#which would probably throw dream for quite the loop

[yuri-is-online]

When He Sees Me: Azul Ashengrotto

a/n: this is supposed to be part of a series about the boys who start out with a less than good opinion of Yuu falling in love with them anyway. Azul wasn't supposed to be first he was just the most cooperative. I will add a link to the rest when they become available, but it will take a while because this is really fucking long. Like 6,261 words long.

notes: SPOILERS FOR CH. 3 AND AZUL'S BACKSTORY. Azul is thirsty for Yuu, nothing explicit just mild mild spice. They/them pronouns used for Yuu, but there is a reference to things "girls find attractive" that isn't meant to be aimed at Yuu and discussion of the myth of Princess Kaguya. Morons in mutual denial/pining, references to the events of Azul's labwear and Ruggie's ceremonial robes vignette. Edit: other fics can be found on my masterlist here.

Azul has always been a dreamer, in both senses of the word.  When he wants, he wants with intensity that borders on insanity, it is only natural for those thoughts to invade his dreams.  When he was younger his subconscious would engage in a painful loop of equally impossible scenarios, sometimes positive but mostly extremely, horribly negative.  They read more like memories being played on a sickening repeat, harassments and insults that he can��t run or hide from because his dream won’t let him move at all.  Now that he’s older he seldom has those dreams, tucking the hurts away behind mountains of successful plans for the future.  Tucked away but not dealt with, his overblot clearly proved that.  Azul is no stranger to having dreams, no, but lately he has been experiencing something new.  A dream that plays on repeat, never changing but with an underlying feel to it that makes him think if he just had a bit more imagination he could direct the flow.  It is a memory, sort of like those other, painful dreams though this one doesn’t hurt quite the same, less painful and more… pining.

He’s standing in front of the photos at the Atlantica Memorial Museum, eyes steady on the photographs.  “You have talent.”  the Ramshackle prefect says with such enviable confidence.  “You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers.”  He looks at them, he searches desperately for the lie, for so long he misses the timing for his line but the dream keeps playing yours.  “You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”  

“You think that?” he asks, begs really because in this dream he gets to wrap himself up and live in this moment where someone sees him as his subconscious plays your words on loop.

“You have talent… You are amazing… You matter…” 

He rises from slumber, but doesn’t wake.

“Nyaaah who does Azul think he is!”  Grim whines and you sigh, for what feels like the eight hundredth time but is probably just the third.  “He can’t just scam us outta money like that!”  You give a noncommittal grunt and Grim takes his grumbling to under his breath where it belongs while you ruminate on the morning’s events on your way back to Ramshackle.  You had woken up to Azul knocking on your door with a photograph of Grim… fighting with Lucius?  You weren’t entirely clear on the details, Grim stole some food or something you couldn’t really care less, but Professor Trien certainly would, which was the point Azul had made with a smile on his face and an outstretched hand.  He needed a “small favor” he said, just follow him to Ignihyde and help him and Idia out with a project Idia was working on.  He tried spinning it to you as helping out Ortho, which hey you did care about, let it not be said that the prefect of Ramshackle did not care about sweet little Ortho Shroud.  You just… didn’t trust Azul as far as you could throw him, so when the part he asked Grim to retrieve was revealed to be worth a gajillion thaumarks you were not surprised and you did not care.  Grim, of course, freaked out and the two older students laughed at him.  Laughed at you both really, and sent you back to your dorm with a can of tuna for Grim’s trouble and a coupon to the Monstro Lounge for yours.

That you decided as you stared down at the little golden ticket, did piss you off.  You were tempted to light it on fire, but that stupid part of your brain that got excited when you heard laundry detergent was on sale at Sam’s wouldn’t let you.  Like you would offend and be permanently cursed by the gods of couponing if you did; so you tucked it away in your wallet and ran through the list of students you didn’t currently want to beat with a steel chair for someone who would actually use it.  “Hey prefect, you got a moment?” 

“Ruggie.”  You snap out of your thoughts to see an angel standing outside Ramshackle’s door.  He looks at you a little confused, but still peppy.

“That’s my name!  Now as I was sayin, you got a moment?  I’ve got an opportunity for you.”

~~~~

In a game of chess the player who moves first has an inherent advantage.  That advantage, however, is not absolute which is something Azul is cruelly reminded of when RUGGIE BUCCHI waltzes into his restaurant, whistling, with his carefully played opening in his hands.  “Hey, is this thing real?  Prefect said you gave it to them but that sounds fishy.  Why would Azul be giving out things for free?”  

“That’s confidential.”  he pushes up his glasses and Ruggie simply leans back on his heels, hands behind his head grinning like a well fed cat.  “What I am anxious to know is why you have it?  It was not meant for you.”

“What’s it to ya’?” he has enough sense to keep his annoying laugh to himself but it’s echoing in Azul’s ears anyway.  His gaze flickers to Floyd, weighing the pros and cons of involving the twins in this… admittedly private affair but that seems to be enough for Ruggie.  He drops the easy going act,  “No seriously what is it you’re trying to do, they seemed seriously pissed.”  

“Who says I’m trying to do anything?” Anger was… not the reaction he was expecting but the look on Ruggie’s face is making him feel especially like he should have.  Like there was something incredibly obvious he was missing here.  His sigh just punctuates that.

“Because you're Azul.”  He says flatly.  “Look it’s not my business and I don’t want it to be, are you gonna give me a free drink or not.”  Azul takes the coupon with his best customer service smile and tries to make another plan.

~~~~

“You are amazing.”  He gets to look at them this time, see their honest admiration.  He wants to reach for it, hold it up to the light and admire it from every possible angle.  His hand moves, agonizingly slow like he’s reaching through jelly, desperate for purchase as it lands on their cheek, running his thumb along the curve.  Azul is a merfolk, utterly unaware of what it feels like to drown.  But he surrenders himself to the tide as he guides them closer, closer, to him and the realization he never wants to let go.

Azul wakes up alone and upset, a good thirty minutes before his alarm which just adds to his frustrations.  He fumbles for his glasses and goes for the safe next to his bed, if he’s awake he can work, he should work it will take his mind off of… whatever this is.  It isn’t important, his bad dreams always fade away over time, he will conquer this, he has to.  A notification lights up his phone.  It’s from magicam, from Cater who he usually ignores but he opens it anyway.  The post is a dump of short videos of Heartslabyul students messing around in the maze, there was an unbirthday party yesterday complete with pastries and those weird games he never understands the appeal of no matter how many times Riddle explains.  There’s Trey posing like a middle aged man with his flamingo, Cater running around conducting mock interviews with the flowers, and a number of students making nonsensical toasts with admittedly nice looking china.  And in the final video, if he pauses it at exactly 7.23 seconds there’s the prefect.  They look clueless, disappointed even as they watch Grim demand he be allowed to play croquet, it’s cute but that’s not where his gaze goes.  Tiramisu.  It’s difficult, painful even to make, but they seem to be enjoying their slice.  It really would be an excellent item to add to the Monstro Lounge’s limited time menu for numerous reasons completely unrelated to… whatever this feeling was.  If he keeps the paused video up and next to his paperwork while he draws up his plans, no one needs to know.

~~~~

  You wake up with a sneeze a good two hours before your alarm and if you were actually awake you have no doubt the timing would fill you with righteous fury.  The moon still peaks through your window, soothing your hypothetical temper slightly as you meander out of your bed towards it.  Ramshackle has always been a good place to watch the stars, at least according to Tsunotarou.  You’ve always been more partial to the moon, there was something comforting about its constant presence.  No matter where you went in your old world, even if the constellations changed the moon would always stay the same.  If you focus on this one’s shape, if you ignore the snoring monster in your bed or the shape of the window you’re looking through, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that things are still the same.  That you will get back to sleep and see your loved ones when you wake up tomorrow.  A strange bile builds up in your throat and you turn away from the window towards your desk.  The photographs that decorate it are filled with things that should be impossible.  Leona standing on a flying broom somehow bored out of his mind, Jack and Deuce posing at a track practice, Ace trying to teach Grim a card trick, but if you were giving awards for the most out of place… There’s eight people in the photo, three humans, one monster, one beastman, and three merfolk, but only two sport tails.  Azul looks exactly the same as the day you met him, dressed in a neatly pressed dorm uniform with that stupid hat covering his beautiful, perfect hair.  You can’t decide what’s more unreal to you, the Leech twins' appearance or the location of the photograph, but well they sort of go hand in hand don’t they?  Your eyes settle on Azul.  He had refused to show his true form during the trip, if you didn’t know any better you would assume he was human like you but not like you.  There’s something undeniably magical about him, beautiful even.  He belongs there, in that photo under the sea, in this world.  The moon illuminates the photo with her gaze, cold, distant, completely out of your reach but oh so very beautiful.  

You take a deep, shuddering breath and try to throw away your thoughts.  

~~~~

“Hench-human!  Look at me look at me!”  There are many days you feel like Grim’s parent as opposed to his… dorm leader?  Classmate?  Fellow traveler?  Whatever you were actually supposed to be.  

“I’m looking Grim, I promise!”  You cheer him on, waving up at the monster who is happily flying above you on his little broom.  “You’re doing great!”  Coach Vargas had gone out of his way to find it for him so he could “train his muscles” with everyone else in flying class.  It was cute, soothed the wound of not being able to participate yourself just a bit.  The list of exercises Vargas handed you certainly didn’t.

“Slacking doesn’t build muscles!”  You knew it was stupid to want to participate in a class that’s literal purpose was to teach students to channel magic, but it still sucked to be expected to do yoga in the corner of a field while Ace, Deuce, and now Grim get to zoom around above.  At least you know Deuce isn’t making fun of you and will give you a ride if asked.  “Hey while you’re at it would you mind keeping an eye on Azul?  He’s supposed to be practicing over next to the bleachers.”  You blink, stupidly at Vargas. 

“I’m sorry?”  Vargas points towards what is usually your exile corner and see- a sight.  One you can immediately tell Azul would probably rather you never have ever seen.  Your beautiful merman, rival?  Acquaintance?  Object of affection?  Is pathetically hopping up and down with a stern look of determination on his face like he’s trying to negotiate with the broom rather than fly it.  Your heart beats uncomfortably close to the front of your chest.  Cold.  Out of reach.  And yet so blindingly pathetically beautiful you have to choke down bile as you make your way over to your little corner and begin clumsily stretching and keeping your gaze firmly on Grim out of habit.  You hear rather than see him notice you.

“Prefect!”  he splutters, chokes really and you have to physically bite your tongue to ground yourself enough to speak normally and completely lose it when you turn to face him.  Azul’s winded, the tentacle waves of his hair are shimmering in the late afternoon sun with what’s probably sweat, but he doesn’t smell bad at all.  His glasses are slanted and he’s clinging onto his broom so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Azul!  Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”  It comes out as a squeak and you break eye contact immediately.  “I just-” you don’t want him to think you’re spying on him.  “I usually-” well that just sounds like an excuse.  “I can’t fly!”  The smile on your face has got to look stupid but when you look at Azul he doesn’t seem to mind.  If anything he relaxes in both posture and expression.

“I can see that.”  He smiles and his eyes shimmer for a brief second before reaching to push his glasses and his persona back into place.  “Does Coach Vargas always have you exercise during flying class?”

“Pretty much.”  You don’t feel like you should complain really, it would be a bit unfair on paper if you were the only one relaxing during a class filled with physical activity.  “Crewel convinced him to let me do yoga because I ‘need to relax more’ or something like that.”  

“Do you not find exercise relaxing?”  It’s a relatively simple question but this is Azul asking so it feels like the start of a survey that ends with you agreeing to sign away your immortal soul.  So naturally, 

“Not when everyone can watch.”  you answer as honestly as possible because according to the dark mirror you don’t have one anyway.  If Azul notices your skepticism it doesn’t stop him from plowing on ahead.

“I can understand that.” He lets out what you think is his best performative sigh, hand over his heart in a manner you are sure even Vil would compliment as well crafted showmanship.  “Really there’s no reason for this school to force us to participate in activities we simply aren’t meant for.”  You have to swallow a giggle at his use of “we,” that earlier display must not have been a one time thing.  Sure would be a shame if you asked Floyd about it, he definitely wouldn’t tell you embarrassing things about his best friend.  “Do you not find the lounge relaxing?”  He asks the question with the same tone as his previous monologue, but it catches you off guard.  You had expected this line of questioning to go in a different direction.  Maybe he wanted to know just how close you were to the staff and see if he could use you as an in, not a google review.

“It’s very relaxing.”  You aren’t just trying to flatter him, though you won’t object if he decides to puff up with pride from your praise.  “There really is- well I certainly haven’t ever seen another place like it,  I just have other places I should be spending my money.”

“You know I can help with that right.”  You must look extremely unamused because he deflates slightly but doesn’t falter.  “The National Track and Field Meet is coming up relatively soon, and I’ve been making some… changes to the menu.  It’s meant to appeal to a different clientele than we typically serve.  As a human from a completely different world your perspective on such a switch could prove invaluable.”  You stare at him, hard, trying to figure what angle he’s working and can’t really hit on one.  Well beyond the obvious; he thinks this will make him money.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to wait tables during the event?”  Azul’s offered you work before, usually through Floyd dramatically arriving at Ramshackle unannounced to slack off in your guest room because “Azul will never find me here.  Not if I close my eyes and hide behind little shrimpy.”  But you weren’t too sure if that arrangement could apply to an event.

“I’ve already secured Ruggie’s assistance with that, but if you’re interested in a paid position Jade will certainly need some help in the kitchens, well assuming you’re better at washing dishes than Grim.”  You both have a bit of a laugh, though yours is significantly less mean spirited.  “I can give you more details about the menu tomorrow night, assuming you are free.”

“I suppose I could find some time.”  you give your best impression of Azul’s own shrug and hope he isn't too insulted.  “Any fine print I should be concerned about before I completely agree to this?”  He pauses, you are tempted to say because he didn’t expect to make it this far, but realistically he’s probably just trying to pick out what part of his plan is safe to tell you.

“The waitstaff will all be wearing their ceremonial robes as a special uniform for the event, but since you would just be washing dishes I would recommend-”

“I’m sorry, do you mean those things everyone was wearing at orientation?”  You don’t mean to interrupt him, really you’re just confused.  “The Octavinelle dorm uniform looks just fine.”

“I’m pleased you like them.”  He means it, you can tell by how he stands just a little bit taller, stopping your heart for what you tell yourself is the briefest of seconds.  “Our school's ceremonial robes are extremely popular with the local girls, so I am hoping they will draw more outside attention to the lounge.” 

“The ceremonial robes?  Seriously?”  Not that you could ever have been considered an authority on what types of menswear was objectively attractive but you were a person with preferences and the ceremonial robes looked a bit difficult to take off.  Not that you have thought extensively about them or anything else you’ve seen Azul wear.

“Do you not find them attractive prefect?”  The fact Azul’s asking you seriously, with a touch of distress doesn’t register until you’ve inelegantly vomited up your response.

“Not really.  I mean from what I remember from orientation you looked good in them but I can’t say I like them better than your dorm uniform.  You even make the stupid hat work.”  You physically bite down on your tongue to keep from saying anything else incriminating but the damage is already done.  The poor man looks like a boiled octopus, red from the tip of his ears to the point of his nose.  “Azul?”  He coughs into his hand.

“Well, disagreements about fashion aside, I take it we have a deal?”

“Sure.  Just send me a message on magicam when you need me and I’ll be there.”  

~~~~

The location flickers in his peripheral vision, his focus wholly consumed by them.  He’s never touched them like this, they’d never let him hold them like this but those thoughts fizzle in the face of your memory.  “You are amazing.”  He kisses them slowly as he gently cradles their face.  Closer, he wants them closer but tauntingly, agonizingly they pull away as the scene settles.  He’s on land, in the vip room of the lounge arms wrapped tightly around their waist while they’re sitting in his lap.  Closer they’re not close enough to him they can still move away, but they show no sign of leaving.  They just stare down at him, into him seeing him for who he is and not flinching at the sight.  Closer.  They lean back into his kiss and he pulls, surprisingly strong, into a tighter embrace.  Closer.  In dreams you don’t need to breathe, he’s free to move his hand behind their head and maneuver them down.  Closer.  He pins their hand next to their head, intertwining their fingers.  Closer.  “You look good, you look beautiful.”  He shudders into them, and-

Wakes up dry heaving into his pillows with a scream.  He’s panting, desperately trying to convince himself it’s out of disgust but he knows that’s not the case.  Azul’s known for a while now just how he feels about them, he finds it ugly.  Not them, sevens never them, he doubts he could ever truly find them as insignificant as he did before losing his contracts ever again.  He untangles himself from his sheets and reaches for his glasses and phone, searching for the picture they’d taken at the museum.  They look so happy, in awe even, and if he wants to lie to himself he can pretend that’s his doing and not the allure of the sea working its magic on yet another human.  But Azul is a merfolk, he may admire the sea witch but he knows the tale of the mermaid princess just as well.  The love between her and her prince was always portrayed as pure, innocent, devoid of things like thirst and greed.  That’s the sort of love he thinks they deserve, the kind that’s not burdened by insecurities or possessiveness.  Who would love someone who constantly lies?  

“You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers. You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”

If he closes his eyes he can still see your face as you say it.  You meant every word, he knows you did.  Even now you don’t really treat him all that differently than you do your other friends, his efforts are appreciated and respected according to the work he puts into them just like he’s always wanted.  A wry smile works his way to his lips.  How poor and unfortunate he is.

~~~~

“When you need me” came sooner than you expected.  As soon as you made it back to Ramshackle you had two messages from Azul, one letting you know it was him and the other saying he had a space available for you to buss tables tomorrow if you were still available.

“I haven’t forgotten about my original request, once closing tasks are complete you can expect a truly unique reward.”  

He texts like he speaks, professionally.  If you didn’t know he was still a student you’d assume he was twice his actual age and already established in an office somewhere.  Part of that was true you supposed, he did own the Lounge and was probably texting from his office.

“(* ^ ω ^) I’ll make sure to be on time!”

“Hench-human.”  You look up from your phone to see Grim sitting on his favorite armchair, he sounds deathly serious and his face is bent into a look of disappointment he usually only reserves for Ace.  He’s even crossing his arms like a disappointed parent.  “We need to talk.”  

“Did you puke on the bed again?”

“No!”  He drops the act for a brief second before remembering he’s supposed to be “the one in charge” or something like that.  “But if you keep gigglin’ like that I’m gonna!”

“Like what?” you attempt to mimic his energy by folding your hands across your chest.

“Like you got a crush on that stupid octopus.”

“Oh.”  Oh.  You hadn’t really thought much about that.  On purpose really.  “Well you don’t have to do that.”  You had thought many things about Azul, felt a lot of things too.  Frustration, no one got to treat your friends that badly and then laugh about it.  Disappointment, someone so talented shouldn’t be wasting his time bullying others to feel better about himself.  He should be secure in his own successes.  Pity, but then again how else could he be expected to feel with his childhood having been what it was?  Anger, that made his actions all the more inexcusable, you didn’t really regret putting him in his place even if the method was… less than ideal.  Awe, you were aware most of your friends were still stuck firmly in anger.  Sure, Ace and Deuce didn’t have much of a problem buying things from the Lounge or using their point cards, but there still was a bit of a sting to the whole arrangement.  Grim might not have been capable of much but he could hold a grudge.  Especially when someone hurt you, it was exceptionally sweet.  You however…

It started with his overblot form.  Floyd never should have told you that’s what he actually looked like, you swear you forgot how to breathe for a solid minute.  Azul was beautiful, ethereal, and awe inspiring.  You didn’t even mind that he was actively trying to choke you with his tentacles, you were that tempted to let him.  Once he came to and came back to his human form, you were forced to swallow those feelings.  Tuck them away in the hopes that Azul would go back to being that distant pretty face he had been since he ran down Grim at orientation.  You told yourself you were content being friends with Riddle and the Heartslabyul gang, you didn’t need the acceptance of other dorms.  

But he hadn’t.  The trip to the museum apparently made the twins decide you were a friend; Floyd would follow you around when he got bored and demand you play with him, and if Jade had your schedule memorized no he didn’t prefect him ambushing you with an invitation to check out his club was completely coincidental.  Azul remained distant, only ever really approaching when he needed something or to make an offer.  It hurt that small part of themselves they’d been beating away with a stick, it hurt even worse when he reached out harder when they ignored him.  This world’s already hurt you enough, you don’t need to be pining over an emotionally unavailable guy who viewed everything in the world through material value.

“Mmmmm.”  Grim’s staring at you, clearly unconvinced and trying to not come off as worried.

“Really Grim.  I promise, no kissing fish for me.”  your phone pings and you see another message, from Floyd this time, and swipe to unlock just as the front door of Ramshackle nearly cracks off its hinges to announce his arrival.

“Shriiiiiiimpy, I’m so bored and Azul’s makin me work.”  A loud obviously fake whine rings through the foyer and you sigh.

Looks like you will be seeing Azul a bit sooner than expected.

~~~~

The lounge is chaos by the time you sprint through the mirrors into Octavinelle.  You scan the lounge frantically for Jade and settle on his retreating form heading towards the back office.  It would be undignified to sprint towards him so you force yourself to speed walk through the waves of customers towards Floyd’s usual section.  Another first year, one that actually belongs in this dorm, is floundering around trying to figure out why he’s even alive and nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap him on the shoulder.  “Sorry I’m late, can you let Azul know I’m here?”  He abandons you faster than a sinking ship and you barely resist the urge to scream at him to show a little gratitude.  The Monstro Lounge is a “gentleman's establishment.”  It doesn’t employ howler monkeys, but it sure does serve them.  You snap your best customer service smile into place and glide over to one such cherished customer whose glare is threatening to freeze you to the floor.  “I’m sorry about the wait, how can I serve you today?”

Meanwhile, back at the office, Azul is attempting to convince himself that he isn’t mad.  Really, he’s just disappointed and really how could he be that when Floyd has been such a cherished friend for so long and-

“Oya, Azul, you’re starting to resemble a boiled octopus, are you sure this hasn’t complicated your plans at all?”  Jade is usually, key word being usually, just as inconvenienced by his brother’s mood swings as anyone else.  But this time, this time, Azul thinks while his left eye threatens to spasm out of its socket, he has a slight feeling that Jade might have encouraged this one.  He’s smiling way too wide.

“Nonsense, I always have back up-”  Jade doesn’t let him finish his thought.

“Ah but we can’t just go calling the prefect for this can we?  Not when things aren’t perfect yet.”

“Just what are you getting out of this?”  He really shouldn’t have to beg, Jade seems surprised he’s even trying.

“Maybe I’m just a bit better at reading things than you are.”  And before Azul can try strangling Jade for that comment one of his students bursts into the back room panting as if he’d just run a marathon. 

“Dorm leader!  The prefect came over to take Floyd’s section.  Said to let you know they were here.”  He doesn’t respond immediately, he can see his plans going up in dust around him while Jade laughs beside him.

“There you see, Azul?  No need to worry.”  And as if the night couldn’t get any worse that damn moray bows to whisper in his ear.  “They came for you after all.”  

It really is a good night for unagi.

~~~~

The walk back to Ramshackle is quiet.  If you just keep your eyes on the path in front of you, the only thing you can hear is the chirp of an occasional cricket.  The sigh of an owl.  And of course the light click of the footsteps beside you, if you were extra quiet, you could maybe even hear Azul breathing.  It’s soft, if you could bring yourself to look at him maybe you would see that he’s just as nervous about this as you are.  

Not that “this” is anything special really.  You’ve worked closing shifts at the lounge before, and someone always walks you back.  Usually it’s Grim, he never actually helps with the work but he’s more than happy to show up at the end and claim some share of the reward for shepherding you home.  But this time the little weasel had decided not to show and, for some reason, Azul had asked to accompany you.  “For my sanity if nothing else.”  You hadn’t been able to speak since hearing that for fear your heart would leap right out of your mouth, you aren’t even entirely certain how you managed to nod an approval.  Not that Azul’s been much better, he hasn’t made eye contact with you since you started the walk back.  Or spoken.  You’d almost think he’s annoyed, or angry, if not for how the closer you get to your dorm the slower his steps get.  Maybe he doesn’t want things to end so soon either…

“The moon is beautiful tonight.”  He breaks his silence with a sigh and you choke slightly, eyes darting towards him warily even though you know for a fact that phrase doesn’t hold the same meaning here.  

“Ramshackle always has a great view of the night sky.”  you look up at the moon to avoid Azul’s quizzical gaze.  “It looks almost exactly like the moon in my world.”

“You enjoy watching it then, I take it?”  You don’t answer immediately, the question swirling up a myriad of contracting emotions and answers.

“Sometimes.”  You settle on a thought, haphazard as it feels.  “It’s funny, the longer I look at it the more it makes me think about a story I used to really like.”  

“Used to?”  You don’t have to look at Azul to know he’s doing the thing he always does while probing for information.  Yet you do anyway, the little unnecessary push he gives to his glasses is too cute.

“It just feels a bit too close to home now.”  It feels silly to say that, but then again, this is Azul.  He could also technically be considered to be from another world, so maybe he’d understand.   “There’s this bamboo cutter who finds a baby in one of the bamboo stalks he cuts and raises her as his daughter.  There’s always something just a bit off about her, when there’s a full moon out she stares at it and cries a whole lot, like there’s something up there she misses.  She’s extremely beautiful though so everyone kind of brushes that off, and after finding her the bamboo cutter starts finding gold in every bamboo stalk he cuts.”

“That’s unrealistic.”  scoffs Azul.  “There has to be a catch.”  You can’t help but laugh, of course this is where he’d choose to interrupt.

“It’s a story, Azul.  And besides you literally live in a world where magic exists calm down.”  He snorts and you quickly start talking before he can begin his protests.  “Anyway he starts finding gold inside the bamboo and becomes wealthy enough to be considered important.  His daughter grows up to be an otherworldly beautiful woman and gets a bunch of attention from all over the country, people call her a princess.  She’s so popular the emperor himself comes to see her and they get to talking. The two of them find they have a lot in common, so when the emperor proposes he’s sure she’ll say yes.”  Azul’s smart, you’re pretty sure he’s figured out the plot twist already by the way he’s set his jaw, but he makes no attempt to stop you.  Almost like he’s hoping you will prove him wrong.  “But she doesn’t.  She says she can’t marry him because she isn’t from his country and can’t be his queen.  He’s heartbroken but the princess agrees to keep in touch so he thinks that maybe he could one day have a chance, but then the princess’s strange behavior’s start getting more erratic.  She starts spending every night outside looking at the moon, and when her father finally asks her why she tells him a secret.  That she is from the moon, and that soon she’s going to have to return.”  You look back at Azul, expecting his eyes to be on the moon only to find them centered pointedly on you.  It’s a heavy gaze, suffocating almost.  

“I can’t imagine the emperor was accepting of that.”  He’s trying to make a joke, at least you think.  The words fall sort of flat.

“When the princess tells him that, he tries to send soldiers to her house.  To prevent the moon from taking her back.  But it doesn’t work, when the time comes for her to return everyone in the house falls into a deep sleep while the princess is swept up by the moon people.”  You both stand in silence for a moment before you think to add.  “That’s not really why I started disliking it though.  There’s- when she goes back to the moon they wrap her up in this cloak that makes her forget everyone she met on earth.”    

“Do you think that’s what will happen to you?”  There’s an emotion in his voice you can’t quite place.  If you had to describe it you’d say he was teetering on the edge of desperation, over what you can’t quite tell.  “Do you want that to happen to you?”

“No!”  You surprise yourself with how forcefully you shout.  “I don’t think the lady from the moon did either.  Pretty much every version of the story I ever read really made it seem like she wanted to stay, but-”

“Why didn’t the emperor go himself?”  He’s getting closer to the edge, similar to how he sounded when his contracts got turned to dust but thankfully not yet that desperate.  “If he was in love, why didn’t he demand they stay?”  And that aura from flying class is back;  he’s talking but he isn’t saying what he means but this time you think-

The way he looks at you has changed.  Azul’s smiles have started reaching his eyes, you belatedly foolishly realize, and now his carefully concealed doubts have too.  “Maybe he was afraid.”  you don’t have to phrase it as a question, there’s no real question about what’s keeping you both silent here.  He flinches, trying desperately to steady himself.  You take a deep, shuddering breath as Azul squares his shoulders and steps closer to you.  “That they wanted to leave all along and he couldn’t bring himself to deny them.”  Closer.  “Maybe he thought somethings were more important than taking a risk on someone from another world.”  Closer.  Not quite yet as close as he could be but firmly within reach, but he doesn’t dare move any more.

“He’s a better man than me.”  It’s a warning, or at least it should register as one.  Make you reconsider the smile that escapes your lips and settles firmly into his poor unfortunate heart.  “I don’t think I could let such a rare person go if they shone so clearly against the night sky.”  You want to laugh.  Really you do but you’re too busy reveling in the newfound light in his eyes to do anything other than choke back a sob.  

“Then I guess you’re lucky I’m not from the moon.”  And finally, finally, finally you move to close the gap so you’re standing chest to chest under the light of the moon, warming the cold beat of his heart into something far less shallow.  Finally, finally he sees you, and knows he doesn’t have to look away.

*Jade encouraged Floyd to ditch so Azul wouldn't be in control of the conversation. Partially to mess with him and partially because I think someone as obsessed with perfection as Azul should be forced to realize love isn't something you can plan every aspect of and I think Jade would agree with me because I am the author and I say so.

**In the original translation I read everyone is blinded by a light. I changed this for correlation to chapter 7.

[taffywabbit]

it's so hard for me to think of what any of my personal GOTY picks might be this year, because every time I think about one of the really kickass games I played/beat for the first time this year (that's what I'm going off of btw, not release date) I then have to remember "oh right I also played Pseudoregalia in like. February. and then proceeded to play it 90 more times, including once yesterday. I think there's some compelling evidence that I might've liked that game a little bit more than this other stuff" lol

...that being said, I think my other top contenders for stuff I played during 2024 would be (in no particular order):

- Noita (obviously. I can't believe I ALSO didn't start playing this until early January, it feels like it's been way longer. funny wizard explode)

- Cavern of Dreams (easily one of the best attempts I've ever seen to recreate not only the visual style of an N64 game, but the precise FEELING of playing one as a kid and exploring for weird secrets)

- the Paper Mario TTYD remake (I ended up going for 100% on this one, it's honestly some of the most fun I've EVER had streaming a game. I've never seen a remake knock it out of the park this hard, this shit is absolutely packed full of loving detail)

- Mario + Rabbids: Sparks of Hope (I haven't quite finished it yet but I'm confident in including it here. friendship ended with Fire Emblem, I actually just need more of whatever this is)

- Zelda: Ultimate Trial (an OoT romhack that has no business being as good as it is. I jokingly called it "the Undertale Yellow of Zelda fangames" when I finished it and honestly I still stand by that)

- uhhh sure I guess Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom can go on here too (it's not a new series favorite or anything but it was still a ton of fun and I loved collecting funny Zelda monsters like Pokemon lol. very solid dungeon/puzzle design too, a real return to form)

and I guess if you want my LEAST favorite games of 2024 I'll include those too but put them under a cut:

- Corn Kidz 64 (kinda janky and imprecise controls coupled with overly punishing platforming, a really unsatisfying sense of progression, and humor and general vibes that I just found to be kinda rancid and offputting overall)

- Penny's Big Breakaway (I was SO excited to play this one, but was really disappointed. the level design is just kinda baffling and frequently makes you waste time doing side objectives for no reward or loops you back on yourself, the controls are weird and make it extremely easy to misinput and die accidentally, and it constantly throws score/combo elements in your face but nearly every move you can do will instantly take away all of your momentum unless it's 100% perfect. I couldn't even force myself to finish this one. at least the music whips ass tho)

- Zelda II: The Adventure of Link (I've started and quit this one many times but this year I forced myself to play it to completion on my switch, making liberal use of savestates. it didn't help that much. I wrote a whole reflection earlier this year about the ambitious and interesting stuff this game tried to do and why it never quite works - I think I only posted it on cohost, I should probably retrieve that before it gets deleted)

- Dr Robotnik's Ring Racers (listen if you didn't have any attachment to SRB2 Kart before this "sequel" came out then I probably can't really explain to you why I loathe this thing so much in terms of actual design differences. all I WILL say is that I'm furious we got this, which is a completely different fucking game that's super overtuned to solely appeal to a very specific kind of highly technical player niche and scare everyone else away, as a REPLACEMENT for just getting a goddamn update to add CPUs to SRB2 Kart. it's all I ever wanted, and now because they turned that update into DRRR instead, I will never get it)

also I just think it's funny to put it in perspective here that I'm choosing NOT to put Donkey Kong 64 on this list, which I did 101% complete earlier this year. so that's the bar, anything on my Least Faves list is stuff I enjoyed less than the experience of streaming the entirety of DK64. I really did have more fun beating Beaver Bother 3 times than playing Corn Kidz. I don't know what that says about me

[giurochedadomani]

I'm doing the last work assignment before Christmas, so have a sketch of a plot and let's hope I can do this next week during holidays:

I need some young mishanks in which a Spicy Dream absolutely throws Mihawk out of his loop because having Shanks parrying him two centimeters away from his face suddenly evokes certain kind of feelings, not to say anything about what Mihawk feels that time during the duel in which he ends up tumbling to the floor, Shanks' new blade to his throath and-- nope. nopenopenope.

And it seems that Shanks knows it! (he doesn't) And takes advantage of it! (he does). Mihawk's like 25% sure that he's reading his mind, and he definitely doesn't want to think about how Shanks would react if he knew that Mihawk's mind has been playing little scenes from that Spicy Dream all the afternoon they've been together.

This is all an excuse to have Mihawk being the most morose drinker that night at the red force (in part because he's getting really in his head, in part because if he hypothetically wanted to make the Spicy Dream a reality, he's definitely NOT making the first move, and why can't just Shanks magically know without Mihawk having to undergo the horrible ordeal of telling him about it?)

Maybe being kind of very uncharacteristically affectionate with Shanks? Like, at this point he's half lying on top of him because Shanks moved Mihawk's legs a little to let people use the stairs of the ship in which they're sat and Mihawk kind of? left his legs on Shanks' lap? He's been idly running his fingers over Mihawk's hand for the past hour, but every time he tries to take his hand away Mihawk sounds a bit displeased, a takes his hand, and puts it in the same position. Don't get me wrong, Shanks is 110% okay with the situation, feels the kind of bliss when a little feral kitty decides to nap on your lap, but he's also lowkey freaking out because this is so very uncharacteristic of Mihawk? And he's a very, very, very reserved dude. Shanks' 25% sure that Mihawk is going to decimate the red force if someone even vaguely mentions that he looks cute or that he's trying to hoard Shanks' attention.

This probably ends with Shanks taking Mihawk to his cabin, and Mihawk being absolutely gutted because WHEN has Shanks had to take one of his crew members out of a party? Mihawk must have been really making a scene (he wasn't). Which develops into something about: how rude of you to inflict me with feelings, Shanks (horny feelings! and other feelings he can't quite parse!! It's been one hell of a ride for him since he had that dream, okay? bear with him a little)

[chaintheghoul]

That’s That Me, Espresso

A short crack fic by chaintheghoul :3

For @ask-miasma-ghoul . This is basically what happened in that cage

Part one of Five (or more) Nights At Miasma’s

TW! Sabrina Carpenter mention… readers beware.

Miasma’s Point Of View

Night time approaches… Chain is still banging his muzzle against the bars of his enclosure. Next best thing to gnawing, according to him.

He’s been at it for hours by this point. I’d rather listen to “I Love You Jesus” By Trisha Paytas on loop for the next ten hours than whatever the hell that mess in the corner is doing, to be honest.

Chain isn’t even going rhythmically, every few seconds he just bangs his forehead and muzzle against the bar, no patterns or anything, and it’s driving me INSANE.

…Wait a minute… that’s not just random…

“Is that Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter?”

I can hear Chain humming to the song (taylor) swiftly to the beat on the bars. I can’t help but let out a muffled scream.

I think I’m gonna bash my own skull in if this continues…

“CAN YOU PLEASE BE QUIET?!” I throw a pillow at him.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” Chain says, stuffing the pillow through the bars and out of the cell, out of reach.

“Dude, what the hell?! I need that!” I run up and try to reach for it through the bars, to which he immediately shoves me out of the way. “Are you on something?!” I exclaim, “-…can I have some if you are?”

Chain rolls his eyes at me, staying silent. Of course he is, that dipshit is always silent when you actually NEED something out of him…

“Listen up fishboy, we’re gonna be stuck in here for the next few weeks,” Am I really gonna have to baby this guy?— “and so we have to learn to respect each other.” —Well, he listens to Sabrina Carpenter so yeah, probably. The ghoul just looks up at me with wide icy blue eyes. I roll my own dark orbs, that of which are rid of my quintessence magic. (WHICH I AM QUITE PISSY ABOUT, MISTER IMPERATOR.)

“I get my half of the room, and you get your half.” The ghoul just nods and I cross my arms. “Being respectful also means respecting our ears, so be quiet or I’ll beat you up or something. I don’t know how to write Miasma.”

…Does he really understand, or is he just nodding to be agreeable?

The kid sniffles.

…is he crying?

I walk back toward the bed, looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of my eye. I have a weird suspicion that this guy isn’t exactly normal… and I don’t think it’s just the horny pop music now stuck in my head because of him…

“Miasma?” he calls out as soon as I turn to fix my bed.

“Oh my god,” I groan, “what do you want?”

“I can’t relate… to desperation…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Tomorrow is another day. Eventually, I somehow manage to fall asleep. I dream a beautiful dream… wistfully galloping in a field with Father Jim Defroque… Oh, how I would like to f—

“Mmmm. You smell like… fresh cranberries, pure honey and tender walnuts…”

“CHAIN WHAT THE FUCK?!”

[moonlightreal]

Some thoughts on So Weird Season 3

It isn’t very good, but I like Annie.

Which mostly comes down to Alexz Johnson being charming and slightly due to the headcanons I had going in.

The first thing we really got from season 3 was the music video of To Dream About You, which is an absolute bop, and for some reason I got it in my head that Annie’s music was magic. That she would be a siren or something able to do things with her voice. The clip from Rewind in there with Annie throwing lightning did nothing to debunk this idea. So I was hopeful about So Weird going! Fi was a girl who kept encountering the supernatural but Annie was supernatural! It would take the show in a new interesting direction!

I’d also somehow read leaks about the original writers’ ideas for season three and one stuck in my head, it went something like “Fi meets an alien, a girl who also lost her father to the ‘evil.’” This idea means there could be more people like Fi, who encounter the supernatural and influence things for good, and who the evil supernatural tries to stop by killing off their support system. So it was easier to accept Annie as another of many young people with supernatural connections. Maybe Rebecca, who was only in one episode but casts a long shadow, was another. Maybe Fi’s little cousins Maggie and Miranda were others. So Fi’s story was now one of many stories and they’d probably all come together in the end.

Then in the first Annie-only episode she gets the talking board and has a hotline to the supernatural. She could get answers, and she had a panther who would appear and help her and was guiding her to some interesting destiny!

So I started season three with great optimism! But then it just… was ok?

I think the thing season 3 really did wrong (other than, you know, ditching Fi’s entire story which they kind of had to do) was drag the show farther from magical reality and into the realm of full fantasy. The town of bees. The carnival where everyone turned into attractions. The Great Incanto. Mister Magnetism. After these episodes Jack and the others should have been changing their whole worldview and that should have been changing what kind of show it was, but they did fantasy stuff and had everyone react in magical reality ways.

Thoughts on the episodes I remember:

Exit 13, where the bus pulls off the highway and the gang gets caught in a time loop repeating the same events over and over. The cause is a carved stone Annie bought from a local trinket seller, that turns out to be half of a Native American artifact. When Annie reunites the two halves, reuniting the ghosts of twins whose memorial stone it is, the gang is set free. The trinket seller who raided a Native American burial ground isn’t so lucky, which is pretty dark for this season. I like this episode, I think it worked and the curse was original enough to stick in my head.

Rewind, stands out because of the song. The songs this season are great and Alexz Johnson has an amazing voice.

Earth 101 aired after a long hiatus to put the Thanksgiving episode on Thanksgiving and it was such a letdown to finally have an episode and have it be dumb.

The multiverse one with the alternate Annie made a big impression because my brain still expected something more, and I was sure we’d see more of Juvenile Delinquent Annie. She had her panther’s spiritual power in a tattoo, what did that mean? Could she summon it into being? Or did her delinquent ways make her real panther desert her so she got the tattoo to make up for it somehow? I was sure Delinquent Annie would be a returning antagonist.

My memory of episodes kind of fades other than those three. There were a couple school episodes, there was a changeling episode that sort of matched the lore! There was some other stuff.

Then there was the ending. Which I feel came much later, after I wandered off from tuning in every week for the new episodes but I did eventually watch it. And was quite disappointed that this was the big secret!

So years ago in Peru, Lil Annie protected a Native man from being bit by a snake, getting bit herself. The shaman of the tribe healed her and then took the form of the panther to protect her all her life out of gratitude for saving his son.

Which is weird, and not the good kind of weird.

Ok, the panther is a human? And an old dude? And how is he being the panther, does he astral project every time Annie is in trouble or did he give up his entire human life to protect Annie? I would certainly be grateful to someone who saved my son’s life, but the “indigenous person becomes protector of cute white girl” is… a thing. Remember there was a lot less awareness of this stuff in 2001, so don’t think too badly of the writers, but it’s still not great.

So let’s focus group this a little.

They could just make the panther a panther; Annie’s just a person who vibes with the panther spirit. Which still gets into the whole “is it cool for a white person to have a spirit animal?” If I knew any Native Americans I’d ask them, but I don’t so all I can say is that the 2023 internet is divided leaning towards no. But people of all colors and cultures are going to feel a mystical connection to certain animal species so… this is a question for professional sociologists, not me and my tumblr!

If the writers were determined to make the panther a person they could give him a less “Wookie life debt” reason to be following Annie. Maybe rewrite the series slightly so Annie talks a lot about returning to Peru to be an activist for the local people, and add a revelation that she is also destined to protect that part of the world from The Evil. Make the panther a boy Annie’s age who also encounters the supernatural and expects to work with Annie when they both grow up or come into their full power or whatever.

Which wouldn't fix the "white girl gets native people's magic" thing, but would make it less yikes. The only way to actually fix it would be to recast Annie, and I like the Annie we've got. I guess there are also panthers in North America so they could cut out the indiginouys people entirely and make Annie a witch with a familiar, but that strays farther from the canon we have than I'm gonna bother to go.

(Jon Cooksey just says “Evil” so I don’t think the writers ever defied the overarching enemy of the show. Presumably they’d have figured out something more specific if the original season three had gone ahead.)

So season three leaves me in a mood similar to how Fate left me. There was so much potential, the bones of something really good. I don’t think it could ever have been good enough to make up for the loss of Fi’s storyline, but it could have been its own thing and a good show. But it was just aimed in the wrong direction and it wasted everything it could have done with Annie’s mysterious past.

[truearchangel]

@pridetempt;; ‘ i guess it runs in the family, huh? ’

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤLucifer has… an interesting office.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤActually, the Morningstar Palace as a whole was rather interesting. And what a name chosen too. The very idea that he had taken one of his titles in Heaven and turned it into his last name (the fact he gave himself a last name at all) was rather interesting. When he had heard it Michael had bounced the word around in his head a little bit, wondered if Lucifer counted them in that "family name" and then dismissed the thought altogether. To him, he came to the conclusion (the assumption really), that Lucifer did it to distance himself from Heaven.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤA new family he could stick a name on, that he could shelter and adore, safeguard from Heaven. The thought when it rested in his chest did sting a bit and yet he also felt it was something he should expect too. You don't ever, after all, want to be that close to people who ruined your life, do you? Which was what Michael considered running a spear through and destroying his twin's dreams as being, life ruining.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWhich was why he was quite surprised to be here in the first place. Invited over, no less. Part of Michael thought Lucifer was just trying to get him out of the Hazbin Hotel, maybe away from his daughter a bit. Charlie was very interested in hearing about what her father was like in Heaven and Michael enjoyed greatly telling all his dirty stories from when he was younger. Like flying into trees and stealing Gabriel's underwear. Fun things, silly actions, apparently embarrassing for Lucifer.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤLucifer's office was bigger than he thought it would bet yet simpler than he expected—and filled with ducks. Which was both hilarious and a bit worrying at the same time. Not that Michael was one to talk, he loved birds and ducks fell in that category too. Though Lucifer seemed to be just about ducks.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤThat was where the worrying part came in.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWhile wandering around he had picked a few up, ones that seemed part of a set if he had to guess. They were all wearing similar styles of dress and when holding them he could actually feel the remains of Lucifer's magic on them. So he crafts them with his ability to create? A way to let out that desire to create since falling down here surely had limited some of what he could do. That was the best guess he had, but he could be wrong too. The brother he knew and the one he dealt with now seemed so very different in his mind.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤIn return for manhandling the ducks, since he could see messing with them was stressing his twin out, Michael opened a little pocket dimension to his office and plucked out some of the crocheted birds he made. A hummingbird, a dove and a blue jay. They weren't much but he could see the interest that Lucifer took in them, the way he looked them over and inspected each little stitch.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤAlready he was certain he probably wouldn't get them back but he was fine with that. Any interest his twin took in him were moments that he absorbed like a sponge. That he was cherishing in his head. They'll never be the same, but small moments like that eased some of the pain in his chest. Things don't feel as broken at the very least.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWhen he looped around the office again he started gently placing the rubber ducks down where he had gotten them from, making sure they sat in the exact same spot with the ones clearly meant to be part of their "set". His bother was still so ridiculous.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‘ i guess it runs in the family, huh? ’

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤThe comment throws him off for a moment, his fingers stilling on the duck he was twisting into the proper position. Picking his head up he turned his golden gaze to his brother who was holding just the dove now, thumbs gently stroking the fluffy yarn he used to make it.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ"You mean the creating thing? Well, if you want to get specific, He doesn't create things anymore and the others never had the talent for it." Not like them. Not like them. "And I—" his gaze turned back over toward the ducks, observing them carefully. "You make these with magic, I can feel it." Some of them have special tricks apparently. "I don't use that magic anymore."

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤNot since That Day.

[xxanaduwrites]

DOWNFALL | a.b.

main hub of all important thangs

chapter 5

i've been getting lost in translation trouble keeping up communication we were having fun, now i can't wait to be done it feels like i'm the only one that's sick of playing — lost in translation, the neighbourhood

——

"Hey." I tapped Austin on the shoulder, finding him in the same spot I left him as he waited for me to clean up in the bathroom.

Even though I knew we were on a time crunch — I had lingered around for a bit looking for Sherry for any form of advice I could get my hands on.

This whole trip was throwing me for a loop, and I needed some reinforcements. Of course, the staff told me they forced her to go on break. Apparently she wasn't a happy camper about it — especially since she knew I was on the way. She was far too stubborn when it came to stuff like that.

That woman always wanted to work.

Turning on his heel, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it just as fast. Looking at me up and down like a gaping goldfish trying to inhale some fish food, he seemed surprised that I actually put on his shirt.

"W-What?" I probed abrehensively, wondering what the fuck was going on in his head, while trying my best to readjust to socializing. After having my first few minutes alone since earlier today, I already found myself comfortably drawn into my introverted behavior.

He also looked really fucking good in just a tank, which made it very difficult for me not to gawk and stutter when I got a frontal view of him.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing." He said simply, diverting his gaze and dropping the matter all together. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." I adjusted my bag on my shoulder since his shirt was sitting quite awkwardly against my figure. The material felt amazing against my skin. I genuinely had no fucking clue what it was made out of, but it sure as shit did not feel like anything I'd ever worn before. "Need a hand?" I asked, noting that he was holding both trays in his whole hands, literally balancing them flawlessly.

What the actual fuck?

He must have had huge hands or maybe he was Peter Parker who could just spider web that shit and stick anything to his hands like glue.

The mental image of him flipping his hands over with the trays attached to him almost made me laugh out loud, but I kept it at bay — wringing Levi's keys between my hands as a means to simultaneously distract myself and focus.

"Nope." The face he gave me definitely proved that he no longer trusted me when it came to holding anything that could potentially drop and make a mess. "I got it."

Understandably so.

He probably didn't want me ruining his fancy ass shirt.

Because then — noting how generous he was being today — he'd probably end up giving me the one on his back, and yep then he'd be shirtless Magic Mike-ing.

Never mind. You do your thing —Toothpick Umbrella Thief.

I sure as shit knew I'd absolutely die if I saw him shirtless right now, and I was quite certain they wouldn't let him in the building without one, or maybe they would — considering how vital it seemed for him to be there based on what Syd told me.

For some reason, I could only picture him walking around the fancy building with his shades on, throwing finger guns at the people he passed — full abs on display like some sort of action movie. Well, if he had any. It wasn't like I knew. I never saw him shirtless before, but a girl could assume or dream. But I mean assuming usually made an ass out of you and me so.

Alright, again. Must shut up.

Don't you dare laugh — I warned myself.

I didn't need him seeing me go insane and then question me for it.

Sending him a simple tight lipped smile instead, I walked to the door, holding it open for him since his hands were full. I brisked in front of him as he walked carefully and slowly to the car, doing just the same. I felt like a proper gentleman with all this chivalry crap.

Once again settled in the car, now with two whole trays of wack ass drinks — we headed off to our final destination.

For some odd reason, the both of us ended up sitting in complete silence.

I couldn't tell you what it was, but it definitely felt like something shifted between us. Even though we were practically crunched together in this car — we seemed so far away from each other — which I was completely fine with.

Considering the fact that I was wearing his shirt didn't help though. I became acutely aware of his scent quite quickly — some sort of sweet yet musky cologne that I couldn't decipher, but it smelt awfully fresh. It was hard for me to detect if I felt dizzy from my continuous hangover or if it was his cologne going straight up my nostrils and into my brain cells.

The traffic lightened up a little which I was eternally grateful for — meaning we'd get there quicker than I thought. The worst seemed to be over which calmed me down just a little, but I could only hope it would stay that way.

Pulling up to the building, I felt all of my muscles relax. I couldn't wait to get out of this car and away from him. I also couldn't wait to go home tonight and drown myself in a binge session of my favorite shows that I'd seen nine hundred times over to try to get over this entire day.

The security here was absolutely ridiculous. I had to stop at a teller to let us in, and of course Sydney didn't give me the password to move the dumb ass bar thing that was blocking my way in. I'd only ever been in here with her when she needed help bringing all her shit in to set up and organize her office — so of course, I didn't know the code.

"It's three four two five," Austin finally spoke for the first time since the diner.

For a second I thought I imagined it, but when I looked over at him he was studying me with such an intensity I knew he was talking to me.

I couldn't get over the fact that he was sitting here in a muscle tee, holding two trays of coffees. It was giving — 'I lift trays of coffee at the gym.' Instead of, 'I am an important business man, look at me rock and roll."

"Thanks," I managed robotically, before typing in the code.

The bar went up with ease. Of course it did. He'd probably been here plenty of times before. Should have just asked him. I figured it was a piece of my pride that left me feeling inclined to show that I could handle something so simple on my own after the key and coffee shabackles of today.

I probably looked like a total clueless cluts to him.

That's what I looked like to everyone anyways.

After parking in a spot, we both got out. I opened the door for him again to which he graced me with a nod. When we entered the building, the receptionist behind the front desk didn't bother to look up from what she was doing — practically entranced by her computer — typing away like her life depended on it.

"Um," I began. "Excuse me?"

"How can I help you?" She asked, looking like she couldn't be bothered — still staring at her stupid computer.

"I'm here to drop off drinks for a meeting on the third floor," I explained, my foot tapping impatiently against the tiled floor.

"Hm." She took in my words, but I could already tell she didn't believe me — suspicion etched into her brows. "I'll have to call up and confirm that."

What did she think I was poisoning them with? It was coffee for crying out loud. If anything they were poisoning themselves with all the funky flavors, syrups, and shit they were dowsing their drinks in.

"Hi." Austin materialized at my side, placing one of the trays down so he could lean an elbow on the counter. "I'm sorry," He apologized meekly. "I have a meeting that I'm unfortunately late to due to circumstances that were out of my control and under the control of your supervisors."

Here we fucking go.

Christ almighty.

In complete contrast to me, he sounded way too nice. If I said such a thing, I would've most definitely sounded like a total bitch right about now.

The woman immediately looked up at the sound of his voice. "Oh!" A wave of recognition washed over her once stale features. "Yes of course. We are so unbelievably sorry about that." She jumped out of her seat like she just won millions of dollars in the lottery, reaching for a clipboard and checking something off. "Mr. Butler, yes?" she asked.

Mr. Butler.

Goodbye.

"That would be me," he confirmed, doing that hand chin thing again—his eyes looking around the building. "and please, it's Austin."

"Right. Sorry, Mr. Bu —" Whisking around the desk, she looked absolutely flustered. Totally perplexed as she drank in the tray of drinks braced on his hand. "Austin," she corrected herself. "Right this way, sir."

Austin didn't move a single muscle as she began to try to lead him down the hall. "She's with me." He stated flatly, bracing a hand on my back out of instinct so I could step forward — bringing me to her attention.

I immediately gulped at the contact, wringing my hands together and sending her a smile that read — 'That is in fact right bitch.'

Why did this feel more like a nightclub — where Austin was some esteemed VIP member —instead of an office building for journalists, literary buffs, and gossipers?

The 'bouncer' — if you will — blinked her eyes a few times, judging me from afar, as if she couldn't fathom that we were a package deal who came here together. Let alone understand how she was giving me permission or access to go up with him. Yet, she didn't even bat an eye at Austin's strange attire that clearly became completely unprofessional with just one article taken off.

I figured he had to be some very important person — hence the VIP thing — around here, or she was just charmed by his looks and charisma — letting whatever he did slide. In her eyes and the eyes of everyone else in this establishment, he could probably do no wrong.

Once she was done gaping at this notion, she nodded her head, insisting us to follow her – trapping me in another confined space with this man.

Great.

Just lovely.

This time, I took the tray from the desk that Austin put down only a moment prior to look like I had a purpose — which I did, but of course Miss. I'll-bend-over-backwards-for-this-man-and-this-man-only, surely still didn't believe so. Austin didn't bother to stop me or take the tray from my hands — seeming to pick up the queue that we needed to look like a united front.

We followed the lady into a nearby elevator to begin our trip upwards to the third floor. With her back towards us, she fiddled with the elevator buttons, giving me the perfect chance to whisper something that had been on my mind without getting her attention. "Mr. Butt-ler," I choked out, emphasizing the butt part.

Biting his lip, he let out a light laugh before shaking his head and sending a smirk my way. "Don't," he warned.

I didn't listen to him."It's quite fitting you know," I murmured, egging him on — enjoying this far too much than I liked to admit. "Carrying those drinks and all like a true butler. Just need to get you one of those funny bow ties, and—" I stopped mid sentence, realizing that I was totally going on a full on rampage and needed to shut up.

Things like this were only qualified to be said in my mind, not out loud on an elevator between a man I only met last night and some random drooling receptionist.

He just stared at me, his cheeks flushing at my words.

Had I embarrassed him?

For a moment, I swore we froze in time just fucking looking at each other like we were in the midst of a very serious and competitive staring contest that depended on our livlihood. Like some survival of the fittest shit. I quickly closed my mouth, rolling my lips as I felt my own face go hot.

He must have thought I was losing my mind.

Good job, Rianne.

Another point for the books.

Third time's the charm, I suppose.

The moment evaporated all on its own when the elevator came to a halt. A random man holding a doughnut between his fingers wedged himself right between us, leaving me obligated to turn away to not look like a creep staring at him absolutely demolishing his dessert.

What the fuck just happened? — I thought as I tried to compose myself.

Something didn't feel right about the way he looked at me. I'd never seen such a thing before. Normally people would roll their eyes or completely brush me off — maybe even walk away or look at me like I had three heads. But, there was a strange glint in his eyes that I could not decipher — making it impossible to ignore.

I let out a much needed breath when the doors dinged open, thanking Eric Forman once again for finally taking me out of – what I hoped to be – the last trap of the day.

Everything after this was insanely chaotic.

I didn't even get a chance to say a single word to Austin – let alone say goodbye to him – before a whole swarm of people came barreling over, assessing him like a piece of artwork at an exclusive exhibit or some exotic animal that just moved into a zoo for a limited time only. They looked like they lined up outside days ago just to catch a two second glimpse of him.

Fucking crazy.

"Let me take that from you," someone said, ripping the tray out of his hands before he could even accept or decline the offer. It was the only thing I could interpret from the commotion and what sounded like ten people's voices talking to him all at once.

Christ.

I suddenly felt kind of bad for him, watching him trying to pick up on every form of question and conversation. If I was him, I sure as shit would have literally shat myself with all that attention. His head was turning in every direction possible. I wouldn't be surprised if his head snapped off or just did an entire three-sixty to scare all these fuckers away.

What actual choke hold did this man have over these people?

While I was taking a second to mull this over, he turned as if he felt my gaze training on him – catching my eye. He must have been thinking the same thing – well not the choke hold part – but the separation. He probably wanted to make sure the coffees got where they needed to be since he bought them with his own money and all.

"Hi," a small voice called from my side, breaking me out of my trance. "Are you Sydney's friend?"

"Hi – Yeah," I immediately confirmed, giving all of my attention and answering to some girl with dark hair I soon realized was holding the other tray of drinks.

Thank fuck.

"Let's go before they notice," she whispered, ducking out of the way, inviting me to follow her.

Without question, I did what she asked, stepping out of the crowd in what must have been the main lobby of this particular floor and following her down a corridor. "Are they always like this?" I asked about her coworkers once we turned down a hall that was particularly quiet.

"Depends," she replied simply, coming to a halt as we appeared in front of what I remembered to be Sydney's office. "Today's been one hell of a disaster though, so the fact that he's here is a miracle."

"So I've heard," I acknowledged what seemed to be the hot topic of the day as she popped the door open, revealing – what looked to be – a hypnotized Sydney staring dead at her computer screen, her fingers typing frantically on the keys as if she was practicing some sort of concerto– for a piano conservatory –like a whole professional pianist.

"Sydney," the girl called out, knocking on the doorframe to get her attention, but she just held up a finger — asking for a minute — keeping herself locked into the screen.

Man were people like machines here just running off these technological devices?

Don't answer that.

That just made me sound like a total elder.

She cleared her throat before announcing, "She's here. It's go time."

That seemed to hype her up because suddenly her eyes detached to the screen and met mine in an instant. "Hey! Oh my god! Thank you so much," she spewed out in less than a few seconds doing that whole mile a minute thing again. "Was it good? Was he nice? Please tell me he wasn't pissed off."

"Woah — No," I chirped out, passing her the tray. "He was fine. Everything was fine."

"Thank god," she breathed, bracing her hands under the tray. Her eyes looked even worse than before and her hair was all over the place with her glasses perched up and two number two pencils shoved into her bun like a school teacher. "I think it will go just fine." She regarded her co-worker. "Bring the cold foam cold brew to Antonio and then the rest go to the main corporate meeting. Oh wait — fuck." Her eyes lit up as she looked over the trays. "I think it's in mine. Wait here —"

"I got it," I said before she'd make a mess. I knew I didn't have the best track record with beverages as of late, but I sure as shit knew I'd handle it better than her at this particular moment — seeing how she was rightfully frazzled. Weaseling the drink out, I switched it without a drop of liquid. "Wait." I reached forward, pulling the pencils out of her hair and peeling off her glasses. "Perfect."

Success.

Now— if only I could have put on a show that good when I was traipsing across Los Angeles with Austin — or Mr. Butler — if you will.

Butt-ler.

Butthead.

Butt.

Mr. Butt.

Mr. Touche.

Mr. Ass.

Priceless.

"Thanks. For everything" She matched the smile that appeared on my face from my mental run down of every variation I could think of to totally obliterate his name. "Okay." She let out a shaky breath. "Wish me luck."

"Don't worry," I assured her. "You don't need it. Everything's gonna be fine now that the worst is over."

"I sure fucking hope so," she beamed. "See you at home?"

"Yep," I confirmed, watching her walk around me and follow her co-worker. "See you."

Before she went right back into her Miss. journalist-girl-boss-ness, she stopped the door with her hand quickly turning back to me. "Oh also!" She must have just remembered something. "Nice shirt!" She complimented in all seriousness, no ounce of sarcasm laced in her tone. "The oversized look is coming back, you know."

Momentarily forgetting what she was going on about, I looked down only to come face to face with my culprit. I was still wearing his mother-trucking shirt. I totally forgot to give it back to him, but what was I gonna do — have my own Magic Mike moment and put on a show for the receptionist and the doughnut inhaler?

And who could forget Magic Mike himself?

Play him at his own game?

Absolutely not.

I was good.

More than good.

Unfortunately, I'd just have to get in contact with him, but I'd have to figure out a way to do that.

Oh shit — Yep, I had his number.

I remembered then that he texted himself the drink order from my phone. All I had to do was search my messages and shoot him a quick text.

Fine. Perfect. No sweat.

Picking up my phone, I went to do just that, but halted the moment I clicked on what I assumed was his contact— finding our exchange under a random number. Leaning against Syd's desk my thumb hovered over the message icon, trying to figure out what to say, and how to properly say it.

I started typing.

hey, I have your shirt bro.

'Bro'— Seriously?

hey there, you kind of left your shirt with me. I got it, dude.

No.

Um.

Butthead, you forgot you left your whole shirt with me.

Maybe I'd make him laugh? —Yeah no.

Immediate no. Delete.

I tried something simpler and to the point —

do you want your shirt back?

That just sounded aggressive.

Getting frustrated, I completely debunked my attempts. I decided to just go back to the store and consult Levi before I made any sudden moves. With a huff, I shoved my phone in my pocket while exiting her office — trying my best to navigate out of this joint.

Rather not spend more time in this building than I needed to, especially when I was already worried enough about leaving Dax and Levi all alone. With just my luck, they'd both turn it into the night club Levi dreamed of if I waited any longer.

In a daze, I walked around the building on auto pilot, my brain plastering the image of his butthead at the forefront of my mind.

Was his gold-chain-white-tank-italian-mafia-boss-looking ass like some sort of drug that everyone became addicted too with just one glance?

Something had to be wafting in the air of this place, and I needed a way out. For all I knew, the people in here were all already infected. They sure seemed to be so.

Totally not paying any attention, too preoccupied thinking about you know who — I stopped in my tracks as I bumped right into someone. "Oh aye I'm walking here!" They pulled off a whole New Yorker kind of accent that was honestly so awful someone from New York would definitely punch them straight in the face without hesitation.

"Oh shoot. I'm sorry," I immediately apologized before looking up and meeting my victim that looked awfully familiar, but I couldn't place him.

He must have sensed how tense I got because then he said, "Only joking. No worries, little mama." Little mama? Seriously? Totally professional for the work place. "You're Rianne? Right?"

Welp, there was my name.

He definitely knew me.

Scary.

It took me a solid minute to register who the fuck I was talking too — but once I took in the one hell of a permed afro on top of his head it immediatly clicked.

Broccoli Rabe.

Holy shit.

Kinda ironic considering he had a broccoli looking head. I didn't piece that together until now.

Man was I good.

Broccoli was truly fitting all around.

How could I forget the dude I was trying so hard to profile just in case he tried anything with Syd and I needed to beat his ass? It was probably this newfound lighting and the fact that I was no longer drunk that completely threw me off.

"Yep. You must be Dw—Brocc— Brock," I quickly corrected myself. I didn't need to remind him of the nickname I left him with when I said my farewells last night. "I've heard a lot about you."

I obviously saw him with her last night, but we weren't properly introduced at the party — which I didn't really mind. From what I gathered, her and him were really lowkey so they didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves. That's why they were hiding in the kitchen, sucking face when no one was looking. I figured that out quite late in the game.

Risky.

"All good things I hope," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Pressing the button on the elevator, I tried my best to get myself out of this conversation quickly. "So far so good." Thankfully it listened to my request, opening with a glorious ring. "Welp, I gotta go. Good luck with the meeting."

"Thanks." He nodded. "Could be a bloodbath." He added before walking around me and down the corridor.

Lovely.

And this was why I didn't work for big businesses anymore — let alone publishers.

Once I got back down to the lobby, I decked right out of there — not even bothering to acknowledge the receptionist who was back at the desk, wishing me a good day.

Yeah, alright lady.

So now you decided to be nice after giving me a dirty look?

Back in the car, I closed my eyes once I shut the door behind me — basking in the silence. Even basking in the frying seats that were truly baking my ass thanks to the beating sun. As I went to turn on the ignition and kick up the air conditioning, I felt my phone ding in my back pocket. The seatbelt momentarily dug into my skin as I tried to retrieve the device.

So much for a moment of peace.

"Fucking hell." I talked to myself — a sense of worry shooting straight into my system.

It was rare for me to get a message since not too many people really texted me, and I barely used my phone half the time.

Finally, retrieving it — I stared at my lock screen that held a message from a random number, but it wasn't just any random number. It was his number. Austin's number. I soon came to that realization as I clicked on it, and it brought me straight to I guess what you could say now was a chain of two messages — now kicking in a new number — making it a whopping three.

Yippie!

Hey, thanks for the ride. Sorry I didn't get to thank you sooner. Hope no one gave you too much trouble.

Welp, there he was. At least I didn't have to worry about texting him first cause he already did it.

no problemo. they didn't. coffees landed just fine.

I texted back quickly, pressing send and tossing my phone on the seat next to me before I could overthink it.

Coffees landed.

What the fuck was that?

And then it dinged again, way too fast. I picked it up immediately reading his reply in seconds.

Good. I'm glad none of them decided to take off again.

Fucking Butthead.

I wasn't sure if I should have been pissed off by the fact that he was clearly referring to the drink literally taking off and landing all over me, or if I should just be happy that he picked up my reference and played along with it. All I knew was that I found it funny. I felt a smile paint itself on my face so tight, I swore my cheeks were burning.

Even though I really wanted to continue playing this game and throw a smart-ass comment right back at him, I refrained. Instead, I told him exactly what I needed too, adding a little thanks of my own since it only seemed appropriate and would be rude not too.

even though i'm still mad at you for paying for those drinks, thanks for helping me out today and saving my ass from walking around with coffee all over me. i owe you. i have your shirt still by the way.

After sending my response, I created a new contact — getting sick of staring at a random number. I quickly added Butthead into the first name prompt.

I had a tendency to come up with funny names for my contacts. Normal names were no fun and simply boring.

Very adult of me.

Butthead: I know. Don't worry about it. I'll just get it back from you next time.

Next time.

Next time?

What the fuck did that mean? There would be no next time. If anything I'd just give him back his shirt in a quick and painless transaction and we'd both be on our merry way.

Why wasn't he setting a time? Did he want me to figure it out or not? Should I've asked him when he was free? No then he'd probably get the wrong memo. Did he think he would just so casually see me around? Had things gone well with his meeting and he now would be working within that same building as Syd? Did he think I'd be driving him again — like some sort of personal chauffeur?

Because if he did, he had another thing coming to him. I would not hesitate to call Sher up so she could absolutely end his toothpick umbrella stealing ass. Maybe Marilyn too. Get the whole swat team together.

All the reinforcements.

Besides Levi of course. He'd probably recruit himself to Austin's team without blinking. I mean come on. I picked up pretty quickly that Levi found him insanely attractive by just the way he lit up like a Christmas tree in the bookstore.

Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Fucking Christmas.

A few different drafts of some not-so-sweet responses flew right out of my thumbs and straight into my phone in a matter of seconds, but as soon as I saw the length of it and how I sounded like a cursing-sailor I erased the entire thing before shooting him a simple 'okay.'

I was in no mood to assume things and jump to conclusions today. Absolutely beat, I dropped my phone and put my car in reverse to pull out of the lot — deciding to worry about it later.

Deciding to worry about him later.

If only I knew then what I was in for.

——

it's just the beginning.... looks like they'll just have to see each other again.

all the girly pops when austin walks into a room like:

see ya soon, xanadu

[mermaidsirennikita]

Oh for sure!

I thought of this when doing a selective reread (the sex scenes) of Mila Finelli's Mafia Madman, which is obviously... a mafia romance, lol. Heroine is kidnapped by the hero for revenge and he's VERY bad, but turns out that she's quite wild, defiant, and fully willing to use kinks (which align well with his) to get to him mentally. There's a moment in the book where they're about to have full on sex for the first time and he's literally chased her down and has her on her hands and knees, she's like "love this but can't let him feel like a winner" and bites his arm so hard there's blood running down it and he literally goes "you're going to make me come". That's THEE VIBE.

I'd actually say the two previous books in the series, Mafia Mistress and Mafia Darling, have this as well, to a lesser extent.

The IAD books that I would say fit this are are FOR SURE Kiss of a Demon King because Rydstrom is... good by demon standards but still very ruthless and powerful, but Sabine is a completely evil nutter butter who throws him for a complete loop. Dreams of a Dark Warrior has this with Declan and Regin as well; he's a cold torturer and she's this insane action girl who's like.... seen him through four other lifetimes and is determined to kill him. And she just might! But like, through mental torment, probably. Of course, Lothaire has shades of this with Lothaire and Ellie. The difference being that Ellie is actually a lovely person to everyone except him, with good reason.

Run Posy Run by Cate C. Wells is a mafia romance about a totally cold, psychopathic hero who handles the money for the mob and doesn't feel shit. He has this girlfriend, Posy, who he just kinda keeps because he's intrigued vaguely, but the relationship is super shallow. He gets tricked into thinking she cheated on him and dumps her, and because of their connection she has to go on the run... and he's like oh wait I NEEEED her back and she's all "LMAO NOPE MOTHERFUCKER I'M AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN NOW". She fucks with his head beautifully. I think at one point he contacts her on a cam site and pays her like $5K to get a flash of her pussy even though she's had sex with him a million times.

Prince of Broadway by Joanna Shupe definitely has this vibe with Clay and Florence. Which makes sense, as they're basically Gilded Age Enzo/Gia from Mafia Madman, lol.

Bad boy meets good girl = tired

Bad boy meets woman just crazy enough to ruin his life = wired

[wyvernquill]

Hi, it's the anon who sent that Anastasia AU hypothetical bad ending ask.

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE IT OUT?! MY HEART WAS NOT PREPARED.

Gilbert's promise to deliver Hob's letter for him! That Hob thought it would take 500 years for Dream to show up, but his belief that Dream *would* show up eventually! The moments Dream is still looking for any sign of Hob as he's led from the ruins of the White Horse to The New Inn. Hob's letter! HIS LETTER. His sign-off - "Yours, always, always yours" UM. Take my heart, it's not like I need it anyways!!!!!!!!

Dream sitting there in The New Inn, crying, mourning for HOURS. Where he doesn't move from until Gilbert and Matthew bring him back.

"He has lost Hob, and his heart with him."

"Life is rich, and goes on forevermore... only without one never-truly-immortal in it.

And Dream will forever remember Hob Gadling, will think of him at every judgement he passes over a mortal life, at every burst of fury in his chest. Will think of kindness, of forgiveness, of friendship.

And, forever and always, of love."

Even with Hob's death and Dreams' grief, this ending, this last part, actually feels so soft and tender. In how this last line from Dream mirrors Hob's sign-off, the last of Hob's final words to Dream. In Hob's everlasting impact on Dream. In how Dream thinks that life is rich, and lives on. Dream lives on.

Just. This made me think of my own (ongoing) processing of grief. And. I don't quite have the words for it, but there's something in the pain of losing someone but being left with love. In someone's absence from your life but still feeling full of love because you've known them.

This was beautiful. Thank you for writing it.

Anon, I am SO glad that it resonated with you, thank you so much! (I hope you won't mind me offering my condolences for your loss, as well.)

And yes, absolutely, that's something I thought about too. The funny thing is, some part of Hob did achieve immortality - because he lives on in the memories of an Endless. He'll never be truly gone as long as Dream remembers him with love, and thinks of him when dealing with mortal beings. He's gone, but also he isn't, and he'll always be with Dream in some form.

(And, well, when thinking of certain comic spoilers I don't have precise knowledge of but have gathered from here and there, it is indeed quite significant that Dream understands the richness of life better, and lives on with these memories cradled in his heart...)

Thank you again! <3

[o0fyuu0o]

Was going through my files and found some ShinDeku drabble thing from a couple years ago, I’ll probably never finish it but yall can have it.

TW Anxiety attacks

The rain hadn’t always conjured such anxiety in him.

And, really it wasn't the rain in and of itself it was that loneliness it conjured, that inability to go out and pretend, if only for just a bit, that he was normal.

-

In Izuku’s earliest memories it had simply meant being stuck indoors and not running after Kaachan and his entourage, trailing behind them, always behind, but content with his place in their friend group. And then when those friendships had crumbled away, like so much ash in the wind, when Kaachan and his classmates had turned on him or just from him. When pity or scorn became the default for dealing with him…

When he had felt so desperately alone.

The rain had suddenly become so, so much more.

-

It is a distinct memory the first time he feels that crushing weight of anxiety.

He’s alone, not an unusual thing by now, old enough to be on his own and different enough that it has become the norm. It starts with an odd feeling like he can’t quite connect with himself, his mind left adrift as his body goes through the motions. It's disconcerting and the more he reaches to try and reconnect the more terror he feels with each failure. Every attempt and his stomach sinks, until he feels not quite nauseous but… something. Their spewed vitriol which had been brushing up against him all morning is suddenly such a loud cacophony in his head that it can not be ignored.

It loops and loops and loops and loops…

His hands start to shake and suddenly it's like every drop of rain is a physical blow, a heavy weight on his chest and abruptly he can't breathe. Hands fisted in his shirt and he collapses in on himself self taking gasping breaths, struggling to fill his empty lungs.

Hecan’tbreath.Hecan’tbreath.Hecan’tbreath.

His mother finds him some time later curled in a ball on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Knowledgeable with her own panic attacks she guides him through his with gentle words and hands that despite their intent make him flinch.

From that day on their words, their mockery, and cruelty they circle him like word sharks. Sometimes they brush up against him as if to remind him that they were there, that at any time they could drag him down to their endless depths.

Other times they do just that.

Those days the rain will pitter and patter, and every drop will add to the clamor of voices in his head. Searing their opinions of him into his skin until its the only truth he knows.

Worthless.

Useless.

A Deku.

-

In the years that followed, all the way up until his fateful meeting with the Symbol of Peace, the rain had meant not jetting about Musutofu and its neighboring prefectures, not throwing himself into excited crowds watching and analyzing movement and the way heroes applied their quirks in dire situations. It meant actively occupying his mind, crushing that loneliness by hunching at his computer chair studying every pixel in excruciating detail, or sitting dangerously close to the TV, muttering and scribbling in equal measure. Exercising the one thing he had that could give him an edge, the only thing he had to use as a stepping stone towards his dreams.

Anything to keep the sharks at bay as they circled about, just waiting for him to slip up. And inevitably he would, perhaps not always, but it was enough for him to know he hated the rain and its crippling loneliness.

And his dreams, they too had been crushed, just as everything else in his life.

Even if only for a moment.

But it was enough.

They were words that would stick with him for a long time.

With their sharp biting teeth, they would drag him down in his darkest moments.

Down.

Down.

Down.

-

In the months of training leading up to the entrance exam, for the first in a long time rain hadn’t meant much of anything, as if All Might had stopped the torrent of self depredation with a few kind words to prop him up.

It was nice.

Even if the man's well-meaning “be realistic” was the most hurtful of all.

No. Rain had become just another element a hero had to contend with in the field. That had even been the excuse he had used once on Aizawa sensei, but only once since sensei had been less than impressed. “We have training facilities for this problem child, utilize them. Catching your death in unregulated conditions when there is no need is just illogical.”

And then the USJ happened.

And then Stain.

And then Kaachan…

And All Might…

There was no time to process, only react, so it built up like plaque on his psyche until its weight becomes too much to hold until he burst like an overfull dam.

-

Confined again. It was okay though, it was different now with the dorms, confinement no longer equaled isolation. No longer meant he was alone. He had friends now. It was different. It was okay. It was okay.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.

-

“You’re doing great Midoriya, just keep breathing, in one… two... three… four… hold….”

When the voice breaks through his panicked haze it's like being thrown a life-preserver, though the water is turbulent, deadly, and dangerous, the words they cling and hoist him up. His head is above water now and he can breathe. A few more – second? minutes? hours?- and Izuku feels a bit more stable, and a lot more exhausted. Its a herculean effort to lift his eyes and catch sight of his savior and moments more for it to click in place just who it is.

Droopy amethysts blink at him from a respectable distance, not too far and not too close, he's as disheveled as Izuku feels, indigo waves heavy laden with water curl about his face. An umbrella doing nothing against the torrent, clutched between his face and his shoulder leaving his long slender fingers free to move at a steady pace following the flow of his words. They're as transfixing to watch as his voice is to hear, a soothing lull that manages to fully ground him.

“Sh-Shinsou?”

His hands stall and his voice fades.

-

“Midoriya.”

Hitoshi had always loved the rain.

In his earliest memories, he can remember sitting on the porch with his mother, arm reaching out to let the little droplets hit his skin a wide grin stretched across his face, a melodic laugh adding a background track to his actions.

“Can you count them all Hitoshi?” It's a dumb question, of course, he can't even if it's only a gentle drizzle. But he’s a kid, and his mother is egging him on, and he’s not yet inhibited by the weighty words that will one day define him, seared into every bit of his being. So he shouts the numbers with unbridled joy stumbling a few times before being prompted with the correct sequence. 

They’re precious memories he clings to for most of his life, a singular bright spot he hoards to himself long after she’s gone.

-

[kyberphilosopher]

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead. 

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired. 

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits. 

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you  liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights. 

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest. 

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.  

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face. 

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair. 

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic? 

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly. 

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why. 

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber. 

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God. 

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?” 

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place. 

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening. 

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you. 

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look. 

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around. 

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too. 

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing. 

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls. 

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

[ladylynse]

Dimensional Displacement [FFN | AO3]: Danny has a love-hate relationship with the Fenton Booo-merang. This time, it didn’t do him any favours. This time, it knocked him through a portal—and from what he can glean from the Water Tribe siblings he meets, odds are, there’s a reason for that.

-|-

For @geronimo-alonzi as a thank you for donating to my ko-fi. (Yes, they won my fic giveaway, but I finished this one first.) Loosely based on this three sentence fic.

-|-

Danny had been clobbered in the head by the Fenton Booo-merang more often than he’d like to admit, let alone count, but this was the first time it had knocked him through a portal.

That wouldn’t have been a particularly bad thing if the portal hadn’t immediately closed behind him.

One minute, he’d been minding his own business in the Ghost Zone, coming back from a visit with Frostbite that Jazz must have forgotten about if she’d sent the Booo-merang after him. (Sam was stuck with her parents at some fancy dinner party thing somewhere and Tucker was working on designing a computer game for his comp sci assignment, a class neither Sam nor Danny was in, so it had to have been Jazz.)

The next minute, Danny was…. He didn’t even know where he was. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He’d caught the Booo-merang before either he or it had hit the ground, but once he’d righted himself to look around, there was no familiar skyline or something equally useful to him. There were only trees and rocks and dirt roads as far as the eye could see, even from a considerable distance up in the air.

Well.

That wasn’t quite fair. He could see a silver river cutting through the trees in a path roughly parallel to the road, but in terms of helpful things, he was coming up empty.

He didn’t even know which direction he’d need to fly to get to a city. It was too light out to see any distant glow of city lights against the scattered clouds, and all he could smell when he breathed in was fresh air and pine needles and something else—moss? The general mix that was pretty much mulch on the forest floor?—that was decidedly natural, not the signs of human activity he’d been hoping for. Sure, following the road or even the river would get him somewhere sooner or later, but what was he supposed to do, pick a random direction or go eenie meenie minie moe?

Danny did another loop above the trees, looking for some sign of anything, and came up with nothing.

“Come on!” Danny yelled at the patch of blue sky where the portal had closed. He spun in a circle, the Booo-merang clutched tightly in his fist, but it didn’t pull in any direction, and he didn’t catch so much as a glimmer of the familiar green of the Ghost Zone. “Just open up again already!” It was as effective as he’d expected it to be, which was not at all, but screaming out his frustrations made him feel a bit better. “Now! Please?”

Unsurprisingly, the portal didn’t listen.

Out of appealing options, Danny threw the Booo-merang. Logically, he knew it wasn’t the Infi-Map. Logically, he knew that the universe did not often do what was convenient for him, even if he sometimes got incredibly lucky in a fight. Logically, he knew that the chances of the Booo-merang deciding to reprogram itself to find portals just because it had done it this one time (likely coincidentally) were slim to none.

Illogically, he didn’t expect the stupid thing to circle around and hit him in the back of the head again.

Danny cursed and landed to retrieve the fallen Booo-mang from the roadway, muttering under his breath about how much he’d like to just dismantle the thing and hide the pieces. He wouldn’t, of course. It worked too well to risk Sam, Tucker, and Jazz losing the ability to find him if they really needed to. It had been dicey enough the few times his parents had decided to try to ‘fix’ it, only for disaster (Vlad) to strike in the meantime.

That didn’t mean Danny couldn’t fantasize about bashing it against a rock, though. There were plenty of those around.

“That’s a weird looking boomerang,” someone said from behind him, and Danny nearly jumped into the air right there.

He didn’t, mostly because he was getting used to Sam and Tucker trying to surprise him, but it was a near thing.

He wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. His ghost sense was reliable, Dash made more noise walking around than even Jack Fenton, and, well, most of the people who hunted him couldn’t be subtle if they tried, especially since a good chunk of them liked hearing their own voice. He’d only ever really had to worry about Jazz, and self-preservation in the face of tickle attacks had given him the ability to be extra sensitive to her presence whenever she was in a certain mood.

The two who’d caught him by surprise now must have come from the trees on the other side of the road, and he hoped that meant they hadn’t seen him do anything particularly ghostly. Granted, neither of them was screaming, so he should be safe. They didn’t look terrified, either. Wary, maybe, but not scared.

Danny guessed that they were both somewhere around his age. Siblings, by the looks of them, but probably not twins even if they’d both decided to leave the house wearing oddly styled blue clothes today, at least compared to the usual jeans and T-shirt combo Danny was used to seeing. Unless he wasn’t anywhere near the States anymore? Or unless he’d been flung through to a different time. But the boy had spoken English, and it hadn’t sounded funny to Danny’s ears, no lilt of a foreign accent or strange phrasing that he associated with Shakespeare or something.

The girl was his height, the boy a bit taller, and they were both staring at him.

They probably thought he was the one who was dressed strangely.

The boy pointed. “Your boomerang,” he repeated. “It looks weird.”

The girl elbowed him in the gut—none too gently, judging by his immediate wheeze—and hissed, “Sokka!”

Yeah, those two were definitely siblings. And even if the girl wasn’t older, she definitely had the annoying (and annoyed) sister tone down pat. Danny had heard (and been on the receiving end of) the same from similar exchanges with Jazz more than once.

“Sokka’s going to apologize, right, Sokka?”

The boy frowned and then threw up his hands. “Right. I apologize for saying your boomerang looks weird. It looks interesting.”

The girl stepped on his foot, and he yelped. “What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!”

“It’s fine,” Danny said. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Maybe the portal had dumped him out in the middle of some historical re-enactment thing. Granted, there should really be more people around if that were the case—or at least hidden cameras. He was better at spotting them now. Vlad and his creepy spy tendencies aside, Danny had gotten good at noticing (and avoiding) cameras so he didn’t let his secret get caught on tape. (There were a surprising number of places in Amity Park not under video surveillance, or at least not under real video surveillance even if they had fake cameras out; he could practically transform in the middle of the street sometimes.)

Still, nothing about this felt staged. It didn’t even feel like one of his enemy’s tricks, some giant setup that was meant to trap him or whatever. That’s not to say Danny was wholly convinced this meeting, whatever it was, was merely chance—he didn’t particularly trust Clockwork not to arrange things as he saw fit without warning anyone—but it didn’t feel overly contrived, either. There was just….

Something felt off, and he couldn’t explain what it was.

“It’s fine,” Danny repeated, since the two were looking at him dubiously, but the familiar phrase felt strange on his tongue, almost like—

Wait.

“Okay, this is going to sound like a weird question, but where are we?”

The boy, Sokka, blinked. “Did you hit your head or something? We’re in the Earth Kingdom. Or, wait, do you mean where in the Earth Kingdom? Look, if you need new supplies, there’s not much in the last few villages, but we’re about a day from—”

The girl elbowed him again, and he fell silent. Danny could see the growing suspicion on her face for what it was, could see suspicion settling on the boy’s face as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d asked the wrong question or because he’d asked something at all. He’d been paying attention this time, watching Sokka’s lips, and Danny didn’t have to be a good lip reader to know that he hadn’t been saying the words Danny had heard.

Well.

More accurately, he hadn’t been saying them in English.

And Danny, in answering, had somehow not been speaking English.

That was not, as far as Danny was aware, something Clockwork could do to him.

He didn’t know a ghost who had power over language, though, unless the Ghostwriter had something else up his sleeve and this mess was it. Nocturne would be able to pull anything in a dream, but Danny couldn’t see why he’d bother including something that would be an obvious tell like this, so it shouldn’t be him even if he had decided to come back. More likely, it was someone he hadn’t fought before, someone who had targeted him, seen an opportunity when the Booo-merang had hit him and seized upon it to throw him…here.

Wherever here was.

The Earth Kingdom, apparently.

“Um.” The girl still looked like she expected him to start fighting, and her stance…. Danny didn’t recognize it, but he did know that she looked ready to move at any moment. Her brother had taken her cue and, while Danny hadn’t been paying attention, pulled out a boomerang of his own. That couldn’t be good. “Look. I know how this sounds.” How he sounded, more like. If he had some accent he couldn’t hear because he wasn’t speaking their language properly, whatever it was, this had to be a setup after all.

Someone had sent him here to be dealt with. By this world, this dimension or construct or whatever it was, if not necessarily by these two people.

Granted, Danny wasn’t sure why someone would go to the trouble of letting him understand and be understood in the first place if that were the case, since he could get in just as much trouble without speaking the native language.

Surely he wasn’t actually supposed to help someone here, right? This wasn’t even his world. Or the Ghost Zone. Whatever was going on here was most definitely not his business.

Except now he was in the middle of it, so if there was something going on, it would be beneficial to find out what it was sooner rather than later.

This wasn’t some Jumanji kind of thing where he’d been tossed into a game and had to do whatever it was to get out again, was it? It didn’t feel like the time he’d gone into Doomed, but that had been intentional, and this….

Okay, no, he didn’t have enough information to speculate, which meant he needed to get some information out of these two in order to get somewhere. “I just…. I was kidnapped and dumped here for some reason, and I’m trying to find my way home.” That was close enough to the truth that it shouldn’t raise any red flags. Hopefully. “My name is Danny.” Introducing himself as Phantom, even in ghost mode, wasn’t something he wanted to do when he had no idea how these people felt about ghosts. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d ever see him as Fenton. He just needed to stick to the ground and pretend to be a normal human being, which he could most definitely do—at least when the sun was bright enough that his slight glow was basically nonexistent. He doubted it would be terribly noticeable even under the cover of trees.

“Danny,” the girl repeated, not relaxing her stance. “That’s an unusual name.”

Sokka just cocked his head at Danny. “Why would anyone kidnap you?”

It was spoken like it was an innocent, thoughtless question, something that could be brushed away with a laugh, but Danny could read an underlying tension in each of their faces. Sokka was waiting on his answer, and so was his sister. Danny’s response might very well determine what happened next.

Consequently, Danny didn’t miss the fact that Sokka didn’t offer up any potential explanations that he could jump on.

Another lie wasn’t going to do him any favours, not when he knew so little. “I don’t know.” He could guess, but he didn’t know. From the looks of it, though, these two wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Chances were good they wouldn’t be particularly satisfied with his suspicions, either, which was that someone wanted him out of the way for whatever they were planning—or maybe that someone had decided they wanted to have a little fun with him at his expense, if world domination wasn’t on the table. “My parents are inventors. Maybe that’s why?”

“That doesn’t explain why whoever took you would leave you here,” Sokka pointed out, and Danny wished these two weren’t so smart. “If you were taken because you were valuable, you wouldn’t have been left behind unguarded.”

“So maybe they kidnapped the wrong person and realized that I wasn’t who they wanted?”

Sokka exchanged glances with his sister before murmuring, “We can ask Toph. I mean, it’s possible they found us, but if he is really a Fire Nation plant picked solely for his eye colour, they’d have at least dyed his hair and given him some normal clothes.”

Danny decided not to ask who the heck picked people for something based on eye colour and not skill or merit or experience or something normal like that. Aside from derailing the conversation from anything potentially useful, Danny was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t realized he’d been overheard, and it wouldn’t be in Danny’s best interests to let them know how good his hearing was.

Still, he took the opportunity to tuck away the Booo-merang before they could ask any questions about it that he wasn’t up to answering. Maybe it would make him seem like less of a threat if they didn’t think he was ready to use it as a weapon—not that he knew how to use a boomerang as a weapon, but he was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t pulled his out to see which of them could throw it farther or throw it properly—and maybe then they’d trust him enough to answer his questions. Hopefully. He was perfectly willing to meet this Toph if it meant figuring out where he was and how to get home, especially since it would be easy enough for him to cut and run later.

The movement was enough to draw the attention of the siblings, though, and both pairs of eyebrows rose. Had they not expected him to make what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of trust or were they wondering how the heck he’d gotten it into his pocket? Maybe they thought he was trying to hide it, which wouldn’t help matters at all. Then again, if they thought that he thought it had been a subtle move, then maybe—

No.

He had to stop doing this. He didn’t know enough about these two to try to guess their thoughts, let alone what actions they might take against him.

Danny shifted on his feet, glad they hadn’t jumped to attacking and that they weren’t even asking questions about the Booo-merang, since practically anything about it would be difficult to answer. At least they hadn’t seen him flying. Even for people familiar with ghosts, unknown ones tended to be cause for concern until their threat level was assessed, and Danny didn’t want to invite trouble and immediately find out what this world had that messed with ghosts. Sure, he wanted to know what could hurt him here, but finding out while it wasn’t actively being used against him was infinitely preferable.

“Where did you say you were from?” the girl asked after a beat, even though they all knew he’d never said anything about that.

“Nowhere you would know,” he hedged, which was true enough.

“We travel a lot,” the girl said, and her brother snorted.

“What Katara means is, try us. If we can help you get back to your family, what do you have to lose?” Sokka offered Danny a grin, and his stance had visibly relaxed, even if he hadn’t put his boomerang away. It might be just for show, especially since he still had a weapon out, but at least the girl hadn’t drawn any knives or something like that. “Look, from one guy to another, you don’t need to make up some crazy story if you’re a runaway or something like that. We’re basically runaways.”

“We’re running towards something, not away from it.”

“We were almost runaways.” To Danny, Sokka added, “Gran caught us, but she let us go.”

Katara rolled her eyes, and Danny looked between the two of them as Sokka continued talking. It was obvious that they’d changed tack for some reason, no doubt trying to get him to trust them, but the blatant switch made him uneasy. Did they not realize how obvious that was or was this just their usual dynamic?

“I’m from Amity,” Danny eventually interrupted. He knew from the way that they were looking at him that neither of them had forgotten he had yet to answer the question. He’d already told them they wouldn’t know the place, so technically he could’ve said Amity Park, but for all he knew, these two had been sent to get information out of him, and the less he told a potential enemy, the better.

Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t have told them his real name, and maybe he should’ve just made up a village name rather than dropping heavy hints about his hometown.

“Which is near—?”

Danny ignored Sokka’s prompt. He didn’t even have a good enough idea of the geography of this place to make that up, especially when there was a chance they knew the area, runaways or no. “Do you know where I could get some water? I haven’t found any since I woke up.” That wasn’t true, but they wouldn’t know that unless they were getting some more intel about him from someone unseen.

The siblings looked at each other again, and then Katara faced him and said, “We’re headed to the river. Come with us. You can get your water, and we can share our catch if we get anything.”

“Wait, I didn’t agree to share my meat!” Sokka exclaimed. Katara’s only answer was a dirty look, but it was enough to have Sokka subsiding into grumbles.

“I’m not hungry yet,” Danny said, which also strictly wasn’t true, but he knew he didn’t need to eat much.

“You might be hungry by the time we’re finished,” Katara said over Sokka’s griping.

Danny hesitated, trying to figure out how weird it would be if he made up some excuse not to go with them. What were the chances that this was a trap when he’d brought up the river—or at least water—before they had? It wasn’t that he thought they’d be able to take him out if it came to that, even if Jazz had more experience fighting normally than he did, since he typically relied a lot on his powers when he could.

These two might be better fighters than him—there were almost certainly better hunters, given how silently they could walk—but he’d always have something like intangibility in his back pocket if it came to it, and they wouldn’t. Still, when it came down to it, he wasn’t used to fighting humans. What if he didn’t pull his punches enough and seriously hurt one of them?

“You can tell us about Amity,” Katara added. “We’ve never been there.”

Danny really hoped that was true and that there wasn’t a place in this world called Amity that they knew well. Still, when they started walking, spreading out so he was always in sight and they never had their backs to him, even when they hit the trees on the other side of the road, he kept pace with them. “It’s pretty much like you’d expect.” Except for the ghosts. At least his ghost sense hadn’t gone off here. Yet. “This is probably the farthest I’ve ever travelled from home.” He couldn’t get much farther away than a completely different dimension that (probably) wasn’t as connected to his world as it was to the Ghost Zone, anyway—unless he counted when he’d time travelled, but he wasn’t about to bring that up.

Katara opened her mouth to ask another question, maybe to press him for details, so Danny cut her off. “What about you two?”

They looked at each other again. How many times were they going to do that? Hadn’t they already decided how far to trust him? Danny knew it wasn’t very far, but they’d clearly decided he wasn’t going to straight up attack them at this precise moment, so even if they didn’t tell him the whole truth—

Sokka gestured at their clothes. “We’re Water Tribe.”

He said it like it was obvious, like Danny should’ve known already, but of course it explained absolutely nothing.

“Southern Water Tribe,” Katara added unhelpfully, despite Sokka’s frown. “We wanted to see the world, and now we are.”

As cover stories went, it was better than Danny’s. Barely. “Right,” he said, wondering again why he’d been dumped in the path of these two. “It’s a nice world to see.”

Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say, because they were both looking at him like they’d expected him to say anything but that. “What?”

“There’s a war on, you’re supposedly kidnapped and dropped off somewhere in occupied territory without any of the proper paperwork, and the best you can come up with is it’s a nice world to see?” Sokka turned his incredulous look from Danny to Katara. “He cannot be Fire Nation. This kid is more sheltered than Toph was supposed to be.”

Danny, who had stumbled at the word war, kept walking and hoped they hadn’t noticed. If they had, maybe they’d think he’d tripped over a tree root or fallen branch or hole or something. They weren’t following a trail, so that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, right?

“It’s all right,” Katara said as she reached out to touch his arm, and, okay, from that gentle tone, which was a complete change from anything earlier, it must mean she had noticed, knew he hadn’t tripped over anything in the terrain, and—from how she was looking at him now—thought it wasn’t surprise that had tripped Danny up, either. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a little naïve until you have a chance to leave home for the first time, but unless you’re got a camp around here, you’re not prepared at all.”

Sokka finally put his boomerang away and smirked at Danny. “We at least left home with supplies.”

“Did you have to run without any warning?” Katara asked, giving her brother a pointed look.

“Oh, uh, kinda.” Danny winced, knowing that had to sound like a lie. “I…I didn’t really plan on leaving when I did. This just…happened.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, but Katara said, “You don’t have to worry. We’re the last people who would turn you in to the Fire Nation.”

Right. So the Fire Nation were the bad guys, at least according to the Water Tribe and, if he was putting things together correctly, the Earth Kingdom, where they were. Meaning the Fire Nation had invaded the Earth Kingdom if this was occupied territory. Danny thought about asking why these two had come into occupied territory themselves and then decided he didn’t want to risk getting into a discussion that would show off how little he knew. If they had decided he was a runaway who knew practically nothing about the world, well, that worked in his favour.

“Thanks.” Danny wasn’t sure what else to say. “Why are you helping me, though? Won’t that put you in danger?” That had to be a fair question in this situation.

“We can’t help everyone,” Katara said quietly, “but we can help some people, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Sometimes, that has to be enough.”

Danny really didn’t know what to say to that, because she certainly wouldn’t understand if he said he knew the feeling, so he smiled weakly in thanks and let the conversation drop.

They were still watching him, but they were more subtle about it now, and it didn’t look like they were watching him more closely than they were watching everything else.

Being downgraded from a threat was a win, though. Danny hoped he didn’t do anything to mess it up.

“There’s no shame in being a refugee,” Sokka said after a moment. “Being from a richer family might’ve bought you an isolated childhood, but it wouldn’t guarantee your safety.”

“We won’t try to hold you for ransom if you tell us where you’re really from,” added Katara.

Danny glanced at her. “I said I was from Amity.”

“I could say I have a platypus bear as a pet,” Sokka interjected. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“We know what it’s like, thinking you understand the way things are and then realizing how little you know,” Katara said quietly. “It can be overwhelming.”

“And it would explain why you’re in your nightclothes,” Sokka said. He’d come in range of Katara’s fist, but he danced out of the way as she swung in his direction. He hadn’t even needed to look at her to know it was coming. “You didn’t know enough to keep your valuables hidden and got robbed your first night on your own, didn’t you?”

“I—” Danny knew it was an excuse for his ignorance being handed to him on a silver platter, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up with a lie like that when he knew so little. “These aren’t my pajamas,” he said instead. Let them believe what they wanted to believe; that would make his life easier. Even if it blew up in his face somehow, he could truthfully say he’d never said they were right.

They might be suspicious that he hadn’t outright denied it, but then again, he’d already told them something a lot closer to the truth.

“Uh huh.” Sokka glanced at Katara again, and she gave a slight shake her head that Danny didn’t understand.

“Let’s get you some food and water first,” Katara said. “Then we can see about finding you other supplies.”

Danny decided not to point out that they’d already told him it was slim pickings for supplies around here. Not that he had the money to pay for anything, but Sokka had already guessed that. Besides, they thought he was running around in his pjs.

Judging by the sour look on Sokka’s face, he’d evidently translated his sister’s words to mean that she wanted to give him some of their supplies, something Sokka clearly wasn’t sure he approved of.

Katara must have had similar thoughts on Sokka’s expression, since she murmured, “It’s this or bring him with us, and you know what’s safer.”

Katara might not have minded that Danny could overhear her last words, but Sokka closed the distance between them, pulling his sister farther away from Danny before hissing, “It’s not the only option, and you know it. We can’t afford to give away any of our supplies, and just because Toph can make sure he’s not coming in with the intention of stabbing us in the back, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t blab to anyone once he figures out who we’re travelling with. You know as well as I do that that wouldn’t take very long.”

“He’s just kid.”

“Technically, like Aang keeps reminding us, we’re just kids. Who very much cannot afford to so much as drop him off in the next village. Show him the river and teach him how to catch and cook his meals? Fine. Picking him up as a stray when he’s not bringing anything to the table? Not fine.”

“He’s lost.”

“So? He’s not hurt. He’s already in a better position than some refugees. He’ll survive until he can walk to the nearest settlement. Then he can try to get help from people who can actually give it.”

Katara bit her lip and slowed to a stop. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

Danny very much wanted to know the answer to that—what had Katara figured out?—but he tried not to react so they didn’t know he’d been listening in. He deliberately turned away and stared around the trees instead, a mix of deciduous and evergreen. He couldn’t pick out any specific types of trees—nothing distinctive like oak leaves that he could see—and, as far as he could tell, the woods were utterly devoid of critters. He had no idea if that was because this world wasn’t real or if it was simply because all the animals in the region had had warning of their coming and hidden accordingly.

Danny knew his disinterest wouldn’t be very convincing, but if he was lucky, they’d think he’d given up on trying to eavesdrop.

“There’s something…off about him. Not necessarily something wrong, but something different. I can’t…. When he asked about water, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding any on him or nearby in case it was a trap, and— He didn’t feel the same as you or me. I can’t explain it. Toph might have a better idea than I do. Or…or Aang.” The last word was a barely audible whisper.

“You think this might be a spirit thing?” Sokka’s response was closer to a suppressed shriek than anything else, and Danny winced.

“I think he might be spirit touched,” Katara answered, and Sokka’s sharp inhalation was painfully audible. “I wasn’t good enough back then to notice anything about Yue, but—”

“Fine.” Sokka’s voice had gone flat. “I don’t want to shun someone and accidentally anger the spirits. I’ll teach him to fish. You go back and interrupt advanced earthbending practice and pick a meeting place, but make sure everyone’s packed in case this doesn’t go the way you think it’ll go.”

“I know to be careful.”

“We all know to be careful. Some of us just need more reminding than others.”

Katara didn’t say anything else, but she must have nodded or done something similar because Danny heard Sokka stalk back over to him. “Katara’s going back to talk to the rest of our group about what we might be able to spare,” he said as Danny turned back to face him, “and I’ll show you how to fish in the meantime. If you don’t catch anything, I’ll give you one of mine.”

Danny wasn’t about to admit that he’d overheard their entire conversation, so he smiled and said, “That sounds great, thanks.” It didn’t stop the uneasiness from settling in his gut, though. Sure, now he knew these people believed in ghosts, and Sokka’s response made it clear he didn’t want to get on their bad side, but Danny had no idea what being spirit touched meant. He didn’t know if that was seen as a good thing or a bad thing.

More to the point, if it was a bad thing, he didn’t know if these people had something suitable with which to attack spirit touched people, since if they did, chances were good that it would work on him.

He was not lucky enough to get a free pass here.

Still, the odds were good that he’d be able to escape if they did attack since he’d know to be on watch for something, and he wasn’t about to turn down an offer of food. He had no idea when a portal would open and he’d be able to go home. Until then, the best he could do was survive.

He’d survived this much, and his life had hardly been a walk in the park since the accident, let alone before. He wasn’t about to let some ghost fling him into an unknown world and succeed in taking him down. He needed to get out of this to kick their butt and prove to them that they couldn’t get rid of him that easily.

Assuming this wasn’t all a series of genuine coincidences and not the result of the careful manipulation of events.

Danny didn’t want to think about that, though.

He had a much better chance of getting home if there was someone he could beat, and he was going to get home.

Somehow.

(see more fics)

[rocorambles]

Shiny New Toy

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader 

Genre/Warnings: Military Officer Matsukawa x Prisoner of War Reader AU, Yandere, Non-Con/Rape, Bondage, Sex Toys, Degradation, Overstimulation, Objectification, Humiliation, Body Writing, Mentioned/Implied  Non-Con Branding, Knife Marking, Tattooing

Summary: Most people would consider having a white Christmas a stroke of good luck, but you’re about to find out just how untrue that is. 

Author’s Note: This fic is for the Lovesick Server’s December collab and the theme is Stormy Nights~ Be sure to check out the amazing work by other members here.

When most people dream of a white Christmas, they think about soft fluffy snow you can easily shape into snowmen, they think about fluttering snowflakes they can gaze at as they sit inside a cozy home surrounded by their family. 

Not you. 

When you dream of a white Christmas, you pray for a thunderous snowstorm, you pray for harsh winds, frigid temperatures, you pray for anything severe enough to serve as a distraction, to keep the demons and monsters at bay. 

And it takes every ounce of self-control not to accidentally betray how relieved and thankful you are as your guards for the day are sloppy enough to leave you uncuffed, hastily throwing down enough food to last you a few days in their rush to return to the safety and warmth of their barracks, unwilling to venture out more than necessary to feed you multiple times a day during the blizzard outside. 

They still have enough sense to lock the cell door behind them as they scurry back to the merry celebrations, too afraid to deal with the wrath of their superior officers. And you can’t blame them, not when Oikawa’s sadistic streak and Iwaizumi’s untempered rage are infamous throughout the nations, not when you’ve seen firsthand just how cruel the Seijoh Four can be. 

Painful memories of fire, screams, and blood flood your mind and you grit your teeth as you push them aside. There would be time for grief and mourning later. But for now, you need to escape first.

You examine the lock in front of you, the one thing separating you from freedom. It’s not a bad piece of work. Sturdy, strong, and reliable. But it’s nowhere near the craftsmanship and skill you’re used to. After all, when you come from Date Tech, the nation famous for its Iron Walls, its ironwork, its ability to manipulate all types of metal to do or be whatever the heart desires, nothing compares. And it’s laughably easy to make said lock useless as you quietly creep outside for the first time in months. 

It’s quiet. Not a soul is in sight and you slow your breathing and thoughts down as you concentrate. What’s the next step? Which direction should you go? What’s the overall plan?

For once you’re thankful for how the guards they’ve been sending could care less about your presence, treating you nothing more than an object as they blatantly ignore you and carry on conversation as if you’re not there. You know that despite the fact that most of Miyagi has been conquered, three nations still remain in an endless war against each other.

Karasuno. Shiratorizawa. Aoba Johsai. 

It’s just your luck that you’d ended up a prisoner of war by the worst of the three, humiliated and kept alive as a trophy and symbol of what they had accomplished. At least if Date Tech had been conquered by Shiratorizawa you’d be dead within seconds once Ushijima had deemed you unworthy and far too weak to live up the to high standards of his warriors. 

But Karasuno...you don’t know much about the crow nation, a nation that had kept a low profile for as long as you could remember, only to recently rear its head and prove that they’ve kept up with the best of the best despite their long isolation. But you do remember the kind faces of their high ranking officers when they had gotten into a conflict with Date Tech long ago, how surprisingly amicable the two sides were as Date Tech admitted defeat, preparing for the worst, only to be surprised as Karasuno had peacefully left after having your nation promise an alliance with them, leaving your home relatively in one piece, letting your authorities remain in power, allowing your people to live normally.

It’s decided then. The game plan is to escape to Karasuno and hope that Daichi Sawamura is as just and kind as you remember. 

Determined, you carefully listen and check your surroundings, grateful for the added coverage the snowstorm provides, relieved when you hear the distant drunken shouts and celebrations as the soldiers celebrate the joyous holiday, tucked away in the mess hall quite a distance from you. And you brace yourself as the wind howls around you, as the icy snow stings your bare feet and legs, soaking through your tattered clothing. But like hell you’re going to let something as silly as frostbite stop you and you darkly think that dying from hypothermia would be a preferable way to leave this world than by the hands of a Seijoh officer. 

Escape is tantalizingly close and you forget about the way your body feels numb from the bitter cold, forget about how your teeth chatter and your body shivers when you see the nearing enclosure, so focused on the exit that you don’t notice the solitary tall figure casually leaning against a wall nearby, curiously watching your stumbling weary body make its way towards the opening, amusement in his eyes when you pass him, completely unaware of his presence as your eyes sparkle from seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Matsukawa doesn’t care much for Christmas. Well to be fair, he doesn’t care much about holidays or celebrating in general, finding the rowdy atmosphere headache inducing, the raucous volume irritating, the crowds of people bothersome. But Oikawa and Hanamaki love their social events and it boosts squad morale, so needless to say of course there is an obnoxious holiday party raging on, with Iwaizumi playing babysitter. And Matsukawa had slipped out as soon as he could, finding strange comfort in the tumultuous weather outside, unfazed by the way snow slashed across his face as he walked and walked until only the sounds of wind and the night accompanied him. 

So imagine his surprise when their adorable little prisoner shows up in the midst of the blizzard like a ghostly apparition, struggling through the elements in a desperate attempt to escape. Honestly he doesn’t know why you’ve been kept in the cell for so long and he supposes you have Iwaizumi to thank for Oikawa not sinking his teeth and claws into you already, the green eyed general having a softer heart than most would assume knowing his reputation. But your luck has run out and not even Iwaizumi can save you from punishment and Matsukawa’s penchant for ruining pretty things. 

Suddenly Christmas doesn’t seem so bothersome after all as Matsukawa’s long legs swiftly carry him to you, his arm quickly wrapping around your neck from behind and squeezing until your nutrient deprived and half frozen body collapses in his arms. 

You groan when you come back to your senses, sinking into the soft surface you’re laying on. 

Wait. Soft surface?

Your eyes shoot open and your arms instinctively move to help you sit up, only for you to falter as something keeps your arms bound behind your back and you flail and struggle to move your tied up body as you gauge your surroundings, feeling nauseous when you recognize the turquoise and white uniform jacket hung up by the door, staring in disbelief and humiliation when you finally look down at yourself, the glowing Christmas lights adorning and highlighting your body as they weave around your breasts and between your legs. And you can only assume that’s what you feel wrapped around your arms, keeping them immobile behind your back as your naked body fights against its restraints on the bed you’ve been placed on. 

 But you scream, all thoughts of escape zapped out of you when two devices come to life inside of you and you sob in shame and panic as both your lower holes are assaulted by the vibrators inside of them, the tangle of lights looped between your legs keeping the toys firmly shoved inside of you despite the way you try to push them out of you. 

Matsukawa doesn’t understand the appeal of Christmas lights or decorations nor does he understand Oikawa’s fascination of sex toys and overwhelming his play things with plastic, rubber, and metal, preferring the surge of pride that courses through him when he wrecks his sluts with his body alone. But as he watches you writhe in front of him, your eyes glistening with hopeless tears, your nipples perky and erect, your moans and whimpers filling the room as he sits back and relaxes, his large hand slowly palming his hardening cock that he untucks out of his trousers, he admits that maybe he had been too quick to judge, grateful he hadn’t immediately dumped the box of gag gifts his brunette captain had gifted him bright and early this Christmas morning. 

“I know you don’t like toys, Mattsun. But you should test these out on the new batch of prisoners we get from the next raid!”

You aren’t a new prisoner, but he’s sure Oikawa wouldn’t mind that he was using them on you. If anything, the brunette would probably be jealous that he’d claimed you first. 

Time ceases to exist as Matsukawa watches you, fingers idly tapping away on buttons and a smirk spreading across his face at how receptive you are to the setting changes, how little he has to do to have your body contorting and your voice wantonly wailing as orgasm after orgasm is ripped from you. But he grows tired of watching from afar after he forces you to break apart countless times and he draws near, stroking his now fully erect cock as he mockingly whistles at how you’ve soaked the bed sheets near your cunt and drenched the lights shoved against your folds, laughing at how your back arches and your eyes roll back when he roughly pinches and twists your nipples. 

It’s like you were made to be played with. And suddenly Matsukawa can’t get his hands on his new toy fast enough, unwinding the soaked string of lights from your lower half and bending your legs before retying the lower strands of lights so that they bind your calves to your thighs, enjoying the view as the vibrator in your pussy easily slips out from your loosened sopping wet hole while he teasingly pulls and shoves back in the large vibrating plug he keeps nestled inside of your ass. 

You really are just like a sex toy or a fuck doll, other than that scowl on your face and the raging hate and disgust in your eyes. But the fierce look only stirs deeper lust and anticipation in the officer as he eagerly awaits the moment you completely break because of him, large hands easily hauling your bound body by the waist and forcing you to straddle his lap as he reclines against his headboard, smiling at how rage turns to a gorgeous look of fear when you feel the tip of his cock brush against your glistening entrance. 

It really is admirable how you hopelessly fight against him, against gravity as his hands guide you down and down, despair, pain, and maybe something on the border of pleasure overtaking you as you sink on an enemy’s shaft seemingly forever, the girth alone already stretching you far more than the vibrator had. But it’s the length that tears you apart and Matsukawa is painstakingly meticulous about making sure you swallow him at an agonizingly slow pace, making sure you have no choice but to feel every bit of him that enters you, that drags against your walls, further and further until you swear he’s in your cervix, in your stomach. 

You hate how sensitive his earlier torment has made you, how your pleasure addicted body is already chasing after another orgasm, your pussy fluttering in excitement around the new object filling it, your mouth drooling and unable to close as your mind goes blank from the sensation of being double stuffed again. And you sob in relief when you finally bottom out before you can humiliate yourself by cumming yet again, tensing as you wait for your captor to ruthlessly fuck you right away. 

But nothing happens and you stare in astonishment as Matsukawa merely reaches over to his nightstand to pick up a book, flipping through pages as you sit in his lap. 

“Be a good cock warmer and just stay still and look pretty, okay?” 

Humiliation courses through you at his words, but you obey. Or at least you try your best to. But he’s set you up for failure as the hand not holding his reading material finds its way between your legs, calloused fingertips gently and slowly rubbing against your clit in a way that has your body heating up, has your hips unconsciously grinding as they chase the building inferno inside of you until you’re desperately humping him like a bitch in heat in search of relief. And Matsukawa irritatedly sighs. 

“Aren’t fuck dolls supposed to just stay still and be quiet? If you want to cum that badly and distract me, at least entertain me.” 

You don’t even have the presence of mind to pay him any attention as you keep on bouncing as much as you can with your limited movement, completely ignorant of how he tosses his book to the side and rummages through the opened gift box besides him, a pleased hum escaping him when he pulls out two jingling objects. 

But you do notice the piercing pain from both your nipples as incredible pressure is applied to them and you scream as Matsukawa adjusts the nipple clamps, whimpering when he smacks your breasts and the bells attached to the devices loudly ring. Satisfied with your new decorations, once again he wraps his large hands around your waist and you wail as you’re easily lifted and slammed back down, face burning with shame and embarrassment when you realize you’re being fucked to the rhythm of Jingle Bells, the bells lewdly swinging from your sensitive buds only emphasizing your pathetic position with every shrill chime. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You shouldn’t be moaning like a whore. You shouldn’t be on the verge of yet another mind blowing orgasm. And you clench your eyes shut as you try to remember your home, remember your family, remember your friends, anything to distract you from the present. But Matsukawa has other plans for you and pleasure and pain strike you down like a bolt of lightning when he rips the clamps off of you and you let out an animalistic sound of ecstasy as you experience your most intense orgasm yet, one that has you twitching and mindless, slumping against the broad body in front of you in post-coital bliss and exhaustion.  

But you weakly cry out when large hands hold you still as strong hips thrust up hard into you. 

“Your performance was so good that now I’m in the mood.” 

All your pride goes down the drain as you beg and plead for him to let you rest, to stop, making a mess of his shirt and neck as your tears and snot smear across skin and fabric as you exhaustedly bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, crying even harder when fingers trace slow patterns on one ass cheek before slapping you harshly to shut up your whining. 

“A toy’s job is to make its owner feel good. Plus, I’m curious just how durable you are. Clearly if you’re conscious enough to annoy me with all your sniveling, then you’re in good enough shape for me to use some more.” 

You can only brokenly cry as he rails you from below, your torso still propped against him, face still buried in his shoulder, as he manhandles your body, forcefully slamming you down with every thrust, making sure you’re completely filled and unable to escape the delirious fullness and stimulation. And you can’t even breathe, unable to think of anything except for the aching overwhelming feeling bubbling inside of you, threatening to consume you as you’re brought to new highs over and over again.

But your weakened body can only take so much and your squeals trail off into silence, darkness encroaching on your consciousness as your body shuts down from overexertion. It’s too much and you gladly and wearily welcome slumber, can practically taste it on your tongue as a part of you shatters deep inside when you vaguely register the hot thick spurts filling your insides as Matsukawa slams balls deep inside of you one final time. 

Your heavy eyelids flutter shut and you can feel your breathing begin to even out, but panic forces you to stay awake and alert when a low teasing voice murmurs into your ear. 

“You lasted longer than I thought, but I guess you’re officially out of batteries now. Don’t worry. I’ll charge you right back up.”

You don’t know what he has planned for you, but it can’t be anything good and despite how fatigued you are, you thrash and wiggle, doing everything you can to avoid the inevitable despite your still bound position. But it’s useless and you feel so small, so vulnerable as you’re shoved face down in the corner of his room, twisting just enough to see Matsukawa holding the vibrator that had been inside of you earlier and plugging it to an outlet in the wall. And your heart plummets when he gives you a lazy grin as he abruptly shoves the toy inside of you once more. 

“Can’t have it running out of batteries while it keeps you loose and wet for me.”

You kick and scream as he adjusts the lights wrapped around your legs once again, only pausing as he rains down hard and heavy hits to your ass, and if you felt vulnerable before, you feel absolutely pathetic now with a strand of lights keeping both the vibrator and plug firmly inside of you once again and your binds adjusted until you’re in a hog-tie position. But you don’t have time to dwell too much on it, not when both vibrator and plug are suddenly set at their highest settings and you shriek, tears streaming down your face from the onslaught of sensations in your already spent body. 

And you can only feel, feel, and feel, brain dead and numb to anything else happening around you. Even when Matsukawa crouches in front of you, you just dumbly stare at him as drool trickles from your mouth and lewd moans spill from your lips. 

But even in your depraved state, the last dregs of your pride shout at you to do something, anything, as the officer holds a pair of socks and black briefs in front of your face. 

“As beautiful as you sound, I can’t have the entire unit complaining about how loud my little doll is. And toys don’t need to talk or see anyway, so I’m going to wrap you back up until I’m ready to use you again, okay?”

It’s a rhetorical question and before you can even think of retorting, the socks are brutally shoved into your mouth and you gag and choke as long fingers cruelly push and push, practically deep-throating you with the thick fabric, more hot tears cascading down your face as he removes his now saliva coated digits and wipes them clean on your face. 

But as the elastic band of his briefs are pulled over your head and snapped into place right beneath your eyes, rendering your eyesight useless, making the buzzing torment in your lower regions even more prominent, you go completely limp save for the uncontrollable tremors of pleasure, any fight you had in you shattered into a million pieces as you fully register what has happened and what you have been reduced to. 

And Matsukawa takes a moment to appreciate how broken you are already, barely looking human with the glow of the Christmas lights surrounding you and your facial features hidden for the most part by his briefs, looking every bit like a depraved whore, like human furniture, like a lewd object to be used by anyone, anytime. 

But Matsukawa has never been good at sharing his belongings and he plucks a permanent marker from his desk, scribbling dark unmistakable lines across both your ass cheeks, smirking down at his new mark of ownership. 

Issei’s Toy

The words look good on you. His name looks good on you. 

Maybe if you survive his treatment long enough, he’d get it permanently tattooed into your skin. Maybe he’d carve it into your skin. Maybe he’d burn it into your skin…

The possibilities are endless, but for now, he has an appearance to make, sighing tiredly at the responsibilities he has as a senior officer. Curse Oikawa and his insistence that all of the Seijoh Four had to at least show face at the beginning and end of the holiday party. And he rolls his eyes as he straightens out his uniform and throws on his jacket. 

But before he departs, he spares you one more glance, mood instantly lighting up when he sees your wrecked pitiful form laying on his ground like a forgotten toy. 

At least something good came out of this dreadful day, he thinks, as he quietly hums Jingle Bells all the way down to the mess hall. 

[eternally-writing]

tour troubles | jjk

genre: fluff, angst

rating: G (no swearing or sexual content)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: idol!au, boyfriend!au, one-shot

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none

Synopsis: When surprising your boyfriend Jungkook on tour doesn’t quite go as you planned, it’s up to you now to help cheer him up.

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--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

After a grueling 6 months apart,  you were more than happy to be in MetLife Stadium watching your boyfriend live out his dreams on stage. The Map of the Soul Tour was no joke; Jungkook was practicing all day and performing all night, and combined with your final exam season passing by it left little time for you to talk to each other.

Finally wrapping up the school year, you got in touch with Jimin to see if he could help you plan a surprise visit for Jungkook on one of their final tour stops.

All of the members had become like family to you, but it's no secret that aside from Jungkook you are closest with Jimin. He was like the older brother you never had, and you always ran to him whenever you needed relationship advice or a good hug.

As you watched Jungkook on stage you noticed his smile falter sometimes as he would be slightly out of position or dance off beat. You could only pick this out because you had spent hours in the practice room dancing with Jungkook. 

You and Jungkook had come together because of your shared love for dance. He had first asked you out inside a very sweaty-scented Big Hit practice room, almost half of your dates ended with some form of dancing, and whenever one of you was frustrated you could always find the other teary-eyed, lying on the marley floor of a dance studio. You had always been there to whisper words of encouragement in his ear when he was feeling down, and you wished nothing more than for her voice to reach the stage at the moment.

Soon enough, the concert came to an end and you were flashing her pass to the backstage security guard to get to see the boys. Despite your  uneasy feeling watching the concert, you couldn't ease the butterflies in your stomach at seeing your boyfriend for the first time in months.

Ever since you had planned this, you spent your nights imagining exactly how Jungkook would react: whether he would hug and kiss you first, stay frozen on the spot in shock, or start crying right away. 

As you stepped into the Big Hit dressing room, you were instantly greeted with several smiling faces. 

I didn't take you long to do a head count and realize that there were only 6  boys standing in front of you, and that your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. 

Making eye contact with Jimin, you saw the softness in his eyes as he motioned for you to come closer so he could explain. 

“He’s not feeling well Y/N, and none of us can get him to talk about it. We’re so worried. I swear I’ve only gotten like 2 words out of him tonight, and I even tried to make a nutella sandwich for him to cheer him up. I’m sorry this isn’t what you had planned, but can you talk to him please? For us?” 

You took a deep breath before pulling back the curtain divider in the dressing room. Your nerves catching up to you, you considered just turning around and telling the boys you would surprise him at their next concert instead. 

You had dealt with Jungkook being troubled and frustrated more times than you could count, but you were worried you had lost her touch after being apart from him for months. 

Your mind also flew the other way. How many times has he felt like this after a concert and never told you? When he said "It was fun I'm just really tired now" after every concert was he truly feeling like this? 

With that, you pushed forward because you knew that you had to be there to support Jungkook today, even if you couldn't be there for all the other times. 

The sight that greeted you behind the curtain was not a pretty one. 

Jungkook was staring blankly at the monitor in front of him, dark fringes of his hair matted against his sweaty forehead, tour hoodie zipped up completely with the hood on, and worst of all, his eyes were clearly puffy and swollen, with tinges of red coming through from underneath his makeup. 

Jungkook barely even glanced your way as you sat down an ample distance away from Jungkook on the couch. It was clear from his lack of surprise at your appearance that one of the boys (probably Jimin) had probably told him about your surprise visit earlier in an effort to cheer him up after the concert, but even that could not get him out of this slump.

 Of all the scenarios you came up with for how Jungkook would react to your surprise, somehow this one never crossed your mind. 

You turned your focus to where Jungkook was staring - a TV monitor replaying video footage from tonight's concert. You watched as his eyebrows stayed furrowed as he glared disapprovingly at himself for making even the smallest of mistakes in the video, almost wincing as the TV monitor continued to play the footage.

"Do you want me to help point out things in the video?"

Jungkook didn’t even move a muscle.

You took the silence as a yes, and pulled a pen and the closest thing you could find to paper, a napkin, out of your purse to write on. 

Working as a dance teacher had taught you more than a couple tricks about how to give constructive feedback, and you were a firm believer in the "give 2 compliments and then 1 thing to work on" approach. However, you knew the issue with Jungkook wasn't that he was truly bad at dancing, but rather that he was way too hard on himself for the smallest details that the audience wouldn't even notice - so she threw in a few more compliments than usual. Unsure of how Jungkook would react to seeing the list, you still threw some of those very nit-picky details on there, knowing that if he was still frustrated he would throw the list out all together if he thought you were just coddling him. 

And so you both sat together in front of that grainy TV monitor, in complete silence aside from the sound of your pen scratching against the napkin.

June 10, 2020 MOTS:7 Tour Feedback Report for Jeon Jungkook ( by Y/N)

- match angle of arm placement in Black Swan Opening Choreo

- footwork on DNA ending choreo could be cleaned up 

- the ARMY at the corner of the screen during Euphoria had the biggest smile when you looked at her. I think she’s gonna remember that moment for the rest of her life. 

-  I like the way you wink at the camera during So What! Gave me butterflies babe. 

- could add more energy into the last Fake love chorus ( hot bod btw!!)

And the list kept going on and on as you diligently focused on the screen and writing notes, taking occasional glances at your silent boyfriend.

Upon glancing over your shoulder and seeing your list, Jungkook smiled at your thoughtful and sweet comments. 

All of sudden, a wave of consciousness and realization washed over him. 

He finally has the girl he loves in front of him again after months apart, and instead of cherishing his limited time with you he was spending it watching himself dance, which is what he had already spent the last 9 years of his life doing. Most of all, you never let your smile falter once in front of him, even though he knew you may be upset with his response to your surprise, and you went along with whatever he wanted to do - even if that meant watching a very very low-quality video of his performances on a loop. 

Grabbing the napkin gently out of her hands and placing it on the table, Jungkook cupped your face and looked gently into your eyes. 

"Thank you",  he said softly, as if not wanting to startle you with his sudden character change.

In your head there was absolutely no need for Jungkook to be thanking her for anything she was doing.  She knew dating an idol would have its challenges, and she made a promise to Jungkook that she would be by his side through it all, even if that included rewatching Euphoria on loop. 

It was now your turn to sigh. 

“There’s nothing to thank me for babe, it’s just me. I wanna be here for you when you’re like this - I didn’t just date you so I could be there to celebrate your Billboard #1s and daesang sweeps, I’m here for these moments too.”

Jungkook further eliminated the space between you both by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. In that moment he realized that maybe all he needed was you. That all these hurdles he had been facing alone would have been much easier if he had just let you in on his problems.

“I just feel bad Y/N, I haven’t even seen you for months and the first time I see you I’m like this? I’m sorry.”

The gears started turning in your head. Batting your eyes overdramatically at your boyfriend, you smiled. 

“Okay how about we make a deal then babe?”

Jungkook looked at you curiously and let you carry on. 

“From now on, every time you feel like this you come to me okay? We can figure this out together, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me in,” you expressed, grabbing his hands in yours.

“Also, if you felt like making it up to me you could buy me some ice cream? It’s not the same when I eat it without you,” you joked.

Jungkook’s melodic laugh vibrated through the room. 

“Just ice cream? You’re selling yourself short babe. I’d buy the whole world for you, my love.”

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡-- 

As you emerged from behind the curtained section of the dressing room, hand in hand with a smiley Jungkook ( a stark comparison from how he was a mere hour early), you were greeted with Jimin jumping up and cheering loudly upon seeing the maknae.

Unable to contain his excitement, Jimin ran towards the two of you, chiming “you did it Y/N!! You brought back our maknae!”  

“Good to see you smiling, Jungkookie,”  beamed Jimin as he stepped forward to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. 

Jungkook chuckled and looked up at his hyungs. 

“I think I owe you all some ice cream. Ready to go? It’ll be treat.”

If his hyungs weren’t already excited to see Jungkook feeling like himself, now they were ecstatic. And you definitely felt the same way as well. ♡

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡-- 

If you liked this, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading ♡

- Emily

[dark128]

KNOCKOUT - CHAPTER 11

“Do you want me to?” 

Bo nods down at the condom Harry’s stiffly holding onto. He’s coiled up so tight that it would be a bad idea to let her undress him. He’s having a difficult enough time as it is just toying with the inevitable of her touching him, let alone below the waist. 

Bo had watched in fondness from her spot lounging on the bed as Harry moved from candle to candle, lighting as many as he could before the flame on the match got too low. She’d laughed at his explanation for not striking a second match, claiming there was a fine line between romantic and sacrificial. 

But now in this soft, flickering room, she smiles at him and he almost loses his nerve. 

“No, it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Kneeing closer to her across the mattress, “just lay back,” Harry encourages softly.

On second thought, that’s probably the worst thing he could of suggested because now Bo’s laid beneath him and he’s acquired an audience to a process that makes his hands shake. Hair splays on his pillows and it’s been so long since he’s had something so pretty occupy his bed. 

She’ll linger on his sheets. The smell of her perfume and the fleeting heat of her body which escapes once the covers are peeled back, both temporary, both are not enough. He craves so much more. But the memory will be permanent. 

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she’s looking at him now, like he hung the moon and every star in the sky. 

He swallows before going through the motions of unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zip. The full weight of her gaze lands on his stomach as the bottom of his t-shirt is taken between his teeth to hold it up and out of the way. Fingertips unwittingly tickle as Bo traces his hip and on towards his belly button. And he sort of hopes she misses the goosebumps it raises on his skin.

As Harry gently presses to widen her legs, the winsome charm she led with earlier seems to escape her. He’s left feeling fully endeared by her absent fiddling of his belt loop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

There’s a smile but it lacks prowess and so Harry removes himself from looming over her and comes to lay beside her. Bo shifts into him.

“We’ve had sex before.”

It’s quiet because he doesn’t want to disturb the delicacy they’ve slipped into. Facing each other, it’s still a little difficult to comprehend that he’s with her now. She’s in his tiny basement flat where the hot water is temperamental and the floorboards creak in odd places along the hall. 

“I know. But it feels new,” she softly smiles, thumb lightly rubbing at the tattoo on his hip. 

Her beauty has become more refined in the five years they’ve known each other, more of a classic look that has Harry pinned every time she holds his eye contact. Despite her wishes for a growth spurt, Bo stands at the same height against Harry’s shoulder. But now there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, filled with achievements and future aspirations. 

He can’t really imagine what she’s seeing. He’s been greeted by this image of tattoos and damaged eye every morning for years whilst he brushes his teeth in the bathroom mirror. So perhaps this intimacy does feel new to her now. 

He’s pliantly patient as he waits for Bo to initiate further contact between them. They talk quietly, muffling laughter into the pillow as Harry recounts one of his mishaps in the kitchen. It’s not long before she’s bashfully rubbing her nose to his and Harry’s sighing into the sweet kiss they share. 

He welcomes the palm warming his side and it’s when she gets a little more handsy that Harry encourages Bo to seat herself upon his lap. Sat with his back to the coolness of the wall, there’s a heavy clash in temperature between the brickwork and the woman he holds close. And whether wilfully calculated or involuntary, Bo’s hip movements are progressing the thoughts in Harry’s one-track mind. The longing of experiencing another person so intimately is finally being quelled, soft mouths and testing fingertips reaffirming to the both of them. 

But it’s the tug to Bo’s hair that sharply clears the heavenly ascent, lacking in any sort of lustful passion and is instead leaning more towards unintentional pain. She breaks the kiss, fingers wrapping Harry’s wrist.

“AaaaAA,” Bo’s pitch escalates as he attempts to remove the hand riddled with silver rings from her hair. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry fusses. 

She’s instructed to hold still, huffing out a sigh, whilst Harry sorts the situation out with a commentary of swears. Looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, Bo obediently follows Harry’s lead as he adjusts so he’s not working in his own shadow. Once she's free, her hair is tangled enough to make drawing her fingers through it bit of a pain. 

Harry twists the rings off his fingers, throwing them in irritation to the bedside. Another colourful curse falls from his mouth as he shuffles them both down the bed before flopping backwards onto the mattress. Bo watches as he rubs his eyes with tightly clenched fists. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs through his hands that are currently covering his face.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I cocked that up.”

Still currently residing in Harry’s lap, she’s not quite sure if she should remove herself given that the mood has taken bit of a nosedive. Bo’s answer is given moments later as Harry’s knees come up behind her and palms splay out on her thighs.

“Don’t. Feels good.”

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine, are you alright?” he tightly replies. 

“You just seem a little tense,” she warily suggests. 

“It hasn’t exactly gone as smoothly as I’d hoped.”

He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the action weighing heavy on her chest. 

“You been thinking about this a lot then?” Bo teases, eyebrows suggestively raising as she tries to lighten the tone. 

“‘Bout what?” he fires back, palms softly squeezing where they’ve remained. 

Harry loves the flirting, and is more than thrilled to have it reciprocated, to have her play with him in this back and forth. Suggestive tones that are made even more fun because he knows there’s a depth to it. 

But he sort of also wants to hear her explain their situation. Explicitly. 

“What do you think?”

“Couldn’t say,” he goads. 

“About having me under you,” Bo simply replies, not missing a beat. 

Prayers answers. 

“Maybe, but it’s mostly been about the cuddling and kisses on the cheek.” 

“Liar,” she accuses, lightly pinching at his side. 

“Ok, ok!” he jostles her as Bo’s fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under his arm. “I might have thought once or twice about getting you in that window seat.”

“You said you were kidding about that,” she implores, batting him across the arm.

“A guy can dream.”

“Well, you’ll be dreaming for an eternity.”

“Shame, any thoughts about the same activity in the shower?”

Bo laughs, rearranging herself out of Harry’s lap.

“Maybe we should concentrate on the current situation,” she motions, “lay back."

Harry’s on his back and he feels like a fucking lemon because his hands don’t know how to play it cool and his heart is hammering like it’s his first time. He can’t be sure what Bo is doing until she appears with her hair tied back from her face. She’s assumed the odd position of straddling his knees. And Harry watches her crawl up his body before a kiss between them only has four inches to make contact. 

“Hey,” Bo hushes with a smile. “How ya doing?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Bo lightly tests, her fingernails running across his stomach.

Harry lays with his brain between his legs and his bottom lip between his teeth. He enjoys the lingering tingle as nails drag just that little bit too deep; done it to himself when the occasion arises and he’s in the mood to get off. But this is different because for the first time in a while it’s not Harry’s own hand palming over the seam of his jeans. And it’s the partially choked sound he makes that sets her smile. 

Her touch is gentle, easing his jeans down until another tattoo is uncovered. She gives it some consideration, thumbing over the patch of inked skin. 

“Is this a tiger?” she asks, grinning up at Harry.

“Thiger.”

Bo snorts before clamping her hand to his thigh to lean in for a kiss, which ends up being a clumsy kiss to his chin when Harry moves his head at the last second. They laugh again. 

“Please tell me you didn’t just get that tattoo so you could make that joke,” she scorns him whilst edging his underwear down. 

“It did make you laugh thou-“

The sentence is choked off as Bo takes him into her mouth. All thoughts evaporate from his mind, only ones of pleasure and utter desperation remain as she licks around the tip.

“You’re gunna have to bear with me, it’s a steep learning curve.”

And Harry thinks she almost looks smug as her index traces the curve of him from base to head. Even more so as his cock is laden with chaste kisses, an innocent gesture for such an erotic setting. And apparently mirroring his dilemma between either wanting to take Bo sweetly or just nail her into the mattress. 

He only realises how pent up he is when his fists loosen in the sheets once she’s finished with her little display. He’s hardened fully and he’s having trouble with digesting the image of her laid between his legs. 

Even with a mouth full of cock she’s trying hard not to smile. 

“You’re gunna kill me,” he pants, eyes rolling back.

She huffs a laugh around him which proves to visibly tighten the muscles in his thighs. And it’s only now that Harry thinks, she tied her hair back to suck me off. He may have transcended to a higher plain of existence as her hand begins to work him over - deliberate with her strokes and squeezing just slightly to keep him coiled up.

Harry’s own hands have returned to the sheets, balling them in fists as he endures what’s panning out to be the most long-awaited oral of his life. He’s a little embarrassed to say that he can already feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. It’s a hot clench that only burns warmer by the second. Harry’s approach is a little haphazard, but the hand he brushes to Bo’s cheek hurriedly catches her shoulder to encourage her away. 

“I-I think I’ll be alright now.”

Or maybe not, Harry swallows as Bo passes the back of her hand over the corner of her mouth. 

“Spoilsport,” she teases.

***

“I always loved your thighs,” Harry comments, warming his palms to the inside of Bo’s legs. 

He’s going to satisfy that heavy ache she feels low in her belly. It only intensifies as Harry looks up at her through his eyelashes. He’s going to bewitch her senses and leave her wanting him again and again. It’s been so long, Bo would forgo sleep and forfeit any sort of productiveness the next day just roll in the serenity of candlelight and a lover’s warmth. 

She’s still sporting her bee-saving t shirt as she watches the muscles in his chest and shoulders transform with his movement. An ungainly squeak is produced on account of Harry sharply dragging her a little further down the mattress. Something which he finds highly amusing judging by the crinkle to his nose. 

“Brute.”

Harry laughs. 

He murmurs a quick apology, brushing his fingers to her cheek before retrieving a condom. The process is smoother as his hands refuse to quake and now Bo’s onlooking makes his blood rush in electric excitement. He’s practically thrumming with it as his touch leisurely slips between the apex of her thighs. She clamps his hand there with the forgotten feeling of someone else’s kind fingers. Harry’s treated to a series of spectacular little sounds, whisperings and then small startles that are muffled into Bo’s arm as she hides her face. He’s being brazen with it, not just the fact that his fingers play but knowing that this is what she wants, she wants him. 

There’s a look of wild revelation as his fingers dip into wet warmth. The couple hold eye contact, Harry’s movements gentle and without haste in the knowledge of acts to follow. There’s an actual throbbing between Bo’s thighs, making them shake in the effort to keep them from falling completely open. It’s barely a whisper, but Harry hears it, the “please” that tells him she’s barely keeping it together. 

She’s ethereal laying below him, all soft features and devout gaze as he lines up and finally pushes in. It’s almost jarring the way she feels around him again, giving him that pliant smile, the one he recognises, the one that means she’s not completely with him. That is until he starts to move and it’s like she’s a drowning woman breaching the surface. Her back arches from the bed, arms around his neck as she pants into his, clinging to him like he’s her saviour. 

“Harry.’

His name is spoken in a raging half whisper. 

“I know,” he replies because he can feel it too.

Rapture. She’ll be his undoing and his sexual reawakening. Harry welcomes that warm pull in his belly as he angles his hips to draw new, breathy sounds from his lover’s lips. 

Bo’s an honest delight beneath him. The way he can feel her toes curling against his calf, her fingers gripping his nape to encourage him further on top. As if he could get any closer, they’re already sharing breath and fumbling kisses. 

Harry’s pretty sure a bottom corner of the fitted sheet has sprung loose with the way they’re contorting to keep damp skin close. His skimming hands have pushed her t shirt up, deft fingers hooking the right cup from her bra down so he can kiss at her breast.  

She’s more fussy than he remembers, especially when he leans away and takes a heady breather. Her huffing is a tad undue but Harry thrives in it, noting her disgruntled expression as he slips from her entirely. There’s a flash of an unpleasant second when Harry’s mind tells him he’s going to be booted in the face. 

But Bo’s brought her feet up to lightly drum against his chest and Harry can’t help but laugh at the playfulness, grabbing at her ankles before she has a chance patter against him again. 

“Come on,” she almost whines. 

His hands move of their own accord, sliding down her calfs to press his thumbs into the back of her knees. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you,” Harry replies, leaning into her whilst spreading and gently bearing down on the back of her thighs. 

There’s pink blooming on her cheeks, and Harry can’t be sure if it’s the temperature in their duvet fort, or the fact that Bo’s ankles are now resting on his shoulders. 

“You promised me a whole evening.”

Harry thinks her chide lacks the lustre needed to fully penalise him, especially when he can feel her wriggling to meet his hips. 

“And I wouldn’t want to go back on my promise.”

He lightly kisses at her ear, unworried about hiding his smile. 

“Because that would make you a shitty person.”

He’s not expecting the pinch to his hip, so the growl he produces in response is a surprise to both of them. 

“I don’t remember you being so boisterous.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re practically bending me in half.”

Harry lets Bo unfurl, her legs slipping down to rest beside his hips once more.

“You’ll have to forewarn me next time so I can stretch beforehand.”

“Next time?” Harry curiously enquires. 

“I’m not just having you once,” Bo breathily promises in his ear, the tone making it seem like that fact was obvious.

Harry plays along with their distracted conversation, leaning over her with an elbow propped and his thigh between hers. 

“Tonight?”

He’s not ready for the shove to his shoulder or the dominating role reversal, so when Bo’s sat astride him Harry’s sure she feels him twitch. She doesn’t play at coy, but there’s definitely something more bashful in her movements as she delights in the feel of him again.

“Forever.”

That promise sets his heart soaring. 

She reaches behind for him, shuffling back to seat herself fully down with a flutter of eyelashes and somewhat of a startled whimper. And Harry can’t help but grunt at this all-consuming feeling; this time with the added pressure of hands splayed on his chest as he’s halfheartedly held down.

“Was that a bit cheesy?” Bo asks once she’s chased her breath. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

“A bit, but I think it worked in the moment.”

“Good, because I meant it."

He doesn’t want it to sound insincere whilst she’s riding him, so Harry bottles up the ‘I love you’, and saves it for when he can confess with a clearer mind. Instead, he grabs at her hips, eyes devouring the way her body moves against his and he’s delighted with the repeat image of her bouncing, slack jawed. And because he’s a tease, Harry delights further in the sounds she creates when his hips come up to meet hers. 

She wants him every way she can, but that wish may have to wait. 

“Lean forward,” he pleads.

Bo’s forehead comes to rest on Harry’s as his feet plant to the mattress and his knees come up behind her. With the strength of his tattooed hips, he meets hers at a toe-curling rate. Bo succumbs, allowing Harry to take the lead and guide them both, her face finding the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around her back. He cradles her into completion, hearts hammering as Harry chases the rapture that Bo blissfully makes peace with. It’s only with the last few stuttering thrusts that Bo pushes up, taking his face between her hands to kiss away the curses that slip free from his smile. 

***

“I like them,” Bo admires, fingers running over twin inked dates on his shoulders. 

She shifts a little to sit back on his thighs, taking his forearm with her as she intently inspects all the splashes of black ink she’s unfamiliar with. It’s all Harry can do to give Bo a soppy smile whilst she carries on, giving each design her attention. They’re partially dressed again, Harry only decent enough to have taken delivery of their pizza before returning to the bedroom. 

“Who’s this?”

Harry’s arm is raised as Bo taps a finger to the tattoo in question. It’s a delicate gesture that challenges her comical disapproval. 

“My mermaid.”

“She’s cute,” Bo says, finger following the swish of dark hair. “Why’d you get her?”

“Dunno, I’ve always liked swimming.”

He’s met with a surprised laugh. 

“So, of course, logically you got a mermaid permanently tattooed on your body,” she chides, shaking her head. 

There’s a small “B” inked just below the inside crease of his elbow. She tilts her head, smoothing over the skin with her thumb.

“That one’s yours,” he says simply, like it couldn’t be anything else. 

“Mine?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. 

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Yep, “B” for Bo,” Harry tells her quietly. “Beautiful.”

She licks her thumb, rubbing at the letter.

“You really got it tattooed?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“That’s permanent.”

“I’m aware,” Harry smirks, biting at her neck. “Just like my mermaid.”

“Yeah, just like her,” Bo thoughtfully rephrases. 

It’s a few moments before she replies, still rubbing at the small letter. 

“Why’d you get it?”

“You’re important to me, you’ve helped me through so much, it just felt right.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, not sure that she actually can. Pouting in contemplation, Bo shifts a little in Harry’s lap. 

“Maybe I should get your name tattooed on me.”

“Oh, really?” Harry smirks. “Where? Hopefully somewhere only I get to see?”

“Hmmm, I was thinking more of a chest piece,” she leans away, gesturing to a band of skin above her breasts.

Harry appears a little horrified for a moment but his composure cracks before laughing and grabbing for her hands. 

“I’m not sure that’s your best idea.”

She slumps back to be cradled into Harry’s side. 

“Or maybe I’ll just get a ‘H’ here,” she hushes, voice more sincere as fingers point to the exact spot on her arm where he has her inked. “So we can match.”

Bo’s treated to a kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighs before further squirming away to continue the inspection of body art. 

“Roll over then.”

She makes herself comfortable, sitting astride his lower back as delicate fingers trace more tattoos curving around his side.

“Oh God, that one’s awful.”

Harry huffs a laugh into the pillow in response to her brash opinion and feathery touch. 

***

Harry wakes to the heart wrenching feeling of an empty bed. He sits up rather abruptly, hands skimming bed-warm sheets as the duvet slips to pool at his waist. He swallows twice, mind reeling to kickstart foggy memories from hours before. 

The bedroom door has been left ajar, just enough for a thin strip of light to hollow out the darkened room. Soft footsteps follow and Harry’s heart climbs back down his throat for it to thud against his ribcage.

His body flops back against the pillows before the door is nudged just enough for Bo to slip back through. She doesn’t think anything of Harry now sprawled out on his back, but she knows he’s awake because of the subtle inclination when she draws back the confusion of sheets. 

“Your hot tap is broken,” Bo hushes whilst climbing back into bed on the floor.

She receives a rough hum, Harry’s arm draping her waist.

“Did you hear me?”

Instead of moving himself closer, he opts for coercing Bo until the length of her body is flush to his, like he’s seeking the cool side of the pillow. 

“Broken,” he grunts.

“And you don’t have a bath mat, my feet got cold. I can go out and get you one tomorrow. Or today?” she adds, trying to lean over Harry to confirm the time on one of their phones.

He mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, lips forming words like kisses upon her skin. With her on her back and Harry now on his side, he’s almost perfected the art of blurring the lines between them and creating one warm entity under the covers. 

“Repeat that.”

She gently catches under his chin with the tips of her fingers, prising him from the nook in her neck.

“Don’t need one.”

The raspy words catch in his throat. 

“Everyone needs a bathmat. Where will you dry your feet? You’ll just track wet footprints through your room.”

“I’ll think about it.”

No, he won’t. 

“Of course you won’t, I’ll just go and get you one,” she pauses. “It’ll be a fluffy orange monstrosity because you’re being difficult about it. Probably a matching toilet cover as well - if they still even sell those?”

The arm banding her middle squeezes tighter which Bo thinks is Harry’s silent way of getting her to hush..

“I love you.”

Oh.

Bo stills in his arms.

It’s something she’d insinuated hours before. That she would still be his in the morning, and every other morning of her promised ‘forever’. But for him to utter the words into their lengthy, soft post-sex haze - Bo was just about ready to settle into the cradle of sleep. But now she’s fully awake. 

He’s still pressed against the length of her, his hair brushing her cheek as the urgency to gauge her reaction grows. 

“I’m in love with you - still.”

Still. Like he’d never stopped. And that’s a little terrifying to know, especially in the knowledge of their separation and the years between then and their reunion. 

“I’m still in love with you,” he rephrases. “Got there in the end.”

His lips catch a soft smile which diminishes as his words rest into silence. Harry feels Bo draw in a grounding breath as though she’s trying to compose herself. Unsure as to whether this conversation should be illuminated, Harry decides against turning on the lamp. Partly because he frightened to disturb her but mostly because he can’t bear the thought of seeing Bo’s face if it’s rejection that awaits him. 

“If you’re not ready then I - well, I understand -“

“I’d like to take you out,” Bo interrupts.

“What?”

“Not fatally,” she hurriedly explains, “like on a date?”

“Oh - ok.”

“Yeah? We could go out to dinner or have cake at a cafe in one of the parks? Or there’s that cinema experience that looks quite fun.”

*** 4 Months Later ***

Harry can hear it in her voice, that she’s not prepared for his confession of undying love just yet and she certainly isn’t ready to say it back. But this is the start that they both deserve, a calm, normal beginning to their new relationship. It’s a chance to get to know each other again and to see where it progresses. And Harry’s happy with that as they lay and bounce date ideas between them, all the while Bo’s fingers have found his own. 

“Why must everything be so high up?” Bo grumbles. 

Her complaint is voiced to the glasses on the top shelf in Harry’s kitchen cupboard. Despite her irritation, he’s pleased to see her emerge minutes later with two drinks in hand and his socks pulled up nearly to her knees over leggings. 

“I see you were successful,” he grins as Bo sorts out coasters.

“Well, I did nearly pull everything off the worktop in my struggle, but it’s fine.” 

Her words are accompanied with a sugar-sweet smile that can only mean trouble for Harry. He hopes he’s forgiven with the choice of Tuesday night Bake-Off on the telly. And it’s as Bo’s laughing at some awful bread pun that the question just feels right. 

“Bo, do you wanna move in?”

She smiles, pressing into his side and rearranging his arm so it curls around her back.

“No,” he huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I mean move into the flat - with me.”

“Really?”

Bake-Off forgotten, Bo swivels to face him. There’s joy dancing in her eyes as the bun atop her head bobs with her excited wriggle to move closer. The TV is set on mute and Harry becomes confused at the sharpness in her eyes. 

“I want the left side of the bed, permanently,” she negotiates. 

“It’s yours. Even when you’re not here.”

“And you’ll leave space in the bathroom for my things?”

“I mean, there’s quite a lot of your stuff in there already - but of course.”

Bo kisses his cheek. 

“I just got my first pay from work,” Bo happily states. “I’m gunna buy some proper glasses, so we don’t have to drink wine out of mugs.”

“What’s the point?” Harry laughs. “The fact that you stick a straw in everything sort of lowers the tone of a proper wine glass anyway.’

The remark earns him a sore shoulder. 

“And we can always get you a step for the kitchen.”

She rounds on him so fast he nearly spills the drink he’s just picked up from the coffee table. 

“We will not be doing that. You’ll help me move everything down so I can reach it myself.”

“No problem.” 

“I’m gunna phone my mum,” she rambles, untangling from Harry and tripping over a charging cable. 

“Should I set up a direct debit? Or do you just want me to transfer my half to you each month? What would be easier?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “We can sort it out later.”

“I love you!” she calls from where she’s peeking around the doorframe.

It’s such a casual gesture but Harry’s settling into the knowledge that the love he’s bursting with is reciprocated by the woman he adores. 

“I love you, too,” he smiles. 

[a-non-ymouswriter]

Five Times Then One

Rewind Crossover Shot with Living In Circular

Living In Circular is an awesome DSMP looping fanfic that recently did a crossover with Rewind :D Yes I gave the author permission to use Rewind in their story and yes it is completely awesome. 

In honor of that awesome chapter, of course I had to write a shot for it involving Red (Aka, Looper Tommy) and Theo :)

It’s kind of a long one folks! 

TW: Language, Self-Loathing, Angst, Etc. Etc. 

it’s mostly hilarious, but the ending is very emotional.

Five Times Theo was Dragged Into Therapy + One Time He Wasn’t

First Time

You know, there was a lot of things that Theo hated now that he and Toby were in the present. His hate for those things varied and changed as time went by, but his latest subject to vehemently hate was himself.

And he wasn’t just being edgy, or anything like that but he really, definitely hated his alternate self.

His newest alternate self.

The damned Looper alternate self, or whatever they were. The ones who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and just interfered with everything.

Which was kind of ironic given Theo and Toby had done just that months ago when they first arrived. But at least they weren’t as fucking chaotic as the new group- and it’d just been him and Toby that came, then Ghostbur who was there because of time-fuckery but at least it was just the three of them!

Now there was a whole group of displaced time traveling (looping) assholes that were really getting on Theo’s nerve. It’s easier to get on his nerves now that his mind was so... quiet. 

But Red? Aka his dickhead alternate looper self? Oh, he was the worst of them all. 

“The fuck do you want now? What? Not enough that you gave me one hell of a black eye and locked me up with Toby to talk about feelings and all that crap? We’ve... done that already. Thank you.” There was little gratitude in his tone, more tired vitriol and annoyance. Theo makes a face at the memories of being locked in a room with Toby the room was too small the room was too small fuck fuck to talk (actually talk this time) about everything because their initial ‘talk’ was interrupted. 

It ended with less bruises than the last but Toby had an insufferable smile on his face now. 

Red had his arms crossed and he gave Theo a look, “Puf-White offered therapy, she’s pretty good at it y’know. Thousands of years of experience and all that.” 

Theo narrowed his eyes, “I’ve heard.” He replied dryly, “But no thanks. I’m good. She’s not gonna force me to take her offer.”

“Oh yeah, she won’t.” The smile on Red’s face was practically malicious and Theo immediately turned around and started running.

“But I will.”

Fuck.

Second Time

“I stand corrected last time, I absolutely fucking despise you.” Theo hissed at the physically teenage boy but mentally ancient mother fucker that had him hogtied and was currently carrying him in a princess-carry. Purposefully trying to humiliate him every step of the way. 

It’s not the carry that he’s hating, he could’ve been fine with that. It’s the fact that he’s covered in pink. Hot glittery pink. He was covered in hot pink glitter that would take ages to wash off. If ever, the little bastard might make him be glitter pink forever. 

Red snickered, “Oh calm your tits man, it’s not gonna stay forever- sure it’ll stain for a while and you’ll find glitter everywhere for a while but not forever... Wilbur and the others forbade me to make it last forever. Shame but this is all your fault y’know, you could’ve just gone to Puffy’s next session on time but nope, you tried to skip out.” He gives him an infuriating smirk, “Can’t have that now can we?”

Theo really hated him. He did. 

Third Time

“H-How exactly is he doing that?” Someone among the group asked, watching Red tug on... nothing but thin air. He was clearly just miming on pulling on something, a rope which was presumably tied around Theo who was struggling against it- but there was no rope. A few people checked, nothing there.

Silver, Looper Tubbo, chuckled, “He’s had an interesting variety of loops- this isn’t his strangest ability in his arsenal. He did say he was getting rusty on his miming tricks.” Red let out a silent cackle as he hauled a very loudly swearing Theo on a horse that didn’t exist and rode off towards White (Looper Puffy)’s Therapy Office.

“I’m frankly quite terrified but ultimately glad it’s not me in his place.” Toby admitted, watching him go- his own session wasn’t set for today, and unlike Theo, he actually went on his own so he was safe. 

Fourth Time

“I hate you, I fucking hate you so damn much.”

Red patted Theo’s cheek, “The feeling’s mutual bub. Feeling’s mutual.”

Fifth Time

“Tommy, I’m not really sure if you should keep forcing him in here.” Puffy admitted to him after the session. Theo had immediately left without another word. “Just because I said I wouldn’t force him to take my offer doesn’t really mean you should.”

Tommy rose a brow at her, “I thought you said you were making progress with him.”

The sheep hybrid sighed, “Minimal progress. He’s actually talked-”

“Then I don’t see the problem-”

“Let me finish Tommy. He HAS started talking, but not much. He asked for water or for maybe one of Niki’s cookies (which not really surprising, my wife’s cookies are amazing) but other than that? Nothing.”

The blond looper scowled, “So what, you want me to stop? To just let the guy continue to be a traumatized bastard? Just leave him be?”

“Not really- look, all I’m saying is that Theo is already... distant, to say the least, with us all. Forcing someone into therapy can both be helpful and not, sure he does need therapy and we’re trying that. I’m trying that, but you constantly forcing him isn’t helping him. And I don’t think your methods to get him here are helping that too.” Puffy pointed out dryly, remembering the angry silence as Theo wrung out his red hoodie, completely soaked from head to toe.

She laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “I know that you’re trying to help but you’re also angry with him Tommy. Which isn’t helping him, nor you.” She sighed, and gave him a pleading look. “At least stop humiliating him on the way here? He might get more comfortable around me if he isn’t so preoccupied by whatever you did and stewing in silence because of it.” 

Tommy didn’t look too pleased but begrudgingly nodded his head.

Not This Time

It feels like his head was going to explode.

Overloaded with thoughts that should’ve been held back the static kept him in check his head swirling with every thought being merciless to his focus and keeping distracted to the point of helplessness the static kept him focused his head was empty and yet so full.

Ever since that looping Callahan subdued the static and kept his enchantment from hurting him too much, his head...

Has never been calmer.

Paradoxically, it’s never been more chaotic.

Every thought he’s ever thought, everything he’s kept buried with the static floats into the front of his brain and he has no idea how to deal with it. 

Years worth of guilty thoughts, regrets and more keep appearing in his head. Not only that but everything seems so much louder than before. But muted too. 

It’s a confusing contradiction that has him reeling and he doesn’t know how much more he can take it. Every time he goes out, he feels like he’s being assaulted by just existing even though he’s doing nothing wrong he did everything wrong he fucked up so badly he deserves this punishment just standing there and his head threatens to crack open.

He can usually ignore it, carry on with his day what does he do now he was being useless what is wrong with him but lately it’s been getting harder and harder to ignore it all.

The static isn’t there to keep him grounded, he feels like he’ll end up flying off the ground. It isn’t there to keep him afloat, he’s going to end up sinking into the deep.

He should have said no, when Callahan subdued the static he needed it e-even if Dream said so he NEEDED it it’s so muted in his head and he has no idea what to do with the free space.

Theo has to let go of the static.

But he doesn’t want to.

Even with it muted, the absence and the less intense reaction of the static is throwing him off. 

He feels more tired than ever and on the verge of collapse.

Theo just wants everything to stop.

“You’re late to Puffy’s therapy session.”

“...”

Theo clutched his thighs, pressing them closer to his chest as he curled up even tighter against the tree trunk. He didn’t say anything to the blond god that stood not too far from him. 

He felt ridiculous. Here he was, curled up, hugging his fucking legs like a fucking child- as if it’d do anything to stop the more powerful better version of himself. Hell, he might as well be a child. He probably was compared to Red.

It’s almost funny.

Despite looking like an adult, Theo was a child, still a scared teenage fucking boy exiled from home. While before him stood an ancient old man, looking like a familiar teenage boy that Theo can only see in L’Manberg now. Two of them actually, but only one of them was Tommy Innit, a smiling teenager his own age.

Theo’s too tired to resist much this time.

The air was too much, or maybe it wasn’t enough because his lungs ached in his chest and it hurt to breathe. There was something in his eyes because they were wet and irritated. He was cold, even with his hoodie on, he was cold because he was shaking.

Everything was too loud. The wind, the cows, the rustling plants.

Everything was too quiet. The static, his voice, his own hearing.

He felt like he was going insane.

“...”

“...”

Theo doesn’t dare move from his spot, even as he hears the incoming footsteps. Dread and anticipation pool in his guts- there’s not enough room. He might heave and puke when he gets to Puf- to White’s office. He’ll clean it up maybe. 

Just what will happen now?

...

Nothing.

Theo doesn’t look up to see what’s going on, hearing and feeling someone sit a few spaces beside him on the ground. Red is suspiciously silent and it’s not helping the nausea that’s building in his throat. 

One minute passes.

Two.

Six.

Fourteen.

Twenty.

Fourty-five minutes.

“I just...” His tongue is heavy and bloated, soft but raspy and he’s struggling to speak, “want everything to stop.” 

“...” Red doesn’t reply. 

“I’m so tired.”

Silence.

“Please.”

“It’s not going to stop.” Red replies softly, for once, the hatred is not there as he sees the child underneath the mask. “And you’re always going to feel tired- but it’ll get better.”

“It does?” The child asks the old man.

The old man does not smile, “I swear, it does. It just takes time and effort.” He promises the young boy.

Theo is not fragile. Tommy isn’t. 

But everyone has their moments.

They stay there for the whole day.