#but I assumed there’d be a lot of em

[the-trinket-witch]

Practically Perfect Ch. 5

 (Ch 6|Ch 4|Ch 1)

  “Myahhh-Mr. Trein has to put some kinda spell on class! You’d have to have some iron-type will to keep awake!” Grim whined to everyone on their way to the cafeteria.

     “Five minutes in, before crashing isn’t what I’d call an ‘iron will’,” Deuce replied. “Oh wow, that’s quite a crowd…”

      “Oh my-only time I’ve seen a queue in a cafeteria was when-” Albert started.

     “-That famous bakery I’ve heard about! I heard they’re doing a promo here this week!” Ace finished.

     “If I’d have known there’d be such a fuss today, I’d have packed lunch,” Al laughed.

     The pickings were quickly slimming, which Grim seemed to notice, as he leapt into the fray. He’d emerged with a mince katsu sandwich with as big a grin that his face could allow. The group could only really laugh at the enthusiasm he somehow didn’t have enough of for class. Everyone made their way to an open table, but before they could sit, Grim bumped into another student.

     “Woah! Good on ya getting one of those mince katsu sandwiches. Was hopin’ to get one myself; guess I just ain’t that quick on the draw~” the beastman lamented. “I really need to get one of ‘em, but they already sold out. How’s about this: I trade you your sandwich, for my red-bean bun?”

     “Wha?? Ain’t no way I’d trade ya-whaaaaa!" Grim plodded closer towards the grinning classmate. "Why’re my arms movin’ on their own??” Against his verbal protests, he relinquished the sandwich into the lanky student's hand.

     “Score-thanks, Lil Dude! You’re way too kind~” he chuckled, quickly swapping meals and dashing away.

     The entire interaction seemed to happen in an instant, which left the rest of the group quietly stunned. Grim sat down with his, comparatively, meager trade-off, eyeballing everyone else’s spoils. Most reflexively slid their trays away, lest they get bits of theirs picked off.

     “Myaaahh, Deuce gimme some of your pasta~” Grim whined.

     “I don’t think so, if you were gonna complain this much you shouldn’t have traded!” Deuce retorted.

     “Oh hey, guys: Headmaster Crowley needs us to stop by his office after class; he’s got to talk to us about somethin’,” Ace said.

     “Do you think it’s got something to do with Dorm Leader Roseharts?” Albert asked.

>Maybe…

> Let’s finish up and see

     Lunch and afternoon classes seemed to pass by quickly in anticipation for what Crowley might have had to say. Eventually, everyone had congregated in his office, ready to hear what the Headmaster had to say.

     “Ah, good-you’re all here. Now, that things have calmed down at Heartlslabyul, we can actually give you all a rundown as to what actually happened.” He announced.

     “You called it ‘Overblot’, correct?” Deuce asked.

     “Correct.”

     “Wait, what is overblot?”

     “It’s an excess of Blot in a wizard’s system, blot, I’ll assume you don’t know, is a magical waste accumulated with the use of magic. Overuse of magic causes an excessive buildup. Most of you possess incredible power, but with it comes great consequences for misuse. Those crystals on your persons, you’d be able to see splotches of darkness accumulate on it with general use, which typical rest and good diet helps eliminate naturally. Of course, folks with a large pool of magic have to be extra careful, as the amount of blot one can accumulate is similar to others, but greater magicians can more easily accumulate it with use.”

     “This is...kinda a lot to take in,” Ace murmured.

     “So if your crystal turns black, you go into ‘Berserk Mode’?” Grim yowled.

     “In not so many words, yes. Your emotional state can also affect how quickly you accumulate Blot. Negative energies make it all the easier for it to build up. That entity behind Mr. Roseharts, supposedly it shows up as an incarnation of negative emotions mixed with blot itself. A manifestation, if you will,” Crowley continued. “’Tis truly fortunate for Mr. Roseharts to have come back to his senses-oh the thought of what might have happened if not!”

     The group exchanged looks to try making further sense of all the information gathered.

>Oh! Have you had any luck in finding a way for me to get home?

>Headmaster, are you forgetting something?

     “Oh, right, a way for you to return home! I do apologize, I have been terribly busy lately, but I haven’t forgot!” Crowley stammered, eyes darting here and there.

     “Forgive me if it seems out of turn, but The Headmaster seems to have not the best poker face, considering the mask…” Albert mentioned. "Lying doesn't help anyone, Sir."

     “I have not, Mr. Eastwind; I am simply swamped with the upcoming Magic Shift Tournament! As a Dorm Leader, yourself now, I’d expect you to attend the upcoming meeting, if you haven’t forgotten, yourself,” Crowley rebuttled.

     “Certainly not, Sir. As a new Dorm Leader, might I ask if I would have permission to keep notes on the subjects of the meeting? I’d rather not forget any important points of note,” Albert asked.

     “You may.”

>Sorry but what’s ‘Magic Shift’?

>Wait, what’s this tournament about again?

     Ace brightened up at Yuu’s question, “You haven’t heard of Magic Shift? Most people call it Magift for short, but it's like this: Teams of seven have to toss a disc into the other team’s goal. Winner is the team who scores the most points!”

>So it’s like American Football?

>That sounds kinda fun

     “When I come back I might have to have you explain to me this ‘American Football’. I would assume this is a sport from your world, is it not?” Albert asked.

     Crowley contemplated, but seemed to have a spark of an idea, “If this American Football is something of your world, I could use that as a potential lead once I get the chance to go to the library. You boys can better explain Magift to Yuu, right? I have some...investigation to do,” Crowley stammered before shooing the troupe out.

     “I guess if he’s so ‘busy’, we can explain it better, can we stop by your guy’s place and fill ya in?” Ace asked.

     “I’m all for it; I unfortunately can’t attend that, as Headmaster stated: I have a meeting to attend, so I’ll have to apologize ahead of time. But if you’re still around once I return, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner,” Albert stated before heading off.

______________________________________________________________

     “First on the order is: An announcement from Tournament Manager Mr. Ashengrotto,” Crowley announced, before giving stage to a wiry steely-haired student. 

     This would have been the first time Albert had been able to see all of the Dorm Leaders in one place. Orientation was a bit of a clusterfuck, after all, so it was difficult to place names. Riddle and Al caught each other’s eye, exchanging a warm smile and light wave. This was the first time, though, Albert had met or really got a good look at Mr. Ashengrotto. He looked at his notes in preparation, becoming rather concerned for the sudden heat he felt on his face. 

     “Thank you, Headmaster. Thank you for your time as well, gentlemen. First on the order: External enterprises and club activities have at this point filled all slots available for the venue surrounding the coliseum. Our newest face among us dorm leaders, Mr. Eastwind, seems to have done an impressive job organizing. For anyone who hasn’t met him yet, Mr. Eastwind, if you could stand, please?” Ashengrotto motioned towards Albert. He stood, made a quick bow out of courtesy, and sat back down. “Royal guests have also been sent their invitations, invites from media are coming in as well as general ticket sales seem to be doing well.”

     Folks talked amongst themselves over previous years attendances, final makeup preparations, and condemnation of said makeup preparations. The floating tablet seemed to lament the very idea of being in front of so many people. Talk of team applications, and an express fee for late ones. Albert tried deciphering the bickering to find as much relevant information to scribble down. Crowley called attention back to the meeting as he had begun to see it devolve.

     “I have a proposition: This year we induct our star player: Malleus Draconia, into the hall of fame!” He started. Immediately it was met by surprise, if not outright balking at the idea. “It doesn’t please me to suggest it, but I have received Mr. Draconia’s consent on the matter. All that would be left would be the approval of the rest of the dorm leaders.”

     “Actually-I noticed we are missing someone-did he have some previous engagement? I’ve been taking notes if someone would like to help me forward it to him,” Albert asked with a wag of his notepad.

     “You’re really underestimating us, Teach. One thing I hate is getting counted out before I even start. First thing about Magift-It ain’t just brute strength that gets you the win. Brains is what gets you the victory. The King of Beasts got where he was through hard work and wisdom; if you use your head you can take on anything. Can you imagine the admiration of the team who could take that dragon down?” Leona declared.

     As he went on, more and more dorm heads seemed to come to the same conclusion. His rally even touched Albert. With the exception of The Tablet, everyone came to agree on keeping with having the teams continue to duke things out.

     “Understood,” Crowley sighed, “But if the same thing happens this year, he will be inducted next year.”

     With everyone in agreement, the bespectacled student announced the closure of the meeting, noting the lack of attendance by the mentioned Mr. Draconia, as well. Leona made his exit, passing Albert on his way.

     “That was quite the speech, Leona. Don’t think I could expect any better from a member of the Kingscholar family,” Albert commended.

     “Psh-flattery won’t get ya far, Herbivore,” Leona spat back before exiting.

     “Well...that was...quite the introduction.”

     “I wouldn’t waste your breath, Albert,” Riddle noted with a reassuring pat. “He’s prickly to everyone. Best thing to do is just leave him be. You’re welcome to join me for 4 o’clock tea, unless you have another engagement.”

     “Gladly, but I think my attention is due currently with someone else. If I can’t I’ll text you.” Al replied. He’d tilted to give attention to the figure behind his friend. 

     Behind Riddle, another boy stood, shifting weight from foot to foot in impatience. Albert smiled, extending a handshake to the waiting classmate. His hand was immediately met with an enthusiastic return, the student seeming to brim with excitement.

     “Ah~ A new dorm head! Headmaster said your name was Albert, right? Albert Eastwind? I’m Kalim! Kalim al-Asim, I’m head of Scarabia Dorm,” he rattled off. “I need to invite you and your other dormmates over-we’ll have a feast!”

     “Wait-you’re from the Asim family? It’s an honor to meet someone of the Land of Hot Sand’s royal family,” Al gasped. “That’s quite an offer from the prince-really it should be the other way around-I should invite you over to our dorm once renovations are complete. I’m still in the process of getting things back to working order. Of course, if you’d excuse the accommodations, they’d be comparatively much more modest, but I’d hope you’d enjoy nonetheless.”

     “Sure! In the meantime you’re more than welcome over! Jamil’s an amazing cook!” Kalim said before making a hasty retreat as well.

     The tablet began its trek back as well, all the while the mutterings of someone behind the screen continued their bemoaning of the events of the meeting. One of the last of the dorm leaders, the one Albert remembered named Azul Ashengrotto, seemed to notice Al’s staring at the tablet.

     “Don’t mind Idia-he’s a notorious recluse. You’d be lucky to catch him anywhere outside of his own dorm. You were, Albert, correct? Well, Welcome to Night Raven College. As dorm leader for Octavinelle, allow me to personally invite you to The Monstro Lounge. Feel free to drop in anytime, for pleasure, or business, ” Azul stated with a handshake of his own before making for the door in turn.

     Because of the location of the ramshackle building he was staying in, it afforded a bit of time for him to think about the day's events on his ‘flight’ back. It also afforded him to think more about that man, Azul. Interesting crew of leaders. Well if I’m to be a respectable dorm leader, myself, I’ll have to ramp up the fixing of the building...As well as come up with a name...

#twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #practically perfect fanfic #albert eastwind

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (4): Equality Statement (Fem!Reader x Naoya Zenin, 7.5k)

series synopsis: you are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. gojo, unfortunately, does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: you make the mistake of crossing naoya zenin at a sports festival and are forced to apologise. but as you well know by now, nothing ever seems to go to plan where any of your student’s fathers are concerned. 

NSFW. MINORS DNI. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. misogyny, weird power dynamics, hate-sex, piv sex, blowjobs. naoya.  

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)   ♡  (jujutsu kaisen masterlist)

1.

The Saturday morning that your first ever undokai is scheduled for dawns bright and early, and you can’t help the little thrill that goes through you at the golden fingers of dawn lighting up your room. There’d been talk of the weekend bringing rain, and things needing to be rescheduled – but it’s perfect weather, as you put on a comfortable tank top and shorts instead of your neat pencil skirt and suit jacket combination.

This will be your first event of the kind, and you’re excited about it. The kids in the class have been practising all of their cheers and routines and the like constantly, whilst the ones involved in the competitive sports have been cheering one another on and snatching time when they can to race against one another in preparation. It’s been nice to see all of the camaraderie between them – even some of the quieter ones have seemed to come a little bit out of their shell, with so much team spirit in the air.

Well. Most of them have. You’ve noticed Junpei still hanging back, face sad, uncomfortable when other boys crowd him and tug him off to who knows where – probably to get him involved in their own practises or rehearsals.

It’s been long and hard preparing for it, but even Gojo has been focused on something for once.

“There’s just something about events like this!” Gojo chirped to you, once, as he’d held up a megaphone he did not really need and called his class back into formation in front of him. “You know! The joy of youth! I want them to have the best time possible! They deserve it.”

Seeing Gojo’s mischievous eyes sparkle with determination instead of humour had made you smile at him, and you’d felt a strange pull in your chest when he’d smiled back, needing to pull your gaze away to ask Yuuji to stop poking Megumi in the back to get him to look at a weird caterpillar he’d found on the ground.

As a junior high undokai, things are a little more competitive than they might be if this were an elementary school or even a middle school event, but there’s still a big emphasis on the teamwork and the cheering on portion of the day. You’ve watched and applauded what feels like a hundred practises for the cheering section, confiscating whistles when they’re sneakily blown whilst you’re trying to teach a mathematics lesson.

Still, you’re not surprised to see that Gojo’s class have been corralled into his classroom whilst your vivacious teacher and mentor gives them a rallying encouragement that seems to contain a lot of bigging up the fact that they are, in fact, his class.

“I thought the pep talk was for them,” you say, as heads turn to you when you walk into the room. It’s strange to see all of the faces dressed in their gym uniforms instead of their school uniforms – and it’s even stranger to be wearing an approximation of it yourself.

“You look nice!” Yuji pipes up, and you smile at him.

“It is for them,” Gojo brings a hand to his sunglasses to push them down a little, giving you a charming smile and the full force of the galaxies swirling in his eyes. “I’m just reminding them that as Satoru Gojo’s class, of course they’re going to do well! We’re going to be the strongest, and win!” He looks at all of them – bright shining faces turned to him, all lit up with the excitement of competition. There’s something in him that you rarely see right now – something encouraging and bright and compassionate. He genuinely seems to want them to do well. “I believe in all of you!”

The warmth spreading through your chest at Gojo’s words is a new experience. You’re far more used to exasperation and frustration where he’s concerned.

But now, you can’t help the infectious smiles of the children and the determination in their face to do well enough for everyone to be proud of. Maybe Gojo isn’t so bad after all, you think, as he bids the children in the class farewell and tells them to go and join everyone else outside in preparation for the day’s events.

“What d’you think?” He asks you, as Junpei leaves the room, still dragging his feet a little. You can’t blame him. He’s involved in the cheering section, as so many of the less athletic kids are, but the undokai is not optional and you think that Junpei is the kind of boy who hates being looked at. “Are we gonna win?”

“I don’t think that’s quite the point of the exercise,” you say, eventually. “We’re supposed to be fostering team spirit and co-operation--”

“Yeah,” Gojo wrinkles his nose and grins. “But we’re still gonna win, right?”

You sigh.

“With Yuji and Maki? Probably. But that’s not the point!”

Gojo stands up and stretches his arms out above him. He’s in a shirt that clings tight to a surprisingly muscled abdomen,  and dark grey sweatpants. He’s never been the ‘formal wear’ kind of teacher, but it’s still jarring to see him dressed so casually – and even more jarring to realise that he’s handsome, despite the fact you’ve spent most of the last few months rolling your eyes and sighing and cursing the world that you’ve ended up having to endure Satoru Gojo so much.

“I know, I know – but it’s nice to think about, right?” His grin is infectious. “Did you have time to have breakfast this morning? I know it’s an earlier start than usual, I’ve got a spare blueberry muffin in my bag – hope it didn’t get crushed too badly by my stretches--”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, already dreading the idea of him pressing a crumbled muffin into your hand. “I had a healthy, nutritious breakfast.”

“So did I!” He says, hotly. “The blueberry muffin had fruit in it, croissants are glazed with egg so that’s protein, and I had a slice of honey on toast too just because I felt like I’d have to keep my energy up today--”

You are constantly impressed by how he manages to consume all of this sugar without going into overdrive – then again, maybe that does explain a lot about him.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing today,” you admit to him. “I mean, I know I’m here to cheer on the kids and stuff, but I don’t know what my role’s supposed to be--”

“Oh!” He comes around and begins to walk out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow him. “Didn’t I tell you? They told me ages ago--” He did not tell you. You don’t know why you find this a surprise. “You’re gonna be in charge of the refreshments table for the first half of the morning – Yuta, you know, the other teacher’s aid, he’ll relieve you for the second half so you can cheer us on and help me a bit. Not that I’ll need it! It’s not a hard job, just be polite to anyone who needs to use it, most of ‘em bring their own lunches and snacks but we find that it’s always good to have a table with some extras – especially when it’s so hot outside!”

“You didn’t,” you say, but you follow him anyway. You have learnt by now that the most you’ll get from Gojo is a shrug and an airy ‘sorry’. And you suppose, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t so bad. It’s not like you needed to have time to stop and prepare yourself to give people a polite smile and ask them if they’d like you to pour them a glass of water.

The two of you spill out into the grounds of the school, which is already full of excited students and proud parents. You recognise a few of them – your face heats up as you see Nanami forcibly pressing a bottle of sunscreen into Yuji’s hands, and as the two of you walk past Geto who is tying back Mimiko and Nanako’s hair, ensuring the team hats that the students are all wearing sit neatly on their heads.

There’s a man stood with Maki and Mai who you assume is their father; a blond with a sneering face and a presence that makes you feel like you shouldn’t even be looking at him. Maki has her arms crossed, her chin jutting forward – the two of them are clearly involved in some kind of argument. Even as you watch, some other men are walking towards him with their heads bowed, like he’s something special.

You vaguely recall that you’ve heard some tell about the Zenins being a very rich, very old, very respected family. Judging from the way he carries himself and the way people keep looking at him, you think that must be it.

“Is that Maki and Mai’s dad?” You ask, curiously, as you’re pushed past him towards a collection of tables beneath a bright yellow awning. Gojo makes a noise that sounds like a sigh.

“Yep,” he says, sounding short. There’s some kind of history there, you think. “That’s Naoya Zenin. Better for you to avoid him, if you can – he’s not the kind of guy you want to cross, y’know?”

“But Maki’s--”

“Absolutely nothing like him,” Gojo deposits you in front of a table heaped with water jugs, ice cubes and plastic cups. “Really.”

You wrinkle your nose as you look around. At least everyone else seems happy – excited, buzzing with energy and the promise of an exciting day ahead. You can’t help but worry about Maki’s expression, though. She had looked like her and her father were having an argument that had been going on for months--

Gojo waves at you as he jogs across the field, moving surprisingly quickly for a man who ate nothing but sugar for his breakfast. You watch him go, unable to stop a smile forming on your face as he pauses by Maki and Mai. He slaps a hand onto Maki’s shoulder and says something with a bright grin that she seems to respond to with a smile, turning to follow him. Her father’s eyes narrow, as he spits something that even you can work out is venomous at the retreating backs of one of his daughters. He sighs as he says something else to Mai, a smile almost tugging at the corners of his mouth as his attention shifts back to her.

It’s clear who the golden child is there, then.

You try and shake your thoughts away from Naoya Zenin and his two girls and concentrate on the place that you’ve been given, reminding yourself that even if it doesn’t seem like a big role, you all have to work hard to make sure that today is a success. Your students have been practising and getting excited for this event for weeks, and you want all of the parents to be as proud of their students as you are.

You have a good view from the refreshments table of everything that’s going on. You watch a few of the races, a few cheering displays from the other classes to the beat of the drums – and when kids run up to you, sweaty and panting, you hand them a plastic cup full of cool water and they thank you as if you harvested it from a spring yourself instead of merely pouring it out.

Some parents ask you politely who you are, and you tell them with a smile and a bright look, hoping that you being friendly and polite will get back to other people. A few of them exchange looks when they hear that you’re attached to Gojo’s class; the man has a reputation that follows him everywhere. You give out oranges and other pieces of fruit to some of the students who need an extra sugar boost, or the ones who have a bandage wrapped around their knee or grazes from falls that have recently been cleaned. Shoko is busy today, and you often see her direct these injured children to you as a rest stop, and so their parents can find them easily.

You pause for a moment as the names are called for a relay race, and you hear Maki and Mai being summoned. This is the first race that they’re taking part in – if their team wins this one, they’ll qualify for the final this afternoon. You can see Gojo lifting his arms and hollering and hear his loud, excited voice even with all of the other people crowding into the school grounds to watch, and despite yourself you feel a smile spread over your face.

You’re still smiling when you hear a scoff.

You turn around to see what the fuss is – only to see Naoya Zenin, holding a plastic cup of water as if it’s offended him mortally. Seeing you looking at him, his lip curls.

“Is this tap water?” He asks you. He has a curious accent; slow, drawling, and clearly much superior to your own. It’s not an accent that Maki and Mai have inherited – and as he raises one eyebrow, the sun catching the rings in his ears, you find yourself glad of it. “Well?”

“I think so,” you say. You are on edge. He peers into it, and sighs.

“Don’t you have anything better? Cell-gen or Tennensui or even I LOHAS, at least?” He speaks to you slowly, like you’re a child, or as if he’s not sure whether a peasant like you would even know the names of any bottled water brands. You can’t stand being talked down to, and you curl your hand into a fist as you say, trying to keep yourself polite;

“I’m sorry, Sir. There’s just this.”

“You’d think with the money pumped in-- fine.” He sighs, taking a sip of the water, his face scrunching in displeasure at – you don’t know. The disgusting taste of tap water, you suppose. You try not to look at the bob of his throat as he swallows. Everything about this man seems to be unpleasant except the way he looks.

You take your own cup of water, just to quell some of the dryness that has made itself known in your throat at interacting with him.

The cheering gets a little quieter, and you turn to see what’s happened. As it turns out, all that’s actually happened is Gojo has stopped putting forth his own shouts to the fray, his eyes focussed on you and Naoya, a look that you think is almost sympathy spread across his face. You see that the race is about to begin, and you don’t look at Naoya as you say;

“You’re Maki and Mai’s father, aren’t you? Their first race is about to start. Maki’s been training really hard, I think she’ll pip it for us—”

A dark presence at your shoulder, and a sneering, uppity drawl.

“I gather you’re the teaching aid I’ve been hearing so much about from everyone.” he says. It does not sound like a compliment. “Maki has really found you . . . encouraging.” He says it like it’s a dirty word.

You force yourself to remain cheerful, and not ask him what the fuck his problem is.

“Maki’s really talented,” you say. “Mai’s fast, too – they’re both really good representatives for the class--”

Naoya snorts.

“They should be on the sidelines,” he says, coolly. “Supporting the men. Not running. Not getting all sweaty and hot and messing up their hair and their pretty faces.” He shakes his head. “It’s unwomanly, and if Maki listened to a word I’d said, she wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Mai is doing it too,” you point out, hating yourself for getting involved in this. But you just can’t let him stand there and be such an asshole, spewing his narrow-minded ideas when there are impressionable girls around.

“Mai’s already agreed that if they win this race, she’ll ask one of the boys to switch in for her. I’ve sorted it with the principal. It’s not ladylike for her to do any more than she has to. She’s not going to get a husband in good standing based on her athletic prowess--”

Oh, this is too far. You’re seething, though you’re trying to keep your respectable face on. You’re at work, you’re at work, you’re at work--

“Perhaps there are some other things they consider more important than finding a husband, at the age of twelve?”

Naoya’s laugh is nasty, mocking – and you hate that there’s something in it that sends a curl of heat right through you, blooming between your thighs.

“The younger a girl learns her place,” he says, his voice very slow. “The better it is and easier it is for a man to be assured she’ll do her duties. I don’t see a ring on your finger, Miss – I’d hate for them to end up working some dead-end little job just because they don’t have anyone to cook and clean for--”

Nope.

You can’t take it any longer.

You turn and you throw the cup of ‘shitty tap water’ in your hand right over Naoya Zenin’s stupid, smug, asshole face.

2.

Gojo, for what you think must be one of the first time in his life, looks uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you were going to throw water on him,” he tries to say, weakly. “Look, we all hate him, but . . . ugh. This is so frustrating! I hate all of this bureaucracy bullshit--”

It turns out that Naoya Zenin’s family – and Naoya Zenin himself – donate rather a lot of money to the school for such functions as the one you’re all currently attending. It turns out that nobody wants to piss off the bank-roll that’s keeping their gym maintained, their events fancy and expensive, the library well-stocked – and you get that! You really do! You know that school budgets are overstretched already, and that donors like the Zenin family are something to be gently courted and kept around for as long as humanly possible.

You just wish that the big donor for this school was anybody else.

“I didn’t know all of this,” you say, reasonably. “I know I shouldn’t have thrown a drink over him, but Mr. Gojo--”

“How many times? You can call me Satoru.”

“If you’d heard the way he was talking--”

“Oh, believe me,” Gojo’s full lips press into a thin line. “I know exactly what Naoya Zenin’s modus operandi is. Let me guess: he was all on at you about how Maki’s not a proper young lady, how the boys should be doing the hard work, how he’s trying to make sure his daughters get a proper start and a rich husband – ugh.” Gojo tugs at his shirt, clearly frustrated. “I’ve had it way too much.”

“Yeah,” you say. You find yourself sighing too.

“The Vice Principal’s in his back pocket,” Gojo says, taking a seat on top of the desk that you’re currently sat behind, cooling off some of your anger – Principal Masamichi had sent you inside to calm you down, and Naoya himself had been escorted into the building by Vice Principal Gakuganji to dry off, all the while saying placating things to calm down the school’s meal ticket. “They want you to apologise to him.”

“I suppose I should,” you say miserably. “But it’s gonna feel like swallowing gravel.”

“I certainly don’t blame you,” Gojo says, with a smile, trying to cheer you up. “Hell, I know some of the other staff members have been dying to do it--”

“Ugh,” you bury your face in your hands. “This is a horrible impression in front of the whole school.”

He pats you gently on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “when this is all over, I’ll take you out for ice cream. I know the best places in the city, and they all know me too!”

You summon a smile for him. He’s not so bad, really – sure, he’s chaotic and thinks too highly of himself for his own good, but . . . at least he’s nothing like Naoya. You stand up and pull down your shorts, wriggling your tank top down to cover you as much as you possibly can. You feel a bit exposed, not in heels and stockings and a blouse.

“I should get this over with, then.”

Gojo has too much to do back on the field to escort you to Naoya himself, so he tells you that Naoya’s in the Vice Principal’s office and gives you another friendly squeeze on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he tells you. “Remember: ice cream at the end of this!”

“Ice cream at the end of this,” you repeat, as you watch him jog out of the corridor. You’re almost tempted to tell him off for running in the halls – Gojo moves so fast that sometimes you lose track of him entirely – but you push back the urge. Gojo is being decent today. You’re thankful to him for sitting with you and helping you calm – and also, evidently, for being one of the things that keeps Maki’s fighting spirit inflamed.

You stand there for a moment, in front of the door to the office, balling up your courage tight and hot in your stomach. You do not want to have to apologise to Naoya, but you know it’s for the best. The sooner you can put this sorry incident behind you and try and avoid Naoya at every single function from herein, the better – so you tap hard on the door and wait until you hear his slow, drawling voice.

“You can come in.”

At first, you’re surprised to see that he’s alone in there – sitting in front of the desk in a comfortable chair, clearly at ease with everything. His arms are sprawled over the back of it, his legs wide apart. You chastise yourself for thinking it immediately – of course the vice principal is busy right now, of course he trusts someone as well-known to the school as Naoya to be alone in his office.

It’s hard not to think about every other time you’ve found yourself alone with the parents of your students, though. A heat crawls onto your face at the very thought of it. You find Naoya repellent, disgusting – but then again, he’s also (and you’re not being glib about it) handsome. You’d be lying if you’d said you sometimes hadn’t ignored a man’s personality for a night in favour of a face and a body that had drawn you in.

Not now.

You close the door behind you, clasping your hands together so you don’t clench your fists, and bow your head so that Naoya can’t tell that you’re grinding your teeth.

“I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me, Sir,” you say, though it really does feel like you are gnashing ice to get the words out. “I should have been more polite. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Mmm,” Naoya says, and you peek up at him through your lashes to see that he’s clearly enjoying having you at his mercy, his lips tilted into a smirk. His hair is still a little wet at the ends, but all that you throwing the water over him seems to have actually done is made his shirt cling tight to a surprisingly chiselled chest and stomach. Asshole. Fuck him. “Yes. I should hope not.”

You straighten yourself up, still a little stiff.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you say. “I . . . I am still learning my place in the establishment.”

He laughs, low and soft.

“Your place?” He asks, the words dangerously sweet on his tongue. “Yes. I can see you still need some help on that one.”

His eyes crawl over you slowly, dragging up and down the length of you, lingering over where your shorts cling to your hips and the tank top hugs your chest. You resist the urge to shift – you don’t want to let him know that he’s making you uncomfortable. You know, though, that he can sense that you have gone hot and prickly all over. He has that smug air; the one men who know what they do to people always seem to have cultivated. The knowledge that they are good-looking.

You suppose for Naoya, it’s the heady combination of knowing he is good-looking and powerful and rich, and you breathe through the force of all of his attention concentrated on you.

“Seeing as you’re still . . . new to all of this,” he says, bringing an arm forward to tap his long fingers on the desk. “And you did apologise prettily, I suppose I can forgive this transgression – just this once, darling.”

The pet name crawls up your spine like ice. He’s still staring at you, enjoying the view like you’re a piece of meat on a market stall he’s considering purchasing.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” you say, hating yourself a little bit but hating him all the more.

“You know,” he says. “You’re not exactly bad-looking.” He stands, rising to his full height, stretching out, frustratingly comfortable in this environment when you feel like a deer who’s about to turn tail and flee at any moment. “You’d be much better off at home raising children than here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Working for a living.” The way that he says the words makes it clear that he considers this a task far beneath the likes of him.

He’s moving towards you now, and your breath seems to get stuck in your throat as he’s suddenly in front of you, stalking elegantly. You want to snap back something about how you’d rather work for a living than have to rely on the whims of a man, much less a man like him – but as he grabs your chin to tilt it up to the light, you find that the words seem to die in your throat.

“Hmm,” he says. “Not bad at all.” He makes an approving noise that sends a flutter right through you, making you dully aware of a pounding ache between your thighs. He leans a little further in, until he’s so close that you can see the pale colours dancing in his eyes, the way the light hits his high cheekbones. “You’re trembling with rage, you know. It’s adorable.”

“You’re very easy to be angry at,” you half-breathe, half-hiss, and Naoya’s smirk is going to be burnt into your memory forever and ever.

“If you’re so angry,” he murmurs, “I can certainly think of a way I wouldn’t mind helping you work out your aggression.”

You shouldn’t do it. But your heart is beating a frantic rhythm against your ribcage and your breath is short, and part of you wants to wrestle him to the ground and dominate him so that he can have a taste of his own medicine. You grab a handful of his hair and drag him down into a bruising kiss.

3.

Oh, and he kisses back. His mouth is soft against yours, but the kiss itself is rough – both of your tongues fighting for dominance, both of you trying to nip at one another’s bottom lip and seize the victory. You’re practically shoved backwards so that your ass catches the edge of the Vice Principal’s desk, even as you tug hard on Naoya’s hair to tell him that you’re not going to be overpowered by him so easily. You feel the feral curve of his grin as he pulls back just enough to whisper;

“Oh? You really think you’re going to get the better of me? You’re cute--” and then you push his shoulders hard, and he stumbles and falls back onto the chair he started this whole escapade sat in. You reach down to tug off your shirt, dropping it onto the floor beside you – Naoya looks for a moment like he’s going to stand back up and resume trying to wrest back the situation into his favour, but as he sees the slight bounce of your breasts in your bra he seems to decide it would be more interesting and beneficial for him to stay exactly where he is and watch you disrobe.

So you do, wriggling your shorts down past your hips – he lets out a low groan at that, as you stand before him in nothing but your underwear with your fists clenched on your hips.

You feel surprisingly powerful like this. It definitely makes a difference from all of the other ways you’ve felt when you’ve been alone with somebody’s father--

“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, and you’re almost surprised at the imperious tone in your own voice. “It’s your turn--”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but he does as you ask. Long fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, taking his sweet time pulling it off his body – and yes, it’s a nice one. Nice, too, are his thighs as he undoes his trousers that probably cost more than you make in a year and pushes them down, sitting before you in nothing but his equally as expensive-looking underwear – an impressive looking bulge outline pressed against the fabric. Even as he looks at you, he takes hold of himself through it and squeezes it, his grin crooked.

Your body does a throb of need.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise. “I didn’t realise you were so needy already--”

“Like you’re not dripping,” he says sharply, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your thighs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I can see the damp patch from here.”

“Who’s to say that’s for you?” You walk towards him. You can’t help but feel powerful and in control at how his eyes follow you with rapt attention, how his tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he drinks in your form in front of him.

“Please,” he says. “As if there’s anyone here more deserving.”

He reaches forward and his hands settle on your hips, dragging you closer to him – hot fingertips brushing your waist, the bare skin beneath your bra before he’s unclipping that too and your breasts are bare. He breathes in deeply.

“Pity,” he says, though his voice is thick with his own arousal. “You’re such a cute little thing, if only you didn’t open your mouth--”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me opening my mouth to do something else,” you breathe, and you reach down to ghost your fingers over his cock through the tent in his underwear. He hisses through his teeth, his eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t just say it, princess,” he says. “If you’re going to run your mouth, the least you could do is make it do something useful--”

“I’d rather die than get on my knees for you.” Your mouth is very close to his neck – to punctuate the statement, you give his earlobe a tug with your teeth, and he practically groans. You’re almost straddling him on the chair, and you do not miss, either, the twitch that his cock seems to give at the tug.

It seems like for somebody who really wants to be in control, and wants women to know their place so badly, Naoya actually is rather enjoying somebody giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He grabs your underwear and pulls it down, clicking his tongue as it bunches about your knees.

“Just give into what your body wants,” he says, all saccharine sweetness in that slow, deep voice. “You’ve made a mess.”

You know you have. You can feel slick when your thighs press too close together, hot and wet between your legs. You really are practically dripping. But it’s not just from Naoya, you don’t think – it’s from the sudden power you’re feeling, the rush of being an equal participant in everything, in feeling like you have the upper hand. And not a small part, you think, is because of the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins at the thought of putting Naoya Zenin in his place. You tip your head to the side innocently.

“What about you?” You ask, with a mean shade to the pitch of your voice. “You’re so hard it’s a wonder you’re not in pain--”

He grabs a hank of your hair with one hand whilst spreading your legs further with the other, so strong that the breath’s knocked out of you. The tip of his finger skims the outer lips of your sex, gathering your slick arousal on the pad as he growls;

“I’m still a man, darling. I see a pretty cunt to fuck and a pair of nice tits and I want to bury myself into it until the bitch remembers her place--”

“Good luck,” you breathe. “I think you’ll be the one remembering his place, here.”

He laughs breathlessly.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re going to be singing a different song when you’re begging me to fuck you harder.”

You give him a smile with your teeth bared; the challenge is obvious. It’s a smile that says ‘we’ll see’, even as you both tug at his underwear to pull it down and reveal what he’s been hiding beneath it.

You don’t want to admit that he’s got a pretty cock, but he has. He’s not the biggest you’ve seen, but it’s still impressive; a slight curve giving it an elegant angle that you realise with a clench will hit you exactly in the right spot when you take it inside of you.

He’s slick with his own pre-come, bubbling from the reddened slit – and as you shift forward and trap it between your thighs, he groans aloud again.

“That’s right,” he grunts, as the tip catches on your entrance and you begin to sink down upon it. “This is what you were made for, princess--”

“What?” You pant. “That would be disappointing. You barely fill me up--”

He grabs you and pulls you into another kiss as you finish off sheathing his cock inside of you – perhaps to save his pride, perhaps to muffle the noise that comes out of him, transferred into your mouth instead of his own. Whichever it is, you hate that you were right about the angle of his cock – you can feel it pressing snugly against the spongy G-spot even now, threatening you with a better time than you’d like to have.

You break the kiss to pull yourself off of him and sink back down, forcibly taking the lead and setting your own pace. You know it’s fast, you know it’s greedy – but fuck, if you aren’t boiling over with need.

You splay your hands across his shoulders, nails digging into his skin with little care to how you might mark him. You need him for leverage, as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock. Naoya tips his head back and groans, enjoying the feeling, before he remembers that you two are engaged in a battle of wits and attempts to get the better of you once more.

“I-is that,” he groans, coming to cling onto your waist and force you down on him with even more strength, helping you along in the too-fast rhythm of your thrusts and bounces. “The best you’ve got?”

“Come on,” you say breathlessly, as his cock continues to stroke that spot. You can hear the sounds of him sliding in and out of you, shamefully loud – too, you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, echoing and mixing with the breathless pants and the attempts to trade barbed insults. “Y-you’re making me do all the work?”

“Fucking pity you’ve got such a nice cunt,” Naoya snarls, his hips flexing, somehow managing to hit you deeper even as you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet and straddling him on the chair. His words are starting to sound very far away. “You should be in my fucking bed, keeping it warm, better off than wasting away here--”

Both of you are running your mouths, overwhelmed by how close one another’s bodies are and the intense heat radiating from you. There’s a frisson of electricity in the air, showering sparks, as the two of you continue to snatch words in between moans and groans and pants and whimpers--

“You’re pathetic--”

“You’re so fucking tight, I shouldn’t be surprised when you’re such a bitch--”

“F-fuck, harder, c-can’t you even keep the momentum going? You’re weak--”

“Baby girl, you’re fucking shaking – you gonna come first? Women are so predictable--”

You can feel your release hovering on the edge of your vision, blurring it as your eyes squeeze shut and you feel tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. There’s a heat inside of you that’s close to overspilling – and as you come down on him particularly hard, the head of his cock rolls over your g-spot just right, and you feel a dam inside of you break as your nails dig hard enough into his shoulders to draw blood. You bury your face into his neck so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you cry out his name, teeth worrying into his neck to leave a love-bite reminder of exactly what transpired between you two in the Vice Principal’s office.

You feel yourself twitch and tighten around him as your orgasm rocks your body, heat running through you like veins of marble. You can’t breathe – all you can do is bite, your hips chasing the final aftershocks.

Naoya is still hard inside of you as you lift yourself off him, letting his cock slip out of you as easily as butter. His own hands clench around your hips.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, his voice rough and hungry. Despite that, though, you can hear the thread of some other emotion sewn in to them – and with a shiver of delight, you realise it’s neediness. He’s been left wanting, and you’ve been handed all of the cards. “I haven’t finished.”

“And you won’t finish inside me,” you snap at him, enjoying the longing in his voice. “Ask me very nicely and I’ll finish you off with my hand.”

“Mouth,” he demands – and he grabs your cheeks, squishing them, pulling you down and reminding you of all of the power that he has even though it’s your body that’s got the advantage of the high ground. “You don’t really think I’m going to be satisfied with your hand, princess--”

“You don’t deserve it,” you spit at him, but you sink to your knees anyway.

You’re not entirely lacking in manners. You suppose you did get to come. It would be rude to just leave him like this. Especially when the whole reason you’d ended up in this office in the first place was to apologise to him politely.

“This is the perfect position for you,” he sneers, as you open your mouth and envelope the head of his cock within it. You can taste yourself on his shaft. “Fuck, that’s right – put your mouth to good use for once--”

You give him a mean, slow lick along the slit of his cock head that makes him groan in the back of his throat. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, fingers digging into the nape so he can control you at least a little bit, pushing you a touch too far so you almost choke. You pull off it, drooling.

“Choke me again and I’ll bite,” you snarl, and he pats your cheek like you’re an obedient dog.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says – and you narrow your eyes at him in a way that says ‘try me’ before you return to sucking at him, hollowing your cheeks. You want to do a good job. A part of you wants to make him come so hard that he regrets being an asshole to you, even though you know that’s ridiculous and not going to happen.

Still. You’re not going to back down from a challenge, so you use your tongue to play along as much of his cock as you can.

“Fuck,” Naoya breathes. “Good . . . good fuckin’ girl—”

You’ve been hearing that low, polite drawl swear and curse for what seems like hours, but that one sends another pulse of heat through you – at your heart, you can’t argue that you love being praised. You whimper against his cock, glad that the fast pace you’ve managed to establish and the wet noises of your mouth around him muffle the noise so Naoya can’t dangle it over your head.

The hand on the nape of your neck jerks, so that you’re forced to look up at him and meet his eyes proper. His hips are slamming to meet your bobs now, the noise of him fucking your mouth filling the room. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and you feel him twitch, his voice pitching--

Salt coats your tongue as he fills your mouth.

But he doesn’t let himself finish there.

He pulls out, and he pumps his cock himself two, three times – coaxing out the other ropes of come, that hit your neck and chest and breasts hot and white and glistening. You’re too surprised by it to do anything – you’d expected him to keep your mouth on him, make you swallow down everything he gave you. He seems the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing--

But instead, he’s sighing, relaxing back into the chair as he looks at you with lazy eyes.

“You look cute like that,” he says, his voice low and sated. “I should take a picture.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe, getting off your knees. You are so fucking thankful for the box of tissues on the Vice Principal’s desk, as you reach across and grab some to dab at yourself so you’re not sticky and disgusting for any longer than necessary.

If you leave them in his pedal waste-bin, you hope that the cleaning crew will dispose of them before the Vice Principal is even aware that they’re there. Your lip curls as you wipe your mouth. You wish you had a mint – or at least a glass of water. Even tap water would do.

For what it’s worth, Naoya seems a little agitated as he puts himself to rights too. Evidently he was not expecting you to fight back so much – he places a finger on his shoulders and scowls when he sees that you made him bleed.

“I should sue you for assault,” he says. You tap your own body, at the curve of your hips and waist.

“I’m going to bruise,” you tell him. “So I guess it would be self-defence.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he tells you, with narrowed eyes – and you give him another smile, one that is clearly fake, as you pull your tank top and shorts back on and re-tie your shoes.

You’re surprised as you go to leave the room and he sets a hand on the small of your back in a mocking echo of polite manners. As the two of you walk down the corridor towards the exit, he does not remove it. To the assembled crowds, you hope it will look entirely innocent – like the two of you have merely had a little chat and come to an agreement instead of heatedly fucking one another’s brains out.

You blink as you emerge out into the light, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. You see Principal Masamichi give you a sympathetic smile – and there’s Gojo, immediately charging towards you like an overprotective bear. He slows down as he sees the way that Naoya is still touching you.

“I hope everything’s alright,” he says, sounding stiffer and more formal than you usually hear. Naoya’s smile towards him is cold.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “Perfect. You apologised beautifully, didn’t you, Miss?” Naoya looks down his nose at you, a conceited smile on his mouth. “I’ve decided to overlook this little transgression.” He leaves a pause, and you swallow as you realise what he’s waiting for.

“Thank you so much, Mr Zenin, Sir,” you say. Again, it feels like you have to force the words out through a mouthful of marbles – but they make it out of your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be so formal, Miss,” he smirks. “You can call me Naoya. I look forward to seeing you again – soon, I hope.”

“You’re just in time,” Gojo says coldly. “Maki just won the final race of the day for our team.”

Naoya’s gaze is sharp as he looks at him. His lip curls. You can tell that both of them want to do something – maybe have an out-and-out fist fight on the field. But Naoya manages to get a grip (you’re glad about it; you’re not entirely sure whether Gojo would have been able to hold back) and turns on his heel to stalk away.

He does give your ass one last squeeze, though, that you desperately hope that Gojo doesn’t notice.

Gojo’s shoulders stay set, his chin thrust proudly forward, until Naoya has been swallowed up by the crowd at large – and then, he turns to you. For the first time, you see his normally humorous eyebrows draw in with worry.

“You look upset,” he says. “Sweaty. You smell terrible. Do you need a minute?”

Your shoulders fall. Gojo gives you a sympathetic pat on the back.

“It’s a rite of passage to deal with someone from the Zenin family,” he says. “You’re just unlucky it happened to actually be Naoya today. He usually sends an underling or an uncle or someone to pretend to care about the girls.”

Wow. You sure hope the rite of passage has gone differently for everyone else.

“Why d’you think he came here today, then?” You ask Gojo. He looks at you strangely, a spark of something you can’t quite read in his eyes.

“Well,” he says, “he’s related to the Fushiguros, you know. I heard he and Megumi’s father have met up recently for drinks – it ended in a fight, of course, it always does. But maybe he expected Megumi’s dad to be here too?” He shrugs. “He can never resist an opportunity to relish over someone in his family winning, even if he doesn’t want Maki doing anything unladylike. Megumi’s dad isn’t here, though, so looks like that backfired on him--”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think about Megumi’s father fucking you on Gojo’s desk – and the lingering way that Naoya had said that he’d heard so much about you from everyone.

#naoya zenin x reader #naoya x reader #naoya x you #naoya smut #naoya zenin smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #not sfw #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk teacher aid au #jjk writing #writing

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 4

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @justine-en @iwillstaywiththemforever @weirdgirlfromtx @edlothia-baby @soul-end @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy

Author's Note: Some of y'all didn't tag so see if that's something on your end. Enjoy the angst and cliffhanger! -Thorne

Wally didn’t come into the coffee shop for almost two whole months after their fight—not that she blamed him—she was still vaguely upset with his harsh words. But she had to admit that she’d gotten used to his warm presence every morning, and not seeing him messed her up more than she thought it would. More often than not, she found herself absentmindedly staring at the door, waiting for him to walk in with that stupid grin on his face and proceed to boast and recall whatever exciting exploits he and his friends had accomplished earlier. It hurt not to see or hear him, and she realized that Wally had become the greatest friend she’d ever had.

Barry still came in though, and if he knew who she really was, he didn’t say anything because he still acted like he always did. So, even if Wally were still angry with her, at least he’d kept his word and not said anything to anyone about her identity. Which if she were honest, tasted bitter when she thought about the price she paid for his silence—his friendship.

It was getting colder again, which meant a lot more people were coming and going from the shop, so at least she could take her mind off her feelings for at least a few hours. Until she got home, and all she was left with were them and a whole lot of silence to think about them with. Sometimes she thought about calling Wally, at least to hear his voice. Hell, even if their last words to one another were frigid, she missed the interaction. She’d give anything to hear him, even taking another round of cold snipes and trades.

She heaved a sigh and wiped down the last few tables of the evening rush, smiling politely at the people who were still sitting at tables or so across. Today had been hectic and there’d been no let up of customers until the last hour of the shift. She’d never thought they’d run out of coffee, but it came close to that a couple hours ago.

The bell above the door chimed and with her back turned to the entrance, she didn’t see who came in, but with another barista at the counter ready to take the final orders of the evening, she didn’t particularly care. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Sleep until hell froze over. That, or until her feet stopped hurting—whichever came first. She let out a quiet laugh that made her chest ache—Wally would’ve found that absolutely hilarious and probably shot back about how if anyone had the right to complain about their feet hurting, it would be him. God, she really missed Wally.

“Melisandre,” someone called quietly, and she glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening when she saw the familiar red head behind her.

Speak and the Devil will appear.

“Wally,” she breathed, voice thick with shock, and before she could stop herself, she was throwing her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly.

He returned her hug in fold. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who missed this,” he quipped.

She huffed a laugh and pulled away. “Believe it or not, it doesn’t feel right when you don’t come around.” Her eyes narrowed almost sadly. “I’ve missed seeing you, Wally.”

“Same here,” he replied, then glanced at the clock above the espresso machines. “Are you almost off? I want to take you somewhere.”

Nodding, she took a look at her watch. “I get off in about ten minutes. Can you wait that long, or will you perish from boredom?”

“I think I can survive ten minutes, Melisandre,” he retorted and collapsed into one of the booths. “Hurry though, I don’t want to be late.”

She rolled her eyes and deadpanned, “Wally, I can’t speed time up. That’s not how that works.”

“Works for me.” He proudly stated.

“I wonder why?” she retorted sarcastically, then gave him a smile before wandering off to clean the last tables.

***

Despite the fact that Wally could run anywhere he wanted in less than a second, he still owned a vehicle and that was downright baffling in her opinion.

“Dick got it for me.” He suddenly said, shifting the car into drive and she blinked internally wincing at the mention of her brother.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you didn’t, (Y/N). But you were thinking it.”

“Uh huh,” she doubted and crossed her arms over her chest. “What am I thinking about right now?”

“Knowing you? Probably food, I know you like to ea—” he dissolved into laughter when she reached over and shoved at his side.

“No, I don’t you ass.”

“Really? Because I distinctly remember the time I took a fry off your basket and you looked at me like I’d killed your favorite dog.” (Y/N) glared at him and he pointed at her. “Yeah, that’s the look right there.”

“I don’t like sharing my food,” she said. “You should’ve known better.” Her eyes drifted to the windshield. “So, where are we going?”

“S.T.A.R. labs.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow and stared at him. “Really? S.T.A.R. labs? What’s there?”

Wally shrugged. “Wanted to show you a bit of what it’s like to be me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean you came to see me after all this time and the first thing we’re doing is going to a lab so you can show my what you do?”

His gaze momentarily darted to hers. “Is that a problem?”

“I dunno, I just figured we’d go eat a diner somewhere and apologize to each other.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Are you sorry? For all of the last three years?”

“Not particularly,” she griped, and he shrugged again.

“Then I’m not sorry for what we said to each other that night.” he let out a sigh. “But I’m willing to let it go, because I’d rather us just have a disagreement than lose what our friendship over it.” he looked at her. “What do you say?”

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment, then she sighed and nodded. “…Yeah, I agree.”

Wally smiled. “Good.” He turned the wheel and pulled into the parking lot of the lab. “But there is food there for us, so you’ll be satiated anyways.”

“Hardy har har. Shut up, Wallace West,” she shot back, climbing out of the car. Her eyes traveled up the tall building. “Wow, this place is huge, isn’t it?”

She felt him stand next to her. “Yeah. Did you know they had to replace the glass windows a whole bunch of times because Barry and I kept shattering them when we’d run up ‘em?”

(Y/N) blinked, unsurprisingly stating, “No, I did not. But I can see that happening.”

He started towards the doors, leaving her to follow and soon they were stepping into an elevator. She watched him hit the rooftop button and she looked at him.

“If you’re showing me what you do, why are we going to the roof? Shouldn’t we be going to some laboratory inside?”

Wally chuckled. “Patience, young padawan.” He ignored her rolling eyes. “Food first.”

“Oh, dinner in the moonlight? Well, aren’t you just the romantic.” (Y/N) cocked her elbow on his shoulder and grinned. “Don’t tell me you fell in love with me all that time we spent away from each other?”

This time, he was rolling his eyes. “Hardly, (Y/N). I just figured you’d want a nice evening where you weren’t staring at your bland kitchen walls.”

She scoffed and pulled away from him. “Look, I’d paint and hang shit up but the landlord wouldn’t be happy.”

“Since when do you care about making people happy? You’re typically a ‘I’m going to make someone unhappy’ type of person.” Her eyes shifted to his and he waved a hand. “Not what you’re thinking about—I was talking about the coffee shop.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, then she hummed. “There’s nothing more fun than telling someone I’m going to get the manager and then do my magic little spin and cheerfully greet, ‘Hi, I’m the manager’.” She grinned. “Does wonders to see Karen’s little head explode.”

Wally chuckled and the elevator dinged. The doors split open, and they walked out onto the rooftop. Surprisingly, the roof was enclosed and lighted, giving her perfect vision and when her eyes fell on them, her heart seemed to stop in her chest, and her feet to a halt.

They stood from the table they’d been sitting at and with her heart hammering against her ribcage, she immediately spun on her heel, intent to flee back into the elevator, only to come chest to chest with Wally, who wrapped his arms around her waist—effectively keeping her in place.

Her feet were still moving on their own accord and she shoved against his chest, trying to get back to the lift. “Wally, move.”

“No, (Y/N),” he murmured, and she could feel her breath starting to come in and out in panicked spurts.

“Wally, please, I’m begging you, move.” She stared up at him and plead, “Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything, just please let me leave.”

His evergreen eyes were narrowed in pity, but there was a firmness that rested within that pity and he shook his head. “I can’t let you leave, (Y/N).”

“Wally, please,” she begged, arms starting to go limp against his chest, the tears flooding her vision. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You’ve gotta stop running, (Y/N).”

She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “I hate you…so much.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“You’re a liar and I hate you.”

Wally sighed. “I know you do.”

(Y/N)’s face contorted in anger despite her pain. “I should’ve left the night we fought. I knew you wouldn’t be capable of keeping it from him. From any of them,” she sneered and suddenly pulled away from his grip, eyes flashing with rage.

“This wasn’t your right to tell!” she shouted at him and shoved him in the chest. Wally didn’t budge an inch and she shoved him again. “God, I was so naïve to assume you’d keep your fucking mouth shut! That’s one thing you’re not capable of doing!”

She growled and turned from him, running her hands over her face. “Three years of relative peace shot straight down the fucking drain,” she shot him a teary glower. “All because of you and your big bleeding heart for your best friend.”

Wally frowned. “I’m doing what I think is best, (Y/N).”

“Forcing me to meet them isn’t what’s best, Wally! I didn’t want to be found! I didn’t want to be associated with them again!” she snarled and in an instance her anger cooled, her shoulders drooping as she lamented, “…This wasn’t a decision you should’ve made. This was never your right to decide. For me…or for them.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t,” he agreed. “But if you weren’t going to draw the line in the sand, I was.”

(Y/N) met his gaze and held it for a long moment, then she turned her attention to the four men who were standing in front of the table, their expressions a mixture of regret, anger, and relief.

She let out a long sigh and reached up to rub at her temples. “Let me guess, I’m not allowed to leave until we’ve had our picture-perfect reunion scene?”

Wally nodded. “The elevator is sadly,” his hand shot backwards and with a sharp crackle of lightning, the light went out. “out of order.”

(Y/N) shook her head in disappointment at him then declared, “The next time I run, I’m settling in a city that has no superheroes.”

“Good plan,” he quipped. “But I don’t think there’ll be anymore running.”

She got up in his face and hissed, “Then you underestimate my feelings regarding the brothers and father before me.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #batsis #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc #wally west #the flash #flash

[mandoalorian]

Vanilla Lattes [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: You camp out at the coffee shop in the midst of a thunderstorm, only to be awoken by a soaking wet man with puppy dog eyes, who is struggling outside in the rain. You let him into the warmth, offering him a lot more than just a vanilla latte to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Warnings: drink mention, brief mentions of anxiety and a few sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 4,200 words

Masterlist

You took a deep breath, hunching up your shoulders as you fumbled with the key trying to unlock the front door. Your hands felt like ice, the cold stinging your fingers and even making them swell up slightly. The key got jammed, again. The heavy raindrops pelted against your back, drenching you, and you couldn’t help but let out a prolonged groan of frustration. Pressing your body weight against the door and wriggling the key into the lock, you were grateful for the bolt of lightning which provided you with a temporary illumination to see what you’re doing. Hearing the lock click out of place, you sighed with relief as you managed to shake the door open and entered the coffee shop almost in a turbulence. You slammed the door shut before locking it behind you and turned on the light.

The chairs had been stacked neatly on the tables from the night before, the floor had been swept and mopped, and an overwhelming smell of lemons filled the room. It must have been the new air freshener your boss had purchased after the last one exploded. You slid out of your shoes, not wanting to leave a puddle of water with every step, and took off your coat, hanging it on the radiator. You checked the time on the wall clock. 3:45am.

Your apartment was shit. Your landlord was shit. And everything was going to shit. The thunderstorm had been going on for days now. At first, you were coping, despite the power outage. But now apparently there’d been a leak in the building’s boiler room and your apartment had no heat at all for the past day and a half. It was far too cold to sleep, no matter how many fluffy blankets you had to hide under. So, in the midst of the night as you tossed and turned, you were struck with an idea. You could camp out at work. No, it wasn’t the most convenient of places and if your boss found out you’d most likely be fired but at least it had heat, and lighting, and at least you could catch a few hours of sleep before it opened for business.

Thankfully your hair wasn’t too wet to begin with, thanks to the hood on your coat, and as the front of the shop began to warm up, you were able to cozy up. The mismatched patterned rugs and the dim amber lights created the perfect, homely environment. There was a sofa in the back room which you contemplated sleeping on but it was torn and covered in suspicious looking stains, so you decided to just stay out front, take a chair down and sit at a table, resting your head against the oak wood.

There was no telling how long you were asleep for when you heard a loud thudding knock against the store door. You bolted up and your eyes snapped open as you tried to distinguish the silhouette who was standing behind the glass. All the lights in the shop were on which meant he could definitely see you, but the blackness of the night sky meant that you couldn’t make him out at all. You were struck with fear, cursing yourself for coming to the coffee shop in the first place. The figure continued to bang their fists against the door and your mind started to race as you wondered what to do.

They could be anyone. They could be a serial killer. Should you call the police? You tried to shake away your anxious thoughts, promising yourself that the chances of the silhouette being a mass murderer was slim-to-none. 

"Hey! I see you in there! Please- please could you let me in? I'm f-ffffreezing." The voice was deep, masculine, and it didn't necessarily sound local. You almost wanted to stifle back laughter at how they drawled out the word 'freezing'. Feeling less afraid, but still hesitant, you slowly approached the door until you could get a clearer look at the person.

It was a man, and he was soaking wet. He was wearing denim jeans and a pale green shirt. Well, it looked like it was meant to be pale green, but the rain had darkened it considerably and it clung to his body uncomfortably. In his hand, he held a soggy map and a baseball cap. He looked up at you with big brown pleading eyes as if he was waiting for you to open the door. You'd be foolish to open the door to a stranger in the dead of night.

But of course, you opened it anyway, and he didn't move an inch. He continued to stand still at the door frame, staring at you. You were lost for words. Was he going to pounce on you? Attack you? You could just slam the door in his face and leave him out in the storm... that was always a possibility.

"May I come in, p-please?" he asked politely through a shiver, and your heart sank into the depths of your chest. There was no way a man as softly spoken as him was going to put you in any kind of danger, and you almost felt bad for assuming that he would. You nodded, quickly stepping out the way so he could come into the warmth of the coffee shop. You shut the door behind him. "Are you- are you open?" he asked. He couldn't tell if the shake in his voice was from the cold, or quite possibly nerves. What were the chances he'd find a coffee shop open at 4am, and a beautiful girl to let him in?

You furrowed your eyebrows together, checking the time on the wall clock before turning back to him. "It's just turned 4:15." you sighed as if that would answer his question.

"Right, I'm sorry, that was a dumb thing to say," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. You hoped you hadn't come off as rude. "Thank you for letting me in."

He was dripping wet, literally. His dark brown hair was flat against his head but the tips began to curl into waves as the heat of the shop quickly got to it. You had so many questions. So many. But the fact he was still holding himself, shivering, distracted you just enough to ask your next question.

"Can I get you a coffee?" you questioned him before scrunching up his nose. A coffee at 4am was going to be the last thing he needed.

To your surprise, he answered yes.

You nodded in affirmation, giving him your best barista smile out of habit and padded around the coffee bar, turning on the machine. "Will take a sec to turn on," you explained as the man just stood there. "Uhm, what's your name?" you asked, taking a paper cup and a black permanent marker. This felt like something out of a fever dream. The stranger had been adorned with your presence for approximately three minutes now and you had only just asked for his name— because you were making him a damn coffee. Nothing about this situation was ordinary.

"Frankie." he smiled. His smile was so warm and comforting, you couldn't help but shoot him an even wider smile back. You didn't know if it was the dimly lit room in the dead of night, but his eyes had a sparkle in them which brought around a feeling of protection and safety. He was a stranger, but you already felt like he could trust you.

Frankie. And his name was just as sweet as sugar. Frankie. You imagined the way it rolled off your tongue so perfectly. A pretty name for a pretty boy. He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts and you scrunched up your nose wondering how long the uncomfortable silence had lasted for. At least, you hoped it hadn’t have been uncomfortable. You gritted your teeth together and introduced yourself.

"Hey, that's a nice name." Frankie beamed, stalking over to the coffee bar and awkwardly shuffling to sit down at one of the stools. 

"I was gonna say the same about yours." you giggled, trying your hardest to ignore the heat that flushed your cheeks.

"Really? It's short for Francisco." he explained as you held the paper cup under the espresso machine.

"Francisco," you hummed, liking the way that rolled off your tongue just as much as Frankie did. "It's cute," Now Frankie was blushing. "Do you have a sweet tooth?" 

Frankie's gaze snapped to meet yours, his mind wandering elsewhere. "A sweet-? Ohhhh," he nodded knowingly when you held up an abundance of syrups in his direction. "You know, I've never tried coffee with syrup before. Afraid the guys will tease me for it." he muttered.

"The guys?" you beckoned further out of curiosity. 

"Oh yeah uh- the guys I work with. My friends. I live with ’em too. Well like, not all of them. But Santi is my roommate- Santiago, I mean…" he rambled. You paused making his coffee, staring at him intently as the man you had just met began talking to you as if he's known you forever. He had such a friendly nature. "Sorry, am I blubbering?" he asked. "I don't normally get nervous- I mean, I'm not nervous, I just-"

You grinned ecstatically, shushing him. He looked up at you, the corners of his lips curled upwards and his chocolate coloured eyes wide, full of admiration. "So, how does a vanilla latte sound?" you chuckled.

Frankie nodded. "Delicious."

You pushed a few pumps of the vanilla syrup into the cup, stirring it around the espresso with a lollipop stick. You loved the smell, it was your favourite.

"Are you from round here?" you quizzed Frankie, hoping he wouldn't mind the questions. Small talk was part of your job as a barista, something you'd grown very much acquainted too, but after years of working here, he was the first customer who you were actually taking an interest in. Maybe it was his rugged handsome looks, or the fact fate had somehow brought you into the same coffee shop, at the same time during the same thunderous stormy night, but you had an urge to learn more about him.

"No I'm not," he started, holding up the soggy map. "I actually got lost. I'm here for work."

You took the dripping map from him and looked at it with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't you have the Maps app on your phone?"

"The what? Sorry, I'm not too good with technology," he brought his phone out his pocket and set it on the counter. "It's actually ran out of battery."

"Thankfully we have the same phone," you laughed, and Frankie's eyes lit up. "I should have a charger round the back. Where do you work?"

"Everywhere, really," Frankie shrugged. "I'm a pilot," The milk had finished steaming and you brought the jug away from the machine and back to the cup. Tipping the cup to its side, you practiced some experimental latte art. "How long have you worked here? I'm assuming you work here," he said awkwardly and you let out another laugh. "Well I had to check!" he laughed back, raising his hands defensively.

"Four years," you sighed. "Was supposed to just be a temp job to get me through my degree, help pay my tuition, but… you know, I'm still here." 

Frankie nodded. "I get it. I used to do engineering stuff at some dodgy garage back in my hometown. I used the money to help me get through flight school but I was there way longer than I needed to be," Frankie told you and you nodded sadly. "But I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Well yeah!" he exclaimed cheerily. "If you weren't, who would be able to save me from this God-awful rainstorm."

You passed him his latte. His jaw dropped slightly when he saw the pattern you'd carefully construed with your jug of steamed milk. A heart. "I- wow," he said almost breathlessly.

"Do you like it?" you asked nervously, biting down on your lip. You hoped your attempt of a flirt didn't come across as too overbearing.

"Yes, I like it," he confirmed before clearing his throat and making direct eye contact with you. "I like it-a-latte."

After a momentary silence you burst into laughter, Frankie soon following. "You dork!" you smacked his arm playfully. Frankie swore your laugh was contagious, and he adored the way small crinkles in the corners of your eyes appeared. This man had made you smile so much in the past fifteen minutes, your cheeks were beginning to hurt.

Frankie took a sip of the hot beverage, before licking his lips and relishing the taste. "That's delicious." he moaned longingly before taking another sip. Your fingernails subconsciously began to graze at the wooden counter. His moans and hums of delight were like the sweetest melody you'd ever heard. You'd whip him up a thousand more vanilla lattes if you got to hear him make those noises more often.

Your smile dropped when you remembered he was still dripping, even his bare forearms had goose pimples. There was a man sitting before you in soaking wet clothes, and he was too shy to even mention it to you. "Is the coffee warming you up?" you asked with slight concern. He nodded gratefully, taking another sip. You were glad. "We might have a change of clothes out back. It'll be employee uniform but-"

"You wouldn't mind?" Frankie asked with gratitude.

"Of course not, let me go see what I can find."

You went to the back of the coffee shop, where it was a lot colder, darker and dingier. Rummaging through one of the plastic crates, you managed to find a pair of black pants and a maroon coloured polo shirt, both with the company logo embroidered into it. They looked to be about his size. You took a sniff, thanking the Lord they were clean. You brought them back out to Frankie.

"You have to wear this?" he asked with a slight gasp as he unfolded the shirt.

"Yeah, it's not the most attractive," you giggled. "Will it be okay?"

"It's perfect, thank you so much." Frankie stood up and went to take off his shirt.

"Oh- uhm-" you started, diverting your gaze immediately. You got a glimpse of his tummy and the little trail of hair between his belly button and the waistline of his underwear that was poking out above his jeans. He pulled his shirt back down and looked at you with doe-eyes. "There's a room out back if you'd feel more comfortable getting changed back there. You know, for like, privacy." you mumbled awkwardly.

Frankie nodded. "Thank you." he said graciously before following your finger that was pointing towards the backdoor.

He wasn't gone for long, maybe just a few minutes, but you couldn't help yourself from daydreaming about him. You cursed yourself for letting your mind wander as you imagined him changing out of his sticky wet clothes and into the clothes you had provided for him. You thought about the shape of his arms, the curve in his bicep and the way his thighs might flex as he slides his legs into the pants. Maybe you were the one who needed a coffee to wake you up from these ridiculous thoughts.

When he returned, you were both back to laughing almost immediately. He did a little twirl, modelling the employee outfit. "It's cute! Suits you. You know if you ever get bored of that piloting thing…" you joked.

"I'll consider it, thanks," Frankie chuckled. 

"Oh, you should take off your socks and I'll hang them next to my coat on the radiator. There's nothing worse than having wet feet." you recommended.

"You sure?" Frankie asked hesitantly, but already reaching down to untie his laces. You nodded your head. Noticing his hair was still wet, you grabbed a small tea towel from one of the cupboards.

"You should dry your hair too," you told him, passing him the towel. Your urge to care for him was almost maddening. "So you don't catch a cold."

"W-would you?" Frankie asked awkwardly.

"You want me to dry your hair for you?"

Frankie nodded— and how could you possibly refuse him?

“How come you aren’t wearing your hat?” you quizzed, gesturing aimlessly towards the discarded baseball cap on the table.

“Well I like this hat. Didn’t want it to get wet.” he chuckled. You gently let the towel tangle in his dark brown locks of hair, making a conscious effort to massage his scalp. He closed his eyes. "F-feels so good…" there was that elicit moan again. You didn't say a word, continuing to gently rub the towel into his hair. This whole night definitely felt like a fever dream.

The hours that went by felt like mere minutes as you and Frankie talked and laughed and messed around. Five cups of coffee later, and you were both practically bouncing off the walls, full of energy. You had clicked instantly and learned that you both had so much in common with each other.

He was charmed by you, entranced even. If your beauty wasn't enough, he admired your endearing personality and how you were so thoughtful and passionate with everything you did. From the latte art to drying his hair for him, he thought you were the most perfect girl he had ever met.

You could say the exact same about him. You didn't want the night to end. In fact, you wanted to spend every waking moment with him. You learned a lot about him too. He was ex-military, divorced, with a two year old daughter that he couldn't help but gush about. He showed you a photograph of her that he kept in his wallet and she was the spitting double of Frankie, with big dark eyes and curly brown hair.

By morning, the storm had ended and the golden sun had risen. The birds were tweeting and the roads slowly started to get busy in preparation for the day ahead.

The cuckoo wall clock made a disrupting noise as the handle struck 9am. "Oh shoot," you gasped, standing up. "We're officially open for business! Uh- I gotta go get dressed for work so I'll be as quick as I can. Just- just wait here." you told Frankie in a hurried rush before whisking yourself to the back of the store.

You didn't even give Frankie a chance to reply. He sat there, at the table, nursing his fifth vanilla latte. You hadn't been gone long at all when the doorbell jingled, signifying that the coffee shop had gotten its first customer of the day. Frankie abruptly stood up, his eyes going comically wide as he spun around on his heel, ready to address the customer.

It was a tall, broad shouldered businessman with dark blonde hair holding a briefcase. His mismatched patterned tie and pocket square was enough to make Frankie cringe as he sauntered into the coffee shop with tired eyes. "The usual." he muttered.

Frankie furrowed his eyebrows together. "Hey, I recognise you from somewhere…" he trailed off, thinking of where he might've seen the man before. Frankie figured he was just being hyper-aware, considering he wasn't even from round here.

"You must be new," the customer grumbled. "Three shot espresso black coffee, extra hot, extra wet, no sugar or sweetener or anything like that." His words were very stern and demanding.

Frankie couldn't help but emit a small, helpless gasp when he remembered he was dressed in employee uniform. It certainly looked like he worked in the coffee shop, but the truth was, he hadn't operated one of these extravagant machines in his life. He might know how to do helicopter repairs but this was brand new to him. And what the hell did 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean? The businessman sighed, tapping at his gold wristwatch impatiently.

"Chop chop," he said rudely. "I don't have all day." Frankie frowned at his comment before sauntering behind the coffee bar, looking at all the different machines around him. He took a deep breath. Taking a paper cup, he requested the businessman's name. "Really? I know you know my name," the man snarled. “Or do you need me to do the thing?”

“What thing?” Frankie quizzed back feeling genuine bewilderment. The man took a deep breath and pointed his finger, but before he could say anything you returned from the back to the front of the shop just in time. "Ah!" Frankie called excitedly, taking your hand and pulling you behind the counter with him. "We have our first customer of the day!" he exclaimed with a fake enthusiasm through gritted teeth. The businessman slowly dropped his ring clad hand back down to his side and huffed in annoyance.

You wanted to laugh. Frankie was so adorable. Frankie's brown eyes flicked nervously between you and the businessman as he passed you the paper cup. 

"Just the usual?" you asked the businessman politely, already writing his name down on the cup. Frankie assumed he must've been a regular.

"Obviously." he rolled his eyes.

"How come you didn't send your assistant for your morning coffee?" you asked.

"You know I don't care for small talk." the businessman sighed before pulling out his wallet.

"Right, sorry, that'll be four dollars please." you apologised quickly. He tapped his black company credit card against the reader and you passed him his triple shot espresso. He left without even muttering a thank you.

"What a jackass," Frankie whispered, intensely staring at the man long after he left the shop. He slipped into the back passenger seat of a car which quickly drove away.

"Believe me, I'm used to it. There's plenty of customers who are like that." you explained, making sure all the machines were switched on and ready for the day.

"Well you shouldn't have to be," Frankie sighed, shaking his head. "I should probably go," he shrugged. You nodded your head understandingly. Frankie went to the back of the shop to collect his clothes. "Thanks for everything." Frankie smiled. He really didn't want to leave but he knew he had to eventually.

"Of course." you returned the smile. You found yourself fumbling with the stack of napkins. He hadn't even left the coffee shop and you already missed him. Frankie nodded and headed towards the door. He opened it and turned to you one last time. 

"By the way, what does 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean?" he asked, and you burst into a fit of giggles at his comment. Frankie loved hearing you laugh, and he loved the way that he was the person who could make you laugh.

Picking up the black permanent marker, you scribbled your phone number on a napkin. "Give me a call and find out?" you suggested, handing him your number with a small but flirty smile. Frankie's cheeks reddened and his heart felt fuzzy.

"O-okay," he waved. "I'll speak to you soon. Have a good day at work."

"See ya, Frankie." you smiled one last time.

That was, by far, one of the best nights you had ever had.

------

Taglist - let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @goth-topic​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @kiwi-the-first​ @pedroepascal​ @castiel-barnes​ @honeymandos​ @rocketqueen​ @ladycumberbatchofcamelot​ @dybalalover10​ @girl-obsessed-with-things​ @elena-myth​ @moth-guillotine​ @pedro-pascal-love​ @hayley-the-comet​ @pinkninja190​ @maxiarapamaya​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @artsymaddie​ @harrys-stan​

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier

[demonslayedher]

Any Kny character you've grown to love/appreciate more??

Thanks for waiting, Anon, I have been trying to really, really hard to narrow this down, but the answer remains: the vast majority of the cast. The only character I loved right away was Tanjiro and that love kept me watching, as with almost every new character I was like, "ugh, I hate this guy. Here I was, having fun being emotionally invested in a high quality anime, and this might ruin it for me." But then the instant I see a different side of their character, I'm like, "...Oh." To go into some examples...

Zenitsu: I could not stand him right away, I hate womanizers, and his conniptions would go on so long that they held up the story. But Gotouge/Ufotable strung me along perfectly, the first glimpse of Thunder Breath made me immediately pay attention and think, "oh, that was cool. I want to see more of that." Seeing him protect the box pretty firmly put him in the "I need to protect this child" box in my heart. And then the spider demon happens, and I'm sending desperate reaction messages to a friend like "NOOOOOO!!!! BABBBBBBBBBYYYYYYYY!!!!" And then he annoyed me all over again at the start of Functional Recovery, ahaha. It's hard to remember how annoyed I was because I'm such a Zen Stan now, and he was a very firm favorite of mine by the time I finished binging the anime up to the last couple episodes, which I waited for as they came out. Inosuke: He was one of the reasons I was curious about the series, I saw some promotional art and was super curious about Nezuko's muzzle (I was one of the people who thought it was some ancient scroll or something, haha) and the kid with the boar mask. The art I saw showed his face, and I assumed he'd be some kid with a cracking voice performed by a female seiyuu. As much as I love Matsuoka's performance now, initially, since I knew what his face looked like, I found it grossly off-putting the moment I heard it. Then every chaotic thing Inosuke did dug a deeper hole; I very quickly decided I hated him, especially when he started beating up on the kid I was starting to like. As his chaos subsided he just became a character I tolerated, and then this happened:

Images you can hear, am I right? This immediately flipped the "BABY" switch in my heart. It was also a lot of fun to understand the Inosuke memes I was seeing everywhere. So by the end of the anime, I loved, loved, loved, loved the Tanjiro/Zenitsu/Inosuke interactions and desperately wanted more (still didn't like how Zenitsu bothered Nezuko, though). I was so impatient for more, but the manga art looked disappointingly off-putting. I figured the anime was successful enough that there'd eventually be more of it, and I wanted to be patient, but then I poked around, read some spoilers, got back into Tumblr to look at fanart and memes, saw a spoiler image of Tanjiro affected by Muzan's poison and the binge-read began. (That's kind of a lie, but I'll get to that.) Let's back up a few episodes. There I was, having a great time, the guy who I forgot about from Episode 1 was back and haha, I guess everyone hates him, and the chick who I figured was going to be a medic who saves Zenitsu in the nick of time turned out to be savage, awesome. I was sending reactions to my friends who were ahead of me, and then we left off seeing the Pillars staring down Best Boy. And I...

Well. Uh. Here, I've dug up an old convo for you, my comments are in blue.

Immediately followed by a passionate vocal rant, which I have transcribed here:

“I feel like what happened was that the mangaka was sitting around with his assistants and was like, ‘welp, gotta make this whole cast of characters, they gotta be so-o-o-o many more levels of extreme than all the other characters I’ve had so far, which isn’t hard, because all of the background characters are cannon fodder and I’ve just gotta leave them all with black hair and no personality traits. So! Gotta go to the opposite of the spectrum with the BIG! POWERFUL! People so no-o-o-body can be normal.’ And so he and his assistants sat down, and they all wrote down just random words or traits, and them put ‘em all in a hat. And then for each character, they pulled out a few of them and said, ‘OK. We’re gonna put these things together, now we have a character.’ And he was probably also like, ‘Iiiiiiiiiiiii’ll flesh them out later. For now, they just need t’… be there, and make an impact. How do we make an impact? By making sure it’s super, super clear what their character traits are. Here, we’ll have this guy repeat the word //HADE//…. ////HA DEEE//// over and over and over… to show that he’s a /showy/ person. Because he /cares/ about that. And he //should// care because that is his character and that’s why he’s powerful.’ OH MY GOSH, it’s so dumb.”

......orz I feel like Genya looking back at how he acted at the end of the Final Selection. I'm sorry, Gotouge, I had not even encountered your love for these characters yet in your little alligator form. Nor had I encountered the yet unseen-sides of these traumatized dragons and tigers. ...*coughs* Um. So. I was pretty harsh.

So this was my mindset, I went into the manga not caring about most of these characters and just wanting more Kamaboko squad interactions and wanting to hurry up and catch up to the battle with Muzan. And it's worth stating that I didn't mean to read it at first. I encountered a few spoilers, and just wanted to look for the context surrounding those parts, and then hunt for the (non-existent) build-up to those parts, and so... uh.........

I read a lot of the manga out of order, and yeah, that did affect how much I cared about what was going on. I didn't actually properly process a lot of it until later re-reads. But to try to state some things simply about each Pillar:

Giyuu: He was just 'ok' to me for a long time, I could see the appeal for why people I knew were fangirling over him but he didn't do it for me. His soft spot for Tanjiro was indeed endearing, though, and I firmly liked him by the time chapter 200 came out and I was properly heartbroken on his behalf.

Shinobu: She was intriguing, and then I liked her as soon as I saw her savage side, she was one of the characters I went hunting for spoilers for.

Rengoku: That stare really put me off at first, but I fell for him over the process of Tanjiro falling for him. When I first finished the train arc I sat back and said, "wow! That's going to make for a good movie!" and then in psyching myself out for the movie several months in advance, I fell hook, line, and sinker and was totally excited for him each time I saw the trailers. And then the movie was *stunning* and I love him even more. Uzui: He was the Pillar I hated most upon first meeting them. I blame the repeated use of his catchphrase. But then when he let his hair down to sell the kiddos the change in design helped warm me up more to him, like, "oh, there was a human in there." It took a long time for him to become more interesting to me, and an uncharacteristically subtle journey to becoming a character I liked. I am currently getting more and more psyched out for him and eager to see how much more I'm going to like him with the shiny Ufotable treatment. Mitsuri: At first I didn't remember her name, I had code-named her as "Boobs." But I kinda had a feeling she was going to grow on me quickly, and I was right, she's one of my easy favorites now. Muichiro: Who? Oh yeah, that kid who always kinda fell to the wayside in my attention. I'd see a lot of Muichiro-themed blogs and hear a lot of little girls looking at merch and showing a clear favoritism of him, and I'd like always react like Muichiro and just be like, "...", and then when I read his major battles I was more emotionally invested in things going on concurrently with other characters, and I was still like, "...", and then two days ago I revisited a Muichiro scene and was suddenly like, "......OH!!! MUICHIRO!!!!!" Himejima: I never really hated Himejima, even if I found his first impression kind of wimpy (haha... oh, I was so wrong). I had a pretty easy acceptance of him too, so I would generally count him among characters I like, but if you were to ask me why, I'd draw a blank. It's kind of a weirdly mature, subdued appreciation for him rather than passionate fangirling. But weirdly when I was daydreaming the other day I found myself thinking, "if I had to marry someone in the KnY cast, it would be Himejima." So like, not a fiery romance, but I see him as my dependable, sturdy rock to grow old with??? What is up with you, sub-conscious?? Iguro: My interest in him rises and falls. Being a Mitsuri fan helped warm me up to his character in the first place, which was the emotional tie I needed since his backstory didn't grip me much (I found it a frustrating distraction while I was desperately reading weekly updates). Reading more subtle details about his character in the fanbooks has brought me around and made me more curious about him, like I'd really like to be a fly on the wall for the conversation he had with Uzui one day about their pasts.

Sanemi: Hahaha, wow. He was so unlikable in the beginning, wasn't he? His character design (yeah, the eyes) was really off-putting too. But then I got to know him and there was no going back, I got totally played. He's a character I'm pretty fond of now and one of the characters I've enjoyed delving into most in fanfic. To keep this answer from getting too long, for the vaaaaaast majority of the cast, I was initially like, "meh" or "OK" or "ew" but now am like, "EEEEEEEEE, I LOVE THIS TOTALLY RANDOM UNIMPORTANT SIDE CHARACTERRRRRRR" so you know... times change. And the more time I spend obsessed with Kimetsu no Yaiba, the more I like them all, so even the characters I'm lukewarm on will probably have their eventual days when they take over my heart and smash it.

#what do I even tag this? #it's not meta or nerdery #it's just me being a fangirl #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer

[st-kitten]

AU for Sid: Where Daryl and Persia fight like hell against the walkers and just lose it at the end - but with fluff

Set in another supply run gone wrong

Warnings: bloodshed, walkers (like, lots of them), swearing, near death experiences, anger, fire, some angst maybe?

word count: 2768

‘I fucking told you...’ 

‘... to take...’

‘... the goddamn bridge!’ yelled Persia, slashing through thick branches that blocked the way toward an undiscovered destination.

‘I ain’t got no dream that we’ll be ambushed by them walkers,’ grunted Daryl as he paced behind her, his crossbow hovering above her shoulders to welcome any unsolicited company. 

‘I told you, didn’t I? I knew the area well and we should’ve taken the bridge. Sure, we’d have to kill some sons of bitches, but we’d have been on the way back to the prison by now. There’s no way we’re gonna be doing that here. In the middle... Of goddamn fucking nowhere!’ she cussed and tore through a few more branches until they emerged into a large field.

Sunlight hit their eyes, which were still unacquainted with light as they’d been trudging through the dark, gloomy woods for the past hour or two. They found themselves standing in front of a large cannery behind which lay an array of warehouses. 

‘Where the fuck did we come, Daryl?’ 

‘I didn’t bring us ‘ere. Best we rest and find what we can.’

The two made their way toward the cannery, assuming there’d be some leftover resources that they could bring with them. 

‘Don’ look like anybody’s been ‘ere,’ said Daryl, his eyes scanning for tracks on the ground. 

‘I won’t bet on it. There. Broken wall.’ Persia pointed at a split wall that led inside the cannery, the shutters of which were bolted tight. They slipped through the crack and stepped inside, the smell of stale food hitting them senseless. Daryl immediately pulled out the red piece of cloth he’d tie around his pants and covered his nose. Persia covered hers with her hand, pressing hard on her nose. They walked around the room, looking for anything they could use. At the back of the room, they entered the storage room and found empty cans and a dozen, useless label makers. Their time on the road had made them vigilant, so, they tied a bunch of cans to a string and wound it at a distant perimeter on sticks and wooden planks. It was their version of a security alarm should a walker stumble across, quite literally. 

Daryl insisted they look around the warehouses too. Persia didn’t disagree as she desperately wanted to get out of the smelly cannery. They trod through the back and scouted the area around the warehouses. Some of them were broken and shattered with splinters and mud as remains, while some of them were less tattered. They were easy to break into. Stacks of hay, shovels, hoes, and sickles lay around. Without a moment of hesitation, Daryl and Persia stocked themselves with shovels and sickles. Daryl tossed his crossbow down and collapsed on a haystack, resting his back and closing his eyes for a minute, his rapid breathing steadying gradually with each passing second. Persia didn’t complain. She knew how much he worked and fought for the group. If anyone deserved a moment’s rest, it was he. Though he’d misjudged their way back home, Persia knew he didn’t mean to. They would make it back safely, she thought.

She found a handful of pecans in one of the overalls hung on the hooks. Filling her pocket with some, she walked toward Daryl, whom she noticed was almost asleep, and stuffed some into the red cloth he had placed on his stomach, which rose steadily with his breath. She leant against the entrance of the warehouse, looking outside. Judging by the sun’s position, she figured it was past three o’clock in the afternoon. Sundown was a few hours away, which meant that they had to make it back to familiar roads before dark. She sighed and rested her head on the wooden frame, loosening her body, trying to relax her tensed muscles. Carrying machetes, swords, and heaps of bags with supplies nearly everyday, that too on an unsatisfied stomach, came at a heavy cost. 

Daryl wasn’t asleep. Instead he watched her past the forearm that lay on his forehead. He hated to admit it, but had he listened to her, they’d be home by now. Before they met her, the group trusted and relied intensely on Daryl’s tracking skills. But, this was a miss. It was his mistake that they’d gotten off-track. He felt ashamed and guilty to have put her on a dangerous path. He’d always be right, but that didn’t mean that she was wrong. But, he knew it too late. 

He watched her face illuminated by sunlight. He watched how her eyes crinkled and her cheeks turned red. There were mud stains on her neck and jaw. There were twigs in the bun she’d tied up, which was now loosened and was hanging low just above her nape. He watched her breathe fast, her chest smeared with dried bloodstains and sweat. The flannel shirt she wore on top of the t-shirt inside was torn and reddened. Daryl never paid heed to what beauty could look like, but in the savage world that he’d survived, the scars that a person bore, the wounds they left open, and the pain they carried on their sleeve rendered a person beautiful. To him, at least. Seeing her made one thing clear to him. That there was glory in gore. 

The sudden jingle of cans alarmed them and instantly, they got up, Daryl’s crossbow latched onto his shoulder ready to aim and Persia’s machetes gripped tight in her hands, ready to tear apart yet another intruder. They met with each other and slowly advanced out of the warehouse. They immediately saw the disoriented walker grasping for support as he’d fallen down. It wriggled like a worm, screeching and groaning at the sight of Daryl coming toward him with a single arrow. He plunged it into its head, blood spluttering out, killing it. 

‘Ya see any more of ‘em out there?’ he asked, looking out for other walkers that might have followed that one. 

‘Can’t spot any. We should leave, Daryl,’ she said, a slight change in her tone alerting him. She sounded bothered. Scared. She rarely got riled up at the sight of nothing. She only got scared if she was at the brink of death or if a loved one was. Daryl could sense that something was bothering her. But, before he had the chance to find out, several groans echoed from the distant woods. Daryl stepped closer to Persia, who gulped and steadied herself. 

‘What do we do? We need to go back into the woods to find our way back home,’ she said. 

‘We see how many come. A dozen, we can take ‘em out. More, we can keep distance and kill ‘em one by one,’ Daryl answered.

‘And if they’re more than that?’ 

Daryl stayed silent for a moment, recognising what had been chewing her mind all this long. 

‘We do what we can.’

This was the reality for them. This was how it always was. Right from the start. There was a shift in the atmosphere. As Daryl and Persia moved back toward the warehouses, more walkers emerged from the woods. Their constant groaning invited more and soon, there were about a hundred walkers lurching their way. It was a horrifying sight. They didn’t have much ammunition left and whatever they had, they had to make sure that they could use it for their journey past the herd of walkers. 

‘Shit.’

‘No time for that. We gotta get to a vantage point. We gotta get higher,’ said Daryl and Persia nodded. Using the time that the walkers took to reach them, the two scanned around for any medium of height. Stilts, ladders, barrels that they could climb on. Anything. 

‘There! They’ve got a water storage tank!’ muttered Persia, showing Daryl the tall structure that stood nearly fifty feet away from them. They didn’t think twice before they started running toward it. Some of the walkers had almost reached them, their staggering footsteps getting louder and louder every minute. Daryl shot a few arrows to get rid of those who got too close. Persia on the other hand, pulled down a few wooden planks and threw them at the walkers who were too dead to dodge them and fell upon each other, giving them both, space and time to make it up to the tank. A couple of walkers dragged themselves toward them from the front and Persia ripped their heads apart. Few more had caught up to them and there wasn’t a minute to think. She slashed through them, her arms simply flailing in all directions. 

‘Come on,’ grunted Daryl as he grabbed the metal stilt that the tank stood upon. 

‘No, they’ll catch us. Go!’ she protested.

‘No way.’

‘Daryl! You can...’ she cut open a walker in half. ‘You can shoot them from up there, go!’ 

He hated it. He hated the fact that she was right. But, he hated the fact that she would have to fight them closely while he made his way up to a safe height. Keeping his eyes trained on her, he climbed up the stilts, occasionally mounting himself up to the bars and shooting some walkers that Persia missed to kill. He somehow made his way up to a square that he could stand properly upon. He didn’t pause even to regain his breath before shooting the arrows. He watched her tear apart the walkers one by one without stopping and he knew. He knew that there was going to be a moment where she’d halt for a while and something would happen. For the first time in his life, he thought that she wouldn’t make it. 

But, she kept on going, walker after walkers, head after head, flesh after flesh. She slashed through them, yelling and cussing and grunting as it took all of her strength to not stop. She pushed some walkers away with her bare hands, creating a small distance between them. But, there were some walkers who had cornered her from behind and there was no way she could resort to climbing up the tank. 

‘I’ll come down,’ Daryl shouted.

‘No! Don’t you dare, Daryl Dixon. I’ll kill you if you step down,’ she shouted back. Within seconds, she sprinted out to her right, between two warehouses, the walkers following her hungrily. She circled back to the warehouse and scurried inside one of them, throwing some wooden planks on her way in to buy herself some time. Once she was in, Daryl lost sight of her and it felt like his world had shattered. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t shoot more arrows as they’d run out and he’d be left with nothing. But, he couldn’t step down either as the herd had scattered around, leaving some of them at the foot of the tank, looking up at him. Did he trust her to know that she’d make it? Probably. But this, he thought, was too great to put faith in trust. Trust couldn’t keep someone with monsters after them alive, even if every person on the rotten planet wished so. 

He watched the walkers flood inside the warehouse Persia had ran into. He felt his heart stop as they kept on going in. Where was she? He could simply wait and hope. 

‘Dammit, Percy. Please be alive. Make it out back to me, will ya?’ he whispered to himself, sobs cracking through his rugged voice. For a minute, all that he could hear were the groans of walkers, something which, no matter how frequent, was never easy to get used to. Not when lives were at stake. Then they sounded like hammers colliding with metal, getting louder every time. But, to Daryl, everything was silent. 

That was until his eyes fell upon a few walkers that stumbled out of the warehouse, their rabid bodies set on fire. The walkers that collided into them caught fire too and soon, a bunch of them were ablaze. Daryl’s eyes pressingly searched for Persia. And he didn’t have to wait much longer, for she dashed out of the warehouse, swinging a shovel heftily, throwing back walkers out and around like chunks of nothing. 

‘Piss off, motherfuckers!’ she yelled, whipping the shovel into the heads of three walkers in one go. Daryl couldn’t believe it. He got up, clinging to the metal banister that surrounded him, his body aching to rush toward her.

Damn, the woman’s got a fight in her, he thought.

She pulled out something from her pocket. Daryl couldn’t quite see what it was due to the smoke that the burning walkers had diffused into. She tossed something at the foot of the tank and in a few moments, the walkers surrounding the tank began burning too. They wailed and screeched, perhaps feeling some irritation in their lifeless bodies, but they squirmed and reeled away from the tank, leaving Daryl a concrete amount of distance to climb down. He swung his crossbow behind his shoulders and made his way down. He pierced the heads of a few walkers with the pocket knife that he had and through the hot embers of fire, he made his way toward Persia who was swinging her shovel mercilessly. 

‘Perc—’ Persia hit his arm with shovel, assuming it was another walker.

‘Bitch! ‘S me!’ he cursed. She turned around and gawked, holding her shovel down.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry.’

‘Ya good?’ he asked, massaging the bruise that had formed on his arm. Persia nodded. 

‘Ya ready to kill these sons of bitches?’ she asked, mimicking him. He smirked. Persia signaled at a few shovels that lay at the door of the warehouse and Daryl picked one up, feeling the hunter rise in him. He was very much ready to make the walking dead pay.

Together, they stood in front of them, their backs touching, stances like those of warriors. Taking a deep breath, they moved forward, slicing the heads of walkers that marched toward them. Their movements were in sync, not too away from each other and not too close to get in the way of the other. 

‘Duck,’ said Persia and Daryl crouched, her shovel swinging above him to sever a walker. They maneuvered across the field, splitting the heads of walkers that just didn’t seem to stop coming. It was getting dark and the smoke wasn’t doing any good. But, they kept on going. Despite the terror that surrounded them, they kept on fighting. As Daryl had said, they kept on doing what they could. 

Persia swung the shovel with all her might, but she knew that her arms were sore. She felt Daryl’s hand touch her elbow, pulling her arm down. She didn’t stop poking the shovel. It was finally when she felt his arm pulling around her, holding hers down to her chest that it dawned on her. Her body shook tremendously, tremors running down her spine. Daryl’s vice-like grip held her in place, but she kept wriggling. He pulled her close, burying her head in his shoulders, his wounded arm fondling the back of her head, his fingers dug into her rough hair. She tensed into his touch. She kept pushing, wanting to throw herself out there again.

He held her as she resisted. 

‘Hey, stop. Stop it!’ he begged. He held her face in his palm, taking a good look at the woman. Her face was smeared with ash and grime. He didn’t know whether it was sweat or tears that trailed down her cheeks. Her mouth was agape, gasping for breath, quivering slightly. Her eyes spoke of an oncoming frenzy poisoned with fear. He knew what it was. He knew it all too well. 

He leaned into her, pressing his bruised lips onto hers. Though the fires around them were hot, the warmth that spread across his body was nothing compared to it. He held her neck, dropping the shovel down, his free arm grasping her waist. He kissed her as if he couldn’t do anything else. He kissed her because he had to. He wanted to. He parted, hoping she’d wake up from her trance. He gazed into her eyes and smiled softly.

‘We...’ she muttered.

‘Yeh. We did it,’ said Daryl, pulling her closer, resting his arm on her shoulders as they watched the field succumb to the flames. They stood against the orange veil, watching the place fall into ruins.

‘When we reach the prison, we’re taking the longest fucking nap ever,’ she said.

‘Only if ya don’t pull somethin’ like this again.’

‘Saved our asses, didn’t I?’

‘Don’ let it get to ya. I ain’t gonna let ya outta ma sight,’ he said, making her chuckle.

‘Yee haw, let’s go back home.’

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader as oc #daryl dixon x reader #fluff #cute #walkers #zombies #fights #mild angst

[thethrillof]

Kind of a random question, but inspired by that fanart where Ghost Hollow Knight has a house- how d'you think the siblings might furnish their homes individually vs. if they were sharing a house?

HMM

well, they’re all kind of independent messes, so on their own, their houses would be a little...rough.

ghost’s would be best in terms of comfort. soft-ish thing for a bed (though they’d honestly still probably still sit up snoozing, so a large cushion or something?), probably a few shelves to store random things they don’t use much (unhelpful charms, surplus map pins) and definitely geo containers because they’re sick of losing stuff to their shade and they’re too organized to want to just leave them in piles on the floor (even if they’d think about it sometimes). 

hornet’s would just be a ton of spiderwebs on the inside. lots of webbing and sharp traps in those webbings, and then she has a little nook hidden deep inside that she sleeps in sometimes and has food wrapped up in. she probably wouldn’t stay there very much, tbh. she has everything she needs on her person and staying in one place alone all the time would unsettle her, even if it was up in dirtmouth, where nobody is really dangerous (as far as she knows).

hollow. hollow......assuming this is post-canon good-ish-end au, they’d need a huge soft nest of some sort to lie down and heal on, but otherwise they’d just. whatever. they wouldn’t ask for things and it’d be ages before they tried to get anything.

all together...they’d probably have a pretty large house, first of all! gotta fit all of hollow in it next to others. i think they’d try for having their own bedrooms each, but they’d almost never all use them at the same time. hornet and ghost get used to watching over hollow as they get better, and tbqh hollow gets used to being watched over, so they’re all most used to curling up in hollow’s room.

hornet would still web parts of the house for traps, but way less. she’s got two sibs to account for possibly running into ‘em. her room would still have plenty and ghost would get caught up in it several times before they learn, which does not stop hornet b/c it happens when they’re crystal dashing in the fuckin house which is troublesome. she’d still leave sometimes to patrol and just have breaks away from people, but she’d be back within a day or two. there’d be more supplies hidden in that room as a result, and eventually little tunnels in the web where at least little ghost can sneak through. tiny bits of furniture like chairs or boxes. not a ton.

ghost’s room would be the same as their house above, but they’d use it much less and it’d be more of a storage room and a place to decompress sometimes. actually, it’d mostly end up being grimmchild’s room probably :V and they’re too baby to have much opinion over the furnishings, other than having something to hang upside-down off of eventually.

hollow would still have their huge nest in a bigger room, and they’d have even more blankets and stuff to shield them from their siblings when ghost started sitting in the nest instead of beside it. there is a little stool there tho for ghost or for hornet, who does usually stick to sitting on it except for very late at night, and their room would specifically be adorned with a few lumafly lights hornet would steal straight from the street lamps. the dark is sometimes comforting, but pale light something like the white palace’s is better. still not a lot of stuff, but they’d be able to pick their blankets and eventually graduate to a hammock big enough for all three to rest in. 

the house itself would have a rarely-used kitchen (the vessels can eat but don’t need to and don’t think about it much, hornet prefers fresh hunts) stocked with mostly stuff that the people of dirtmouth give them, and an open living room area that would probably also not be used overmuch, though there’d be seats for each of them, and hollow would use them a lot to just chill on and look outside.

a little shrine in the corner created by both hornet and hollow for all that was lost, which little ghost would respect and give offerings to but not help with. and i can see collections of weapons ending up hanging on their walls somehow, though i can’t imagine exactly whose decision that would be, and it wouldn’t be until hollow was strong enough there’d be little worry about them tripping or bumping into ‘em.

definitely fresh journals around. ghost would get into writing a lot and would do their best to coax hollow into joining them. mental and physical limitations would make this unlikely to happen for a long time, but ghost would keep offering anyway. hornet would have her own silk creations strewn around, once she’s comfortable enough to try to get into creating for creation and tradition’s sake instead of purely survival mode.

...and that’s all i can think of atm :V!

#goodbyenorthernlights

[whittakerjodie]

So infuriating ( 13th Doctor X Reader )

Request:” Hii :)) might I request a 13 x reader story where they start off bickering all the time but then realize they actually like each other quite a lot? Thank you” Requested by @anti-bright-places​

A/N: I’m bad at writing bickering but I tried! I loved this request because it helped me explore it more. Thanks for requesting, hope you all enjoy! 

Words: 1.3k 

Warnings: Brief description of injury

   The TARDIS was rarely silent. It was normal for the three human companions Ryan, Yaz, and Graham to wake up to the sound of clanging metal or arguing. Ryan, who’d been woken up by some sort of interior construction going on, made his way into one of the kitchens on the space/time ship. He grabbed a mug and a random container of loose-leaf tea. Just then, a flash of color passed in the doorway and he turned his head. You'd been walking down the hallway and quickly shot back to the door frame, glancing at the tea in his hand. 

"Is that from Isroth?" You asked. Ryan looked around and then pointed at the tea with a questioning look. 

"Uh- the tea?" You nodded and approached, turning the packet over in his hand. 

"Oh my god, it is." You groaned, throwing it in the bin. "I told her not to drink this stuff, it's extremely unhealthy. Of course, she did it anyway." You opened up the cabinet to confiscate the rest of it. Before Ryan could ask you more you swiftly disappeared back into the hallway. Yaz entered, seeing the empty cupboard. 

"Are they bickering about the tea again?" 

"Sort of?" Ryan replied. "You know how they are. I give it an hour before the Doctor realizes.” 

   Sure enough, an hour later Graham was trying in vain to read as you and the Doctor argued over whether or not you should've gotten rid of the tea considering 'Yes its unhealthy, but not that unhealthy' (to which you insisted yes, it was, and maybe the Doctor should also work on her sweets addiction)

   Later Graham and Yaz would joke about how the two of you were practically married with the way you argued. Ryan would try to get them to join his attempt to set the two of you up together; it'd be in vain since they were having an ongoing bet to see how long it would take the two of you on your own. 

   Days like this were not uncommon for the two of you. It didn't matter what planet or time period you were visiting or if the plan to save the day was succeeding or not; there was always something for you two to argue and bicker about. 

   Take the last few adventures for an example: On one occasion, there were multiple different ways you could've approached saving a small, nomadic village. You spent so long bickering about which one would yield the best results that the attacking group was able to undermine every single one of them. On another, the TARDIS randomizer was broken and kept sending you to the same location, just at different times; there'd been a half-an-hour long spat about what to do. Dozens of other (probably meaningless) events came to mind. 

   You'd written all of them off as simply part of the job. You didn't dislike her. On the contrary, you greatly respected and appreciated her 90% of the time. But when you spend nearly every waking moment with someone, there's bound to be some bickering. It just seemed to happen a lot. 

    Currently, you found yourself in another one of those situations. You and the Doctor had gotten separated from the fam running from some pretty aggressive aliens and you'd gotten roughed up in the process. Now, the two of you were bound together back-to-back in a cell, waiting for them to return. You hissed as the rope bounding your wrists together dug in a little too much. It was paired with the throbbing pain spread across your chest, from what you were assuming were broken ribs. 

"Are you alright?" The Doctor asked. You felt the familiar annoyance rise up and take control of your voice. 

"I would be if we'd gone right as I suggested" 

“Left was clearly the better route. We only got captured because we were being too loud.” 

“Oh, I wonder which one of us that was.” You said pointedly. You expected the Doctor to throw back something, but no response came. The silence was deafening. You couldn't make out what she whispered ten minutes later. "What was that?" 

"I said I'm sorry" She spoke louder, leaning her head back against yours. There was another beat of silence before she continued. "You were right, we should've gone a different way. I'm sorry- that you got hurt and that I didn't listen." 

You blinked, not sure of what to say. Usually, the two of you would just bicker, and then be done with it. You felt bad for instigating another fight.

"I- I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that." 

"It's okay" the response was very quick, and you tried to shift. When you groaned in pain again the Doctor tried to stop you, but you shushed her. When you were finally done squirming, your head lay on her shoulder so you could just barely look her in the eye. 

"I don't always mean to bicker with you, you know" 

"I don't either. " Came her reply. "I guess it just.. happens you know. Now look where it's got us" 

   You gave a short laugh, pushing past the pain it brought you. It was silent once more as if both of you were waiting for your brain to supply you with something to say next. You let yourself relax into her. It wasn't hard. She was warm, and soft, and gently relaxing back into you. It was comfortable, despite the    circumstances. 

"You know-" She started.

"I know" You softly replied. It was like a silent admission, shared between the two of you. You both recognized that the arguments were nothing more than natural bickering. You hoped that you were also in the process of acknowledging how you really felt. You decided to prompt her further, chastising yourself for cutting her off moments before. 

"I think even if we'd gone right, this would've happened. Your idea was good too. They always are." She didn't respond, simply staring at you. You closed your eyes so you could continue unembarrassed. "You're amazing, you know? And sometimes you’re also infuriating, and goofy, and-" 

She shifted her weight and you yelped as gravity took over and your bodies crashed onto the floor. Pain shot up your side and your ears rang, drowning out whatever the Doctor was saying.

"What.the.hell?" You groaned through gritted teeth.

"Sorry I was um... I was just trying to move a little." 

"Why?" You tried to turn to look at her but there was too much resistance in your new position. 

"I was.. well" She chuckled nervously. You raised a brow and waited for her to continue. 

"Doctor.....?" 

"IwastryingtoseeifIcouldkissyou?" She all-too-quickly answered. You blinked and your breath hitched. Your heartbeat did not. You opened your mouth to ask her to repeat herself, but you'd heard her well enough. Through the door of the cell you were being held in, you heard something that sounded like.. cheering? The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing Ryan. He was grinning from ear the ear, arms raised in a victory pose. He jumped up and down, like a child unwrapping a Christmas present they’d begged for.

"I knew it! I knew it! Yaz, Graham, come 'ere, you won't believe-" He waved wildly down the hallway, where you suspected the other two companions were. You felt blood rush to your face and heard the Doctor groan in embarrassment.  

"I should've joined the bet!" Ryan exclaimed again. 

"It happened? Seriously?" Yaz asked. It hurt too much to keep turning your head so you could see them in the door frame. From their voices, they sounded very proud. You felt pain shoot through your chest again and the Doctor took back control of the situation. 

"Alright, you lot, when you're done joking around we could use some help over here. Actually, we could’ve used help the past 20 minutes, but you were too busy listening at the door." 

   Although they started untying you, the joking failed to cease. You didn't mind. The Doctor did, and repeatedly scolded the three humans (which only encouraged them further). They whistled as she picked you up bridal style, and you jokingly snuggled into her. If you can't beat em, join em, you thought. 

   There would be an awkward conversation later so the two of you could confess properly, but for now, you just let yourself relax. At least the bickering paid off in the end. You’d still have to monitor her sweet addiction.

#13th doctor x reader #13th doctor imagine #13th doctor #doctor who #doctor who imagines

[ajokeformur-ray]

ok so for the match up thing!! name is loren, im 20, a 5'2 tiny goth kiddo who looks always grumpy and has a dark sense of humor i guess. i study philosophy and i write for a theatre company because i don't have the guts to act!! im,,, a shy mess. never dated before although i had some casual sex but really it felt so empty that i choice not to have it anymore unless im in love honestly. i own a typewriter! and im always dancing in my room because it feels good and it helps me when im manic!

also I have BPD and I cling too much to people, like really depending by em if they’re my fave at the moment and im very jealous and have anger issues but I try my best to be nice or polite at least!! i love cats, snakes and ravens. i love cozy days when you do nothing at all except for laying under a blanket and watch the rain or little things like this! i like to cook and being Italian, i can cook very well. i have glasses but i hate how I do look with em so I don’t ever wear em.

i love arthur fleck so fucking much i literally would die for him because he needs to be spoiled and cuddled and just thinking about him makes me cry so loud- but i love the joker as well, of course, being the smug bastard he is!! and daydreaming about him helps me going through the day which it’s not always so easy because sometimes it’s just too much, you know

ohhhh I forgot I wear a shit load of make up like literally I look like Robert Smith most of the time and I don’t give a fuck about people opinions ai literally go to lessons dressed like a gothic doll most of the time

i’m also a night owl

Arthur Fleck (I know he’s angry in this GIF but fuck he’s hot)

word count: 1, 131

We don’t know Arthur’s real age, but Joaquin (the gorgeous man that he is) is 44, so let’s assume the same for Arthur for a touch of realism, shall we? That being said, this means that Arthur would be so hesitant to even talk to you because of your age. You see him staring, though, you see him following you sometimes wearing that thin yellow hoodie he seems to love, and so you decide to approach him. He’s instantly smitten.

You have a dark sense of humour and so does Arthur, so this is perfect for his ego. His comedy is a sore spot, it always has been, because no one supports this precious boi in anything he does and it’s really fucking sad. When he cracks a really dry, deadpan and dark joke and you burst out laughing, love just blooms in his chest and he falls in love with you a little more. How are you real? He’s convinced you’re a delusion he’s concocted sometimes, but he dares not question it. Anything is better than the truth. Anything.

You study philosophy, so your intellect is definitely above Arthur’s. His handwriting is really bad (in the cutest way? Imagine handwritten letters from him that are filled with smiley faces and words scribbled out like 1000000 times because he can’t spell it right until he gives up and uses a word he does know how to spell) and because of how impoverished he is, that suggests that he’s uneducated. As such, when you write an essay or an assignment or you complete some other work, he’d want to read it but he wouldn’t really understand some of the more technical stuff. He’s not at all stupid, he’s very clever, and I think sometimes he’d ask you a question late at night about the thing you’re studying just so he can go to sleep to the sound of your voice. With his weary head cushioned on your chest, your heartbeat in his ear, your voice and your hands in his hair, he’d be asleep in no time.

I feel like Arthur would really love the fact that you’re shy because that means it’s easier for him to assume the protective role? So, like, he’d find your shyness frankly adorable and if you ever got shy over him then it just becomes a circle of shyness before Arthur bursts out into uncontrollable laughter and you have to comfort him through a fit. Just squeeze his hand, patiently wait it out, and reap the rewards when he can breathe again and his lips are on yours as a thank you.

You love to dance and this… Oh, this is a quintessential part of your whole relationship. When it’s late at night and Arthur is listening to music on the radio, he’d approach you, his body already swaying to the beat, and his hands would find your hips and he’d dance with you, doing that really fucking attractive shoulder thing he does. It ends up with the two of you in the bedroom doing a different kind of dance, if you get my meaning ;) Arthur understands how simple things can help you when you’re feeling a certain way, so when you’re feeling manic it’s almost 1000% guaranteed that he’ll just start dancing with you until you’re so tired you don’t want to do anything anymore.

You have BPD and you cling to people, which would actually really reassure our boi. He would need near constant reassurance that you’re real, that you love him, that he’s not hallucinating your entire fucking existence, that you’re not going to leave etc, etc. In return for all the coddling you (gladly) give him, he would do anything for you. And I mean anything ;) he would let you cling to him in any meaning - physically, mentally, emotionally. Anything. “You’re my Loren, it’s my job to take care of you.” and he’d do it so well you’d be ruined for anyone else in your life. Ever. He’s a jealous boi and though he’d take you at your word, if someone wasn’t getting the memo he’d have to step in. 

You both adore and live for cozy days inside his apartment. He has a special blanket that he likes to curl up under with you. It smells like the two of you and when either of you are missing the other because of work, studying or whatever else, then you huddle under it until the other returns. You can cook well, which is perfect because the best Arthur can do is really cheap microwave meals. He’s worryingly thin, not only because of the seven medicines he’s on but also because he just can’t afford to eat. It’d be really hard for him to even put any weight on, but at least you keep him regularly fed.

When you told Arthur that you would actually die for him and that you love him so much it just makes you cry sometimes, he’d be astounded. He’d just sit there, blinking for a few tense seconds before his throat rips with loud, intrusive laughter which is so hard and so uncontrollable that he can taste blood in the back of his throat. You’d hold him, love him, support him and cherish him and that right there means that he’s never going to leave you. Not ever. Sex with him reflects this. He’s so gentle, so tender and so loving that it makes your heart bleed. It’s not uncommon for one or both of you to actually cry during sex because you’re just so, so in love with each other that it hurts in the sweetest, most precious way.

You know who you are and you know what you want and you don’t give a fuck what people think about you. You wear what you want when you want and that’s such a fucking mood and Arthur would be so proud of you and he’d totally offer to do your makeup for you using his own work supplies! He’d be so careful and he’d giggle against the way your nose wrinkles when he’s a bit too careful with his brush and he’d want to kiss you again and again, ruining your makeup purposefully so he can stay closer to you for just a little longer and…. oh, I’m actually gonna cry writing this wow… (spoiler: I did.)

In the grand conclusion because wow I’ve rambled: you and Arthur have the sweetest, most precious relationship. It’s full of love. There are definite challenges, there are some arguments because things just get too much for the both of you sometimes and sometimes there’s more taking than giving on either side because that’s how it can be, but you never leave each other. Never, never, never.

Joker (fun fact when this part showed in the cinema I was with my mum and i legit went “Oh, fuck me” as in I properly moaned AND SHE HEARD ME. two weeks later and she still hasn’t said anything but I know she heard me)

word count: 1, 522

Whereas Arthur struggled to even think of talking to you because of the huge age gap, Joker really isn’t all that bothered. You’re a fully consenting adult who knows her own mind, so what’s the harm, right? So long as you’re both happy and comfortable with each other, he couldn’t care less. That being said, you’re 5′2 and Joker is 5′8 so there’d be some height teasing going on. He would put things up on a higher shelf in the kitchen just so he can come up behind you and ‘accidentally’ (on purpose) press his crotch up and into your bottom as he retrieves the item you’re after with a cocky grin on his face and fire in his eyes. Sexual teasing is a very normal part of your relationship and it’s a serious warning sign that he is not okay if he doesn’t do anything like that towards you all day. 

You have a dark sense of humour and you look grumpy a lot of the time, which means that, often, Joker will practically bounce up to you and use his index fingers to make you smile. It wouldn’t take long for you to actually smile from his actions, though, and that’s exactly why he does everything that he does; because he knows you can’t resist him, the smug bastard. Oh, but you love him, and he know the depth of your love for him. He’s so very honoured by it, though his way of showing it is sometimes to murder someone who irritated you last Thursday and not ever telling you about it. He’s a strange one, but he’s so free that you find yourself not minding. Just so long as he’s happy; when Joker is down, it means that something is hugely wrong and it reminds you so badly of Arthur that it hurts and you might have to crack out some of his own jokes just to cheer him up. For example, if you handed him an actual human heart and said, “I love you, Joker”, he’d burst out into loud and genuine laughter and would end up smudging his makeup from kissing you so soundly. Isn’t he gorgeous?

Joker isn’t political, religious, or anything of the sort. He tells you and others that he doesn’t believe in anything. But there’s one thing he believes in. Just one. It’s the love you have for each other that he vehemently believes in. if anyone even dared to suggest that your love isn’t as strong as you say - she’s just scared of being killed, that’s why she’s with him, or what a freak! How can she stand to kiss him? - then he’d go fucking apeshit. The last person he overheard doubting your love for him ended up swallowing several bullets in quick succession. Overkill? Perhaps, but he doesn’t care. No one gets to doubt your love for each other, not even yourselves. He’d be very supportive of your studies and I have no doubt that, if you ever got a shaky grade, it’d be changed very quickly by a shaking tutor who can’t quite look you in the eye. The smiley face on the whiteboard which looks like a child did it clues you in hugely, though. His actions are wrong but it comes from a very heavily guarded heart of gold.

Where Arthur finds your shyness cute and he would immediately adopt Protective Mode™, Joker would just relentlessly tease you just to see how deep your blush goes. “That’s an interesting shade of red, Loren. Where have I seen it before? Ah, yes…” *Twirls and fingers the hem of his red tuxedo* Be warned, though… Only Joker gets to tease you about being shy. If anyone else dared to tease you for being shy or for stuttering or for tripping over your words and oh god shut up, he’d rip them a new one. Only he gets to tease you. He does, sometimes, wind you up on purpose, just to see how far he can push you before you snap and want to punch something. He finds it incredibly amusing. Deep down, though, he’d be just as protective as Arthur and would find himself doing things for you that you’re too shy to do; in whatever means you need! ;)

You dance because it helps you when you’re manic but also because you enjoy it. Just like with Arthur, this is absolutely essential in your relationship with Joker. A lot of the time when you’re dancing, he’d step in flawlessly and you’d start dancing together like Fred and Ginger, with him dipping you, spinning you around, lifting you up with surprising strength, and it’s one of his favourite ways (other than makeup sex) to apologise to you. “Dance with me.” Immediately would his hands grab you, spinning you, his intense green eyes never leaving yours, that damned smirk on his lips as he sees that blush rising on your face… Again, like with Arthur, you do several modes of dancing together; some are more preferable to others!

When you’re out and about together in public, you’re basically glued together. Your hands are held so tightly by the other that you’re not sure whose hands is whose and, are your fingers getting a bit numb? Both of you have jealousy and anger issues for slightly different reasons; Joker because it’s borne from a place of deeply set abuse and abandonment issues, and you have your own reasons that he may or may not know about. He finds it baffling that you get jealous over him, though. So many of Arthur’s neuroses still live on in Joker, despite his bravado. You try to be polite, but Joker makes no such efforts; he will destroy someone for even glancing at you in the street. 

You both live for cosy days. These are the days during which Joker will relax his persona. He will cuddle with you, watching shows on TV, his fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts or even dipping under your underwear. You can arch your hips into his touch all you want, he’s not gonna give you what you want unless you’re patient. He loves foreplay more than the act itself; to him, anticipation heightens everything deliciously. You cook very well, and Joker would love to watch you cook. He enjoys the heat you summon into the bedroom, and he loves bending you over the counter, sweeping the dirty plates into the sink with a noisy crash (and you have to buy new plates at least once a week), and fucking you until you’re only upright  because of his arm wound tightly around your waist.

You once told Joker that you often think of him when you’re not with him, just because he offers you comfort and support from wherever he is. Just knowing he’s somewhere in Gotham wreaking havoc or even waiting for you to get home makes you feel like you can conquer the fucking world, and he was flattered. He did get a little upset, though, when you confessed that you would actually die for him if you had to. He kills for you, and sometimes because of you without a thought, but turning that idea around onto you makes him feel hot in all the wrong ways. I actually think Joker would crawl into your arms that night, needing to feel that you were there, and real, and even now he’s wondering how you could possibly love him knowing all that he has done and will continue to do. He would make you promise to never keep your word on this topic, because no one is gonna be dying in this relationship. You and him are forever a ride or die. For better or for worse.

You stand together at the bathroom sink putting your faces on. Your shoulders are touching, which means sometimes your elbows bump into each other and one of you makes a mistake with the makeup. “Oh, would you look at that? My makeup’s ruined,” Joker would hum, “what are you going to do about it, darling?” There’s only one answer to this, and it’s the two of you kissing each other so passionately that you have to wash your faces off and start again. Who knows, maybe you don’t get to leave the bathroom that day. Makeup is one of the biggest expenditures in your small household, even with Joker knowing where to go to get the good stuff.

In conclusion: dating Joker would be so very different to dating Arthur, but there is love, compassion, trust, adoration, so much sex you’re surprised you can still walk most mornings (he can and will go multiple rounds with you in a day; he’s a horny fucker, is our Joker), and there are definitely more emotional challenges than there are any other, but you’ve learned to stick it out with him over the years, You’d never leave him for any reason, even if he murdered everyone in Gotham (and a lot of the time he’s sorely tempted to burn the city to the ground and start all over again).

#rebs-doom #Requests closed #requests open for joker 2019 #matchup #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #joker #joker imagine #joker x reader #joker (2019) imagine #joker 2019 imagine #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix imagine #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker imagine #phoenix!joker x reader #todd phillips

[ladythespera]

idk if i'm doing this right but for the alternative ask game: 3 for Lucie, Liv, and River Song; 4 for Narvin, Braxiatel, and Eight; 10 for Susan, Helen, and Charley

OH BOY YES

3: fight aliens with, fight zombies with, fight capitalism with oof this is difficult cause I don’t like physically fighting things, I prefer some nuanced diplomacy (Braxiatel, where are you in this?) and all of these ladies would probably prefer to punch someone/something and I’d just be hanging back like “but are we resolving the actual issue” ANYWAY this could also be cause I just finished skimming A Promised Land ANYWAY fight aliens with: River Song (bc she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to this, doesn’t inherently hate aliens I hope, and also is just straight-up the most powerful fighter here)(however Liv would be a close second bc aliens are the only alive thing in this list and zombies and capitalism aren’t alive, so Liv could treat the aliens we fight...hm.) fight zombies with: Lucie Miller. yeah she’d take em down.  fight capitalism with: Liv Chenka because i think she’s seen enough of the universe to have nuanced political views but also has a lot of understanding of human pain/suffering but also is very skilled and knowledgeable but also seems more of a realist than a tumblr idealist and has a lot of life experience but also still loves to help people IDK i just love liv okay

4: write a book with, read a book to, hit with a book nooo i’d rather be doing #3 with these bois. MY BOYS. oh, this is difficult.  write a book with: ok there’s no doubt brax would be the best book writer here but i want narvin to write my book for me because he could do painstaking research and really i just don’t wanna write a book and narvin probably also doesn’t so i wouldn’t be stuck with brax bothering me all the time about my book but i’m a control freak so i wouldn’t let brax just write a book bc i need to control what goes in it and wow i just realized how inherently selfish i am that i assumed the book was my political autobiography lol this is why brax can’t write my book also it might just be more fun to write a book with narvin bc there’d be lots of arguing involved but idk i’m feeling like i wanna spice it up so I’ll go with Narvin but Brax would for sure be the editor on this project (who would probably make it 500% better). read a book to: definitely the Eighth Doctor. during one of his many spells of unconsciousness or fainting. i wouldn’t do this irl but like if i have to i guess.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ hit with a book: this is DIFFICULT because all three of them do things that would warrant getting hit with a book either accidentally or on purpose, but Narvin and Brax are by far the more frequent candidates. but I feel like Narvin already gets his comeuppances enough from the High Council, random happenstances of a cruel writer universe, and Leela/Romana, so I’ll go with Braxiatel. 

10: netflix and chill with, go ice-skating with, play dodgeball against this is a very cool selection of ladies netflix and chill with: look people, i interpret “netflix and chill” in the purely literal sense of sitting down and happily watching netflix with someone because why would you want anything more, so I think I’d go with with Susan because a) mom vibes and b) she for sure needs the break.  go ice-skating with: Helen. It’d be a fun chance to talk, she’s super chill and fun to hang out with, we could talk about academics the whole time, and she doesn’t seem like she’d be the most incredible ice-skater though I could of course be wrong but in any case I am a terrible ice-skater and Charley would leave me in the dust so. play dodgeball against: Charley. this was a tough call bc i’m competitive and i know charley would totally beat me bc i am the the worst sporty person ever. but she seems so fun to play sports with and is an amazing human being, so it’d still be fun even though i’d totally lose but at least one of us would have fun and charley deserves more fun.

#asks #alternative asks

[spilledreality]

Mutual Modeling of Futures

I think a lot of the work that human beings are up to is basically about self-representing future states. Schelling talks about what strategy is in The Strategy of Conflict: basically, it’s mutual anticipation. Because your actions (and your future actions) are going to change the environment in which my own decisions and actions exist. That means that if I want to optimize my own future, then I need to anticipate yours.

He calls tacit bargaining a situation where two sides with some conflicting and some mutual interests are playing a variable sum game and they act on the basis of what they think the other party is going to do, which is in turn influenced by what the other party does, and so on recursively. A classic example is Rock-Paper-Scissors:

I played rock last move, so they know I know I’m not going to play rock again, because I lost last turn. So they know not to use paper. They’re going to play either rock or scissors. And then, obviously, if that’s a common pattern, I’m going to think about how you might be thinking that’s the strategy I’ll take, etc.

This is commonplace in everyday strategy games, it’s basically just predictive processing meets theory of mind.

Say person A and person B are walking down the sidewalk in opposite directions, approaching each other on a narrow path. They’re definitely going run into each other soon if they keep walking forward. One strategy is to “perform obliviousness”, as Kenneth Liberman calls it. (We might also think of it as "performing dominance" or expressing a strong preference for non-adjustment.) You basically act as if you don’t know or care I’m there, you’re not changing course. If person A is performing obliviousness, then person B can say “You know what, I know what your path is. Let me just slip to the side and then we’re both fine, we won’t run into each other.” But as soon as you get into the more recursive modeling, e.g. Person A looks at Person B while they’re still thinking and thinks: “Wait, is Person B also performing obliviousness?” and decides to be more reactive, then you end-up in this weird side-to-side shuffle. For instance, you’re ten yards apart, you’re both going back and forth horizontally, getting in each others’ way. It’s in both your interests to get out of each others’s way, but it’s in each of your interest to not move or to move the least. Lot’s of reasons that might be—laziness, energy expenditure minimization, or even status games.

What this comes down to is that Person A, who’s performing obliviousness, is broadcasting a self-representation of a future state. Doing this allows other agents to organize around them, to coordinate more effectively.

A similar example is playing “Chicken”. Let’s say you’re driving towards another car, betting on who’s going to turn away first. If you throw your steering wheel out the window or spray paint over your windshield in advance, there is no way to steer or react in time, respectively. You’ve self-bound to a course of action. Your opponent no longer has a choice, if they don’t turn away, the two cars will crash. You know that your opponent is a rational agent, or at least rational enough to want to live. So you’ve won. Your opponent has to get out of the way, because they know for a fact that you won’t. It’s better for them to lose face then run into you and die. You’ve established a single Schelling point, a single outcome the system will coordinate to if no further communication or changes can take place.

I create this self-representation, I broadcast it, and then we optimize around a shared future reality that I’ve created. Problems emerge because humans can represent one way and act another way. There’s nothing inherently binding about language. I think that’s really interesting—it’s what optikratics and self-deception is all about.

When you throw your steering wheel out the window, you’ve self-bound. There’s a physical limitation on what you can do now. If the other person driving towards you can see that self-binding of futures then they know you just can’t make another decision, even if it would rational, even if it would be better for you to get out of the way at the very last second. You can’t make the decision anymore. You’ve said: I win or bust.

You’re essentially making a tradeoff: I’m going to sacrifice some still good, but not quite optimal futures, like veering away first in the game of Chicken. I’m going to throw my steering wheel out the window and sacrifice these not-bad futures, for the most optimal future: the one where I win and don’t die. You can put all your eggs in one basket, put all your resources into achieving the optimal outcome. But problems emerge: you can represent things one way, but act in another. Consider the theatrical effect of throwing out a dummy steering wheel and making sure the real one wasn’t visible through a heavily tinted windshield.

Schelling talks about how different it would be if you had a society where you could linguistically invoke an oath, e.g. to God. Imagine a society full of perfectly rational, hell-fearing individuals. Invoking an oath to God is perfectly binding because nothing is worse than an eternity of damnation. In such a society there’d be no such thing as boring. I’d say “I swear to God, I won’t pay more than $16k for this car.” Now the salesman can take it or leave it. Normally, there’s a whole range. Let’s say the car costs the salesman $12k wholesale. Let’s say it’s worth $20k to me. So any sale between $12k and $20k is going to be mutually beneficial—kind of like getting out of the way in Chicken. It’s a positive sum game, so it’s better to negotiate than stalemate. A stalemate here would mean the seller doesn’t make any money and I don’t get a car.

Schelling talks about how conflict is not just about conflicting interests, they have a whole base of mutual interests and then some conflicting interests. Other than wars of total annihilation, there’s no such thing as pure conflict. In this case it’s clear: the seller wants money and the buyer (me), wants a car. For anything between $12k and $20k there’s mutual interest, but the settling point of the negotiation has a lot to do with bargaining power. If one party considers the other rational, then they have to somehow convince the other party that they won’t go lower or higher. If the seller thinks they’re dealing with a rational buyer, who’s interest it is to buy at $12k, then the seller has to somehow convince the buyer that he won’t go that low. The buyer has to show that he won’t buy at $20k even though it’s still in his interests, in order to get the best deal possible. In essence, you’re approximating the swear-on-God technology that would allow you demonstrate you won’t buy at a given price.

This makes me think about Blockchain, because Blockchain smart contracts are a form of self-binding. Without Blockchain, though, I can still go to a 3rd-party and say “Hey, if I pay more than $16k for the car, then I’m going to owe you $10k.” and sign a formal legal document to this effect. You bring a copy of your little legal agreement to the car seller, with the proper documentation to confirm its legal authority. Now the seller has to basically take $16k or leave it. (Note that we’re assuming there aren’t any other buyers in this ideal situation.) Basically, the seller is going to take the $16k unless he’s got more than $16k worth of spite, because he has perfect evidence that you’re not going to go higher than that. (If he’s got more than $16k worth of spite he’ll tell you to fuck-off with your fancy third-party leveraging strategies.)

I think a lot of human behavior comes down to this self-legibilizing process. The way you dress, the way you behave, the patterns of conversation you engage in all assert this. We think of manipulation as distorting someone’s priors so they’ll act a certain way. You could also distort their values, but values are harder to budge than priors in general. Values often exist independent of facts and are usually ingrained. It’s much easier to say “You thought these guys were the good guys, but they screwed you over, and I’m going to exploit your already-existing belief in Justice.” The general background notion of justice we often lay-claim to is likely just biological priors that were selected for certain kinds of cooperation.

A lot of manipulation happens by distorting someone’s impression of you. An impression is just a sense of how someone is going to behave. If you have a sense of how someone else is going to behave, then you can say, “You know what, I can behave this way, which has consequence X for the other party, because I know they’re not going to get too mad at me. Or they’re not going to burn the bridge. Or they’re going to be fair about it if I present them with this problem.” For example, if you know how mad a landlord will get with you for a breaking a certain rule, that influences if (or how often) you might choose to break it.

We constantly want to do things that rely on predicting the behaviors of others. I want to know that you’re going to wire me back this money, because you really are an exotic prince who just happens to be in a really bad situation. That’s a dramatic example, but the world is full of examples where manipulation matters: our sidewalk example from earlier, negotiating salaries, or even micro-behaviors like doing the dishes. You do the dishes because you think it’ll strain the relationship between you and your roommate if you don’t. If your roommate gets upset regularly then their actions create a model in your head of how they’re going to act that can be strategically deployed. Knowing that in the future your roommate is going to get mad if you don’t do the dishes means it’s now in your interest to do the dishes, or that you can use them as payback if revenge is what you’re after.

Human beings communicate & coordinate by self-legibilizing. The self-representation of properties that are predictive of the future is key to stabilizing this dynamic (and often recursive) mutual-modeling process, which is the essence of social dynamics.

#thomas schelling

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Conflict Resolution (baon)

Summary: Set after the events in 'Bedside Stories', Sans is the guy holding everything together. Mostly.

Tags:  Kustard, Background Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Injury, Betrayal

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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It was kind of a shame that Red was so persnickety about anyone being in his living space, because hiring some professional housekeepers was about the only way his bedroom was ever going to share space with the word ‘clean’. There was always a clutter of dishes on the dresser, whose drawers always hung open, every one of ‘em more empty than not. The floor was more of a storage facility for dirty clothes than a place for walking, and the bed? Well. Sans’s learned some new curse words the last time Edge came over to take care of Red when he was boiling over with a fever, something something befouled and beshitted nightmare fuel, as Sans recalled.

The Edgelord always did have a way with words.

But Edge wasn’t gonna be able to offer a new turn of phrase today, not with his leg out of commission. That left Sans as the one to suck it up and get it done, and he brought fresh sheets over from his place, tossing the ragged ball of linens into the corner before he made up the bed. Papyrus would probably have a snarky thing or two to say about his hospital corners, but eh, right about now hospitality was more important than hospital, since he wasn’t about to get Red to go to one, anyway.

That’d been before he even headed over to Edge’s and Stretch’s to gather up his wayward bonefriend, before he knew he’d need to layer down about a dozen towels to sop up all that damn paint. As it was, he was probably going to be buying Paps some new sheets, if he didn’t want to endure an hour-long presentation on how to properly get stains out, Sans, are you paying attention, I spent a lot of time on this powerpoint!

Red’s hankering for privacy was currently taking one for the team in the form of the hulking Monster with a set of surprisingly delicate antennae who was currently leaning over him, the eerie glow of his healing magic lighting the room. Doc looked more than a little out of place, his nattily ironed shirt incongruous in comparison to the rumpled ones crumpled on the floor. But he’d hardly batted an eyelash when Sans showed up in his living room, only stepped right up and came along for a ride.

Not like Sans or Red had much of a choice about it. Had to bring in a ringer, ‘cause the hospital was off the table and if there was one thing Sans was shit at, it was healing. Edge was a little rough around the (heh) edges with it, but Sans never got the knack for it at all, an everloving shame because it do come in handy from time to time.

But if wishes were horses, there’d be a herd eating their way through the piles of weeds in their backyard. So Sans kept back, leaning against the wall next to an opened window smoking an unfiltered, and let the professionals handle it.

The once freshly-made bed looked like a murder scene and even knowing it was only paint didn’t make it look less disturbing. Sans kept watching anyway; Red wasn’t in any shape to keep a beady eye on the doc, so Sans would do it for him.

Seemed to take forever before the Doc leaned back with a sigh. “That’s all I can do for now, anything more will hurt more than it heals.”

Sans nodded. He knew that much about healing, anyway; you could only force the bones to knit so much before it took a turn in the other direction.

“thanks, buddy.” He crushed the barely smoldering butt out into an overflowing ashtray. The Doc didn't need a warning to keep this little incident under the table. He was old enough to know how this game was played and he wouldn’t be bringing it up during any others, not even when he was losing the latest round of checkers against old Gerson down at the corner store.

“No problem. I’ll stop by in two days to check, but the residual healing should carry him through. Now, I’m assuming you’d rather give me a lift home than have anyone see me coming out?” Doc shook his head with a grin as Sans held out a hand. “Don’t think so, you’ve fooled me once, twice, and three times a lady with that old rib-tickler.”

“heh, guess you already gave us a hand, you don’t need one of mine.” Sans tucked the whoopie cushion into his pocket and stretched out his arms, hands spread in a loose shrug. “okay, choose a spot to hang on and i’ll take you home. nothing below the belt, or i’ll have a bone to pick with ya.”

Shortcutting the Doc home and back only took a moment. Red hadn’t moved while he was gone, sprawled out mostly bare on the stained towels, sockets closed. Between the Doc and himself, they’d stripped Red down to his shorts. Some of the paint was scrubbed away but there was still plenty to go around. No way to clean him up any better without a long soak in a bathtub and a stiff brush, but that’d have to wait. The heater was already cranked up, both their bones appreciated it a little on the tropical side, especially ones as beat up and scarred as Red’s.

He’d had 1 HP coming in from Underfell, slowly ticking up to five on this side of the mirror, and some days it was hard not to think of that, tracing the ridged scars on his rib cage with tongue and teeth, wondering at how they hadn’t killed him. He had a coupla new ones now and the stark white blemishes would eventually fade to match the rest. Eventually.

Sans sat down next to Red, uncaring of the filthy towels and sheets, studying his face. Beneath his sockets looked deeply bruised, more bruises mottled around his freshly healed bones. He stank of oily paint and sour sweat, the smell of it practically baking out of him and a good excuse to leave the window open for a while longer. He looked asleep, should be asleep, but Sans knew better.

True to form, Red didn’t open his sockets as he asked, “did you find him?”

“right where you left him. bastard was kinda hard to miss.” Sans lit another cigarette, inhaled the smoke, then held it against Red’s mouth, letting him take a drag. He coughed it back out, rolling onto his side while Sans watched impassively, exhaling a nicotine-drained cloud of his own, “red paint, really? that’s not a pun so much as a bad fashion statement.”

Red rasped out a laugh, took another drag when Sans offered it. “best i could do. probably not too many would think to check that old storage shed in old new home. surprised he did, he ain’t that smart. must’ve figured out i was onto him somehow and was lookin’ for a decent hidyhole.” His sharp-toothed smile widened. “red paint. think they had it set aside cause they’d planned on repainting the school this summer. if i’d known it would offend your aesthetics, woulda aimed for the whitewash, but the universe has to have its jokes too, i guess.” He scratched at his healing ribs with a groan, until Sans swatted his hands away before he could undo all the work Doc just shoved into him. “fucker was a lot tougher than he looks. even harder to take down if i didn't want to dust him, ‘specially without paps.” Red’s sockets slit open, faded crimson peering out. “i ain’t bad with the control, but i was too pissed this time. fucker almost got them all killed.”

“yeah,” Sans agreed. For trying not to dust him, Red did plenty of damage. He’d pulled the security tapes, even a lonely storage shed had them, but they were next to useless. Too much magic flying around disrupted the recording. Probably for the best, Sans didn’t really need to see it. Hearing it was bad enough and he’d turned off the tape the first time he heard bone breaking with a sickening crack.

Their traitor had been bruised from ankle to eyebrow, or at least every part of him that wasn’t covered in paint. They’d found him right where Red left him before his hop/skip to the other side of town for some emergency healing, unconscious and still pinned to the wall with a seething fester of bones, HP slowly ticking downward with karmic retribution.

What Sans didn’t bother mentioning to Red was that his control was almost better than his own. He’d stood there too long looking at the unconscious fucker but seeing his own brother, hurt and so still in a hospital bed, a rage welling up from so deep it left him shaken.

He wondered with bitter humor what his therapist would think if he told her exactly what he was using her calming techniques for, breathing in through his nasal passage, out through his teeth, until that soul-deep rage turned into something manageable. She’d probably turn it around on him, get him to spill too much, more than he’d thought possible in that way she had. There was something to look forward to.

Truth be told, the anger was almost a relief. Something focused and real, better than his diffused fear and frustration whenever he looked at Paps, who was still in the hospital, doing better, yeah, better every day, but never should’ve been there to begin with.

Delayed reaction, maybe, or maybe only being face to unconscious face with the bastard who’d almost got his brother senselessly killed.

Red was never as oblivious as Sans might want, his gaze felt weighty and knowing as he asked, “what're they gonna do with him?”

“don't think it's been decided yet. normally treason is punishable by death," Sans said calmly, as if that wasn't a sentence usually carried out by the King's Judge. Asgore already knew he wasn’t taking on this one; he couldn’t, the idea of being impartial was laughable, obscene. "can't exactly have a trial. we don't need monsters or humans knowing that one of our own was spilling the beans to an extremist group of haters, trying to get all our ambassadors killed."

"yeah.” The world-weariness in that single word made Sans want to lean in closer, to touch, to hold, shit, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a chance, Red sighed and went on, “don't even know why he did it.”

“eh, jerry's always been a resentful piece of shit. edge recently transferred him down to the records department in the basement to work on his own, since there'd been some complaints about his attitude in his old department." Sans smiled thinly. "from what i hear, he threw some of that bitch stretch's way and our honey bun took it hard. that didn't go over real well with your bro."

“so what, he sold out his own kind because he's not happy with his job?" Red’s laugh was sharp enough to cut, if Sans let it.

“nope, he set them up because he's a piece of shit and don’t you forget it.” Sans’s eye light gleamed a brief flash of blue-yellow, filling the room, "i got a real good look at him and i ain't too keen on some of the ideas he had about others. coulda done without seeing his extended torture porn fantasies, for sure."

"yeah, go ahead and forget that shit. we do any torture porn, i expect the ideas to be original." Red’s sigh rattled through him, echoing that bone-deep weariness. “gonna have to figure out what to say to stretch, told him i’d let him know what went down.”

Sans raised a brow bone. Interesting. “you’re gonna tell him all this?”

“fuck, no,” Red said scornfully. “didn’t make no promises. just need a good cover story.” He slanted Sans an amused look. “makes two of us. you gonna tell me how you found me? i only sent you all directions to find our turncoat.”

Sans shrugged. “eh, it was easy. the tracker i stuck on you at the hospital started beeping when you were in range. i was already headed to the storage shed before your text, only had to switch gears when the location updated.”

The flutter of outrage across Red’s expression was a deliciously filling meal. “where the fuck did you—“

“please, hypocrite, the three you have on me aren’t just for show and i know it,” Sans yawned. “but if you can find ‘em, you’re welcome to take ‘em off. if. and we wouldn’t need a cover story at all if you’da come here to begin with, but noooo, you had to go fuck up your bro’s kitchen.”

Red only grinned, unashamed. “sorry, i was kinda flying on pure instinct, trying not to dust and all. sides, like you can fuckin’ heal? stretch kinda feels like getting smacked upside the soul when he does it, but at least he can.” The gleaming humor on his face faded, icing over. “you talk to asgore, you tell him solitary confinement is a better punishment. anything else is too good for that piece of shit. death ends it all and beatin’s gotta stop sometime. thoughts can go for an eternity and with a nice slot of attempted murders and two successful ones, i ain’t feelin’ charitable. he can think about it all for a nice, long time.”

Sans wasn’t feeling particularly philanthropic himself, but he only nodded agreeably. All his rage was burned off for the time being, burnt out in the harsh blurt of fear when he’d first seen Red cradled in his brother’s arms, before anyone saw Sans was there. He’d tamped it back down pretty fast, obviously Red was all right if his bro wasn’t sweeping him off the floor, but now he only felt exhausted. Emptied. Tomorrow he could work up something else to feel.

They sat together smoking for a time, only the sound of exhales and the occasional clack of phalanges as they traded the butt back and forth. Right about the time Sans was about to suggest Red give sleeping it off a try, Red spoke up again, gruffly.

“almost forgot. here.”

Where he pulled it from, Sans wasn’t sure, At first he didn’t even know what it was. Sure the light jangle of a buckle registered as it dropped into his lap, but it still took a minute to filter through his weary mind. Sans slowly picked it up, turning it over in his hands. A collar.

It was made of a narrow strip of plain black leather, the inside lined with a soft, velvety material in a shade of deep crimson. Simple, practical, for the most part. Until you hit the buckle and that was something else entirely; intricately wrought, etched with delicate scrollwork and in the shape of a heart. A soul.

Huh. Looked like he had room for another emotion today, after all.

Sans glanced at Red, but his sockets were carefully closed and so was his expression, puckered tight as Blue’s asshole, if he’d had one.

“you romantic, you.” Sans tossed it back into Red’s lap, the buckle clacking against his femur. He hoped it stung. “don’t think so.” He could feel the tension rise in Red, even though they weren’t touching, hovering over him like a midnight ghost, and let it strain for a moment before he added, “once you can sit up and put it on me yourself, then we’ll go there.”

“heh.” With one word, that tension dissolved. Red managed to get up on one elbow, and his grin was all jagged teeth, devouring. “c’mere.”

Sans leaned in, a little, but didn’t make it easy for him, made Red scootch in closer, nudging Sans’s chin up so he could reach. The rasp of velvet-softened leather circling his throat was an unknown quantity, and so was the coolness of the buckle, setting against his bones. He swallowed, felt the collar rise and fall against his cervical vertebra. The unfamiliar weight seemed heavier than possible, but eh, made sense. There was a lot more to it than the physical mass, now wasn’t there.

Certainly Red’s gaze had a weight of its own, resting on that thin strip of leather with hot intensity. “that what you wanted?”

“been wanting it.” he wasn’t ashamed to say it, happy to be safely selfish for once. “took you long enough, icebergs would win a race against your smooth moves.”

That heat leapt higher, crimson eye lights briefly sparkling like a gimcrack kiddie firework. Something might’ve come of it if Red hadn’t already had the shit beat out of him earlier. That heat only lingered a minute before it flickered out, faded, and Red sank back onto the mattress with a groan. He didn’t move when Sans shifted to lay next to him, uncaring of the still tacky paint smears surrounding them as he dragged up the ruined blankets.

His scoff was hoarse, thin, as Red said, “you takin’ a nap? you’ve got a ton of shit to do out there.”

Like Sans couldn’t hear the plea beneath it? He knew Red too well now; Red’d made a mistake, tipped his hand, and now that Sans knew his cards, he wasn’t about to fold.

He settled a hand on Red’s rib cage, fingers tracing over scars, old and new. “we’ve got an entire team handling it. shut up and go to sleep.”

Red’s ribs rose and fell with his rough chuckle, but it evened out quickly, fading into slow, even breaths as he took his orders. Sans slid a little closer, until they were pressed together from shoulder to femur. Not enough, but it’d do for now.

Once Red was out, Sans reached up to touch that buckle where it was nestled against his throat and already warmed by his body heat. He traced the shape of it for a long time.

Shit to do, yeah, Sans had plenty of it. Like right now, it was time to start waiting for Red to wake up, but that was fine.

Sans was patient.

-finis-

#Kustard #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 3 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 2 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature.

~~~~~~

"I'm not going to be your servant!" I frowned, having computed what he said. I was sent to the special Instructors' Staff Room and, instead of just agreeing to have an aide, Captain Kaga dubbed me his servant. 

"Why not? It's not so different from being an aide." His question made me wonder what type of jobs he was going to make me do. "Besides, weren't you saying you wanted to?" His inquiry made me feel like we were having two totally different conversations. 

"Which reminds me, you haven't paid me back for that time yet." He inched closer to me as he saw me tense up. 

"Pa... Pay you back?" I stuttered out, not knowing what he could be referring to. I made sure I was never indebted to anyone. The way my father acted when he went out to collect his loaned out cash was enough for me not to even want to borrow from a bank. I don’t even want to remember how hard it was for me to find an apartment when I didn’t even have a credit score. Well, a shit one at that.

"Thanks to you acting like a moron, the thief got suspicious and escaped. It's only reasonable that you'd make up for those losses." The memory of what happened on the train only one day ago flashed through my mind. 

‘How was I supposed to know there was an investigation going on? I hadn't even met you yet?’ My silent frustration wasn't shown on my face as I was way too scared to give him a piece of my mind. ‘How was I supposed to stand there and watch a crime happening right in front of me?’

‘So, I have to become his servant to pay back a debt I didn't even know I had? What bullshit is that?’ When I desperately tried to protest, Kaga pushed his body closer to me ever so slightly.

"If you don't want to..." His indifferent expression made me take a small step back. "I'll assume that means I can reveal your fraudulent entry into this school." The statement made my heart stop and my blood run cold. 

Was my application fake? My boss had written it, you had to be referred to get in, but I had no idea he would go as far as to lie about my accomplishments. Was he trying to get me kicked out before I even started? 

"You're a local government employee, aren't you?" Kaga looms over me and I can tell he's hiding something in his language; both body and vocal. It was true I might not match my classmates in my connections, only those who have elite bonds got in and I was only a local officer, but... I was only let in because of what my boss said. 

"Do you understand the situation you're in?" He almost seemed to be teasing my naivety as he continued to loom. 

"But, what does that have to do with my entry?" I worried about my place in the school as the threat of being blamed for something I didn't even do emerged over the horizon. 

"That your classmates will have to decide." The sadness I began to feel if I left Naruko feeling betrayed played on my mind as I came to this crossroad. ‘If Kaga's threat was true and my boss had fudged my application, would I feel okay with staying here? It would be too late for someone more qualified to start, I'm sure the instructors had a strict regimen.’

"I didn't know that only elite students got in. My boss somehow got me in, though." I looked down in dismay, secretly cursing out my old boss for putting me in this situation. 

"You might not know just how much your boss puffed up your career. But that doesn't change the fact that he cheated your way in." The blunt delivery of my ultimate demise did nothing but make me worry more. "You're my servant now..." He leaned down to whisper in my ear. "...You better be dependable." And with that, he takes a phone call and walks off, acting like he didn't just threaten what would inevitably be my livelihood. 

‘What do I do now?’ I sigh, watching his back disappear around the corner.

"Already sighing?" Hearing a familiar gentle voice behind me, I turn to see Soma approaching the Staff Room. 

"Oh, excuse me, Instructor." I quickly jump out of his way, but he just smiles down at me. 

"It's fine, I can tell that something's happened." I couldn't tell if that was him saying he knew that my application was falsified or if confrontations with students was a regular occurrence for Kaga. Either were incredibly likely. 

"Kaga's strict, so I'm sure things are tough." The calming way he spoke made me believe the reason for his kindness was the latter. 

"Tough?" I laugh in defeat. "He's made me into his servant instead of an aide..." The idea made me trail off, wondering what kind of jobs he'll have me do. 

"Servant?" Soma's eyes widened slightly. But then he begins to laugh happily. 

"You're really laughing at me..?" I slouched as even Soma found humour in this catastrophe of a situation. 

"Hehe, sorry. I just remembered your enthusiasm, and then he was your first pick." He snickered and I wondered if that ill-timed boost of adrenaline was the reason I found myself in this mess. 

"Why did you choose him?" Soma suddenly became fascinated as he pinched his chin. 

"Well... I knew from the start he'd be strict, but I figured there'd be a lot to learn from someone like that..." Remembering my reasoning for choosing possibly the worst instructor out of all of them, Soma narrowed his eyes at my explanation. 

"I figured you or Sasaki would pick me or Ayumu." He smiled. "Women tend to be attracted to less severe personalities. But you chose him to build upon your character. That's good judgement." 

‘Well, I sure as hell didn't pick him for his sparkling personality.’ I thought to myself, taking his statement as a compliment. It was nice to hear that he thought I had made the right decision, but I'm pretty confident I wouldn't have become a servant if I had chosen him. Ayumu on the other hand, I'm not so certain...

Soma laughed as he saw me about to sigh again. "You'll be undergoing an exam given by the instructors in two months time..." He seemed to be warning me about how defeated I seemed only on my second day. "...There will be forced withdrawals with failure." For a moment, Soma looked so cold that a shiver ran down my spine. 

‘Was that... a threat?’

Yet, his smile immediately returned when my brows furrowed slightly. 

"I'm sure that if you study well under Kaga, you'll grow much faster than others." The quick switch he made threw me off beginning to trust him. 

‘I guess you can never be too careful around here.’ I thought as I thanked him by lowering my head. Soma then left with a smile plastered on his face. 

~~~~~~

Outside of the school building, on my way to clear my head, I find Naruko talking with some other students. "Atsuko! Were you really made an aide earlier?" Naruko screamed at me as I approached them. Even though I was beginning to see the positives of this situation, however few, the excitable yelling put me back on edge. 

"Yeah... is it already getting around?" I got uneasy with everyone knowing. ‘If something like this got around within the hour, what would happen if news of my fraud got out?’

"The school is buzzing with it! Atsuko, which instructor did you get?" I could tell her excitement would be cut short when I told her. 

Exactly as I predicted, the group of students Naruko had been talking to started to pity me.

"I feel so sorry for you... Out of all of them, you got Instructor Kaga." One said. 

"But, come to think of it, she did choose him first. She's got guts." His friend spoke up. 

"I'm just trying to show 'em what I've got! I figured it'd be a good learning opportunity to follow him around." I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck as I put on a smile, secretly regretting my past choices. ‘If I’m going to end up just doing his laundry or cleaning up after him, I don't know how that could be at all beneficial.’

"But if you were chosen as his aide, doesn't that mean he likes you?" Naruko peered into my faltering smile. 

"Doubt it. He flat out rejected me when I went to introduce myself." I sighed, slouching dejectedly. Naruko gasped out in shock. 

"It's no wonder he's called the 'Demon Instructor'. Harsh." She pats my shoulder sympathetically, although there seems to be a bit of admiration in her eyes. 

"Sorry, but... You probably haven't even seen the worst of the Demon Instructor." A classmate interrupted my silent moping. 

"What do you mean?" Shocked he could get any worse, my eyes widened. 

"You don't know? I heard this from the other guys, but..." His friend seems guilty even having to tell me. "He's crazy. He's solved tons of cases on his own." The statement didn't make me worry too much. If he had an eye for crime, I wasn't going to fault him for that. We may have had different upbringings, but I could tell when someone had done something bad. 

"But..." He continued, which did make me anxious. "There's a rumour he killed his partner..." The sheer will to be able to say that on school grounds surprised me, let alone the accusation. As Naruko and I show our shock, the student makes sure to say he doesn't know if it's actually true.

"But he seems like the type who'd sacrifice someone for his own gain." The first guy spoke up again. 

"No," I state sternly, making everyone stare at me. I knew what a cop killer looked like. My father has had officers kill their partners when they got too close to discovering the mole in the force. I didn't believe Kaga would risk that if he was such a good detective. 

"What do you mean ‘no’?" The guy responded and I shook my head. 

"Don't worry about it." I sighed, embarrassed I had just spoken up like that. How would I explain myself by disagreeing with everyone who seemed to agree with the sentiment? On paper, they were all much more experienced than me in the force and with crime. Physically though...

"A man with a past..." Naruko spoke up and I could already tell what she was going to say about our mysterious inspector. 

"Anyways, I heard from Instructor Soma that there's gonna be an exam in two months. Whoever fails: flunks." Wanting to warn my classmates before it's too late, I watch all their expressions fall further. 

"Really? That's harsher than I thought." Another guy standing with us sighs out in dismay. As I think about how easy it would be for Kaga to kick everyone out of the academy, I remind myself I have to work my hardest, no matter the instructor I'm working under, to reach my dream. As I'm reminded of why I'm here, I can't help but smile at the thought of all my hard work paying off.  

"Atsuko, you have that scary look on your face again." Naruko has an uneasy smile of her own as she points me out to the rest of the group.

"I'm just getting excited. I'm going for a run, so I'll see you around!" I waved as I ran back to the dorms to change. 

"But, Atsuko! What about our training earlier?" Maybe worrying about my mental and physical health, Naruko called after me, but I just waved again before continuing on my way.

~~~~~~

A few days later, Kaga is giving us a hands-on lecture about interrogation. "Today I'm going to show you how an actual interrogation would go. Use of force should depend on who you're facing and what it'll take to break them." 

‘In other words, they can use torture in Public Safety.’ The statement made me stiff as that was the only type of interrogation I was used to. The Captain flipped a switch and the scene of an interrogation showed up on the monitor. 

"Spit it out already!" Kaga is practically screaming across the table, but the criminal doesn't say a word. "I'm going to enjoy seeing just how long you can keep silent." There's a loud crash as a chair goes flying across the room and I can see that scary, victorious grin spread across Kaga's face. 

"W-Wait! I don't-!" But, before the criminal can reject, Kaga grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and coldly tells him to "shut up". 

"I have no use for guys who don't talk." Kaga raised his hand to the criminal as his smile grew. Then, Kaga swung it at him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

"Okay, I'll talk! I'll talk, so stop it!" With the cries of the criminal's words, Kaga's hand stops just short of the man's cheek. 

"Too late," Kaga replied. It really did seem like he was enjoying this.

"I'll tell you everything I know! Please!" The criminal begs for his safety before Kaga even hits him. It's like the mere threat of being injured was enough to break him. 

Like he hadn’t heard a word, Kaga kicked the chair out from under the suspect. As we watch the criminal drop to the floor, the room starts to buzz. Unfortunately, one student spoke up through that murmuring. 

"Um... The criminal was willing to confess... Was it necessary to go that far?" One of the guys Naruko was talking to the day I was elected as an aide pipes up. 

"I told you, it depends on who you're dealing with." Kaga, completely composed compared to the video, frowns at us all. "He had a record. If he didn't say everything, he'd have gone out on bail." Kaga explains tiredly. It seemed to be a hassle for him to even turn up to the lecture. "But, by planting fear from the start, I made him confess everything." Kaga finishes and I can't help but ask. 

"How can you ensure he didn't falsely confess?" The room went stiff at the idea of my accusal. 

"What?" Kaga glares down at me and I steel my nerves before explaining myself. 

"How can you make sure he didn't just confess because he was worried for his life?" I rephrase the question but it only made him sterner. As he stared at me, I felt all my classmates pitying me. 

"We already had evidence of him committing the crime. It made for an easier court case for him to confess as well." The surprisingly non hostile response shocked everyone in the room, although his expression was just as aggressive as it was a moment ago. 

"Thank you, sir." Not wanting to leave on bad terms, I thanked him for explaining before he returned to the video. 

~~~~~~

By the time Kaga's terrifying interrogation is finished, the class is tense. Except for me. I was used to seeing these forms of violence, but it still made me a little on edge. To think that was legal was a little frightening. 

"That's for reference. Drive it into your heads." Kaga clicked off the video on the presentation. "Now I'm going to divide you all into detectives and suspects for a simulation." The idea made my ears buzz. Thinking back to the video, I wondered who would go too far. 

"Ahh, but there's an odd number of you... One extra." Kaga sighed, looking at the sheet of students' names. “One of you will have to be paired with me." Knowing my luck, my hands froze at the concept of me being his partner. Around me, the class buzzed with fear that they too could be chosen. 

"The person paired with me will get special training in a real interrogation room," Kaga smirked at, even still, everyone avoiding his gaze. I tried to at least look in his direction, although I was secretly freaking out. 

He clicks his tongue at the scene of terrified students before him. "You're all a waste of space. Are any of you capable of this?" The captain complains. "If nobody volunteers, you all fail." He crosses his arms as he forces us to push forth a martyr. I met his gaze in surprise that he would try to kick us all out in one fell swoop. He chuckles, signalling I would be paired with him just for looking at him. I panicked, annoyed I put myself in this situation again. 

"Hurry up, servant." Kaga glares down at my frozen state.

 "Are you sure you want me?" Trying to direct the attention away, Kaga casually rejects everyone else. 

"It's not like you're a bad choice. Anyone will do." He crosses his arms, turning to walk out of the room. 

‘It's a good opportunity, Atsuko.’ Every time I find myself telling myself that, I believe it less and less. 

Kaga sends everyone to team up before walking towards the door. "Let's go. Don't loaf around." Kaga complains and I jump up. 

"Please wait!" I rush after him as I hear my classmates gossiping about what he called me. 

~~~~~~

In the interrogation room, I find myself becoming increasingly nervous. ‘Could I use what I watched dad doing? I might as well use my experiences in my favour.’ I thought to myself as Kaga locked the door behind us. I couldn't help but feel guilty about the idea of ever using what my father taught me. I ran away because I didn't want to do things that way. 

"You be the detective, I'll be the suspect." Kaga sits in the chair opposite the wall with a monitor hooked up. "Give it a try. Use my earlier interrogation." He instructs with an unphased expression, referring to the instructions he had given us. 

"Right now?" Shocked he wouldn't give me any pointers, I began to wonder why he would bother showing up here if he was going to throw us all out in the deep end. Suspecting none of us had any experience in this, how were we meant to learn from a single video?

"Of course, Did you think we'd rehearse it bit by bit?" Kaga seemed offended by the idea of actual training as I grew nervous. My palms even began to sweat. He crosses his arms and stares at me, judging me even by the way I stand. He commands me to start and I take a deep breath. 

"You've been arrested due to the evidence against you. So, you want to tell me what really happened?" I looked down at the folder in my hands that had a fake report inside. Kaga stayed silent. 

"...Fair enough.” Sighing, I continued my gazing at the paper under my nose. “I wouldn't wanna talk either if I was working with these guys." I forced out a chuckle, slapping the folder on the table. I hadn't sat down since we entered the room. 

"But, you know it won't matter, right? It only takes a rumour to get around that you spilled to get you in trouble." I thought back to what my father said to a snitch he found in his ranks once. "And one little rumour is enough to make you paranoid. I wonder what they'll do to you?" I remembered what my father did and used it as an example. "Probably chop off your finger with a cleaver. Threaten your family. Or, you might not be able to make a family when they're done with you." Dealing with a man, I thought the best threat would be to threaten his manhood. The expression I made was indifferent, but none of my warnings seemed to affect Kaga at all. 

‘How is this supposed to work if he knows it's all fake? I never understood hypothetical scenarios.’ My internal thoughts of injustice were unheard, and hopefully unseen on my facial features.

Kaga stayed silent throughout the whole process and, with him avoiding my gaze, I began to lose my nerve. "Do you give up?" He turned back to me and I sighed. 

"Yes." I frowned at myself. ‘I guess I wasn't intimidating enough to use my father’s tactics.’

"The suspects we handle in the Public Safety Division will be like that. They're not exactly happy to talk." The statement the captain made seemed so obvious, but I had yet to know how to get them to talk. Defeated, I sat in the chair across from him. 

"Let's switch. You be the suspect now." 

Being interrogated by the Demon Instructor seemed like a nightmare, but I wanted to learn how to do this right, so I agreed. ‘You just gotta stay quiet, Atsuko. Keep. Your mouth. Shut.’ I told myself as I looked into his eyes. 

"Well..." He peered into my face extremely closely. If I dared to move, our lips would touch. I could smell the lingering scent of a cigarette on his breath. I tried to match his gaze as the closeness secretly really bothered me. The scent was familiar, probably because everyone I used to know smoked, but it wasn't just that fact. 

In the silent interrogation room, my anxious heart beated faster than usual. Maybe it was all the energy I exerted yesterday, but I was beginning to feel overtired and very hyperaware. 

"You did it, didn't you?" Kaga whispered as he peered into my face. I kept my expression stoned as I wonder how he'll proceed, but my heart was racing. 

‘What have I done? Has he discovered something in my past?’ The truth perhaps? ‘I knew I probably wouldn’t last long, being surrounded by professional detectives, but I’m only three days in!’

“I see..." He sounded amused at how I didn't react and stood up straight. I looked up to match his gaze, only to have him lift me up by my wrists and push me against the wall behind us. 

"There's proof." He glides his finger against my jaw and I feel a rush tingle up my spine. "Do I look like a man who'll go easy on you because you're a woman?" The statement, however true, did make me sulk a little. Internally, of course. Never had I evermore wanted to be treated differently.

Kaga pressed his body so closely that I could barely move. "Or... Do you want to let me have some fun in exchange for overlooking this?" With those words, I began to get that he wasn't talking about the case we were given. It made me uneasy to be locked in a soundproof room with him as he likely referred to my falsified application. My eyes flashed with recognition, but I forced my mouth shut.  

"I'm fine either way." He laughed, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His breath tickled my ear and I could feel that area redden from the heat. 

"So? What have you been wanting to do to me?" Ideas flashed through my mind, but the one I settled on I wouldn't be able to say. If I admitted to wanting to kick a man in the balls, I'd likely get suspended. 

Seeing my famed confusion, Kaga continued. "You seemed excited when I pushed you down in that love hotel." He smirked and I became increasingly embarrassed. Sure, he was good looking, Naruko made me aware of that, but no way in hell would I want to do anything like that with him. Do you know how much of a slut that would make me look? 

"Want me to continue what I started that time?" A teasing smirk reappeared on his face and I gulped. "I see." His voice was low, only being a few centimetres apart, he didn't need to raise it. The raspiness of his whisper helped keep my heart rate up. As I looked away, embarrassed I was reacting so much to him, he grabbed my chin and easily turned me back to face him. His handsome features neared mine until I couldn't take it anymore. 

"Tap out! I tap out." Panicked, I repeated to ensure he heard me. 

"Finally. That took some time." He sighed, stepping back. 

My breathing was a little ragged as I recollected what just happened. "You struggling there?" He showed me another concerned look and I quickly stopped. Surprisingly, I couldn't compare that experience to any situations I had watched my father in. 

"Anyway, you should be glad. You have a weapon that we don't." Kaga suddenly announced and I threw him a confused look. "Your body. You could use it against male suspects. And the more inclined female ones." He admitted and I was just more confused. I had never been a very good-looking girl. My father would complain that my body was too toned and I needed to pudge myself up a bit to attract the opposite sex. It never bothered me, I didn't care about anything he said, but I was surprised Kaga would insinuate I use my feminine wiles against men. 

"Well, you would have to be sexier, though." And there it was, the critique I was waiting for! "Maybe it'd be better to train you in that area?" He suggested and I genuinely thought it over. If I could use something to get a foothold in the class competition, I'd be happy to use it. 

"What? Like, using seduction techniques?" I questioned, surprised it would even be an option for me. I had never been in a relationship and had never felt the need to. Everyone I was surrounded by as a child were older or scared of my family and, since running away, I was too focused on keeping to myself and work. 

"There may be times when it's necessary. If you've got sex appeal, you should use it." He explained and I considered the issue. 

‘I would prefer to use real detective work, but if I'm not intimidating, it may come to that.’ I pursed my lips as I thought it over. 

In the end, the interrogation class comes to an end without another word from either of us. 

~~~~~~

The rumour about me being Kaga's servant had spread across the school pretty quickly, having only been a day since the captain outed me in front of the entire class. I've now been summoned to the Staff Room by Kaga. 

"Sorry for being late!" I called out, having knocked and entered the room. 

"You're late. Just how long did you plan on making me wait?" Kaga frowned down at my sorry state. I had been helping Naruko with a laundry malfunction when I realised I would be late for the scheduled time. 

"It's only three minutes." I sulked to myself, not realising I was speaking out loud. Kaga only frowned at me and I quickly apologised and shut my mouth. His glare was as cold and scary as ever. He sighed, calling me useless again. 

"Oh well. Get these in order by tomorrow." Kaga dropped a huge stack of documents in front of me with a thunk. I was in shock by the sudden workload before me. "Documentation of past incidents that Public Safety is keeping an eye on." He explained what the files actually entailed. "Sort these and file them. If you have time, put them in the database too." 

‘And by “if you have time” he means, you better do this too or I'll punish you. 

‘It'll take hours to do all this.’ Even with my short experience as a PA at a law firm, I never had this much work to do in such a small amount of time. I had odd jobs before I entered the academy to be able to live. That job reinstalled my dream of being a cop and never having to work a desk job like what I had. 

"Looks like you have a complaint?" Kaga frowned at me and I quickly shook my head. 

"It'll be done, Instructor." Maybe promising too much, I didn't want to give him a chance to kick me out of the school, so I grabbed the documents and left the Instructors' Staff Room. 

When I exited again, Naruko was outside waiting for me. Her eyes went wide at the piles of papers in my hands. "Woah, what's with all that?"

"I have to get them filed by tomorrow." I sighed, believing Kaga couldn't hear us. 

"By tomorrow? Will you make it?" Naruko tried and failed to keep her voice low, but her shock made her too energised. 

"If I start right when classes end I might just make it." I showed her a determined smile, assuming I could get it done with enough willpower. 

"That sounds terrible. I'll give you a hand if you'd like?" 

Giving me the offer of the century, a voice spoke up before I could respond. "You know what happens if you get help?" 

Without either of us realising, Kaga had come out of the Instructors' Room and was directly next to me. I jumped out of my skin, almost dropping my new assignment. 

"Hey, Instructor. Where are you going?" Trying to play off my surprise with a much calmer tone, I turned to him with an uneasy smile. 

"That has nothing to do with you." He's turned around before I can finish my question, already walking down the corridor. 

"But you said you had no investigations today?" I called out, but he just told me to be quiet and insulted me. 

"Why moron? Out of all the insults?" I muttered under my breath at the recurring word, watching his back disappear around the corner. 

~~~~~~

On our way back to the dorms, we met a few of our classmates. "Instructor Kaga is so scary! But that's fine!" Naruko cheered, obviously into every guy we seem to run into. 

"Even if he's scary, too much is too much." A classman began to question me about the ‘slavery allegations’ circulating the school, but I quickly reject the rumour. 

"No, no-no. It's just, if I say I can't, he tells me to quit." I laughed uneasily. 

"But, you do get to see him up close." The other classmate became dreamy-eyed. "Is it true he does everything based on intuition?" The question made me think back on all the time the Instructor and I had spent together. Which wasn’t much, but still more than the rest of the students here. 

"Yeah... I guess." 

‘To be honest, most of the things he does are without any sort of planning.’ 

"Even when he has no evidence, he'll just say 'it's my intuition'." I explained, almost laughing at the idea of how unsafe that is. Surely an investigation would get ripped to pieces if the only clue to the criminal was an investigator's gut. 

"Changing plans all the time because of his intuition must be exhausting." Naruko sighed.

"Don't worry, Naruko. I'll always make time for you!" I teased and she laughed back. 

"But everyone is jealous that you get to learn from him." The only thing I could think of when Naruko said how much she wanted to be in my position was my first mission. 

‘So much for learning on the job.’ I sighed to myself as I thought back on all the sexual harassment cases I could have made against the Instructor if I wasn't a student. Even on my first mission, I was just used to gather evidence. I didn't have any training as to how I could actually do it.

"That interrogation was scary, but apparently he has a 99% confession rate." A classmate pulled me out of my thoughts. 

‘I'm not surprised. With all the scum he deals with, a pinch on the arm would get them to confess.’ I sighed internally as my classmates continued to gossip.

#HLITF #hlitf ayumu #hlitf kaga #hlitf goto #hlitf ishigami #hlitf soma #hlitf shinonome #hlitf fanfic #voltage games #voltage fanfic #oc #ooc #her love in the force #crime #mafia #mob #police #detectives

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous; this is one time you DEFINITELY don’t want to identify yourself)

“One bolt. For someone with her reputation, her experience, her skill and grace on the battlefield, it should have taken more. We’d fought dozens of Reunion at the same time - hell, I held up half a building to protect her - but the one time my shield wasn’t there to protect her, they shot her, right in the throat...I see her everywhere. In my dreams, she comes to me, comforting me, telling me there was nothing I could have done; in my nightmares, she howls at me, demanding to know why I wasn’t there to deflect the shot; in my waking moments, I see her ghost drift away in the corner of my eye, I feel her hand on my shoulder, her breath now ice-cold on my neck...I’ve seen so many people die, so why is it she’s the only one who haunts me? And how...how could she be so cruel, leaving me behind while she moved on...”

The barkeep shook his head as he poured Hoshiguma another glass of vodka. “She should still be here, drinking with you, I agree. After this one, I’ve got to cut you off.”

“Alright. I appreciate you, Rick.” She sighed before taking the glass, letting the alcohol burn her mouth for a bit before swallowing it. “You see the Doctor anywhere tonight?”

“No, I haven’t. He’s probably filling out papers in his office still...Hey, will you take him something for me? Bottle of double-malt that’s been sitting here since before he lost his memory. Maybe you can share it.”

She smirked as she took the bottle from him. “You have to cut me off, but you know it won’t stop me. Maybe I come here a little too much.”

“If you ever stop, I’ll assume the worst.” Rick didn’t look like he was kidding about that. “Have a good night, and give him my best regards.”

“Will do, Rick. Will do.” Hoshi grabbed the bottle, minding her grip, and left the bar.

Even a little drunk, Hoshiguma could find the Doctor’s office; hell, she could probably do it blindfolded if she had to. She knocked on the door with her free hand. “Yo, Doctor, are you in?”

“I’m here.” His voice sounded strained. “You can come in.”

“I’ve got a present from Rick- ...that’s a lot of beer cans.”

The Doctor glanced up from his desk, which was basically clear except for his computer. “I didn’t wanna leave me office in -hic- case somethin’ came up. Izzn’t gonna be easy findin’ a -hic- new ‘sistant. What’d Rick tell ya ta gimme?”

“Bottle of whiskey from before you left the first time.” She walked over, setting it on his desk. “Your office is gonna smell like alcohol for a while with this carpet and all the cans on the floor.”

“I’ll pick ‘mup tom’rr’w. Wanna share?”

Hoshi grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet. “He cut me off, so I’m out of bars for the night. Sure you wanna keep drinkin’?”

“I’m -hic- fine. Open ‘er up...We should sit on the couch ‘stead of atta desk.” He stood up and half-stumbled his way over to it. “There we go.”

“Hey, leave some space for me.” She helped him sit up long enough for her to sit down before his head was resting in her lap, looking up at her and the ceiling in approximately equal focus.

A cup was now resting on his chest, and he sighed. “I don’t think I should drink n’more tonight...You can have the -hic- bottle.”

“You sure?” Hoshi, having already downed a glass, picked the one off his chest and set it on the couch’s arm. “He did say to give it to you.”

“Well, I’m givin’ it ta you. -hic- Do whatcha want with it.”

She smiled at him, briefly. “Thanks, Doc...Never thought I’d miss her this much.”

“Never thought I’d have ta. ‘s not my fault -hic- getta blame the -hic- LGD for it, a’ least - but...damnit.” He took several measured breaths. “She wasn’t even infected...how’s that -hic- fair...”

“It never is...She the first one of yours you’ve lost?”

The Doctor shook his head. “We lose Op’rators on the bigger missions, but the routine stuff’s only -hic- inj’ries at most. Dif’rence is she was my ‘sistant, and...I dunno what the -hic- I’mma do to replace her...Was one in a mil’on, that Ch’en.”

“...I can’t even say her fucking name anymore.” Hoshi set the glasses on the floor before the tears took over, but once they did, they were impossible to stop. “‘slike a stab in my chest ev’ry time...”

“Sorry.” Sniffling himself, he sat up in her lap and wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder to avoid getting stabbed by her horn.

It had been some time since either of them had properly sobbed about something; they’d had moments and close calls, but those were usually silent moments of tearstrickenness in the middle of something else. With nothing but alcohol and sadness to share between them, there’d never been a better time to fully let go of it all, and so they did.

Hoshiguma had returned the Doctor’s embrace automatically, but as the tears stopped coming, she tightened her grip around him. “Thanks, Doc...for being here for me.”

“Same to you,” he replied, still wiping tears from his eyes. “Even down as low as we are, you’re still so strong...”

“I’m not that strong - least, not emotionally.”

The Doctor choked out a chuckle. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“With her gone, I’m gonna need to find someone else to prop me up...” She rubbed his back. “Hey, Doc? I can be your assistant.”

“That’d be nice...you’re so warm.”

Hoshi smiled, the motion sending a stray tear falling. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.” He sighed. “‘fi stay here much longer, I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“I can carry you to your room.”

The Doctor completely relaxed against her. “That’d be nice...Hoshi?”

“Mmhmm?”

“When you take me there, if’n you get any ideas...” He was already falling under. “...save ‘em ‘til I wake up...”

She sat there with him until she was sure he was asleep before carrying him off as she’d promised, most of a bottle of whiskey in her other hand. After fishing through his pockets for the key and eliciting a small chuckle from the dreaming Doctor, she got his door open and laid him down in bed. Looking at him sleeping so peacefully, though, Hoshiguma did suddenly have an idea or two...reasoning he’d want to know as soon as he could, she slipped off her shoes and the less comfortable parts of her outfit and slid into bed behind him, wrapping her arms around him beneath the sheets. “Goodnight, Doctor...you’re warm, too...”

#arknights #hoshiguma (arknights) #just like...why tho #like why is this something you'd wanna see happen #who's trying to hurt my hoshi? #(yes my hoshi b/c i'm the writer they came to) #why did you do this to me #whyyyy #arknights fic

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - I felt bad you weren’t getting a lot of Pyro content in canon, so I wrote you some!

The next member of their team was meant to be arriving today. She was going to be a...most unusual addition. She was human. Pyro didn’t like it. The entire POINT of Krakoa was to keep away from humans who would hurt them. And sure this human allegedly very much did NOT want that, it was why Xavier handpicked her to be involved, and Xavier could vet a person inside and out...but Pyro couldn’t help WORRYING. Maybe she wasn’t a conscious plant, but what if someone was using her without her knowing? How was Xavier checking for THAT? Maybe the rest of Krakoa was happy to put their fate in the hands of men like him and Magneto and Sebastian Shaw, but Pyro was of the firm opinion that the guys on top never really had the best interest of the bottom at heart. But that didn’t mean he’d pass up a chance to roast some Verendi pigs, which was what had just been provided---the ship of their new ally had been attacked en route, big surprise, and thus the current crew of the Marauder---Sebastian, Shinobi, and Pyro---had been deployed to intervene. Shinobi kept their own boat safe while Pyro and Sebastian boarded the other---just in time to witness one of the Verendi hurling a sari-clad woman off the deck by her throat. “Allerdyce, take care of the rest,” said Shaw, tearing his shirt and jacket off with his bear---er, bare---hands. Not taking it off, literally TEARING. “Are you kidding?!” Pyro asked, shocked both at Shaw’s apparent intentions and at how beefed up the old bastard was under those tailored suits. Like he had eyes, he could tell the guy was huge, but JEEZUS. “I’m not having my team fail this early,” Shaw said, “And besides--” The rest came out mid-air as he dove into the drink, “--you’re hardly in swimming shape.” Secretly hoping he ‘teammate’ drowned, Pyro returned to the fray, gleefully keeping the Verendi at bay with his flames. That was the easy part. The hard part was not blowing them up in their stupid suits, or boiling them alive, or--- “ALLERDYCE!” he heard the oh-so-charming shout of his new ‘boss’ barking for him, just as the fun was over. “What, did you--” Pyro started to ask as he hustled over, admittedly not as fast as he could have. “Do the damn chest compressions!” Shaw cut him off. The woman, soaking wet and unconscious--or worse--was laid out on the deck. “Why--” “Because at my current strength I will pulverize her bones!” Shaw bellowed. Pyro didn’t like taking orders from Shaw, but he wasn’t about to let this lady die right in front of him either if half of what he’d heard about her was true, no matter what his misgivings might be about involving her in the Marauders. So he duly obeyed with the compressions, as well as mouth to mouth just so Shaw couldn’t. Because f this woman was an ally to mutantkind she deserved better than that. It worked. She gasped, her body jolting. “Alright, there she is” said Shaw, “You keep her conscious, Allerdyce---someone has to steer this ship.” With that, he departed to find the helm and radio Shinobi to let him know all was well, and knock out any remaining hostiles. Pyro glared at his back as he went, but then quickly turned his attention back to the semi-conscious woman, who was moving slightly now, her eyes glazed. She said something unsteadily in a foreign language. Well, in a language that wasn’t English; Pyro had been a foreigner in Southeast Asia and learned it really a matter of perspective. Speaking of that... “That Gujarati, love?” he asked gently. He couldn’t speak it nor understand it, but he thought he recognized it. He’d never got as far as India in his travels as a journalist, but he’d encountered this language in Singapore, Indonesia, and Malayasia. Sounded a bit different from her though, maybe because she was from India directly. Or just because she was terribly waterlogged. She mumbled something else weakly in the same tongue, putting one of her hands to her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak it,” he said, truly apologetic. The was woman silent for a moment, and her eyes closed. Oh no. Had he lost her? God, Shaw was never going to let him hear the end of it! Then she opened them, and said, “I apologize, I do speak English, I just...needed a moment.” “Take two, you earned ‘em,” Pyro smiled relieved. She began sitting up slowly, and Pyro helped her. “I...assume you saved me?” “Well, I helped,” he said, then amended, “Someone else go you out from the drink but I did the rest, getting you breathing again and all.” “Thank you, so much, I really have no idea what to say,” she sounded rather awed. Oh man, he’d forgotten what it was like to be a superhero! He’d never much cared for that life in general, the idea of just DOING things for people for nothing in return, especially people who HATED you for EXISTING as a mutant, but there had been a few times in Freedom Force like this where he felt really GOOD when people were actually grateful. “Aw it’s---it’s nothing, all in a day’s work really,” he said, puffing his chest as best he could, which was nigh-imperceptible given how skinny he was. “You have my deepest gratitude all the same. You also have a good ear---that was indeed Parsi Gujarati. “Ohhh!” Pyro was pleased he’d been right, “Is that why it sounded a bit off from what I heard ‘round Jakarta?” “You do indeed have a good ear! Yes, it’s very distinct. For instance, we use much softer consonants-- They were interrupted by Shaw’s sardonic tone over the intercom, “ I can see our guest is conscious, Mr. Allerdyce, so if you’re quite done flirting, send her to the helm for briefing before we get to the portal. At your leisure, of course.” Pyro did not say ass aloud but it was very, very much written on his face. *** Pyro was waking up waaay to early at Blackstone, specifically in Shinobi’s ridiculously oversized bed, Shinobi himself beside him. Pyro could tell his companion was going to be out cold for a long time yet, and probably wish he’d slept longer when he did wake up. Pyro would have preferred to just stay in bed himself, but nature called. And after a good long piss into the en suite bathroom---kind of surprised that the toilet wasn’t solid gold, although it did have more features than Shinobi’s phone---Pyro himself had yet to adjust to fancy celluars---found himself restless, and undergoing his typical post-drinking cravings for something salty. Kind of weird since wasn’t booze supposed to dehydrate you, but whatever, old man Shaw surely had some kind of super-fancy dried unicorn meat from a lost continent or whatever hanging around somewhere. He just needed to find it. But the place was a maze. Gilded maze, he made a mental note of that for one of his novels as he wandered the huge halls, intending to use it in the internal monologue of the heroine lost in the Marquis’s opulent mansion that nonetheless held an overbearing evil in its walls as potent and palpable in the air as that in his black heart. Actually shit, some of the decor in this place would make for great--- “Wider than a highway, huh?” Pyro had been so lost in cataloguing the fancy bric-a-brac along the way that he’d not noticed it had been joined by a flesh and blood person. Well, maybe flesh and blood, they looked silver. Certainly all the skin he could see was, which was a lot given their short little black robe, though he in his boxers certainly wasn’t about to be scandalized. Wait, silver skin? “Mindmeld, right?” “Shinobi tell you about me?” she was smirking a little. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied. It was suddenly really hard not to say something rude, given WHAT Shinobi had told him, but reminded himself if this woman was fucking Shaw, she deserved PITY more than anything. Plus it wouldn’t do to piss off her off before she told him where she got that coffee cup in her hand. “He didn’t tell me where to find the kitchen though.” “Which one?” Oh god of course there’d be more than one, Shaw probably didn’t want his food prepared in the same area as Shinobi’s guests since they were all people like Pyro. He groaned, lowering his head and burying his long bony fingers in his dandelion puff blond curls, “Just whichever one has some eggs and espresso.” “Come on,” she gestured lightly and turned, leading the way. Damn tall drink of water, might have been taller than Shaw, though far less broad than he was, but more so than Pyro...admittedly, that range probably covered almost everyone on the planet. She didn’t ask his name, so he offered his with some pride, “I’m Pyro, I’m one of the Marauders.” “Neat.” “‘Spect Mr. Shaw has a few things to say about me.” She looked mildly thoughtful a moment, “Uh...no, never mentioned you. I think I’ve heard the Marauders, but not Pyro.” “How about Mr. Allerdyce?” “Definitely not.” Ok, he was kind of insulted now, not by Mindmeld but he took it out on her anyway with a snippy, “Well he hasn’t mentioned you either.” She just gave him a funny look.” “Sorry,” he said abashed at how stupid and spiteful he sounded, “We just don’t get on too well, me and Sebastian.” “What a surprise.” “So you know he’s a pompous asshole.” “Oh yeah, it’s hilarious,” she said, “Like the other day,  these two like, total Eurotrash blonds come in, and he told them they were living proof of how inbreeding ruined the royal Austrian family tree or something, I don’t know, and I just told the guy he shouldn’t wear black if he’s not going to clean the semen stains off it first. The girl, her outfit was great, but nothing I could say was going to be worse than that Basic Bitch haircut.” “So what, you two just hang around talking shit about everyone else like we’re dirt on your shoes?!” Any regret he had about being snippy was suddenly gone. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her blase tone not changing. He started to say something else but she turned her head to him and said, tone still the same, “Look, if you’re gonna get precious, I can leave you right here. Next person to find you will probably be him, you know. He’s always up crazy early.” It was a potent threat. Normally Pyro was not afraid at all to deal with that hirsute egomaniac, but in his current state, he was not fit for the battle of barbs. “No, no, lead the way,” he sighed. “Cool,” Mindmeld turned her gaze front again and added, “Sorry you’re mad I’m his dick puppet.” If Pyro had a liquid in his mouth he would have spit it out. He must have made some kind of sound, because she asked, “What, Shinobi not mention that?” “He uh...he mentioned it a lot, yeah. “Good,” she smiled at him, and turned away. Weird. They got to small kitchen, very normal looking. So much so that it felt almost surreally out of place. “Drip’s over there,” Mindmeld pointed. Okay, nice, Shaw had a proper espresso machine. No surprise, he probably kept a full roasting machine and French press and other fancy barista shit in HIS kitchen---he was obviously not using THIS one. While he put on the drip, Mindmeld sat down and started playing idly with a phone left on table, obviously hers. Pyro was sure the bowl of Lucky Charms next to it surely wasn’t Sebastian Shaw’s. “You uh, live here?” “Yeah basically,” she did not look up from her phone, “Beats public housing.” Pyro realized he hadn’t thought about how everyone on Krakoa was living; he’d been basically on a boat the whole time himself. “What, is it bad?” he asked, imagining the crowded slums he’d seen in some of his travels, as well as the crappier apartments he’d stayed in, which was most. “Nah, but this is better.” “Yeah well, the rent seems high to me.” “You just have a different landlord.” “Hey, I’m nobody’s kept--” The espresso shot was ready, and it going off gave him a moment to cool down again. “Sorry, there’s nothing wrong with...with you,” he said, after taking his cup and sitting down across from her, “I just feel bad for Shinobi, he says you two used to be..” . “Together? Kinda, yeah. He tell you the part where he left me to die? or before that, where I was stuck in somebody else’s body and he was still ready to put the guy through a depowering machine while I was inside him?” “I, uh...no.” Was there some kind of mistake? He’d thought Shinobi was harmless. He knew the guy was selfish and spoiled, but it was hard to imagine him that cold. “Yeah, I bet not,” she said, her tone still the same, “He doesn’t seem like he has it in him, does he?” “Uh...no.” “Well, even a rat will bite if it’s back is against the wall,” her eyes rose from her phone and met his intensely, “So if you’re in deep shit, don’t count on him to pull you out.” They went back to her phone,  “He’s beautiful though so, you know, keep doing what you’re doing, I’m not judging.” “Uh...” Pyro had no idea what to say to this, “So is that why...” He had thought it had been money, since anything Shinobi had was actually coming from Sebastian, but now he wondered if it was for... “Vengeance? Pyro nodded. “Could you think of a BETTER way?” Pyro admitted he could not. “You must be pretty dedicated,” he said, still not able to get the ‘ick’ feeling quite out. It wasn’t the idea of sex for benefits his skin was crawling at, it was sex with SHAW. He supposed he could see the physical appeal if that man wasn’t so personally repulsive, but... “I mean, I just came back to life like this month” she shrugged idly, “I’ve got nothing from before to go back to, I’ve got nothing else going on.” “I don’t know, you look like you got it going on to me,” Pyro gave an exaggerated wink. That made her snort-laugh. Okay, he felt they were good now. And he felt suddenly a lot warmer to her. Not from knowing she had better reasons than he thought---the reasons unsettled him actually---but because of how similar their situations were. A situation doubtless shared by many Krakoans but he hadn’t had a real chance yet to talk to many Krakoans. He had planned to spend today fixing that actually, going and finding out if what few friends he’d had in his life before were here now. Like Dom. Wondered if Mindmeld had any, a Dom or a Mort or a Fred. Kinda doubted it, somehow. “Hey, uh, listen,” he began. She looked up from her phone. “Do you wanna go...check out the island with me? I been at sea since I came back, I don’t know what’s on it, but there’s got to be SOMETHING people been doing all day for fun, right?” She regarded him a long moment. “Yeah,” she finally said, “I’d like that."

#fic #writing #alt marauders #pyro

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 7: The 4077 Rides Again

It'd tookened his Ma a fair bit of convincing to get Radar to leave the farm and go to Dr. Winchester's wedding.

He'd'a still sent in the quilt square, of course. Cuz it means a lot to Max and to Hawkeye and to the rest of the MASH folks. And he don't like letting his friends down. But he really weren't sure about actually going to the wedding.

Partways cuz he ain't left home for further away than Patricia's hometown of Lancaster since he got back from Korea. And he knows – best he can, anyway, it ain't like he's got a feeling about it or nothin – that everything's gonna be ok while he's gone. Park Sung's more'n able to look after things for a weekend and the wedding's set between planting and harvest so there ain't much to be done around the place but rooting out weeds and looking after the animals. But still, Radar don't like leaving 'em in a lurch.

But the other part – which he don't really like thinking on, even though he'd been sure to tell Patricia and his Ma, just in case things went bad and they came home early – is that Dr. Winchester don't really like him all that much. Thinks Radar's too far beneath him to be worth considering. And Radar's used to being overlooked – he ain't the smartest or the handsomest or the best at anything, really. And plenty of the commissioned officers had been like that – rude and mean and thoughtless. But that don't mean it don't still hurt. And it don't mean he wants to spend a whole weekend getting looked down on like that by Dr. Winchester again.

Truth to tell, Radar'd been shocked to get an invitation at all – and written on the fanciest paper he's ever seen, with little flowers worked in it – nice enough to put in a picture frame and hang on the wall, and being used for writing on! But there'd been his name, wrote out in real pretty handwriting and under it a little note in the same writing saying how much Mrs. Dr. Winchester wanted to meet him.

But nothing from Dr. Winchester.

So it just feels like maybe he don't know Radar's coming, is all. And that maybe he and Patricia'll get there and Dr. Winchester'll be real mad and condescending and mean like he gets and they'll get throwed outta there.

Which would be too bad, cuz Radar's really looking forward to seeing all the folks from the 4077 who'll be there too – an it won't be everybody of course, cuz Dr. Winchester weren't there for the first half of the war, an he don't care for some of the folks from the 4077 even more than he don't care for Radar. But Hawkeye'll be there and Trapper and BJ and maybe even Max, who Radar's really missed – the one person who'd never ragged on him for being short or a kid or homesick or nothing. Though Dr. Winchester don't like Max any more than he'd liked Radar, so it ain't likely.

But his Ma'd just said “nothing ventured means nothing gained” in response to Radar's worries. And that's true enough. He wouldn't be where he is with Patricia if'n he hadn't'a talked to her that day in Kimpo and then wrote to her once he got back home. And he wouldn't have Park Soon's help here at the farm if'n he hadn't'a wrote to Hawkeye about the farm – and then told the truth of the matter when they'd found him out in his lies. And he could'a saved a whole mess of time if'n he'd'a just wrote the truth in the first place – been honest with his friends from the start, even though it'd been embarrassing to admit he were struggling.

His Ma'd been right, of course, so he and Patrica'd headed up to Ottumwa and got the bus out East. And that'd been all right, as things go. It's a good thing he and Patricia like seeing a lot of each other, though, boy, cuz it'd tookened near to a whole day to get where they were going – and the bus'd broke down once and it was almost like being back on an army transport – minus being shelled.

But now they're in Boston in the lobby of a real fancy hotel – the kind of place Radar ain't sure they ain't gonna get kicked outta, invitation or no. He feels like a real rube, standing there rubbernecking at all the gold and fancy chandeliers and all the folks dressed up real nice just to set in the lobby. But then he sees Max and Soon Li up by the check-in desk and when he comes up to 'em, Max smiles real big and hugs Radar and starts shooting the breeze like it ain't been no time at all since they'd seen each other. And Radar figures things oughtta work out all right after all. And he is really looking forward to seeing the rest of his friends from Korea.

--

Trapper and Hawkeye and all their house-guests cram into a cab over to Back Bay and the poncy hotel Charles's wedding reception is at. And they're a little early – mostly so the ladies have time to change into the fancy duds called for in the dress code – and ain't that a kicker, having a little printed card of what you can and can't wear included in the invitation instead of just saying to dress nice or whatever. But maybe that's normal for posh weddings, Trapper wouldn't know. All he knows is that he's glad the guys' instructions just say black tie.

At any rate, it's good they get there early cuz there's a little bit of a SNAFU when they try to check in cuz the concierge don't wanna accept their invitations as legitimate at first. But Margaret strong arms him into letting them in with the power of righteous indignation and the threat of a shiner. So they collect their keys and split off to their rooms – well, Sidney and Steve and Millie do, he and Hawkeye and the gals don't gotta split very far. Since ostensibly Hawkeye's taking Margaret to this shindig and Trapper's bringing Kat they've got a suite made up of a couple bedrooms, a bathroom, and even a little living room to divide up how they want.

“Charles must not have wanted to make any assumptions about the sleeping arrangements,” Hawkeye says lightly. “Either that or Marjory set all this up.”

“It could have been Charles, I suppose.” Margaret sounds pretty doubtful, though. “I mean, he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes. Though I doubt he knows the truth of the situation – he's probably just concerned about how it would look having unmarried couples sneaking into each others' rooms.”

The concierge had very pointedly informed Steve and Millie that they were in a room with two twin beds – not that that's much of a deterrent, in Trapper's experience. After you've fucked in an army cot, a twin bed is positively roomy. And Charles or Marjory or whoever set this up probably knows that. But it's all gotta look right on paper - hence their little setup.

“Yeah,” adds Kat. “We wouldn't want to give any of those little old rich ladies the impression that people have sex for fun.”

“Heaven forbid,” Trapper says in his best impression of his pearl clutching former mother-in-law.

“Fortunately for Charles's reputation as a pillar of Boston high society, my days of sneaking into the nurses' tent are long over.” Hawkeye gives Trapper an unbearably smarmy look and Trapper chucks one of the stupid little throw pillows at him.

Margaret and Kat roll their eyes at them and leave the line of fire to finish getting ready. Hawkeye and Trapper grin at each other – they've just been given implicit permission to fuck around like dumb kids for a while and they're gonna take full advantage of it. It might be the last chance at fun for the whole night, given what a wedding reception run by the illustrious Winchester family is bound to be like.

But before they can start an all out pillow fight, there's a knock at the door.

“Max! Soon Li!” Hawkeye exclaims, tearing the door open. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I come bearing gifts – or one gift specifically. I figured everyone'd wanna put their cards in with the quilt before we put it on the gift table. And I heard a rumor you got all this extra real estate, so I figured you wouldn't mind hosting.” Max looks around as she sets the quilt – wrapped in hideously gaudy wrapping paper – on the side table. “Radar wasn't kidding about your hotel room being palatial. I'm pretty sure it's bigger than my whole fucking apartment.”

“Just one of the many perks of having rich friends and a socially unacceptable relationship,” Hawkeye says glibly. “But we're happy to babysit the quilt – it'll give us a chance to catch up with everyone as they wander through. I'm assuming you and Radar told everyone else where to find us.”

“Speaking of catching up,” Trapper interjects as he goes from formally introducing himself to Soon Li to greeting Max - more interested in giving her a great big hug than the inner workings of all things Radar. “It's real nice seeing you again, Max,” he says into the top of her head – and then he pulls back and gives her a once over, “Kinda weird seeing you in men's civvies, though.”

Soon Li nods. “Men's clothes are so ugly. Like a flour sack.”

“To be fair, this looks like some quality tailoring. Just not the Max Klinger I remember.”

Trapper walks around her, taking in all the angles, seeming bemused. And that's right. Trapper wasn't there for the end of the war when Max had started wearing army issue fatigues and men's clothing. Partly it was trying to live up to the new rank and new responsibilities – people just tended to trust her more in “normal” clothing – and she was willing to sacrifice to make sure the 4077 ran smoothly. And partly it was the blue discharges being handed out like candy as part of Eisenhower's campaign bid. Why exactly the folks at home cared about that over things like being able to pay the bills and put food on the table, she still doesn't know.

But Max wanted out on a psycho – the respectable way – and not a blue discharge. So the uniform and the wacky costumes had replaced the Klinger collection. At least on the surface.

Max laughs. “Don't worry, I'm wearing a delightful little seafoam camisole and panty set underneath. Still the Max Klinger you know and love.”

“Oh yeah?” And now Trapper's looming behind Max, hands on her hips, tall and broad and full of the flirtatious intensity she remembers from Korea.

The kind of flirtation that says “I'm only joking - unless you're interested, and then I'm completely serious.” The kind of flirtation you had to use for situations like these. But it's also the kind of flirtation that won't be upset at Max's refusal.

So she just turns and pushes Trapper away playfully. “Stop it you lech. I'm a married woman now.”

“And Soon Li's one hell of a lucky gal,” is Trapper's easy response. And he winks at her across the room. So his complete inability to get jealous hasn't changed from Korea – good to know.

“Flattery won't get you a private fashion show,” Max teases. “But it may get you a discount on any future lingerie purchases.” She turns to Hawkeye, who'd been watching all this unfold with a sort of amused fondness. “Maybe something in powder blue lace?” It would look lovely against his skin tone and really bring out his eyes.

“Fuck.” Trapper sounds like he's been punched in the gut and had all the air knocked out of him. “You don't play fair at all, Max.”

She pats Trapper's cheek in gentle mockery. “I never have – and I don't see any reason to start now. Besides, someone has to keep my new tailoring business afloat.”

“Yes, Max, you must keep me in the station to which I've become accustomed,” Soon Li says with a laugh.

Trapper slaps Max on the back. “Good thing you make the big bucks, then, huh?”

“It's got to be lucrative, being Toledo's only Mob affiliated tailor,” Hawkeye jokes. Which may or may not actually be true, Max doesn't know.

She winks at him. “Watch out. You're consorting with a known criminal.”

“Better to be in bed with the mob than the cops,” Trapper says with a shrug. “At least their quota's just in dollars not arrested degenerates.”

“It's true,” Max says with a slightly bitter laugh.

Cuz it is. Uncle Habib's Mob affiliation is the reason Max is in business at all – bribes and the threat of Mob retaliation keeps the cops from looking too close. And as long as Max provides a veneer of honest commerce to the operation, the Mob doesn't look at her clients – or herself - too close either.

“Allah be praised for good old fashioned back-alley enterprise.”

“And naked greed,” Trapper adds.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at nudity being your conversation topic of choice,” Sidney says as he and Father Mulcahy join the rapidly growing little party in their hotel room.

“Padre!” Hawkeye rushes up to him and kisses him exuberantly on the cheek. “It's been forever since we've seen you – what gives? You get sick of poker?”

“I hope not,” Trapper interjects. “I'm pretty sure a game'll break out at some point tonight.”

“And since you're here, we'll be able to write off our losses as a charitable donation to the orphan's fund,” Hawkeye adds with a laugh.

After a beat, the Padre laughs as well. “Don't you worry, I brought along a deck of cards and a collection plate. Though I've been doing more work with Deaf youths than orphans, now.”

Hawkeye and Trapper both seem to notice the pause – and they have some sort of silent conversation about it if the subtle facial expressions and hand gestures are any indication.

Francis touches the stem of his hearing aides. And his friends must have noticed these as well – they are certainly obtrusive. He knows Sidney has. Though he hasn't said anything, just making sure to enunciate clearly and speak facing Francis.

Or perhaps the hearing aids just feel large and clunky and obvious. He's still getting used to wearing them, after all. And they don't quite feel natural yet the way his glasses do.

He'd had surgery after coming back from Korea – promised as a miracle cure for his type of hearing damage. Apparently shelling had done a number on many young men and doctors were scrambling to find a way to reverse the damage. And Francis has seen his fair share of miracles in Korea, particularly of the medical variety, so he'd agreed to undergo the procedure at the prompting of the Philadelphia diocese, who were eager to have him go back to his old role of hearing confessions and leading youth group at the local Catholic Youth Center – both of which required he be able to, well, hear.

But the Lord often works in mysterious ways, as he'd kept telling himself during the worst of the Korean war. So when the surgery didn't work, it was obvious to Francis that he is meant to be deaf. And when they'd offered to try again with a second operation, he'd told them not to bother and spent the time recovering from surgery by learning sign language. Which is good because the healing scars behind his ears had prevented him from wearing hearing aids for several weeks and even now the aids are uncomfortable enough that he doesn't wear them all the time. Plus, they don't really restore all of his hearing – he still mostly depends on being able to read lips. And his friends obviously noticed that fact.

But all Hawkeye says is, “Certainly a noble cause – and one I'm more than happy to donate my disposable income towards.”

And he says all this while signing along.

“Where did you learn that?” Francis blurts out. No one other than BJ knew he was deaf – and he'd promised not to tell anyone.

And Trapper and Max and Sidney look just as surprised as he is. So it can't have been BJ spilling the proverbial beans.

Hawkeye shrugs. “My grandpa taught me. All the old fishermen used to use sign language on the lobster boats – easier than trying to yell at one another over a storm. And apparently it got to be common enough that everyone around town used it. Up until Alexander Graham Bell showed up and convinced everyone it would encourage Deaf people to have families together and lead to a decay in the moral fabric of America, anyway.”

“Good thing you've never cared about decaying moral fabric,” Trapper says with a sly smile.

And Max chimes in with, “Sounds to me like he probably just wanted to sell more telephones. What a scam artist.”

And then they're all laughing and joking around like they used to, with Francis right there in the middle of it. It feels like no time at all has passed – like Francis is still in Korea and it's terrible and wonderful and it feels like home the way the Philadelphia neighborhood where he grew up and came back to administer over used to feel like. And he sinks back into the feeling of friendship and belonging the same way he sinks into the plush sofa he'd been pushed into by Hawkeye. Who always did like taking care of his friends.

Friends who keep filtering in and out of the hotel room – stopping in to drop off their cards to go along with the quilt, or just to say hi, or to sit and chat a while. The room gets a little crowded and Francis feels slightly, well, pressed. And Hawkeye looks like he's getting a little claustrophobic. So when Margaret and Trapper's date emerge from one of the bedrooms, he makes is way over to where Hawkeye's standing with Colonel and Mrs. Potter and says, “I'm going down to the reception now,” just to gauge where Hawkeye's standing.

“You want me to come with you?” And Hawkeye seems very eager to be out of the overcrowded room. And he's always looking for a way to help others. Even when he won't admit to needing help himself.

So Francis nods. “If you don't mind acting as translator for a while tonight. My sister the Sister couldn't make it – and I'm afraid crowds make things more difficult.”

“Sure thing Padre.” Hawkeye throws an arm over Francis's shoulders, indicates to Trapper that he's leaving, and starts directing them out the door. “Though you should know I mostly used sign language to pass notes in class – so sorry if most of my vocabulary involves insulting algebra.”

Francis laughs – partly from Hawkeye's disclaimer and partly because he can vaguely hear Trapper telling everyone in the hotel room to get the hell out, he's not the one running the reception. So they – plus Margaret, once she's done saying her goodbyes to Trapper's date and some of the other nurses - lead something of a stampede down to the ballroom. But it's more spread out than things in the hotel room had been, so that's a blessing.

With the hotel room cleared out, Trapper does an inventory of all the cards they've accumulated in a towering stack next to the quilt.

“Looks like we're just missing BJ,” Max says from where she's looking over his elbow. “He always did have a kinda California attitude about showing up on time.” Unlike her, who, as a good daughter of the Midwest, always showed up at least fifteen minutes early to appointments.

Trapper checks his watch. “We've still got a bit before the shindig's supposed to officially start. And rich people like to be fashionably late anyway.” He turns to Kat. “But if you want to head down now, I figure Max can take it from here.”

Max throws herself at him like some heroine from a bad romance novel. “Trapper! How could you! I am but a poor and delicate maiden. This heavy gift is too much for my frail arms to bear. Please! Won't some strapping young man help me with this task?” She feels up his arms. “Preferably one with real big biceps.”

Trapper blushes – and part of it may be that everyone's laughing at Max's ridiculous statement – but part of it could be that Max is still sort of thrown over as much of him as she can reach. It would probably work better if she was in heels, to be honest. But it's not her fault he's so tall and she's in flats.

“C'mon, Max, quit trying to snow me. It ain't gonna work.” He's doing his best to keep an aloof expression, but Max can see where the cracks are starting to form. And she's always been good at applying pressure in just the right way to get what she wants. And Trapper's a pretty easy mark, anyway, since he genuinely likes her and all.

“But Trapper, Hawkeye got you to fight that one guy just by saying you had a cute body. Is that it? Do I gotta start complimenting you?” She bats her eyelashes coquettishly. “You're so strong, and handsome, and-”

“Ok, ok, cut it out. I'll deliver the damn gift. Just stop doing that.”

Terminal embarrassment works pretty good too, it turns out.

Max flounces over to Soon Li, secure in the knowledge that the quilt isn't her responsibility anymore. “C'mon, sweetheart, let's get outta here.” And then over her shoulder, “Thanks again for being such a good friend, Trapper!”

He flips her off, but she and Soon Li are free and clear, and Trapper will get over it. Eventually. She might owe him for a while – but it's worth it.

With just Kat and Sidney left, and it getting later and later, Trapper turns to them and says, “You guys may as well get out of here, too. There's no point in us all being late.”

Kat shrugs. “Sure, I'll let Sidney take over as my date. It's no skin off my teeth. But you forgot to pin me, Trap.” She points meaningfully to her lapel.

Trapper wiggles his eyebrows lecherously and goes to get the corsage.

“Violets?” Kat arches an eyebrow at Trapper as he pins it to her dress. “Real cute, McIntyre.”

“Hey, you just told me your dress was purple, is all.”

“Lavender, actually.” She grins.

“All right, now who's being cute?” Trapper asks teasingly.

 Kat just sticks her tongue out at him and things devolve into something of a scuffle. Sidney sits on the back of the couch, egging Kat on when she gets Trapper in a headlock – and that's when BJ decides to finally show up. She and Trapper step away from one another, coughing awkwardly, and try to straighten out their fancy clothes.

“I think that's our cue to leave,” Sidney says into the unbroken silence.

 BJ just stands there looking taken aback. And the woman who must be Peg looks like she's trying not to laugh. But it's probably better to hotfoot it out of there – so Kat readily takes Sidney's arm and they kind of edge past BJ and Peg and out the door.

“You here to put your card with the quilt?” Trapper asks when it becomes apparent that BJ isn't going to say anything or move from where he's still standing in the doorway.

 And that seems to spark him into action – which is good, cuz by now they're officially late to the reception. And since they hadn't been invited to the actual  wedding   wedding, just the reception, Trapper wants to make the most of it.

 Not that he's gonna complain about not having to sit through some endless protestant Mass just to watch his friends make out.

Fine, he's a little sad he didn't get to go. But the reception – if BJ ever hurries it up so he can get to it –oughtta be good, seeing as they're pretty much treating it as a 4077 reunion being held on the Winchester's dime. And there's a lot worse ways to spend a weekend. Like standing here in a hotel room while BJ fumbles through his pockets for a card that his wife has meanwhile pulled out of her purse.

And it don't look like things are gonna get any less awkward anytime soon. So Trapper grabs the present from the side table, with all the cards kinda piled on top. And Peg puts their card on the pile and then gently chivies her husband out the door so Trapper can lock up. And it's probably pretty rude to just leave them there in the hallway without waiting so they can all walk down to the reception together – but Trapper just wants this errand over with so he can go sit with his friends some more. And Peg and BJ seem to be having a moment together anyway, so he sets out alone.

He's gonna kill Max for leaving him to wrangle the gift without her.

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 7