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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years

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DaveFarts - Episode 13 “When She Finally Leaves” [Episode List] Dana spends the whole day at Dave’s place. When the girl leaves, Tim, who’s now Dave’s roommate, finds out how much gas a man can hold in just to not look gross in front of a girl.

When She Finally Leaves

In the last few weeks I’ve been spending more and more nights at Dave’s place, whether because I needed a place to work, write my essays, or simply to spend some quality time watching bad films and drinking beer. It was Dave himself to ask me to “marry him” (as he jokingly put it), basically becoming official roommates, which also meant dividing our tasks and obviously splitting the rent.

And honestly we were having a great time. We both had jobs, fortunately, which were not much but they did pay taxes for now and it was overall a great experience. Friend or not, Dave is an excellent roommate, being pretty good at cooking and organising chores; the same could be said for me actually, though in some cases we have our own preferences; for example Dave prefers cooking (the fact that I’m bad at it it’s purely coincidental) so we agreed I’ll be the one doing the dishes.

We also had our buds crashing over what is now *our* place a couple of times, which resulted in more bad films and beer, or even nerd stuff such as gaming together. Of course however, the person who most often came over is obviously Dana, Dave’s girlfriend. She’s pretty cool though we don’t really hang out with her when Dave’s not around, though as I said she’s pretty easy-going.

Tonight we’ve been watching a trash movie. Yes, the three of us. Don’t worry, I was a welcome addition today. Dave would usually just tell me to leave for a few hours if sex was on the table (sometimes literally on the table, the one where we eat our food…) as we respect each others enough to just be straightforward whenever we needed some privacy. Tonight however it was just chilling like three friends hanging out together (knowing however that Dave would just give me a signal should things get more heated up you know).

We were in the living room. I was on an armchair, working on my laptop, despite the poor wi-fi. On the long wide couch beside me, Dave and Dana chilling and watching the movie with more attention than me, my bud’s left arm around his girlfriend, sometimes making remarks on how bad it was. We all had a can of beer, because of course we did.

The couple brought some takeouts for dinner, some fast-food a few blocks from here (Dana’s idea, actually, which we were both thankful for). Dave, chilling next to Dana, was wearing his signature casual outfit: a grey shirt and pair of dark blue loose jeans, details that my gay-ass eyes immediately noticed and more than once stared at.

“Oh wow the helicopter just blew up I’m speechless.” Dave said, sarcastically.

“A Subversive Masterpiece: that’s what they were going for when they wrote this.” Dana added, and they both chuckled.

I also did my fair share of sarcastic remarks though work got most of my attention, even though it was nothing urgent, just me trying to get some stuff done as fast as possible.

“Did the shark just wink at him?” my bro commented.

“They’re best friends now.” his girlfriend explained. What a great film.

After 15 more minutes the movie ended with the three of us clapping at a shot of a man and a shark exchanging a look of gratitude to each other, as the Sun set into the never-ending ocean. Drugs played a big role into the making of this move I’m 100% sure.

“Well, that was enlightening, but I gotta head back home. The Uber’s almost here.” Dana said, as she got up and reached for her purse and some other stuff.

“You’re really sure about that? Come on, stay here for the night.” Dave suggested. “I taught Tim to play dead. We can throw food at him.” he then joked.

“I can also bring you the newspaper upstairs, tomorrow morning.” I played along.

Dana chuckled in response. “I’m sure you’ll win the next contest you two, but I gotta wake up super early tomorrow.”

The couple walked towards the front door. The entrance was next to the living room, a few steps behind the couch. Dave and I sometimes darkly joked that any assassin could easily ambush us because whenever we’re on the couch anyone could sneak into the house behind us, with enough care (we then prefer to drink about it).

“Call me when you get home.” Dave said and the two shared a quick kiss.

In the meantime I moved on the bigger (and more comfortable) couch, more or less in Dana’s spot, as I also have better wi-fi reception there. I left my laptop on the small table in front of me because apparently all of my laptops have to be shitty and take some time to even the most basic stuff. As I inspected the wi-fi icon flashing on the screen, I heard Dave shutting the door and walking back to the couch. After a few steps his tall figure was already towering over me.

“Yeah the reception is pretty bad lately.” he commented, and then collapsed next to me.

Only a few seconds and he already had that well-known smirk drawn on his face; he then quickly adjusted his position. He completely laid down, extended his demin-clad legs, with his left one resting on the back of the couch, ending right behind my neck. In a moment, Dave ended up showing off his loose, almost-sagging jeans-clad ass directly next to me, as his legs trapped me into a gentle yet strong grip. Seeing both that “wall” made of jeans and my bro’s smirk at the same time was a sight I never truly got used to. He was just lying there, next to me, with his ass pointed at me, as if it was one big prank, even though he knew exactly how much I enjoyed that.

“Bro you’re ready?” he asked, still sporting that smirk.

When even Dave goes as far as asking me if I’m ready, then I knew that the fart was going to be gargantuan. And I realized why: Dana has been with us and my bro the entire day, so it’s possible that Dave just held all of his gas in for hours. We all experienced this, then when the girl leaves, men get to “relax”. Other than that, Dave had tons of beer and junk food. I stared at that denim butt, for the first time almost scared of what my bud was capable of; I knew a fart was coming, and I knew it was going to be big.

But what Dave said next really once again confirmed how chill he is around me.

“Believe me: you might want to get closer for this one.” he said, laughing a bit.

He sported weirdly reassuring smile, Dave’s millionth attempt at saying “It’s ok, Tim.” as he probably noticed now nervous I became when he assumed that pose.

The teasing bastard then went full bully on me and simply reached for my head with his long right arm and gently pulled me down, as if I was bowing to that still silent denim-clad ass. I just heard him laugh like an idiot, as it usually happens. Despite my head being down and in front of that ass, I could still see Dave’s face and that smirk. He raised his eyebrows and half-closed his eyes as he started pushing, but he didn’t need to put all that effort into ripping that blast.

It’s like the fart was barely contained in the first place: it immediately exploded with a loud sound right into my face. Dave closed his eyes and kept his smirk as the blast probably surprised him as well. It was low-pitched and dry, a completely natural gas-eruption that sounded like an engine. The stench was unbearable, a mixture of beer and junk food, surprise to no one.

While farting, Dave adjusted his position as bit, spreading his legs bit more, with my face getting almost planted into that denim-clad butt as he effortlessly kept ripping that immense flatulence. Hours and hours of gas being erupted as if I was in front of a dormant volcano that just woke up. And I feared that “hours” was what he was going for ‘cause after 20 seconds the fart didn’t even lose power.

Dave still had this smirk drawn on his face and occasionally stared down at me as he completely destroyed my face and nose with his incredible farting skills, skills that constantly let me speechless, fetish or not. He was the fart master, a showoff with a manly talent that I could only bow to and endure in the hop-

“Sorry, I forgot my house keys.”

The fart immediately stopped and it all went silent: It was Dana.

Dave turned his head to his girlfriend, greeting her with the stupidest smile you can think of.

“Oh stay there no worries, they’re right here.” I heard Dana say as she reached for keys, probably hanging right next to the door, my face still almost planted in my friend’s denim ass. That felt surreal.

I completely froze (not that I could move) but I knew that she couldn’t see me (just like I couldn’t see her) as I was lying down. All she could see from where she was standing was Dave’s head and his right leg resting on the back of the couch, since the entrance was behind our couch.

I was terrified, while Dave was doing his best not laugh like an idiot.

“What’s so funny?” Dana asked, laughing a bit herself, definitely noticing her boyfriend being weird.

My teasing bro quickly glanced down at me, almost losing it (and still holding holding the fart in, which didn’t stop the smell from burning my nostrils).

“N-nothing’” he stuttered. That’s it, he was gonna laugh like an idiot.

“Okay” I heard Dana, not really convinced of the boyfriend’s answer though.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then we heard a car honk, thank goodness.

“Oh… it’s my Uber. Bye!” the girl said, quickly leaving the house and shutting the door behind her.

Another moment of silence followed, Dave still staring at the entrance. I was shaking, I was legitimately scared that someone was gonna find out, which was weird given the hotness I was experiencing in that moment, even without the fart being ripped.

“Ok… where were we?” Dave asked, turning back to me, with a smirk. “Oh yeah!”

And he effortlessly resumed farting, just as loud, proud and powerful as it was before the interruption, directly into my face. The terror I experienced moments before was blown away by that incredibly blast and me being rock-hard, as it usually happens when Dave showoffs his gassy talent around me, or on me.

Dozens of seconds passed and at this point Dave just played along. He nodded at me, faking a serious expression, as if he was listening to something actually interesting instead of his own loud fart still going on strong; after about ten more seconds he checked the time on his wrist-watch and acted surprised, then stared down at me as if he wanted to say “damn that is long!”. We both however actually lost the track of time and he simply relaxed as if I wasn’t even in front of his ass, all while the fart was still being blasted in my face.

Dave then reached for my head again and gently pushed it inches closer to his roaring ass, and I felt the vibrations of his rip all over my face: it was literally an earthquake.

How long was it lasting? More than 1 minute perhaps? How much gas can a man hold in? Dave certainly was pushing for a record. All I knew is that I felt privileged witnessing that, even though I was beyond being a mere witness since no particle of gas missed my eyes and nostrils.

However (finally, actually), the fart seemingly started to lose power, the once-continuous sound starting to “stutter” and turning more into a fast series of loud farts, fired back-to-back. The show (because that’s what it was: a show) ended with a loud, 5 seconds blast, and Dave’s laughter.

I slowly got up, sweaty, my nose burning, with a startled look to which my bro reacted with another immature cackle. I was now sitting next to him as I was before, and looked back at my bud, who in the meantime re-adjusted his pose. He was still lying down, still kind of showing off his loose-sagging ass, but in a less “menacing” way: now he was just chilling.

“When’s Dana coming over again?” I joked. I mustered all the courage I had left to say that. I was impressed by the fact that I could still speak considering that all of my blood probably flooded my boner at that point.

Dave laughed at that lame joke, thank goodness. “As if I need Dana to blast you like this.”

He raised one leg, again showing off his sagging denim ass in my direction. He quickly sucked some air in and after a few moments and weird noises a loud 6 seconds fart erupted. For his standards, that’s basically a weak one.

My friend just casually joking and bragging about facefarting me and then farting on command to prove it made me lose it, as I felt my boner… dampening. He didn’t notice it but he knew that I had a hard-on, that’s for sure.

I didn’t want to just rush into the bathroom so I just stared at my laptop, still on the table, in front of me: the wi-fi signal was stronger than ever. I jokingly like to think that Dave’s blast was so powerful it actually influenced the signal somehow and improved it.

I turned to my bud, still lying on his side of the couch, just checking his phone and being… casually hot.

“Thanks man.” I said, not for the wi-fi though.

He lowered his phone, revealing a blank reaction “Really?” he said, rolling his eyes, with a bored expression. “Stop being cringe and do the dishes.”

Fuck, I totally forgot about those. We had takeout food but we still used some of our dishes. I immediately got up and rushed to the kitchen, hoping that Dave was distracted by his phone enough to not notice by boner through my sweatpants.

Once in the kitchen, a place that wasn’t tainted by Dave’s gas, my nostrils could still feel my bro’s fart-stench. That’s how soaked up in his gas I was. Even my ears needed some time to adjust to the silence, now that I didn’t have a deafening fart being ripped right into my skull.

And I just knew that this wasn’t the last time this was gonna happen. I’m Dave’s roommate, and being roomies means we have to divide our tasks: he’s the farter, I’m the sniffer.

End of Episode 13

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

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g4rous · 3 years

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Sunlit memories (Garou x Reader)

tags: slight mentions of blood, no warnings really

words: 1.5 k

notes: this one is slightly longer than the two before bc I had to put in a lot of stuff here lol but anyways aa here it is finally! Tried making it a bit lighthearted <3

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Chapter three

After lazily opening your eyes, pain spread through your head. The blackness from your vision cleared away, leaving a fog in your mind and the painful sensation was the first thing you could register before you felt the cold brick wall you were leaning on.

What just happened? Trying to recall how you got in that position, your eyes trailed to the opposite wall, now realizing you didn’t even remember being in this alley in the first place.

“Yo, you’re awake.”

Looking over at a few large wooden crates, your focus now shifted to the silver-haired teen sitting on top of them. You didn’t even make out a response upon witnessing the injuries behind his torn, black shirt. The puzzle was coming together.

Last sight you remember before going unconscious were the heroes from that mini-market fighting the same person right in front of you now. For a moment you almost thought you were being delirious, yet those wounds only proved your suspicions. Was he the self-proclaimed “Hero Hunter” everyone has been wild about recently?

“So…” he looked at you with an awkward expression, “ you gonna go now or?”

Slightly flinching as you snapped back to reality, now you were left completely perplexed on what to do. On one hand the realization made you feel quite uneasy, but on the other you were safe for some reason, despite getting caught up in the ruckus from before.

“What happened to those guys earlier..?”

“Oh, their bodies are probably still lying face down right around the corner,” he grinned, “if no one found them already, that is.”

However after picking up your distraught expression that boastful tone faded in an instant.

“Hey, hey they’re not dead, jeez quit freaking out.”

You only frowned after giving him a small glare. Your head still ached, although not as strong from a few minutes ago. How long have you been out? Judging by the still-sunset sky it shouldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, much to your relief. The street was still deserted and silent as well.

“Well, thanks for saving my skin back there I guess…” you looked over at his injuries, staggering for a moment after standing up.

“However, you should definitely get those injuries checked out. I think I saw a hospital or something around here somewhere.”

A few seconds passed as he looked at you with a blank stare.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Dude you’re literally bleeding all over.”

“I said I’m fine!-“, he exclaimed only to flinch in pain. “-why are you so worried anyways? Just go home.”

“Talk about stubborn,” you thought to yourself.

Though, on second thought you do see a good reason why he shouldn’t. It’s almost as if you had forgotten that you witnessed him straight up thrash some A-classes. That and all the other questions that piled up still haven’t left your mind, but be as it may now wasn’t the time for overthinking. People must be pursuing him everywhere now, huh?

You leaned against the wall, still contemplating the situation. Water droplets from the roof were the only thing breaking the silence as you both stood there quiet. That is, until you got an idea.

“I don’t plan on talking you into it anymore…” you spoke with a tinge of nervousness, “but I do have some bandages at home. It’ll just be ten minutes until we get there, I give you them and you can leave. I don’t think sitting on those crates until you bleed out is really practical.”

The teen almost reflexively wanted to protest but not a single sentence came out. He really couldn’t think of anything that made your idea sound regrettable, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn’t in the best shape. You on the other hand felt almost obligated to help him out. Putting aside that shocking realization from earlier, he did watch over you after you got KO’d.

After finally jumping off the crates, he shrugged and put both hands in his pockets.

“Eh, sure.”

You gave a relieved smile before taking a look at the still empty street you were both heading for. The sky turned into shades of amaranthine and bit by bit street lights began illuminating the path. The streets nearing your house weren’t as deserted as the one you woke up in, and occasionally you had to move to a more hidden route. Fortunately you’ve been greeted by your neighborhood cat soon after, indicating the destination- your safe home.

“I don’t think you told me your real name yet, if I may know? I’m y/n by the way.”

“It’s Garou,” he responded after looking around, almost hesitantly.

“So… Why were you doing that today?” you spoke as you reached out for your keys.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Dunno, you don’t see someone beating up heroes every day.”

Taking a quick glance around your surroundings, you opened the door at last.

“You sure like answering questions with a question, huh?” you gave a tired smile, “ah, I won’t force out any answers from you I guess.”

The lights in the hallway were already open, illuminating the other rooms, some half empty. After all you still had some work to do in the house. Making your way to your room, the bag of trash next to the wall caught your attention briefly. You couldn’t remember the reason you left off in such a hurry, not even throwing it away.

“Well, come in!” you shouted from the other room, “just don’t get any blood on the carpet please.”

But much to your amusement the on-the-outside intimidating man just stood there with a blank expression ever since you stepped into the apartment. You weren’t sure was it politeness or just plain awkwardness but it made you cackle internally.

Even so, after your call he cautiously stepped out to the living room, actually being careful not to dirty the carpet as you told. The room was pleasingly decorated, and even if he didn’t know you it simply radiated with your energy. It was oddly comfortable.

And as you finally stepped out of your room with that first-aid kit, a ring on your doorbell caught you both by surprise. You almost asked yourself whether that’s a hero in front of the door, before your memory got jogged again.

“Well shit.”

You gestured an already alert and intense Garou to step away from the door, to which he only raised an eyebrow.

“Ah…” you whispered, looking over to the side, “I kinda forgot I called a friend over.”

“You remembered just now!?”

“I was knocked out!” you complained, much to his discontent.

What were you supposed to do now? You thought to yourself as your eyes trailed from the door to the teen. The doorbell rang once again as to make the atmosphere grow even more unsteady.

“Guess we have to improvise…”

“You’re joking right?”

“If she saw a beat-up guy jumping out my window I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

He only rolled his eyes as you went to the door to finally greet your friend, adjusting your shirt along the way.

Frankly, you felt somewhat guilty for roping him in, all bloody and bruised to socialize with your rather concerned friend. Well, who wouldn’t get a little suspicious to see a strange man in their friend’s living room. To make things even more awkward he hadn’t said more than two sentences in the past hour, not that it’s surprising.

“So-,” your friend smiled, desperately trying not to glare at the man’s injuries, “- how did you two become friends?”

“Ah, it’s from that monster incident I told you about earlier,” you smiled back.

“So that’s why he’s so bruised,” she glanced over at him sympathetically, to which he only glared at you deadpan.

“Nothing special.” He spoke in a bluntly before yawning.

“Oh, how come?”

“He delivers stuff!” you exclaimed before any other thoughts came to mind, “sometimes he comes across them there too unfortunately. Poor guy.”

As if his deadpan look couldn’t get any drier.

It was crystal clear he hates being pitied, and you desperately tried not to let out a chuckle because of the ridiculous situation. Truthfully you weren’t even nervous anymore since you let out so many laughs. And your constant teasing only made him talkative since he just had to drop something even more embarrassing for payback, making the evening even more amusing. You didn’t even notice the clock struck midnight already from all the banter.

After saying farewell to your friend, you came back to your living room to see Garou already at the window.

“Looks like you really don’t wanna use the door today huh? Well, way better now than having to explain why some bloody dude jumped out my window earlier,” you grinned, to which he scoffed.

“Pfft, yeah, yeah. Don’t drag me into any more of these things though.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Well, it better not happen anymore,” he rolled his eyes before flashing a small grin.

“See ya.”

You only gave your small wave before finally closing the window. The apartment was now rather serene, contrasting all the playfulness from earlier. Yet still you couldn’t help but notice that smile caught you by surprise. Nothing like that cocky smirk in battle- this was genuine.

#feel free to tell me your thoughts 💕#garou #garou x reader #one punch man #opm #opm x reader #one punch man x reader #garou headcanons #garou x y/n #opm fanfic #garo

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realcube · 3 years

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rq; could you possibly write a one shot about the reader having AD(H)D and has a really hard time focusing on core academics (math, science, english, history) because they feel scared about stimming and/or fidgeting in front of people and so they ask tamaki for help?

tw; very mild angst, fluff, stimming, i use the word ‘embrassing’ too much, swearing

words; 2.7k

it only took a moment of skimming over your latest progress report for you to understand the situation.

you continued to thrive in practical subjects like physical education, graphic design and manufacturing — the three main reasons you managed to secure your spot in the support course — but your core subjects seemed to be lacking.

for the last two years, you managed to score flying colours in all your subjects. but now, it was starting to appear as though your golden era was coming to a close. what was once a report with only scores greater than 90%, was now a range of totals anywhere from 90 to 50%.

this meant you were still passing all of your classes but these grades were only indications of how you were doing now; you knew that if you continued to struggle in all of your core courses, you might not finish your third year of UA highschool.

you simply wouldn't allow for your grades to decline further, so like any good student would, you made a list of ways you could improve.

number one was, of course, study more. however, you were almost certain that discipline and diligence aren't the causes of the issue.

number two was to ask for help from your teacher and although this was a completely valid option, you still felt like the problem ran deeper than your ability to comprehend the material. after all, you had made it this far without having to do so.

before you could even ponder number three, your pen ran out of ink. with a huff, you reach out to grab a new one from your pencil case, until you noticed that in the spot where your pencil case usually sits on your desk, there was nothing.

it was as though the void had caused all your memories of yesterday to come crashing down on you in an instant; it was almost nauseating. yet it, ironically, provided some clarity as to the location of your stationary.

two days ago, after school, you paid a visit to tamaki's house to deliver the gear he had commissioned. however, what was initially meant to be a casual interaction, somehow turned into a game of pictionary (with mirio and nejire there too, of course), for which you needed to bring your pencil case out of your bag. amidst your awkward goodbyes, you must've forgotten to put it back into your bag, hence your pencil case is probably lying dejected on tamaki's coffee table.

this left you with no choice but to throw on your jacket and begin your journey to tamaki's house. fortunately, he only lived a bus ride away from your home, yet you still mentally rebuked yourself for the whole length of aforementioned bus ride due to the fact that every time you would interact with tamaki, it felt like you were digging a deeper grave for yourself.

partially because you always found yourself oversharing with him — not that it was a one-sided ordeal — and you couldn't begin to explain why; he kinda just had a comforting aura about him. albeit you haven’t said anything embarrassing yet but the possibility of that happening was way too large. plus taking into consideration your complicated feelings for each other, leaving your pencil case at his house was a disaster waiting to occur.

or perhaps you were overthinking it. either way, you were now standing in front of his door with your school uniform and backpack on during a saturday afternoon because you had no idea what else to wear.

after ringing the doorbell, you stood as a patient statue in the cold until tamaki reluctantly opened the door and only poked his head out. “hello?”

emphasis on ‘only’, because he was truly committed to not allowing you to see him in his casual-wear, for some reason. a part of him reasoned that there was no way you would expect him to be wearing his school uniform on a saturday, but the majority of his brain was screaming about how he had to hide his clothes from you at all costs. especially since he was wearing socks, comfy trackpants and — most shamefully — a sweater with a small octopus design on it. and what would you think of him if you saw that his choice in loungewear was so childish?! it would be utterly humiliating.

completely unaware that tamaki was having a crisis behind the door, you pulled your most authentic smile and said the line you had been rehearing on the bus, “hi, tamaki. sorry for coming unannounced, but i think i left my pencil case on your coffee table when we were playing pictionary with mirio and nejire.”

“oh.” tamaki was almost too panicked to process what you just said but once he did, he immediately recalled the moment he noticed that you had left behind your pencil case. at the time, he planned on calling you to ask if he could drop it off at your house, but his nerves got the better of him and he decided to keep procrastinating the call until he completely forgot.

though, if he remembered correctly, the pencil case should be lying on his desk after he moved it there in hopes that the convenient location would remind him to return it; which it evidently did not.

“yeah. uh, i’ve got it. i’ll just go get it.” his face tingled with warmth slightly as he retracted it from the doorway, resulting in him finally realising how cold it is outside. in fact, since the eaves of his house shielded you for the climate, he didn’t even notice that it was snowing!

the polite bone in him got to work before the rest of him could react, as he blurted out, “come in, make yourself at home.”

fuck! i mean, it’s not that he doesn’t want you in his house — quite the opposite actually — but rather now he had to dart off to his bedroom before you could catch a glimpse of his sweater. but at least now this gave him an opportunity to change into something less embarrassing.

closing the door behind you, you were now left alone in tamaki’s living room. your eyes followed his figure as he dashed towards his bedroom, “odd.” you murmured to yourself. you weren’t exactly tamaki’s BFF but you were close enough to him that you could tell when he was acting weird.

but you didn’t think to much of it. actually, you were slightly grateful for this weird spike in tamaki’s behaviour because if he doesn’t want you around, that just means you are less likely to overshare and catch feelings, which means better outcomes in the long run, right?

after changing into a plain blue sweater and collecting your pencil case, tamaki strolled into the living room and handed it to you with a weak smile, “here you go.” he almost whispered, patiently waiting for your response so he could mentally prepare himself for goodbyes or another hour (or so) of conversation.

“thank you!” you basically squealed, pulling off your bag to stuff your pencil case back inside. while adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate tamaki’s familiar attire, “oh, i love your sweater; i have a similar one with a cute little octopus on it.”

tamaki concluded that neither of you would be saying goodbye for a long while.

“thank you.” he responded with a soft smile, folding his arms over his chest as he made his way towards the kitchen, “um, so how are you?” he inquired, assuming that it was a pretty harmless question that would simply help get the conversation off the ground while he prepared tea.

“i’m good. but i don’t think i can say the same for my progress report.” you said with an awkward chuckle, standing aside as you watched tamaki put the kettle on. “and how are y--”

“what do you mean?” tamaki asked, disregarding the fact that he didn’t answer the question himself. although, simply put, this was because he found that conversation came more naturally to him when he was with you; or perhaps that is a slight overstatement. he tended to be more curious and inquisitive when talking to you and it wasn’t hard to tell.

until now you and mirio simply brushed it off as tamaki’s interest towards the support course, since you were the one who manufactured most of his gear. yet nejire always teased him as she believed that tamaki’s interest was caused by a different sort of passion.

nevertheless, regardless of tamaki’s motives, you still found yourself consistently answering his questions, “eh, well, i’ve just not been performing as well as i hoped.” you replied plainly with a shrug.

“is that all?”

no matter how many questions he asked, each one still managed to catch you off-guard. “um,” your throat ran dry, which might’ve been a sign from a deity to stop talking, but your swallowing was your way of proving that you did not care. although you will probably regret it later, talking with tamaki always relieved you.

“well,” you started, the lump in your throat growing by the second, “i guess i have a bit of trouble focussing in some classes too. but i mean, maybe it is because i drink too much caffeine? i’m not even sure to be honest.” that was lie, you were 90% sure of what the problem was, but you wanted to hear tamaki’s response before you proceeded, to determine whether he’d be open-minded about it.

“there is no such thing as too much caffeine.” he joked, handing you a cup of tea while he sipped on his own. “so it’s probably something else.”

he’s too good. it’s as if he knew you were withholding information.

“well,” you began once more, trying your best to appear clueless, “i guess moving helps me focus, but no once else in the class does it so wouldn’t it be embarrassing if i was the only one?”

“i don’t think it would be embarrassing at all.” he spoke softly, leading you back into the living room and offer you a seat on the couch beside him, which you graciously accepted. “but if you think it is, then i have something to help.”

before you could say anything, tamaki got up and headed towards his bedroom; leaving you to drink his heavenly tea while he searched. though, only a few minutes passed before you felt his arms slither over your shoulders to hook two clips together by your neck.

“there.” he said with a proud smile, “this is one of my cloaks that i use in my hero costume. you can tie it together so it covers the whole front half of your body.”

observing your reflection in the blackened TV, you smiled upon seeing for your own eyes that everything he said was true. it was like wearing a cape that goes around your whole body, and it had a nice hood! “wow, this is so adorable!” you cheered, then paused, “but how is it going to help me focus?”

“well, you can do whatever you want underneath it and no one will notice.”

ignoring the shady implications of that sentence, you moved your hand around underneath the cloak and he was right! no one would see you fidgeting underneath the cloak, and hopefully the professor’s voice would cover any sounds you made. plus, it looked pretty badass.

“this might work! are cloaks included in dress-code?” you joked, but you weren’t laughing for long as you turned to look at tamaki who was wearing an upset expression with his head hung low, “no.”

“oh.” you sighed, unclipping the cloak and handing it back to tamaki with a slight smile, “it’s fine. thank you for your help, and the tea. it was delicious, but i’ll probably have to start cutting back on the caffeine.” you gave it a chef’s kiss yet he didn’t even chuckle like he usually does. it was almost scary how your true emotions reflected onto him, as it seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed.

“(y/n).” tamaki uttered with a much more serious tone; eyes filled with determination yet trained onto the cloak in his hands. “you shouldn’t be embarrassed-- or at least, I, um, don’t think you should be.”

your eyes widened at how sternly he said the first part; granted, he became flustered when it came to the second part, but it really showed you how firmly he stood by what he was saying. you nodded for him to continue as he looked like he still had a lot on his mind.

“it’s unfair that you have trouble focussing because of what other people think. so my two cents is that you should do whatever you need to do, and, um, not care about other people... well, i mean, you should care about them, but just not what they think about you. because like, you can’t really control that--”

he found himself having to abruptly shut his mouth to stop himself from prattling on any further. especially since most of what he was saying was probably none sense that he mistook for inspirational, or at least that is what he gathered from the shocked look you wore; it was ironic how humiliated he was.

“that’s nice to hear.” you hummed, a kind smile gracing your features in place of the previous stunned expression, “though it’s hard to believe coming from someone as cool as you, tamaki.”

“cool?”

“yeah.” you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his baffled look which he must have been faking. surely he knows how highly thought of and respected he is throughout the whole school. he is in the big three, for fucks’ sake! “there is probably a better word to describe it, but you are one of the most badass people i know.”

“badass?” it was as if all he was capable of doing was repeating these words to you with an innocent yet confused gaze.

“yes!” you enthused, “so, is there anything you even have to be embarrassed about?”

“i do!” he almost whined, and without thinking, he stormed to his bedroom only to grab the sweater he cast aside earlier to show it to you, “look! an octopus sweater, isn’t this embarrassing?”

you deadpanned, unsure as to whether he was joking or not. “stimming is very different from a octopus sweater but go on.” however after a few moments of actually analysing the design on the article of clothing, you exclaimed, “oi, i have that exact same sweater! how is a cute little octopus embarrassing? plus, it would be extra cute on you because you have tentacles.”

in a moment of frustration and wanting to prove a point, he threw the sweater aside and began to sheepishly grab at the ends of his sleeves, “well, you know what’s even more embarrassing? having a crush on someone for three whole years and not having the balls to ask them out! and on top of that, being to nervous to return my crush’s stuff after you left it at my house.”

you weren’t sure if he meant to switch out ‘my crush’ with ‘you’ on purpose or if he was just confused. either way, you found yourself leaning in to wrap the poor boy in an overdue embrace, smiling against his chest as he hugged back. “that was..” you faltered, allowing tamaki to interject with “mortifying” but you were quick to correct him, “i think that was a very unique way to confess, and i'm just glad you did.”

your chuckle that followed was left to echo around the room as tamaki stood still and silent, simply enjoying the comfort in your arms as feeling the pleasure of time escape him. until eventually he whispered close to your ear, “so since i know more about embarrassment than you thought, will you take my advice now?”

you snickered, gently tracing shapes onto his back, “i was going to take your advice either way because if i don’t get good grades and remain in the support course, how will i graduate with you?”

“good point.” he hummed, not-so silently enjoying the relaxing sensations near his spine, “but we are not wearing matching octopus hats.”

how did manage to shoot down your idea before you even proposed it?

#tamaki amakiji #tamaki x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #tamaki headcanons #tamaki fluff #bnha x gender neutral reader #tamaki x y/n #mha amajiki #mha tamaki #tamaki amajiki #amajiki x reader #bnha amajiki #amajiki tamaki imagine #my hero academia amajiki

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thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

Note

(I love all of your writings) one of Scout's voice lines literally broke my heart. The one in the Birthday mode which said that no one came to his birthday :"((( the fact that he called everyone his best friends make it sadder. Can you write about that a little bit. I know that you have written about his birthday before but can you do one more pleaseeeeeee

birthday boy time

(warnings for alcohol mention, mention of violence, and injury)

“Happy birthday, lad,” Demo greeted, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. Scout lit up, calling back a greeting in return.

Call him a sap, but he hadn’t quite given up on having fun birthdays yet. He’d heard it a hundred times from most of the rest of the team, that you stop focusing so much on your birthday when you get older, but not this guy. Scout was determined to actually have a nice birthday.

That being said, he knew by then, after those first few years working with the team, that they had a bit of a history of not necessarily being 100% on board with doing a whole thing purely because someone was a year older, and he mostly settled for bugging some of the team into going out for drinks or ordering a bunch of pizza and playing board games, stuff like that. A hundred times more low-key than what he’d do if they were in Boston, but hey, he took what he could get, and it usually ruled anyways.

To be honest, he didn’t even really have plans that year. He’d said as much when he was asked earlier that week. It was the middle of the week, not all that close to the weekend, so going out with everyone was pretty much off the table, as was getting drunk considering they all had work the day after. He was gonna head into town and get himself a gift, that was most of his plan, maybe hang out with everyone later on too. He’d been saving his money for a while, a just-in-case fund that he’d been working on for a few years, a luxury he didn’t have growing up, and didn’t tend to spend much money on himself outside of snack food and Bonk and sometimes comic books or little things like that. It would be nice to get himself something he really liked. That alone was plenty of excitement. Not an adrenaline kind, just a regular, nice sort of thing.

Overall, he was honestly just thrilled that apparently everyone actually remembered this year, greeted all morning by similar casual “hey, happy birthday”s, including a particularly excited one from Pyro, who hugged him and spun him in a few circles outright. He had plenty of time next year to do some really sick birthday stuff, but overall, he was just gonna chill out, treat himself for once, and relax.

“Alright everyone,” the Engineer said grimly, half an hour previously, casting a look around the room. “Here’s the plan.”

The team minus their fastest member were all gathered around the debriefing table, and this time, rather than Miss Pauling with official orders or Soldier with the latest new strategy, it was the Engineer standing up front holding a piece of chalk.

“We’ve been over this, Toymaker, twice weekly all month,” Demo drawled, rolling his eye.

“I know that, but this is important,” he stressed.

“It is true,” Heavy rumbled, nodding solemnly. “This is big deal.”

“We can’t afford to let this one get mucked up considering our history,” the Engineer said firmly. “Every year it’s somethin’. This year we aren’t taking any chances, especially after that catastrophe last year.”

A groan from the team as they collectively remembered. A nod from the Engineer.

“We’re lucky Firebug was the one to ask why Scout was in the kitchen combing the cabinets and not one of us, otherwise he would’ve found out for sure. If he knew we all forgot his birthday, it would crush him,” he said emphatically. The team looked embarrassed as a whole, while Pyro looked particularly mortified. “And we can’t just buy the damn kid a few pizzas and hand him alcohol like that was the plan again this year.”

“Fortunately for all of you, I’ve been so generous as to look into a few things,” Spy piped in, pausing to take a drag from his cigarette.

“As if you won’t take any excuse to snoop,” Sniper mumbled, and was glared at.

“I resent that remark,” Spy scoffed. “Regardless. I happen to know that we’re in luck, and that Scout is planning to go into town for a short period of time this afternoon. For what purpose, I’m not sure. But it should mean we have plenty of time to set everything up.”

“I trust you all have gifts ready?” Medic asked, and received a general murmur of agreement, and made a check on the paper he had attached to a clipboard. “Ja, ja, that is good. Herr Demoman, Pyro, you are done with your baking?”

“Cake is baked, iced, and decorated,” Demo nodded, Pyro giving a thumbs up of agreement.

“Soldier, how are decorations?”

“Acquired and prepared for deployment!” Soldier barked, holding up a hand in salute.

“Doc, Heavy, you two were meant to run interference,” the Engineer said, and the two nodded. “With that not a worry, how about you help with the cooking and decorating?”

“Heavy can do this,” Heavy agreed, and Medic nodded as well, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard.

“And the snake was gonna help with anything that went wrong, and Sniper, you were gonna help with headed into town for anything we needed last minute,” the Engineer said, and received nods from the two of them.

“Do we need anything so far?” Sniper asked.

“No, we’re fine for now. And I’ve got my own setup handled,” the Engineer said, and nodded a few times to himself. “Alright. Sounds like we’re golden.”

“Ja, very good. Herr Spy, would you keep an eye on Scout and let the rest of us know when we can begin getting ready?” Medic asked.

“Obviously,” Spy said.

“Alright. Now go on, get, he’ll be wondering why we’re all running late, act natural,” the Engineer said, shooing them all from the conference room.

Later that day after battle was over, Spy dispersed news not long later that Scout had gotten changed into civvie clothes and gone into town on his bike, and they all leapt into action. Within half an hour, the decorations were ready, streamers and balloons in every direction, the table unfolded from their storage (only used when they needed to seat the entire team, which wasn’t often) and was set up with the cake, ready to have candles lit, the presents were stacked neatly, the Engineer had set up the new sound system he’d been working on (put into crunch time to have ready for the occasion), everything was set up and perfect. The only thing they still needed was Scout.

They settled in to wait, knowing town was a good twenty minutes away, thirty if he was headed to the better one. By the time he found everyone, Spy said that it had been about ten minutes, and they took around thirty to set everything up, meaning that Scout would probably be at least another ten minutes, maybe as much as half an hour. Spy would keep his eyes open and warn them when he came back, but in the meantime, they could relax while they waited.

In the meantime, Soldier and Demo attempted a few ‘finishing touches’ (putting party hats on his more docile raccoons and setting out some firecrackers and sparklers, respectively), and some of the other members of the team sat to play cards for a bit. Pyro, easily the most antsy, burned their way through the box of matches that sat waiting next to the cake one by one and started idly playing with their lighter when they ran out, occasionally lighting some of the extra candles.

Half an hour came and went. Forty minutes. Fifty. An hour.

They asked Spy if he had any word yet. The answer was no, and the visual of a few cigarette butts littered around Spy’s feet and a scowl.

The Engineer played a few song requests on the sound system. Soldier switched around party hats on the raccoons to better suit their personalities. Demo lit a sparkler and let it burn out. They switched card games.

At the two hour mark, the concern was starting to build in all of them. Maybe Scout went even further than any of them had expected. He hadn’t told any of them to wait up for him, to be fair. But he always told them outright if he wouldn’t be back for supper, and he hadn’t said anything, and should’ve been back by then. It was getting well into sundown.

“I am preparing to declare Scout as officially AWOL,” Soldier mumbled somewhere near the two/and-a-half hour mark, just a bit angrily, adjusting the party hat on Corporal Munch where it was crooked. Demo patted him on the shoulder to console him.

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” he assured, going back to fiddling with a party popper.

“Don’t waste those,” the Engineer warned. “And no queens, Go Fish.”

A groan from Medic. Demo shrugged. “We have some extra. Here, just to liven her up.”

He tugged the string on the popper, setting it off and sending a short shower of confetti onto Soldier, and that was where it all went wrong.

Corporal Munch, startled, made a little yelp-like noise and quickly clawed up Soldier’s chest, startled and attempting to escape. Soldier tried to grab on harder, but that just made the raccoon even more alarmed, and it rushed to clamor faster, digging claws in hard. Heads turned in time to see Soldier losing his grip and the animal rushing away towards the nearest enclosed, dim space, which just so happened to be the table Pyro was sitting at with the cake.

Pyro leapt up from their seat, battle instincts kicking in for a moment, and the movement startled the Corporal, who veered suddenly and crashed directly into one of the chairs, toppling it and the one directly next to it and making the entire table jerk.

Pyro, panicked, quickly grabbed the cake stand before it could fall over, dropping their lighter and the candle in their hand. The two things landed on the tablecloth, and by the time Pyro realized their mistake, they’d already lit the thin paper tablecloth on fire.

Shouting around the room as teammates attempted to leap into action, Pyro trying to save the cake from the fire first and foremost, Soldier attempting to catch the Corporal, who was only becoming more freaked out over time. Heavy moved to snatch up some of the other flammable items off of the table, but misjudged where Pyro was moving, and Pyro collided with him, the cake tumbling from the stand and directly across the both of them. The Corporal, entirely confused on the commotion, attempted to claw into the space under the cards table, making Medic yelp as his legs were torn into, Sniper rushing to try and catch the animal as well. Demo, having found the fire extinguisher, realized he was a bit late as he tried to put out the table, most of the tablecloth gone and the fire having spread across the streamers, and he tried to put out what he could, and it was only with the Engineer’s cry of dismay that he remembered, oh, right, those streamers were on top of that shiny new sound system, weren’t they. With a final puff, the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign went up in flames and was gone, and the team was left there in the wreckage.

Spy rounded the corner into the room, eyebrows furrowed from the commotion he’d heard. When he saw the smoking, foamy, cake-y remains, all he could do was sigh, kneading at the bridge of his nose. “Something new every year, is it?” he drawled.

It took them the better part of forty minutes to clean up the mess, and even then, the room had a weird smell to it. By the end of everything, all they had was one of the undecorated practice cakes Pyro had baked, some party hats, and some poppers. And by the time they were done cleaning up, Scout still hadn’t returned.

“At least he doesn’t have to see what a damn mess we made of things,” the Engineer sighed, and that seemed to be the consensus.

It was much later that Spy finally let them know that he’d seen the headlights of a motorcycle coming up the road, and the team just sighed, too tired to work up much energy. Some of them at least planned to call out a ‘happy birthday’ at him, but all they could do was stare when he walked into the room.

“Hey, guys,” Scout croaked, attempting a smile through a bruised lip.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sniper demanded, taking in the sight.

Scout was busted up in a number of different ways. What looked like a former bloody nose and a swollen lip seemed to be the worst of it, an amount of blood all down Scout’s front, staining what looked like one of his nicer civvie shirts beyond repair. There was also a dampness to his shirt and hair and a stain that implied he’d been splashed with something, practically drenched by the look of it, and he carried himself just slightly off-balance and held a bag in the arm not cradled to his abdomen.

Despite that, he managed a laugh, a lopsided grin. “Man, what the hell didn’t happen to me is more like it,” he said, shrugging. “Had a weird one.”

“Are you alright?” Medic demanded, already standing up, from his chair, and Scout shrugged again.

“Just bruises and all, it’s not an emergency or whatever, but I’d appreciate a heal or somethin’,” he admitted, and Medic left the room, hurrying towards the infirmary. “Forreal, though, what a fuckin’ night.”

“What’s on your shirt?” Spy asked, entirely deadpan, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Uh, I think it’s a margarita?” Scout said, glancing down at it and picking at his shirt vaguely. “I, uh, I should start from the top. Okay, so I went into town, right? I was just gonna buy some stuff real quick, and I got, uh… I got a little lost.”

“A little? Scooter, you’ve been gone all day!” the Engineer admonished.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. There was construction on the usual road, I think they’re fixin’ a bridge or somethin’. Anyways, I got pretty far off track, but I got to town eventually. Just took a while. Anyways, I do my shopping, but because I was all rattled from havin’ to take a hundred detours I totally forget that there’s this one guy at the store that hates my guts, and I’ve gotta split pretty fast before he knocks some teeth out, y’know?”

“Do we want to know why he hates you?” Demo asked, a bit of humor in his tone.

“Nope,” Scout said simply, grinning right back. “So, yeah, but on my way into town I saw at the bar they have some kinda thing goin’ on, right, some kinda weird drink special. So I figure, hey, I’ll walk in, get the new drink, then I’ll leave, y’know? I don’t wanna have to drive home after dark and drunk. So I order, and as soon as I order some guy who’s been at the bar too long already starts tryin’ to pick a fight with me, right? And it’s a whole thing, and I finally get my drink but now there’s a whole thing, and I kinda make this offhanded comment at this gal nearby, y’know, tryin’ to make sure he knows we’re in a public place, all ‘hey, you’re really gonna embarrass yourself by pick in’ fights right in front of this real pretty girl?’, right?”

“Oh no,” Sniper sighed, already seeing where this was going.

“Well, yeah, bad luck, turns out that’s his girlfriend, and he shoves me into some guy, and I get a whole drink all over me, and mine is all over some third gut, and this whole brawl breaks out—anyways, busted lip and no drink and I’m probably not allowed in that bar anymore, but whatever, I finally start headed home.”

“Right,” Spy said, suspicious.

“And, uh, I never wanna drive at night because there’s all these animals out here, right? And the roads are shitty. And I’m headed back, and it’s dark as dicks, and I think I see this rock and I try and go around it, but then the rock moves back in my way because it’s a lizard or whatever and I hit the breaks and swerve straight into a pothole and just barely manage to keep on my bike, but I donk myself on the handlebars and totally throw my leg out of wack and all that. And, uh, and now I’m here.”

“Christ alive,” the Engineer marvelled.

“Bad day to have,” Heavy said, also stunned.

“Hey, it’ll be a funny story to tell later,” Scout shrugged, still grinning. “Got those new shoes at least, though.”

He pulled a shoebox out of the paper bag, and the box was dented into some kind of new parallelogram, barely resembling its past shape. Scout, meanwhile, was still smiling.

Silence in the room. “Well. While it is unlikely you need any more excitement today,” Spy trailed hesitantly. Pyro, understanding the cue, leapt up and hurried off into the kitchen, coming back with the cake.

“Woah, seriously?” Scout asked, eyes lighting up. “You made me a cake? Mumbles, you’re the best!”

“We, uh… we had more planned, but, some things went a little wrong,” the Engineer admitted, and trailed off as well as he looked at Scout.

“Not that we get to complain,” Demo laughed, seeming to come to the same realization as the Engineer.

“Are you joking? This rules!” Scout said, and lit up further when Medic returned with his Medigun, shaking off his injuries within a few moments. “Hey, thanks guys, seriously, no idea what I did to get such cool teammates. You guys are awesome, I mean it.”

“Dunno how we got a bloke like you, either,” Sniper shrugged, voice quiet compared to the rest of them. “Not many people can laugh after a day like yours and still have the energy to be pleased with anyone.”

“Aw, hey, I mean… y’know, it’s nothing,” Scout shrugged sheepishly, glancing away for a second. “Hey, you guys are playin’ cards? Deal me in! Oh yeah, hold on, we need plates and stuff for cake—“

He dropped his bag near the door and hurried into the kitchen. The room was quiet behind him. Demo held up a party popper, glancing around the room. The Engineer took it from him, shaking his head.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #que?#my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks

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greenygreenland · 3 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me Pt. 2: Norman x Reader

-part 2 requested by anon

-kinda spicy??? because yeah but u can always skip that if u don’t like that stuff

-CHARACTERS AGED UP (so don’t call fbi on me lmaoooo)

MANGA SPOILERS/BRIEF MATURE CONTENT (at end)

WARNINGS: spicy/18+ (near the end, so you can SKIP if you’d like), arguing, death mentions, MANGA SPOILERS, etc.

Summary: It’s time to talk to Norman with Emma and Ray. Only issue is, he's not there yet, and his 'squad' is occupying his office.

PART 1

Time waited for no one. Its hands constantly ticked back and forth, once, twice, until you couldn’t recall how long you’d been staring at the clock.

The first thing you did this morning was shoot out of bed and gulp down your breakfast. There wasn’t time to idly chat or greet every single one of your family members. You had a job to do, and that was to convince Norman that this 'Seven Walls’ plan was better.

The office door stood before you like a timed bomb. It towered over you, made you feel small and helpless. What if you were too late? What if there was nothing you could do?

An uneasy smile twitched on your lips. You had to stay solid for Ray and Emma. They relied on you, and you couldn’t let them down. “Ready?”

Their eyes were bright with resolve you didn’t seem to have.

“Yes.”

“’Course!”

Why were you so nervous? Just look at them, they were so confident that Norman would listen. But of course your Norman would listen, right? He wasn’t the type to brush you off or act all high and mighty. He was sweet, considerate, and wonderful.

You sucked in a sharp breath to steel yourself. “Nor--?”

Three heads turned to stare as you opened the door. One was a woman with curly hair, another a tall guy in a suit, and the last one, a guy in a military vest.

Norman wasn’t at his desk.

The three strangers sat sprawled throughout the room. Two on either couches, and one in the back. Crumbs lay on the coffee table where stray pieces of wrapping fluttered about. A tea cup sat a little ways away from the wrappings, still steaming and piping hot. They had to have been here for quite some time. The lady raised a brow and glanced at the tall guy behind her. “Who are they?”

You and Ray kept straight faces.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Ray.” Emma tried for a wobbly smile. “I’m Emma and this is (Y/n). We come from shelter b-zero-six-three!” You glanced at your companions, then back at the three adults in your path. The lady turned to the guy behind her again and asked another question, but you weren’t listening.

What were they doing here? Most importantly, were they dangerous? Sure, Norman trusted them (they were in his office after all), but was that enough reason for you too? He was revered as a god here, you reminded yourself. It wouldn’t be out of the park if he acted differently around these people.

“Where is...the ‘Boss’ at the moment?” you respectfully inquired. The guy in the vest adjusted his position on the couch. He swung his feet off the coffee table dramatically and said, “The Boss is out of the office right now. He’s on urgent business.”

You frowned. That didn’t sound good. “We’ll come back then. Talk can wait.” you decided. “Let’s--”

The vest guy stood up and the lady followed. Your chest tightened as he slowly turned to meet your eye. “No, wait a second.” He placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder and the lady set a hand on either side of you and Emma. They smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Why don’t you stay for tea?” the lady inquired. They steered you over to the couch and plopped you all together one after the other.

You didn’t like where this was going. Urgent business? What could be so urgent that Norman would decide to leave so early in the morning? You folded your arms over your chest in thought.

It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion.

Norman mentioned a bit about his plan last night, but not in full detail. You recalled the brief mentions of a poison, as well as the obvious portion of genocide and degeneration of demons. But what else did he say?

I've decided to officially start tomorrow.

Your frown tightened and your fist clenched. Of course he would go out of his way to start the plan as soon as possible. He didn’t need distractions, much less people against his will. You remembered the smile he forced onto his lips. It was wry, and hollow, and fake, and everything that he wasn’t.

Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want.

You wanted to be angry--no, livid--yet the aching in your heart said otherwise. Norman did everything in good faith. All he wanted was to save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood. But did he realise the guilt he’d have to carry once his plan was complete? Did he realise how much blood would stain his hands?

You heaved in a subtle breath to compose yourself. “So,” you began. “What did you wish to speak about?” Vest didn’t seem to welcome your presence. He planted an arm on the coffee table and leaned across with that stare that could burn straight through you.

The lady, on the other hand, sat at the edge of the couch with that giant piece of meat in her hand. You wondered if that was actually some regular type of meat. It was far too large to be a pig, much less a wild animal.

Was it just you, or were these guys kind of creepy?

“I’m Cislo,” Vest firmly announced. “That’s Barbara. That Egghead over there is Vincent.” The tall guy, or Vincent, poured three cups of tea. He silently made his way over and set them on the table. You politely nodded his way and picked up the cup, taking a good, long sip.

Until you were sure these people could be trusted, you decided it best to stay quiet.

Cislo leaned farther over the table. You instinctively took another sip of tea. “Emma, Ray, and (Y/n), right? From Grace Field?” Ray was about to answer, but Cislo interrupted. “We’re escapees too y’know!” He hastily jumped up and planted a firm foot on the coffee table. “And for the record, our escape was way better. We kicked that farm’s ass!”

You slowly nodded with false amusement. “Is that so?” Vincent adjusted his glasses almost apologetically. He was the calmest out of all his companions, as well as the most polite. “Right.” He sounded distasteful. “You guys feel the need to childishly compete all the time... Please, accept my humblest apologies.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Nah, you guys are amazing. Absolutely incredible. Show-stopping. It’s not like we could have done better, bra-vo.” You snickered behind your teacup and fist-bumped under the coffee table. He was trying to make you smile because he knew you were tense. And it worked.

You took another sip of tea and glanced over the rim. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a mark peeking out at the top of Barbara’s tank top. Norman had the same one right on his chest. These three weren’t normal people, weren’t they?

“Excuse me,” Emma said with a bright smile, “thank you so much for yesterday!” Oh right, you thought. Vincent was the the guy who treated Cristy and Dominics. “Yes,” you added. “Thank you, Vincent.” He returned Emma’s smile in a calmer manner and nodded. “The boss let me know about that. I wish the best for them.”

Emma’s smile brightened like the sun. “Thanks!”

The back of your neck tingled uncomfortably. Barbara’s stare was creepy, and it didn’t help that Cislo had joined in. Ray and Emma inched closer to your sides.

“That’s well and all,” Barbara started, “but we’d like to know!” Cislo eagerly nodded. He leaned farther across the table and you inched backward into the couch. “Yeah, how about you tell us? What you wanted to talk about with that guy...”

You raised a brow. “’That guy’?”

The air thinned out as quick as one could say ‘Quidditch’. A bashful grin broke out on Barbara’s lips and her face went red as a cherry. “The boss of course!” she cried. “Minerva James!” She said ‘Minerva James’ like he was a god. Cislo mimicked Barbara’s bashful expression. “What did you want to talk about with...Nor--‘Norman’, is what you guys called him?”

You didn’t have the strength to be question them.

“Even if you try to hide it, you idiots love the boss.” said Vincent. Barbara rolled her eyes. “Shut up! You love everything he does too!” Vincent turned to you, Ray and Emma. “Because you’re long time friends of the boss, they can’t stop themselves from being nervous.”

Ah, so these three were Norman’s fan club. You scoffed to yourself.

Cislo rounded on Barbara and Vincent with a newfound energy (seriously, where did that come from?). “I mean, aren’t you curious?” he inquired, clenching a fist in the air all dramatically. “When we came back from morning patrol, they were all making a fuss upstairs. Yesterday, the boss was a totally different person!” He clasped the sides of his head with a shout. “I thought, ‘what’s up with that’! I got super curious, and turns out, you guys are super good friends!”

Cislo stamped a foot down on the coffee table again. “What kinda guy is this ‘Norman’?” Barbara mimicked his elated expression. “Yeah, tell us!”

You glanced at Emma and she smiled as amiably as always. “Well, he hasn’t changed that much since back then.” She elbowed you. “Tell them!” You knitted your brows in confusion. “Tell them what?” She giggled and Ray playfully smirked. “That you’re his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?!” Cislo and Barbara screeched.

You sent Ray a subtle glare, to which he smugly shrugged off. It was clear that he purposely said that to get a kick out of Barbara and Cislo. What a total--

“So you’re his girlfriend?” Vincent questioned, casually pushing his glasses up. “I didn’t think the boss would be ‘that type’.” You raised a brow. “What do you mean by that?” Vincent smiled and it was almost playful.

“Well?” Barbara expectantly inquired, resting her chin in her palms. “What’s he like? As a boyfriend I mean?”

You thought for a moment. Norman was kind, sweet, and gentle. He knew how to cheer you up when you were down, and he was a great cook. Sometimes, he thought too much about the little things, or became secretive and changed the subject. Sure it could be troublesome to bother with that, but it was just who he was.

And you loved him for him.

“Norman is so soft and kind,” you began, “he’s smart too and smiles so sweetly. I’ve never met anyone else like him in my life.” A fond sigh left your lips that hung in the air. Just by looking at you, everyone could tell how unconditionally your love was. You were more than just his girlfriend, you were two halves of a whole.

“He smiles sweetly?” Barbara echoed. Cislo blinked in disbelief. “‘Soft’?” They glanced at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. You knitted your brows together questioningly. “Is he that different?”

“Stiff.” said Barbara.

“Cold.” answered Vincent.

“An emperor.” added Cislo.

That wasn’t a surprise to you, but for your siblings, it was earth-shattering. Ray spat out his tea and Emma let out a ‘WHAAAAAT’ that could have reached the heavens. Then Ray chuckled, and that turned into a stifled snicker.

“So he’s stiff and cold?” you muttered, placing a hand to your chin in thought. Barbara nodded. “Yeah, kind of like how you were before we started talking about the Boss.”

You almost chocked. Was it plausible that Norman took after your rock-solid façade while running this revolution? Logically speaking, it was normal, smart even, to make yourself known as an unshakable being. That was why you walked into this room full of strangers as quietly as you could. It gave you time to observe and figure out the little details in untested waters.

And because you stayed headstrong and cool, others followed your example.

Sometime in the conversation, Ray shared embarrassing stories about Norman with the occasional pitch from you or Emma. Seeing Ray and Emma smile over the old memories made you relax just a bit. It was refreshing to think about something other than fifty ways to save the world. The trivial, the peace, the mundane. Yes, you missed that.

A smile etched itself onto Barbara’s lips. “So even a long time ago, the boss was cool.” she noted. “Thanks, it was nice to hear so much about him.” You almost smiled at her. She and Cislo were nice to be around when they weren’t all up in your personal space.

“He’s a good man.” Vincent stated. “He cares for his companions.” A grin broke out onto Cislo’s lips. “Not with a sweet smile or softly though. For the sake of all of us, he works without sparing any time to sleep. He saved us and made use of this ‘power’ we all have.”

You carefully watched the way he and his companions shifted. As Cislo explained his time in Lambda, silence fell upon everyone’s shoulders. Lambda was far worse than any hell. Mass production was commonly practiced, and it worked to the benefit of the demons and doctors who worked there. Experimentation day by day. New medicine. New pills and syringes.

The very thought of that place made your skin crawl.

“He was a twleve-year-old brat,” Cislo stated. “But it was like I saw a god.”

There was that word again.

“The boss constructed a plan,” he added. “And the four of us, including Zazie, executed it. Until now, all five of us have been destroying and freeing the farms. It’s like I told you! We’re amazing.” His eyes carried a dark glint you didn’t like. “You don’t have to worry.”

Oh, but you did worry. Not just for Norman, but the world he wanted to make reality. That look Cislo shared with his companions didn’t help. It was bloodthirsty. It was dark and filled with a deep hatred that sent shivers down your spine. They wanted this revolution, this chance for revenge, and they wanted it now.

“With the boss’s perfect plan and our power, victory will definitely be ours.” Cislo stared off into a horizon you didn’t care to see. “I can’t wait to kill every last one of them.” He broadly grinned. “Every time I kill a demon, I get this real nice feeling in my chest.” Barbara stared at the bare bone in her hand. “Me too. Whenever I eat meat from demons we kicked, this nauseous feeling just goes away.”

You stared at the bone with wide eyes. That wasn’t a ridiculously large leg without a reason. Demon meat. It was demon meat.

Ray followed your gaze uneasily. “Uh...then that meat you just had was demon meat?”

“You must be surprised!” she exclaimed. “I wonder if it was an employee from that mass-production farm we slammed the other day. It makes me sick, us being cattle to them. Even now, I still can’t forget.” She gripped the bone so tighty that her knuckles turned white. “Their eyes...that pain...that agony every. Single. Day.”

She stood straight and bared her teeth. “Everyone here has the same enemy, but just killing them isn’t enough for me. I’ll slaughter them all and the Ratri clan!”

Emma pursed her lips together with wide eyes. Everyone in the room could see the blatant fear etched in her bright eyes. She worried, not just about the chaotic way Barbara pranced around with the bone, but for what was yet to come. If everyone else in the hideout were like Barbara, then would any of you stand a chance with fixing Norman’s estranged plan?

The woman’s gaze sharply flickered from yours to Emma’s. “What’s with that face?” she demanded. “Are you sympathising with the demons Emma? Aren’t you happy?”

Barbara leapt on the table. Her heel dug into the wood with an inhuman amount of strength. “I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t want to kill the demons. You’re cattle. They don’t care about you!”

She ripped her gaze from Emma’s and met your own. You kept a straight face and stared right back with stone-cold eyes. “Oh, and that ‘talk’ you wanted with the boss.... I bet you were going to spew something like ‘change the plan’, weren’t you? How dare you betray us like that? If you think you’ll change his mind just because you’re his--!”

“Barbara!” called Cislo. “Stop it, you’re breaking the table.”

“--I don’t care who you are. Demons should be exterminated! Every single one of them until we’re the only ones left!”

“Barbara!” Cislo’s eyes were cold and dark. “Stop it.” His goal wasn’t to save anyone from unnecessary conflict, only to protect the poor table under Barbara’s boot. You eyed the table uneasily. Chestnut wood splintered and peeled against itself, burying the thick demon bone in broken chips. When Barbara begrudgingly stepped off the table, a clear dent sat where her boot had been. The poor table was helpless.

Just like you.

Would convincing Norman be enough? If his followers didn’t see eye to eye with your ideals, then a new plan risked ripping the whole resistance apart.

You steadily rose from the couch and smoothed down your skirt. “Thank you for the tea and the pleasant conversation.” Your voice was silky smooth. “I think it’s time we got off your backs.” You turned to leave.

“If you’re still thinking about changing the Boss’s plan, then I believe it’s time to reconsider.” Vincent announced. “You can’t stop it, it’s too late for that.”

You paused in your step and glanced over your shoulder. For a moment, you were unrecognizable. You weren’t (Y/n) anymore, or that Grace Field kid from bunker B-zero-six-three. You were another player, another great mind in this sick game of chess.

“Is that so?” you coolly inquired. “Well it so happens that working until the very last minute is a special skill of mine. The ‘Boss’ decided to hasten this ‘perfect’ plan, yes? Where is he?”

The way you looked at everyone rubbed Vincent in the wrong way. It was like you were on a completely different level, cattle or not. You didn’t care what position you stood in because you would get it done, and for that reason, you were on a pedestal higher than Vincent and the rest.

“The Boss went to meet them,” he slowly replied, “the demons.”

You nodded in thanks. He knew that look, the one where your eyes glinted and shone with a quiet roar. There was only one other person whom you shared that look with, one other man who had those same, calculating eyes.

Yes, Vincent thought. You had the same eyes as the Boss.

-----

You hated waiting. After being on the run or constantly fighting to walk step after step, it didn’t feel natural to stand around and wait the day away for Norman to arrive. And so you sat in the hospital wing with Ray and Emma, staring at the sleeping face of Christy, who had yet to wake up.

Waiting was excruciating.

“Are you okay (Y/n)?”

You met Emma’s worried eyes. They watered with unshed tears, as if she already knew the answer even if you wouldn’t acknowledge it yourself. You forced a comforting smile to your lips and gently squeezed her hand. You had to be strong. “Don’t worry,” you said, “everything is perfectly fine.”

Ray snorted to himself. “You’re a really bad liar.” You shifted in your chair uncomfortably and slowly met his eyes. “No I’m not.” Ray huffed. “If you’re a good liar, then why did you act so cold around Vincent and the others? You only do that if you think it’s necessary, like the time we first met Yuugo.”

You shrugged absentmindedly. “Sometimes, it’s to let people know I mean business. The way Barbara talked to Emma wasn’t okay, but if I started an argument it would’ve made things worse.” Emma knitted her brows together. “So you acted distant instead?”

“Precisely.”

Ray huffed again, this time more dramatically than the last. He was about to say something else, but a voice cut through the air. Norman was back. Norman was back.

In no time, you three caught up to him in his office.

“Sorry for bothering you as soon as you got back.” you half-heartedly muttered. Ray sent you a curious glance you shrugged off. Norman kept his gaze to the window behind his desk and removed his heavy cloak. You watched the way he shifted from foot to foot. There was a sluggishness in his step so subtle that if you blinked a second too soon, you wouldn’t have seen it.

“You wanted to talk?” Norman inquired, keeping his back to the window. Emma made her way over to the couch with a nod. “Yeah, about a lot of things.” You and Ray followed, settling side-by-side. A ‘lot of things’ had to be the biggest understatement you’d ever heard. There were a few points in your new plan that needed to be addressed, and you were sure a five-minute talk wouldn’t suffice.

Ray folded his hands together. “But before that (Y/n) and I would like to know...” He sharply stared at Norman’s back. “What kind of plan do you have to ‘exterminate the demons without losing a single person’? Is it a civil war?”

Norman whipped around and snapped his fingers. “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “You both always catch on so quickly.” The way he smiled in congratulation reminded you of your time at the House.

You were eleven again. Grace Field’s forest surrounded you on all sides, and Norman and Ray stood only a little ways away from you. They were arguing about something you couldn’t quite hear, and that was because you weren’t meant to hear it in the first place. Ray had yanked Norman by the collar so harshly that he stood on his tippy toes.

You didn’t understand why Ray had been so angry. Norman was just trying to figure out the best path to safety. It was for the future of not just you, Ray, and Emma, but for your family. All of them.

Everything suddenly clicked. Ray had been angry at Norman because he had done something stupid just like now. Sure, it was smart, but was it worth the risk? Was it worth all the trouble to reach the goal he wanted?

Norman’s lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him.

Objectively speaking, his plan was genius. A civil war utilising the demon clan Giran? There wasn’t a flaw in sight. No rips to break and no disruption between each consecutive step. The Giran clan didn’t care for humans, and the humans didn’t care for the Giran. It was an equivalent exchange.

According to an old book you read, ‘humankind cannot gain anything without giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value had to be lost’.

In this case, that toll was the Giran clan. They would face their demise as soon as they clashed heads with the Regent Homes, leaving Norman and his team time to poison the helpless citizens of the Neverland.

But that wouldn’t work, not when demons like Mujika and Sonju existed.

“Norman,” you said. “Do you know about the demons who don’t regenerate despite not eating human flesh? If your plan succeeds, then you’ll have to find a way to deal with them.” Ray nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if there are a lot of demons out there who don’t need to eat humans, your plan will fail from the onset.”

The room went unbearably quiet.

Norman placed a hand over his face in thought, and it was then that you realised just how desperate he was. “How...how do you guys know about that?” You frowned. That wasn’t an answer you expected. “Why do you say that?”

Norman began by explaining the differences in demon social statuses, then the whole ‘hunt’ for this ‘Evil Blood Maiden’, or Mujika. “They don’t know how we’ll revolt,” Norman thoughtfully said. “And it would be trouble for them if we got caught by the Ratri clan since you know their whereabouts.”

He paused.

“We need to track down and kill them.”

Your heart stopped. Kill Mujika and Sonju? You couldn’t do that. They saved your family when you all could have been left for the wild demons to eat you alive. They taught you all how to survive and thrive when you were all alone.

“Wait!” cried Emma. “Sonju and Mujika are our friends! They’re fine--they're our saviours--our friends! If we used their blood, then we wouldn’t have to worry about...about...” You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to Norman. His eyes danced with a dangerous light.

“I agree with Emma. Not just because they haven’t done anything wrong, but because they could be the solution.” You wrung your hands together. “Your plan is perfect, I admit. It doesn’t have a single flaw, but it’s not...right. We’ve thought of something that could work, something that doesn’t involve killing everyone.”

That look in Norman’s eye intensified. It held a quiet flame, yet burned brighter than any fire could. “Who’s to say what’s right and wrong?” he slowly inquired. “(Y/n), you know full well that this world isn’t as simple or kind as any of us hoped it to be. They’re demons, right?”

You saw Cislo and Vincent and Barbara in his eyes. They all had that same look, that same hatred for their hunters. But if only they saw what you saw. If only they hadn’t been to Lambda and met Mujika and Sonju instead.

“Don’t you think we should close our mouths and watch them go extinct?” Norman grimly added. “Do you think you can forgive them for what they’ve done?”

No, you couldn’t forgive them. Not after seeing Conny’s body in the back of the truck. Not after what happened to Yuugo and Lucas and all your other friends. The demons made you and your family suffer.

Your throat constricted.

You almost died by their hand more times than you could count too! But how could you blame them? How could you hate them all from the bottom of your heart when you saw the vast majority for what they really were?

Your fist clenched.

Demons had families too. Just like you. They struggled to survive. Just like you. They did nearly anything to make sure their kind lived to see another sunrise. Just like you. Most demons ate to live. Just like you.

You shot out of your seat and threw a hand out. “You can’t kill a whole race!”

Norman’s eyes widened. It was rare for you to lose your cool, much less, shout during a conversation. This time, you couldn’t do that, not when Emma’s eyes were sad and glossy, and not when Ray relied on you to make the right decision.

You paused and thickly swallowed, gingerly fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“You can’t just...you can’t just kill a whole race.” you echoed. “That’s genocide. Will you be able to sleep knowing that your hands will be stained with the blood of thousands? Millions?! History always repeats itself no matter where you go or what world you escape to! Why do we have to take vengeance when we could be the bigger people? Genocide won’t bring back the dead and it won’t solve anything either!”

“(Y/n),” Norman muttered, intertwined his hands with yours. “Has this been on your chest the whole time?” You nodded and he looked at you like you were far away. “Even if we do give the demons their blood, what guarantee will we have that they won’t come eat us anyway? The king and nobility have been doing this for the past seven hundred years, the same goes for Giran.”

He released your hands and averted his gaze to the splintered coffee table. “If you were told not to eat (f/f), would you say, ‘understandable, have a great day’? You might have that self-control, but the demons don’t because they can’t sympathise with us. We are the prey, and they are the hunters.”

You heaved in a deep breath to steel yourself. “Then let’s run away, all of us beyond the Seven Walls to reforge the Promise!” Norman’s jaw went slack and he stared at you, baffled to silence. “Even though we don’t know what the human world has to offer? We don’t know if they’ll accept us or if we’ll have safe entry. How can you bet everyone’s fate on that?”

Norman eyed the way you tightly gripped the hem of your skirt. He sucked in a sharp breath, as if what he was about to say would be the hardest thing he’s ever. “(Y/n),” he softly said. “You have to think realistically. Genocide or not, the world doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. You, more than anyone, should know that.”

He was right again. You knew how cruel the world was because you were able to keep needless emotions from rushing to your head. You were cynical. You were tough. But that was only because you needed to be for your family. They looked up to your strength and your decisive decisions that always led them to victory.

“If we don’t wipe out the demons,” Norman stated, “there won’t be a future where our family can smile.”

You firmly shook your head. “No, that’s no true. Ray said the same thing when we were at Grace Field, didn’t he? He thought only you, Emma, and I would be able to escape, but in the end, we took all the older kids with us. We survived this long, not because we cared about probabilities, but because we saw the path before us!” You needed him to understand--no, you were begging him to. “It’s there, so why can’t you...why can’t you see what I’m seeing?”

Norman silently stood. His gaze left your own as he placed a hand to his chin in thought. “I don’t see any hope in this plan,” he honestly stated, “but for the sake of this argument, let’s concede and say that we can cross over to the human world and so on.”

You heaved out a relieved sigh. At least he was considering.

“Even then, the part about the Seven Walls is unclear.” He continued to explain a few different points, some you could dispute and others you had no answer to. But by the end of it, you were feeling great. There was hope.

“We’ve already found a way to reach the Seven Walls a year and a half ago.” you matter-of-factly said. “We have everything we need, and when the conditions are met, we can go at anytime.” Norman’s jaw dropped. “You--you found it?”

You nodded. “Yes. But like you said, there are a lot of uncertainties, so if you still need more constants before stopping the plan, then I’ll go and figure out the rest.” Norman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

You intertwined your hands with his and gave them a good squeeze. “If I come back and reforge the Promise, then you will have no choice but to stop the extermination of all demons.” He knitted his brows together in alarm. “Wait a minute.... What is this about ‘if’ you come back?”

“Regarding the risks,” Ray noted, “right now, we’re only aware of two things. We know how to get in, but not how to get out. It appears that most who went there never returned so--”

“WHAT?!” Norman cried, staring between you, Emma, and Ray. “What kind of crazy--that’s too dangerous!” You gently patted his cheek. “Well, if I don’t go, then you’ll have to carry a burden too big for your weak shoulders, right?” You giggled and it was like music to his ears. “We talked about this yesterday, and we’re all ready to go.”

Norman gave your hands a shake. “How does that make it okay?!” You offered a comforting smile. “If the first Ratri did it, then so can we. Even though we don’t know it now, we’ll find it. We want to stop this extermination, right?”

Emma and Ray nodded.

“So let us carry a bit of your burden.” A brief frown settled on your lips that didn’t slip past Norman’s line of view. “I told you this once and I’ll say it again: You don’t have to be a god and you don’t have to do everything on your own either. We’re here, right? So rely on us.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle and pulled him close. “And for the record,” you whispered, “I know you’re hiding something.” Your breath fanned across his neck and he shivered. “You’re such a naughty boy, you know that?” You pulled away.

Norman’s wide eyes narrowed deviously as a soft smile rose on his lips. He made his way over to Emma and Ray, patting their shoulders amiably. “Be careful. I can count on you all to take care of each other, right?”

“Of course.” said Ray.

“No duh, Norman.” Emma added.

“What she said.” you pitched in.

Norman’s smile warmed as he led Emma and Ray towards the door. “That’s great to hear,” he said. “I promise to bring (Y/n) back before dinner.” Ray’s brows shot up. He let out a small ‘oooo’ and steered Emma out of the office at the speed of light. “We’ll stay out of your way then.”

The door creaked close and the lock clicked in place. Norman slowly turned to meet your eye. “What was that you said earlier?” he lowly inquired, loosening his tie. “About me being a ‘naughty boy’?” It was hard to fight the heat spreading throughout your body when he looked at you like that. Like you were a glass of water to quench his thirst. Butterflies rose in your stomach and your breath caught in your throat.

He was so alluring, so freaking hot that it made you freeze in place. Norman’s lips twitched up into a sly smirk, and it was then that you realised he was enjoying this.

Norman liked the way you got all flustered. He liked the way your cheeks flared up with red. And he loved the way you struggled to keep a straight face. There was mischievous glint reflecting in his eyes as he placed his tie on the couch and strode right over to you.

Gosh, you wanted--no--needed him. Now.

You were practically panting for air and Norman hadn’t even laid a finger on you. He set your heart ablaze with a single glance and knew how to make you feel all lightheaded in the best way possible.

You paused in your step and your back hit the wall. Gosh dang it, why did you fall for that again?

"You can't think straight." Norman noted, caressing your cheek. "But that's okay. You're always in good hands." Your breath hitched and Norman chuckled. It was low, it was attractive, it was hot. How could a cutie like him act like this when you were alone? Not even you could have expected this type of unexpected, not that it mattered though. After all, Norman knew how to treat you right.

“You’re so adorable.” he said, resting a cool hand on your thigh. “I wonder what will happen if I...?” You shivered under his light touch. How dare he act so cool. How dare he make you gasp and lean further back into the wall. His touch made your cheeks burn and your lower regions go warm. He gave your thigh a squeeze just to watch you gasp again.

"N-Norman..." you moaned.

He smiled.

"You like that, don't you." His breath fanned across your cheeks. "You won't be able to stay quiet for long. I'll make sure of it." He leaned into you and your lips connected. The kiss was sweet and warm, but far from innocent. The bastard knew exactly how to make your knees buckle and your breath hitch. Somehow, it made you want more of him.

He bit at your lip and you yanked him closer. Kissed him harder.

Norman found himself snaking a hand under your shirt. He trailed over your sides with a gentle touch that made your back arch and your insides tingle. You liked it--no, you loved it. To have his hands on you and his body practically glued to you...

What more could you ask for?

Norman placed a hand on the top of your collar. "May I?" You nodded and he skillfully unbuttoned your shirt. As he pulled it over your shoulders, you squeezed your thighs together. You were wet. That much you just knew.

"Am I that irresistible?" Norman inquired. He didn't let you respond. Instead, he undid the clasp on your bra and gave your breasts a good flick. Norman watched the way you breathily inhaled.

You were so, so beautiful. An absolute masterpiece.

He experimentally fondled your breasts, squeezing and groping. If it could get any hotter in here, then you were sure it would've been a hundred degrees.

He didn't seem to mind though. Instead, he sucked in a short breath with a satisfied smile, as if your moans were the only thing he wanted to hear.

Norman's lips slammed into yours. He licked your bottom lip and you moaned. Moaned. Norman's cheeks reddened. He suddenly realised just how far he had gone. In the heat of the moment, none of you were able to register the fact that you were half-naked, or that Norman was dominant as fuck.

Don’t forget to reblog (do it for Norman!)

"You have such a gorgeous voice,” Norman slyly said. "Can you do that again?"

PART THREE

TIP JAR

#plz reblog #i'm begging at this point #do it for norman #tpn #tpn manga #yakusoku no nebarando #ynn norman #tpn norman #tpn ray #ynn ray #ynn emma #tpn emma #the promised neverland x reader #I'M SORRY OKAY #but like y'all #read pt 1 so like #ur also thirsty #the promised neverland

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

Text

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet.

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days.

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress.

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram. Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it.

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even…

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera.

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead. Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit.

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read).

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happytroopers · 3 years

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Toeing a line // Fox x Reader

TW: typical club stuff, alcohol drinking, arson mention, a random guy being a douche

Ahh, yes enemies to lovers but Fox has the emotional intelligence of a raisin

The music was pounding in 79's, a rhythmic bass line thumping so loudly that it created a ring like ripple with every beat in the cheap Nubian whiskey. Fox wrapped his hand around the low ball glass to absorb the vibrations before quickly retracting it- didn't want his drink to get too hot. After all, the cheap booze was probably the highlight of Fox's night and it was barely tolerable when chilled. He allowed himself a deep sigh, but at least tried to mask his scowl. No one else seemed to mind the colorful flashing lights or the shrieking Sullustese singing that accompanied the bone shaking bass. So instead of dampening the mood for the other party goers, Fox ordered another drink.

If you asked him how he ended up at 79's on one of his very, very rare days off? Fox would tell you that his brother's promised to pay his tab.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. You wouldn't have asked, hell, you probably would've avoided interaction all together. You had been exceptionally angry the last time you'd seen him.

After all, he was in charge of the Coruscant Guard. Which meant it was his job to inform you, one of the Coruscant Security Force's lead field detectives, when one of your cases fell under Guard jurisdiction. And during wartime, that was exceedingly frequent. So frequent in fact, the two of you were on a first name basis- that is, when you weren't calling him an ass.

Like, two days prior when he'd swiped up an arson case after you'd already almost solved it. Fox couldn't help that the arsonist burned a senator's sidepiece's apartment, and therefore it became a political issue which technically made it terrorism. You hadn't felt that way, and weren't afraid to let him know it.

Fox told you it was Coruscant Guard jurisdiction. You told him to go fuck himself. He asked if you had a problem with how he did his job. You asked if there was room under that helmet for the boot he was licking.

Fox shook his head as he sipped his drink, you had quite the mouth. You were feisty, a trait that was almost admirable when it wasn't infuriating. He finished his first drink as he thought about the last time he saw you, chest heaving as you tried to control your temper, eyes glinting maliciously as you glared at him, and fists clenched at your sides like you were going to punch him. Yeah, feisty was one word for it. Force of nature was another. Fox took another sip as he corrected his line of thought. Yes, objectively you were attractive, exceedingly clever, witty, and good at your job- but above all you were a pain in the ass. Especially, when you got angry at him for doing his job.

From his stool at the corner of the bar, he had a decent view of the entire club. Instinctively, his eyes did a sweep of the building. Nothing out of the normal- dancing women, drunk soldiers, server droids. He took a longer gulp as he finished his habitual sweep, almost choking when his eyes landed on something shocking.

You. You- in a hem line much shorter than anything you wore in the office. You- with a fruity, glowing drink in your hand as you leaned forward laughing as something the heavy artillery trooper said. You- with an easy grin and no tension in your shoulder.

Apparently, you weren't that angry, was Fox's first thought. Or at least you didn't look so angry when the heavy gunner kept an arm around your waist to keep you close- bordering the line between chivalrous and 'copping a feel', but you didn't seem to mind.

Fox narrowed his eyes in on the kid's face- obviously young, cropped hair, scar over through one eyebrow, and a fresh tattoo over the bridge of his nose-, wondering if he knew this trooper. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Mattered so much, in fact, that he didn't know he was staring until suddenly he was making eye contact with the soldier who was whispering something in your ear. Even though Fox pointedly looked away, he could've sworn he heard you giggle before you excused yourself.

When he looked back up, you were sauntering towards him with a light step, flushed face, and easy grin. Obviously, you hadn't seen him yet, so Fox tried angling himself away from you. When you got to the bar, you signaled to the bartender.

"Two shots, whatever's most popular tonight, please." You announced, running a hand through your hair. Even your voice sounded different, there wasn't an edge to it. Fox fully planned on staying silent, letting you go about your night with out him bothering you. But when a wave of your perfume hit him or maybe it was the double of his Nubian whiskey, he couldn't help it.

"I didn't picture you as the club type, Detective (Y/L/N)." Fell out of his lips before he even realized he was speaking. You tensed for a moment, you'd recognize that sarcasm anywhere. Fortunately, two drink in or not, you were never without a witty response for your favorite least favorite case stealer as lazily turned his way, hip cocking to one side and head to the other.

"Is that your way of asking if I come here often, Commander?" His title rolled of your tongue in an irritatingly, enticingly ironic way. He was pretty sure it was more respectful when you called him an ass. But at least this time you were smiling at him.

"What you do in your personal time is completely up to you." Fox answered formally, but the raised eye brows and raised eye brows told you otherwise. Like him, you couldn't help your next snarky comment.

"Well, since you took my case, I have plenty of personal time this weekend." You shot back, turning towards him. The commander was sans helmet, but still donned his red painted armor, "Besides, I could say the same thing about you."

Fox was about to shoot something back but suddenly, two armored arms wrapped around your waist pulling you back, “Sweet cheeks, what's the hold up with our drinks?"

Your demeanor changed immediately as an over exaggerated giggle bubbled out of your throat. A sugar sweet smile plastered to your face as you leaned back into that same trooper's chest, and your voice raised two octaves, "Bartender's busy, but they're coming!"

Whoever this was, it wasn't you. Snarky and 'irritating' as you were, he liked the real you much better. Fox had to look away as the heavy gunner in brownish-orange armor pressed kisses down your neck as you tried to flag the bartender again. Like Fox, the bartender assessed you and the trooper with an air of disgust and an over exaggerated eyeball- at least Fox managed to hide his.

“Get a room.” The bartender gruffed, sliding two shots of a glowing pink liquid towards you before following the statement in a string of angry curses in Neimoidian. You paid the insult no mind as you scooped up one of the shot glasses, and you escort of the night did the same with a grin.

Out of the corner of his eye, the commander saw you throw back your shot, even noticing how a stray streak escaped down the corner of you mouth, leaving a subtly glowing trail before your tongue darted to remedy it. Fox was so preoccupied in watching you that he hadn’t even noticed the gunner was staring at him.

You bounced slightly on your feet, enjoying the rush that the unidentified libation gave you and giving Fox a devilish wink before grinning back at your beau.

“Do you know him, baby?” The tattooed soldier asked with a slight slur, nodding his head towards the commander, voiced bordering between indulging for your sake and territorial to ward Fox off. He had adjusted his grip, now one of his arms was tight around shoulder with his gloved middle finger rubbing small circled on the exposed, tender skin exposed by the rather daring neckline of your outfit- but Fox was more distracted by the body glitter he’d just noticed. The commander cleared his throat and averted his eyes as he took a long sip of his drink, preparing himself for whatever description you’d cook up after your appraising stare (was your little smirk appreciative or malicious, Fox couldn’t decide).

“Oh, yeah, we work together sometimes.” You told him, before shrugging his arm off your frame. That was not the scathing review Fox had been expecting, and work together was a very generous way of putting things. You gave the commander another smirk, this time with a challenging raised eyebrow before laughing to yourself as you shook your head. Your drinking partner watched this micro interaction with the same level of confusion that Fox had, barely smoothing out his jealous sneer in time for you to turn back to him, “Order another round, I’m going to go freshen up, mmkay?”

You didn’t wait for confirmation as you left the two confused soldiers in your wake, hips swaying as you disappeared in the crowd.

Clearly not used to taking orders from pretty little things like you- Fox shook that line of thought out of his head and started over. Clearly not used to taking orders in his time off, it took the trooper a moment to catch up, before flagging down the bartender, “Another two shots, something to make her a little… frisky.”

Fox’s emotions went from annoyed at his presence, to a quick decision he hated this soldier. Similarly, the bartender gave him an actual disgusted reaction but got to work while Fox gave the gunner a nasty side eye.

“Got a staring problem, brother?” He huffed at the commander, with the intent to sound intimidating. But after seeing the kid down a neon pink drink, it missed by a long shot. Fox turned face towards him with an unimpressed stare, but the gunner kept going, “Yeah, I’ve noticed you staring.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t looking at you.” Fox informed him, voiced dripping with sarcasm as he shook his head as he went back to his drink, wishing you’d show back up and whisk the orange painted trooper away. He pictured it mentally and then decided you could take as much time as you pleased, because- for some reason he couldn’t place- the image made him aggravated. The barkeep placed two shots in front of them, both a dangerous deep black, before dropping a heart shaped fizzy tablet in both, turning them bubbly an a dark, transparent red. The sight would have made Fox wary had he not seen women order them for themselves before, but seeing as it was you- the commander still didn’t like it.

“Yeah, well, that hot piece of ass is with me, so keep your eyes to yourself.”

Fox snapped his head up, sending a glare to the younger soldier. Did he not have the decency to use your actual name? Did he even know your name? The gunner smirked thinking he had struck a nerve- he had, but not the one he had intended to strike- so he continued, “Or, you can keep watching from here, I guess it doesn’t matter. We'll be too preoccupied to care.”

That was enough.

Fox stood to his feet, not that it mattered seeing that all clones were the same height for the most part. He gave the soldier a once over before coming back to his eyes which were bordering on glassy as the gunner slightly swayed on his feet.

“What’s your name and rank, soldier?” There was an edge to Fox’s voice, that even he couldn’t quite place, but nevertheless he continued to glare at the trooper.

“Are you trying to pull rank on me, man? Who do you think you are?” The disbelieving soldier shook his head as he shoved Fox’s shoulder. He had a point. It was considered a dick move to pull rank when off duty, and Fox made it a point to offend doing so. But here he was doing it anyway, over a girl who probably hated him.

“Clone Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.” Fox answered, letting the hostility flavor his words. The difference was immediate, like he instantly sobered up as his face went white. The orange painted soldier straightened his posture and dropped the challenging glare in favor of an apologetic stare.

“C-Commander?,” He sputtered at first, before shaking his head to center himself, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you.”

The kid sputtered for another second, settling on the excuse, “I’ve had too much to drink.”

Fox took a little too much pleasure in the anxiety on the gunner’s features, and since he’d dug this hole, he might as well finish it, “Then maybe you should be done for the night.” Fox ’suggested’ sternly, pushing the two red shots out of reach without looking away, “Before you get yourself into trouble.”

The younger trooper nodded frantically, even throwing in a salute and a ’thank you, sir’, before quickly brushing past the Commander.

Fox caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in close enough to add on menacingly, “And stay away from (Y/N).”

The Gunner nodded again before scuttling out of the club, in an alarming hurry. Fox shook his head, already feeling a little bad for scaring the kid- the young trooper would probably wait for weeks in fear of a formal reprimand or demotion that would never come. Fox was mean, but he wasn’t going to hurt the kids career, just because he tried picking up the wrong girl. But then again, maybe a healthy dose of fear would do the kid some good, maybe he’d even stop using phrases like ‘hot piece of ass’- anyone who said that seriously maybe did deserve a demotion.

Shaking his head, Fox already felt a little embarrassed about his little display as he slid back onto his stool and finished his second drink. The bartender saw the empty glass and came to top it off, but Fox waved him off- maybe he should take his own advice.

All that fuss, over the lead deceive who called him an ass like it was his name. Sighing, he ran a face over his head and reminded himself of all the reasons you weren’t worth the trouble.

Number one, you most definitely hated him and he (probably) hated you too, because you both found each other infuriating enough to ignore any redeeming qualities.

Number two, you could handle yourself and would at least attempt to kick Fox ass if you found out he intervened. He remembered watching you take down a suspected murderer- hell you might actually kick his ass if you were angry enough.

Number three, you didn’t seem to have minded the attention at all. It was Fox the interaction had bothered.

Fox was having trouble with a number four, and was growing agitated at the rather short list. A moment later, you sauntered back up, hair a little more in place and lip coloring touched up. Upon only finding one soldier, you looked around in confusion but found nothing.

“Where’d Blast go?” You asked over the music which had turned to a electro tech song with no words. One side of your painted lips tugging downward as you gave the club another once over. Fox just then realized he’d never even learned his name, no matter, to put himself back on track he let sarcasm roll off his tongue.

“You’re Coruscant’s lead field detective, you tell me.” Fox shrugged. Instantly, you sent him that annoyed glance he’d been waiting for all night. There you were, the real you. No more over exaggerated pouts or fake giggles.

“Well, I’d start the investigation but then you’d swoop it out from under me after I basically solved it for you, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me.” You sneered back, sharp eyes waiting expectantly. Fox was most definitely not going to tell you about his a tad bit over aggressive piss contest, you’d either punch him or never let him live it down- and the commander wasn’t sure which was the worst option. Instead, he nodded towards the mens bathroom as he twirled the ice in his empty glass.

“Kid said he was gonna hurl, apparently he hasn’t learned to hold his liquor yet.” He couldn’t help the subtle dig as he smirked, that wasn’t even true.

“Gross,” You muttered under your breath before you eyed the two shots on the bar. You plucked them both up, thinking about offering one to Fox before deciding against it, “Well if they’re already paid for.”

With that, you downed both shots without even checking what they were. The confidence in that action almost impressed Fox, but he told himself it was obnoxious. With no escort and no more booze, you sighed rolling your neck from side to side as the alcohol settled, “Well, probably for the best. I have work tomorrow.”

Fox quirked an eyebrow, “I thought I “stole" your case.”

He put extra emphasis on the air quotes just to annoy you- it worked. You threw him another withering look, but Fox- who was used to your scathing glares- didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, for every case you steal from me, I get three more.” You defended hotly, but eased into a laugh as you theatrically added, “Because criminals never sleep.”

Yep, that would definitely be those last two shots kicking in. You waited patiently for another sassy remark, quite frankly this conversation was much more riveting than anything Blast had said to you all night. Fox rose both eyebrows at your rather lame joke, but huffed a laugh anyways (at your humor or your lackadaisical demeanor, you weren’t sure).

“If that’s the case, why are you always so mad at me for- rightfully- taking cases that fall under my jurisdiction?” He pressed, flagging down the bartender for a glass of water that wasn’t for him. When he turned back to you, you annoyed glare had softened ever so slightly and your smirk had faded into a softer smile he’d never seen before.

“Just cause it’s you, Fox, just cause it’s you.” You told him, and Fox detected a lick of honesty behind your teasing grin. Hold his gaze for a second before shaking your head, you looked to the barkeep before he could set down the water, “His drinks are on me.”

Fox didn’t have a chance to protest before you winked at him again over your shoulder, already walking away, “See ya around, Commander.”

Yeah, Fox was definitely toeing a dangerous line. A very, very dangerous line.

#commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #fox x reader #Clone Wars x reader #ok yes he's committed a few atrocities but he was FOLLOWING ORDERS

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liam-93-productions · 3 years

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Summary of Liam’s episode on Happy Hour podcast – Part 3

Note: Since the podcast is long, we’re dividng these summaries into parts. Hope you guys understand.

- Liam says that people always have that friend that they annoy relentlessly and his person his Conor. Liam says that he is the one being “bullied” constantly by his manager, Steve. - Mentions The LP Shows and how cool it is to do these shows. He said that he usually annoys Conor when he is editing a few videos of it as a joke and that Steve usually is sympathetic towards Conor even though he is the one performing and he can’t get it wrong. “Quick monkey perform!”. - They joke that Liam has 3.31 million YouTube subscribers and that Liam should be the one promoting Jaack and Stevie podcast. Liam started doing something like a podcast and at first it started off with having ideas about the livestream and he thought that it would be a good idea to rewatch the show alongside fans (especially for those in different timezones). He feels like it’s a little podcasty in a sense. He also thought about doing like a “round table with fans” where every week different people could talk about the show with him. “I hate watching myself”. - If he had a podcast he would love to talk with for example Justin Bieber and Robbie Williams. A few years ago, he was able to talk with Justin Bieber off camera. Liam feels very fortunate because he had 4 other boys who were growing at the rate as him, in the same circle and they knew exactly what it was like being him. For Justin he only had himself. “Angel” by Robbie Williams was his go-to karaoke song and he loves Robbie, feels like they can relate to each other a lot. - Liam jokes that he left One Direction and that people will use this as a new headline, “You have to be so self-aware”. Jaack asks him seriously if the band will get back together and he says “We’ll at some point. Everybody keeps asking it. It’s probably like everybody is sick of answering it”. Liam said that he sometimes gets in trouble while being honest. - “So it’s like having that family unit because we’ve had to kind of grow that around each other in One Direction to have people that were with us.” He mentions that in 1D they had people that were with them since the start. “My day ones”, these people are his day ones. - Liam feels like 1D needed a break and that if it didn’t happen at that point in life then he feels like he going to be even crazier. He felt scared sometimes because he had a security guard that lived in his house and he was always thinking that people were watching him. - He and Jaack made some puns with What Makes You Beautiful. - Liam mentions that sometimes people will pretend not to know who he is. He told a story where he was walking down the street one day and somebody called him Harry Styles. Liam also told a story of a woman that approached him and was convinced she knew him from some place, asking him questions. Told a story about Louis once having a bad experience at the shops where he tried to play a joke on a woman where he tried to confuse her saying he wasn’t “Louis Tomlinson” and the lady told him that he was better looking that the Louis from 1D. - Mentions that Louis was more hands on the behind the scenes part (backstage), but Liam always thought that the stage was his domain. “Together we’d kind of lead this together, mainly because we couldn’t get out egos out of the way.” Nowadays, it’s the same way. They help each other a lot in everything they need. - Jaack says that Liam transitioned into a very successful solo career and asks Liam when did he notice it. He says that it was scary being alone and especially lately, he became more aware of it and sometimes things go wrong. “I have had moments where it’s gone pretty wrong.” - If things went wrong on stage with the 1D boys, they would usually do Fresh Prince of Bel Air skit to entertain people. Liam usually tried to talk with the crowd while things were sorted (for example, then the sound was down). - Liam mentions that he had a big problem remembering lyrics and at the time he was taking a prescribed medication, due to not feeling very happy at the time. Certain lights on stage would really bothered him and he needed time to adjust himself with talking sometimes and even remembering his own name. He felt so anxious with this, that now he usually has the lyrics on a prompter because “I just don’t want to mess up someone’s show”. He stopped taking this medication after he read a few articles claiming that people were forgetting their dissertations and classes for example. - Best show: he usually doesn’t mention it, but when the boys did the 2012 Olympics, their first big performance after coming out from X-Factor. It was amazing to him being so close to so many amazing artists, it felt massive. - Liam asked Jaack if he was alright and if he needed a cuddle after he mentioned that 2012 was the last good year he had. “How shit is the world if you can’t cuddle Liam Payne?” (Jaack) and Stevie answered that “Not many people can”. - Liam watches a paranormal show every week called “Ghost Adventures” and it’s one of the longest running shows. According to Liam, the show is just people walking into a room and shouting at walls. He isn’t a believer of ghosts, but he thinks that what if it’s real at the same time. He was supposed to participate in an episode of a scary tv show, but he couldn’t get to America in time, and he was supposed to stay a night in a hotel that has a history of scary stuff happening. - Liam mentions his visit to the Haunted Museum in Vegas and how they weren’t supposed to insult a haunted doll, but Steve insulted the doll and the doll said Liam’s name (he thought he was going to die). - Talks about his house in America that the lights would turn on in the middle of the night and doors opening and closing. The cleaner told him that she was seeing a person and it was “Alan the Ghost”, one of the old owners of the house. - Liam keeps saying that he needs to see real things to actually believe in ghosts. He wasn’t scared of doing things at the Haunted Museum because he wanted to live through it, but when weird things happened, he also doesn’t believe it. “I’m sorry, I just got to know.” - Liam’s theory is that if you watch something going into space, you’d be able to know what to expect when something came to earth. He feels like he would like to know there is something out there (aliens). - They start questioning if Elon Musk appeared before Iron Man. Even though it’s a character from a comic book, Liam thinks that maybe Robert Downey Jr. thought that he should base the character on Elon. Jaack “I think that we, as a collective, just discovered a new conspiracy theory”.

#liam payne #happy hour #liam's interviews #19.11.2020

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heyiwrotesomethings · 3 years

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Nicknames

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day Five: (Long Distance, Nicknames, Kimetsu Gakuen)

A/N: I kind of got a little carried away with giving Mitsuri’s siblings names and some screen time but I don't think it made this too much longer. Two more days left! Thanks for reading! Word Count: 3,074

“Hi, cutie pie!” Mitsuri said just before she clamped onto Shinobu’s back after classes let out. “Did you have a good day?”

“That one’s a miss.” Shinobu had answered. “But yes, my day was fine.”

“Aw, but you are a cutie pie!” Mitsuri grumbled.

“No.” Shinobu denied.

For some reason, seemingly overnight, Mitsuri became obsessed with finding Shinobu a nickname, but Shinobu had thus far rebuffed all of her attempts. A few names in the long list Mitsuri had tried were babe, baby, sweet pea, honey bunny, peanut, snuggle bug, muffin, cupcake, donut, marshmallow... a lot of them she had come up with while she was hungry. Every single one had been rejected with a laugh or a cringe, or a deadpan expression by Shinobu, but Mitsuri was not ready to give up anytime soon!

“Okay then speedy, I’ll walk you to the locker room.” Mitsuri tried again.

“My dad calls me speedy.” Shinobu revealed, “He’s been calling me that ever since I could walk.”

“What, so I can’t call you that?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Ah! How about my butterfly! That’s perfect!” Mitsuri shouted in excitement.

“Sorry, that’s claimed as well. Mom calls Kanae, Kanao and I her butterflies.”

Mitsuri huffed, disappointed, but she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

“Very well then, milady.” Mitsuri said with a small bow.

Shinobu snorted.

“No, just no.” Shinobu shook her head while Mitsuri puffed out her cheeks.

“It’s harder than it looks!” Mitsuri defended, crossing her arms. “I’d like to see you come up with a nickname for me.”

“I call you Mitsu sometimes, don’t I?” Shinobu asked, retrieving her track bag from her cubby.

“Yes, and I like that, but, it’s very inside the box. Try something different and see how hard it is!”

“Mitsuri, no offense, but I think you’d like anything I came up with. You’re kind of a sap for this stuff.” Shinobu said, distractedly looking into her bag to make sure she had everything as they walked to the locker room.

“I would not! Trust me, not any old throwaway nickname will be enough to sway me.” Mitsuri stated confidently.

“Hmm...” Shinobu tapped her chin, thinking for a moment. Mitsuri was right, not any old nickname would be good. She had to think of something that she would actually like to call her girlfriend. Something that was near synonymous with her. Just before they reached the locker room, a small smile curved at her lips and she stopped in her tracks. Mitsuri watched her expectantly.

“Thank you for walking me to the locker room. I’ll see you on the bleachers, my sunshine.” Shinobu winked, she goddamn winked without looking like a total ass!

Mitsuri’s heart leapt in her chest and her face felt hot. She tried to hold it together, but Shinobu just sounded so genuine and sunshine was actually a really cute nickname and— argh!

“That’s not fair, Shinobu!” Mitsuri whined, covering her face. She swore it was growing even brighter as the Kouhai laughed.

“Keep trying, I’m looking forward to see what you come up with next.” Shinobu said before heading into the locker room.

Mitsuri didn’t waste anytime hurrying to the bleachers so she could figure out a nickname for Shinobu while she practiced. She sat there, tapping her feet against the metal plank below her. Her elbows on her knees and her hands holding up her head as she stayed completely zeroed in on Shinobu. Watching her, she hoped for something to come to her like some divine intervention.

Shinobu had an affinity for purple, maybe plum would be nice? Sugar plum? No, Shinobu never seemed to thrilled with the food related pet names.

Perhaps sleeping beauty? Whenever they slept over, Shinobu always looked so enchanting in her sleep. Maybe a good choice for when she just woke up or was notably tired, but it’s not exactly a catch all name that could make sense at anytime.

Flower, maybe? A certain type... lily seemed too on the nose. Shinobu always smelled like blooming wisteria, but Mitsuri didn’t think that made a good nickname. It was pretty, but it just didn’t sound playful enough.

Mitsuri blinked, breaking from her concentration as she realized that Shinobu had been swarmed with a handful of her teammates and they were all looking right back up at her with big, troublesome grins.

Apparently, Mitsuri was staring so obviously and with such intent, that she had made a bit of a spectacle of herself. She gave an embarrassed smile and waved down at them whilst blush prickled at her skin.

“Kanroji and Kochou sitting in a tree—” Mitsuri heard one of the girls start to sing before Shinobu punched her in the arm. Mitsuri recognized the girl as Makio-chan, a friend from her class.

The other two she recognized simply because they were usually in Shinobu’s relay team. Makomo-san and Ozaki-san smiled good-naturedly as they laughed along. They were also well known from the swim team and tennis club respectively.

Shinobu rolled her eyes, her cheeks lightly flushed. She shooed the other girls back in their positions and leveled a small smile up at Mitsuri before darting off.

Mitsuri relaxed her muscles with a sigh. An afterimage of Shinobu’s dark, purple eyes stuck in her vision. They reminded her of the cool, vastness of space and when the light shined on them just right, Mitsuri swore she could see stars, whole galaxies even. If Mitsuri was Shinobu’s sunshine, then Shinobu was like Mitsuri’s moonlight.

“That’s it!” Mitsuri cheered loudly, her fists rocketed up above her head. She quickly covered her mouth however, once she realized just how loud she had yelled. Everyone in the bleachers around her and in the field below glanced at her curiously before turning back to whatever they were doing before.

“Just you wait, Shinobu.” Mitsuri mumbled much more quietly under her breath, tracing Shinobu’s figure as she leapt over the hurdles, “I’ve got some really good ideas now.”

***

Mitsuri waited for Shinobu to exit the locker room after practice, poised and ready to strike! As soon as the younger girl emerged from the room, Mitsuri pounced. She took Shinobu by the hand and quickly maneuvered out of the building.

“Where’s the fire?” Shinobu teased. “I knew you must have thought up something good judging by how loud you yelled during practice, but I don’t see the need for urgency.”

“You’ll see when the time is right! I want this to be as organic as possible.” Mitsuri said, still pulling Shinobu along even as they left the school gates.

“Whatever you like,” Shinobu smiled, “but whatever you are planning, surely we can walk? I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Oh, right!” Mitsuri remembered, coming to a sudden stop that had Shinobu bump into her back. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay.” Shinobu reassured, re-adjusting her hold on Mitsuri’s hand before they continued to walk at a more sustainable pace.

Before school, they had already agreed that they would go to Mitsuri’s house to watch over her younger siblings while her parents celebrated their anniversary. Almost as soon as they opened the door, Mitsuri’s mother ran up and quickly pushed the fussy one-year-old twins into the girls’ arms, one for each of them.

“Thank you Mitsuri, Shinobu.” The exhausted woman said, already halfway out the door. “We’ll be back before midnight, have fun and be good everyone!” She called over her shoulder before quickly shutting the door behind her. The girls swore they could hear the squeak of car tires as Mitsuri’s mother quickly drove away to pick up her husband as he got off work.

“Wow.” Was all Shinobu could manage as she recovered from the woman’s quick exit.

“I know,” Mitsuri giggled. “It’s one of the few days a year she doesn’t feel guilty getting away from all this chaos,” she lifted her little brother higher so she could blow a raspberry on his tummy, making him laugh. “It helps that you’re here of course, it makes her feel better because you’re so good with everyone.”

“I still don’t know why these kids like me so much,” Shinobu shook her head, taking hold of the hand of the near identical girl in her arms so she wouldn’t pull her hair.

“It’s impossible for a Kanroji to not like you, take my word for it.” Mitsuri said, making her way further into the home.

It was true, for some reason the rest of the Kanroji family fell in love with Shinobu right away and were eager to welcome her into their home. She was thankful of course, but part of her was sure the Kanroji parents were just excited to double the amount of free babysitters at their disposal. Still, they treated her well and she looked forward to visiting the busy home that greatly contrasted her own.

Six siblings, Mitsuri being the eldest at seventeen, almost eighteen now that Shinobu thought about it. Then there was Akimitsu, the oldest boy of the family. He was thirteen and went to the same middle school as Kanao. Shinobu thought the boy couldn’t be more different than his older sister. He was a very no nonsense soul and rather particular.

Natsumi was the middle child. She was eight and every bit as energetic as her sister which could lead to trouble if she was left alone. Mitsuri had told Shinobu one story where Natsumi had been unusually quiet so she and her mom had gone looking for her and found her in the bathroom with the tub overflowing with bubbles that she had dyed blue with some food coloring she had managed to snag from the kitchen.

Last but not least were the twins, Haruka, the girl, and Hayate, the boy, born just last year. When they were first born, Mitsuri had said it was hard to tell them apart at first glance. Now that they were getting older, it was much easier to tell who was who. They were sweet babies, but their moods could easily diminish at the drop of a hat. Fortunately they seemed content enough for the time being.

Shinobu followed Mitsuri, lightly bouncing Haruka in her arms as she walked. They followed the sound of the tv to the main portion of the home and found Natsumi laying flat on her stomach, coloring while watching some anime. Akimitsu was sitting nearby doing his homework.

“Hello Onee-san, Kochou-san.” Akimitsu politely greeted before turning back to his studies.

“Shinobu-chan is here?” Natsumi whipped her head around, jumping to her feet with an excited grin. “Hey, hey! Can we make something explode today?”

Shinobu had helped Natsumi make elephant toothpaste once for a school project and the little girl had been hounding her for more experiments ever since.

“I’m here too, you know.” Mitsuri griped, setting Hayate down in the play pen. Shinobu knelt down to place Haruka beside him.

“I see you everyday, Onee-chan.” Natsumi stated plainly.

Mitsuri crossed her arms and turned away to sulk in the corner. That seemed to do the trick because Natsumi went from hanging off of Shinobu, to comforting her sister, hugging her tightly until Mitsuri smiled and spun her around.

Akimitsu really made the work easy by helping out when he finished his homework. Natsumi was always so invested in what Shinobu was doing that they didn’t have to worry too much about her slinking off to cause mischief.

So while Mitsuri and Shinobu made dinner, Natsumi cheered them on and Akimitsu watched over the twins.

“Pancakes, pancakes!” Natsumi singsonged. “Hey Shinobu-chan, is that what you use to make a volcano explosion?” she asked, pointing at the tablespoon of white powder in Shinobu’s hand.

“Not quite. This is baking powder, baking soda and vinegar are used in most volcano simulations.” Shinobu informed.

“I wish you hadn’t told her that,” Mitsuri sighed. “I’m gonna have to put those in the lock box from now on.”

“Sorry.” Shinobu smiled.

“Come on Onee-chan, can’t we make one little mess please?” Natsumi asked, her bottom lip protruded.

“You’re still on notice after the coke and mentos fiasco.” Mitsuri reminded.

“Boo.” Natsumi jeered, now resting her head on the table.

Shinobu found the way Mitsuri scolded her siblings incredibly cute. Even as silly and childish as the older girl could be, she wasn’t a pushover and was very responsible.

“Onee-san,” Akimitsu emerged in the doorway looking a bit green, “I think the twins need to be changed.”

As helpful as the young boy was, even he had his limits.

“I’ll help you,” Shinobu graciously offered as she finished mixing the ingredients.

“Thank you,” Mitsuri smiled, turning back to her brother, “Okay, just a second,” Mitsuri called back, turning off the preheated griddle since they were walking away.

“Natsumi, why don’t you color in the living room while Shinobu and I clean up the twins, okay?” Mitsuri added as a thought. She couldn’t leave Natsumi in the kitchen unattended.

“Fine, I guess.” The younger Kanroji huffed before following Mitsuri and Shinobu out.

Akimitsu looked queasy as they entered the living room. Mitsuri giggled and ruffled his hair before picking up Hayate. Shinobu hoisted Haruka up and then they went off to the nursery room.

They cleaned the little ones up and changed them. Mitsuri getting done noticeably faster than Shinobu since she had to change more diapers than any normal seventeen year old should.

They weren’t really in much of a rush though and spent a little time in their semi-private room to talk to each other and babble with the twins, stealing a kiss or two before heading back.

“Natsumi!”

Mitsuri and Shinobu heard Akimitsu yell. The kitchen. They looked at each other before quickly putting the twins in the play pen and jogged towards the kitchen, Mitsuri in front of Shinobu.

“What’s going on?” Mitsuri called worriedly just before crossing the threshold.

“Onee-san, look out!” Akimitsu warned just a fraction too late as Mitsuri stepped on something slick and her foot swung out above her as she lost her balance and began falling backwards.

Mitsuri let out a surprised yelp and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, waiting for impact. Fortunately, impact never came. At least, not in the form of the cold hard ground, but rather, lithe yet firm arms.

“That was close, are you okay?” Shinobu asked from above. She had managed to catch Mitsuri just in time, hooking her arms under her girlfriend’s.

“Yeah,” Mitsuri nodded, a bit breathless, “yeah I’m okay.”

“Good,” Shinobu adjusted her hold, “Now, if you could adjust your footing that would be great. I don’t think I can hold this position much longer.” she said, her arms trembling a bit as she tried to hold Mitsuri up.

“Right,” Mitsuri grabbed the nearby counter and steadied herself, finally looking to the ground below caked in pancake batter. “What happened in here?”

“Natsumi.” Akimitsu answered, crossing his arms. “I'll admit I was resting my eyes because the twins left me with a bit of a headache. I didn’t realize she would take that as a cue to ruin dinner.”

“I didn’t mean too.” Natsumi sniffed, “I was trying to help. I wanted to surprise you and Shinobu-chan.”

“Well, surprise us you did.” Mitsuri smiled sympathetically. “Help me clean this mess. We’ll have to think of something else for dinner.”

“Okay.” Natsumi replied despondently.

The peace that was once fell over the Kanroji household was broken. Pancake batter all over the kitchen floor and griddle (that thankfully was still off) and the twins started wailing and were inconsolable. Shinobu and Akimitsu left the kitchen to try to calm them while Natsumi and Mitsuri cleaned everything up.

Mitsuri called for Shinobu to order something for delivery as it became increasingly obvious that the mess was sapping up all her energy and she was too hungry to start a whole new meal.

Thankfully, after an hour of struggle, everything seemed to get better once the food arrived. The babies especially responded favorably in presence of dinner. Though is seemed that more food ended up smeared on their faces than in their mouths.

After dinner, Shinobu washed off the twins while Mitsuri bid her other siblings good night. Then she came back to help Shinobu put the twins in their cribs. They watched the energetic babies wiggle at babble at each other between the bars, laughing at jokes only they could understand.

“Hey, that was a really good catch earlier.” Mitsuri said, placing her hand over Shinobu’s resting over the bar of the crib.

“I couldn’t not try to catch you. I’m just happy it worked out.” Shinobu said in return.

Mitsuri leaned down, resting her forehead on Shinobu’s shoulder, a small grin growing steadily on her face.

“Thank you for saving me from slamming into the slimy, hard floor, my knight.”

Mitsuri felt Shinobu stiffen and frowned slightly. She had high hopes for that nickname when she started taking a different approach. Slowly, she eased herself back to her full height.

“Did you not like that one either...” Mitsuri trailed of a bit before a wide smile overtook her lips.

Shinobu, though rigid, was flushed pink. She busied herself with Hayate, letting him pull her finger around, seemingly unaware of, or unwilling to answer Mitsuri.

“You like that one.” Mitsuri singsonged, wrapping her arms around Shinobu, rocking her from side to side with a satisfied giggle. “My knight in shining moonlight, Kochou Shinobu!”

“Mitsuri, cut it out.” Shinobu mumbled with very little bite. Her skin prickled with embarrassment as she was pushed around by Mitsuri’s movements.

“I thought of starshine too. I thought it would be cute since you called me sunshine.” Mitsuri went on instead. “I was thinking about how your eyes make me of outer space so I had a few more like comet, shooting star, my Venus—“

“Okay, okay,” Shinobu chuckled, “you had your hit, let’s not get too out of hand here.”

“So you really do like it?” Mitsuri asked.

“Maybe.” Shinobu replied stubbornly. She slipped her finger out of Hayate’s hand and retreated out of Mitsuri’s hold and out the door. She stopped just outside of the room to peer back at Mitsuri.

“Movie?” She asked, clearly attempting to change the subject.

Mitsuri playfully rolled her eyes and nodded. Giving the twins one last glance over before following after Shinobu to make some popcorn. Popcorn that she was going to drizzle with maple syrup since she couldn’t have her pancakes.

#shinomitsuweek2021 #shinomitsu #shinobu kochou #shinobu kocho #mitsuri kanroji #demon slayer #kny #au

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years

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Misunderstandings

Their partnership might have gotten off to a bad start, but Mac has a good feeling about Jack Dalton - right up until he messes it all up, that is.

Or, the time Jack learns about Mac's fear of heights and it's still not the most important realisation he has that day.

Also on AO3

Mac had never really been sure quite what he expected from Afghanistan and now, six months in, he still wasn’t particularly confident on exactly what it was he had found. It certainly hadn’t been easy, and he’d already managed to experience the most profound loss he’d felt since the death of his grandpa, but there was still something undeniably… compelling about it all. The way he could fall into an uncomfortable bed at the end of the day exhausted but with the bone-deep knowledge that the work he had done was important, had made a difference. That there were people walking around out there, living their lives, because of the things that he had done.

It wasn’t good, precisely, but it wasn’t all bad either.

Jack was a wrench in the works. They couldn’t have gotten off to a poorer start and for a hairy moment there, Mac had been convinced that the next two months of his life were really going to be hell on earth. Jack was loud-mouthed, crass, opinionated, and had some of the worst taste in both music and film known to man. He had little to no regard for anyone else’s opinion of him and he was more than ready to settle a fight with his fists if he thought the situation called for it.

He was also probably the best soldier Mac had ever met.

It might have taken them some time to get traction but after the first few rocky missions, they’d both managed to settle down just enough to actually get a good look at one another. What Mac had found was nothing like what he’d expected.

For one, Jack was very, very good at his job. A crack shot, backed up with a keenly tactical mind that went far beyond anything Mac had been taught at basic. He’d never asked to see Jack’s file – and given that he was almost certain the man had been an Alphabet at some point, he’d probably get denied even if he tried – but he had a feeling that the record would be long, expansive, and impressive. He knew far too much about soldiering to not have been doing it most of his life and he handled a vast range of weaponry with too much familiarity to have always been saddled with Overwatch duties.

No, somewhere in his past, Jack had been crafted into an immense force to be reckoned with. He might tell jokes, laugh loudly, and act the fool, but buried underneath it all was something dangerous just waiting to be unleashed. It should have been scary – and in a distant, sort-of-intrigued kind of way, it was – but mostly Mac was just impressed. Whatever else he might have done, Jack had decided to use his extensive training to serve the purpose of protecting EOD technicians in a place where there were enemies at every corner.

More than anything, Jack made him feel safe . Safe in a way he hadn’t truly felt since watching Peña die barely twenty feet from him. After so long in the Sandbox, constantly having to watch his back as his hands took apart contraptions designed to kill him, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be out from under that constant cloud of dread. Jack gave him that freedom and Mac couldn’t help but be hopelessly thankful for it.

Of course, increasing familiarity aside, it wasn’t perfect. Two men trapped in very close quarters in a high stress environment were occasionally going to butt heads no matter what, and Mac wasn’t naive enough to think they’d be an exception.

Jack had been waylaid by a messenger as soon as the pair of them arrived back on base, both already worn out from a long, overly hot day in the sun. In an act of mercy, he’d waved Mac off to go on ahead in an attempt to spare him whatever bureaucratic nonsense was likely about to come his way – an assumption that was almost immediately proved accurate when three minutes later Mac saw him stalking off in the direction of the command centre.

He didn’t think much of it; Jack was perpetually being pulled in by the brass for reasons he was never particularly keen to explain. When directly asked, he’d always brushed it off with some sarcastic comment about how people just couldn’t get enough of his charm, but the hardness in his eyes had stopped Mac from trying to press further. If anything, it only added to his growing surety that Jack was a far more important person than he wanted to appear. Nothing Mac was doing was of particular note to anyone beyond what command already learned through his reports, but if someone with extensive training in observation and tactics was given free rein to roam the area under the radar for the sole purpose of watching what was going on – like, say, an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Overwatch – then that opened up a whole new avenue of surveillance.

If he’d had to bet, Mac would have said that according to the letter of Jack’s job description, keeping him safe was a secondary consideration at best. Fortunate, then, that the man himself didn’t seem like the type of person to do anything halfway.

Today, though, something was different. On the way back to base, Jack had been relaxed and easy, content as always to fill in Mac’s silence with a running commentary of his own about what he was most looking forward to when he got back to Texas, but clearly whatever had happened in the command tent had thrown that off. When he finally stomped into the dorm over an hour later, his brow was shadowed and tense, and he didn’t even acknowledge Mac’s presence as he grabbed a clean set of fatigues and headed for the showers.

Sitting cross legged on his bunk with his gear spread out before him, Mac watched him go with troubled eyes. Jack, as anyone in their situation did, occasionally had off days when he was less talkative and clearly wanted to be left alone, but Mac had never seen him turn on a dime quite so quickly.

Truthfully, Mac hadn’t thought him the type. But, he reminded himself forcefully, he still barely knew the man and regardless, it almost certainly wasn’t any of his business. Far better to just keep going through his kit, cataloguing anything he needed to replace or repair, and let Jack work through whatever his problem was on his own; if he wanted to talk to Mac about it, he knew where to find him.

Despite his preoccupation, Mac did end up immersed in his task. Kit checks were dull but important, and he was fastidious enough to make sure he did the job right every single time. As an EOD tech, he was lucky – everyone else had to do mandatory checks before and after any excursions outside of the FOB, no matter how frequent they may be. Officially EOD specialists were supposed to do the same but in deference to their unpredictable schedule and unique loadouts, command typically waived the usual report requirements and let them do their own thing. He was still liable to be disciplined should he get spot checked and fail, but he had a lot more freedom than most people on the base.

He was about halfway through when Jack made his reappearance, freshly washed but looking no happier for it. He dropped his dirty laundry in a heap next to his trunk and flopped down onto his bunk without a word, reaching out a few moments later to fiddle with the ancient radio beside him. He’d told Mac some time ago that he’d inherited it from his dad and it was clear from the reverence with which he spoke about it that it was deeply important to him. Important enough, apparently, that no one else sharing their tent complained when he had it blasting out whatever station he could pick up, even with the god awful crackle that all but drowned out any actual words that might try to come through.

The crackle that was evidently getting worse, going off the horrendous screech the radio let out the moment it was turned on. Mac flinched sharply at the sudden noise, but didn’t protest. Jack, if anything, looked more pissed off at the continued buzzing no matter how he adjusted the dials, rasping and hissing in turns but never letting any clear audio through. After listening to Jack cursing under his breath for a minute or two, Mac figured it was about time he offered a hand.

“That’s not sounding too good,” he pointed out unnecessarily, keeping his voice light. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine,” was the short response, bitten out and frustrated.

Mac rolled his eyes, not catching the warning edge of Jack’s tone. “Look, I know I promised I wouldn’t touch any of your stuff again, but if you let me have a look, I can probably fix it.”

It was an honest offer – the radio was hardly a complicated bit of kit and Mac was pretty sure he already knew exactly what the issue was. If he was right, he could have it fixed inside of five minutes and he wouldn’t even need to cannibalise parts from anything else to do it. Sure the rule might have been that Mac couldn’t touch Jack’s gear again, but they’d been forced to relax that within a week of working together and recently it had felt more like an in-joke than anything.

Apparently, Jack didn’t feel the same.

“Or you’d just break it down for parts like you do with everything else,” he shot back acidly and for the first time, Mac realised the heaviness in Jack’s gaze wasn’t simple fatigue or irritation; he looked pissed . “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Keep away from my stuff.”

Mac blinked. The words themselves were surprising, but it was the tone that really cut at him; sarcastic and unfriendly and mean . Mocking in a way that Jack often pretended to be when he was trying to lighten the mood, only this time neither of them was laughing. He looked dead serious.

“I-uh,” Mac said haltingly, forcing himself to suddenly adjust his entire perspective on the conversation. He really had just been trying to help. “Right,” he said after an awkward pause. “Sorry.”

He ducked his head and turned back to the gear spread out across his bunk, wishing fiercely he hadn’t bothered to open his mouth in the first place. Cleaning and sorting his kit had suddenly become a much less enthralling task – and it hadn’t exactly been the highlight of his day to begin with – but he kept his eyes down and vehemently forbade his attention from wandering back to his partner.

Less than a minute later, Jack let out a sharp sigh that might have included a curse, and stomped out of the tent. Mac refused to look up.

They didn’t talk about it. The next morning the pair of them loaded into their transport for the day – for once they’d been gifted an MRAP that in any other situation Jack would probably be crowing about – in stony silence that persisted straight through until evening. The only time Jack deigned to talk to him was for mission-critical comms, almost all of which was delivered via radio in a blank monotone that made it abundantly clear how little he actually wanted to be speaking with him. Mac surprised himself by how fiercely he found he missed the usual inane commentary in his ear.

None of it made sense.

Evidently he’d messed up somehow, done something that crossed a line he hadn’t seen, although he had no idea what it could possibly have been. Okay, yes, the radio was obviously important to Jack on some personal level Mac wasn’t allowed access to and maybe he really didn’t want Mac touching it. That was completely fair – Mac wouldn’t have argued against him at all if the man had just said ‘no’ and left it there. Instead his response had been- Well. There were a lot of words Mac could use to describe it and he didn’t really want to confront any of them.

It wouldn’t change the result either way. Mac had a sneaking suspicion that whatever it was he had broken had been something irreparable, especially if Jack wasn’t even going to let him talk it out.

The closest they came to it that day was during their last call-out for the evening, a surprisingly tricky little device some asshole had planted outside of a shop known to serve US soldiers. A bit of petty revenge most likely, but packing enough explosives to level the building and take out anyone unlucky enough to be standing within a twenty metre radius.

“Everyone within half a block of you is gettin’ out of dodge,” Jack reported about half an hour after their arrival. “No sign of whoever put that thing there.”

Mac digested that, doing a quick mental calculation to decide if the evacuation zone was large enough and ultimately deciding that it was. “Good. You set up somewhere?”

“Behind you, thirty metres back.”

There was a tell-tale tickle on the back of his neck that Mac had come to associate with Jack’s scope passing over him. At the start of their partnership it had made him uncomfortable; now, it was distantly reassuring. A part of him wanted to turn around to make sure of Jack’s position himself, but he knew that was sure to piss Jack off even more – he always got jumpy about Mac indicating his position whenever they were out in the field.

“I’m going to be a while,” he said instead of cracking a joke. “This thing’s complicated.”

“Fast as you can.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was a telling silence where a sarcastic retort would normally sit, and Mac had to pause for a second to remind himself that the IED in front of him needed his attention far more than his own unimportant tribulations. It wasn’t until another ten minutes had passed that he spoke again. “Okay, I’ve figured out what I’ve got to do, but I’m going to need some of your gum.”

He said it mostly without thinking, too used to being able to just state what he needed and for Jack to freely offer up whatever it was, albeit with some bellyaching about having to give up his stuff. The words were already out of his mouth before he remembered how vehemently Jack had been against Mac being anywhere near his personal possessions just yesterday.

Fortunately, Jack seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, because he simply sighed before saying, “Copy that. On my way to you.”

He didn’t offer any further protest when he appeared at Mac’s back either, handing over the stick of gum without a word, then hunkering down in the alleyway to keep watch with his rifle balanced on his knee. It was strangely normal for all that had come before, except for the silence that still hung over them like a cloud.

Exhausted, and with bigger things to focus on, Mac just went about his job and didn’t say another word.

Jack’s mood continued over the next few days, with little sign of abating. It would have been much easier to bear if Mac had any clue what exactly had triggered it beyond the vague sense that this was all somehow his fault, but it wasn’t like he could just walk up to the man and ask. Any time he’d even thought about striking up conversation or doing anything to try to make peace, Jack’s responses had been sharp and to the point. He didn’t want to talk, that much was clear, and Mac was nothing if not a quick learner.

After the first day of strained silence, he figured it was better to just keep his mouth shut and stay out of Jack’s way.

One thing he hadn’t really counted on was how strange it would feel now to be wandering around base on his own. Since being paired up with Jack, he’d hardly had a minute to himself – the man took his Overwatch duties very seriously even in the relative safety of the FOB – but now he was apparently free to roam as he pleased. Almost as soon as they returned to base each day, Jack took himself off to places unknown with a determined sort of look on his face and usually didn’t reappear again until he fell into bed beside Mac’s at night. Mac very firmly did not think about what that said about Jack’s newly-discovered ambivalence towards his safety. Now, after only a month of that partnership, it felt almost unnatural to be alone again.

At the very least it meant that he was free to go and eat whenever he felt like it, rather than having to bend around Jack’s schedule. It was that line of reasoning that had him heading towards the mess that evening, late enough to miss the main crowd who piled in at 7 but too early to run into the late shift teams who had a second run at things once the night had drawn in. The approach meant that he could count on getting a good table with minimal interference, but it did mean sacrificing any chance of getting decently hot food. The ‘buffet’, such as it was, would be topped up with fresh food at about 10, but for now Mac was stuck with the dried out, cooling remains that no one else had wanted earlier.

He nodded at the woman KP duty, earning an apologetic smile at the state of the food in return, then glanced around the marquee to find somewhere to sit.

A group of camp runners were huddled together in the corner, loudly engaging in a round of ‘I have it worse than you’, but otherwise the place was pretty deserted. With his pick of the tables, Mac settled himself down as far from the runners as he could get, hoping for a little bit of peace, but with no other nearby noise to drown them out, their voices washed over him all the same. They’d taken no notice of his presence beyond a quick check to make sure he wasn’t wearing officer’s stripes and in the absence of any authority, they seemed quite content to air their grievances to anyone close enough to listen.

For the most part he studiously ignored them – he had exactly zero interest in the minutiae of memos being passed around the base – and went about the business of choking down the cold food in front of him quickly enough to avoid its bland flavour.

It wasn’t until he heard a familiar name that he automatically tuned back into the conversation across from him.

“ Please ,” One of the runners was scoffing with an imperial hand wave, “As if Carter is anything to worry about. I’m the one who had to tell Dalton his reassignment request was denied. Thought he was going to take my head off when I said I didn’t know why.”

Mac froze in place, the rest of the discussion fading completely into the background as all the pieces of the puzzle he had been building snapped into place with painful efficiency. So that was why Jack had been so grouchy over the last week, why he’d been so sharp whenever Mac had tried to make conversation: he’d put in a transfer request to get away from him and been shot down. Jack wanted to leave and couldn’t. Of course.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Mac knew how he could come across, had seen how people reacted to all the weird quirks of his personality, and Jack would hardly be the first person in the world to take one look at him and start heading for the hills – hell, he’d barely crack the top hundred. And yet, despite all of that, all of his previous experience warning him that anyone could leave at any time for any reason, Mac still found himself caught wholly off guard.

He'd thought they’d been getting better. Sure, it wasn’t like they were close and half the time they could still barely stand each other, but more and more that had felt like an act they were putting on to avoid revealing they didn’t actually mind each other all that much after all. Clearly he’d been wildly wrong in that assumption. What he’d thought was increasing camaraderie was- what? Nothing but his imagination? Or maybe an attempt on Jack’s part to show the brass that he really had given their partnership an honest shot before trying to bail?

Worse than the simple rejection was how deeply unnecessary it felt. As Mac had so often been reminded, Jack only had twenty-eight days left of his tour before he was headed home for good and none of this would even matter anymore. Was he truly so unhappy with Mac’s partnership that he was going to go through the arduous process of reassignment for the sake of four weeks? He’d just had to stick it out for one more month and he would have been free and clear, and yet somehow that was still too much.

It might have been insulting if it hadn’t been so fucking painful.

But this wasn’t the place for that. None of these were revelations he should be having in the mess hall, in full view of anyone who cared to look in his direction. He shook himself forcefully, surprised to realise that his entire body had gone rigid while his mind raced in all directions, and made himself climb to his feet. There was still some food left on his plate but if it had been unappetising before, now it was positively nausea-inducing. Mac knew he wasn’t getting any of it down his throat without it making a reappearance sooner or later, so he quietly chucked the scraps in the bin, returned his tray, and retreated to the barracks as quickly as he possibly could without drawing attention.

Two of the guys were there, both camped out on their own bunks as they occupied themselves with whatever they got up to in their downtime, but neither did more than nod in acknowledgement as he made his way past them to his own bed. Truthfully, he was glad of the pseudo-privacy. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done if Jack had been there – most likely he would have said something regrettable – but in his absence, Mac was free to mull over this new information without interference.

A large, loud part of him demanded that he go and find Dalton right now so they could hash this out, get it all out in the open so that at the very least Mac wouldn’t have to feel so fucking stupid for ever thinking they might have been friends. He’d seen that Jack cultivated a very deliberate amiability with the other guys sharing their bunk, even if they weren’t all on the best terms, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought for even a second that his Overwatch might be turning the same trick on him. He’d been so goddamn stupid .

Another, much quieter and injured part of him kept insisting that he must have gotten something twisted, connected the wrong wires to the wrong ports, and really this was all some big misunderstanding because he couldn’t bear the alternative.

He ignored them both. As much as he might want not want it to be true, he knew what he’d heard and all the pieces fit together too perfectly for him to have somehow misconstrued their meaning. His own feelings did not affect the facts, and he’d do well to remember that. And fighting with Jack wasn’t going to solve anything, it was just going to upset what little balance they managed to actually maintain. Despite his best efforts, Dalton’s transfer request had been denied so he wasn’t going anywhere for another month – Mac could grin and bear the discomfort until then, even if it meant having to sit next to a man he’d thought a friend for every single one of those twenty-eight days.

The humiliation of it all was almost unbearable, and he knew just how easy it would be to let it become rage instead – but he wouldn’t do that. If Jack wanted to leave then he wouldn’t be the first, which meant the fault almost certainly lay with Mac and there was no point trying to punish the wrong man for it. Sure, Jack pretending they were getting along was kind of a low blow, but it was understandable; they were stuck together in extremely close quarters, might as well act like they were comfortable there, right?

Maybe Jack had had the right idea all along. Mac was the one who hadn’t gotten with the programme already.

Besides, he reminded himself firmly as he bit down on the emotions threatening to get away from him, he hadn’t signed up to be sent into an active warzone to defuse explosives to feel safe . It didn’t matter one jot that Jack had managed to give him that for a time – that wasn’t his job and Mac didn’t have any right to mourn its loss. He needed to grow the fuck up and stop looking to others to protect him – he was a soldier in the US army and it was high fucking time he started acting like it.

With a tight sigh, Mac forced his stressed body to relax and flattened himself against his bunk, glaring a hole in the canvas above him.

Just twenty-eight days, and he could be done with this mess. Four weeks. He could do that.

Despite the bedlam going on inside his head, the heat and the shade must have got the best of him because he was jolted out of a doze an hour or so later by Jack Dalton himself smacking at his foot. He twitched the limb out of range with a muffled grunt of disapproval before his brain caught up with him and he remembered everything that had transpired before he fell asleep. The faux-irritated expression he’d pulled on crumbled instantly into blankness.

Jack blinked down at him, a bemused smirk on his face. Cuttingly, it was the friendliest he had looked in days. “What happened to you?”

Mac frowned, tried to do a quick mental assessment of what he probably looked like. “What?”

“You look like someone kicked your puppy. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Did you wake me up for a reason?”

His Overwatch’s smirk faded somewhat, his eyes taking on that calculating look he normally got a few seconds before he said something much smarter and more observant than Mac would ever have credited him with when they first met. It was almost a relief – focused was a much easier expression to react to than a smile. “Seriously. What’s happened?”

“ Nothing ,” Mac stressed, trying and failing to keep a thread of annoyance out of his tone. “Do you need me for something or can I go back to sleep?”

It wasn’t the right answer, evidently. Jack’s face darkened and he thinned his lips against what was very visibly going to be an annoyed outburst, but in the end all he said was, “On your feet. We’re heading out.”

That was- unusual. He cast a quick glance at the clock. “Now? It’s going to be dark in a few hours.”

“Yeah well, tell that to the T-men. C’mon, get up. I wanna roll out in five.” With that he retreated to his own bunk to retrieve his equipment and resolutely ignored Mac.

Still confused and really wishing that he could just roll over and go back to sleep if only to avoid what was obviously going to be another uncomfortable Humvee ride, Mac obligingly scrambled to his feet and started pulling out his own gear. For all the little bits and pieces of equipment they had to keep track of, both of them kept their packs ready to go at a moment’s notice, so it was really only a matter of slipping on his jacket and vest, then stopping by the mess to refill his water bottle and grab a few energy bars before Mac found himself sliding into the passenger seat of the Humvee. Apparently more prepared than he had been, Jack was already waiting for him.

“Got a bit of a situation a few klicks out,” He announced once Mac was settled. “Looks like someone’s trying to sabotage our communications – a scout team thinks they’ve found an IED on one of our radio towers. Shouldn’t be anything too complicated for you, but there’s a lot of visibility and no cover so we need to get this done ASAP, understand? The scouts are patrolling the area and I’ll have your back, but someone might try to get lucky with a sniper, so keep your head down .”

There was a lot there to work through – most importantly just what Jack meant by on the radio tower – but he didn’t bother voicing any of those questions. He’d see the situation soon enough and his priority needed to be elsewhere. “Did the scout team say what type of device we’re dealing with?”

“Negative. Couldn’t get a good look without approaching and they figured that probably wasn’t a good idea.”

They had likely been correct in that assumption, but it didn’t make Mac’s job any easier. Approaching an unidentified device was nothing new to him, but it wasn’t something that gelled well with the speed at which Jack was evidently hoping this was going to go. If he rushed anything for fear of being shot, he ran a much higher risk of blowing the pair of them up and doing the terrorists’ job for them.

As promised, it wasn’t a long trip and within ten minutes they came to a stop in the gathering gloom, about a hundred metres away from the tower in question. The 150-metre-tall tower. God, this was not going to go well.

“When you said the device was on the tower,” He started slowly, his eyes darting around the ground supports he could see and coming up blank, “You actually meant on , huh?”

Jack snickered, either not noticing or not caring about the thread of uncertainty Mac could feel in his voice. “Hope you’re ready for some climbing.” He paused, then relented slightly by adding, “We don’t have to go the whole way. Report said it was about half way up. There’s a platform for maintenance work.”

If he had noticed the apprehension, evidently he was assuming that Mac just didn’t feel like climbing up there with all his gear dragging him down. Technically he wasn’t wrong about that – he’d just missed the why. Mac wilfully held in a shudder.

“Now, normally I’d say you should wait down here while I go up and see what I can see, but given how open this is, neither of us can risk being up there that long,” Jack said, catching him with one of his no nonsense looks. Dalton might act the fool, but he was still a highly trained army sergeant and despite everything, when he gave orders, Mac would listen. “So we’re going to go up together, okay? You’re going to keep your head down and you’re going to get that device handled as quickly as you can. We’ve not got much daylight left to work with and torches are going to be a dead giveaway of our position, so unless you desperately need more light, you keep it off. Understand?”

“Got it.”

This would really be the time to tell Jack that the very thought of going up that tower was enough to make Mac feel physically nauseous – the man was his Overwatch, he needed to know when Mac couldn’t do his job – but he bit his tongue. There was a bomb somewhere up there and he was the only person in a ten klick radius who had any chance of defusing it. His personal discomfort was nothing against the lives that could be lost should their communications chain fail.

With that in mind, he slipped out of the Humvee and shadowed Jack as he strode towards the tower, not letting himself pause to think before putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder and hoisting himself up.

Here goes nothing .

Something was off with Mac. Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on it, exactly, but he was good at reading people and he’d been watching every single move his bomb nerd made for a solid month now so he had a pretty good idea when something wasn’t right. Right now, hunched over a bomb 250 feet in the air, something was very definitely not okay .

The kid had been quiet for days, wrapped up in his own head about something or other judging by the deeply thoughtful face he’d been wearing, but it had meshed well enough with Jack’s own pisspoor mood that he hadn’t bothered to question it. Mac hadn’t seemed anything more than a little subdued, something any soldier downwind was bound to encounter now and again. Their work was hard and the constant threat of danger could weigh anyone down given enough time. Now though? Now it seemed like more.

Admittedly, the whole bomb-250-feet-in-the-air situation might have been a contributing factor, but Mac had faced down hundreds of IEDs in their time together and he’d never once flinched. Whether he was the bravest man Jack had ever met or he just genuinely had no regard for his own wellbeing was something Jack was still trying to figure out, but the point was, he shouldn’t be acting like this. The situation was far from perfect and every second they spent on that tower had Jack’s anxiety levels ratcheting up, but Mac had always kept a level head.

“How’s it coming over there?”

Mac let out a low grumble of sound, his usual stand-in for when he had too many things going on in his head to worry about actual words.

“That well, huh? Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re running out of daylight so if you wanna-”

“Rushing me isn’t helping,” Mac interrupted before Jack had a chance to finish, carefully pulling a now-disconnected wire from the bundle he had been examining.

“Ain’t trying to rush you, just letting you know-”

“Yeah, well, it’s not helping.”

Jack had worked with plenty of EOD techs who would have given him that response and it would have been the most normal thing in the world. With Mac, it was a glaring red flag. Well, that, as well as the fact that Mac hadn’t even bothered to correct Jack’s repeated assertions that they were perched on a radio mast, when he knew good and well it was actually a telecommunications tower. Momentarily lifting his head away from his rifle scope, trusting that the scouts could hold the fort for the next minute or two, Jack turned to stare at his partner. “What’s going on man?”

“I’m concentrating .”

“I’ve seen you concentrating plenty. That’s not what this is. C’mon, you’ve been weird since this afternoon – is this about the other day? ‘Cause I didn’t mean to snap at you and I’m sorry about that, but right now I need to know that you’re good to do this job.”

Mac huffed a sharp breath out of his nose in frustration, his eyes not leaving the place where he was carefully prying apart the panels of the device’s container. It wasn’t until then that Jack finally noticed the way the kid’s shoulders were up around his ears, his whole body rigid where he was hunched over. His hands didn’t shake in the slightest – a necessity in his line of work – but the rest of him was shuddering with fine tremors.

“Mac-” Jack started, alarms blaring to life in his head. He’d known something was wrong , but clearly he had deeply misjudged just how wrong until he’d actually taken the time to look. Goddamn, he was supposed to the kid’s fucking Overwatch! “I need you to talk to me man.”

There was no response so Jack put his eye back to his scope for another quick scan of the surrounding landscape – still as barren and unoccupied as before – before sliding the rifle strap back over his shoulder and turning fully to face his partner. He was far too well versed in working with EOD to ever touch Mac when he had his hands on an IED, but he only had to wait a few seconds before Mac backed up to fiddle with the tools on his knife and he was free to snatch him by the shoulder and forcibly turn him around.

“Jack, what-”

“Something’s going on with you and we are in way too dangerous a position right now for me to not know what it is so start fucking talking to me Mac.” The shoulder under his hand was rock solid with stress and the kid’s face looked bone pale in the fading light. What really grabbed his attention though was the way Mac had shot out his free hand to snatch blindly at the handrail beside him, anchoring himself where Jack had pulled him off balance. Coupling that with the sudden dart of Mac’s eyes to the yawning chasm of the drop beside them, it wasn’t exactly complicated math. “You’re afraid of heights,” he murmured with sudden realisation, his grip on Mac faltering in the face of his own surprise.

Mac’s expression twisted with some combination of resignation and guilt. “I’m doing fine. Just let me get this thing defused and we can all go home, yeah?”

“You’re afraid of heights and you didn’t think this was important information for me to know before now?” If he hadn’t still been sitting half an inch from an active explosive device, Jack would have shaken him.

“ Jack ,” Mac said, apparently also running to the end of his patience, “I’m fine. I’ve almost got this done and I really, really want to get down from here, so can you please just let me do my job while you worry about yours?”

“Looking out for you is my job, dumbass,” Jack snapped back, but he did at least let go of him and return to his post. As much as he might hate everything about this, the fact was that Mac was already here and there was an IED in desperate need of attention right in front of him. Getting that fixed and getting Mac back on the ground pronto had just become priority uno. “Work fast.”

With the dusk drawing in, it made sense to switch out his scope for the thermal one he’d thoughtfully decided to bring with him, though it did mean he’d have to zero the thing before it would be of much use to him. Then again, any shots ran the risk of drawing attention and from so high up, the sound could travel for miles without hitting anything. He held up the loose thermal scope to his eye while he mulled over the problem, making note of the scouts’ positions and checking any obvious spots for potential shooters. Still nothing.

“I’m not rushing you,” he said lowly, “But do you know what kind of timeframe we’re looking at here?”

Mac hummed absently. “Couple more minutes I think. Starting to need light though.”

Which really only meant they needed to get this over with as soon as possible, for Mac’s sake if nothing else. Jack slid the thermal scope back into its slot on his vest and tugged free the square of tarp attached to his pack. Its official use was to give him something to lie on should he need it when settling into a sniper nest, but right now it was of far more use to both of them as a light break.

“This thing isn’t going to go off if I tuck this around you both, is it?” He asked, holding the tarp where Mac could see it.

Even scared out of his mind and all but shaking with it, Mac caught onto the idea in a heartbeat. “No, we’re good. Just make sure you don’t jostle it.”

Jack did as he was bid, carefully constructing a makeshift tent around Mac and the device so he could use a torch without broadcasting his exact location to anyone in a five-mile radius. It wasn’t perfect, certainly, and from the way Mac’s breathing hitched ever so slightly the confinement was doing nothing for his nerves, but it would have to do for now. That taken care of and trusting that Mac could get on with things without further assistance, Jack returned to his rifle and performed another sweeping check of the area.

Still deserted. A quick check-in with the scouts reaffirmed his conclusion.

It was strange that someone had felt the need to climb up here to plant an IED and then hadn’t even bothered to hang around to see the fruit of their labours, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. It would hardly be the first time a would-be bomber had seen the US army rolling in and got the hell out of dodge. Regardless, Jack couldn’t help but count the seconds until he was free to get his infuriating EOD technician back into actual, honest-to-god cover.

“How’s that vertigo treating you?” He asked, more to distract his own mind from the sudden, crippling mental image of Mac being taken out by a sniper bullet Jack had no chance of stopping than out of any genuine curiosity. Mac wasn’t going to be happy until he had his feet back on terra firma, that much was clear.

“If you’re trying to help, stop. It’s not working,” was the irate reply.

Despite the gravity of their situation – literally – Jack snickered. “You’re mean as a snake when you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

Mac didn’t bother responding to the dig at all. It could be down to his discomfort at their current predicament, but Jack’s instincts were warning him that there was something more going on here and he’d long since learned to trust his gut when it was trying to tell him something. Another anxious look over his shoulder revealed nothing more than that his tarp tent was mostly doing its job of stopping light spilling out into the growing darkness.

His normal go-to technique for prompting Mac to open up was teasing, but evidently that wasn’t going to get him anywhere this time. Certainly not when they were still so high in the air. Perhaps this was a conversation better saved for when the device was defused and they were back safe in the Humvee on the way back to base; at the very least, Mac couldn’t escape him that way.

Right on cue, the faint glow of Mac’s torch snapped off and his blonde head poked up out of his mini tent. “We’re good.”

“Defused?”

“Yeah. Explosives are still a risk though – we can’t leave them up here.”

Jack eyed the bulky shape still hiding beneath the tarp. “Getting that thing down isn’t going to be easy, kid.”

Mac might have scowled at that, but in the dwindling light it was hard to be sure. “I know that, but no clean-up crew is going to be getting out here until tomorrow morning and a well-placed incendiary round could still set this thing off. I can’t leave it.”

“Okay, okay, I getcha,” Jack soothed. “How’re we doing this then?”

“I can take it apart. Split the weight and the bulk between us. Nothing’s motion or impact sensitive any more so we don’t need to be that careful.”

Jack obligingly slipped off his pack and pushed it in Mac’s direction, trusting him to have a better idea of how they could get everything down safely and instead using the time to dismantle the makeshift rest he’d constructed. Attuned to each other as they were, it was the work of mere moments.

In the interests of getting Mac out of the line of fire – and back on the ground – as fast as possible, Jack ushered him down the ladder ahead of him while he radioed the scouts to fill them in. They returned a chorus of relieved gratitude and promised to maintain their position until Mac and Jack were well on their way out of there, making sure that whoever had set the device in the first place didn’t come back to try again. Already feeling exhausted and knowing he had a debrief waiting for him back on base, aside from whatever the hell was going on with his bomb tech, Jack wrestled down a sigh, and started making his way down the ladder.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Mac waiting for him at the bottom. Jack had long ago implemented a rule that Mac was to stick to his side like glue whenever they were moving in potentially hostile territory, but with whatever was going on with the kid, he hadn’t entirely expected it to hold. That it had was encouraging.

“Alright, let’s- get out of here,” Jack announced on reaching the ground, only just managing to cut himself off from saying ‘blow this joint’ . Mac might normally appreciate the gallows humour, but now was almost certainly not the time.

As if to demonstrate that point, Mac just nodded silently and fell into step just behind his Overwatch without a word.

One of the scouts had been keeping watch over their ride to make sure no one left them any nasty surprises while they were otherwise occupied, though he melted into the shadows of the night as soon as they reappeared. Comforted in the knowledge that he didn’t have to waste any more of his evening waiting for Mac to do a trap check, Jack gratefully folded himself back behind the driving seat and heaved a great sigh of relief. Mac twitched at the sound, but said nothing.

In deference to their shared fatigue, Jack let the silence reign for a solid minute before he broached the subject. “So,” he started slowly, “I get the feeling you and I need to talk.”

Mac’s eyes flicked to him too quickly to be casual, but still he stayed silent. Well, if that was the game he wanted to play, he was damn well going to have to listen, wasn’t he?

“Let’s start by saying that you not telling me about the heights thing was reckless as all hell man, and I mean really, really stupid.” He did what he could to keep the anger out of his voice, but did nothing to soften the seriousness of his tone. For their partnership to work then they needed to be able to trust each other with their flaws and weaknesses; without that, they wouldn’t stand a chance. “You gotta tell me when there’s something going on that’s going to affect your ability to do your thing, no matter what it is. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s something small or unimportant, you have to fill me in. I’m not going to judge you for it if that’s what you’re worried about, but the only way I can do my job is if you’re honest with me. You get what I’m saying to you?”

The blonde was back to his usual sullen trick of staring straight out of the windshield, seemingly seeing nothing, but he did at least incline his head. Even when they’d first been starting out, he hadn’t been this difficult.

“Right. Well. If that’s out of the way, you planning on telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Something’s been bothering you since this afternoon and clearly it’s important. Fill me in?”

Mac’s forcefully blank expression momentarily fractured into a frown before he got it back under control. “I’m fine Jack. Just tired. I wasn’t expecting to get called out again tonight.”

That was a reasonable excuse, except for the fact he was clearly lying. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. Didn’t I just get done telling you that you needed to let me know when something was going on with you? Whatever this is, I’m pretty sure it qualifies.”

The frown reappeared and didn’t immediately melt away again. Annoyance wasn’t exactly what Jack was aiming for, but at least he was getting a response. “I think I just proved that I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”

Jack couldn’t help the sharp sigh that escaped him as frustration started to seep into his bones. Clearly he’d miscalculated just how far from alright Mac really was in that moment. Maybe he should have been paying better attention over the last few days after all; well, lesson learned, at least. “I know you are man,” he tried as gently as he was able. “That’s not what I’m getting at. But something’s clearly thrown you off your game and I want to help if I can, okay? This job’s rough enough at the best of times; you don’t need t’be adding to the pile.”

If Mac recognised that for the olive branch it was, he made no sign of it. His only outward reaction was to return his eyes firmly to the windshield and clench his hands together to keep himself from fiddling with a piece of wire he’d been worrying at since they started driving. There was a long, strained pause; Jack desperately wanted to press the matter, but he knew Mac well enough to know that trying would only shut him down further. If Mac didn’t want to share whatever was going on in his head, then he wouldn’t – it was as simple as that.

Fortunately for Jack though, Mac had never seemed all that comfortable with expectant silences. “It’s nothing. I’m just working through something in my head. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mac… Is this about the other day? ‘Cause I meant what I said up there; I’m sorry I lost my temper. It wasn’t ‘cause of anything you did-”

“Look,” Mac said with sudden force, dispensing of his heretofore unconvincing meekness and turning to put Jack directly into his sightline. “I get it. It’s fine. I’m sorry your request got denied but it’s- We’re both stuck here, okay? We’ve got four weeks left and then you can get back home and put all of this behind you. We’ve just gotta get through one more month.”

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jack was stunned into utter silence. Mac apparently took his frozen expression for one of acceptance and turned back to stare straight ahead with a sharp nod, as though they’d come to some sort of arrangement. Jack, for his part, did his best not to crash the Humvee into a ditch as the bottom of his stomach dropped away.

Then he rethought quickly; to have this conversation he definitely needed to be able to keep his eyes on his partner and driving wasn’t exactly conducive to that. He hit the brakes and pulled over. Mac chirped in surprise.

“Okay, woah, hold on,” Jack started, turning bodily to face the man beside him. “Let’s slow it down real quick because I think I’ve missed something here. What are you talking about man?”

Mac blinked at him like he was the one acting weird. “What?”

“What what?”

The blonde scowled faintly, but it wasn’t entirely clear if it was actually directed at Jack. Regardless, he relented with a sigh. “I heard about your transfer request getting shot down. I’m guessing that’s why you were so pissed off? Well, I’m sorry about it. You shouldn’t be stuck with me if you don’t want to be.”

A lot of things suddenly made a lot of sense. Jack could have kicked himself – he would certainly have deserved it. “That’s not- You’ve not heard the whole truth there, man. Shit I’m sorry, it’s-” He bit down hard on his tongue and forced himself to get the words in order. Mac seemed willing to take his stumbling apology as an embarrassed confirmation of the story he’d so readily believed and to be honest, Jack could hardly blame him.

“It isn’t what it sounds like, I promise you,” he said carefully. “I didn’t tell you about the request and that was stupid, but I swear I wasn’t trying to get away from you.”

Mac snorted very softly, a grim smile playing at the corner of his mouth for a moment before he choked it down. In all their time together, Jack had never seen him look so bitter.

“I mean it. I don’t know what you heard, but the request was for both of us.” That got Mac’s head snapping up to stare at him in visible confusion. Jack’s chest clenched painfully with emotion he didn’t want to put a name to. “I heard a rumour we’re being shunted to Paktia to shore up the EOD team in Gardez. They’ve taken some heavy hits lately and want more hands on deck.”

Mac’s brow was furrowed, clearly not entirely trusting what he was hearing but at least willing to listen. Given the circumstances, Jack was surprised he was even allowing that much. “And you didn’t want to go?”

“Hell no,” Jack said instantly. “The Gardez boys might need help but I don’t want to put you within a hundred miles of that place. Ghazni ain’t been kind to you, but at least it hasn’t blown your fool head off; worst we’ve had to deal with here is individual cells trying to make things difficult. Paktia’s crawling with T-men.”

“All the more reason we should be there, helping.”

“Yeah, and what happens in a month when I ship out and you’re stuck there without me to watch your back, huh? I don’t know who your new Overwatch is gonna be and if I can’t be sure they’re gonna have your back, I want to at least try to keep you as safe as I can while I’m here. I put in the request to shift us to Wardak instead. It ain’t safe there either, but it would have given you a cleaner run at things.” He huffed, remembering the raging argument he’d had with the Captain when his request had been denied. Looking back, he’d been lucky to walk away without disciplinary action but he didn’t regret it for a second. “’Course, none of that matters now, since we’re heading to Gardez regardless.”

He forced himself to meet Mac’s eyes and tried not to flinch at the calculating look being shot back at him. Evidently his partner needed a moment to work out whether or not Jack was lying to him to try to save face and that-

-That hurt. It was fair, completely fair , given that Jack had given him exactly no heads up about what was happening before going behind his back to try to rearrange his life without permission, but it was still crushing to realise how badly he’d fucked up. Their start together had been rocky, to say the least, but Mac had a kind of honest goodness about him that made him impossible to dislike after about thirty minutes of knowing him. Put together with his dry humour, endless patience, and his literal, honest-to-god genius, and Jack hadn’t stood a chance of not befriending the kid. It was somewhat convenient that it was Jack’s job to watch Mac’s back, because he had the sense he’d want to spend every second he could trying to protect him.

Then again, that’s what the transfer request had been about and look how that had all turned out. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

“I should have told you all of this before I did anything, I know that. I’m really sorry for it, and I’m even more sorry that you ended up finding out the way you did. That was shitty and you didn’t deserve it for a second. But I promise you, none of it had anything to do with me not wanting to be here.”

There was a pause while Mac’s face did something complicated, then he asked quietly, “You weren’t trying to get away from me?”

“Not for a single second, kid. I would never.”

It was the honest truth and yet Jack knew instinctively that it wasn’t going to sink in in the way he wished it would. Mac hadn’t talked about home all that much in their time together, and what he had let slip had some gaping holes where family should have been; Jack was good enough at hearing what people weren’t saying to understand that at some point, someone had let the kid down badly. Now, apparently, he had to add his own name to that list.

This was all such a goddamn mess .

Whether or not he bought Jack’s attempt at reassurance, Mac did at least appear to accept the truth of his account with a small, thoughtful nod. To be honest, even if he hadn’t believed it, this was something Jack could easily prove once they were back at base by digging out the request file, but it was comforting to know that he hadn’t screwed up so badly Mac couldn’t take him at his word.

“Okay,” Mac said softly, still frowning thoughtfully but no longer twisted up with bitterness and hurt. “Okay. I understand. Sorry for leaping to conclusions, I guess.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for,” Jack replied instantly. This was not the kid’s burden to bear. “I should have told you. You have every right to be pissed as hell about it, even knowing the truth.”

“That’s not- It’s fine,” Mac said haltingly, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”

Jack watched him for a long minute as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking in all the tiny little signs of distress he should have noticed days ago. It was only now that he was really looking that he could see how fucking exhausted he looked. Like the whole world had come crashing down on him and he was still trying to soldier on under its weight like nothing was wrong.

“Man, I really fucked up, huh?” He murmured quietly. Mac’s gaze twitched to him and away. Louder, he said, “I let you down and I’m sorry for that. I promise, no more secrets.”

There was a pause, then Mac seemed to decide something because he turned to look at him properly again. “That mean you’re going to tell me what you’ve been up to the last couple of days?” At Jack’s blink of surprise, he actually managed the shadow of a smile, despite everything that had happened. “What? You think just because I’m not Overwatch I’m not paying attention?”

Jack couldn’t help but grin at the spark of life returning to his partner’s tone. Of course he’d noticed when Jack had made himself scarce around the FOB. “I watch you and you watch me, huh? Should have known.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, in that case, if you really want to know, I’ve been hitting up my contacts.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose. Jack rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m just a grunt but I know some people okay? I figured that if I couldn’t get us reassigned from Gardez, at least I could rope in someone I trust to replace me when I’m gone. No one’s as good as me, o’course, but it would be something at least.”

It took Mac a moment to digest that, as if trying to work out what he should react to first. In the end, he settled on, “I don’t think you’re a grunt.”

That was news to him. “No?”

Mac’s smile was a careful thing, like he wasn’t sure this was something he was allowed. “You play a good game, but you know way too much about- well, everything to not have been through something more than bootcamp.”

Jack should have known that he couldn’t get anything by a kid as smart as Mac obviously was, but he was still struck with a quiet swell of pride at how easily his EOD had figured him out.

“Plus, you know you’re by far the highest ranked Overwatch sniper on base? There can’t be many sergeants electing to watch bomb nerds day in and day out.”

There was an obvious question in there, but Mac was still too unsure of the situation to ask him straight up who he’d managed to piss off to get lumped with babysitting duty. And, honestly, that was a whole can of worms that Jack really didn’t want to dig into right now – or ever, really. Instead, he deflected. “Oh? That almost sounded like a compliment. You been checking out my record?”

“No. But if I did, I’d be surprised if most of it wasn’t redacted. Am I wrong?”

He definitely wasn’t. Jack’s smile was sharp as he started up the Humvee again. “You sound like you have some idea already.”

It was a clear invitation and, with only a slight hesitation, Mac took it. “You’re observant in a way that has to be taught. You seem too well travelled for it to not have been international, so I’m guessing CIA. Then there’s the tactical stuff – command wouldn’t ask for your opinion unless you’d been involved in something important. Putting that with that team of yours you sometimes mention without meaning to, I’m guessing you were special forces of some description. That’d explain the rank too.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck watching me though.”

Jack whistled in surprise. Evidently Mac had been paying much more attention than he’d given him credit for. “I’m not stuck doing anything,” he protested lightly. “I like working Overwatch; it’s more relaxing than most gigs.”

Mac shot him a wry smile. “So I’m right then?”

He chuckled easily, letting the strain of their earlier conversation start to bleed out of his shoulders as they settled back into their usual patter. He hadn’t realised until right then just how much he’d missed it and from the way Mac was leaning back in his seat, he was thinking much the same. “About pretty much everything,” he confirmed. “You’re far too smart for your own good, you know that right?”

There was a pause. “You aren’t going to tell me what branch of the special forces you were in, are you?”

“You’re a smart kid,” he said with a broad smile. “You’ll work it out.”

The scene I didn't write is in a few weeks, after Mac's done some thinking and some very careful asking around and he sidles up to Jack one afternoon and very quietly says 'Delta'. Jack smiles, says 'Hooah', and neither of them mention it again.

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #sandbox fic #sandbox #army days #fanfiction #my fanfic #Everyone's OOO but it's for the angst #let me have my angst #Mac and Jack

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darlingpeter · 4 years

Text

grayscale.

the reader faces the aftermath of losing a close friend, and sweet boyfriend matt knows just how to get through to you when you need another perspective.

this fic is a labor of love. although this story is fictional, please know that you are never alone in the hardships that you are facing, and there is a wonderful community of people out there whose inboxes and messages are always open if you need advice, to vent, or just to get bad stuff off of your chest. you are worthy of love and the space and support that you need to heal.

pairing: matt murdock x reader, best friend jessica jones x reader

warnings: reader is going through some emotional bad times

length: 2,405 words

Everyone knows that grief is an important part of life. As you grow, you lose people, and the lessons that you learn from it are necessary to truly appreciate what you have while you have it.

But no one talks about how hard it is to grieve someone who hasn’t died.

In the first stages, you found yourself getting absorbed in the what ifs, cycling over and over again in your head about things you could have done differently that would have changed their mind somehow and made them value you as much as you did them. Even worse was fighting the urge to reach back out to them in an attempt to rekindle something similar to what you had before. But the rational part of your brain constantly steered you away from that because how would that be possible? You couldn’t pretend to ignore everything bad that had come into light and keep a good conscience at the same time. A similar end would be inevitable, and it would hurt just the same if not more the second time around.

Matt was aware of what you were going through. He listened as you poured your heart out to him, brought you water and tissues when you could do nothing but cry, and was there to make sure that you were taken care of. If he sensed a bit of hesitation in your voice if you asked him for anything, he would remind you in a gentle tone that made your heart flutter that he was there for you in any way that you needed. Over time, though, you closed off to him. You couldn’t help but feel like your emotional outbursts were an annoyance to him since he already had so much else to worry about outside the walls of your shared apartment. Unbeknownst to you, when you started changing the subject and brushing him off whenever he asked about how you were feeling, he knew that he was going to have to make a call to the one person he knew would be able to talk sense into you.

The first time that he invited Jess and Luke over since things changed, you were initially wary of being forced to socially interact, but after you changed into clean, comfy clothes, had a shower, and actually got to be face-to-face with your best friends for the first time in far too long, you started to feel better than you had in a long time.

Luke had taken control of a speaker that you had in the apartment, showing you and Matt a few new artists that he had been getting into, and with the way that Jess hummed and sang along to the lyrics, you knew that you weren’t the first to hear him gush about the new finds. You ordered Pizza and sat around shooting the shit with one another.

When you popped into your room to grab an extra blanket, the sound of the door closing softly surprised you, and you turned to see Jess with a sympathetic smile on her face. Your mood soured. You had a feeling that she was going to want to talk to you with the comforting look in her eyes that she had been fixing you with since she had arrived with Luke. “Red told us that you had a bad falling out with a close friend. How’re you holding up, kid?” She asked and instinctively, you bristled. At this point you had been packing everything down and trying to avoid thinking about the situation altogether, which made it sour and turn to irritability where it sat within you. You scowled, annoyed at the fact that she wanted to stir up the difficult emotions that you had been working hard to hide. Seeing this, Jess raised both of her palms to face you in a surrendering gesture. “Easy, babe. I just want to make sure that everything’s alright.” She said softly.

Frustrated, you folded the blanket a couple of times in your hands. “It is.” You said shortly.

Jess frowned. “We both know that’s not true.” Sometimes you hated how easily she saw straight through you. She sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her, inviting you to join. “He didn’t tell us the full story, but I know you, and I know from what he told me that I would be having a rough time, so I can’t imagine what you’re dealing with right now.” You take the spot next to her and lean into her side, letting out a deep exhale when she wrapped her arm around you and gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. When you relaxed into her after a moment, she knew that she had worn away the stubborn act that you put on. “I know that Matt isn’t the best when it comes to talking about feelings, and I want to give you the space that you might need to talk about things a little more in depth with someone that might be able to communicate a little better about understanding what you’re going through. Or you could just lay on me, which is cool too.” She finished with a small laugh.

For a moment, you considered just sitting in silence for a few moments before rejoining the group, but the longer that you sat against Jess, the bigger the knot in your chest grew until you were squeezing your eyes shut and fighting tears that were starting to well up. “I’m tired of being sad.” You said, hating how small and watery your voice sounded. “I wish I could forget everything about what happened so I could stop carrying around this weight with me.”

And then you were crying. The more you tried to suppress it the stronger it came on, and the more your breath came in hiccups from your chest, so you stopped trying to hide it and instead opened the floodgates on your best friend. You told her the full story, about what caused the falling out and how hard it had been to adjust, as well as how angry you had been feeling with yourself for not being able to move past it. You told her about how you didn’t want to continually bother Matt so you had started to bottle things up. Even though you knew that it wasn’t the best way to deal with things, but you had hoped that in doing so, it would just pass over and make the whole ordeal easier.

Jess listened to what you had to say, but also offered some advice. Because of how close the two of you were as well as how blunt and honest she was, Jess was the queen of getting through to you and telling you things that you didn’t want to hear.“The quickest way to get through this is to feel what you need to feel completely and wholly. By not tackling it head-on, no matter how much better it seems in the moment, it’ll eat at you and cause a lot more hurt over time.” This stung, mostly because you knew that she was right. You had been able to witness a small taste of what she was talking about already, and the thought that the bitterness you had been feeling had the potential to grow and have the chance to cause outbursts that could push the people you loved away. You nodded as she gave your shoulder a squeeze.

“But I don’t want to feel like I’m burdening Matt with my problems.” You whined, digging the heels of your hands into your damp eyes and rubbing at them in exasperation. “I’m scared he’ll start avoiding me because he doesn’t want to hear me complain about my garbage when there’s nothing that he can do.”

To your surprise, Jess barked out a laugh, and you looked up at her with a glare. “Were you not just telling me how he was going total mama-bird over you when things were bad?” You deflated and shrugged, caught by your own words. “Just because you’re the only one who can work through this in your own brain doesn’t mean that you’re struggling alone. We’re all gonna support you in the ways that we know how. And if you’re worrying about the way that Matt is doing it, maybe that’s something that you should talk to him about and make sure that you’re getting the support that you need and that he’s not feeling burned out.”

Nodding, you let her advice sit with you as you leaned against her, letting her hug you from the side while you listened to Matt and Luke’s music muffled through the bedroom door. When you finally straightened up and let her arm fall from your side, Jess gave you a supportive look. “Feeling ok?” She asked.

“A lot better.” You responded, which made Jess give a little cheer that made you smile. “Thank you for… everything.” You said, unsure how to put into words your gratitude for making the effort to get through to you when you were so resistant off of the bat.

She bumped you with her shoulder with a playful grin. “Of course, kid. I’ve always got you. Now let’s go make sure those two haven’t finished off the pizza or torn the place up to bad out there, yeah?”

Grabbing the blanket from where you had put it down and following Jess back into the main living area feeling much lighter.

After the night that Jess and Luke stopped by, things started to feel like they were getting better. Her advice made you feel like you could dig yourself out of the hole that you found yourself in. You were able to sit down with Matt and express the things that you were worried about, and with that line of communication opened up, you felt free to check in with him when you were concerned that he was being overloaded. Fortunately, after that chat, you were able to go about life more freely than you felt you had been able to in weeks, and after a few weeks you were able to look a short ways into the past and be proud of how far you had come.

However, your good mood unfortunately broke.

Out of nowhere one morning, you woke up under a wave of depression. You tried to get up and go about things as usual, but disinterested and suddenly exhausted, you ended up back in bed curled in on yourself. After what felt like hours of drifting in and out of sleep and checking your phone, you heard the door open, and you looked to see Matt poke his head into the room. “Hey, sweetheart.”

At the sound of his voice, tears started welling up in your eyes and you blinked hard to try and keep them from falling. You made a sound of acknowledgement that came out more like a whimper, and his eyes widened, his brow furrowing in concern as he stepped fully into the room. “Oh no,” he cooed softly, padding across the floor to the bed. “No, no, no.” He climbed under the covers on the empty side of the bed facing you.“Talk to me.” He hummed, delicately thumbing away a tear from your cheek.

You almost didn’t want to tell him why you were sad. You had been doing so well! You didn’t want him to pity you for not being able to get over the loss, but you know that if you made up a lie on the spot that he would be able to tell, so you took a steadying breath. Damn his senses.

“I don’t know why it hit me like this again.” You told him, trying hard to keep your voice steady. “I thought I was done with this.”

At the admission, your face grew hot with shame and you sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Hey, hey, none of that.” Matt murmured, pulling you into his arms. You buried your face in his chest and took hold of his t-shirt, taking in the scent of the cotton and his laundry detergent and grounding yourself in it to keep your mind from spiraling further down.

“I’m embarrassed.” You whispered, and Matt shushed you, removing your hand from his shirt so that he could raise it to his mouth and press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I know that it’s hard to feel like you’ve made progress only to be set back, but dealing with grief is never a linear process.” He told you, brushing some of your hair back from your face. “Things like this take time, and bad days will happen even after things have been good for a while. But I promise you that things will get better, and that these reminders will start to sting a lot less as it goes on.”

It was silent as you lied together, him listening to your heartbeat return to normal, and you thinking about what he had said while your tears dried. When you finally made a move to get up, Matt’s arm around your waist tensed as he held onto you and kept you from budging. You were only able to let out a confused sound before he took your jaw in his free hand and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You raised your hands to his stubbly cheeks, and he leaned into your touch, a look in his eyes that was reassuring. “What was that for?” You asked.

He shrugged, a smug smirk on his face as he ran a calloused thumb across your bottom lip. “I just wanted to know you were smiling.”

That you were. For the first time all day, you felt almost giddy as you giggled, pressing a quick peck to his smiling mouth. “You’re so soft.” You teased, climbing out from under the covers and stretching.

“Just for you.” He replied, swinging his legs over the side and following your lead. When he got close, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a proper hug. You squeezed him, trying to find the right words to thank him, but with the way that he squeezed you back, you knew that you didn’t need to say anything at all. “You’ve got this, sweetheart.” He said quietly.

And for the first time in a while, you full-heartedly believed it.

masterlist

a/n: hello wonderful people! i’m back to classes and with structure comes more ways to work writing into my schedule! i’m working on a couple of wips right now, but my inbox and messages are open to new requests if you’re interested in dropping me something!

any feedback is appreciated as always!! thank you so much for taking the time to read my work, and every note this gets makes my day! :-)

taglist (open): @krazy-katt-lady @occasionallygiveadamn @rotisserierogers @howlingbarnes @peculiar-persephone

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #daredevil imagine #daredevil one shot #daredevil fluff #daredevil angst #best friend jessica jones #on another note: I LOVE THIS GIF #LOOK AT HIS CUTE SMILEY FACE #so handsome #my writing

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Orb/Reanimation

Another part of Doorways! Link to series here.

“What’s his name again?” asked Danny, picking at the hem of his shirt. Today had been… stressful, for a number of reasons. Partially the long drive and the disastrous breakfast stop, but also the fact that they were driving to meet a guy who was possibly:

a) Vlad Masters version 2.

b) A horrible hole in reality that would try to kill him.

c) Possessed, like the Keens.

d) Using ghost stuff without knowing it was ghost stuff.

e) Messing around with ghost stuff while knowing it was ghost stuff, but without any of the skill to keep it from messing him up in turn.

f) Crazy in some wonderful, unforeseen way.

Or, finally,

g) Mom and Dad’s one and only normal friend.

Danny really wasn’t holding for the last one, if he was being honest. After all, unlike Marianne, this guy had been part of the Paranormal Research Club.

Okay, maybe there were other, positive, options. It was completely possible for someone to be weird or crazy and not be evil or even particularly threatening. Most ghosts were like that, in fact.

Still.

“Frank Stone,” said Dad, cheerfully.

“If he turns out to be a Dr. Frankenstein type, I quit,” groaned Jazz. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t quit,” said Danny, with complete confidence.

“He is a doctor,” said Mom. “He was studying biology when we met him, for his undergraduate degree.”

“I quit; I’m telling you.”

“If you were really quitting,” reasoned Danny, “you’d just open the door and jump out.” He was pleased that Jazz was taking her turn as the resident overdramatic teenager. She carried that burden only rarely, but it did seem like long trips in the GAV really brought it out.

Maybe they made her remember the whole Youngblood thing. Who knew? Not Danny.

“I’m not going to jump out of a moving vehicle. That’s more of a ‘you’ thing.”

“I can’t really dispute that,” said Danny, remembering all the times he had, in fact, jumped out of a moving vehicle. “In my defense, I can fly.”

“Why you can fly completely negates that as a defense.”

Danny held up a finger. “Okay, so, first off, reality is not a moving vehicle.”

“Anything can be a moving vehicle, depending on your reference frame.”

“I agree on the moving part, but I dispute the vehicle part. Vehicle comes from the Latin vehiculum, which is ‘a means of conveyance.’ Reality is not a means of conveyance. Ergo, it cannot be a vehicle.”

“Not so fast, brother dear. Words change meaning over time.”

“Yeah, but that’s still what vehicle means,” said Danny. “Unless you’re doing the medicine definition, anyway. I think.”

“Reality is a metaphorical vehicle.”

“Well, if it’s metaphorical, it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s moving. Does it?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“I think this is the place!” exclaimed Dad, pulling into a parking lot. “Golding City University Medical Research Lab.”

“He doesn’t live here,” said Danny, slowly, “does he?” They weren’t ambushing this guy at work, were they? Even if he did turn out to be just as bad as all of Mom and Dad’s other friends, that was kind of mean.

(Except, the Keens had been acceptable, once they were no longer possessed, and even the ghost possessing them hadn’t been too terrible.)

“He’s in the building behind the lab,” said Mom. “They let the teachers live on-campus, here. He’s expecting us, anyway.”

Right. Because they had called ahead, giving warning to their potential enemy. Curse you, common courtesy and sundry social conventions.

Jazz was glaring at the small name sign on the building, which was just barely visible through the rain. “Golding City University,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, is something wrong?”

“Frankenstein,” she said.

“Um,” said Danny. He looked more closely at the name. “Golding City. Ingolstadt.” Oh, no. Now he was glaring at the name, too. Because Jazz was right, and it would be his luck. Their parents’ luck. Whatever.

“Do you feel anything?” asked Dad.

“No,” said Danny.

“Well,” said Mom. “We’ll have to run a bit, try to stay out of the rain. It’s too bad there isn’t a closer parking lot…”

“I could also just make us all intangible,” said Danny.

“What?”

“I could make us all intangible. I do it all the time to miss the rain when no one is looking too closely.”

“Huh,” said Mom.

“It isn’t as if my powers disappear when I’m not fighting ghosts,” said Danny. “I get to use them for other things.”

“I know, I know, it just seems… petty.”

“Petty is one of the best words to describe ghosts with,” said Danny.

Frank Stone did not look like a Frankenstein. Not the monster, and not the ‘doctor.’

(Because Victor Frankenstein had not, in fact, become a doctor, had he?)

He was actually pretty average looking. The same age as Mom and Dad, of course. Brown hair. Glasses. Skinny, but not that skinny. Could Dr. Stone rob a grave? Probably. But carrying the loot away without some mechanical advantage was probably out. Unless it was old loot. Dried out. Maybe just bones.

Corpses were heavy.

(No, Danny was not going to elaborate.)

Dr. Stone appeared to be somewhat confused about why Danny and Jazz were there. Evidently, Mom and Dad had managed to give the man the impression that they wanted to fund his research with the fortune they had inherited from Vlad.

Which, incidentally, had been inherited by Danny, who couldn’t really do much with it until he was twenty-five. Not that he was particularly keen on funding… Whatever it was that Dr. Stone was researching.

Maybe that would be different if he could tell what Dr. Stone was talking about. Danny wasn’t stupid, far from it, and had a good background in any number of esoteric subjects, but, well. It was hard to rival an adult lifetime of learning and research. Especially when he didn’t have any context.

Mom and Dad’s briefing on Dr. Stone had generally focused on what he had been interested in as a member of the Paranormal Research Club, not his true field of study.

“Oh,” said Mom, suddenly, “this is about your organ transplant project, isn’t it? You really need to provide more context. When you just jump right in like that, even we’ll get lost!”

Okay. Danny felt better.

“Well, yes,” said Dr. Stone. “I have been working on this off and on since college, you know how it is. I know you kept up with that portal business!” He flashed a nervous smile and set his coffee mug down on his coffee table. It made a soft chinking sound against the glass. “But the university gave me a grant, Vladco’s been donating some supplies—From their chemical division, mostly—and I’ve been having a lot of success! I can’t wait to show you. We’ve actually got a few specimens in near-stasis right now, all from mice. We’re going to be implanting one tomorrow. See how it functions.”

“Have you implanted any before?” asked Mom, leaning forward.

“A few, but, well. I can’t say they were resounding successes. The most recent subject only lasted a few days… Although, that is better than the first! We’ve been adjusting some of our ratios.”

“Say, Frank,” said Dad. “What chemicals are you using for this, anyway? I know you’re using them in conjunction with low temperatures, but keeping crystals from forming in the flesh—”

“Yes, yes, that’s always been the problem with cryogenics,” agreed Dr. Stone. Then they dove back into jargon and technical language.

Danny glanced sideways at Jazz, uneasy. Chemicals. From Vladco. Yeah. Not suspicious at all.

He leaned over. “Ten dollars says that he’s using ectoplasm to reanimate dead bodies.”

“I’m not taking that bet. Do you feel anything weird from him?” Jazz whispered back.

“Weird, yes, but…” Danny bit his lip. “I’m not sensing any… doors. Or ghosts.”

“Okay,” said Jazz. “So, when we do find his mad science lab full of dead body parts, what do we do?”

“Well… Nothing? As long as they’re legal dead body parts, I guess. You know, from organ donors, or people who donated their bodies to science. I mean…” He shrugged. “You’ve read Frankenstein, too. And met Ellie.”

“Hm. True,” said Jazz. “I have to check my biases. I’m still quitting, though. As soon as we find his Frankenstein stuff. Just so you know.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Jazz just sighed.

Danny walks silently through the halls of the research facility. True, Dr. Stone was planning on giving his family a tour of his workspace first thing tomorrow and had implied that other researchers would be doing the same, but Danny believed in being prepared.

Well. Sometimes. He was allowed to be inconsistent and contradictory. Like any teen, he was still learning how to exist.

Maybe he should stop comparing himself to ‘any teen,’ though. It was beginning to feel dishonest, even in his own head. Even though, technically, it was true.

Anyway.

This place was kind of creepy. At least, he presumed a normal person would find it creepy. Too bad he didn’t know any normal people. Sam would think it was cool. Tucker would be freaking out because it was a medical research lab. Ancients, Danny was as bad as his parents.

It did have a number of features that one would typically only find on the set of a horror movie, however, so he felt fairly confident in his assessment of its creepiness. Also, he had encountered at least five different crimes against nature and sanity (it took one to know one), and he hadn’t even gotten to Dr. Stone’s lab yet.

He was impressed. He hadn’t expected such a high concentration outside of Amity Park or Vlad’s hideouts.

At the thought of Vlad, Danny drooped. Yeah. He still wasn’t over the stupid fruitloop. Still hated the fact that he had died.

Back to the crimes against nature. Ectoplasm was definitely a component, if a small one. Hard to get things to glow that precise, reality bending shade of green otherwise. Also, well. Danny can sense ectoplasm.

And… Now he was in a room of jars full of diluted ectoplasm and… He sniffed. Formaldehyde? He frowned and decided the number, size, and arrangement of jars was suspicious. He walked around the table. Yep. That was in the outline of a human body. Yep.

Honestly, this wasn’t any more alarming than the living mice impaled with various glowing needles, or the disturbingly brown heart beating in a fish tank a few rooms back. It was, also, significantly less alarming than the prosthetic face (mainly because, dang, that thing looked realistic), the (fresh) skeleton someone had been injecting ectoplasm into (yikes), and the weird flesh… blob… thing that someone had just left out in their workspace.

Still. This was another point for the ‘someone is building a Frankenstein’s monster in this building’ theory, and Danny had kind of been hoping that he was wrong.

He walked out of the room, on alert for random murderous corpse monsters (or sad corpse monsters that needed a shoulder to cry on, a restraining order against their creators, and a loving home). Or mad scientists. Because, at this point, he was fairly certain that everyone who worked here was crazy, and not necessarily in the fun way Mom and Dad were.

He was glad they had decided to sleep in the GAV and ignore Dr. Stone’s invitation to stay in his apartment.

Dr. Stone’s office was just next door. His lab, just beyond that. Danny approached cautiously, his ghost half on high alert, and his deeper self stirring uneasily.

He laid a hand flat against the door, and that stirring became wakefulness.

Crimes against nature. Hubris. Pride.

Superbia. It had to be.

A hole. A wound.

Well. This was fast. Even with the Keens’ list of Paranormal Research Club members they had encountered while possessed, Danny hadn’t expected to find another thing like Gula so quickly.

He hadn’t wanted to. Despite his outward pessimism, he had hoped that there weren’t any more.

After several frozen moments where Danny braced himself for an attack, he realized one wasn’t forthcoming. The tear beyond the door had not noticed him, was not trying to consume him.

So, he had a choice. He could either try to deal with this alone, right now, or he could sneak away and tell his family what he had found. Both choices had pros and cons.

Before even a second had passed, Danny was easing away from the door. He hadn’t quite promised to share if he felt anything strange, if he had detected anything bad, but… It was a near thing, and he didn’t want to be dishonest with his family after they had been so accepting of all his… Stuff.

Yeah. Call it stuff. Nice and generic. Covers everything.

Plus, his encounter with Gula had confirmed that he needed backup.

He refrained from calling on his powers on the way out. He didn’t want to draw attention. The limits of the doors to the place which should not be mentioned were largely unknown to him.

Luckily, the doors weren’t alarmed, and he got back to the GAV without a problem. He poked Jazz awake first.

“Hey,” he said, “we’ve got a problem.”

“This portal is just… Sitting there,” said Mom.

“Yep.”

“In Frank’s office.”

“Well, I think it might actually be in the lab, but yes. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Is Frank sleeping in his lab?” asked Dad, stroking the stubble on his chin.

“No, I checked that before I went in,” said Danny. “He’s in his apartment.”

“You just… broke into his apartment?” asked Mom.

Danny shrugged. “I didn’t break anything,” he said. “But, I mean, what else was I supposed to do?”

For a moment, it looked like Mom was about to argue or scold him, but she shook her head. “Alright, then someone else is in his office.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure if these portals need a person attached or not. Using person in the very loosest of senses, because…” He made a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as a soul being forcibly removed from a body without killing the body.

“You don’t think it’s in the, um,” Jazz also made a vague gesture.

“You mean the hypothetical Frankenstein’s monster he’s made? Yeah. I think that’s likely. Also, judging from the sheer amount of, um, weird stuff in the other labs, I’d say it’s influencing everyone and everything around it, too.”

“Is that a thing it can do?” asked Mom.

“I mean, I can do that,” said Danny. He paused. “’I’ in this case being the portal. Yeah. That’s why Amity Park is so… Amity Park.”

Mom breathed out, slowly. “Sweetie, trust me on this, Amity Park was strange long before we made the portal.

“Well, yes?” said Danny, not seeing what that had to do with it. “So?”

“So, that strangeness couldn’t be caused by the portal.”

“Mom. I’m—It’s a hole in reality. Do you think it’s going to obey the laws of cause and effect? You went to Amity Park because it was already a ‘thin spot,’ right? I was already there.”

Mom looked vaguely ill.

“Okay,” said Jazz. “Let’s table that discussion for right now. What are we going to do about this? Break in? Wait for our ‘tour’ tomorrow?”

“I don’t like the idea of waiting for Dr. Stone to give us a tour,” said Danny. “I don’t want to give them time to prepare for us.”

“He doesn’t know what we’re here for, though,” said Dad. “Does he?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny. “I can’t read minds.”

“Yet,” added Jazz.

“Do you think he even knows about the…” It was Mom’s turn to enter the gesturing game.

“Let’s just call it a hell portal for the sake of communication,” said Danny, despite the fact that the term did not do the actuality justice. “Or Superbia for this particular one. I think this must be Superbia, anyway.” He didn’t want to imagine the possibility of even more of these things out there.

“I’m not sure how he couldn’t notice that something strange was going on,” said Dad. “Even if he was using ectoplasm and other supernatural elements in his research, we gave him a good grounding in what to expect from ectoplasm in college.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz. “But not everyone is like you and Mom. Your college days were over two decades ago.”

Something moving in the dark and rain beyond the GAV windows, catching Danny’s eye. He pushed past his family to get a better look, blinking to adjust his eyes.

“Heck,” he said. “We have a mob.”

“What?” exclaimed Dad, rushing to the console to turn on the GAV’s exterior floodlights.

They illuminated Dr. Stone and a crowd of college and graduate students quite nicely. Their eyes reflected a dim red. The GAV was, as far as Danny could see, surrounded.

Very briefly, the thought of gunning the GAV and crashing through the crowd crossed his mind. It was just as quickly dismissed.

He didn’t know what the line between influenced and mind controlled was, or how easily Superbia could cross it. It was even possible that the ‘hell portal’ could vault over both of those and land directly in possession.

“Ghost shield?” suggested Danny.

“Will it do anything?” asked Mom.

“Won’t hurt,” said Danny with a shrug.

Mom flipped the switch.

“What are we going to do?” asked Jazz, softly. “Wait them out?”

“Realistically,” said Danny, “we don’t have enough food and water to do that. With this many people, they could take turns watching us.”

“Call the police?” suggested Maddie. The other three turned to look at her. “They are still human, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, frowning. “But I don’t know how much, um, agency they have right now. If we were in Amity, I’d say sure, our police understand, mostly, but… Also, bringing extra hostages into this might not be a good idea.”

“If it’s the campus police that would get called, they might be affected, too,” said Jazz.

“They have campus police? How do you know?”

“This college sent me a brochure once.”

“Right. Um. I could always just fly us out of here,” said Danny.

“Assuming they don’t have ranged attacks,” said Mom, dubiously.

“Hm. Yeah. I think I could lift the GAV, and then we could just leave the shield on.”

“Assuming the shield does anything.”

Danny shrugged. “I can always just try to fight them outright. I’d prefer not to do that, though.”

Mom inhaled as if she were about to say something but was cut off by a loud noise from outside.

“Jack~ Maddie~ I know you’re in there.” That was Dr. Stone’s voice, warped by a megaphone speaker. “Why don’t you come out and see what I’ve done? I dare say I’ve exceeded even our wildest dreams from college.” A long pause. “I even made a portal… Weren’t you trying to get one of those? Isn’t that what got good old Vlad hospitalized?” There was laughter. Too much laughter.

The mob was laughing, too.

Superbia. Pride.

Danny knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to walk out and deal with the threat that was grating on his every sense. But… He knew that prideful actions were contraindicated under the present circumstances.

Influence. Right. How much could Danny be influenced?

How much could his family be influenced?

He looked up at his parents, seeking guidance. They seemed uncertain, too.

“I didn’t destroy any lives- I made new life. New life! Powered by an interdimensional portal, oh, yes… Can you imagine the application? Can you imagine a new world?”

“Okay, he didn’t seem like this in the apartment,” muttered Jazz. “We have human nonlethal weapons, right?”

“Still have to worry about running people over,” said Danny. He looked back at the lab building. “We could try to cut this off at the source. They aren’t protecting the building. They’re using it as part of their perimeter.”

Eyes turned to the dimly lit building.

“We can cover you,” offered Dad.

“I don’t like this any better than you flying off with us,” said Mom. “But… It offers a more permanent solution.”

Danny should have gone after it when he was in the building the first time. Well. Time only rewound for one ghost, and that ghost wasn’t him.

Unless he counted… Never mind. The point was, despite all his other wonderful and troubling features, Danny couldn’t go back and change a decision he’d already made. Agonizing over it was a waste of time and brain power.

Dad got behind the wheel. Jazz crawled up into the well-disguised turret. Maddie manned the other weapons.

Danny stood at the door, ready to run, ready to transform as soon as he was through the shield.

Family bonding activities. So much fun.

The mob attacked before he got the door open. He still made it to the building.

Danny didn’t bother with doors or windows or halls. He remembered what floor Dr. Stone’s office was on, and, now that he was sensitized to it, he could feel Superbia. He went through the walls, straight as an arrow.

(He wondered, briefly, if he was being as bigoted as he’d often felt his parents to be. If he was ascribing more evil to the portals to the Red Country than was warranted. If he was simply holding up a dark mirror and seeing what he feared from himself.)

(But no. He did not command like that. He did not force his people to assemble armies in the night or attack people. He kept them safe. He had rules.)

The lab was awash in sick red not-light that burned in Danny’s mind. It was barely physically perceptible, more present in senses that couldn’t translate to human terms than anything to do with Danny’s eyes, ghostly or not.

In the center of the lab, on an operation table, was a stitched-together corpse. Perhaps, under other circumstances, it would have been a very pretty corpse. A young woman with long dark hair and broad shoulders.

Its chest had been torn open. Half-in half-out of the cavity was a red orb, the source of the not-light, like some sick imitation of a ghost core.

(It reminded Danny of Freakshow’s staff, and he realized that he never did find out where that horrid thing had come from.)

They had been trying to make something like Danny.

He felt like he had eaten those blood blossom pancakes.

Danny gritted his teeth and let his light, white-green and clear, fill his hands. Ectoplasm fought against the miasma in the air, an oddly purifying presence. It wasn’t enough to chase away the wrongness. This wasn’t his space.

The fight against Gula was different. Both he and it had been within nominally living bodies. They had been next to the heart of Danny’s territory, his home ground. Danny had been tricked and trapped, taken off guard, unable to use the tricks he had grown used to while fighting ghosts and Vlad.

(He could feel Superbia in his mind, pride urging him forward towards error. Pride in his abilities, in his mind, in his family.)

Danny drifted sideways, watching. Listening. Other things in the building were stirring. Sparks of wrongness growing and twisting, warping into fountains and springs. This whole building was full of it. Rotten to the bones. It pressed against his teeth.

Careful.

He had to be careful.

The orb shone.

(Too much like Freakshow’s staff.)

(Influence, Danny remembered. Just how close was it to mind control?)

Doing this as a human was impossible. Trying to fight that as a ghost was unwise.

The always-open always-closed door that both contained and laid within Danny’s soul shifted. So did the corpse on the table, its constituent parts sliding over each other gruesomely. Death had lost its hold, lost its meaning. The ghost that was Danny twisted, and he was too human, too alive.

Special little thing. You think you can defeat us.

He could. He could open himself and wash all this away in an instant. He could burn with electric fire and the cold of deep space. He could reach out. The orb would be as dust under his hand.

He didn’t move.

In thinking you become…

Un-light burned up from the grooves in the tile floor. It didn’t reach the soles of his boots, didn’t reach his soul. He gritted his teeth.

US.

YOUR VICTORY IS OURS.

“Wow, you picked the wrong person to use that strategy on,” said Danny, out loud. Internally, he pulled on the delicate and frayed strands of reality that persisted even here. “I have so much imposter syndrome and anxiety that it isn’t even funny. I know I can’t beat you. Not here.”

But then, he didn’t have to.

He found the right string and pulled. He found the key and opened the door. Death was in the room again. Danny could move again. Not so much the pile of flesh in front of him. It was hard, it hurt, to keep hold of something like this, but half of Danny was this, was dead, even if he had far too many halves to ever be whole.

Ice coated the floor, the tiles cracking under the sudden temperature change. He dropped to the floor and was human.

An impossible thing.

And behind the human—

Well. Danny didn’t have to defeat Superbia. It wasn’t like Gula, didn’t have that strength, that experience. He just had to make it so the things that would, could.

(Danny had rules. Some of them were to protect himself.)

He walked over to the orb. Ultimately, it was just a representation, not Superbia itself. Still. He put his foot down on it and slowly transferred his weight to it until it cracked. Until it splintered. Until it shattered. Until he ground its dust under his heel.

Then, the building collapsed. Danny didn’t move, didn’t have to move. He was a ghost again, floating in the air, exactly where he had been, all the floors having passed harmlessly through him.

Outside, the faculty and student body of the college were sprawled in piles on the ground. The GAV was, somehow, halfway up a tree. A shockingly sturdy tree. Several statues were in pieces.

The sun was coming up.

Danny put a hand to his chest and assessed himself. Yes. Still here. Still himself. The Ghost Zone still sang in his bones, in his core. He was still anchored in Amity Park. Everything in order.

This place, though… This place would be tainted for years, a thin spot forever. He could feel it, now. Why couldn’t he feel it before, when they drove in?

He shuddered. Then he flew down to the GAV and knocked on the window. Mom rolled it down.

“Want me to fly us away to somewhere secluded before the cops get called and we get asked a bunch of awkward questions?” he asked.

Mom closed her eyes. “Please do,” she said.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #ectober 2020

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mandowh0re · 4 years

Text

Peter’s Emergency Contact

Summary: Peter meets the Avengers. It doesn’t go well.

A/N: I’m a terrible person tell me to finish my wips. Also I’m sorry about May :(

P.s. it’s been a long time since I picked this fic up so there are some continuum issues, please forgive me.

Part1/ Part2/ Part3/ Part 4

Part 4

Putting it mildly, Peter was fucking bored. It was summer, but both Ned and MJ were on vacation with their families. And on top of that, it was way too hot to go out and do anything, including patrol. He was, however, on stand by if Karen came through with anything that required Spider-Man’s assistance.

A few floors down, the ex-Rogue Avengers were doing god knows what. They had been pardoned a month earlier and moved back into the tower. Peter had yet to meet them, though Tony seemed okay with them. But Peter didn’t really trust them.

Well, okay. He more-so didn’t trust Steve. Even though the others fought against Tony too, it was Steve that scared Tony. Peter noticed minute things that Tony would do whenever the Captain was mentioned. He’d fidget, or grab his left wrist, or rub his chest, or bite the inside of his cheek. Mostly stuff that would fly past most people.

But Peter wasn’t ‘most people’. Officially, Peter was Tony’s child. After a car accident killed May about eight months prior, Tony legally adopted Peter. Since then, Peter has learned all of Tony’s tells. Wanting to get to the bottom of these anxious ticks, Peter hacked his way around FRIDAY’s systems to figure out what had happened.

Peter wasn’t one to give into rage, but that day he spent a majority of his time in the gym or swinging through the city because he was basically vibrating from the emotion.

But they lived in the same tower, and maybe Peter was desperate for something to do, so he decided to head down to the common room where FRIDAY had informed him that a few of the Avengers were hanging out.

The elevator dinged and Peter walked out to the sight of… Christmas decorations?

“What the…” He breathed, looking around the room.

“You’re not Stark,” Natasha said, suddenly appearing in front of Peter.

Peter had to literally fight down his fanboy excitement to greet the literal Black Widow!

“Uh, no. I mean, technically I am but-”

“You’re Peter, right?” Was that a smirk? Peter couldn't tell.

“Uh, y-yeah. How-?”

“I have my ways of finding things out,” Okay, now that was a smile, “I haven’t told anyone though. So you’ll have to introduce yourself to them.” She said as she tossed her head to the side, motioning to the others on the floor.

“Oh, right.”

Peter followed Natasha farther into the room, gaining the attention of the rest of the crew including Wanda Maximoff, Vision (who Peter had actually met before), Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, and Bruce (who Peter had also met before as he and Thor showed up about two months after May’s death).

“Uh, who’s the child, Nat?” Clint asked, sitting on the kitchen island.

Natasha looked at Peter, who began picking at the hem of his shirt. A nervous tick of his own.

“Uh, hi, Mister Barton. I’m Peter. Uh, Peter Parker. Or, Peter Parker-Stark now I guess? I’m-”

“Wait, excuse me, Parker-Stark? Since when the hell did Stark have a child?” Sam cut in.

“Let him finish,” Wanda berated the man, who seemed to currently be baking cookies, “Go on,” She said to the other teenager in the room, smiling kindly.

“Right, so uh, Tony hired me as his personal intern like two years ago, and we got pretty close. My aunt died last December and since she was my last family, Tony took me in and adopted me.” Immediately after mentioning his aunt’s death, almost everyone in the room looked at him with pity.

“I’m sorry kid,” That was Clint again, “Life sucks sometimes.”

“I’m adjusting,” Peter replied, but he quickly changed the subject, “Why are you decorating for Christmas? It’s almost a hundred degrees outside, not to mention it’s July.”

“Ah, that was my idea!” Sam called from the kitchen where he was currently pulling cookies out of the oven, “Since we’re on house arrest until further notice, I thought we could entertain ourselves with Christmas in July. It’s something we used to do when I was younger.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“You’re welcome to join, kid.” Bruce called from his spot on the couch.

“Really? Thanks guys!” Peter jumped onto a seat at the island.

“Have a cookie, man.” Sam said, holding out a plate of santa shaped sugar cookies.

“Aw sweet!” The boy grabbed one and took a bite, “Thanks!”

About fifteen minutes passed by when Peter’s senses upped a few notches.

“Any cookies left, Sam?”

Peter nearly choked on his current cookie and jumped up to see Steve Rogers walking out of the elevator.

“Yep, a few plates full. There’s sugar, gingerbread, and chocolate chip.”

A few seconds passed before the super soldier noticed Peter.

“Um, hello. I’m Steve, you are?” He offered a hand for Peter to shake.

Peter tried to respond, but the room suddenly began spinning. He gripped onto the counter to steady himself.

“Son?” Steve asked.

“Don’ call me tha’,” Peter tried to glare, but he wasn’t even sure he was controlling his face properly.

Out of nowhere his legs gave out, and black began overtaking his vision.

A chorus of exclamations rang out as everyone ran over to tend to the boy. Fortunately and unfortunately, Steve was the closest and was the one to grab Peter before he hit the ground.

“No! Let me go!” He struggled against Steve’s arms to no avail.

“Calm down, son, I’m just-”

“What happened?” Bruce asked, feeling for Peter’s pulse.

“He just collapsed.” Sam answered.

Then Peter began seizing.

“Fuck, Sam, start a timer to time the seizure. Steve, pick him up and bring him to the medbay with me. Natasha, call Tony.”

“Why are we calling Tony?” Steve asked, following Bruce into the elevator.

It was silent for a moment where Bruce and Nat exchanged glances before Bruce answered, “He’s Tony’s kid.”

“Since when-”

“Later Steve. One thing at a time.”

***

“This better be important. Like, life or death because you pulled me out of a meeting and Pepper-”

“Shut up, Stark. Something is wrong with Peter.”

Tony was quiet for a moment before growling back, “Explain, Romanoff. Now.”

“I don’t know, Tony. He came down and introduced himself and was hanging out with us when he just collapsed and started seizing. We’re taking him to the medbay now-”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I’m in DC. I’ll have to come back with the suit but it’ll still take me an hour.”

“What do you want me to-”

“Do not let him out of your sight, Nat. I don’t want him waking up alone and you and Bruce are the only two I trust enough to watch him. Keep me updated, I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

“Got it.”

***

“He’s showing symptoms of anaphylactic shock,” Bruce said to the other two occupants after injecting Peter with an anticonvulsant, “ FRIDAY, is Peter allergic to anything? Override code six one three three nine seven five.”

“Peter is allergic to peppermint, and as well has severe reactions when in close vicinity to insect repellents.”

“Was there peppermint in Sam’s cookies?”

“One moment, Doctor Banner.” A few seconds passed before the AI came back with an answer, “Mister Wilson has supplied that the sugar cookies had peppermint extract in them.”

“Peter had several of those,” Nat said quietly.

“Okay, okay at least I can work with that. Steve,” Bruce called to the soldier while pulling out an epinephrine pen, “I think it’d be better if you waited with everyone else. Thank you for helping.”

Steve wanted to argue, but he looked at Nat who seemed to agree with Bruce.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.” He offered before walking out the door.

As soon as the door shut behind him Nat spoke, “If Peter hadn’t accidentally poisoned himself I’m pretty sure he would have punched Steve.”

Bruce finished injecting the medicine and pulled the pen away from Peter’s thigh, “He still might.”

Natasha helped Bruce fix an IV drip in Peter’s arm in silence.

“You don’t have to stay, I can watch him until Tony gets here.” Bruce offered.

“He won’t be here for another forty five minutes. Plus, I’m supposed to keep watch. Stark’s orders.”

Bruce nodded in understanding, “His vitals are starting to return to normal. I’ll go update the others.”

“I’ll call Tony.”

***

Peter felt like he’d been hit by a train.

Had he?

Honestly he couldn’t remember what had happened. He opened his eyes to see Tony next to his bed (why was he in the medbay?) talking to someone on the other side of his bed. Soon his ears stopped ringing and he heard another hushed voice. Probably whoever Tony was talking to. Why did Tony look upset?

Peter turned his head to see Steve standing there.

And

What?

Without really having his wits about him yet, Peter jumped up and shoved the man back, pulling and knocking over his IV stand in the process.

“Woah, Pete! Calm down-”

“What? You didn’t get to kill him in Siberia so you thought you’d come and finish the job while I’m out?” Peter practically snarled.

Steve’s eyes blew wide, shock and shame overtaking his features, “Son, I-”

“And stop calling me that!” Peter shoved again, sending the captain into the wall, leaving a sizable crack.

“Peter!” Tony yelled, grabbing at the kid’s arm, “Calm down, bud. He’s not here to hurt me, or you for that matter. Can you please sit back down before you give me another damn heart attack?”

Peter obliged but his eyes never left Steve, who looked to be in too much of shock to really say anything.

“Cap, let the team know he’s awake, will ya?” It really wasn’t a suggestion or a question, more like a thinly veiled disguise to get him out of the room before Peter decided he hadn’t had enough.

Nodding, Steve hightailed it out of the room, but not before looking back at Peter and offering a quick apology.

It was quiet for a few moments, in which time Tony set the IV stand back up and made sure Peter’s IV was still in place. Finally the older man spoke, “Pete, buddy, what was all that about? How do you know what happened in Siberia?”

Peter’s demeanor fell slightly as he came back to himself, “Wasn’t hard to guess.”

“Mhmm. Wanna try again? Maybe with the truth this time?” Tony said as he sat back down next to his kid.

Peter crossed his arms and looked down at the floor.

“I hacked FRIDAY,” He mumbled.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Tony asked.

Peter sighed audibly before repeating himself, louder this time, “I hacked FRIDAY.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you were beat up and withdrawn after we got back from Germany. Which, okay, fine. We weren’t in a place for you to tell me what happened. But then the pardon for them was beginning to go through and every time Steve was even mentioned, you had these reactions like you were nervous or something. And I wanted to know why. I already had a pretty good idea. Then I saw the footage and I just… I don’t want him near you..”

“Peter, buddy. Look at me, please,” Tony gently held the boy’s chin and turned his head so that he looked at Tony, “Thank you for looking out for me. But that’s not your responsibility,”

“Yes it is! I can’t-” His throat catches and a lump forms, tears making their way to the surface, “I’ve lost everyone because I couldn’t protect them. I can’t lose you too.”

Tony pulls Peter in for a hug, and cards his fingers through the kid’s curls, “It’s okay to cry, honey. But I’m not going anywhere. Remember that. The universe will have to personally fight me before I let anything get between us. Understood?” Peter nodded slightly, but clung to his father’s shirt as he cried.

Eventually Peter fell asleep in Tony’s arms.

“I love you, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” Tony whispered, placing a kiss on top of the curls on his kid’s head.

And yes. Peter did end up punching Captain America. We don’t bring that up.

***

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 107 - SBT

Here it is!

"Meow…"

"Non, mon garçon." Lucien turned his head. "Glovy, those tomatoes are not ready yet, do not bite them."

[No, my boy.]

"Meow!"

"Glovy..." Mundy added from a few metres away, in a fatherly tone. He was lying on the grass with a hat on his face and Soot lying on his chest and stomach, napping.

"Meow…!"

"Glovy, you don't want me to count to three now…" Mundy said and the kitten obeyed on the spot.

"He listens to you better than he does me." Lucien said, raising his head from the tomato plants. He had spent the afternoon there, helping Caroline to take care of the plants. He had trimmed the trees and was now on his knees, removing the weeds between the tomatoes.

The kittens were roaming around, discovering fresh grass and a garden. Most of them played with the plants innocently. Only Glovy had wanted to taste them with his little fangs.

"Kitties? Who wants some treats?"

"Mum, you gave them some after lunch already…!" Mundy removed his hat off of his face and looked up at his mother.

"It's four in the afternoon! Someone's gotta feed the little ones so that they grow strong, eh, Glovy?"

"Meow! Meow! Meow!" The kittens came jumping around Caroline's feet. She sat on a chair and bent down to deal the treats to the eager little balls of fluff.

Mundy was laying on the grass, with Soot on his chest, while Perle was inside, with Mike.

"Easy on the food, Glovy."

Glovy stopped chewing sharp before resuming. He swallowed his treat and his ears pulled back. Caroline winked at the kitten and offered him an additional treat, as she put a finger on her lips.

"Mum… Don't try and feed him behind my back."

"How did you know?"

"Cause you used to do the same with me." Mundy said as he opened his eyes and stood up. "Right, I need to go now, Mum. I'll say bye to Dad on my way."

"You need to go?" Lucien raised surprised eyebrows and turned to his lover who was approaching him.

"Yeah, but don't worry, we'll spend the evenin' together. There's somethin' I need to do first. And by the way…" Mundy crouched to whisper in Lucien's ear. "Dress up nice and come at 7pm at the crossroad between the High Street and King James Avenue."

Lucien's cheeks went pink.

"Fine, I will."

"Be there on time and put on the nicest clothes you have. We'll spend the evenin' just you and me." Mundy turned to his mother who was playing with the kittens. "Mum, you'll watch over the cats tonight, right?"

"Yeah, we will, don't worry…!" Caroline answered.

"Right, I'd better go then, I got stuff to prepare." Mundy winked at Lucien and the Frenchman felt like the most special man on Earth. "See you later, Lu'."

"See you, Mundy."

Mundy went away and Lucien stayed with Caroline in her garden. The kittens seemed to love playing there. Soot went to Lucien and sat next to him while the Frenchman went on cleaning the plants area.

And soon, the time came for Lucien to go and get ready himself.

"Don't worry, Lucien, I'll keep an eye on them." Caroline came to the living-room.

"Yeah, you go and find Micky. We'll take care of the kids." Mike answered from the sofa, brushing Perle, lying like a queen on his stomach and lap.

Lucien went to Mike and sat down next to him for a moment.

"Are you sure about this? I would understand if you changed your mind. Looking after all these little ones is quite tiring."

"What are you on about? They're lovely!" Caroline said. "Besides, playin' in the garden got them all tired and they're sleeping now."

"Yeah, and look at this one. She likes watchin' the television with the old man, eh?" Mike looked at Perle on his lap.

"I think what she likes the most is the attention, the scratches and you feeding her treats…"

"Maybe, but she likes me too! Eh, baby, tell yer dad you like your old Mike, yeah?"

"Meow!" Perle answered.

"See? She does!"

Lucien got closer to the sofa.

"Thank you very much, Mike, I really appreciate your efforts."

Mike moved his eyes from the television screen to Lucien's light blue eyes.

"Well, thank you too. Carrie was right."

"I heard that!" A feminine voice said from the kitchen and Mike rolled his eyes with a smile.

"I mean," Mike went on. "Micky really found what he was lookin' for with you."

"I try my best."

"Ya don't need to, son. Now you guys go and have yer fun. And whatever you do, you watch out for each other, yeah? And you be good to my Micky, eh?"

"I dream of nothing else."

"Did he tell ya what's the plan?"

"Mike…! It's their evening, not yours, get yer nose out of their business right now!" Caroline answered from the kitchen, surrounded by the mewling kittens.

"Non, I do not know." Lucien answered, whispering.

"Lucien!" She added and both Mike and Lucien chuckled.

"Right, you go before she gets out the kitchen and tells us off, yeah?"

"I shall, thank you again for looking after the babies."

"Meow?" Perle raised her head and her paw to her Papa. Lucien took it and left a kiss on her white fluff.

"I shall see you tomorrow."

"You have a good evenin', Lu'!"

"Merci, Caroline, see you tomorrow!"

And Lucien left the house. Mundy had told him to go back home and get ready for an evening just with him. What for? Lucien didn't know, but if Mundy thought he could surprise Lucien, he had another thing coming!

Lucien had hesitated quite a bit before deciding, but he shall do it. He headed straight for the bedroom when he arrived, he lost no time stripping naked and started the act. He had dressed as a woman before, oui, and had put on the whole elegant show. This time, it shall be different. This time, he shall play another card.

He had talked to Richard about it and the taylor agreed to help, not without having a second of surprise however. It was a request for a dress, but not any odd one.

"Cut?"

"Close to the skin, but comfortable and not compromising."

"Length?"

"Down to half of the thighs."

"Colour?"

"Bright red."

"Dinner or social event?"

"Special occasion, something intimate."

Richard blushed slightly and his moustache only seemed more white in contrast with his pinkish skin. He stopped taking notes for an instant to clear his throat, before going on.

"Fabric?"

"Enticing to the eye and the touch."

"Any special requirements?"

"The cleavage." Richard raised an eyebrow. "Generous." Lucien added.

The Frenchman had his eyes closed on the tailor's armchair, imagining the dress as he described it. The smoke of his cigarette wreathed and curled, rising in the air.

"Anything to go with it?"

"Do you happen to make lingerie?"

Richard adjusted the glasses on his nose.

"I do."

"Can you do it for men?"

"I thought you had resigned." Richard answered.

"What? Non, I am still a teacher, but what does it have to do with-?"

"No..." Richard took his eyes off of his notebook. "I thought you had resigned from your military duties."

"Of course, I have. I am not a spy anymore…!"

"Then, why the disguise?" Richard asked.

"It is no disguise."

The tailor frowned.

"I will not act a part that isn't myself." Lucien made himself clearer. "If my demand cannot be met, I understand perfectly, Richard. But if I am asking you of all people, it is because I know the quality of your work, and I wouldn't want anyone else for this. I wouldn't be able to ask anyone else."

Richard raised his eyes to Lucien.

"I shall do it. After your last request, I thought that it was for someone else…"

"Non, of course not." Lucien said. "It is for me."

"I am relieved." Richard nodded.

"What were you imagining?" Lucien asked.

"Well… If you had come back to your military duties, then surely you wouldn't work for France, and as such, I should have to treat you with distrust, at least. And if, like last time, you asked me to use your measurements to fit the dress, then surely, with M…?"

"Oh, you thought my relationship with M ended and I was now seeing a woman?"

Richard nodded.

"What else could I have understood?"

"And why would I train my walking with high heels here?" Lucien answered.

"Ah, yes, that I do not know…"

"I merely want to surprise Mundy." Lucien answered. "You should have seen his face last time when he finally understood that the woman flirting with him was me in fact." Lucien chuckled, thinking about it again. "But again, if you do not want to do it for any reason, I shall by no means force you."

"Non, please." Richard shook his head. "I must admit that your orders always push the limits of my knowledge and my craft. My apologies for judging, and badly so. I should take this as an opportunity to hone my skills and teach my sons with me." Richard nodded to himself. "You know, uhm…" He looked left and right before going on. "One of my sons, Paul, the eldest…"

"What about him?" Lucien asked.

"He… I think you and M gave him the courage that he needed." Richard blushed and Lucien didn't understand where he was going. "He… He confessed to his mother and I that he… He prefers gentlemen."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Now, we did have our doubts but he just confirmed it and… We are actually delighted that he worked up the courage to tell us."

The Frenchman smiled.

"He is fortunate enough to have a father who describes himself as 'delighted' about it." Lucien said.

"Indeed. I imagine others are not so fortunate."

"Far from it."

Richard shook his head.

"Anyway, now, to come back to the dress…"

And Lucien described the vision he had, something that was enticing, revealing and inviting. The only thing the Frenchman wished he could buy was a few years of his life back. Ah, he wished he was closer to Mundy's age…

In any case, he put on the lingerie, the stockings, the dress, and the assorted red high-heeled stilettos. Lucien then went to the bathroom and put on his make-up. Eyeliner, mascara and this time, a hint of red lipstick. He put on golden earrings, a long and thin golden necklace and looked at himself in the mirror.

His hair.

What should he do with it? Ponytail? Bun? Braid?

Non, non, non. He needed something bold, something to go with the glamourous show he had been planning.

"Fine then…" He grabbed his hair dryer and a brush, and got to work.

-- Later --

"Gosh, he should be here…" Mundy looked at his watch and his eyebrows jumped. "Ah, yeah…"

He had worn Lucien's watch for the night, the one he had broken on the day he had died. It was permanently 4.26pm.

He smiled.

Looking at that broken watch didn't pinch his heart anymore, and especially not today. It made him smile. That broken watch was an I love you in itself, it was something that Lucien had left before giving away one year of his remaining life. And for what? For the mad hope that somehow he would end up with Mundy. Somehow…

"C'mon…" Mundy wanted to wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers but refrained from doing so. "Mh." He grumbled and waited.

He had told Lucien to be there, at that crossroad, and on time. It wasn't too far from the house. But the Aussie started to be nervous. He thought back about what his mother and father had told him and kept on repeating to himself to breathe.

Take a deep breath, take a deep breath, take a deep-

"Hey there, 'scuse me," Mundy turned to the feminine voice and the pat on the shoulder. "D'you know where I could find a wild man in a van?"

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. In the night street, the Aussie couldn't see the woman clearly, but gosh, the curves, the shapes…! Mundy's eyes snapped back to her eyes, not without lingering at the wide cleavage and the golden necklace shimmering around her neck, diving down her shy chest.

"Uh, what?"

"Mundy, it is me." Lucien chuckled. "How many times can I fool you?"

"What?! How the fuck?! Hold on…" Mundy put his hands on Lucien's shoulders and pulled him under a lamp post.

"Holy dooley…! What have you… Is it really you? I mean…"

"And look at you, mon amour. What is this suit? I have never seen it."

Mundy looked down at himself.

"Well, you aren't the only one who can go to Richard and ask for somethin' special, eh? Like it?"

Lucien took a keen look. The cut was well adjusted, close to Mundy's body. It made him look even taller. The Frenchman let his fingers touch the fabric.

"Soft, yet one can feel little asperities. Mixed fabrics, satin and cotton of India."

"Gosh, you sound like Richard." Mundy chuckled. "Like the colour?"

"Dark, Burgundy red. One of my favourites." Lucien said.

"Guessed so."

"How?"

"The first time I met you, as a spook, you were dressed in dark red, the suit, the tie, the balala-thingy. Thought I might wear it this time, give it a try. Besides, Richard went about givin' me a lecture about how it would suit me cause of my skin tone or somethin'..."

"Ooh, paid attention we have, huh?" Lucien chuckled.

"Hard to ignore the tailor when he gets emotional, eh?" Mundy grinned. "But I uh… I mean I look at you and uh… Is that really you?"

"Look into my eyes." Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and the Aussie raised a shy hand to his cheek, cupping it gently, while the other rested on Lucien's hip.

"Gosh, you're… You're even more than last time."

"More what?" Lucien asked with a smile that made Mundy's heart flutter.

Mundy was devouring him with his eyes. The red, short dress, the black tights, the red high-heels and gosh the face… The face! The eyeliner, the dark yet subtle shadow on his eyelids. Mascara? Was that mascara? His eyelashes didn't need it, they naturally were long and thin, and gently flapped like the wings of a butterfly.

"Is that… lipstick…?" Mundy squinted on Lucien's lips.

Lucien gently nodded.

"You didn't have that last time."

Lucien shook his head and lowered it.

"Hey…" Mundy put an index finger under Lucien's chin and raised it. "You're beautiful, baby doll." He smiled and Lucien blushed. "And what's with the hair…? Curly and fluffed up? That's… bold. Reminds me of a certain spook I met back in the days, eh."

"Is it too much?" Lucien asked, his eyes still evading Mundy's as the pink on his cheek deepened.

"Nah. It's… It's amazin'."

Lucien finally raised shy eyes to his lover.

"Really?" He whispered.

"Yeah, really. And look at you… Dress, purse and everythin'... A gorgeous doll you are."

"Yours, please?"

"Course, I'd never imagine that-"

"Hey!" A voice cut them. A group of men were passing by. "The doll busy for tonight?"

"Yeah, come with us, baby…!" Another man from the group added.

They were clearly past tipsy. Mundy frowned.

"We're busy." He simply growled.

"C'mon mate!"

"Sharin' is carin'!"

"C'mere baby…!"

"Hands off!" Mundy clenched his jaw and pulled Lucien to himself. "Lay a finger on her and I'll make a necklace of yer teeth."

"Wohow," One of the men went. "Possessive bloke in a suit. We're five, you're alone, what are you gonna do?"

"Pop yer teeth," Mundy pointed at the first one. "Re-arrange yer ugly mug," He pointed at the second. "Break your leg." His finger moved again. "And you two, you'll get so scared, you'll shit yourselves and run away."

The group of men laughed.

"Well, then, come and get my teeth if ye like, mister suit and tie!"

Mundy turned to Lucien. The Frenchman's heart was pounding so hard that the dress around the cleavage was shaking. The Aussie bent down to kiss Lucien's brow. "Stay here, baby doll, I'll take just a sec."

"Mundy, you don't have to-"

"No. I said no one'd touch you and I mean it."

"Then please, go easy on them. The last thing we need is the police after us, especially me, in this attire." Lucien said.

"Yeah, now stay right here." Mundy kissed Lucien's hand and turned to the group of drunken men. "C'mere then…" Mundy opened his suit jacket. One punch flew and the first man got unconscious before his body hit the ground. "Teeth out? Now, you c'mere…" Another punch flew and the second man hit the floor limply. "And you, yer leg…!" Mundy raised his heeled boot and that's when Lucien realised that those were brand new. They weren't brown, they were black, to better go with the suit. Mundy stomped his heel down the other man's tibia as he had wrapped an arm around his neck. Even Lucien heard the bone break and the Frenchman's thighs tensed.

Non, non, non, non…! The Frenchman bit his lip and stepped on his own toe to prevent his body from showing the effect that Mundy's confidence had on him.

"Now, both of you, d'you know who we are?" Mundy addressed the two remaining drunkards. Their knees had given up, they were on the floor, eyes wide and breath sort. As the Aussie didn't receive any response, he bent down and took one of them by his collar. "I said: d'you know who we are?" He spoke slowly, his nostrils flared and his eyes flashing fiercely.

"N-no, w-we don't know! We swear! Just thought the sheila was for the takin'! We swear!"

"Then take your mate to a hospital and if you mention my sheila'n me, believe me, I'll find you." Mundy said menacingly and didn't see that under the lamp post, Lucien bit his lip. The Aussie let go of the drunk man and dusted himself off before closing his jacket again and coming back to Lucien. He offered his hand and the Frenchman gladly held it as they started walking in the street. "Sorry about that, baby."

"I… It… Ah…"

"You alright?" Mundy asked with a chuckle.

"Oui… I think? This is quite an eventful way to start the evening."

"And it's only the start, luv'. Now, can you climb on the bike with yer dress?"

"Oui."

"Then c'mere and hang on tight."

Mundy straddled the motorcycle that he had parked a bit further away and invited Lucien to hop on behind him. He started the engine and drove through the streets. Lucien wondered what the Aussie had in mind for them but soon understood when the streets became familiar.

Eventually, Mundy parked and turned to Lucien, whose dress shimmered under the golden lights of the establishment that both men knew very well.

The Queen Victoria.

"Remember this place?" Mundy asked, helping Lucien out of the motorcycle.

"Of course, I do." Lucien answered but he frowned. "Did you book a table there? I cannot go inside, for them, I am dead."

"Relax, I know. I didn't book anythin'. Just wanted to bring you here."

Both stood side by side, about a dozen or so metres away from the entrance and Mundy laced an arm around Lucien's waist.

"Brought you here cause this is where I saw you for the first time." Mundy said and Lucien smiled.

"Are you feeling nostalgic?"

"Not really. Just been thinkin' about it all, from the start till today. We've done some mad stuff, eh?"

"Quite the adventure indeed." Lucien agreed and leaned on Mundy's side. From where they were they could hardly hear anything but the muffled sound of the music playing in the restaurant.

"When I saw you in there, you woke things up in me." Mundy said. "At first, I didn't really understand. But the more I came to your shows and listened to you, the more I understood that I just wanted to hold someone, I wanted to have someone to say the words you were singin' to. And then I realised that I wanted someone to sing those words to me… As pathetic as it sounds, I was on my seat there, and I just imagined you were singin' for me."

Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder.

"I just… I didn't even want intimate stuff, I just wanted to touch someone, hold their hands, be touched by their hands… Feel like I exist and not just drag my feet from one day to the next." Mundy sighed. "You… You made me fall in love with an idea."

Lucien raised his head to Mundy and smiled sweetly.

"With your voice, I just… I felt like I was head over heels for someone who doesn't know I exist, and I didn't even know if they did too. But I felt it in my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, everythin'. I was in love, but with no one."

Lucien grabbed Mundy's arm between both of his and squeezed him gently.

"I-I don't know if that makes sense."

"Oui, it does." Lucien said. "You had the same effect on me. I think what we felt was longing. We both had love to give but no one to give it to, no one was worthy enough of the pain and the sacrifices that one does when one is in love. Because when you are in love, then you do not count. Such sacrifices of your time, your space, your energy, your money, all those do not appear as sacrifices, they are investments. You are investing in something that you are building, as opposed to yielding to something that costs you more than what you gain from it."

"Yeah… Yeah, that's the idea." Mundy nodded.

Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the occasional passer-bys and cars. Lit by the yellow neon name of the place where they met, Lucien and Mundy shimmered in red, splitting the dark blue night.

"Why did you bring me here?" Lucien asked.

"Because that's where it all started. That's where you gave a point to my life that wasn't just kill a bloke to get revenge for my parents. That…" Mundy pointed at the restaurant. "That's the place you revived me, after ten years of draggin' my feet in the desert, walkin' around under the scorchin' sun like a dried lizard. So I wanted to come back and tell you all this before…"

"Before what?" Lucien looked up at his lover.

Mundy looked away.

"We need to go." He simply answered and walked towards the motorcycle. Lucien followed him, still hand in hand with him and at a loss as to what Mundy had in mind.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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