asked.

“Sakusa-san asked her out on a date.” Yukie spun the tale.

“It’s not a date.” You cut in.

“Oh yeah, then why are you smiling so giddy?” Yukie asked with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Because it’s… Shut up.” You stated between nervous laughter, “He asked me to hangout with a group - it includes their libero Komori-san.”

“Maybe he likes you.” Kaori commented, to which Yukie agreed vigorously.

“Do not put these assumptions in my head.” You stated with a loud sigh, head angled toward the sky at their words.

Yukie sighed back, “Don’t deny the possibility.”

You shrugged it off, knowing that there was no ending to their teasing at this point. You repeated the truth in your head like a mantra: he was nothing more than a friend. It was not worth looking into every single interaction you had with the young man - after all, he was rather strange when it came to social interactions to begin with. 

Ironically, you had to think that the others did not know him like you did. He was straight-up with his words, not fully understanding the meaning of it or how it affected others. If Sakusa wanted to do something or felt something, he would lay it out straight - that’s just the type of person he was.

And you would not be looking into the words between the lines.

But it was increasingly hard to do this when both Yukie and Kaori invaded your room Saturday morning, stating that your usual plain clothes would just not do for a day like this. Two hours later, your hair was in beachy waves and your planned “plain” outfit was replaced with a casual, knee-length springy dress over a white shirt.

What if this really was nothing but a casual encounter for him? Would your outfit be more forward then you intended?

Any of your self-conscious questions were too late, since before you knew it you were already on a train to the destination by Kichijoji. You had a few more stops to your destination, the packed train-car as busy as ever. Distracting yourself from those previous thoughts, you whipped out your phone to check the messages that had been pouring in since early morning.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

11:11 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>           Look at how cute (F/N)-chan looks           Attached: cutie.jpg

11:11 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)          She should dress like this every day!! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

11:11 haaaruki !           WOAH :O 11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           Hey hey hey 

11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           look at you ;)

11:12 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           That would seem difficult considering (F/N)-san’s sleep schedule and the amount of time it takes for her to get ready. 11:13 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           damn girl u look so pretty!!

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           I still can’t believe she abandoned us for saks >:(

11:13 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>           you can’t stop her from dating dad

11:13 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           well you know what they say bro’s before hoes

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           eye-

11:13 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           But otherwise, (F/N) looks beautiful today.

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           >>:C

You skipped to the end, scrolling through at least a few dozen more messages that ranged the topic from the picture of you getting ready to the supposed Mario Kart tournament that you were now missing out on. Typing in your response:

12:35 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)           Sorry boys, had to look cute for today only ;)

12:35 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           IT’S A DATE!!! I KNEW IT!

12:35 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           BO YOU OWE US YAKISOBA BREAD

12:35 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           ITS A DATE??

12:35 haaaruki !!           be safe mom!!

12:36 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)           it’s NOT a date  (・-・)

12:36 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           HA

12:36 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           bruh 

12:36 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           JUST YOU WAIT

12:36 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           Text me the moment you need an out.

You rolled your eyes as you pocketed your phone into your side-bag, leaning into the halting train as it crawled to a stop on the Keiou Inokashira Line. Walking out and looking for any telltale signs of your friend, you scanned the train station with wandering eyes as you walked out.

But, it was not necessary, since Komori’s light brown hair was an easy pick in the crowd. However, next to him was a volleyball player that you could easily pick from the bustling station. While Japanese men were generally around 170 centimetres, seeing Sakusa’s curly mop of hair high above the crowd was enough for you to follow.

It seemed they saw you immediately as well, Komori waving at you to come over while Sakusa merely kept his eyes trained on you. With them were a handful of other members of the Itachiyama volleyball club, from the players to their female manager, you recognized them from practice matches.

They invited you into the group of teenagers quickly, as if nothing was strange at all, waving at you with smiles before shooting looks at both Komori and Sakusa. 

What the hell was happening?

You had a feeling in the back of your mind that something was happening around you, that they all knew something that you did not know.

You walked along with the group into the popular neighborhood of Kichijoji - the group traveling from food stand to souvenir stand. Their female manager was so friendly, unlike how seriously quiet she was when visiting. She even asked to touch your hair at one point, saying it looked so bouncy and pretty today.

“The tracksuits don’t do any of us justice.” She complained, “But you look so nice today, (L/N)-san!”

You smiled at her words, “Thanks. We had an off-day today too. So I figured why not.”

“Well, it looks great. Don’t you think so too, Kiyoomi?”

The sudden question had you reeling back in surprise, turning to the black-haired teen. Why was he suddenly being brought into this? What were they trying to do?

But the thousands of questions in your brain came to a halt when Sakusa turned to you and simply said. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” You replied, more out of reflex than truly getting his words. So in your head, you failed to notice the teasing smile she shot her ace, before turning away back to the rest of the group.

They gathered around the menu of a popular crepe stand, you left standing there in surprise as the group continued on without you. Sakusa stayed beside you, before taking a step and inclined his head toward the rest.

Shaking your head away from the niggling feeling in the back of your mind, you lightly jogged to catch up with the rest, finding a pace between Sakusa and Komori. 

The brunette turned to during your walk, “You’re probably really surprised to be here.”

“Yeah…”

Komori chuckled, a hand on his neck as he lightly muttered beneath his breath. “Honestly, I’m surprised he did it.”

“Did what?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing important.” He waved off, “I’m just glad you were able to join our group today.”

Deciding not to push it, you instead said. “Well, thanks for the invite.”

The group’s conversation ranged from the food stalls, to your long awaited destination at the billiards club. The building had, true to its name, billiards tables and other vintage arcade machines. 

You were unsure where to place yourself within this group, obvious inside jokes that you would not understand between some of the other members. Thankfully, Komori and their female manager were very quick to try to get you to weigh in on the conversation.

“Well, I think Shrek is funnier in Japanese.” She stated it clear as day, as if a fact. You had to stop yourself from chuckling, one hand on the pool cue since it was your turn to go.

“But it’s not funnier than Cars.” Another countered.

“Have you heard Mater in the original movie?” You replied after hitting the ball, watching it not follow the path you had intended to hit it in at all. “That’s the one English dub I’ll accept.”

She smiled before arguing, “As if a cowboy accent is funnier than Shrek with a Jojo’s voice?”

You attempted to dead-pan your face, Sakusa stepping up to the billiards table after you. “We’re Japanese. We all have Jojo’s voice.”

“Alright Pikachu, calm down.”

You held a mock-offended hand to your chest, not able to hide the laughter at her jest. Despite being a beginner at billiards, and getting absolutely wrecked by everyone else playing, you were having fun with the random group.

This was not just the Itachiyama volleyball club - a fan favorite to win nationals.

These were high school teenagers, enjoying their free day off.

It was like a wide-awakening of your perspective. After all, you went to a powerhouse school yourself. When people saw Bokuto, saw Fukurōdani as a whole - how many times were people intimidated at Prelims just because of your team’s reputation? Taking Itachiyama off its pedestal was the same and it was hard to remind yourself of this fact.

But finally putting names to faces, personalities to people, you let it sink in that they were not that unlike you and your team.

After billiards, you continued with the group to a hot-pot restaurant a few blocks away. Komori hung especially around you, you noted inwardly. Was it to keep you from feeling left out of the group? But why were you even with this group to begin with?

Wait.

Didn’t Komori call you cute during your first encounter?

You felt something inside you inwardly swell and then sag. Were you here because Komori wanted you to be here? Even though your direct invitation came from Sakusa, the ace reasoned that it was at Komori’s suggestion. Were you invited here to get closer to the libero?

Despite being surrounded by the loud vbc members, their eagerness to eat bustling in both action and conversation, you felt yourself sag at the realization.

They were trying to get you closer to Komori?

You inwardly slapped yourself on the head for being so closed-minded. Not that he was a bad guy - he was the best libero in the entire country after all. Volleyball skills aside, Komori was trying his best to make you comfortable in the group. He was naturally outgoing, friendly, and had been the reason behind your invite in the first place.

But another part of your mind, the part that you had been trying to close off for so long, could not help but glance over to Sakusa and hoped that he had been the reason.

The silent ace caught your gaze, making you turn away immediately and flush at being caught.

It was… disappointing.

But you failed to notice how Sakusa kept his gaze on you, the female manager watching this interaction entirely with amused eyes.

You were still trapped in your thoughts. You had gotten your hopes up after all, despite saying to all the other members that it truly was not that way between the two of you.

And now it was fully true.

Entering the restaurant, the female manager, having the foresight to call ahead to reserve for your large group, you deliberated where you wanted to sit at the table. You went to take a seat next to the manager, to which she motioned to Komori in a none-too-subtle way, to instead take the seat before you could finish your question.

That left a single seat left on this side - the corner one that was only next to Komori.

Of course they were trying to set you up with him, why else did you think otherwise?? You almost slapped yourself on the head for how tunnel-minded you were before this.

You took the seat, shooting a smile toward Komori that did not quite reach your eyes. But, to your surprise, the brunette muttered a small excuse of having to go to the bathroom or something, you could not catch it exactly since it was so quick. And instead, the ace that had been plaguing your thoughts for the last few minutes, had plopped down into the spot.

You snapped your head forward, grabbing at the menu and stating that it all looked good. The female manager smiled at you, more like smirked, before joining in the conversation of what she wanted to order.

As per your team mom instinct™, you took out your hand sanitizer and offered it to the other table members. 

“Thank you, (L/N)-chan!” She replied, taking the small container and using some. You offered it to the rest and let it pass around. “You even beat Sakusa offering it to us.”

Komori took the seat across from you when he returned, adding to the conversation quickly. “That’s (L/N)-chan’s?”

“Yeah. Otherwise, it would’ve been paired with a lecture from our dear ace here.” The female added. “It’s almost like you complete each other.”

Wait, what?

You smiled awkwardly, eyes landing on the silent Sakusa who had yet to say anything.

“Ah. I have the same brand.” He said when the bottle made its way back.

Okay, not what you were expecting at all. You took it from his hands, a small grin still on your face, using it before storing it away.

A few minutes in and it was clear that members of the table were breaking out into their smaller conversations. To your left was a wall and so that left the silent Sakusa or Komori across from you, who was trying hard to converse with only the person next to him.

“I saw the article about you in volleyball monthly.” You started. “Congrats on officially being one of the top spikers in the country.”

Sakusa turned to you when you first spoke, replying. “Thanks, but it’s brought a lot of annoying attention.”

He was actually talking to you? Stop. He’s human too.

“I could imagine - scouts, fangirls - it’s never ending.” You responded. “A lot of girls like to hang around and watch practice matches for Bokuto, I’d assume it’s the same.”

“It’s annoying.” He stated curtly, “They’re dirtying up the gym with their outdoor shoes every time.”

Of all things… you thought inwardly with an amused grin.

“Being so popular now, there’s probably tons of people who approach you based solely on reputation. I hope you don’t think that of me.” You stated.

“I don’t.” He said back just as quickly.

You smiled, before continuing the conversation. “Even if their energy is misplaced, I can’t help but agree that you’ve accumulated a lot of earned attention.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yeah.” Your smile widened unconsciously, “I mean, you’re more than just the title. You were a good spiker before any labels told anyone that.”

Sakusa looked at you, in what looked like a flat expression. 

What you did not know was how thoroughly he was scanning your face, just to gauge how genuine your words were. You went to rival schools? Other schools in the prefecture were so quick to antagonize him and his team. After all, Bokuto made his feelings obvious during the last practice match. And yet you were willing to just hangout, of all things, with people you hardly knew? So willing to compliment the ace with the largest target on his back??

Your actions confused a realist like him.

Why even bother to be nice to him way back then? Why try to keep in touch? Why be here today?

And even more so, why did he want to know the answer to these questions so badly?

“(L/N)-chan, what would you usually be doing on your off days?” The manager broke you out of your thoughts.

“Well, today was supposed to be a Mario Kart tournament with some of the Nekoma kids.” You thought back to your earlier plans. “As crazy as it is, we tend to just lounge around and play video games with Kuroo and Kenma.”

“Ah, that’s right. Nekoma is in the Fukurōdani Academy Group as well.” She stated, her voice lowering toward the end.

“Yeah, but we’re pretty close to Kuroo and rest beyond volleyball. I don’t know how, but our captains all get along like frat bro’s.” You reminisced to the last interaction, “But at least with all the managers together, we have five mother hen’s, six including Akaashi, to guide the group.”

She laughed, before biting her lip.

You noticed the action and questioned, “Something wrong?”

“No.” She tried to wave off, “Well. I don’t know. I’m kind of jealous.”

You let out an incredulous snort before leaning forward. “Why?”

“You get along really well with the other schools in the prefecture. Enough so that I see you guys,” she motioned to you in a circular motion, you took this to signify the Fukurōdani team as a whole, “Like everywhere on social media.”

“Oh?”

“Parties, weekends, you name it. Even Masaki-san, who is infamous for being so angry looking, posted you and the rest out swimming last summer break.” You thought back to the event, the name of the now captain of the Ubugawa High volleyball team jumping out at you.

House parties… Wasn’t that a regular high school thing to do? And while you were all responsible teenagers with a lot to lose, the team did indulge in various friendly gatherings that did include teens across multiple schools in the prefecture.

You hadn’t said anything yet, so she continued. “Meanwhile, our coach has us play against college teams since he insists it’s better practice. We don’t really play with anyone else in the prefecture other than you guys - and you hate us.”

“That’s not true.” You cut in immediately, to which she raised a brow. “Believe me. The only outspoken one would be Bokuto and none of that is beyond surface level - he’s a really nice guy and would never actually hate anyone.”

You continued, “It may just seem that way since we’re immediate rivals. But I honestly had no idea that it made you guys feel so isolated.”

“Yeah…” She admitted, her voice trailing off at the end.

“It doesn't have to stay this way. After all, you were nice enough to invite me out now.” You replied, a bright smile back on your face. “Why don’t we exchange numbers?”

She radiated a smile reflecting your own, taking out her phone and quickly inputting your digits in. “Wow, you’re so friendly.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You replied.

She held her smile for a few more seconds, before her eyes slid over to the silent ace between you two. 

“I’m so glad Sakusa wanted to invite you with us today.”

You looked toward him as well, Sakusa meeting your eyes before turning away.  “Uh, I was glad I was able to join.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s no wonder he…”

Her voice came to a halt when the ace looked straight at her, the waves of warning enough for even you to feel, without having to see his expression.

Sakusa wanted you to be here?

“He…?” You questioned, to which she smiled and shrugged, not completing her previous thought.

The rest of the dinner went without any special events - even holding light conversation with Itachiyama’s ace next to you. Conversation with Sakusa was curt, but he meant no harm. If you had to describe it, he was dense in the way of conversation, similar to Bokuto and yet for the opposite reasons. 

Bokuto was so extroverted that he got along with people so easily. But, it often led to him mistakenly leading on girls for how friendly he was. Meanwhile, on the other side of the spectrum, introverted Sakusa kept to himself because that was where he was comfortable, not because he thought others beneath him.

You felt your heart swell at having learned a little bit more about the ace.

After dinner, the nightsky reflected back at you as you went to part ways with the group. Dorms in opposite directions, you were surprised when Sakusa offered to walk with you to the train station. 

And while your heart swelled at the implications, Sakusa reasoned it was only fair since he was the one that invited you out. Now that it was late, it may not be safe for you to be out late and it would be on his head if something happened.

His manager laughed, while Komori just sighed, muttering that he was hopeless.

She bid you farewell with a tight hug, saying you should text her when you get home. The rest waved at you amicably before walking off in the opposite direction. 

Whatever the reasoning may be, there was no logical reason as to why a germaphobe like him would sit directly next to you on the train back home. Your shoulders were even touching, but neither of you voiced this fact. 

“Today was actually really fun.” You started, turning to him on your right. There were only a few other people taking this line and they were mostly crowded around the opposite end of your train-car. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You don’t have to say thanks so many times.”

“Did I?” You asked with a sheepish smile, “I honestly didn’t notice, but I do mean it.”

“Good.” His eyes bore into your own so seriously, “Because I’m glad you did.”

Unsure what to even say, you just kept on smiling. “Thank-

“What did I say?” Despite his normally cold visage, the tilt in his voice was enough to signify to you that he was teasing you.

You inclined your head toward him, “Fine. I’m… really happy, that we’re friends.”

He looked at you fully, not saying anything and making you question if you overstepped, before Sakusa stated, “Kiyoomi.”

“What?”

“Call me Kiyoomi.”

“Oh.” You smiled, “(F/N) is fine too.”

The rest of the train ride had such a lighthearted atmosphere. The only other person you could sit in comfortable silence with was Akaashi, but even then he was so silently sassy that it was nothing like Sakusa’s energy. And yet, at that moment, you felt so comfortable in his presence.

Sakusa did as he said he would, walking you all the way to the school-gates before finally bidding you farewell.

“See you around, (F/N).”

You reiterated it back to him, only walking off when he disappeared from sight. The smile on your face stayed etched there all the way back to your dorm room - where Yukie and Kaori were eagerly waiting on your lower bunk-bed, your roommate nowhere to be seen.

“Details, (F/N)-chan!” Yukie yelled out immediately, an enthused Kaori not too far behind her. 

And you did just so for the entirety of the hangout - from the billiards club, the manager’s desire to be closer to other teams, to your conversation with Sakusa on the train. They nodded along as you explained, having brought snacks with them as well, it was clear they were waiting for a while. How they got in your dorm room - that was a question for another time.

They chuckled at you for thinking Komori was the reason and nodded in understanding about the female manager. It was only at the end when they really questioned you and Sakusa.

“So… not dating, huh?” Yukie asked with a raised brow.

“Not yet.” Kaori answered.

“Damn, that means I owe Bokuto Yakisoba bread.”

You chuckled at the girls’ words, but felt that you could no longer honestly deny their teasing. The two of you were nothing more than friends, but there was no denying that you wouldn’t mind the possibility of being more than that…

Fuck it, you liked him.

No longer doing mental somersaults in your brain, it was surprisingly easy to accept the fact that you had a crush on the Itachiyama ace.

And your relationship only seemed to grow as the school year went on. During the next practice match, you formally introduced Yukie and Kaori to the other manager. The four of you were quick buds and she was invited to your dorm room on occasion. Other members of the team greeted you warmly, Sakusa even calling you by your first name, confirming that your last conversation was not just a fever dream you had one day.

Your heart only squeezed in on itself more when you felt your lingering looks become mutual. Sakusa had always garnered your attention during practice matches. But between plays and matches, you would just be looking at him when suddenly, he would be looking at you too. 

No matter how many times it happened, Yukie always made sure to tease you when she caught you.

You would text him memes and would receive a dry lol in return. There were times that he would spin the conversation and ask if you had eaten yet. 

Was he really trying to mother hen the Fukurōdani manager? You thought with a smile.

Your small texts and conversations were tantamount to much more when it came to Sakusa. His actions meant much more than it did to the average person. He did not waste movements, nor did he waste his own time. These were more than just dry texts - Sakusa could easily not reply at all. 

You learned that he disliked oranges due to its messiness. He actually liked the colors of his school tracksuit, even though they were bright against the soft hues of the Tokyo landscape. He was not a fan of the interviews, but knew it was a small sacrifice if he wanted to go pro. He loved his team and wanted to go far with them.

These little details made you like him even more - there was so much more to him than just volleyball.

When you finally voiced your feelings to Yukie, she gave you a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder. “I have eyes, you know. We all do, actually. But I’m glad you finally caught up.”

You laughed at her words then - maybe you really were a late bloomer when it came to your feelings?

Your frequent texts became frequent calls. Those became frequent late night video chat’s and soon enough, even your coach was teasing you over your close relationship. 

“The next practice match with your boyfriend’s team is scheduled for next Friday.” They stated with a straight face to the entire volleyball team, making the third-years chuckle and Bokuto even nudge you with his elbow.

“Not saying you’re just friends anymore?” Yukie asked with a smirk one time.

You shrugged, to which Akaashi sighed before ruffling your hair.

And so, when the managers were hanging out in their hotel room at the next Interhigh National Tournament in the fall, neither Yukie nor Kaori nor the Itachiyama manager, who was chilling with you guys, batted an eyelash when Sakusa texted you to hang-out that night.

You texted back, trying to convey a teasing tone over the words. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I was having dinner with the rival team of mine at Nationals?”

His response was immediate:

Not team; just me.

You blush only increased and Yukie teased you further, “Woah, what could he possibly be sending you for you to get that red?”

“I’m willing to bet Yakisoba bread that they’ll be official before the next nationals.” The other manager stated, outstretching a hand toward Kaori and Yukie.

“Whaaaat?” The former drew out, “I’m thinking by tonight.”

“Shut up.” You stated as you blushed, putting on your outdoor shoes and a jacket.

Going down to the lobby, you scanned the room to see Akaashi and Bokuto at one of the tables. The two had such a… trusting relationship, you learned. Yes, Akaashi played the suffering card almost every day. But the setter loved to watch Bokuto play so passionately, you could see it in his eyes every time they were on the court.

Whatever was going on there, you supported it.

Turning away, you made your way over to the door where Sakusa was waiting. He looked so out of place, as per usual, hands in pockets and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

As you approached, Sakusa nodded to you in greeting and - to your eternal surprise - took your hand in his own before guiding you out the door. He had on winter gloves, so none of your germs would be touching his skin, but the action itself was so surprising. Yes, you talked and smiled and pined after him - but premarital holding hands?? Were you both ready for this??

He led the way over to a small cafe, walking in mutual silence and only releasing your hand when the host seated you across from each other. You eagerly soaked up the menu, eyes scanning the sweets while he deliberated over something.

Sakusa had yet to say anything to you, not grabbing at the menu either, which worried you in a way. What was it that was on his mind?

“Something wrong, Yoomi?” The nickname slipped off the tongue easily, having used it in your last night talks on the phone with one another.

“I want you to know my intentions in our relationship.”

You swallowed at his words, sure that he heard your nervous tick as well.

“I want to get to know you.”

The teasing smile was quick on your face, “Me too. I mean, that’s what we’ve been doing all along?”

“No.” He cut in instantly, tugging the face mask he had on down and off. “As in get to know you with the intention of being more than friends.”

“Oh?”

“You confuse me endlessly.” He admitted, “Your initial kindness made no logical sense - why extend it to your rival that you barely know? Why humanize me, get to know my team after all this time?”

“Because I wanted to be kind, even way back then.” You thought aloud your reasoning.

“I know you now. And what I see… That’s what I like about you.”

“Wait. You like me?”

Your humility was cute and such a rare trait in your shared interest; the small question made Sakusa smile inwardly. 

“Yes. And you like me too.” He responded with a smirk, to which you could not even deny.

“Well, yeah!” You laughed as you affirmed his statement.

He tilted his head at your outburst - god help him you were so cute. His smirk morphed into one of an endearing expression, before he took a breath and calmed himself.

“I do have to be honest with you.” He started, “I want to get closer to you, more than before. But my priorities right now are volleyball.”

Your bright smile fell to a neutral grin, not really from his words, since you truly did understand his situation. He was in his third-year, college scouts and grades were on the line at every turn for him. Even tomorrow, at the Fall National tournament, his performance could very well carve out the future he was working so hard for this whole time.

Your silence must have been a telling sign for Sakusa, since he started to pour out questions in a way that usually occurred when he fixated on something.

“Stop, you don’t need to explain it to me. I understand fully. There’s too much on the line right now to get distracted.” Your smile was back on your face as you reached over to grab at his hand this time, “But I want to get to know you too.”

“Good.”

The hand under your’s squeezed back lightly, before upturning the positions so yours rested in his larger one. It was a silent moment, sharing eye contact that felt so intimate, and yet similar to the one you shared at the last tournament. His smile, rarer than the times Bokuto fell silent, was small and for you alone at this moment. 

What he was asking for was not an outright relationship - nothing about this was normal, but you wouldn’t have preferred it to be.

--------

(continue; BUT SPOILER WARNING TO CHAPTER 392!! :O)

You sat in the stands on the Black Jackals side, cheering on the team of your boyfriend of three years. Adorned on your shoulders was Sakusa’s sports jacket, his last name shown proudly on your back. Next to you, Akaashi and Yukie were loudly cheering for the team’s victory.

Seeing both Bokuto and Sakusa on the same team was no longer a strange sight. And, instead,  always elicited a pang of pride surging through you every time you watched their games.

The two of you never confirmed your relationship throughout the rest of high school. And while this made many of your then teammates groan at your ambiguous relationship, especially since many kept betting Yakisoba bread to no avail, you would not have it any other way.

After a few months from your conversation in the cafe, Sakusa would kiss your cheek in goodbye, no matter who was around you. When walking around Shibuya, with either yours or his or even with Nekoma’s team around, he would hover shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

And when Itachiyama, the favored team to win Nationals as a whole, lost to Inubushi East High - you held him in your embrace the entire night in the comfort of his hotel room. He did not cry then, but his disposition was enough for you to know that he was not okay.

And when Fukurōdani made it all the way to the finals of the National Spring Interhigh, only to get eliminated, Sakusa held you close despite your loud crying the next day.

You knew how much Sakusa cherished you, that was all that mattered. And so when he kissed you for the first time, even without a label to your relationship, none of that mattered. Your feelings to each other only grew with time and what happened in the private recess of your relationship was for you two alone.

Watching the pro team win the game 3:2, with your boyfriend getting the first service ace of the game, you almost cried in joy at how far he progressed in achieving his dream. This was a far cry from his first pro-game, but seeing him on the court, surrounded by your Fukurōdani friends, brought so much nostalgic feelings to your heart.

Even as the rest of the audience cleared the stadium, you and the two others lingered. Bokuto made sure to wave at Akaashi, his significant other since the day you lost at the Spring Nationals.

You waited together until you received a text from Sakusa, then headed down toward the entrance of the changing rooms as a group. Some of the members of the Black Jackals were already waiting for you three by the time you made it through the crowd and down.

Hinata greeted you excitedly while Bokuto ran, with not a hint of hesitation, toward Akaashi. Lifting the previous setter off the ground, he placed a light butterfly kiss on his nose, careful not to hit his glasses.

“Kōtarō, please.” Akaashi attempted to chastise the volleyball player for ignoring the rest of the group and stop him from getting any deeper in his public display of affection, but the smile on his face took off the weight of his words.

“I love you.” Bokuto said, forehead to forehead with your close friend to this day, before receiving the words in kind from the previous setter.

You smiled warmly at the two - to think that they were dancing around their feelings also in high school. Having teased them a lot before, it only warmed your heart to know that they found their eternal happiness in each other.

Yukie was also smiling behind you, before Bokuto took the both of you in his arms for a long awaited hug. Your high school best-friend offered him a Yakisoba bread after, it was not a silent tradition after all the lost bets she participated in. Bokuto took it with a smile, putting the bread in his pack before encasing Akaashi’s hand in his own.

Atsumu was next to leave the changing room, shamelessly flirting with both you and Yukie the moment he laid eyes on you.

You laughed at the setter’s attempts, “Come on blondie, give it up.”

“You know, I think you’d make a great manager for our team.” He ended it with a wink.

“(F/N)-chan used to be my manager before!” Bokuto cut in, sticking his tongue out in jest at the end.

You felt strong arms wrap around your midsection from behind, Sakusa having quietly exited the changing room, before feeling his lips against the side of your head. “Sorry for making you wait. I had to wait for them to sanitize the showers again after Atsumu used it before me.”

The setter sputtered in reaction, after being implied as dirty, but was honestly used to it by now. 

Only when Bokuto inclined his head toward the exits did Sakusa let go of you. But only for a second, grabbing your hand in his own as you headed out. The group had agreed earlier about going somewhere for the victory dinner - probably the usually ramen place you haunted in Shibuya.

Facing you fully now -  Sakusa held your cheeks in his hands, the coarse skin affected by the endless hours of enduring volleyball. You leaned into the motion as he lowered his height closer to you. Familiar with each other’s nuances by now, you angled your head to side as your hands comfortably wrapped around his neck. Nudging your nose slightly with his own, he rested his forehead against yours before the velvet skin of his lips matched your own.

You felt one of his hands move to curve around your waist, bringing you closer to him as he deepened your act of affection. Greedy to just feel more of him, you leaned into Sakusa again, lips meeting twice, three times, before you pulled away.

His loud groan was palpable to the now silent hallway.

Sakusa was only ever so affectionate when you were in private. And so for him to be this forward while the possibility of getting caught still hung in the balance was a rare thing - not that you were complaining.

“Come on, we should go catch-up with the rest of your team.” You said almost breathlessly, still sharing the same breath in your close embrace.

You felt one of his hands travel behind your head slowly, grazing the back of your neck softly as he went. You leaned into him at the feeling, sensitive to the touch. The smirk on his face was obvious, the jackass - teasing you in public of all places. 

“Do we have to?”

Was he trying to tempt you to just go straight home to your shared apartment?

Not one to be easily swayed, you gave him a small peck on the lips before backing out of his embrace entirely. 

His hands dropped down to yours as you went, “Yes, we have to.”

Pulling you back to him, and chastely kissing your forehead this time, Sakusa replied. “Okay, but only for you.”

Your smile only widened then, at his affection words meant only for you. 

Your relationship was never easy, busy with your respective college degrees, and the attention that came with being a professional athlete gaining world-renown. Like every other couple, you fought, and cried, and loved each other so much in your own little ways.

The two of you had a quiet sort of romance. You were not the sort who would flaunt your relationship in public, nor would you so eagerily utter the words I love you as other couples, but you knew that what you had was real.

What started as a chance encounter became the best partner you could ever ask for.

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

Author’s notes:

The only reason I’m thinking Fukurōdani has dorms is just an educated guess:

All the schools that have “Academy” in the name seem to be the ‘higher’ or more prestigious schools. Karasuno High, Nekoma High, Shinzen High - none of these places have dorms. But Shiratorizawa Academy; Fukurōdani Academy; Itachiyama Academy -> since Shiratorizawa is confirmed to have dorms i figured ayyy let's roll with it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ A loooot of my assumptions are going to be based off Shiratorizawa - like the fact that they feel they’re the best and practice with colleges instead of other hs cause they’re not good enough lmao

IT ALMOST KILLS ME that we know only TWO people on the Itachiyama team and then timeskip hits and its like ?? LOL ok ?? hype them up for so long and JUST NOW we see Sakusa play ok ok ok 

✧  Masterlist

[exovapor]

The Adventure - TMNT Bitches:  chapter 10

CHAPTER 10:  Through the Looking Glass  

·         The four brothers exit the parking deck and are immediately overwhelmed by the steady stream of people walking to and fro.  Donnie has his eyes glued to his virtual display while Leo and Mikey each take up flanking positions on either side of him to guard his shoulders so he doesn’t trip over the crowds walking past.

·         “Oh no-no-no, this is not good!”, Donnie exclaims while panning left and right with his display, trying to find the trail that is quickly disappearing right before his eyes.

·         “What is it, Donnie?”, Leo asks, the concern thick in his voice.

·         Donnie frantically pans in a wider arch, but the trail is fading too quickly.  The flow of the foot traffic is causing too much interference and the particle stream is all but faded away, “Leo, I think we have a problem here.  The portal residue isn’t as clear down here on the street as I had hoped.  I’ve lost the trail”.

·         “Great! Now what?”, Raph’s towering figure grumbles from behind them all, where he has taken of the posterior position to keep people from walking dead-straight into Donnie as he stands stationary in the middle of a river of people.

·         “Give me a minute to think, Raph”, Leo chides but he’s feeling his own sense of panic rising. He’s never been claustrophobic, after all he lives under ground, but here with all these bodies pressing in around them, jostling past them, the serum keeping them in human form already on its count-down clock, and their one clue to follow Shredder is literally disappearing before their eyes, he’s never felt so out of his element…so not ready to lead.  However, he doesn’t have the option to quit, to flake out, his brothers are looking to him for guidance.

·         Leo studies their surroundings, the people, the activity….and then he sees it, the thing that gives him a new idea, a new possible solution to their dilemma.  He’s watching people all over pulling out their cell phones to take pictures of each other’s costumes, to stream and vlog about their adventures as they walk down the street, “Donnie, can you search through the media flowing around this event?  Maybe we’ll get lucky can catch a glimpse of Shredder in the background of someone’s post.”.

·         “Can I? Psssshhh.  Does Mikey like pizza?”, Donnie throws Leo a sassy glance before flipping through his virtual screens again.  Almost as soon as he starts flipping and searching the data streams, a ping comes from his computer, then another, and another, “Oh boy, BINGO!”, Donnie exclaims.

·         Mikey leans in close from Donnie’s right shoulder, omitting the concept of personal space, and nearly blocking Donnie’s field of vision of the display, “Dude…that’s Shredder!”.

·         “I KNOW, Mikey”, Donnie says and grabs Mikey’s cute little human face with his large left hand and pushes him back a few inches in order to have some breathing room, “it’s a video that’s quickly going viral of an altercation between Shedder some human kid”.

·         “What’s he saying?”, Leo asks, leaning in from the left.

·         “Hm…not good…he’s looking for fighters but at least we know where he’s going, according to my search this ‘Marriott’ that the guy mentions is a hotel just down the street…the Atlanta Marriott Marquis.”

·         “Then let’s get movin’, Don, lead da way.”, Raph shoves Donnie from behind, where he’s still acting as a barricade between his lithe brother and the crushing public. He’s eager to get moving, standing still when Shredder is out there hunting for a new army is grating on his nerves.

·         The quartet of disguised mutants walk along in the crowd, still in more shock and awe of being able to walk so freely among the general masses.  The laughter, the smiles, the excitement, and comradery are palpable in the air.  Everyone is high spirts and the four brothers are right in the middle of it.  This is truly a new and welcomed experience for them.

·         For too long they have watched from the shadows as people had fun.  They would watch club goers and weekend warriors living it up on Friday and Saturday nights in New York while they stood on roof tops patrolling and keeping watch…from a distance.  They often wondered, and in some of their cases daydreamed, about being part of the crowd below.  And, now, here they were, walking in soft human skins with the rest of the world.  Would they ever be able to go back to the shadows and not feel empty inside?

·         As they each ponder the experience quietly and the implications of these experiences on their future selves, they follow the flow of the crowd as it passes under the carport awning of the Marriott Marquis.  The voices and sounds of laughter echoing and bouncing back under the marquee, adding to the energy of the atmosphere.

·         They enter the establishment through the double sliding doors and are immediately stuck speechless by the activity and the setting.  The hotel was architecturally beautiful, it’s 47 stories visible in the main atrium with a cluster of stylish elevators quickly running crowds of people up and down the inside column of the atrium.  Hundreds, no, thousands of people, most of which that were in some form of costume milled about talking, taking pictures, and celebrating as one.

·         Donnie was sure that he had died and gone to nerd heaven…nerd nirvana…nerd-vana.  A small tear rests at the edge of one of his eyes.  Mikey’s hyperactive mind starts to short circuit as his eyes jump around the celebratory scene in front of him…’now THIS is a PARTY’, he thinks to himself.  Raph bringing up the rear, is stunned into silence himself. There are women…EVERYWHERE…WITH VERY LITTLE ON…AND WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE!  

·         Leo quickly assesses the scene and the effect that it is having on his brothers’ attention span, he’s got to set down the rules quickly and keep them focused on the task of finding Shredder.  “Ok, guys, let’s split up and find Shredder quickly as possible.  There are a lot of people here, so he’ll have plenty to blend in with, or use as victims against us, we NEED to find him quickly.  Raph, you’re with me, we’ll down those escalators and search there. Don you and Mike take that upper level.  If you see Shredder call for backup, don’t engage until we can be sure that we can keep the area clear and ensure that people won’t get hurt.”.

·         Leo and Raph descend to the lower level via the escalator.  The level is one large arching circle with various wings and ballrooms off its center.  There is a back entrance where other vehicles are making pit stops, picking up and dropping off of party-goers.  Leo doesn’t like this scenario, it’s going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. “We need to move through these wings to make sure he hasn’t made it to some of the maintenance areas.

·         Raph doesn’t hear Leo’s directions as he is fully distracted by a group of women cosplaying as a Sailor Moon group standing around the lower level posing for pictures. He grins devilishly at them as they wave teasingly at him.  Leo lets out an alpha snort, which doesn’t have much impact coming from his smaller human lungs, and he punches the oversexed behemoth in the arm, “Raph, focus!”.  

·         “I am focusing, Fearless, I’m focusing on dat real hard”, he replies slyly while his eyes haven’t left the group of short-skirted women.

·         Leo shakes his head, “I knew I should have brought Donnie with me, but I couldn’t trust you and Mikey together.”.

·         Raph’s eyes finally leave the group of cosplayers to stare pointedly at Leo, “I don’t need ya ta babysit me, LEO.  I’ll find Shredda and kick his ass all da way back ta New York”, he snarls aggressively.

·         “Fine, prove it, let’s move”, Leo challenges and starts leading the way down through the bowels of the hotel.

·         As Donnie and Mikey crested the escalator, their eyes saw even more of the festivities taking place on the main level.  People crowded around the bar and the dance platform, one story up overlooking the main level lobby, was packed to the brim with people grinding and gyrating to the beats from the house DJ.

·         “Don, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven”, Mikey whispers out reverently.

·         “We need to find Shredder, Mikey, we don’t have time to play around”, Donnie says, even though his own eyes are wandering the crowds appreciating the costume designs, period replicas people are carrying, and the….uhm….nice outfits of the ladies. Donnie subtly adjusts the crotch of his cargo pants.  He may be slightly smaller in human form, but proportionally still quite sizable and too many ‘happy thoughts’ still cause an uncomfortable tightness down below.

·         “Ok, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we need to split up to cover more ground. There is just too many going on and Shredder will be able to hide among it.  Mikey, PLEASE, don’t get lost and stay focused.”, Donnie negotiates with his younger brother.

·         “Don, you can count on me, bro!  Detective Mikey is on the case!”, he clasps Donnie on the shoulder before starting to walk off to circle the atrium from the left.

·         “We’ll meet back up by the bar”, Donnie yells at him over the crowd before he moves off to the right, searching the crowds for a villain but appreciating the other visual interests as well.

@turtle-babe83 @tmntspidergirl @kokokatsworld @nittleboo @the-second-circle-of-shell

[lexosaurus]

Tutoring Phantom Ch 1

Characters: Danny, Dash, Kwan Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Word Count: 4036 Summary: It was funny. A year ago Dash was all but praying for Fenton to shut up, but now he would do anything to hear him speak.

This is my very belated gift for @kinglazrus! It has ended up becoming a twoshot. Here’s chapter one!

Read on: [ao3] [ffn]

---

The revelation shook Amity Park to its core.

Fenton? Really? That Fenton? 

The scrawny one? 

The kid of those nut-job parents?

The one that got picked on?

I heard he’s a loner. Super quiet. 

It was always the quiet ones…

Isn’t he failing school? Maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s because he’s a ghost. Aren’t ghosts less intelligent than humans?

Teresa told me he ditches class all the time. Probably because of his Obsession.

That’s so creepy.

Fenton was...Phantom. Danny was Phantom. It was simply indisputable. Of course some conspiracy theorists were probably screaming about photoshop and CGI, but when Dash saw the transformation happen on television, there was no other way he could make sense of it.

Fenton was Phantom. 

The Guys in White had figured it out, evidently. According to their spokesperson, they had been analyzing Phantom’s ectoplasm samples left from a ghost fight when they found human DNA infused into the ectoplasm. Scans showed that it belonged to Danny Fenton.

When the GiW collected more samples from various ghost fights, all the results were the same. 

Fenton was Phantom.

So they developed a gun. And when Phantom was distracted with a ghost fight they denied planting (but they must have, there was no possible way they could have captured him otherwise), they hit him with it.

And he transformed right there in front of everyone. 

Fenton was Phantom.

And Dash had spent years ruining his life.

Dash collapsed on his couch, his glassy eyes fixated on the still image of Fenton’s horrified face. His hair was wild, his eyes even more so. In the background, he was surrounded by men in white suits, all armed to the teeth with guns. Above him, helicopters soared. 

Fenton was trapped.

There was no way out of it.

Dash had spent the better part of his life bullying the boy who would become his hero, and now he would never be able to apologize.

---

Well, maybe Dash spoke too soon.

By some miracle, Fenton was released from the government’s clutches. 

Eventually. 

Dash didn’t understand the science behind it, but apparently Fenton wasn’t dead. He was...almost dead? But not quite. He was just alive enough to have a pulse, just alive enough to have a heartbeat, just alive enough to be considered human in the eyes of the law.

Dash didn’t want to acknowledge just how relieved he was at this revelation. And if he were a good person, his relief would have come from the part where that meant his classmate was actually alive.

But he wasn’t a good person. What good person spends their downtime picking on the weak kids at school? What good person takes out their aggression on those who don’t fight back?

Dash wasn’t kind, he wasn’t nice, he wasn’t selfless. And that’s why he was relieved.

Because all of his relief came from the fact that if Fenton was alive, then Dash didn’t have to live with the guilt that he’d tormented a dead person. He didn’t have to lie awake at night wondering if he was the one to push Fenton past his breaking point, if he were responsible for Fenton’s death.

Because Fenton wasn’t dead. So what if he was almost dead? So what if he probably did die—if only for a moment—before his body was kickstarted back to life? Fenton wasn’t dead, so Dash didn’t have to think about it.

Dash could get away with it all scot free.

Just like always.

---

Fenton was allowed to come to school.

If Dash were honest, he was surprised by this. He didn’t think the PTA would have caved to the students, who had demanded that Fenton be allowed to return to school. But apparently they relented.

Under certain conditions.

Conditions which the government was more than happy to collaborate with.

It was Fenton’s first day back, and yet he didn’t look all there. He was pale, sickly, his hair too long and voice nonexistent.

But his eyes, those scared Dash the most.

His eyes were dead. 

It was as if someone had taken all the light that was Danny and replaced it with a puppet. There was nothing in there. Nothing inside of his skin. It was...dead.

What did they do to him?

The teachers didn’t try to make him engage with their lessons. They only looked at Danny with pity in their eyes when they would walk by. And Danny wouldn’t acknowledge them because he was just empty. 

Dash wanted to approach him. Talk to him. He had a whole speech prepared, and he knew Kwan did too. But the speech had all but died on his lips when he saw Fenton that morning. He knew—he knew—that nothing was going to get through to him.

Fenton was Phantom, but Fenton wasn’t even there.

And in his place was nothing but bones wrapped in skin held together by metal contraptions on his wrists, ankles, and neck.

Dash shivered. The one on his neck was blinking. It was a warning, Dash realized. A warning that Danny was dangerous. He was inhuman. He was Phantom. 

The students avoided him. Even the ones who had advocated for his safe return. Dash didn’t blame them, either. No one could have predicted that this would be coming back to their class.

Even so, Manson and Foley stuck by him. Dash watched them guide him to each class, carrying his books and trying their best to include him in the conversation. Sometimes he would even lock eyes with them, sometimes his lips would twitch upward and his eyes would brighten as if he were following along with Manson and Foley’s antics. 

Those moments were rare though. Fleeting.

Because in the end, the modicum of emotion would always vaporize from Fenton’s face and they’d be left with the blank, faraway glazed expression that he always seemed to wear now. The duo would be left talking between themselves, and Dash was left looking at them from the sidelines waiting for Fenton to open his mouth and just respond.

Gone were the days of the snarky comments and muttered undertones. Gone were Fenton’s stupid comments that Dash spent years beating him up over. 

It was funny. A year ago Dash was all but praying for Fenton to shut up, but now he would do anything to hear him speak.

No one knew what happened to Fenton during his stay with the government. No one knew what they did to him. Because, as far as Dash knew, Fenton hadn’t said a word since he returned home. Dash wasn’t sure if it was because Danny couldn’t respond, or if he just wouldn’t. 

He didn’t know which one was worse.

---

It had been one month since Fenton returned to school. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that he wasn’t doing well.

He drifted from class to class like he was in a dream, often not even bothering to put his notebook on his desk as he sat in each class staring at the wall with the same dead expression.

Fenton didn’t take his tests or quizzes with the class anymore. He was in the same math class as Dash and only lasted one exam before Mr. Falluca started proctoring his exams separately. Rumor had it they were trying to get him extra help, but the PTA didn’t want him integrated with Casper High’s most vulnerable students.

Dash thought that was a load of crap, personally. Dash had a few teammates who got extra help from the school’s learning center and they could handle themselves just fine.

Regardless, at this rate, Fenton was going to fail out of school.

Which was why it was of no surprise to Dash when he and Kwan were called down to Mr. Lancer’s office one day with a request to tutor Fenton.

“I know this is a lot of responsibility, and I know you haven’t always seen ways with Mr. Fenton in the past,” Mr. Lancer said, his fingers steepled in front of his chin. “But I can’t ask just anyone to do this. You two are leaders in your class, and you have some high marks to boot. Mr. Lee, you have consistently scored in the top ten percent of the class in your English and history courses, and Mr. Baxter, this past year you’ve done remarkably well in your math course.”

Dash had been regarded as many different things. Athletic, social, hotheaded, cocky, brave—but never smart. He was always known as the high school jock stereotype, he never did well in school.

But Mr. Lancer always knew he was more than just a stereotype, and when he called Dash and his parents after school one day with the recommendation that Dash get tested for ADD, suddenly everything clicked. 

It was amazing how a small pill each morning could turn Dash from a C student to a rising A student in the matter of a few months.

“And because I know how much I’m asking of you two, I have spoken to your teachers and they are willing to give you extra credit on your final exams as compensation.”

Dash cleared his throat. “Mr, Lancer,” he started, his voice scratchy. “With all due respect, why have us tutor him? Why not have the teachers do it?”

“I have been working with Mr. Fenton, and I’ll continue to through the school year. But he needs that peer to peer connection, he needs the support of those around him. I’m sure you’ve noticed the shift in your class, the growing uneasiness of those around you?”

Dash nodded. He would have had to have been blind to not see how everyone seemed to skirt around Fenton in the hallways, how nobody except Manson and Foley said so much as a “hello” to him.

“I understand,” said Dash. 

“The...ghost inhibitor thing isn’t helping, either,” Kwan added. “I’ve never seen that kind of technology used on any ghost. And you have to admit, Danny’s been acting really strange lately. Like he’s not even here. Mr. Lancer, if you don’t mind me asking, is it...are they…?”

The unsaid question hung in the air, and Mr. Lancer’s eyes darkened. “There’s only so much I’m allowed to say on this matter. But I would say your suspicions about the devices are likely to be true. Although, it’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly how much they’re affecting Mr. Fenton. He’s been through a lot.”

Dash felt lightheaded. So the rumors about the devices were true. At least, somewhat true.

If there was one thing both Fenton and Phantom were, it was resilient. Sure, the Guys in White could knock him down, but to change him this much? To give him so much baggage he couldn’t even speak?

It screamed foul play.

“That’s terrible,” Kwan said. “It’s sick knowing that they’d do that to him.”

“Indeed. Which is why I’m asking you both to step up as leaders of your class and help your fellow peer through this difficult time. If we can help Mr. Fenton become more integrated with his classmates, we may have a case to allow him to remove the inhibitors and get him real help.”

Dash could feel Kwan’s eyes on him, and he knew why. Dash and Fenton had history, and that made this complicated. There was so much unfinished business between the two. 

Was Dash ready to take this step? Was he really ready to be the selfless, altruistic hero like Phantom instead of the bully he had always been?

“Again, I know the school is asking so much of you both, and I am willing to personally help if need be. If, for whatever reason, you feel as though you can’t do it, there will be no judgement from me or any of your other teachers. This is entirely up to you.”

If Dash said no, Kwan would follow. If Dash wasn’t ready, Kwan wouldn’t force him into that position. It was exactly why Dash and Kwan were such good friends: Dash got his way, and he always knew Kwan would have his back.

But that wasn’t healthy. And it didn’t lead to good outcomes in the long term.

Now was the time for Dash to take that step. 

He needed to be the leader instead of the coward he always was.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

---

If Fenton was confused as to why his two former childhood bullies were now his after school homework buddies all of the sudden, he didn’t say it.

In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

But Dash knew this would happen going into it. He knew it would be difficult to tell if Fenton’s head was in the clouds or if he was truly in the present. And he knew Fenton would just go along with whatever they threw at him anyway.

Because he was Fenton. He could never let Dash have the last metaphorical word, even if he was being suppressed by the physical manifestation of the United States government on his wrist, ankles, and neck.

He was annoying like that.

“See, this is what goes into the equation. F of x has its own definition, and g of x has its own definition. So in this problem we’re just replacing f of x and g of x with what’s written here. You see?” Dash asked, circling the functions and drawing arrows with his multicolored pens.

Fenton just stared down at his paper.

“Here, we can do it together,” Dash said. He took Fenton’s paper and wrote out the equation, going through the problem step by step with his neatest handwriting. Following Kwan’s lead from earlier, he talked through every minute detail about the equation, pausing in between lines to allow the information to sink in, and to give Fenton the opportunity to interrupt if he was lost.

Even though it was obvious that Fenton wasn’t going to interrupt.

And he didn’t. He sat there, staring dully at the paper like he was watching cement dry. And at the end, once Dash put his pencil down, Fenton just ran his finger across the problem, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t figure out how Dash’s writing had ended up on his paper.

And maybe he truly couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he didn’t understand what was happening. Maybe he had no idea that Dash was tutoring him.

Dash wasn’t a mind reader. He didn’t know what was going on in Fenton’s head.

“That makes sense, Dash!” Kwan supplied from across them, his voice bright and cheery. 

Even though they were technically just tutoring Fenton, framing the group as a small, informal study group seemed more appropriate in Dash’s eyes. 

“I think I understand this a little better now. What do you think, Danny?”

Fenton blinked slowly, his head raising to face Kwan.

“Do you think you get the first problem?” Dash asked.

Fenton’s gaze flickered over to Dash, and the confused expression on his face deepened. He cocked his head slightly, as if he was just seeing Dash for the first time.

A beat of silence stretched around the table, and Dash held his breath, waiting for something to happen. But after a moment too long, Fenton just turned his attention back to the paper, staring at it motionless.

Dash couldn’t help but send a quick ‘help’ glance over at Kwan. He had never tutored anyone in his life, much less a teen who was seemingly incapable of responding. 

Maybe...maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was wrong to think he could do this.

But fortunately, before he could get too deep in his own insecurities, Kwan came to the rescue. “Dash, can we do one more together before trying a problem on our own? Number two looks a little different than number one, and I don’t really understand how to set up the equation!”

Dash sent a mental thank you Kwan’s way before plucking a purple pen off the table. “Sure!” He turned to Danny’s paper. “Okay, this is f of x. Looking at the equation, we know that it goes here. And this—” He swapped to a green pen “—is g of x. Where do you think this one goes?”

He sat patiently, as if he were waiting for Fenton to respond.

But Dash knew that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was wasting his time with this pause, even if he was only doing it to be polite.

Truth be told, he didn’t even think Fenton was listening to him. Fenton probably was incapable of that. Hell, he probably didn’t even remember where he was or how he got here.

But, just as Dash was about to go ahead and answer his own question for Fenton, the small teen shifted beside him. Dash’s eyes snapped onto Fenton, watching as the boy lifted his arm off his lap and pointed to the paper.

Dash’s eyes trailed down to the worksheet, down to Fenton’s hand, and froze. 

Fenton was pointing to the correct part of the equation.

He had been listening to Dash. He, somehow, was able to understand Dash.

Dash looked over to Kwan, who too was resembling a fish with his open mouth stare at the duo. His eyes met Dash’s, and a smile overtook his expression. He shot Dash a thumbs up, a clear encouragement to continue on.

“Yeah,” Dash breathed, turning his attention back to Fenton. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Fenton’s hand dropped back to his lap.

“Good, now let’s solve this together.”

---

As the days turned to weeks, slowly tutoring Fenton got a little easier. Though it was still impossible for Dash and Kwan to know just how much Fenton was absorbing with their sessions, they were starting to be able to decipher small behavioral quirks in Fenton’s body language to help guide them through the haze.

An eyebrow twitch here, a tiny jerk of his pupils there. His movements were small, but telling. And when he was truly spaced out, when their questions would yield not even the faintest twitch from him, a gentle tap on his arm seemed to pull him back to reality.

Tutoring Fenton could be difficult—some days it felt like nothing they said was committing to his fleeting memory—but it wasn’t impossible. Because under that dense fog clouding his mind was still the annoying, snarky teen they had grown up with.

And some days, they could still see glimpses of that snarky teen in him.

“Yeah so the coach is having us an extra gym routine tomorrow,” Dash said, closing his notebook and leaning back in his chair. “So I’ll probably be a half hour late picking you up. Sound good?”

Fenton didn’t respond.

Not that Dash was expecting him to.

“I hear we’re gonna have a wall-sit contest,” Kwan said. “Dale crushed us all last time, but I’ll have my revenge this time around!”

Fenton’s eyes flickered up to Dash. He tapped his thigh, the corner of his lips twitching up.

“What?”

Fenton paused, seemingly mulling something over, before loosely pointing to Dash’s legs with a subtle smirk.

Dash sat up, realization dawning on him. “Are you…are you calling my legs weak?”

Judging by the ghost of an impish grin on Fenton’s features, Dash was right.

“Really? You too?”

Fenton grinned and tapped his legs again.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!” Dash crossed his arms. “I could kick your scrawny ass to next year if I wanted to!”

Fenton raised his brows ever so slightly.

“What, you think just because you’re Phantom that means you’re stronger than me?” Dash jammed his thumb to his chest. “Don’t forget who your gym buddy was Freshman year! Once those inhibitors come off, it’s you and me at the gym! I’d like to see you try to keep up with me, Fenton!”

Dash heard a snort from the other side of the table. His head whipped around to see Kwan with his hands cupping his mouth.

“What are you laughing at?”

With that, Kwan bursted out laughing and leaned back in his chair. “Dude!” He exclaimed, seemingly catching a breath. “You really think you can bench more than Phantom? Oh my god—I can’t breathe—that’s the funniest fucking thing!”

“Hey, have my back here!” Dash snapped. He glanced over to Danny, whose face had broken out into a full grin. “Yeah, laugh it up why don’t you!”

Danny just tapped his legs as a response.

Kwan roared in laughter and all but fell off of his chair.

“Oh, shut up!”

---

“We want in,” a voice said from above him.

Dash stuffed his notebook into his backpack, not even bothering to glance up at the speaker. “What are you talking about?”

“We know you’ve been doing homework with Danny after school, and we want to join.”

Dash sighed and threw his bag over his shoulder. He stood, facing Manson in all her glory. Though her outfit didn’t scream quite as goth as it had when they were Freshmen, she still had the same self-righteous stance that had always irritated Dash.

“Okay?” Dash responded. “And who is ‘we’?”

“Tucker and I. You know, Danny’s best friends? Have been since elementary school? The two people who have actually been there for him this whole time? Ring a bell?”

Dash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m leaving. Study with him on your own time.”

He turned to walk away, but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Wait. Sorry, just—” She paused, dropping her arm back to her side, and Dash watched as a myriad of emotions flickered through her expression. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and cracks of insecurity seeped through her features. “Sorry. Let me start over.”

He straightened back up. “I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath. When she started, her voice was quiet but steady. “I get why Lancer asked you and Kwan to work with him. I do, I get it. But Tucker and I are his best friends. And you know how he is right now. Those devices are...they’re messing with his head. I know they are.” Her gaze flickered up at Dash, and she looked scared. “It hurts seeing him like this, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dash said. “But I don’t see what this has to do with our study sessions.”

“He just seems happier now since he started. He seems better.”

Dash blinked. Whatever he was expecting her to say, that definitely wasn’t it.

Manson hugged herself, her shoulders hunching. She looked...small. Fragile. As if the slightest breeze would topple her over. 

This wasn’t like her.

“Whatever you guys have been doing, it’s working. He’s getting better. I don’t know, he just seems more present now. And...it hurts that I haven’t been there during this. You know, it’s been months since I’ve heard his voice. Not since before he got captured, since before those evil devices were forced on him. I know they’re preparing for a court case to get them removed, and I know there’s a chance he’ll get better again, but I just…”

“You miss him,” Dash said, surprising himself. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Dash sighed. “I don’t know how I can help with this.”

“Just give us a chance? Please. Just let us tag along, even if it’s only for a few days a week. We won’t interfere with the tutoring, we just want to be there.”

He stared at her silently, studying her face under her bangs. 

The past year had been hard on her, that much was obvious. And Dash, as unobservant and bullheaded as he was, could see the dark circles under her eyes, her blotchy skin, her chapped lips.

The way she stood there before him, a person who she would never have been caught dead being friendly with, defeated and all but begging for help.

Dash wasn’t selfless. He wasn’t altruistic.

He was just a dumb jock.

But in that moment, as he scrutinized the way her hands fidgeted and her lower lip wobbled, he couldn’t help but feel her sadness, her regret.

It was painful to watch.

“Okay.” He turned away. “We meet at Kwan’s at four. I’ll see you both there.”

---

chapter two> 

[d3mon-ology]

𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙿𝚂 + 𝙿𝙰𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𖤐 ࿐ྀུ  a drabbily wip

A small wip centering around themes of dropped friendships, jealously, depression, and missed opportunities. An expression of grief, in a sense. 

Something written on a whim with the fuel found in autumn’s melancholy. I don’t know how to feel about it, other than it comes from a genuine place. My hope with posting this isn’t to, necessarily, post something of particular polish, but rather to simply write and paste it up somewhere so it is set free, much like a dove. Plus, the motivation, the ease of coming back to it, etc. 

Neil Perry's chest is laid barren in a hot-swill of blood, trickle-down - trickle-down. The gun safe unlocks itself with ease. I wonder if I will meet him, if he will find me as Christmas Future.

Instagram is haunting, as much as it feeds. I miss everyone dearly. An isolated leaf, flowing with the wind, who starts with loneliness as though the reprieve from it were just a dream. Was it?

Halloween is floundering near, blowing up like a sex-doll I don't have a particular urge to order off Amazon, much less fuck, but it offers old comfort, like I am innocent once more in an act so foreign to me. Irony. The real act, just like friendship, causes me pain, and both are alike in the amount of self-enthusiastic debauchery and clumsy greenery. The melancholy that warms my chloro-phallic underbelly. I miss you all dearly.

You all are dressed in costumes, drinking cheap beer and frying the egg-brain off synthetic wax pens at shows I would never attend unless asked. I miss you all dearly, but you will never inquire about me as I've burned the bridge you blocked off eons ago. You live in the Anthropocene, but I hum-drum along in the sepia-toned finality of aged film, frying myself on fiction. It is easier to find friends in actors and writers. 

So Neil Perry is dying. Todd Anderson is crying. I am bed-ridden. And you are all still babies, still children, but so am I. I cry as Neil Perry dies, unsure who I am in this Fischer-Price play.

A chloric, rheumatic swill, metaphorical or real, consumes my lungs and my temperate. On Monday, Halloween, I will rise from my chambers, dress in a mildly inappropriate cloth for my big-girl job, choke down a cup of coffee, and face my 56-year-old coworker who hates me in place of her similarly-aged children and similarly-tempered husband. She knows that same weakness in me that my mother knew, that you supposedly saved from until you exploited it. Why did I stop you? Call me overdramatic, batty, build that cage again until the metal bites my cheeks and cellulite, and let us be friends again!

I am all alone on a Saturday night, having seen no one who makes me feel alive in months (besides the boyfriend, but does he count, when he is the life I have? It is like comparing the nomadic, infantile, and freezing breath when you walk out to heat up the car to the necessary inhale). Tick off the list, try to write, fuck around on the computer and talk to the Internet friends who live too far away, and open that god-forsaken app.

Instagram. An icon of colors that remind me of our friendships, back when they bloomed into technicolor tulip fields any Dutch painter would be twitterpated to capture. I gave up high school to you, yielded it all in favor of the love I though waited on the other side. No such Fate, and now I am scorned. By It or you, I cannot tell, but one of you is culpable for turning me Black with Death. In the coffin, I scroll through a kaleidoscope of your new life, but does that make me dead? Friends found in types of people you hated before, made fun of me for finding appealing. Are we really that different? So grown past our infancy that there is no use in trying to mend tears formed in adolescent mutiny? 

That First Breath, screaming because you are now miserably breathing — I found it with you all. This app, it is the pillow drenched in chloroform. Would you attend my funeral if I offered it as a pyre, just for you to dance around, read from Kant and Whitman, and film Reels to? Protest me, protest me, but please, do not forget me. I miss you all dearly.

Running around Walmart, hollering in the car above the din of some hand-crushed cush in a song written by some wack-job nu metal worker one of you enjoy so much. Next to our ear’s Murder Scene — Gerard Way, still holding my heart in his palm, and yours too. I thought I had a hand on that too, had it in my mouth, pressed pert between my teeth, but it was you who feasted upon me. Rocky Horror fiction, Meatloaf all-cooked and coked up with your eyes, all eight of them, wild over the mahogany table. When I protested, when I asked you to stop, you feigned unfamiliarity with the poltergeists of Hamtramck. You laughed, even, and turned the radio up louder. You toked another bowl while I tried not to cry in the rat-dropping'ed corner of the party. I wanted you to love me, to let me in on your Chloe Sevingy debauchery, the casual-cool mean-girlness coupled with the twang of midwest Redditor to you all. I wanted to be among the baby-doll-burning, confirmation-bible-paper-joint-rolling, Kiwi-Farms-trolling, dirty-secrecy-found-only-in-Limp-Biskit-and-Kimya-Dawson, Gigi's-on-the-weekend-with-x's-on-the-hand-like-gay-Jesus club that you all formed.

Now it's all Harry-Styles, gender-queer, light-hearted cheer, and Monster High — things I enjoyed, too, but felt we would never share. You've boiled down what you were, perhaps grown a bit, I'd hope. Yet, none of you drop a line, invite me out. I shouldn't be surprised; I cut you all out first. I was on the cross, I had my hand on the gun-safe. You all left me behind, left me in the desert to die, and I wanted to. God! I wanted to! Yet, I ran along side the Honda Civic. 'Take me to the drug deal! Take me!' I begged, I begged, but it was soundless compared to what played in the car and your voices overtop. The Strokes, since when? Tumblr 2014, back in full swing, and I am that penchant, needy middle schooler all over again. I'm tugging at your sleeves, asking you to please be my friend. Tears streaming down my face, Virgin Mary, as you all liked to remind me. Too much of a kid for you.

"Lynz?" We were roommates, once, behind the Polish Film Theatre. Cigarette against the windowsill, and not even this I can find aesthetic in. The mice scurried about the kitchen, with the cat sleeping lazily on the weed-puffed couch. He stirred, tried to catch one of the butterflies on the cushion, before rolling over to show his belly. One of you giggled. 

"Yeah?" I rose from my crypt (your mattress, your duvet), wishing you would ask me out, ask me round to whatever y’all are up to. I wished you would ask me why, all those months ago, I unfollowed you on Instagram, and you'd actually listen. 

Months later, Halloweentown on the telly in a fabulously 50′s flat, tucked in bed like a constipated English woman. House coat, pink-plush. But instead, it's just a girl, mourning the marrow meal of Neil Perry, in a smelly pair sweatpants stolen from you and a haircut that reminds me of when one of you fried your hair off with bleach.

image: Bacchante With an Ape by Hendrick ter Brugghen in 1627 (Dutch). Read more here. 

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 11

A/N: Part 11 is finally finished lovelies! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 🖤🔮🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, violence, and blood

It felt as if time was slowing down as Sam’s phone kept vibrating, everyone’s eyes trained on him awaiting to hear who was on the other line. Zemo had sat back down beside you and you leaned into him to keep up your act, and as you glanced at his profile, you saw that he was deep in thought, probably running the scenario through his head.

“Answer it. On speaker.” Selby ordered as she had stood up, staring at Sam in the eye while she pointed at him. She was really starting to get on your nerves now and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

You locked eyes with Sam as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It’s been drivin’ me nuts.” You heard Sarah’s voice on the other line.

Shit. You were fucked.

Licking your lips, you used your telepathic abilities to tap into Zemo and Bucky’s brain, your eyes following Selby as she started to stroll around the room.

“Hey guys.”

You watched how Zemo and Bucky’s eyes shifted to you when hearing your voice, only to see you looking to the floor without ever opening your mouth.

“Relax, it’s me. Don’t look at me and act like nothing is happening.” You gave them a cautionary look. “I’m sorry to have to get into your heads, but we are in deep shit and this isn’t going to end well. Just think about what you want to say and we can communicate from there.”

“You’re....you’re in our heads?” You heard Zemo’s thoughts.

“Yes, I already said that.”

“So.....how are we supposed to get out of this one?” Bucky asked.

“Well at this rate, There is no other way than to fight our way out. We’re about to have a large bounty on our heads.”

“Y/n is right.” Zemo added. “We must be prepared.”

“You got any plans Zemo?” You asked him.

“Just make it out alive.”

You nodded your head slightly, signaling that you were prepared for what was about to happen next. Selby had crossed behind the sofa you and Zemo sat on, dragging her fingers through the top of the back part of the sofa. You could’ve sworn you felt her wretched fingers graze over your bare shoulder and through your hair as she passed by, making you straighten up in repulsion and clutch the seat of the couch with balled fists, accidentally brushing the side of your exposed thigh against Zemo’s in the process. Zemo side glanced at you after feeling your thigh brush against his, seeing you shift in your seat with an uncomfortable look hidden on your face. And from the way Selby had now crossed over to his side of the Sofa, he knew what had happened to upset you. Sam and Bucky saw the whole thing, the way she laid her fingers on you made their skin crawl, they clenched their fists as they were more than ready to get you out of this hellhole and to a safer place.

“What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?” Sam cleared his throat as he planned out what to say while trying to stay in character.

“Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.” You could hear the irritation in Sarah’s voice as you studied the faces of everyone around you, honing in on their vital signs to where you could almost see their heart beat, blood flow, and rise in body temperature. Their bodies released an odor that you were all too familiar with, that near acidic smell, adrenaline. You saw it pump through their veins as the guards hovered their fingers over the triggers of their guns. They were already starting to have doubts about the four of you.

“What situation, Sarah? Say it.”

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.”

“The bank.” Sam scoffed before chuckling lightly. “Yeah. Laundered so much. Yeah, they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, then why’d they dog you out, Big Time?”

As every exchange between Sam and Sarah went by, the more your hands itched to grab your dagger as you waited for the precise moment to strike. You could practically hear your heartbeat and the clock on the wall drowning out the sound of everything else in the room, the clicking of the hand second by second, as if taunting you about the little amount of time you had left.

“Yeah, you damn right I’m Big Time. You’ll see when I have that banker killed.” Sam stared straight ahead. You could already tell from his face that he was not at all confident about how this was going to go down.

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this! Sam, I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.”

Fuck.

“Sam?” Selby looked at the four of you. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!”

Bang! There was the sound of a gunshot and shattered glass, and the next thing you knew, Selby was shot in front of you, her coat now spreading with blood from the wound in her chest as she fell to the floor dead, right when you were about to run your dagger through her yourself. You couldn’t find sight of who the shooter was as one of the security sent a dead center shot towards Zemo’s head. You widened your eyes and shot your arm out in front of Zemo’s face, the bullet bouncing off your metal cuff with a sizzling sound and falling to the floor in a crumbled ball. Thank the gods for Olympian steel. Zemo and the security guard gave you a surprised look from how you just deflected the shot, giving you the chance to slip up the slit of your dress to grab your dagger. You threw your dagger at the guard, watching it fly through the air before hitting him straight in the chest, making him fall over.

You and Zemo jumped up from the couch as two more guards shot at you in the process, more bullets falling to the floor as you deflected them all. Zemo grabbed the gun of one of them before hitting him in the head with it, knocking him out cold. You charged at the other one, pulling your sword out from your back before raising it above you and bringing it down in a diagonal motion, slicing the guard across the chest. You winced as some of the blood had splattered on your face, causing you to wipe it off with the back of your hand. Bucky and Sam had taken care of the other two before going off to the other side of the room. You shoved your sword down on the floor so that it stood upright before kneeling over to take your heels off. Sam, Bucky, and Zemo stared at you in shock from what you did as you headed over to them barefoot with your sword in one hand, stopping to stoop over one of the dead guards to pull your dagger out of his chest before giving it a flick to get rid of the blood.

“What the hell was that? You had a sword with you this whole time?” Sam hissed.

“Never mind that. We have bigger problems. They’re going to pin this on us.” You breathed out as you slipped your sword back on your back and your dagger back on the strap on your thigh.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” Zemo sighed before heading out as you followed him.

You heard the sound of everyone’s phone notification going off, telling them of Shelby’s death and the bounty on your heads.

“This is not good.” Zemo mentioned as he glanced at everyone, some who now had their eyes following you.

Bullets went flying over your head as people approached you with their guns out, shooting at you.

“Shit!” Sam shouted as he and the others ducked.

“More guns?” You rolled your eyes. Using your powers, your eyes returned to their natural Olympian color before glowing a bright violet as you created a shield in front of you to protect you and the three, the bullets disintegrating when coming into contact with your shield. Your eyes widened as you looked down at your hands in horror and saw how they were starting to change to an unnatural death like color, slowly starting to spread up your arms in a vein like manner while your hands had become almost claw like with sharp pointed nails. Oh no. This was not good, you didn’t need the others seeing this. Cursing under your breath with a flick of your wrist, you used your powers to throw the attackers into a nearby wall before letting your shield disappear. You glanced down at your hands with a bit of relief as you saw them return to their natural skin tone. This was definitely not good and you needed to get it sorted out before they found out.

“Let’s go!” You told them as you started to run, down the crime ridden street, not even caring that you weren’t wearing any shoes but cursing under your breath for your choice of not wearing a bra because of the damned dress, making you press your arm over them to hold them in place.

“I can’t run in these heels!” You heard Sam say as he struggled to keep up.

Your heart was pounding as you ran from the people after your heads, the sound of gunshots echoing in the streets. Making sure to stay in front of Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, you used a combination of defense and offense, lighting up the streets in flashes of violet as you blocked off the bullets and threw bolts of energy through your attackers. All the while being cautious of maintaining your appearance. As you came to a small clearing, you found yourself surrounded before more gunshots were heard, but this time they were directed at your attackers, the bullets coming from one of the windows of the buildings.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo spoke up as he looked around with a gun in his hand after shooting one of the attackers himself.

“Well, this is too perfect.” You heard a woman approach with a gun pointed at Zemo, using one of her hands to drop her hood. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” You caught your breath as you furrowed your brows at her, surprised to see her. You never had the chance to meet her but you were wondering what she was doing here.

“You cost me everything.” Sharon spoke as she stopped with her gun still pointed at Zemo.

“Sharon, wait.” Sam stepped in front to try to explain everything. “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.”

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.”

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked her.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass, so that you could save his ass from his ass.” You watched from the side with a raised brow as Sharon pointed at all three of them. “I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

“Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam tried to reason.

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon remarked before looking over at you, squinting her eyes as she tried to figure out where she saw you. “Sorry, you’re y/n right? You worked with Thor? What do you have to do with all this?”

“Sam needed my help, Sharon.” You explained. “We could use yours, it would mean a lot.”

Sharon thought it over, looking between you and the others.

“Please.” Bucky added.

“This isn’t over.” Sharon let out a sigh. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there for a while.”

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam noted as he took in the interior of the building once you all stepped in after the car ride there.

Your gut was telling you there was something fishy about Sharon that you just couldn’t pinpoint just yet, but you wanted to trust her. You raised a brow at the artwork that was displayed. So Sharon was selling stolen artwork now? You didn’t pay much mind to the details of the area as you followed Sharon through. You were much too focused on washing the blood and makeup off your face as well as changing into something more comfortable. But the one thing you couldn’t get your mind off of was what happened earlier when you were using your powers. It was definitely not a good sign and you were scared of the answers you would get once you searched deeper into it.

“I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” Sharon mentioned as she turned to Sam.

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.”

“No. She means real.” Zemo affirmed after he had taken a look around. “This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.”

“It’s true.” Bucky added to Zemo’s comment. “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” Sam was on his phone, obviously trying to search up to confirm what they said was true.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?”

“No shit.”

“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour.” Sharon suggested once you had entered her living area.

“Hey Sharon.” You faced her. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.” You gave her a kind smile before heading to it and locking the door behind you. The men’s eyes followed you as you went into the bathroom, they had noticed how quiet you were on the ride here and how you seemed to be deep in thought, and they were wondering what had happened to have you upset like this. Was it the whole situation with Selby? Were you enraged at them for putting you into this mess?

You had turned on the faucet in the bathroom, letting the water run for a bit as you stared down at your hands once more, as if you were afraid they’d return to that same appearance of death, resembling hands that might have belonged to a demon or an animal. You cursed under your breath as you washed the blood off your face, chest, and arms. As if you didn’t have enough to stress over already. Reaching your hand into your dress pocket, you pulled out your bag that you had shrunk to make it easier to bring along, returning it to it’s normal size so you could pull out a fresh pair of clothes. You changed into your Smashing Pumpkins shirt, a pair of jeans and your docs, throwing on a black leather jacket on top before putting your old attire and sword away. You decided to keep your dagger on you, strapping it to the back of your waist through the slot you had on your belt to help conceal it. As you rummaged through your bag, you grabbed your bracers and strapped them on your arms, concealing them underneath your jacket. At this point you needed to be prepared. Once you were done you returned your bag to a miniature size with a spell, slipping it in your jacket pocket before walking out of the bathroom. You had put on your brave face so questions wouldn’t arise about your behavior as you went to return to where the others were gathered.

“What’d I miss?” You asked as you approached them, politely declining the glass of liquor Sharon offered you.

“Nothing important.” Bucky answered your question. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow amusingly as you crossed your arms. “Sounded like bickering to me. You three always have a bone to pick with each other. I could hear you from inside the bathroom..........I’m kidding, relax. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“Sharon might be able to find out how to locate our lead.” Zemo caught you up with everything that happened while you were cleaning up in the bathroom.

“Well,” Sharon noted as she got up from the sofa. “I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Trouble.” Zemo added with a smirk.

“Thank Sharon.” You smiled at her, silently dreading having to go to yet another party. It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties, you weren’t a fan of crowds. And if you were being honest, you wanted nothing more than to eat an entire cheese pizza all by yourself and crash out on the floor at this point. You were exhausted to say the least, and starving. Using your powers had strangely drained some energy out of you and you didn’t know what the cause could be. This had never happened to you before.

Loud bass music filled your ears, making the ground beneath you vibrate with each beat as you arrived at the party downstairs with the others, the dim lights flashing against your face as you followed behind Sam towards the bar. You asked the bartender for a glass of cold water and sat on the barstool, watching people dance in close proximities of each other, your mind still fantasizing about the cheesiest pizza you could be having right now, causing your stomach to grumble.

“I can see you two aren’t a fan of parties.” Sam smirked as he looked at the bored expressions on you and Bucky’s faces. “Mr. I-Only-Listen-To-40s-Music and Ms. I-Only-Listen-To-Beethoven.”

“Beethoven was a genius.” You remarked. “Also, classical music is not the only thing I listen to. I listen to other stuff as well.”

“Yeah, like rock. And about that. I can’t believe you did acid.” Sam quipped as Zemo and Bucky’s eyes were on you now, curious to hear your response.

“Oh for fucks sake Sam. This was back in the 60s. Give me a break. Shit didn’t work anyways.”

“Wait. How the hell, do you take acid and it has no effect on you?”

“Well it’s the same thing as not being able to get drunk Sam. Now stop interrogating me.” You explained before setting your glass of water down on the counter. “Give me a minute guys. I gotta make a phone call.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, trying to head outside to where it was much quieter as you searched for the nearest pizza place. Your head was starting to throb from the lack of nutrition and the loud music and bright lights definitely wasn’t helping. You were going to have a damn cheese pizza and no one was going to stop you. Before you could even reach the entrance you felt a pair of strong arms grab your jacket, pulling you into the empty hallway nearby. You dropped your phone out of panic, your self defense mode kicking in as you grabbed the bulky arm of your unknown attacker and twisted it behind his back before shoving him against the wall of the hallway, creating a crack from the impact. The large man grunted from the force you exerted as you pulled out your dagger, setting the sharp blade against his throat, his face hidden from your view due the shadow cast over him.

“You better start talking asshole. You have picked the wrong time to fuck with me.” You growled between gritted teeth, shoving him against the wall again to get him to talk. “Answer me you shit!”

“Easy kid.” The man spoke with a gruff voice, grunting from your tight hold on him. “Is this how you treat an old friend?”

The grip you had on the man loosened, your hand that held your dagger to his throat dropping down to your side as you stared at the back of the man’s head like a deer in headlights. You recognized that voice.

“Logan?”

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit

[ac3id]

resilience [18+]

pairings: shigaraki tomura x female! reader 

summary: if you’re updated w/ the manga u prolly know shigaraki is now all beefed up phew. shigaraki stans stay winning. so here’s a fic where our struggling pro hero y/n wants to become stronger but working hard iisn’t working so she runs to shigaraki, the king of the underworld, to give her a quirk. shigaraki takes this as the perfect opportunity to teach a scum hero hero her place. 

warnings: dubcon-ish, shiggy is really mean, dumbification, size kink nasty nasty 

word count: 4k+ 

masterlist

From a young age, everyone around you had high hopes for you. Your parents wanted you to make them proud, your teachers wanted you to give your hundred percent always. Your friends admired you, they dreamed of being you. You were the golden child. Loved by everyone so, when you developed your quirk no one was shocked to learn that it was one of the strongest quirks out there.

Your parent’s dreams for you soared even higher and soon everyone was complimenting you and deeming how amazing you’d do as a Pro-Hero and you listened to them. You trained your entire childhood in hopes of becoming the No. 1 Hero, even got into a known Hero school, and graduated on top of your class. You thought you were invincible until you started your career as a Pro. 

It was hard. It was so much harder than you had expected. Apparently, your will to save citizens wasn’t enough to make you a legitimate Hero to the eyes of the public. Even if you worked your ass off it wasn’t enough. Weaker and useless Heroes whose only specialty was steering drama with others would sweep in at the last minute and take your victory as theirs’. 

You wanted to speak up about this but your agent had said you’d go nowhere; those Heroes had been in the business longer. No one would have taken your side, you were just a rookie. If you wanted to be admired, you had to also use cheap tricks and form connections with names. 

At first, you refused. It went against your moral code but soon after you started receiving angry phone calls from your peers; them explaining how embarrassing it was that no one even knew who you were, your mind quickly changed. Next thing, you are just like the others using cheap tricks working on your public image rather than actual Hero work. You thought finally it’d work and it did! After a few months, you were under the Top 30 Heroes list. The “hard” work had paid off now, it was only way upwards to the No.1 but you found yourself not rising the ladder. You were stuck in the Top 30. Nothing upwards but other Heroes were beating your position, it was all falling over again. You needed to do something to save yourself.

That’s when you heard about him. A man who granted people power, the King of the Underground. He acted like the Devil himself. Granting your desire for a price. People talked about him in hushed whispers, they acted if he did not exist but he did. He was very much there. His men had been terrorizing the country for so long; his men were hardest to fight. 

You thought about it. You could reach him and ask him for power, after all, you could do anything to be the No. 1 Hero. You couldn’t afford to disappoint the people who had supported you, your entire lives even deep down you knew the only reason everyone- anyone talked to you was for their own selfish reasons but that was okay. They were the only people you had.

So you rolled the dice and made up your mind to meet the Mad King. Shigaraki Tomura.

The hallway was run down and dimly lit; you watched your step as you moved forward not wanting to step over a dead rat or lizard. You were told that you’d see Shigaraki if you walked through it. Your heart beats faster with each step you take; the hallway is awfully quiet excluding the sounds of rats chattering away in the distance. 

Meeting him was not easy, getting this far had been hell. You had to make many calls and sit through many sleepless nights just to confirm the rumor all while making it look like you weren’t investigating Shigaraki Tomura behind their backs. You had gone through a great deal of trouble to make sure your identity was kept hidden from the Government. 

As you took the last turn you were met with a shut door. You latched on the handle, twisting it and pushing the door open. It was a meeting room. A long table stood in the room chairs all empty beside the very center. 

A man sat there, his legs propped up on the table resting over papers and pens dressed in an expensive suit, his long white hair scanned his face. A severed hand rested on his face red, angry eyes gleaming from the gaps of the fingers. Upon seeing to enter the room he crossed his hands over his chest, muscles bulging- almost ripping the sleeves open. He looks at you finally acknowledging your presence; glaring from behind the hand his gaze sends a shiver down your spine. You stand completely captivated and amazed yet scared under the presence of Shigaraki Tomura. 

You stand there frozen unable to move. You never thought you’d ever meet the most wanted man in japan like this: dressed in nothing but a t- shirt and jeans, unarmed and vulnerable 

 His harsh voice cuts through the air as he glares at you. 

“Well?” he asks and you walk inside the room. You stand there awkwardly, wondering whether you should take a seat or not, “Am I supposed to sit down too? Might as well ask if I can kiss your feet?” He snarls, the sarcastic comment leaving his tongue without any hesitance. 

He’s quite mean.

You mumble a quiet apology as you sit yourself a few chairs away from him- you’d like to keep your distance from this dangerous man, biting your lip you think of how you should start the conversation but Shigaraki is impatient. He groans in amusement and slams his feet on the table, flying the papers 

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want. Why. Are. You. Here.”  His tone was harsh, filled with irritation. “I am here for the quirk.” Shigaraki’s brow twitches, he stares at you with confusion basking in his eyes. 

“Quirk?” he pauses tilting his head up facing the ceiling, his hand goes to scratch at his neck; breaking the skin. While he thinks to himself about what you could possibly mean, your mind starts thinking about in all the ways this scenario could work out. Maybe he’d give you the quirk and let you like you were promised, only come back when he needed your assistance in some task. To be honest, you weren’t quite ready to face that day yet. Second, he could kill you right here, right now for just thinking about something so obnoxious. And that’s about it. Those were the only two scenarios you could think of. You also thought of catching him off guard and bringing him back to the Hero Commission but you also knew he was way stronger than you. You silently prayed that you’d get out of this alive and well. 

For a second, you thought Shigaraki had fallen asleep. He was too quiet and the hand on his face did not help in distinguishing whether he was sleeping or not. 

“Shigaraki,” you called and he turns his face back to you, “You’re that fucking Hero.” he spits with disgust. “You want a fucking quirk right? I was told I’ve got an appointment with some scum Hero who wants to get stronger.” You did not pay attention to his belittling. You had gone through much worse hate and had survived. 

“Yes, now, would you please tell me how I can get one.” you added the ‘please’ mockingly, it seemed to affect the villain.

“I don’t help pigs like you.” 

You almost rolled your eyes, there was more convincing to do and you did not want to talk- hell- breathe the same air as this man but you couldn’t return home alone. You had to endure it. You took a deep breath and calmed yourself down, getting ready for a long night. 

“I couldn’t care less what you think about me. I was promised a deal and I expect you to keep your end of the bargain up.” you sighed, “Just for walking through that door and sitting here I had to pay a lot out of my pocket. I’m not leaving until you give it to me.” Your voice was sturdy and rigid. Exerting confidence, for a moment you felt strong. Talking back to a wanted villain like him gave you a false sense power. He sat silently, lost in thought again. 

“You’re gonna be here a while? That’s bothersome. But….you do know that I can just kill you and leave? Make it easier for both of us.” he finished. Anger surged through your veins as you decided against choking him to death. “Shigaraki. Please.” you begged, Godamnit. As much as you wanted to rival his hate towards you, you were smart and knew that you couldn’t afford to make any rash decision now because a single touch from him could mean game over for you. “You’re begging now?” He scoffed, “Okay, tell me why you want it so bad.” You bite your lip deciding whether you should go along with his idle chit-chat. 

“Listen. I really need it. I’m stuck in a useless rank and the walls keep closing in. I don’t disappoint the people around me. It’s really important to me. I don’t expect you to understand but- shit if you want me to beg I will. For that power, I’d do anything.” 

An eerie silence filled the room, Shigaraki remained quiet. He thought about what he could want from you. There was nothing, you were useless to him- a waste of time really. He should just decay you and leave. That would be the right thing to do but then again, the way you looked at him with desperation in your eyes stirred something in him. Maybe it was the unconscious acceptance you held knowing that he is in charge. The power imbalance was starting to get him going. He could imagine you wrapping your pretty, plump lips around his fat cock while he used your throat as he pleased. He was a little tired after all. Maybe he’d even give you a weak quirk and let you off to do your worthless heroics. 

“So you’d really do anything?” He was intrigued. You didn’t want to say yes because you knew he’d make you do something horrible, something you could never really recover from. You could see it in his eyes but in the end, you knew. 

“Yes. Anything,”

He quickly lifted the severed hand from his face and placed it gently on the table, you genuinely wanted to cry. His lips curled at the corner, his lips split into a menacing smile. It was evil, it was dangerous yet it was the calm before the storm. The crazed smile only made you aware about how much you were going to regret this decision. It made you sick.

“Sexual favors. If you want this power, make me cum.”

Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth agape as you process his words. What? 

“You can’t be serious.” your voice was low, your heartbeat quickened and you felt your hands grow cold. Anger and confusion masked your consciousness. 

“I’m waiting.” he sang, his shrill voice sending shivers down your spine. He was joking, right? No way was he was actually expecting you to do it. Right?  He did not say another word instead pulled his feet off the table and slammed them to the floor. He spread his legs and patted his right thigh, looking directly at you with a smile, 

“you’re joking.” you commented. Shigaraki stopped smiling, his head lowered, bangs falling over his eyes; you could not see the face he was making. He clicked his tongue and the ‘tch’ sound resonating in the room, “You think I’m joking?” he asked, his voice now filled with annoyance. You did not answer; you did not what to say. You were beginning to think he was not messing with you, and that he actually wanted you to perform that horrendous act. 

His head turned back to you, his eyes spiraled into angry slits, vermilion orbs gleaming under the well-lit room displaying grim intentions. You knew he was serious. 

You took a deep breath, you knew the price of your dreams was high; the sacrifices you had to make: colossal. But right now, you were given a chance to obtain power- grow stronger to get a step closer to your goal but at what cost? If you, right now, gave yourself up to this notorious villain, what would you lose? Dignity? Pride? You had lost all of that the second you had entered the room. 

Nothing was left to lose. From all the horrendous things he coils have asked you to do, you should be glad all he wanted was some pussy.

You swallowed nervously as you got up from the chair moving towards him in brief, calculated steps. You stood in front of him, his knee at level with your crotch; he looks up at you and smirks. His knee jerks forward, pushing through your thighs and grinding up against your clothed cunt. You gasp in surprise, almost walking away from him. Your fists clench by your side and try to surpass any sounds from passing; the movement of your panties rubbing on your clit sends jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You bite your lower lip, glaring down at him as he continues to aggressively grind his knee on your cunt, your mouth falling agape as the sensations get too overwhelming and your climax starts building. A whine falls from your lips when it stops. Shigaraki abruptly withdraws his knee from your thighs, a wet spot forming on the expensive fabric of his pants. He looks at you and smirks, 

“Hero Slut.” he comments, making your blood boil, you try to retort but his fingers inch towards your hips, fingers pulling at the waistband of your jeans. 

“Take it off.” you hesitate for a moment, “take it off or I’ll dust It.” he threatens, you did not want to walk out the room half naked. You quickly tugged your jeans down, it pooled around your ankles. Shigaraki’s eyes never left your lower body, his eyes stayed glued to your pussy, almost drooling at the sight black and white striped panties. Feeling embarrassed under his predatory gaze, you push your hands forward, covering yourself making Shigaraki frown. He pushes your hands away and replaces them with his own. His fingers rub at your clit through your panties making you writhe in pleasure, you feel yourself get wet, a dark spot starting to form on your panties. Shigaraki glides his finger till your hole and drives them to your hips pulling at the waistband of the fabric and letting it hit your skin with a snap, you gasp. “You like that?” he asks, smirking and repeating the action, “Take this off too.” he finishes. 

He leans back in his seat spreading his legs while he watches you strip out of your panties, his eyes a shade darker clouded with lust. 

“You look better now.” his voice is low and condescending as he pulls you down to straddle his lap. His hands carefully moving up and down your torso, under your shirt, fingers touching the underside of your bra. He guides one of his hands to your hip, and claps around it pressing hard enough for a flash of pain to spark along the bone as he keeps you firmly pinned on his thigh. Gripping one of your thighs firmly, he restrains you from pressing them together. He runs a palm along the inside of your thighs in fascination, you feel yourself get worked up embarrassingly fast, “Look at you,” he barks, a crazed smile blooming on his face. 

“You’re all neglected. How often do you loosen up, whore?” His slender fingers trail downwards to your cunt, he runs a slender finger painfully slowly over your folds, buries it inside your hole moving it around and curling the digit inside you before withdrawing. His eyes scan your face as his thumb strokes down on your clit. Your eyes shut close as you bit your lower lip- trying your best to surpass moans which might further entice him. Your body jerks up with need as you gasp out, your hands balling into fists, choked mewls flow from the back of your throat, “I’m gonna fuck you stupid.” he growls 

“N-no.” 

Shigaraki chooses to ignore you as his hand grips the back of your head, pulling you closer towards him before pushing his lips against yours’ while the other hand reaches behind you, wandering across your ass, grabbing a firm hold of the soft flesh. He pulls away from the kiss and both you regain your breath, taking in as much as you can. Shigaraki leans in, you think he’s going to kiss you but instead, his lips hover over your ear. You feel his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispers in a raspy, broken voice. 

“If you want this power so bad,—" your breath hitched as he pushes another finger in your small cunt, “—grind that worthless cunt on my thigh.” 

You look down at him with half-lidded eyes zooming on his cock straining through his pants. He catches you staring. His eyes light up with amusement, “You want that too, huh? You’re just a cock hungry whore after all. Its fine, you all are,” He pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole and presses them against your lips. 

“Open up,” he commands. You hesitate for a moment but eventually, you obey. You open your mouth, only slightly yet he aggressively shoves his middle and pointer finger into your mouth. “I don’t wanna feel any teeth.” you pucker your lips around his finger, sucking his digits into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers, tasting yourself around him. Shigaraki sighs, “Laughable isn’t it?” he begins, “Do your Hero friends know how much of a pathetic slut you are? I bet they’d love you see you like: half-naked, sitting on Japan’s most wanted criminals lap, begging to be fucked?” He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a ‘pop’ sound reverberating in the room. He pats your thigh, “Come on. If you please me good enough I might even give you my dick.” 

The realization hits you. Shigaraki wasn’t doing this entirely for his pleasure. He just wants to humiliate you, see you cry, call you names- anything to make you leave this place broken. A fair price.

A smug smirk reaches his face yet again as he watches you shift around his lap, straddling his left thigh. You put your arms cautiously around his shoulders for support, grounding your sensitive bundle of nerves down against his thigh, exhaling as the muscle rubbed against your clit in the best possible way. A tight coil forms in your lower abdomen as you frantically grind down, pleasurable sensations fogging your mind. His hands are still on your hips as you roll your hips in brisk circles against his thigh as you chase your climax, your mouth falls open at the sharp pleasure shooting through your body as you grind down faster, your mind grows hazy. Thoughts jumbled- and non-existent, only focusing on the rocking of your hips back and forth against his thigh. He occasionally flexes the muscle to intensify the feeling of your approaching orgasm, you’ve barely even had any stimulation and you’re already so close. You tug on your lower lip between your teeth, eyes skewered shut as you feel your orgasm building up, seconds away from erupting, and washing over your entire body. “Is the whore close?” Shigaraki speaks, “Looks like you I didn’t even have to fuck you stupid. You’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat. You’re already stupid. This is the real you. You just pretend- act as a functional member of this rotten society but deep down, you’re just a slut begging for a big cock to stuff her holes. Am I right?”  

“Shigaraki Tomura. Fuck you.” you manage to call out in between your moans. 

A blush creeps onto his face and his cock strains in his pants, the print now louder, and his cock begging to be freed. One of his hands leaves your hips and starts palming his cock through the fabric, he lets out a breathy moan as he examines your face: twisted in pleasure yet the look of hate and disgust still linger. Your displease from this entire scenario riles him up, what a disgusting man he is. 

He shifts his gaze from your face to your tits bouncing along the rhythm every thrust ; his hands roam underneath your shirt stroking your soft stomach and move to grope your tits through your bra. He kneads your breast through your bra before capturing it with all five of his fingers and changing it into specks of dust. Your shirt receives the same treatment and you whine. You sit there naked, grinding on his thigh while he is still dressed, calm and collected save for the bright pink blush on his cheeks. Sweat drips down from your forehead and a pink hue rests on your cheek. You look like a mess. 

“You look pathetic right now, you know?” he speaks. You know, you can imagine and you hate it very much. 

A moan escapes his lips; breathing heavily into your ear- he leaves tainted comments. Groaning occasionally as his lips find its way to kiss and suck bruises at your neckline, sinking his teeth and biting down, nipping on your skin leaving marks on your smooth skin all the while his hands violate your breast, greedily groping and kneading the sensitive mounds, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and harshly tweaking and tugging at them- your eyes roll back into the back of your skull, relishing in the pain.

His cock was straining in his pants; you could feel it poking against your thigh. He moves a hand to hastily unbutton and unzip the confinements of his pants, his dick hard against the fabric of his boxers. A wet stop forming at the tip.

He doesn't hesitate to shove his hands into his boxers, groaning and bucking his hips into his hand as he pulls his cock out. His cock springs upwards. It stands tall and hard yearning with need. Pre-cum spills out his leaking tip, red and angry,demanding relief. You stare at it, marveling the size of his girthy cock. You can tell by looking- he’s too big. It was going to be a tight fit. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” 

“It’s too big.” 

“So?” he asks, annoyance filling his voice as he feels himself get more riled up, “More prep-” you’re still grinding your pussy on his thigh, you try telling him how much you needed him to stretch you out before burying his ridiculously big cock in your tiny, pathetic, little cunt.  “Uh h pleaseee……....It will hurt otherwise.” His ears perk up at your shameless little confession. “It will hurt?” The obscene smile made its way back to his face and you regretted saying so. 

“It better hurt.” 

Shigaraki stands up to his full height, towering over you. You stumble and your hips hit the table behind you. You seriously looked like nothing compared to him. His shoulders broader and rigid, his arms buff and robust. Any hopes you even had in defeating him vanishes away into the air as he turns you around and bends you over the table. 

Papers scatter and fall to the ground, your breasts press against the cold wood and he captures both your hands holding them behind your back in one hand. His other smack your ass making you squirm, “Consider yourself lucky.” he groans, his cock lining up with your cunt, “I don’t fuck every common whore I see.”  His words sting and he pushes past your little hole, tearing it up, tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes. You sniff, “It hurts.” Shigaraki ignores you, lost in the way your small pussy gobbles up his fat cock inch by inch. “Shut up. It'll get better soon enough.” he speaks when he gets annoyed by your little grunts of discomfort. He doesn’t give you time to adjust as he bottoms out, stretching your pussy open. “There. It’s all in,” he spanks your ass making you wail out. 

The stretch burns but you soon feel yourself get wetter adjusting to his size. He starts thrusting his cock into you, using your pussy as his personal cocksleeve. He’s mean with it. He goes rough and fast, pushing his cock all the way till your hilt until his tip kisses your cervix. He laughs at how pathetically you whine, you plead for him to slow down but he doesn’t listen. He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, biting aggressively on your neck, whispering perverted remarks in your ear. He plays with you tits, rolling, pinching and tugging on your nipples. His hands are all over you, except where you need it the most- your clit. The hardened nub begs for attention, burning in need to be touched and played with yet he pays no mind to it choosing to watch you suffer in agony instead. 

“Pheweaze.” you beg, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. He catches the pink flesh between his fingers, petting it making it impossible for you to talk. “What’s that? What did you say? I couldn’t catch it.” He teases, pretending he doesn’t know what you need. He finally pulls his finger out of your mouth, still thrusting his cock into your cunt, “Pheleaseeee e touch my clliit. I need it.”  Finally, you manage to say a complete sentence. You embrace yourself in hopes of Shigaraki finally touching you but instead he chuckles, “Is that so? Is that what you need? I thought you wanted a quirk?” You cry out in frustration. Shigaraki laughs, his shrill laugh masking the lewd sounds of skin slapping against each other. He thinks for a while, looking at you de-flowered, broken to the point where you couldn’t even form sentences properly, he smirks to himself. He’s won.

His fingers snake down to your clit rubbing it avidly. You sigh as you finally feel proper stimulation. Soon enough your loud moans of pleasure fill the empty room and you feel yourself tighten around Shigaraki, “I feel that, your slutty little cunt is squeezing me. You are close, aren’t you?” 

Your moans quickly turn into pants as you let out a silent scream while you cream around Shgaraki’s cock, “You came, bitch?” he asks but you just whimper, your body still writhing with the intensity of the orgasm, “Ugh. Hero Slut.” His thrust gets sloppier, you can feel he’s close by the way his cock twitches inside of you. Next you know- you feel- is hot spurts of cum shooting inside of you, painting your insides white. 

You plop down on the table beneath you, your body exhausted. He pulls out of you and you quickly turn your head back to him, “The quirk..” you meekly ask. “Messy little slut,” he murmurs, ignoring you. “Makes me wanna mess you up even more.”

“Tomura Shigaraki. The quirk.” 

He hummed. “So you plan to go back and pretend you are something more than a worthless slut?-” 

“Tomura. The fucking Quirk.” you weren’t in the mood for any of his shit now, “Jeez fine. If you want the quirk so bad, here, have it. Clean it up well.” He’s motioning to his half-erect cock covered with his cum and your juices. “What the fuck.” You ask, getting up standing to your full height. Even though you were much shorter to him ( and very much naked ) you still wanted to show him that you could put up a fight. 

“I give the quirks. If you want it, you’ll need to ingest my DNA. And also, didn’t I say I’m gonna come on your pretty face?” Your eyes dart up to focus on Shigaraki's face – and shame washes over you as you witness his sinister look. He pushes you down on his knees and you come in level with his cock. 

 “Fuck you,” you stutter out, still trying to seem like you have any power, like you’re the one in charge.

He laughs, “Oh, I just did, sweetheart.”

feedback is greatly appreciated <3

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[its-only-v]

Everything I'm watching this March

Or planning to, anyway.

This list is quite long. 9 new shows, 4 returning shows, and 3 movies. It's not an exhaustive list of everything that's coming out but it is everything that I'm looking forward to watching.

Our Flag Means Death S01 - March 3 on HBO Max

Taika Waititi's new series about a gentleman pirate starring Rhys Darby, Taika Waititi himself, Fred Armisen, and more. It'll definitely be hilarious, just like everything else with Taika's magic touch (you know they'd do a joke about a magic touch in What We Do in the Shadows)

The Dropout S01 - March 3 on Hulu

Amanda Seyfried plays Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes in this biography series. There's a bunch of documentaries but given the scale of the fraud, I'm not surprised they're making a dramatized version of it.

The Boys: Diabolical S01 - March 4 on Prime Video

A spinoff of The Boys was inevitable but I didn't expect it to be an animated series that has a bunch of different styles. But it is The Boys and it's called Diabolical, so expectations are high on this one.

Pieces of Her S01 - March 4 on Netflix

Toni Collette playing a mother with a dark past. There's secrets, mystery, and definitely something criminal going on. It's an adaptation of a book that I hadn't heard about but it looks interesting.

Outlander S06 - March 6 on Starz

Can you believe it's been two years since the last season of Outlander? Caitríona Balfe is returning as Claire and Sam Heughan as Jamie. It's also going to be the second-last season of the show.

The Adam Project - March 11 on Netflix

Ryan Reynolds is playing a time-travelling pilot who teams up with himself as a kid and his dead father. Why not? I'll take a sci-fi movie with him in it where he doesn't die in the first act of the movie despite being heavily featured as a lead from the promos (I won't spoil which one it is, but if you know, you know).

Upload S02 - March 11 on Prime Video

Upload was one of the most fun sci-fi things I had seen in a long time. A virtual heaven where your consciousness 'lives' after you die? I mean, come on, it's a great concept. And Robbie Amell and Andy Allo had chemistry, even with one of them being a virtual consciousness and the other being alive. I was worried it wouldn't be renewed but it was and now it's returning after 2 years.

WeCrashed S01 - March 18 on Apple TV+

WeWork had a lot of drama behind the scenes so I'm looking forward to seeing their rise and fall in this show. It also has Jared Leto and Anne Hathway playing a couple at the center of it all, which is... interesting.

Fresh - March 18 on Hulu

It's already premiered at some festivals and got some interesting reviews. While the trailer doesn't say it, but there's a lot of winking going around with the title, the logline, the poster, and the select quotes they've been promoting to tell you Sebastian Stan might not be playing a regular old love interest for Daisy Edgar-Jones in this movie.

Windfall - March 18 on Netflix

IMDB's tagged it as a crime-drama-thriller but from the trailer, it looks like it has some dark humor too. It's about a break-in that goes wrong and it has Jesse Plemons, Lily Collins, and Jason Segel, three actors I definitely wanted to see in something together but didn't know I did until I watched it.

Halo S01 - March 24 on Paramount+

Could Halo be the rare good video game adaptation? I'm looking forward to finding out. Sci-fi and action are usually a good combination and it has Pablo Schreiber playing Master Chief.

Atlanta S03 - March 24 on FX/Hulu

Atlanta began in 2016 and it's been three long years since the second season came out. This season has been a long time coming since Donald Glover, LaKeith Stanfield, Brian Tyree Henry, and Zazie Beetz have been quite busy but it's finally returning.

Pachinko S01 - March 25 on Apple TV+

This book was a sensation when it came out in 2017. It won a bunch of awards, Roxanne Gay called it her best book of the year, it was on a ton of best-of lists. It follows four generations of a Korean family that emigrates to Japan. Apple bought the rights back in 2018 so it's been a long time in the making. The Terror's co-showrunner Soo Hugh is the showrunner, writer, and an executive producer and it stars Youn Yuh-jung, Lee Min-ho, Jin Ha, and Anna Sawai.

Bridgerton S02 - March 25 on Netflix

Bridgerton was one of Netflix's most popular shows and season 2 has been long awaited. In addition to everyone from season 1 returning, there are also a ton of new additions to the cast - Simone Ashley, Charithra Chandran, Shelley Conn, Rupert Young, Calum Lynch, Rupert Evans, and Austin the corgi.

The Girl From Plainville S01 - March 29 on Hulu

This show is inspired by Michelle Carter's unprecedented "texting-suicide" case. It's Elle Fanning's first role since she started playing Catherine the Great in The Great. I'm a little apprehensive about how they'll approach it but I'll definitely be giving it a watch.

Moon Knight S01 - March 30 on Disney+

Everyone's heard of Moon Knight and Oscar Issac, so you don't need me to say anything about it.

[hoe-imaginess]

hostage | madara uchiha

Madara x Tobirama’s s/o

summary: Tobirama’s wife is held captive when the Uchiha invade Senju territory. She does what she can to keep the peace. It doesn’t last long.

word count: 9.5k 

warnings: sex as a bargaining tool, physical/emotional harm, heavy angst, mentions of miscarriage/abortion, brutal use of sharingan

a/n: part of a long and self-indulgent founders era fic I was writing, but recently gave up on. so this is just a very choppy rough draft. it’s all over the place. apologies for the poor & skimpy writing style. fair warning: bit of a darker rendition of Madara than what I usually write on this blog. IM me if you want more details before reading

⤰

They attack in the dead of night. 

With the main host of the Senju army battling in far-away provinces, Hashirama and Tobirama with it, few seasoned shinobi are left to protect the plot of land which the Senju call home. 

The Uchiha overwhelm the paltry resistance quickly and efficiently, then set about infiltrating the rest of the territory to claim as theirs. 

They’re met with little defiance. Of the Senju who don’t escape into the woods, slipping through Uchiha clutches before they can fully surround the vicinity, a majority left to endure the raid are civilians with no real experience or means to contend the invaders’ assault. 

Chaos ensues. Uchiha chase down fleeing families, drag them back to the center of the camp where hostages are corralled. They bark and shout orders at stubborn Senju who refuse to abide, sometimes resorting to violence to win obedience. 

Then come the fires. The Senju, in one final, practiced act of loyalty, set ablaze as much property as they can in an effort to destroy any intelligence on Senju affairs which the Uchiha might find and use to their favor. 

Some of these renegades are stopped before they can succeed, others manage to do their part before being apprehended. 

She is one among them, burning the room in her home which her husband uses so often to practice and hone his jutsu; where plots of war are imagined and scribed; where important records are stored. 

Tobirama would balk to see all his work going up in flames, but she knows that it’s what he would want her to do. 

The anguish that beats mercilessly in her chest as she watches her home catch fire is dreadful. 

Such a small little place, she thinks. Just big enough for the two of them. They hadn’t been married for more than a few months now. Arranged, like so many unions those days. 

Yet the little, perfect home held such memories in that short time; watching smoke rise from the walls and foundations makes her sick with sorrow. 

But it must be done. Whatever the invaders might pillage from her home, they would find nothing to their benefit, and nothing that might end up hurting Tobirama, or the Senju. 

Two Uchiha men grab her just as she watches the roof of her home collapse in on itself, pillars weakened and corrupted by flame. 

It’s a sodden and meager thing to find so fulfilling, but it’s the only thing from which to reap comfort. 

Doomed as she may now be to whatever her captors have planned, she, too, has plans: plans to remember Tobirama’s prudence, adopt it as her own. Whatever awaits her, she can face with her chin held high.

As she’s herded into a crowd of the Senju hostages, uncertain of their holistic fate, the cries and tears of anguish from men, women, and children alike hurt her beyond words. 

When the leader of the invaders stands before them and addresses them, with his coal-black eyes piercing every one of them even in the dark void of night, she feels anger beyond words. 

And when she learns of his plans to occupy their land, to keep them as prisoners of war, she feels determination. 

⤰

When she’s brought before Madara Uchiha in the coming days for the purpose of interrogation, he senses immediately that she isn’t a Senju.

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, and Madara knows Hashirama is quick to support alliances with clans he finds trustworthy enough. Madara wonders who, among the Senju prominent enough to be pursued for political marriage, might call this woman their wife. 

Feeling foolish for having not expected such a question in advance—though somewhere, she’s hardly able to blame herself, given the chaos of the last few days—her mind races for explanation when he inquires about her husband. 

“I’m a widow,” she lies. “He died months ago.”

She remains with the Senju to uphold the alliance her marriage created, she says, hoping he believes it. 

His gaze is startling, and she fears intermittently that he’s staring right through her with those merciless eyes, extracting the truth under her lies, truths that needn’t be spoken, only simmering underneath the surface for his scrutiny to grab. 

She feels apprehension like she’s never known when, after her explanations, he’s quiet. Utterly quiet. 

Then, just as she tries and fails to steel her heart’s rapid beating, he dismisses her. 

As she’s led out of the tent the Uchiha have constructed for their own purposes of war, she takes a calming breath. 

If she plans on putting her wits to use and curbing the punishments soon to be expounded against the Senju innocents, she needs to leverage herself with composure. 

She can’t let Madara Uchiha rattle her this much if she plans on contriving against him. 

If she plans on winning his trust.

⤰

It’s fairly easy to be granted an audience. 

She’s rigid in her loyalty to the Senju, and answers any of Madara’s interrogations about Senju information with silence or ignorance. Still, she’s compliant with otherwise basic facets of the Uchiha occupation; she tells him where best to find food and water in the land; from which fields they might find the most harvest; offers insight on neighboring clans that may contend the Uchiha occupation of Senju territory, loyal to the Senju as they were. 

In compensation, Madara is usually merciful with her requests. She asks that the Senju hostages be given more daily rations and more room in which to sleep and live, now that the Uchiha occupy most of their old homes. 

Generally, entreatments to the betterment of their well-being are met with leniency. Something for which she is glad, but the brother, Izuna, is not. 

She hears them arguing sometimes: Izuna claiming that his elder brother is being too forgiving on the enemy—she assumes she is the enemy in question—and Madara stating in response that he has no quarrel with Senju commoners, and that amending some of their grievances is no harm to their cause. 

These small victories continue to mount, until she finds herself at his side almost daily, discussing hostage afflictions, enduring his queries and, occasionally, even his frustration at receiving no answers. 

This frustration burgeons quickly, until she’s half-convinced that her play at ignorance is one he sees right through. But he always dismisses her when his irritation becomes visible and unavoidable, almost as if to save her from facing the brunt of it. 

It’s the first of the strange, apprehensive intimacies that he gives her. 

More apparent, soon after, are his long-held gazes. 

They sweep over her, inspect her while she talks, greedily scrutinizing her responses. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her when his dark eyes linger for too long. 

She isn’t naive enough to think this prolonged regard is devoid of any suspicious undertone, nor is she naive to dismiss the lust behind his gazes; the careful inspections of her very body that describe something hidden and desiring under his facade. 

She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way it makes her skin crawl, or her heart stutter. 

But how can she be ungrateful for his dangerous admiration when it might prove profitable?

⤰

She reaps the benefits of his greed not long after their invasion. 

He’s taken up residency in one of the precluded houses near the center of the camp. No guards stand watch outside; he doesn’t need them. 

When she asks for entrance to his room he gives it, albeit cautiously. She doesn’t bother disguising her visit under any pretense; she’s there for him, and he knows this, apparently, judging by the careful look he gives her when she walks in and shuts the door behind her. 

Shame and irritation sizzles underneath her skin, but she ignores it. Her efforts have guaranteed the safety of the innocents under Uchiha rule so far, but those efforts won’t last forever. There’s more to be done. 

It’s not long until she’s pressed against him. Insistently her hand rubs over the space between his thighs. He’s soft, unaffected by her touch. It discourages her, but she continues, regardless. 

“What do you hope to gain from this?” he asks, eyes steely and trained on her, as if her eager hand isn’t even there. 

He hasn’t made a move to stop her, so she urges herself on. 

"Isn’t this what you want?” she implores.

“What makes you believe that?”

“The way you look at me.” 

It’s a calm declaration, though she’s still explicitly hiding something under her tone, he sees, something like frustration. 

“How do I look at you?” he inquires.

When she refuses to answer, he lifts a finger under her chin and forces her gaze to him. 

“Like you want to control me,” she answers bitterly.

The bulge under her hand twitches to life. She rubs harder. His face changes; his expression is tighter, more concentrated. 

“And that’s what you want?” His hand stretches across the back of her neck, keeps her head still. Fingers brush at the nape in deceptively gentle tandem. “To be controlled?” 

“No.” She squeezes her hand, hard. He replies with an angry, swift breath. “You could never control me.” 

The hand at her nape curls into her hair and yanks hard, so hard that her rubbing stops. 

“I already do.”

She’s infuriated by his words, he can see that plainly on her face. But he doesn’t care. She’s made the mistake of dangling her seductions in front of him, and he’ll rise to the occasion, if she's so determined to stir him. 

It shocks her how smoothly he maneuvers her to the futon at their feet, lays her down and climbs over her; how expertly his mouth captures hers and his tongue slides over her lips. 

She opens her mouth obediently, lets him explore. Shame courses through her when a hand between her thighs coaxes a pleased, albeit startled hum from her mouth. 

His fingers work her up quickly, pull her clothes off without a hiccup or delay. 

She had, foolishly, underestimated the strength of him. After she’s stripped bare, when he holds her arms down, there’s no room for her to fight back. As he looms over her, powerful and dangerous, she realizes she should be shaking in fear, in hatred, in uncertainty. 

Instead, her body is calm, forcefully calm. 

Sensing this, he sees it not as her resolve, but as a challenge. 

She refuses to close her eyes when he starts, and stares up at him, disputing his gaze. The pleased sigh that leaves his mouth when he starts rocking into her makes her shiver, despite her determination to keep her body still, keep it pliable for his pleasure but loyal to her convictions. 

His thrusts are deep and hard, reaching into her in ways she didn’t even know possible until now. Her breath catches with every snap of his hips, until those breaths are choking off into surprised gasps when he angles his body a certain way, hits a certain spot inside of her that makes her legs jolt with pleasure. 

One hand is planted firmly into the sheets beside her, keeping his body suspended over her. The other holds her thigh, keeps it pressed down to ensure she’s stretched as open as he needs her to be. 

When pleasure urges him to go harder, he takes her leg and curves it around his waist to dig into her deeper. With the new angle she can peer down, watch his cock spear into her with precise finesse. She tears her eyes away, the sight of it making her nerves tingle, making the unbidden pleasure that much more potent. 

Even if she wanted to vacate her mind, to numb herself to all feeling until she could be sure he was done and her task finished, it’s an impossible feat. Too many sensations; his heavy breath coming in low pants; strong thighs shoving against her legs with every thrust; his eyes, even when she turns from them, searing into her, pinning her down.  

A flush spreads over her body, hot and feverish and anxious. In the scant light she sees his skin giving way to his own pleasure; sweat lines the curve of his prominent clavicles, a drop on his brow as it furrows with the heightened pace of his thrusts. 

She starts to tremble uncontrollably as he roughly pounds into her, losing some of his rhythm, a basic need for release urging him. Rumbling, chest-born moans spill from his lips, and against her body’s wishes, she cums with a hard-fought whimper. 

As she shivers through the onslaught of pleasure, he stares down at her, his face an emotionless canvas.

She doesn’t even realize he’s near his end until he grabs onto her hard, grunts loud and staggered, then stops moving. 

He takes a moment to let the pleasure sink in, eyes closed to revel in the wet heat surrounding him, pulsing and twitching. Then he pulls out.

He leaves her on the mat, naked, curled into herself as if to hide the shame of her orgasm. Nothing in his posture speaks of an identical sentiment on his part. The sex she finds so monumentally impairing, he sees as nothing more than what it is: sex. 

No sooner than he moves away from her is he dressing, the raw muscle of his back moving with every motion, his sweat-glazed scars glistening in the moonlight that invades from closed curtains. 

Before he leaves, he says, “I assume you have herbs.” 

Her eyes open. 

The herbs. 

She had almost forgotten. She hasn’t needed to take them since Tobirama left, since there was no one else to share her bed…

The thought of Madara’s seed quickening inside of her makes her nauseous. She’s almost grateful he’s reminded her of the contraceptives. 

“Yes,” she says. She’ll take them first thing in the morning. They were made to work even after the fact. No need to panic. 

“Good.” 

He leaves her in his room, and she falls asleep despite her errant thoughts.

⤰

She draws a bath for herself and slips into the lukewarm water. 

The bruises and love-marks haven’t gone away. Every time they do, every time her skin is returned to its unsullied state, she’s in his bed again, tempering him, giving herself over to his rough desires in some hope it will continue to coax leniency out of him. 

She’s been bathing more often, she realizes: some meager attempt to wash his scent and his touch from her, no matter the pleasure she takes from it in kind. 

But there’s still much resistance in her thoughts when she gives herself over to him, a chiding reminder in the back of her head that says what she’s doing is shameful. 

She’s a married woman, after all; widow, in Madara’s eyes. 

But the masquerade doesn’t take away from the guilt she feels every time she opens her legs for his lust. It’s not even easy to imagine it’s Tobirama anymore. Tobirama isn’t so purposefully rough, isn’t keen on making pleasure so hard-fought with such domination that she receives from the Uchiha. 

A chill runs through her to think of the difference between them, to think she might never again know the softer, more loving touch of her husband. The possessive, taking nature of Madara’s intimacy might be all she ever knows. 

She touches the skin under her breast, feeling no texture on the flesh, but knowing the seal Tobirama left is still there: a risky, but comforting reminder of his caresses. 

She so misses them. She misses his voice, his touch, his earthy scent. The room around her is so devoid of it. The very air feels seized by the conquest of her Uchiha captors. Every breath she draws is more of their smoke, their fire, their danger.

She sinks underneath the surface of the bathwater, eyes closed, a calming air reserved in her lungs. 

The water is comforting, reminds her of Tobirama. She imagines it’s him surrounding and warming her skin, if only for a moment. 

She lets the world around her numb to nothingness, hoping at some point, so too will her anxieties leave her and make this dilemma all the easier to endure.

⤰

Izuna hadn’t meant to come across her this way.

The woman isn’t answering his brother’s summons, and the guards stationed outside her home say she won’t respond to the calls or demanding knocks they make at her door. 

Izuna isn’t a patient man. He has much better things to do than fetch his brother’s stubborn whore. 

The guards at the door had apparently been warned not to intrude on her sanctity more than necessary, and utter a protest when Izuna barges into her home unannounced. He ignores their murmuring, unfamiliar with the respect—or whatever it is—that keeps them compliant. 

The living area is empty and so is the kitchen. He calls her name once, then twice, irritation coloring his shouts. They garner no response. 

At the back of the house, he hears a sound, and goes to it. He hears it again once he’s closer, coming from the washroom, he thinks. 

He knocks once. 

No response.

He knocks again.

Still, no response. 

Sufferance all but worn, he pulls open the door. 

There’s a bath of water, her form distorted underneath its surface. His intrusion is apparently louder than any previous call for her attention and she folds up quickly from underneath the water, breaking the surface and sending splashes everywhere in her haste to glance around, size him up, and cover herself for modesty. 

Too late. He’s seen it. 

Never mind her naked body. Even if he needs to be forgiven for barging in on her later, he doubts, now seeing the mark that she quickly goes to hide under her breast, that she’ll be getting mercy from him or any other Uchiha from this point on. 

⤰

When Izuna drags her into the war tent, Madara is more startled by the interruption than irritated. 

She’s half-clothed, body and hair wet from the remnants of what he assumes was an interrupted cleanse; Izuna has a distraught look of fury on his face that never bodes well. What surprises Madara most, however, is the way she cowers into herself when Izuna throws her down at his feet. 

“What is this, Izuna?” Madara demands of his brother, mildly offended to witness this treatment of her, at his brother’s hand, no less. Madara’s intimacies with her are common knowledge, if not frowned upon by some of his Uchiha lieutenants. 

Izuna points an accusative finger down at her. “Look at it.”

Madara blinks through his confusion, waiting for clarity. Izuna hisses in anger, grabs her hair, and yanks her upright. 

“Show him,” he commands her.

She groans angrily in response. 

He yanks a little harder. 

“Show him.”

Madara’s suspicion gains with rapid unease. The doubt always tugging at the rear of his conscience comes to the forefront, ready to be fed with truths, ready to reap its victory. 

Izuna forces her to stay still, then claws at the hand she has wrapped about her stomach, hiding something beneath the haphazardly-adorned clothing. 

Madara catches on, and approaches. 

She slows her writhing when he crouches down in front of her. Then something like preemptive defeat rushes through her when he puts his hands on her, and she stills completely.

Madara doesn’t know what he expects to see beneath the fold of the robe he pulls away from her skin—the skin which is always covered by bandages when he strips her bare at night; courtesy, she always says, of a wound received during the invasion—but Tobirama’s Senju’s hiraishin mark is definitely the last.

The silence that ensues as he scrutinizes the seal is far more tormenting, she thinks, than any punishment he can possibly have in store for her. 

He’s enraged, of that she’s sure. And the indignant, defiant scowl on her face which receives him when he looks at her undoubtedly makes that worse. 

But she’s been found out, she knows. There’s little else she has to her aims at this point except her resentment, a resentment which she can now display with liberation. 

Her masquerade is extraneous now; any excuse she can possibly make redundant. She has to accept her fate, with her chin held high. 

Like Tobirama would. 

But the conviction doesn’t last long. 

“Hold her down,” Madara tells two of the Uchiha men in the room. 

She panics. 

When Izuna’s hands leave her and more vindictive ones take their place, she starts kicking away, trying to fight and make their hold on her that much more difficult to win. 

But it’s useless against the pure fear that runs through her when Madara slips out of the tent and returns a moment later, in his hand, an iron poker which had been mending the campfire outside. 

When he brings it over to her, she feels the heat radiating off of its glowing, orange, sharp tip. 

Her heart rate skips into the margins of delirium and she shakes her head. 

“Don’t—” she pleads, glaring up at him. “Don’t—”

Madara presses the singeing iron against the skin below her breast and she screams. Loud and ragged. He doesn’t care. 

Even before the deed is done, the smell of her own burnt flesh nauseates her beyond the limits of her endurance, and she passes out. 

⤰

The burn is so severe that it leaves her bed-ridden for days on end. 

Every twist and turn of her body stretches the thin, pink skin and leaves her whimpering in pain. 

Uchiha medics tend to her wound. She isn’t allowed the relief of healing jutsu; the burn is treated with oils and creams which alleviate only some of the pain, and none of the superficial scarring. Something for which she knows she has Madara to thank. He wants her to bear the mark of her deceit, wants the charred flesh to serve as a reminder of mockery. 

She had slighted him with her seductions, made a fool of him with her deception. The burn itself would be a meager sanction in comparison—he could have killed her, after all—if not for the scornful significance it held that did more justice to his condescension than any words could.

Any semblance of superiority her secret had once given her is all but crushed with the wound. Tobirama’s seal had soothed her, served as a pillar of faith and courage; a warm breath of comfort on her skin whenever the chill of her captors’ doujutsu fixed her, whenever Madara’s gaze searched her for weakness. 

Knowing her husband’s latent protection remained hidden from the eyes of the invaders had been enough, amidst all the turmoil, to shield her from fear. 

Now it was gone, rendered useless and indiscernible under corrugated skin. 

Like her home, her body now, too, at the hands of the Uchiha, denied her refuge. 

Yet in some twisted, ironic way, the wound still grounds her. The pain is a bittersweet reminder that her body is alive, and not a shell for the hopelessness she feels inside. 

It’s a degrading and pitiful comfort. But it’s all she has now. 

⤰

Madara makes infrequent visits during her recovery. 

The first few are made in silence. As she lies there, pitiful and motionless, he stares without a word to spare. His scrutinizing gaze, both spiteful to set eyes upon her and satisfied to see her agony, is the only acknowledgement he gives. 

The patronizing graduates to interrogation. He stands over her impotent form, leering down as he demands to know the reason for her having the seal on her skin, demands to know her relationship to Tobirama Senju. 

The line of questioning betrays the deductions he’s already made. He’s already decided that the woman is Tobirama’s spouse, or at the least, some sort of lover. The intimate placement of his seal is telling enough, and her previous elusion on the subject of her purpose on Senju land is further proof. All the suspicions piece together and exploit her lies. 

But he wants to hear the truth from her own mouth, the very mouth which conspired to deceive him with its pleasure, keep him pliant with its warm caresses on his body. Only then will he be satisfied, only when she admits who she is, what she is, who she belongs to—

Then he can remind her that it’s he who owns her now. He who conquered her home as easily as he had conquered her. 

Her silence isn’t as defiant as she thinks, not by a long shot. To patronize her is a pleasant notion, but the hooded, resentful gaze she gives him fails to stir him in any way besides to sing praises of his own power. 

⤰

“Kill her,” Izuna insists. 

His determined indignation on the matter comes like a chant in the days following the revelation. 

Madara’s commitment to deciding how best to deal with her is only marginally interrupted by his brother’s input, but it does disrupt his logic and feed his own fury. 

He should kill her. Should string her up for the rest of the Senju to see: let her be an example to whoever else among them may have delusions of defying him. 

“What point is there in keeping her alive?” Izuna presses on. “Kill her. Send her body to the Senju army. Let them know we won’t be trifled with.”

“No,” is Madara’s decisive reply. “She serves more use to us alive.”

“I fail to see how. She’s done enough to outwit you. I would’ve thought you eager to be rid of her.”

Madara resents the comment, but tempers his irritation. “I know your dislike for Tobirama makes you enthusiastic to do her harm. And why is that? Because you know harm done to her is harm done to him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should understand the benefit of keeping her alive.”

“Fine. Keep her alive. But not unscathed. If you want to use her as leverage, deliver a gift to the Senju. The correspondence between you and Hashirama has been pitifully civil so far. Send something with the next envoy. Something of hers. A finger will do.”

“No.” Madara’s tone is unequivocally firm. “We will do no such thing.”

Madara has little doubt that his brother’s enmity runs deep enough that an adequate offense on her part, no matter how slight, might be cause for Izuna to damage her. That’s not something Madara can allow. 

His conscience forces away the fact that part of his aversion to his brother’s threats are rooted in possessiveness; Izuna has no claim to her, has no entitlement to her punishment. 

That’s Madara’s. That’s his. And his alone.

⤰

How she finds herself sharing his bed again, she may never know, and will never be brave enough to ponder. 

She’s silent when he moves inside of her. Even when he makes her cum, as easily and powerfully as he always has, she barely lets the ragged, frustrated moan loose from her lips for a second before closing her throat and swallowing down the tightness.

When he rolls off of her he lies in silence. Where he would usually get up to bathe or leave, he remains, like he's done so often recently, to sleep beside her. 

He taunted her once, told her he had no fears of sleeping beside her now, because she knows what it would mean for the Senju hostages if she tried anything. 

That aside, she’s half-convinced that he’s awake at all hours of the night regardless, waiting patiently for the opportunity to catch her plots and punish her accordingly. 

But how difficult would it be? To kill him, leave him, save as many hostages as she can while he bleeds out in the room, alone and cold. 

It’s a fantasy she allows herself to imagine over and over again. A fantasy too opportunistic to ignore after their nights of scornful passion leave her weak and spiteful. 

The kunai she left under her pillow feels cold as ice when she slowly reaches for it, hiding the purposeful movement behind a comfortable stretch. 

It’s been a long hour since she first played at sleep. She never hears him breathing, but considers his silence as good a signal as any that he’s unconscious. 

When she carefully turns over, she confirms that his eyes are closed. He sleeps on his back, always, as most shinobi do. Alert and at the ready even in slumber. 

Slowly she rises from under the sheets, ever so careful not to let the fabric move an inch across his skin. She should just slit his throat, she realizes. But piercing into him will be swifter, and more profitable. 

The kunai wavers in her hand. Killing unwitting men in their sleep isn’t so difficult a task; shinobi and kunoichi alike do it all the time, don’t they? That was war. 

It should be easy to stab down into his heart and twist, to watch him wake in tormenting shock as the blood fills his lungs and chokes him. She would enjoy that. 

But the wavering in her hand worsens to a subtle tremor. 

He’s not an unwitting man, not some simple enemy to kill for convenience. That makes her confidence ever harder to steel, but she has to. She has to kill him. 

She won’t wait a moment longer. Kill him, destroy him, and be done with it. 

But just as she raises the kunai, a strong hand wraps around her wrist in an unforgiving grip.

His eyes are open, glaring at her. 

She shivers with fear and rage as his hand tightens to a bruising grip. Her panic sends her mind into a frenzy of action. 

She can still do it. Just one stab downwards and she can end it. 

But even pushing down with both hands doesn’t overwhelm his strength. He still glares and scowls, infuriated.

She tries again, putting her entire body’s weight down on the weapon, limbs shaking with the effort. 

He doesn’t budge. 

He flips them instead, and the kunai is suddenly in his hands, pressed against her throat. 

“There are easier ways to kill me,” he mutters. If his blood is boiling at her trespass, nothing in his bored, thin voice betrays composure. “You could be more creative.”

Tears prickle her eyes. Her hands press desperately against his, trying to push the cold blade away from her skin. But he keeps it there. Even the smallest movement will slice the flesh. 

“Remember that you are the one at my mercy. I could kill you and every Senju in this camp any time I wish.”

“You’re horrible,” she seethes, breath shallow in anger. "I hate you.”

“I’m aware. Yet you continue to share my bed night after night. You still think you’ll gain anything from it?”

The words sting her pride, split her open to let the doubts and faults and fruitless depravities spill in. 

“You do nothing but shame yourself. Look at you. Spreading your legs for me like a dutiful whore, thinking it will somehow save you and your people. It’s pathetic—"

She slaps him, hard. 

Though his cheek burns with redness, he’s otherwise unfazed by pain. He scowls and slams her arm down to prevent any more of her rage. 

“You may think you have control over me,” she says in a seething whisper. Even with the kunai pressed against her jugular, the expression on her face is nothing short of brazen. A lofty, defeated brazen that comes across as scorn. “But you don’t, and you never will. There’s only one man I’ve ever loved. When you’re on top of me I think of him and only him. It makes it bearable. You’ll never be half the man that he is.”

He scowls at her, his eyes like burning, silent daggers. She knows she might have sealed her fate right then and there. But so be it. Let her last moments of life be spent spiting him. 

Her body relaxes, unconcerned with fighting whatever comes next. 

She doesn’t expect him to laugh. 

“Tell yourself that, if you must,” he says, with a sadistic, grim smirk. “But you know very well the power I have over you.”

His eyes turn crimson and she gasps, but by the time she makes to look away, it’s too late.

In the illusion, Tobirama is frowning at her, eyes wide, a sneer of disgust on his face. 

She doesn’t understand why, at first. Why does he look so gloomy? She feels only joy to see him. Joy and unbearable relief. 

She tries to run to him. But burning hands at her throat summon her back. Despite no voice, face, or body to accompany the unforgiving grip, she knows it’s Madara who impedes her by the ferocious strength alone. 

“Whore.”

It’s not Madara’s voice, but Tobirama’s. It carries over to her, like they’re separated by a valley despite his being only yards away. If she could reach out to him, touch him, feel his embrace—

“Uchiha whore,” he barks at her again, scowling now. 

“No,” she pleads, eyes stinging with tears. She tries to pull the grip from her neck away and escape, but Madara locks her arms down to her sides, rendering her utterly trapped. 

“Tobirama,” she begs for his sanctity, for his forgiveness. But he’s backing away from her now. 

She cries and cries desperately, screeching in frustration when Madara’s grip tightens to a visceral degree, until she feels like her skin is alight with flames. 

She looks down, and sees that they are. And the skin which these flames scorch dies off to corrupted, pink flesh as it travels up her arm in a slow crawl. An agonizing, horrible, slow crawl. 

Hours elapse as she endures the torture. Hours of raw, inhuman pain and her husband slurring his vile insults at her. The sheer destruction it pillages on her mind and body makes her feel small, makes the flames which take their time in exploring her skin burn brighter and hotter until finally she feels like nothing but ash. 

The last of her willpower billows away with that ash, as she watches Tobirama’s form start to disappear on some horizon that defies logic. 

She still wants to touch him. Still wants to be held by him. She still wants him, despite how clearly he doesn’t want her. 

His obscenities circle her thoughts, all-encompassing, completely and finally defeating her. 

Whore. Slut. Traitor. Weakling.

She cries a voiceless cry when Tobirama disappears, and Madara takes the illusion away shortly after. 

She blinks for clarity, eyes adjusting back to a reality no less harrowing than the previous artifice.

He leers down at her, takes in her anguish and her seedy frame with gluttonous cruelty in his gaze. 

Numb, teary eyes stare up at him as they slowly read his form. Realizing her predicament, she starts to hyperventilate, and tears run down her face. 

She shuts her eyes in one last attempt of modesty, forcing the stream of salt to sluice more violently down her cheeks. 

“Tobirama,” she pleads weakly, the only thing that she can think of in her hazy pain. 

It angers Madara. 

“He doesn’t want you. Now look at me.”

She refuses.

His hand twists into her hair and snaps her head back so hard that she almost sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I said look at me.”

“No,” she cries weakly, though she obeys, regardless. Her bloodshot, desperate eyes feed his sadistic vengeance. Then she’s turning her head away from him. Meager defiance. “Please—”

Satisfied with the short admission of her defeat, he takes her face and forces her look at him. 

“Try anything like that again and I’ll make sure you spend an eternity in a nightmare of my making. Do you understand?”

She has no energy to respond. 

“Answer me.”

All she can offer is a weak nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks. 

In a moment of triumphant vindictiveness, his fingers press harshly against the burn under her breast, bringing to life a reminiscent pain, a crushing reminder of what he’s done to her. 

He pushes her face away and she curls into herself, thinking of Tobirama.

In these makeshift quarters he’ll find no sleep; his mind is a mess of anger, desperation, and confusion. He needed to hurt her, didn’t he? She had defied him again. What other choice did he have? 

Another moment spent in her presence is another pin of irrational emotion nudged into his chest. He needs to leave.

He catches her glaring at him when he climbs off and starts to dress. It’s a look full of pure, searing hatred.

But he says nothing. He’s extracted enough triumph from her. 

His silence is in victory; hers in defeat.

⤰

She feels less alive each passing day. 

She doesn’t see him very often, not since the incident in the night when she’d failed to take swift revenge. 

Occasionally she hears him on the other side of the door, inquiring the guards who stand watch outside about her disposition. Rarely does he enter and see for himself. 

When he does, they exchange no words. He examines the room for any plotting demonstration of escape or sabotage, disguising his observation of her underneath these sweeping inspections. 

However, sometimes he gives up on the pretense and simply stares, studying her, trying to decide how he feels.

His actions are regrettable, of that he’s sure and self-condemned, but there’s still a glimmer of insolence in her eyes when he catches her gaze: one which rekindles the spite within him, fans vengeful flames and reminds him that she brought this upon herself. 

She would see no pity from him. 

Any words of apology on his tongue fizzle away then, and his visits conclude as silently as they begin.

⤰

The fight in her dwindles helplessly, and as it dwindles, so too does all sense of reservation. 

The prodigious determination there once had been to contend Madara and his Uchiha conspirators is all but spent. What good does it do her now? She’s broken, subjugated, and without leverage. 

Her body, which had once enabled her to use its seductions to the advantage of her people, is now depleted and only a shell. A shell for the hollow, cold heap of defeat that she now is. 

How deluded was she to think she could save all the people here? How had she ever thought that she alone could protect the hostages from the evil at their door? 

And Tobirama, whose embrace was denied to her even in dreadful illusions—what would he think of her? Madara was right. What else was she now but an Uchiha whore? Obsolete, ruined, soiled. 

Tobirama won’t want her. Not now. Not ever again. 

What more is there for her?

As the weeks go by, Madara’s distrust ebbs away. Suspicions of subterfuge die with her audacity; the times he does happen upon her, she’s nothing but a husk of the sharp woman she had made herself out to be. 

House arrest soon becomes a superfluous precaution, and even when the guards leave their posts, she makes few attempts to leave her home. And when she does, she wanders aimlessly, meanders without direction and without purpose. 

She’s pitiful, Madara decides. Pitiful and crushed. He has nothing to fear or suspect from her. Her fire is gone. 

What he doesn’t expect is that the last ember of that fire holds one desperate dredge of scorn. One which she won’t allow to be extinguished. 

When she wanders into the Uchiha war tent that day, she isn’t stopped. 

She’s given no second-glance by any of the Uchiha shinobi. Even if they were to give her careful inspection, they would never know of the kunai in her pocket, the steel icy and begging to be utilized for one final, desperate fight.

Madara isn’t there. Instead, she finds Izuna.

“Where is he?” she asks weakly. 

Izuna pays her so limited attention these days, regards her as little else except the harlot his brother broke in and conquered, that her presence has nothing more than a fleeting impasse on his patience. Like a gnat buzzing around his head. 

“My brother? Who knows.” 

When he accords her his attention he sees that she’s looking lifeless as ever. Sometimes he ponders the nature of the unkind things his brother has done to her, with a fraction of a fraction of pity. Then he’s reminded of the trespasses she’s made, and the pity is gone. 

“What?” he mocks. “If you’re hoping to charm some leniency out of him, you’ll get nowhere looking like that.” He tsks, a sneer marring his lips as he pulls his eyes over her form, like it’s a harrowing task to complete. “You’re better off groveling on your knees... save him the displeasure of looking at your face, at the least.” 

Although she doesn’t react, he sees humiliation simmering underneath the hardened, broken surface of her expression. He would have favored a more promising response to his taunts, but he’s satisfied to see her tamed of her previous unruliness, nevertheless.

He turns his back to her. Her misery is pleasant only for so long; the more he looks, the more unsightly it becomes. 

The Uchiha sigil stares back at her, stitched proudly and delicately onto the back of his garb. 

It mocks her, does more to incite her than any of his degrading condescension can. 

Unthinking, she moves to him. 

Hearing her approach he turns to meet her, the same bored sneer on his face. 

The melancholy is still in full bloom on her features, but there’s something else there, too. Something that tells him she’s struggling to express a grievance on her tongue.  

He scoffs.

“What is it, woman?”

He’s not Madara, she decides, but he’ll do. 

Aimlessly, she yanks the kunai from her pocket, then brings it down on his neck, not caring for whatever consequences will follow.

⤰

She wondered why Izuna didn’t kill her the moment he wrangled the kunai from her grip.

Blood spills from his neck; thick crimson pours in rivulets down his shirt, down the hand that presses against his wound. 

It may not be fatal but it’s certainly critical. Sharingan had worked in his favor. An inch more of the dagger’s descent studied without the activation of his doujutsu might have guaranteed his death. He inched away just in time.

She doesn’t have time to lament her failure. 

He did throw her to the floor in his anger, but nothing else comes. If he hadn’t been so occupied with sealing his wound, she imagines his ire would prove much worse, if not terminal. 

She doesn’t bother pushing up from her place on the floor when another Uchiha, hearing the din of Izuna’s angry hollers, barges in, sees the chaos, and sprints away after taking orders from Izuna. She doesn’t hear the essence of these orders, numb to the world as she is. 

Had the kunai been in her hand, she would slit her own throat in defiance. Death would have been preferable to what comes next.

When Madara storms in, she’s still a pile of hapless defeat on the floor. 

He says not a word, but the pure rage boiling behind his gaze says all it needs to: She made a grievous mistake. 

She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her to her feet. She screws her eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He doesn’t seem to care whether she does or doesn’t. 

She’s certain that he rips hair right from the roots when he whips her around, shoves her forward with enough force to break every bone in her body. A bookcase greets her as she barrels into it. That’s when her eyes open in pained shock, a rushed gasp escaping her as she struggles to regain the air thrown out of her lungs. 

She wants to collapse, but a hand clasps around her neck and keeps her standing. Then the fingers tighten around her throat. She chokes pitifully for oxygen. 

“I told you that if you ever tried something like that again that you would regret it.” His voice is cold with anger. “But to make an attempt on my brother’s life?”

She doesn't answer. Apparently, he doesn’t expect her to.

He shoves her back to the ground. It knocks the wind out of her, and when she pushes herself up on shaky limbs, a heavy boot in her back sends her to the floor again. 

She yelps as he digs his heel into sensitive muscle. A burst of hot and red pain spreads through her back. Her kidneys, maybe? She doesn’t know. But he’s damaged something internally, and she wishes she were dead. 

Her breaths are pitiful and scant when he finally takes his foot away. She says nothing. Thinks of nothing. 

“Get up,” he demands, in a rigid, thin voice devoid of anything except fury.

Even if she wanted to obey, her body refuses. 

“Get up,” he snaps, and the unforgiving hand returns to twist into her hair, sending webs of pan across her scalp as he hauls her to her knees.  

He crouches in front of her, a hand still fisted in her hair. Now he wants her to look. His other hand takes her face and squeezes, so hard she’s half-convinced he plans to crush her skull. 

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Desperately, she tries. But it’s a task to keep her eyes open without nausea seeping into her gut. Her eyelids force themselves to shut in an effort to quell dizziness. 

But then he jostles her around by the grip in her hair, so hard and so viciously that her entire world blacks out momentarily. The motion sends her mind reeling and her vision swimming. 

“Open your eyes.”

Adrenaline shoots through her and demands her to obey. 

She isn’t surprised when the red of sharingan is there to greet her. 

Everything goes black in the world of his making. She almost expects to see Tobirama there, for him to shout at her and degrade her again. 

Instead, she feels pain. The worst pain she’s ever felt. So painful she can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing that exists is the hot, searing flame of anguish that stings every inch of her skin, every gap of her insides, down to the very organs. 

A hundred kunai stab into her head. She hears them slicing flesh to ribbons and digging fractures into her skull. Her blood curdles until it’s set aflame. That too, she hears, bubbling underneath the surface of her skin like thick, boiling water.

Everything hurts. Everything is endless agony.

When air finally fills her lungs, she wails. 

So loud, so violently, so wretchedly, that it’s almost itself anguish to hear.

Then he takes it all away. 

The relief is heavenly. She crumples into a ball. 

She hates it. She hates the weakness. If Tobirama could see her…

Then the pain comes again. She screams in tandem, then bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

The cruel routine goes on, for what to her deluded, frenetic mind seems like hours, but is in reality passed in mere minutes.

Izuna watches as his wound is tended to, his expression as devoid of any mercy or sympathy as his brother’s. 

⤰

Two weeks later, when her body and mind make the slow, pitiful climb back to equilibrium, she notices the change. 

It’s unlike one she’s felt before, but not entirely unrelated to an irksome nausea: a queasiness in her stomach that neither food nor rest alleviates; something new, like an aura, that swathes her and accompanies her every second of the day; an extra weight added to the burden of her body.

Then comes the fearful ascent of logic. 

Amidst her turmoil, she’s forgotten about missing her monthly bleed. Its absence could be blamed on the toll her body has taken, but she knows better. 

The revelation brings her into a spiral of hectic anxiety, of despairing conflict. 

It’s not long before she finds herself sneaking into one of the medical tents, decision already made on how best to deal with the new predicament. 

She shuffles through the stock of vials and herbs which the Uchiha medics keep at the back of the tent, finds what she’s looking for and almost escapes as covertly as she had infiltrated, when she’s stopped. 

“What is that you have?”

She pauses a foot away from the tent’s exit, her body in a mode of panic.

“Some herbs for my wounds,” she mutters.

An elder Uchiha woman, a medic, turns her around and inspects the filched items in her grasp. 

“That is ginger root,” the medic observes warily. “If you need something for the pain, I would suggest dried poppy.”

The young woman stares fretfully at the old woman; the old woman stares back.  

��Thank you,” the younger stutters blankly, unable to make a step in either direction; play along and heed the advice to go search for the proper herbs, or flee and risk suspicion? 

“You look ill,” the old woman says, eyeing her, putting a hand to her forehead.

She backs away. “I just need rest.”

“Let me examine you. I can help you find the right medicines.”

“No,” she says. Any medic will be able to feel the life inside of her, given the chance. “I’ll be alright.”

She tries to leave then, but the old woman doesn’t let her. 

⤰

When Madara answers the request for his presence at one of the medic huts, he’s surprised to find her there, sitting on a cot, hunched over and distressingly quiet. Two Uchiha men stand at her sides, supervising her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara asks. 

Recently, he’s appreciated any reason to stay away from her. The sight of her makes him sick, makes a conflict of rage and confusion and culpability dance angrily in his head. 

The old woman offers him the ginger root, and a small vial of clear liquid. “She was after these.”

Madara takes them into examination. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” His patience, already thin, dwindles considerably for the roundabout elucidations.

“A toxic mixture,” the old woman explains plainly. “Boiled with regular tea and these will certainly destroy whatever grows inside a womb.”

With subdued bafflement, Madara looks at the woman on the cot, understanding all at once. 

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Even now her body trembles with frustration, with fear, with defeat. 

Izuna, who had accompanied his brother, scoffs, incredulously loud. “So either you managed to put one in her, brother, or it’s the Senju’s.”

“Can it be determined?” Madara asks the medic, ignoring his brother, and never taking his eyes off the frail form on the cot. 

“In a month’s time the chakra should be durable enough for us to sense.” 

“Kill it,” Izuna insists, coming to stand next to his brother, a voice of frustrated reason. “If it’s a Senju, better off unborn. And if it’s an Uchiha... you would pass on the clan’s power to halfling filth.”

Unperturbed, Madara stares in silence. Finally she meets his gaze, unsettled by the look of dark concentration in his eyes. 

“Why attempt to destroy the life inside of you unless it’s a burden to you?” he ponders out loud.

She realizes his train of logic: it must be his, for her to be so adamant in her pursuit to terminate it. 

“If it was my husband’s,” she says, “and it is, I would do the same. You would kill my child the moment I bring it into this world. Why let life grow that is destined to be murdered in cold blood?”

“And if it were mine?”

“It isn’t."

Madara scowls. 

“And if it were,” she goes on dangerously. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

That visibly infuriates him. 

“Give her the herbs,” Izuna asserts again. “Let her solve the problem. Either way she’s doing you a favor.”

Madara doesn’t speak for a long time. 

His careful inspection of her lasts long enough to make her doubts rise afresh, make her feet fidget uncomfortably and her heart pound in desperation.

“She stays here tonight,” he decides ultimately, looking to the Uchiha guards at her side. “She doesn’t leave.”

Izuna looks muddled, and somewhat irritated by the decision. 

She just looks afraid. 

⤰

He doesn't return for many days, but his absence can’t be appreciated as much of a reprieve at all; her mind is a mess of anxiety and denial the entire time. 

This can’t be happening, she tells herself countless times. She can’t be pregnant. And worse, can’t be ignorant to the father. There’s no possible way. It can’t be happening.

Part of her reasons for the better: it must be Tobirama’s. No more than three months have passed since the Uchiha first conquered and occupied the land, no more than three months since she’s been with her husband. 

The other part of her, downtrodden and beaten into pessimistic depravity, knows that with the chaos Madara brought, so too came a negligence to her normal routines: was she taking the contraceptive herbs as diligently as she needed to, given their intimacies? Amidst the turbulence he caused, had she remembered each and every time they were together to make sure nothing was conceived from their depraved liaisons? How could she not, when the way he touched her and took her made her sick?

But then, doubt: leading her astray, reminding her that everything horrible and miserable that could happen already had, so what was a bit more to the mountain of suffering she already endured? What was stopping fate from deciding that the life inside her womb belonged not to her loving husband, but to her unforgiving captor?

Thinking about it drives her to depressive insanity. By the time Madara comes to see her, she’s depleted almost all of her brain power. 

“Leave us,” he commands the guards who have been assigned to watch her. 

They obey, and the pair are left in silence. 

Her mind pleads with her to run, to attack, to simply scream—anything. Anything that will quell the distress of the pause in the air, the distress of not knowing his intent. 

When he takes a step forward she inches back. Noticing this, he’s dissuaded from approaching any closer. 

“So long as the child is inside of you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her heart pounds so furiously in her chest that she’s sure it’s audible in the quiet of the room. 

The statement angers her, scares her, and much to her shame, relieves her. 

“It’s not yours,” she claims.

“Unless I’m miscalculating, the Senju host left a week before my arrival. And not long after that, a fortnight at most for the sake of assumptions, this child might have been conceived. Between us.”

Bile rises in her throat and she wants to protest, but he goes on, badgering her with the logic she’s thus far refused to entertain. 

“If it were his, you would be farther along. Visibly, for one. And more than likely, I would be able to sense the chakra, deduce which clan it belongs to.”

By now she’s trembling quietly with her fear, fighting the urge to deny him, to preserve the hope that the reality he speaks of is in fact skewed.

“The child inside of you is an Uchiha,” he says determinedly. 

She shakes her head.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re not,” she argues. “You said yourself there's no way of knowing. Not yet.”

He cocks his head. “Then you really have no idea, do you? No idea who it belongs to? Normally mothers can read the chakra within them at this stage. Can you not?”

She won’t grant him an answer, instead stares down at her feet as they dig into the ground, as if in a desperate attempt to escape underneath. 

Madara watches her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose we’ll have to see, then. But somewhere in that head of yours, you know I’m right.”

You’re not right, she repeats in her mind. You’re not. You’re not.

Just as he makes to leave, he stops. 

“And let me be clear,” he says, menacingly. “If you make any attempt to destroy what grows inside of you, you won’t be the one suffering the consequences.”

The glare he gives her speaks volumes: The Senju hostages. The violence that would ensue. The atrocities he might commit if she disobeyed. 

He leaves her. She clutches her stomach, letting the first, long-suppressed tear roll down her cheek. A warm, wet trail is left in its wake. 

In the turmoil she finds evidence for and against his claims when she lets her thoughts run away with logic. A wash of anxious desperation enlivens her, makes her conscience grab for a reprieve to her doubts. But even that is denied by the crushing reality of her situation. 

The life inside of her might belong to the enemy, to the Uchiha. 

And still, it might not. 

She stumbles between one acceptance and the next, each clouding her ever more until the tears are spilling in streams down her cheeks. 

When she puts every morsel of her ability into sensing the life within her, she can’t tell if the faint trace of Senju chakra she feels is authentic, or a desperate manifestation of her mind’s making. 

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 26

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1303

Summary: She’d do anything to make her father’s world burn for what he’d done. Even stand toe to toe with him in his own territory.

by @adventuresintooblivion

A distillery on the outskirts of Birmingham was where the Rothschilds had gained their first major foothold in the city. Now, years later and despite it still producing alcohol, it served as their headquarters. Every available nook and cranny was stuffed with desks that were overflowing with paperwork or people, crammed so close together there was barely enough room to walk. On any given day, one could barely hear themselves think due to the drum of machinery and voices talking business.

In a room, surrounded by fogged glass that looked over the work floor, Henry “Old Man” Rothschild hunched over his desk. He didn’t appreciate the moniker that his daughter had given him, but that wasn’t on his mind right now. Instead, his thoughts were preoccupied with time.

At 2:30 PM, he sent his most brutal soldiers to nab that Shelby brat. Even if the Lee’s had retracted their contract on the boy's head, he didn’t doubt a certain police man would pay handsomely for him. At 3:20PM, his forces should have tossed him into the back of a carriage and rode off with him towards a safe house outside the city. Given Rowan’s tendencies to beat the shit out of anyone he could get his hands on for the fun of it,  Henry had allotted an extra hour or two to the expected arrival time. Once there they would send a messenger, telling him that they had arrived. He was supposed to be here at 7:30PM. It was running past 8 o’clock and he was beginning to worry.

“Lazy bastards were never late when that little shit ran things.” He muttered to himself as he poured another scotch.

He’d been paying Barryfield Medical Asylum handsomely to get her off his hands for years. Every month he got a letter detailing the treatments she was receiving in light of her paralysis and battle shock. Henry knew what they were actually pushing for, a lobotomy. And he knew the reason, too. 

It would force Y/N into compliance. And it would keep Henry on the hook, paying for room and board for a vegetable. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what they did to women in places like that, honestly he’d been silently hoping that they’d finally break that spirit in her that he never managed to. It's almost a year since the ‘subtle’ suggestions began. As far as Henry was concerned doctors were money hungry leeches, but he would breathe easier if she could never appear on his doorstep ever again.

He returned to penning his reply, his permission to move forward with the operation, when the workfloor grew oddly quiet.he didn’t notice it at first, the drone of machinery preventing total silence. The lack of voices registered first on a subconscious level. Some animal part deep inside him panicking as it detected danger. Goosbumps rose on his flesh as the ghost of fear began to claw at his throat. Then he heard it. 

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. Kerthunk.

“Old Man. Get your ass down here.”

He blinked, sure he was mishearing. THAT voice, but regardless no one causes a ruckus on his workfloor. His footsteps were too loud, the floorboards creaking unevenly under his limp. Henry’s hand hesitated just before the door knob, an odd sense of doom taking over him. Maybe he was hallucinating in his old age. He turned the handle.

〜

Bile lingered on the back of Y/N’s tongue as she stared at that looming door. She silently prayed that the men around her couldn’t see her shaking in her oversized coat, she raised her wrench again. Every man in the room, her friends, her brothers, had their eyes locked on her. Tonight, this show was for them.

Before she could bang on the pipes again, the Old Man stepped onto the thin balcony surrounding his office. His face immediately turned an angry red Y/N had long ago learned to fear, but not tonight. Y/N could not afford to be afraid any longer.

“You. You come into my place of business and demand to see me?! How d-.” 

“Oh, shut up.” A collective gasp rose in the air. “You don’t get to sit up on your high horse acting like I’m an intruder. I’m your daughter.” 

He scoffed. Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her plan depended on two things. One, that Danny got to the values without anyone seeing him. Two, that her father had been lying to his men. About his injury, what he’d done to her or even the fact that he knew them as human beings. Her eyes glanced around quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Danny’s progress. But instead her chance began to slip away as the Old Man started to turn. It was now or never.

“What did you tell them about me and why I didn’t come back?” the Old Man froze and she knew she had him. “Did you tell them I was dead, or just that I was indisposed?”

Y/N could hear the whispers start. She already knew the answer. Her closest friend, Denton, had dropped his coffee. His mouth hung open as she grabbed the random pipe. Others had turned pale and hid. 

“You told them I’d died in action didn’t you?” Her voice broke as she continued. “Maybe your loyal followers would like to know where you actually send me, Dad. Or...what you did you get out of the wa-.”

The Old Man spun around spitting mad, “That’s enough! I won’t have a traitor telling lies.” 

“Traitor? I’m not the one who bashed their knee in to get out of getting drafted.” her voice rose, the deep ache in her chest getting the better of her. It made it hard to think, to breathe. Regardless she’d thrown the accusation like a dart and it had hit dead center as the tension in the room shifted.

Almost every person here had been dragged to the frontline kicking and screaming, only to have wives leave them or their friends bleed out in their arms. Not a single soul among them could blame him for not wanting to go, but to be so thoroughly abandoned by the man- the ideal- that they had all given their lives for, stung far worse than most grown men would ever admit. And yet there was no denying the evidence as it stared them down in the form of a cane that the Old Man clutched with white knuckles.

Denton had begun to reach for his things. He knew her well enough to know when she was about to make the world burn. Y/N had once asked what she did that tipped him off every time. He had told her that she’d get this look in her eyes. Something that was a bit too wide, a touch too wild.

Y/N took a shaky breath as she decided to twist the knife, “ Do you know anything about any of us? How many sisters Wyatt has? Or how many children Denton has? Or for fuck’s sake, do you know my mother’s name?” 

“Enough.” The Old Man’s voice boomed across the room. “Someone grab her. I’m tired of this nonsense.”  His order echoed off the walls as no one moved to listen. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N watched a pressure gauge on a nearby tank begin to rise. The tension in her ribs finally loosened. Danny had made it.

It was Y/N’s turn to speak, “If you don’t want to get caught in what is about to happen between me and the Old Man, get out of the building.” She lowered her voice so Denton was the only one who could hear, “Make sure everyone makes it out safe.” 

[heliads]

A Matter of Metal

Based on this request: “an alternate version of magneto’s son and been in shield and been really close to hill and fury so sword has sent him to investigate the hex with the trio and he has the same powers of magneto and basically wants what agatha wants wanda powers and basically betrays sword/shield”

masterlist

Three people sit at a table. They are each dressed in shades of navy and black, guns obvious on hips and knives hidden on shins. The flickering glare of a fluorescent light casts shadows across the room. Despite all the resources of S.H.I.E.L.D., they’ve never bothered to get it fixed. The man, one black eye patch hidden in shadow, sits closer to the woman, whose dark hair is clinically pulled away from her face. They stare at a second man, one who returns their gaze without a shard of hesitation. Between the three of them, they know enough secrets about S.H.I.E.L.D. and the various governments to tear down the entire fabric of the world.

Instead, their focus is on a manila file folder, one that’s been slid across the table to the second man. He eyes it coolly. “You want me to investigate Wanda Maximoff?” Fury nods. “S.W.O.R.D. claims to have it under control. I’m not sure how much of that I believe.” Maria Hill gestures towards the folder. “You’ll be there as our eyes and ears. S.W.O.R.D. is willing to accept our help, but we’re fairly certain it’s only as a way to get us off of their back. You’ll have to be careful, Y/N, but we think you’ll be able to find out more than they’re letting on.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “At this rate, I’m not sure whether you’re sending me because you trust me or because you want to see what would happen if you sent another agent with abilities to tangle with Maximoff.” Fury chuckles at that. “Are you sure your powers don’t include mind reading? I can’t keep anything from you.” Y/N lets his stony facade break for a second as he laughs. “That’s why we’re such good friends.”

Hill smirks. “If you consider Fury a best friend forever, I’m getting worried about your mental state. You sure you’re up for this job?” Y/N grins. “I’m the only one you trust. If I wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t have asked me about it at all.” Fury nods. “You’re not just there to watch and wait, L/N, you’re there to act. If you feel the need to intervene, do so at will. We’ll defend you to S.W.O.R.D.”

The barest hint of curiosity flares across Y/N’s eyes. “You want me to go behind S.W.O.R.D.’s back?” Fury shrugs. “We want you to make the right decisions, even if they happen to be against S.W.O.R.D. direction. Use discretion, but do what you must.” Y/N nods, then begins to rise from his chair. “When do I leave?” Fury and Hill stand as well. “Whenever you’re willing. The first trucks leave in a couple of hours.”

Y/N turns to go, but a call from Fury makes him glance over at the man again. “And L/N? Take care. From what I’ve heard, things aren’t exactly smooth sailing over there.” A devil-sharp grin makes its way onto Y/N’s face. “Trust me, Fury. I can take care of myself.” Just as he says that, the room begins to shake. It’s not much, barely noticeable, but still there. Every metal thing in the room begins to contort for just a second, and then the moment passes and they smooth themselves back out again once Y/N disappears from the room.

Y/N heads quickly to his apartment. It’s not far from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, carefully chosen for an easy escape if necessary. In this case, Y/N won’t be running away from anything. Instead, he’ll be running towards something, a risky shot that just might plunge him into a scenario far more dangerous than either Fury or Hill realizes. That’s why they’re sending Y/N, after all. No matter what, he always comes out on top, regardless of how deadly the situation ends up turning. In fact, the darker the scene, the better he works.

Y/N begins to fill a black case with a number of supplies. Clothing, weapons, you name it. Just as the case begins to fill, he pauses, and turns to a gunmetal gray box almost hidden in the back of the room. Y/N kneels before it almost reverently, and lifts the lid. Inside lies a helmet of dark metal, one that would be snug to the skull but extends down, cut away from the eyes like those of the Ancient Greeks. Y/N’s eyes close as he holds the helmet in his hands. It was not his, not at first. No, it belonged to his father. Erik Lehnsherr.

Erik had raised Y/N, both by his presence and his absence. They both shared the same ability to manipulate metal, to raze the earth if they wished. The only difference was that Erik was long gone, and Y/N was forced to stay here today. Y/N isn’t sure if Erik was dead or alive, or if that even mattered. Erik had vanished one night in a cloud of smoke, with the yells of men echoing over the pounding of heels on asphalt. He could be dead, or missing, or simply choosing never to return. In all honesty, it didn’t matter. Y/N remembers the key detail- the look of anguish on Erik’s face as he realized he was losing his family again, one final blow in a sea of countless injuries.

When Y/N leaves for the S.W.O.R.D. encampments, there is a metal helmet hidden in the black case on the seat beside him. He does not let it out of his sight for a second.

The truck is rocking back and forth, heavy tires digging deeply into muddy ruts as it travels along an only semi-paved road on the way to Westview, New Jersey. Y/N sits in the back with a couple of other new arrivals, but he does not speak to them. He rides with these nervously chattering brains and muscle only because he does not wish to stand out amongst the residents of the Westview encampment. Few people know the true importance of Agent Y/N L/N, and it’s best to keep his high level under wraps. This want for secrecy, however, is not enough to force him to converse with the others. Everyone has their limits, he supposes. This is his.

Y/N can sense the Westview encampment before he even looks out the tinted windows to see it. He can feel the boundary pressing in around him, the tendrils of magic practically reaching out to wrap around his brain. Y/N’s power is raw, has always called to others like it. Apparently his magnetism doesn’t just extend to metals. As the truck carries him closer to Wanda’s energy barrier, a pounding in his skull gets worse and worse, feeling like an anvil slamming against his temples.

Y/N does his best to hide any signs of weakness, but he must have a slight sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead or something, because S.W.O.R.D. Director Hayward raises an eyebrow when he greets Y/N outside of the truck. “You alright there, agent? What, you get sick on the way over?” Y/N isn’t in the mood for politicking. “You might consider questioning your driver instead. I think I’ve seen more technical skill in a fifteen year old with a learner’s permit.” As Y/N strides away, he sees a trio of friends exchange glances as they try to hold back laughter. He recognizes them in passing- Woo, Rambeau, Lewis, present in the S.H.I.E.L.D. databases thanks to their experience with Avenger-level threats.

Y/N arrives late in the afternoon, and sits in on a couple of debriefings before night falls over the encampment. S.W.O.R.D. isn’t exactly following through with the laissez-faire attitude they highlighted in their project write-up, but Y/N assumes that a few details were embellished to make sure Fury didn’t come after them. These details would include an accidental send-off of one Monica Rambeau into the so-called Hex, and a later disappearance of a S.W.O.R.D. spy at the hands of Wanda Maximoff when the man had been discovered creeping into Westview via the sewer system.

Clearly embarrassed to present these findings to an extension of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hayward had decided to wait on any further activity regarding Westview until the next day, or at least until things cooled down with Wanda herself and with the tensions already simmering between Director Hayward and the trio of Woo, Rambeau, and Lewis. Y/N waits until action on the encampment is beginning to settle down, when the dark cloak of night will hide his silhouette, and then slips out of his assigned bunk, heading towards the barrier to Westview.

If he thought the call to the magical energy was bad in the truck, it is a thousand times worse here. Yet the pure power of the boundary calls to Y/N even as it pushes him away. Y/N walks until he’s mere inches away from the shimmering scarlet surface. Around him, guards ignore his sudden appearance, their scopes and tech not picking up his figure. Y/N smiles to himself. It’s funny how easy it is to manipulate all that metal. Erik would have loved it.

Y/N turns his focus back to the barrier of Westview. He considers it for a moment, then pulls his father’s helmet from where it was hidden under his coat. He slips it on, and the pain dissipates to almost nothing. What remains instead is that same hunger, that same want for the power right before his eyes. Y/N reaches out a hand to touch the barrier, and his eyes widen for just a second as he makes contact. It is amazing how much is right there for the taking. Without another glance, Y/N steps through the barrier into Westview.

Agent Y/N L/N has been missing for only a couple of hours. Director Hayward issued a statement telling everyone at the encampment that L/N was out on a S.W.O.R.D.- authorized mission, that he will be back soon. Some people believe him, but more notice the crease of fury that has appeared on his brow, or the clench of his knuckles as he storms into the tech center where Darcy Lewis and Monica Rambeau currently watch the live feed of a drone,  one that has just been sent into Westview.

Hayward stomps up to the group, considers the monitor for a second, then nods to an awaiting technician. “Take the shot.” Monica, who had been speaking to Wanda through a microphone, freezes. “What?” Her panic is not enough to stop the missiles from clicking into position on the drone, or to have any impact on Wanda, whose eyes glow red as she shuts down all S.W.O.R.D. control of the drone. Monica’s live feed flickers into static.

Scarlet bands of energy wrap over the drone, and she turns away from it. Wanda does not notice the failsafe missiles still preparing to fire, or notice that anything is wrong at all until the launched missiles crumple in a tangle of wires and screeching metal. Wanda whirls around to see a man in a metal helmet standing across the street, his eyes fixed impassively on her. He releases his clenched fist, letting the buckling metal fall to the ground in tandem with his lowered arm. Wanda stares at him. “Who are you?” Y/N returns her gaze. “Someone who can help you get what you want.”

Scores of S.W.O.R.D. agents are clustering around the Westview barrier, watching as it flashes scarlet, rent apart as a woman steps through. She is dragging a broken drone, which she tosses at their feet. As she speaks, fear and apprehension begin to dawn on the faces of the gathered agents. Monica Rambeau steps forward and attempts to reason with Wanda. Director Hayward realizes that this negotiation tactic isn’t working and tries another option: outright threats.

Yet Wanda Maximoff does not seem concerned by the soldiers pointing guns at her, or at least not until Hayward snaps his fingers and a wave of fully automated weaponry focuses on her. “They’re not humans,” Hayward calls, “You can’t control their minds.” Then another voice echoes out from behind Wanda. “But I can.”

Y/N L/N, clad in his father’s metal helmet, steps through the barrier. He raises his arm, and all scraps of metal crash and crumple together, surrounding Hayward with piles of useless waste. Hayward stares. “Agent L/N? What are you doing?” Y/N laughs, the sound deep in his throat. “I’m making my choice.” Hayward seems taken aback by this betrayal. “What would Fury say?” Then, quieter, “What would your father say?”

An edge of stone hardens in Y/N’s eyes. “I wouldn’t know, because he is gone. Do you know what I remember from that night? I remember my father fighting to get back to me, but he was forced away because of your organizations and petty squabbles, all because you’re scared of people like us. People with powers. So, now that you mention it, I think he would be proud of me. I’m finally continuing what he always wanted.”

Hayward’s eyes narrow. “You would turn your back on S.H.I.E.L.D., on S.W.O.R.D., on everything, for what? A chance to use your powers whenever you wanted? You could do that here, you know.” Y/N appears disinterested. “Where you’ll hold it over me for the rest of my life? I’d rather not.” Hayward glares. “This is your final warning. We will be coming after you.” Y/N raises his arm again, and the gathered S.W.O.R.D. agents flinch away. “Actually, you won’t. I plan to make that very clear.”

Y/N’s eyes glint, and the entire encampment begins to shudder. Hayward turns to his officers as he realizes the unfortunate truth- everything here, the walls, the weapons, the tech, it’s all made of metal. A cold smile spreads onto Y/N’s face as he watches the encampment crash to the ground in a hail of sparks and ruined scrap, weeks worth of research gone in an instant. Y/N turns his back on S.W.O.R.D., holding out a hand to Wanda. “Ready to go back?” She nods, smiling, and accompanies him back inside the barrier.

Wanda is grateful for a new ally. It’s a shame, though, for if she were to see inside Y/N’s head she would see no desire to help her. Instead, what lurks underneath that helmet is an all-consuming want for vengeance, for power, for everything Wanda can give Y/N and even more that he can take from her. Even after just a couple of hours in Westview, Y/N realized that Wanda represents an untapped source of power, one that Y/N could call to himself as easily as drawing breath.

His lip curls when he thinks of Hayward’s last words to him. Mentioning Y/N’s father? That was a low blow. And besides, it didn’t even work. Y/N could laugh to think of how little Hayward knew of Erik Lehnsherr. Had Hayward known a fraction of Erik’s true goals, of all of his attempts to reinstate control to mutants and people with abilities, he would never have allowed Y/N onto his little base in the first place.

What would Erik think of Y/N’s decision? He’d be proud. As Y/N disappears into the shrouded city of Westview, feeling his own powers grow with every second that he spent around that beacon of energy known to the world as Wanda Maximoff, he sends out one last thought to his father. I’m doing what you would have wanted. I’m continuing the cause. S.H.I.E.L.D. had always held Y/N back, but he’s finally broken off all chains. It’s time to begin again. It’s time to create a new world, one where power is given to those deserving of it.

If Wanda Maximoff had any idea what would happen to her perfect little town, she would have run long ago.

wanda maximoff tag list: @mionemymind​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​    

[apenitentialprayer]

The Cult of the Saints: An Outline

The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, by Peter Brown.

Chapter 2: “A Fine and Private Place”

1. Inscriptions on graves stretching over a millennium are “reminders of the massive stability of the Mediterranean care of the dead.” Funerary customs were simply “part and parcel” of the human condition, and so rituals were surprisingly indifferent to labels like “pagan,” “Christian,” “elite,” or “popular.” They were less a religious experience as they were a human experience, with the central aspect in all cases being the importance of the deceased’s family in taking care of the dead. 2. At the same time, the grave became a flashpoint where tensions between communal and familial loyalties could be expressed and played out. Different societies at different times have attempted to deal with the apparent contradiction of loyalty among its constituencies in different ways; some have been content to allow certain members of the dead “to retain a high profile,” while others have attempted to suppress the power of certain deceased and their families. (x) 3. Though such tensions shift the field of conversation from overt theology to more subtle sociological concerns within the community, the language used to discuss these tensions nonetheless remain religiously charged. Granting ammunition to those scholars who use the two-tier popular religion model, writers of this period like Augustine and Jerome attempted to frame undesirable practices as pagan holdovers. 4. This framing of undesirable practices as pagan holdovers has influenced later historians; by taking such claims at face value, scholars like A.H.M. Jones could later look at texts written by these same authors that speak positively of the cult of the saints and frame these texts as the final victory of the vulgar in pressuring the practices of the elite. But such a view fails to hold up under scrutiny. 5. For example, the elites who decried ‘paganisms’ that had infiltrated Christian practice often blamed a phenomenon of mass conversions that had happened in the century since Constantine’s conversion to Christianity. There are two issues with such reasoning; recent archaeological work at Hippo has failed to find evidence of a sudden mass conversion to Christianity among its 4th Century inhabitants; the growth of the community seems to have come from a rising population occurring within a stable Christian community. Second, the practices being described as pagan in origin were often practiced by the elite Christians themselves, and had been practiced by such Christians for generations before. 6. By looking beyond the writings of a select few elites who lived during the generation of Augustine and Jerome, a different picture starts to be formed; this picture forces us to confront the tensions between the universal Church, which articulated itself as a form of extended spiritual kinship, and the biological kin units that were members of this Church. 7. The increased centralization of the Church in late antiquity, combined with the central ritual meal in which all members would participate, allowed the institution to become a form of “artificial kin group.” This is shown by their funerary practices; by the early third century, the Church in Rome had its own cemetery, and the burial of non-Christians within its territory was seen as a breach in kinship ties. Likewise, the Christian Church prayed for its dead specifically, at the exclusion of heathens, apostates, and excommunicates. Likewise, the dates of the deaths of martyrs and bishops were recorded and memorialized as a form of family history. 8. At the same time, the ‘privatization’ of the cult of the saints threatened the universality of the Church; writers like Augustine and Vigilantius criticized devotions centered on ancestral graves and relics for this very reason. There was an anxiety that the rise of feast days dedicated to localized saints could threaten the importance of Easter, and the holy sites in Jerusalem could be neglected in favor of tombs closer to home. 9. By keeping these conflicting interests in mind, the framing of the controversy changes from a Christian intellectual elite trying to suppress a ‘vulgar’ religious practice to a battle between two different Christian elites attempting to position themselves as the proper patrons of the cult; the bishops representing the universal Church, and the families of the venerated deceased. 10. This conflict can be seen in the creation of shrines and the private possessions of relics by wealthy laypersons. Families would often construct shrines to saints with the intention of burying their own dead in proximity to them, depositio ad sanctos. This led to some resentment; the grave of one poor person located outside a chapel had an inscription which said his position outside the church was a result of his poverty, but quips that he nonetheless is “as warm as they” who were laid to rest by the saint. In another case, a woman named Lucilla was rebuked by a deacon for kissing the bone of a martyr that she owned before receiving the Eucharist in her mouth. 11. In Rome itself, tensions between these groups were less severe; the Christian poet Paulinus praised a Roman senator who held a feast at the grave of an ancestor on his death-day, for example. Pope Damascus, likewise, was able to exert influence on prominent members of wealthy Christian families in order to keep a hold on “cemeteries that could so easily have slipped irrevocably out of their control.” Outside of Rome, Ambrose of Milan would play a prominent role in the cooling of this crisis. After the relics of Saints Gervasius and Protasius were discovered in 385, Ambrose was swift to appropriate them for himself; he collected the corpses and placed them in a basilica of his own creation, “inseparably link[ing them] to the communal liturgy.” 12. Ambrose had neither created the practice of saint veneration, nor did he simply accept cult veneration as something outside his control; by linking relics to particular churches and basilicas throughout his territory, Ambrose had essentially “rewired” the practice by connecting it to places of public worship. Augustine’s writings in favor of the saints would perform a similar function; whereas their intercession was previously a largely private affair, his recording of ‘authentic’ miracles by their intercession made these stories the public domain of all Christians. 13. In the generation directly after Augustine, the ambivalence towards the cult of the saints had shifted; figures like Gregory of Tours and Paulinus were greatly enthusiastic with the celebrations of the saints. Two factors may have played a part in this; first was the economic situation in western Europe; even during Augustine’s term as bishop, his community controlled more wealth than he ever did as an individual, and in fact struggled to find ways to spend it. 14. While much of the Mediterranean struggled with financing its ecclesiastical ambitions, Italy, Gaul, and North Africa seemed to have an abundance of wealth; whereas Alexandria “had to choose between shirts for then poor and the itch to build,” western Europe did not have the surge in population that made it difficult to fund reliefs for the poor and sick. And, without the traditional ways of spending wealth for the community, resentment for their possession of the wealth could fester. The cult of the saints allowed the Church to avoid that; by publicly funding shrines and hosting feasts and ceremonies at them, the money could be funneled back to the community. 15. Furthermore, the cult of the saints helped to redefine urban life in the Roman world. Before, the city was divided into citizens (men belonging to the city) and non-citizens (women, children, the poor, and visitors). Most of the time, these latter two categories were allowed to remain in the city, but at times of war or famine they were forcibly expelled; the line of who belonged was drawn. With the rise of the cult of the saints, both women and the poor were able to participate in public life like never before. 16. The most dramatic expression of women’s involvement would be the processions on feast days, which scandalized even some of the clergy; men and women, married and unmarried, walked and mingled together during these celebrations. Later, under Islamic rule, there are records of young men coming to such festivals specifically to see the women. In some cases, illicit sexual activity did occur - Augustine had one in one of the basilicas of Carthage before his conversion to Christianity. 17. Beyond the physical mixing of the sexes, the cult of the saints allowed women to partake in situations that were not dominating by men in the traditional sense. Most shrines were located in cemeteries, where the regulation between the sexes was more lax. Beyond that, however, the escape from the “rigidities of her urban setting” could mean a complete escape from the masculine presence in its entirety. One account of a pilgrim details her walking a circuit of shrines in which even the male saint being venerated did not act in the traditionally Roman masculine form. (x) 18. The poor, meanwhile, often congregated around shrines, as they were heavily associated with charity and gift-giving. This was part of a larger shift to a postclassical society in which the citizen/non-citizen divide was replaced with the rich and poor as the primary separator; the rich were expected to provide service to the poor through a religiously charged expression of patron-client relationship. The poor were not to be thrown out “at the first touch of famine,” but were essential parts of this system of patronage. 19. The inclusion of the poor as social recipients was mirrored by the inclusion of women as givers. This development allowed women to participate in public life at a time where public laws were still forbidding them to participate in politics; under the Christian worldview, charity was an act of mercy, and not an act of politics. Women could therefore visit the sick, feed the poor, and fully participate as patrons of shrine-based ceremonies without breaching this ban. 20. These developments hopefully show that the development of the cult of the saints was not the result of a “vulgar,” half-pagan majority forcing their will on a reluctant, educated Christian elite. Rather, it was a development within the Christian community that created intracommunal tensions and resulted in a tradition that broke from traditional paganism.