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always-andromeda · 3 years ago

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iii. Head Over Heels

Eddie Munson x HendersonSister!Reader

Word Count | 4,014

Summary | Four months after taking you out, Eddie figures out that keeping a relationship with you secret is a little harder than he originally thought.

Author’s Note | Ngl, I struggled through this one a little. I am so soft for this man. I need him to look at me fondly. But I also need him carnally. I wont him. That's all I got for today folks, thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Warnings | we've got some slutty, slutty times ahead (MDNI), I love writing men who cry during sex oops, nothing else I can think of!

Parts |

Maneater

i. | ii. | iii.

Head Over Heels

i. | ii. | iii.

What do guys do when they piss off a girl they like? Eddie had no clue. He wasn't quite the soothing type; he preferred to instigate. That was what got him into the problem in the first place. Hours after the whole charade, he felt the guilt cutting deep into his stomach, making him a little sick. He shouldn't have gone as far as he did. His stupid mouth had to keep running until it got him into trouble.

So he swallowed his pride and bought a cheap bouquet of flowers from Melvald's and drove to your house. He felt even worse looking at the pathetic bundle. The flowers were wilting, which was why they had been so cheap. But it was the thought that counted with these things, right?

If Dustin was home, he'd have to mow right on through the kid and hope he didn't ask any questions. He'd explain and apologize later.

After a few minutes of building up the confidence to approach your front door in his van, he caved. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't drive away. You deserved some sort of apology after what he did. He knocked quickly, counting down the seconds that passed by until he could feasibly get back in his van. Maybe he'd drive himself directly off a cliff in embarrassment.

But before he could talk himself into ditching the flowers on your doorstep and fleeing the scene, the door opened. You're there, a thin frown formed on your lips, as the door rested on your hip.

“You have some nerve coming here.”

Eddie tried not to stutter, “I just wanted to talk.” He’d never felt this nervous around you. It had always been butterflies fluttering around his stomach or little sparks up his spine. Now, it seemed like your glare could burn him alive.

He watched you weigh out your options in your head. Part of him hoped that you'd slam the door in his face and put him out of his misery. He must've looked truly pathetic holding the pathetic bouquet in his sweaty palms. Most of the petals had fallen off on his passenger seat, leaving mostly stems.

“You’re lucky I’m home alone.” You nodded your head and allowed him enough space to enter, taking the flowers as he passed by. Of course he wouldn't be so lucky that you'd let him off easily.

You throw the flowers down on a recliner in your living room and fold your arms, “Okay, talk.”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry?” The house was eerily quiet. He felt awkward being there, especially knowing that it was Dustin's house. The whole ordeal wasn't the kid's business, but he still felt terrible keeping such a large secret from him.

“That’s it? You came over here with that shit," you gestured towards the sad bouquet. "To embarrass me even more than you already have—just to say that pitiful sorry?”

“I didn’t think I’d get this far!”

You were very clearly done with him, “Good, then you can go. Now you can pretend that you did something honorable and kindly, leave me alone.”

“That’s not what I wanted.” He rocked back and forth on his shoes and rubbed the pads of his fingers on his palms.

“Then what did you want from me? Because you couldn’t have been expecting me to be jumping for joy exactly.”

“I wanted you to…I don’t know. I guess I wanted to stop feeling like shit.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flashed the whole school my underwear.”

Eddie winced at the mention of it as if he could've avoided your bluntness, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

You raised a finger at him, “No, you don’t get it. Half the boys in our school can whore themselves out and nothing happens to them. If anything, it makes them that much more desirable. But when I go out, I get a reputation. I get guys whispering to each other that I’m easy.” A shaky breath rattled you, “What you did today only makes all of that so much worse.”

The answer was so clear to him, “Then let them talk about both of us.”

“I really don’t need-”

Eddie interrupted you, inching towards you, "We don’t need any of those assholes as long as we’ve got each other. If they're gonna judge you, is it really worth staying friends with them? Is it worth giving a fuck about what they have to say?”

You were quiet. He wasn't sure if he'd only made you more annoyed or if you were willing to listen. Either way, he continued, grabbing your hand in the process. It was limp like you weren't willing to put in the effort to really connect with him.

"Listen, you were right. I'm a big old attention whore. And what I did...it sucked. And I'm sorry." Eddie sighed, "You know by now that I like you. Like a lot. But if we have any chance at making it, we've got to do it together."

Your voice was uncharacteristically small, "Wasn't it fun, though? When it was just us?" He could see a flicker of longing behind your downcast gaze.

Eddie smiled slightly, "Fuck yeah, it was a lot of fun. It can still be just us. But we have to get rid of some of the secrecy." He hooked his arms around you gingerly and pulled you closer. His body was stable, grounding. "I want my uncle to meet you. Fuck, I wanna come over for dinner and be all nice and polite for your mom. I want to see the look on Dustin's face when you introduce me as your boyfriend. I want everyone to know that we've got something that is so strong that they can't touch it. They can’t say shit to us."

You directed your soft eyes to him, "You make really good points when you actually think things through. Instead of act impulsively."

"I'm sorry." He wouldn't be able to say it enough, he was sure of it. And he didn't expect you to forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself for what he'd done. He thought he'd had you pegged completely. But he wasn't sure how he hadn't seen the insecurities you had. He scolded himself for not figuring it out.

Eddie massaged your lower back, hoping the action solidified his apology. You hummed appreciatively and cupped his face in your hands. It fit so perfectly resting in his palms. The two of you clicked even further into place as you drew him into an easy kiss. It quickly became heavier as you pressed yourself deep into his arms.

You released him just enough to rasp, "Let's go to my room."

Eddie bit his lip hard as you pushed him into your bedroom door, keeping him caged in with your shorter frame. He couldn't even take a look around the place before you were smothering his lips with yours again. It took him a second to respond, closing his eyes and submitting to your feverish touch. You bit his bottom lip and tugged on it before letting it snap back in place. His own mouth parted slightly as he looked down at you. There was a delightfully sinful intent in your desperate expression.

A smirk formed on the corner of his lip, realizing the drastic switch in your mood, "There you are, princess."

You weren't having any of his insufferable teasing, "Lay down." You ordered him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, twisting him around until you could push him back on the single bed.

After landing with a soft thump on your floral chenille bedspread, Eddie spoke languidly, "Whatever you say, your highness." His eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. You crawled up the length of the bed on your hands and knees, approaching him.

You raised an eyebrow and let out an exasperated sigh a mere inch away from his lips, "Do you always have to be so snarky?"

"The snark is an added bonus." He attempted to capture your lips in another kiss. Instead, you took a hold of his chin in your hand and tilted his head to the side.

You nipped at his earlobe, "What if I would rather you keep quiet?"

Eddie took a shaky breath. His gaze darted from your piercing eyes to the bulge that was beginning to form in his jeans, "That's not gonna happen. Not if you're gonna do what I think you're doing."

"I'll tell you what. Since it's just us, you can be as loud as you want." You hovered over his plush, pink lips. His cheeks flushed with an embarrassing heat.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to crack a dazzling smile, "Oh, baby, hand me the keys to the kingdom, why don't you?"

You dove in once more with a cheeky grin, kissing his sharp jaw and trailing your lips down his throat. Feeling a bit more free, Eddie's breath got a bit heavier. As you sat between his legs, Eddie felt your knee brush against his groin. He closed his eyes, rocking his hips ever so slightly against your knee a few more times. Just enough to get himself going.

When he gave a low groan, you felt him trying to get some traction on you. With a laugh, you moved to linger over his thighs and spoke next to his ear, "Why didn't you ever fuck me?"

"I d-d-didn't want you to think that-" He sucks in a breath as you grind down on him, "I didn't want you to think I was just using you for sex." He manages to choke out.

His answer made you let out a humorless giggle, "I think it's because you were too embarrassed to be like this in front of me." Eddie scoffed with a ruined expression; brows furrowed and mouth hanging open as he waited for you to give him more.

You wore a ruffled top that buttoned up to your neck. And seductively, you unbuttoned it, starting from the top and gradually working your way down to reveal the baby blue bra underneath. You eyed him coyly as you pulled the shirt away from your skin and boldly placed one of his hands on your right tit. His thumb circled the nipple and it solidified underneath the thin fabric.

Though he was practically salivating now, Eddie spoke before the words could get caught in his throat, "Don't get up on your high horse now, baby." You started moving back and forth, painfully slowly across the fabric of his jeans. The action rendered him speechless and almost had him groaning.

"Want me to take those off, baby?" you whispered. Eddie could only nod wildly against your pillow. His mouth felt dry as a desert. You pulled back to unbuckle his belt and unzip him. You tapped his thigh lightly, signaling him to raise them so you could slide the black denim down just enough so you could slip him out. He wasn't completely hard yet, but his size already had you biting the inside of your cheek.

You said, "Get me a condom from the drawer." Eddie reached over, rifling through the drawer of your bedside table. Underneath a book laid your stash.

"Why do you have these?" He asked carefully, trying not to insinuate any sort of judgment. He himself hadn't even bought condoms before. Then again, he'd only had sex twice before. Most women didn't want to fuck a guy who was on his third attempt at senior year.

“Because some of us aren’t reckless.” You took the little blue square from his hand and ripped the packaging open, plucking the rubber from inside of it.

You wrapped your hand around him gently and slowly pumped him until he was hard enough for you to roll the condom over his twitching cock. Eddie tried not to think about how you were so good at teasing him; at making him practically disintegrate under your considerate touch. You knew more than him. And that was a good thing in this case.

Right as you're gliding the covered head of his cock across your cunt, you tilt your head, "What am I?"

"Huh?" he breathed out vaguely. He was dizzily waiting to feel himself inside of you. He could've whined at your deliberate teasing.

"What's that sweet little nickname you like to call me?" Your voice is low.

He didn't even have to overthink it, he just blurted firmly, "Princess."

"Who's princess am I, baby?" Your voice dripped with honey.

Eddie grinned lazily and let out a chuckle that made his Adam’s apple bob, "My princess..."

“That’s right,” with that, you slid down on him completely, clenching your teeth to hold in a deep sigh at how easily it happened, “Just keep calling me that.” As he bottomed out inside of you, Eddie’s head sunk deeper into the pillow. He felt almost completely at peace until you ran your hands under his Hellfire shirt and made the skin of his chest light on fire. You hitched the shirt up until he realized you wanted it off of him. Quickly, he pulled the shirt over his head and bunched it up beside him.

You drank in the sight of his bare chest, rising and falling jaggedly. His skin was lighter here and unblemished other than his tattoos. Right underneath his collarbone was a tattoo you hadn’t seen yet. You pressed a kiss to the slightly faded.

Your nails scratched across the small pouch of his stomach as you braced yourself on his torso. You were so wet already. And though Eddie couldn't quite feel the texture of you, he felt the slick warmth. He felt you intentionally flex your muscles to contract around him. You made slow progress, doing controlled, small bounces on him.

“Could you maybe go a bit faster?” He asked meekly.

“What did I tell you?”

What did you tell him? He was struggling to think with how you were clenching ever so slightly around him, painfully milking every movement. From where he was laying, your skirt covered up the sight of him disappearing inside of you. And though you kept your voice steady, he could tell that you were just trying to ease yourself into the feeling of him. But he needed just a little more movement.

“Please go faster, princess,” he remembered your request, “I need you to go faster.”

“Mmm, good job, baby…” you trailed off and increased your pace just a little bit more. Your reaction came in a strangled groan.

Instantly feeling a sliver of relief, Eddie made his only wish known, “Can you lift your skirt for me princess?” He had been looking forward to this moment for months; he wasn't going to let the stupid expanse of fabric cover up the magic.

You bit your own lip at his eagerness. “You gonna hold it up, pretty boy? I can’t do all the work can I?”

“I’m your pretty boy now?" Eddie was all smiles now, nothing could knock him down from the intense high that was building in his abdomen. Your body put a gratifying pressure on his hips that kept them from trembling.

“As long as you can do what I ask.” You said, fluttering your eyelashes in a way that makes him groan just once. It sends him scrambling to bunch your skirt up so he can finally see the divide between your skin and his. Your panties are pulled to the side, the edge of the fabric pressing tight against him. He pressed three fingers to your clit and rubbed the bead quickly. The way you tightened around his cock like a vice grip had him lightheaded.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” He warned you a bit urgently, almost afraid you wouldn't hear him through your high pitched whines.

You composed yourself just enough to click your tongue, “Not the right name, pretty boy.”

“Please, please, please, princess,” he begged. “Let me cum, please.” With how much you wanted to collapse, you shifted your position and lowered until your tits were pressed against his torso. Not only were you a little bit more comfortable, but it gave you an idea for how you could reward Eddie for being so patient. After all, you could now see the little teardrops that he was fighting to keep from falling down his cheeks.

“Aw, but I think you look the prettiest like this,” you cooed in his face, “I think I should just stay. Right. Here.” You left soft pecks along his cheeks before laying a final one down on his quivering lips.

“Please…j-just let me…” he shuddered a whisper against your mouth.

“Will you be good for me?”

“Yes,” he answered without any hesitation.

“No. Really promise me.” You paused, the smile continued to grow on your perfect lips, “If I’m going to tell people that I’m dating the Freak, I need you to at least try and be good. Just a little bit. For me.”

A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, “You’re gonna tell people?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I wanna tell everyone that my boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the whole school?”

He wanted to laugh at the new rush of arousal that flooded through him every time you called him that. But with your body firmly in place over him, he was trapped. Stuck in an almost offensive position with you moving lazily, it kept him teetering back and forth on the edge.

As he stared directly into your eyes, you could see how much he meant it when he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.” You took his hands and placed them on either side of your hips.

You nodded once, “Then make me cum too while you're at it.”

Eddie loved the sound of a challenge. With the new power you'd given him, he dug his thick fingers in your thighs, and thrusted properly, getting deeper than you’d gotten on your own. His skin slapped obscenely against yours. The hard impacts brought forth the moans you'd been holding back in favor of taunting him. Eddie snickered at your little yelps before succumbing to his own grunts and groans.

His teeth were gritting almost involuntarily as he cursed, "Oh, fuck," You jolted forward on his lap and he taunted you, "You like that, princess? You like being on top of me?" Your hands now clutched hard onto his built shoulders and your head hung over him. Your hair formed a curtain that fell back when you breathed a soft, "yes."

He chuckled, "That's what I like to hear."

"You're doing so good for me, princess. You gonna be--" he grunted again, "you gonna cum soon?"

"Uh-huh," you whined. Eddie put the last of his energy into pounding into you. You were close to screaming now. His breath was heavy and he could feel the rising heat that had his damp hair sticking to his forehead. You came with one final shudder and your mouth hung open. Eddie was all too proud that he'd made you finish first.

You squeaked at the immediate overstimulation as he kept going, chasing his own release. You let him thrust a few more times until his hips spasmed beneath you and he let out a strangled groan.

You pushed yourself up on your headboard and pulled his softening cock out of you. He exhaled softly as you pulled the used condom off of him, tied the end, and tossed into the trashcan next to your desk.

Eddie stared at the ceiling and noticed the rich crimson striped pattern of your walls. Every other section featured a line of delicate illustrated roses.

He muttered, “You got some nice wallpaper.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You were truly incredulous. He hadn’t even wiped the sweat from his brow and he was already wisecracking.

“Yeah, it’s a good room. I can really picture a budding young woman living here.” He spoke slowly, still on the comedown.

“I really should know by now that you just don’t stop.”

Ignoring your admit to defeat, he was getting his second wind back, “I’m just complimenting the impeccable interior design. You really gotta give me the number of whoever designed this place, I could use a remodeler.”

He went silent, waiting for you to reply. But you were laid beside him, deconstructing every feature on his face and wondering how a guy like him could be so willing to give you his time.

Confused by your entranced expression, he asked, “What?”

You only tilted your head slightly, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I was ashamed of you." You kissed the tattoo on his forearm, "Because I’m not. I’m completely in love with you...and I think I'm ready for everyone to know it.”

That knocked the air clear out of Eddie's chest. He couldn't even think to suppress the new wave of emotion that welled up in his eyes, “That sounds great.” Eddie sniffed and attempted to straighten himself, “Really great.”

You rested your chin on his chest and looked up at him, “Did I make Eddie Munson fall apart?”

“Just a little bit.” He blinked away his fresh tears.

“Mmm, good. Because you’re really pretty like that.”

He squinted at you, perplexed, “I’m pretty when I cry?”

“I’m almost afraid to tell you because I know it’s only gonna boost your ego, but-” you watched him beam in suspense, “I think you’re pretty doing basically anything.”

“Oh, baby, that just had catastrophic effects on my psyche. You’re turning me into a ravenous narcissist.”

You tucked his messy hair behind his ear and took a deep breath before getting back up on your feet. You were still a little sore between your legs, but you knew it would fade with time. At that moment, you were far more focused on how thirsty you were.

“I’m gonna get myself something to drink, I’ll be right back.”

Eddie still had his shirt bunched up beside him. He smiled shrewdly and said, “Hey, can you do something for me real quick?”

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulder just in time for Eddie to throw something at you.

“Put this on first.”

You unfolded what he'd thrown at you, “You’re kidding.”

“Not in the slightest.” He looked too excited for his own good.

You rolled your eyes at him and wiggled the shirt over your head. Your arms raised up to slip through the long sleeves.

“Whoo!” Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth as he sat up to get a better view, “You’re so hot from this angle, princess.”

With a huff of effort, you tugged the wrinkled shirt down over your midriff. It fit you pretty well in almost every area except your chest, which you could see Eddie got a huge kick out of. He still chuckled to himself even as you closed your bedroom door behind you.

You sang to yourself as you waltzed into the kitchen, “Something happens and I’m head over heels…” You grabbed a cup from the cupboard and turned to make your way to the fridge when you spotted Dustin standing in the living room. In his hand was the bouquet, long since forgotten by then.

Dustin looked up from the flowers, “Where did you get this?” His eyes went wide when he saw the shirt you were now wearing, “Where did you get that?” You were sure the shirt was worse than if you'd walked out in just your bra.

And at the worst timing possible, Eddie wandered out of your bedroom, shirtless.

“Hey, you got any Tab in this joint?” He leaned against the hallway wall with a smirk until he saw your expression frozen over.

He followed your stare and finally noticed Dustin, looking increasingly horrified by the second.

Eddie tensed up, “Oh, shit,” Dustin’s wide eyes flickered between the figure of his dungeon master and his wicked sister before he screeched, “Son of a bitch, not this shit again!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x henderson sister!reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. ��Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ”

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #my stuff

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jovialjuggernaut-draws · 2 years ago

Note

“Just be honest, for once in your life.”

“The only time I lied to you was when I said your outfit looked passable, dear.”

For riddlebat, Zero Year!Eddie please :D

"Just be honest, for once in your life."

"The only time I lied to you was when I said your outfit was passable, dear."

Edward scowled. "As I recall, you called it 'cheap'."

"It was the hat I called 'cheap'," Bruce corrected. "The outfit itself, I held my tongue over. I could have told you how gaudy I found it, or pointed out how poorly-tailored it was, but I didn't."

"Why, Batman, it almost sounds like you want me to thank you for that gracious omission!" Edward's tone dripped with sarcasm, though his sneer was carefully muted. There were quite a number of stitches in his lips, stitches Bruce felt far more pride than remorse over.

"In lieu of gratitude, maybe you can just apologize," Bruce suggested. "It may shock you to hear, but I don't enjoy being called a liar."

"Then try not lying," Edward huffed. "The police are already assuming we're working together. If we don't get onto the same page, we'll both get screwed over."

"All this talk of 'we'. In case you've forgotten, the police are wrong about the two of us being allied."

"No, I had no idea!" Edward mock-gasped. "You mean the part where you destroyed all my plans and left me unconscious and disfigured wasn't part of my master scheme?! Perish the thought!"

Bruce scowled. "Your 'master scheme' left me unconscious, too."

"And what a pity that is," Edward sighed. "It was meant to leave you dead. Instead, you woke up, and now the story your cop friends are telling each other is that we, frightened by the big scary men with their big scary bombs, had some sort of falling-out, like a couple of idiots on their first bank robbery turning their guns on one another because the other guy agreed to the wrong kind of pizza during negotiations."

"...An unflattering comparison."

"Right?" Edward scoffed. "Clearly a pair of geniuses like ourselves would easily make something so simple as a bank heist run smoothly. Regardless, though, that's their perception, and it will bias them on any testimony we may give. Hence, the cooperation."

Bruce made a frustrated little noise. It wasn't a terrible point, much as he hated to admit it. "Be that as it may… I'm still not just giving you my identity."

Edward groaned, sliding down on the rickety bench of the holding cell, the rear wall mussing his already-ruined hair even further, loose locks of it falling about his face and catching on the edges of his mask. "I'm not asking you to! I'm asking you to be honest with me!"

"And I am," Bruce insisted. "Your guesses are all off base-"

"Impossible."

"Besides which… I wouldn't call on anyone that knows me outside the mask for aid. Not if it'll give away my identity."

"God, you're so uptight about that. …You must really be someone, then, mustn't you. Someone with a presence to maintain, someone recognizable. A man with a lot to lose."

Bruce's jaw tightened. That was much more dangerous than his last guesses. "I just mean, your preferred angle won't work. We need a different plan."

"Suddenly ready to hop onto 'we', huh? Suspicious… but I'll let it slide. What's the plan, then, partner?"

Bruce took a glance around the cell, taking stock of their options. "You wouldn't happen to be any good at picking locks, would you?"

Edward smirked, strained where it stretched the stitches. He theatrically presented his hands, cuff-free, and the cuffs that previously had been joining them. "I thought you'd never ask."

#riddlebat #batriddler #zero year riddler

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teawaffles · 3 years ago

Text

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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happyocelot · 3 years ago

Text

Just a little thing I wrote for Sakura's birthday week. 😊 I may have used this one-shot to...rant a little about the stupid Sakura vs. Hinata wars. 😅 Anyway, happy birthday, Sakura 🌸

Naruto growled at the keyboard, typing out a long string of swear words and angry, exploding emojis. Then he squinted at the colorful way he had described where the anonymous forum poster could take their opinions.

"Ahhh, swearing isn't allowed," he complained, jamming the backspace button and not letting go. "But still, I have to prove a point to these dumbasses."

He finally let go of the backspace key and started hammering away again, muttering darkly under his breath.

"First – of – all – Sakura-chan – is – a – JOUNIN – not – a – chuunin...Second – of – all – the Byakugou – seal – does – NOT – work – that – way. Go – back – to – the – Academy – because – you – are – a..."

His thumb slammed onto the period with a sense of finality. "Moron."

He then directed his keystrokes towards the other unsuspecting target of his wrath. "And – YOU – bitch – Hinata – has –" here he blushed a little, "TONS – of – stamina – she – had – a – HEART – ATTACK – and – STILL – got – promoted. AND that – is – not – her – maximum – range – of – vision. Idiot."

He clicked the "send post" button, fuming like a tea kettle and letting out a deep sigh when the "Congratulations! Your post has been received!" pop-up flashed across the screen of his brand-new laptop, a present from Sakura.

***

It was tough being RamenFan123 on Konoha's online bulletin board, from the looks of it. Honestly, Sakura wouldn't have cared too much – she was a busy bee, so many patients to see at the hospital, so many S-rank missions to go on. She had other things to worry about than what some randoms on the internet had to say about her. She wasn't an insecure schoolgirl anymore, worrying over the size of her forehead.

However, even she would be remiss if she didn't notice the Sakura vs. Hinata flame wars that had popped up in the wake of the shinobi world's newfound peace. There had been a ton of technological advancements in the war's aftermath, this strange "internet" being one of them. She thought that maybe, people would be using this "internet" for important, need-to-know information.

She was wrong. So, so wrong.

People had tons of free time to kill, and this was how they chose to kill it. Debating the merits and demerits of Konoha's various shinobi. She would scream if she heard anyone use the words "power-scaling," "base Naruto," "base Sasuke," "useless," and a bunch of bizarre references to people blowing up planets ever again.

As she said, some had far too much free time. Including, she admitted guiltily, even her. Sometimes. Just sometimes.

She clicked "RamenFan123's" user name and began browsing through his posting history.

No prizes for guessing who this ramen-obsessed lunatic was. Naruto had gotten stir-crazy the past few weeks, stuck in the hospital, waiting on the prosthetic arm that her master had almost finished. Sakura had taken pity on him when she caught him staring morosely out the window, multiple snapped chopsticks littering his table along with numerous cold cups of instant noodles.

She thought the laptop was a good idea. That it would take his mind off things.

She was wrong. So, so wrong.

Still.

She clicked on a post of his in which he was threatening to disembowel a guy who said that "the pink-haired ugly" was "useless" in the war. And another, one where he was defending a very specific individual against accusations of having "creepy stalker eyes." Here, Naruto was not threatening disembowelment, but something else entirely. She winced as she read the message in full. Disembowelment was preferable to this new option he presented, to be frank.

That was definitely against the forum's rules.

It was sweet of Naruto. She supposed.

A smile tugged her lips upward, and she copied and pasted the text of the Hyuuga defense post into an email, cc'ing Hinata with a click of her mouse.

Hinata was spending an awful lot of time with him lately.

She deserved to know that it was worth it.

Besides, she thought, logging into her own account, "RamenFan123" had the right idea. Hinata was not a stalker. Sakura had a friend to defend.

#sakuraweek2022 #sakura birthday #haruno sakura

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kaistarus · 4 years ago

Text

The Only Exception

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Nishinoya was genuinely happy with his life. He’d gotten used to being by himself and had accepted the fact that that was how it was supposed to be. Until you came along and threw everything he thought made sense out the window.

A/N: I really like this fic. It’s one of my favorites Nishinoya ones so far just because it’s his pov and timeskip and the amount of love feels makes me happy. i got a lot of serotonin while writing it :D

Masterlist

Nishinoya had never been someone’s first choice.

He knew that sounded dramatic, but it was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, Tanaka could chug three-fourths gallon of milk before vomiting, and Nishinoya was never anyone’s preferred option--which never bothered him so keep the pity to yourself.

He learned to accept this when he never got scouted for the All-Japan Youth Camp and after the only person Nishinoya ever even kind of loved ended up loving his best friend. It taught him to keep his expectations low and to focus on things he could control, which was what led him to solo-traveling Japan and then the world. He realized things might be better on his own, and with the constant itch that he was missing out on something bigger traveling alone just made sense.

But then you came and ruined everything.

Hold on. That came off way more aggressive than Nishinoya wanted. He meant there was a perfect vision for how his life would go-pyramids in Egypt, Hollywood sign in Los Angeles, deep sea fishing in Italy-until he toppled over you in the streets of Italy. He’d been sprinting toward the docks when you stepped out of a marketplace and he collided into you, knocking you flat on your butt and sending your groceries all over the sidewalk. Nishinoya fumbled through his best apology in broken Italian while shoving produce into your paper bag, but froze in surprise when you snorted rather than began an enraged lecture.

He swore his heart actually stopped when your eyes met. You were clearly amused by his flustered behavior and when his heart started back up it was abnormally fast. Not once had he understood what Tanaka meant when he explained the first time he’d seen Kiyoko, but the first time Nishinoya saw you everything Tanaka said clicked. If Nishinoya had been fifteen he probably would’ve proposed to you on the spot.

But he wasn’t, so instead he shakily handed you your groceries with furiously red cheeks.

“Come ti chiami?” You asked with a raised brow.

Nishinoya blinked several times. He racked his brain for what he’d been taught on his last fishing trip, but it was mostly curses and inappropriate sayings he should probably avoid using. He was pretty sure Duolingo mentioned ‘chiamo’ as name though.

“Nishinoya?” He answered like a question and felt relief wash over him when you nodded.

“What are you doing this weekend, Nishinoya?”

He stared blankly before pointing at you with wide eyes, “I understood that.”

“Well you obviously don’t know Italian,” you rolled your eyes and he pouted at the incredibly accurate jab, “so, are you free?”

He looked around the empty street before pointing to himself. “Are you still talking to me?”

“Is there another Nishinoya around here?”

“I mean, there could be.” He looked up thoughtfully. “The odds would be crazy though.”

You laughed lightly which made a warmth creep up his neck. “I’m talking to you. I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“You’re attractive and you seem nice,” you cocked your head to the side. “Is that not a good reason?”

He stared at the ground intensely. “I guess… It is?” Then his original reason for being there struck him and his eyes widened. “Oh shit. I have to go,” he started leaving before quickly coming back. “Wait, I, uh, yes. Yes to the date thing.”

You chuckled, pulling a cellphone from your pocket to let him hurriedly create his contact before continuing his sprint to the docks-with a teasing recommendation not to knock anyone else over. That literal run in was the moment his entire world view became out of whack.

It wasn’t that he thought he was immune to liking someone-high school Nishinoya fell for any breathing human that gave him attention-he just lost the ability to imagine someone liking him. Maybe he’d been by himself too long or maybe that was just another fact he’d grown used to. He didn’t know anymore.

He did know that when he showed up at the restaurant thirty minutes early-there’s only so much pacing someone can do before they go insane-he hadn’t expected to see you. Just sitting on a bench beside the main entrance, looking too perfect while bouncing a knee and nibbling on your thumb nail as if you were nervous to be there.

Except it was only him, so that wouldn’t make sense.

“Hey,” you said when you spotted him standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“You’re here,” he raised a brow. You took it as the time, but he meant it in a general sense. He truly hadn’t expected you to show up.

“Oh,” you chuckled awkwardly, twisting the material of your clothes. “Yeah, I was kind of nervous.”

He mulled that over for admittedly too long, but it just seemed like such a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t that you looked stupid, but that’s what made it so confusing.

“You’re also early.” You pointed out when the silence became awkwardly long.

“I was nervous.” He said like it should have been obvious.

“At least we’re starting on equal ground,” you said with a shaky breath.

Equal ground? He wasn’t sure his brain was cut out for this type of critical thinking. He’d even spent the past few days planning for every scenario-even you sneaking out the bathroom like in the movies-but he never pictured you being nervous.

“Uh, yeah,” he tapped against his leg while glancing through the window at the half-filled dining area, “we can probably go inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you gave him a quick finger gun before whipping around with shoulders to your ears.

Nishinoya blinked several times before looking back down the street. A part of him thought about running, saving you both from the shitty date to come filled with awful conversation starters he’d pulled from an online article for high schoolers. However his fate was sealed the moment you sent a gentle smile over your shoulder and his feet began following you through the door without his permission.

Ever since that day he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since you giggled behind your hand instead of wincing at the terrible jokes he regretted the moment they left his mouth; ever since you weren’t burdened by the need to translate for him the whole night; and ever since you were amused rather than annoyed at his nervous rambling and awkward icebreakers.

It was just too good to be true.

Like the first time you came over and teased him for the cheesy dialogue in his favorite action movies. How his chest ached when your head rested in his lap and you gazed at him with overwhelming amounts of affection. He’d never dreamed he’d have this-couldn’t have if he tried. Sharing his favorite things with someone while they traced designs against his palm and occasionally sealing them with featherlight kisses. The fire it sent up his arm was too much and not enough and he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this.

It was a little scary how much Nishinoya didn’t want to lose it.

And that thought started keeping him up at night. Nishinoya was never really scared of anything-it was kind of what he was known for everywhere he traveled. If anyone needed something done they asked the foreigner with a death wish. So, the idea that you had that effect on him was, again, terrifying.

But what was Nishinoya supposed to do when you press your forehead against his in the middle of the night? Running your fingers through his hair and paying special attention to the blonde strands he’d always been secretly self-conscious of, whispering low how they were one of your favorite things in the world. How could he regret anything when you rubbed your nose lazily against his and kissed him softer than he ever deserved? He didn’t give a shit how scared he was if it meant he could stay like this, with you, for as long as you’d let him.

Because his heart raced a million miles a second when you mindlessly held his hand under a table or leaned against him just to be close. Because for some reason he was the first person you called when you were excited or when you needed comfort. Because when he rambled too long about spearfishing or an old friend’s volleyball game your eyes lit with genuine interest rather than annoyance. And because he was in love with you.

Which he both wasn’t prepared for and had known was inevitable. Falling for you had been like getting hit by a semi-truck he’d seen coming for miles.

It probably happened sooner than socially acceptable, but that didn’t surprise him given his all or nothing nature. This outcome was decided the moment Nishinoya knew he’d be fine with you breaking his heart a hundred times if it meant he could keep waking up next to you cascaded by the rising sun because he was still too lazy to invest in curtains. Just you cuddling closer to him for warmth in your sleep would make every ounce of pain worth it.

Once Nishinoya’d acknowledged his feelings it was nearly impossible keeping them down. With every breathtaking smile, or brush of your hand against his, or bubble of laughter that rang throughout his apartment it nearly spilled from his lips like a breath. It took all self-restraint he had to hold it back. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know because you deserved this piece of him-every piece of him.

He just wasn’t sure you’d want it.

His resolve lasted nearly a month-a month longer than he thought he was capable-before the feeling was too intense for him to keep down. And it wasn’t anything drastic that made him break. No, it was something so absurdly casual that he was almost pissed at himself when the words flowed from his mouth.

It had been a completely average morning, nothing crazy, the weather was actually gross with rain pounding against the windows and the sky a depressing shade of grey. But then you stepped out of his bathroom while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, giving him a lopsided smile before slurring a soft request for breakfast. It was like time froze and he was in a stupid romcom except you were there so it was actually an oscar nominated masterpiece.

Your head lolled to the side, half-lidded eyes filling with concern at his silence. “We can cook together. I didn’t mean it like-”

“I love you.”

That seemed to wake you up. Your body straightened while your mouth hung open in stunned silence. Nishinoya had expected this kind of reaction, so he clenched his fists tight in preparation for the worst.

“Are you sure?” You asked, barely above a whisper. “That’s a pretty serious word, Noya.”

He knew that. Nishinoya had spent too many nights losing sleep over that.

“You scare me,” he confessed, deciding if he was going to dig his grave he might as well make it deep. “I’ve never really been the one someone chooses. More like deal or settle with.” He grimaced when his heart squeezed painfully in his chest, “but I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone and that scares me. You make me feel wanted and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Because I do want you.” You whispered and his stare locked on yours so quickly, meeting your loving gaze while his heart started racing. “And everyone you know must be really stupid because I feel lucky I got to choose you. I get to love you.”

He stared at you wide-eyed while his chest swelled with so much emotion he was surprised he hadn’t passed out.

“Sorry, that sounded really lame.” You placed a hand against your forehead and Nishinoya shook his head vigorously.

“I think that was the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You stepped closer and cradled his face, gently brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. If he wasn’t so manly and awesome he may have teared up, but he definitely didn’t. Which was why you obviously weren’t wiping any water off his cheeks before pulling his lips against yours.

Nishinoya set a languid pace that turned desperate when you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled you as close as he could, which was never enough, snaking an arm around your middle and sliding one to cradle the back of your head.

When it got heated enough that he decided he’d very much like to move it to his bedroom Nishinoya’s stomach growled and you snorted against his lips. Nishinoya pouted, whining when you pulled away with a playful smirk.

“Later,” you said, pinching his cheeks and waving his head around. “Food first. We’re both hungry.”

He did love food.

He disrespectfully watched you leave him in favor of searching the fridge for food that could be thrown together for breakfast. A dopey smile covered his lips because he loved you. He was lucky enough to get to love you. And for some ridiculous fucking reason you were dumb enough to love him.

He would do whatever he could to keep it this way. For now, that was helping you cook breakfast. Tomorrow, who knows? But whatever it was you would be there, so it would be pretty god damn amazing.

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yu #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya x you #nishinoya yū #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyu!!

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jungshookz · 4 years ago

Note

cee omg you could literally write a drabble about uni!yoongi making out with yn and i would literally die

➺ pairing; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; uni!yoongiverse!! nsfw i think?? i’m not sure?? what do u call it if it’s simultaneously smut and not smut at the same time.,,. smaybe smut,,. smalmost smut,.. smerhaps smut,.,.

➺ wordcount: 1.5k is this a baby drabble??? idk i’m counting it as a regular drabble

➺ what to expect; “i’m going to need you to shut up now, please.”

➺ optional reading: not necessary but feel free to read some other drabbles from the uni!yoongiverse!

➺ note; this was originally a baby drabble (literally was only going to be a couple of sentences at the moST) but i got carried away so here we are :D also i wrote this while my professor was in the background talking about 16th century literature on zoom and now it’s a genuine concern for me as to whether or not ancient literature is my aphrodisiac

»»————-　♡　————-««

you never really know how yoongi does it

every time you tell yourself that this time, you won’t let yourself be distracted by your boyfriend, it’s only three seconds later that you find yourself straddling him on the couch with your hands all over him

and theN when you tell yourself that you’ll only entertain him for ten minutes maximum before getting back to work he does that dumb boyish smirk and head tilt thing (“you sure you wanna go back to your textbook?”) that makes your knees all wobbly and your tummy all warm and before you know it your poor textbooks have been abandoned on the coffee table

one time you even left a marker uncapped and when you came back an hour later it was all dRY

yoongi dipped it into a glass of water in a poor attempt to revive it but it was too late

(he bought u a set of new markers from the bookstore on campus to make up for it)

“do you- mm- do you wanna hear about the classes i’m taking this semester?” you pull away and reach up to adjust your glasses that are now a little wonky considering the fact you and yoongi have been kissing for- has it already been twenty minutes?!

what happened to your ten minute rule??

yoongi rolls his eyes playfully before nodding, “go for it, dork-” he snorts before nudging his nose against your chin to get you to tilt your head back

he knows that if he says no you’re going to whinE about it for the entire time he’s groping you on the sofa so he might as well let you get it off your chest

“okay, so i’m taking this super cool literature course on trauma-“ you hum as you wrap your arms loosely around yoongi’s neck

yoongi starts to press warm kisses against your jaw while his hand slides down from your waist so that he’s gripping the side of your thigh, “mm, yeah? sounds cool.”

“it’s so super cool!” you gasp excitedly, “and the professor is super nice - i mean, she’s a little ditzy with zoom, but that’s to be expected - oh, anD she has purple hair, which automatically makes her the coolest professor ever-” you absentmindedly shift in yoongi’s lap and he grunts when you grind down against him in the process

also

side note

(not that he’s not paying attention to what you’re saying right now, but it’s pretty hard to noT focus on the fact that he’s currently kissing up on his very pretty girlfriend)

he was never really into dry humping before you came along

you guys don’t do it as often considering the fact that now,.,. now u can just have plain ol sex buT sometimes you’ll get into it if you’re on a tight schedule or something

like the other night yoongi had some dinner plans with a couple of friends (aka going to town on 5 XL pizzas in a grubby frat house) but yoU, for some reason, decided that while he was in the middle of putting his shoes on, that was the perfect time to tell him that you wanted to play

“the last person who gets there has to take out the garbage, and i am noT going to take out the garbage again-“

“but don’t you like it when i grind on you wearing just your sweatshirt?”

yoongi pauses in the middle of tying his laces

so yeah

he was the last one to arrive at the frat house which meant he was on garbage duty but it was totally worth it

and yeah, he supposes dry humping is typically something that only a couple of hormonal prepubescent teenagers would be into but.,,. with you, it’s just so,.,.., it’s so hot

he likes seeing you get so worked up over him when he hasn’t even taken any of his clothes off yet

his favourite is when he’s lying on his back and you’re on top just because he… likes it when you’re on top

there really isn’t a very deep explanation to his preference

it’s a nice view! sue him!

he also likes when you place your hands on his chest

you say it’s because it helps keep you from falling off but he knows you just like touching him there

and right as you’re about to cum, your fingers always twitch and he likes the feeling of your nails digging into the thick fabric of his hoodies

not to mention, he loves seeing your reactions whenever he starts talking dirty to you because your cheeks and the tips of your ears get super red and usually you get all quiet and whimpery but there’s always a fire in your eyes like you’re ready to rip all of his clothes off

like there was one time he actually just wanted to tease you just to see how far he could go (you weren’t paying any attention to him because your stupid nose was stuck in your stupid books as per usual and he was getting really bored) and he’d never seen you so needy before

“yeah? you like it when i talk to you like this?” yoongi coos and bites back a grin when you buck your hips against him with a pitiful whine slipping past your lips

he presses his palm flat against your hip to keep you from moving, “aw, what’s the matter, baby? need me?” yoongi pushes his bottom lip out in a mocking pout as he hooks a finger into the waistband of your skirt before giving it a playful tug

“yoongi, please-“ you prop yourself up on your elbows before leaning up to try to get yoongi to kiss you

he’s been dodging your kisses for the past five minutes which he’s been really enjoying because you look awfully cute when you frown at him like that

and to make matters worse (for you, duh! not him >:-)) he knoWs you really really like kissing him

yoongi nearly snorts when he notices you looking at him like you’re about to skin him alive

he totally gets it because he’s basically blue-balling you

it’s nice to be on the other side of the situation for once!

no wondER you do it all the time

“yoongi.” you clear your throat and he raises a brow

“mhm?”

“i don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-“ you poke your finger against his chest, “in three seconds, i’m going to get on my hands and knees for you - and i want you to push my skirt up, tug my panties to the side, and fuck me. please fuck me.”

yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise and he pulls back a little

you very rareLY use swear words on a daily basis - in fact, you usually scold him when he brings his potty mouth into your apartment - so he’s not used to you dropping the f-bomb so casuall-

“did i mention i started taking birth control?”

yoongi’s mouth immediately goes dry

“-also taking a literature class on shakespeare, which is really bringing me back to high school-“ yoongi snaps out of his little trip down memory lane when he feels you shift on his lap again

okay well

he was like 5% horny earlier but now that the gates of his spank bank have basically flung wiDE open it’s safe to say that he’s roughly… 98% horny?

maybe a little more

maybe like 150% horny

you could flick his forehead and he would have a mind-blowing orgasm - that’s how horny he is.

it’s not his fault!!!

blame the spank bank!!!

“and- oh!” you find yourself flopping back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling all of a sudden and you blink quickly as your brain attempts to catch up to what the hecK is happening right now

“i’m going to need you to shut up now, please.” yoongi’s face pops up in front of your eyes and your eyes widen when he drags you down towards him until his very obvious bulge is pressing right up against your centre

you feel your face flush bright red and you find yourself struggling to come up with anything to say because a second ago you were literally talking about william frickin shakespeare, “but-”

“here’s what’s going to happen-“ yoongi tugs his sweatshirt up over his head, “first, i’m gonna go down on you,” he tosses it aside before leaning over and placing both hands on either side of your head, the thin silver chain hanging around his neck dangling down, “and then we’re gonna fuck-”

“language!” you say on instinct and yoongi immediately snorts

that’s pretty rich coming from you, miss flip-my-skirt-up-and-fuck-me-now

“and you know, since i’m feeling particularly generous today,” he ignores your comment about his oh-so inappropriate language, “i’ll gladly let you choose how we boink-”

(you end up riding him which we all know is the decision yoongi is more than happy with.)

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

Text

Demon Comfort (1/3)

DECEMBER DRABBLES DAY 10 Sanders Sides: Logan, Virgil Blurb: Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet...he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge. Fic Type: Demon!AU, Demon!Logan Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Freezing, Burning, Hazing Talk, Manipulation Taglist in reblog.

It wasn’t the most glorious of jobs. Logan wouldn’t be the first demon to admit it. Lurking under a human’s bed was mundane at best and outright mind numbing at worst.

They were so distracted with their technology these days, so overloaded with sensory input from a variety of sources that most humans would barely twitch if their demon companion made themselves known.

No. Beyond using this as an exercise in learning how to terrorize the youngest of human offspring, ones whose minds were much more easy to scare because of their simplistic fears, the only other time a demon was ever assigned to this task was...well as punishment.

And unfortunately for Logan, who had had a good three millennia of experience under his wings...this was definitely a punishment. To be forced back into lurking under a human’s bed like an overgrown dust bunny.

He knew this sentence was meant to break him. To drive him crazy from how extremely dull it would get as soon as the child grew old enough to stop fearing the monster under their bed.

Except it wasn’t. Logan allowed a small smile to play upon his lips, tail swishing back and forth. Because apparently his superiors could make mistakes. After all, he’d been told he would be condemned to lurking underneath a child’s bed.

Instead, he’d found himself underneath a near-adult’s. One who would soon be leaving his childhood home to pursue an education elsewhere and learn to navigate the world of being an adult on his own.

It had turned out to be a far more interesting punishment than Logan had expected. The near-adults were known to his kind to often be in a stage of tumultuous growth, easy to influence when their heads were filled to the brim with a variety of doubts and fears that hovered like a dark storm cloud above them. A tangle of ever shifting and writhing threads that Logan had learned to love, in the past half year on earth he’d been here, to tease apart and influence so he could better understand what spurred this near-adult through life.

Virgil, the charge he’d been assigned to, truly was a diamond in the rough compared to the other near-adults he’d glimpsed while stuck here. The storm cloud over his head so tangled, that Logan could easily play with the threads for hours, teasing through them, seeing how each dark thought influenced the human as he tossed and turned on the thin mattress over his head each night.

Only Virgil wasn’t currently tossing and turning over his head.

Logan silently exhaled, his breath misting in front of him as his leathery wings twitched in irritation. He ran his fingers over his horns, trying and failing to focus on the Alice in Wonderland book that his charge had left on the floor this morning as he listened to the human shiver on the couch in the living room on the other side of the wall.

He hadn’t often had the opportunity to study humans when their planet frosted over since his particular type of demon preferred the warmer climates of Earth that were similar to his native inner ring of Hell. Had had very little interest in ever doing so.

But Logan’s current human had chosen to move away from the heat and the shining sun when he ‘left the nest’ as his fellow demons termed it.

Further north than Logan would have preferred. But despite hours upon hours of tugging and twisting at the quivering thoughts in Virgil’s mind... this had been one decision he hadn’t managed to turn to his favor.

No, Virgil had wanted a new start far away from his previous life, far far away from everyone he knew, and he’d decided that heading to a colder climate was the best course of action.

Now Logan was definitely regretting not fighting with those slippery thoughts harder. But how could he, or the human, have known that a freak cold snap would leave the state frozen in near arctic conditions?

It was cold enough outside of the four walls of the first floor apartment that humans were dying if they ventured out for longer than a few minutes.

Inside? It was nearly as bad because the apartment had been without power and therefore without its ability to heat the place for the past seventy-two hours.

His charge, his stubbornly stubborn, but very poor charge had to be the only human left in the entire complex. The last of the other residents having left over forty-eight hours ago to safer and warmer options once it became clear that the power couldn’t be fixed until the weather warmed.

If it ever warmed.

Logan shut the book, having not read a single word on the page for the past hour. He rested his head on the cover, wings trembling as he fought to keep his body temperature lower so that no steam would come off his body and alert his charge to his presence.

This would have been much easier if he could just come out from under the bed and take Virgil somewhere warmer. He had wings did he not? He could fly them anywhere--but no.

Logan grimaced, running his tongue over his fangs. Demons and Humans weren’t supposed to mingle unless a Human summoned them.

And until that unlikely event happened.

Virgil couldn’t know he was there.

Which was a pity. Even if he hadn’t had his wings to fly them away, his physical manifestation would have done much in his favor in convincing his charge to leave this frozen wasteland.

Instead, Logan had fought for hours with the tangles in Virgil’s mind, pulling at all the proper strings to get him to leave---and yet again had irritatingly lost to his charge.

There was a reason why he hadn’t minded being stuck with Virgil for the foreseeable future and it was because his, dare he say it? Smart and brilliant human could bring up excellent, if befuddling at times, points to his silent arguments that Logan couldn’t easily manipulate in his favor.

His charge’s finances were borderline nonexistent. Which meant he couldn’t afford to fly back home. And Virgil didn’t own a car so he couldn’t drive anywhere. The buses weren’t running either because of the cold. Nor could he afford to stay in a hotel.

And most unfortunately, moving away from everyone he knew and Virgil’s naturally reclusive nature meant that his charge had no friends or even acquaintances to go live with within a thousand miles while his obnoxiously loud, rude, and inconsiderate roommates had vanished without so much as checking in with him to make sure he had a place to go to.

No. Logan growled under his breath, tail tapping against the floor. For all intents and purposes. Virgil was on his own to survive this cold snap--

He jerked his head up, glancing to the wall with a frown at the sudden silence coming from the other room.

That wasn’t right.

Automatically Logan reached out for the sluggish tangle of thoughts that Virgil always had twisting about his head.

Nothing.

Logan blinked. That definitely wasn’t right. He pushed up onto his elbows, barely remembering to duck his head to avoid piercing the mattress above with his horns.

Virgil couldn’t have left. Not in this weather. He was too cautious for that. Logan would have heard the door slam at least which meant that Virgil was still here and if he was still here he should be able to reach those tangled thoughts even while his charge slept unless Virgil had--had----

“No.” Logan rolled out from under the bed, chest throbbing uncomfortably as he sprang to his feet and burst through the bedroom door into the living room. His wings spread wide as he grabbed the motionless figure from his cocoon of blankets on the couch, wincing at the frozen chill that burned his skin as he cradled the nearly blue human in his arms. His wings snapped shut around the near-adult to insulate him from the cold, his wings taking on a red glow as allowed his inner fire to burn hotter to get heat into his charge’s frozen body.

He should have tried harder to get him to leave! Especially when the power had gone out. He shouldn’t have let--“Virgil.” Logan shook his charge, using the back of his hand to brush the purple bangs from out of the human’s eyes. “VIRGIL.”

The human suddenly gasped, twitching in Logan’s arms as his glazed eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s own slitted ones for a heart stopping second before they closed. The human twisted, pressing his frozen face into Logan’s side, violently trembling. “C-c-co-o-ld.” He mumbled.

Alive. The tightness in his chest eased as Logan shoved to his feet, holding Virgil close like a mother cradling her demon spawn as he moved back to his charge’s bedroom where he would be able to use his hellfire in the smaller space more effectively to ensure the young human would survive. “Not for long, I promise you that.”

It wasn’t proper, he shouldn’t have come out and revealed himself like this in the first place without taking on a human disguise. He shouldn’t have cared if Virgil perished. He should have just gone back to Hell to say that his sentence had ended with the death of his charge instead of trying to save him--but propriety could go screw itself.

Virgil was far too interesting of a human to lose to something as stupid as freezing to death.

“Wh-who--y-y-y-you?” Virgil managed to ask through chattering teeth as Logan entered his--well he supposed it was technically their room since Logan lived there too.

“A--” Well he wasn’t really a friend now was he? Demons and Humans couldn’t be friends. And Logan’s actions in toying with the human’s mind would hardly be deemed acceptable in most human social circles he was sure. “A Guardian.” He said, settling on that particular term with a twitch of his tail as he climbed onto the bed, adjusting his wings to ensure that the heat radiating off of him remained focused on keeping Virgil warm.

Technically he was looking out for Virgil’s well-being, even if he hadn’t taken such direct action in doing so before this moment.

The human sighed, eyes fluttering again as his arms shifted, pressing frozen fingers into Logan’s side. “An--An-Angel?” Logan snorted, shaking his head as he carefully ran his clawed fingers through the human’s hair. “Hardly, You may call me…” He took a breath, it was another rule he shouldn’t break, but he’d already broken at least a dozen already. Why not add a lucky thirteenth to the list? “Logan.”

Odds were the human wasn’t mentally cognizant enough for it to do any harm. If luck was on his side, Virgil would think this whole thing a dream once he really woke up.

“Lo.” Virgil breathed, his trembling form relaxing as the blue tinge to his skin faded. “Th-th-thanks.”

Logan swallowed, his hearts stuttering in his chest at the unexpected nickname. Mentally he shook his head, settling them into a more comfortable position where he would be able to leave the human as soon as his body temperature returned to a satisfactory level.

It was nothing. Nothing. The human probably just couldn’t say his whole name without stuttering. That was it. He’d be back under the bed before Virgil woke and the human would think the whole thing a dream. So this...this was nothing. Everything would return to normal on the morrow where Logan would lurk under the bed and the near-adult would remain unaware of just exactly how his room was managing to stay warmer than the rest of the apartment.

And yet.

“You’re welcome.” He whispered, unable to stop running his claws through Virgil’s hair as his shuddering breaths evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep; for once not thinking about picking at the tangle of thoughts faintly twisting above the human’s head.

To Be Continued Part 2 Part 3

#Demon Comfort #December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Virgil #Logic #Anxiety #Demon!Logan #Near Death Experiences tw #Freezing tw #Burning tw #Hazing Talk tw #Manipulation tw

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tenthgrove · 3 years ago

Note

yess thank you for letting me ask you about the lore >:3c so I have to get my absolute favorites outta the way first— what kinda lore and thoughts do you have for sorbet or gelato ( <- before they get together and the earlier years of them getting together if you need a specific period ) I have to also ask are you ok if I go down the “line” and get your thoughts in other asks about the rest of the la squadra babes? Thank you sm 💖💖 I hope you’re having a wonderf day/evening

Ah! Now this is one of my absolute favourites! Apologies to anyone who has already heard me ramble about my Sorbet and Gelato backstory ad nauseam on multiple occasions, but this is really an area where I can't help myself. Besides, this is my opportunity to go more in depth where I haven't before:

(Note after writing this: It's stupidly long. I'm sorry I just can't help myself with these backstories. I couldn't decide what to leave out so I decided nothing.)

(Also please feel free to ask me more lore questions because I love doing this)

We'll begin with Sorbet, born in Naples in February 1967 if you follow the canon timeline (although by default I write in modern AU so move the dates 20 years later). His situation at birth was absolutely dire, the eldest child of an incredibly vulnerable woman and one of her clients as a sex worker. Sorbet's mother was by all means a decent woman but her severe mental illness and drug addiction made it impossible for her to be a good mother, which of course had a bad effect on Sorbet growing up. After Sorbet, she had 5 more children, all through clients, and Sorbet was saddled with much of their care.

Though he loved his siblings, Sorbet was pretty much done with this life by age 12 and was easily swept up by older boys from the local street gang, who paid him well to peddle drugs when he should have been in school. This was a very underfunded neighbourhood so nobody questioned his truancy, and within the next couple of years he had stopped going to school entirely. Shortly after this, having acquired sufficient money through his crime involvement, Sorbet left his family to stay with his new friends, moving between them on a regular basis. He also discovered his sexuality around this time and dated a few male friends, though none of these relationships got very far.

By age 16, Sorbet had earned a reputation in the street gang for skilled and passionate violence, and was selected by the ringleader to commit the group's first planned murder, in exchange of course for a lucrative reward. Sorbet accepted, succeeded, and became the group's de-facto assassin whenever needed. He continued to hoard considerable money for the remainder of his adolescence, though continued to be functionally homeless since he didn't see it necessary when sofa-surfing was suiting him fine.

Before resuming with Sorbet, let's explain the life that Gelato came from. Gelato was born in October 1967 in St. Petersburg, Russia, (Note- I previously used the city of Minsk, unaware that this is in fact, in Belarus) to an upper-middle class businessman and his Italian wife, a distant relative of French Monarchy. Gelato's relationship with his parents was rocky from the start due to the fact they would have preferred a girl after three successive sons, but any parental love they had for their youngest child broke down entirely after he was diagnosed with both Autism and ADHD at age 5, in an evaluation intending to find the cause of some behavioural issues that were really, just a response to emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13 he, his parents, and two of his three brothers (the eldest was already an adult by this time and elected to stay behind) moved to Italy to escape some allegations of corruption in the father's business. They moved to a rural village in North-West Italy where the community was very middle-class and quite stifling for Gelato, who had enough social rules to remember in the familiar, economically-diverse city he grew up in. His behavioural issues got worse and began to include things he would later regret, such as attacking and stealing from younger children, and things he would absolutely not, like attacking and stealing from teachers. By this point the family had largely written him off as a failure, revering instead their academically successful, well-behaved older children, which absolutely contributed to the spiralling cycle of behaviour issues Gelato faced.

Then, at age 17, Gelato failed a crucial exam and was expelled from high-school. His parents kicked him out on the spot, and with no other family in Italy Gelato had very few options on what to do next. He recalled, however, one older friend having links to a street gang in Naples, and decided to see if this boy might have a route out of destitution for him. Indeed, the friend did know of a man in Naples needing assistance within the gang, but could offer no help in getting Gelato there. Seeing no other way, Gelato walked the whole journey.

Arriving in Naples, the friend's associate announced that the position Gelato was after had been taken, but taking pity on his distress, informed him of another friend who needed someone to look after an unlicensed bar that served as one of the group's main meeting points. He agreed to arrange for the small apartment above the bar to be given as payment.

Gelato accepted, but although he had now solved the problem of homelessness his life was still incredibly miserable. For one, with his pay being the apartment he had to rely on measly tips to get by, which rarely left him with enough to eat let alone anything else. Additionally, as an outsider with little understanding of the way gangs work Gelato was an easy target for abuse, and was treated like absolute shit by the bar's patrons.

By this point in time, Sorbet had just turned 18. He was, incidentally, in the same gang Gelato had joined, and a regular at the bar he worked in. For a good couple of months they took no notice of each other, until Sorbet came to be in a coincidental feud with one of the men who was violent to Gelato at the bar. When Gelato witnessed the two of them in a fight, he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to join in on Sorbet's side, knocking the patron unconscious and leaving him too afraid to visit again. For his trouble, Sorbet gave Gelato a portion of the money he looted from the fight's loser, and flirted with him lightly before going about with his evening. Unknown to Sorbet, he had just sent Gelato falling head over hills in love.

Gelato found out about Sorbet's sexuality from other patrons and, delighted, attempted to flirt with him the next time they saw each other, but his attempts came off very poorly and Sorbet actually thought he was being insulted. Angered, he dragged Gelato into the cellar to demand what was going on. Gelato, terrified, admitted having a crush, which Sorbet found to be the sweetest and most genuine thing he'd ever heard. While he couldn't promise a relationship, he did agree to show Gelato more attention in the future. But, it was only a matter of days until Sorbet found himself loving Gelato back.

This whirlwind relationship continued happily for three weeks, Sorbet greatly improving Gelato's situation through his saved money and helping him fend off the abusive patrons. Gelato, in turn, offered Sorbet a permanent place to stay in the apartment, which he accepted. Sorbet was in the process of moving his things, and they had plans to refurbish the place to make it actually habitable.

But then, everything came crashing down. One night the bar was subject to a surprise raid by the police, operating by the false assumption it was empty. Sorbet and Gelato attempted to flee but were caught, and in a panic, Gelato shot a policeman dead. Rushing to his defence Sorbet killed two more, but a fourth escaped to tell the tale. The couple knew they were screwed. Running to the headquarters of their gang they begged for protection but were informed the small group simply could not save them from a charge this serious, and gave them only a single night of shelter to plan their next move. Gelato, who remember had never committed anything more serious than minor ABH before, had an absolute breakdown over this predicament that night, and whilst comforting him, Sorbet devised a blood pact with him to stick together no matter what came.

Over the next few days, Sorbet and Gelato fled north, avoiding the police through Sorbet's skills as a criminal and Gelato's very convincing Russian tourist impression. They were almost at the French border when Sorbet awoke one night to find Gelato missing behind him. He chased his tracks to the driveway of a rural house, a tearful Gelato clutching a knife at the shut door and trembling. He informed Sorbet that he had intentionally led him to the village where his family lived, with the intention to break in and kill them as revenge for the years of abuse. Sorbet warned Gelato that this would not be good for their attempts to flee, but said he understood fully and would help him if this is truly what he wanted. Gelato agreed, and together they broke into the house and slaughtered Gelato's mother and father, additionally killing one of his brothers after he woke from the noise. The other brother, the youngest other than Gelato, was spared, as Gelato felt his role in the abuse had been comparatively more minor and he did not deserve to die. This of course, left another witness.

The massacre in the village was quickly linked to the one at the bar and Gelato was promptly identified from a comparison of DNA found at the scene to his surviving brother's. Sorbet, a known criminal, was identified soon after. Not only were the pair now known but the police figured out what their plan was and informed the French police as well, making things exponentially harder for the couple.

They made do for a while by hanging low and keeping on the move, living off money stolen from the parents' house. Eventually however, they needed more, and began making deals with local crime organisations to carry out assassinations in exchange for money or temporary shelter. While Sorbet was already a pro at this, Gelato found himself a fast learner, and soon realised he shared Sorbet's adoration for the act of killing. He felt as though he was finally coming to meet his true self.

Though the assassination deals were lucrative, they did not help the couple keep a low profile and the attacks from police were relentless. Several times, they barely escaped capture. All this was not good on their mental states, and after two years, Sorbet knew it needed to end. He and Gelato returned to Naples in the hope their old gang might reconsider protecting them, but they were met with a surprise as their old gang had been completely overtaken by Passione. Even still, the new mobsters had heard a lot about Sorbet and Gelato's exploits and agreed to get them an audience with a local Capo, Pericolo, who was impressed by the men's skills and moved by the sense of honour suggested by their love for each other. He agreed to initiate them into the gang.

Soon after this, Sorbet and Gelato recieved stands which, although not very powerful, assisted them greatly in the art of assassination. Soon, they were natural choices for Passione whenever a hit needed carrying out in the Naples area. At some point a few years in, they befriended a man named Prosciutto who had been recently forced into Passione due to his heritage. Prosciutto was also funnelled into assassination jobs and, with less of a reputation for impulsivity than Sorbet and Gelato, was the one given the order to form a new assassination squad when the need arose, around 1993 if we're following canon.

(Note, I hc La Squadra was created by Passione in response to a real life government crackdown on the Italian mafia around 1992-93, in response to an incredibly scandalous series of assassinations. In such a climate, it would make sense for Passione to want to consolidate an elite squad of its best hitmen, do avoid future problems.)

Due to personal commitments Prosciutto did not want to be the captain, so attempted to give this responsibility to Sorbet, a request the boss promptly denied. Prosciutto was, however, allowed to add Sorbet and Gelato to the team's ranks, cementing the three of them as the first members of the team.

Prosciutto would, soon enough, find another person to give the title of captain to, but that's a story for another time.

#small asks #haha small #btw if you've already read my backstory for them this doesn't really add much except add a few new bits of trivia #la squadra #la squadra x reader

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madara-fate · 4 years ago

Note

I also wasn't insinuating that MinaKushi or DanTsu are the only good examples of good romantic relationships (I don't even care about these pairing for the record, or any other pairing in Naruto). I'm just pointing out that people do not doubt that Minato loves Kushina or that Dan loves Tsunade. If Sasuke genuinely loved Sakura and Kishimoto did a good job at showing it, then there would not be a huge debate on whether he does love her or not, because it would be obvious to pretty much everyone that he does, whether they like the ship or not. The fact that it's not and that so many people still debate on this to this day either shows that Kishimoto did a poor job at showing Sasuke as a loving husband either that Sasuke does not love her, despite that "love is the real deal" line or his reply to Sarada's question. It's show vs tell if you know what I mean. On one hand he tells us that "love is the real deal" but on the other hand he does not really show it all too well, which makes many people think whether he truly meant those words or he was being sarcastic and simply mocked the fans. It's either a case of bad writing either Sasuke simply does not love Sakura. I personally don't know what to think. I tend to lean towards the first option, it may just be bad writing after all. He admitted he's not great at writing romance and to be honest? It shows. It is even implied they haven't kissed in Gaiden by Sakura looking sad when Sarada asked her if they ever kissed. And I know you like to refute that by saying that it's preposterous to think they haven't kissed when they obviously had sex in order to concieve Sarada, but the thing is, it is entirely possible to have sex with someone but not kiss. It really is. When you're having sex but you're not really enjoying it or when you have simply been pressured and pestered into having sex with a person. Sakura Hiden confirmed the fact that Sakura was determined to confess her feelings to Sasuke over and over again until he would've eventually reciprocated. She compared that with punching a villain over and over until they're defeated. Now please tell me, would it be so far fetched to consider that harassment? If someone tells you no once, you have to respect their rejection and stop pursuing them, not take it as a challenge to persist in reaffirming your feelings over and over again until they eventually get tired or take pity in you and accept to give you a chance. And even in Gaiden it was confirmed that Sakura had to chase after Sasuke. It's really easy to see this ship as... problematic, to say the least. I'm willing to give it the benefit of the doubt tho and blame it on bad writing rather than on Kishimoto simply implying SS is not really a loving relationship, but if other people are not convinced or deny that Sasuke loves Sakura, you have to let your bias aside and admit that they have reasons to believe that. The writing makes it really easy to interpret it either way, depending on your preferences.

I already answered a lot of the points you made here in my response to your previous ask, but it's important for people to remember the type of person Sasuke is, and understand that the manner in which he shows affection isn't the same as Dan or Minato. It's a lot more subtle. Are people doubting that Vegeta loves Bulma and Trunks? No, so then people need to ask themselves - in which ways has Vegeta demonstrated that he loves his family in ways that Sasuke hasn't? Both of them aren't outwardly affectionate, both of them aren't romantic, but both of them have undoubtedly demonstrated that they love their family. Yet, only one of them is questioned. It really is just a "damned if you do and damned if you don't" situation. If Sasuke acts all affectionate like Dan and Minato, people will claim that he's OOC (like they did for Sasuke Retsuden), but if he stays reserved and demonstrates affection in his own way, people will just turn a blind eye and say he doesn't care. It really just shows how little they actually know Sasuke's character. To think that Sasuke, who hails from the clan which values love above all else, would marry and start a family with someone he doesn't love.

On one hand he tells us that "love is the real deal" but on the other hand he does not really show it all too well, which makes many people think whether he truly meant those words or he was being sarcastic and simply mocked the fans.

People actually think that Kishi may have been "sarcastic" when he described their love as the real deal. Oh my goodness. Why would Kishi purposely give wrong information to the readers (and never reveal what's actually going on)? Why would he intentionally want the readers to misunderstand his story and characters? Why would he want to portray his 2nd biggest character as someone who would enter a loveless marriage when that literally goes against the ways of his clan and his entire character? Do people not listen to themselves?

It's like how so many people claim that Sasuke saying "because you exist" means that the only reason he and Sakura are still together is because of Sarada, and people really don't realise how stupid that sounds. They don't stop and ask themselves why Sarada would be brought to happy tears, why Chouchou would describe her as lucky, and why Naruto would give her a knowing smile, if Sasuke had really just insinuated that she was the only thing that was keeping her parents together:

They just don't think. They apparently believe that Chouchou was happily thinking to herself "aww, lucky Sarada, you're the only thing keeping your parents together!", and that makes sense to them apparently, Chouchou being so happy for Sarada after hearing such awful news. It's unbelievable.

And I know you like to refute that by saying that it's preposterous to think they haven't kissed when they obviously had sex in order to conceive Sarada, but the thing is, it is entirely possible to have sex with someone but not kiss. It really is. When you're having sex but you're not really enjoying it or when you have simply been pressured and pestered into having sex with a person.

This is just like the people who believe that Sasuke is gay, justifying their ridiculous claims by pointing out how "you can be gay and still marry a woman", and to that I always say - Why would Sasuke do that? Just like to you I'll say - Why would Sasuke do that? To have sex and not kiss? Why would Sasuke of all people be "pressured and pestered" into entering a relationship with someone? He obviously has no problem whatsoever with bluntly turning people down. If he doesn't want to do something, he's not gonna do it. Heck, if you're using Sakura Hiden to try and prove your points then I'll also use a novel to prove this one - The lipstick stain scene during Sasuke Shinden: The Teacher's Star Pupil, explicitly indicates that Sakura and Sasuke had kissed earlier that day. The motorbike scene during Naruto Retsuden has Sakura kiss Sasuke. Sasuke and Sakura having kissed, is not (and has never been) a topic that's open to discussion.

Sakura Hiden confirmed the fact that Sakura was determined to confess her feelings to Sasuke over and over again until he would've eventually reciprocated. She compared that with punching a villain over and over until they're defeated. Now please tell me, would it be so far fetched to consider that harassment? If someone tells you no once, you have to respect their rejection and stop pursuing them, not take it as a challenge to persist in reaffirming your feelings over and over again until they eventually get tired or take pity in you and accept to give you a chance. And even in Gaiden it was confirmed that Sakura had to chase after Sasuke.

I've already talked at length about that scene from Sakura Hiden so I won't do so again here, but I'll link the relevant post where I explained how that scene obviously was not meant to be taken as a negative comment, but people will of course just twist things in order to suit their own anti Sakura/SS agenda.

But if other people are not convinced or deny that Sasuke loves Sakura, you have to let your bias aside and admit that they have reasons to believe that. The writing makes it really easy to interpret it either way, depending on your preferences.

No, here's what people need to understand. If people think that Sasuke's love towards Sakura was not adequately shown, then that's a reason to criticise the writing. It is not however, a reason to deny what is canon. They are stating that Sasuke does not love Sakura, despite the fact that this has explicitly been stated. Sasuke loving Sakura is a canon fact, whether they like it or not. Criticise the execution all you want, I know I have plenty of times, but don't deny the truth. Hell, since you wanted to use the novels...

During Sakura Hiden, Sasuke rushed back for Sakura's sake, despite having ignored the village's prior pleas for help. What does that say about his feelings for her?

During Akatsuki Hiden, Sasuke described Sakura as "The Spring Sunshine" which illuminated his dark life. What does that say about his feelings for her?

What does basically the entirety of Sasuke Retsuden say about his feelings for her?

Many anti SS fans are always so quick to use the novels when it suits them. And then when a novel like Sasuke Retsuden comes along and completely shits over all their theories, they're just as quick to dismiss the novel as an OOC fan fic by a sub par author, figures. As far as I'm concerned, the manga is more than enough to show that Sasuke loves his family (seriously this really isn't up for debate), but I'll also definitely say that anyone who criticises SS and uses the novels as a point of reference, is in way over their heads.

#Sasuke Uchiha #Sakura Haruno #sasusaku

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blitzturtles · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Get What You Need (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): GioMis or Giorno & Mista (Platonic or Pre-Relationship)

Summary: “All of them,” Giorno breathes the words in a near rush of panic. His stomach turns at merely hearing the list. His resolve crumbles in an instant, and it’s only worsened when he makes the mistake of looking down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. He picks idly at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other in a desperate attempt to keep himself calm. The more worked up he gets, the worse the cramps are, and they’re already rolling through him too often to be ignored.

Notes: Trigger Warnings: Dysphoria; Gio experiences quite a bit of it, and it's not very nice.

Guess who had a period from hell.

Trigger Warnings: Gender dysphoria! Giorno struggles with it quite a bit throughout the fic.

1. Bucci's also trans, 2. Polnareff is alive (so is everyone else for that matter.), and 3. Bruno being trans is not a secret/Mista isn't actually outing him here.

“I would like to rearrange a few meetings,” Giorno says, choosing his words carefully, so he can gauge Polnareff’s reaction.

Without missing a beat, Polnareff answers, “Of course. Which were you interested in moving? There’s the two after lunch, the one with Dura at three, and Abba-”

“All of them,” Giorno breathes the words in a near rush of panic. His stomach turns at merely hearing the list. His resolve crumbles in an instant, and it’s only worsened when he makes the mistake of looking down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. He picks idly at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other in a desperate attempt to keep himself calm. The more worked up he gets, the worse the cramps are, and they’re already rolling through him too often to be ignored.

Polnareff looks momentarily surprised, but he schools his expression quickly and reaches underneath his chair to where he keeps a notebook safely tucked away. He pulls his pen from the spiral binding and looks to Giorno with sheer determination.

“Any-- preferences? On when I reschedule these to?”

“Two or three days from now at the earliest,” Giorno knows it’s risky. A bad idea at best and a great way to destroy several very fragile relationships at worst, but he’s reaching a breaking point. His eyes are already burning, and he can’t ignore the hopeless feeling gripping him any more than he can ignore the way blood continues to fill the pad he’s wearing. He’s too hyper-aware of both, and there’s nothing worse than showing weakness in front of a pack of dogs, most of whom were raised by the streets in some form or fashion. With the exception, of course, of the nepotistic sort, though Giorno doesn’t generally think much of them. They’re certainly not the threat that the others can be when left unchecked.

Polnareff, to his credit, only nods and makes a note of the request. He pauses a moment, clearly chewing something over in his mind, and it’s likely only their close relationship that allows him to ask, “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” which is a non-answer, but it’s the best Polnareff is getting from him when he feels like this: weak, vulnerable. Disgusting. Wrong. If he could tear the skin off his body, he would.

Polnareff nods again. There’s a lingering look in his good eye that Giorno thinks might be concern. Possibly displeasure at being blatantly left in the dark when it’s Polnareff’s job to be as informed as possible, though the man says nothing of it and simply wishes Giorno well before departing from the office altogether. He uses Chariot to open the door for him and wheels away without any actual protest.

It’s all Giorno can do to hold his breath until the moment the door clicks shut, and he deflates immediately over the edge of his desk. He slumps forward on the wood and tries hard to bite back the quiet, senseless sobs that bubble up in his chest. It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. He should be able to handle this, even if it has been awhile. He can’t fall apart the moment his period decides to rear its ugly head as one of the worst reminders of what he isn’t. What he fails to be. Yet here he is, crying over his desk like a child, though his sobs are silent. Even now, years later, he hasn’t shaken that habit.

______

Mista startles out of his light doze thanks to a text. He flails about uselessly, arms smacking into the side door of the car before he remembers where he is (and who he’s with, if the short-tempered, “Watch it!”, is anything to go by). It takes him another moment to figure out where he left his phone, and it’s only because of Five that he finds it at all.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says as he pulls the screen up for the last message he received. He blinks in surprise at the body of the first text.

Meetings are canceled.

Under any other circumstance, Mista would be hooping and hollering in delight. Meetings being canceled means that Mista doesn’t have to stand around pointlessly for hours while some morons try to talk circles around Giorno of all people, but there’s a gnawing worry that grows in his gut. Giorno doesn’t cancel meetings unless he’s physically unable to be there. Usually when a mission has carried over and kept them from home for too long. The next text does little to quail his anxiety.

You should check in on him anyway.

Mista doesn’t need to be told who ‘him’ is, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already planning on it once they get back to the mansion.

______

Giorno extracts himself from his desk after a few more minutes of self-pity. There’s only so much of it he can stand at any given time. More importantly, he doesn’t want anyone to happen by before he has a chance to compose himself, which is exactly what he does. He pulls a small mirror from his desk and grimaces at the red, puffy eyes that look back at him.

He’s part way through fixing his hair when another cramp hits. Sharp and agonizing with the way it pierces through his middle and spreads outwards, toward his hips. He doubles over with his arms hugging around his middle. It’s instinct more than anything. God knows it doesn’t help alleviate the pain any.

It takes him a solid sixty seconds before he can work up the courage to unravel. He half expects the next wave to roll through him the moment he does, but there’s a blessed lack of follow up. For the time being. He doesn’t expect that to last. It never does.

His chest aches with the effort that it takes to keep his breathing even. The binder isn’t helping, but he’s not about to try to wiggle out of it in his office. His only option is to get himself up and back to his bedroom, but that sounds like a momentous task on it’s own. Somehow he has to get there without being brought to his knees by cramps or hit with another wave of despair or-- well, being perceived at all. One look at his face will give him away. Maybe they won’t know why, but they’ll know that something is wrong, and that’s bad enough.

He finally manages to get his hair to a presentable level again when someone knocks on the door to his office, and his heart drops down to his stomach. He glances back at the mirror one more time before shoving it in his desk. His eyes are definitely still puffy, though some of the redness has dissipated.

“Giorno?” Mista asks, poking the door open slightly when Giorno doesn’t immediately respond. It’s only then that Giorno realizes that his voice is caught in his throat, and he gets a second, far more concerned call of his name for his hesitance.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly. Mista might not read people as well as Bucciarati, but he’s still acutely aware of certain details (the ones that matter! Mista’s voice echoes in his head.)

“Uh,” Mista starts, a little lamely, but he quickly shakes off any reserves he has about being direct if his next words are anything to go by, “No offense, but you look like shit, so I’m pretty sure you’re not. Actually.”

Giorno falters slightly. He should have texted Mista after Polnareff left. Should have explained the situation in the vaguest possible terms. And definitely should have come up with an excuse. But he had done none of those things, and now he’s stuck with the repercussions of his own actions. Or inactions.

“It’s not important,” he tries. Pathetic as it is.

“You canceled all your meetings for today,” and Giorno supposes he set himself up for that. He hasn’t come up with an excuse yet, especially not one that adequately explains away his behavior.

Silence stretches between them. Giorno for lack of an answer, and Mista because he seems to expect Giorno to cave. To the Don’s great horror, he does just that.

“It really isn’t that big of a deal. I’m just--” only, before he can finish speaking, another cramp grabs hold and twists mercilessly until he’s gasping and leaning forward with both hands clenching at the edge of his desk. He closes his eyes, as if to shut out the pain, or possibly the reality of the situation as it registers in the back of his mind.

“Giorno!” Mista calls, loud and panicked. He lunges forward to close the gap between them, though he hesitates once he’s within touching distance. “Giorno?”

“I’m fine, just-- cramps,” Giorno confesses, grinding his teeth together as the next one rips through him. Equally as painful as the last and as impossible to ignore. He feels his cheeks burn the way his eyes are once again, and all he wants is to crawl under his desk and hide away from the world. It’s not often that he wishes he could be nobody again, but now is certainly one of those times.

“Cramps?” Mista asks with confusion evident in his voice, but then his eyes go wide. He scans Giorno over, as if that might give him the affirmative he needs. “Like Bucci’s?”

Giorno doesn’t actually know what that means, but he nods anyway. Close enough, and it means he doesn’t have to explain anything else.

“Okay, okay, shit--!” Mista sounds a bit more panicked now. More like how Giorno feels being flayed open like this in front of one of the people he actually cares about. Whose opinion actually means something to him. “God, he hasn’t had them in so long. Fuck, uh? Heat. Oh, and we should probably get you into something more comfortable. Have you taken anything?”

What?

Giorno’s mind skips and stutters into a complete stall. He’s not sure what Bucciarati has to do with anything, but he’s suddenly sure that the answer is more closely linked than he had originally thought.

“Gio?”

“Yes,” Giorno grinds out, because he did, though he’s nearing the end of the four hour period before he can take the next dose, and he’s tempted to swallow as much as he can fit into his fist. The damage is something he can deal with later. With his Stand, but he knows it won’t help. The efficacy of such medication is limited, but it hurts. It hurts, and he’s just outed himself to one of his closest friends with no warning. No preparation. Anxiety works its way up his throat, and he thinks, for a moment, that he might be sick.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Mista says, bringing Giorno back out of his thoughts and back into reality. He tugs gently at Giorno’s upper arm.

Giorno lets himself be pulled up to his feet with a sort of numbness spreading through him. For all the panic that’s coursing through his veins, there is one, lucid thought: Mista isn’t upset. He’s taken the news and simply rolled with it like it means nothing. Like it doesn’t change anything, and Giorno doesn’t know how to handle that, so he just lets himself be pulled along. Out from behind his desk and toward the office entrance.

From there it’s a long, impossible trek to Giorno’s bedroom. One that requires breaks for the cramps that won’t let him off so easily. For a moment, he wishes it were a bullet tearing apart his insides. That, at least, he could do something about, but cramps are something else entirely. Using GE won’t get him anywhere. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s made it worse in the past, when he’s tried out of pure desperation.

“I’m going to go grab a heating pad,” Mista starts once they reach Giorno’s bedroom, “You should get changed into something less-- tight. Got any stretchy pants?”

“My pajamas,” Giorno answers, more because it seems expected of him than because he’s actually paying attention.

“Perfect! I’ll be back in a minute.”

Giorno’s left standing there, a bit lost for what to do with himself, but the next shock of pain comes and fresh tears burn at the corners of his eyes, reminding him of the fact that he really doesn’t want to be in the middle of the hall, visibly crying for all to see. There’s a logical part of him that knows he wouldn’t be judged for it, but there’s a much louder part that reminds him that crying has never gotten him anywhere in life other than alone and miserable.

He turns the knob on his door and pushes it open after the agony subsides enough to allow him to move again. The first thing he does upon entering his room is seek out the pill bottle from earlier. A few minutes won’t make a difference, and he’s rapidly approaching the end of his rope. He can’t handle the pain on top of everything else.

Changing is a whole other problem. One that he hadn’t thought of as a problem until he’s standing there with his sleep clothes in hand and staring down at himself, realizing he’ll have to undress in order to redress (and is it really worth the effort? Worth seeing himself and his hips and his chest and--).

He peels out of his suit despite himself. He doesn’t want Mista to come back and push the subject. Then there’s the risk that Mista might not leave, which means Giorno will have to deal with an audience on top of having to suffer through his own self-hatred.

The binder stays on. Regardless of how uncomfortable and hot and painful he already is. He can’t handle the idea of taking it off right now, so he suffers for the little bit of mental peace that it brings him. The flattened chest makes up for the curve of his hips, though he finds himself flattening his hands over his waist anyway. Unable to stop himself from picking at every flaw when he’s already hormonal and all around having one of the worst days he’s had in awhile.

The knock at his door startles him into action, and he finishes getting dressed with a quick, “Hold on!”

A moment later has him opening the door to Mista’s grinning face.

“Found it,” Mista says as he holds up the box with a product image on it. Giorno doesn’t get a chance to observe more than the fact that it’s maroon before Mista drops it back down to his side and nods toward Giorno’s room.

Giorno steps out of the way to allow his (technically uninvited) guest in. Mista’s rambling on about something. Giorno isn’t sure what, though he catches ‘Bucciarati’ and ‘Trish’ in there somewhere, and there’s something about Abbacchio being unhelpful and half a dozen other things that fall on deaf ears.

“Oh, and you got changed, good,” Mista finishes with another one of his goofy smiles. The corners of his eyes pull oddly, giving away something else that he’s trying to hide under all the babbling and warmth. Worry persists, despite knowing the truth. Giorno can’t understand why. Cramps aren’t that big of a deal; even if he’s made them out to be in his own head.

“Yeah, it’s helping a little, thanks,” Giorno says when Mista looks at him with some sort of expectation in his eyes. Giorno’s usually better at reading people than this, but he feels like he’s moving in water. Too slow and with too much drag. He can’t keep up with the world around him, and it’s all overwhelming pressure and not enough time. Time to process, time to breathe. He loops back around to the fact that he came out to someone on the Team no more than ten minutes ago, yet Mista is unflinching and unconcerned. He hasn’t brought it back up, since he learned about it, in fact. Hell, he’s acting like all of this is completely normal, despite Giorno being almost completely certain that Mista is cis.

“Earth to Giorno,” Mista calls, voice soft with that same worry now seeping into his tone.

“Sorry,” Giorno says quickly, “I was--”

“Off in lala land?”

“Something like that,” though he thinks that sounds substantially more pleasant than all the thoughts racing through his mind.

Mista watches him for a long, uncomfortable moment. It’s times like these where Giorno gets reminded of just how much Mista likes to play dumb, when he’s anything but. He might not have the book smarts that Fugo has, but Mista is brilliant in so many other ways. Ways that are working against Giorno right now.

“You know, if you want to talk about it…”

“I-” Giorno cuts off and groans. He quickly takes a seat on the edge of his bed and sticks his head down between his knees, folding himself in half in an attempt to apply enough pressure to alleviate some of the pain.

“Oh, shit, here,” Mista moves to find an outlet and digs out the heating pad from its box. He hooks it up quickly and hands it to Giorno. The fabric of its exterior is surprisingly soft in Giorno’s hands, and he’s quick to tuck it between his abdomen and his thighs.

“Thank you,” he breathes out after several seconds pass and heat finally starts to spread across the pad.

“No problem,” Mista says quietly. More subdued than he typically is. He moves to sit on the bed beside Giorno and places a hesitant hand on his back, where he rubs gentle circles until he can feel some of the tension ease out of his Don’s muscles.

It’s quiet for a long while. Giorno basks in the relief the pad and pain killers offer. It’s the first time in over an hour that he’s been able to simply breathe through the worst of the cramps each time they hit. Though his chest continues to ache, the change is nonetheless a welcomed one. The sensation of heat spreading across his abdomen is enough of a distraction to keep him out of his own head. For a short while, at least.

“Earlier, you said something about Bucciarati,” Giorno starts, nervous and unsure of how to broach the topic.

“Oh yeah, Bucci used to get cramps real bad, too,” Mista says without hesitation. Without any hint whatsoever that he finds what he’s said to be unusual.

“Is he--?”

“Oh, shit,” Mista’s hand stills on his back, and Giorno gnaws suddenly at his lip, afraid he’s somehow messed with something he shouldn’t have. “Uh, technically that’s probably not my place to say? But he’s not exactly hiding it, Gio. He’s got scars and everything.”

Scars? Oh.

Oh.

Giorno feels his face flush, this time out of a different sort of embarrassment. Sure, he had seen the scars before, but they were light. Old and well healed, probably through the help of Sticky Fingers, and it’s not as though Bucciarati isn’t covered in dozens of others. Most of them silver from age, but there all the same. It had never once occurred to Giorno that the two on his chest, which peek out just a bit underneath the classic lingerie that Bucciarati always wears, are anything purposeful.

“I didn’t realize,” Giorno admits after a moment, when that little fact is probably very obvious and unnecessarily verbalized, but he doesn’t know what else to say to fill the silence. His own head is much louder. Full of racing thoughts and flashes of memories.

“Maybe you should talk to him about it sometime?” Particularly in moments like these; Mista spares his emotions by keeping that part to himself, but Giorno’s thinking it all the same.

To imagine that he’s been doing all of this in silence since meeting Bucciarati and his Team. To think that he could be so dense as to dismiss the signs that he isn’t alone. He only wishes he had realized sooner, even if he isn’t sure what it would have changed. He’s not sure he could have broached the subject then. He’s not sure he could do it now. Mista only found out because of circumstance.

Still. There’s someone just like him, and they live under the same roof. “I should,” he agrees, because he really should, hang-ups aside.

“Hey, you wanna try laying out? ‘Cause, no offense, man, but that looks super uncomfortable.” Mista asks after a beat of silence. He’s never one to let it go on for too long, and he’s rarely deterred by any uncomfortableness that might be lingering.

Giorno nods his head after a moment and slowly sits up. He moves his hands to hold the heating pad against his abdomen and breathes a small sigh of relief when the pain doesn’t immediately crowd in on him again. He carefully stretches himself out across the bed, despite how painfully aware of Mista’s presence he is. It’s weird to be laying out, so physically vulnerable, and it makes him acutely aware of all the things he wishes he could forget. (Is the outline of his binder visible? What about the shape of his hips? Does lying down like this make it that much more obvious how slight Giorno is?)

Once he’s lying back fully, he lets go of the pad, allowing it to rest on top of him on its own. The next wave of pain is far more manageable than the last several have been, and he merely winces in response.

“Those must suck, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“I really don’t,” Mista agrees, “Though Trish and Bucci make it out to be pretty shitty, so.”

“I think I prefer being stabbed.”

Mista winces at the thought, “For what it’s worth, I’d rather you weren’t.”

Giorno lets out a startled laugh, but he gets Mista’s point. He kind of wishes his bodyguard weren’t so prone to being shot with multiple bullets on a regular basis. Unfortunately for both of them, they can’t always get what they want.

The quiet that settles over them this time is much more peaceful. Giorno closes his eyes and relaxes into the mattress. It’s the best he’s felt all day. Physically, anyway. There’s plenty for him to work through otherwise, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Instead, he focuses on the lessening cramps until they’ve all but died off entirely. Exhaustion takes hold of him then. It’s still far too early in the day to sleep, but a nap is beginning to sound like a good idea.

Before he can think about drifting off fully, he cracks his eyes open to peek at Mista, “Thank you.”

Mista beams at him from where he’s gone and laid out next to Giorno, “Anytime, GioGio. Anytime.”

#giomis #misgio #giorno giovanna #guido mista #jjba #vento aureo #team bucci #jean pierre polnareff #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #jjba part 5 #part 5 #golden wind #blitzwrites #blitz

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (5)

“What do you make of all this?” Toshinori asked, when they were finally alone. They’d momentarily parked the kid in the hallway with a cup of tea while the hero had followed Tsukauchi in his office as he took care of the last bureaucratic dregs of the questioning.

“As I see it, there are two major possibilities we ought to consider.” Tsukauchi said without taking his eyes off the monitor of his computer. “The first is that Midoriya’s quirk is just a mutation, and he is in no way related to All For One. His father is likely a government official whose position grants him knowledge of enough confidential files to make him fear negative repercussions in case his son’s quirk was publicly known, and has therefore enforced silence on the matter. We aren’t looking at any outstanding crimes here, although this man isn’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards any time soon.”

Toshinori grimaced. Wouldn’t that be nice? “And what are the odds of this being our case?”

“I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it, for sure.” Tsukauchi typed something on the keyboard, and checked his phone at the same time, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. “The other possibility is that Midoriya is indeed related to All For One, maybe even his son. He’s been fostered to a trusted associate of his and kept in the dark about everything.”

That option could be more statistically or genetically likely, but it still didn’t sit right with Toshinori. “That doesn’t sound like something All For One would do though. Why not raise him as a successor, or even just an underling? Surely another All For One wielder would have made for an important asset to his schemes.”

“You forget that Midoriya’s quirk manifested only two years ago. It is possible that All For One may have planned to do so, but lost interest when the child was deemed quirkless.” Tsukauchi scratched his head pensively. “As for why he didn’t keep the kid close since his birth… we can only assume it was out of caution. Fourteen years ago you had already put a significant dent in All For One’s syndicate and influence. Maybe he was already taking precautions against his own downfall, and didn’t want his potential successor to be involved in case things took a turn for the worse too quickly.”

“... I guess that makes sense.” Toshinori nodded. As per habit, he sent a quiet thanks to his lucky star for accidentally baring his secret to a damnably honest and capable member of the force such as Tsukauchi, God knew Toshinori himself wasn’t exactly cut out for fine deductive work. “In this case, the boy’s father…”

“...Is a former subordinate of All For One’s currently employed by the government, yes. Not a pleasant scenario to work with.” Tsukauchi waited for the printer to regurgitate a disproportionate stack of documents that made Toshinori instinctively recoil. The detective flipped through the paperwork quickly before sprinkling his signature on just about every odd sheet. “Regardless of which of the two hypotheses is true, I definitely want to look into this Hisashi Midoriya. He is by far the most suspicious aspect of the boy’s account.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t visit his family for a decade and a half, he doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t follow basic legal procedures, and you can tell he had more of an active role in encouraging Midoriya to hide the quirk than the kid lets on... It doesn’t exactly paint a reassuring picture.” Toshinori sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for the boy…”

“It never is, when a family member is involved in criminal activities. But the fact that their relationship seems rather distant may make things a little less traumatic for him.” Tsukauchi checked his watch as he tidied up some stationery and turned off his computer. “Well, I guess I’m not too unforgivably late for my other meeting since we don’t have to question Mrs. Midoriya.”

“...Sorry about that. And for springing this on you all of a sudden.” Toshinori said with an apologetic grimace and his utmost sincerity. “You’re a saint.”

Tsukauchi’s small smile implied that he was well aware of the fact. “I’ll drive Midoriya home while I’m on my way to the city hall. Do you need a lift? Or do you want me to let you on the rooftop for a smoke?” That bit of code speak would never not be tragically ironic, Toshinori thought.

“No, I’ve already finished my shift for the day.” All three, scant, scattered hours of it. Japan’s finest, most dependable hero, ladies and gentlemen.

“Then thank you for your hard work.” His friend gave him a quick look and a brief, firm squeeze to his shoulder before heading to the door. No pity, no unrequested sympathy, no disingenuous praise, just straightforward respect and understanding. He really was one of a kind.

Midoriya was exactly where they’d left him, busy fiddling with his phone. He perked up when he saw them return. “Uh, my mother just texted me back. She says she’ll be home in about an hour. If you still want to talk to her.”

Tsukauchi hesitated. “It’s a little too late for me, I’m afraid. I’m expected somewhere else, but…”

“I can wait.“ Toshinori immediately volunteered. “It won’t be as thorough or official as if you interviewed her yourself, but if it can lighten your workload just a little…”

“...Well, I don’t see why not. Hop in the car with us then.”

The return trip was silent. Toshinori glanced at Midoriya a couple of times from the rearview mirror, and he always caught him in an ill-concealed state of unrest. Fidgeting with his phone, picking at the seatbelt, gazing nervously out of both car windows. Toshinori didn’t like that. Why all that agitation, now that the worst of the ordeal was supposedly over?

The boy eventually locked eyes with him. “...Oh. Uhm.”

“Something on your mind?” Toshinori asked.

“Uh, well, I was wondering…” His gaze dropped to his knees. “Are you going to tell my mother about my quirk?”

“I’m afraid so. She is bound to find out anyway, eventually. The police will issue an update on your quirk registration, as per the norm in such cases.”

“...Ah.” Oh boy, now he looked like a kicked puppy. That was just depressing.

“I don’t necessarily have to be the one to break the news to her though. If it makes you feel any better, you can tell her about the incident in your own words.” Toshinori offered, hoping to soften the blow.

“I… I think I would prefer that. Thank you.” The boy quietly acquiesced.

Tsukauchi shot Toshinori a pointed look. All right, maybe that wasn’t the most proper way to go about it, maybe standard procedure demanded the officer in charge to keep mother and son separate during the questioning and explain things personally in the most objective possible terms. But Toshinori wasn’t an officer, he was a washed-up alter-ego of the Symbol of Peace acting in semi-official consulting capacity, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make things a little less humiliating for the forlorn child in the back. He condensed that whole argument into a meaningful glance of his own, that Tsukauchi couldn’t hold for more than two seconds lest he drove them all straight into the back of a truck. Toshinori took that as unspoken permission to proceed as he saw fit.

“I’ll be leaving this in your capable hands then.” Tsukauchi said as the two stepped out of the car. The man had a veritable talent for conveying irony while maintaining the straightest of faces and the driest of tones.

“Your trust is deeply appreciated. Drive safely!” Toshinori shut the door of the car decisively and waved him off with a dazzling smile.

“Uhm. Okay.” Midoriya said, his eyes darting between the hero and the speeding car with obvious perplexity. “Mom won’t be here for at least another forty minutes. I can fetch that photo you wanted in the meantime. I think I know where it is… probably...”

“I’ll take you up on that, thank you.” Toshinori followed him across the parking lot and up the stairs of the apartment complex. The boy’s eagerness to please was a sight for sore eyes in this cold, self-serving world. “You really did something commendable today, you know? Not many people would be so ready to relieve the pain of those who hurt them. That villain owes you more than he’ll ever know.”

“Oh…” The boy fiddled with his keys as a light redness tinged his cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. It isn’t my place to judge anyone... let alone steal from them. I just hope he’ll get better soon.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on his condition, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t need to! It’s fine!” Midoriya’s instinctual politeness clashed against Toshinori’s no-nonsense availability. It was a fierce battle, but one didn’t become the number one hero without developing a certain skill in staring people into reasonableness. Midoriya surrendered with a small smile. “...I-It would put my mind at ease though.”

“Then I shall.” Toshinori claimed with finality. “Honestly, I wish I could have done more today for you and Tsukauchi. You two took care of all the heavy lifting and data collecting while I just stood around doing nothing the whole time.”

“You did, didn't you…?” Toshinori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that candid a confirmation of his uselessness. Midoriya flinched and started flailing about in obvious distress as soon as he realized he’d voiced that thought aloud. “N-No! I mean- I don’t mean that you were- What I’m saying is that you didn’t really need to come. But you did anyway! F-For my sake, I get that. Because you promised you’d help me out, even if you surely have better things to do with your time, and… I truly appreciate it. Really.”

Toshinori laughed softly. Yes, ‘truly appreciative’ was indeed the boy’s default mood whenever he was graced with the barest amount of consideration, as far as the hero had witnessed in their short acquaintance. He didn’t think it was some sort of hero-worship-related response either, the kid just seemed that sensitive to it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” Midoriya finally opened the door and they stepped inside. He let out a small chuckle of his own as they removed their shoes. “I guess I have new insight to add to the online speculation about All Might’s decreasing workload. I guess it is to be expected if yo- if he’s taken to follow up on all his cases so thoroughly.”

Toshinori had to fight back a traitorous cough. “W-well, there is really no need for me to overexert myself nowadays as I used to do in the past.“ He started, automatically supplying his PR-certified response to any inquiry on the topic. Goodness, people really did notice, didn’t they? It was hardly a new concern, but still… “The crime rate has been decreasing steadily, and the industry is so saturated with heroes that there’s someone ready to intervene almost at any place and at any given time. And those heroes could use the money and exposure way more than me…” Toshinori trailed off as they made their way to the living room. The boy was regarding him with unnerving attention, as if memorizing his speech word for word. “There are other reasons too, of course…”

Midoriya cocked his head to the side curiously, expecting further elaboration. Then it clicked, and he fleetingly glanced at the hero from head to toe with open contrition. “O-Oh! Of course! Your… Sorry, I forgot.”

That simple sentence confused Toshinori so much that he couldn’t help but gape back. The silence grew very awkward very quickly. “...Uhm. So, that photo of yours?”

“R-Right! I’ll go look for it! Make yourself comfortable! Be right back!” The boy bolted fast enough to leave metaphorical dust clouds behind him.

Toshinori wandered to the nearest chair with small steps. He forgot. That was quite the feat, while literally standing in front of the sad, wrecked husk that Toshinori had become. Or maybe the kid hadn’t realized that his appearance was a relatively recent development. That seemed more likely. Perhaps he had interpreted his vague answer about his quirk to mean that the number one hero had always been just that, a sickly, overachieving twig in a bodysuit keeping his own skeleton in the closet for nearly forty years.

Toshinori let out a sigh. Quite the uplifting impression he was leaving with this young one.

His circling thoughts were interrupted by a yelp, and the thundering noise of some heavy objects crashing just outside the living room.

“Midoriya?” Toshinori called, jumping to his feet. The second unanswered call had him by the source of the noise in a moment.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” Midoriya’s voice finally answered, from behind a half-closed door conspicuously marked as ‘Izuku’ by a familiar blond-banged nameplate.

“What was that?”

“Just… some stuff that fell down...” Toshinori approached it and peeked inside. Even from his limited perspective, he could see the boy sitting on the floor and rubbing his forehead, next to a tipped-over chair.

“And did that stuff happen to include you?” Toshinori deadpanned, inviting himself in... and pausing on the threshold. Taking in the interior of the boy’s bedroom. Which wasn’t the priority right now. He willed himself to ignore the star-spangled elephant in the room assaulting his senses and knelt down beside Midoriya, gently peeling his hand away from the sore spot. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s just a bump.”

“You should put some ice on it.” There were no cuts or outer signs or damage, which was a good start. Toshinori’s eyes fell on the bottom half of the toppled piece of furniture beside them. “...Did you seriously try to climb on a rolling chair?”

“I do that all the time. It’s steadier than it looks!” There was no appropriate reply to such a claim, but Toshinori’s judgemental glare was enough to make the boy squirm. “I’m fine, really-”

“Ice.” He pointed sternly at the corridor. Maybe there was still a minimal chance of preventing an oversized lump on Midoriya’s forehead from outing to Tsukauchi and other responsible adults the fact the boy had nearly cracked his skull within five minutes of being left in Toshinori’s charge.

“All right. Just a second.” Toshinori kept an eye on the kid, making sure he wasn’t struggling to keep his balance, as he made his way out of the room. Room that Toshinori was now free to observe in all its embarrassing magnificence.

A soft All Might carpet. All Might-themed bedding. Walls plastered with All Might posters. All Might-patterned curtains. Shelves and shelves and shelves of All Might action figures and books.

It was always… humbling to be reminded of how much passion and care people from so many different walks of life could put in something as trivial as collecting hero merchandise - his hero merchandise, more often than not. Popularity and revenue were Toshinori’s very last priorities when it came to his job, but, despite merchandising being exactly about those, he wasn’t opposed to the practice in principle. It did help cement the reassuring image of the Symbol of Peace in the collective mind, which was definitely one of his lifetime goals. It brought a sizable influx of wealth to the agency’s treasury, which he largely redirected to charity and assorted emergency relief funds. It did seem to spark genuine joy and entertainment in both children and adults. And, when none of these arguments were enough to wash away the vague sense of guilt that came with profiting off the love and admiration of Japan’s fine citizens, Toshinori reminded himself that there were much worse, self-destructive indulgences people could waste their savings on. Alcohol. Tobacco. Drugs. Troll 2 DVDs. The like.

Midoriya reappeared nursing an ice pack against his temple. “Sorry about that. The photo should be in one of those boxes.” He gestured towards the wardrobe that sported a brown cardboard box on the top, and then towards the floor, where its twin lay sideways after a presumably rough landing. They cut through the tape of the latter and, after Midoriya emphatically assured him that he didn’t mind him browsing through his personal belongings in the slightest, Toshinori joined the kid on the carpet in their quest for the photographic Holy Grail.

“I probably slipped it inside one of these…” The boy said, pulling out small piles of notebooks and publications. Toshinori confined his perusal to dated magazines, comics and books that didn’t seem likely to invade Midoriya’s privacy. The first box yielded no result.

“Maybe it’s in that one. Let me get another chair- oh.” Toshinori only needed to raise his arms and strain slightly on his toes to comfortably reach the top of the wardrobe and retrieve the second- crap, that was heavy. How the kid planned to pull it down himself while standing on wheels was beyond him. “Thank you.”

Toshinori was sitting cross-legged and flipping through an old gossip magazine lavishing pages and pages of speculation on the meager information they had managed to scrape together on his association with Dave - ah, those were the days… - when Midoriya finally let out a triumphant Aha!

“Found it!” He regarded his prize with joy, but his expression quickly morphed into concentration and then confusion. Toshinori held out his hand expectantly, and the boy deposited the photo into it while indicating a specific spot. “It’s, uh… my father’s this one.”

Toshinori looked at the man in question.

And froze.

“He doesn’t…” He heard the boy say distantly, as if from kilometres away. “He looks… a bit different from the picture in the police file…”

Toshinori coughed. He was different, all right. Subtly, cunningly so. Both men had short, snow-white hair, both had relatively plain features and pale complexion, both had faintly-colored eyes that could pass as blue under the right light. They were similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another, when described verbally. But the man in Tsukauchi’s file was a stranger to Toshinori. The man in this photo wasn’t.

“This-” The hero managed, between small bursts of coughs that he couldn’t restrain. “This is the man that- told you to keep quiet about your quirk-”

“Y-Yes.” Midoriya was gawking at him with obvious concern, and it only got worse when the hero’s words sank in. “I-I mean, he didn’t- he just- we sort of agreed that-”

“And the-” Toshinori covered his mouth with his hand, already tasting iron on his tongue as he patted his trousers to find some tissues. “The last time you spoke to him was…?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

Something inside Toshinori just gave up on trying to hold it together. He erupted into a brutal fit, vicious enough to shake his whole body and squeeze his eyes shut. He heard the boy asking something in alarm, and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin before he finally got ahold of a handkerchief to press against his lips. He hacked and spluttered for an interminable minute, his throat and chest tight and sore from the effort. Eventually it died down, and he found himself hunched over and bracing himself against the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath as something shuffled beside him. He turned to check on the noise, and saw Midoriya tapping on his phone.

“Don’t.” Toshinori rasped, swallowing down the remaining blood coating his mouth and reaching out to gesture at him dismissively with his clean hand. “I’m fine.”

“N-no, you aren’t.” The kid looked on the verge of fainting himself. Toshinori followed his horrified gaze, only to notice he’d sprayed plenty of little crimson stains on both the photo and the carpet, not to mention his own clothes. Damn, that was a mess even by his standards. “B-But- it’s okay, I’ll call an-”

Toshinori unceremoniously plucked the phone from Midoriya’s grasp, made sure that he hadn’t dialed any number, and tossed it on his bed. No need to make the situation even more headache-inducing than it already was. “I mean it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

Toshinori cleared his throat as he contemplated the ruined piece of evidence anew. At least he hadn’t marred the spot containing ‘Hisashi Midoriya’. Despite the less than optimal angle, there could really be no doubt. There was no mistaking that face for anyone else’s, it had been seared in Toshinori’s mind by more than three decades of pain and regret.

...Shit.

Shit.

Toshinori collected the picture from the floor and stood up to drop it on the kid’s desk, where it sat innocently surrounded by dozens of pieces of licensed All Might memorabilia.

“...So this is your father, and he’s alive and well.” He stated it aloud and with scorn, because he felt it was important for the universe to hear that its sense of humor didn’t fly with everyone.

“Ehr. Yes. Do you-”

“All right. Okay. Fine.” Toshinori turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“...To your doctor?” Midoriya asked apprehensively, visibly starting to doubt the hero’s mental as well as physical well-being.

“No.” He almost stamped a huge, bloody handprint on his slacks before remembering that he still looked like he’d just slaughtered a pig and devoured it raw. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Second door on the left.” The boy muttered, too stunned by now to object to any of Toshinori’s tangents.

Toshinori washed his face, neck and hands, and rinsed his mouth. He decided he couldn’t bother to do anything about the state of his clothes. He took care of scrubbing the sink too once he was done, making sure he didn’t accidentally leave any red smears on it. He dried his hands and fetched his phone.

“Tsukauchi? Sorry, can you make it back to Midoriya’s house? Yes, as soon as you can. ...No, but we found that photo. You need to see it, it’s… it’s him.”

He closed the call and stared at his reflection on the mirror. His brain didn’t produce a single coherent thought. He walked back to the kid’s room.

Midoriya was peering at the picture intently, even though he hadn’t moved it from where Toshinori had left it. The man’s eyes fell on the scattered blots on the carpet. In his experience, there wasn’t much hope of removing them completely, but it seemed rude not to try, at least. “Got any cleaning supplies?”

Midoriya blinked at him owlishly. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.”

One short trip later, Toshinori was back with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. He waved the boy off when he made to kneel down beside him to help. He handed him the ice pack that lay forgotten on the floor, and the kid pressed it back on his forehead mechanically as he sat on his bed. Toshinori could benefit from only a couple of minutes of silence before Midoriya spoke.

“You know him.”

“...Yes.”

“You’re upset.”

Toshinori wondered if it showed on his face, or if it was just an educated guess based on the half-baked spontaneous hemorrhage he’d just displayed. He didn’t reply, his attention ostensibly focused on dabbing lightly at each smudge.

“Why…” The boy’s voice faltered. “W-Why is there a photo of another man in the police records?”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a deep exhale. He wasn’t sure he was the most qualified person to have this conversation with the boy. He surely wasn’t the most eager to.

“All Might.” He felt compelled to raise his gaze. Midoriya was pale, his eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. His expression was heartbreakingly imploring. “Please.”

He was going to find out anyway, at least the bare bones of it. Kindness was one thing, cowardice was another. Denying him an answer at this point felt more like the latter.

“I know him because he is known to the police. He’s a villain.”

“...A villain…?” The information bounced right against Midoriya’s shock. Toshinori gave him a curt nod. “No… no, that’s… not…”

Toshinori could track the gradual, painstaking process of acceptance the poor kid was going through from the aborted expressions quickly blurring into each other. Horror, fear, confusion, disbelief. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“A-Are you sure?”

Toshinori hesitated. Was there any other possibility they weren’t considering? “Are you absolutely certain that that’s the person you’ve been talking to?”

“I… I’ve never met him in person. B-But mom has, and she’s been talking to him too. She said it’s him.”

“...Then I’m afraid there can be no mistake.” It felt like dropping a boulder on the child’s chest, and the way Midoriya crumpled onto himself, cradling his head in both his hands, reinforced that gut-churning impression. Toshinori made no effort to conceal the sympathy in his whisper. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“H-He said…” The rest of that thought was swallowed into distraught silence.

“He told you he worked for the government?”

Midoriya took his time to answer, and he did so with a half-choked snort. “He… he never did, actually. I thought… He said things that… made me think…”

Toshinori grit his teeth. Figures. That silver-tongued demon wouldn’t spare even a child from his precious little mind games. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the boy’s quiet sniffles, and it was so long that Toshinori believed the kid to have exhausted his reserve of bravery for further questions. He’d resumed his ill-concealed procrastination via blood-cleaning when the next inquiry dropped.

“What did he do?”

Oh, man. What didn’t he do? “He’s been involved in a variety of criminal activities, both directly and indirectly. He’s… quite the nasty customer.”

“Since when? How long for?” Midoriya gripped his head even more tightly, his fingers digging deep among his curls.

Toshinori had the distinct feeling that his well-meaning honesty was now trespassing into inadvertent cruelty. “We should wait for your mother before discussing this any-”

“Please.” Midoriya’s head snapped up, and the weight and emotion of those emerald eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Please, just tell me.”

Fourteen years of lies. Toshinori couldn’t bear to add even one more to the heap. “...Since long before you were born.”

Midoriya’s head dropped anew. Toshinori got back on his feet, unsure whether a kind word or a pat on the head could possibly ease that burden even slightly-

The ring of the doorbell made them both flinch, bursting that odd bubble of private desolation that had enveloped the boy’s room. They made their way out of the room, Midoriya quietly trailing behind the hero as the man opened the front door.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth to greet them, and froze. His eyes immediately homed in on the blood liberally splattered on Toshinori’s clothes, and on the melted ice pack Midoriya was still absently pressing to his temple.

“...What happened?”

Inko Midoriya had the same dark green hair as her son, styled in a way that made something inside Toshinori’s chest ache with nostalgia and familiarity. She had the countenance of a demure, quiet, respectable housewife that valued stability and her loved ones’ well-being above all, and would never even conceive of starting a family with anyone any less sensible than she was.

That was why Toshinori was thrown for a loop when, upon being informed that her absentee husband was a criminal, she simply closed her eyes and bowed her head with a sigh and a resigned “...Yes, I am aware.”

Toshinori let Tsukauchi lead the questioning, as usual. Inko had met ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ (under a different alias, at the time) when she was twenty-six, working as a secretary at the main branch of Detnerat. The man had been introduced to her as a representative from another support item company doing some preliminary checks on Detnerat for a potential merger.

This was unusual, but not exceedingly so. In the nearly thirty years he’d spent meticulously dismantling All For One’s organization, Toshinori had gathered evidence of him personally handling certain aspects of his schemes with surprising regularity, even relatively minor tasks or dirty deeds that could easily and safely be entrusted to his subordinates. He hardly ever found any specific reasons for All For One’s direct involvement. Toshinori strongly suspected that the bastard simply didn’t enjoy the lifestyle of the cooped-up, invisible puppeteer, and sometimes just felt like wrecking some havoc with his own diabolical hands.

Inko had been charged with supplying him with quite a sizable amount of rather sensitive data, but since the CEO in person had given the authorization, she had performed her task diligently and unsuspectingly.

Now, Toshinori had been expecting the worst to emerge while questioning the circumstances that had led Inko Midoriya to her current marital status. Without exaggerating, the very worst. Any sort of revolting account of manipulation, coercion, even human experimentation, there was no low All For One wouldn’t stoop to. They had confined the boy to his room before starting for that exact reason.

But apparently the universe wasn’t done throwing curve balls at Toshinori that day, and what they’d gotten instead was the succinct description of what seemed to be, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary and unassuming workplace romance. One instigated mainly by Inko herself, no less. Toshinori’s strained mind didn’t quite know what to make of that baffling information, so it promptly repressed it.

“We didn’t keep seeing each other after he stopped coming to the company, but I did reach out to him when I found out I was pregnant. That was when I became aware that there was much I didn’t know about him.”

“How so?”

“He told me.” Inko replied simply. “He was... forward about it, in a way. He said that he couldn’t settle down in any given place, nor spare the time for being part of a family. He offered to let me join him in his activities, but… the way he worded it made it clear that he wasn’t talking of any sort of legal business.”

“Did he mention any details about what his ‘business’ entailed, in general or in that specific time frame?”

“No, not at all. But considering how we met, I assume he must be involved in industrial espionage.” Grief, brief but intense, shadowed on the woman’s features for a moment. “I… I resigned from Detnerat as soon as I found out. He had been asking rather sensitive questions about the inner workings of the company, and… even though I never technically shared confidential information, I felt like I had exposed it to too great a danger because of my irresponsible conduct. And, honestly… I was afraid of what could emerge if I kept working there in my condition.”

Toshinori rubbed his hands in his lap uncomfortably. No job, a son on the way, a presumably disreputable partner to deal with… What a wretched situation to find oneself in.

“You said he offered you to join him? In what way, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked from above the pages and pages of notes filling his notepad.

“...I am not sure. I didn’t ask, I had no intention of getting caught in that sort of environment. Nor did I want Izuku to grow up embroiled in dubious activities from an early age.” Inko’s brows furrowed, and her fist clenched slightly. “...I didn’t want him to feel abandoned either though. I didn’t want him to grow thinking his father had deserted him. I asked Hisashi to grant us that, at least. Financial support and the decency to call, once in a while.”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a sharp cough at that. Inko regarded him with a mix of concern and suspicion.

He couldn’t blame her for it. He had accidentally caused her a fair share of grief when, her son having forgotten to warn her to expect guests upon her return, she’d opened the front door and found a freakishly tall, gaunt, haunted-looking, bloodied stranger looming in her hallway. Toshinori had waited in a conveniently secluded corner of the living room, trying to make himself look as small and non-threatening as possible, while Tsukauchi delivered the proper introductions and deflected the few concerned neighbors her terrified scream had attracted. Not exactly brilliant, as first impressions went.

“And he agreed to that?” Toshinori croaked.

“Yes. I was expecting some resistance, but… he agreed almost immediately.”

Toshinori gaped at the remissive-looking, soft-spoken woman who had once been capable of browbeating All For One into exercising a modicum of fatherly commitment. This whole Midoriya case was getting more and more unbelievable by the hour.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat pointedly. Toshinori scraped back together what little dignity he had left and tried to soldier on.

“Please continue, Mrs. Midoriya.” The detective encouraged.

“There isn’t much else to say, I think. I didn’t hear from him for months after that. I contacted him a few days after Izuku was born, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

Tsukauchi tapped his chin with his pen for a few moments, his expression deeply focussed. Then he looked Inko straight in the eye.

“You are being… unexpectedly forthcoming about all this, if I may.”

Inko let out a deep sigh. “I was never under the impression that we could escape the consequences of Hisashi’s actions forever. As soon as Izuku was born, I decided that I would never subject myself or my son to undue duresses just to keep my husband’s secrets. I told Hisashi as much as well.”

Toshinori had to stifle another wet cough with his handkerchief. How on earth was this woman still alive?

“And he had no qualms about this declaration?”

“No. It rather amused him, actually. He said that any mother worth her salt would put her offspring’s safety above that of their parents. And… something about natural selection and survival of the fittest…” Inko’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, like those of a very normal wife exasperated by the very normal idiosyncrasies of her very normal husband. “He does go off on such tangents.”

“So you aren’t concerned about any possible retaliations on your husband’s part because of your cooperation with us?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, almost shocked by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I really don’t think he’d be capable of something like that.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. Toshinori frowned, admittedly perturbed by the level of trust All For One had managed to establish within the family without ever even deigning to step in their household. Precautions would have to be taken to protect the Midoriyas from the tragic fate that usually befell all those who were deemed traitors by the Symbol of Fear.

More and more questions followed. With his habitual thoroughness, Tsukauchi pursued a multitude of topics and leads that hadn’t even occurred to Toshinori, at least not so readily. Timing and means of communications, occasional postal deliveries to and from the family, details about the sums of money regularly deposited in the family’s account, and so forth. Toshinori was rather out of his depth here, but he tried his best to help Tsukauchi sort through the reams of documents, receipts, records, and diverse paperwork Inko produced at the detective’s request. By the time Tsukauchi declared to be satisfied with his preliminary inquiries, he had earned himself two plastic bags bursting with evidence, and Toshinori had developed a burgeoning migraine.

As they finally made their way to the entrance, Toshinori glanced at the door to Midoriya’s bedroom. Amidst that cascade of new revelations, they’d barely touched upon the topic of the villain attack and of Midoriya’s quirk with his mother. Toshinori felt genuinely sorry for the difficult conversations that were sure to follow between those two.

He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he stepped outside the Midoriyas’ apartment. Sunset had come and gone, and the lampposts and the bright squares of the neighbors’ windows were the only sources of light in the moonless night of that unassuming residential area. As the door closed behind his back, squeezing into nothingness the rectangular glow framing him and Tsukauchi, Toshinori felt the darkness weigh on his shoulders and seep in his bones almost physically.

He felt, suddenly, extremely tired.

“I’ll drive you home.” Tsukauchi’s wasn’t an offer, so Toshinori didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

They walked to the car as his friend made a couple of quick calls to instruct some agents to watch the house until the next morning. The fresh night air would have felt like a small bliss to Toshinori on any other day, but in that moment it only rattled whatever unpleasant manifestation of his unease had lodged itself in his lung earlier that afternoon and hadn’t left since. He coughed a few times in his fist, then a few more on purpose to make sure he got most of the discomfort in his throat out of his system before he settled in the passenger’s seat.

The drive was quiet. Toshinori gazed absently out of the window, letting the new awareness sink in his mind like a stone in a pond. All For One was alive. All For One was still alive, somehow. Toshinori couldn’t fathom how. They had never retrieved the body, that was true, but there was precious little they had managed to retrieve from the location of their fight back then. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d found Toshinori himself quickly enough to lend medical assistance. The only reason why they’d been able to keep the public from learning of the accident was because it hadn’t happened on the mainland, and the tiny, uninhabited island that hosted it had all but been wiped from the maps. That his foe may have survived that disaster, considering the damage he’d sustained, was almost inconceivable. Toshinori was pretty sure he’d actually caught a glimpse of the man’s exposed brain after landing the last-

“Are you all right?” Tsukauchi asked quietly.

The corner of Toshinori’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m never going to defy New Year’s fortunes again. Moving away from Tokyo was a terrible idea.”

“This is a good thing. If you hadn’t, All For One would still be out there, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Hell. Five years. For five years they’d been none the wiser. How much strength had All For One regained in five years, while Toshinori’s own slowly went down the drain? How much of his criminal network had he managed to rebuild? How many unnoticed, unreported atrocities had he been plotting and executing, unbeknownst to all? The mere notion made Toshinori’s skin crawl.

But Tsukauchi had the right idea, there was no point in brooding over the current situation. Things could have turned out a lot worse. If Toshinori had already chosen a successor and exhausted One For All’s embers, by now he’d be powerless and useless, and the burden of facing his revived nemesis would have fallen entirely on the new, inexperienced wielder. That truly would have been a worst-case scenario. But as things stood, he could still rely on his quirk for a decent amount of time. He could still tie this dreadful loose end himself before passing the torch, and he’d spare no effort in the endeavor. He’d pursue the monster to the ends of the Earth if he had to, even if it meant wearing himself down to nothing for the rest of his life.

Or meeting his gruesome, bitter end in the process.

Toshinori shivered.

“So,” he heard himself say, “where do we go from here?”

Tsukauchi gave him a stern, silent scrutiny, then he told him.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #Naomasa Tsukauchi #deku #izuku midoriya #inko midoriya

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 4 years ago

Text

the conclusion to the fëanorian tauriel saga! this one’s mostly about the state of affairs after she gets adopted into everyone’s favourite family of murderers, plus a couple of extra bits and bobs. there’s some more stuff i’d like to put down somewhere - a deleted scene, a minific - but this is mostly the end of my headcanons for this particular au. so far, anyway. part 1 part 2 part 3

mandos may have, in the past, given off the impression that fëanor would remain within the halls until dagor dagorath

that statement was always a bit of a conflation of terms. like everybody else in the halls, fëanor would get a clean pass for reinbodiment as and when he attended elf afterlife therapy and got a handle on his shit. it’s just nobody thought he would ever do that

but he has done that, and more besides. he’s honestly been clear to go for a while now, he just refused to leave until his sons were ready

and since then... mandos will admit to certain political pressures exerted towards keeping fëanor under lock and key

but over time, those pressures slowly yield to the fact that mandos absolutely cannot deal with this lunatic for the rest of arda

death has not put a damper on fëanor’s unstoppability. he was preoccupied for a long while with the damage done to his sons but with them all out he had a conspicious lack of things to Do

and a bored fëanor is a dangerous fëanor

so yeah. fëanor is less released from the halls of mandos as he is unceremoniously kicked out. mandos refuses to talk about it. the maiar of the halls throw a massive party

this all happens on extremely short notice. as in, manwë announces his release like half a day before it happens

this of course throws his extended family (and a decent proportion of the rest of the continent) into this massive frenzied whirlwind of panic. everybody thought they’d get more warning than this, and nobody knows what’s going to happen next

at the epicentre of this maelstrom is the elf himself. fëanor doesn’t know either, he’s still trying to catch up on everyone he left behind and everything that’s gone down since he died. so much has changed, and he’s still stumbling groggily in the darkness

at some point between his long-practiced apology to finarfin and the maglor encounter everyone’s been dreading, though, he makes an unexpected discovery

he has a daughter now. apparently

her name’s tauriel, she smells like woodsmoke. he first meets her when she wanders into the living room, blinks blearily for a couple of seconds, goes ‘hi dad!’ and immediately falls asleep on his lap

and it’s not like he’s not incredibly stoked to have another child, it’s just how???

the first time he asks this question, the motley collection of relatives and old friends he’s talking to all come to the same conclusion

they can either (a) walk him through the history of tauriel’s growing friendship with and eventual adoption into the least reputable branch of the house of finwë or (b) dump the latest copy of the grand unified tauriel conspiracy theory on him with absolutely no context

considering they’re the hellfamily and friends, they go for the chaos option

it takes fëanor, like, two days to read it. the thing was ridiculously elaborate even before people started competing to come up with the craziest possible theories

the people around him keep the ruse going as long as they can stretch it. eventually celebrimbor takes pity on him, and legolas fills in the details

(legolas currently occupies a position in the fëanorian internal hierarchy not dissimilar to fingon’s. he has no idea how to interpret that)

fëanor also just. talks to tauriel. about how she came, and why she stayed

the next day, fëanor loudly announces to the entirety of tirion that he has a new daughter, her name is tauriel and she’s amazing

she’s been a de facto part of the house for years but this is the first official confirmation of it. the news, and the gossip, spreads all over aman

not that this marks a massive turning point for tauriel. even without a big announcement, she made which side she was on pretty clear back when shit went down

and honestly her life hasn’t changed that much since then. she still spends most of her time exploring noldorin country or chilling in the forest with her silvan friends

this isn’t too uncommon a situation for a member of the house of fëanor. they usually do their own thing, whatever that may be. even nerdanel abandons her house every so often to spend a year or two in the mountains

even in tirion, it’s not that different. she still crashes in the same place, hangs with the same people

she just also occasionally does stuff for :mobster voice: the family

she’s part of the second generation’s extremely overprotective mutual defence web. she has a few responsibilities vis-a-vis the definitely-not-minions. she’s not quite as magnetic as her older brothers, but she’s charismatic enough people tend to both legitimately like and let their guard down around her

she goes to court events sometimes, if she’s in town and in the mood. she’s not virulently allergic to it like celegorm but she doesn’t thrive there the way elrond does. she prefers lower-city forge parties. way more booze, way less bling

(the greenwood elves have stopped needing to bring her along to every political meeting for quote-unquote moral support. everyone knows who she rides with now, and the court bureaucrats tend to give her people whatever they want without the need for extortion)

she’s not the rowdiest of fëanor and nerdanel’s brood, but that’s really not saying much. she’s kicked off the last vestiges of social respectably and indulges fully in her family’s ability to do whatever they want, whenever they want, because who’s seriously going to tell a kinslayer they can’t do something?

a decent proportion of the population of tirion, it turns out. eh, the arguments are always fun

that’s the state of tauriel’s life when fëanor comes back. afterwards - like i said, it doesn’t change terribly much, fëanor rocking valinor to its core notwithstanding

he is massively, intensely supportive of everything she does. she knows that it’s partially that this family is just Like That, but she also gets the vibe he’s overinvesting a little? she’s the only one of his children who doesn’t have a reason to hate him

but they get along fine. he’s had a lot of practice at being a dad, and is trying to improve on his personal faults. his relationship with her is blissfully uncomplicated compared to the mess most of his pre-death bonds are, and while she’ll protect her brothers from him if need be she’ll protect him too when the world is out to get him

there’s this moment at one of those fancy court galas. tauriel’s chatting with some sindarin visitors when something explodes a few rooms away

almost immediately, she locks gazes with curufin, who’s peoplewatching some distance away. they have a conversation conducted entirely in eyeflicks that could be summarised as ‘did he just...’ ‘alas he probably did’

they stride out of the hall together to rescue their idiot dad from the consequences of his terrible decisions

that’s another subtlety to the way the fëanorians work, tauriel is discovering. the siblings hellspawn may be a constant fight cloud of bickering nutbags (with the obvious exception of herself) but they all always out-sane their dad

she keeps learning things like this as the years roll on and her families get closer. she finds silvans having tea with nerdanel, tirion craftselves looking for her in the woods. across both of her worlds, she’s building a posse

(just like her brothers did, long long ago under the light of the trees. when next the host rides to war, there will be those who follow tauriel’s banner)

even legolas has mostly gotten over it. their initial friendship, after all, was founded on them both being chaos children. tauriel is one in a way they called silvan in greenwood and noldorin in aman, fully conscious that the powers that be disapprove of her shenanigans and deliberately and vindictively defying them

legolas’ style is more sindarin, vaguely aware that the rules exist but doesn’t really understand how they apply to him. he did sneak a dwarf up the straight road, after all. him and tauriel got up to so much nonsense when they were kids, and no matter who else she runs with, he’ll always be her best friend

he’ll never be fully comfortable with the literal childhood horror stories she’s taken up with, but for her sake he’s willing to try. they might be scary, but, he’s realising, they can be fun too

(even if he does spend most of their family gatherings hiding behind elrond)

and then, one day...

tauriel doesn’t exactly pine for kíli, but she does kind of regret how it all turned out. she wonders what being in a relationship with him would have been like, sometimes

but he’s a dwarf, and she’s an elf, and she can’t leave the undying lands, and dwarves aren’t supposed to come here. they are sundered until the breaking of the world

when she tells this to fëanor, this massive smug grin spreads across his face. ‘unless’

three hours later, they’ve turned fëanor’s front room into a base of operations. maedhros is on project management, caranthir is on logistics, amras is going down a list of maiar they can strongarm. celebrimbor stops by, looks at the plans on the walls, and, somewhat excitedly, goes ‘are we breaking into the dwarven afterlife???’

yes. yes they are

epilogue:

when the end comes and all elves return to cuivénen, certain people tauriel knew back in middle-earth discover what she’s been doing for the past few ages

they get the full skinny later, after they talk to her and stuff, but the first whisper they hear is ‘tauriel’s been taken in by the fëanorians’

reactions vary. tauriel’s mama, who doesn’t recognise the name, goes ‘the spirits of fire? that’s sounds so much like her, i’m so happy she’s made friends’

tauriel’s mummy, who does recognise the name, is laughing too hard to speak

and thranduil cradles his head in his hands. ‘of course’ he mutters ‘of course she fucking did’

#silmarillion #tauriel #house of feanor #the feanorian tauriel saga #my terrible fic #wow this ended up way longer than i expected #sorry if it's rambly i stayed up kinda late #and yeah! that's my headcanons for this au!#like i said there's a couple more things i wanna write #and once i'm done i'll probably put it all up on ao3 #with edits (read: capitalisation)

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