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the12thnightproject · 11 months

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Chapter 41: Miles to Go Before I Sleep. Katsu and Yukimura set off to look for Toshiie, and try to convince themselves they’ve done the right thing. Also... Katsu gives Yukimura advice on women.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

“What the hell did you guys just do?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but Mai’s question felt like it echoed in the quiet temple. What the hell did we just do? Saved his life, saved his life, saved his life. Was that the answer? Or a mantra? Please, let them be able to save his life. What if all we had done was send him to a new world where he would die alone?

“It was necessary. Sasuke will take him to a healer in your time, and they will cure him.” Kenshin spoke firmly, as if no modern doctor would dare fail in that task, or Kenshin would hop into the next wormhole and stab them in retaliation.

“Cure… of what?” Mai turned to me. She’d not only been kept out of our plans – she hadn’t even known they were necessary.

“I don’t know. He was dying. He told me he didn’t believe he would s-s-survive…” I took a deep breath. “Survive past this winter.” Honestly, I couldn’t talk, or even think about it any longer, so I gave Mai an apologetic smile, made an excuse about wanting to check on my horse, and went outside. Kenshin or Yuki could explain it to her.

Once outside, I ignored the muzzling rain and buried my face in Moonlight’s neck. Up until that last moment, I had hoped that one or all of us would call it off, or that Shingen would change his mind and volunteer to go to the future. But the look of shocked betrayal on his face, and Mai’s horrified What the hell did you guys just do, was playing like a skipping record in my mind. I had no way of turning it off. It would likely loop all the way to Ikuno.

“Katsu?” I lifted my head to see Yuki standing there, looking about as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him. “Aw geez, you aren’t crying, are you?”

Was I? I brushed my hand across my face. “It’s the rain.” Who was he to sound so horrified over a few tears when his own eyes were wet? “What?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t up and left for Ikuno.”

Oh. Actually, I’d probably been about ten minutes away from reaching the conclusion that I could just leave. I gave him as much of a smile as I could manage. “Well, to quote Sasuke, there was a nonzero chance of that happening, but I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair so that it stood on end. “Kenshin and Mai will be out in a moment. We can say goodbye to them then.”

“Alrigh- what?” We? Them? Did I hear that right?

“He’s going to be mad enough at me enough already. There’s no way I will let Shingen’s woman travel alone to Ikuno.” It was said in a casual tone of voice, but the set of his shoulders told me I shouldn’t argue.

Even so, I put up a token protest. “I can take care of myself.” I could. However, to be honest, I felt torn between wanting to stew in private misery and wanting company to keep me from doing just that.

“I know. You don’t have to. Besides -.” He looked over his shoulder to where Mai and Kenshin were emerging from the temple, looking like they were a single unit unto themselves. “The last thing I want is to be the odd man out on their trip home.”

Hm, ok, yeah. Yukimura trapped for four days with Kenshin and Mai without the mitigating presence of Sasuke was a stabbing incident in the making.

Mai hurried over to me and I braced myself for a lecture. “I’m not sure I agree with what you did.”

Fair point, given I wasn’t convinced it had been right either.

“But I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing, if I were in your shoes, so I understand.” She hugged me, and I imagined that she was also offering a shoulder to cry on, if I wanted.

I didn’t want that though. If I allowed myself to cry, to really cry, I might not be able to stop. So, I stepped out of her embrace and simply thanked her.

Kenshin convinced us (translation, at sword point) to get a few hours of sleep before setting off, pointing out that we’d be safer travelling in daylight. Yukimura and I reluctantly agreed. After a few hours of fitful sleep at a posting inn on the outskirts of Kyoto, and one last morning ‘kill,’ I was more than ready to get on the road.

As shattered as I still felt at saying goodbye to Shingen in such a manner, there was, behind that sadness, anticipation of the reunion with my brother. For the first three quarters of my life, he had been my other half, the person who could always be counted on to balance me out, the one person I didn’t need to tell anything to, because he’d been there through all of it. Now that we’d missed six and a half years of each other’s lives, would we still have that connection?

“Safe journeys, Katsuko,” Kenshin said. “I hope you find your brother in good health. He is as welcome in Kasugayama as you are.”

Well. That was an interesting idea. I imagined that Toshiie would be in sheer bliss, surrounded by all that beefcake in the castle. “Thank you. But you can’t kill him. Toshiie is a healer, not a fighter.” At least the Toshiie of my memory had been. But I wasn’t the same person I had been seven years ago – I wasn’t even the same person I had been that day seven weeks ago, when I shot the sniper out of the tree. Therefore, I shouldn’t freeze my brother in time either.

Kenshin scowled. “He must train to fight. It is a necessary skill.” He looked ready rhapsodize on the issue, but Yuki stepped in and reminded him that we needed to get going if we were going to reach Ikuno in another three days.

Without any additional fanfare, Yuki and I set off. Behind us, I heard Mai suggesting that since they were so close to Azuchi, they should drop in on Nobunaga so she could say hello to her friends. We encouraged our horses into a trot, neither of us wanting to be anywhere near Azuchi if Mai succeeded in convincing him that was a good idea.

Yukimura proved to be a good traveling companion. Though I at first had resented the thought of company, Yuki was the type to stay quiet unless he had something worth saying. He would occasionally point out something or someone interesting along the route and he had a knack for befriending other travelers to the point where they would tell him their entire life history. It was a useful talent to have – I imagined that Aki would have enjoyed having him as one of his scouts.

“What’s so funny?” Yuki asked me, on the third evening of our journey, when we had stopped to camp for the night.

I handed him a bowl of rice, then found a log near the fire to sit on while I waited for the tea water to boil.

“I was just thinking that my previous employer would have appreciated your um, people skills.” Then, because he looked a little confused at that, I added. “Basically, I was admiring your ability to talk to anyone, no matter what their station in life.”

“Any man,” Yuki corrected, with his mouth full. Ok, yeah, his table manners might be a little rough (and Aki... would likely have called him feral). “I can’t talk to women, remember?”

Would it be worth pointing out the obvious? Reminding Yuki of my gender when I was dressed as Katsu might actually prove his point, so I approached the issue from another angle. “So, when you talk to a woman, pretend you’re talking to man.”

Once again, he roughed up his hair with his hands. I could always tell where Yuki’s emotions stood, just by looking at the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah sure. If I wanted to have a conversation. I’m terrible at flirting – and I hate it anyway, so why bother?”

“Conversation is really important Yuki.” The tea water was finally boiling, so I got up to prepare a couple cups. “If you prefer to just talk, I guarantee lots of women would be happy with that.”

That comment was rewarded with a patented Yukimura Eyeroll (TM). “Yeah. Right. Hard to take your word for that. You’re with one of the biggest flirts in the country.”

Was this some kind of Sengoku era Godwin’s Law where all conversation inevitably returned to Shingen? “Well, that’s a bug, not a feature.”

“Katsu, please don’t think you have to take Sasuke’s place by making weird comments… Thanks,” he added when I handed him a cup of tea.

“Aw. So I shouldn’t call you bestie?” I plopped back down opposite him.

“Please don’t.” He sipped at the tea, and when he didn’t wince, I figured I had remembered how he liked it. “What did you mean about the bugs?”

I thought back. “Oh. The flirting thing. I fell for Shingen because of how he treated me when he thought I was boy.” His kindness… the way he took me seriously… the way he helped me after I had killed the sniper… the way we could just… talk.

“Huh.” I could tell that Yuki didn’t believe me, but I didn’t plan to go into any more detail, so that was that. “And, not that I was around for any of it,” a fact that I was really grateful for, “but I cannot imagine that Kenshin flirted with Mai.”

“No. He threw her in the dungeon.” He rolled his eyes again (a sentiment I agreed with one hundred percent).

Ugh. Right. She’d mentioned that. “See. No flirting. Although I wouldn’t recommend imprisonment as an effective romantic tool. Everyone is different.”

Yuki kicked his feet in the dirt in front of him. “Where do the bugs come into it?”

I sighed. “Well, probably you’re going to need to find the girl who understands that when you put a bug down the back of her kimono, you’re actually telling her that you think she’s cute.”

He threw a twig at me. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“If you say so.” Anyway, I imagined that if Yuki ever found a woman he wanted to pursue, he would figure it out, or… er….. huh. “When you meet the girl of your dreams, come and ask me, or Mai for help, ok?” Between the two of us, we’d make sure he didn’t torpedo the relationship before it set sail.

“Yeah. Alright.” Sounded like he didn’t think such a girl existed anyway.

“We’ll sort you out.” Or. Mai would, if I wasn’t around any longer.

He was quiet a long time, and we sat there listening to the cicadas buzzing and the wind rattling the trees. “First or second watch?” he eventually asked.

“Second, unless you are really tired.” On our first night after leaving Kasugayama, Yuki had had the watch immediately after mine, and I nearly had to dump a bucket of water over his head to wake him up.

What the hell did you guys just do?

Kaya, it was too late – you just cursed him to die alone… as will you. You’re a tool that has outlived its usefulness. No use yelling. This time there’s no one around to hear you.

My hands pounded on the side of the crate, fingers scrabbling at the splintering wood. Without seeing it, I knew the sides of my coffin would be smeared with blood.

I kicked and pounded at the sides of the crate, yelling for someone to hear me.

“Katsu! Katsu! Wake up, damn it!”

Clearing the border between sleep and awake in seconds, I sat up. “What? Are we under attack?” I reached to grab my dagger from where it was sitting next to my bedroll and discovered a fistful of twigs and leaves was already in my hand.

“No. Shit. You were making so much noise I thought you were the one being attacked.” His face shadowed by lantern light, Yuki rocked back on his heels and raked his hand through his hair. It was at critical mass. I must have scared the crap out of him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I have bad dreams sometimes.”

Yuki awkwardly patted my shoulder. “Unless you, um, need a hug.” His tone of voice pleaded for me to not need a hug.

“I’m ok. Thanks. It’s probably time to switch out anyway.” I scrubbed the sand out of my eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked away while I got out of the bedroll, a polite, but unnecessary gesture, as I was fully dressed.

“Yuki?” Maybe it wasn’t worth asking his opinion, but the dream had left me rattled. Iekane always left me rattled, even if the dream Iekane was only a product of my subconscious. “Did we do the right thing?”

Again, the hands went through the hair. He was likely to be bald by the time we got to Ikuno if he kept that up. “Shit. Yes. We had a good reason. That counts, right?”

Yeah, but that thought wasn’t keeping the nightmares away.

But he wasn’t finished speaking. “We did it. There’s no use thinking about it now.” He sighed. “As long as we’re both awake, why don’t we just get an early start?”

Maybe I should have objected – he hadn’t had a chance to sleep… but I wanted to see my brother, so without another word, I nodded and packed up my stuff.

Thanks to decent weather and no sudden obstacles, we made it to Ikuno late that afternoon. Ikuno was a small mining town – small enough that I only needed to ask one person where to find the Healer, in order to be pointed to a small house on the outskirts of town.

In my head, I was chanting, please be the right person, please be the right person as we approached. A woman was gardening out front. When she saw us, she dropped her spade and put her hand to her chest. She jumped to her feet and rushed inside.

This can’t be good. Moments later, a man rushed out of the house, musket in hand. He stared into the road, and raised the gun, pointing it right at us.

@bestbryn

#TBT12Lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #ikesen yukimura

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remiswritting · 2 months

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Omg, uh hi! I’m Remi. Here is some writing i do. Perhaps it will get love here. But mwa! Enjoy this is some background on my Tav Lucian!

———

Laughter filled the air, children yelling in glee as Lucian hung upside down on an aerial hoop. Her twin not so far juggling showing other kids how to do.

After leaving their parents home they had joined a near by circus it was more for fun than income. They were flexable and a treat to see with their design. Besides a Drow above ground? Some people paid to see such a thing.

Twirling about round and round Lucian went. It was the most fun the Drow could feel. Nothing holding her down. Bringing awe to people the best feeling one could have. Her hair pinned up into twin buns with braids going down her hair. Making sure the pink and blue could be seen. The best part was playing music to the crowd. Her talent was different. Playing the flute upside down as those near by listen. Most would call her a bard, but fighting was not her desire. No she wish to bring joy and love to those. This was her dream. To bring laughter and joy to those who needed it most. But as the circus closed and her brother helped her down he smiled.

“Lucian, there was a man staring at you! Perhaps you have a lover?” Christopher asked as Lucian laughed.

“Me a lover? My love is to the circus my brother! To the children we bring smiles to!” Pulling the corner of her lips up to show the brightest smile she could give.

“You are such a tease my sister, but what if he is a potential lover? Hm? Imagine you! Married!” He said excited.

“And what of you? I’ve seen you talking to that female elf every day now. Is that woman planning to marry you?”

Oh how the male Drows face turned dark. “Nonsense. Adaine is nothing but a friend.”

“A friend whom you name so casually. Someones in loooove~” she sang laughing cheerfully before she saw their ring master. Both bowed with grace. The man had never stird them wrong.

Well not till now.

“Lucian, i have the most wonderful news for you!” The man said “you have been sold off!”

The ones high happiness Lucian had suddenly- dropped.

“W-what?” She asked stuttering. “Sold off? W-wait. I didn’t agree to be sold! I am

Not property sir! Did i do something!? Besides my home is here! In the circus! Preforming for the child-“

“No more Lucian. Pack your things, your future husband awaits you at your room.” The man said as Christopher was in shock. Both the twins looked dumbfounded.

“If you sell her i quit, i will not stay here without my other half!”

“You sir are also being sold. Someone came from Cazadors castle they paid high money for you, so as of today you will be leaving with them. A female waits for you at your room. Now both of you go on. Gold was up front so- i can’t change my choice.”

Sold- both her and her brother sold. Her heart ached it felt- broken. THIS was her home, THESE were her people. But yet the Ring Masters words were finale. Fighting him meant nothing. Even when he walked away her brother took her hand.

“Let us leave. Right now. God knows what may happen to us it we go with them. Come Lucian!” He was pulling her hand, pulling her along to the entrance.

Towards what could be their last chance at freedom. Yet Lucian was grabbed, held back by a guard.

“Lucian!” Christopher yelled as he to was pulled back.

“Christopher! Let me go! No! I don’t want to go with that man!” Lucian pleaded yet nothing could be done. Two twins torn apart, Christopher swearing he find her and save her.

Yet with little hope to believe, Lucian was transported far from where they were. All the way to Baldurs gates, to the lower city where she was thrown in front of a man. He smiled, he had black hair slicked back, pure blue eyes. The Drow woman hated him. It was he who tore her from her other half.

“Ah my love, its so-“

“I am not your love! I do not love you! I did not agree to this, to be- taken away from my only family!” It was not often Lucian yelled, but her eyes said it all. She had hatred for this man- this- elf.

“I see. Tch. We could of done this easy…” he mumbled, moving his hand till it took a handful of her pink and blue locks. Pulling her head back. Tears falling down the womans face.

“Now listen to me… you are to be my wife, my name is Felix Rowan, and you are my future wife and the mother who will bear the ripe of my children.”

“I refuse!” Lucian yelled being thrown to the ground. Trying to crawl away only for her hand to be stepped on. Another cry in pain.

“You’ll come to love me. For i am the one who will give you 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 you could desire. Now go change from this horrifying circus clothing. Something more proper for a woman.” Felix demanded. Motioning to the stairs above.

Lucian had no choice to obey. Fear flooding her mind. Rushing up the stairs stumbling, had the windows not been bar and locked she would of escaped. But nothing was of use. Nothing could save her from this. No begged, no pleading. Crying quietly in fear that if Felix heard, things woudl be worse. But they did, days went by, months to even two years. Lucian had given up hope. She had learned Cazadors castle was in the city. Yet strictly forbidden to enter. If thats where her brother was held- she could only imagine what he was going through- if he was even alive. It was rumored most who entered- never left. So she had little hope Christopher left or survived. But part of her held on. Wearing her locket that held a photo of him. She hide it every time Felix got close. Getting sticky fingers and stealing food just to survive as Felix punished her through starvation.

But the one day she returned home. After years of constant abuse, constant harm she found another woman in her ‘supposed’ husband arms. With a demon like woman standing holding whay seemed to be a contract that Felix willingly signed.

“There the Drow woman is all yours.” Felix said as he looked at Lucian. “Don’t be so gloom. You were useless to me anyways. You don’t even sing anymore, like a bird dying in its cage. God how worthless must you be. But would should i have expected your a 𝑫𝒓𝒐𝒘. They only care for themself enslaving children and goblins.”

Lucian couldn’t take it anymore. The abuse the torment. For even sometime she did love Felix. He was her husband she had to. But now it was all pure black hate. A dagger in hand as she rushed him. Only to be forced back as if on a chain.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Now, thats no way to say goodbye.” The female said chuckling. Yet Lucian didn’t stop. Yelling, screaming, cursing Felix to throwing the dagger. To Felix it missed, to the woman in his arms? A bloody hit to the face. An instant death at least for her mercy.

“CURSE YOU.” Lucian yelled crying as the demonic woman slowly walked towards her.

“Curse you! My life is mine! I do not get to be sold to anyone! It is not anyones life BUT MINE!” She screamed as the demon bent down.

“Sh sh. You belong to me now- for only some time then you will be free once more. Most call me Mizora, you may call me Lady Mizora.” She said laughing softly before dragging them both to the hells.

Lucian was in shock. Her own life, sold again and again. Was this to be her life? Sold to one person after another? Tears streamed as she screamed in her cell.

Holding her head in nothing but agony. She hated 𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 swearing revenge on Felix, on her Ring Master. Everyone who pushed her around like some doll with a string.

“Hey… ease up soldier.” A soft voice as Lucian looked up. Seeing a Tiefling. She had a broken horn a flaming body. Literally.

“You were sold off too against your will huh..? I.. feel your pain.” She admitted “names Karlach. I promise you, if theres a way we both can be free.. before your contract ends that is.. i will help you out, as long as you help me cool?”

Lucian stared. How could she trust anyone? But then again- what else did the woman have to lose. Through her teary eyes, her bruised skin. She reached a hand out.

“L-Lucian.. Lucian Wilde.” Refusing to use her ‘husbands’ last name. “I just want to return to my circus. To my twin brother Christopher.” She whimpered. Only for Mizora to shoo Karlach away.

“Run along Karlach. This one is my toy. You have a job don’t you? Mine is to train this one to be my personal little.. thief..” she said smirking.

It was nothing but brutal training. At least for the first few months. Training how to fight, how to steal properly and not get caught. Even new clothing, the only good part was Mizora let her keep her locket. It was the only thing Mizora let her keep. Job after job. Stealing from ether a group of people, or stealing a certain object. No one was safe from Lucians hands. Her mind slowly being shapped- tormented. She no longer feared anyone. No longer accepted failure. If she ended up in jail- she broke out. A wanted criminal in every part she could go. Even going on a mission with a fellow person under Mizora. A man named Wyll. She found his humor interesting. A bard himself or perhaps a man who liked music and dancing as mucu as she did. Yet she didn’t share much of herself. Perhaps because her memory was constantly being erased. Her contract constantly being reset with Mizora not wanting to let Lucian go.

Lucian believed her, she didn’t know what day it was, the time, nothing. Yet she only could hope the next day led to her freedom.

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pompous-puffed-up-penguin · 1 year

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Misattribution (Scarecrow/Reader) (Part 1)

AO3 mirror: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42671673/chapters/107193093

Words: 1,533

Warnings: Needles, Hypnosis, Non-consensual drug use, Dub-consensual touching and kissing, Slight body horror, Mentions of abduction

AN: Good news, I wrote a fic for Scarecrow. Bad news, it’s really nasty. Heed the warnings. By proceeding, you consent to have this kind of content shown to you. I’m not responsible for the kind of things you consume on the Internet.

Your head is pounding. The lights shining down on you as you open your eyes don’t help. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the ache to fade away before opening them again. Blinking, you finally manage to adjust to the light and-

Footsteps approaching you from behind interrupt whatever you were trying to do. But you quickly realize that it didn’t matter what your plan was. Trying to raise your arms doesn’t work, neither does moving your legs. Looking down, you see why. Strapped to a cold, metal chair, you were trapped, at the mercy of whoever was here with you. On the wooden floor, each step from them sounded as loud as a bass drum.

“Hm. Awake. Good.” A deep voice hums in your right ear. Though you could move your head to see who was talking to you, you find that your neck will not cooperate. Cold fingers touch your cheek, slowly moving to the side of your throat. “Already pale.” They press down gently, and your captor quietly counts to himself. Though it’s only for a minute, it seems to last for hours. Finally, they release their grip. “Seventy-five beats. Subject to change, of course.” He chuckles, as if amused by his little comment.

Finally finding your voice again, you shakily ask what is happening. Why are you here, why-

A hand tilts your chin up to the source of the voice and you freeze. You can’t believe he’s real. You’ve only seen blurry pictures and heard crazed witness reports of him. Though he wasn’t physically impressive, he left everyone he met with psychological damage to last a lifetime. No matter what you feared, no matter how tiny or insignificant it may seem, he knew how to use it against you. Even now, your throat began to tighten as you thought of the raving lunatics left behind after one of his heists.

You’re about to become one of them.

Behind the burlap mask, you could feel his grin piercing into you as he softly laughs. “My reputation precedes me, it seems. Flattering. But save your energy for now. When we’ve truly begun, you’re free to scream however much you want.”

How did you even get here? You were heading home after a late night of studying at the university. It was getting dark, and one of your professors told you to go home. It was…Yes, it was the psychology professor. Crane. You were taking one of his classes this semester. Anyway, you were walking down the street and something heavy hit the back of your head. It’s a blur after that.

You can’t help but ask your captor again about why he brought you here.

“Oh, my child. Anyone with an inkling of knowledge of the scientific process understands that before releasing a product for public consumption, it must be tested first. And you,” his fingers trace down your shoulder to your arms, eliciting a shudder from you, “will be first to experience my newest dose.”

You’re almost afraid to ask, but a dose of what?

“Patience,” he hums. “My, if I had known how excited you would be, I would have abducted you months ago.” Again, he laughs, vibrating into your ears and through your bones.

He stands up and walks to a table just at the edge of your vision. You hear various glasses cling together as he begins to hum a tune to himself. You recognize it as Sing a Song of Sixpence, but that brings you no comfort. In fact, it does the opposite. But you can’t place the feeling, but it’s almost hypnotizing. Maybe it’s how deep and gentle his voice is, even when he talks about human testing, but it seeps into your brain like a mist. Even if you could cover your ears, you highly doubt you would.

Your eyelids begin to feel heavy. The room blurs. You find it hard to concentrate on anything, even as The Scarecrow walks back to you with a syringe holding a pale liquid. “Hm. How foolish of me.” He tsks as he looks over you. “I forget to put fumes into consideration when conducting these experiments.” His hand tilts your head up again, the leather glove scratching into your skin as you are forced to look up at him. Something was off. Were his eyes always that bright red? They almost seemed to glow as bright as the lights shining on you when you first woke up. And the teeth in his smile seemed razor sharp. Wait, did he always have a mouth in that mask? It almost seemed like a part of him.

“Just relax.” He traces the needle from your shoulder to the crook of your arm, and you feel a dull prick as you watch it pierce into a vein. You wince, and The Scarecrow chuckles as he watches your pained expression. “Are you like this with all your shots? Hm, poor thing.”

Almost immediately, the injection spot begins to burn. It’s not unpleasant, but as it spreads up your arm to your shoulder, the panic sets in. Your heart begins to race as the heat reaches your chest, up your neck, down to your stomach. Though it’s difficult, you muster up the strength to ask what The Scarecrow just injected you with.

“My prediction,” he answers, his clawed fingers (were they always this sharp?) lightly rubbing at your wound, “is that this liquidated form of toxin will act as a form of tranquilizer. Yes, the gaseous form will paralyze them with fear. But I was curious about other methods of intoxication. This being my first result.”

It is at this moment you realize how close he was getting to your face. The smell of his breath reminds you of piles of autumn leaves freshly raked. You are forced to stare into his eyes. They bore into you, looking through your psyche. You feel the urge to scream, but nothing escapes past your lips except for strained sighs and whimpers.

“Well, then. How does this make you feel?” His voice reverberates through the air, hissing into your ears. Though it wasn’t there before, a low growl accompanies it now. “Your cheeks are so red, my child. A fever?” He raises a clawed hand to your cheek, caressing it. As you feel the cool leather upon your skin, a shudder rushes down your spine. Though you can’t control your vocal cords, you do hear a faint gasp escape from you. The Scarecrow clicks his tongue as he observes. “Interesting reaction.” Slowly, oh so slowly, the tips of his claws trace down your throat, down your chest and to your hips. Every agonizing movement sends shockwaves through your muscles.

There’s no other way of putting it. This stimulation was driving you insane. Especially as the warmth has now spread over your groin and hips. Whimpers continue to creep out of you, out of your control as you try to look away from The Scarecrow’s eyes. But you can’t. If anything, you want to look deeper into them, want to know what he thinks of your reactions.

What does he want from you? Before you could stop it, a faint ‘please’ falls out of your mouth. You need to know what he wants so you can give it.

“I think the real question here would be,” he leans over to your ear and whispers. “What do you want, my child?”

You don’t know what made you say you want him. No, you need him. Keep talking to you, keep touching you, keep-

“Shh,” he hisses, brushing a claw against your lips as he shushes you. “There will be plenty of time for that. But you’ve done wonderfully. Yes, you’ve passed my expectations.”

And he kisses you. Even this small peck on the cheek was enough to send the heat coursing through you into overdrive. God, you needed more than that. You would do anything for another kiss. No, you needed him to-

“You poor thing.” He clicks his tongue, causing your groin to heat up even more. “My original prediction was that it would make you hang onto my every word. Make you so overcome with fear that I become your salvation from your nightmares.” He brings the back of his hand to your forehead. You find yourself leaning into it, desperate for that touch. “But it seems the dose was too much. You have a fever. And besides that, the fixation I have placed on you is intense in…unexpected ways.” He takes his hand back. Though it sounds far away, you hear yourself whimpering.

The chime of a clock distracts your captor, making him look away for a moment. Reaching a conclusion, he looks back to you. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. Staring deep into his eyes, drowsiness suddenly envelopes you.

“I’m afraid this nightmare must come to an end. But do not worry, my child. When you wake, you will be back home, safe in your bed.” As your vision fades, the sharp smile and the glowing red eyes are the last thing you see before the world turns black.

“Safe…from The Scarecrow.”

#pom prose #scarecrow x reader #jonathon crane x reader #tw: hypnosis #tw: needles #tw: drugs #tw: drug use #scarecrow #jonathan crane

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juniperhillpatient · 2 years

Note

Care to share one or more of your takes you would consider controversial for atla.

Ooh this is tough cause I feel like I’m constantly sharing my ATLA opinions so they’re mostly known 😅

A rundown of bullet point takes that I won’t budge on & think are straightforward but see people debating constantly anyway 👁👁

The Boiling Rock Betrayal was well written & did make sense people just over complicate it. Mai & Ty Lee deserved more detailed examinations of their views in other instances but it’s extremely plain what happened in this instance: adrenaline fueled actions were taken in an emergency / life threatening situation. Mai & Ty Lee weren’t wrong to save lives (it also wasn’t planned? why & how do people think it was?) & Azula was sympathetic for being hurt after the betrayal (but she was still unequivocally the villain here)

We don’t know enough about Ursa from the show to truly know what her relationship with Azula was like, making multiple interpretations of the dynamic equally valid

This is less about the show itself (though the comics & the writers being insecure about their canon ship don’t help) & more the fandom but K.at.Aang vs. Z.utara arguments are some of the most obnoxious pointless arguments I’ve ever seen & the slander toward both Aang & Zuko from opposing sides is REALLY sad considering their friendship & character arcs are at the heart of the show. It’s a kid’s show y’all calm down you can want whichever cartoon characters you want to kiss it’s not that serious. These arguments also tend to frame Katara as a prize to be won rather than one of the most badass characters in her own right & it’s uncomfortable

Anti Zuko takes from Azula fans & anti Azula takes from Zuko fans are both equally embarrassingly hypocritical & ugly

Hm okay a lot of these have had to do with the Fire Nation characters, let’s mix it up. Sokka isn’t a super genius OR a dumbass. He’s someone who would get bad grades for not doing his homework cause it’s boring but he aces every test. He’d explain some complicated physics subject to you then eat pizza out of the garbage in front of you. This one might not be *that* controversial but I do feel like I see debates over his intelligence lol

Southern Raiders is a great episode & it’s not about shipping (I mean it *can* be but that’s not the main point) it’s about opposing ideologies. Katara not necessarily forgiving Yon Rha but also not killing him is an AMAZING Katara moment where she makes the best choice for HER. If you hate this episode cause of shipping discourse or bad takes or whatever you’re missing out on an excellent episode that finally explores the anger & grief Katara has over her mother’s death. I see so much discourse over this episode but I try to ignore it cause it’s one of my favorite episodes & I don’t want fandom bs to ruin that for me

I loved Jet & felt like there was a lot to explore in this kid who’s charming & manipulative because he had to become that way because of trauma & wanted to care for other kids. I loved his dynamic with Katara & later Zuko & seeing how he’d changed. I initially thought his death, while it made me sad, was narratively fair to drill home the brutality of war. But the vagueness & later jokey callback changed my mind. Can’t drill home brutality if you’re gonna write it like *that.*

Final take & this is about the fandom at large: we forget this is an early 2000s kid’s show. It was fantastic storytelling visually beautiful & we wouldn’t still be talking about it if the characters didn’t grip us. The endless discourse & debates over things that don’t matter are tiring & ultimately a waste of time & energy - so that’s my final unpopular atla take for the day 😄 (also I’m NOT claiming to be guiltless when it comes to partaking in these debates lol) (also this isn’t about *analysis* which is always fun I’m talking more about discourse over dumb shit like why iroh gave azula a doll)

Thanks for the ask!

#asks #answered #you probably know all of these lmao #I’m not exactly quiet on my opinions 😂

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ruershrimo · 2 months

Text

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 3: motion

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next

chapter synopsis:

'You may forget this in the future, but you swear you’ll try your very best to remember it and be like Tsumiki. Because she’s going places; she’s got a promising future and good ideals she seems she’ll stick to until she reaches the grave, because she’s the type to change the trajectory of others’ lives even now at the tender, juvenile age of nine.'

---

Fushiguro Tsumiki is amazing and she's changed the trajectory of your life. You decide to hope you can do the same for others.

Fushiguro Megumi is someone you meet again after six years, only for the two of you to have become so very different since then.

Itadori Yuji is, well, a fun guy to hang out with. That's all you know for now.

word count: ~10k (this chapter was hell to edit on tumblr); tws: mild “gore” again? (a fight scene)

30-11-2010

“When’s Megumi’s birthday, actually?” you ask one day after finishing the last of your homework off at their place.

“Oh! December 22nd,” Tsumiki states. Megumi’s scrubbing a plate in the kitchen. “Are you planning to give him anything?”

“I’ll see what I can,” you reply, “But I just wanted to know. What do you usually do for your birthdays, though?”

“Hmm,” Tsumiki pauses, “We usually only have Mr Gojo and some of his friends over— oh, hi, Megumi!”

“Yay, you’re back!”

“We were just talking about your birthday,” you inform him. “…you know, I’ve been meaning to ask something, actually. I never really see you guys’ parents, so, um… are they busy? Are they out of the country for work, or something?”

“Oh— no, our parents left.”

Left? Like, abandoned?

“Oh— oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I thought they just had work or something and could never come back earlier— I never even thought—!”

“—They’re probably having fun or dying in a ditch somewhere, though,” Megumi interrupts, “It’s not a problem to either of us. It’s not like we knew them that well either. I can’t even remember them,” he explains.

“Oh…” you trail off, turning to face the table. If they’d really gone away when the two were so young, Tsumiki, the older sister, must have tried to be the ‘adult’, right? That sounds difficult. And you’ve heard that children are like plants, and plants need to have enough space to grow— you can recall that fact from your science classes. So if they’d grown so close to each other with no one else save that weird benefactor guy, would they have been able to grow properly? It must have felt suffocating for both of them, right? Maybe they didn’t realise it if they’d been so comfortable with and used to what they’d been having their whole lives— only each other?

Or maybe you’re thinking ahead of yourself and in reality they were okay. It’s not like they wouldn’t be either way, but maybe the benefactor spent more time with them growing up, and they had more friends before you than you think— you know that Tsumiki does, even if Megumi doesn’t.

“Megumi, you shouldn’t curse people by talking about them dying like that.”

“So what? It’s the truth.”

“Hey, don’t argue…” you start.

“Hm—? Sorry, [Name]! It’s our own issue— don’t worry about it,” she says, her smile a little forced, the remnants of her frown still left on her face, “Right, Megumi?” Oh, she’s angry. Oh no.

“I’ll never understand why you’re like this,” he says, heading to his room.

“Hey— why’re you leaving?” He walks out anyway.

“Tsumiki, why’s he leaving?” She frowns again.

“I’m sorry, [Name],” she says, “Megumi just thinks that you shouldn’t be nice to people.”

“Huh? Nice in what way?”

“No, it’s just… when people do bad things, I think we should forgive them. We shouldn’t punish them instead. We have to be kind because everyone has a reason for what they do, so we should just be kind to whoever we see.”

“…uh-huh. I guess. But my mummy says that sometimes if you do that too much life gets harder.”

“It gets harder if you think it does. Megumi thinks like that too, calling me a hypocrite when I tell him to forgive people and things like that,” she says, “…you know what I think, [Name]?”

“I think that you’re a kind person. I think that everyone and anyone can be kind in any way. It’s just that we have to think we’re kind and everything comes easy. I think that kind of life is the best. So…” she grins, and it’s light and happy again, but you see the sagacity in her eyes, and maybe how tired yet satisfied she may be on her lower eyelids. “Don’t give up on trying to be a good person, [Name]. Or maybe just being a kind one, because I think you’d be amazing at that.”

“Oh…” you say. If your eyes could, they would have stars in them. Nobody’s told you you could be amazing at something, much less good. You’re quiet and nobody listens to you. Every parent-teacher-meeting always ends with the conclusion that you’re quite an alright student, but even more so a reticent girl. For years your parents have been telling you to speak up or to be more confident and the only people you’ve been able to speak easily to are Tsumiki and Megumi. The two of them are the only ones who have ever said much beyond your timid demeanour.

You may forget this in the future, but you swear you’ll try your very best to remember it and be like Tsumiki. Because she’s going places; she’s got a promising future and good ideals she seems she’ll stick to until she reaches the grave, because she’s the type to change the trajectory of others’ lives even now at the tender, juvenile age of nine. It’s strange how she doesn’t know that, how she must think that she and Megumi are close friends and that the impact she’s had on you is far less than that; it’s strange how you can meet other people at any time and if it’s the right person, no matter what, your life will be affected. It’s strange that there is such a thing as fate.

It’s 2010 and you think this year is one you want to keep lasting forever.

27-6-2016

It happens on one summer evening.

Everything seems like it’s empty; from the streets and their dusty white concrete turning grey as they’re drenched with water, to the rain that news outlets report to be more saturated with acid as the years go by, to the houses and trees that around this time are either deafeningly loud with either the quiet, the sound of cicadas or the temporarily never-ending downpour.

But for a while, on that morning, the place where you’re settled in— for now— is the rain’s dominion, and you’re just a feeble, powerless human at the hands of nature’s relentlessness.

So you stay under the convenience store awning, hiding in the shade from the rain after running an errand. The last time you’d got drenched in this type of weather— about two weeks ago— you’d got ill, and it only caused your parents more problems, as your mother chided you. Being sick in the summer wasn’t that bearable for you either— no, it was something hellish. Sometimes you could handle being sick in the winter with a runny nose or getting mild colds in the spring, but being sick during summer time was the worst. You’d be struggling to breathe through mucus-filled lungs and you wouldn’t be able to swallow anything without triggering a terrible ache in your phlegm-filled throat due to post-nasal drip. You’d be feeling like ridding yourself of anything resting in your insides, from toxins to food; you wouldn’t be eating or ingesting anything except water and the constant sensation of feeling faint weighing you down would seem like it were about to kill you prematurely as the sweat from a high fever made you feel immeasurably weak, like a helpless child trapped in the confines of your own body.

“Are you okay?” the cashier by the counter— not the one who’s usually there, though, so you presume that this one’s a replacement— asks as you’re lost in your own thoughts, “I can give you an umbrella. For free.”

You’d insist on paying if you had any cash, but your now empty wallet reminds you of the fact that you’re all out. You have a tiny quibble with the kind lady before she finally gives in, and you’re off on your way back home.

Even upon further inspection as you exit the store, she still seems like a run-off-the-mill cashier. She seems to be in her early 20s, some college student back for the summer part-timing at the local convenience store for extra cash, maybe— with a sort of wistful yet coltish smile and a mole by the side of her right eye.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be so insistent on not doing things if those things’ll do you good,” she tells you, “I mean— I know that sounds kinda mean, and that in asian cultures like ours we naturally say stuff that deprecates ourselves, but I really do think that you should, um… how do I say it?” she ponders aloud, “Aha! —Yes, you should just look out for yourself and let people help you. It does everybody a little better. And, you know, you’ll be able to live life without regrets, because there won’t really be an opportunity cost for letting people help you, and they’ll like helping you too. I mean, who doesn’t like helping others? Wait, you get what I mean, right?”

“...it sounded like you were rambling,” you tell her, then step back, “Um. Sorry.”

“No, no! It’s fine! Like, um, you and I are kinda similar in that regard, I guess? We’re both awkward and we’re strangers but I just thought that the advice would do you some good, you know?”

“Ah— I get it, sorry,” you repeat, “It’s just that… I’m not used to that, maybe? I don’t want to be a burden on others.” Not anymore.

She purses her pink-glossed lips. “It’ll be hard to live like that, you know. If you live like that you won’t know who you are.”

It’s strange to hear that from a literal stranger. What’s even stranger is how deep the conversation is. Wasn’t this the time to make small talk? You didn’t talk to strangers very often, especially those in stores and all. At least not for this long.

“I… uh. I’ll see— I guess…” you mutter. The conversation dies there. You really aren’t suited for things like that. You can only find it easy to communicate and speak in that way when it’s with Tsumiki or your parents. Otherwise, you’d be stuttering and muttering your way through valleys of words that you don’t know if you should use, people demanding you speak up, or people commenting on how awkward you are, even if they mean so endearingly. You don’t know the source of the problem, really— maybe it was puberty and the onslaught of new, different people you had to talk to every time you moved? Maybe it is that. But this is your predicament: you used to be able to talk to people and over the years that just went away.

And it’s especially bad with people your age— the last time you’d been able to talk to someone your age in a normal, non-cloddish manner, was probably when you were eight.

Oh.

When you exit the shop, the sky’s been dipped in the sunset and it looks like a mix of purple and pink hues have been laid onto it like watercolour paint on fresh paper. The cashier waves you goodbye anyway, claiming that she hopes you’ll come back soon— you hope she doesn’t hate you now, else you’d avoid this convenience store like the plague for the next few months. The plastic bag rustles and crinkles as its contents bump against your knees.

The air is still thick with petrichor and the breaths you take feel light and fresh, brushing against the inner walls of your lungs as you breathe in and out. There are water residuals left on the sidewalk in patches.

Suddenly it changes— and you don’t notice this until after it happens. The air grows heavy and everything around you feels volatile, like their constituents will be separated from each other at any moment, turned into a mangled mass of jostling particles; your ears feel as if they’re so intensely covered to the point that you find it difficult to catch a breath; you can’t bring your lungs to continue moving after that hitched breath you made once you felt it. There’s something in the air, something disgusting and thick and suffocating. It fills you with ominousness. It fills you with a feeling of sickness, of suffering, of shame and fear and sadness, and it’s lurking somewhere, somewhere in the dark.

Cursed energy.

You remember your father talking about it, mentioning how it felt in passing.

Oh no.

“Help!” a voice erupts— it’s the same voice from the cashier, except this time it isn’t pleasant, it’s frantic, no— downright terrified.

If there is anything you’d consider yourself it isn’t someone who saved others.

Beyond the geographical sense of the word, you were the embodiment of stasis; something that didn’t touch others at all and made no effort to do so. You’d have no effect on any others’ life and for a long time you’d accepted you’d live a life amounting to nothing. You knew that and walked into life thinking you’d just keep doing nothing until you died for some nondescript reason.

So you didn’t really care about your future, and you abstained from thinking of the morality behind your actions because what was there to judge, anyway? You just had to follow what everyone else did, and none of your actions were so monumental to change anything. Being guilty over doing too little or doing nothing at all wouldn’t change anything; you didn’t have the power to change it and you didn’t see the point of a Sisyphean life like such. Even if humanity would have tugged at your shoulder to do something and be removed from that state of stasis, you were sure everyone felt the same and the amalgamation of this was society’s indifference— after all, what was humanity, kindness, against society’s apathy, its enemy; what was humanity when placed against what it had built itself into?

Thus for all your fourteen years of life you did nothing at all to change the trajectory of anything. It would be no use doing and no use trying. Nothing would come out of it in the end.

As long as you could be useful to your parents, or at least the people around you, you didn’t have to care about being good or bad or kind or evil.

You’d lived like that for a long time. You’re not the type to save people, not the type to help those you know nothing of.

You look down at your clenched fists, at her hair tie and its cherry-red hue.

She did say you’d be good at it.

It’s strange to think of your best friend now, but damn it, you really want to be like her now. You need to.

Else you wouldn’t be able to live; you have the power to help people, right? And you’re probably one of the only people on this island with the ability to do so. At the very least you’ve got some cursed energy, and you’ve always been able to heal from injuries really quickly. You’ve seen enough, from simple shikigami to veils and simple domains cast by your father.

So there may be a chance, a one in a million chance. And you’re willing to take it. If you don’t take it now and find that in the future you could have helped someone who would have gotten injured or worse— it’s now of all times that you think you wouldn’t be able to ever forgive yourself for such a thing.

You can’t change the directions of others’ lives. At least not if you keep thinking like that.

You grind your teeth and turn back, leaving the bags on the sidewalk. You’ll get them later. This is a ridiculous idea and you’re doing it anyway and your mind is screaming at your frozen legs to move and keep running, idiot, keep fucking moving because you’ve got to save someone you may just be able to save. Someone you don’t know, who may just be able to help. She said that you shouldn’t deny things that can help you, after all. And she has to be helped, right? So you’re going to jump in and you won’t deny yourself from saving yourself from a life of guilt. And you’re going to be useful, too. You’re going to help.

You really have to do this and all of a sudden you think you may be crying. But you run forward anyway. You’re going to move away from that state of stasis; you’re going to change and shift and move; finally, it’s liberating and frightening and feels like living as you step into the store.

Your lungs are burning.

The curse looms over, a deformed, monstrous thing with its eyes and hands drowning in the mud-like substance it consists of.

You’re going to make this work. You’ve seen your own cells once or twice before in science classes and all, you remember how your father had the old microscope he used to use for work, and brought it out for you to look at what made you. You’re your father’s daughter so you’ll make this work, your promise yourself— and you think of those cells, you conjure that image of them in your head and focus on them shifting, changing to make something new. You force them to multiply by the millions in a tenth of a minute, then you cut them off from your body. You make a tiny blister and goodness you can’t imagine you can actually do it but you’ve got to digress from that and worry about the college student cashier first, and how she’s trembling at the sight before her.

There’s a bruise on her arm, and so you’ve got to examine the situation: she’s holding it to her chest so you can imagine she’s only been wounded on the skin and hasn’t been scratched or anything. You imagine her cells— they mustn’t look too different from yours— and heal them back up, the blotch of a bruise disappearing as if wiped over by a stain remover. “Calm down!” you shout at her, and you really don’t mean to, but adrenaline and anxiety and the whole situation are getting your heart pounding unlike ever before.

“Wait— don’t touch that thing!” she shouts, “You’ll end up getting bruised by the hands!”

So what next? —Cursed energy alone can kill other curses if there’s enough of it, right? And your mother told you about how some people imbue things with cursed energy.

Then you run to the curse slapping it with as much force as you can muster, and it’s arms outstretch to snatch you and force you all around, hitting you abrasives against the shelves of the buns you bought earlier, scraping your skin against the surface of the counter’s edge or nearly smashing your shoulder against the wall, but you keep your hand on any part of it no matter what. You surge your cursed energy, splitting part of it to heal your wounds and the other part of it to overload it with cursed energy. The more intense you get, the harder it hits. But you can’t give up— you’re going to commit to it and stick to something; you’re going to do something that’ll amount to another thing for once. The sight of the cashier hiding under the counter, hunched and praying is enough for you to keep going. She doesn’t deserve that.

You load it with all the cursed energy you can manage as a rookie— you don’t think this is as much as a rookie has, though, so you probably have a lot and you promise you’re coming out of this thing alive. For once you’re going to swear you’ll keep living this intensely.

Eventually it fizzles out, its energy, and you just keep overloading it with cursed energy. You’ve still got a lot left. That’s good. Extremely so.

It bursts all over the convenience store, the ways it was made of. It’s going to be hassle to clean. You fall on the ground face flat and heal yourself. There’s a nosebleed, you think, from such a large amount of cursed energy. You’re panting heavier than you’ve ever done in your from any race or PE class.

But you’ve discovered that you are the type to help others. You’ve discovered that you can change others’ lives if you want to.

And it’s really frightening, but you’re happy. You don’t have to be a jujutsu sorcerer— you know too little of curses’ organic matter to be able to do this without making it alive yourself— but you’re going to devote your life to helping others.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be a doctor in that world, a nurse, or something. You won’t have to be too involved in its inner workings; you won’t be on the front lines. Still, you’ll help and you’ll be useful. You’ll help and your life will be a good one to live, hopefully.

Shakily, she moves up. You’re shaking too, gooseflesh and cold sweat and temperatures going wild in and on your body.

“A-are you okay?” she asks.

“Oh— uhm, yeah!” you say, rubbing the blood off your philtrum. You’ll have to have a really long shower once you get back. Maybe you’ll draw a bath or something. “Sorry, I… uh— I should have asked you to go outside or something. Could you not tell anyone about this? If you’re injured anywhere I’ll try my best to patch you up as long as you don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I— okay… god, you’re just a kid,” she goes, “What happened back there, actually?”

“Have you ever seen stuff like that before? Like that monster?”

“…no.”

“Oh, I see. Well, don’t worry about it, because there are people who take care of stuff like that. You seeing it was just a one-time thing. It probably won’t ever happen again!” you say, holding your thumb up. “Promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

“Alright. Just… you okay? Want me to help you with anything? I mean, it’s pretty late now.”

“I’ll be okay. But I think I’ve got to go home now. Could you let me see any injuries you had got just now, first?”

28-6-2016

You only arrive back at midnight. The weather’s fully put a stop to its torrents and your parents are worried sick. You’re so tired you could faint— fighting the curse took more out of your mental energy than you thought it would, and you have a splitting headache as the result of it.

When they see you and sense the cursed energy, you explain whatever happened. Once you’re done your father shudders, and your mother stands up.

“Whatever it is, I’m not letting you be a jujutsu sorcerer,” she states resolutely, “I’m never going to let you be one.”

27-12-2016

The date you and Megumi have agreed on (with the help of Tsumiki as a sort of middleman) is about a week after his fourteenth birthday.

Your parents told you to be careful— it’s a long trip to and from Tokyo, and you’re going all alone.

This is the travel plan: fly from Kagoshima to Tokyo, stay at Megumi and Tsumiki’s for a while, and ultimately find the courage to hand him the letter before you leave. Maybe you’ll see if he still cares for you while you’re at it.

To be honest you don’t completely feel like going there anymore— you’ll always love Tokyo, it’s just that things will be painfully awkward between you and Megumi. So you remind yourself of Tsumiki, and that you’re mostly doing this for her. Any of the three of you can be the glue holding the other two together at any given moment, and now it’s Tsumiki playing that role.

Friends will always be above boys, anyway. So you’re doing this for Tsumiki and not him or yourself.

When you’re finally at the airport, Tsumiki greets you with a hug and Megumi in tow. You’ve her old hair tie on your wrist— it’s come in handy multiple times since then. They both look so different now: Tsumiki’s still tall, but her hair has grown longer, more luscious and she looks so pretty you understand why she had received so many anonymous confession letters on Valentine’s Day this year. Megumi’s taller too, and though it’s slightly embarrassing the first thing you think of when you see him is how handsome he looks, at least as far as boys your age go. The viridian of his eyes is a lush summer day in a capsule, a contrast to his jet black hair spiking in all directions and his eyelashes— and those, too, those eyelashes, goodness— they look like they were woven by silk or taken off a doll: they’re so unbelievably long and curly and pretty. Your face is as hot as an oven that’s about to bake up a whole cake and let it expand and rise. They’re the kind of people you see on television, each so beautiful like the other and you almost feel as if you’re intruding; you can’t imagine how out of place you must look with them from the eyes and viewpoints of other people.

“Tsumiki!” you grin as you’re still kept in her arms, “Long time no see!”

“[Name]! Finally! Oh, you look so pretty now!”

“Haha, really? I was thinking the same about you, though. I’m so happy to see you, seriously!”

“Me too!”

You step back and pull away.

“Hi, Megumi,” you say. You’re nervous, but you can’t deny you’re happy. You smile as you look at him— the two of you are no longer the same height anymore. You tug at the straps of your bag, feeling the weight of you pulling the straps down on your shoulder. “…it’s nice to see you again.”

“…nice to see you again, too.”

Why’d he have to stop talking to you? Why’d he have to avoid you? “How’s… um, how’s everything?”

A glimpse from your peripheral vision shows Tsumiki with sparks in her eyes. She really was so excited— and maybe a little too hopeful, because you don’t think anything will happen at all. The incident from June makes you feel like you should try to hope for something, though. But you probably won’t be completing this trip with a new boyfriend kissing your neck or something.

“It’s been okay,” he answers.

“…it’s the same for me.”

“That’s good to know.”

You take the train back with them, breathing in how crowded Tokyo is once again. When you’d first arrived six years ago you felt like a country bumpkin, the masses of people turned into one giant entity never once fathomed by your eight year old mind. Now you’re fourteen, and the lights with their neon sparks, the dark concrete bathed in streetlights when the sun sets, the moon hanging overhead over a multifaceted maze of buildings— it feels a bit like coming home, even if you only called it home for a little less than twelve months of a life spanning some number roughly around five thousand, one hundred and ten days.

You really love Tokyo. But more than that you love the people you met in it during what feels like a lifetime ago.

The cold air that you breathe in as the three of you walk and take the turn to their house fills your lungs, settling into them like they never left.

“—And you remember that old maths teacher?” Tsumiki laughs, “‘You children have to harness your mental prowess!’” she quotes, holding two fingers on each hand up in the air.

“Oh my god,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes, “I was so sick of him last time— bet he’d feel old as hell now if he saw us all grown up like this.”

“We saw him last week,” Megumi adds, “That old geezer expected college-level intelligence from bunches of feral eight and nine year old kids.”

“I mean, you were a smart kid, Megumi,” you recall, “Tsumiki too. But that guy, seriously…”

“Hey! You were a smart kid too, [Name]! But was there anyone who didn’t hate him last time?”

“Never, probably,” you agree, “He was so infuriating. Ugh— Oh! We’re here! I haven’t been here in so long, oh my goodness…”

Megumi works the key in and opens the door. You inhale the scent of their house, a mosaic of memories and old book pages. Places like these deserve to remain treasured forever.

The three of you step in. Smiley Tsumiki, frowny Megumi and you. This is the home that will never leave you no matter what. This is what you’d call home even if you’re not in Tokyo, or away from them, because it felt like a constant for a year and that was enough to feel like you went to it at least five times a week for less than a full year.

It feels good to be home. It feels better to call it that after years of not feeling as if you really ever had one at all.

28-12-2016

You can’t sleep.

They’ve helped you unpack all your things, you’re clad in pyjamas and have had a thorough shower, and the white blanket on the futon is warm on the inside and cold on the outside— perfect for sleeping comfortably. But you can’t get a wink of sleep.

Since you’d first discovered that you could, in fact, use cell manipulation, your nights had always been like this.

To use it properly with your own organic matter, cell manipulation requires cooperation with your brain and your stomach— the source of cursed energy. Imagining the cells enough and applying cursed energy to them required your brain to overload itself with both cursed energy and information, and adding commands to that, making yourself do even the slightest bit of actions with your cells— felt like leaving your brain in the microwave. The fact that your gut— for your cursed energy— and your brain— for command and control— had to work together added more of a headache on top of that. Headaches and nosebleeds and your brain being unable to shut down became what you were used to.

Did you keep doing it anyway? Yes— you still had the intention of helping people with it, after all. You held on to the hope that you could be a doctor or a nurse for jujutsu sorcerers or something, not an actual sorcerer in that world itself. You assumed your mother would be fine with that at least. You’d be satisfied with something like that as well, even at the cost of your sleep and health. You were still young, and the only two people who could do anything like this were you and your over fifty year old father. And you didn’t want him doing that at all for any longer.

Clang–!

The water bottle on the bedside table falls to the carpeted floor with a bang against the wood under it— you rush to pick it up with as little sound as you can manage.

Stealthily, you step out of bed. If your memory serves you right, the kettle should be on top of the drawer next to the oven.

You’ll drink some hot water or tea and lull yourself to a peaceful night eventually, you decide.

Then there’s a knock on the door. It’s light— so light that it would be inaudible had you stayed on the bed instead of moving nearer to the door, and so soft even the lightest of sleepers wouldn’t hear it. So whoever this is, they must know that you’re awake. You’re sure you wouldn’t have caught it at all and for a second you wonder whether there really was someone knocking the door after all. Tsumiki seems to be fast asleep, though— you can hear her muffled snoring from the other side of the wall. Thank goodness she’s a heavy sleeper. You’re not too sure about how Megumi fares in that sense.

You turn the cold metal knob and open the door.

In the dim light the front of his body’s barely visible, its glow only tracing the outline of his left shoulder from the back.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, keeping your voice as soft as you can to prevent cracking your voice once you’ve started speaking.

“I heard something,” Megumi answers, “Did you fall?”

“It was just my water bottle. Did I wake you up? Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry about that.”

“Why’re you still awake?”

He places his hand on the door frame, voice lower than earlier that night. “Why are you? It’s way past midnight,” he adds, “...I couldn’t fall asleep either, to be honest…”

“Insomnia, huh?” you go, “This happens to me all the time, too.”

“No, it only happens once in a while,” he remarks, “Usually I sleep pretty well.”

“Oh. You wanna come inside? We can, like, talk, or something. We can catch up.”

“Sure.”

You guide him over to the edge of the bed, and he shuts the door before he sits down beside you. There is no way you can think to describe this other than saying that it’s strange, really: the boy you had a crush on six years ago, who was one of your closest friends, has grown more than thirty centimetres, and the aura surrounding the two of you is more awkward than any conversation you’ve ever had in your life. Neither of you question why the light isn’t turned on, and neither of you head to the bedside table to flip the light switch anyway, so the scene in their guest room is of two fourteen year old— about to be fifteen year olds in a little over three days, though— kids in the dark either reminiscing over memories or trying to catch up despite having changed so much.

“So how’s life?” you start.

“Nothing much happens at all, honestly. Wait, [Name]—” When he says your name it’s like your chest makes one full leap. “—I think I should let you know, six years ago, the dog you saw—”

“I already know about all that,” you tell him, “My parents told me. …hey, wanna see something I can show you with my own cursed technique?”

“...okay.”

You hold your hand out.

“It may be hard to see it in the dark, but…”

He turns the light on for you before you finish and you thank him. It must have been silly to try and show it to him when everything was engulfed in the night despite the fact that you were closer to the switch. You lean back as he outstretches his arm to do it.

“See?” You hold your hand up, palm displayed and facing him, before closing your eyes and imagine your heaps of skin cells and red blood cells. You’re bound to have a headache by tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it. At least there’s something you can show him, something new you can let him know of. This was ‘catching up’, anyway.

“[Name]!” He whispers, but the urgency in his voice is clear. You close the wound up immediately, speeding through a healing process that would have taken days to be completed in the span of a few seconds. Tomorrow you’re going to end up having a nosebleed, too.

“Are you alright?” he goes, “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Is it?” you reply, smiling, “Don’t worry. It’s just that I’m not that used to it yet. I guess if I trained my body even more, it would be able to handle it better.”

His hand strays to yours, most likely out of worry. You pull it back.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Sorry if I made you worry.”

“...I don’t think you should strain yourself,” he begins. It’s like how you and your father speak to each other— how funny. “If your own cursed technique does that to your body, it’s better if you don’t use it at all.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, “I’m not going to use it in fights or anything, either.”

“You won’t become a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“No,” you explain, “I mean, my dad was one and he quit a while ago, but I know it’ll be hard to hold on and do so much with this during fights. I may just be like, backup, or a doctor or nurse, or something. You?”

“I think it’s pointless to save others.”

Wow, cringey much. Reminds you of yourself six months ago.

You don’t press it any further.

“But… about doctors and all, there are people like that. Only one, to be more specific.”

“Oh, well then— what's her name? I’d love to meet her.”

“Ieiri Shoko. Want me to introduce her to you?”

29-12-2016

He does try to take you to visit her the next day. You think the reason why he’s doing this is to avoid catching up, or at least actually talking about something beyond a superficial level. You think that if that’s the truth behind this then you must be at fault too because you let him take you there with no hesitation whatsoever. Like adding opaque white tape over a fully painted canvas.

But he fails because of the man over the phone. It’s probably that Gojo guy, that benefactor. Now that you know how strong he is in terms of sorcery, you guess that since he’s taking care of Megumi, Megumi’s probably a massive deal too.

“No, I’m just asking if she can visit right now— no, get your head out of the gutter, damn it!”

He hangs up. “I’m seriously going to punch him,” he states, frowning. So it’s definitely Gojo, then. You remember him being really insufferable by Megumi’s standards. “She’s busy, by the way. …sorry about that.”

“Calm down, it’ll be alright,” you say, “We didn’t have to. Let’s just go around the city like tourists or something. I think that’s better anyway.”

Tsumiki says she can come along with you, but she’ll have to leave at the stop right before Ueno for something important— a sudden appointment with someone, she says— before heading back and reconvening with you and Megumi. The three of you ride the Yamanote Line, but at the stop right before Ueno—your first chosen destination for this trip— Tsumiki has to leave, as she’d said. She apologises profusely. You know she isn’t slick.

You take your phone, texting her.

[Name]

Tsumiki

You ain’t slick

Why

Seriously omfg

[Tsumiki]

Sorry, I would have joined, just wanted to test the waters hehehehe… (>‿◠)✌

I mean you two seem ok

But let me know if anything bad happens okayyy???

You two seem pretty happy with each other though… also, what happened last night?

If you’re up to any hanky panky, don’t do it under our roof (ㆆ_ㆆ)!!

[Name]

Literally so done with you right now -_-

But thanks I guess, I’ll see if we can catch up

AAAAAAHHHHH it’s gonna end up being so awkward I swear

[Tsumiki]

Good luck!! Love you bestieeee

Ttyl okay?? Gimme all the details

“Who’re you texting?” he whispers.

“Just a friend,” you say, as they announce that the train is in Ueno.

The day in Ueno Park goes quite smoothly, really— but there’s still little progress made and the letter seems to be having its screams more drowned out the more you tug on your bag.

“It’s pretty cold,” you comment as the two of you walk around, witnessing everyone else walking around with their huddled-up bundles of clothes and coats on, “Next time, if it’s not too crowded, we should, um… we should visit during autumn or spring. Together.”

“Tsumiki and I can come here anytime. It just depends on you,” he says, a little rougher than you think he intends, “Wait— no, I mean, your timing—”

You giggle slightly. So you’re not the only one who’s gotten more awkward since last time. Now he doesn’t seem the type to be, though— he seems more like those ‘cool’ guys in shoujo mangas; those bad boys who the girls end up changing, or something. Kinda cringey. But the fact that he’s avoiding eye contact and turning his head away evasively so that you don’t see him because of such a little slip-up in his phrasing is really, really cute. At least that’s what you think. It’s not like any other people would think the same, probably because of that frown or the fact that his voice doesn’t seem any flustered at all. But you think that’s okay. That makes it so that there’s more for you to appreciate, maybe. “It’s fine,” you reassure him.

“...I brought a camera, by the way,” he says, digging for it in his pocket. The camera itself seems like one from the 2000s— it’s the small type with the wrist strap, and the buttons on the side and all. “It’s… old, though.”

“Oh! That looks nice!” you comment. It really does. Your bag’s strap— the damn thing— slips off your shoulder again and you’ve got to put it back securely in place. Your shoulder hurts and you regret bringing so much with you.

“Want me to hold your bag for you…?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say, “It’s just that it goes off my shoulder sometimes and it can be pretty heavy. I packed too much stuff in it, heh.”

“Then I’ll carry it. Give it here.”

You end up handing him the bag. At least he doesn’t mind how heavy it is, nor does he complain about what you must be packing, or anything. It’s better than being forced to give your parents your things only for them to tell you to pack lighter ones.

“It’s good that we avoided the crowd, but now there aren’t any leaves or flowers…” you start. You hope it doesn’t sound like complaining— that would be awfully rude. “Normally, people would be having picnics here, right?”

“We can still take pictures, though. Wait, can you— can you stand in front of me, here?” he asks, his steps coming to a halt next to a small garden.

“Okay.”

He brings the camera to his eye. “Smile,” he says.

You’ve quite an awkward-looking smile, you think. It’s always bothered you slightly whenever your parents wanted to take pictures of you, but you smile anyway in the picture— you give him your brightest grin. It’s not like either of you will keep it anyway, and you are happy: gratingly awkward or not, you’re still with an old friend.

“Ah, delete that,” you tell him when he shows the picture to you. The backdrop is pretty, though. “You should take a picture of the background. I look so bad in it.”

“It’s a nice picture,” he argues, “You look… nice.”

You shift your line of sight to look at him, unsure if it’s out of incredulousness, or the fact that the whole situation seems to be a little silly, or the fact that he’s looking down at the picture with a gaze that warms your heart a bit. Those eyelids and lashes and green green pupils will be the death of you, you’re sure. You feel you could drown in them at any second. “…thanks.”

He looks back at you.

“I think you look nice too, Megumi.”

It’s really, really cold, but you feel your face heating up. For once in your life it doesn’t feel like something you should be shy of.

30-12-2016

“Could you show me the dog again?” you ask him. He’s on the bed again. Different day, same situation. “Why did it suddenly pop out all those years ago anyway?”

“It was an accident,” he explains, “You know how my Ten Shadows technique comes from the shadows, right? Wait, I should rephrase that—”

“Oh… I mean, don’t worry, you don’t sound rude or anything. I just wanted to see the dog. I mean, I like dogs! I still read books or articles about them every now and then.”

“There are actually two.”

“Two?” you go, wide-eyed and excited.

He summons them out of the ground, one dark with the same red markings, and the other the exact same dog as the one you saw six years ago. He does it effortlessly— there’s no pain involved, no trade-off for getting to show someone his abilities. It’s not like you and your father’s, with your headaches and nosebleeds and vertigo every time you use it even if it’s for something simple like opening up a wound and closing it, or creating tiny blisters. How terribly inconvenient it was for you, and how easy it was for Megumi to use it so quickly and painlessly. You were slightly jealous of him for it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” you say, petting the white one. It cuddles up to you. The one with dark, fluffy fur does the same and you’ve got each palm on each dog’s head.

You turn your head back to face him. “Thank you, Megumi.”

“...it’s nothing.”

What a classic Megumi-like thing to say.

15-4-2017

Freshly fifteen years old, you know one thing. The friends you meet at this age are probably the best you’ll ever have.

You’re still training your cursed technique from time to time if only for leisure or any emergencies since your mother’s absolutely determined to keep you from being one. But you’re in a new place again— your parents have chosen to move back to Sendai— where they lived and got married before you came along, and everything considered things aren’t as bad as when you had to leave to and from Tokyo.

It all started with the class’s seating arrangement. You sat down after one of the classes, preparing yourself for a year where you had to search through the whole school for friends or spend it alone as you watched everyone else fall into their groups from the previous year like dozens of tiny puzzle pieces clicking into place again.

The clique in front of you is all looking at this one guy with unkempt hair as pink as cherry blossoms, or MyMelody’s pink ribbon. He’s got a boyish grin on his face that honestly makes him out to be a pretty nice guy.

“Hey!” a guy greets, his hand up as he’s smiling at you, “My name’s Itadori Yuuji. What’s yours?”

He’s kind of tall, is a really smiley guy, and seems like he’d be pretty popular. He reminds you of a friendly puppy. Or one of those really, really cute seals people make videos of in aquariums.

You tell him your name. “You… uh, you seem pretty popular, Itadori.”

He pauses and turns his head up like he’s thinking. “Well… now that you mention it, I guess so,” he states, hand scratching the back of his neck, “They’re pretty cool, though. Don’t worry!”

“Oh…”

“Anyway, where ya from?”

“I–uh. I mean, my parents move a lot,” you say, “So I guess you could say I don’t know where I’m from, myself? Sendai’s my parents’ hometown, though. And they wanted to be back for a while. So I transferred here.”

“Cool! So you’ve got to see a lot of stuff?”

“Uh. Kind of?”

He drags a seat from behind him before facing you. The way he sits is comfortable; it’s almost funny— you’re so awkward, so rigid like a frozen statue, and he’s actively trying to melt it, but the ice is still cold and barely broken. Poor Itadori, you think, He’s talking to someone who doesn’t know who to talk properly. He’s going to get bored any minute but he’s still going to talk.

“Like, um…” you think, “Oh! I went to the Tanegashima space centre a while back.”

“Woah!” he goes, with excitement in his eyes like fireworks sparkles, “Wish I could go to space one day. Maybe it’ll be like something in Passengers.”

It’s only the space centre, though? Not space itself, you think. But you guess that’s okay— something, something, men are perfect when they’re a little dumb. You don’t know that much about idols. “I haven’t seen it yet, but uh, sounds nice, I guess? And you don’t look like the type to watch sci-fi movies… but maybe I’ll watch it one of these days. I don’t watch a lot of movies, though.”

“I mean, it’s got Jennifer Lawrence in it,” he says, “She’s my favourite actress!”

That makes a lot of sense. “…really? I’ve only seen her in clips from the Hunger Games a few times. I mean, I heard she’s had other pretty good movies, though, like… what was it called… Silver Linings something? I don’t know, uhm.”

“Oh, Silver Linings Playbook?” he says, excitement dazzling in his eyes again, “Man, you haven’t lived if you haven’t seen them. I’ll drag you along with me sometime to watch it!”

“Ah,” you go, unsure of what to say, “Um… nice! Thanks!”

Over the course of the next few months you learn a few things about Itadori Yuuji. He loves horror movies and Jennifer Lawrence with a passion, is a sterling athlete and freakishly good at sports, and has a smile that makes people turn to face him like sunflowers to bright summer sunlight. And he knows you too— knows that you mildly loathe all genres of nonfiction save for books about animals (especially dogs), that you prefer when things are busy even if you may enjoy the quiet, and that the two of you are people who really, really ought to just take a train to Tokyo and have kaiten sushi together one day.

Also, you can admit that you have some degree of a crush on him— him and that damned smile. Seriously, how could anyone not? You watch him sometimes during PE, eyeing the way he moves, and that guy can move, alright: he swerves so naturally it makes you swoon, jumps up and down with might and energy, can carry people around like they’re boxes of tissues. He’s swift but his movements aren’t frenetic; they’re controlled and he demonstrates such mastery over his body that no one who sees him wouldn’t be amazed. And he’s a nice guy— your parents have met him at least twice by chance, and they love him. Your father talks about how he’s a nice, handsome boy, and your mother mentions how he’d be an ideal son-in-law.

Poor Itadori, you think to yourself whenever they say it, giggling, Maybe they’ll let up soon enough, and they’ll realise that you’re just a really good friend.

You’re still not going to act on your feelings, though. You never will; you’re never going to act on anything. So you’ll fade away like a spectator, only trying to talk to him because guess what? You like it, you like talking to him and spending time with him even if you know he doesn’t like you back and sees you as just a friend. He’s still a fun guy and he always will be.

In a way it feels almost liberating, like a breath of fresh air from what happened a year ago: lighthearted crushes like these are a quintessential element of the teenage girl experience, and even if you’d always fit the bill for an ordinary teenage girl, another part of that would probably be not feeling like a normal teenage girl at all. So having this and not being hurt, having this and having fun— is great. Maybe if you get over him and start crushing on someone else, you’ll get to try having a boyfriend by the end of your last year in junior high. Sounds pretty neat if you do say so yourself. Having a partner sounds interesting.

“Itadori. Um… they’re going to release a new Jennifer Lawrence movie,” you say, standing behind him as the other friends around him stare at you. You aren’t too close to them, but hey— he was right. Some of them were pretty okay, cool people.

“Ah, yeah! I’m watching that too!”

“Oh, great! I mean, it’s right up your alley, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Wanna watch it together?” You blush and he continues, “I can bring the other guys too.” He gestures to the boys behind him with his thumb. You don’t know them very well— hell, they probably don’t know your name much less like you— but that’s okay. Itadori is a great guy to spend time with and whether it’s scream-singing karaoke in a language you can’t speak at his house, joking and horsing around while his grandfather frowns on the dining table, or learning how to cook meatballs he says are easy to make— you’re guaranteed to have fun with him no matter what.

“Sure.”

So: now you have a new guy you’re crushing on, because the last one took so long for you to get over, and you’re not sure if you’re completely over the last one, but you know you’re not going to talk to him that much anymore. And this new guy’s sweet, a hundred times better, and even if this all-in-one perfect guy doesn’t like you back, you’ll say it again: you think Itadori is awfully fun and nothing can change that.

Life is going pretty okay, you think. Life is becoming something you’re getting the hang of. Maybe, just maybe.

2-1-2017

“Guess I’m going back, now…” you sigh, zipping your luggage bag up. It’s a cold day outside— each time you press your fingers against a window, or even touch a door knob or any cold metal, it freezes you up. It’s just inconvenient, for now— if you could, you could even use cell manipulation to keep yourself warm, but that would just be too much effort wasted on too little of a cold winter day in early January.

New Year’s had just been a trip to the local shrine with them— this time Tsumiki had to come too, so she didn’t sabotage you and leave the two of you alone— and the days have gone by relatively peacefully. When your parents call you up they’re always relieved to just see you sitting on the bed or seated on their dining table eating meals with the two of them.

“You’ve still a few hours left here, don’t worry,” Tsumiki says, “Let’s make the most of it!”

Despite how awkward things were, you’d say you enjoyed being with Megumi and Tsumiki the past few days— mainly Megumi, though, because Tsumiki’s been conveniently leaving anytime you and Megumi are about to go anywhere together.

“Has anything interesting happened lately? Any action?” she asks.

“Pft— no, not really. Haven’t even given him the letter…”

“Aw…” she starts, “It’s alright if you don’t want to force yourself or anything, but I really think it would do him good to read it and that it’d do you even better if you passed it to him. He cares about you more than you think.”

“Uh-huh, that’s good to know,” you say, “At the very least, we’re friends, still. I’ll get over him eventually— I mean, I think I already have, since I’m not praying for him to be my boyfriend or something.”

“Oh…” she goes, “Well, whatever it is, I’m supporting you!” she smiles, patting you lightly on the head.

“Thanks.”

She leaves for something quick before Megumi arrives back, which you think does him good because he comes back with enough bruises and patches on his face to completely drive Tsumiki up the wall.

“Woah— you okay?” You rush to him. “What happened?”

He groans. He reminds you of a stray dog sometimes, really. Even more so now than before.

“S-sit down,” you say. He follows your instructions. “I’ll try to heal you, don’t worry.”

Since you discovered you had your cursed technique, you’ve only used it to heal others besides yourself once when you helped rid the cashier from the store of her bruises. It’s been half a year since then, and you’re still getting used to using it on yourself. Still, you let him sit on the sofa anyway.

“You probably shouldn’t. I can handle this on my own. If you do this to yourself then you’ll be over-exerting your body.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” you chuckle, “Let me take care of you. And if I get a nosebleed or a headache, you can take care of me too. Heheh. That’s how things like this work, right? We take care of each other. So I can heal your wounds for you and you can take care of me if I get any of my cursed technique’s side-effects.”

You place your hand on his face for your cursed energy to get to him— you’d be able to do it without touching him, but the more the better— and you feel how his breath hitches when you do so. His skin is cold, and so very smooth, like the soft cotton blankets they have in their house. Slowly, you visualise his cells changing, shifting, until his skin looks pristine and good as new.

“…and…there.”

Then your nose bleeds. “Ah— hate it when this happens, honestly.”

“See? I told you not to strain yourself.” He gets up and places a tissue to your nose. “Lean your head back. Please.”

You follow his instructions as he did yours. “So what happened?” you ask, only able to view either his face or the ceiling. “How’d you get injured?”

“Nothing, just… I… got into a fight.”

“Wh— a fight? That’s dangerous!” you frown, “What happened in the first place? Someone picked on you?”

“No, they were just picking on someone else. People like that shouldn’t be able to trample on others.”

“So what are you, the police?” you argue, “You shouldn’t hurt people, nor should you let them hurt you. It’s bad for you, you know?”

“The basis of all kinds of human interaction isn’t being kind,” he claims, “It’s avoiding violating someone’s dignity, and I despise the people who ignore this rule just to make themselves feel powerful.”

And that pisses you off a little. Because for all his sister’s kindness and forgiving spirit, her brother cares less for being able to forgive others than for reading books until one AM in the morning or something along those lines.

The weather becomes that little bit colder and you go against him.

“Well, yeah— I hate bullies too. It’s just… ugh, why’d you have to get yourself hurt over this? It really isn’t good to have injuries. Who’s to say anything life-threatening won’t happen? It’s not like you’re invincible.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, seriously,” you retort, “Do you fight often or something? You know, no matter how many times you come out unscathed, it’s not like you’ll even be alive the next. What if these bullies aren’t the worst and there are some gangsters or something who kill you one day?”

“In my school?” he goes.

“Uh-huh— and you seriously sound kinda self-righteous, too. I mean, who gives you the right to judge? Just don’t be an asshole and you’ll be fine, and it’s not like being an asshole to the assholes is gonna do anything.”

“No, I just can’t handle people who step all over others.”

“Me neither, but why can’t you just be nice?” you go, “I don’t know, what do boys do? Talk to each other, make friends or something. Forgive each other. Just be nice. That’s what I think the basis of human interaction is. It’s helping people when you can, and stuff. That’s what the basis of life is, even.”

“You sound like Tsumiki.”

“Oh, well. I’d rather take that as a compliment even if it wasn’t intended to be by her own brother. I seriously used to think you were better than that, honestly. That sounds so emo— ‘Oh, the world isn’t inherently kind and so we should be tolerable to each other at best and horrible to the ones who aren’t tolerable at worst.’ What a joke.”

“Seriously?” he frowns, not raising his voice, but definitely angered, “You’re worse, really. You and Tsumiki and that hypocritical sense of forgiveness. It’s probably because you read too many fiction books last time.”

“I can’t believe I’m taking that from an antisocial guy who reads boring-ass non-fiction all the time and beats middle school bullies up to act high and mighty over them. You’re giving me secondhand embarrassment. You should be out with people our age buying sodas from vending machines or something— jeez, you’re just a fucking kid. Just be nice and save people if you have the power to— especially if you can do it without having to do things at your own expense. That’s the easiest way to do things in life. And who says you aren’t a hypocrite too? You think you’re some kind of judge in court or something—?”

“—You have cell manipulation, right? So use your brain! I’ve already told you that it’s pointless to save people. Good people who are too merciful to bad people are just as disgusting as bad people too prideful over themselves.”

“Ew— good and bad? What happened to just living life? Just live it, seriously, it’s not like everything can be split into two categories like that. You just sound so— ugh— stop being so immature—!”

“Megumi!” Tsumiki says when she opens the door. “[Name]! What happened? Did the two of you fight? Why were you fighting? What—!”

“No, no! Just bickering over something small,” you tell her, “I had a nose bleed all of a sudden.”

“Tch. Something small?” Megumi scoffs.

“Stop fighting, the two of you,” Tsumiki orders, her voice firm yet still soft and sweet.

The next few hours move painfully quietly.

3-1-2017

“I’m really sorry it had to be at midnight like this,” you say.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Tsumiki grins, “We wanted to come, anyway. We still have to give you a proper send-off.”

You breathe in. “…okay. I’ll visit again, I promise. Maybe next year, but at a better time, okay?”

“Alright, alright. Well— you’ve got to go now,” Tsumiki says, hugging you. You hear her sniffling even though you can’t see her face.

“Okay. Bye, Megumi. Bye, Tsumiki.”

“Bye, [Name]! Take care of your health, okay? We should stick together no matter what, the three of us.”

You’re still a little angry at Megumi. You haven’t passed him the letter.

You’ll live. You hope you can, at least. You’re better off not ending up with or confessing to a guy who thinks like he does.

It’s for Tsumiki, you tell yourself. And it grounds you.

“…I will.”

“…bye,” Megumi says, avoiding eye contact.

And as you get on the train and they’re waving you off, you should have taken a picture, or a video, or something. Something to keep that moment in place. There’s Tsumiki— smiley Tsumiki— with her signature warm grin and the faintest of tears in her eyes, with her hand raised up to wave at you. Then Megumi— frowny Megumi— older and taller and angry at you.

You really should have kept things there, or apologised to her again for anything and everything, apologised to both of them for any trouble you’ve caused them, or thanked them a trillion times over, but you didn’t.

And you regret this forever. Because this is the last time you see Fushiguro Tsumiki, the girl who changed the trajectory of your life.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

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castle-dominion · 9 months

Text

6x4 number one fan

The misery episode liveblog

I LOVED THIS ONE SM. now that I think about it, it was probably a filler episode where they couldn't afford a million different locations so they had castle stay here most of the time. Like Still the floormine episode, they had one location & spent a lot of time on flashbacks. Still a great ep tho, I didn't even notice until I realized that hollywood works like that.

So yeah here we go babes! & my older bro is here too, hopefully he will be my voice of reason in clipping things. I mean rn he is watching his horror game playing guy so maybe... WAIT HE JUST FINISHED THE VIDEO BEFORE I EVEN FINISHED MY SENTENCE, YAY HE'S STAYING

*whistles* stop her!

Why were they there in the first place?

KB: (whispered) Castle. Are you asleep?

RC: (mumbled) Yes.

KB: Then why’d you answer me?

RC: I’m sleep talking. Also known as somniloquy. Just ignore me.

KB: sighs and drops her head to the pillow.

KB: I don’t know what to do.

That gets his attention. His eyes pop open.

RC: I have some ideas.

Older bro: girl I don't think that being a 14 year old without a job is considered "out of work"

(Bleed what? Bleed grut.)

She can't get her job back?

KB: C’mon, Castle, what are you saying? What am I going to do? Just sleep in every morning and screw around until the phone rings? What kind of life is that?

RC: Mine

Pi: mrs c-to-be

Martha my beloved

Alexis looks so pretty in a skirt

Beckett is so sad gates wasn't calling for her

Gates was probs SO sad when she had to call castle

Corkboard outdoors? Hm

Emma demands to speak to castle I loooove this episode.

No record. Hm.

KB: Well, if there’s one thing you excel at, Castle, it’s talking.

RC, on hostage negotiations: Boom! Believe it’s me now, Emma? Because I could play Richard Castle trivia with you all day. I will crush you.

Emma, ig knowing that's just how richard castle is: ya ok it's u

Castle just made a deal for getting Suki & her mom so yay!

Why aren't they wiring him?

What's your favourite food?

RC: wdym by that?

KB: shut the up. cheeseburgers.

(could clip)

I like how he still has his writer vest lol.

I think my first thought was "she's just a crazed fan trying to see markiplier castle" esp with the "I just want you"

Girl you are holding like five people hostages & u want to be cleared of murder? you're still going to go down for that hun.

Also what jurisdiction is this?

Won't clip the "no cheeseburgers" part

lmao nobody trusts cops hun

Oh poor girl, happy birthday. Oh dear he was going to propose...

Nightly two fingers.

RC: Scotch girl? Me too.

Oh older bro is gone now.

Wow this kid is kind of a dick but he;s either going to save the day or ruin everything.

Clipping Lanie

Ok so I use initials in my quotes, I sometimes even use initials in my fanfiction drafts/plans/outlines so I can ctrl-f them later, & i've gone so far as to use initials for ppl I know irl in my notebook for speed or online when I don't want to give out names, but the girl I'm seeing? Not likely. Unless I'm hiding an affair from my lover. nvm.

JE: Ladies and gentlemen, this is a booty call gone wrong.

Isn't clonazepam an anti anxiety? Oh wait I looked it up, it is also for seizure disorders. aripiprazole an antipsychotic but it is also used for neurodivergencies like autism & tourrette's syndrome in addition to the more obvious schizophrenia. It is also used for mood disorders like bipolar i & depression. Though I may have misunderstood all the words being thrown at me so this information is possibly incorrect.

Oh. Lanie confirms what I just said lol.

(mr drug cop man)

Also wow ryan's cheekbones

Castle maybe give her a hug?

How bad is the difference in texting? I even change my texting style day to day

Mickey nooooooo

Yay sully is still here

Oh I just watched misery! Maybe because mum watched this episode & requested it after hearing it here.

Not to get all derogatory pepperoni but sully shup.

VG: Your little theories no matter how fanciful <3

Maybe SH stands for 'silent habits' if you know what I mean. He did work with at-risk youth...

I like sully's accent

Ah sitting outside for an hour drinking coffee? scoping out a place.

Mickey: boom. I take her out. We end this, and then we meet at the bar around the corner and the first round is on me.

At least mickey immediately ran back to his seat. Tho tbh I feel like mickey COULD take her out, tho maybe not w/o someone getting hurt.

He could be celiac bro

HOW did you find her juvvie record? How did you find her old name?

How did Emma know that they told castle about billy koss?

Emma Riggs: I mean, what is the point of a sealed record when the cops can open it whenever they feel like it.

Older bro: she's right

Me: It is sealed until you commit a crime as an adult, which she did by taking hostages. Also it is sealed from employers, they don't even know you have a record. Unless cops get a subpoena, they KNOW you have a record, but they can't see what is in it. If you don't commit a crime, it remains sealed.

I love this character. She is a great character. Great backstory. If they are suddenly nice to you, there is something going on. That's cops for ya. Esp with a mentally ill person? Yeah.

Castle is so great, talking to her, believing her, even after they keep comin gback with "it was her, there is no evidence of anyone else being here" & "it was her she's killed before"

Of course she keeps track of him!

St Helena's home for children.

Oh no, Ryan had to call & talk to a sister lol.

Castle just has it on speaker phone with Emma.

Angelo's gift to her on her birthday was knowing her bio parents! That is so sweet!

Mickey no! But hey I mean I'm proud of him in some ways.

Except that she's freaked out that she just killed richard castle. & then becks just runs in w/o anything on? ok babe. Reminds me of the bank episode tho. Did esposito have experience in esu? swat training? he always gets the big swat guns. I'd like to know more abt his history. Anyway yeah Mickey is just standing there while she still has the gun & castle is in the glass table? What is even going on?

CHEESEBURGERS!

She dotted the i! (clipping that)

(girl I used to really like castito & I still love ryckett but rystle is just so good)

Beckett accidentally giving orders to her boys

I would say "Not because you asked me to, but because you're right."

Only three days ago?

(btw ryan looks so pretty when he does smart stuff)

I love this kid. opening files, closing files.

(Totally going to gif that ryckett handcuff nod)

& you knew she had a file under a different name? rly?

At least ryan said "he's going to need to call you back" before hanging up the guy's phone

(clippin that)

civilian employee like the records kid, & non-civilian non-employee like castle XD

Where is esposito?

Oh there with sullivan

"His big house for THE big house" would have worked if you put the emphasis in the right place castle

VG: *protecting her boys*

KB: Captain, I don’t have a career to risk. How about I back you up in there?

Oh... I don't think it WAS this dad!

"No, no. Maybe tomorrow."

Wait maybe it is him nvm.

'Yes, and' between rysposito with the "so" & finishing each other's sentences.

Oops again!

Well no, castle, t is NOT over. She is still getting charged with, threatening people.

So sweet he's meeting her! This is genuinely so amazing & I love it a ton!

Aw gates sharing a drink with becks.

MISTER GOLFING BUDDIES WITH THE POLICE COMMISSIONER DOESN'T HAVE HARD FEELINGS ABOUT BEING ACCUSED OF MURDER & HE GETS BECKETT HER JOB BACK? AWESOME!

& then sully disappears lol

Well there was 1x1 when they THOUGHT castle's fan did some murders but then it turned out the brother killed his sister & framed the kid she was working with.

Caskett: *about to kiss*

RC: Whoa. Actually, no. We can’t. Not here. It’s inappropriate. (he looks around) This is the workplace. We’ve gotta be professional.

KB: Ah, well, you know I’m not officially back until tomorrow.

RC: I see

*start making out*

Glad I watched Misery. Actually it was directed by Rob Reiner. Mum just listened to an audiobook with us on the making of the princess bride she started watching all these rob reiner movies like spinal tap (which wasn't nearly as good as people made it out to be imo), when harry met sally, a few good men (which was a drag but if I think about it for 10-30 seconds it was a good movie, just not if I think about it for any longer), stand by me, misery, & others so we probably watched Misery NOT because of Castle & its mention in this episode, but rather because we were on a rob reiner kick. Now we are watching movie versions of Stephen King works. (sorry, I used to love reading but now we can spend two hours as a family just being with one another. If we had any road trips then yeah sure we'd read an audiobook in the car ig.)

Anyway the point I was making was wow I'm glad I watched misery between my first watch of this ep & my second. I got the references this time.

#castle 6x4 #castle 6x4 quote #castle 6x4 spoilers #the misery episode

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tarnishedxknight · 11 months

Photo

Mantis’ mind was already racing, planning to take the man she believed to be Loki disguised as Thor to the Bowie, explain the situation to Drax, return to Knowhere, contact Thor, tell him that his brother was alive - alive! - and ask him to come and pick him up. She had landed on Earth determined to find Kevin Bacon and make Quill happy, but she had been so lucky to find Loki as well. She would make Thor happy too, and everyone was going to feel just fine for the first time in forever. The empath was overjoyed.

Reality hit her like a spaceship taking off. Her antennae became so droopy, the tips almost brushed against her temples. Mantis pressed her lips together, swallowing the questions and protests that wanted to come out. Doing her best to ignore the tears that welled up in her eyes. She tried really hard to hide her disappointment; it wasn’t this man’s fault that she got her hopes up. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit of embarrassment, but mostly she just felt sadness.

“Oh, my apologies.” Her voice came out weaker than intended, and Mantis cleared her throat. “Apologies,” she repeated a little louder. She had mistakenly greeted him as someone else… twice. No matter how much she enjoyed socializing, she was still, deep down, a socially inept being. But could she really be blamed for this misunderstanding? He looked so much like Thor, and it didn’t help that his brother could change appearance. A tiny part of her was still hopeful that this was Loki. Maybe this was some sort of trick. Thor loved his brother, but he mentioned he couldn’t be trusted. Maybe this was the trickster messing with her… “May I see your tongue please?” Mantis asked. “I just need confirmation. Show me your tongue, please.” She then stood on her tiptoes to take a look. According to Thor, Loki had a silver tongue. That should give it away. “Hm… No, you are not the second person I mistook you for. Thank you.” Mantis wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very hopeless. Loki was dead. She wouldn’t be able to make Thor happy.

“It is nice to meet you anyway,” she added, managing a polite smile. “I am Mantis.” She had already introduced herself, although she thought she was introducing herself to Loki. She felt silly, and had the need to introduce herself properly to Basch. She rubbed her arms, wishing she could just disappear and leave this poor guy alone after approaching him in such an aggressively happy manner. “I thought you were… Uh… I thought… My bad. You happen to look just like someone I know…” Mantis tilted her head to one side, then the other, black eyes watching him carefully. “And specifically, someone whose brother could take the appearance of others, so I thought…” That there would be a happy reunion? She was living in a galaxy that had been ravaged by Thanos. Happy reunions were no longer a thing. Reunions, if they happened, were not happy but awkward and painful. They would reopen old wounds and pour salt. She felt stupid for not remembering that as often as she should. “I’m sorry…”

When Basch asked if she was looking for a particular place, Mantis nodded. “I would like to know where I could find the legendary Kevin Bacon. I want to offer him as a Christmas present to the legendary Star-Lord. I don’t know what Christmas is, but I know I must save it for him… I have to do this, or else Christmas is doomed.” The empath tapped her chin, looking around. Finding him couldn’t be that hard. “If you know where he is, that knowledge would be very much appreciated. If not, it is okay, I can always ask other Terrans!” She had already been disruptive to this man, and she did not want to bother him any longer.

(I agree, it’s sad. She’s so sad post-Thanos she clings to anything she perceives as good news 😞 On a lighter note, it was cool to write her as thinking she found Loki because I ship her with a friend’s Loki and they went through so much I sometimes forget they never canonically met XD They even have a daughter, Spring. Loki thinks Mantis picked the name after the season, especially since I do give her her botanokinesis from the comics, but it actually stands for Springsteen. His mun and I laugh so much behind Loki’s back like can you please look a little further inside your wife’s head and realize your kid’s named after someone who creates that ‘Midgardian noise’ as you call it 😭 Girl has two himbo uncles with Thor and Quill, too.)

__________

{MY HEART! UGH! Poor Mantis... But yeah, I get that. The Blip and all that Thanos nonsense really messed with so many people. Loki’s death was really sad, too, like... I wasn’t overly a fan of his and it bothered me, so I can only imagine if that was your boy and you saw that? Ugh. I don’t envy his fans for that. But omg Mantis naming her daughter after Springsteen. That’s... SUPER adorable. Hmm Mantis x Loki, huh? I feel like that would either be an atrocious mess of a ship or it would work so well it’d be amazing, and it sounds like you got it to be the latter, heh. Also I love when headcanons and AUs in rp become so detailed, natural, and solid that you forget they didn’t actually happen in canon. I’ve been told on occasion that a canon character I write “is canon for me” by people who read my threads and honestly that is the most validating feeling as a writer. When you take a canon character and change it in a way that has some people essentially saying they like your version better, it’s like... woah. But then, haha, it’s disappointing when you do it to yourself because then you watch the movies again and for a moment you’re like YE-! Oh, that’s right, none of that actually happened. *pout* XD}

The way she deflated before him was so heartbreaking that Basch felt physical pain in his chest. Soon that pain was written across his face as he seemed to care so much for her grief and disappointment that he nearly felt them himself. “I am so deeply sorry, dear lady...” Basch said gently. “I know quite well the pain that both grief and hope can bring. I am sorry to have stirred that pain in you. It was never my intention to hurt you.” But he had, and he felt utterly awful for it. “Nay, please, do not apologize. You did not know. It was an honest mistake, especially given that the one you seek has the ability to mimic others. I only wish that... your hope had been better rewarded. I am truly sorry.”

When she asked to see his tongue, Basch was a bit confused, but he obliged her anyway. He supposed that maybe it was a culture difference at play, or that perhaps she had some sort of truth-telling magic she required line of sight to the tongue to cast. If truth was what she wanted, again, he was happy to oblige. “I am so sorry...” he whispered again as Mantis once again folded in on herself. He smiled, albeit a bit sadly, when she yet again introduced herself. “It is an honor to meet you, Mantis. Please... if there is anything I can do to-”

But she was already asking him about finding someone called... Kevin Bacon? A man’s name, perhaps? If so, it was one Basch did not know. “Alas, I am not familiar with this individual. Nor do I know what Christmas is. Forgive me, I am not native to this land,” he tried to explain. Or this time period, but that would likely only confuse her further. “Perhaps I could assist you in locating him somehow?” he offered, but then he realized what she’d said. “Legendary... Star Lord?” Why was he legendary? If he was really so legendary, why had Basch never heard of him? “O’er what lands does he govern?” he asked, curious to know more about this supposed lord. He was unaware that men with titles such as “lord” still existed in this time period...

#main muse: basch #{ knightly avenger } ᵐᶜᵘ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ

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thearvariblues · 3 years

Text

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. “Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #lambden #lambert x aiden #idiots in love #(but mostly they're just idiots)#aiden lived bitches #major character resurrection #they're stupid your honor #my fics #attempt at humor

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armageddon-generation · 2 years

Text

After Andrew's resurgence in popularity can we get TASM directors cuts?

All the cut footage that makes TASM genuinely great.

‘I can see him in you’

Connors talks about Richard Parker when Peter visits.

Alternate Uncle Ben Death

In this version Ben finds Peter, but Peter ignores him. Ben follows him into the alley where he dies

Peter is more responsible for Ben’s death, the voicemail is set up, and Ben doesn’t grab the gun like an idiot

Connors' Condolences

Curt visits Peter with successful test-subject Freddy

Uncle Ben built bridges for a living- ‘America’s Cathedrals’.

Curt: You loved your Uncle? Then do something for him. Get to work. Build your own Cathedrals. We must be greater than what we suffer.

Extra emotional connection to Peter becoming Spider-Man (his Cathedral) on a bridge

Builds Peter & Curt’s mentor/mentee bond

Extended vigilante Peter fight

Better choreography

‘Becoming Spider Man’

1st Person POV sequence cut up in the theatrical version.

Also shows off the original, brighter colour-correction

Fighting Lizard across skyscrapers (pre-vis)

Great choreography here. I love their silhouettes flashing behind glass.

Extended Bridge Scene:

Peter talks to Dr. Ratha after saving him.

The boy Peter saves gives him his mask back- “so you’ll be strong”- and waves him off

Connors’ Family

Martha Connors was cast (Annie Parisse) and there’s footage of a scene with her and Curt in their garden

Connors visits his son after the Bridge, humanising him and giving insight into his mental state.

Ratha Spies on Connors

Also gives insight into Curt’s plan

Above and Below

Peter and Gwen grab takeout for a candlelit dinner on a clocktower (TASM2 foreshadowing?)

Contrasted with Connors losing his mind in the sewers, monologuing to the dead test-mouse Freddy- cut up in the Theatrical version

Curt: Peter Parker is Spider-Man. He’s gonna stop me, he’s gonna stop me. I’m afraid, I’m so afraid... Why should I be? I’m stronger than he is. I’m faster than he is. I can climb as high as he can. I have teeth, and claws, and a doctorate from Empire State University and Freddy I’m beautiful, aren’t I? Beautiful. What a feeling! What a feeling...

This feels like a Shakespearean soliloquy and shows off Ifans' acting ability as Curt succumbs to the Lizard personality

School Fight Alternate Ending

In the library Peter appeals to Curt’s humanity, triggering his transformation back to human form. Peter then helps him escape.

Curt takes Peter to his lab. They discuss Richard distrusting hm, whether Peter would give up his powers, and Connors’ plan

Curt quoting Michelangelo's Silkworm is my favourite Lizard moment, perfectly surmising his character:

“That, changing like the snake, I might be free / To cast off flesh wherein I dwell confined”

Ratha attacks them and sedates Peter

Lizard transforms, unhinges his jaw and eats Ratha

New York in Chaos and Extended Crane Swing (pre-vis)

Lizard people and rioters cause chaos- showing the fallout of Connor’s bio-weapon. The Theatrical cut just had lots of shots of people panicking.

Peter webs one up as he swings by

People cheer him on

Jameson reference

Extended: Lizard stalks Gwen (pre-vis)

Curt: Gwen? I know you’re here. Lizards smell through their tongue. Did you know that? I can taste your perfume. The bottle may say Jasmine but I can assure you it’s mostly rosewater... You see, my senses are highly keen. I don’t want to go back to the way I was. I want you, I want everyone to come join me. I promise, you won’t be disappointed... I don’t want to hurt you, Gwen. I’ve always been fond of you. Don’t make me hurt you Gwen.

Creepy stuff that acknowledges Curt was Gwen’s mentor

Cool shot of Lizard walking through the holo-tree

I prefer Gwen using the flamethrower in the Theatrical cut over charging him

Finale Lizard Dialogue (pre-vis 0:12)

Curt: I'm glad you came, Peter. You of all people deserve to see this.

Peter: I can't let you do this.

Curt: You'll have to kill me. Are you prepared to do that?

Peter: Let's find out.

Curt: Your father was weak. He ran. Are you going to run, Peter?

Peter: I’m not going anywhere.

Curt: We’re everything your father feared. He’d be disgusted by us.

Peter: He was your friend, and you betrayed him.

Curt: He betrayed me! He knew our work could give me back my arm, and he abandoned me!

Peter: We are who we chose to be. You can be greater than what you suffer. You can still choose. Right now, tonight. Be the hero.

Curt: A world without sickness, without weakness, without pain? I am the hero!

Addresses the emotional stakes far better: Calls back to Connors’ Condolences (”be greater than what you suffer") & touching on Richard

I like the web-shooter exploding in Lizard's mouth

Marry this with the stronger Theatrical action beats: Sync “Are you going to run, Peter?” with Curt yeeting him off of the building etc

Lost Something

Caps off to the eggs running-joke

A sweet moment between Peter and Aunt May that affirms Peter’s growth

Additional Cuts

(Though I feel these add nothing to or detract from the film):

Extended Testing Powers Montage that de-emphasises skateboarding

“Your Doorman is intimidating” Peter is forced to climb the fire escape to the Stacys’ apartment

Tracking Connors- Peter follows Curt to his hideout

Alternate Sewer Fight which I feel is less impactful

Bad Lizard- Curt licks a female student in the high-school, detracting from his sympathetic characterisation

Extended evading the NYPD in the finale - just an extra action beat

Tldr; Sony stripped the soul out of Marc Webb's film. Rhys Ifans was robbed.

TASM 2 DELETED SCENES

#tasm #tasm 1 #tasm 3 #andrew garfield #spiderman #spider-man: no way home #gwen stacy #marc webb #the amazing spider man #tasm 2 #emma stone #curt connors #rhys ifans #spider man #sm nwh #marvel #mcu #sony

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fe-fictions · 2 years

Note

Can you repost the Dimitri assassin fic along with the dog follow up fic?

(If you can request the sequel fic separately i can do that! ;; v ;; )

He wasn’t woken up by the sound of the assassin breaking in. The culprit had done so flawlessly. No, it was the shift in atmosphere. A feeling he’d experienced many times in the last five years. Many attempts on his life had come and gone, all of them failures.

He stirred when he felt a new presence in the room. His eye opened, finding a shadow. It loomed over his wife. A small vial in his hand.

Poison.

Assassin.

Dimitri roared to life in an instant. He launched off the bed and smashed the bastard to the floor before he could touch you. What woke you was the sound of furniture breaking, and the struggle of two men mere feet away.

You shot up with a gasp, grabbing your knife to assist. Dimitri had the man pinned, hand at his throat in seconds. The vial was long shattered by his fist.

“Who sent you?!” He shouted, hardened by adrenaline, “Who sent you to kill the Queen?!”

You were at his side with the blade at the man’s neck instead, giving Dimitri time to move his hand and pin the assassin down harder. The man groaned in pain, Dimitri’s strength no doubt hell on his bones.

“Tell us who sent you, and you may yet live!” The king spat, losing his patience. Instead, the assassin spat, turning away with a laugh.

“Long live Emperor Edelgard! Death to Faerghus-- Death to the Church! Death to-”

Dimitri knocked him out without hesitation. You cringed at the heavy sound.

“....Are you sure you didn’t kill him?”

You retracted the knife and looked to your husband, who still breathed heavily. Rage glimmered in his eyes.

“It wouldn’t have been in one strike if I did.” Dimitri glowered. The guards burst in moments later, Seteth at the helm.

The crashing and shouting seemed to have alerted the whole monastery. It just took too long to get everyone there.

Dimitri planned to have a very long conversation with Seteth, later-- had he not been there with you, you likely would have died.

His heart clenched at the mere thought.

Guards hauled away the man, leaving you to recover yourself with the king.

A few choice words were shared with Seteth, who assured you both that the separate bedroom would be prepared for the two of you and would be covered top to bottom in security; he would see to it personally.

It did little to ease either of your nerves; you were both riding high on adrenaline you didn’t ask for.

Several quiet seconds ticked by, before Dimitri took hold of your shoulders.

“Do you feel all right? Are you feeling ill, or were you hurt, or…?”

“No-- I think you stopped it before anything could truly happen.”

He nodded slowly, his hands slowly falling away. “Good…”

You followed his trailing gaze to the open window. He locked it back again, searching for any other potential security breaches.

He was not handling the stress well; he was muttering to himself angrily, kicking away broken furniture and decorations. The murderous glint in his eyes had yet to fade.

You went to his side quietly, slipping your hand down his back.

“Dima?” He glanced down at you, expression tight and unchanging. “We’re okay. Neither of us were harmed.”

“...I...I know. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were a target. That man wanted to kill you.”

Your nod was silent in his reply. You rested your head on his shoulder.

“I’m okay, Dima. All thanks to you.”

“Hm.”

He brought his arm around your shoulders, hugging you close.

“...Do you think you can return to sleep, Beloved?”

“I doubt it.” You admitted, “I have too many questions to risk sleep.”

“I agree. Let’s follow after Seteth. I’m we can keep ourselves busy.”

He pulled you closer, kissing the side of your head.

“I...am relieved...you are all right.”

You cupped his face, beaming up at him despite the anxiety that gnawed at you. “Thank you for saving me, Dima.”

“I would do it a thousand times over.” He swore to you, his frown still deep and troubled. “Until you are safe from everything.”

That drew a soft laugh. “I doubt that’s possible, dear.”

“Hmph. I’ll prove it to you.”

“If anyone could,” You sank into him, softly embracing one another. “It’s you.”

#dimitri #byleth #fe 16 #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimileth #dimitri x byleth #f!byleth #fe fictions #fe-fictions #angst #hurt and comfort #assassin prompt #a good good prompt #one of my personal faves for dima #reawakening the feral man is always a good idea for stories #bad idea for assassins tho

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reddriot · 3 years

Text

I Spy Love ✧ Takami Keigo

Takami Keigo (Hawks) x Reader ✧ 9.9k words

Synopsis ✧ You’ve never gotten along with Keigo. He makes it his job to get under your skin, and the competition you have with him at work doesn’t help either. But when you get assigned on a mission together, you may find that there’s more to your fellow agent than just jokes, pranks, and sarcasm.

Tags and Warnings ✧ Spy au, action romcom vibes, rivals to lovers, fake marriage, cursing, mentions of alcohol, violence, fluff, happy ending.

Note ✧ This is written as part of bnharem’s workplace collab! It was a lot of fun, and I especially enjoyed sprinting with my fellow writers. Check out their amazing works here. A huge thank you to @cellotonin @ererokii @meliorist-midoriya for being my wonderful beta readers, I love you three so much!!

–

Takami "Hawks" Keigo is one of the worst agents you've ever had the non-privilege of working with. He's at least competent, thank goodness, otherwise he'd be at the complete bottom of your list. But he has a talent for getting under your skin like no other.

And surprise, surprise, that's exactly what he's doing now.

Keigo walks into the room, a manilla folder in his hands. You look up briefly at the movement, and are about to return to your work, when his eyes lock onto yours and a smug smile spreads across his face. You groan, eyes rolling. Looks like you won’t be getting work done anytime soon.

“What do you want, Takami?” you ask, frowning as he approaches your desk.

“Nothing,” he replies, voice light, “except to show you this.” He slaps the folder onto your desk, and leans in toward you, pointing a finger down at the folder. “Mission accomplished.”

You raise a brow. “Congrats. You’ve done exactly what you’re paid to do.”

“Sure, sure.” He snickers, unaffected by the disinterest in your tone. He walks toward one of the whiteboards mounted on the wall, picking up a bright red marker and uncapping it. “The best part about completing my mission is…” he pauses to erase a 72 on the board and write in a 73. The marker squeaks as it rubs across the white surface, and you have to hold yourself back from wincing.

“The best part is, I’m in the lead. Seventy-three to seventy-two, looks like you’re slacking off this year! And there’s not much time left, let’s see how you plan on beating me now. C’mon, why don’t you save yourself the trouble and admit defeat already, hm?” His golden eyes are bright, trained on you to catch the slightest change in expression.

But he doesn’t receive the glare he usually gets from you. Instead, an equally smug smile curls your lips as an alert pops onto your computer screen.

“Excuse me,” you say, getting up from your desk. “I have to meet with the Director now. After all–” You raise a hand, fingers pinching a manilla folder. “–I have to file this completed mission.”

Satisfaction fills you as the smile on Keigo’s face turns into a look of sheer astonishment. You walk past him, pausing to pat him lightly on the chest. “Since you’re at the board, why don’t you help change my score? I appreciate it, little birdie.”

All he can do is watch as you strut away, the manilla folder taunting him from within your grasp.

“Ooh, Keigo,” Usagiyama Rumi calls from her desk, having paused in her work to watch the exchange. “I think you’ll need some ice for those burns!”

Keigo flushes and growls, wiping away the 72 on your side of the scoreboard and writing in a 73. “Nobody asked, Rumi.”

–

Both of you spend the next few days filing paperwork for the cases you completed this past year. There’s no shortage of snarky comments in the office, and your other coworkers sit back to enjoy the free entertainment.

One afternoon, you get an email from the Director to go to her office. You brighten up, knowing that this likely means you’ll be assigned a new case. The fact that you’ll be pulling ahead in this little contest you have with Keigo is the cherry on top.

But when you step into the Director’s office, shutting the door behind you, a certain coworker greets you with a cheeky two-fingered salute.

“What is he doing here?” The question spills out of your mouth before you can swallow it down, and your lips press together at being unprofessional right in front of your boss.

Keigo holds back a snicker, though the dancing light in his eyes tells you that he’s laughing at you.

“He,” the Director starts, “is going to be your partner on this new assignment.”

Your eyes and Keigo’s eyes grow comically wide.

“Partner?!” both of you squawk, and your boss coughs to cover a laugh.

“I work better alone!” you cry out. Your voice trembles slightly and you have to force your next words to come out steady as you shoot to your feet, pointing at Keigo. “How am I supposed to work with someone who never takes things seriously?”

“Well,” Keigo retorts, hand gesturing at you as he jumps up too, “how am I supposed to work with someone who never loosens up?”

The Director sighs. “Sit. Down.” The two of you obey, and sit silently as she shuffles some papers before speaking again. She first addresses you. “I know your reservations about working with a partner, and I wouldn’t assign you to this case if I didn’t have to.” Once you nod, she now talks to both of you. “It’s unfortunate that you feel this way about each other. But I need you two on this case. We have reason to believe one of Japan’s high-level government officials is distributing sensitive information about our country to the highest paying foreign government.”

She slides a picture across her desk. You exchange looks with Keigo before leaning in to study the man printed on the page. Greying hair, brown eyes, wrinkles around thin lips turned down in a frown.

“Kiyoshi Suguru, the Minister of Defense?” Keigo asks, surprise in his voice.

“Yes. He booked a room in one of the best hotels in Japan, at the same time a few visiting diplomats are supposed to be staying. The information exchange will take place here, and we’ll need you to catch Kiyoshi in the act for us to arrest him. We’ve booked you a room as close to Kiyoshi’s as possible. You need to depart tomorrow, and be prepared for his arrival for the day after.”

“Director,” you interrupt, “did you say a room? As in one singular room for the two of us?”

Keigo makes a noise of disgust, and you wrinkle your nose at him.

You don’t like the way the Director’s lips twitch, as if she’s holding back a smile. “Apologies, agents, did I forget to tell you? You’ll be going in as a newlywed couple, pretending to be on your honeymoon at the hotel.”

“We’re what?!”

–

You stalk back into the office with a thunderous expression on your face. Quiet footsteps follow you, but you’d much rather ignore your soon-to-be-roommate until you have to face him for the case.

Of all people, why Keigo? You’d much rather be partnered with Rumi, Shouta, Hizashi, or even Touya. But Keigo? It makes you shudder to think about being so close to him for multiple days on end.

He’ll be lucky if he makes it through one night without you strangling him in his sleep.

–

“Put your stuff in the back and get in.” You yawn and rub at your eyes as Keigo pops open the trunk to place his suitcase in.

“How come you get to drive?” he complains, getting into the car.

You glance at him briefly, before turning your attention to the road as you pull out of the parking lot. “Because we all know how you drive, Hawks. ‘Too fast for your own good’ or something. I’d like to make it to the hotel in one piece, thanks.”

Keigo’s eyes roll and he groans at your response. “And this is exactly why I don’t want to work with you. You’re so… uptight all the time. Loosen up a little! Have some fun, especially when it isn’t necessary to be serious! Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

It stings a little to hear that your coworker thinks of you like this. But his comments only remind you of why you don’t want to work with him. “I’m serious when I’m on the job, even more so when it comes to people’s safety. There’s plenty of time to have fun outside of work, and even in the office, but I don’t turn every moment into a joke, unlike some people,” you spit. “I don’t hate fun, I just don’t agree with your work ethic.”

Your words make Keigo scoff. He doesn’t believe you, and he doesn’t get your distaste for how he works. He completes just as many cases done as you do, and he does them just as well—if not better. But as a spy, he’s sometimes tasked with doing things most people would shy away from, so he chooses to put up a carefree and teasing front while his mind whirls away behind his sharp, golden eyes.

“Disagree all you want, but I’m not the one that’ll put our cover at risk. How are you supposed to be a newlywed with an attitude like that?”

“My attitude will be a million times nicer if you become a million times less annoying. And don’t worry. I won’t be the one to jeopardize our disguise.”

“If you say so,” Keigo replies, though his tone tells you he has no confidence in you at all. “What about our backstory, then? We have tons of interesting options to choose from; take your pick.”

“They already gave us fake profiles with a story and everything. You haven’t memorized it?”

“I looked it over, but it’s bland. Nobody is going to believe us if there’s only two pages of personal history between us, especially since we’re married. C’mon, you must have an imagination in that pretty head of yours, use it!”

“My pretty what?”

Keigo winces.

“First of all, if you say one more thing like that while we’re in the car, I’ll make sure we go too fast for your own good. Have you ever wanted to see what the bottom of a bridge looks like?” You ask the question lightly, keeping a tight rein on your anger.

The quick change of your demeanor is almost unsettling to Keigo, but he pretends to be unfazed. “Nope! Can’t say I have.”

“Hmm, disappointing. Let’s make sure it remains that way, then. And second of all, if you really want a backstory, how about this: office romance. Close enough to the truth that it’s easy to remember, mundane enough that it shouldn’t be too interesting. You were the insufferable coworker that fell in love with me, and somehow wormed your way into my heart.”

“I don’t–”

“Bridge. Remember?”

Keigo sighs and stares out the window. “Fine. Sounds fantastic, prince- uh, partner.”

You smile, all teeth and glinting eyes. “Perfect.”

Silence falls, and lasts all the way to the hotel. You steel yourself for the days ahead, where you and your infuriating coworker will have to get this case done. Keigo muses about your attitude toward him while in the office and in the car, and wonders if it’ll be possible for both of you to play a married couple.

If the two of you can’t manage to settle and focus on the case, this might be the first major mission you fail this year. And regardless of how you feel about Keigo, failure would be unacceptable.

–

You get into the hotel with no issues, except for an ache in Keigo’s foot as a result of him calling you “my sweet songbird” in front of the receptionist. Even he had to admit the stomp he received from you was well deserved.

The hotel room is spacious and well decorated, as expected of a five star hotel in Japan. The only problem is the large bed that’s pushed against one wall of the room.

“I am not sharing a bed with you,” you hiss, jabbing a finger into Keigo’s side as soon as the door shuts behind you.

He swats your hand away. “Then don’t! The couch is right there.”

“Wonderful. Why don’t you take it then?”

“Mmm, no thanks.”

You wrinkle your nose at Keigo. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, we have a few rooms we need to bug.”

Setting your bags on the floor, you pull out a suitcase and unzip it, feeling along the inside until your fingers pass over a few bumps. Moments later, a couple of tiny listening chips rest in your hand.

Keigo takes two from you, leaving two for yourself. His other hand holds the key card for Kiyoshi’s room, given to him by the tech support in the office. “Room 403, two down the hall from us. Ready to go?”

At your nod, he opens the door to your hotel room, holding it for you to exit first. You smile slightly in thanks, and he gives a cheeky wink back.

“See, I’m not a completely terrible person,” he says as you walk down the hall. The coast is clear, so you don’t have to hold hands with Keigo and pretend to be a married couple right now.

“I never said you were terrible,” you protest. “I just… can’t see myself getting along with you.”

“Because I’m someone who ‘never takes things seriously.’”

“Yeah. You’re always joking around. I get that because of our job, it helps to find amusement when you can, but I can’t work with someone who’s like that all the time.” You breathe deeply and look into Keigo’s eyes. “I need to know that my partner has my back, and will take care of what needs to be done, especially when it matters the most. I don’t feel that from you.”

Golden eyes narrow. “It’s because of your former partner.”

“H-hiro.” The name is glass on your tongue as you force it out.

“He hurt you.”

Your eyes are dark with sorrow, and your smile only tells of pain. “Doesn’t everyone hurt others, sometimes?”

He opens his mouth to try and comfort you, or to make a joke, anything to wipe the sadness away–

There’s a ding of the elevator and faint voices tickle at your ears. You’re snapped out of the weird atmosphere, and kicked into action.

Keigo slides the key card into Kiyoshi’s hotel room. The light flicks green, the door swings open, and you rush in after him, taking care to shut the door quietly behind you.

He whistles, low and long. “Damn.”

This hotel room is even larger than the one you and Keigo share. There’s an actual office, a kitchen and bar, and a bathroom with a bathtub big enough for two people. Tall glass windows span from the floor to the ceiling, and a glass door leads out to a balcony that overlooks pale sandy beaches and bright blue waves.

“Bathroom and office,” you call out, moving to those rooms to plant your listening devices.

The cabinet under the sink is the perfect place for your first one. It’s dark and shadowed even with both doors open, so you stick the bug in the back corner. And a few seconds after you stick it down, the device turns into a deep brown that matches the cabinet. You can’t tell it apart from the wood anymore.

You pass Keigo as you move into the office. He’s installing a bug behind the TV, and a small smile makes its way on your face. You would have planted one there too.

After you place your second bug under the desk in the office, you meet Keigo back in the main room.

“All good?” you ask him.

“They’ll never see a thing.” Keigo pockets the key card to this room, and tilts his head to the door. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Right when his hand is about to push down the handle, gruff voices speak right outside the door.

You both freeze. Your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“Boss wants us to do a sweep of the room before he comes up. Get it over with quickly, he has important people to meet.”

Before the person even finishes speaking, you and Keigo are running across the room to the balcony door, unlocking it and sliding it open as quickly and as quietly as possible. You slip out first, head turning, trying to find a place to hide.

There’s two metal chairs and a table—both of which offer no protection. And glass windows stretch from floor to ceiling, so as soon as anyone enters the hotel room, they’ll spot you outside right away.

There’s only one option left.

You look at Keigo, then your eyes flicker to the railing on the balcony.

He groans, rolls his shoulders, and wipes his palms down his pants. “If you don’t know how to fly, sweetheart, hold on tight.” With that, he strides to the side and swings his legs over the rails. Turning to face you, he winks, smirks, and steps off the edge.

Your heart skips a beat, but his hands wrap around the railing at the very bottom, and you can breathe again.

Now it’s your turn.

The cloth of your pants is rough against your hands when you rub your palms against them once, then twice to make sure they’re dry. Your motions are stiff as you step over the balcony railing. You wish you could take your time making sure your hold is secure, but the door to the hotel room is opening up inward, and you know you can’t be seen.

So you step off the ledge. Painted metal scrapes against your palms as your hands slide down the railings. Your body jolts when your hands reach the bottom, shoulders aching from the weight of carrying yourself.

Both of you stay quiet as voices fill Kiyoshi’s hotel room. They’re doing a quick search by the sounds of it, just looking for obvious signs of things being out of place. And thank goodness it’s a quick search, because the longer you hang here, the more your arms start to ache, and the more your palms start to sweat.

“How’re you hanging, partner?”

The whisper makes you snap your head to the side, eyes narrowed at Keigo. “If you make me laugh I’m actually going to fall and you’ll have a big problem on your hands.”

“Okay, okay, no jokes. For now.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “I’ll be full of suspense waiting for your next one.”

You love the way Keigo’s eyes widen and his lips part in surprise. “I- What- Did you just make a joke?”

You actually snicker, and try to hide your face in your arm so the sound doesn’t travel. “I told you, I’m not entirely against fun.”

“Well, I definitely had to see it to believe it.” Keigo grins at you. It’s a bright and amused smile that makes him look even more handsome and–

You blink hard. Where on earth was your mind trying to wander? “By the way,” you muse, “why on earth are we hanging here when there’s a balcony below us?”

Before Keigo can even completely register the question, you let go of the railing and fall for a few seconds, wincing at the impact. There’s not enough space for you to roll out the momentum, so a slight pain tingles at your ankles, but it’s not bad.

A soft thump signals Keigo’s landing. “The answer to that question is: because I didn’t look down.”

“You’ve never heard of ‘look before you leap?’”

“I’m Hawks, sweetheart. I don’t have to look if I can fly.”

You roll your eyes and swat at his arm. “I still have no clue how you got that nickname.”

“First it was the speedy driving. That’s why people started calling me ‘a man too fast for his own good.’ The nickname itself comes from a drunken dare–”

“As most weird nicknames come from,” you add.

“–a drunken dare from Touya and Rumi. I don’t remember getting to the tattoo parlor, but I definitely remember sobering up in the chair as I’m getting red hawk wings tattooed on my back. So, hawk wings and speed gets you the nickname ‘Hawks.��”

Your eyes widen, then you laugh. “You got a huge tattoo while drunk? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

A smile spreads across Keigo’s face, pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you. “If you don’t believe me, I can show you the evidence anytime. Just say the word.”

“No thanks,” you scoff, though a traitorous part of you whispers maybe a peek. “If you want to get shirtless that badly, you can do that in your free time when we’re not on a case and when we’re not stuck on a balcony. Speaking of which, I think they’re gone now.”

Both of you stay silent for a few moments, ears straining to listen for footsteps or voices from above.

“Let me check,” Keigo says. He steps onto one of the balcony chairs, then moves onto the table. Then he jumps, incredibly high for a man of his height, and his hands wrap around the railing up above.

He looks a little strange from this angle as he wiggles to pull himself up and peek inside the hotel room. You definitely don’t notice the strip of honeyed skin and a smattering of dark blonde hair that is revealed as his shirt lifts a bit higher than his pants.

No, you don’t notice it at all.

“All clear!” He peers down at you. “You coming up or what? Let’s go before the man himself shows up.”

You shake your head to clear away thoughts about him, and get onto the table. With a leap, your hands grasp the railing of the balcony above. Your body swings back and forth as you pull yourself up little by little, before you finally can get your feet on the ledge. Glancing up, Keigo is standing with his back to you as he slides the door open.

You step one leg over the railing onto the safe side. Thankful that the whole ordeal is almost over, you start to relax. But as you’re bringing the other leg over, your shoe catches on the top of the railing and you lose your balance on the one leg you’re standing on.

You’re falling, you’re falling–

A noise of alarm escapes you, and Keigo whirls around, eyes wide. He’s at your side in an instant.

“I got you, sweetheart.”

Warm hands catch you by the shoulders, steading you while you free your foot from the railing. Once you’re no longer in danger of tripping, you look into Keigo’s eyes.

You really mean it when you say, “Thank you.” Not just for him catching you, but for his ‘I got you.’ In this moment, you truly believe that he has your back, and some part of you is growing softer, hopeful that he’ll be there for the rest of the mission.

Keigo nods, seeming to know that you mean more. A moment later, he withdraws his hands, leaving your shoulders cold.

“Let’s go,” he says, walking across the hotel room.

You watch him for a moment, with gentle eyes and a soft smile, then move to follow. He holds the door open for you as you both slip out, and another part of your walls crumble even more.

–

The two of you spend a few hours in the hotel room, checking to make sure the bugs are connected to the laptop, and making sure all your other gear is ready. You also call in to headquarters, where they tell you that Kiyoshi arrived earlier because one of the diplomats has to leave tomorrow.

“No wonder his bodyguards are already here,” you say to Keigo, who sits to your right as both of you stare at the computer screen.

He nods. “So that means we should be able to wrap this up in three days at most. Figure out who Kiyoshi is going to sell the information to, catch him in the act, and arrest him.”

“Exactly.”

“Now that it’s all settled, let’s get some food. I’m hungry.” Keigo stands up from his chair and stretches, reaching toward the ceiling until something in his back pops.

You wrinkle your nose at the sound and stay seated, eyes glued to the computer.

“What?” he asks.

He peers at the screen, resting his hands on the back of your chair and leaning forward, his chest just a breath away from your back. There’s a slightly musky scent in the air—Keigo’s cologne, you realize. The warmth of his body makes you stiffen, knowing just how close he is. And yet he brings himself even closer, one arm stretching out before you, a finger tapping lightly on the screen.

“You know, staring at the screen all day won’t make the bugs pick up anything faster.” His voice is light and teasing, at complete odds with the rigid wall of your back. “Kiyoshi hasn’t even gotten to his room yet; he’s probably been meeting with some of the diplomats. Which means we should be out of this room, and be a happy couple on our honeymoon. Besides,” he adds, more calmly, “you need to eat.”

There’s a few moments of silence, before you nod. “Okay, fine. Let’s go eat.”

“Great!” Keigo steps away, moving to put on his shoes.

Shutting the laptop with a shake of your head, you take a deep breath to clear away your thoughts. Lunch. Right. You can do it.

After slipping on a pair of shoes, you grab your wallet and join Keigo by the door. He looks through the peephole and holds up a finger, signaling that one person is in the hallway.

“Time to put on a show,” he murmurs. “In three, two, one- After you, sweetheart.” He pulls open the door and gestures with his hand, letting you exit first.

You walk backwards through the doorway, facing him as you giggle and pull on his arm. “You’re so sweet. Why did I wait so long to marry you?”

He chuckles. The warm and husky sound sends tingles down your spine. “You tell me. I knew you already captured my heart on week one. Even though– Watch out!”

A tug on your hands sends you stumbling into Keigo’s side, and he’s quick to wrap a protective arm around you. You blink at him in shock, then look at whoever he was saving you from running into.

Your heart skips a beat. But you’re a trained agent, and a good one at that, so you keep up your act and gasp in delighted surprise—instead of in horror.

“You’re the Minister of Defense! I’m so sorry for nearly running into you; my husband was distracting me and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and I–”

“No need to worry,” Kiyoshi says smoothly, cutting off your rambling. He’s smiling slightly, but his brown eyes are unsettling. “Although I have to admit, I’m surprised that you recognized me.”

“My husband is really into politics. The TV is often on whatever channel is reporting about the latest updates, and he talks about it a lot when we have dinner together!”

“I’m always afraid that I might be boring, but I’m lucky enough to be with someone that can put up with me.” Keigo smiles and laughs, and Kiyoshi chuckles along too. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minister.”

The two men shake hands, and Kiyoshi nods at you both. “Nice to meet you both, but unfortunately, I have to depart. I have some business to attend to.”

“Oh, of course!” you say. “You must have lots of important things to do. We don’t want to hold you back from that!”

Keigo nods and drops his arm from your shoulders. He bends it and offers it out to you; ever the gentleman. “Shall we, darling?”

You smile at him and rest your hand on his arm. With a small wave to Kiyoshi, both of you continue down the hall to the elevators, where you get in and press the floor for the dining areas. Once the doors shut in front of you, both of you sigh and step away from each other.

“What a coincidence,” you say.

“Sure was! Thank goodness for my fast reflexes, or else you would have run over the Minister, and our trip would be over.”

You roll your eyes. You can’t outright talk about your mission in public, but you know what he’s trying to say. “Hey, you should be thanking me. You got to meet the Minister of Defense, and I know you’re such a big fan.”

He pretends to gag, and you laugh. Then the elevator doors open with a ding, and the two of you step out onto the new floor, hand in hand with adoring looks in your eyes.

It’s time for lunch, and you must continue playing your parts.

–

Lunch is delicious, as expected of a restaurant in a five star hotel. Having a full stomach makes you feel better and ready to return to work, so you return to your room and open up the computer.

Since Kiyoshi has been in his room, the listening devices have picked up audio, so you and Keigo sit down to listen through it. Kiyoshi has made multiple phone calls over the past hour to different diplomats, as they organize a dinner where all of them will discuss their offers.

You look at Keigo. “We need to know what happens at that dinner table.”

He nods, pacing across the room as he thinks out loud. “We need to plant a bug at the table, but there hasn’t been any mention of where they’ll sit. There’s definitely a limited number of tables that will seat so many people, but it’ll be suspicious if we poke around, especially if any of his bodyguards or the other diplomats see. It’ll have to be during the meal—we can be down there earlier to see them come in.” He trails off, before spinning around to face you, face bright as he has an idea.

“How good are you at playing drunk?”

You consider the question for a second, then roll your head back and let out a groan. “I can do it if we absolutely need me to.”

Keigo smirks. “Oh, we absolutely need you to.”

–

And that is why you find yourself stumbling down the hallway after dinner, supporting yourself against the wall with one hand, while the other clutches your wallet.

“H-honey?” you mumble, words slurring. “Where’s the elevator?” There’s no response, but you keep walking forward, until your hand no longer meets the wall and you wobble through a doorway. “Oh!”

The heads of five diplomats, seven bodyguards, and the Minister of Defense snap toward you as all conversation stops abruptly.

You smile and wave, though your eyes cross slightly. “I’m s-sorry–” you hiccup, “–this isn’t the elevator. Oh look! It’s the Minister!”

A thunderous look passes over Kiyoshi’s face, but it’s gone in an instant as he gets out of his seat, offering placating smiles and apologetic looks to the diplomats as he makes his way to you.

“What are you doing here? Where is your husband?” he asks. He places his hands on your shoulders to steady you—much like what Keigo did on the balcony—but his grip is tight and digs into your skin.

“He’s, uh, paying for dinner! I told him- I told him I’d get the elevator, but I found you instead!” you giggle and place your hands on Kiyoshi’s wrist, trying to keep your balance as you sway on your feet.

Some of the other diplomats snicker at you, but you don’t care. After all, you’re doing exactly what you need to do.

“There you are!” Keigo’s voice comes from behind you. “I was looking for you, sweetheart, where have you been?”

You let go of Kiyoshi’s wrists, reaching behind you for Keigo’s hand. His skin is warm and slightly calloused under yours. You tap a finger twice on his palm, and he squeezes twice back. “Hi! I found the Minister instead of the elevator.”

“I can see that,” he says, with amusement and embarrassment in his voice. He focuses his attention on Kiyoshi. “I apologize, we might have had a bit too much to drink during dinner. We’re on our honeymoon, you see.”

Kiyoshi nods briskly and lets go of your shoulders. You sway backward into Keigo’s chest, and his grip on you is so much more safe.

“Enjoy your honeymoon. I must get back to my own dinner, but please return to your hotel room safely.”

“Ah, yes!” Keigo dips his head to the other people in the room. “I apologize for the interruption; I’m sure you all know how lightweights can get. Thank you for your time, Minister.”

He offers his hand for the Minister to shake. Kiyoshi takes it, and Keigo claps his other hand on the man’s wrist, bowing as low as he can go with you leaning against him. A moment later, Keigo withdraws and places a hand on your back, the other holding your hand to lead you out of the room.

–

Kiyoshi watches your departure, brown eyes cold and hard, even as the other diplomats laugh about how silly you were and what a wonderful husband you have. He fiddles with his sleeves, creasing the folds so his cuffs are the exact width he prefers. Then he returns to his seat, saying, “Let us return to the topic at hand. What do you have to offer in exchange for my information?”

–

You stumble into the elevator with Keigo right beside you, a dazed smile on your face as you nod to the other hotel guests.

As the elevator brings you back down to the fourth floor, you continue to play the part of a lightweight. One hand reaches up behind you to rest at the base of Keigo’s neck, and you gently play with the soft strands of his hair. When your nails lightly scrape against his skin, he can’t stop the shiver that courses through him. You feel it, since you’re pressed against him, so you smile at him and giggle.

He rests a hand on your hip and squeezes gently; a warning.

You blink at him with wide eyes, and this time, intentionally run your nails lightly down his neck.

Golden eyes darken into an amber, and the hand on your hip squeezes once again. This time, you shiver too.

The elevator jolts as it arrives at your floor, breaking the tension between you two. Keigo leads you out, nodding to the others in the elevator as you pass by on wobbly legs. You keep up the act all the way to your hotel room, though both of you pick up the speed.

Once Keigo shuts and locks the door behind you, both of you race to the laptop and open it up. The app that is tracking all the listening devices is recording, and you click on the fifth live recording.

Kiyoshi’s voice comes through loudly and crisply, and Keigo looks at you, impressed.

“Where the hell did you stick the thing?” he asks when there’s a lull in the dinner negotiations.

Your smile is smug. “In the cuffs of his sleeve, while he was steadying me.”

Keigo’s face darkens, and he leans closer toward you. “He was holding onto you pretty tightly. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. He didn’t do anything that I couldn’t do to him a hundred times worse. Why?” you ask, voice turning light, “Was the pretty birdie worried about me?”

“Yep I was worried, but only if you were calling me pretty.” He winks, then turns serious again. “I’m all for getting close to attractive people, but only with their consent.”

“I know, Takami. You’re not the type of person to do things to someone if they don’t want you to.”

He nods. Keigo is glad that your view of him seems to be getting better and better with every hour that you spend together on this assignment. It probably helps that he’s not purposely trying to annoy you all the time, and focuses on the mission, especially at critical moments.

Both of you spend the next hour by the laptop, listening to the conversation Kiyoshi has with the diplomats. They talk, and negotiate, and some of the diplomats get more aggressive.

Finally, Kiyoshi makes a decision. He sends the other diplomats away except one, and they continue to talk about the deal. But neither you nor Keigo hear anything about the time or location of the exchange, and you grow more and more antsy.

“What if Kiyoshi noticed something is off?” you ask Keigo. Kiyoshi and the diplomat have separated, and he’s probably returning to his hotel room.

He frowns, thinking, then shakes his head. “Don’t think so. He’ll probably talk in his room and we’ll be able to catch the information. I’ll keep listening; you can go use the bathroom and get ready to sleep.”

“Sleep on the bed, right?”

Keigo scoffs. “As if! I still have to fight you for that. And it’s a fight I plan on winning.”

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” you say with a laugh. You get out a change of clothes and head to the bathroom, and he returns to the laptop with a smile on his face.

–

When you exit the bathroom, Keigo is pacing the room as he’s on his phone. You listen in on his half of the conversation, knowing that something must have come up by the way he’s moving and talking.

“He said seven in the morning, at the abandoned warehouse further down the beach.” A pause as he listens to the other person, before he says, “Yes, it’s an odd place. But that’s what he said on the phone with the diplomat.”

Your eyes widen and you sit in front of the laptop, pulling up a map of the nearby area. A piece of paper rests on the table with scribbles in Keigo’s handwriting—an address—and you type it into the map.

The place is definitely sketchy; a large, concrete building with cracked or missing windows and vines growing up the walls. Nobody would voluntarily go there, unless they were up to something they didn’t want others to see.

That’s definitely what Kiyoshi wants to do.

“We’ll go in tomorrow, before seven. Make a quick loop of the place, put up some cameras to collect proof, and wait until he arrives.

“Fine. We won’t engage unless they see us; we’ll wait for backup for the arrest. Understood, Director. Goodnight.”

He hangs up and looks at you, and you nod. “I got the gist of it, but update me quickly. Looks like it’ll be an early morning for us.”

Keigo tells you everything, and it confirms what you’ve gathered from listening to him on the phone. “Now get some sleep,” he finishes. “I don’t want you to be all cranky in the morning.”

“I’ll be less cranky if I get to sleep on a nice, comfortable bed,” you say. “You’d want that for your partner, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah.” His voice is rather fond, and your eyes grow wide. “You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Besides, we’re in a five star hotel, how bad can it be?”

–

As it turns out, even in five star hotels, the couches can be pretty uncomfortable to sleep on.

You can’t fall asleep because of the constant creaking of springs. Each time Keigo turns, probably because he can’t find a comfortable spot, the sound is piercing in the quiet of the night. And you know he’s trying to keep still, but even if he just tries to shift just a little, the squeaking fills your ears.

After a solid hour of this, you sit up. You’ve had enough.

“Takami.”

The couch creaks again as he jolts in surprise, before he sits up too. “Uh, sorry, am I being too loud? This couch has more springs than–”

“Come here.” Your words are a bit more hesitant, but Keigo hears them all the same.

“I– What? Did you–”

“If you say another word I’m taking back my offer, and you know both of us are going to suffer for it. So come here, sleep on the bed, but on your half only.” The words spill out of your mouth as you scramble to put some extra pillows in the middle of the bed. Once you’ve created a soft barrier that you’re pleased with, you lay back down, turn your back to him, and pull the covers up.

“Goodnight.”

Keigo is speechless. He never thought that you’d offer to share a bed, especially not with the way both of you were arguing just this morning. But he’s not going to question it too much, not with the way his back aches from laying on the stiff couch for an hour.

So he gets into bed on his half, trying his best to not shift the mattress too much, and pulls up the blankets. As his eyes slide closed and he drifts off into sleep, he hopes that tomorrow will go just as smoothly as today. And he hopes that when the two of you return to the office, you’ll both continue to get along—with the usual teasing and sarcasm—and maybe one day, you’ll call him by his first name.

–

“Cameras in the north and east are installed and on,” you say quietly. You crouch underneath a window before taking a cautious peek outside. The coast is clear; Kiyoshi hasn’t arrived yet.

A second later, Keigo’s warm voice fills your ears. “South one is installed, I’m on my way to the west one. Start heading back to the office rooms on the second floor, that’s a good vantage point for us.”

“Got it. Be fast, it’s getting close to seven.” You start making your way to one of the ladders, scaling it to get to the second floor.

“Is that concern I hear in your voice?”

“I don’t know, Hawks, is it? There must be something messing with your earpiece.”

He chuckles, then both of you fall silent as you focus on your tasks.

Once you get to the second floor, you look over the balcony railing. This warehouse is built a bit strangely, with multiple walkways that form a second floor, overlooking the main open area below. There are some offices on the east wall, and that’s where you head now.

As you slip through the office doors, something crackles through your earpiece.

You frown. “Hawks? You okay?”

There’s no response. You try again. “Takami? Can you respond?” A pause, then, “If you’re trying to pull something on me, this isn’t funny!”

You’re panicking a bit now, getting jittery as you pace through the offices. He hasn’t left you, right? He wouldn’t have just ditched you as a joke, would he? If he did, you’ll never be able to trust him again–

There’s another crackle of static, then Keigo’s voice finally comes through. You breathe a sigh of relief. But then his words, teasing yet so cold, have you freezing in place. “Woah, woah, woah, gentlemen! You don’t have to be so rough here. Four of you, and Kiyoshi too? I’m not going anywhere.”

Only five people total? Why isn’t Keigo fighting his way out of there then? He’d definitely make it; you know he’s been on missions with worse odds than this.

“Hey, hey! Hands off! I’m just out here for a stroll before I go sightseeing later today. It’s not my problem if you don’t believe–”

A lot of shuffling comes through your earpiece, then a clatter, and a crunch. You can’t hear anything through it anymore.

But you hear plenty when you move to the office door and open it a crack. Voices bounce off the walls of the warehouse, and you can see what’s happening in the middle of the building.

Keigo isn’t even trying to struggle as two bodyguards grip his arms and force him to walk.

You blink, realization dawning. Then you groan quietly. “You idiot,” you mumble. He wants you to continue with the plan, so you can catch Kiyoshi. But since this is a set up—speaking of which, how did Kiyoshi figure it out?—you’ll have to confirm that he stole the information and has it on him, before you can call in to headquarters to make the arrest.

Pulling out your phone, you send off a text to the office. “Hawks is captured, but can continue with the plan. Will notify once evidence is gathered, and arrest can be made.”

Seconds later, you receive a response. The message contains only one word: understood.

So really, it’s all up to Keigo. For now, you’ll just stay hidden and listen, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

–

“I knew there was something off about you,” Kiyoshi hisses. He stands in front of Keigo, who’s tied to a chair.

“You’re on your honeymoon, but you spent so much time in the hotel, and got your spouse drunk while you went off on your own. Then you came back and shook my hand, placing your hand on my sleeve, where I later discovered a listening device.”

Keigo smirks. So Kiyoshi didn’t know that you were the one who slipped the bug into his sleeve, and probably doesn’t suspect you at all. He’ll have to remember to compliment you—or tease you—for it later.

“Punch him,” Kiyoshi commands. He looks to his bodyguard. “I don’t like the look on his face.”

Keigo squawks, offended. “This is just my face!”

But the bodyguard does as ordered, and a large fist collides against cheekbone and jaw, snapping Keigo’s head to the side. His head hangs low from the impact, and he huffs for breath, before slowly looking back up. Pain radiates from the blow, and metal coats his tongue from his teeth cutting into his cheek.

“Damn,” he drawls. “If your bodyguard hits this softly, I bet your punches hurt as much as an ant would.”

“Do it again.”

The bodyguard steps forward to deliver another blow—this time, to Keigo’s stomach. Kiyoshi glances at his watch, forehead creasing slightly, and satisfaction fills Keigo even as pain starts to spread.

He knows what to do to get Kiyoshi to admit to everything.

–

Every time the bodyguard’s fist connects with Keigo’s body, you flinch so hard that your teeth clack together.

You hate sitting here, like a coward, while your partner is down there getting beaten up as he gets the information. You want to jump down and get Keigo out of there so badly, but he wants to continue the mission, so you’ll back him up to the end. All you can do now is hide under one of these office desks, as Kiyoshi’s other three bodyguards circle the second floor as lookouts.

Keigo taunts Kiyoshi every time he catches his breath from the previous blow. You can tell he’s getting tired, and is in pain, but you can also tell that Kiyoshi is losing his patience.

And then, Keigo asks the questions.

“So,” he pants, “what were you planning on doing, huh? Sell sensitive information about Japan to the highest bidder? And if you got discovered, what then? Were you going to run with your tail between your legs?”

The final taunt is enough to make Kiyoshi explode.

“Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth! I have everything planned out, and it’ll work even if you and the rest of you little spies try to stick your nose into anything.

“Even though you caught me, who’s coming for you, hm? By the time anyone realizes you’re gone, I’ll have exchanged the information with the diplomat, and I’ll be on a private plane to a safe house. With the amount of money I’m getting from this deal, I’ll have no problem making Kiyoshi Suguru disappear off the face of the earth, and live my life under a new name.”

Keigo smirks. “That’s an awful lot of trouble to go through,” he says, grin growing wider as he hears faint noises from upstairs, “for someone who’s about to get caught.”

“Oh please,” Kiyoshi sneers, “I have all the time in the world.” He nods toward a bodyguard, and the guard steps forward to punch Keigo again.

But Keigo speaks up. “No you don’t, actually. At the most, you have four hours, because you’re meeting the diplomat at noon. At the least, you have about five minutes before you send your last bodyguard up to find my partner, where the bodyguard will get knocked out, and you’ll be taken down.”

Kiyoshi scoffs, and the bodyguard drives a fist into Keigo’s stomach. The air is forced out of his lungs, and he retches, straining against the ropes that bind him to the chair as he heaves for breath.

“Wait.” Kiyosh frowns. “Partner?”

Keigo relishes the way Kiyoshi’s eyes widen and his face pales. “Oh yeah! Guess I forgot to tell you, but I’m not working alone.”

Thump.

Kiyoshi and his bodyguard turn their eyes up toward the ceiling, as if they’d see the source of the sound.

Keigo doesn’t need to look to know that’s the sound of a body hitting the ground, and the lighter taps that follow the initial noise are made by your shoes as you sprint across the balcony at your next target. He sits back in his seat and rolls his head back, not minding the pain. He’s done his part. Now, all he has to do is play damsel in distress, and he’s more than happy to do that when you’re the one rescuing him.

–

As soon as you hear Keigo ask the questions, you fire off a text and creep out of your hiding spot to wait by the office door. When a bodyguard passes by, looking down over the balcony, you don’t give him time to react, slamming open the office door straight into his back. He doesn’t get a chance to recover as you yank on his clothes to swing him into the office, kicking hard at his back so he runs straight into the office tables.

He blindly reaches behind him, trying to grab onto you. You dodge his arms and leap on the table. With one knee pressing in the middle of his back, you grab his head and slam it against the desk, once, twice, three times. He can only groan in pain as you cuff his hand to the leg of the table.

That’s one down, three more to go.

Kiyoshi is still ranting as you burst out of the office again, looking for your next target.

The bodyguard is running straight toward you, having noticed that his coworker is missing. You pick up speed, not backing down.

He swings his arm, aiming toward your face. Throwing yourself down and to the side to dodge, you smack into the railing of the walkway, but you keep moving past him. Now that you’re behind, you kick the back of his knees, and he buckles, hitting the ground.

He swings at you wildly, and his fist manages to catch your hip, knocking you into the railing once again. Your ribs pulse with every breath you take, but it doesn’t stop you.

As he grabs onto the rails to steady himself, you bring your leg up, stepping down hard on his arm. He throws his head back to yell, but you don’t want Kiyoshi to know that something is going on quite yet. So you swing a fist, punching him in the throat. All that escapes his mouth are wheezes as he struggles for breath, and it’s easy for you to knock him out completely.

His body hits the walkway with a thump.

The conversation below stops.

You pause for a second to catch your breath, before running toward the third bodyguard. It takes a bit longer to take him down, and you get punched in the side and elbowed in the face, but eventually he’s unconscious on the walkway too.

There’s only Kiyoshi and his final bodyguard left, and it’s about time you show your face. You have to end this.

–

You’re climbing down the ladder as fast as you can, when Kiyoshi spots you and orders his last bodyguard to take you down. The bodyguard waits at the bottom of the ladder for you to get close enough.

As soon as you make it within his reach, he lunges for you. Grabbing tightly to the sides of the ladder, you pull your legs in toward you, then kick out behind you with all your strength. Your feet connect with his chest, knocking him back enough for you to jump down to the floor.

He swings a fist, and you duck beneath it, kicking at his ankles and punching his side as you move. He’s knocked off balance but still tries to punch you. This time his fist hits your shoulder. You reel back from the force of it, and follow through with the movement so you’re once again at the ladder.

Jumping up to grab a rung, you swing forward and kick the bodyguard again, connecting with his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs and knocking him off his feet. His body shakes the ground and you jump down on top of him, one of your feet crushing his hand at your landing.

“Oops,” you mutter, then slam your elbow into his throat, before pressing your arm down hard enough that he loses consciousness.

Once you’re sure that he’s down and won’t be getting back up for a while, you look up at Kiyoshi with rage showing through your eyes.

He’s backing away from you, stammering as he finally recognizes you. “H-how? You’re, you’re h-his–”

“Partner,” you finish for him. Your grin is more of a snarl, with teeth and a thirst for blood in return for the blood of your partner that has been spilled.

Kiyoshi’s face turns deathly pale. He stumbles backward, taking one wobbling step after another toward the doors of the warehouse. You mimic him, stalking forward step by step. Then he’s turning his back on you, sprinting for the doors.

You let him run.

After all, you don’t care about Kiyoshi. As soon as he exits the warehouse doors, he’s surrounded by agents, and he’s cuffed in seconds. Instead, all your attention is on Keigo, who is still bloodied and tied to the chair, head hanging down.

He looks up as you run toward him, and a smile spreads across his face despite the cut on his lip. “Is that concern I see on your face?”

“Stop smiling,” you snap, though your voice trembles. You move behind him to untie the rope, babbling as you do so. “I can’t believe you let yourself get taken like that! You could have fought your way out easily, but you had to go and be stubborn as usual—I can’t stand that about you—and you got hurt, when we could have just left, and I–” You inhale deeply, and it’s almost a sob.

Keigo stiffens.

“If you didn’t– if it was worse–”

“But it wasn’t, sweetheart,” he says gently. Your breath catches in your throat, and you duck your head down to keep picking at the knots.

Keigo continues. “I’m alright, I promise. Nothing that some bandages and a few days of rest won’t fix. I’m more worried about you, though. You went against four trained bodyguards, and I know as skilled as you are, they landed a few hits on you.”

“You were punched multiple times by one of them! Stop worrying about me and take care of yourself!”

The final knot comes loose, and the ropes around Keigo fall slack. You move around to stand in front of him, stepping between his legs. Tilting his face up, you grimace at the bruises you see already forming.

“I still look pretty, right?”

“You look as handsome as ever, Keigo.”

His breath catches in his throat. He thinks he’s never heard a voice say his name so tenderly, and has never seen eyes that looked at him so softly. “Say that again,” he demands, voice hoarse.

“You look handsome?”

“No. The other part, my name.”

“Oh. I, uh–” You swallow, eyes flickering away, before you look back into golden, attentive eyes. “K-keigo. Promise me you’ll be more careful. You can’t throw yourself into danger like that, especially on any cases we’re assigned to in the future. Promise me, Keigo.”

“I promise that I’ll do my best,” he says solemnly. Then he winks. “Now that you’ve had a chance to work with me, you don’t want us to part ways, is that it?”

You whine in annoyance, pushing lightly on his shoulder. “Not if you say something like that!” you protest.

He laughs, and the sound warms you from the inside out. He lifts his hands to cradle your face, and you lean into his touch, heart fluttering in your chest as you stare into his eyes.

Keigo finally breaks the silence. “Will you smack me if I kiss you?”

“I think I’ll smack you if you don’t.”

His smile is brilliant and nearly steals your breath away, then his mouth is on yours, and your breath is stolen away with every brush of your lips against his. The kiss is soft yet passionate, sending tingles down your spine and making heat pool in your stomach.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, fingers playing gently with the short strands of hair. When your nails gently scrape at his neck, he moans into the kiss, and your lips turn up in amusement. He seems to take that as a challenge, and pulls you in even more, tongue brushing against your lower lip. You sigh in delight, and feel his lips curl in return.

“Go get it, Keigo!”

Immediately, you pull away, face hot as you look at Rumi. She grins and winks at both of you, and you know your lips are swollen from the kisses.

Keigo groans and shakes his head, before holding a hand out to you. “Help me up?” he asks.

You nod, and pull him out of the seat. Slinging his arm around your shoulders, you walk by his side, making your way to the other agents. “You know,” you murmur, so only Keigo can hear, “not only would I be unopposed working with you again, I also wouldn’t mind kissing you again.”

He blinks at you, surprised that you’d ever admit that, then grins. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll be sent home for a few days to recover. If you care to visit, I suppose I could make some time to give you a few kisses. As for partnering up with you again, I think we could talk to the Director to work something out.”

–

After you and Keigo heal up and return to the office, the number of completed cases on either side of your scoreboard turn from 73 into 74. And by the time the year ends, 74 has turned into 79.

At the end of the year, the Director looks at those numbers with a smile on her face.

Sending the two of you on that Kiyoshi case was the best decision she’s ever made. She has a feeling that you and Keigo will go down in history as one of the best pair of agents to ever work for Japan.

And, she has a feeling that you’ll always be known as the best couple in the department.

#takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #takami keigo #hawks #type: text #my writing #my writing: fic #fanfic: bnha #fanfic: takami keigo

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emeren · 3 years

Text

bloodlust ☤ 1

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“The devil and I get along just fine...”

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vampire!Eren

Word Count: 5.1 k

Chapter Warnings: Blood, anxiety

Chapter Summary: Reader, a nurse, finds themselves facing a fanged beast, unsure what to make of the world. But this devil with dark hair may not have the intentions you think.

☤ this work of fiction deals with vampires. in turn, there will be discussions of blood and minimal gore. it will also include nsfw content in the near future. all chapters will be marked appropriately☤

Moonlight soaked the path towards his freedom. It danced and reflected off of the dew coated blades of grass. Each one emulated a life he planned to save, with the destruction of his people and the protection of the person he cared for most in the world. She had yet to materialize into something more than the soft breeze of a memory.

He was hungry; the tortuous cry of his instinct to ravage told him so. However, years of training and restraint had yielded him more than capable of swallowing his own desire. The one thing he sought most weighed heavier than impotent monstrous actions. For his goal, he could resist the craving to release his sharpened fangs.

He allowed his eyes one last glance over the house he’d called home for the past four years; dark and gloomy against the stormy night sky. Soon, those who’d chained him in shackles and dragged him to the cellar would be amiss in panic. Wrought iron bars that once caged his devilish soul would be found empty. A beast was on the run.

He felt brief sorrow for those he would hurt in the process of securing their freedom from a pained existence. But he’d made up his mind. All that was left to do was to head north.

His nimble hands pulled the dark hood of his coat above his head. He took one deep breath, the entrancing smell of rain and dirt wafting through the air.

North, to the person that occupied his past, present, and future. To freedom.

☤ ☤ ☤

You considered yourself well suited to the role you’d decided to serve for the rest of your life. Time spent meticulously memorizing health patterns and disease characteristics had broadened your sense of confidence. Doubt rarely ever plagued your mind past the childish decision of what to eat for breakfast in the morning.

Nursing had not always been your final destination in life; the unprecedented scared you enough to mark healthcare as a profession to avoid. Losing two parents unexpectedly in high school due to a mysterious illness had been enough to change your once convinced mind.

Your rain jacket was slick with the slight precipitation clouding the late night sky as you entered the hospital locker room -- a weak cup of coffee in hand, marred with a ring of chapstick residue against the lip. Night shifts were often greeted with unrelenting misery on your behalf.

“You look excited to be here,” The familiar tone of your coworker hummed from behind you. There seemed no force strong enough to concur surprise in your unrested eyes. Historia was someone who lacked a certain fear factor in most aspects of her being, anyways.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, Historia,” You answered, eyes glancing over your shoulder to take in the blonde-haired nurse. Despite having walked in the rain the same as you, her demeanor was much more spritely.

She gave you a smile, following you towards your adjacent lockers. “Ah, I came in the back entrance today.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s working the night shift,” Your half-assed attempt at being friendly mingled with the clammer of your locker. Historia chuckled softly from behind her door.

“I prefer the night shift, actually. Isn’t this your third night on?” She asked. You slipped your wet jacket from your shoulders, shaking it slightly before hanging it in the metal box.

“Yeah, it is. Can’t say I enjoy it as much as you do,” You lightly closed the door, Historia doing the same. Overt kindness wasn’t a trait you claimed when burnt out on work; she knew this and gave you no foul for it.

Her blue eyes crinkled in the ghost of a smile. “Not a creature of the night, hm?”

“I’m no vampire, that’s for sure,” You chuckled. Historia’s smile faltered slightly. It came as no surprise that she was afraid of monsters and ghouls. You decided to change the subject in her favor. “Speaking of, I hear it’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, coy smirk wiggling its way back onto her blushed cheeks. Despite your adverse to the unknown, you enjoyed indulging in childish hospital rumors. The notion that weird cases spiked on nights when the moon was full in the sky was a tale as old as time; strange people flooded the hospitals, with even stranger injuries and illnesses. Or so that was what people said, not that you’d ever experienced it yourself. “I wonder if anything crazy will happen tonight.”

“Doubt it,” You stepped aside, allowing her to match your stride as the two of you headed towards the conference room for a briefing before the shift. She hummed in agreement, the rest of the walk done in a comfortable silence.

The room for debriefing was a mundane conference set up. The walls were a bleached white; anatomy posters and warnings about the harmful nature of cigarettes decorating the walls. An oval desk surrounded by blue, plastic chairs took up most of the room. It smelled like microwaved Kraft, courtesy of a nurse scarfing down a last helping before their shift started.

“That’s odd,” Historia frowned, blue eyes tracing the room. Staff sat around in quiet huddles, most silently waiting for the briefing to start. She glanced down at her watch before nudging you in the arm. “Where’s Doctor Smith? We start in two minutes.”

The tall, burly man was never late for a briefing; his stoic nature didn’t allow room for such a lack. He had never given you a reason to doubt his trust, but something about his demeanor made you uneasy. He commanded a room with such conviction that your coworkers fell to his feet with unadulterated respect; you, a mindless sheep following their lead. Rational thought would’ve placed your discomfort on his position of power and his role as your boss. Simply put, however, he gave you the creeps.

The plastic chair skidded against the polished floor as you took your seat at the table beside Historia. The older staff coughed and occasionally grumbled, filling the tired silence with a sense of annoyance. Your blonde coworker sensed your gripe, elbowing you in the ribs and leaving a crease in your lilac scrubs. You suppressed a smile.

“Pardon me,” Doctor Smith’s commanding voice echoed through the room before he stepped in the doorway. Your muscles tensed; back straightening as if to give the illusion that you hadn’t been hunched over, looking exhausted and miserable. His blond hair was perfectly sculpted; not a strand out of place and not a wrinkle in his blue dress shirt. His lab coat was almost a sickeningly bleached titanium. “Sorry for my tardiness; I was dealing with an emergency back home.”

Historia shifted beside you.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gave a terse smile before picking his clipboard off of the table and flipping through the papers. “Looks like we’ve got the regular scheduling for this evening. As usual, the night shift staffing is lighter than our other shifts, so remember to be vigilant and take action without being told to.”

You tended to tune out the mundane precautions and warnings that were part of a pre-shift briefing. Outside the window, rain pattered against the glass pane. The shower provided a sense of comfort; rain often preceded a night spent inside, wrapped in blankets with a mug of hot tea. Though your current schedule didn’t allow room for such indulgence, you took a small delight in the weather condition.

Historia bumped your knee with her own under the table. You glanced at your friend, slightly alarmed from your daze. She leaned over, attempting to discreetly whisper in your ear. “He looks distracted tonight, hm? Wonder what that’s about.”

Your eyes glanced at Doctor Smith, who was reading through the clipboard with a staccato like urgency. Not wanting to cause any disturbance, you nodded your head in agreement.

“We’ll follow through with our regular assignments. If you don’t know where you’re located this evening, I suggest checking the bulletin in the locker room. As for this meeting, you’re all free to go,” His blue irises scanned the faces of all the employees, searching for confusion or questions to be answered. You averted your gaze, following suit as the rest of the room erupted in moving chairs and shuffling scrubs.

You already knew where you were working for the night; the same place as the last two, over in the geriatrics wing. This night would be the same as the others, not that you were in any place to be upset about that.

“Y/N!” Historia’s voice called you to look over your shoulder, barely out of the conference room. She had a slimy smile on her face; the kind that reeked of favors and avoidance. You felt the need to control your eyebrow from rising in annoyance. “Can I ask you something?”

You exhaled from your nose. “Shoot.”

“I have a patient in room 702 that I was assigned to,” The slightest batting of her mascara slicked lashes, blue irises working their hardest to win you over. You raised your eyebrows, urging her to continue. The other staff shuffled by you, sparing nosy glances. “I was wondering if you could take it? I’ll work in the geriatrics wing tonight for you.”

You had to give it to the tiny woman; for all she was worth, she was great at getting people to do what she wanted. You valued her responsibility and reliability, and she’d proved to be a friendly presence in the workplace. However, that didn’t stop you from seeing the selfish underbelly of her prosperous actions.

“What’s the patient in for?” You humored her. Even if her request was self-fulfilling, you figured might as well use it to your own advantage. Almost anything beat another night in geriatrics changing diapers and administering pill dosages.

“A blood transfusion,” She responded, smiling softly at you. “I’m not very good with bloody things, you know. Easily squeamish.”

You pretended to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was an easy choice, really. “Yeah, sure. What blood type are they?”

☤ ☤ ☤

The stand rattled unpleasantly against the tiled ground as you stopped in front of room 702. The thick bag of blood shook slightly from the sudden stop. How Historia had ever become a nurse when grossed out with the concept of blood, you weren’t sure. It seemed that her sweet disposition often aided her in whatever situation she needed to change for the better. You were an adult woman though, so whatever her motivations might’ve been didn’t concern you.

You gave the cart a once over, making sure all the necessary tools and items were there: a needle, an IV, gauze, those sorts of things. Blood transfusions were a typically fussless procedure; tediously watching the red liquid pump itself into the body.

Your knuckles lightly knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion!”

Silence, beating through the empty hallway of the hospital. The lights were dimmed and eerily abandoned. You waited for ten seconds before opening the door to the sleepy room.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing he who was to be given blood. Historia had mentioned he was a John Doe, lying unconscious on the bleached sheets. You turned back to grab your cart, not bothering to be quiet. He’d be awake soon enough, anyway.

As you wheeled it in, your back was to the patient. The cart squeaked and rattled, stopping at the foot of the bed. You turned around, ready to rouse him from his slumber.

Beautiful.

You’d had attractive patients before. Both men and women who floated by life with the easy wings of accurately placed facial features to boost them up. A pretty face often had heat rising to your cheeks, but professionalism stopped you from thinking any further. Natural biological responses couldn’t be helped, after all.

Never had a patient left your lips parting in awe, heart drumming up it’s own beat of excitement in your chest. His face was slim; sharp jawline and a large, broad nose peeking out into the air. Pale cheeks barely dusted by the pink of an almost intangible blush. His eyelashes were long and thick, jutting out against the purple hue of his impossibly dark circles. Hair the color of old driftwood swirled and bunched on his pillow. He had to have been one of the most attractive people you’d ever treated, let alone seen.

What color were his eyes? Were they a dark brown, one to match the nature of his hair color? Or were they green, contrasting his pale skin? You began to feel eager to find out, more excited to know and learn as your gloved hand gripped his broad shoulder. You frowned at the frigid temperature of his skin.

“Excuse me, sir,” You gently shook, trying not to give away the way your body was reacting. There was no place for hormonal displays in your line of work, and despite his undeniable beauty, you were determined to remain professional.

His eyelids snapped open with such a speed you had to compose yourself not to trip backwards. Contrary to what you thought, his irises were a pale, almost sickly greyish blue. They held no gleam; no life behind them. Disturbance washed over your brain, warning bells going off in your mind. He looks slightly… feral?

He jolted upwards, confusion knotted on his once peaceful face. You stumbled backwards slightly, hip clipping on the cart.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Blue eyes stared at you with such an uncertainty it made your head spin.

“I’m your nurse, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion,” You gestured towards the cart and stand, a red bag hanging from it like a token of peace. Despite his prickly reaction, you weren’t frightened.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” He said, eyes squinted. Analyzing you, trying to pick apart your being, yet there you stood before him, a marvel to be held. He briefly glanced to the side; not more than a millisecond were his eyes off you before they were back, filled with unadulterated panic. “Where- where is Historia?”

You frowned, a little perturbed. “She asked to swap-”

“I need you to leave, now.” He growled, voice deep and authoritative. You widened your gaze, taken aback by his demanding request. The sheet fell from around his shoulders, bare chest exposed. Large hands raced to his face, hiding the features you’d once considered beautiful. “Get out of here!”

“Are you alright?” You panicked, stepping closer to the bed. His large form began shaking, knees drawing towards his chest from under the blanket. He appeared to be in pain; like a wounded animal.

“Fuck,” He yelled, breathing becoming labored. There wasn’t time to ponder. Was he having a panic attack? Was he going into shock? Questions didn’t need to be asked, you just knew that you needed to act. “I said leave!”

“No, I need to help you with whatever-” His hand shot off of his face, long, black claws sharpening from his fingers. You became fear stricken, his palm connecting with your chest. It sent you stumbling backwards, tripping over the wire to the heart monitor and slamming into the wall with your back. Tendrils of pain clamored up your spine.

“Close your eyes,” He rose from the bed, both hands dropping from his face. You couldn’t see his eyes, fist clutching your scrubs above your heart. Uncertainty. Terror, facing death like this. A monster stood before you, created by the devil himself. Tall, foreboding, chest heaving. His neck snapped upwards; wide, red eyes piercing into your thinly veiled soul. He spoke something like a garbled beast. “Promise me you’ll close your eyes.”

You didn’t respond. There were no words to be spoken. Between his pink lips glinted a pair of large, sharp incisors. “Promise!”

You reverberated with his words, wincing and shutting your eyes involuntarily. He didn’t want you to watch as he slaughtered you. “I-I promise!”

The loud clamor of metal colliding with the polished floor had you breaking your promise mere seconds after it’d been made.

He stood, illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs like an angel ascending to heaven. The bag, once an object you’d believed to be a healing beacon, clutched between clawed hands. His teeth, bare to the world, puncturing the thick plastic as though it were paper.

His adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed mouthfuls of thick, red blood. It was as if he’d been starved; knees buckling and desperate blood sucking so intense that his legs could no longer support his body weight. He knelt on the once clean floor.

The twine that connected your sense of reality and rationale had been pulled taut -- pieces of the frayed string snapping and threatening to drop you into depths unknown. Uncertainty had always been a foreign concept; you’d been given the option to study your circumstance and fully conceptualize it before going head first into a situation.

That’s what had intrigued you about being a nurse; though the job seemed like a bull in a china shop, you’d learned every reason why or how that bull ended up there and what exactly you needed to do to get it out.

You lacked the expertise or even the understanding to handle this particular situation. What studying could’ve been done? Reading horror stories or watching Twilight as a teenager with your friends? Even then, the probability of this happening to you felt like it should’ve been a zero percent chance.

You liked knowing what to do. Thrived on it, actually. This man, tall and dangerous, presented you with no opportunity to know. There was no textbook on how to handle a vampire, as childish as it felt to recognize that that’s what this was.

You’d been so sure. So convinced that there was no possibility of this heinous monster being an actual thing to walk the same crusted earth as you. Yet here he was, dawning the shape of a man and the face of an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so terrifying?

The hospital wall was cold against your back, the distant hammering of an organ that no longer felt placed in your chest rang true against your clenched fist. You felt the chilling call to move, to rise from your place and run. You didn’t know where, but the muscles in your thighs screamed a silent symphony.

He made quick work of the bag, like it was nothing and had never been anything in the first place. Who had donated that blood? They were probably asleep somewhere, lying in a bed and dreaming of a different world. A world where their charitable donation wasn’t being consumed by a devil before your terrified soul.

The red liquid oozed from his lips and dripped onto his barren chest. You hadn’t moved since you’d collided with the wall what felt like an eternity ago. Your ears rung rapidly with the obnoxious blood flow to your overstimulated brain.

Eyes the shade of a blue jay traced from a pair of blood soaked claws up towards your face, following the path of destruction. Though shock and fear reverberated through your every nerve, the softness in his gaze dulled a small part of your terror. He looked guilty, holding his dripping hands in front of his face like he’d just committed murder.

“You promised to close your eyes,” A voice so small, as if he’d known you your whole life and you had just witnessed a character altering situation. Something echoed in the back of his words, something that sounded like resentment. You couldn’t tell if it was directed at your prying eyes or himself.

“I- I didn’t, I mean, I tried not to but,” You were at a loss. A loss for a way to communicate how you were feeling, a loss for sanity in the world. The monster before you scowled, as if scolding a child who’d disobeyed their parent. “What are you?”

He brought his bloody hands to the floor; you noted that the claws were gone. “I figure it’s pretty obvious at this point. Can’t you tell?” He whispered.

“But vampires aren’t-” His steely gaze hardened at your choice of words. “They aren’t real, are they?”

“They are,” He responded, looking at you with such a strong emotion that you shifted uncomfortably against the wall. What was he thinking? Those eyes looked like they were fixed on someone he cared deeply for, not someone he’d met mere minutes ago. “But you weren’t supposed to know that, which is why I asked you not to open your eyes.”

“You started drinking a bag of blood right in front of me!” You whisper-yelled, brows knitting together to display your slight frustration. The wonder and fear still laid active in your chest, but something about him was familiar and comforting, despite his gruesome actions. You couldn’t explain exactly why you knew he would bring you no harm. “Of course I was going to open my eyes. If I’m not supposed to know, why would you do that right in front of me?”

His scowl deepened. “I tried to warn you. I haven’t had any blood in awhile and I lost control of myself.”

“What happens now?” Your question came out smaller than intended, unfamiliarity rising in your abdomen. The thick stench of blood was beginning to make your intestines twist in disgusting unease.

The question sought to strike a chord in the young man’s features; a grim and saddened look swept across his sharp attributes. His hand came up to pinch his temples, unperturbed by the bloody fingerprints left in its wake. “We have to get out of here, and fast. If we don’t, the people who are after me will kill you.”

“Kill me?” The word had a different sense of fear wafting over you; the kind that pricked your eyes with the sensation to shed tears. He looked pained. “I can tell them that I didn’t see anything, I can promise that I never saw you and-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” He snapped, glancing at you with irritation. His harsh tone forced your pleas to die unsaid in your throat. “The people following me aren’t rational. One of them will also be able to tell you’re lying.”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?” You cried, allowing the bottled up and suppressed emotions to spill over the thin wall of resolve that his comforting presence provided. He didn’t flinch but remained in serious tranquility. “I’m supposed to leave here and hit the road with some random man, who is a fucking vampire, and what? Hope for the best?”

He looked away from you, blood-covered face staring at the hospital bed that he’d once occupied. “It’s my fault you’re stuck in this now. I owe you enough to protect your life as best as I can.”

You were in hysterics. What sort of ultimatum was this? Stay and die or leave and risk dying? Another predicament that couldn’t be solved with the aid of literary education. Resentment was beginning to build in your own chest. Diving into an unexplored depth of the ocean, brimming with creatures and lore that you had never predicted to be real.

“Hey,” You snapped back to reality. The man before you scooted forwards slightly. Though his face was that of a devil, soaked in another’s blood and deathly pale, his movement had your chest tightening in something other than fear. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe until I can get them off our tail. Then I’ll take off and they’ll follow me, leaving you alone.”

Sticky tears trailed down your cheeks, eyes burning. When did you start crying? “How -- how can you be so sure? How can I trust you?”

He was on his hands and knees in front of you now, sharp nose half a foot away from your face. Any call to breathe was put on hold, teary eyes widening slightly at his stare. It was soft and open, trusting in the strangest way. His dark hair hung around his face.

“My goal is to rid the world of demons such as myself. That’s why they’re after me, and why they would take your life to guarantee silence. When I’m finished with what I want to accomplish, I will be dead and so will they. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the end of this.”

Your lips parted in awe. The conviction in his tone was that to lead an entire army into battle; to create religions and cult followings. Blessed be the demon who wished to take down his own kind.

You had spent years convincing yourself to trust in what others told you to follow. Self-intuition wasn’t enough to breed a successful nurse; you needed the expertise of studies and procedures done before you. You required the necessary tools that others had used and approved of. Your heart’s certainty had no place in medicine. It had no place in the tried and true.

The man slowly rose one freezing hand towards your face, apprehensively watching for your reaction. You sat unmoving, owl-eyed. His palm caressed your chin, cold thumb swiping the tear from your cheek, smearing blood in its wake. “Find it in your heart to trust me.”

The conviction of his words rang lightning through your veins, mouth speaking without precedented thought. “Okay.”

He rose from his crouched position, offering a red hand to help you up from against the wall. You shook your head. There had been enough blood sharing for the evening, sanitation crossing your mind as you shakily slid along the rough plaster, bracing yourself to display a toughness that you weren’t sure you contained.

The rule of thumb not to trust those whom you don’t know played a soft melody in your heart. Mothers’ warnings and fathers’ lectures. Apparently all you had been told fell upon deaf ears, clouded with the hazy judgement of a life threatening situation. But in circumstances such as these, did the general rule apply? You were left to ponder.

“Hey, wait,” You frowned, a dumbfounded feeling crossing your mind as the man stepped towards the opposite side of the room. He stopped and turned, sharp jaw jutting against his mane. “What even is your name?”

“Oh,” He turned back towards the other side of the room. You didn’t follow. The door was the opposite direction, so whatever business he had over there did not concern you. “It’s Eren. And you?”

You felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the confession of his name. It was beautiful, feeling somehow appropriate for his physical appearance. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ah,” He responded, as if he already knew. You scoffed inwardly at his tone, still anxiously pressed against the wall. His blood stained hand rose to the latch on the window, attempting to open it.

“Why are you opening the window?” You questioned, noticing a beep from out in the hallway. The door stood open, allowing passersby to witness the blood on the floor and your cheek, as well as this man called Eren, who appeared straight out of a horror movie.

Closing the wooden door meant deciding with certainty to trust him; to follow him and hope that whatever tales of murderous vampires he’d shared had been truthful. To step away from the knowledge and the comfort of your current life. It implied that no one would see you in there with him and come to your rescue.

They will kill you.

Your hand gently clicked the heavy door into its place.

Turning back to Eren, you noticed his hand wrapped around the latch to the window. He was frozen in place, watching you make your final choice.

“You didn’t answer my question,” You reiterated. Eren turned back towards the glass. His reflection wavered slightly in the shine.

“This is how we’re getting out of here,” Eren responded, pulling the latch and shoving the window open as far as it would go. It stopped at about two inches, for safety reasons.

Disbelief once again danced across your mind, pulling you into what was beginning to feel like a new equilibrium. “If you’re planning to leap out of that window, it only opens that far.”

He ignored you, bringing his bloodied palms up against the glass. It appeared as though he merely shoved it; so light that it shouldn’t have budged. It shouldn’t have moved at all. The heavy window snapped at its industrialized hinges, pummeling down towards the ground below.

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised semi-smugly. You gawked back; simultaneously impressed by his strength as well as put off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll die if I jump from here,” You scoffed, still not moving from your place. Eren stared back emotionlessly. He stepped towards the bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out what appeared to be a black hooded jacket.

He swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood above his head. “I know. If you ride on my back, you won’t die.”

“Are you always this mundanely serious about fucking supernatural shit like this?” You spat. There was a warmth beginning to settle in your face as well as your core; heated by the idea of being so close to him.

“Yes,” He retorted, walking towards you so quickly you thought your head would start spinning. “No time to waste with your endless questions.”

He reached down, abruptly swooping you up from behind your thighs, effectively gripping you bridal style.

“Eren, put me down. Put me down!” You started squirming as he thundered towards the open window. You hated heights as much as the next person; they were fine in retrospect, but made you dizzy when in close proximity. Eren seemed unbothered by your quiet cries of protest.

“Eren, I swear to god,” You brought your fist to his broad chest. He ignored you, stepping onto the ledge of the window. Against any better judgement you still retained, your eyes glanced towards the drop. Your stomach sank, becoming a heavy boulder in the bottom of your abdomen. “Fuck, put me down!”

He stared down at you. A gaze so tranquil that the rest of the scene seemed to fade away. You became hyper-aware of his bare chest which you were pressed against; that unfamiliar churning in your core spreading towards your limbs.

“Hold still, or I’ll drop you.”

☤ ☤ ☤

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