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yeenybeanies · 4 years ago

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Slaying Monsters

i started this three months ago, and decided it was time to finish it. i’ve been wanting to write a piece with dev & some other gang members for a while now i didn’t proofread it yet don’t @ me

red dead redemption | charles smith & devin clarke ( oc )

3,728 words

language, blood, & animal death warnings

thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon | ko-fi

Unattended bags are always tempting to a borrower. It’s partly survival and partly curiosity that draws the little beings to bags and boxes and other such vessels that contain stuff. Ideally, that stuff would be useful.

Such is Devin’s idea upon approaching a lone saddlebag. They’ve been watching it for a while now. It has remained unbothered and undisturbed atop a tree stump for over an hour. Surely there’s bound to be something good inside, what with the many members of the Van Der Linde gang constantly coming and going. And surely, whatever those contents may be, small amounts won’t be missed.

The coast is clear. The camp is preoccupied in tending to the daily duties; no one is paying the bag any mind. Devin makes a break for it, keeping low as they run through the grass, to the stump. They pause at the base and give the camp a quick look, pleased to see that no one has taken notice of their presence. For just a moment, they allow themself a prideful smirk, then they refocus on the task at hand: climb the stump and get in the bag. The former is hardly a challenge; deep cracks in the bark provide handholds enough that the borrower doesn’t need their hook or climbing equipment to scale it. Despite the strap and buckle keeping the bag shut, Devin is small enough to slip through a gap and reach the interior.

The space is dark and cramped, but some light filters in through the gap they’d entered. The first thing Devin notices is the smell of leather and sweat, and fabric beneath their feet. Clothing. It’s best not to take anything from these; missing scraps from a shirt or a pair of pants would definitely be noticed. Deeper down, past the clothes, another smell becomes more prominent: something earthy and floral. That could be useful. Devin crawls through the mounds of fabric, navigating the musty space, until their hand brushes something soft. A bit more pawing around reveals it to be an umbel of little flowers. Intrigued, they grasp the stem and pull the plant into the light for better inspection.

“ What the hell…. ” White flowers, jagged leaves…. Devin scrunches their nose, confused. Is their plant identification knowledge failing them? Or is the owner of this bag an idiot?

Pondering is short-lived. Footsteps approach from the outside––a human. Devin’s heart speeds up. They drop the plant and dive for cover within the clothes just as the bag is lifted. It sways in the air with the human’s long strides, most disorienting. When the swaying stops, the borrower remains hidden, knowing full-well that they are not safe yet. There’s an exchange of words overhead, a brief moment of stillness, and then the world starts tumbling. Devin clutches hard onto the clothing concealing them. Much to their chagrin, this particular jostling is painfully familiar. They’re on a horse.

Somehow, being in a saddlebag is worse than being stuck under a hat.

Fuck.

Suppressing the sickening feeling in their stomach and the myriad of emotions swarming their brain, Devin fights against the horrible shaking and pushes their way out of the fabric folds. Climbing is significantly harder, but they still press on, going so far as to use their knife and hook for more purchase on the tough leather. Slowly but surely, they manage to reach the opening they’d initially climbed through and peek out. The wind whips and frays their hair and makes it difficult to see much of anything. They catch glimpses of the ground speeding below at breakneck speed, and at the horse’s white-and-grey spotted pelt.

Most surprisingly, and to some relief, though, is the rider. The long, black hair and the big, sawed-off shotgun identify the man: “Charles!”

Alas, their voice is unheard over the wind. Devin growls, frustrated, and retreats back into the relative safety of the saddlebag. There’s no use trying to get his attention right now. They’re just going to have to endure the bouncing and the shaking until he slows down. They can only pray that it’s soon.

———

Only an hour or so elapsed by the time the galloping slowed, though, to Devin, it felt like a lifetime. Despite their queasiness (courtesy of the bumpy ride), the borrower pushes free of the mountains of fabric and scrambles up the leathery interior, to the opening. They pause at the rim and focus on swallowing the bile in their throat, then, once it’s clear, level the back of the human’s head with a hard stare.

They breathe in until their chest burns, and let out the loudest yell they can muster: “CHARLES!”

The man jumps in his saddle and whips his head around, one hand to the shotgun on his hip. His eyes scan the horizon behind him, well over Devin’s head.

“Down here. Hey!” They wave an arm, trying to ignore how foolish they feel. Even after months of being around Arthur, it still goes against everything they know as a borrower to flag down a human.

Were the situation different—were Devin not currently fighting some ferocious nausea—they might find it comical how Charles’s expression changes. First he’s struck with recognition, eyes still on the horizon, and then the color in his face pales with realization and horror. Slowly, as if he were making every effort to delay the inevitable find, his gaze lowers to the gap under the saddle bag flap and the little borrower peeking out.

“Devin?” It still takes him a moment to process their presence, and then he’s all but falling out of the saddle (much to his horse’s displeasure). After he’s got his feet on the ground and his balance under control, the man unbuckles the saddlebag lid and flips it open. The color is rapidly returning to his face in a heated flush. “M-Miss Clarke, I didn’t know you were—why are you in my bag?” His hand nears them, but Devin waves it off.

“Don’t. I might puke. It’s a marvel that I haven’t already.” They try to suppress a shudder. “I didn’t know this was your bag. I just saw it sitting back at the camp, untouched for some time. Thought I could get something useful.”

Charles grimaces sympathetically and lets his hand come to rest on his horse’s flank. He isn’t thrilled to hear that someone was rummaging through his belongings for things to scavenge, but such behavior is to be expected from a borrower, he figures. It does make him feel a little better to know that Devin hadn’t been targeting him specifically.

“I should take you back to camp. Arthur would kill me if something happened to you.” Never mind the berating Charles would give himself. He might not know Devin as well as Arthur does, but their charm is infectious. They are well on their way to having another human wrapped around their teeny tiny finger.

“I’d like that. Eventually. But I don’t think I can take much more galloping right now. Riding in Arthur’s hat was better than riding in here.” The borrower leans over the leather with a quiet groan. The nausea is subsiding, albeit slowly. They do stiffen just a little when Charles lightly rubs a knuckle to their back, but the gentle pressure draws another, more content groan from their tiny lungs.

“I'm alright,” they say after a minute. They glance up at Charles, offering him a weak but grateful smile, and then look to their surroundings. It’s not anywhere they recognize, but that’s not surprising. “So where are we going? ”

“Well, I was going out foraging,” the man says. “Now that you’re here, though…” He trails off, uncertain.

“Oh! Speaking of foraging–––” the borrower vanishes back into the bag, leaving Charles perplexed. Once they emerge again, they hold up a sprig of white flowers. “What the hell are you doing with this?”

Charles squints at the plant, then raises his brow in realization. “You know what that is?”

The surprise in his voice is a little insulting. Devin scrunches their nose. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Smith. I’ve lived in the wild most of my life. I know what water hemlock is.”

He holds his hands up and offers an apologetic shrug. “That’s actually what I was going to forage for. I found some while I was out with Javier the other day, but I didn’t have time to collect more.”

“Okay.” Devin inspects the flowers, twirling the stem between their hands. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re going to do with it. Are you planning to poison someone? Is it that Micah guy?”

That earns them a snort. If only. “No. I use it on my knives and arrowheads. That and oleander sage. Gives them an extra kick.”

Devin frowns, just a smidge disappointed. “I suppose that’s a good alternative use. I used to do the same with my knife when I could find hemlock.” They drop the sprig and watch it fall to the ground far below. “It’d be so easy to poison Micah though…” They say so only half-jokingly.

“Don’t I know it.” Charles shares the sentiment, but he shakes his head. Much as he’d like to see that snake gone, it’s not his place to do anything about his presence. Yet.

Now that the nausea has passed (for the most part), the borrower pulls themself from the bag and climbs up the saddle, making their way up to the seat. “I’m okay now,” they say. “We’ve already come this far. We might as well go get that hemlock. I can use it too.”

Charles looks a little uncertain, but when he opens his mouth to protest, Devin levels him with a hard stare that makes him think twice. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you ride up here with me?” he offers. “It’d probably be a bit smoother.”

Smoother would certainly be welcomed. Devin nods and climbs onto the man’s hand when it’s brought down to their level. His skin is warm and rough, similar to Arthur’s hands. Unlike Arthur, though, he carries them with greater caution. Devin pats his thumb.

“Relax. I’m not made of paper.”

“Er… right.”

They can’t fault him for his caution. Charles has significantly less experience handling Devin than does Arthur. If anything, it’s comforting to know that he is actively trying to keep them comfortable.

He grabs the saddlehorn with his free hand and hauls himself up. First he brings them to his lap, and then, after thinking, lifts them higher to his shoulder, where they climb off. Devin sits just outside of his beaded necklace and takes a handful of his hair.

“Is this going to bother you?”

“No, it’s fine. Use what you need. Let me know if you start to slip.”

Once he’s sure Devin is secure––as secure as they can be on his shoulder––he spurs his horse gently in the ribs. They set off at a slow canter, something a bit less bumpy than the gallop before. Charles is correct: it’s more comfortable riding on his shoulder than it was in the bag, if only a little bit. Devin resigns themself to the reality that they will likely never enjoy travel on horseback, but this is at least tolerable.

Charles is silent for the most part, which doesn’t bother Devin. They find themself occupied looking at the scenery. From their usual vantage point on the ground, they don’t much get to appreciate views of mountains and trees and vast prairies. Even on the off occasion that they hitch a ride on Arthur’s person, they often take to hiding in his scarf, thus dashing any chances of catching the view.

Despite the ride’s discomfort, Devin finds themself enjoying this. They are grateful, though, when Charles tugs the reins and brings the horse to a gradual stop. He spares them a glance when they sigh.

“You doing okay?”

“Just peachy.” Devin gives the shoulder beneath them a pat. He dismounts rather awkwardly, trying not to jostle them too much.

It strikes Devin that they have not just one, but two humans invested in their safety and comfort. It leaves them with mixed feelings fluttering about in their chest.

Best not to dwell on it right now.

Walking is a little choppy at first, what with Charles figuring out how best to adjust his gait with Devin on his shoulder, but, once he figures out a good rhythm, it smooths out. He steps carefully, eyes scanning the ground for the plants he seeks. Devin watches too, though they’re less focused on the hemlock and more interested in… well, everything else. Hemlock is but one plant in a new area full of things to explore.

“Hey. Let me down.” Devin gives the man’s hair a light tug, drawing his attention back to them. Though he can’t fully look at them from where they sit, he still furrows his brow in an uncertain expression meant for them. Devin rolls their eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a big boy, Charles; I walk around on my own every day.”

“I’m sure, but–––”

“Either you let me down or I’m jumping.” That seems to work. Charles acquiesces with a reluctant sigh and gingerly helps the borrower down to the ground. He remains crouched after they hop off of his hand, still looking unsure. Devin waves up at him. “Go on. Keep doing what you were doing. I’m fine.”

“Yell if you get into trouble,” he says, voice stern. Devin chooses not to take offense.

“Sure thing.” They part with a final wave and dart off into the grass, out of the human’s view. Still he hesitates, but he does eventually get up and carry on with his task. Devin breathes out an exasperated breath.

Having the care and concern of two humans is endearing, yes, but it can also be annoying. Devin might need to have a stern talk with the both of them if they keep this overprotective behavior up. They aren’t a child.

Charles does not feel good about just leaving Devin on the ground, but it wouldn’t have been right of him to hold them like some helpless creature. They’ve reminded him twice now that this is the life they live; he makes a mental note to try and be more respectful of that. After all, he reasons that he wouldn’t much appreciate it if someone else tried to keep him from doing the things he does every day. He isn’t palm-sized, but he imagines Devin still doesn’t care to be doted over. So he bites back his unease. He came out here for water hemlock. That’s what he’s going to find. Devin will be okay.

Following the nearby creek, Charles begins his search. He tests the soil beneath him with his foot, feeling its spring, its moisture, then starts scanning. Familiar white flowers speckle the banks. A faint smile creeps onto his lips. There’s plenty here for him to make use of.

–– –– ––

Devin pushes through the tall foliage, looking high and low for anything that might be useful. They find medicinal herbs, and spices for seasoning. Mentally they commend Charles; he sure knows where to look when it comes to valuable natural resources. Some of these plants are a rare find back at Horseshoe Outlook. They pick and take as much as they can carry, stuffing their bag full.

All is going fine. It’s going great, even. They’re making their way back down to the ground, munching on a sweet, juicy raspberry. The red fruit soaks their hands, their face, and their clothes, making them appear as though they’d just mauled something. It makes them snicker, thinking how Charles will react to see them like this. Their good humor dies suddenly, though. Devin feels a chill rush down their spine. They pause, alert, head on a swivel.

In an instant, everything seems to slow down. Devin drops to the ground as a pink, gaping mouth sails just a hair’s breadth over their head. It snaps shut, long fangs closing around air, and the scaly head of a rattlesnake retreats back to its coils, gearing up for another strike. Berry forgotten, Devin pulls their knife and their hook out. They stare the snake down just as it does them. It’s big––not just to them, but by rattlesnake standards. It’s a big fucking snake. The borrower’s heart races in their chest, but they don’t run, nor do they back down.

–– –– ––

Charles takes several clippings of water hemlock and carefully stows them in his satchel. He doesn’t take everything that he sees, not wanting to clear the area of the deadly plant, but he’s pleased with his haul so far. Already he has enough to coat his knives twice over, so he thinks that he could probably give Arthur and Javier some as well, so as not to waste it. He takes a few more stalks, then stands and stretches his back, arms held out to the side.

“That’s enough,” he mumbles to himself. He turns back to where he’d left Devin and scans the ground. Their tiny footprints are just barely visible in the dirt, and disappear into the grass.

“Miss Clarke?” he calls, taking a knee near the footprints. They don’t answer. “I think I’m just about done here, so I’m ready to go when you––woah––!” The man jumps back as a rattlesnake head pushes through the grasses. Layers of alarm spike in his brain: it’s a big-ass snake; Devin isn’t here; it has blood on its face; Did it eat Devin––?

“Just ‘Devin,’ Charles,” says the tiny voice. Charles flinches again. He swears he heard that voice coming from the snake. Did it eat them? He stares on in confusion, pondering whether or not he needs to cut the damn thing open, when its head flops to the side. Hauling it along is the little borrower.

“Oh my god. Are you––did the snake–––?” He stammers over his words, which surprises Devin. Arthur stammers here and there, but Charles is always so clear and calm when he speaks. They glance down at themself, noting the red stain and slick coating their hands, their head, their clothes…

“Ah! It’s okay! This isn’t––” they drop the snake and wave their hands, trying to placate the man, “I’m okay! This is all snake blood! And raspberry juice.”

Charles still looks horrified, glancing between the borrower and the rattlesnake. He does note that the blood seems to be coming from a deep wound on its head, right between its vacant eyes.

“You… killed it?” He gathers himself on his knees and leans forward, gingerly prodding the lifeless body.

“It tried to kill me first,” they say, sounding almost indignant. “Kinda lucky, though. I haven’t taken down a rattlesnake in a while. I can use it’s fangs and its venom.”

Charles lifts the carcass from the ground, testing its weight in his hands. His eyebrows shoot up at its heft. When he stands with its head at eye-level, its rattle-tipped tail still touches the ground.

It’s a big fucking snake.

“You… killed this monster?” He can’t hide the disbelief––or perhaps it’s awe––in his eyes as he looks back down to Devin.

They huff back up at him, trying not to take offense. “Yeah. I did,” they say, arms crossed over their chest. Charles waves his free hand.

“I don’t––I don’t mean to doubt you Miss––er, Devin. Sorry, I’m just… impressed.” Impressed would be an understatement.

Devin rolls their eyes. They adjust their bag and their knife, then trudge on towards Charles. Before they can ask him to, he stoops down and lowers a hand for them to climb onto. Once he has them at his level, Charles can see their annoyance clear as day.

“I tell you––both you and Arthur, you need to understand that I’m not helpless. I’ve lived my whole life out here. Half of it’s been alone. So spare me your patronizing looks and comments.” There’s venom in their eyes, in their words, as present as that in the venom in the snake’s fangs.

Charles has no hand free to hold up, but he does dip his head apologetically. “You’re right. I admit, I underestimated you. And I’m sorry for it. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and it’s a learning process.”

Devin’s features soften a little. They sigh and run a hand through their blood-slicked hair. It’s gross, but it’s not the first time they’ve been covered in blood. It won’t be the last time either.

“I like you, Charles. A lot. It’s a learning process for me too.” They offer him a half smile, though it does look a bit daunting with their red visage. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

The man grimaces. “Think you want to… wash off first? Arthur is going to have a fit if he sees you like this.”

Devin looks down to themself, returning the grimace. “...yeah, probably. What I can, at least.” The blood wasn’t going to come out of their clothes without any soap, but they could wash their skin and hair off. Maybe they could hide their outerwear from Arthur, too. They had their underclothing on that wouldn’t show bloodstains.

Rattlesnake draped around his neck, Charles carries the borrower down to the creek and crouches at the bank. He brings his hands down for them to hop off and clean themself off. When they start stripping their outerwear, he turns his head to give them some privacy, and waits for them to draw his attention again when they’re done. Damp, but cleaner, and left in their long underclothes, Devin climbs back into Charles’ hands and scurries up to his shoulder, right next to the snake carcass.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” they say. They give his shoulder a pat.

Charles stands, still a bit awkward with his passenger, but less so than before. “Pearson is gonna love this snake,” he says, tongue in cheek.

Devin bristles and glares daggers at the man. “This snake is my prize. That man is getting none of it. You can have some of it if you want, since you’re carrying it home, but I’m not sharing it with anyone else.” There’s that venom again.

Charles snorts. He pulls himself into his saddle and spurs his horse, gently pushing her to start trotting. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Devin.”

#g/t #g/t fiction #g/t writing #rdr #g/t rdr #charles smith #devin clarke #hyena ocs #i'm not in love with this but i'm tired of looking at it #& i wanted to finish it so i can feel less bad about starting something new #hyena writes

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babyloposts · 4 years ago

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RoseBud

My Hero Academia Gang AU

Pairing(s): Sero Hanta x fem!reader

Warnings: language, drug use, explicit content, sexual themes, gang imagery, violence

Summary: a simple crush on a guy quickly turns south as you become wrapped up in an unsafe life of lies, drugs, and violence. What happens when you become a key player in a war between to rival gangs and have to deal with a complicated love life all at the same time.

—————————————————

0.4

The tattoo shop was small and almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the glowing neon sign in the window that read “Fuck Off!”. That sure is welcoming. Sero glanced at you, his signature smirk plastered on his face as you approached the shop.

“Tattoo shop?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Figured you should get something you like, and will remember.” Sero chuckled and continued his walk to the back of the shop. It was cozy and surprisingly quiet. Not much business tonight even though it was the start of the weekend. You weren’t complaining though, it’d be nice to get some alone time with Sero.

You both neared a back room that was separated from the rest of the shop by beads that hung from the door frame.

“Is... anybody here?” You asked your guide hesitantly. He smiled at you and winked before going to another door behind the partition and banging on it hard.

“JESUS FUCKING-” You heard a voice yell from behind the door. Startled by the abrupt opening of the door, you stepped back a bit as a pink head popped from behind the wooden door. “Bakugou I swear if-” She began, but was cut off when she saw Sero’s smiling face.

“Not Bakugou. Better.” He chided and she came fully out of the back room. You were able to take in her appearance fully. She had short pink hair pulled up into a messy bun displaying her overgrown undercut. She was wearing a low cut tank top that showed off the top of her lace bra and tattoos that littered her skin underneath. And she was clothed from waist down in comfy oversized sweatpants and Nike slides. Lowkey she had looked like she just woke up or something, but her striking features and pierced skin was a beautiful contrast.

“Hanta? The fuck you doing here without the Creep Squad?” She laughed and pulled him in for a quick hug.

“‘Sup Hatsume. And it’s just me today. I was reprieved from my duties a bit early and decided to stop by. I hope I’m not, uh, bothering you?” He looked her up and down and she placed her hands on her hips and smirked.

“Never. Out of all of the hoodlums I deal with you’re probably my favorite. Well, aside from Izu~” she gushed before finally turning her attention towards you, giving you a once over. “And who’s this?”

“This is y/n. She wants to get a tattoo so I thought I’d bring her to the best damn tattoo artist I know.”

“Hanta please. Don’t flatter me. Especially before you tell me what you want.” Her gaze suddenly turned cold and was staring daggers into the tall man. He put his hands up in protest.

“I promise it’s nothing out of the ordinary, usual stuff. But really, she wants to get inked. You free?”

Mei sighed. “Of course I’m free.” She threw her hands up in the air and stomped off toward the main area of the shop leaving you and Sero a few paces behind her.

“I know how she seems, but don’t worry. I trust Hatsume to do all of my ink even though she is a bit... theatrical. Second only to Mina of course.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah it must be the pink hair or something.” You quip as you make your way to the main area where Mei is already putting on some gloves and prepping her work station.

“So do you know what you want to get done?” Mei raises her brow at you questioningly. In all honesty you hadn’t thought about it. You never explicitly told Sero that you wanted to get a tattoo. He just volunteered you for it, but you weren’t gonna decline. It would be nice to get some ink that you could look at and love.

“I don’t know. I’m still kind of deciding.” You chuckled nervously, embarrassed at the fact that you didn’t have an answer for her. This seemed to annoy Hatsume more than she already was, but she didn’t let it show in her voice.

“Okay...” she trailed off and swiveled in her chair to reach for a photo album tucked beneath her work station. It looked like it had started collecting dust. “Well you can look through my portfolio, let me know if you see something you like. Or you can suggest something and I can freehand.” She smirked suggestively. You hoped that freehand didn’t mean she would do anything obscene.

You flipped through the book looking closely at some of the designs. Hatsume’s work was beautiful, but that was evident from seeing Sero’s tattoos. The designs were all nice, but none of them really spoke to you. You sighed quietly under your breath and paused on a page that had some flower designs on it. Your breath hitched as you felt a presence over your shoulder. Sero was behind you looking at the flower on the page you had stopped on.

“That’s nice.” He smiled, “it wouldn’t suit you though. Roses are definitely your flower.” He suggested and went to sit down at the waiting area towards the front of the shop.

Roses you thought. You already had a rose tattoo, and it’s not like you didn’t like it, but you wish you hadn’t gotten it when you did. Maybe if you got another one now, you could start to appreciate the flower as you once did.

“A rose?” Hatsume smirked at you. “Very romantic flower. I think it’d suit you.” She looked hopeful and you nodded. She smiled to herself and began to sketch out an idea.

“Ooh!” She squealed. “And I have the perfect idea. Do you know where you want your tattoo to go?” You shook your head solemnly. Again, you hadn’t really thought about it. You thought Hatsume would have been annoyed, but she looked ecstatic. “Perfect I know just the place. I’ve always wanted to do a cutesy underboob tattoo.”

Underboob? That seemed a little out of your comfort zone, but to be fair this whole situation was out of your comfort zone. You out with a guy? Unheard of to the masses.

Reluctantly you agreed and Hatsume took you back behind the beaded-off area.

“You can take your top off back here and go in that room. I’ll go get my stuff, okay?” She happily skipped back out to retrieve her tattoo gun and you followed her instructions to strip.

The room was small and the warm toned walls were barren yet inviting. You got up on the table that you vaguely remember laying on a few years back and positioned yourself so Mei had easy access to stick you.

Hatsume barged into the small room, startling you. Quickly you scrambled to use your hands to cover yourself, but clearly she had already seen.

“Girl, don’t be shy. Just think of me as your doctor. It’s a no judgement zone in here.” She reassured you and you calmed down from the mini heart attack you just had. “Plus your boobs are super nice. My A Cups could never.” She whined eliciting a laugh from you. Hatsume turned out to be pretty cool.

Once she was all set up and you were numb and had the design was applied your anxiety was quelled by the overwhelming feeling of pain that you almost forgot.

“Damn I forgot how much this shit hurt.” You laughed in an effort to not tear up. “Makes sense that I was black out drunk the last time.” Hatsume laughed as she continued the process trying to be as gentle as she possibly could (not much change was made, but it’s the thought that counts).

Hatsume had begun the finishing touches and clean up details when you started to hear a bit of commotion outside. You could hear two distinct voices aside from Sero’s coming from the front of the store. It sounded like yelling and it quickly approached you. Hatsume seemed unbothered by it until an angry figure popped its head into the doorway of the “private” room.

“Hatsume!” A buff blond guy yelled as he entered. It took everything in Mei to not accidentally stick you with the gun.

“Bakugou what the fuck!?” Hatsume yelled and whipped her head around. “Do you not understand the concept of a private room?”

“Hatsume I’m not in the mood. I just spent the last half hour getting yelled at for Sero up and leaving without telling anyone and I have to do his little chores now. So give me what Hawks wants so I can get the fuck out of here.” The blond man rants and raves all the while you’re just kind of sitting there trying to cover your tits from the glaring eyes of the crabby intruder.

When his gaze met yours his eyes went wide. You didn’t know what he was expecting to find Hatsume doing back here, but tattooing a half naked girl probably wasn’t it. His eyes snapped back to Hatsume and the malicious glare came back as if he wasn’t phased at all.

“Don’t come in here fucking yelling at me to get you something. One I’m with a client and two I’m doing Hawks favor with all this so don’t demand shit from me. You’ll get it when I’m done.” She seethed, her words laced with venom. She was clearly not a fan of Blondie over here.

At the commotion you heard another set of footsteps approaching quickly. Just great.

“Bakugou calm down.” A taller redhead popped into your view trying to get the angry man from berating the woman who was supposed to be dressing your wound. When he made eye contact with you his whole face lit up red as hell and he quickly turned away to spare you whatever dignity you had left. “Uh... j-just let her finish man.”

“No fucking way. I wasn’t even supposed to be working today, but fucking IcyHot bailed and I just had to chase Tape Face around the whole fucking world. I’m ready to get my shit and go.”

“You do know that this is my business, right? I have an obligation to my clients. Not Hawks, you, or any other goons that try and threaten me. So you will wait.” Hatsume seethed. This set Bakugou off. His large hand came down to grip Mei’s upper arm and pull her in close. His eyes spoke only violence and Hatsume’s an intense fear. This guy was not to be played with. If he was this bad you couldn’t imagine what this Hawks guy was like.

Bakugou was fixing his mouth to spew out another threat, but before he could finish you were already interjecting. “I can wait!” You catch everyone’s attention again; although rather embarrassing.

“What?” Bakugou glares now at you, his stare burning into your skin.

“I said I can wait. Go ahead and do what you need to do Hatsume. No need to cause trouble.” Hatsume’s eyes soften and she shakes out of Bakugou’s death grip.

“Fine.” She sighs and stalks off to the back room she had started in earlier that night. “Bring the car around back. I got everything ready for you.”

Bakugou nodded and he and Red exited out the way they had came in.

Finally you felt like you could breath again. There were no longer so many eyes on you and the tension within the room finally dissipated. This definitely wasn’t how you expected your first date with Sero to go.

A/N: I’m backkk. Had a bit of writers block and I was away visiting family last weekend but I had a free day today and got lots of good ideas about the story while writing this. So yeah ALSO I know in the show Hatsume has big boobs, but everyone has big boobs in My Hero so lemme change it up a bit 😩😩 anyways I hope you guys enjoyed and uploads should start becoming more frequent (I hope :))

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Masterlist

#babylowrites #bnha x black!reader #bnha #mha #mha x female reader #bnha bakugou #black writers #black girls #mha bakugo x reader #sero x female reader #sero hc #sero x reader #mha sero #bnha sero #sero hanta x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha hatsume #my hero academia #bnha kirishima

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ryosei-hime · 4 years ago

Text

Date Night

Continuation of Personal Space. Husk spends the day getting ready for his date with Angel and the rest of the night being a mess. Can also be found over on AO3.

Husk groaned as he rolled off the sofa in the foyer, bottles clattering as he disturbed them. He dragged a paw down his face before a huge yawn escaped. A sound of agony followed as he stretched his back, every vertebrae popping and shifting. That damn thing was not meant for sleeping on. A feather floated down to the floor and he followed it’s trajectory back to the sofa to find more littering the cushions. Oh, great, molting. That’s what he needed.

He checked his phone for the time and saw a message from Angel. It was a picture of him splayed out on the sofa with his mouth open, a bottle clutched in one hand, and a leg over the back. He’d captioned it “Sleeping Beauty” followed by one of those winking kissy faces.

Husk rolled his eyes as he picked himself up off the ground. If he found that damn thing on his social media, he’d kill him. Nobody had any damn privacy anymore. He texted back a threat and searched around his empties for any remnants - hair of the dog and all - until a static-filled voice interrupted him.

“Good afternoon, Husker.”

“Yeah, what’d you want?”

“Simply passing through, my friend.”

Husk’s lip curled. Every time Alastor called him friend it caused a visceral reaction. Fuckin asshole. He’d rather the fucker just treat their relationship as it was instead of trying to paint a polite picture. You could put lipstick on a pig but it was still a fuckin pig.

“But good luck on your little date tonight.”

Alastor’s smile turned sharper and his eyes more sinister. God dammit, Angel. Couldn’t he keep his fuckin mouth shut? Husk just gave Alastor the finger as he moved on with his day. He checked to make sure Angel hadn’t blabbed about this anywhere else. But it must have just been good old fashioned word of mouth.

Actually, he’d barely posted at all today which was weird for Angel. Probably knew he couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he did. Husk sighed and dragged himself to his room. He had a few hours to get himself together enough for this. Plenty of time to go over everything that would go wrong in minute detail.

It was Nifty who helped him get ready. Of course, she knew, too. Whole damn hotel knew. She insisted on helping him get dressed up in an old suit and tie. He didn’t see the need to bother. Wasn’t like he wore clothes regularly and they wouldn’t be on him long.

But it made Nifty happy to get him ready, giving him advice so fast he couldn’t take half of it in even if he’d wanted to. He smiled at her as she fixed his tie and stood back with her hands on her hips.

“You look great! Angel’s gonna love it. I’m so excited for you!”

“At least someone is,” Husk muttered, resisting the urge to loosen the tie a bit.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Ah, I’m no good at this stuff. You know that.”

“Don’t worry! Just let Angel help you. He’s great at it.” She started dusting Husk’s own fur off his suit as it shed, her efforts only making it worse. “And he really likes you!”

“Yeah, I know,” Husk replied. “Thanks Nifty.”

Nifty gave him a big hug and he returned it gently. Her slight frame made him extra careful with her.

“I have to get back to cleaning, but I hope you enjoy your date!”

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

He raised a hand in a slight wave as she hurried off. He decided to spend the rest of the day waiting for Angel at the bar. That turned out to be a mistake. Everyone had something to say. They wished him luck. They cooed and sighed like it was some big fuckin show. Their words were supportive but somehow they only made Husk more nervous, maybe even a little bitter. This shit seemed so easy for everyone else.

It had been easy for him once, too.

Eventually the foyer emptied out as it got late. Husk knew Angel would be returning for him any minute. He finally had to loosen the tie around his neck and decided to fix himself a drink to calm his nerves, but just as he reached under the bar, the doors opened.

His wings lifted slightly as Angel made his entrance. Husk wasn’t the only one who’d gotten dressed up. Angel’d gotten his hair done or some kind of extensions or something. Fuck if Husk knew. He wore a strapless pink number, the skirt covered with some kinda fake flower and vine decorations. Looked like it was supposed to be a train, but he was too tall for it to do much but brush the floor as he approached. Husk actually thought he looked beautiful all dolled up like that. Maybe he should tell him. Instead, what came out of his mouth was:

“What’re we going to the fuckin prom?”

“I dunno. Will you be doin’ my taxes when we’re done?” Angel shot back with a grin.

He reached across the bar and fixed his tie. Dammit, he’d choke to death before he got through this night. Angel didn’t release his tie right away. He used it to pull him closer for a quick kiss.

“Ready?”

No.

“Yeah, sure.”

Husk came out from behind the bar and let Angel take his arm. He had no idea where they were going, but he just let Angel take the lead. Like Nifty had said, he was good at this. When they arrived at their destination, Husk was a little grateful she’d insisted on dressing him up. Angel had chosen some high end, classy joint.

They got a lot of stares on the way to their table. He knew Angel was the center of attention wherever he went, but he didn’t like being caught in the crossfire of all those lustful gazes. A growl sounded low in his chest before he could stop it, his teeth bared. The stares become a little less overt.

Angel put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t scare my fans, Husk. I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m not. People need to mind their own fuckin business.”

Without thinking about it, Husk pulled a chair out for Angel. At least he remembered something from the old days.

“Whatta gentleman,” Angel joked, batting his lashes at him as he sat.

Husk gave his chair a rough shove up to the table, taking his own with a grumble. When he looked up, Angel had his chin on his hands, fingers laced to make a cradle, staring at him with such a soft look it took Husk’s breath away. He made himself busy with the menu. As the waiter approached, Angel sat up suddenly.

“Oh, I forgot. This place is Italian. Like Italian Italian. But I can order for ya, if ya want.”

Angel looked quite proud of himself and Husk hated to burst his bubble.

“I got it.”

He gave the waiter his order in perfect Italian and looked back to Angel as the waiter turned to him. Angel stared at him in shock for a moment before stumbling through his own order. He waited until the waiter had disappeared before going off.

“You know Italian? Holy shit, Husk! I been dirty talkin ya all this time at the bar and you knew?!”

Husk hid his smirk behind his menu, trying not to laugh. Angel pushed it away and stared him down, motioning with two fingers between them.

“You look at me, look at me!”

Husk looked up, still grinning. Angel’s face had gone stern, and he held his gaze for a moment before simply uttering,

“You bastard.”

Husk let himself laugh a little and teased him.

“You get real creative when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Angel just smirked and crossed his second set of arms while another hand brought a glass of wine up to his cheek.

“Well, I guess you know what you got to look forward to then, donchya?”

The conversation during dinner remained light-hearted and Angel kept reaching out for Husk’s paw, making eyes at him. He avoided making direct eye contact, insides churning every time Angel tried. Once their plates were taken away, Angel stood and held a hand out to him.

“Can I get a dance before we go?”

Husk felt a little more confident as he put a paw in his hand. Dancing was something he knew he could do at least. He smiled back at him.

“Sure.”

He let Angel draw him out onto the dance floor and pull him into a waltzing position. His extra hands found a place to rest on Husk’s hips as they began to move. Angel took the lead, but Husk had expected as much with the height difference. He wouldn’t let Angel know, but he was surprised he knew how to waltz. It seemed a bit old-fashioned for him. Or at least for how he tended to present himself. It was easy to forget he was from an older era than he was.

“Thank you.”

Husk looked up and felt all the air rush out of his lungs again. Angel gazed down at him with such a genuine look of gratitude. If he didn’t stop stealing his breath, he’d never make it through this night.

“A bet’s a bet,” he repeated.

“You didn’t have to go on a date with me, but ya did. I really appreciate that. It’s nice.”

Husk closed their stance and pressed his forehead against Angel’s shoulder in response. Angel’s secondary arms held him close, his other hands sliding softly over his shoulders and down his arms. Husk turned his face in towards Angel’s neck instinctually. Everything felt so warm and comforting in this moment. Husk had to say something to break the spell before he started purring and embarrassed himself.

“You’re payin’ right? Cause I can’t afford this shit on my salary.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchya, babe,” Angel replied. “The least I can do is buy ya dinner first.”

Husk pulled back and a hand found his cheek as Angel leaned down to kiss him softly. Then again, a bit harder, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Husk had to close his, but his paws slid up Angel’s back to grip his shoulders as he reciprocated. Angel broke the kiss and lowered his lips to Husk’s ear, brushing over the hairs at the tip for a moment, sending a thrill through his whole body.

“Let’s get outta here.”

Husk just nodded his agreement as Angel moved towards the table to pay, his hand sliding off Husk’s shoulder as he went. Husk loosened his tie as he focused on breathing. Fuck. This was happening. Shit. Fuck. As he panicked, a feather slowly floated to the floor then another. Oh, fan-fucking-tastic! This shit!

He stepped on the feathers to hide them as Angel returned, trying to keep a neutral expression. He probably wouldn’t have noticed the feathers anyways. He had his eyes locked onto Husk’s as he reached for his arm again. A devious light there had chased away the tenderness that had been prevalent the rest of the night, letting Husk know Angel’d fully shifted gears.

Thankfully when they returned to the hotel it wasn’t to some kind of fuckin fanfare. He’d half expected some kind of congratulatory party, the way people acted around here. But the foyer was as empty as it usually was this time of night. Just the two of them as it so often was. Angel stopped by the bar and released his arm.

“Okay, gimme ten to slip into somethin more comfortable,” Angel said with a joking tone. “Then meet me in my room.”

He made a show of walking away, swinging his hips and looking back at Husk over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor. Husk just stood there calmly until he was out of sight. Once alone, he threw himself abruptly over the bar, gasping in air like a drowning man. He sent bottles clattering to the floor as he fished around for a drink. He leaned back against the bar and sank to the ground as he chugged whatever booze he’d managed to grab. The chugging became less frantic after a moment and he started to breathe again. Thank fucking god for alcohol.

“You did this to yourself, asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

He watched the clock as it ticked away the seconds he had to get himself together. He finally did away with his tie entirely and ran a paw over his head. Okay, this wasn’t such a big deal. God, it wasn’t like he didn’t find Angel attractive. And this would make him happy.

All of Husk’s limbs went limp and his head banged back against the bar. Dammit, he wanted him to be happy. How had he let this happen? He sighed and let the empty bottle roll out of his grasp before picking himself up off the floor.

He trudged down the hall to Angel’s room, leaving a sparse trail of feathers in his wake, and gave a light rap on the door before pushing it open. The lights were low and tinged pink from the scarves draped over the shades. Angel had tossed rose petals around the room wildly. He followed their general trail over to the bed where Angel was, of course, poised seductively.

He’d changed out of the prom dress and into lacy black lingerie, makeup entirely redone to match. How the fuck did he do that so fast? Angel shifted forward and pushed himself off the bed, sauntering over to him the way he approached a pole at a show. He brushed the back of a hand against his cheek as he circled around behind him. All three sets of arms snaked around him, hands working at buttons and sliding under his shirt.

Husk froze as his clothes just fell around him, only brought back to motion by the shiver that went down his spine when Angel pressed soft kisses against the back of his neck. Damn, he was good. His paws rose to find the closest pair of Angel’s hands and slid over them. Angel nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck before finding his ear.

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

Husk turned in his arms and tried to think of something to say. All he could think of was how long it had been and how badly he was about to fuck up. He started backing away slowly, but Angel followed.

He felt his knees buckle as he backed up into the bedframe. He fell back onto the bed and Angel leaned over him, using a pair of arms to hold himself up while the other two ran down his chest. Husk’s throat felt like it had closed up and he gasped for air.

“W-wait.”

#Hazbin Hotel #huskerdust #Husk/Angel

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thero0ks · 5 years ago

Text

A Rose From Starrick’s Garden

I debated if I should post this oneshot. It is completely self indulgent, I couldn’t pick a plot line, and well I just wanted A LOT out of one fic. It’s complete trash, but hopefully you enjoy it as much as I did.

Also, I am aware this fic is not cannon compliant at all, but just enjoy the dumpster fire of a fic I created :)

The research Evie had trusted her with, had lead to another dead end. Defeated, she had shuffled through the train car in search of Evie to relay the bad news. Evie's voice indicated she was in the den, but another soft voice had Y/N pressing herself against the wall.

Shame flooded her for a second, eavesdropping was rude, but her curiosity won over in the end. A small smile played at her lips at the bashful exchange between the two. The subtle flirting had her feeling giddy inside. In her mind Evie and Henry were a match made in heaven, and she'd been watching the romance blossom between the two.

"Spying are we?"

That smooth voice, tickling the shell of her ear made her jump. Her cheeks flamed red at being caught. It didn't help that the person who caught her had to be Jacob Frye of all people. The smug bastard would hold this over her head for weeks to come.

"It's not what you think…"

She knew it was a lame excuse, and by the quirk of his brow he conveyed that it was exactly what he thought.

"I wonder how my dear ol' sis will take it when she finds out her best friend has taken up match making?" He pressed his gauntlet against the wall as he leaned close to her. "And when she finds out she's the main target."

The complete arrogance he conveyed had her shrinking against the wall. He was aware that he was in complete control of the conversation, and it amused him to no end to watch her squirm.

"There aren't two people more perfect for each other…" She dared a glance up at him. Her statement seemed to briefly catch him off guard. He straightened, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. His next words were muttered under his breath. If her hearing wasn't so keen she would have missed it.

"I can think of two people more deserving."

Before she could inquire further he had already made his presence known in the next room. Y/N could already feel the tension in the next room grow. Evie's obvious annoyance at her younger twin interrupting a shared moment with Henry.

"Careful Greenie, my sister seems to be having another fit again."

"A fit you say?"

Y/N made her way into the room to find Evie ready to explode.

"You nearly wrecked England's economy!" She cried.

"Nearly Evie, key word." He said lounging on the sofa.

"Nearly? If fath-" Y/N was quick to intercede.

"Jacob was just about to brief me on a party Starrick will be attending." She said shooting a pointed glance at Jacob.

Mirth danced in his eyes at the sight of Evie being worked up once again by his antics. "Yes, I was. A party your dear friend offered to go to in your place."

Evie's shoulders relaxed a bit, "no rib crushing contraption for me then?"

"Precisely." Y/N said with a nod. "Starrick is unaware of my involvement with the brotherhood, so it is possible that I may be able to glean some information from him."

Evie's eyes ran over her figure a moment, "with a bit of cleaning up I suppose you're exactly the type of woman Starrick would take an interest in."

"Yes, but how far are you willing to go for information?" Henry asked thoughtfully. "The most you could carry is a knife, which you would only have access to if you were…" Henry coughed, rubbing a hand up his neck.

"I believe the word you're looking for is undressed Henry." Jacob chimed in. His voice was taut as he shifted into a sitting position on the couch. "Which at that point Starrick will put two and two together, and her throat will be slit faster than either of us can blink."

"Then I'll go unarmed." Y/N said simply.

"You expect us to let you walk in there unarmed and alone, right into Starricks arms?" Jacob inquired.

"I think the plan is bloody brilliant!" Evie said excitedly. "Think about it, if he decides he likes you he may start inviting you to other places as well."

"A double agent infiltrating Templar ranks?" Henry interrupted, catching onto Evie's plan.

Jacob scoffed, "do you even realize what you're asking?" He said standing up, "you're asking your best friend to not only court the Templar Grandmaster, but warm his bed as well?" He cried, exasperated at Evie's schemes. "He could break her neck like a twig if he got the slightest hint that she's an assassin."

Evie rolled her eyes, "don't act like Y/N can't protect herself. She's a trained killer."

"So is Starrick!" Jacob cried, throwing his hands up. "When she's caught in a Templar den, surrounded by a bunch of highly trained Templars her odds of survival drop to zero!"

"Oh just admit it Jacob, you can't stand the thought of another man touching her." Evie said brushing him off.

Jacob froze, and Evie's shoulder's stiffened the moment she realized what she had said. "Jake, I didn't mean...it slipped." She said softly, as if she were trying to approach a startled deer.

Jacob brushed past her, slamming the car door behind him. Y/N's jaw had gone slack as her eyes darted between Henry and Evie.

Evie looked shameful, her hand covering her mouth as she sat down at the desk. She was still in shock over the secret she'd accidentally let slip.

"Evie..." Y/N began.

"You should get ready for the party." Evie's voice sounded hollow. "We've been waiting to infiltrate the Templars ranks for years. We can't waste this opportunity." Evie's crystal gaze seemed miles away.

Y/N's eyes darted between Evie and Henry. He only offered her a shrug, as if this was another feud between the Fryes he'd rather not get involved in. With a sigh she left the two to scheme up their next plan.

She could expect very little help from Evie with getting ready, which left her with only one option. Find a Rook willing to stuff her into a gown.

She was lucky enough to find a few female Rooks occupying the bar car who agreed to assist.

White knuckles gripped the table as the lacings were pulled tight. "How tight do you want it ma'am?"

"As tight as it'll go." She gritted. She had concluded that Starrick's suspicions would be laid to rest if she appeared overtly vain. No assassin would dare to waltz into a ball in a contraption they couldn't breath in...right?

The deep red satin skirt hung heavy on her hips, and the shoulder sleeves left her feeling bare and exposed. After inspecting her reflection in the mirror she concluded that she could appeal to any man with minimal effort. "I"ll be right surprised if Mr. Starrick leaves your side at all tonight." One of the Rooks concluded.

Y/N offered her a kind smile, "thank you Emma."

She grabbed the shawl wrapping it around her shoulders before making her way off the train. She was able to exit at (train station). Her next objective was to find a carriage.

•

••

•

Jacob watched the swish of a red dress disappearing into a carriage. A frown pulled at his lips. It was just like Evie to get her way. The mission was the only thing that mattered to her. When he had returned to the train car to plead his case once more she had quoted their father at him, "don't let personal feelings compromise the mission."

It had mattered very little that the mission involved her best friend. She could be extremely shrewd at times, and there was little he could do or say that would change her mind.

The carriage was easy to catch. In a flash he'd opened the door and seated himself across from her. A look of shock was plain on her face, and a bit of fear once she realized she was unarmed. A scowl quickly appeared on her face as soon as she recognized him. "Jacob Frye! How dare you scare me like that!" She hissed slapping him with her fan.

"Oi, I was only checking in love." He said, and a blush dusted her cheeks at the word "love." The unresolved tension from earlier hung in the air.

Y/N was the first to look away, giving Jacob the chance to take her in. She was stunning. The dress complimented her soft skin, and the low neckline of the dress created a beautiful decolletage. He'd never seen so much skin on the assassin, and greedily his eyes hungered for more. He had to avert his hazel eyes, "you won't have any issues catching Starrick's eye in that."

(E/c) eyes flickered down at the ensemble. "Evie will be thrilled." She muttered.

Jacob leaned forward capturing her chin in his hand tilting her gaze up into his hazel pools. "I'll be on the rooftops, if there are any issues signal me and I'll get you out of there."

To his surprise she threw her arms around him engulfing him in a hug. "Thank you Jacob." She pulled away quickly, "perhaps I'm more nervous than I thought."

Jacob quirked a smile, "I'll be there if you need me love." With a soft kiss to the back of her hand, he disappeared out of the carriage and into the night.

•

••

•

She steadied her breathing as the carriage pulled up to the stone mansion. The carriage driver assisted her out the carriage. Her sides were already aching as she made her way up the steps of the house. She fanned herself in hopes that it would draw more oxygen into her lungs, but it was no use. Many eyes were drawn her way when she stepped into the gardens. Satisfaction grew inside when she noticed even the Grandmaster had paused mid sentence to stare. She threw him a small smirk before heading towards the dance floor.

The bait was laid, and all she had to do was wait for him to bite. Her eyes were about to dart to the rooftops when she felt a hand press into the small of her back. "I don't believe I have made your acquaintance."

His voice was elegant, and refined. One would suppose it was due to good breeding, and coming from a proper upbringing. "I very much doubt it Sir, I just arrived in London not three days ago." She turned to face him, but found herself even closer to him as he guided her closer with his hands.

"Dance with me." It wasn't a request, he was a man who was used to being in control.

"I take it you always get your way?" She inquired as he lead her to the center of the dance floor.

"I'm a man who knows what he wants, and you look like a woman who knows what she wants."

Her lips quirked up, "I confess my strong will has lead me into trouble at times."

"A rose among the weeds, beautiful to look at, but painful for those who cannot handle the thorns." His palm felt solid on her waist, and she caught his eyes drinking in her figure that was on display.

"Have you handled many roses then?"

She found herself chest to chest with him. His eyes were hypnotic, and his body radiated power and control. A shiver went down her spine as his fingers trailed up her back. "Never one so sweet."

His lips were dangerously close, and propriety was insisting she pull away. She was unsure if it was the corset making her pant, or her heart that pounded dangerously inside her chest.

A smoke bomb went off, and the shuffling of feet could be heard. She felt hands pulling her from behind. Crawford's arms felt like a steel cage as they tightened around her. She was being pulled in both directions. "Let go of her." That snarl could only belong to one man.

"This has made the game more interesting Jacob." The smoke had started to clear and Starrick's expression was predatory. Cold steel pressed against her throat, and Jacob immediately froze. "What would Jacob Frye do to save a rose?"

"Let her go, this is between you and me Starrick."

Starrick touted, "I suspect she is an assassin. More's the pity, she would have looked absolutely divine spread across my desk." Gloved fingers tightened around her esophagus. She fought desperately to pry his fingers off. "I wish this had been under more sensual circumstances." His low voice tickled the shell of her ear.

Panic flooded Jacob's eyes, until a lucky blow found its mark. Y/N could feel the hard impact of bone against her elbow. It was enough for him to loosen his grip. Jacob sprung to action pulling her to him and grappling to the nearest rooftop. He took off across the rooftops. Y/N doing her best to find any speed quicker than a brisk walk. Jacob realizing she wasn't close behind, stopped to find her picking her way across the roof. "Why did you lace that thing so bloody tight?!" He cried.

"Why did you decide to ruin the mission?!" She countered.

"I rescued you from that man's skeevy arms!"

A roll of her (e/c) eyes was all she replied, "just find us a carriage. I can't run in this!"

Jacob was quick to zipline them to the ground. He found a small carriage and unceremoniously stuffed her in. She hadn't even seated herself when the carriage jolted forward, throwing her into the leather seat. "Can this thing go any faster?" She cried finding several blighters on their tail.

"I'm sorry your highness, did you want to drive?" Jacob quipped back.

A gunshot echoed behind them. "Glad to know I got dressed up for my funeral." She shouted angrily.

"Oh, Y/N I've been in worse spats than this. We are perfectly fine." He said simply. It wasn't a second later when another carriage slammed into the left side of theirs. Y/N wished she hadn't gazed out the window. It all seemed to happen too quickly. Jacob had taken a sharp turn onto the bridge when the blighter carriage had slammed into theirs. The world was upside down a moment, and Y/N knew she was headed right for the Thames.

Jacob had been thrown out of his seat when the carriage tipped over. He braced himself for the cold water. When he surfaced he found the carriage slipping below the water's surface. It was then that it dawned on him that Y/N would be stuck. He dove under searching blindly for the carriage. The murky Thames making visibility poor. He found a window and began to smash through it. He pulled her body through the window, but found the dress was stuck. His hidden blade set to work shredding any material he could get his hands on. When the dress finally loosened, he pulled her free and pulled them up to the surface.

The shore wasn't far and she was barely breathing. As soon as they reached shore he cut the lacings. She coughed up water, gulps full of air burning her lungs. She was freezing, and the white shift sticking to her skin made her realize how exposed she was. "J-j-j-a-a-cob Fr-r-rye," her teeth clattered as shivers wracked her body.

"Shh love," he said softly as his eyes ran down her, inspecting her for any damage. Self consciously she covered her chest. The shift was extremely see-through while wet, and she was mortified the younger Frye twin had practically seen everything at this point. To her surprise there was no trace of smugness in his eyes. Only concern, and possible guilt.

"Let's get you back to the train before you freeze." He said simply.

"I cant walk around London like this." She said gazing down at her stockings that were caked with sand.

Jacob looked her up and down, "I think this is the best you've looked yet." Hazel eyes flickered down at sopping linen that was barely hanging onto her body.

"My eyes are up here Mr. Frye." She dead panned. She immediately got to her feet. "Well I suppose if I'm to be a trollop, I shall be the best trollop London has ever seen." She set off towards the train tracks, shoulders back and head held high.

Jacob's head cocked to the side, how he loved a woman with spunk. However, he was just starting to realize just how see through that shift was. If there was anything Jacob Frye considered himself to be, a gentleman was one of them. He was quick to remove his over coat and soon engulfed her in it. A shiver ran down her spine when the dripping coat hit her shoulders. He scooped her up in his arms, and he was surprised to find out how light she was in his arms. "Jacob!" She squeaked in surprise.

"Now come love, a gentleman wouldn't let a lady stroll about the streets in her undergarments."

"A gentleman wouldn't have made me go for a swim either." She grumbled.

His chest rumbled with a chuckle. "I am taking you for a moonlight stroll, and what's more romantic than that?" He inquired. "All in all, I would say this was a successful date."

She sputtered, "a successful date?"

"Fancy clothes, a carriage ride, an evening swim, a moonlit stroll, and you're almost completely naked. What more could I have done to make it a success?"

A blush stained her cheeks, "pray, what gave you the notion that we are on a date?"

A smirk spread across his lips, "you never denied that we were on a date, besides there are some positively wicked things I've wanted to do to you all evening."

"I think this whole night started, because your jealousy got the best of you Jacob."

His grip tightened on her, "what do I have to be jealous about love? My hands are the ones touching your arse not Starrick's." His breath tickled her ear as it lowered an octave, "and what a lovely arse it is."

"Why haven't you said anything?" Her voice sounded small. Unsure if this was a conversation the two should have.

He sighed, "I never thought you'd give a bloke like me a second glance." He said with a simple shrug.

"Jacob, you literally stuffed me ass first into a carriage, then proceeded to wreck said carriage in the Thames. I should be pissed, but honestly it's a little endearing. I know you mean well." Her hand came up to cup his face, and a small blush appeared on his cheeks.

"What in the bloody hell did you do Jacob?" Evie's voice snapped the two at attention.

"The mission was a success Evie!" Jacob said with a grin.

"Starrick’s men are all over London looking for you two! You wrecked a carriage off the bridge, and Y/N where on earth are your clothes?"

"The bottom of the Thames…" she said sheepishly.

"The mission was an utter disaster!" Evie cried.

"That is where you are wrong. Your mission was a disaster, mine was an utter success." Jacob said proudly. "Now if you don't mind dear sis, I would recommend staying far away from my train car for the rest of the evening." He leaned closer to his sister, "I have plucked a rose from Starrick's garden that I plan to worship thoroughly."

@marshmallow--3

#jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye oneshot #assassins creed #assassins creed syndicate #assassins creed oneshot #ac oneshot #ac syndicate

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ft-dads-au · 4 years ago

Text

Part of the Family

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

Fairy Friendship Week 2020 Prompt: Secrets Pairing(s): Sting & Gray, Gray & Rogue, Sting x Rogue

AO3 | FF.Net

Summary: With Rogue's and Aki's birthdays coming up, Mika suggests that Sting and Gray go gift shopping together. Neither of them are excited about the idea, but it ends up being just the thing to bring them all closer together.

September 9, 2020

“That’s a great idea!”

The words burst out of Sting’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

It wasn’t a great idea.

In fact, it was one of the worst ideas Sting had ever heard. He was exhausted, having just got off what was supposed to have been a twelve-hour shift in the Emergency Room that had turned out to be more like fifteen, on top of not having gotten much sleep because the twins had been fussy all night.

He smiled at his mother-in-law warmly while scrambling for any excuse he thought she might accept that would get him out of a trip to the mall with his brother-in-law, who looked about as enthused with the idea as he felt.

“Wonderful!” Mika Fullbuster practically beamed at them, “I’ll feed the boys and get dinner ready for us while you’re gone.”

She picked up his son, Kuro, and cooed at him before placing him in a high chair next to his identical twin Haku. Gray’s son, Aki, watched with interest, although he kept close to his father.

Sting knew he was screwed when Gray remained silent, examining him with that glacial expression of his. “Okay, I’ll take a quick shower then. Be back in 10.”

He could hear Mika and Gray talking in low voices, Mika reminding her son that Rogue would probably like it if he got to know Sting a little bit better.

More than anything else, it was those words that motivated Sting to get in the shower and put on his best face because he knew she was right. Rogue loved his brother, had missed him all those years they had been on the outs, and now that Gray and his parents were a part of his life again, he wanted them all to become the family he never thought he’d have.

But Gray wasn’t exactly easy to get along with, and Sting was still irritated about how he had treated Natsu on the night of Lisanna’s birthday, not to mention how he’d dismissed Rogue all those years. Still, for Rogue, he could make an effort. The cold shower didn’t wake him up as much as he’d hoped, but he knew he wouldn’t have gotten out as quickly if he’d taken a warm one. Now he wasn’t just exhausted but also freezing cold and nervous, a far cry from what he’d been looking forward to when his shift was finally over. He passed the bed on his way from the bathroom to the closet and almost sobbed at how badly he wanted to get in it. “Come on Sting, you can do this!” he encouraged himself as he grabbed something comfy to wear and got dressed. “Go to the mall, get some birthday presents, have a chat with your brother-in-law...Can’t be too hard, right?”

It was incredibly hard.

Gray hadn’t said a word since the moment they’d left the house, and Sting had no idea what to say to get a conversation going. Almost everything he knew about the guy was off-limits to talk about, so they walked around the mall quietly, occasionally entering a store that looked interesting.

“Do you think Aki would like this?” Sting grabbed a colorful book thinking it would make a good birthday present for his nephew. He pushed some of the buttons on the front to see what kinds of sounds it made.

Gray shook his head, “He doesn’t like loud noises.”

“I wish I could say the same about the twins,” Sting groaned, placing the book back on the shelf, “just about every toy they have is loud.”

“Cana?” Gray asked, mouth stretching into a small smile.

“Well, she’s not the worst offender. That would have to be my parents,” Sting chuckled, “They’ve wanted grandkids since probably before I was born.”

Gray studied him briefly before turning his attention back to the shelf full of electronic board books. He moved away from them as he discovered the hardcover storybooks.

“He does like books though, tries to memorize them and pretend he’s reading them,” Gray added with a proud smile, “He could probably use some new ones.”

Sting thought Gray had a nice smile, it reminded him of Rogue’s. It was the first time he’d seen a real resemblance between the two brothers, outside of the dry wit they shared, and it made him warm up to him a little.

"Yeah, Rogue mentioned that.” He considered his next words for a moment, ultimately deciding he trusted Gray to be the kind of person who could keep a secret. “He’s uhm...taking a break from the stuff he usually writes to work on a book of fairy tales for kids. One of his college friends is doing the illustrations.”

“He’s writing a children’s book?” Gray asked, his voice sounding softer than Sting had ever heard it outside of speaking to Aki. He appeared stunned by the news but also something else.

Was it pride?

Sting thought it might be. The twinkle in his brother-in-law’s eye made him believe he was right.

“I kind of figured he’d write one of those mystery novels he always loved so much.” “Oh, he did. Published it under a pseudo a few years back,” Sting beamed, the swell of pride overtaking his fatigue for a brief moment. “Don’t tell anyone about the children’s book, though. He wants to keep it a secret because...well, you know your mom. Just act real surprised when Aki gets it for Christmas.”

They checked out some of the books together, flipping through the pages to see if the stories were fitting for Aki's age and whether or not they would appeal to him. Soon they'd decided on a few and headed to the register.

Sting grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, staring at its contents blankly for a moment. He took a card out and waited for the cashier to finish ringing up his purchases so he could place it in the reader. Trying to hide a big yawn he couldn’t quite contain, Sting inserted the card into the bottom slot when the reader prompted him. He waited to plug in his pin, thinking about how happy he was that they had managed to get one of the presents out of the way fairly quickly.

The card reader beeped at him, a message reading Card Declined displaying on the screen, much to Sting’s confusion. There should be plenty of money in there, he’d just gotten paid. But even knowing that, he could feel his cheeks darken with embarrassment as he saw the cashier glance at him surreptitiously.

He turned to see Gray’s eyebrow arched in silent question.

“I don’t understand,” Sting protested, “I’m sure there’s more than enough in there.”

“Are you sure about that?” Gray asked, looking somewhat exasperated.

“Yeah, I got paid yesterday,” he insisted. “I’ll just rerun it. Sometimes these things are flaky.”

“I don’t think it’s the reader that’s flaky,” Gray muttered under his breath.

“Let me just see it for a moment,” the cashier offered graciously, “Sometimes, you just have to wipe the chip a bit.”

Sting shrugged, handing the card over. There was something about it that seemed off, but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

“I think I see the problem,” the cashier said, and although his face remained serious, Sting could hear traces of laughter in his voice. “We do not currently accept Magnolia Hospital ID Cards as a valid form of currency.”

“What?” Sting could only gape in confusion as the cashier handed him back his ID Card.

“Long day?” Gray smirked, taking Sting’s wallet from his hand and grabbing his debit card, finishing up the transaction for him.

“You have no idea,” Sting muttered, finally entering his pin into the keypad and waiting for Gray to complete his purchase, pretending not to see that his brother-in-law was still laughing at him.

“Come on,” Gray said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“Coffee.”

He led them to the nearest coffee shop, where they each ordered a drink and a snack. Spotting an empty table, they quickly sat down.

“You know, if you were this tired, you could have just said no,” Gray sighed, shaking his head at him. “Mom isn’t that scary.”

Sting looked up, and having already shoved his chocolate chip muffin in his mouth, he shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Oy, take bites!” Gray griped, snorting at the crumbly mess he was making on the table, “I bet Rogue loves that.”

Sting laughed, easily picturing the look of distaste he’d receive from his husband if he’d been present. “He knew what he was getting into. Was he always so neat and tidy as a kid too?” he asked, eager to learn some things about Rogue from before they’d met each other.

“Kind of, not as bad as he seems to be now, though,” Gray mused, “He was always serious, with a very sharp tongue, but he could be a lot of fun too.”

He stared off into space and suddenly broke out in laughter, so hard that Sting began to worry for him. It stopped as soon as it started, but the amusement continued to play on his features. “I bet there’s one thing you don’t know about him, though.”

Sting leaned forward in his seat, eyes suddenly flying right open as he was dying for him to continue.

Gray’s whole face lit up with mischief, “Did you know that right up until the moment he was born, Rogue’s middle name was Ashley?“

“Ashley?” Sting repeated, blinking in confusion.

“Yep,” Gray grinned, “Mom’s doctor insisted Rogue was a girl, something about the way she was carrying or whatever, and the ultrasound confirmed it, so we all thought he was a girl. For months my mom told me all about the new little sister I was going to have. She had Dad paint the nursery pink, coordinated all the crib sheets, bought the clothes, everything.”

“You can imagine my parents’ surprise when he was born. Everything they had was for a girl. You should ask my mom to show you his hospital pictures. They’re hilarious! My dad and I have never let him live it down,” Gray chuckled, “I still call him Ashley when I want to piss him off.”

At first, Sting was just boggled by the fact that a doctor would predict a baby's gender from the way the mother was carrying, and how, even back in the early ’90s, an ultrasound managed to support that statement. But when he imagined what those pictures would look like, not to mention Rogue’s face when he’d ask his mother-in-law about them later- which he totally would- he almost choked on his muffin from his laughter. “I should buy him some extra gifts,” he giggled, “I have a feeling I’ll need them to get in his good graces again later.”

“He had a figure skating phase too,” Gray continued, “I was a hockey nut, so I loved to tease him about it, but the truth was he was terrific. Very graceful. I was kind of surprised to see he got rid of the ice rink in the backyard. Maybe now that we’re all back, we can set it back up,” he added.

"I knew about the figure skating. He made sure to show off the first time we went skating together because I ran my big mouth but completely sucked at it."

“Well, he does love to show off.”

“I’m glad you two made up,” Sting confided, getting carried away by the moment they were sharing. “He really missed you.”

He realized too late that it had been the wrong thing to say as Gray only nodded and then went right back to being quiet, but Sting didn’t let that bother him. He’d seen a different side of his brother-in-law, and he was confident that with time they could become good friends.

They finished their coffee and shopped for birthday presents for Rogue for another hour before calling it a night. Gray drove them back to the house to let Sting rest. When they arrived, Mika had already finished cooking, and the boys were playing quietly in front of the TV.

"Wow, looks like you had a successful trip!" Mika smiled happily at the shopping bags they were carrying, "and you're right on time for dinner!"

Sting was happy to see Rogue had gotten home as well, and even more delighted when he stopped setting the table to greet him with a hug and a kiss.

"You look really tired," Rogue fretted, frowning at the mark left on Sting's cheek by the zipper of his coat when he'd fallen asleep in the car. "Go sit. I’ll plate up for you."

"You're the best-" Sting flopped down on one of the dining room chairs, watching fondly as Rogue started scooping rice onto his plate. It was a small effort, but he thought it was really sweet, and it almost made him think twice about his next words.

Almost.

"Thanks, Ashley."

Between Gray's loud snort, Mika's knowing grin, and the look of horror that started to spread across Rogue’s face, Sting could honestly say that the unexpected shopping trip, exhausting as it was, had definitely been worth it.

"You just had to tell him, didn't you?" Rogue fumed at Gray, only managing to contain his outrage for the sake of the kids.

“He’s family now, isn’t he?” Gray’s attempt to sound innocent only riled Rogue up further. “Relax, Squirt, there’s lots of stuff I didn’t tell him. Like the time you-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Rogue seethed, much to everyone’s amusement, but when he looked around the room, he suddenly became skittish. "Wait…where did mom go?"

"Right here," Mika answered as she appeared from the hallway, carrying a large photo album and an even larger smile on her face. She sat down next to Sting, who knew exactly what was going to happen, as his own mother had put him through a similar skit once.

"Let's see-" she pulled a curious Aki onto her lap, completely ignoring the protests of both her sons as she started flipping through the pages.

"Look how cute your daddy used to be when he was little," she told Aki, pointing at some of the pictures of Gray when he was the same age. "He looked just like you, but he always managed to take off his clothes wherever we went."

Sting tried but failed not to laugh as he saw her finger pointing at a picture of a much younger looking Silver holding what appeared to be a bunch of children's clothes as he chased an almost naked Gray across the playground. “Dada,” Aki bubbled at the picture and the others on that page.

Meanwhile, Rogue had finished piling food onto Sting’s plate and went to put the twins back into their high chairs before they’d start protesting the fact that everyone else had left them to gather at the dining table. He finished just in time to see Mika turn the page, much to Gray’s relief and amusement, because the next set of pictures were made at the hospital. Rogue could only groan as Sting went off in what could only be described as a laughing fit at the sight of his first baby pictures, in which he was dressed in pink from socks to bonnet.

“See Gray’s face? He was actually a little disappointed when we told him he didn’t get a sister after all, “ Mika chuckled. “He was so proud of the pink frog plushie he’d picked out as a welcoming gift, and he was worried his brother wouldn’t like it.” “The opposite was true, though,” she continued, smiling at Rogue as she continued to spill more embarrassing moments from his childhood. “You had it with you all the time. The one time you lost it, you wouldn’t stop crying and refused to leave the park without it. Dad searched for half an hour in the pouring rain before he finally found it.” “He still has it,” Sting revealed, returning Rogue’s pout of betrayal with an innocent smile. “It’s sitting on a shelf in our bedroom.” “Gee, when I saw how exhausted you looked, I didn’t think I was getting screwed today. Guess I was wrong.” “Rogue!” Mika was quick to scold her son. “What? It was kid-proof.”

Gray cackled in appreciation at Rogue’s snide remark, his grin withering when his mother flashed him a disapproving glare. He coughed uncomfortably and shifted his attention back to his brother, “You still have it? I thought you’d said you lost it.”

“Don’t get full of yourself,” Rogue crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away. “I happened to find it when I was cleaning out the basement a while back.”

Sting knew that was some high-level bs, but he let it go, enjoying the back and forth between the two brothers. Judging from the pleased expression on Mika’s face, he wasn’t the only one.

“Suuuure you did,” Gray teased, marching towards their bedroom with an air of purpose, “I’m gonna go see it.”

“Don’t you dare put your grubby hands on Frosch!” Rogue yelled, chasing after him.

“You named it Frosch?” Sting snickered, although he had to admit it sounded incredibly cute.

“Shut up!” Rogue complained, “I was little.”

“Boys!” Mika scolded, turning to Sting to explain. “Gray ended up loving Frosch just as much as Rogue. He’d sneak into Rogue’s room and take it back to his room.”

“No I didn’t!” Gray denied, “I remember stealing or hiding it just to mess with him. It was hilarious, watching him have a complete meltdown.”

Rogue stuck his tongue out at his brother, acting more childish than Sting had seen in a long time. It was both endearing and amusing as hell.

“It’s okay. I love you too, Bro,” Gray replied, walking over to Rogue and bravely ruffling his hair.

“Rogue wasn’t the only one having a meltdown,” Mika retorted, quietly enough that only Sting could hear her.

“Ugh, just wait until you start dating someone. I am telling them everything,” Rogue promised.

Gray laughed heartily, “Good luck with that. I have zero intention of dating anyone.”

“That’s a shame,” Sting sighed, “you and Natsu looked pretty cute slow-dancing together the other night.”

“That was not what that was,” Gray sputtered, “That was just me comforting a friend.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re friends now?” Rogue immediately pounced on Gray’s words.

“No, I-we are friendly-ish, uhm…friend adjacent? Whatever! He’s still a pain in my ass!” Gray attempted to clear things up, but at hearing that, Sting and Rogue glanced at each other and cracked up.

“Oh my God, get your minds out of the gutter, that’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

But it was too late. Sting and Rogue only laughed harder at Gray’s outrage.

“Who’s Natsu?” Mika interrupted, completely lost as to what was happening.

“Gray’s source of butthurt-” Rogue pulled out his phone and looked through his image gallery, showing his mother a picture of their friend.

“Oh, he’s cute! You should ask him out, sweetie,” Mika encouraged her older son, as Aki gave them all a tentative smile from his spot on his grandmother’s lap.

“Look what you started,” Gray glared at Sting accusingly, “Now I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Well, you said it yourself. I’m family now, aren’t I?” Sting bounced Gray’s words back at him, patting him on the back, “That’s what family’s for!”

Sting and Mika laughed at Gray’s less than enthusiastic response and Rogue’s triumphant smirk.

It was a fantastic feeling to no longer be watching from the sidelines like he usually did, but to actually take part in this moment and give as good as he got. It wasn’t something he was used to, having grown up as an only child.

And it was with a start that Sting realized that while he’d grudgingly agreed to go on the shopping trip with Gray hoping to befriend him, somehow in the last couple of hours, they’d become brothers instead.

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #ftguildevents #sting & gray #gray & rogue #stingue #fics #Fairy Friendship Week 2020 #prompt: secrets #sting #gray #rogue #mika #aki

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ofwolvesandbutterflies · 5 years ago

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the constant

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Genre: suggestive fluff

Tags: gang!au, partnersincrime!au

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, mature content... the whole works

day 15 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which you and yuta have a love/hate relationship in the way that yes, there are times you’d stop at nothing to rip his throat out... but you’d still kill anyone who’d try to kill him.

// tryin’ to be with you is crazy // (x)

[23:44]

Out of all the things that were supposed to happen today, you would have never expected to be at yet another lavish party, posing as Yuta’s arm candy in an effort to catch any piece of information that could help total the yakuza your group had been having trouble with for years. On top of that, nor did you expect to have his hands teasing the edges of your thin party dress up little by little, sloppy, open mouthed kisses coaxing moan after moan from your glossed lips.

Today was supposed to be your day off. No guns, no violence, no blood, no sex, and no Yuta. Forget the perfectly tailored leather pants that hugged you in all the right ways and concealed so many dangerous gadgets, the hidden knives up your sleeves, and the eternally loaded gun always ready in your holster. Today was all about comfy sweatpants, oversized long sleeves, and all the unhealthy food you fasted from during the work week at the 127 syndicate.

The aroma of slow baked chocolate and the tiniest hint of vanilla wafted through the air, bringing a genuinely happy smile to your watering mouth. Nothing could ruin this afternoon. And then, your phone lit up, vibrated against the wood grain of the table you sat against with a ring you wished meant something - someone - else. You stuffed a piece of brownie in your mouth before pulling the device up to your ear.

"Where you at, baby girl?" Yuta's relaxed voice floated through the phone speakers like honey; smooth, sickeningly sweet, and so very easy to get addicted to. Yuta was cocky, he was confident. You supposed it was part of his charm as the infamous womanizer of the gang. Nevertheless, having to hear that almost every hour of every minute of the week was definitely part of the reason hearing his ring tone never hesitated to spark irritation in the very depths of your being. He continued. “Just thought I’d let you know I missed seeing your ass this morning at the 07:00 meeting.” Your lips curled back into a sneer, swallowing the rest of the brownie chunk you had just stuffed into your mouth.

"How nice of you to call in on my day off, sweet cheeks." Shoving the freshly baked plate of brownies back onto the counter, you hissed at your partner, not even bothering to cover the annoyance in your tone. "Thought you had another - what was it you rather me call them again? Oh right - another rendezvous this afternoon.

"Oh, that’s right. I did have something planned. If I remember correctly, it was with this hot piece of multi-million dollar eye candy, Bae Joohyun. And I was looking forward to it, too. Would’ve been an easy couple thousand.” An over exaggerated sigh pushed its way out of your partner’s infuriatingly soft lips. Had the handsome blond been right beside you, a sure smirk would have appeared on his face, challenging you, taunting you. “Too bad it got cancelled. Jealous, babe?"

"Never in a million years, dickhead,” the scoff elicited a sigh from his end of the call. “Now what do you want?"

His answer was quick, sharp and you could practically see the shit-eating grin seeping into his voice.

"Jaehyun said to be back within the hour. He and ‘Yong have a thing for us to do sometime soon. And by 'sometime soon' I mean by the end of today." Good thing you had put the brownies away a few minutes ago, the news surely would have shocked you into choking on a piece of chocolate-y heaven. Your eyes widened and your back stiffened. This must have been important. Jaehyun and Taeyong never called you or any other member in on a day off unless it was imperative to the success of the crime syndicate. “Y/N? You still on?”

"Wha- wait, Yuta, what’s going on?” Adjusting the phone so that it was in speaker mode, you quickly pulled your hair up into a sleek ponytail and ran about your studio apartment in a rush to get your work-outfit on. Pressed button down? Check. Sexy pants? Check. Dark shoes, sunglasses, and mask? Check. “Why today? Wh- I mean, what details are we working with here? What type of stuff do I need?"

“They didn’t give me much to work off of, babe, just told me to tell you to get your ass up and over to the company in 15 minutes.” The pet name flew over your head to go completely unnoticed as you stripped down to change. Gone was the playful banter the two of you shared on the daily. Yuta’s work voice was on which meant he was serious. You bit back a groan, hopping around on one foot as you tried to stuff your other foot into the pant leg.

“You said within the hour. Fifteen minutes?! Really?"

"The sooner the better, Princess. You know Jae doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Grumbled complaints fell upon deaf ears and you stuffed your company wallet and ID into your purse. “Fine. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Make that ten.”

“Oh my fucking- Yuta!”

Getting to the party had been no problem. Slipping in unnoticed hadn’t been a problem, either. Hell, even convincing everyone you were another escort and that Yuta was part of a new development in one of their small eastern groups was easy money. However, getting the information… had been posing a problem.

The rough prints Taeyong had provided the two of you with said the meeting room was more centrally located in the house. While the information you were going off of was limited, the moment the two of you wandered past the crowds of low ranking footmen and into barren hallways where only a few, higher class gang members stood guarding a door, you knew you had found what you were looking for.

A surge of confidence welled up within you and you started toward the group of men over in front of the door. You could take these pansies. However, a hand, warm and calloused from years of fighting, tugged you back into a familiar chest before you could do anything. Within seconds, his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking dark bruises into your skin with leisure. Albeit a little taken aback, you followed your partner’s lead and tilted your neck to grant him more access.

“Ahh… Yuta…” Leaning back into his body, you crained your neck so you could shoot a hooded glare up at your partner. “As much as I love how needy you are at the most inconvenient of times-”

“Easy, princess,” Yuta murmured, smile evident in the way his voice lowered, deep and sensual against the shell of your ear. You suppressed a delicious shiver at the sensation of his hands sliding up and down your arms. “Sorry about the sudden contact, there are just a couple of guys to my five o’ clock that were looking. But those goons over there? There’s three of them, two of us. We can’t rush them like this.”

“Gr… Fine.” All of a sudden, he paused to spin you around and slam you up against the wall of the hallway, only loud enough to garner the little bit more of needed attention to the two of you. With his hands on either side of your head and his teeth teasing the flesh of your neck, you couldn’t decide whether to glare at him or kiss the dumb grin off his lips when he wedged his knee between your legs.

“How about a little... distraction?” Your eyelids fluttered when kissed you again, immediately understanding what he meant. You knew well this was all a part of the job, rolling your core up into the evident arousal forming in your partner’s pants, biting back a moan when he bent down slowly, eyes flickering over your shoulder to check on your audience... But damn, the way his clothed hips met yours had you moaning your partner’s name louder than you originally meant to.

“Oh my go- Yuta, oh fuck…” One last kiss and he pulled away, sparing you a knowing smirk before turning towards the sound of footsteps near your position. All three men surrounded the two of you, eyes trained solely on your partner.

“HEY.” A giggle threatened to slip from your mouth when you heard how high one of the guy’s voices was.

“‘Sup, man?” Yuta cocked his head, running a finger over your lips playfully before grinning up at the frowning male glaring at him, the shorter one. “Need something? Another drink? You need a light? Oh shit, have you tried any of the girls over here-”

“Cap it, dickwad,” another guy growled. You noticed Yuta’s smile drop ever so slightly and your blood began to boil. No one called Yuta ‘dickwad’ except for you. “You got 10 seconds to find another hallway to fuck this bitch in before I-”

“She’s not a ‘bitch’,” your partner grumbled before the other idiot could finish his sentence. The other man stopped and glanced at his friends in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe a ‘low-ranking foot soldier’ dared talk back to him. You fought the urge to go for your knife when he grabbed Yuta’s collar, sneering.

“Care to repeat that, dumbass?”

“Sure, old man,” Yuta growled, eyes narrowing as he squared his shoulders in front of you. “Don’t. Call. Her. A. Bitch.”

“Why you little fuck-” he didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, though. Because Yuta had already kicked him in the gut and threw a well-squared punch straight into his jaw, knocking him out cold. The other two rushed at him, dark eyes glowing with something dangerous - but they, too, were on the floor, unconscious within seconds.

“Come on,” he called, stepping carelessly over the unconscious bodies and towards the door. “Door’s open.” For a moment, all you could do was stare with your mouth agape at your partner. You had worked with him for the past 4 years and while so much of your time together was spent arguing, bickering over trivial things… There were moments like these that reminded you he still cared in his own way. Releasing a breath, Yuta’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he pulled the recording device out of his suit jacket.

“Wait- Yuta!” you spoke, hurrying over to your partner’s side. He turned and paused mid-stride, eyes refusing to meet yours just like the way they did every other time he did something for you. “What the fuck- I mean, what was that- I mean, wait. No. T-thank you. You… You didn’t need to beat them up.”

“Pfft, who said I was doing it for you,” he shrugged, voice back to being cocky, slinging an arm around your waist to pull you closer to the door, still avoiding your gaze. “Those guys- they were just assholes in general, they don’t know how much shit you put up with. They deserved that.”

“But still…” You trailed off, knowing he wasn’t just going to take a compliment like this. So instead, you turned towards him, cupped his chin and pressed a sweet kiss to the frown disfiguring his beautiful features. And he stopped, grabbing your waist to pull you to him once more, soft lips caressed yours. It was all part of the job, that much you knew. Playing coy, acting dumb, kicking ass, skipping days off, and kissing random strangers.

But the one constant you could always count on was Yuta. Your annoying partner who would always, always have your back.

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un-piorthos-et-tous-pour-un · 4 years ago

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The thrilling adventures of a PA - Chapter Five : One man’s loss is another one’s gain. (Adam Sackler x Reader)

The nights have been short after what happened. You couldn’t find sleep, your mind kept rehashing that night, what you have said or done that might have laid to this, what you’ve could have done or said differently after he didn’t say anything all night long. It was tiring to say the least, combined with your work and the day to day life. It was starting to show, dark circles under your eyes, your shortened attention span and increased coffee consumption were obvious signs but working with actors rubbed off on you since you managed to fool the others until now, pretending everything was ok. But of course, you were not, and it was driving you crazy. Why were you stuck like this, knowing this must have been just a game for him, hoping for something that’ll never happen and hurting yourself for nothing ? It was ludicrous, completely laughable and once again you remember Stew’s words. So as you’re sat at your table, (barely) eating your lunch, you decide to move on, to stop been that wreck you’ve become and this time, you’ll stick to your plan. No more distractions, no more foolish hopes. You’ll do your job, perfectly, be nice and all but it’ll be it.

After you’re done, you go to the trailer park, walking mechanically towards Adam’s and you knock at the door. You hear footsteps inside, and you take a step back, knowing it’ll open in a few seconds, revealing the actor and you ready yourself for what’s to come. You take a deep breath and smile when he gets out, greeting you with a small ‘hello’. - ‘’We’re expected in 25 minutes on stage 8, are you ready to go ?’’, you ask him quietly, feeling he’s grumpy by the way he’s standing there, hand clenched on the doorknob. - ‘’Just give me a second, I’ve got something to finish first’’, he answers, getting back in the trailer and you nod, waiting as you cannot really do anything else for the moment. You cannot really hear what he’s saying but he seems pretty tensed. You jump a little when a loud thud resonates from the inside, the sound of a phone getting crashed on the floor it seems. You wonder what’s going on but just after you remind yourself that you’re not supposed to care about him anymore. - ‘’Adam?’’, you simply ask, as suddenly he rushes out, closing the door behind him in a loud clash. - ‘’I’ll need a new cellphone, can you get one for me ?’’, he simply throws at you as an answer, storming towards the stage without looking back. - ‘’Of course, you’ll have it tonight’’, you reply, brows furrowed for a second before you start walking behind him, letting him deal with whatever this is on his own. It’s not your problem and it never was after all. The rest of the day goes by in almost total silence but it’s not a bad thing in the end, it allows you to detach yourself, Once you’re home after getting some food from the little grocery store near your beuilding block, you check your mail and start preparing diner as tonight you’re hosting a small party at your place with some coworkers. Of course Shirley & Stew are going to be there along with Oona and the others but also some other technicians you’ve made friends with over the weeks. Nothing too fancy, just some snacks and drinks, a little chill evening to unwind after a hard day at work. Last time it was Oona’s turn to host and it was a nice setting as she had access to her building’s rooftop, so you try to make it up for it with a large variety of snacks. You’re not a good cook but you’re creative so you’ve come up with many different dips for the crips & vegetable sticks you’ve prepared for the occasion. You just hope you’ll be able to make the evening enjoyable for your guests, you all deserve a break and it would bother you to fail to provide that tonight. Once you’re all set, you take a quick look around and you’re pretty satisfied, the place looks cosy, invinting and the food is spread equally, if they don’t want to move too much they’ll be able to taste everything in one spot. Being a PA as also rubbed off on your organizing skiils, you tend to anticipate more, think ahead and it shows. A few months ago, such a party would result in utter choas because you’d have second guess yourself about everything, trying to please everyone to be accepted, leading to disaster because time would have fly by, leaving you with only one option, to order everythin & empty your meager savings just to save face. That xas progress, in the right way even & it made you smile. Who would’ve thought it possible only a few months ago ? Not yourself, for sure.

Before the first guests arrive, you go change your attire for something a bit more fitting but still quite comfy. You’re not going out after all, might as well just do the bare minimum, it’s not like you’re trying to get someone’s attention these days... A last look at yourself in the mirror and you go back to your living room, waiting for your friends who should be there in only a few minutes now. The first to knock is, not a surprise for you, Oona, who got her arms full of boxes, each containing her famous cupcakes. - “I think I’ve overdone myself this time”, she says laughing a bit as she comes in but knowing the others, there would be none left by the end of the evening. - “If you ever consider a career change, I suggest you open a bakery, I’ll be your most loyal customer, your cupcakes are to die for”, you tell her as she puts the boxes down on the table before she turns over to hug you. - “I’ll keep that idea in mind, maybe i’ll do it on the down low, like some people do it on Etsy or something”, she answers smiling before making herself at home. “Need a hand for something?” - “Nope, I’m all set as you can see but you’re sweet to ask.” Before you can say anything else, the others start arriving and so the party begins. You try your best to be a good host, it’s not easy for you as usually you’d rather stay home, by yourself and watch tv shows & stuff like that but for once, you’ll make an effort. Your little group made you feel accepted & competent so you kinda owe them that, and you could survive being a social animal for one small night, right ? It’s 2 hours into the party when you see Shirley coming your way with a big smile on er face and you’re not sure what it bodes for you so you try to match her attitude but still weary deep inside. She wants to congratulate you for the party, saying it’s one the chilliest she’s ever been to but you can’t help but think she’s only saying that to make you feel better (that’s so Shirley after all). Without missing a beat though, she changes topics and mentions that there is someone here that seems very interest in you and she points (not so) discreetly towards him, making him wave back at the both of you. - “So unconspicuous, thanks now I’m blushing for no reason”, you joke with her but your cheeks feel warm still. It’s Dominic. He’s working as a gaffer for the studio and you’ve talked with him a couple of times already. He seems to be a nice guy, geeky like you. last time you two chatted together, you’ve spent a good 20 minutes debating which composer was the best when it came to original movie soundtracks, something any other guy would probably consider boring and trivial. - “Maybe not for no reason... I mean dearie, he’s kinda cute. Plus he’s clearly into you. You should go talk to him, like right now”, she says still smiling but you can sens it’s not really a recommandation, more like an order. - “You’re never going to leave it alone, are you?”, you reply you know the answer already. - “You deserver some love too darling, so go on, he doesn’t bite... maybe if you ask nicely though...” - “Shirley!”, you utter disapprovingly as she waddles away from you chuckling. But the deed is done, you notice that Dominic is coming towards you & you smile politely as he stops in front of you. - “Quite à party you’ve thrown here, congratulations”, he says jokingly as he points out to all your coworkers around, busy chatting while emptying the plates & drinks you’ve set out in the appartement. - “Thanks, you’re sweet to say that but I know it’s pretty basic. I didn’t have the time to come up with something as elaborate as the others”, you defend yourself. - “Yeah but at least you did your best, that has to count for something, right?”, he remarks and you nod slightly. - “Oh, now that’ I’m thinking about it, did you have time to watch the movie I talked you about the other day?”, you ask, more than relieved to change subject. - “Not yet, no, but I’ll give it a try soon, it’s on my watch list”, he answers chuckling a bit. - “So you’ve got one too, I’m not the only one who keeps tracks like this”, you admit chuckling too. And off you both go into a conversation about your most anticipated tv shows and without noticing it, the party is over and you’re left on your own to clean up the place but your friends are nice people, they collected the glasses and plates so you just have to pick everything up & put it in your sink. After the last bit is set to dry for the night, you crawl to your bedroom and fall on your bed, drowsing off into sleep with ease. The following days when you cross path with them, you got some compliments for your little spree and you must say, it uplifts your spirit after all that happened. Plus, as days go by, you’re starting to get closer to Dominic. Often you’re spending your lunch break together, chatting about your hobbies and stuff like that, discovering that you have a lot in common. As you thought, he’s nuce, not to narrow-minded but not too opiniated either. He loves animals (he showed you loads of pictures of his dog already and he’s as cute as his owner you must admit) and he loves the same old tv shows such as Xena or McGyver. It’s almost as if you made him in a computer (to continue the references to vintage tv shows you both like of course). So obviously, you’re on your guard. You’ve learned that if it’s too good to be true, it’s probably a trap and you’d rather avoid falling in another one right now. Plus the fact that you like the same things doesn’t mean anything, just that you had similar tastes and backgrounds as you’re roughly the same age too. But you’re not going to lie, you wouldn’t mind going out with him if the possibility should present itself some day. As for how things are going with Adam, you’re not exactly sure where you’re standing. Still not a single word regarding the kiss and he’s been pissed ever since that phone call the other day. So you do your job, daily and as good as ever even if the mood has clearly changed between you two. It’s a bit hard for you to force yourself not to care since it’s part of the job in a way but well, not that way and you know it. You’re not far from him as you both walk to the set and you yawn a bit, you watched the last season of How To Get Away With Murder yesterday’s evening but you sacrified your resting hours to know how it ended & it shows. - “Another party ?”, you suddenly hear coming from him, making you furrow your brows. Was that a jab at you ? It certainly feels so... - “No, not that it’s any of your business even if it was”, you remark maybe a bit too hastily but you don’t wanna hear any more innuendos regarding what you do or might be doing at night coming from him. He has no right to comment on that. “I’ve left the new pages of the script on your table, there’s only 3 lines that changed. I’ve marked them to save you the pain to go through it to found out which”, you add then to change the topics and open the door to the set, letting him enter first. He just nods to thank you and that’s it for conversation. You go join the others on the side and gladly chat with them after that new spat with Adam. Stew gives you a compassionate pat on your arm and you smile back at him, content that none of them ask what put you in that mood. The usual chatter sets your mind aside and the rest of the day arrives sooner than you thought, allowing you to get home early, giving you the opportunity to treat yourself with a feel good movie & some comfort food. But even that doesn’t really help because you can’t stop asking yourself what game he’s playing with you, ignoring you one moment and asking personal questions the other, like he’s some kind of Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. But luckily, you’re tired so you doze off, your mind finally giving you a break & cherry on the to of it all, you’re not coming back to work before noon the next day. As you join Shirley & Oona at their table for lunch, you catch Dominic in the distance. He’s waving at you so you wave back & see Shirley smile a bit as you sit down. - “What? He was saying hello, I just waved back”, you defend yourself, knowing what that smile means coming from her. - “I didn’t say a word darling”, she says a little bit too cheerfully to your taste. - “No need for that, you’ve got your ‘I’m judging you pout’ going on”, quips Oona, visibly amused too by your conversation. - “Ah! See, you’ve got that face, I’m not the only one saying it”, you remark as you sip on your drink with your straw. - “But she’s got a point though, you’re flirting with him”, Oona points out sipping hers too, making you almost sneeze yours out. - “I’m not, I’m being polite, you two should try it some time”, you retort, knowing they’re saying the truth but for now you ant to avoid confronting it, you’re not in the right mindset to start a relationship. They both chuckle and you end up chuckling too, making you think the topic was over but as usual, Shirley doesn’t give up that easily. - “Just be careful if you go out with him, don’t give him any false hope”, she adds, all wisely. - “Why would I do that?”, you ask, brows furrowed, not really knowing where this is coming from. - “You know why”, she says giving you the ‘you know who I’m talking about’ look. “The guy’s into you but don’t let him get close if your heart & mind are still hooked somewhere else”.

She just hit the spot. You always felt like she was some sort of a mind reader and this just confirms it for you because it’s like she knew what was going on inside your brain and strangely, you both knew it, given the look you two share at this point. Feeling the silence is getting awkward, Oona throws another subject out of nowhere and lunch goes by with you thinking about way too many things to really enjoy your food. You’re still processing that whole exchange during the afternoon, warranting yourself some side glances from Adam from time to time, which you deliberately chosoe to ignore. And it kinda pisses you off that he cares now but still not enough to talk to you about wha happened. Another reason you really should start to forget about him & you know it but it’s not that easy since you’re by his side all day long. Deep down you know what you have to do, it’s obvous but that’ll ask a lot for you & you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold the distance. Despite your slight shyness, you’re someone who cares about people (some may even say you care too much) so for you to cast your feelings aside even though you know that’s what needs to be done, it’s gonna be problematic. On your ride home, you nearly miss your stop because you’re deep in your thoughts and as the evening goes on, you feel a headache forming up, making you officially brand the day a crappy one. The next morning you arrive on set, completely on auto-pilot, the two coffee you already took didn’t have any effect on you until now but you pull through, the last thing you xant is hearing another remark coming from Adam about how you look tired, assuming you went out even though he’s part of the reason you’re in that state. But nothing comes and you’re relieved, avoiding yet another spat with him makes your day easier. In order to keep your cool for the day, you decide to eat your lunch next to the costume department building, knowing almost nobody goes there during the break. After a good thirthy minutes, you return to the real world and you cross path with Dominic, who’s leaving for the day, lucky him. You chat a little and when he leaves, you feel lighter. It’s stupid, you curse yourself to be that way, so unstable in your emotions, such a mess when clearly you should know better with what to expect from someone like him, playing with people just because he can. That’s where you’d like to have a dog, to keep you company in times like this, to cheer you up with its cute face. And at least, he wouldn’t play with your feelings like someone else did. But it would be unfair to him, as you wouldn’t be able to xlak him when needed, plus your building rules don’t allow pets in the appartments so... You just hold your pillow close & wait for sleep to come and get you so you can finally call it a day.

#fanfic #adam sackler x reader #the thrilling adventures of a PA #sorry for the delay #life was full cray cray for me #hope it's gonna be worth the wait #not a lot of Sackler here but it's to set up the next chapter

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loopy777 · 4 years ago

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Return of the Jedi is often looked upon as the weakest of the original trilogy. If you share that opinion, what do you think would have improved it? Aside from the Ewok thing, I think they could have gone with a different climax that doesn’t involve a second Death Star (maybe an old timey ship-to-ship style battle with the Executor but in space?)

Yeah, having another Death Star is definitely a bit tired. I appreciate that it came with a bunch of different visuals thanks to its half-finished nature, destroying it didn't involve another trench run, and it allowed for the biggest and most technically accomplished space action of the entire series (they did that all with real models and compositing! CGI may look nice, but it's easy), but having another super-weapon -- never mind the exact same thing as the first movie -- feels lazy.

In the early drafts, the creative team had been toying with something involving the Imperial Capital, but the action never really went beyond Death Star-esque space stations and a forest moon. I think something could have been done with the capital planet itself, but that would have required more budget than George Lucas wanted to spend, and his vision possibly wasn't even technically possible at the time.

Also, I do agree that that Ewoks are perhaps a little too kid-friendly. I think the theme works, with the 'primitives' defeating the more technological Empire, and I even think it was implemented in a believable manner. But the whole 'teddy bear picnic' look of it (as Carrie Fisher called it) was probably too much for the aging primary audience, never mind the adult fans, and there didn't need to be so much silliness and comedy with them. It's the same thing that sunk Jar-Jar and the Gungans in Phantom Menace- cute bumbling critters are fine, but then the audience isn't really going to warm to them winning a war. I don't mean that the fight needs to be all gritty and violent, but leaving the slapstick to just Wicket and letting the other Ewoks looks like experienced guerillas would have probably accomplished a lot in endearing the idea to the audience.

More than the teddy bears, though, I think the look of Endor's moon itself doesn't meet Star Wars standards. It's just a forest, the same thing you can see in any low-budget fantasy movie. Sure, there are a few more redwoods in RotJ than in LotR Knockoff #47, but it's still a step down from what came before. Tatooine was probably the most boring-looking planet before that, in terms of environment, but the sci-fi civilization built on the desert made it interesting. Endor's moon is just a forest and the Ewok treehouses. There's no wow-factor, especially after ESB upped the game from the first movie.

Overall, though, I think the main problem with RotJ is one that isn't really visible on the screen. It's the primary culprit behind the lack of enthusiasm people feel for the movie, IMO.

I'm talking, of course, about the pacing.

The first part of the movie, the rescue of Han from Jabba, feels like a stand-alone adventure more appropriate to an episode of a TV series. It has nothing to do with the conflict with the Empire, and has this slow rollout of the cast that definitely feels like it's reintroducing the audience to them, an odd choice for the last movie in a trilogy. Nothing is accomplished by it except reestablishing the status quo, getting the whole cast ready to return to the real story. It's the most visually impressive location in the movie, with the rancor and all the alien costumes, but in the end Luke just fights his way through it. Throwing Luke and company into something a bit more involved, like if Jabba was meeting with another crime lord and Luke played them off against each other or something, would be a bit more engaging. But that would still leave this section of the movie feeling separate from everything else. I'm not sure how to solve that, as it is a bit of business leftover from ESB that has to be tided up in some way, and it's a good example of why playing things by ear can be really hard even for people who are good at it.

The next major problem with the pacing comes on Endor's moon, when Luke and company spend so much time meeting the Ewoks. I don't think it's a long time in actual count of minutes, but it's a slow bit that's probably more drawn out than it needs to be. The original Star Wars was a location-hopping adventure with wonderfully-paced forward momentum buoyed by some fun moments of natural downtime. ESB was a chase sequence spiced up with the ramping romance between Han and Leia, with Luke's powering up and exploration of the Force inter-spaced, culminating in the heroes suffering major dramatic defeats. But RotJ starts with a side-quest, then Luke gets the truth about Vader in a good scene that's still just people sitting around and talking, and after a speeder bike chase (that again is probably too long) the heroes take their time becoming friends with Ewoks in a forest. Star Wars was exhilarating before this, and now it's laboring to the finish line while dithering to clean up its own subplots.

(Note: I do NOT advocate avoiding the due diligence of cleaning up subplots in order to try to maintain a propulsive plot, and the final movie certainly isn't the place to be throwing new subplots in. That's how you get Rise Of Skywalker, and no one wants that.)

When the big finale starts, with Luke confronting Vader and then the Battle of Endor kicking off, the pacing finally gets back on track, IMO. George Lucas knows how to edit together an action sequence, if nothing else, and knows when to cut back to the slower but more emotionally meaty Luke-stuff with the Emperor.

However, I do think the parts with Han and Leia can come across as a little rote, since their action isn't really tied to any story or character arc for them. It's functional enough with them both leading the rebellion, but there's nothing particularly dramatic about it for them, and they're just busting one small bunker, compared to Lando taking on the big examples of Imperial might, the Death Star and the Executor Super Star Destroyer. Han and Leia don't even get to fight one of the big walkers, they just fight the smaller chicken-walkers! And I think Lando's role does feel more like part of his character arc, with him being a respectable leader for the good guys in a nice uniform, and using his cleverness to keep the fleet alive long enough to assault the Death Star.

But, strangely, the moment in the whole Endor battle that feels the most like a culmination is when the Executor Super Star Destroyer is destroyed, and none of the main characters are even involved in that! Sure, blowing up another Death Star is fine, but we've already done it. No one has blown up a Super Star Destroyer before, and that got built up through the whole previous movie.

Fortunately, everything about Luke's big climax with Vader and the Emperor is functionally perfect, and that's the part that people were most interested in, so I don't think that RotJ really stumbles at the end. It succeeds and does deliver a lot of what people had come to like about Star Wars. It just doesn't do it as intensely or smoothly as the previous efforts, so it feels weaker.

So if I were to try to create a 'stronger' RotJ, I'd probably shave the Han Rescue down to a quick action-packed prologue, do the Vader=Father explanation for Luke as a mix of Obi-Wan's explanation with a trippy Force Vision Quest with some interesting visuals, then have the Rebellion assault the Imperial capital in a mix of space and ground battle. I'd get rid of the whole concept of the forest setting and the spear-wielding primitives, since that's the same metaphor as the Empire and Rebellion, anyway. I'd also make the Rebellion fleet smaller and more desperate, connecting it clearly to the losses from the previous movie, and the attack on the capital is some kind of desperate last ploy, motivated by some kind of time limit. Luke still confronts Vader and the Emperor alone. For Han and Leia, I wonder if -- instead of simply having them fight -- they could maybe rally some downtrodden local citizenry to help take down or turn off some big Imperial Plot Thingy, giving them a chance to show leadership and unite the Rebellion with the people it's been fighting for, or something like that. Han could even tell the locals about the Force, something they've never heard of, living on the capital. And Leia gives them the chance at freedom.

Hm, perhaps the first assault against the Imperial Palace fails at first, with a bunch of Rebels dying but Leia and Han escaping, leaving Lando and company stranded in space with the baddies? Then Leia and Han need to find an alternate way to accomplish the goal, giving the 'meet the locals' sequence a bit more intensity and a time limit, but still serving as a bit of downtime between actiony bits. Or the final half of the movie could be all action, with the relative downtime being Luke's part with the Emperor and Vader in the palace. (This is the kind of thing decided in the editing room.) Then the Rebel assault can be continuous, and about to lose when Han and Leia show up with reinforcements. Movie audiences love that. They turn off the Imperial Plot Thingy. Then Lando lands the decisive blow on the Executor, which crashes into the Imperial Palace just after Luke escapes in the wake of Vader's death.

Anyway, that's all off the top of my head. But you see where I'm going with this. Keep it moving, keep it intense, keep it new and interesting, don't get too hung up on the Vietnam War metaphor that inspired certain themes, and try to put more characters arcs into things so that Harrison Ford doesn't spend the next 30 years talking about how much he wanted his character to die.

Maybe we can have a village of Ewoks living in the capital sewers, along with other Downtroddens. There's no reason not to have any teddy bears.

Star Wars is supposed to be fun, too. And a little silly.

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whumphoarder · 5 years ago

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Karmaitis

Summary: Peter fakes sick to help Tony get out of going to an important event, but then later ends up actually sick. His mentor is a bit slow on the uptake.

Word count: 3,043

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort, humor

Link to read on ao3

A/N: I definitely took some liberties with this prompt, but hopefully you still enjoy the story :D Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading and giving me ideas, and to @fandomsficsandfeels for inspiration for the plotline!

��I can’t believe this, Tony,” Pepper whispers from just inside the room’s threshold. Her back is to Peter and her voice is quiet enough that if it wasn’t for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have registered it. “You’ve known about this award ceremony for months, and now, two hours before it starts, you’re telling me you can’t go?”

“I’m sorry, Pep, but what am I supposed to do?” Tony says, and Peter can hear the distress in his voice. “The kid’s practically coughing up a lung, and FRI says he’s running a fever—I can’t leave him alone like this.”

Peter pushes himself up from where he’s currently sprawled out on the living room sofa, his arms trembling from the effort. “No, no M’s’r Stark…” he rasps, “you can go. I’ll be fi—” he cuts himself off by hunching forward to hack out a few more horrible-sounding coughs.

Tony, dressed in a suit that Peter figures could easily pay for several months of his aunt’s rent, is beside him in three quick strides, immediately wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders to push him to a more upright position.“Hey, hey, easy, kid, easy…” he instructs, rubbing a comforting hand up and down on Peter’s back.

Pepper’s mildly irritated expression softens into one of genuine concern. Her long sparkly gown swishes behind her as she moves over to locate Peter’s water glass on the coffee table and perches herself on the edge of the sofa in front of him. “Here, take a sip,” she says gently.

As soon as the current coughing fit is passed, Peter nods gratefully to her and takes the glass with a shaky hand. “Thanks…” he croaks.

Pepper sighs, but there’s a sad sort of smile to her eyes now. She smooths a few of his curls back out of his eyes. “I’m really sorry you’re feeling so bad.”

Peter feels his face flush slightly. It’s one thing to have Tony see him like this, but it’s another thing entirely to have Pepper Potts witnessing. “It’s really not so bad,” he protests weakly. “I’ll be okay, I just—” He quickly places the glass back down as he breaks into more coughs.

Frowning, Tony presses the back of his hand to the kid’s slightly sweaty forehead. Peter shivers at the touch. “Sorry, kiddo, but May would have my head if she knew I left you alone in this state.” He shudders a bit. “That woman may be sweet, but she’s also terrifying.”

Peter can’t help but bark out a hoarse laugh at that. It’s true that May laid out some pretty strict guidelines before leaving Peter in the Starks’ care while she visits her college friend in Seattle, and he’s fairly sure that letting him die from bronchitis while Tony receives this year’s Green Energy Champion award would violate a few of those.

Turning back to his fiancée, Tony gives her a regretful look. “I guess I could ask Happy to stay with him, but…”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, you’re right,” she concedes. “He’s sick, and until Sunday evening, you’re his temporary guardian. You have to stay.” She gets to her feet again and straightens her dress back out. “I’ll accept the award for you and smooth things over with the organizers and the press.”

Tony stands up as well to plant a quick kiss on her lips. “Have I ever told you that you’re a lifesaver?”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Lifesaver? More like your entire National Guard service.”

While Tony waves her off, Peter lowers his gaze down to the blanket spread across his legs, picking at a piece of fuzz with his fingernails. “I’m really sorry…”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Pepper assures, her tone kind. “It’s not your fault you’re sick—just kind of inconvenient timing. But I’ll figure it all out, don’t worry.” With a humorous huff, she adds, “This is far from the first important event Tony’s missed.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Tony grumbles. “I’ve been much better about that stuff lately.”

“True,” she allows, giving him an extra peck on the cheek. “It’s been nearly a decade since you blew off the Queen of England.”

Peter’s eyes widen, but Tony only rolls his own at the kid in response. “Oh please, as if you would want to fly six hours to drink some tea from a fancy cup with an elderly lady for some international magazine spread...”

“Anyway,” Pepper goes on, “I’d better get going. Good luck you two.” Glancing to Peter, she adds, “Feel better.”

Tony and Peter wave their goodbyes and Pepper makes her way out to the parking garage. They keep their eyes glued to the TV screen, which has been playing Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns in the background, for several minutes before FRIDAY breaks the silence.

“Boss, Ms. Potts’ car has left the property. She is en route to the ceremony.”

“Oh thank god,” Peter breathes out, immediately untangling the blanket from his legs and pulling the single-use heating packs out from under his hoodie. “I’m about to keel over from heatstroke here. You know spiders can’t thermoregulate well.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I was monitoring you—your temp barely even hit 100 that whole time. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You owe me one,” Peter quips, rubbing at his throat. It’s actually pretty sore now from all the fake coughing. “I lied for you—to Ms. Potts of all people.”

“Technically, you never lied,” Tony points out, holding up his index finger. “You just presented her with some misleading information and she came to her own conclusions. Totally different.”

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “Is it, though?”

“It is,” Tony declares. He unknots his tie and tugs it out from his shirt collar before tossing it onto the coffee table. “Ready to finish your webshooter upgrades?”

“Yeah, alright,” Peter agrees. He gets to his feet with a small groan, feeling stiff from having sat curled up for the last few hours to really drive home the performance.

Ordinarily, this kind of deception isn’t something that Peter would endorse, much less participate in. But something about Tony’s reluctance to attend the event tonight seemed to run a bit deeper than the simple explanation he’d given Peter about having “better things to do” and these types of events being “so boring they’ll make your eyes bleed” would seem to suggest, so he’d agreed to play along.

(Secretly, Peter’s pretty sure it has more to do with the fact that the presenter is a man named Patrick Milton, whom a quick google search revealed to be a long-time friend of both Howard Stark and Obadiah Stane. That would definitely explain the way Tony’s eyes darken and lips press together a bit tighter every time Milton’s name is mentioned.)

“Let’s go, kid! Time’s a-wastin'!” Tony calls, moving in the direction of the workshop doors. He seems much more chipper already, and that alone helps to confirm to Peter that he made the right choice. “It’s not every day we get to play hooky.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Peter replies with a grin.

Over the next few hours, Peter and Tony tinker with the webshooter design, tweaking one mechanism or another to add different features. It’s exactly the kind of project Peter would usually be all over, but the longer he stares at the parts of the contraption on the table before him, the more he just wants to go back to the sofa and resume their Hulu marathon. A headache is setting in now and he’s weirdly tired, almost shaky, though that can likely be attributed to low blood sugar from the meager three bites of canned soup he pretended to struggle to swallow down earlier at lunch.

He figures he should probably stop Mr. Stark pretty soon to remind him that dinner is a thing that should happen (his mentor is notorious for working through meals and that’s something that just doesn’t fly with enhanced teenage metabolisms), but Peter’s stomach is feeling decidedly “off” now and food is rapidly losing its appeal. Not to mention he’s awfully warm all of a sudden, despite having stripped to only a t-shirt now.

“Hand me a three-eighths wrench, will you?” Tony asks without looking up from the project.

Peter nods, hopping up from his stool. But the moment his feet touch the ground, a cloud of darkness rolls over his field of vision and he wobbles where he stands. “Whoa…” he whispers, gripping the workbench for support.

Tony glances up and his brow immediately wrinkles in concern. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, blinking a couple of times to clear his vision. “Stood up too fast.”

Tony glances at his watch. “I guess it is getting pretty late.” He sets down his tools and wipes his greasy hands off on the towel. “I’ll order us some dinner. Pizza sound good?”

Peter’s stomach twists at the thought and he grimaces slightly—pizza definitely does not sound good at the moment. “Uh, maybe something else...”

“What do you want then?” Tony asks. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through it. “Sushi? Chinese? Indian?”

Each suggestion causes Peter’s stomach to churn and his face to drain a bit further of color. “You can just get something for yourself,” he mutters. “I think I might have the rest of that soup...” Or nothing, he thinks. Nothing is sounding rather good at the moment.

Tony rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “It’s just us now. You don’t have to put on a show anymore.”

“I’m not,” Peter protests. He presses his fingers to the throbbing spot near his eye. “I’m just not feeling super great…”

“Yeah, sure kid,” Tony dismisses with a disbelieving scoff, both of them moving toward the exit. “Hit the lights, FRI,” he commands.

Tony takes the liberty of ordering them both dinner from a local restaurant (“I got you a cheeseburger”, he informs Peter, who merely grunts in response) and then heads upstairs to take a shower. Meanwhile, Peter shuffles into the living room and curls up against the armrest on one of the sofas, tugging the throw blanket around him tightly. He’s cold now—shivering, actually. When did it get so cold in here?

Despite the aching in his head and the uneasiness in his stomach, his eyelids drift shut and he finds himself falling asleep.

“Hey, Pete, wake up.”

Peter groans and tugs the blanket up around his shoulders a little further, burrowing his face into the pillow. He hears the crinkle of a paper bag and the smell of greasy burgers and fries wafts toward him, causing his face to scrunch up.

“Food’s here,” Tony’s voice continues. “Better hurry up and eat before Pep gets back.”

“Hmph…” Peter manages to open his eyes and sits up on the couch, trying to blink away the bleariness. He feels like shit.

Tony tosses one of the paper-wrapped burgers unceremoniously into his lap. “Nice bedhead,” he remarks. “That’ll definitely help with our cover story, which by the way is that you had a nice quiet evening napping on the couch and taking your spidey-kid strength cough medicine and that’s why you’re on the mend now.” He tosses a few fries into his mouth.

Peter hums a bit. He’s only half listening—mostly he’s just trying to keep his breaths even. Maybe if he just holds very, very still, he can quell the growing queasiness in his gut.

Plopping himself down in the armchair, Tony flaps his hand as he goes on. “Tomorrow we can spin some BS about your super healing being responsible for your miraculous recovery… yada, yada.”

The burger still sits on Peter’s thighs, untouched. He blinks at it a few times and then has to swallow down the bile that’s starting to creep up his throat. Nothing has ever looked less appetizing in his life.

As Tony starts to unwrap his own burger, Peter suddenly comes to the conclusion that if he so much as sees that damn burger, he’s going to be redecorating the carpet. It’s probably only fair to give the man some kind of warning.

Peter draws in a careful breath. “Um, Mr. Stark?” he mumbles. “I feel kinda—”

FRIDAY’s voice interrupts over the speakers, “Boss, Ms. Potts has just pulled into the parking garage.”

Tony’s eyes widen and he scrambles back up to his feet, stuffing his burger back into the paper bag. “Shit. She must have left early.”

He grabs Peter’s burger as well (much to the kid’s relief) and shoves it back into the sack along with the fries, throwing him a regretful look as he does so. “I’m sorry—I’ll sneak you something once she’s upstairs.”

“’S’fine....” Peter murmurs as Tony hurries out of the room with the food. His mentor is out of earshot before Peter adds, under his breath, “Think I’ll jus’ go puke now...”

Peter’s mouth is rapidly filling with saliva and he figures he’s got about a minute, tops, before catastrophe strikes. He’s torn between wanting to move as slowly and gingerly as possible in the hopes that his meager lunch will stay down, and the feeling that he should just run for the nearest bathroom and pray that he makes it.

He ends up failing at both.

Easing himself up from the couch, Peter manages to take three steps before his stomach lurches. He leaps forward and changes course for the trash can instead, barely managing to get it under his chin before he’s retching miserably into it.

Between gasping breaths, Peter can hear two sets of footsteps approaching.

“Yeah, he sounds much better now,” Tony’s voice floats down the hallway in his direction. “The meds helped a lot. I think I’ll just let him sleep in tomorrow and his healing factor should kick this bug for good before—“

Both Tony and Pepper stop abruptly in the room’s threshold. Peter shoots his flabbergasted mentor a pained look before dropping his head back into the bin and gagging again.

Before he can resurface, Peter feels a gentle hand on his back. “Oh, Peter…” Pepper soothes. Addressing Tony, she whispers, a little accusingly, “I thought you said he was doing better.”

Snapping right out of his daze, Tony quickly moves over to join them. “He was, but that was before.” He grabs a hold of Peter’s upper arm. “It’s alright, I got him,” he tells her, starting to maneuver Peter toward the bathroom. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s get you sorted out…”

Feeling too weak to protest, Peter shuffles shakily in the direction Tony guides him, still gripping the trash can tightly to his chest.

Pepper casts them both a worried look. “Maybe we should call Cho.”

“He probably just coughed so hard he made himself sick,” Tony explains. Catching Peter’s gaze, Tony shoots him a look that’s somewhere between baffled and pleading. If Peter wasn’t so focused on walking in a straight line at the moment, he might have found it funny. “Right, Pete?”

Peter merely shrugs in response as his mentor ushers him into the bathroom.

“See? He’ll be just fine,” Tony promises. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, honey.” And with that he shuts the bathroom door behind them, leaving Pepper in the hall.

The second they’re alone, Tony releases Peter’s arm and turns to face him. “What are you doing?” he whispers, dumbfounded. “I mean, I admire your commitment here, but she was totally buying it already. You didn’t have to go this far.”

Swaying slightly, Peter grips the sink counter to steady himself. “No,” he croaks. “I’m sick.”

“Right,” Tony agrees, nodding. “You’re sick. But we agreed on taking the respiratory route here, so suddenly going off-script is—”

Peter’s stomach clenches again. He pushes Tony aside and stumbles toward the toilet, yanking the lid up and leaning forward over the bowl before retching yet again.

When the current round of heaving tapers off, Peter glances up to see Tony staring at him, sudden realization dawning. “Oh, shit.” He moves his hand up to feel Peter’s overly-warm forehead. “You really are sick.”

“Told you,” Peter rasps. He’s still trembling, so Tony grabs the kid’s elbow and helps lower him down to sit on the floor beside the toilet. “This always happens…” he mutters.

Tony’s brow furrows. “What always happens?”

“It’s like my body knows when I’m faking,” Peter explains. “Tries to help with the act. Gets a little too enthusiastic.” He pauses to close his eyes and press his palm to his still aching forehead. “In fourth grade, May and Ben told the school I had chickenpox the week before summer break so we could go on vacation to Lego Land before all the prices went up.” He swallows hard. “Except I got a really bad fever the next day and we missed our flight.”

“Fuck…” Tony runs a hand through his own hair, exasperated. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“Yeah, and one time I faked sick to get out of a Spanish test and the next week I had tonsillitis,” Peter goes on, feeling his stomach starting to cramp again. “I’m telling you, karma sucks.”

“But I put you up to this,” Tony protests, his face stricken with guilt. “It should’ve been me who got sick then.”

Shrugging, Peter wraps one arm around his middle. “S’okay. Like you said, my healing factor will fix it soon.” He gives a weak grin. “Plus, now we don’t have to worry about Ms. Potts doubting the authenticity.”

Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Yeah, now we’re just left with explaining why your ‘bronchitis’”—he puts air quotes around the term—“has suddenly morphed into something that’s got you puking your guts up.”

Peter grunts as he scoots a little closer to the toilet again, the nausea returning. “Yeah, I dunno...” He drapes his arm on the rim of the bowl and rests his heavy head on it as he awaits the next round. “Tell her it’s a spider thing?”

With a sigh, Tony sits down beside him and places a hand on the kid’s back. “I’m going to make this up to you somehow.” He starts rubbing gentle circles on Peter’s sweaty t-shirt. “You and May still up for that trip to Lego Land?”

“Sounds good, Mr. Stark…” Peter murmurs before gagging into the bowl again.

Fic masterlist

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: Give the Kid an Oscar

#sick peter parker #sickfic #irondad #irondad fic #illness #faking #faking sick #My fic

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missjosie27 · 4 years ago

Text

Year 3 Part 6- Tulip Karasu

Hey, guys.

New chapter is up. Sorry it took so long, I've been dealing with some highly personal stuff. It's not going to get any easier so things are going to be a bit unpredictable for awhile.

But that being said, I hope you all like the content as usual and please let me know what you think of my interpretation of Tulip!

Tonks did indeed have a plan, but it was risky, even by their group’s standards. Rowan and Ben were not at all convinced of its merit.

“Let me get this correctly. Tonks is going to pretend to be Snape and report that Peeves is messing up the Transfiguration classroom while you sneak into his office and take back your brother’s quill?” his best friend asked while they ate dinner in the Great Hall.

“Yup,” David replied, taking a bite of his steak. “Pretty much.”

“You seem entirely too unconcerned.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“What choice do I have? I’d have to break into his office somehow and get it back.”

“There are many ways to get Filch to leave his office,” Rowan told him. “But impersonating a teacher is probably the most dangerous. Especially Snape. What if the real one catches you?”

“We’re doing it Friday evening,” David explained. “By that time, Snape will be brooding in his bedroom and won’t even be aware of what’s going on.”

“He could always find out later,” Ben pointed out.

“And how could they prove it was me? Mates, we got every angle of this plan covered. I promise.”

Rowan adjusted his glasses skeptically.

“I just hope Tonks knows what she’s doing. I hope you both know what you’re doing. This could go spectacularly wrong.”

“It’s the only way to find out more about my brother. I’m taking that chance, plus I owe that mean old geezer what for.”

“And what about the cursed vaults? More boggarts keep popping up everywhere. Are you still content to heed Dumbledore and your parents?”

It was the million galleon question. More than ever, David felt the pull to continue to investigate the vaults. But despite what people thought of him, he was not going to purposefully seek trouble. Family mattered more. Not the vaults. But was it time to concede the two were irrevocably linked?

“I’ll have to do a rain check on that,” he told Rowan who looked at Ben.

Neither one of them seemed reassured.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was quite impressive...and bit odd that Tonks knew Filch’s habits so thoroughly. David didn’t mind pointing it out to the metamorphmagus either.

“If you spent half the effort in Herbology as you do tricking Filch, you wouldn’t be spending every other Tuesday with Sprout shoveling dung.”

Tonks clutched her heart in mock offense.

“Merlin’s beard, Dave. You wound me to the quick. The art of hoodwinking this mangy caretaker is an art just as important as any academic mark.”

David snorted.

“Right, whatever you say.”

“Do you want your quill back or not?”

They were in the same corridor as Filch’s office, about thirty feet away, peeking around one of the corners. Tonks wore her usual ensemble of a ripped t-shirt, boots, gray woolen tights, and denim shorts, but she summoned a huge mess of robes from her bag and put them on. The effect was to make her look like a pint sized dementor without the hood.

“Of course.”

“Then follow my lead.”

“Where did you get the robes?”

Tonks couldn’t help but grin.

“Penny has a contact with one of the house elves. Also helps that our common room is right by the kitchen and laundry room.”

“One of these days one of you has to sneak me in there, I swear,” David said eagerly.

“All in good time,” the pink haired witch said with a wink. “For now, it’s showtime. Follow my lead, and stay hidden until Filch is out of sight.”

Without another word, she transformed into an exact replica of Professor Snape, walked promptly down the hall and knocked on the third door to the left.

The jangly, old caretaker opened it immediately, Mrs. Norris purring by his shoes.

“Professor Snape, sir! What can I do for you?”

It was evident that Filch had a great deal of respect as the man bowed as low as his aching joints would let him. David supposed it had something to do with Snape’s reputation as a harsh, no nonsense disciplinarian.

“Yes. It is I: Severus Snape. Potions Master and head of Slytherin. I have a job for you.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Tonk’s acting was atrocious compared to his own stint as the Potions Master. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“We’re bloody doomed.”

But thankfully, Filch was no Dumbledore when it came to discerning through disguises.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“Peeves is currently wrecking the Transfiguration classroom and I thought you were just the man to fend him off. I would have done it myself, but I have too many papers to grade.”

“Yes, sir, Professor Snape. I’ll go head him off right now. Come, Mrs. Norrus.”

The caretaker hobbled off, his beloved cat in tow. David was sure to remain plastered to the wall as he went by. When out of sight, he went back towards Tonks, who by now had returned to her normal self.

“That was quite a performance.”

“Thank you, kindly. The Transfiguration classroom is pretty far away but I reckon you still only have fifteen minutes before he realizes he’s been tricked and comes back. Search that office as quickly as you can.”

“Right. You’re amazing, Tonks,” he said sincerely to her.

“Praise me later. Go!” she urged him. “I’ll stand guard and give a signal when you have five minutes.”

Wasting no more time, David used a simple unlocking spell on the door, which opened with a small click, granting him access to its contents.

Inside was a jumbled mess of filing cabinets, papers, and notes that surrounded a heavy wooden desk. Boxes of contraband lined the walls. There was a bowl and sleeping area for the mangy cat as well as a cot for a human being. Hanging from the walls were shackles, which were the best maintained objects in the entire room. They were shiny, well oiled and ominous, as if they were being prepared for use in a seconds notice. On top of that, there was a light draft from an unknown source.

David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for the man but there was little time to dwell on that. He needed to find this quill and fast.

“Filch’s office is just as cold and depressing as I imagined,” he surmised to himself.

Peering around the mass of boxes, cabinets, and contraband he gave a frustrated sigh.

“It’s going to take me forever to go through all this rubbish.”

He began looking through the drawers and various boxes, ignoring the damp smell of moth balls and cat hair. There was nothing much to report, files on various students who had attended the school many years ago, confiscated items such as fanged frisbees and nose biting tea cups. No doubt he’d been on the receiving end of many prank items.

“This is taking too much time,” he muttered.

Then David realized he’d been looking in the wrong place. Quills were small items most likely to be kept inside a desk…

Quickly, he turned around and began scrummaging through Filch’s hardwood desk and soon enough in the second drawer from the right, there it was.”

“Gotcha!” he cried out triumphantly.

Just then, there was a knock on the door indicating five minutes left. He’d made it with time to spare.

Time to get the hell out of here

He and Tonks laughed all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower where she saw him off, both surprised the plan went off without any hitches.

“He’s going to be furious tomorrow,” the pink haired witch chuckled. “Peeves was actually in the Astronomy Tower. Oops.”

“I guess it pays being a metamorphagus,” David said with a grin.

“The teachers all know, of course. I’d never try to fool one of them, but Filch is an exception. Plus, this was important to you.”

David felt his heart warm with gratitude. For as clumsy and goofy as she could be, Tonks really was a true and loyal friend. She had proved that yet again.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, mate. So what do you think this quill contains anyway?”

Rubbing his fingers on the soft, smooth edge of the feather, David only had one thought in mind.

“Something that belonged to my brother. And another key to finding him.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in the common room It didn’t take long for David and Rowan to get started in analyzing the quill. Though it was late, they were careful to stay quiet so as not to be overheard.

“This quill looks remarkably similar to the one we found on Ben during second year. Do you think it’s ‘R’ again?” Rowan asked.

R was still a mystery to them all. There had been no sign or message from the group since last year and without more evidence to go off, finding out who they were would remain unknown for the time being.

“I don’t think so. Madam Rosmerta said this quill belonged to my brother. It was on his person when the Ministry hauled him away for questioning before leaving it behind.”

“Only one way to find out,” his best friend shrugged.

Laying the quill out on one the tables, David cast the untransfiguring spell.

“Repifarage!”

Almost immediately the quill turned into a brown, leatherback notebook. On the bottom right corner was the name ‘Jacob H. Grant’.

“Whoa…”

Wasting no time, the two young Gryffindors opened it up to the first page. It contained a bevy of symbols and a language that looked suspiciously familiar.

“Ancient Aramaic,” Rowan breathed out. “The same inscription we saw in our first year and on the walls of the ice vault.”

“It’s becoming a common theme,” David said. “Can you decipher it?”

Rowan nodded as he picked up the book and studied its contents.

“I can but it’ll take me a few minutes. Not exactly easy to decipher messages in a dead language.”

“Only a few minutes?” David teased him.

Rowan blushed. “Shut up.”

Indeed, the prowess of his highly intelligent and book smart friend proved quite useful as it only took him a short amount of time to work out the message, constantly tapping the pages with his wand while muttering underneath his breath.

“Alright, I think I have the basic gist of it.”

“What does it say?”

Rowan cleared his throat but spoke in a low whisper as a few sixth year stragglers passed them by. No doubt they were returning from a party of some sort.

“‘These boggarts must have something to do with the curse protecting the next vault, which means someone found it first. If I don’t hurry, Hogwarts is doomed.’”

“History seems to be repeating itself, then,” David mused to himself.

“And look at this!” Rowan said in a hushed, excited tone. “A location of where he conducted most of his research. It’s near the greenhouses on one of the lower corridors.”

David’s heart began to race with anticipation. He hadn’t felt a sense of urgency quite like this since the previous year.

“Just like he told me last year in the ice vault. ‘Find my room, David’. We need to get into it, pronto.”

“You go find it while I take Sunday to decipher the rest of this notebook,” his best friend told him. “We can cover more ground that way.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take Bill with me. He’ll be more than happy to do more investigating into this vault. Plus, he can use his prefect status as a cover just in case a teacher comes along.”

“Tell him I said hello!”

“Rowan, we see him almost every day.”

“I know...I just...never mind.”

David smiled and shook his head. He often wondered just how far Rowan’s admiration of Bill Weasley went. But he shrugged off that thought.

It was time to find his brother’s room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday was always a lazy day, even by Hogwarts’ usual busybody standards. Most students were content to lay around, sleep in, catch up on homework, or hang out with their friends. For David Grant and Bill Weasley, however, that time was spent searching for a random room that contained possible information about a cursed vault.

“This is definitely an unexpected development, but not an unwelcome one,” Bill told him as they walked along the lower corridor. “How did you find out about your brother’s secret room, Dave? You never explained that when you asked me to come along.”

“He kept records of his search for the Cursed Vaults. Madam Rosmerta gave me a black quill at the Three Broomsticks that once belonged to him. Turns out it was a hidden notebook. Rowan deciphered one of the pages and we found the location of the room he used for his research.”

“That’s huge,” the eldest Weasley commented, clearly impressed. “I’m amazed you deciphered it so fast.”

“Thank Rowan. He’s a genius when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

“Of course. So this place is somewhere at the end of this hallway?”

“Past the greenhouses. There’s supposed to be an anonymous room with a dark wooden door.”

Bill swelled up with pride.

“Well then let’s go find it. Now that I’m a prefect, I can make sure that students are out of the corridors if we need some privacy. Plus the teachers won’t think to question us.”

“Didn’t think you’d get those kinds of perks, did ya?” David elbowed him with a grin.

“Being a prefect is something I’m truly thankful for. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being able to move more freely throughout the castle because of it,” Bill laughed.

Moving forward, they scoured the corridor, glancing around for any sign of their quarry. When there was no door to speak of, David had an idea.

“Let me try something.”

Visualizing an old, dark brown, wooden door, the third year Gryffindor cast a revealing charm. And sure enough, in a tiny corner packed away to the left underneath an archway of stone, one materialized.

“Blimey, David. I still can’t believe you know that spell. McGonagall says most students don’t even attempt vanishing and revealing until sixth year.”

“She says I have the chance to be a certified master in the subject before I turn 17,” he replied, trying not to brag. “I dunno, I guess I’m just naturally good at it.”

“Ever think of becoming an animagus?”

The third year Gryffindor shrugged.

“Not really. The idea of changing into a smelly animal isn’t all that appealing.”

“Fair enough,” Bill chuckled. “Now let’s check out this room.”

But they were in for a frustrating surprise. Upon closer inspection, there was a yellow padlock with two keyholes around the handle.

“Well this sucks,” David muttered.

“I’m sure we can get around it with an unlocking spell,” Bill encouraged.

David withdrew his wand and gave an ‘Alohomora’ but nothing happened, much to his chagrin.

“No good.”

“I’ll try busting it down,” the eldest Weasley said, taking out his own wand. “Flipendo!”

It did not have the intended effect. The spell ricocheted off the door narrowly missing his head and creating a scorch mark on the opposite wall.

“Guess we can cross that method off the list.”

“Must be sealed with some kind of spell beyond our means to break,” Bill surmised. “We’re going to have to find another way.”

It was then that David finally noticed something he hadn’t before: scrawled, tiny writing at the bottom of the lock.

“Look at this,” he pointed. “Property of Tulip Karasu. He looked towards Bill for clarification. “Who the hell is that?”

“I actually know of her,” the Prefect explained. “She’s a Ravenclaw in your year. Apparently, she’s always in detention. Bit of an eccentric from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, joy,” the third year Gryffindor snarked. “Guess we have no choice but to confront the nutter, eh?”

“Either that or we’re not getting through this door.”

There was no question on what to do next. Whoever this Tulip Karasu was, they would have to somehow convince her to give them the key or enchantment to unlock the secrets inside. Another roadblock in the enigma that was fast becoming the next cursed vault.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long for David and Bill to track down their desired person. Tulip was known to hang out in the Transfiguration room after school hours and it was actually Andre Egwu who pointed them in the right direction.

“Just be careful,” he told them at breakfast. “None of us really interact with her that much, but she’s weird even by Ravenclaw standards.”

“We’ll be alright, Andre,” David thanked him. “I’ve taken down an Ice Knight before. I think this shouldn’t be too hard.”

The black teen gave a knowing shrug.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And so the two boys agreed to meet outside the Transfiguration classroom once lessons were done for the day. Ben had unfortunately landed in detention after Ismelda blew up his cauldron and laid the blame at his feet. Rowan was assisting Madam Pince in the library. Upon meeting in the corridor once more, Bill gave him an inquisitive glance.

“I forgot to ask, David. Given everything that’s going on, does this mean we’re all in on the vaults again?”

The third year couldn’t deny that finding his brother and the vaults were undeniably linked by this time. And what’s more, that inescapable, consuming drive was back. He could feel it in the very essence of his soul. He wanted to find Jacob and this vault by extension. If that meant saving the school from a few boggarts, so be it.

“Yeah,” he replied back with a reassuring look. “We’re back.”

Bill grinned.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, let’s see what we can find out from this girl.”

Sure enough inside, there was a third year girl dressed in Ravenclaw colors. She was writing something on a sheet of parchment, giving no indication she was aware of any other presence in the room.

“That reminds me, how do you want to approach this?” Bill asked him.

“Ask nicely and hope she cooperates?” David whispered to the side. “She can’t be that unreasonable.”

Upon approaching the desk Tulip was sitting in, he was able to garner more of her physical features. She was fair skinned, thin, with dark brown eyes that took on a slight Asiatic quality. Long, red hair draped down past her shoulders and like Merula, took certain liberties with the uniform; her sleeves were rolled up and she wore brown oxfords, light blue socks with black tights underneath. To top it off, she also donned a necklace that looked suspiciously like a dungbomb. On the left side of the desk was a green toad which David thought was peculiar but thought nothing more of.

“Uh...excuse me? Tulip? Hi, I’m David Grant. I know your time is valuable and you’re probably very busy, but I really need your help.”

The response they received was bizarre to say the least. The Ravenclaw girl didn’t even bother to look up from her writing.

“Little flower...smells so sweet, so soft and delicate.”

David and Bill gave each other sideways glances, eyebrows raised.

“Uh...did you hear what I asked, Tulip?”

“I’m very busy. Talk to Dennis until I’m finished.”

“Who’s Dennis?” Bill asked, highly confused. He looked down at the toad in front of them, which gave a loud croak. “And what is that?”

Tulip again didn’t bother to look up from whatever she was writing.

“That’s a toad. His name is Dennis.”

Bill resisted rolling his eyes, while David had to suppress a laugh. This girl was barmy.

“We know what a toad is,” the third year Gryffindor said. “What’s that thing strapped to its back?”

It was only now that both boys noticed there was an object tied around the toad’s midsection, which looked suspiciously like…

“A dungbomb,” came the girl’s reply.

“As a prefect and a Weasley I can safely say that is the case,” Bill affirmed.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“It will when it explodes.”

Sure enough, the detonation timer was already set, a quiet ticking permeating through the odd conversation. It was only then David realized the gravity of the situation.

“Son of a...Tulip! How do I disarm this thing?”

“I can’t just give you the answers to my test. I need to know if you’re worthy of my help.”

He looked back towards Bill, panic growing on both of their faces.

“Wait a minute can you actually disarm a dungbomb?”

“If there's a method, I’m not aware of one. Fred and George set them off all the time. I’d say we only have about 10 seconds before it goes off.”

David was in no mood to be smelling the end of yesterday’s lunch and they had mere moments until the fateful explosion. Mind racing, he struggled to think of a solution.

“Wait, Bill. Use that new charm you were showing me the other day.”

“Which one?”

“The bubble head thingy.”

“You mean the bubble head charm?”

“Yes!”

Bill looked very perplexed now.

“How is that supposed to-”

By now David had cut the smelly projectile from the toad’s back and tossed it into the air.

“Cast it now!”

With precise aim, Bill understood his meaning and hit the dungbomb with a liquid blue bubble, enveloping it at the moment of detonation. Inside a greenish gas swirled about before the charm was lifted allowing the noxious air to pass harmlessly into the air.

“That was way too close,” the elder Weasley muttered.

“We didn’t disarm it but we got rid of it at least,” David offered.

“I assumed you would,” Tulip cut across them. By now she had ceased writing and looked upon both boys with great interest. “Getting rid of a dungbomb is nothing compared to breaking the curse on a Cursed Vault. I was quite jealous to be honest. I’ve always wanted to be told off in front of the entire school at the Welcoming Feast.”

“Er...right. May I ask why?” David asked, still unsure of what to make of this person.

“Because rules are made to be broken and Hogwarts has far too many rules,” came the mischievous reply with an equally mischievous smirk he felt oddly drawn to. “You inspired me David Grant. I knew I had to be the next one to open a Cursed Vault. I immediately scoured this castle for clues until I found an abandoned room that your brother used to research the vaults. To prevent anyone else from going in, I fashioned a key with two locks.”

“Well I’m flattered. But I can only assume you have the means to get inside?”

“I do but only partially. One key is in my possession. The other I agreed to give to my accomplice.”

David didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Every time he thought he had the answer to getting into his brother’s room, something else thwarted him.

“And who would this accomplice be?”

Tulip again gave him a curious, eccentric stare.

“I need to know I can trust you before I tell you that, David Grant. Meet me in the Great Hall tonight for dinner. We can chat one on one.”

David was tempted to put his foot down and just demand for the information and they key right then and there but he withheld his frustration. That kind of tactic wouldn’t work with someone like Tulip, especially since she held the key to his brother and the latest vault...quite literally. Of all the houses, he had the least amount of experience with the Ravenclaws.

It seemed as though he was about to get an education. Bill gave him a shrug as if to say ‘couldn’t hurt’.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you there.”

Tulip gave another mischievous smile in return.

“Excellent.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #David Grant #tulip kasaru #nymphadora tonks #ben copper #rowan khanna #bill weasley #gryffindor

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somefinelipstickonthatpig · 5 years ago

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Of Dancing and Laughter Fic #4, Zestiria - AtlA AU

[Read on AO3]

After fleeing the Fire Navy ships, Sorey, Lailah and Mikleo take shelter for the night in what was once the Southern Air Temple. Though they can't stay, maybe they can bring a little more life and light to the forgotten ruins.

Also, Sorey just wants to try on Lailah's heels.

o - o - o

Lailah decided it was probably some kind of divine fortune that they managed to find the Southern Air Temple when they did. She is sure that otherwise, they would have continued flying until the Fire Nation found them or Atakk became too tired.

Sorey was the first to slide down from the dragon's saddle and onto the outdoor frontcourt of the Southern Air Temple. His booted feet hit greyscale stone; his eyes swept over the crumbling architecture. He seemed at once to be filled with as much awe as dismay.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a temple?”

Lailah slid down after Mikleo, cradling in her arms the bundle of supplies she had stuffed into Atakk’s saddlebags. A shake traveled down the dragon’s form, starting from his nose and rolling down to his tail. He flapped his wings once, then twice, and promptly sat. His nose bowed towards his flank, teeth picking and itching at where one of the buckles latched around his stomach.

Lailah made a soft sound. “Yes. And for all intents and purposes, it still is.”

“But it’s…” Mikleo’s voice drifted off. His brow pinched tightly. “…desecrated.”

Lailah’s mouth pressed to a tight line. “Yes.” She readjusted the bundle in her arms. “Ever since the airbenders fell to the Fire Nation, well…I’m afraid the temple has had no one to care for it.”

Sorey’s shoulders tensed. “That’s awful…”

“It is,” Lailah agreed. “But that also means our job to bring balance is doubly as important as it should be.”

“Y-yeah. I guess so.”

Lailah stepped forward, heels clicking against the stone. “Come with me. We’re going to set up camp.”

o - o - o

As Sorey gathered firewood from lower on the island, Mikleo located three sleeping mats, and Lailah found a few stone hall benches that she instructed the boys to drag over once they returned. In a few moments, the crumbling side entryway began to look like something livable--comfortable, even.

Lailah arranged the kindling in the center of a loose circle of stones when Sorey approached her.

“Lailah?”

“Yes, Sorey?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Lailah hummed an absent-minded affirmative. Her fiddling finished, she snapped her fingers and lit the kindle. She rocked back to view her two charges.

Much to her amusement, Sorey looked to Mikleo at his side with a sheepish glance. Mikleo shrugged back to him, and Sorey turned to Lailah again. His cheeks were dusted an adorable red. “How, uh…how can you walk in those heels all the time? Don’t they hurt?”

“Oh!” Lailah laughed. She rose to her feet and looked down to the scarlet pair she liked to call her ‘statement’ heels. “Not at all! They’re quite comfortable, actually. Heels can be, you know, after you’ve broken them in.”

Mikleo’s eyes brightened; in the campfire light, his violet eyes were painted like a beautiful sunset. He leaned forward. “I saw you wear them back at the South Pole on the ice!”

“Well, yes. I wear them everywhere.”

“But on the ice?” Mikleo stressed. “I was surprised you didn’t fall!”

“Oh, that makes two of us!” Lailah giggled. She raised a hand to her cheek. “I kept thinking I would slip while I was there. It was rather hard to keep my balance.”

“Really?” Sorey’s eyes grew round. “But you didn’t look like you were worried about falling.”

Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest. “You made it look so easy.”

Lailah tittered with pleased laughter. She leaned back and pressed both of her hands to her cheeks and turned away. “Oh, you boys are both so sweet! Why, thank you! How flattering!”

“But really,” Mikleo hummed. He lifted an ungloved hand to his chin. “How do you do it? That’s an impressive skill.”

“It's helped me train my focus when I firebend.” Lailah smiled. “Balance is very important when controlling fire, after all.”

“Gramps used to say the same thing when he was teaching me,” Sorey breathed with big eyes. His gaze darted down to the red heels Lailah had on her feet, and then back up to her face. He bit his lip, and after a brief bout of hesitation, burst out another question with youthful and unabashed eagerness, “Would you mind if I tried…?”

“Oh! Not at all!” Lailah clapped her hands.

Mikleo balked. “Sorey, what?”

But Sorey was already taking off his heavy winter coat and boots. He shivered when his bare feet hit the chilled tiles of the Southern Air Temple, but his grin remained wide on his face. “C’mon, Mikleo! You can’t tell me you don’t want to try it! Not even a little bit?”

A pinched frown spread across Mikleo’s red face. He didn’t say a word but kept his arms resolutely crossed over his chest.

Lailah brought over a low and unbroken bench from the hall to sit on before she slid her heels off. The shoes clacked against one another when she held them out. The other firebender sat down beside her, quick to stuff his feet in them.

“They’re a little tight,” Sorey said with a wince once they were on. But he looked down at the heels and moved his feet back and forth to watch the way their red surface shined in the firelight.

“My feet are most likely a little smaller than yours,” Lailah hummed, watching his face. Her smile widened. “But as long as they fit, you should be good to try walking in them! Why don’t you give it a go?”

“He’s going to trip.”

“Oh, he’ll be all right.” Lailah stood up. Her bare feet quietly clapped against the dusty stone. She turned to Sorey and held out her hands. “Here, let me help you stand.”

Sorey took her hands with a quiet thanks. After a beat, Lailah pulled him upright. Almost immediately, Sorey wobbled.

“Whoa!” He clung tighter to her hands. “Oof! My toes!”

Lailah giggled. She didn't move as he leaned on her. “It’s a bit different, isn’t it?”

“It kinda hurts.”

“It’s probably because my shoes are a bit small for you. Do you think you can walk?”

“I--I’ll try.”

Mikleo shook his head as he watched Sorey take tentative and slow steps with Lailah’s bracing support. Together, the two began to orbit the campfire. It almost looked like they were dancing.

“If only the world could see their Avatar now,” Mikleo murmured lowly, dryly. “Felled by a pair of heels, of all things.”

“Hey…” Sorey called to him; Lailah tried not to laugh. The young man pulled away from her, one arm held out as he attempted to walk on his own around the fire. “…I actually haven’t fallen, you know.”

“Yet.”

Sorey let go of Lailah’s hand. “See? I’m doing just fine.”

“Remarkable.”

“Thank you.”

Lailah giggled. She came to a stop by her bench and clapped her hands together, watching as Sorey made another careful circle. “How do you feel?”

“My feet hurt,” he laughed. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it!”

The brunet walked around once more. Before he started his next lap, however, Sorey changed direction. His green eyes were bright and mischievous, pinned on Mikleo, and Lailah tried not to giggle as she watched him reach for the crossed arms in front of his best friend’s chest.

Mikleo’s face burned red. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Sorey…” he said; his voice dipped low.

“C’mon, Mikleo! I think I’m getting the hang of it!” Sorey’s grin was cheeky and warm. When Mikleo pulled back, his face turning an even brighter shade of crimson, the brunet bowed. He placed a hand to his chest and held the other out. “May I have this dance?”

Lailah clapped her hands together.

Mikleo rolled his eyes. He kept his amethyst gaze resolutely on the temple wall as he slid his hand into Sorey’s. “Yes,” he sighed with faux great effort. “I suppose you can.”

“Yes!” Sorey cheered and he squeezed hard. He leaned back, stepped once and then twice--and all of a sudden, his face paled. The heel of Lailah’s shoe caught on a crumbling edge of a tile and without stability, he lost balance, falling backward, slipping--

Lailah jerked forward, but Mikleo was faster.

He held tight to the hand Sorey already was holding and leaned forward. His arm snatched around Sorey’s waist as Sorey bent backward. Immediately, he could feel his friend’s weight fall into the curve of his embrace. With no control at all, Sorey’s left foot kicked out, pointing to the ceiling.

Mikleo stared down at the wide-eyed Sorey in his hold.

Lailah gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my…”

If it had looked like Sorey and Lailah were dancing earlier around the campfire, it seemed as if Sorey and Mikleo had been caught in an intimate tango.

“I-I’m sorry!” Sorey’s face turned beet red. He released both hands from Mikleo to cover his own face.

Mikleo stuttered, eyes wide.

And then--after a moment--his shoulders trembled. His hold on Sorey shook.

Mikleo laughed.

The sound echoed far and wide down the halls, bouncing off of broken walls and dead columns. Lailah wondered if she was half-imagining how the old desecrated temple now seemed to breathe again with new life, or if that was just an effect of the flickering firelight, licking upwards at the sky.

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vore-scientist · 6 years ago

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Nice Try (In Which There Are Thieves) [sfw safe-soft M/m vore]

A Tale of the Mystic Woods

Yonah (the “evil” giant wizard) deals with thieves on a regular basis. They are rather a nuisance but they do taste good! Almost every encounter with a thief follows a pattern: 1) Thief breaks in to the tower. 2) Yonah catches and eats the thief. 3) Yonah releases the thief and if they accept it, gives them some money for their trouble.

“In Which There Are Thieves” are a collection of stories that follow that pattern, but each is unique!

Note: this encounter takes place pre-Sophia

Warnings: the usual fear.play as Yonah does his best to make the thief think he’s gonna kill them.

---- “Mmmm You make a delightful pre-lunch appetizer. Thanks for choosing my tower to steal from!” The rather plump elf plopped into his stomach and immediately started to assault his insides. Yonah briefly wondered what he possibly could have done to deserve such a spunky treat. But not for long. He wasn’t going to complain. His stomach made quiet happy burbling noises as it played with it’s temporary toy. Smaller than it normally gets, though this elf was pretty fat, and muscular. His punches and kicks were strong, and Yonah was absolutely enjoying every one.

---

This Jack (yes, even elf thieves are usually named Jack) had been bold (or stupid) enough to break in during the day. Somehow missing Yonah who was in the garden. Strange. Yonah wasn’t trying to be quiet, and with those big elf ears… but who was he to question fate if it wanted to drop a piece of candy on him? And Yonah had noticed them, that was the most important thing. He watched as they used a magical rope to scale the tower. He almost fucked it up by laughing when the thief realized the thorns weren’t real and they had wasted all that money and effort on the rope. But he didn’t immediately follow the thief. No. Finished up some gardening first. He wanted to give the thief some time to find out that he wasn’t there, maybe drop their guard? That would make them easier to catch. But did he want easy? Or did he want a nice chase today Decisions decisions… In the end he waited outside for the elf to start climbing back down the tower and when he got about halfway Yonah, his voice powered by magic, shouted in elvish: “FEE FI FO FUM! I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE ELVISH KIND! IT MATTERS NOT THE THINGS YOU STOLE, I’LL CAPTURE YOU AND SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!” The rhyme… doesn’t work in elvish… shame.... Jack froze, clutching the vines. The voice came from all around but he couldn’t find the source which had to be the giant that lived in the tower. Until he looked down and found… a human sized wizard? A pretty large human with a bushy head of jet black hair tied into neat sections, a sharp goatee, dressed in gaudy wizards robes stood below looking up. /Fuck!/ He was still reduced! He had a full 45 minutes to prepare his reveal and he fucked it up! Quickly Yonah dispelled the reduction and was face to face with the elf who nearly let go. This elf’s skin was a dark green and they had sunflower yellow curly hair. He breathed in their scent. They smelled like sunflowers and sugary tree sap. With a wicked grin he slipped off his gardening gloves and plucked the elf from his tower, holding him to his eye, still distant enough to see him lick his lips. Jack’s ears fell as he was stuffed into the giant’s drooling maw. --- “Bastard! Let me out!” The elf bellowed. Ugh, the elf’s voice was deeper than his own! How embarrassing. He poked at his stomach. The elf retaliated with a more forceful kick than before. Ohhhh. He did it again. Yessss. He was rewarded with a powerful punch. This continued for a few minutes. “No, I don’t think I will,” he tried to make his voice lower but he was so filled with glee (and half-full of elf) that his pitch wouldn’t cooperate. “If you don’t fucking release me I’ll fucking carve my own way out! How do you like THAT?” Oh. fuck. Fucking Shit shit mother bitch! He had not checked Jack for weapons before just swallowing him down. Idiot! “Grrrrr fine,” whatever. It was nearly time to get this Jack out regardless. Bringing up elves, even fat ones, was much easier than humans. Still not pleasant, as he dry heaved and then vomited the elf into back into his hands. The elf brandished the sword in triumph until Yonah pinched his hands and easily wrestle the object away. Not wanting to crush the elf’s hands, he sent some heat to his fingertips and set his eyes aglow. Jack let go of his one piece of salvation. Unless. Holding the elf flat in his palm he pressed a finger to Jack’s throat. Jack coughed and his eyes bugged out of his head as he clawed at Yonah’s finger. “Any more surprises on you?” now he got his voice to rumble nice and low. Ck! Chhk! Right. He released the pressure on Jack’s windpipe. He did not release Jack. Jack sputtered, he was still covered in spit and mucus. Sighing Yonah took Jack to the river behind the tower and gave him a few gentle dunks in the flowing water. He drank some of the crisp cool water as well, cleansing is pallet. “More weapons! Do you have more weapons?” “N-no” Jack whimpered. “Wonderful” Yonah snarled, smiling ear to ear, “Now I can eat you all over again. Nice try though. Got me to spit you up. Too bad it didn’t work.” “Wait! NO! FOUL!” Jack cried. This isn't how this worked! He’s gotten out! He was supposed to be let go! Did this giant have no respect for tradition!? Clearly not as Yonah didn’t hesitate to stuff the elf back into his mouth. Freshly clean the elf’s taste was even more sharp. Like a washed piece of fruit. Delicious. With an angry yell the elf failed to stop Yonah from swallowing him for the second time. It was not any better this time. If anything it was worse! Now he had no hope of getting out alive. The giant had CHEATED! And he had learned from before that unarmed physical attacks did nothing! If anything the giant LIKED IT. Fuck him twenty ways to Tuesday. He fell into a pool of uncomfortably warm water and decided to just sulk until it was all over. Or he would if the giant didn’t move so much! “What the fuck was that!?” The giant’s voice flowed around him like cooling lava, “Oh did I disturb you? I jumped back into my tower. I said you were an appetizer, I’m going to make lunch! Won’t you join me?” The elf did not dignify that with a response. He did scream in terror as he was bounced around, and again asked what the fuck that was. ‘Stairs’ was the answer, apparently. Which, as far as Jack could gather, the giant hopped down, whistling a jolly tune. Soon he heard rushing water, probably a sink faucet. The giant really was preparing to make lunch after eating him. Most humiliating death ever. Then, for the second time, a retching, convulsing of the stomach walls. For the second time he was pulled back up the giant’s throat. For the second DAMN TIME, he slid out of the giants mouth. And fell into the sink. After being eaten and spit up twice he was quite sore (the giant had been pretty rough while thoroughly enjoying his taste) and out of breath, adrenaline still pumping through him but leaving quickly. The giant nudged him a bit, for some reason making sure his face was not submerged in the cool water that flowed around him. The giant wasn’t going to kill him. At least, Jack figured he could assume. Released twice, and this time of the giant’s own volition. So after shaking the water out of his ears and folding them tight, he let himself lay back and recover his wits. Yonah finally set about making lunch. It didn’t take long since it was leftovers from last night. He had made a large batch of fūl which he had jarred and placed in cold storage, as well as hard boiling as many eggs as he dared. But fūl needed fresh vegetables to go with it, which he chopped and seasoned as the fūl reheated on the stove. He also made some quick flatbreads with olives and chives! He spotted the elf climbing out of the sink just as he finished setting the table. And the second smaller table on top of it. Jack froze when he locked eyes with Yonah. Yonah smiled. “You never gave me an answer,” he said, deliberately obtuse. Jack’s ears flipped back and forth; his eyes narrowed, “what?” “I asked if you would join me for lunch. You didn’t answer.” “You - I” Jack sputtered and nearly fell as he hefted himself onto the counter, spotting the set tables and noticing the smells. “Wasn’t… I lunch?” Yonah laughed, “No, you aren’t nearly filling enough, but I’ve made plenty of food for us both!” All of Jack’s instincts told him to run. This thing had eaten him twice, and though it was being nice to him now who knew what it would do in a few hours. Maybe it wanted him for desert as well! Maybe it planned to keep him here forever! Oh no… “Everything alright?” the giant asked as Jack had frozen, trembling, halfway through standing up. Not giving Jack time to answer Yonah picked Jack up and took him to the table. “You must be hungry. So how about I make this easy for you. I insist you join me for lunch, Jack.” and he placed Jack on the small chair. It was a little too big for Jack. The additional table setting was human sized, not elf sized, but if Jack sat on his knees it didn’t make much difference. But he just sat there staring, unseeing, at the food. “Surely you’ve had fūl before?” Yonah asked, picking up a hard boiled egg and chopping it into little slices which fell into a bow of brown paste. “I believe it’s a staple food for elves as well?” using a slice of bread he scooped up the now egg mixed bean-paste, added a spoonful of veggies onto before taking a bite. “Why- did you let me go?” Jack had to wait for Yonah to swallow. Ugh. Watching the giant eat, after it had eaten him was more than off-putting. “You would rather I kill you?” Yonah asked, and took another bite. “No! No I was just- Why did you eat me again? I-” feeling was coming back to his body, “I beat you! I got you to spit me back up! It’s bad sport to eat me again!” “OH that. Well, I’m evil, or that’s what it says on my contract,” said the giant, as if that excused it. “Evil giants don’t let their victims live,” Jack finally realized that yes, he was hungry, and he very much liked fūl, so he dug in. It was delicious. Not at all spiced in any elvish style, but still fūl. There was also a glass of Giant’s Ale, something he had always wanted to try. “I’m also an evil wizard, and I’m only half-giant,” said the wizard, “Also, as you said, you beat me, bad sport and all that to not let you go. I just wanted another taste.” He had to admit, it was pretty damn evil of the giant to make him think he was going to die, twice. And wizards were known to toy with and torture adventurers. So far this tracked. Jack had more questions but he didn’t get to voice them. It had started as just kick, a little heat, but his mouth was now an inferno. He took another swig of the ale, but it didn’t help in the slightest. He collapsed onto the table. Was this how the giant was going to kill him? Or rather, the wizard? With poison? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Through eyes blurred with tears and sweat Jack was still able to tell that the giant wizard was out of his chair, but he couldn’t see what he was up to. Then strong fingers picked him up. Oh no, he was going to be eaten again! He should have left when he had the chance! As the blood pulsed in his ears he heard the giant speak. “Drink this!” a bowl of something was pushed into his grasp. If the giant thought he was going to drink or eat anything he gave him at this point he was badly mistaken, he dropped it. The giant cursed, and pinched his jaw, forcing it open and forcing in whatever he had tried to get him to drink of his own accord. It was… syrup? Just plain syrup? The flames calmed down as he swallowed the sugary goo and he blinked away the tears. The giant was smiling apologetically down at him. He allowed the giant to help him back to the chair. Ok, not poison. Just... “Sorry, I forgot that I made this batch of fūl with some specially cultivated reaper peppers. I should have warned you.” Jack coughed and drank more syrup and then more ale. “How come you’re ok?” he wheezed. The giant’s eyes glowed briefly, as the guilty smile turned back to a nearly wicked one. “Oh, I’m also a firewitch.” “No kidding.”

[FIN]

[Thanks for reading! please reblog! for more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/+mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’ on my blog! For thief stories only search “MW Thieves”]

#safe vore #soft vore #vore art #extreme cuddling

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khrsecretvalentine · 5 years ago

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sunset reset (for lighteningdancer)

from: @trilies to: @lighteningdancer / Ginger Pairing: Byakuran/Shoichi

Note: Hey there, Ginger! You’re quite the familiar name to me at this point, so I got really excited when I pulled your name. Then you gave me so much freedom and so many liberties that I sort of short-circuited on what to write at first, lmao! However, per your advice, I did go with something that I don’t really write a lot of, both re: characters and, like… tone? Subject matter? I was apparently in A Mood (tw) when I began writing. I do hope that this end result is something that you find any sort of enjoyment in at all. If not, just let me know, because there’s plenty of other stuff that I’d love to make for you. Relatedly, let me know if you have an AO3, because I’d love to put it on this on there properly gifted to you! Unless you don’t want your name attached, which is also valid.

Content Warnings: Time Travel Fuckery, Alternate Universe Fuckery, Character Death that debatably counts, Suicide, a short Sex Scene, attempts at Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, non-detailed Torture, general Abuse, the intense and vaguely defined set of mental issues that come when your brain just gets overloaded with being Yourself but hundreds of times with hundreds of slightly-to-extremely different memories in slightly-to-different worlds aka “byakuran’s mental state must be a fucking trip"

——

Once a human tastes food for the first time, they always end up hungering for more, whatever "more” might mean for that particular individual. Maybe they look to be sated, content and full and warm. Maybe they look for a taste that can’t be beat, by their estimate. Maybe they simple look for something new, something interesting- a change in palate. On some level… He thinks Shoichi Irie is like that for him. Byakuran doesn't need him. Of course he doesn’t. But if he’s being completely and utterly technical, he doesn’t need a lot of the things that he takes for himself, because none of it actually matters in the end. It’s all just a game, something he does because it's interesting. That would be easy enough for anyone to understand, right? Sometimes you turn on a game counsel and feel the need to get all the achievements, and other times you do it because you want to see how far you can strain the system until it shatters completely. It really all depends, and sometimes, they’re both the same thing. One day, in one universe, he’ll complete the Tri-Ni-Sette, and that will be that. In terms of gaming, he supposes that would be the end all for the main objective. Very fittingly, he comes to learn that it is the most difficult task, no matter how much he prepares and plans. Well, it would be a boring game otherwise. It comes as quite a surprise that what would be a simple side quest any other game is almost just as difficult.

The very first time- if anything can even be called a ‘first’ at all when it’s all happening together, at the same time ,and yet completely separate- he decides to lay a claim to Shoichi Irie simply because it feels as though it’s what he should do. Another thing to check off the list. Besides, there’s a little fondness to it, he supposes. That’s not too surprising. Everyone always has that brief bit of fondness to the first character in a RPG that is kind to them, or makes the first move. He can remember playing a game with a female PC, and being charmed despite himself when a male knight almost immediately gave him a gift. Nothing special, nothing exciting or edgy, but amusing enough. Shoichi Irie isn’t a knight in any meaning of the word. Byakuran’s impression of him at his young ten-years-younger self is that of a typical awkward nerd, although he has to admit that one’s first impression probably isn’t reliable when it involves time travel panic. Yet that doesn’t change the most important part of their meeting, and it’s that he owes everything to that young flustered teenager who had run into him in the street. He hadn’t given him a rose or sweet words, but rather something so much more valuable. There are numerous jokes to be made about the tropes and cliches which are so prevalent in otome games, but Byakuran has found they aren’t exactly wrong in some cases. The Shoichi Irie he finds in this timeline fits so neatly in so many little boxes when he meets him for a second impression, watching him play at a seedy bar in a grubby dark side of town. Gone is the frantic nervousness, wore down into something much more exhausted that weighs down underneath his eyes and leaves just a little too much room underneath his shirt. Just a passing glance is enough to tell that the bassist is down on his luck, probably not helped by the fact that he’s not really fantastic at his instrument of choice. Judging by the way his bandmates are either in no better position or spit quiet words out at him with narrowed eyes, Byakuran can tell that they no doubt owe a lot of money from having all their nice equipment. For types like that, just like in all of the little romances he’s played through a screen, it doesn’t take much but a little bit of attention and kindness to draw Shoichi in. He doesn’t even need to do it that often, to his amusement, able to spend plenty of time building up this iteration of the Millefiore while attending to Shoici on the side. He’s successful with his Millefiore. Of course he is. Having cheatcodes to the universe makes it so very easy. Bit by bit, he lavishes care onto his little side quest, first bringing him in with compliments and indepth conversations even Byakuran is pleasantly surprised to find he enjoys. Then come the casual outtings, treating him to coffee or lunch, the two of them so absorbed that it reminds Byakuran of how fun these minor little things can be as a detour. He makes sure Shoichi never has to pay, the ill-gained money in his pockets always being more than enough. Sometimes it’s a fight to make it happen, of course. Despite his situation, Shoichi always seems to want to be self sufficient, and there’s a fire in his eyes that tugs at the interest of Byakuran’s heart. So down on his luck, and yet he still tries to struggle like this. How cute. Still, Byakuran manages to convince him one way or the other. Yet the game can’t merely stop at pampering a “love interest”… He makes the offer at the backstage of one of the many trash bars Shoichi plays at, his back against the wall while his arms have wound lazily about Shoichi’s body. A year of pampering has lead him to looking better than he did before, and a few minutes of Byakuran grinding his thigh inbetween his legs has lead him looking even better. Forget the nervous teenager that awoke him to all of this, forget the dead eyed man he’d seen on stage once. There’s that brilliant flickering fire behind Shoichi’s contacts, brow stubbornly crumpled, skin flushed so vividly it looks as though it should hurt, and his lips slick from every heavy breath that rushes out of him as he digs his fingers into Byakuran’s shoulders to weather the ride. Even when his entire body shudders, nails digging in past cotton, he still tries to press a bruising kiss to the side of Byakuran’s neck. Of course he can’t let Byakuran control the whole situation that easily. (His first clue, and one he ignores for longer than he would admit.) “You’re so cute, Sho-chan,” he murmurs into his ear, dragging his fingers down along his spine. Against his leg, he can feel Shoichi’s arousal straining painfully in tight denim and, almost better, the way he shivers when the warmth of his voice rushes through his ear. He can barely speak, so wound up in lust as he is, but Shoichi pushes through. “Who’s ever heard of a bassist being cute?” he rasps. There’s a ragtag sort of afterparty happening in the bar proper, drowning out the sounds of their rutting, so he does his best in keeping quiet. All that does is make his voice low and husky, drawing Byauran’s eyelids halfway down. That’s more than good enough, he thinks, and he eases up on the pressure. Shoichi blinks up at him, dazed and aroused, unable to stop Byakuran as he adjusts himself until he’s sliding down the wall and inbetween Shoichi’s legs. Understanding hits him quick enough, and he braces one arm against the wall. It doesn’t escape Byakuran how his breathing only gets all the harder. “I want to keep you,” he says, his own voice low, possessive, and he can almost see the way it drops right through Shoichi’s gut. His fingers make quick work of popping open the button to his jeans. “Will you let me, Sho-chan?” Using the very tip of his tongue, he flicks up the zipper and takes it between his teeth, eyes staying locked on his precious interest’s own gaze the whole time as he drags it down slowly. “That’s…” The words are choked in his throat, and he tosses his head back as Byakuran slides his aroused cock out into the open air. “You’ve given me so much… and now you’re asking me that?” “But I want to hear it, Sho-chan.” Grinning slyly, he drags his tongue up from the very base of Shoichi’s cock and flicks tip against tip. Satisfaction pools in his stomach at how the hips in his hands jerk. “Let me keep you, or else I won’t let you come even a little bit.” He nuzzles his way back down, hot breath ghosting along sensitive skin, until he can wrap his lips around his balls. It’s harder to watch Shoichi like this now, buried into his hips, but he can still hear the way his hand slaps across his mouth, muffling the harsh gasp he makes. In contrast to the quiet his interest is desperately trying to maintain, Byakuran lives to shatter that. Underneath the yells and laughter and pounding music of the bar, he sloppily licks and sucks along the aching arousal that’s right at his face, every sound an obscene prayer. He knows it works up Shoichi, too. It’s hard not to pick up on it, feeling how his legs shake and his hips tremble from the effort of holding back. There’s not even any reason to edge him for long. Soon enough, Shoichi is gasping and keening over his head, squirming desperately into Byakuran’s mouth. “Dammit- dammit, Byakuran- take me! I want you…. Nn-” He glances up at that, pleased at what he sees: Shoichi looking down at him, teeth digging into a finger from where his hand isn’t quite covering his mouth, arousal twisting his expression so desperately. “I want you… to take me. Keep me. Please-!" At the end, when Shoichi is slumped against him and drifting down the tides of post-orgasm, Byakuran indulgently curls his fingers into his hair to keep his face pressed into his shoulder. "No takebacks,” he purrs, ignoring the soreness along his back. “I’ll keep you forever now, Sho-chan. Even across universes.” Blissfully unaware of threat and lie alike, Shoichi laughs breathlessly against his shirt. “Romantic.” When Byakuran says it, he says it as a lie. But what do you call a lie that becomes a truth when you never meant for it to be? Never one satisfied with leaving a side quest partially forgotten or abandoned the first time through, Byakuran pushes all the way. He helps pay off his debt, convinces him out of a band he’s clearly miserable in. With the money he’s so quickly managed to accumulate, there’s no question of how easy it is to get Shoichi to live with him. Free of any real obligation, Byakuran watches in faint interest but mostly amusement as his interest begins to relax. He’s really, truly, unbelievably still nothing impressive with a bass, but at least he seems more content as he fiddles with it and all the other songs he tries to write. What’s more relevant to Byakuran is how Shoichi gets back into what he dismissively calls his “old hobby”. Byakuran had always wondered how a bassist’s teenage self could end up time traveling… and the answer, he realizes with every idle computer program and toy Shoichi makes, is because Shoichi Irie is in fact incredibly intelligent. So intelligent that it seems a waste that he ever became a musician, a fact that he makes sure to pass along to his many other selves. This intelligence comes back to bite him when he returns to his high rise apartment after a nice long trip dealing with a minor emergency. It was nothing serious, just some minor complications one Federico Ferrino left behind in his death. Truly the Vongola had a lot of resources, to be such a bother even in death. Yet he finds them to be less of a bother than the sight that greets him once he steps into his apartment. Shoichi is curled up in an armchair that’s been forcibly turned so that it’s facing in the direction of the front door, knees digging against his chest. He jolts a little at the sound of the door, eyes going to Byakuran faster than a gunshot. Now now, what could have happened, he wonders? Byakuran rolls the question in his mind even as he carelessly drops his bags to the side, already making his way over to his interest like a good boyfriend would. “Stomach again?” he asks, reaching out to sweep his fingers up into Shoichi’s bangs. It’s been a while since the bassist has had to deal with his infamous stomach aches, brought out whenever he’s too tense, too nervous, too stressed. “Sho-chan, I didn’t realize you would miss me that much!” His hand is grabbed before he can fully pull it away, musically calloused fingers folded almost delicately around his own. Byakuran blinks, eyebrows raising, before he looks properly into Shoichi’s face. All the expressions which would normally be there- sulking aggravation, taut anxiety, restless worry- are completely absent. Instead, his brow is wound tight together, and there’s something… new to his eyes. Dark green is focused fully on him, steeled in a way he can’t quite recall ever viewing before. “Byakuran,” he says, desert grave quiet, “what do you do for a living?” Everyone makes mistakes on their first blind run, of course. Byakuran has made a couple, despite his various connections that are all to himself, and he generally doesn’t worry about it. This particular mistake is that he’s left Shoichi alone, guarded for but not watched, for far too long. With all the things Byakuran is getting up to, well, he doesn’t have full and complete of the world yet. News anchors will talk, radio personalities will gossip, and the internet churns so quickly with facts and facts that are twisted and facts which only have the name but not the definition. Shoichi has been busy. He’s been paying attention. It’s all he’s been able to do. Lying doesn’t really have a point here, not with how much Shoichi has pulled together. Besides, Byakuran has never really lied to him, has he? Shoichi doesn’t react well to that statement, but it’s true. He’s only been vague, never giving the whole story , only bits and pieces. Maybe he could do damage control, if he really tried. Byakuran doesn’t. It’s so much more fascinating to watch his interest yell and demand and accuse, arm sweeping out in scythe sweep of a gesture. Shoichi has never burned so bright, not in this universe, and Byakuran is enraptured by this glitch he’s made happen. They sleep in separate rooms for a while after that- Byakuran taking the lavish and comfortable master bedroom, Shoichi self-exiling himself to a sterile guest room that’s never once been touched. It only takes a couple of days before he breaks the barrier he’s erected, settling himself gingerly onto the couch besides Byakuran one evening. None of the lights are on yet, with only the setting sun illuminating Shoichi’s back from where he sits, eyes on him. “I’m sorry,” he tells him. “It was a lot to take in,” he says. “Can you just promise me that you’ll be honest with me from now on?” “Of course, Sho-chan,” Byakuran tells him, while promising no such thing. This, too, is a lie. Shoichi must know it as well. He promises nothing either, and he writes I’m sorry once again on a letter he leaves on the counter in their darkened home when Byakuran returns again one day. A surprising amount of his things are left behind, with only the most sensible of clothing that’s been taken, along with all the basic necessities of a healthy human such as toiletries. When Byakuran checks one of his bank accounts, he’s not surprised to find a lot of money withdrawn. While he could pursue his interest, he doesn’t. Instead, he carries out the end of this particular life, his particular run, all the while quite aware of how the patches of rebel forces which never cease to defy him are granted a sudden boost in knowledge. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. This reality is a bust, and he toys with the different ways to end it. Somewhere, out in the rebel hideouts that he systematically quashes, he’s certain Shoichi Irie dies… but he dies far away from Byakuran, out of his sight. It’s a “Bad End” if your love interest betrays you and dies. Byakuran passes along the message to Byakuran of everything he’s gone through. It would be embarrassing if this was the side quest that he missed, after all. Probably the problem Byakuran ran into, Byakuran muses to himself as he thinks over this particular set of alternate memories, is that Shoichi was a civilian kept in the dark for so long. Sure, he had been running around in all sorts of seedy bars in that universe, but being in the same vicinity as some two-bit thugs isn’t anything like dating a powerful mafia don who had blood soaked up to his knees. If he intervenes a little earlier… That sounds right. A slightly earlier intervention, nudging those morals a little further in the right direction, and Byakuran thinks that might finally help complete this little sub-plot. He just needs to get a little creative in when they meet. How they meet. When he meets Shoichi Irie, he’s not the flustered teenager that gave him this opportunity and he’s not yet the boneworn bassist who played in side alley bars. Instead, he’s seventeen and clearly frustrated with the world, or perhaps merely his place in it. Byakuran only needs a day to see how people take advantage of him. It's nothing so crass as outright bullying, not most of the time. Instead, they merely pile on expectations and requests onto him, disregarding his interests, disregarding anything else he might have on his plate. In a different way to that time in the bar, it’s easier than anything to slide his way into a friendship with him. Nudging him along towards what Byakuran wants for him… It’s a little more difficult to get the subtleties of that exactly right, and he spends a couple of lives dealing with that. It’s not a complete waste; he’ll need such skills for other people who aren’t Shoichi. The best way, he finds, is simply phrasing things as harmless pranks in high school, things to tease those who frustrate him so much, things he can build upon so steadily. Shoplifting is a little harder, not something that his Sho-chan really has the hand dexterity for, but it’s easier when he can frame their targets as absolute bastards who deserve it… or detach them so neatly from his life that they don’t really matter. What his real interest is, however, would be what he told himself from dating that tired and beaming bassist. It’s a waste to keep him as a petty thief, even if there is a kind of casual amusement in throwing stolen candy into Shoichi’s hair while he does his best to scowl instead of laugh. The good news is that he has dozens, hundreds, thousands of other selves knowledge at hand. It’s child play to talk tech with Shoichi, to convince him to stretch his intelligence right past the digital defenses of so many organizations and countries. From high school, to college, to them with degrees spilling out the secrets of the richest and most influential or sometimes holding it over their heads. It hardly takes anything at all to convince Shoichi to join his Gesso, this slowly budding and blossoming Millefiore. This should be it, he thinks. It took a try or four, but he’s finally got this route down. He thinks that all the way to the day he triumphantly comes back from his meeting with that little Giglio Nero heiress, satisfied from the box he has in his hands. “Ta daaaaa!” he sings as he enters the office where Shoichi is waiting. His interest looks pretty good in mafia black, he has to say, even when he’s clearly fiddled his tie right out of place and jumps what seems like a solid foot into the air. “The meeting went great, Sho-chan.” “I feel like you’d say that no matter what actually happened…” Still, he moves out of the way, letting Byakuran flop loosely into his chair. Shoichi slides his hands into his pockets, trying to seem calm, before he moves them out again to rub his palms against his legs. “Were you able to resolve things mostly peacefully?” Gamma’s fingers broke, one by one, feeling surprisingly like nothing for how long they’d clutched to his pool stick. Genkishi had to be skewered to the wall, bloody dripping from his mouth, simply to keep him out of the way. When Aria had finally conceded, she’d closed her eyes for a brief moment with a box keeping their hands joined together, and a smile had crept onto her face. “Oh, the things that will happen,” she’d said, eyes too blue, too strange. For a second, she’d almost looked human. “Mhm,” Byakuran says, because that’s the easy answer, and they have the Giglio Nero- what remains- on close watch. He won’t make a rookie mistake again, making it easy for Shoichi to stumble onto such a dark little thing. Setting the box down onto his desk, he flicks open the latch. The second Shoichi turns his back, Byakuran plans on getting nothing less than the absolute best replicas that he possibly can for the Mare Rings… but for now, there’s no harm in keeping them right in front of him. He has no idea when these were last touched, even by their mistresses, but the Mare Ring have a crystal clear shine to them that’s so smooth that not even water would stick. He’d slipped the Sky Ring back into its place after reveling in its quickly comfortable warmth, and it almost seems to glow again at his presence. In fact, it even seems to glow all the brighter than before. His eyelids dip just a little lower. “Amazing, right…?” He can feel Shoichi’s arm brush against his chair, nudging it a little bit. “All that worry, for some rings…” His voice isn’t into the disregarding tone it tries for, however. It’s even… dazed. Byakuran’s first thought is that he’s coming down from his anxiety high. That impression lasts for all of a single second before Shoichi’s hand reaches over from the side, drawn to the box, and Byakuran realizes that the Mare Sky Ring wasn’t glowing any brighter than it did when he first saw it. Yellow blends into orange so well. Shoichi burns bright yet again. The knowledge hits him like a bullet train, a feeling that he passes along the second he has the time to spare for it, and he almost doesn’t care that, in this world too, Shoichi once again slowly turns again, once again pokes his nose into something he shouldn’t have. It’s fine to lose that particular sidequest this time around, because he’s gotten a key bit of information that can potentially help in all the others. At the same time, it only makes what was once a silly little romance route gain so much more prominence to the main story that Byakuran can’t help but marvel as the flow of it. The Mare Rings can’t speak, can’t communicate, and yet Byakuran can’t help but feel as though they’re the most people-like things he’s dealt with ever since Before. Their preferences in wielders tend to be specific, although they can be flexible if no better choice presents itself. The Rain Ring tends to lean towards bright and malicious, people who can demonstrate a sense of mocking humor before they clean away the filth of the battlefield. In contrast, those with any sort of commendable patience draw in the Cloud Ring, and the Storm favors anyone with a shimmering energy beneath an otherwise… passive facade. The Sky Ring is his forever, in every single iteration of the universe that can possibly exist. The Sun longs for Shoichi. Every time. Without fail. Byakuran can understand why. Anyone would understand, he’s fairly sure, if they’d ever seen the way his eyes steel in resolution or the energy that burns from his body or the sheer brilliant gold of his flame. In worlds where he forgets, or where he slips up, or where there’s merely a spot of bad luck, the Arcobaleno Curse seeks out Shoichi for the intensity of his Flame. That happens rarely. Byakuran laid claim upon him first, after all. In one life, Byakuran decides to go for a change of pace. Not every romance route can be won through simple kindness. Sometimes, you have to get a little bit creative, or you have to push for a certain event to go off. Sometimes, a Good End is reprehensible in the cruelty it takes to get there. At least, for normal people. He draws the Gesso up as soon as he’s able, throws all of himself into making them a strong Family as quick as possible. Quick enough to have someone watching over Shoichi, make sure that he doesn’t drift too far from where Byakuran can see him. He goes through a fairly standard dull life, the few times Byakuran takes the time to check in on him- a brief flirt with paying a bass, graduating top of his class. Nothing to pay attention to. It’s after Shoichi’s first year of college that he instructs some of his people to kidnap him one night, when he’s on his way home from a concert of a band he likes and not expecting for a car to stop right besides him. It’s quick, silent, and completely professional. More than a few of his own must be wondering what Byakuran is doing… but that’s the case in every life he lives. All they have to do is listen to him as he plays a game so long and expansive that they can’t even begin to imagine it. There’s no reason to go straight into the harshest form of cruelty, not right away, not in this life. There are a lot of ways to twist a will, to shatter it and pull it together in some other shape entirely. Byakuran starts off with the kind of lodgings that would be perfect, if one were merely willing to ignore all the ways in which it’s a cage: sinfully soft furniture, nice lighting that can go from comfortably dim to softly warm, a bathroom large enough to be another bedroom, no windows, one entrance and exit, hidden cameras in more places than the obvious. Byakuran follows the advice of another life, and makes sure that there isn’t a kitchen or access to the outside world via electronics. Shoichi Irie, in every bit of his incarnations that Byakuran can remember, is always devilishly clever, after all. Even when he had been a bassist who’d skipped college, trapped in a cycle of debt and unfulfilling gigs. He’s also incredibly attractive, even now, disheveled in last night’s clothes, hair falling in a mess around his face, glasses askew on his face. One hand is curled against his stomach, a warning of the stomach aches that are to come, and his expression is twisted in such alarm that it stirs a heat inside of Byakuran’s chest. This isn’t one he’s indulged in yet. Not for the first time, he appreciates the ability to play with such a purposefully destructive game. “What do you want with me!?” Shoichi asks, sharp, panicked, and yet going right to the point. He doesn’t ask who Byakuran is, which is almost a shame. There are some amusing answers he could give there. And yet, he supposes this question is more important. At least, for someone in Shoichi’s position. “Now now!” He laughs, draping himself in one of the armchairs that are around. He practically sinks into it. Really, he hopes Shoichi comes to appreciate that much in the time that he keeps him here. “I’m not going to torture you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Not in this timeline, at any rate. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Byakuran Gesso, and it’s nice to meet you properly here. I’d like you to work for me.” Shoichi draws one leg up cautiously, foot digging into the mattress. What he’s prepared to do is anyone’s guess, only that he feels the need to be a little… steadier, perhaps, in case he needs to do something. The hand not clutching his stomach does similar. “This isn’t… exactly the normal way to get someone to work for you,” he says stiffly, and Byakuran’s heart flutters. There’s that Sun brilliance, hardening his eyes and burning him up from the inside out. He hardly had to push at all for it to appear, even in a situation like this. “What do you want me to work on, exactly?” “Oh, nothing that you aren’t already going to college for, Sho-chan.” The nickname makes him twitch a little bit, unaware as he is of how intimate they are long before he was born and long after he dies and even here in the present. They’re completely and utterly bound. He simply doesn’t know it. He will probably never know it, at least in most lives. “I’d like to pick your mind for the treasure trove of ideas I’m sure you have in there when it comes to technology. If you simply go along with it, you’ll find your time here to be quite nice!” Byakuran tilts his head to the side. “And if you cooperate, Sho-chan, then you’ll be out of here in no time at all. I’m positive we can work something out, don’t you agree?” The wary pull of his eyebrows downwards says Shoichi doesn’t believe him, which he shouldn’t. “I’m getting the impression that I don’t have a particular choice,” he says, still not easing up even the slightest. “Do I at least get the dignity of asking some questions…?” Byakuran crosses his legs and let his hands flow to the side in gesture. “All you like, Sho-chan!” He doesn’t promise he’ll tell the truth. “Then… Why me? I haven’t even- I don’t have a degree of any sort. I’m not even close to graduating.” The hand at his stomach moves upwards, digging into his chest. “Why kidnap a college student who’s probably not even knowledgeable enough for the kinds of things you might ask for? Aren’t there smarter technicians and engineers who could do what you want?” There aren’t. Byakuran knows this for a fact, knows that he would have stumbled upon them a long time ago if anyone had that ability. Yet no one had done what Shoichi had. No one had gone through time, no one had broken it so thoroughly as he had. Byakuran can’t even claim that honor yet, as much as it would amuse him to. No, he merely flows across the many timelines, the many universes where he exists. Shoichi is the one who reached out where he shouldn’t have, and Byakuran knows for a fact, after listening to him speak in the kinder timelines, that he can break even more if he really tries. The trick is to get him to really try. “I have utter faith in your potential,” is the answer Byakuran gives, grinning and flashing a wink to Shoichi. “But you don’t have to worry. Ask for anything, and I’ll make sure to provide it for you. Just knock, okay, Sho-chan?” He’s kept for a while longer, listening to question after question that Shoichi fumbles to pull out from his mind, and he’s not surprised when he almost immediately calls through on that 'knocking’ thing to start pulling in book after book to his room. Despite it being a simple non-answer, the line about 'potential’ is also fairly true. Byakuran passes along all sorts of little tasks for Shoichi to do, starting subtle at first with computer programs on an isolated channel that Shoichi never gets to keep. Then, various little quizzes, seeing if he can outdo what they already are using in the Gesso and Millefiore. Byakuran rarely delivers them himself. Why would he? That’s something for those far lower on the ladder who have nothing better to do, or at least nothing more important than Byakuran’s pursuit of this sidequest. Instead, Byakuran likes to visit Shoichi in the middle of his time. Sometimes it’s while he’s working through the latest task he’s been given, papers sprawled out all over the floor and a pile working up on the desk Shoichi does his best to remember to use. It’s a nice change of pace from the repetitive motions of running a mafia empire. Shoichi doesn’t take to it well at first. “Of- what? Of course I’m not,” Shoichi says, honesty stuttering out before he can stop himself the first time Byakuran outright asks. “I know your name and literally nothing else, and you’re just- is this a test?” His mouth screws up, eyes narrowed over them. “To check if I’m… I don’t know, cheating or something as I work on this?” When Byakuran bursts out laughing at him, a lobster of a blush spreads over his face in a heartbeat. “I told you before, didn’t I?” Byakuran says when he’s calmed down, sprawled out in an armchair. His head lolls to the side, lazy smile still in place. “I have full confidence in your abilities and potential, Sho-chan.” “Shoichi,” he mutters quietly, not really stopping the nickname. “The only reason I’m here is because I’m bored. Besides, you haven’t asked for a rubber duck yet. I thought it might help to bounce your stress off something~.” “Rubber ducks should be a little cuter,” Shoichi mumbles into his shirt, already ducking back down into his work while still a little bit red. It takes a little while for him to eventually start reciprocating Byakuran’s attempts at conversation, but what are a few visits in comparison to the eternity that Byakuran has? The multiple visions of eternity, in fact. So it doesn’t feel long at all before Shoichi begins to speak back to him, gesturing to a paper here and there as he spills out his train of thought or his frustrations on a certain aspect of his latest project. When he finally does that, the other visits Byakuran takes begin to go a little more smoothly as well instead of Shoichi sitting awkwardly in a chair as far away from Byakuran as possible while Byakuran does all the talking. He knows it’s not only his imagination when Shoichi begins to show a little more warmth in response to his visits. There aren’t many other options for him down in this windowless room, where time doesn’t feel real, where he can’t even sense time, and Byakuran is his only constant person. There’s a certain thrill in indulging in such a thing, at least for this life. One day, Shoichi doesn’t fight against the way Byakuran presses up behind him while he’s reading, white-clad arms lazily winding around him. He only glances up at him from the corner of his eyes, thumb worrying at the page in the book he’s been working through. “I don’t exactly have to point my room is bugged, right?” he says stiffly, a little bit of red burning at his ears. “Is there any shame at all that your- everything is being recorded while you’re doing this?” “When you’re the kind of person I am, you end up being watched all the time anyway, Sho-chan,” he laughs, directly into Shoichi’s ear as to watch him shudder. He’s not the only person in the world who has such a reaction, and yet Byakuran can’t help feeling more satisfied when Shoichi does it. That’s the thrill of having a favorite character, he supposes. Everything he does, Byakuran can’t help but hyperfocus on. “Now, what kind of things are you thinking of that would get you so worked up about being watched? And in relation to me as well?” The tone of his voice says everything that doesn’t get a word ascribed to it. The blush spreads from his ears to the rest of his face quicker than the heartbeat it takes to provide that much blood. Byakuran never stops the cameras from recording… He only goes back once he’s done indulging in Shoichi’s body to cut those particular parts out and save them for his own records. More interested in this indulgence than the rest of the videos, and relaxed in what has to be his victory this time, Byakuran misses the little things that will give Shoichi away in other universes. The way he begins to sleep more reliably in his bed instead of falling asleep by accident anywhere else. How his hands duck underneath his pillows, still so “absentminded” as to be holding his glasses inbetween his fingers. Byakuran learns later how the sound of his apparent snoring hid the sharpening of his glasses frames against metal frames. Byakuran had made sure they were metal, so that Shoichi couldn’t use the wood chips of such a frame for whatever his brilliant mind could come up with. A pity that ingenuity works with everything at its disposal no matter the material. In one universe, he punctures his own throat, slides the needle inbetween the rows of his own lungs, and chokes on his blood before medical services can pull him back from the brink. In one universe, he breaks through the system keeping the door shut and makes a break for it. He succeeds, or he fails, or he does both in the end, but it’s a loss on Byakuran either way. “All you have to do is give yourself to me,” he says one day, one universe, popping open a bag of gummy bears. It wasn’t his first choice, but the little gas station he’d stopped at before getting here hadn’t had any marshmallow treats, and, well, as long as it’s sweet, maybe he doesn’t care as much as some might think. The same could be said for how Shoichi has been forcefully tied to a plain metal chair, handcuffs biting into his wrists and rope binding his legs. To keep him from doing anything reckless, a gag keeps his mouth pried open. Tears and spit alike drip down his face, splatter against his pants… His eyes are still so very stubbornly burning. A sort of fondness warms his veins, and Byakuran pops one gummy bear into his mouth before he reaches downwards. Fingernails catch along knots in Shoichi’s hair, curls always so thick when he’s first woken up in the morning and hasn’t had a chance to compose himself yet. Byakuran is intimately familiar with all the little quirks like that which make up Shoichi Irie. It’s a consequence of playing the same route, over and over and over again. For all the bad ends he’s steadily accumulating, Byakuran doesn’t regret it. “Although I am curious,” he continues, drifting his hand downwards until he can curl his fingers around the back of Shoichi’s head and guide his gaze up to him. “What made you change your mind like this, Sho-chan? What made you so desperate that you’d want to risk killing yourself, or run away from here? I like to think I’ve been taking care of you so well that there can’t possibly be a problem. You can have just about everything you’d ever ask for.” It’s only the two of them in the room, all guards dismissed without a second thought. They’d only protest if they saw Byakuran reach down and undo the gag keeping Shoichi so quiet. Free of the obstruction, Shoichi takes a quick second to cough and catch his breath. Trapped in this place, at the end of the rope, he’s clearly lost some of that quaint politeness which he’d grown up with, because he turns his head slightly to the side and spits to clear his mouth. Byakuran supposes he should marvel that it wasn’t directed right at him. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says, voice a little raspy, unused. “You brought me here in the first place because… I’m so smart, right? That’s what you told me. And… did you think I wouldn’t put everything together? Realize what all my work was adding up to, even if you never showed me the final product, or the result?” He gives a hard swallow, head bumping against Byakuran’s palm once again. “It’s not like I want to believe it…. but what else am I supposed to think, when you keep me trapped in here?” Teeth grinding against each other, he grits out, “I don’t even know if my own family is alive!” They aren’t. That thought idly occurs to Byakuran right as Shoichi says it, because he vaguely remembers glancing at a report he’d gotten of a little bit of a scuffle against Hibari-Kai over in Japan which had taken out a good dozen of lives or more, and he’d seen the Irie family listed among the deceased. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was anything important. It still isn’t, he supposes. What’s the point of saying it here and now? Idly, he scrapes his nails along the back of Shoichi’s scalp and watches him go utterly still. “And would you return if you got a brief chance outside, Sho-chan?” he asks, amused. Shoichi’s silence is an answer all its own, and Byakuran moves on without really giving him a moment to spare for a potential lie. “You really need to go with the flow, ha. I think you’d find you would have a much easier time of things if you did." Shoichi swallows again, throat bobbing. His stare doesn’t waver. "Your flow." Byakuran tilts his head to the side and smiles. "It’s the same thing in the end.” “If I refuse?” “Then I’ll just have to persuade you otherwise.” Persuasion, in this instance and a few others, meaning that he spends some of his time breaking Shoichi where he can. Sometimes physical. Sometimes mental. He already has a good deal of factors on his side for it all, really, from the oppressive atmosphere of never even knowing what time it is and having not known for a great deal of time, to the nice little case of Stockholm Syndrome he’s nestled right into Shoichi’s chest. That latter part he makes sure to especially cultivate. Every broken limb, he helps nurture back to full and proper health again. Every sickness Shoichi catches, whether purposefully encouraged or which comes along as a side effect of all the stress, he takes care of. Even when he threatens to drown Shoichi, serene moments where he holds him down by the throat and watches his mouth work helplessly with every bubble of hair that works upwards, he’s the same person who tends to him in the aftermath. He dries him off, checks that his lungs are still working right, work that a medical professional could be proud of. Pain and pleasure are two things that are so closely related. Fear and hatred and love and obsession, Byakuran thinks, are probably very much the same. If they are, then maybe he’ll be able to make this work as he’s been trying to across multiple lives. It takes him around a year to look down into Shoichi’s dull eyes and realize that he’s broken him and, unlike so many other things in the world, there’s no possibility of pulling this back together into something whole again. The Mare Sun Ring longs to be on Shoichi’s fingers. Byakuran thinks he can relate, wanting a thing that continues to not want you back. Spoiled kindness isn’t working, and neither does abject cruelty. If that’s how it is, than Byakuran can’t possibly imagine what he’s doing wrong in this area. Still, in the end, it’s only a sidequest. A very important sidequest, but not a necessary one. The Mare Sun Ring might want Shoichi Irie out of every other pawn in the current world it exists in, but it knows how to settle for things, too. Shoichi might be its type, might have the most brilliantly burning Sun Flame anyone could imagine, but there are others who, while not the ideal personality, have a Flame that can satisfy the conditions of a Mare Ring. He’s not giving up or anything. That would be embarrassing for someone who’s playing the game so determinedly like he is. Rather, he’s… merely taking a break. Of course, it seems like even when he’s taking a break to focus on other aspects of the game, he still ends up paying attention to Shoichi whenever he ends up crossing his path. Even if the route is harder than expected, Byakuran can still enjoy some aspects of it, especially when it’s not so pressing on his overall run. Shoichi is still surprisingly pleasant to indulge, especially when he’s so early on in the stage of things that the criminal aspect of everything aren’t so obvious. It’s easiest to enjoy Shoichi then, trading food and sharing earbuds to the same music and talking about how fragile and sturdy the world is in equal measure. When it’s only theories, it’s easier to get Shoichi to play along with it. In a way that Byakuran is slowly starting to get used to across his many lives, he inevitably turns on him sooner or later. Sometimes a country’s government- usually Japan, occasionally Italy, America when it’s not a trashfire- will rope him in as an agent to keep track of him. Byakuran has to admit those lives are a little bit amusing, and he can never help playing up the cliche of it all when he can. The powerful mafia boss playing cat and mouse games with the determined cop, or secret agent, or general law enforcement… While he takes some time to relax in how he’ll next properly approach the Shoichi situation, he doesn’t worry about the end result, and merely enjoys the journey. There’s something to be said for an approach like that, especially when Byakuran uses Shoichi’s own handcuffs against him to pin him against the wall, teasing him about the lengths they’ve gone through with each other, and the sexual tension is thick enough for a chainsaw. Other mafia Families clue in to the sheer skill that Shoichi Irie actually possesses, once every few lives, especially when the world begins to advance technologically so quickly that they have to start paying attention to engineers and those who are up and coming. Those realities are sometimes a little bit disappointing, because the destruction of the rest of the Families, especially those who have connections to the Vongola, are always the first ones he crushes underneath his heel. It’s a pity that he doesn’t get more of a chance to to with Shoichi in those lives. Oh well. He’ll always have other rounds, other lives, other realities. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter. Then there are the timelines where Shoichi takes things into his own hands. This world has already been broken, shattered, vast expanses of ruined cities beyond the walls of his little fortresses where he experiments with his little civilization games. Here, people either submit, or they risk the destruction beyond that doesn’t deal kindly to those trying to carve out a life there. So with that said, he really has to marvel at the underground labs which Shoichi has created for himself. In the places where his people haven’t stormed through, covering the floor in dirt and dust of debris coating the walls, it’s impeccably clean. One of the few, perhaps the only, places where the grimy destruction of the world hasn’t seeped in. Befitting of such a brilliant engineer and technician, a defiled treasure trove of equipment fills the sparse amount of rooms that make up the shelter, and one has already completely self destructed with its remains utterly destroyed beneath the rubble. If they can recover enough, Byakuran has no doubt that the impact on numerous worlds would be immense. “If”… being the key word in that sentence. Shoichi is a genius in any of the worlds that bear his beautiful existence. For all that he can create, he knows exactly how to destroy it again. Almost more than Byakuran, Shoichi Irie has the perfect ability to completely destroy things, and yet he so rarely does it, save in moments like these where it’s to deny him everything he possibly can. His men corner Shoichi in a room that could, in some cases, be arguably titled as a bedroom. Byakuran has a closet that’s bigger. The mattress on the floor barely offers any substantial protection between the body on top of it and the hard ground beneath. The body on top of it has pressed himself back up against the wall with guns pointed at his face giving him no real option, and his hands are held up with the knuckles bumping into plaster. This one looks a real mess, Byakuran marvels, and he takes his time slowly looking over the engineer who’s been tirelessly and fruitlessly attempting to undermine him from beneath his very nose. A life of living outside of civilization has clearly taken its toll on Shoichi. What clothes are out here are basically as good as trash, and that includes the denim jacket on him that’s at least two times too big with more holes in it than Shoichi’s hopes must have by now, and the loose black tank top beneath it is hardly any better. That his actual pants and boots manage to fit, for all their worn nature, is quite impressive. Figuring out glasses in the wastelands has apparently not been a priority for Shoichi, because he’s squinting hard towards the armed men who can very easily take his life. It’s an action that almost makes him look more defiant than tired, than worn down to the very bone. He’s even disregarded scissors, possibly the most hilarious thing, because a good portion of his hair (definitely not all of it) has been pulled into a very lopsided ponytail near the right side of his head. Lazily, Byakuran raises up a hand to dismiss his men. “Go look over the technology here,” he orders them, voice deceptively airy. Maybe it’s because of that which has them hesitate. Byakuran doesn’t, not when he levels them with a cold gaze full of threat, and that gets them moving again a hurry. He waits patiently for the sound of heavy bootsteps to be as much in the distance as they can get before he steps forward to take up the whole doorway. “Hey there, Sho-chan. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” With the absence of armed guards, Shoichi collapses back a little bit, although his hands stay right where they are. It would be a gesture of anyone else in the same situation. “Yeah,” he says, voice following the same slump of his spine. “Yeah, it has. Years.” It didn’t take much for this particular world to crumble apart, after all. And yet, still he struggles to preserve it. The defiance is in more than the glare, now, and Byakuran marvels at it. Hands in his pockets, Byakuran inclines his head to his old friend. “The offer is still on the table,” he reminds him. “Don’t you think that would be so much more appealing, Sho-chan?” He even laughs a little bit. “You’d be able to have a shower and everything! Maybe see things more clearly, hm?” Shoichi is filthy, thinner than in most timelines, and clearly has worked so hard that he’s not had the chance to sleep often. Even with every bit of that weighing down on him, he still slumps his shoulders with an annoyed huff. “Was that… an actual joke about my eyeglasses? At a time like this…” Even when everything is going at it’s absolute worst, he can still get that kind of reaction out of him. Byakuran laughs once more. “Well, it’s the truth, too!” Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, Byakuran puts about the same amount of effort into the way his eyelids dip. “It’s all the truth,” he says, which is a lie. “The Sun Ring would be perfect on your finger,” he says, which is the truth. He’d left it back in the hands of the Sun Guardian he’d chosen for this world, once it had become clear that he would not accomplish his goal in this reality either. That meant, technically, there was no reason to make a claim on Shoichi in this world either. What purpose could he serve, besides potentially passing along more information to Byakuran in another world? And yet still he wants it. Wants Shoichi. Again and again, he’s courted and broken and threatened countless Shoichis, all for naught. Even if this world is useless…. He can only imagine the rush of satisfaction that would drown him if he managed to successfully capture one of the few individuals in all of his many existences who fascinates him so. Sometimes, in some places, he even almost ponders if Shoichi Irie is more his Player 2 than a love interest whose Good End he’s tirelessly chasing across numerous different realities. Only a thought experiment in the end, that sort of thing. There’s a reason he ponders it more in the late night while some version of him drifts off to sleep, or turns over the idea while his body runs through the motions of a shower. If there is actually a Player 2 against his campaign in one of the many worlds, he’s yet to meet them, for one thing, and he’s fairly certain that there would be more of a fight than all of Shoichi’s desperate struggles. Surely he must know it too, but all Shoichi does is let out a slow exhaled that scrapes up against lung and throat alike. Typical for someone who has dared to live out here in desolated wastelands. “I bet it would,” he says, a cough forcing a pause into existence. It’s too much for a body that’s become so thin and weak. “But my answer hasn’t changed, you know.” “So stubborn, Sho-chan.” It hardly takes a step before he’s within the room, and filling up a good portion of the space. A mattress can barely fit in here, so even with so little movement he’s already right between Shoichi’s legs. “It might be better for you over all if you just went along with it.” Smiling, he tilts his head to the side. He has no doubt that it’s as empty as he feels. “Everyone has a lot of questions for you back at my base that they’ll get out of you one way or another.” “Do threats actually ever help to convince anyone to do anything?” They don’t, and they never would with Shoichi. His lives have connected well enough that he is well aware of how Shoichi will stay true, even when he’s bleeding out, slow, alone. There’s always something beautiful about the way that fire burns right to the final ember of his existence. Byakuran thinks he could watch it for an eternity, if only he didn’t have the main story to get through first. Regardless, he leans down and forwards until he can pull Shoichi up effortlessly to his feet. Even with his clothing, he hardly weighs a thing, especially in comparison to Byakuran with immeasurable power behind him that could still grow so much bigger. “I thought you should at least know when you’re making a mistake,” he says, watching as Shoichi’s hands finally swing downwards. His fingers shake, quietly but violently. More from anxiety than ever any fear, Byakuran suspects, and always more exhaustion than anxiety. “We’re friends, Sho-chan, so, really, this is the least I could do!” This close, and Shoichi doesn’t really need to squint anymore to see Byakuran clearly. Weariness draws them a little further open, yet his gaze doesn’t shy away from Byakuran’s. In the world above them, in the world at large, so much has been dragged into ash and filth until brown and gray cover it as thick as any blanket. Even in places far away from civilization, the color seems to stick thicker than smog. Here, Shoichi’s eyes are still a deep green, so deep as to be untarnished jade, an oasis refusing impossible odds, poison that has burrowed past skin and flesh and blood and into Byakuran’s bones. “Friends, huh,” he says, voice a breath, an invitation. “At the very least,” Byakuran murmurs before he accepts it, before he leans in and sweeps up those lips in a long slow kiss. Shoichi doesn’t push him away or, considering the atrophy of his body, make so much as an attempt. No struggle, no kick, no protest, not even so much as a bite. If anything, he actually leans in, palms pressing against the wall as if he’s chasing something, too. Only a centimeter keeps them separated when their lips finally part. Against all odds, the fire in Shoichi’s eyes seems to burn all the harder. Byakuran know the answer even before he wastes any breath on its opposite. “It’s still waiting for you." He’s still waiting for him. A kiss has hardly done anything for Shoichi’s chapped lips, the breath which rustles out from between them drying that brief wet respite. It’s hardly done anything for that look in his eyes, either. "Well, it’ll probably have to keep waiting.” Byakuran watches the muscles in his throat stick and bob, struggling for even a simple swallow. “There’s nothing else for me to do in this world. There’s no point.” On the technical aspect, he’s right, of course. The Tri-ni-sette cannot be completed in this world, even if he were to include Shoichi’s perfect brilliant flame to the Mare set. Everything Byakuran does in this particular world is only for his own amusement right now, even if that means dismantling society chunk by chunk, or seeing how far a group of people can be pushed before they shatter into pieces. Even Shoichi isn’t different from this. If he were to finally complete his route in this world, of all worlds, what would he do then? If this was Shoichi the bassist, he could have kept him sweet and separate from the dirty business of a world collapsing in on itself with his goading, could have ducked into their not-so-little apartment and played a more domestic game. If this was Shoichi the student, he could fill his spare time molding him into something else, treat him customizable, put together all the pieces of a broken man until he wasn’t quite whole but certainly together. If this was Shoichi the criminal… If he had stayed… Well. There’s no world where Shoichi has ever stayed by Byakuran’s side as he’s reworked the world into something entirely different. It’s simply not a part of the route. Byakuran accepts this easily, because he’s had to dozens of times before, in dozens of other incarnations. All he does is chuckle a little bit. “So pessimistic, Sho-chan!” “Optimistic, actually.” That’s certainly a surprise, and Byakuran has to pause, still smiling but with his eyebrows raised a little bit now. Shoichi grins at him, with just enough teeth to be a threat. He’s never felt threatened in all of his lives now, not since he was a kid in some life forgotten a long time ago, and yet that doesn’t take away the intent. “How long do you think you can keep this going, Byakuran-san? How many worlds do you think you can completely dominate?” “Ha. Well, Sho-chan, I think the answer should be fairly obvious, shouldn’t it?” He inclines his head back towards the door, hands preoccupied with Shoichi’s weight. “If I can do this much to this kind of world, then I doubt there are many others that will be as much of a challenge.” The real challenge is in completing everything, in putting together the exact right variables that will give him all of the Tri-Ni-Sette. The real challenge is in completing everything, including finally keeping Shoichi Irie at his side. Despite this fact, Shoichi doesn’t stop grinning, although some strength has drained from it. All his fire can’t give him the energy that his physical body lacks from little sleep and about as much food. “Well,” he says, “we’ll see about that. But nothing lasts forever, Byakuran-san. No one does.” And he grits his teeth together… and something cracks. Later on, his doctors and researchers will marvel at the fake tooth layered over one of his real ones that had laid within Shoichi’s mouth. Such a thing would be delicate and tricky work even as a mere piece of art, yet Shoich had gone somewhere a little deeper. Literally, he’d gone deeper, apparently digging into old forgotten Estraneo strongholds and the secrets that had been abandoned a long time ago. An interesting invention- one of many, across many worlds, many mistakes- had been research into warping the body with the use of Sun flames via a set of specialized modified fangs. Creating a whole new jaw would have been impossible for even Shoich’s genius, at least with everything else he’d stacked up on top of his plate, and, considering the layout of the world, he’d probably never be able to get the necessary requirements for giving his body such base animalistic characteristics… But he didn’t need to. All Shoichi Irie had needed was the base concept, the base technical aspects that could help active a Sun Flame within his body without the use of a Ring and change some internal trigger. Sun Flames are activation. The Sun is energy. Too much energy, heart beating so fast as to burst, lungs quicker than the air they can absorb, mind falling apart from energy and crashing in on itself… They’ll marvel at it all, the people he sends to investigate this, and a few will ponder if they can use this sort of technology to keep a tight rein on anyone beneath them, even if there will have to be obvious changes depending on the kind of Flame that one primarily has. Byakuran will let them ponder and experiment, because of course he will. In a world without any real goal, any real meaning to continue this particular save, he might as well, right? Yet he’ll never go on to use their findings, not in the way they intend, not even in other worlds. In the moment, in that underground bunker where Shoichi Irie lived out his last days frantically working on something that could never possibly have any meaning, Byakuran can only watch the way he jolts suddenly with an exhale so sharp that he breathes out blood… and then he goes limp. Byakuran doesn’t smile. He can’t even act surprised. All he can really do, after a quiet moment of staring at a corpse, is lower it slowly back down onto the mattress he’s slept on for who knows how long. Next time, then. If nothing else, he’ll always have next time. “Byakuran-san, please, pay attention, I need you to have full understanding of the Merone Base, okay?” “I am paying attention,” he says, lips lilting up in a smile. It’s not wholly a lie. He’s always listened to Shoichi in multiple realities, even if he hasn’t listened to him on some occasions. So he’s intimately familiar with many ideas that Shoichi has brought up, some of them more solid in most realities than others. The best realities for this sort of thing are the handful where Shoichi’s life has him meet someone born on an entirely different little island, separated from Japan by an entire continent. Byakuran doesn’t really mess with the workers on the lower end of things, which Spanner definitely qualifies as despite his own mechanical genius, but he keeps an eye on anything that is prone to influence Shoichi. In the universes where Shoichi Irie and the aptly dubbed “Spanner” meet, Shoichi almost always comet collides into his talent with technology. Whether those are universes where Shoichi temporarily joins him… That’s a little more in the air. A coin flip, honestly, one of those things that is practically prayed to like the RNG in a gacha phone game. That such existences are also the ones where Shoichi falls in love with another, where he burns so bright in a different direction, is something Byakuran is pretty sure he’s not jealous about. Why would he be? That happens in the occasional RPG, where your companions fall for each other if you never make a move towards them. Byakuran thinks of such occurrences, of such lives he’s lived with different lovers himself, and then stops thinking of them. For this existence? This one in particular has Spanner working deep in the machinations of the Millefiore, not inclined to a leadership position that would take him away from the robotics that he loves so much. And Shoichi, in this one… “Could you at least look at me when trying to feed me that lie?” Byakuran laughs again, shoulders shaking a little, before he rolls his head back along the couch to look at him upside-down. Shoichi the the Right Hand Man, the inevitable betrayer, stares right back at him before heaving out a sigh. Theoretically, he’s supposed to be clad in Millefiore lily white at all times, especially when dealing with official business here in Byakuran’s very own expansive office. Yet it’s a testament to the privilege Shoichi possesses that he can be half out of it already, revealing not a slick suit or combat ready tank top but one of his any ratty and worn band tees. If any of their subordinates caught sight of Shoichi in such a state, it would likely only further fuel the rumors Byakuran knows are out there, that Shoichi Irie slipped into his bed long before he slipped into one of the Millefiore uniforms. In some ways, they might almost be right, just never in the way they’d ever think to think. If only Shoichi would want him enough to try and seduce him, and more than the simple fact that such a thing would be a hilarious experience. No matter the many different worlds, there’s always some… core to these characters. And it is a core part of Shoichi Irie that he’d never really be what one could call “seductive”. “I’m looking,” he drawls, long and low, and something about all of it clearly has something to do with the way Shoichi jolts and his mouth twists. He doesn’t blush, apparently old enough to have restraint in some area even if not all of them, but Byakuran can recognize the little things like that. The Cheshire Cat smile on his face only widens. “What, Sho-chan?” “Byakuran-san, you’re…” A huff pops out of him and he strides over closer. “You know what, nevermind.” “Now now!” Byakuran laughs, reaching behind him to pull Shoichi closer once he’s in reach until his arms are folding over his shoulders and he can better see the schematics his supposed right hand is fiddling with. Still he keeps his fingers slipped through those reddish brown curls. They’re soft, comforting. A reminder that, at this stage in the game, he can still enjoy the little occurrences. Those are the kinds of things which help keep a person playing over and over again. “I encourage complete and total honesty in my subordinates, Sho-chan. It’s not good to bottle things up inside, either!” For all of Byakuran’s power- the physical where he’s become steadily good enough in close combat, the political and social where he could destroy a person’s life with a single message, the flames of his which burn through the barriers of separation and the barriers of flesh- For all of that, Shoichi in every iteration never seems to falter enough. He always manages to drum up a look of faint unimpressed exasperation, regardless of his situation. Byakuran likes the one Shoichi is wearing right now, the type where his fondness softens all of the harder edges until his affection bleeds through. If it ever becomes a dam, Byakuran suspects that will be one of the times when he’s won. “You only say those sorts of things,” Shoichi mutters, “because you find it funny when I get pissed off about things such as Glo Xinia and get petty.” “I don’t say it only because of that!” he says, even as he laughs. He laughs because it’s true, and he laughs at the ways it’s not, and because he’ll enjoy these moments where he can be with Shoichi with the Mare Sun Ring on his finger almost fake enough to make him think that this is a perfect run. But he’s still waiting for that inevitable betrayal. There is always some core part, isn’t there? Shoichi’s core has never made him take the final step into staying by Byakuran’s side. Shoichi the Double Agent is a new one, although that only makes things a little more interesting. It also explains a lot, honestly, from how Shoichi had insisted on being able to take care of this younger Vongola with no reinforcements, to how he had kept their block against the Ten Year Bazooka’s effects so close at hand. Byakuran has to hand it to him- he could have been a world class actor in another world. Opposing him outright, or a heel turn at the last moment, those are the choices he’s used to. Yet he’d forgotten, in his apathy, that there was indeed a third option when it came to Shoichi Irie. There was nothing ever stopping him from going along with Byakuran’s plans while readying a knife for his back the whole while. Faintly, he wonders if he would have bothered to stop any bit of Shoichi’s plot, at least in this world. Probably not. All of his selves need to ignore at least one thing or go along with one plot if only to see how that might affect the timeline relevant to a completely different self. It’s enlightening, too, listening to Shoichi explain the entire situation for the benefit of the younger Tsunayoshi Sawada’s group. While he likes to torment his many opponents with his supposed omniscience, Byakuran knows his abilities far better than anyone else. Certainly, he’s far closer to the very concept of omniscience than any other human would normally be… but he’s not quite there yet. If he knew everything, if he had the walkthrough guide to the game of his life, then he would have accomplished his main goal a thousand lifetimes ago instead of having it vex him so much. No, he only knows as much as any aspect of himself knows and shares with the rest of himself. He can’t be in multiple places at once, or, rather, he can, but they’re so detached as to something have no bearing on one another. Every life is its own, even as every life is him. So, up until this point as he patiently takes in the meeting of his foes and Shoichi, he can’t ever have imagined that Shoichi the Underground Engineer had been thinking of this when he had questioned Byakuran’s ability to continue the game. It’s a brilliant play, a reality breaking move to match his own… and all he can do is smile, smile, smile. The inclusion of a love interest for the main character can really drag a game down, or raise it up to something so popular as to be overwhelming. A rushed and poorly thought out romance can dock a point or two from a review, while a truly heartbreaking or varied one can be the main reason why anyone even touches it. Once upon a time, he had thought that Shoichi Irie had been just a minor side quest. Enjoyable enough on its own, sure, but no more than delving into a cave during a fantasy game for some quest or another. Entertaining in a mindless fashion. Yet even now, even without the Mare Sun’s quiet intense longing for a finger that won’t ever slip into it, he thinks that was foolish of himselves. Shoichi was never so simple as a minor side quest. He was as vital a part of the main storyline as any party member, as any guiding NPC, as any fridged lover. Byakuran wonders how he’ll die this time. Shoichi Irie doesn’t die. Oh, he certainly does a lot of things that would logically lead to the death of most other people who attempted to do the same. He volunteers to be on the frontlines, despite lacking box and Ring both, staring Byakuran straight in the eyes as he says it. He helps control a moving tank of a headquarters to defend himself even when he’s being shot at. He removes himself from that tank, despite the metal being the best object of defense available to him, and forces exhausted legs to keep moving. He looks at the most powerful person in all of existence and makes demands of him despite the fact that he can’t even get up on his own two fee without assistance. All the while, he burns. Byakuran basks in it, even as he refuses to let this particular part of the game go on any longer and denies all Shoichi would want for. This has always been a game between them, more than even the Vongola that so often seem to have a tendency of being his biggest obstacle in so many worlds. So, more than Tsunayoshi Sawada, more than the one of two remaining Arcobaleno in the world, more than anyone else, he savors the look of desperate frustrated outrage on Shoichi’s face. Out of his list of things he wants the most in the world, it’s not at his highest shelf, only perhaps in third place, and yet that’s more than good enough. Having that burning and sheering brightness focused on him alone will always place even when not in first. Of course…. When first rolls around… When Yuni reveals herself, reveals that very puzzle Byakuran has been tearing over in so many places and times and lives, well, every gamer wants to get first place. Byakuran forgets him, save for the briefest flicker of a thought that he ought to thank him in one life or another for helping make this to be the run that finally succeeds. Loss is a new feeling, in more ways than one. He’s lost his battle, and his war, fire stripping away flesh from bone, bone from existence. He’s lost the game. He’s even, and especially, lost his sense of self as those flames do more than be rid of the physical. They sever him, completely, utterly, the changing of one blood red sky to something softer and quieter, and he’s never released how much was bearing down on his mind until it’s all been stripped away from him. In the last few seconds where he still exists- only himself, this self, this Byakuran Gesso who has lead this Millefiore family to where it is today in this very moment- there’s so much space to simply… think. On a lot of things. On the very Player 2 that the Cervello once told him about, that Aria knew about with those amused deep eyes of hers, that a starving man in a lab cleaner than he was plotted so hard to bring into creation. On if perhaps this was perhaps a tester’s way of playing the game, but not how it was to be played. On if he had only been wistful when he’d seen a face twisted in quiet despair from beyond their little arena. Next time. He wonders if there’ll be a next time. “Just…. don’t? Alright? Can we please just, stop? I would appreciate it if you could stop. Just… stay in bed and don’t start a fight with the three other absurdly powerful people that are in this hospital.” Shoichi (the teenager, the young genius, thrice lived) tucks Byakuran into the hospital bed so securely like he thinks cotton will be enough to stop really anyone from doing anything. Byakuran lets him, and only partially because he’s surprisingly wore out. This, too, is a new experience, different from the many memories that still overwhelm him from other lives he knows but hasn’t lived. Then again, none of the lives that he’d lived had ever focused on anything but that one, singular goal. He’s never gotten to experience what it’s felt like to be shot at with full strength by one of the Arcobaleno, or seen just how much power the Vindice had been hiding beneath their dark coats for so long. Not in many lives has he gotten to be so close to Shoichi like this, watching a face much younger than what he’s used to crumple up in an exhausted exasperation that apparently never aged a single bit since the day he was born. It’s a brand new hospital room that he’s been moved to, now, and it’s completely empty save for the two of them. Everyone else who’d been present, those who would have been his Millefiore in another life, another future, have been looped into clean up efforts on account of the fact that none of them are so gravely injured like he is. Even Bluebell, although he’s fairly confident that she’ll do more playing than helping alongside the new friend she’d made as she’s been steadily absorbed into the Giglio Nero. That’s been slowly happening with all of them, he’s noticed quietly, and that’s probably for the better. He might not have the walkthrough guide for life- perhaps never had it- but he’s seen enough clips to know that they’d find nothing and neither would he if they stuck with him in the same path that he went down in one future that’s now ceased to exist for himself. The person at his bedside right now must know this as well, and yet. “I don’t make any promises,” he tells Shoichi, smiling as the teenager slumps into a chair. He doesn’t look as bad as he could be, because Byakuran has seen him go through the full spectrum of destroyed and devastated and depressed…. but he does look dead tired, bags under his eyes better suited for the grave and his hair messy from lack of sleep or care. The frames of his glasses smack into his knuckles when he reaches up beneath them to rub at his eyes. “I really wish you would.” Hands dropping down to his lap, he shifts awkwardly in his seat and glances back toward the closed door where armed guards are waiting just outside. For all his effect on the various aspects of reality, for the sheer potential of what he can do, Byakuran is always being watched. Yuni has accepted his assistance for this latest disaster, of course, but she’s surprisingly clever. That’s how she’d waited so patiently in another future, getting the Cervello into the perfect position to grant her access to the exact right place at the exact right time. Similarly, she’d agreed and complied with the Vongola when they’d requested surveillance on him. Byakuran doesn’t blame them. He’s not sure he’s still entirely attached to a lot in the world to do things like levy blame at anyone for just about any reason. Shoichi is a direct contrast in that he doesn’t even remotely belong here, and everyone knows it. Everyone on Tsunayoshi Sawada’s side is a part of the Vongola officially now, with even the actual toddler being related to another mafia Family. The Varia, well, they don’t need any introduction to those who are a part of this life. The same can be said for Mukuro Rokudo’s lot, all criminals in their own right, and every single one of the Arcobaleno are wanted for their skills in both ways that can mean. Shoichi Irie is only a middle schooler at a good school whose family has been told that he was going to a tutor who could refer to him a good college while, the last some nights, he’s been involved in the life and death battles of overpowered criminal organizations and helping build a giant super robot that most college students could only dream of. If he wanted to wash his hands of everything, then he would have at least a 50% chance of success with how soft hearted the Vongola, Giglio Nero, and Cavallone could all be. Yet here he is, one heel bobbing up and down through the air down to the floor while his hand remains loosely curled over his stomach. “I’ve killed you, you know,” Byakuran says casually, stretching his fingers along the too-clean sheets of his bed. From the corner of his eye, he can see Shoichi’s leg promptly freeze its jiggling. “In a lot of different timelines.” Even if it wasn’t directly, well, his hand was always buried deep in that particular pie. It takes a long few seconds before Shoichi remembers to breathe. With his exhale, the invisible strings keeping his body upright seem to vanish and he slumps forwards. His hands curling into that curly hair are a sight Byakuran is intimately familiar with. “I know, Byakuran-san,” he says, polite even after all of this, across multiple realities. Polite even he sounds as though he would rather be having anything but this kind of conversation, preferably in a bed of his own somewhere. Well, with how their first meeting in this particular universe had involved Shoichi yelling at everyone else about how he wasn’t to be trusted, it’s sort of a given that he knows. Regardless. “I thought you might need a reminder,” he replies, head falling back a little further into his pillow. Despite how long people can end up staying, hospital pillows really are garbage, he’s come to find. Even when the mafia is involved. And a little bit of the yakuza. Shoichi’s fingers keep sliding further backwards, catching tangles and tugging free of them until he can rest them curved over the back of his neck. “Thanks for that,” he deadpans. As with many worlds, Byakuran seems to have a talent for getting rid of that patience, even in the times where Shoichi never holds it against him. With that, his head drops, glasses threatening to bounce right off of his face. It occurs to him, then, that there might be something else responsible for the darkened skin under Shoichi’s eyes and the weight dragging his spine ever further down towards irreparable back pain. It’s something that he’s had to deal with for…. something that feels like years, but which he knows, by the way people quantify time, hasn’t actually happened. Yet that realization only makes Shoichi’s choice to be here over anywhere else in even this whole building alone a… puzzling mystery. His smile shifts a little bit, not as bright and careless, and he finally asks the question he’s been wondering for days and days now. “Why are you here, then, Sho-chan?” That gets Shoichi to looks up at him again, blinking a few times in pure befuddlement. “What?” “I’ve killed you a lot of times,” Byakuran answers patiently, still looking straight at him. This young, and his eyes seem a little darker than the brilliant green he has so many memories of. “I could kill you in this universe, too. So why are you still here taking care of me, Sho-chan? There are others you could get to do this.” Shoichi breathes in slowly again, and removes his hands from his neck with about the same speed. “I’ve been wondering that myself,” he admits. “But, Byakuran-san… You haven’t killed me yet.” …Huh. That actually wipes the smile from his face. When all Byakuran does is stare, head flopping to the side too quickly to be called a 'curious tilt’, Shoichi promptly flusters a nice red and jerks his shoulders up. “I know!” he snaps, which would be an overreaction if they didn’t know each other so well. Have known each other so well even without ever having met before in this lifetime before a little over a week ago, maybe. “I know the, the yet is kind of a, it’s a pressing point, there’s nothing guarantee that you won’t just…. do the same terrible horrible things all over again!” Every ounce of stillness is gone from him now. Free from their anchor along his own skin, Shoichi’s hands start to go flying everywhere as he gestures wildly. “I- I remember the kinds of things you can do, I know for a fact, and you’ve definitely proved that you can just… You’re not any weaker from that point in time, as far as I can tell! But I just-” He draws one hand back, raking it a lot more harshly through his hair than before. “I can remember you dying.” Brows drawn tight together, his eyes… They’re not burning, not in the way that Byakuran has become so accustomed to, and yet they’re an altogether different kind of intense that has him forgetting to even blink. Shoichi says nothing more on that, says nothing on what was going through his mind as he watched even Byakuran’s very bones turn to ash on the wind. He doesn’t need to. In every lifetime of his that Byakuran has ever seen, his goal has always been to oppose him eventually, inevitably. It’s simply never been a goal, he realizes then, that he’d ever reach with any element of personal happiness attached. A single shuddering breath breaks the silence, and Shoichi continues with a trembling voice that’s only barely calmer than his frantic explanation from a second before. “But you haven’t killed me yet,” he repeats, like a spell. “Whatever will happen in the future, or any other futures, it just… It hasn’t happened yet. So I’m just going to deal with the now, with what we’ve actually done, before anything else.” That phrasing tips him off to what’s going on in that brain of his, and Byakuran eases back into his pillows a little bit more. “Hey, Sho-chan,” he says, making sure that he’s snapped out his own brain before continuing. When he’s sure he’s gotten his attention, Byakuran smiles. “You remember two different lives, hm?” His flinch says it all. Most of those who were tightly bound with that one particular future were, to his understanding and one way or the other, given some memories of the event. Byakuran’s knowledge of it is incomplete, admittedly, on account of that self being dead by that point, but he can extrapolate enough. The latest battle demonstrated well enough the combined abilities of the world’s greatest scientist, the unparalleled abilities of the Millefiore’s once-own professional Gola Mosca engineer, and everything that Shoichi Irie is. That sort of thing would have been easy enough for them to do, to the embarrassment of no doubt many other scientists in the world. Yet there’s a problem with that. For all the others- the tenth generation of the Vongola, the reclusive and violent lot under Mukuro Rokudo, the Varia- they’d only remember the memories of that single time, perhaps an entire lifetime depending on what adjustments had been made for individuals such as Xanxus and Dino of the Cavallone. Yet even before he had died, Byakuran had learned enough to know that Shoichi Irie wasn’t anything like the rest of those who would remember that future, and in a way that had nothing to do with his favoritism for the other. Shoichi had been able to do what he’d done because a future version of himself had trapped a younger version of himself in his future long enough to suppress his memories of time travel, implant sleeper memories of that entire future along with plans to stop Byakuran, and then send him back into the past with the hopes that would stop something. Anything. By the time Captain Shoichi Irie of the Millefiore, double agent, had prepared his machine to let the Vongola’s tenth gen go back to their own time, he'd already been carrying the memories of an entirely different life and future around with him. When Shoichi Irie the simple teenager had gotten those memories again, he’d remembered not just one other life, but two entirely separate ones, layered on top of the memories he has of his own life in this universe now. Forcing himself to relax to what Byakuran finds to be mixed success, Shoichi leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands holding onto himself. “How… How do you deal with it?” he asks softly. Byakuran jazz hands towards himself. Shoichi squeezes his eyes shut in accompaniment to the scrunching of his mouth. “Alright, I- nevermind. I take back that question. It’s obvious how youdealt with it.” “Ha ha.” “Stop that.” Reaching up, he drags one hand down his face. “Please. Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick again…” “You’ve picked no better place for it, Sho-chan!" "Please, just…. stop that too.” Sneakers scruffing against linoleum, he slumps backwards into his seat and delegates one hand to wrap around his stomach again. His other hand stays right where it is up against his face. “Okay, if you can’t… promise that you won’t get into a fight with the other super-powered forces of nature also being treated in this hospital, can you…” He falters, for a moment, no doubt remembering so many promises that Byakuran failed to keep. “…Just don’t do that again. Alright? Don’t… try any of those timelines again.” There’s a lot Byakuran could say about that, how he’s clearly lost so many rounds that he can at least gracefully step back from the controller, that he’s honestly become sort of tired after so many different livetimes where he worked so hard for something that he couldn’t get past…. But he doesn’t. That’s a conversation that can, maybe, come at a different time. For now, he only continues to smile slightly in Shoichi’s direction. “There are other things I want to do now, Sho-chan,” he answers, which isn’t really false in any way. It’s only simplified. Shoichi takes what reassurance he can squeeze out of that response, nodding his head as if it’s made of lead. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Okay. So I guess that’s… taken care of for now. I guess.” Even with armed guards, it’s good to see that even Shoichi is aware that Byakuran is only really contained when he wants to be. “Now all we have to do is just… focus on the present.” He whistles a breath out between his teeth. “Easier said than done.” While Byakuran’s own case far outdoes just about anyone else’s situation, well, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re both in the same boat of remembering more lives than 99.9% of the planet. How are they to move on so neatly, “live in the present”, when their minds are tied up in so many knot of other futures, other experiences, that they can barely stay put together? Byakuran nudges his hand a little closer to the metal railing of his bed, the failed purpose of which is to keep him in place. “Taking over the world is still an option, Sho-chan. And I’d still make you my Number 2, even.” The expression directed his way would be alarmed, if it wasn’t weighed down with so much exasperated annoyance instead. “Byakuran-san, what did I just say.” Prying his hand away from his face, Shoichi huffs. “Maybe Yuni-san would know… Even if I feel bad about bothering a little girl about this sort of thing. She wanted to talk with me anyway sometime this week…” Consider Byakuran’s interest stirred. “Oh, Yuni-chan wanted to talk with you? About what?” Rolling his head back, Shoichi is too exhausted to even look at him this time. “She wasn’t clear. Just that she wanted to talk with me and… Daisy-san…?” The sudden laughter that bursts forth from Byakuran’s mouth has Shoichi snap up in surprise. “What? What’s so funny!?” Grinning widely, Byakuran wipes away a tear of mirth from his eye with the heel of his hand. “Nothing big, Sho-chan,” he says, which is so transparent a lie that he doesn’t feel bad about it. Once again, he suspects he’s been outmaneuvered by a child, although the women of the Giglio Nero are so strange and otherwordly that perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. He has a suspicion of what exactly she aims to speak to Shoichi about. Which leaves all the burden of effort on him now, doesn’t it? He allows his eyes to slide shut, comfortable exactly where he is. This entire time, perhaps he’s been playing the game all wrong, gotten the objectives all mixed up. Perhaps this isn’t even the game he thought it was. If that’s the case… “I think I want to try things your way, Sho-chan.” And, for the first time in so many lifetimes, he feels a light touch at his own hand in return.

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