#watching a dead meat video and dropped dead for a second

[vnknowv]

Literally feel so stupid thinking about it longer but BIG TOP BURGER WAS A KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE REFERENCE????

[dollwrites]

ᴇᴍᴇʀᴀʟᴅ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛs ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʜᴀʟ ᴊᴏʀᴅᴀɴ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, established relationship, hal sends nasty videos from Oa ( don’t ask me how the man could construct a giant satellite or something for all I care ), masturbation ( both! ), lots of dirty talk. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act eight [ masturbation ]

you were going to kill Hal Jordan.

he knows you— he knows how seriously you take your job. as he kissed you goodbye and prepared for an excursion to Oa to meet with the Guardians, you’d warned him about not bothering you at work. he’d simply laughed and soared into the night sky, the emerald light from his ring casting the shape of a rocket until it disappeared in a twinkle.

and now, here you were, creeping into your company break room in the middle of your shift to check your phone, because Hal’s name had popped up in your messages. “Hal Jordan, you are dead meat—“

you’d started to curse your boyfriend, ready to be angry, when you open up the message feed to see a new media file. the thumbnail of the video snags your breath in your throat, and ties your guts in knots.

you loved Hal’s Green Lantern get up, and he knew it, which is why he was still ( almost ) fully clothed, the emerald attire sticking to each crevice and dip in his muscle pads like a second skin. the waistband of his suit is rolled down just enough to expose his package, and even though the play button is smack dab in the middle of the screen, it doesn’t fully obstruct the visage of his thick, hard cock lain against his belly. there’s a smirk on his paused face, and a dusky rose tint to the apples of his cheeks. Hal always could smolder with the best of them, and just a look would have you dropping your panties on command. even now, this still image of your man had your core getting slicker and more needy for him.

you couldn’t help yourself. glancing around, mostly cautious, you slip around to the corner furthest from the door, and press your back against the side of the employee fridge, before you pressed play. the video’s window overtakes your screen, and the very first second, your speakers are assaulted with a lustful moan from Hal. your cheeks heat up, and you scramble for the volume down button, hoping no one outside the door heard the noise. “I know you’re at work, baby girl,” he starts, low and slow, one thick palm rubbing up against his swollen cock. he sucks in a breath, before wrapping his fingers around it in a vice grip, squeezing until the pressure forces a grunt out of him, and he exhales in a shudder. “but I’m hoping you got the chance to sneak away and watch me for a minute.” Hal’s wearing such a shit-eating grin because he knows you will. he knows that you can’t resist the urge to watch him play with himself, even though you should be working. after a moment or two of silent stroking, his fingers dancing along the traces of the veins that bulge out against his flesh when he’s hard as a rock, and then he elicits a little chuckle, murmuring to the camera, “That’s my naughty girl. You just play a lil hooky and watch me stroke with my cock.”

you wanted to be mad. damn it all, you wanted to lock your phone and get back to work and not give him the satisfaction of watching his stupid, sexy video. just because you knew that he knew that you couldn’t resist the temptation. still, your would rather sever your own fingers before you would reach for the pause button.

Hal groans on screen, rolling his mop of unruly, tawny hair around on his shoulders, as his thumb traces the shape of his frenulum, and his tongue lists outward to wet his lips before he inhales, sharply. “I can’t stand bein’ away from you, baby girl,” and, of course, the classic Hal Jordan charm starts to come out. “So, I’m thinking about you being here with me. How I’d have you sitting pretty, right here between my knees—“ the camera shifts, gliding down until it was perched right where he says he wants you. you can almost imagine the constructs he’s using to give you such a perfect POV shot as the swirl from his power ring, and hold the camera steady at a height close to your own when you’re on your knees. Hal caresses the swollen, red tip of his cock, bracing the balls of his feet on the floor to push up a little with his hips, creating a hypnotic undulation akin to the rhythm he likes to fuck you to, only this time his cock glides through the entrance provided by his own palm, and he grunts in approval, the specter of a curse upon his parted lips. “You’d look so fucking pretty, like a little angel, waiting to give my cock a kiss.”

his voice was low and husky, just like you liked it, and when his hand slid down the thick column of his shaft, he used said grip to angle the tip closer to the lens, as if he were going to swipe it against your lips. you felt your stomach do a steep loop, and found your mouth watering. if you truly were there with him, it would’ve opened, and willingly accepted his girth for you to suck on, like you had so many times before.

“I miss your warm, wet mouth, baby…” Hal murmurs, his hazel eyes heavily lidded. “The way you take me in.” you could tell by the dreamy expression he wore that he was deep in his fantasy, seeing you there, sucking his cock. it deepened the red in his cheeks, and his lower lip curled in as his teeth sank into it, suppressing a loud moan into a sultry rumble in his chest as he pumped his cock. “You’re so good at sucking my cock, like those pretty lips were just made to wrap around me and blow…”

you felt warm all over, and soaked between the thighs. you couldn’t believe how erotic this was— huddled in the break room watching your man get off on video for you. your body was begging for attention, some way to relieve the pressure in your core, so you slipped a hand under the waistband of your uniform to press your first, two fingers against your pulsing button through your panties. it didn’t help. if anything, you only got hornier. if anyone were to walk in right now, you’d be beyond screwed. but, right now you didn’t care. all you cared about was rubbing against your cunny and the sounds Hal was making as he, too pleasured himself. “Oh, Hal…” you whispered, feeling the damp patch from your panties start to soak through and wet your fingers. you elicit a soft whimper, rubbing more fiercely, pressing your back to the fridge to keep yourself steady.

“Fuck,” Hal curses louder, hips bucking forward as he ruts into his own, slick hand in a greedy rhythm that could only mean one thing that he soon confirms, “I’m about to fucking cum for you, baby… you wanna watch me blow my load right now?” though you know he can’t see you, you can’t help but nod eagerly, your breath coming out in furious little puffs as you strum yourself. “Oh, fuck, here it comes, baby!”

Hal cumming has always been one of your favorite things to watch, especially times like this when you had a front row seat to the action. his whole body moves in an orchestra of pleasure, each muscle writhing and tightening beneath his flushed skin, especially his abdomen, which dances to the hurried rhythm of his ragged breathing. his hips rock forward as he eagerly chases his relief, and when caught, he erupts with a broken yowl of your name. translucent streamers celebrate his coming undone in spurts from his furiously red tip. the first shooting upward in a long, thin rope. the second has a significantly shorter arc, and the third, until he is squeezing just below the head, milking out the final, beading droplets, huffing and puffing, staring down at his own satisfied cock.

you were still playing with yourself, and had almost reached your own finish line when there’s a knock. for a moment, your heartbeat thunders against your ribs, and it takes you several, breathless seconds to realize that it was coming from the video. a deep, booming voice then calls out to your lover. “Hey, Jordan! Let’s go!” Hal flashes the camera a sheepish grin, one so cute that you nearly croon.

“Yeah, yeah, be right out.” he answers, before tucking away his twitching, soft cock back into his skin-tight suit. “Sorry to cut the playtime short,” he grabs the phone, now and whispers to it, “but, ya know, I gotta go save the universe. I know you’re probably so pissed at me for bothering you at work, huh? Watching me, your little pussy is probably drenched right now, and you’ll have to suffer for the rest of the day without relief. Poor, little baby girl. But just know, the second I get home, I’m going to make it up to you.” Hal chuckles, his voice dropping to a husky whisper right by the speaker, as if he were whispering a sultry secret right in your ear. “Because I’m going to pin your legs up by your head and eat your sweet cunt for hours, until you just can’t take my tongue anymore. Love you, baby girl.”

[shitouttabuck]

fuck it friday

tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz and @rewritetheending <3

i have not written a word in Months but i found the start of this prompt fill on my desktop and i cant for the life of me remember the plot i meant to write

“It’s not a big enough deal to call a TaskRabbit, or an actual, you know, plumber,” Eddie’s telling Chim as he wriggles into his jeans, soft morning light dancing over his face through the locker room glass. “And I’ve watched a million YouTube videos, and everyone online says it’s basically impossible to fuck up. I’ve just never done it myself before.” Buck knows the extra meat in the middle of this story that Eddie’s generously allowed his own self-preservation to omit: hardware store Marisol who ended up fixing Eddie’s sink and the squeaky back door and then gently telling Eddie he was very nice but they’d been taking it slow and trying at this for a while and they still don’t actually have a single thing in common or that magic spark, so to text her if he needed a hand with home reno—she’s happy to repay a favour—but as far as dating went, she didn’t see much more for them. That was, with timing only a horror-comedy could love, just hours before she dropped by the Diaz house to pick up the rest of her things, only to find Eddie on the porch with his tongue down the throat of a woman who was decidedly not her and traumatizingly like the many photographs of his dead wife framed around the residence. Buck can’t really say he blames her in the slightest for what followed, and what followed included grabbing a hammer from her passenger seat—Buck can appreciate a well-prepared woman—and unfixing everything she had repaired in the Diaz house, loudly, violently, and with scathing commentary on the kind of boyfriend and person Eddie Diaz is. And listen, Buck’s not unbiased here. He loves Eddie, everyway and everywhen, ugly, cruel mistakes and all. He loves him because and sometimes despite, and he knows his disappointment was a distant second to the worry and the unconditional support when Eddie’d relayed it all to him later that night, fresh out of two separate dumpings and brimming with guilt and confusion and this loss that must’ve just been another gut-punch in having some version of Shannon taken from him again.

if i can remember what i wanted to write for this prompt, yay, and if not, i am in the brainstorm-outlining stages of a twisters au lmao

tagging oh my god i havent done this in forever who do i tag @onward--upward @chronicowboy @try-set-me-on-fire @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @doeeyeseddie if you fancy!!!

[fiercefauna]

@tiredsn0w hello again - here is part 19 - 21. Next one, will be the last one - things are bit dicey now because it’s almost over.

To anyone else this is an SCP wiki project featuring 049 and 6118. The Doctor has issues adjusting to a new planet after an alien with an anomalous immune system peaks his interest, and affections.

Note - you can find the other parts by checking my earlier posts. Sp&g CREDITS - @ironymobile

Part 19.

“Something very big’s been through here. It seems impossible but, these things must have been hiding underwater.” 

Seedy shut off the blower as they pulled in beside the mass of mangroves that concealed the grand shelter. “These things? Seems there was only one.” 

“The only one we know about was dead, are you implying it came back to life?” 

“So you’re just going to go in there and explain to a room full of prehistoric monsters whose dead relative was in our freezer that we would like to speak to the planet’s most notorious assassin?” Tasha was silent. Seedy launched themself into the dark water before their sister could object. She decided to leave her dive gear behind as well. Hopefully, if she hurried, her sibling wouldn’t be starting any unfortunate conversations. 

While more aquatically adept than humans, (being able hold breath for 10 to 30 minutes at a time) the One of Kepler still prefer to be able to see where they are going. That there seemed to have been significant changes made to the submerged root scape around the shelter did not improve things. Tasha failed to find Seedy on the first attempt and was preparing to turn around when she grabbed on to something she couldn’t let go of. 

Seedy watched their sibling slide out of the water on the end of the big Zero’s tail, the terrifying gaze of 5a82’s resident Earthling, 049 greeting her. “Not so easy to move around out here, is it, dreadful damp, hot as tetanus.” The Doctor lowered his lantern, put his hands behind him and retreated a few steps. 

“Why are you here.” Five-aye regretted the tone, it sounded terribly rude. Seedy’s mouth was muffled by the oversized flipper hand of the already over-large, ancient Keplerian so Tasha answered. “You can’t stay here. Either the rebels or the Feds will kill both of you in the process of fighting over you and then kill each other and then all the rest of us.”

5a82 slumped on to a carved outcrop, causing his friend to fuss over him. “I’m fine! Try to relax!” The Doctor wasn’t ready to go back, but this wasn’t the right time or place to discuss the man’s mental issues. 

“WE COME IN PEACE!”

Landing lines fell down the shafts of soft light piercing the dome of the root shelter and dark shapes descended from them. 

The amplified announcement followed the soft whir of a Vahwhol’s textured blades. 7cb7 never thought they’d be dropping out of one these things like a meat drone on it’s way to a war crime. The Aven landed beside them, with the grunt of someone getting on in years, it didn’t immediately occur that their own legs had shocks. A small circle of security Twos moved inward.

5a82 approached with a weapon, but made a show of pointing it at the floor, he saw the Aven and just - froze. 

“Simply Beautiful. Sure, the new units are healthier relatively speaking, but the compulsion to chain of command - second to none here.” 

“Is not your dog!” Lover-bird slipped in front of his Asu, challenging the Aven as best he could in his broken language. 

The Aven was slow to respond so 7cb7 stepped forward, hoping their English wasn’t too embarrassing. It was possible all the white-coats learned from private tutors and not a combination of internet videos and Brit-coms. “All this is our fault not yours. Neither of you seem used to being famous so let me explain that you can’t just go where you want without an escort.”

“Airborne intruder!” said one of the Aven’s Twos. 

The little guy was sufficiently back to normal to pull the Doctor into a crouching position, so a small, lighted drone could be shot down. “Is it press?” said the Two leaning over it. “Get away from it.” said another. 

049 reached for his thigh and tossed away a dart. He ran for the safety of his patient and its prisoners as fatigue set in, rummaging in his bag for a reversal.

A glue net was thrown on to him from a dark disk clinging to the ceiling of the root structure. The disk hovered over and began to enclose him in the claw structure beneath it - but was ripped apart and thrown aside by the instance. 

Five-aye saw the Doctor, still trapped in the netting, being carried into the water by his patient but couldn’t follow, for he had to shoot down another dart drone and dodge a second glue net from a second capture disk. Dodging caused him to stick to another. He aimed his weapon as the disk made a pass overhead. 

Three strategic shots into its inner workings sent it crashing to the pavers behind him. Greasing his dive knife with oil from the battered machine he cut himself free of the glue, and remembered, that he had once again been separated from his friend. 

Part 20. 

“Looks like the fog’s rolling back in.” Tasha commented as she was pulled from the water.

“Don’t say “l told you so” just don’t.” Seedy reminded themself. “She’s learned her lesson. We stuck out our necks and got squat in return.” Instead they said, “So - how do we convince the neighbors not to kill us?”

Tasha flipped a lock of wet hair away from her eyes. “I think the radio’s in the supply case.” 

Seedy opened the craft’s storage compartment and was confronted by the specter of death. 

“S-Sorry, f - force of habit.” 

Five-aye put away his gun, unfolded his small body from the cramped compartment and quickly seated himself at the prow, his back submissively turned to the siblings. So close to another murder, so close. So easily he’d drawn a loaded weapon. So many times, right-between-the-eyes. 

Seedy steered the craft into a root shelter and tied it. The Asu did not object. A long, tense silence followed. 

Tasha had to make the first move. “Okay, so you’re armed, we’re not. Do you want us to take you somewhere or do I need to further explain the concept of a hijacking?” 

“We need to find him.” 

“049? Do you have any idea of where he could be?” She stepped carefully over the thwarts and sat beside the small Two. It so happened that she’d managed to miss glancing over at just the right moment when the muzzle of the weapon had made contact with her sibling’s face. Seedy was well aware but planned to drink about it later, right now the continued safety of their world depended on a very dangerous, person-shaped animal getting back to the trained professionals. “We were heading back to the eel farm. It’s full of resistance, but I’m sure they’ll go easy on you.”

“Where else could I go?”

“Unless you have a better idea? That’s it.”

“Just - do whatever.”

Mists concealed them until they were within a span of the agricultural complex. At that point, the loud engine was powered down and they coasted forward on acquired momentum, the fan softly whipping the air.  Tasha put down her binoculars. “Did you radio in?” 

“Five-aye has it.” 

“Um could we have the mic? The people at the farm might think we’re a threat.” 

The boat stopped, turned at a right angle, then began to drift in a new direction, the siblings hanging on for dear life despite the slow, ambling pace. 

“It’s alright.” Five-aye carefully and conspicuously stowed his weapon. “Lazare knows where the Doctor is.” Fuck it, until he had a better name, the big instance was Lazare. 

Part 21.

“Wakey! Wakey!” The sound of 0pt8’s rifle’s casing being dragged along the bars of a cell made for exotic animals woke 4b80 from a pleasant dream about none of this actually happening. What the cell held previously was probably not something Seedy would ever divulge, though a smell lingered. “I’ll give you some privacy, just plug yourself in and show me the empty cartridge when it’s done. Don’t worry it’s fine. I still have a soul.”

Someone other than Feds and Resistance had needed to reach the lovers first, but drugging 0pt8 had still been a traitorous act that was going to haunt. The Two seriously considered imbibing what could very well be a tainted ration, yet if death was in that infuser it might not be a kind one. Letting the victim of an attack guard their attacker was never smart. 

It seemed like someone was trying to discretely remove the infusion device from the bars. Forby wasn’t sure the shadow in their peripheral was real but they whispered to it anyway. “I can’t vouch for the safety of that. There is no shortage of Two juice on this planet so why don’t the pair of you just stop trying to run away?”

The soft, metallic whisper had a loudness despite its low volume. It seemed the words would have been unmistakable even if they had only been thoughts. 

“Need him, he, the missing piece.”

“To what?” 

“Pestilence.” 

“Yes, he was hacked to produce an anti-agent for the Sentinel disease but we already did that. He loves you, and will be much better able to help you with the whole planet at his beck and call. There’s something wrong with you. You ignore certain things as though you can’t perceive them. You work yourself nearly to death, and can’t shut down.” 

“Useless.” 

“You don’t have to be useful just some kind of healthy! This planet is full of people grown in labs for Oseo knows what. We can treat the conditions that arise from that. Been doing it for ages!” 

Where was the guard? Forby had never really experienced a waking dream but there had to be a reason no one had responded to the sound of conversation.

[rubbercasing]

prescription

robotic humanity replacement therapy, part 2

[ / rn 2023-07-22-0683.log | ]

[ LOG PLAYBACK: MEMORY 0683, 2023-07-22 ]

[ NOTICE: This .log file requires administrator permissions to access. Are you sure you wish to access it? y/n ]

[ y | ]

[ ... ]

[ RENDERING ... ]

[ ... ]

[ The hum of a fan on low, or perhaps an AC. Details hazy. Mornings are like that. There's a familiar tt8&-5!;&;&; . Gah. Tightness. Tightness in my chest. Doctor's appointment. Right. Inward breath. Deep into my lungs. Hold. Breath outward. The phone screen reflects black against a slightly chubby face and curly hair and green eyes. | DATA REDACTED BY CASING OS |. A loading buffer circles on the screen. A video call to Doctor Erkin. ]

[ The screen flickers. Blue and black in scan lines. Black, shining reflection. Then, white screen. A pair of black, pointed glasses on a white screen a second later. Black text on the screen, moments after. Momentary rush of a heartbeat on full speed. What is this? ]

[ "I am Dr. Oth Erkin." ]

[ Silence. Before the screen clears and more is typed. ]

[ "Are you the patient | DATA REDACTED BY CASING OS | ?" Along with two touchscreen prompts: Yes, and and No. I hesitate... before my thumb hovers over and touches against the affirmative. ]

[ A new prompt. "Do you consent to a home consultation?" ...then, the same answers: Yes, and No. ...now? Perhaps it's just a rescheduling service. Or, more likely, a virus. ] [ Another heaitation. Yes, again. The phone turns black, as if dead. It refuses to respond as I press the buttons along the side, trying to reactivate it. A virus after all, then. ]

[ A drop of TV static-patterned ooze drips from the charging port of the phone. Then, the speakers. It sounds as if a radio signal is being crunched through a meat grinder. Words, jumbled between the sound of feedback. I drop the phone against the counter as I watch the ooze drip in viscous strands downward, forming a puddle. And then, the puddle begins to ambulate, moving to an open area that Isn't beneath the desk. And... slowly the puddle grows. The phone looks as if it has become a conduit of liquid rubber, sputtering and practically growling as it finally finishes. ]

[ With the full mass of the puddle acquired, it ascends upward, taking on a more humanoid form as it shapes itself. Legs laced and lined with white stripes of circuitry against jet black, soon after adorned in khaki slacks. Then, a wide torso of the same pattern - soon after dressed by a gray button down and a white labcoat. Their face is finished with curly white hair, the features of their face almost painted on in the same way the circuit traces would be. The markings shine silvery in the light... and as they fully form, a pair of glasses with black lenses adorns their face. ]

[ "Ah. Good morning. You must be Case... allow me to check my notes here." They remove a PDA from their labcoat pocket, as I am left speechless on the floor, phone dripping residual black fluid as I try to collect my bearings. During this time, the newly arrived doctor scrolls through a list of pre-ordained knowledge. ]

[ Their eyes widen them narrow imperceptibly behind the glasses. "I see. Well... Let's talk about it. You want to eventually be a fully robotic organism. This is generally a route more extreme than the cybernetics option, in which we keep a little bit of you as an organic core... Hmmm..." Oh, no. They're going to do the 'infeasability' speech. ]

[ "...tell me. Do you know about the story of Theseus' ship?" They look out the window a bit, curiously examining the surroundings they've appeared into, but there's a sly gleam from the lenses as I gaze upon them. ]

[ "I've... heard of it, yes. Why do you ask?" I reply. Fingers fidget against fingers. The seat I sit upon suddenly feels awkward and uncushioned. ]

[ They turn their head and give a broad grin. "What's your conclusion, then?" ]

[ "...huh?" ]

[ "About the ship. Do you still think it's the ship of Theseus after every part is replaced with exact copies? And if not... when did it stop being his ship?" A slight cock of their bespeckled, inorganic head. ]

[ "I...'m not sure. ...I suppose it would still be his ship, after all is said and done." ]

[ They grin a little brighter. "Given my line of work, I am inclined to agree. And, I invite you to extrapolate with me." ]

[ The doctor holds out their hand, which quickly morphs into something akin to... a blood draw device? They nod, gesturing to hold out a hand - to which I shakily reach to oblige. The slot opens downward, and a set of impalement implements appear - one of them a standard blood draw syringe, and the others a set of five wires in varying colors terminating in points like those you would push into a breadboard. My heart races slightly as the needle punctures, then the points of the wires follow suit, small beads of blood appearing at the points of contact. ]

[ "Vitals looking good. Sorry about the scare... just establishing a baseline so we can start your prescription." ]

[ My chest flutters. Prescription. For some reason the word feels like peace on my tongue. ]

[ The process is over almost as soon as it begins. The needles and probe points are retreated into the circuitry-laced doctor, and in place of the diagnostic machine that their hand once was, comes the shape of a pill dispenser slot. They gesture again for my hand, and I oblige quicker this time, hesitancy lost. Out comes an orange plastic bottle of black, green, and gold pills. They almost look like diodes. ]

[ "Take two a day - that is, one in the morning, and one in the evening - and call me in three months. "]

[ When I look back up, their form has already dispersed, becoming blobs of data and once again reabsorbing into the matrices of networks by means of USB ports and plugs. The prescription of pills remains. ]

[ The label is simple. ]

[ | DATA REDACTED BY CASING OS |. Then, followed, an address (...my address?). All leading to the substance name printed below it. My eyes widen. ]

[alolowrites]

Gymtleman

Summary: Nothing irks you more than a random guy ruining your workout session. Luckily, Bakugou sets him straight.

Author’s Note: Helloooooooooo! Yes, it is me popping in with a new fic after almost two months of NOTHING (the dabi story was pissing me off, so i had ignore it ripppp). So this story was born from a video on saw on TikTok where a guy urged men at the gym to be more respectful toward women during their workouts. While I never encounter any harassment at the gym, there are others who have >:( 

Inspiration for the title came from a comment section on TikTok. Thought it was pretty clever. Please enjoy ^_^

Warnings: Slight harassment; maybe a few curse words but this is Bakugou so...

Word Count: 884

Gloves? Check. 

Water bottle? Check. 

Wireless headphones? Check. 

You close the gym locker and hit the main floor, determined to get in a good workout tonight. As you walk toward the treadmill, your eyes glance around the place. It’s not as packed as the dreaded peak hours where one must fight to the death for the coveted treadmills or weight benches. You value your life and avoid that bloc like the plague. 

Besides, there’s no fuss nor drama during the night sessions. Only a calm vibe that radiates throughout the gym floor thanks to the chilled regulars, or the “night crew,” as you like to call the group. A few stragglers may pop in once in a while, but you would know the familiar faces even while blindfolded. Especially when one has those menacing red eyes that burn through the cloth faster than a sprinter on the treadmill. 

Those same eyes briefly land on you as Bakugou chugs down his water bottle while striding past you. He acknowledges you with a curt nod and slight grunt—nothing more than that. Yet, this silent greeting always makes your palms sweaty and your heart race before stepping foot on any machine at this gym. You swallow your nerves to return the gesture. 

Despite months of crossing the same paths, you know very little about Bakugou. Sure, you know his usual routine or his preferred machines, but you never heard him speak before. His voice is one big mystery that you are curious to unravel. Unfortunately, Bakugou keeps to himself just like everyone else in the “night crew” since personal space is highly respected—a bright side that’s both a blessing and a curse. 

You sigh wistfully, hopping on the treadmill to start your workout. A random man slides on the machine on your left, catching you off guard. He smiles, and you nod stiffly. Right off the bat you know he’s not a regular; his face isn’t familiar, and he’s too close to you. That’s strike one; it irks you, but you act like the bigger person and just ignore him with your music. 

The ten minutes fly by in seconds. You wipe down the treadmill, ignoring the man’s wandering gaze on you. Just walk away, you tell yourself as you head over to the dumbbells. Your heart skips a beat when you spot Bakugou standing nearby, his ripped biceps pushing through the pain from his grueling set. He grits his teeth and casts a quick glance at you from the mirror’s reflection—Bakugou lets you stay.

Either he’s in a good mood, or lady luck is working her magic; you smile and take this as a win for tonight. 

The giddiness wipes off your face when you see the random man again. He lingers around the area like a shark eying its prey, except he lacks any sense of subtlety. You roll your eyes when the guy sneaks a peek at you: that’s strike two. Obviously, he doesn’t understand the whole “no fuss, no drama” vibe, but you do and focus on lifting your dumbbells. 

Eventually, you forget the weirdo as the music blasts through your headphones. You are in the zone, watching as your arms move slowly and in control. Beads of sweat roll down your face to cool down the firestorm soaring along your skin. You push through one more rep before releasing an exhausted but satisfied sigh. 

You bend over for a quick stretch when—

“Damn, that’s a nice piece of ass.” 

You shot up, appalled. “Excuse you?!”

“Think you can bend over a little lower for me, sweetcheeks?”

The random man finally stands next to you and shamelessly rakes his eyes all over your body like a piece of meat. You growl—that’s strike three. 

“What?! No!” You grip the dumbbells with an iron fist, fully prepared to whack the sleazy grin off his disgusting face. “Get away from me!” 

“Oh, don’t be like that—” 

“Oi, you fucking deaf or something?!” 

You nearly drop the dumbbells, snapping your head over your shoulders with astonished eyes. Bakugou spoke. His voice is sharper than the stainless steel barbells and heavier than the iron olympic plates scattered across the room. He stalks closer like a ferocious lion, his red eyes glancing at you momentarily before glaring at the bastard. 

He sweats bullets. “H-Hey, man, I-I—”

“Shut the hell up, idiot,” Bakugou snarls, thrusting his finger hard against the guy’s chest. “Quit harassing them and get the fuck outta here before I shove this dumbbell up your own damn sweetcheeks.”

The guy stumbles over a random kettlebell before rushing out the door without looking back.

Bakugou rolls his eyes and peeks over his shoulder. He locks his gaze at you, catching you off guard; you blink and quickly compose yourself, giving him a slight nod. 

“Thanks for having my back there. Really appreciate it.” 

“Tch, that damn perv was annoying,” Bakugou scoffs. “Bastard should learn some fucking manners.” 

“And some human decency,” you snort, placing one hand on your hip. “Too bad he won’t be coming back, though. You shoving that dumbbell up his ass would’ve been a sight.” 

Bakugou flashes an amused grin, sauntering toward the racks to continue his set. You smile when he returns and stands at a respectful distance. 

Guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.

As always, thanks for reading :D! 

Don’t know when I’ll drop another story though slkdjlfrlfek

[miizpah]

cₐₘₑᵣₐ wₒᵣₖ | suna rintarou

anon asks: this is a long one lol... this is a suna thirst!!! send tweet. okay we all know how suna just loves to record things, right??? so this definitely translates over to the bedroom y’know ;) and suna has like hundreds of pictures and videos of the both of you fucking or with cum on various parts of your (and his) body. okay here’s the request tho. you find his album with the vids and shit, and you try to explain to him how it bothers you (even though it doesn’t rlly bother you at all, ur more worried about someone hacking his phone) but suna is not having it ;););) and he thinks ur trying to control him and shit like that and as punishment he fucks you on camera and sends it his friends chat. hahah rip y/n. female reader, thanks!!

!post time skip!

tw. degrading, manipulation, cnc recording.

authors note: ooof, suna makes me go whoosh. anyways, i’m trying out a new theme... idk how to feel about it. make include some pictures or sum, idk idk idk...

Talk Shit Get Hit Bitch! 😎🤏🤬

four people are online...

best twin : ??? suna disappeared fast

bestest twin : where’d sunsun go? 👀

foxbutmakeitsexy : don’t call me that

foxbutmakeitsexy : n who changed my name?

jinbutwithouttheg : if we r talking abt stupid names

best twin : i think tsumu has the worst one

bestest twin : whatdja say?

jinbutwithouttheg : gorls don’t fight!!

jinbutwithouttheg : siriusly tho ... where did suna go?

foxbutmakeitsexy was online one minute ago

bestest twin : HUH?!??!

it was as if you were meant to see it. the album stored amongst the many photo albums that rintarou had, only difference was that this particular album looked like something out of a hentai manga. photos upon photos, some edited into different colors, others blurry but still noticeably you, and videos upon videos of just you, some of both of you, some of him. there hundreds of them, all staring back at you, seemingly mocking you.

you were only trying to take the phone to him, after he practically screamed from the living room that he forgot it and asked if you could take it to him. it was almost as if he wanted you to see the album, his phone’s bright light enchanting your eyes after picking the device up. it was like he knew that your curious nature would cause you to look.

“uh,” your voice was a bit soft, eyes looking everywhere but the questioning expression being sent your way. you hand the phone over, hands immediately coming together to twiddle your thumbs. “rin, those pictures of me are rather... bothersome?”

in actuality, it stroked your ego knowing that rintarou considered you beautiful enough store photos of you in your worse states. but, being the usual worrywart, you couldn’t help but think of possible hackers.

what if they hacked rintarou’s phone?

oh my god, what if they post your pictures and videos?

sell them? that was even worse, possible old perverts would be wacking to them.

you shudder.

“bothersome?” you can’t meet his eyes, knowing what his tone meant. “but you were begging me to take those pictures and videos, baby?”

“i...was not.” your face became flustered, you don’t remember that. but, you are most likely half brain dead whenever he decided to fuck you silly.

“oh?” he’s up then, standing in front you. “you’re not?” the brightness of his phone is a bit blinding, and as your eyes adjust, you can see perfectly as the video plays before you.

the lewd sounds bursting through the speakers, the way your bodies move together is nearly hypnotic, your voice begging for more, for everything.

you look away, but before you did, you see multiple notifications from a group chat coming in. you didn’t register it.

“just delete them, or, or, print them out!”

his fingers turn your jaw, causing you to gaze up into his eyes. they’re narrowed, glowering at you. “but, you can’t print out videos, those are the best.”

your teeth grit, forcibly jerking your head away from his grip. “just delete them, suna rintarou! i won’t have my nudes plastering around the internet.” and with that demand, you turn on your heels and walk away.

which was definitely not your smartest idea. you knew how rintarou was, you knew how quick his moods could change, and how quick he could have you bent and choking on his cock.

you could only freeze when you feel his fingers slither around the roots of your hair, a yelp leaving your lips when he yank harshly, sending you trembling back into his embrace. his other hand came up, wrapping around your throat in loose hold.

“watch your tone, whore.” he whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “you wanted those videos, you wanted those pictures.”

“i-i didn’t—”

“hm, you did. you begged for them like the good little slut you are,” his hand tightened around your neck. “you wanted them, yes or no?”

you breath in heavily, eyes watering. “no.”

“wrong answer.”

“rin-rintarou!” you squeal lightly when you’re suddenly thrown over his shoulder, the tall male practically kicking the bedroom door open, dropping you onto the bed and ordering you to stay put.

you could only watch as he closed the door before stalking towards you, something deep within his eyes that you couldn’t began to understand.

you only blinked and found yourself being dragged forward by your neck, forced onto your knees on the edge of the bed, rintarou glares down into your eyes.

shuddering, you open your mouth to say something, but is cut off by rintarou. “shut your fucking mouth, bitch.” your mouth closed immediately, brows furrowing before relaxing just as quick when he slotted his mouth against yours.

the kiss becoming messy quickly, your salvia mixing with his, teeth and tongues clashing. his hand loosen around your neck, both large hands coming down on your ass with a smack, enclosing around the fleshly meat tightly. you groan in appreciation, sticking your bottom further out.

your arms circle around his neck, pulling him closer to your body, your silk clad breast pressing against his bare chest. his teeth clamp onto your bottom lip, pulling softly before his tongue slips between his teeth and entangle with yours.

his hands knead and pull at your ass, smacking them a few times before sliding up your sides, hands latching onto your breasts. you hum, leaning back and giving him room to play around with your erect nipples.

his mouth leaves yours, “fucking slut, you’re enjoying this too much.” his words are warm against your cheek. “i can change that.” you can’t, you wanted to say. he wasn’t the best at giving out punishments, not when he, himself, enjoys fucking you a bit too much.

his lips trail down your cheek and jawline, before instantly attacking your neck with a sharp bite, you gasp and try to push him away, but just as quick as he bit, he was pulling away and giving soft licks to soothe over the harsh imprint.

“r-rintarou...” you whisper brokenly, the pain and pleasure mixing.

the taller pulled back fully, eyeing the teeth mark on your neck, humming in pride at his mark against your smooth skin.

“on your back.” his tone was rough, promising actual pain if you didn’t listen. so, you could only do as told, laying on your back and keeping your legs closed. his hands came down, spreading your legs and landing sharp slaps against both of them. you yelp, trying to close them, but he quickly slotted himself between them.

his phone is presented, his eyes staring deep into yours. “record.”

“n-no,” you deny, shaking your head.

he raised a brow, “now.” he ordered.

you gulp and take the phone, clicking onto the camera icon and sliding over to record.

rintarou smirked at you, leaving you breathless at the sudden heated stare, he’s fingers were pushing your panties away, blowing onto your heated cunt, your thighs tensing.

then, he’s devouring you. and your hands shake as the pleasure crawls from your core, extending through your legs and curling around yours toes, and your thumb accidentally pressed record and the ding sounds around the room.

your whimpers are already filling the room, free hand coming down and tangling through rintarou’s messy locks. his hands are tight around your thighs, squeezing and pushing them closer around his head, locking him in.

“ngh-ah!” your toes are curling, hand gripping tighter at his hair as you could feel yourself growing closer by the second. rintarou eating you out was always a blessing and a curse, he knew which parts of your cunt to fiddle around at to make you quickly.

he pulled back then, the camera catching the glistening of your arousal, coating his mouth and his chin, and the obvious satisfaction in his hooded eyes was daunting.

he wasn’t satisfied because he had you whimpering.

he wasn’t satisfied that he could make you cum almost immediately.

no, he was satisfied because he got you to record. he’s satisfied, and he smirked so devilishly at the camera that you nearly drop the device.

in a swiftness, he has the camera pointing in your direction. and you hide your face, not wishing for the camera to catch your already winded look.

he laughed, unbuckling his belt and his pants fall to the floor, he worked around like a pro, easily moving his briefs down. he steps out of his pants and briefs, and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed.

“look at the camera, [y/n]~” he teased, but you could hear the underlying threat. you shake your head. “don’t be shy, baby.” the tone sounded loving, but you could hear the threat.

look or suffer the consequences.

you move your head, revealing your flustered expression. behind the phone, rintarou grinned almost predatory.

the phone tilted, showing your body, still clad in your silky nightgown. the silk bunched around your waist, and you try to close your legs, but a single glance around the phone and you’re spreading your legs.

he crouched then, showing the camera your wet, dripping cunt. his fingers appearing, spreading your puffy lips. “so pretty.” he muttered, then his eyes are meeting yours. “i’m going to ruin you.” he said the magic words that would always send jolts of pleasure down your spine.

your eyes flutter, and you nodded eagerly. the phone in his hands long forgotten.

the next few moments are hazy, his imposing figure looming over you, legs hiking up around his waist, and you could only snap your eyes wide when he’s fully sheathed inside you.

“hm, b-big!” you sob, a few tears slipping from your eyes. no matter how many times you’ve taken him, he sheer size and girth will always leave you crying. your sob turns into moans of pleasure when rintarou began to move his hips, the pace slow and a bit tantalizing.

“you take me so well, pup.” you keen loudly at the name, eyes rolling. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “you’re a good puppy, huh?”

“y-yes, ‘m good,” you whine, hands clutching the sheets beside you.

you could feel the flutters in your stomach each time rintarou slowly dragged his cock out, only to push back in roughly and repeat the process. he was teasing you now, wanting you to turn into a whining, begging mess, and more importantly, he wanted to catch all on camera.

the lewd wet sounds were only growing by the second, the burning feeling surrounding your cunt causing more arousal to gush out.

your eyes flutter open, and for a small moment, you wish you hadn’t. the camera was pointed directly were you two joined together, catching the way his cock plunged into you, the way your cunt stretched around him, and the fucking wet sounds emitting.

you whine loud in the back of your throat, throwing your head back onto the pillow. the humiliation and embarrassment slowly enclosing you in its hands, yet it only burned like fire and your body felt too incredibly hot.

you almost felt delirious, the camera, his cock, the temperature around the room, the fucking silk gown clinging to you.

“rin — ngh, f-fuck!” you could barley get any words out, eyes hooded and mouth dropping open. the pace was too slow, too hot, you wanted to say something, tell him to go faster, but the small ounce of pride you had left kept those words locked up.

you wouldn’t beg.

you look up suddenly, whining when noticing him taking a step back and crouching down. you wanted to close your legs, but his shoulders were already there and his fingers were spreading your puffy lips apart, revealing your sopping cunt.

“looks so good, pretty girl,” rintarou groaned lowly. “who’s cock got you this wet?” looking to your left, you mumbled the answer. a sharp slap sounded, the pain in your thigh sending another gush of arousal and you moan prettily. “speak up, pup.”

“yours did, rin!”

rintarou hummed, rubbing your thigh as to soothe the pain. “my cock is the only one that gets you this wet, right?”

“y-yes!” you shudder.

you can practically feel his smirk as he asked the next question. “you want my cock in you?”

“rin!” you whine, tears of frustration forming.

“answer the question.” he was full on grinning now, watching your reaction over his phone.

“yes, i want your cock in me.”

“beg for it,” you could practically mouth the words with him. he was getting a bit predictable.

you wouldn’t beg, you reminded yourself. no matter how much you wanted his — he stood up, drawing your attention to his erect cock, and suddenly your mouth was opening.

“i... rin, fuck me,” you whine. “i need your cock in me, please.” if there was one thing you hated the most, it was begging.

dumb bitch, you weren’t supposed to beg! you insulted yourself, fucking dick whipped seriously.

the phone lowered from rintarou’s face, revealing the dark look in his eyes. the satisfied smirk. he shut his phone off, grabbing his pants and disappearing into the bathroom.

your eyes widen then, he had gotten what wanted. you stand up immediately, rushing after him into the bathroom.

“rintarou!” you enter the bathroom, seeing the male standing before the glass shower. one look over his shoulder, and you only gasp in horror.

Talk Shit Get Hit Bitch 😎🤏🤬 | 200+ unread messages

foxbutmakeitsexy is online...

bestest twin : suna u little shit!

jinbutwithouttheg : not u suddenly appearing from the dead

best twin : 😎🤏🙄 and where have u been?

foxbutmakeitsexy : 😏

jinbutwithouttheg : i dont like that face

bestest twin : is that suna?

best twin : hol up smth aint right

foxbutmakeitsexy has sent a video...

jinbutwithouttheg : oh...

bestest twin : 😎🤏😌 ive been blessed ✨

best twin : 🤭 not me finna ask for a threesome

jinbutwithouttheg : miss y/n girl... whew

foxbutmakeitsexy : i was busy 🙄

note — i am disgust 😎🤏😭 i rlly left yall without an orgasm. my sincerest apologies, but miss y/n girl, u got a bad boyfriend.

[five-rivers]

Snow and Song Chapter 5

About five seconds after Danny registered the huge crowd of people gathered in the park (and why were they there?  Had there been some kind of event he forgot about?), it began to snow.   Danny looked around himself in alarm.  He was often insensitive to temperature changes (and a few other things, according to his sister), but it wasn’t nearly cold enough snow.  It was September.

He looked up.  There weren’t even any clouds.  

A snowflake, perfect and crystalline, stuck to his eyelash.  

Alright.  When something weird and unnatural started to happen in Amity Park, usually there was a ghost involved.  All Danny had to do was find the ghost causing it to… snow…

Oh.  Right. He was a ghost that could make snow.  

He was an idiot.  He hadn’t even noticed his core activating.  His cheeks flushed with cold.  This was so embarrassing.

Wincing, he looked back down at the crowd.  Only about a tenth of the people had phones in their hands, winking camera lenses pointed up at him, but that was more than enough.  He felt entirely too visible.  

… Which he could fix because he was a ghost, darn it, something that he kept forgetting about tonight.  Berating himself, he adjusted his visibility down to zero and flew away.  

Almost at once, all the birds took off, the sound of wings obscuring whatever the humans down below were saying.  

Danny didn’t stop until he got home, trailing snow all the while.  He was not looking forward to tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe, he could forget what had happened.  

He went human, phased off his clothes, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to-

“Maddie!” shouted Jack.  “The ghost-kid is on TV again!  He’s in the park!”

“Oh, good!  Go start up the GAV!  This time, we’ll catch him!  I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Danny let out the breath he had been holding since his dad startled him from his doze in a long sigh.  He resigned himself to being woken up at least once more that night.

.

.

.

The first rays of sunlight filtering through Danny’s window brought with them something that would have chilled Danny to the core if his core weren’t naturally frosty.  

Music.  

He peeled his eyes open slowly, grudgingly, because it was still September, and sunrise was still quite a bit before the time he had to get up in the morning.  Hoping he was hallucinating, he trudged over to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Ah, yes.  He hadn’t quite expected to find a bunch of cultists standing outside his house with a boombox, playing back a rather scratchy version of Tale as Old as Time, but, somehow, he was unsurprised to do so.  What exactly were they attempting to accomplish here?

One of the younger (about six years old) cultists waved up at him.  Resigned, Danny waved back, then let the curtain fall back down.  

He rubbed his eyes.  Normal teenagers didn’t have to deal with cults that worshiped them as a god.  Even that dude from Nazareth was a full adult before he got hit with the heavy stuff.  

(Yeah, because it wasn’t at all a sign of megalomania, mental instability, or good old-fashioned insanity to compare himself to that guy.)

(He didn’t want a cult, darn it.)

What did they want, anyway?

He got dressed and started downstairs.  To his horror (but again, not surprise) he heard more music emanating from the kitchen.  

“What are you guys doing?” Danny asked.  

“Oh, morning, Danno!” boomed Jack.

“Shh, shh,” said Maddie.  “We need to go over that last part again.  There are pancakes on the stove, sweetie.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Thanks. But, really, what are you doing?”

“Analyzing the sound patterns of Phantom’s voice!” said Jack.  “We missed it before, but he must have a low-level mind control power!  Just like that Rockstar ghost!”

“Sneaky post-human ectoplasm glob,” muttered Maddie. “That’s how he’s got so many people on his side.  He’s brainwashing them.  But don’t worry, sweetie.  As soon as we figure out how he’s doing it, we’ll be working on a cure!”

“Well,” said Danny, trying not to sound bitter. They had made him pancakes. “That’s news to me.”

.

.

.

Danny stepped out of the house and sighed in the general direction of the cult.  

As always, acknowledging them in any way shape or form proved to be a mistake.  They rushed at him.  

“Daniel Fenton,” intoned today’s leader, a man wearing robes colored in an approximation of Phantom’s suit.  His beard was… interesting.

“What?” asked Danny.  If only there was a way to skip through awkward conversations like this, like there was in video games.  But, no, life was like one, huge, un-skippable cutscene.  Tragic.

“Last night, our Lord Phantom gave us a message. A message, and a divine task.”

Danny was pretty sure he’d remember that.  “What task?” he asked, resigned.

“To spread his word through song!  And you, his prophet, his chosen, his blessed consort, shall reveal his intent upon the stage of the Casper High School Musical!”

“I’m begging you, call it anything but that.”

“We will do anything to make the Casper High School Musical go well!  We are at your command!”

“Please stop picketing my house and harassing me on the way to school.”

“We have fine members of our choir here to audition for you!  Please take word of their worthiness to our Lord Phantom.”

Several of the cultists began to sing.

“Danny!” called Jazz from the driveway.  “Stop feeding the cultists, or we’re going to be late for school!”

.

.

.

“So,” said Sam.  “The Ghost Watch feed blew up last night.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” said Tucker.  “But we really do have to put some time aside to test whether or not you really do have a pied piper ability.”

“I made it snow while I was singing,” said Danny.

“Ah.  We’ll have to look into that, too,” said Tucker, making a note on his PDA.  “Who wants to bet that the ‘Phan Club’ will try to incorporate last nights performance into the play somehow?”

“That’s not funny,” said Danny, closing his locker. “Guys, what if I accidently mind control the audience?  Or start a snowstorm inside?  The cultists are already on top of this.  They were outside my house this morning.”

“Again?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, again.”

“What did they want?”

“They seem to think that there’s going to be some kind of revelation in the play,” said Danny.  He caught the look in Sam’s eye.  “Sam.  No.”

“Sam, yes.”

“Cults are not a toy,” cautioned Danny.  

“Not the way you’re using them, they aren’t.”

“Seriously, Sam.  No matter how much you want to change the world, do not use a cult to do it. It never goes well.”

“Christianity started off as a cult.”

“And would you say that went well?  I’m asking you this as a Christian.”

“Are you a Christian?” asked Tucker. “I’ve never seen you in a church. Can you go in a church? Have we tested that?”

“I—What?  I’m not a demon, Tucker.  I went to church, uh…  Last Easter. I can totally go in a church.”

“You had to think of that for an awfully long time.”

“What about a synagogue?” asked Sam.  “Or a mosque?”

“I don’t know.  But you’d think that if I could go into a church, that’d mean I could go into the other ones.”

“But what if you couldn’t?” asked Sam.  “Would that mean that religion is more right than the others?”

“Or more wrong,” said Tucker, “since Danny is a good guy.”                                                                  

“I—” started Danny.

“PHANTOM!” screamed Wes from down the hall, interrupting whatever revelation Danny could potentially have had.

“Oh, great,” said Danny.  “I’m not Phantom, Weston!”

“Kids,” said Miss Lyn, poking her head into the hallway.  “Please don’t shout in the halls.  Class is about to start.”

“I have proof, this time!” crowed Wes.  “I have video.”

“Oh, no,” said Danny, with perfectly flat affect. “Are you here to harass me with yet another badly photoshopped, grainy, vertically filmed, twenty-second clip of me ‘transforming’ into Phantom like some kind of anime heroine?”

Wes reared back, face coloring and nostrils flaring.  

Danny would feel worse about what he had said, if half the videos in Wes’s last ‘Fenton is Phantom’ presentation hadn’t been exactly that.  Tucker had made several of them and stealthily dropped them in various chat rooms for Wes to find, as something halfway between a joke and an exercise in misdirection.  

As soon as Wes had included one of those in his presentation, it was doomed to be a laughingstock.  Again, Danny almost felt bad.  

“No!” said Wes.  He puffed his chest out.  “From Ghost Watch!”

“Uh huh.”

“I kind of feel like we’d be hearing about it from more than just you,” said Sam.  

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker.  “If the news decided Danny was Phantom’s dead twin or whatever, you’d think some of his groupies would be swarming.”  He pointed at a pair of Phan Club members who were having a sedate conversation near the water fountain.  “Where are the groupies, Wes?”

“Did you not learn your lesson from the beauty pageant?” asked Sam.  “Or Egypt?”

“I don’t know, didn’t you learn yours from Desiree?”

“Who’s learning what from Desiree?  Because you should ask her for a better naming sense.  I mean, you just copied.  Lame.”

“You’re talking to me about copying?  You vegans are the copiers!  Vegetable burgers, tofurkey, where does it end?”

“With the abolition of the cruelty of MEAT!”

At this point, most people would have started edging away from Sam and Tucker’s patented and infamous meat vs. veggies argument.  However, Wes had long since proven himself to be of sterner stuff, and Danny wanted to hear what he was on about.

“Guys,” he said, “guys, it’s not working.  He’s still here.”

Sam and Tucker turned back towards Wes.  “Bummer,” said Sam.  

“Yeah, Wes, why do you have to be such a bummer?” asked Tucker.  

“Let him speak,” said Danny, magnanimously, twirling his hand.  

Wes glowered.  “Well, now I don’t want to,” he said, mulishly.  

“Come on, Wes, what’s the video, don’t leave us in suspense!”

Wes attempted to glower harder but failed.  Grudgingly, he held up his phone, which did, indeed, play a video from Ghost Watch.  Danny watched himself singing for several long seconds before returning his gaze to Wes.

“I’m not sure what this is supposed to prove.”

“The song, you idiot!  It’s from Beauty and the Beast!  And I know the drama club gave you that music.”

“A movie that thousands of thousands of people have watched and know the music for?”

“That doesn’t matter!  You’re the only one who has any reason to sing it.”

“You mean, other than everyone else in the drama club?” asked Sam, bored.  

“Or anyone who likes Disney?” said Tucker.  

Wes opened his mouth to make some kind of riposte.

The warning bell rang.  

He closed his mouth.  “I’m watching you, Fenton!”

“You and everyone else,” muttered Danny as Wes retreated down the hallway, pointing at him.  

Why was everyone around him so ridiculous?

.

.

.

“We’re doing Snow White, not Beauty and the Beast!” howled Razor, baring his teeth at the hapless Phan Club member that had suggested adding ‘Tale as Old as Time’ to the song list.

“If you guys had taken that bet, I’d have so much money right now,” said Tucker.  

“Students, please,” said Mr. Lancer.  “We can’t have any actual copyrighted music in our play. Not without paying for it.  And I’m not negotiating with Disney.”  He looked into the distance.  “Not again.  Never again.”

Danny did not want to know the story behind that, but nevertheless, he had to ask… “Are you okay, Mr. Lancer?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer.  “Thank you for asking.  In any case, my lovely drama students!  Today, we are going to do our first round of auditions!”

“But, sir, we haven’t finished the script, yet!” protested Mikey.

“Right you are!” said Mr. Lancer.  “But I have found that things go more smoothly when we have people already in the main roles.  There’s less… outright sabotage and script jockeying.”

“What does that even mean?” whispered Samhain (aka Kevin) loudly.  

“People trying to change the script to fit a certain person so that person gets the role,” said Paulina.  “Or exclude a certain person.  Which I would never do, Mr. Lancer.”

The covetous glare shot in Danny’s direction indicated that Paulina’s words might have been less than truthful.  

Mr. Lancer chuckled.  “I didn’t think you would, Miss Sanchez!”  He began writing on his whiteboard.  “Now, we already have our Prince Snow White, our Princess Charming, and our Evil Queen.”  He nodded at Paulina as he wrote the roles on the board.  “Now, we need our seven dwarves—”

“Ghosts!”

“Excuse me, yes, ghosts.  Thank you, Mr. Baxter.  Our Huntsman—”

“Or woman!”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Thunder,” said Mr. Lancer. “Huntsman, or Huntswoman.  And… Let’s see…  Snow White’s parents, for the prologue, Princess Charming’s retinue, and… I think that’s it.  Alright, let’s start with the ghosts.”

“Shouldn’t they have names?” asked Mia.  

“Well, sure,” said Mr. Lancer.  “But we can’t use the Disney names.  You’ll have to come up with your own.”

“Phantom!” screamed Paulina.

“Here we go,” said Danny, burying his head in his hands.  

“You want to bet that we’re going to wind up with your whole rogue’s gallery?” asked Tucker.  

“If you need money, Tucker,” said Sam, “you just have to ask.  Rates on my loans are very reasonable.”

“Isn’t usury against your religion?” asked Tucker.

“Nope,” said Sam.  “Not at all.”

“I am incredibly against this development,” said Danny.  “The cults are going to have a field day.”

“Ember!  Ember! Ember!”  Chanted the punk goth crowd, which had split off from the larger goth subgroup.

“I am somehow even more against this development,” muttered Danny.  “Mr. Lancer! I don’t think it’s a good idea to include a ghost who gets power from people saying her name!”

“Shut up, Fentonnage, what do you know about ghosts?”

“My parents study them.  I know a lot.  More than I ever even—”

Danny narrowly dodged the workbook Dash flung at him.

“Mr. Baxter!” scolded Mr. Lancer.  

Sadly, when everything shook out, Danny did not get his way.  One of the seven ghosts was named Ember and was going to be played by Star.  Because why not?

“At least the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady aren’t on the list,” said Sam.  

“But ‘Hamlet, father of Hamlet,’ is,” said Danny.  “Why does that bother me more than Ember?”

“Because you hate Shakespeare?”

“No, I don’t,” protested Danny.  “Shakespeare is a perfectly nice person.  I just don’t like how his writing is taught in schools.”

“You’re going to break Mr. Lancer’s heart saying stuff like that,” said Tucker.  

“He wrote love poems to boys.  Why do they skim over that?”

“Excellent point, Mr. Fenton!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer, who had somehow materialized behind them.  “Shakespeare was definitely bisexual.  I wi—”  The teacher stopped.  “Nope, can’t use that word.  It would be nice if the state let me teach it like that.  Along with the crossdressing.  School board won’t let me.”  He shook his head.  “Dale Baxter. Someday, someday he’ll lose an election. Eventually.”  He took a deep breath.  “Next time we meet, we’ll be doing auditions, okay?  I want you all to think about what parts you would like! And, Miss Gray, I’d like to have a word with you about your role in our production, alright?”

[mooncademia]

Boys vs. Boys — PART 1.

PAIRING ~ prohero au! friends to lovers, Bakugou x reader ( x Yo Shindo) 

GENRE ~ fluff, a little bit of angst!, jealously 

WARNINGS ~ language! a tiny ~spicy~ joke inserted 

WORD COUNT ~ 8.1k 

SUMMARY ~ After more than a month being away in the States, you have finally returned to Tokyo...with a party more than one. And when Bakugou realizes who the extra person was, tension grows between him and ‘pretty boy dunce-face’ a.k.a, the one and only: Yo Shindo. 

[Bakugou] 10:35 a.m :

Text me when you arrive at Narita Airport, okay?

[Y/N] 10:41 a.m:

Of course :)

Bakugou leaned back on his chair in his apartment and read the text that you have sent to him yesterday, over and over again. In less than 30 minutes, you will finally arrive back to Tokyo after spending a month and a half in New York and LA for pro-hero work in the States.

Bakugou was never the type to be constantly checking his social media. He doesn’t even turn on his notifications because his simple rule was: if you had something to tell him, text him through Messages. Or just straight up call him. He doesn’t want to be spending time scrolling through Instagram, liking people’s outfit or food posts, nor did he want to retweet some silly tweet that Kaminari posted, complaining about how his neighbor’s cat hated him on a personal level. Bakugou had his own pro-hero work to do.

But today was different! And he had to be honest to himself, he was a little embarrassed to admit it. But ever since you texted him yesterday, he immediately turned on all his social media apps and now, he has spent way too long scrolling through your friend’s posts--hoping to know if there were any news of your arrival.

Bakugou grunted as he ruffled his blonde hair messily, feeling impatient that he hasn’t received any news about your arrival yet. He leaned over to his desk to grab his water bottle, but right before he unscrewed the cap, his phone vibrates loudly on his desk and he immediately dropped the water bottle and unlock his phone.

Finally! After so many weeks of you being away…you were finally here.

Closer to him.

Bakugou impatiently swiped right to unlock his phone and saw your message.

[Y/N] 7:56 p.m

At Narita, finally 🥴

His lips twitched a smile when he saw the emoji. Yeah, a 14 hour flight isn’t really the most comfortable, huh? He quickly replied back with his thumbs running with speed.

[Bakugou] 7:56 p.m:

How was the flight?

A few minutes past, no response. Bakugou shrugged, a smile still on his face knowing that you were safely here at Tokyo now, and in a few hours, he will be able to see you at the welcome-home party that Yaoyoruzu is preparing at the very moment in her godly-rich mansion.

But, before he rests his phone back on his desk, hundreds of notifications blew up on his phone and he checks his insta story to see what Mina, Uraraka, and Tsuyu posted. After all, they were currently at the airport picking you up.

Bakugou clicked on Mina’s latest insta story, his heart throbbed in excitement to finally see you until—

His face fell.

“I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW YOU TWO WERE DATING!,” Mina squealed in the short clip captioned: “I WAS RIGHT! @yaomomo u owe me $20 bucks 😘😘!” Her phone went flying everywhere which made the video awfully blurry. But Bakugou already caught it and oh, did he feel sour in the mouth.

You looked as beautiful as ever, with your simple yet stylish slightly cropped cream-T and gray sweatpants. Even though your eyes looked a bit dazed as if you had just woken up, you looked so cute to his eyes.

But what made Bakugou’s emotion shift so fast was not of you. Of course not!! How could he ever?!

No. 

It was who you were walking with.

He clicked next on Mina’s insta story, hoping in that split millisecond it was not who he think it is. Not the person in his mind that kept bugging him after seeing so many headlines on the news of the two of you working together in New York and LA. It can’t be him, right?

Right?!!!

But Bakugou’s guts knew way fucking better. And his eyes grew angry when he saw the pro-hero, Yo Shindo, standing next to you. Wrapping you closely in his arms with a smirk plastered on his face. And you looked just as pleased too as Mina caught you laughing with Shindo so lovingly before running towards Mina with your arms wide open.

“Wow,” Bakugou heard Tsuyu gleefully whisper next to Mina. “He’s even more hot in real life! Why the hell can’t I find men like that?!”

“It’s a rarity.” 

Bakugou heard Tsuyu scoffed playfully. “Tell me about it.” 

Mina continued to wobble the phone, which makes Bakugou want to shout at the device on his hand to stop! moving! But alas, the next clip that was just posted 16 seconds ago, he saw you with your arms wide open, giving all your girlfriends a hug.

“Aw, I miss you guys so much!!” You squealed. Bakugou could no longer see “pretty boy dunce-face ” anymore but he knew he was with you and his stomach drop.

Ah, Yo Shindo. The pro-hero who study abroad in New York after high school for an internship at a country-famous agency, second best from Captain Celebrity (who was #1 hero in the U.S!), becoming a famous pro-hero in America.

And surely enough, when you flew to NY and LA to collaborate with Yo Shindo, news broke out nation wide in America about the two of you working together that even Japan starred the news on television one day. And those past weeks while you were gone, Bakugou had to suffer from all the pictures that the paparazzi took in New York and Los Angeles. And he admits it. He spent way too many nights awake, changing his VPN to U.S.A on his computer (thank you Kaminari for the tip!) to read and watch CNN, New York Times, and any other newsline that starred or mentioned you and Yo Shindo, hoping to grasp any updates about you.

But now you were finally here in Tokyo…with a party more than one. And as Bakugou closed Instagram, he closed his eyes to calm himself down aka, reassuring yourself that you and Yo Shindo were definitely no more than just friends…

Who spent more than a month together in the States…

And flew back to Tokyo together in the same flight…

Yeah…not helping.

Bakugou lifted himself off his chair and threw a towel over his shoulder, heading towards the shower to wash up before the party at Yao-momo’s tonight. But Bakugou’s phone buzzed once more and when he leaned in to check it, his heart did a little flip when he read your text.

[Y/N] 8:14 p.m

Not the very best 😔 a flight attendant and I had this argument because there was a seating error!

Bakugou relaxed a bit. He knew it was a little self-indulgent and selfish to feel this, and maybe it was jealously that was pouring over him, but he felt his nerves relaxed a bit knowing that perhaps you didn’t at all fell for that Yo Shindo boy.

Bakugou began to type back. Not an overly-top-gushy-pick-me-up text that he know that idiot Deku would type, but a nice and cool but sweet text to cheer you up from your bad flight. But before he clicked the sent button, he received another message.

[Y/N] 8:15 p.m

Thankfully Yo Shindo was there to help me out, he’s here in Tokyo too by the way! 

Bakugou felt his stomach drop again. He backspaced his previous text and rewrote a new one.

[Bakugou] 8:16 p.m

Oh, that’s great!

He knew it was far from the truth as jealously crept up behind his back again, but he had to play it cool. He can’t be jumping into conclusions before he knows anything about the two of you!

[Y/N] 8:16 p.m

I’ll see you at Momo’s, right?

Bakugou smiled at the screen. Despite the news of pretty-boy dunce face in town, he still can’t wait to finally see you after so many weeks. Of course you have been keeping him updated through your texts every week, but to see you actually in person after so long…his heart couldn’t stop beating when he typed back.

[Bakugou] 8:17 p.m

Yeah, I’ll be there.

And with that, Bakugou finally rested his phone back on his desk and headed towards the shower, hoping to wash away all silly thoughts flowing in his mind.  Hoping that…when he sees you tonight, he is able to have an opportunity in the near future to tell you about the emotions he has been feeling ever since you left Tokyo last month. 

With no distractions in the way—especially not that  pretty boy idiot!

—————

Okay so his previous plan came to a halt.

“Yo, Yao-Momo!!” Kaminari shouted as he hopped back onto the couch. He pointed behind him excitingly. “I didn’t know you had black custom-made toilets!!”

“Black toilets?” Kirishima asked, setting up the living room table with cups and beverages.

“Yeah! And there’s even a TV mounted on the wall above the bath tub. And OH! There’s “jacuzzi” mode in the tub! And there are speakers so you can listen to music and the mirror above the sink opens up to a—“

“So did you go pee, or did you just take a full-ass bath in my bathroom?” Yaoyorozu asked with her hands on her hips and sneered eyes.

Kaminari widened his eyes like a puppy. “I CAN TAKE A BATH IN YOUR COOL BATHROOM?!”

Yaoyorozu sighed as she placed two finger on her nose bridge, but Kaminari could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“Food’s here!!” Yaoyorozu’s boyfriend, Yosetsu Awase, announced as he plopped down six pizza boxes on the table.

“Thanks babe for picking it up,” Yaoyorozu said before giving Awase a kiss on the cheek. She smiled happily at her boyfriend and when Bakugou glanced up, the two of them looked so good together that he couldn’t help but feel a sour in his stomach as he reflected back at the news he saw on Mina’s Instagram story.

Bakugou cleared his throat as he helped Kirishima set up all the props. “So…when’s Y/N getting here?”

Kirishima looked at him and when he saw his best friend look so curious and innocent, Kirishima’s eyes immediately lit up and he nudged Bakugou on the ribs even though he knew he may be dead meat from teasing him.

“You still like her, huh!” Kirishima said in a low whisper with a smirk, which almost caused Bakugou to light up his hands and slam Kirishima face down on Momo’s fancy wooden floors. But before he could even act, he heard the entrance door whoosh open with Mina’s voice echoing from the door to the main room.

“YOU OWE ME $20 BUCKS MOMOOOOOOOO!!!!” Mina shouted as she dragged you to the living room. When Bakugou saw you standing a couple feet away from him, he sucked in a breath.

You were still wearing your airport outfit that he saw you last on Mina’s post. But when he thought that you couldn’t look any more beautiful from the small screen on his phone, he was so wrong. As you stood there with a sheepish grin on your face—to Bakugou’s eyes— you were 10 times more prettier in real life. Hell, make that a hundred.

When you locked eyes with Bakugou after giving Kirishima a hug, you blushed before stepping towards him, about to do the same, until—

“Y/N!! YOU’RE FINALLY FUCKING HERE!!! I MISS YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH!!!” Yaoyorozu squealed as she ran over, cutting Bakugou from his hug. Bakugou had to back up before Yaoyorozu jumped over him and he was not happy about that. But when you let out an “oof!” and rested your shoulder on Momo’s shoulder, your eyes were still on Bakugou’s and you gave him a weary smile that said: “sorry!”

Bakugou couldn’t stay furious too long when he saw your apologetic smile as you hugged Momo back. He gave an appreciative nod at you that made you know that he was glad to finally see you back.

When Momo parted away, she blinked her eyes at Mina, who was standing right next to you with her arms crossed and a sly smirk plastered on her face.

Momo perked up. “Wait, I owe you $20 bucks?”

Mina widened her eyes and grabbed your arm, shaking it so excitingly that Bakugou swore she probably loosened all your bones now. “Bitch! You owe me $20 bucks when we bet on Y/N and Yo Shindo being together!”

You shot your head at Mina with eyes widened. “You guys bet WHAT?!” You asked so sternly that it made Mina and Momo tuck their hands sheepishly behind their backs.

“Well…” Mina teased, eyes staring at the ground as she drew circles on the floor with her shoe. “We kinda bet on whether you will get together with Yo Shindo when you were away…”

“We? As in just the two of you, right?”

Momo clamped the back of her neck embarrassingly. “Uh…plus Asui and Ochaco..?”

You gasped, shaking your head in disbelief. “You guys! I cannot believe—“

“That you love us too much for you to get mad at us?” Mina interrupted with such a cute smile that you parted your mouth for a few seconds and darted your eyes from Mina to Momo before dropping your hands and releasing a sigh.

“Fine…” you said, rolling your eyes but your lips lifted up to a smile. You extended your arms to your friends. “Come here you guys…Ya’ll are so lucky I haven’t seen you two for more than a month. Or else you’ll be dead meat!”

Your girlfriends ran in to hug you one more time, continuing their warm comments on how much they have missed you.

Yaoyorozu parted away when a thought came across her mind. “WAIT, Y/N, FOR REAL THO. Are you guys dating? .… Oh my god,” Yaoyorozu cupped her cheeks with her hands and blushed warmly. “Don’t tell me he’s actually here, is he?!”

Bakugou silently pleaded to himself that pretty boy dunce face is not here. Oh god, please let him have mercy!

“He’s here!” Mina squealed turning her head back to Yaoyorozu. “And he’s so cute in real life!”

Yaoyorozu clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god. Yo Shindo. In my house.” She scanned the whole living room, making sure that everything looked fine.

“Uh. Your boyfriend. Also. In your house.”  Awase cleared his throat as he and Kaminari came back with paper plates.

Yaoyorozu walked towards her boyfriend and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Of course you know I love you, babe. But Yo Shindo is here. That’s like…that's like having Brian the Sun come over to perform a song, y’know. We are all just fangirling!”

“We?” Bakugou sputtered out. Kirishima flashed him a smirk which made him roll his eyes and mutter out a “whatever”.

But no one heard him, because right after Bakugou’s comment, Tsuyu and Uraraka entered in with the man that Bakugou never thought he’d ever have to see since his pre-license exam during his first year in U.A.

Yo Shindo came in holding two pack of beers and bowed slightly with a celebrity-level smile that would have all girls swooning after him. He was wearing a Gucci shirt under a blue flannel, paired with ripped vintage denim jeans and a black beanie that made the bangs on his head scoot down just a tiny bit. His face mask was resting right below his lips and his whole aura screamed: “FASHION” in all the right places. But it wasn’t just his looks that demanded attention, it was also his aura of easy confidence that he held. And if he wasn’t a pro-hero, he’s the type of guy that would be easily mistaken as a supermodel.

His yellow Gentle Monster sunglasses were tucked in his shirt and Tsuyu and Uraraka giggled as they sat down the rest of the beers on the table and directed Shindo to do the same.

“Hey,” Shindo greeted everyone as he moved next to where you were standing which made Bakugou’s eyes squint just a bit. You nodded at him with a smile that made Bakugou want to twist his guts. “It’s so nice to meet everyone! Y/N talks a lot about you guys.”

“SO YOU REMEMBER US FROM THE LICENSE EXAM?!” Kaminari asked excitingly, almost jumping out of his seat.

Yo Shindo chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you widen your eyes just a bit from his touch, but the look on your face didn’t really show any uncomfortableness—as if you were already used to it.

But oh, if only Bakugou shot lasers out of his eyes!! He would zap away his hand from your waist in a blink of an eye.

“Yeah,” Shindo nodded his head cooly. “You, Kirishima, and Bakugou are awesome!” He said looking at the each of them. Kaminari and Kirishima grinned appreciatively back. But weirdly, when Shindo’s eyes landed on Bakugou his gaze stayed a tiny bit longer than usual.

What? Bakugou mentally questioned to himself when he saw the way Shindo stared at him seriously. It was like he was challenging him, and there was a string of tension that only the two boys could feel and Bakugou already knew from the start that he and him were not going to get along.

Shindo blinked his eyes back to reality and flashed a friendly smile to you—a complete change of face for what he was expressing to Bakugou, but no one else seemed to notice. Shindo pulled you closer. “Well, let’s get this party started shall we?”

You nodded happily back and everyone began handing out plates and popping bottles of beer. Bakugou joined in too, with a grin on his face.

But although he smiled as he listened to you talk about your crazy adventures of that one creepy stalker you encountered in LA or how everyone must order the pastrami egg n’ cheese bagel at Frankel’s Deli in Brooklyn, Bakugou couldn’t help but feel a discomfort itch in the back of his mind as he saw you sitting on the couch with Shindo so closely next to you.

And whenever Shindo glanced at Bakugou, there was always this silent edge that he could feel from the look of his eyes. Unfortunately, in such a social environment, he couldn’t excuse himself with his best friend Kirishima to talk about this. Bakugou knew that people will question him. What’s there to be uncomfortable about in Y/N’s Welcome Home party?

So as Bakugou took another sip of his beer while you talked about your crazy adventures, he mentally crossed his fingers that you and Yo Shindo are merely just friends.

Even if a part of him told him otherwise.

————

“Wait, you two went on a date?!” Momo asked looking at Shindo as her back sat comfortably on the sofa with her boyfriend’s arm around her. “In New York?!”

Shindo smiled at you and laughed. You mirrored his expression and shook your head at Momo. “Well, it wasn’t really a date actually, it was just a tour around New York.” You said.

“Oh, please tell us!!” Uraraka said to Shindo with excited eyes. Shindo laughed and nodded happily, making all the girls put their full attention on what he had to say.

“Well, I first met Y/N in New York City. And after seeing her and her awesome abilities—“

“Oh please,” you said, waving your hand dismissively from that with an embarrassing smile.

Yo Shindo pouted adorably at you. “It’s true!”

Bakugou saw Uraraka and Tsuyu quietly exchanging each other glances that didn’t need much for him to know what they were thinking. And as much as it hurts his guts and heart to think about this, he couldn’t help it.

You and Shindo looked so good together. It was like those couples on k-drama or whatever the hell people were watching, where the audience knows that they are perfect for each other. And even though you hadn’t mentioned anything about him being your boyfriend and all…well, it was just obvious. Even your girlfriends could see it. And from the look of Kirishima giving him a lopsided smile as if saying “Ouch. Sorry bro.”  Bakugou could basically confirm his hypothesis correct.

But instead of wanting to just punch pretty boy in the face to release his anger (which, he wanted to do so bad) he kept his cool and restrained his emotions as he listened to Shindo explain this “date” that the two of you went on.

“Well, I offered to take Y/N around New York City, since she was new to the place on my motorbike and—“

“ON YOUR MOTORBIKE?!” All the girls (plus Kaminari) squealed. Awase tilted his head back to laugh at everyone’s reaction and Kirishima muttered a phrase that included: “dude, that’s so manly!” causing Bakugou to turn his head at him and shoot him a death dagger.

Kaminari—who by the way— is obsessed with motorcycles and dreams to own a Harley Davidson one so he could be as cool as Keanu Reeves, pumped his hand in the air and excitingly asked, “Yo, Shindo, what type of motorbike do you have?”

“The one I took with Y/N?” Shindo said, which meant that he had more than one. But the way Shindo said it wasn’t in an egotistic kind of way, nor was it annoying (which bugged Bakugou) but rather, he said it in a humble and polite tone.

Shindo glanced at you with a charming smirk on his face, as if remembering that precious time with you in New York. “It was a Harley Davidson Sportster Iron 883! In black.”

“WHAT!” Kaminari slammed his beer down on the table. “C-can I have a ride?”

Ugh, an idiot I swear! Bakugou said to himself as jealously crept up to him once again as he saw everyone—even Kirishima—so engaged on Yo Shindo.

Shindo laughed again and nodded. “Sure! I actually shipped that one to Tokyo since I’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mina lifted her eyebrows at Shindo. “You’re staying in Tokyo?”

Shindo shook his head. “I’m just staying here for a couple of weeks for some pro-hero work. I’ve been away so long and I wanted to come back since I realized I missed Japan so much. And a friend of mine offered me to collab with his agency for now!”

Bakugou let out a puff of air as Uraraka gleefully smiled and said, “Wow, that’s so great to hear!”

And so the conversation continued. After Shindo took you around on his motorbike, he took you to this fancy, romantic restaurant down in Manhattan, and then took you around Central Park when evening came. And during this whole conversation, everyone pitched in their squeals and glees here and there, but Bakugou remained silent the whole time. You laughed at Shindo’s jokes and descriptions and added a story on how clumsy he actually is, despite his cool exterior.  And Bakugou grew slightly more furious—but it wasn’t a challenging kind of anger. It was just that it frustrated him that he couldn’t point out, or find, any particular ”flawed” that Yo Shindo had.

As the conversation moved along from one to the other, Yo Shindo offered to help Awase and Kaminari to clean up the empty pizza boxes. Kirishima and Bakugou offered to help as well, recycling empty bottles away and folding paper plates to the waste bin.

And as Bakugou walked across the living room, picking up the last few empty bottles of beer on the side table of the couch, he heard you and your girlfriends lowly whispering.

“Well?! “ Yaoyorozu questioned curiously, patting your knee. “Did you…you know!?”

“What?” You asked curiously.

“You know…Yo Shindo…vibration quirkkkkk,” Tsuyu moaned as Uraraka and Mina nodded in agreement, eyes clearly swooned away by Shindo.

Tsuyu grabbed your arm and stared at you dead deep into your eyes before glancing to where Shindo and the other boys were at in the kitchen. “Please tell me what happened! You two obviously hit it up, right?!”

Bakugou wanted to throw up right then and there. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what you were about to say next. And as much as his conscious tells him to “WALK AWAY KATSUKI”!!! Curiosity killed the cat as he watched you in the corner of his eyes while he cleaned up the table slowly to the side.

You covered your face with your hands as embarrassment crept up on you and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I KNEW IT!” Uraraka said in a low whispered as she snapped her fingers.

Bakugou’s stomach dropped and his jaw tightened in grit.

“Guys, no,” You whispered sternly back, but your cheeks still glowed with heat. “Nothing happened between me and Shindo.”

Bakugou eyes widened as he darted his attention back on the table. Wait a minute… there is hope! A wash of relief swept through him when he heard your reply, but his happy thoughts immediately crumpled when he heard Mina’s suspicious tone.

“Sureeeeeeeee,” Mina exhaled a puff of air sharply—not convinced that you were telling the truth. “I can see it in your face that that’s a LIE!”

Bakugou knew it would be wrong for him to continue hearing this (wrong in a sense that if you were just hiding the true secret, he may blow the roof off of Momo’s house, and that wouldn’t be appropriate). Plus, who the hell takes 5 goddamn minutes to clear up some trash?!

So, with all his might, Bakugou bravely walked around the couch, passing you and the girls as he headed towards the kitchen. And when you saw Bakugou walk pass in front of you, you silently let out a gasp with a parted mouth shaped as an ‘o’ on your face.

————

After the party was over and it was getting pretty late, all the girls decided to finally head home. They offered you to join them but you passed appreciatively by saying how you had to thank and Awase and Momo for everything and Awase was still in the back, cleaning a few things up, while Momo had some errands to run.

“How do you not drink Momo-Yaoo!!” Mina said as she threw one arm around Momo’s shoulder.  

Momo sighed but a smile graced her lips. “Cuz I know I’ll have to take you guys home!” She said sternly but sarcastically.

Mina gave Momo a “thank you” hug and you and the girls laughed

“Since you’re finally here, we all have to go to that tendon place in Shinjuku!” Tsuyu announced happily, giving you one last hug before heading out.

“Tendon Tuesdays are definitely back ya’ll!” You laughed happily and all the girls hovered above the two of you, joining in for one last group hug as they shared “I love yous” and goodbyes.

“You guys are acting like I will be leaving again,” you laughed when you all pulled away and saw your friends getting teary.

Mina smiled softly. “We’re just happy you’re finally back.”

And after Mina said her sweet comment, Uraraka wailed a “You GUYSssssssss!” in a sarcastic tone and everyone bunched up together again for another group hug as they wailed their hearts out.

Bakugou walked in and saw all the girls form into one ball and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Yeah, he was so happy that you are actually in Tokyo.

After more “text me!” and goodbyes, the four girls exited out the door and you stood in the living room by yourself, cleaning up the last few trash on the table for Momo.

This is the time. Bakugou said to himself as he began to walk towards you. Nervousness crept on his neck which was unusual for him since you were one of his closest friends. Kirishima and Kaminari headed back to their places and before Kirishima exited, he gave one last talk to Bakugou.

“Dude, you don’t even know if she’s with him yet,” Kirishima said outside the front gate. “Maybe they’re just friends!”

“Just friends?” Bakugou repeated slightly icily—almost like a scoff. He tucked his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. You see it too though.”

Kirishima stares at his friend and bit his lip, knowing that from the way Shindo has been treating you and all the stories you two of shared together, it looked like you two were together. Sure! Maybe you two were just friends, but Bakugou felt like it was highly unlikely. Plus, you were exchanging whispers with your friends and from the look on their faces, it was like something exciting was stirring up.

“Yeah,” Kirishima finally said. “But still…we don’t really know. And now that everyone is almost gone, now’s your chance to finally talk to her in peace!”

And with that in mind, Bakugou walked towards you in the main room.

“Hey.”

You looked up from the table and widened your eyes. “Bakugou! I thought you already left with the other boys. You’re still here?” You asked. But you immediately blushed and waved your hands quickly when you realized how wrong that sounded out your mouth. “Not that it’s bad that you’re here! I didn’t mean that. I’m happy you’re still here!”

Bakugou laughed, his shoulders relaxing as he looked at you with a smile. You laughed too at your own dumb act and the awkward tension was slowly replaced with a comforting one.

“You really don’t wanna see me, huh?” Bakugou teased with a smirk.  

You rolled your eyes. “You know it’s not like that.”

Bakugou grabbed the back of his neck and locked his eyes with you. You hummed curiously, knowing that he wanted to say something.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say that I’m really glad that—“

“Y/N!!” Shindo’s voice echoed from the back kitchen. He waved his arm excitingly with a bright smile but then paused when he saw you and Bakugou standing in front of each other, alone.

Ugh! Bakugou thought to himself as he saw Shindo’s face grow slightly tensed when he looked at him.

Shindo walked towards you respectfully with a smile. “Hey, I know it’s pretty late. Do you want me to take you home?”

Bakugou parted his mouth opened for just a bit. His anger and jealously was rising high now and he wasn’t sure why.

“Oh!” You said, turning your head to Shindo. “No, it’s fine, really!”

“You sure?”

You smiled at him. “Yeah, thank you though.”

“Well then,” Shindo turned to Bakugou and then back to you. His gaze turned serious. “Can- Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

You opened your mouth and directed your hand towards Bakugou. “Oh! Bakugou was actually talking—“

“It’s fine, Y/N” Bakugou said in almost a strict tone that your face fell a bit. He nodded his head at Shindo and then smiled at you, telling you that it really was okay. “It’s not important, really. Actually…I think I’m going to head out.”

“Bakugou, wait—“ you said, your eyes staring directly at his.

“Y/N,” Bakugou tried to laugh. But you knew him too well that the laugh was forced. “Seriously, we can chat again later some time. Plus, since you’re back, we can finally hang out like we used too.”

Shindo glared at Bakugou sternly after he said that, but at this point Bakugou couldn’t care anymore.

You paused and stared at him before mumbling out an “okay” as Shindo turned and pulled you away from him.

And after letting Awase know that he was finally heading home, Bakugou exited the door and walked towards the front gate. He tucked his hands in his pockets and felt his heart grow heavier and heavier until—

“Katsuki! Wait!”

Bakugou twirled around to see you extend your arm up high out the front door. You ran towards him and put your hands on your knees to gasp for air.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you so directly.” You said apologetically.

Bakugou shook his head, but his heart skipped a few beats when he heard you call his first name. “It’s fine. You can call me that.”

You widened your eyes and hugged yourself closely. “Oh?” You smiled. “Okay then.”

“Uhm…did you need to tell me something…or..?” Bakugou asked curiously, internally wondering why you suddenly exited out of the house.

“Oh! Right!” You tapped your head dumbly. “Right….I- I actually wanted to say goodbye to you and-”

“Weren’t you just talking to Shindo?” Bakugou pointed out so cold that your face immediately fell when you heard his sudden shift of tone.  

“Um-”

“Sorry.”

“No! I- I actually need to apologize for that. I should have spoken up more. We haven’t…really chatted during the party.”

Bakugou scoffed and smiled as he tilted his head up towards the night sky in silence. He was so furious just a few seconds ago that any one who dared stopped him will be blasted off to space. But when he heard you call his actual name, he felt more at peace. But sadness lingered in his heart as he darted his gaze behind you at the door, knowing that Shindo was in there. 

From the door entrance to the front gate was a large garden in between, and when you realized how quiet it was, you cleared your throat and looked up at him.

“We’re not together,” you finally said.  “I mean, Shindo and I.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shot up immediately but quickly replaced his shock look with a calm one.

Wait…what?

“Oh…?”

He blinked his eyes and parted his mouth slowly, carefully thinking about the words before saying them out loud. “But Mina and them—“

“Kept teasing about the two of us being together? Momo kept throwing us questions about our quests? All the girls teasing and the “date”?” You said in air quotes with a smirk. “Shindo is really nice and he’s like that to almost everyone, really. Plus…”

You stopped, glancing up at Bakugo and then turning your head away. Heat crept up to the apples of your cheeks as you continued. “Plus, there’s someone else…”

Bakugou’s mind buzzed with clouds as he felt like a a horde of demons was ready to swallow him up.

There’s someone else.

It can’t be him, right? Bakugou’s shoulders fell and frowned a bit. How could he be so stupid thinking that you actually liked him in the first place? Could it be…Kirishima? Kaminari? Oh fuck, maybe it’s Deku. His mind continued to swarm with possibilities of the “someone else,” casting more and more doubt onto himself until he heard your laughter.

You clenched your arms around your stomach and laughed. A beautiful melody that never ceases to amaze Bakugou. It was like a warm breeze in the summer swooping him away. But Bakugou lowered his gaze with confusion as he stared at you. “What’s so funny?”

You looked up, wiping a small tear on the corner of your eye with a bright but soft smile on your face.

“It’s you, dumbass.”

Under normal circumstances, anyone who called him that will immediately turn into dust, but with you… He couldn’t even get riled up an inch. Because when he heard those words left your mouth, it was like fog clearing up on a raining day, a heavy weight now off his shoulders.

Wait…is this really happening?

A cunning smirk graced his lips as he stepped closer to you.

The cool evening air no longer felt cold and you grabbed his hand pulling him closer. It was dark but he could still see the perfect outlines of your face.

“Really?” Bakugou whispered huskily above you, not sure if he was dreaming or not. Excitement buzzed throughout his body, his focus entirely on you.

You laughed with a happy smile on your face. “Really.”

Bakugou smirked cockily. “Well, then dumbass…I’m glad… because I like you too.” He said slowly in such a cute way that it made you giggled.

“I’m glad then.” You said quietly.

“Do you… want to go grab lunch someday…?” Bakugou asked, the words rolling off his tongue seemed so foreign to him. Everything happened so fast but it felt so nice at the same time.

You nodded your head still smiling. “Yeah…that sounds nice. Though I want your homemade curry, I’ve been craving Japanese food for so long and New York and LA doesn’t even beat the meals that you make!”

Bakugou laughed, his heart feeling so overwhelmingly content. “Well then, I’ll bring you some food tomorrow. You’ll be jet lag and all.”

You groaned cutely. “Oh god, yeah. I’ll probably be sleeping all morning tomorrow. But at least I’ll have something to look forward to when I wake up.” You smiled.

Bakugou nodded, and you pulled him into a hug that surprised him at first but he wrapped his arms around you ever so gently and warmly. The two of you just wrapped in each other’s arms for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet night that Bakugou wished could last forever.

“I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.” He whispered softly in your ear that made you shivered with happiness. “I…I’ve missed you.” He added ever so quietly in a way that it sounded like he was talking to himself. But you still heard those words and it made you hug him a bit tighter.

You tucked your head into his shoulder and whispered out a soft “me too.”  

When the two of you parted away, you both exchanged goodbyes once more, but this time, there was a layer of love and excitement in the air. Bakugou glanced at the door behind you, and the sudden reminder of Shindo who was still in there came to mind. Bakugou has never felt so happy in his whole entire life, knowing that you had the same feelings he had for you. But seeing the shadows on the windows, the sudden flash of Shindo’s disapproving face re-resurfaced. He had a feeling that you didn’t know that Shindo actually liked you. And sure! He only met the guy today but his gut instincts knew better that the faces he gave to Bakugou plus his expression whenever he looked at you, it was something more than just a friendship. But before Bakugou could even dive deeper into this thought as he turned towards the gate, you stopped him.

“Katsuki—! Wait.” You called, causing him to turn his head once more at you. But before he could even ask what’s wrong, you slipped a hand through his and stepped on your tippy toes as you planted a warm kiss on his cheek, holding it there for a few seconds. Bakugou widened his eyes for a quick second, and just like magic, that kiss washed his doubts about you and Shindo down the drain. It was like a message that you were his—as dominating as that sound. But it nevertheless made him less tensed. 

You swallowed a lump on your throat as you parted away. A little embarrassed at your sudden move but when you saw Bakugou’s face glowed, you smiled and nodded. Words didn’t need to be said for the two of you to understand each other.

“Have a goodnight, okay? Drive safe.” You waved before turning your back to return to the house.

“Yeah,” Bakugou smiled as he tucked his hands into his pocket, turning to the front gate once more. “I will.”

And with that, the two of you parted your ways, with bright smiles and warm hearts that continued to simultaneously flow in the air.

—————

“Cuz I know I’ll have to take you guys home!” Shindo heard Momo from the living room said as he carried the trash bags into the kitchen.

“Uhm.., where should I place these?” Shindo asked Awase who was washing a few cups in the sink.

Awase pointed at the corner besides him where all the other bags were laid. “You can leave them here Thanks, man.”

Before Shindo nodded respectfully at him, he heard you and the girls burst out into a loud laughter, making him turn to the direction of the sound coming from the main room. His eyes softened, as if reminiscing precious memories from a time. And in all honestly, his attention was just focused on your laughter. The melody that he can always listen to and never get tired of.

Shindo had never believed “love at first sight.” But when he first saw you in New York, his heart bloomed in a way that he has never felt before and he was so interested in you ever since. Of course, he kept cool about it, but since he was such an open and honest guy, he always slipped in a move here and there, hoping to grab your attention or sneak in hints, to show that what you meant to him was in a way that was more than a friend.

After cleaning up, Awase takes a sip of his beer, glancing at Shindo’s still turned-head for a moment before saying, “You like her, don’t you?”

Shindo looked stunned as he immediately shot his head back at Awase. His heart pounded in his chest when he heard the question. “H-how did you know?”

Awase smirked. “I know that feeling, dude. That’s how I felt when I met Momo,” He said, tilting his head towards the living room where his girlfriend was.

“I don’t want anyone to find out,” Shindo said quietly as he rested his elbows on the kitchen island across Awase.

“Of course. This is just between me and you.” Awase replied respectfully, knowing what Shindo is going thorough, having a similar experience himself.

Shindo smiled at him appreciatively. He cleared his throat. “And uhm, I know that we just met and all…but do…do you you know if Y/N is involved with anyone—like, romantically?”

Awase pondered on that comment seriously for a moment. “I don’t really know, man. I think Kirishima and the others will know since they were all in the same class as her since U.A. But…from what I’ve heard from my girlfriend, I don’t think so.”

“Not even, uhm, Bakugou?” Shindo slid in the question curiously.  

“Y/N and Bakugou!?” Awase laughed. “I’ve never heard of that before! Who gave you the idea?”

Shindo just shrugged, not wanting to say why he asked. Ever since the day he accidentally saw your phone lock screen of you and Bakugou in your days in U.A when your phone dinged on his table, his suspicion arose. Of course it wasn’t much, but the way you talked about him was different compared to the others…

“Hey,” Awase said, interrupting his thoughts. “From what I’ve learned… you can wait to get the answers, or just be honest with her.”

“Be honest with her?”

Awase shrugged. “Yeah. In fact you can even tell her how you feel now, most of her friends are returning home now.”

Shindo nodded appreciatively at him and smiled. “Thanks man, really.”

“You got it, and don’t worry,” Awase reassured when he saw Shindo’s mouth open again. “I’ll keep things low-key.”

Shindo smiled again and walked back towards the main room to find you. Awase was right. After all that you two of been through for the past couple weeks there was a new foundation built upon your friendship—trust. And he trusted you that you can at least understand his feelings. Shindo knew he told everyone that he came back to Tokyo for a change of environment and for hero work…but that wasn’t necessarily the entire truth. Because in all transparency, he came back for you too…and maybe its because he has loved working with you, or maybe it was the way you described Tokyo to him in New York made him really miss home…

Or maybe it’s because he was falling in love with you.

Shindo made his way to the living room and called out your name, but his high emotions toppled over when he saw you standing with Bakugou in the now empty living room, alone.

He doesn’t really hate Bakugou, but ever since he had his suspicion, he couldn’t look at him the same way. And sure, it may be unfair of him to act like that but when he saw the way Bakugou locked eyes with him, he knew something was up that confirmed his suscpisoun. He could feel this unprecedented tension in the air between him and Bakugou—almost like an undeclared challenge.

Shindo mustered up the courage as he walked towards you with a smile. “Hey, I know it’s pretty late. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Oh!” You replied when you noticed Shindo. “No, it’s fine, really!”

“You sure?”

You smiled at him which made Shindo’s stomach flutter with butterflies. “Yeah, thank you though.”

“Well then,” Shindo turned to Bakugou and then back to you, hesitating just a bit about his next act act. His gaze turned serious and he lowered his voice so almost only you could hear him.  “Can… Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Shindo saw you opened your mouth slowly. “Oh! Bakugou was actually talking—“

“It’s fine, Y/N” Bakugou cut in, looking at Shindo and then back to you. “It’s not important, really. Actually…I think I’m going to head out.”

“Bakugou, wait—“

“Y/N,” Bakugou continued. “Seriously, we can chat again later some time. Plus, since you’re back, we can finally hang out like we used too.”

Shindo glared at Bakugou. He felt his heart ache when he heard that, knowing that the two of you are pretty close. But finally when you agreed, you and Shindo stepped aside for more space.

You turned your head at Shindo and noticed his serious expression. “Is there something wrong?”

Shindo blinked his eyes and cleared his throat. “N-no! I mean, not anything super important. Actually, Y/N… I just wanted to—“

Click!

Before Shindo could continue, your head shot to where the door was just closed and you saw Bakugou’s shadow exit out of the house. Shindo saw you turned your head back towards him as you bit your lip.

“Shindo, I’m so sorry. Can you give me a few minutes really quick?” You said with the kindest smile you had.

Shindo looked at you with a tinge of solemn in his eyes as he smiled. His gut feeling knew what you were about to do, but he didn’t want to force you to listen to him and so he smiled and nodded, earning you a brighter smile on your face that Shindo loved.

“Thank you.” You said as you grabbed his hand and giving it a squeeze.

Shindo saw you run towards the door, not hesitating a bit to open it immediately.

And when you exited, Shindo gave out a sigh. This was a lot harder than he expected. He headed towards the table near the door to pack up some of his things that he laid near, but his mistake was when he glanced up at the window.  His eyes widened and sucked in a breath when he saw you standing near the front gate with Bakugou.

It looked like it was all happening in slow motion.

The way you slipped your hand through his. The cute way you leaned in closer a few inches with the tip of your toes and kissed him on the cheek.

It wasn’t an actual real kiss, but still...Shindo felt a surge of jealously come crashing down on him. He swallowed a lump in his throat as a mixture of anger and sadness stirred in him. And as he saw you wave goodbye to Bakugou, Shindou looked away in sadness as his stomach dropped and his once cool smile now turned into a deep frown.

He felt like he lost you — even though he never really had you in the beginning.

But maybe there’s still a chance for him to confess how he feels.

Because even if you don’t share the same feelings as him...he’ll still find release… that at least the person he loves …. knows.  

Yeah… Shindo thought to himself quietly as he pulled out his sunglasses, getting ready to leave. He knew he couldn’t say it now…not after what he just witnessed. So with a sharp glide of his hand like a professional, he slipped on his sunglasses and beanie ever so smoothly and picked up his bags.

I’ll come back to you Y/N…you’ll see.

-------

A/N ~ oh gosh, yo shindo vs. bakugou. this love triangle just suddenly appeared and i’ll need to figure out how to unravel this mess. But thank you to everyone who read this fic! I know it is longer than my usual works so words cannot express how much it means to me. Thank you 💗 Please do not hesitate to send me a message through my inbox on about this fic (WHOSE TEAM R U ON?!) or about anything! Let’s just say...next chapter will def. be more about the charming Yo Shindo ;) 

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline. 

Previous

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria. 

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.” 

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.” 

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?” 

“They’re wonderful.” 

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say ‘hi’ or-.” 

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?” 

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.” 

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered. 

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?” 

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.” 

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.” 

“I don’t have one,” she laughed. 

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.” 

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser. 

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.” 

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.” 

“I do as well.” 

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that. 

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs. 

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce. 

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked. 

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it. 

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.” 

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment. 

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him. 

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.” 

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?” 

“When the time is right.” 

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.” 

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?” 

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.” 

“Who says I-.” 

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building.  The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third. 

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach. 

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel. 

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned. 

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game. 

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice. 

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture. 

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on. 

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain. 

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone. 

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.” 

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief. 

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond. 

“LOOK AT ME!” 

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth. 

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!” 

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth. 

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization. 

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer. 

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” 

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.” 

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.” 

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured. 

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.” 

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.” 

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.” 

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.” 

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.” 

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything. 

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter. 

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight. 

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor.  Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink. 

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?” 

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.” 

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could. 

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.” 

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.” 

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him.  “What’s the point of doing this again?”  

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.” 

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful. 

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives. 

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.” 

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them. 

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever. 

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad. 

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce. 

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.” 

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside. 

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly. 

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.” 

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach. 

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.” 

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then  turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.” 

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as  my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit. 

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.” 

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.  

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.” 

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?” 

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.” 

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off. 

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.” 

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?” 

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.” 

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.” 

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?” 

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?” 

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.” 

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.” 

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud. 

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?” 

“It was alright.” 

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.” 

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?” 

“Not yet. I’m planning to.” 

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!” 

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek. 

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling. 

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.” 

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said. 

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted. 

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in. 

“By all means,” Demetria motioned. 

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria  noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.” 

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.” 

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?” 

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.” 

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing. 

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?” 

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.” 

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low 

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?” 

“Bruce-.” 

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth. 

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there. 

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table. 

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it. 

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat. 

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop. 

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there. 

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend 

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there. 

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop. 

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen. 

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria. 

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed. 

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention. 

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.” 

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.” 

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?” 

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice. 

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker. 

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria. 

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her. 

She watched from behind his shoulder. 

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd. 

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them. 

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.” 

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.” 

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered. 

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted. 

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd. 

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.” 

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully. 

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.” 

She whimpered, closing her eyes. 

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!” 

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.” 

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars. 

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!” 

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream.  She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor. 

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.” 

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...” 

“You’re going to be alright.” 

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred. 

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate. 

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker. 

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps. 

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!” 

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly. 

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.” 

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on. 

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress: 

Hair/Makeup:

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter One: Miles]

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Mount Massive Asylum was a silhouette ahead of the setting sun. Against the red and orange and white in the sky, Mount Massive was all dark brick and covered windows. Half of the building had flickering light peeking out from slats and cracked curtains, and the rest was pitch black. 

    Miles opened the car door and planted one boot on the dirt, brows furrowed. He came with only his camcorder, a few spare batteries, a notebook, and the email he was sent: 

     You don’t know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. 

     I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems’ facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA’s I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys. 

     Certainly enough to grab Miles’ attention. When most people heard he was an investigative reporter, they treated him with what they thought was respect. All talking in circles and stepping over eggshells. This person emailing him—they had something to say and they were going to make sure Miles was listening. 

     Terrible things happening there. Don’t understand it. Don’t believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountains. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money. 

     It needs to be exposed. 

     A fall breeze brushed by, making Miles shiver under his brown jacket. He flipped the collar up. 

    He was prepared for a facility up and running, for patients and orderlies to interview. This place looked abandoned. 

    Miles poked around the empty building where someone should be there to open the gate from, but the computer was frozen and there was nothing. 

    The gate—for humans, not cars—creaked as it opened. Securing his notebook and the hard copy of his email in the inside pocket of his jacket, he raised his camera and headed inside. Mount Massive loomed over him as he stalked towards the front entrance. Military trucks lined the walkway. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a stream of consciousness: 

     I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards. 

     The front entrance was locked. He blew out a frustrated breath and looked around to find another spot in the fence, allowing him into a tiny courtyard with a fence and scaffolding up along the walls. He looked through his camera and zoomed in—there was an open window. He grimaced. 

    He didn’t want to go back to when he was a teenager, sneaking into empty buildings through crumbling walls and broken windows, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He had to get inside. 

    He got the same thrill he always had when he was younger to climb and leap over the scaffolding until he reached the window. The second his feet hit the ground, the light exploded. He gasped and covered his head as glass rained on the carpet. 

    Raising the camcorder, he flicked on the nightvision, then winced. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    The room was empty, the furniture all turned over and piled up. Miles strained his ears, but the asylum was silent. He crept his way over to the door and peeked inside the hallway. Both sides were barricaded, giving way only to the room across the hall. This room was a bit more normal, lit up by the light streaming through the hall and the thin curtains. He looked around for any clue of what happened here, but nothing. There was a second door letting him into the hall past the barricade. 

    He was about to squeeze through a gap between the next barricade, when he faltered. 

    Is that fucking blood? 

    He pulled up his camcorder and zoomed in. Sure enough, blood splattered the wall and stained the carpet. There was no sign of a body. He swallowed and pushed forward. I have to find out what happened here. 

    In one of the rooms, he found a status report for a patient named Billy. Most of the words Miles didn’t understand most of the words, but he could connect it to the email; ‘lucid dream states,’ ‘the blood dreams of Doctor Trager,’ and something called a ‘MORPHOGENIC ENGINE.’ 

    Something Miles found interesting, part of an interview with the patient: 

        Billy asked about the status of his mother’s lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum...catastrophic breach in security...all orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved…

        Signed ‘MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO’ 

     The first sign of life Miles was given was a bathroom door shutting as he approached. He hesitated, then rapped on the wood. 

    “Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    No answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… okay then. I’ll be around if you change your mind.” 

    The next door was locked, but across the hall there was a small kitchen. He did a quick once-over, then stopped at the counter by the fridge—is that a fucking— is that an organ— is that a fucking organ on a tray? Right next to a fucking soda can. Miles’ stomach lurched. It was long and thin, flesh coloured, veins of blood smearing onto the silver tray. 

    I have to find out what’s going on here. I have to expose it. 

    The only way was up, into a ventilation shaft. As soon as he got inside, someone burst into the room, looked around frantically, and ran out. Miles barely caught them with his camera. His heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. 

    “Fuck,” he whispered, panting. “Fuck this.” 

    He got to the end of the shaft and paused. It dropped too far for him to get back up if he decided he had to leave. With the blood, the fucking soda organ, was it worth it? Was this worth risking his life? 

    What if he didn’t have enough evidence? What if he couldn’t convince the police to come? What if the public thought it was a joke? 

    Closing his eyes, he jumped down. 

    Creeping along to the first door, he threw it open and a body hung from the ceiling. He stumbled back with a gasp. It was bloodied and pale, and Miles watched, horrified, as it smacked to the floor. He covered his mouth and forced himself into the library, eyes burning. 

    Keep your camera raised. No matter what you do, keep your camera raised. 

    The library was a maze of pushed over bookcases, the righted ones holding decapitated heads. Their mouths were gaped open, eyes blank and bloodshot. He crept forward. In the light of a window, a body sat impaled on a pole, still slowing sliding down. Blood caked the metal. It smelled of rust and decaying meat, and Miles was quickly losing his resolve. He stepped forward and the body, the man, gasped and reached out, choking on his own blood. 

    “They killed us,” he gasped. “They got out. The… Variants.” 

    Miles watched with wide eyes. A few tears ran down his face, but he kept recording. 

    “You can’t… fight them. You have to hide… can unlock the main doors… from Security Control.” He desperately tried to crawl himself up the pipe. “You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place. Stay away from the north, it’s… it’s chaos.” 

    Miles dropped the camera and leapt forward to help pull him off, but the moment he pushed up, the man lurched, screamed, and fell dead. Miles stumbled back with shaking hands, his palms red and sticky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

    He pulled out his notebook. 

     I’m inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say “Murkoff Advanced Research Systems.” Murkoff’s longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. 

     How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of the mentally ill? 

     There’s some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came. 

     He lowered the notebook. His chest was tight, tight, too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he couldn’t blame himself, not this time. 

    He slid his notebook in his pocket and picked up his camera. 

    He left the library. The second floor of the Administration Block was an atrium, one floor wrapped around the carved out middle where reception was below. He got to the ground. He was not safe here. He couldn’t be seen. He switched out his battery and recorded himself moving forward. Another barricade blocked the hall, but there was a gap he could squeeze through if he could just… 

    “Little pig!” 

    A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck like someone picking up the scruff of a kitten. Burning pain ripped through his skin as a hulking figure yanked him out of the gap. Miles barely got a glimpse, but at first, he did not register it as human. His nose was smashed in, and there was a giant chunk ripped out of his forehead. He bared his teeth, a huge row of shark fangs, then threw Miles through the glass atrium. He smacked against the reception floor, and blacked out. 

    xxx 

    “And who are you, then?” 

    He blinked his eyes open, his head pounding, his entire body throbbing. A bald man in vestments stared at him, a flashlight blinding him. His face was full of wrinkles, with full cupid lips and wide set eyes. Miles groaned and dropped his head back to the ground. 

    “I… I see.” The man held Miles’ camera. “Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle. Guard your life, son, you have a calling.” 

    xxx 

    When he woke up again, the man was gone. 

    He tried hard to remember what happened between his blackout, but it was hard, like a dream he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He gripped his throbbing head. All he knew was he had to get to Security Control. 

    There was more carnage in the reception area. A handful of dead bodies absolutely eviscerated, their guts painting the ground. The smell was something worse than Miles had ever witnessed in his life. Some cops had told him you’d never smell anything worse than a dead body, or anything close to it. Miles knew now that was right. 

    It wasn’t until he had explored a little bit that he noticed the big letters written at the base of the atrium, over Miles’ head—Proclaim the Gospel. He hoped it was red chalk. At the receptionist’s desk, he found a document: 

     You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S. or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility. 

     A status report in one of the storage rooms, about a patient named Chris Walker, observed by Dr. Rudolph Wenicke. It mentioned more of the rumoured Morphogenic Engine. From the interview notes: 

     Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enourmous size...he claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing...his predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. 

     It took Miles a minute to realize that was the big fucker who threw him through the window—Chris Walker, an abused patient. The rage in his stomach muted. Did he even know what he was doing? Miles shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

    Coming into the hallway, he stopped. A Variant sat in a wheelchair, staring at the floor. Miles cleared his throat and hesitated, before stepping forward. 

    “H-Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    The Variant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Miles’ brows furrowed as he came closer. Like Chris Walker, this patient looked horribly unhealthy, and deformed. How many patients came into Mount Massive this way? Could this be a coincidence? 

    The man didn’t respond, so Miles moved forward. He came into a room with three Variants, all bald men, staring with dead eyes at a static television screen splattered with blood. Miles introduced himself again, and nobody answered. He pulled out his notebook. 

     A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody’s home. 

     He carried through the room and cautiously explored the Administration Block until he found the keycard for Security Control. He passed the Variant in the wheelchair, only to find his back smacking to the floor, reawakening the pain in his spine, the Variant screaming, “GET THEM OUT! PLEASE! THE DOCTOR IS DEAD! RIP THEM CLEAN! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” 

    Miles gasped and shoved at the fucker’s chest, until he finally flew off and hit the ground. The man curled into a fetal position and sobbed into his arms. Miles panted, the anger in his stomach slowly subsiding. 

    “It’ll be okay.” He swallowed. “I’m here to help. Which doctor are you talking about? Rip what clean? How can I help you?”

    Miles raised his camera. The man refused to respond. Miles stepped back, covered in sweat. He hesitantly left as the man crawled away. 

    He made it to the hallway with Security Control, and as he stood at the edge, a Variant at the end of the hall ran forward and pounded into a door until it opened, then slammed it behind him. Miles sucked in panicked breaths. He thought of approaching, of seeing if he could get some information, but shook his head. Maybe it was better to leave the Variants alone, when he could. 

    He couldn’t help himself—he explored what rooms he could. He found several dead bodies, blood splattered almost excessively, and managed to scrounge up some batteries. In the bathroom, a clothed man sat on the toilet, dead and hunched over, with the word ‘WITNESS’ written in blood above him. His abdomen burning with anger, Miles hands trembled over his notebook. 

     I’m already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, coupole cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. 

        I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. 

        There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I’m getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the priest is writing them, and for my benefit. 

     He kept exploring, looking for anything that could bring this place down, and grinned as he read through a document. 

     The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high...four fatalities...PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative...certainly be further casualties...family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models…

     He pocketed the document and headed for Security Control. This is enough. I’m going to bring down Murkoff Corporation. 

    The reader beeped as Miles scanned the keycard and headed for the control panel. A security guard laid crumpled, dead in the corner. He ignored it the best he could and got on the keyboard, only for the priest to appear on screen. Miles watched with wide eyes, his heart racing in his fingertips, as the father yanked down a lever and the lights went out. 

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

    The screens had said basement. If he could get down there and restart the generator, he could get out. 

    He stood and headed for the door. His hand on the handle, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

    A familiar voice. “We have to contain it.” 

    Miles whipped around and looked in any place he could possibly hide in the tiny room. His heart raced, his breath short, his eyes landed on the locker. He sprinted over and crammed himself inside, slamming the door closed just in time for the room’s door to burst open. 

    Bringing his camcorder up, Miles pressed his free hand to his mouth to hide his breathing. Chris Walker’s own breathing filled the air, short and rabid, as he mumbled to himself. Walker looked around for around, checking the desk, circling the room, mumbling. “You were here, little pig, weren’t you…?” 

    The locker beside Miles creaked open. He bit back a whimper. 

    What do I do? What the fuck do I do? 

    Miles placed his hand on the cold metal, and prepared himself to run.

bls let me know what you think! and reblog <3 critiqued by @dib-leo-pard

[12-cluh]

Random Top 10s that no cares about, part 1: Youtubers

WARNING: If you do not like my list, that is okay. We don’t have to share an opinion. If you respect me, I’ll respect you.

10. Markiplier

Reason: I’m not as huge a fan as other people, but I occasionally watch some of his videos. He’s pretty aight and he’s a cool guy.

9. MandJTV

Reason: While I used to watch Dobbs and AuraGuardian, he was the guy who really kickstarted my love of Pokemon. His videos are entertaining, consistent, and suprisingly informational.

8. Schafrillas Productions

Reason: My favorite movie youtuber, he’s funny and makes watching movies more enjoyable due to my very short attentionspan. His lists are very fun and suprising, cool guy.

7. Purplecliffe

Reason: My favorite Poketuber, he’s the funniest and his editing style makes his videos very enjoyable. I don’t really know why he’s my favorite, he just is.

6. Wambu

Reason: He was the person who got me really into countdowns and Top 10s. He is, for my money, one of the funniest people on Youtube, and the only reason he’s not higher is because he doesn’t upload a lot.

5. Dead Meat

Reason: I love horror, and if you love horror, you love Dead Meat.

4. Grizzy

Reason: The best member of the goons and one of the best gaming Youtubers of all time. He’s funny as hell and his second channel is one of the best I’ve ever seen.

3. Matthias

Reason: He was the first person to actually get me invested in something on Youtube. The characters are extremly 3 dimensional, being realistic in what is happening. Benjamin Cobalt is one of my favorite villains of all time. The twists and outside of the show media are all amazing. The fact that all of this started as a random key in a ceiling 4 years ago is perplexing and great.

2. Popcross Studios

Reason: Hands down the best art channel on youtube, it’s not even close. His way of story telling is facinating and he’s one of the only channels I care enough about to know his posting schedule. Like Matthias, his characters are amazing, hilarious, dramatic, and more words that I can’t think of. Seeing how his looks and art style progress in a similar fashion have been amazing. Seeing him go from a smaller guy in an apartment to a buff handsome man in a big house, his artstyle growing better along the way has been amazing. 

Honorable Mentions

Internet City, Brody Animates, Film Theory, and SMi7y

1. Captain Sauce

Reason: Here he is. The funniest man on Youtube. I’ve been watching him for over a year now, and his videos have never once dropped off. They have all been amazing, hilarious, and consistent. His variety is unmatched by anyone I have seen and his orignal characters that he somehow created has been amazing. His comedy style molded mine to how it is today and I constently quote him without anyone realizing. He really is my favorite, and I love everything he chooses to create.

[komori--shoma]

Shoma Umi Komori.

🦢

(I'm sorry if my english is shitty-)

❛A sad soul can kill faster than bacteria.❜

—𝐽𝑜𝒉𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑘

⟅☙⟆ Universe ⟅☙⟆

Diabolik Lovers. I plan, however, to take her out of the universe and make her a character of her own. Or maybe I'll just drop it and do both. Who knows?

⟅☙⟆ Full Name ⟅☙⟆

Shoma Umi Komori.

"Shoma" is a Japanese name that means "Woman who seeks the truth, who is not conformist at all."  Her second name, "Umi", is also a Japanese name that means "ocean".

⟅☙⟆ Kanji ⟅☙⟆

シ ョ マ

⟅☙⟆ Nickname ⟅☙⟆

Despite being initially confused by these, as she was not used to it, she was given the nickname "Engel" (which means "Angel" in German) by a family quite close to her.  The nickname was given by the mother and head of the family, since in the eyes of that woman, Shoma is an angel.

Seiji, who was the adoptive father of the girl, called the young woman "Astertea", which is quite a "peculiar" name in the bible.

Yui, with whom she is no longer in contact with Shoma, used to call her "Sho" or "Shomi" affectionately.

⟅☙⟆ Age ⟅☙⟆

She is eighteen years old, although she looks a bit younger.

⟅☙⟆ Gender ⟅☙⟆

Feminine.

⟅☙⟆ Sexual Orientation ⟅☙⟆

She doesn't know yet. Doesn't really bothers her to know.

⟅☙⟆ Height ⟅☙⟆

160 cm.

⟅☙⟆ Weight ⟅☙⟆

She used to weigh 35 kg., But now she is a proud 64.5 kg.

⟅☙⟆ Blood type ⟅☙⟆

OR-

⟅☙⟆ Status ⟅☙⟆

Alive.

⟅☙⟆ Race ⟅☙⟆

Human

⟅☙⟆ Birthday ⟅☙⟆

June 20th.

⟅☙⟆ Sign ⟅☙⟆

Gemini.

⟅☙⟆ Favorite Color ⟅☙⟆

Light blue and night blue.

⟅☙⟆ Appearance ⟅☙⟆

There is a great before and after in her appearance, and even though she is not shown in her story (at the end of the card), there was the occasional change in her future.

The girl has oculocutaneous albinism, so her skin and hair are snow-white.  Her hair, due to a small "situation", was long, straight and lifeless.  Her hair almost touched her waist, and she basically managed to cover her view.  She is now a cute short hairstyle down to the nape of hers, wavy and neat.

Her skin is very pale and fragile, although now she is somewhat better, before she was simply rough and damaged.  She has several deep burns and scars on this one as well.

The young woman, despite not having very good eyesight, has beautiful eyes of a light blue color, somewhat grayish.

She has a mark on her right leg in the shape of a fox with several stars on it.  It's a pretty special symbol, but she keeps it covered most of the time.

She usually did not wear clothes other than bandages to cover herself, although she still finds old clothes to wear, even though she was a little too big.  Now, she got used to wearing light clothes that cover most of her body;  like jeans, leggings, or long dresses with something underneath.  She doesn't really like to wear short or see-through clothes.

⟅☙⟆ Personality ⟅☙⟆

Many think that she simply doesn't have any kind of emotion. Shoma never shows any kind of expression in public, she is shown with her face up and with a look so cold that she makes it true to her appearance. The young woman is too serious, and depending on the person, it is very difficult to get her out of her typical attitude.

Sho is an elegant little girl, and full of grace despite all her troubles. She will never be friendly enough in front of someone (again, it depends on the person), but she will also not feel uncomfortable or unwelcome unless that is the goal of the little one. Shoma knows that she is able to erase someone from the earth fas if she wishes, but she doesn't abuse that thought, you just have to be careful not to make her angry or touch her too much.  It could be a big mistake.

Still, well ...

She is always alert, so it is very easy for her to get nervous or anxious most of the time.

She can also happen that she cannot do something right (she finds it very difficult to concentrate / think on several occasions, as well as sometimes she finds it difficult to understand what happens around her, etc).  Still, it is something that doesn't happen as much as before, after leaving the aforementioned situation in which she found herself.

She is easily frustrated, and this happens when she recognizes that she has trouble thinking.  It's very easy for her to cry or tear up in frustration (she doesn't do it in public, she refuses to do it, but that only makes it worse).  Also, her coping strategy is simply not talking about her emotions and keeping a straight face all the time.

Still, and even though she very reluctantly accepted help, Sho is willing to change and improve (even if she has to go through hell first).  She has shown to be too cunning for her age and to behave as if she were an adult, and even though she is slowly trying to behave according to her age, she is very difficult for her as well.

Anyway, Shoma can also be a girl who listens to others and is willing to do it regardless of the situation, and she is always there to be a shoulder on which one can cry.  She also tends to have fun when she feels calm around her, being one of the few moments when she feels and acts like a young little girl.

⟅☙⟆ Relatives ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Seiji Komori: Adoptive father.  Currently dead.

⟣ Yui Komori: Adoptive sister.  Currently alive.

⟅☙⟆ Favorite Food ⟅☙⟆

She doesn't have a single specific favorite food, but she definitely likes sweet and simple foods, like grated applesauce and banana, or a fruit salad.

⟅☙⟆ Hoobies ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Shoma likes to make paintings with her hands.  She serves to entertain him and clear her mind.

⟣ She also likes to make crowns with different types of flowers, even some bracelets and necklaces.

⟣ She has a certain fascination for mathematics and literature, so it is normal to see her do either of the two when she is bored.  The problem is when she has a hard time doing a difficult exercise.

⟣ She Likes to play decorating and decision-making video games. She likes to decorate and combine, so it is normal for her as a hobby to do the odd combination in video games, or in a room.

⟣ It may not count as a hobby, but Shoma loves to watch an episode of a series that she likes or a movie many times to imitate the lines, as if it were some kind of dubbing attempt.

⟅☙⟆ Occupation ⟅☙⟆

None, she doesn't consider herself a student, even if she studies at home.

⟅☙⟆ Relationships ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Seiji Komori, adoptive father.

She did not have a good relationship with him no matter how hard she tried at the time.  It was too obvious the favoritism that he had with Yui, and how she always stayed in the shadow of the blonde.  Despite trying to be like Yui, he could never have any kind of acceptance with her father.

⟣ Yui Komori, adoptive sister.

He adored her with her soul. Yui was Shoma's heroine, and she always tried to follow her example despite her unruly attitude as a child.  The elder Komori was Shoma's world, and he simply wanted to be with her all the time.

Things have changed now. She can't even look at her. The disgust and hatred that he has for that now young woman is simply immense. And believe it when I say she tries; she tries too hard to forget so many things that caused this feeling, but she just can't.

⟣ Yvonne Beauchene, the right hand.

Shoma's only trusted person alongside her family.  Yvonne was Shoma's guardian from the day he arrived at the church, although she had some problems because of it, and that is the reason why she had to leave, but surely nothing bad could happen, right?

⟅☙⟆ Likes ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Despite not having tasted it in recent years, she liked (and still remembers the taste of it, so she still likes) Yvonne's orange tarts a lot.  She used to do them when Seiji was not at home for her, Yui and Shoma.

⟣ She loves music, especially the one that doesn't have any type of letter and is only a beautiful and hypnotizing melody. Her favorite, and also Yvonne's, is "The Vampire Masquerade", which is the melody which Yvonne met her husband.

⟣ Regarding the above, she usually daydreams many times with music in the background and she likes that (because the real world sucks and it is her only way out of the stress and anxiety that she feels most of the time). She sometimes even draws or paints those scenarios that are formed in her head.

⟣ As said before, she likes to play decorating and decision-making video games.  Also, despite having the face of wanting some horror games (these make her heart race and sometimes she has panic attacks), she prefers Animal Crossing by a lot.

⟣ Loves snakes (which are not poisonous), cats and dogs.  Snakes are very good company, and cats and dogs are responsible for keeping her calm.

⟅☙⟆ Dislikes ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Despite having been seen surviving based on it, she does not like meat very much.  Of course, she can bear it, she even likes some (very few) meat dishes !, but there are certain types of meat that remind him too much of ... well, her own meat.

⟣ Obviously, she can't stand going to churches or things related to religion.  She gets too anxious and nervous.

⟣ Her body and mind literally rejects any kind of physical affection if she doesn't know the person very well or doesn't trust them. It's no surprise, considering her personality.  Very few people are lucky enough to even put a hand on her shoulder and not get hurt (Shoma doesn't do it on purpose).

⟅☙⟆ Fears and Phobias ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Somniphobia: fear of sleeping.

Oneirophobia, somniphobia, clinophobia or hypnophobia is an irrational and excessive fear of the act of sleeping.  People who suffer from it enter a state of panic caused by the fear that while they are sleeping something terrible will happen to them, such as the possibility of stopping breathing or that they will never wake up, even knowing that there is no threat, but  they stay awake, presenting insomnia.  Some people who have this phobia associate going to bed with death.

In some cases, panic is unleashed by the belief that the dreams that will be had when sleeping are actually delusions and these will favor falling into a state of permanent madness.  This type of phobia generates a great deal of stress and significant physical and mental deterioration, so it is not uncommon for many people to end up suffering from hallucinations, a fact that further aggravates this type of phobia: fear of sleeping.

Shoma cannot sleep because various things used to happen during these.  She remembers well once a nun (then she disappeared without a trace) entered her room and hanged her, almost killing her if it weren't for Yui screaming for help.

⟣ Theophobia: fear of religion.

Theophobia is the fear or aversion to religion or the gods, and being more common among people who are raised in an environment of iron religiosity.  Theophobia can express itself as fear, aversion, anger, or other negative emotion towards religious practices.  In some cases, the theophobic representation can categorize the deity as an arbitrary totalitarian dictator or, conversely, as unworthy of worship.

It is common among people who suffer from theophobia to avoid religious texts, houses of worship (churches, mosques, synagogues ...) and even the parishioners of a religion.

The young woman lived in a church for years and was not treated as "a daughter of God", but as "an aberration of satan" by her father and certain nuns.  She causes him so much fear that, if there really is a god, she has abandoned her for "not being worthy".  Many things together caused this irrational fear of religion in general.

⟣ Hafephobia: fear of being touched.

Hafephobia is a specific phobic disorder (unlike agoraphobia or social phobia) that causes great suffering in the person who suffers from it.

It is an irrational fear of great intensity that manifests itself when the individual suffering from the phobia comes into physical contact with other people and is touched.  It produces a series of cognitive, physiological or behavioral responses, among which extreme anxiety and the attempt to avoid the feared stimulus to reduce the unpleasant sensation stand out.

Shoma, of course, is working on this and for now she's doing very well, but if she's some stranger, she isn't going to allow herself to be touched or touched by another individual. She is so afraid that every touch will turn into a blow or something to harm her.

⟣ Atazagoraphobia: fear of forgetting.

Atazagoraphobia is the excessive fear of forgetting, which includes both the fear of forgetting and the fear of being forgotten or replaced by others.  Despite the fact that it is a common sensation, atazagoraphobia has been little described in scientific language.  In fact, it has been more pointed out by philosophers and writers who speak of atazagoraphobia as the fear of eternal anonymity.

Shoma was literally forgotten or ignored from a young age, and she doesn't want to go through it again. She doesn't want to feel so cold again that she can't breathe properly or move. She can't, she doesn't want to...

⟅☙⟆ Headcannon Voice ⟅☙⟆

Mia Rodríguez.

⟅☙⟆ Skills ⟅☙⟆

⟣ She is impressively good with knives and razors.  She usually uses them for cooking.

⟣ Literally she can imitate many voices, even male ones.  She uses it to make jokes or for some plan (to get some dessert) that she has in mind.

⟣ She is becoming more and more independent, and that is why she is getting very good at cooking.  She even manages to focus on that rather than other things.

⟅☙⟆ Extra ⟅☙⟆

⟣ She has undiagnosed “attention deficit hyperactivity disorder”.

⟣ She tends to bite her arm or bite her nails if she is very anxious.

⟣ It is difficult for her to accept some changes in her life, but she manages to adapt step by step.

⟣ She likes to play with Yvonne's family, August, her husband, being Shoma's favorite.

⟣ She is considerably innocent of the world around her, but at the same time, she isn't.  She is aware that the world revolves around that filthy green paper, and she is very clever with it.  She knows that her "condition" and her situation may be a weak point, but it is for that reason that she is also careful who she hangs out with.

⟅☙⟆ History ⟅☙⟆

Shoma arrived at the doors of the Komori family church on May 22, 2001, with only a note that said "My name is Shoma, Mom and Dad can no longer take care of me," just three weeks after I was born. She was greeted by one of the local sisters, a favorite of the owner and leader of that church, Seiji Komori. The latter named was not on that cold night, with the snow falling slowly in that beautiful place, so the same sister took care of the girl in his absence.

A girl with blond hair and pink eyes like the petals of a cherry tree approached said sister, curious by the cries that began to be heard.  Seeing her up close, and seeing that beautiful celestial gaze, the seven-year-old girl took the girl in her arms (with the permission of her sister), and did not leave her during that night until the next day. It was no surprise to the sister that her crying stopped as soon as the young Komori began to gently cradle her in her arms.

Still, from the moment Seiji arrived, he knew that something was wrong with the girl, that she was "not human", and that he probably knew whose "gift" it was.  Shoma was unwelcome, and he couldn't show her that in public, not with Yui close to her. Also, the plan deviated. No, he isn't supposed to have two daughters, and she is supposed to be just one more orphan, but the young blonde girl already called her "Shoma Umi Komori", and that could be ... Something dangerous for him.  Obviously, the orders for Shoma to come to his office were not long in coming as soon as he was two years old.

What Shoma saw in her supposed father's room was sealed in her mind, and nothing else. Every time Shoma was called to her father's office, her heart raced because she knew something bad was going to happen.  Every time that happened it was because she Shoma found out more and more that she was going to happen to every sixteen, maybe seventeen-year-old on certain dates. It was because Shoma knew too much about her, and if he couldn't make her forget everything she had seen, then she would silence her to her grave.  Every time Shoma gained courage and told Yui, she was scolded for inventing such things, and she would see her father again for "breaking her promise" to him.

The only one who managed to believe her is the same sister who received her the day Shoma arrived there, although that same sister would get a serious face everytime Sho told her that, she never had to see her father when she told Yvonne.

But, one day, Seiji went a bit far with the punishments, and let the fury just blind him, even if he didn't even regret it afterwards.  Seeing Shoma talk to someone... Important, once this man left the church it just infuriated him. That man's smile when he stopped talking to her and saw him in the eye was not good news at all.  That night, everyone heard the screams of a three-year-old girl resound throughout the establishment, and she was found in the middle of the hall with a desperate Seiji, saying that she had been playing with a poker and that she tripped, with it smacking part of her face.

Shoma began to startle every time someone moved near her, every time someone placed her hand on some part of her body, or when they called her, or when they approached her. She didn't separate from Yui or the sister she trusted so much, and even though it started to be annoying for Yui as she grew older, there were very few times when she was really rude to Shoma due to the fatigue of having her on her back every day three seconds, but they just didn't help Shoma with her fear of being alone, either with Seiji, or with certain nuns. The sister who had her trust steadfastly refused to leave her alone if she wasn't with Yui, although it was only because she slipped out of sight once.

Things escalated to the worse on December 12, 2006, at exactly a quarter past two in the morning.  It was precisely an exhausting day for the girl, because the nun who was taking care of her and her sister had to leave due to family problems, or so they told her.

The albino-haired girl couldn't sleep due to some nightmares, even though she had become very habitual.  The young woman began to hear murmurs and footsteps outside the room that she shared with Yui, and she could make out her father's voice.  She could make out her desperate tone from her ... And, strangely, anger.

Carefully, she got out of her bed without making any noise, but following a little voice in her head, she took the camera that belonged to the blonde that was a gift from her only trusted caregiver, and opened  slowly the door.  Her father had locked himself in her office, and she could hear someone else's voice.  On tiptoe, he approached the door ajar, and looked behind it.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she saw the body of one of the older girls on the ground, tied up and with blood pouring from her head.  That memory is somewhat blurry, but it remembers very well various parts of the conversation between her father and a man with long hair.  She took photos, and to her surprise, they did not have flash, and the photos came out perfectly ... That woman had many strange objects.

Once she finished, she turned, intending to leave, but one of the nuns spotted her, yelling to warn Seiji. Shoma wasted no time running and closing in on her sister's room, which she was awakened by her scream. Shoma told her everything quickly, leaving the photos to hide them, and the little girl didn't hesitate long to jump out the window (it was not the first time that she did that out of boredom), and she ran away from there.  Still, the nun had gone ahead, and it wasn't long to be just a few steps away from her with her father's poker, part of them burning. 

She remembers her sister with hatred seeing it all in horror and just standing there with the camera in her hands, shaking, to simply turn and turn her back on him.

In the blink of an eye, she was dragged by her hair by her "father" and other nuns, and before she had a chance to run away, the girl was thrown into the basement, away from other people, away from Yui, away from  everyone.  She tried to get out, scream, but no one ever came.

Nobody, nobody at all...

And here ends her story.  The young woman, thanks to her curiosity, sealed her fate.  She was destined to die in that place, even if she didn't want that, alone and starving, not knowing if Yui or someone would remember her...

But they say that there is always someone who takes care of us somewhere, right?  Even if she has no hope... Maybe there really is someone, even without her knowing it.

[jilytho]

will you accept this rose ch 2

Read below or on AO3

The Bachelor was the last reality competition show Lily had ever envisioned herself going on. Wipeout? Sure. Love it or List It? You bet. Survivor? 1000%. But The Bachelor? Never.

She watched it almost every season, of course. It was her sister Petunias favorite show so she’d grown up watching it and had started to like it. She was more into The Bachelorette but even after moving out of her childhood home and into her campus apartment with Marlene and Mary, she found herself putting it on weekly voluntarily. It became their little tradition. Monday nights, it didn’t matter what was happening in school or work or with significant others, they were to meet on the couch with large bottles of red wine and order takeaway.

They knew it was all staged and fake, of course. There was no way half of what happened wasn’t completely orchestrated by producers but that didn’t mean it wasn’t entertaining. They’d offer up their opinions, place bets on the winner, predict each cringey line, and most importantly, how they’d react to each date and situation.

You find out one of the other contestants is making up lies about another, do you tell the Bachelor, confront the liar, or stay out of it? You’re told to stick to a two drink limit per cocktail party, do you follow that, not drink at all, or sneak shots in when nobody is looking?

They treat the show like a video game, what would you do if you were orchestrating the actions, how would you act from a producer's side, from the Bachelor view, and of course, as a contestant. How would you respond when he tells you he wants someone who will stay home with their children all day. Would kissing with eyes open be a dealbreaker? Or something you can work on together. It became an interactive game show almost, and it became very easy to disassociate the contestants into characters on a scripted show instead of real people, just like them.

Their little game collapsed when Petunia came to visit one week. It was her moms idea. Have Petunia stay over at Lilys for just a night, let them go out on the town and talk Petunia wedding prep, watch The Bachelor together and bond like the old days.

She arrived at noon on Monday, an hour earlier than she was supposed to, which Lily had of course predicted. Petunia apologized profusely and insincerely for not giving Lily enough time to shower and properly clean her apartment, despite the fact that Lily had been up till 4am the previous night scrubbing the kitchen and permanently burning off skin cells with bleach.

They’d gone shopping, each dressing room filled with thinly veiled insults on Lily's figure, her hair, her style. Lunch was spent condescendingly discussing how the red meat in a burger was going to inevitably lead to Lily’s death and didn’t she know that no man liked a girl who could eat as much as they could?

Lily had sent 18 SOS texts and red wine emojis to Mary and Marlene in their group chat by the time the bill came. By the time they got home, Mary and Marlene were both waiting, wine poured and discussion topics ready to take the focus off of Lily.

They passed time as a group, chatting while Lily played a silent drinking game that Marlene had quickly caught on to. Drink at every condescending comment Lily was the focus of, drink everytime Petunia talked about how well Vernons job paid, drink everytime Petunia said Lily drank too much, drink everytime Petunia suggested no man would really care about an advanced degree. The advanced degree comments were crossing lines because Petunia knew that it wasn’t just Lily getting her masters, but all three of them. Insult her all night, fine, but insulting her friends right to their face was too much. Lily almost lashed out and kicked her out right then and there but Mary handled it gracefully by reminding Petunia that she doesn't “quite care if any men were interested, as long as women are”.

Petunia stayed silent for an amazing fifteen minutes after that.

They were able to fill the time leading up until the episode began with discussing the season thus far, the relationships and chemistry, or lack thereof. The wine was ridiculously useful in aiding her shoulders dropping and time began to pass at an acceptable rate. As soon as the episode began, Lily was able to mostly forget Petunia was there, easily falling back into her game with Mary and Marlene.

“You know that’s not how I’d handle someone like Victoria. I feel like with a person like her you really just have to-”

“Lily, would you shut up? The rest of us are actually trying to watch the show.” Petunia snapped at her, neck flipping obnoxiously to glare at her from the opposite couch.

“Actually, Petunia,” Marlene interrupted icily, “I was really interested in Lily’s thoughts. In the future, I’d prefer you not speak for me.”

“Why is she acting like she’d ever be in that situation?” Petniuan shot back, “it's not like she’d ever be on the show, she’s clearly not up to their standards.” Petunia took an obnoxious gulp of her wine, sneering over the lip of the glass.

“Any bachelor of any season would be lucky and grateful to have Lily on the show and if you think anything else you should probably just go.”

“Even if you somehow got onto the show, there is literally no man on earth that would give you a rose over any of these women.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we, Pet?” Lily drained her rather full glass and immediately unlocked her phone, googling the application process for the following season.

She didn’t know who the Bachelor was going to be, and she didn’t care, the wine mixed with Petunia's attitude was plenty of motivation and before the next commercial break Lily had already completed and submitted her application, without any proofreading.

XXX

She’d almost forgotten ever applying. She fought hard to forget every second of her time with Petunia over that visit and applying to the Bachelor seemed to be part of that.

When she’d received the email that her application had been accepted and that she’d be moving on to the next round of the interview process, she almost deleted it. They’d included a photo of who the next Bachelor was in the email, however, and something about his eyes made her hesitate. Warm and hazel, sharp jawline, deeply tanned skin, drop dead gorgeous, exactly her type. Regardless of the way her mouth dropped, and regardless of how intelligent and beautiful most of the women on the show were, she was not the kind to compete with 30 other women for one man's attention.

Her finger hovered over the trash button but she couldn't bring herself to do it, instead closing out her inbox and moving on with her day, the knowledge that it was still sitting there, waiting for her, sat in the back of her mind all day.

She was probably just going to ignore it. All day while she worked on her thesis, it taunted her, but she couldn’t bring herself to delete it and she certainly couldn’t bring herself to respond so instead it just sat.

Until she opened the mail. And right there, right on top, was Lily’s invite to Petunia's wedding. Enclosed was a note, “Lily, as you can see on your invitation, we have chosen to not give you a plus one. Since you are not currently in a serious relationship, or the relationship type, we’d much prefer to not have some stranger at our wedding who we’d have to cut out of the photos or spend money on dinner for a friend. See you then.”

That was the deciding factor. “I’ll show you relationship type,” she whispered to herself angrily as she pulled up the email again, flitting past James’s face to the response button and booking herself an interview.

Marlene and Mary both died laughing when they figured out what she had done. She’d come home, popped open a bottle of tequila, poured three shots into a juice glass and threw it back before the entire story came pouring out of her.

[meetthetank]

Cruciamen Chapter 8: In the Shadow of the Primordial Lords

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/7522249

A2 wakes to a searing pain in their wrists and ankles and a disorienting sinking sensation, as if their stomach is about to drop through their back. Their body sways back and forth, dangling from whatever holds their arms and legs in place. They slowly open their eyes, fighting past exhaustion and caked mud, and see a mangrove canopy come into focus, along with their hands and feet bound to a thick branch with rough, hempen rope. Panic shoots through their body and they try to tug at the ropes with what strength they can muster in this position. All they succeed in is digging the coarse rope into their skin further.

They hiss quietly as they become more aware of their pain and the world around them. There’s multiple sets of footsteps that break through the din of nature, the clattering of wood and bone against each other, and whatever language their captors are speaking. Some of the women, clad in bone and hide armor, glare at A2 as they struggle but make no move to stop them yet. 

Despite the hopelessness of the situation, a desperate escape plan begins to brew in A2’s head. If they can at least break through the ropes around their wrists then they could twist themselves around enough to undo the ones on their legs. They’d have to be quick; the witches are watching every so often, but seem to be confident that their prey can’t escape. Maybe A2 can use that to their advantage.

Straining their chest and arms, A2 pulls themself up to their tied wrists and bites at the ropes. Whatever the material is tastes horrific, like mud and rotten bone, but it’s brittle and easily sheared apart. With their mouth full of rope, they gnaw at their restraints like a desperate rat. Each bite makes the rope’s grip looser and looser, their teeth easily pulling it to pieces. The more success they find the more anxious they get, caution being replaced by frantic desperation. 

Suddenly, one of the large warrior women shouts something in her harsh tongue. A2 hisses a curse in their own native tongue, before the witch slams her club into A2’s skull. They don’t even get to finish their insult before their world slips into darkness.

This time, A2 awakens to a vile stench and an ache in their whole body.

There isn’t one source they can place the smell at. It is an acrid melding of mud, stagnant water, feces, and corpses. The sting of smoke lingers in the air as well, but it’s different than a typical campfire, more harsh. The witches aren’t burning wood.

A2 cracks their eyes open once more, this time to the sight of a strange village settled in a rare firm stretch of mud. A well-worn path of soft mud and stone twists through the mangroves into a clearing; a barren pit of sludge dotted with structures constructed of gnarled branches and uncut boulders and decorated with grim trophies; skulls, horns, skins, and dried organs. Animal hides cover the roofs and hang above doors; bones and skulls provide support for long leather pelts. In fact, whatever isn’t made of wood or stone is made from bones and hides. Crude benches and stools stand above piles of corpses freshly picked, bare of all meat and skin, leaving bloodied skeletons to dry in the sun. It doesn’t take long for A2 to discern what this means for them. 

The witches don’t seem to notice that they’re awake, and A2 plans to keep it that way for as long as they can. If they can get their bearings and search out some kind of escape route, then at least they’ll have a plan in some capacity. 

Exploiting a weakness in the guard patrols doesn’t seem like it’ll be viable. There are countless women wandering around the village doing every sort of task available. Some are weaving, carving bones, and mending furniture; others watch the few children that scamper around the proud huntresses and their catch, yelling at the kids if they get too close; and even more skin and gut fresh kills, tossing the bones aside to the ever growing piles. Though only a few of them have weapons, gruesome crude blades and spears similar to the ones the huntresses carry, there’s enough to give A2 pause while they contemplate just fighting their way through the village. There’s no telling how many of the witches are competent fighters or archers.

A2 considers simply transforming and flying away as soon as their limbs are free. The canopy isn’t as dense here as it is in the untouched sections of The Bog, and even if they couldn’t fit through the branches they could at least jump from tree to tree and glide into denser portions. But with the witches’ pet rats and arrows that could be a problem too…

Before they can decide on a plan of action that wouldn’t immediately fail, something sinister comes into view.

A wooden cage, surrounded by skulls on pikes and inward pointing spikes, covering a gaping hole in the earth. The stench of feces, urine, and death attracts a swarm of huge flies that hover around the cage, enticed by the smells that make A2 gag. Another witch, this one wearing a mask made of a rat’s hollowed out head, grumbles something to the huntresses in a raspy voice before opening a section of the wooden cage. A feverish chill runs down A2’s spine as desperate, longing moans drift out of the pit.

The huntresses cut A2 down from the log suddenly; they land in the mud with a wet splat, before a brutal kick sends them over the edge and plummeting into the filth below. They land in a puddle of murk that seeps into their scales, clothes, and hair. Whatever the fluid is sticks to them in sick clumps of… A2 doesn’t want to know. It stinks of so many things that it’s hard to pin down a single source. 

It’s hard to stand. Whenever they put their foot down the ground itself gives, either sinking and engulfing their foot or sliding out from under them. It takes a few attempts, one of which has A2 falling face first into the grime, but they eventually manage to stand and get their bearings. Their first order of business is to toss away the scraps of rope that still cling to their wrists and ankles. The second, is to address the men huddled together on the other side of the pit.

If A2 didn’t know any better, they would have thought that the men were all the same person. Each one has the same terrified, starved, desperate look about them. Like rats, they think. The men are covered with festering sores all over their bodies, some crudely wrapped with scraps of cloth just as filthy as the rest of them. Only one still has hair, but not much. Whatever is left looks as if it would fall out at any given moment. The same can be said for their skin, discolored, sagging, barely hanging onto their skeletons. Each man looks like they’re on the brink of death, or on the brink of rushing A2 and devouring them whole.

“Poor soul…” One man, the oldest it seems, says and steps forward from the group. “What is your name?”

A2 stares at him, watching his gnarled hands and twisted fingernails. They say nothing, but they stand tall, unwavering. They can’t show weakness.

The old man looks at them with sunken, sad eyes. “Can you speak, child?” His voice is raspy but gentle and nostalgic. It reminds them of one of their village elders.

They nod, but still refuse to speak. The other men relax a little but still stay close together, shivering against each other. The old man shivers too, but manages a calm facade as he steps closer to them.

A2 can’t read this man, or at the very least there’s too much to read on his wrinkled sagging face. There’s a sadness etched into every crease on his skin, but he smiles with such warmth that they wonder how this kindness survived down here. “How long have you been here?” they ask, their voice low and cautious.

The old man sighs, “I have seen at least three full moons come and go. The others arrived not long after myself.” 

A2 watches as the other men begin to approach them and the old man as he explains his story.

“I used to be a cleric for the theocracy,” he says, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I was escorting a group of Old Empire refugees to the Blessed Grounds and cut through a part of this place. Obviously, it did not end well.” His expression darkens, eyes fixated on the mud. “The lambs were the lucky ones. They were taken by the swamp creatures well before the Bog Witches found me.” He gestures to the other men, who now sit beside the old man. “These knights were snatched from their troop as they cut through the Bog as well.”

A chill runs through A2’s body, whether from fear or the cold mud seeping through their clothes they can’t tell. Part of their mind runs through escape plans while the other festers in a creeping dread that weighs down their limbs.

“Have any of you tried to get out?” they ask, though in their heart they know the answer.

The old man shakes his head. “I am afraid not. The walls are too slick to climb, even when the knights were fit. The witches only toss whatever rotten scraps they do not eat our way, to keep us weak.” His gaze shifts to a pile of shattered bones in the shadows of the pit. “Not even our dead can give us strength.”

A2 suppresses the bile that rises in their throat.

He rises to his feet, his joints creaking and straining under his emaciated body, and gently takes A2’s hand in his. “I am so sorry, child,” he says in a voice that wavers with the effort.

They rip their hand away, the old man’s warped fingernails scratching at their scales. He flinches away from their scowl and their bared teeth.

“I won’t die here,” they growl. “I am not going to die here.”

The starving men leave A2 alone for the rest of the day. It isn’t that A2 holds any malice to them, but to see these men waste away in a pit of their own filth is more than infuriating. There has to be a way to escape, and they won’t sit idle and wait to die. They pace around the perimeter of the pit, searching for stones, branches or roots, anything that the men could use to climb out. For a moment, they consider the broken bones of the consumed dead, but they refuse to touch them. Even looking at them makes A2 nauseous. 

A2 carves a rut into the ground with their pacing, but losing themself in their thoughts has allowed time to pass much faster. Soon soft rays of moonlight filter down through the trees into the filthy prison. The chatter of witches and their animals fades into the darkness as the nocturnal Bog creatures begin their own songs. The torchlight that surrounded the rim fades to embers that barely illuminate the wooden bars of the cage. All of the men huddle together in a strange sleeping arrangement, possibly to stave off the cold. Besides the spasmic shivers that run through their bodies A2 would mistake them for dead. 

If they are to escape, now is the time.

Their body feels tense. Each movement makes their bones creak and muscles strain. Perhaps it’s because they haven’t eaten in a bit, or the heavy, stagnant air of this place, but their mind feels clouded. For a moment they toy with the idea of waiting till they have a clear head, but they grit their teeth and launch themself into the air. 

With a brilliant flash of light their form erupts into feathers and claws. The wooden cage shatters into pieces as the dragonic form of A2 bursts from their prison. From below, the starving men gasp as they wake to find the cage destroyed and a red feathered dragon launching into the air. A pair of mange-riddled dogs tied to a post of the ruined cage jolt awake, howling and snarling at the intruding creature. A2 makes short work of them with their claws and beak. The meat still tastes like rotten mud. 

A2 takes stock of their surroundings as they touch down just beside the pit’s edge. Eerie silence replaces the din of nature. Whatever animals must have left at the sound of a larger creature, but soon A2 hears noises coming from the huts surrounding the pit. The moving of furniture, footsteps, and muffled voices. The witches would be coming out soon. 

“Hey! Wait!!!”

Just as A2 readies themself to take to the air, a pained, desperate voice calls out to them. From down below, one of the starved men looks up at them with wide eyes.

“Please!! Take us too!! Don’t leave us here!!”

A2 gazes down at the man and every part of their body begs to bolt and leave these men for dead. The starved men are dying anyway, they’d most likely die in The Bog from starvation or some hungry animal if A2 does pull them out. And yet they find themself crouching beside the edge and reaching down their neck as far as they can. The man jumps, his fingertips just barely brushing the tip of their beak. They growl and hiss, the urge to abandon the men growing by the second, but they dig the claws on their wings into the mud and lean further in.

Suddenly a bellowing voice echoes across the village and a massive shape charges them. A2’s head snaps up just as a large net is thrown above them. Just before the weighted net traps them again, they revert back to their human form and dive out from under it. They skid across the slick mud a few feet before pushing themself back to their feet. Looking behind them, A2 sees a witch that easily stands over eight feet tall lumbering across the village plaza to retrieve the thrown net. She locks eyes with A2, bloodshot, collapsed pupils filled with malice. Not keen on getting caught again, they dart around the side of the pit to put an uncrossable space between them and her. 

Something catches A2’s eye: the glint of black iron in the moonlight. A few strides away, discarded amongst a pile of filthy clothes, is their sword. The hulking witch seems to pick up on A2’s idea and bellows something they can only assume are slurs. She leans forward and in two thunderous steps launches herself over the mouth of the pit. A2 wastes no time, diving for their sword just as the witch lands. Mud and rotten plant matter splashes in all directions under the weight of the witch, but the bog’s floor gives too much, engulfing her feet in the soft mud. 

The witch lunges for A2, the mud holding her feet steady. A2 throws their sword up as a shield against her, but the colossal witch falls, her sharpened fingernails just inches from the black iron blade. With a short step forward and a burst of furious strength A2 drives the sword’s point straight through her shoulder. The witch shudders and slumps forward with a dying gurgle, blood and mucus pouring out of her mouth.

A grim, violent pride rises in A2’s chest as they wrench the sword free from the witch’s corpse. It surges through their veins like fire and urges them to unleash it upon the village. This place had captured them, wronged them, disempowered them, and the whole of this wretched coven needed to pay for it. All the huntresses, healers, artisans, and children. 

However, just as their rampage begins, a crude arrow dripping with poisons lands in their shoulder. Before the pain registers in their head, their arm goes limp. Their sword falls from their hand into the mud and no matter how much they try they can’t make their arm move. Then the pain ignites A2’s arm from the inside. They fall to their knees and scream, their arm thrashing wildly outside of their control. Their vision blurs and pulses in time with their rapid heartbeat, the poison and pain spreading further with each beat. Something yanks on their hair and with their body rigid with pain they cannot resist being dragged back towards the gaping hole in the ground.

Whoever found them, and most likely shot them, tosses them callously back into the pit. The first thing they see when they open their eyes are the sad, hungry eyes of the starving men they should have left behind.

[myleftarmis-whumped-isthatnormal]

The Video

“Peter.” The automated voice breaks a fidgety silence like a sudden alarm. Blue computer light penetrates the otherwise pitch black room, making Peter squint. An alert pops up on the screen.

Peter’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. “FRIDAY?”

“Peter, I cannot allow you to override my security again," the AI states flatly. "The protocols have changed.”

“What?” A week ago, Peter wouldn’t have imagined he’d get to the point of arguing with Mr. Stark’s AI. But then, a lot of things have happened since then that he wouldn’t have imagined. “What do you mean, changed?”

“You can’t watch the video.”

Peter swallows. Other kids might have other reasons to hack into SI’s most advanced systems. For information, for a dare. Just his luck to be different. Just his luck to be the kid breaking in to watch some kidnappers’ torture videos.

Torture videos of Mr. Stark.

“So there is another one,” he says carefully, starting to type. “But you never stopped me before.”

FRIDAY blocks Peter’s code with another alert message. “I activated mandatory barriers—”

“You put Colonel Rhodes off my scent.” Peter’s fingers fly across the keyboard now. “Why isn’t today’s video exempted by the ‘Points for Effort’ protocol, FRI? What’s different about this one?”

Peter knows there’s something different about this one.

Three days after Mr. Stark disappeared, SI had begun to receive videos. Footage. Never a demand, never any information, never anything more than Tony Stark being tortured in several different ways for five to seven minutes, some intimidation play or whatever the hell this was. One video a day.

And no one but FRIDAY knows Peter has been watching them, too.

But today there’d been even less talk around the Compound. Today Peter caught a couple of furtive glances his way. Today Ms. Potts had asked to talk with him, and Peter thought she’d finally broach the subject, but she seemed to change her mind in the middle of the conversation.

Today was off.

“Damn it, FRI,” Peter hisses when another attempt is thwarted. “And don't give me the speech about protecting me, it's not gonna work.” He swallows down the building frustration. Hey, what’s another emotion to suppress in this hell of a week. It can play in his stomach with Mr. Worry and Ms. Guilt.

“I calculate viewing this footage will be detrimental to your mental state, Peter.”

“My mental state,” Peter laughs.

The folder Peter had been working on opens, against FRIDAY’s protocols, and Peter types even faster.

“The contents of this video are along the same vein as the others, but some information is revealed that... changes the situation.”

“Then I have to know,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t understand, you know everything.”

“Not everything,” FRIDAY replies, and Peter is struck by how human her voice sounds this time. How regretful.

“I get—” Code. Firewall. Override. “I get it’s gory, and useless, and—” Open folder. Block. “Fucking sadistic, FRI. I get why they don’t want me to see it.” Override. File loading. “But I have to. I have to.”

Peter can’t explain it, not to himself, and certainly not to an AI. But the videos draw him like nothing has before.

Sure, maybe it’s the guilt. Mr. Stark kidnapped in the middle of a mission they went on together, that familiar nagging grief of failing to protect someone he cares about. And maybe it’s the hope that the footage will reveal any kind of information as to who these bastards are, where they’re holding Mr. Stark, or what they even want from him.

But also, maybe Peter accepts that it’s just better this way. No matter how much it makes him puke afterward, after watching the first video and that brutal whipping, Peter decided that knowing the daily videos’ content is better than leaving anything to his imagination at this point.

“It’s different this time,” FRIDAY warns him.

“Yeah, I got that, FRIDAY.” Peter nearly crumples the mouse in his hand when a sudden thought hits him. “Oh my god,” he whispers, “he’s not — he’s—”

“No,” FRIDAY answers quickly. “No, Tony’s not dead.”

Peter’s gut unclenches, then clenches again. “Then I'm not stopping.”

He unlocks the video, finally, a split-second before FRIDAY closes it. But in that split-second Peter catches the thumbnail. A view from above. Mr. Stark restrained on a table, metal clamps on his fingers and toes and bare chest.

Peter wants to throw up.

It takes him a few seconds to notice FRIDAY has been quiet. And he realizes he must have been, too.

He inhales deeply, still feeling his increased heartbeat after the shock of the thumbnail image. “FRI?” he tries eventually.

“Peter. If you keep going...” Something in FRIDAY’s voice is different this time. More forceful. As if she’d changed her mind in the same seconds Peter had frozen in reaction to the thumbnail. Recalculated. Yielded. “You’ll have to promise something.”

“You’re losing,” Peter croaks, pulling the video up yet again, fingers typing on autodrive. “Doesn’t count.”

FRIDAY is silent again.

And then, as if to make a point, the security alerts drop all at once. Peter slumps back in his chair.

“Watch,” FRIDAY says, something hard behind her neutral voice. “But promise something.”

And FRIDAY plays the video.

The screaming starts as soon as the video does. Mr. Stark arches off the table, only the restraints on his wrists and ankles holding him back. Screaming and yelling and whimpering, alternating with the fall and rise of electric current.

Blood starts to drip from Mr. Stark’s nose and mouth, and they pause the electrocution. But it’s only to attach another electrode in the middle of the metal hole in his chest. Peter grips the sides of his chair.

“Come on, Stark.” The voice is disguised, deep, but Peter leans in closer all the same, eyes widening. They’d never questioned him on camera before.

Mr. Stark laughs — laughs. He turns his head to the side, where the speaker must be, off-camera.

“You’re wasting your time,” he croaks, sweat shining on his forehead.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

They dump a bucket of water on his chest. Mr. Stark yelps. Another, soaking his pants. Another on his head.

Peter notices how badly his mentor’s hands shake when they pour the water slowly, so slowly, over his face. He still can’t shake the image of that second or third video, the waterboarding.

Except the water is playing another role in torturing Mr. Stark this time.

“Alright, scream us a show.” There’s a humming as the electricity starts up again. Peter turns his head to the side.

Three more minutes of the same thing. Screaming that rattles in Peter’s ears. A snicker, a bark of instructions somewhere in the background. And when the men deign to give him a break, Mr. Stark hacks his lungs up coughing, and Peter’s own chest aches.

Finally they slow down. A hand reaches into the video’s frame, settling on top of their captive’s rib cage. Mr. Stark clenches his fists, hissing in pain, though no other sound comes out. Remembering the beating of yesterday’s video, and seeing the bruises on Mr. Stark’s torso where the other man laid his hand, Peter clenches his fists, too.

“Do you know now?”

“Fu — fuck…”

The hand presses down on Mr. Stark’s bruised ribs. His head jerks up in reaction, then crashes back on the table with a hard thud.

Blinking rapidly through wet eyes, Peter urges his senses to stay attuned.

“Have we jogged your memory? Stark!”

Mr. Stark winces, eyes scrunching in pain. “Can’t — can’t take what’s not there,” he manages to rasp.

“Oh, it’s there.”

The arm moves out of the frame. Peter can’t see what’s going on, but he sees Mr. Stark turn his head after the man. Whatever he sees, it makes him groan, shutting his eyes.

“What? What does he want?” Peter whispers at the screen. “Mr. Stark, what do these bastards want?”

“Peter.” Peter jumps. FRIDAY’s voice seems alien now, like the video had transported him to a whole other world. “If you want to skip ahead, the answer to that question is at 7:46.”

Peter stares blankly at the screen, where Mr. Stark still has his eyes screwed shut, inhaling deeply. Like he’s preparing himself for something.

“No,” Peter decides. “No, I’m riding this out.”

FRIDAY considers his reply quietly.

More arms in the video. Across Mr. Stark’s chest. Inserting more wires into the center.

“Oh god,” Peter groans. Of course. The arc reactor that saved the man’s life, now ripped out, leaving only a metal hole that’s all too accessible. Too easy. Too damn vulnerable. “FRI,” Peter says, because he can’t stand the silence anymore, the painful sound of Mr. Stark’s heavy breathing, the way the hands prod at his mentor’s chest like a piece of meat. He has to talk, has to say something. “FRIDAY, what made you change your mind about showing me this?”

FRIDAY is silent, until eventually the hands leave, and Mr. Stark grits his teeth again. “Because you stuck it out, Peter," the AI replies slowly. "You still do. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t know everything. I’m always recalculating.” On-screen, the familiar hum of electricity starts up. “Maybe it will better for you to see this, after all. But promise something.”

It starts again.

Mr. Stark opens his mouth in a shout, but no sound comes out. As Peter anticipated, it looks like a whole other level of pain this time. Mr. Stark’s back arches off the table like before. But this time, he’s shaking head to foot.

It takes five seconds flat for Mr. Stark to start wailing. Peter bites his lip.

It’s never easy to see someone you look up to, crying.

“Fu—UCK! NO! I don’t know!”

Even harder to see someone who's always been strong for you, in this much agony.

“Please — FUCK! Please I don’t know I don’t — please — NO!”

And fucking harder to see someone you love, begging.

“Yes you do! You know you fucking do!” The same disguised deep voice, now shouting.

"I don't know!" Mr. Stark’s screams, his words, his sobs all mix together. “I don’t!”

“Say it, Stark!”

“Plea—aaauuUUGHH!” “Say it!”

“I don’t know who Spider-Man is!”

Peter's stomach drops.

The video screen falls away. His vision spins in slow-motion. Upside-down.

Mr. Stark’s shouts continue on the computer. His screams still ring out in the silence. But Peter doesn’t hear it anymore. He doesn’t hear anything.

Mr. Stark’s words just keep replaying and replaying in his mind. So this is what’s different. So this is what they want.

Peter thought nothing could be harder than watching Mr. Stark's torture?

He was wrong. Those six simple words took the prize.

“Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice filters through the fog. “Peter?”

He blinks. The surroundings, the room rushes back at him. The video had ended.

“FRIDAY… was that…”

“Yes,” she answers briefly, but not unkindly. “That was it.”

“God. Oh my god.”

Peter lets his head fall in his hands. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, crouching on the chair, in total silence in a dark room. Stinging pain in his chest. More than guilt. More than anger.

When he looks back up, FRIDAY has mercifully returned the computer to a blank screensaver.

“Why?” Peter asks. He isn’t sure what he means by that.

But FRIDAY seems to. She brings up some new files on the screen. A list. Peter squints, wiping his wet eyes. A list of names.

“This is the same list I provided to Colonel Rhodes and SHIELD," FRIDAY says quietly.

Peter scans through the names, suddenly realizing their significance. A serial killer he’d caught two months ago. The terrorist organization from his last Avengers mission. The powerful brother of a man who’d been killed fighting him.

Enemies of Spider-Man. Him. Peter Parker’s. Not Iron Man’s, not Tony Stark’s, not anything to do with the man getting torn a million ways to protect his secret. Amazing the torrent of emotions one simple revelation could bring.

Mr. Stark always worried his enemies would get to Peter because of him. But Peter never even considered the pain of being on the other side of that bargain.

“I suspect you'll be able to help SHIELD narrow this down,” FRIDAY tells Peter, as he continues scrolling through the list. "I've been helping you sneak around with the videos, Peter. I know now how much you care for Tony. And if you're this determined, we might as well take it all the way."

Peter still feels his heart hammering in his chest. Mr. Stark’s screams still ringing in his ears.

But there’s something else now, too. A feeling like he’s finally been let go. Like the adrenaline and the anxiety have made way for something else.

Like all the past videos have been piling on a huge bonfire. And this one finally lit the match.

“And the promise?” he asks, voice firm with newfound determination. But Peter thinks he already knows the answer.

In the short pause, Peter can almost imagine FRIDAY lifting her chin, leveling her eyes at him. Giving the same kind of look Mr. Stark would give him before a mission.

He has never before heard more emotion in the AI’s voice. “Give them hell, Peter.”

Also up on ao3! :D