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scuttling · 3 years

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Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #aaron hotchner x gn reader #hotch x gn reader #request

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

#bnha 294 #mr. compress #...and actually that's pretty much it lol #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry this is up later than usual (and mostly unedited as well)#just one of those days

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tigerdrop · 3 years

Text

in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog. he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

#this is so far from finished b/c A) im a coward now and B) typing qith my left hand sucks so i dont wanna do it right now. Sorry #writin stuff

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tlbodine · 3 years

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The Horror Genius of Five Nights At Freddy’s

I’ve been playing FNAF: Help Wanted VR on my Oculus Quest lately (a birthday present to myself -- I know I’m late to that party!) and it’s reignited in me my old love of this series. I know Scott Cawthon’s politics aren’t great, but I don’t think there’s any malice in his heart beyond usual Christian conservative nonsense -- and I think he stepped down as graciously and magnanimously as possible when confronted about it. Time will judge Scott Cawthon’s politics, and that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I want to talk about what makes these games so damn special, from a horror, design, and marketing perspective. I think there’s really SO MUCH to be learned from studying these games and the wider influence they’ve had as intellectual property.

What Is FNAF?

In case you’ve somehow been living under a rock for the last seven years, Five Nights At Freddy’s (hereafter, FNAF) is a horror franchise spanning 17 games (10 main games + some spinoffs and troll games, we’ll get to that), 27 books, a movie deal, and a couple live-action attractions.

But before it exploded into that kind of tremendous IP, it started out as a single indie pont-and-click game created entirely by one dude, Scott Cawthon. Cawthon had developed other games in the past without much fame or success, including some Christian children’s entertainment. He was working as a cashier at Dollar General and making games in his spare time -- and most of those games got panned.

So he tried making something different.

After being criticized that the characters in one of his children’s games looked like soulless, creepy animatronics, Cawthon had his lightbulb moment and created a horror game centered on....creepy animatronics!

The rest, as they say, is history.

The Genius of FNAF’s Horror Elements

In the first FNAF game, you play as a night security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a sort of ersatz Chuck-E-Cheese establishment. The animatronics are on free-roaming mode at night, but you don’t want to let them find you in your security room so you have to watch them move through the building on security camera monitors. If they get too close, you can slam your security room doors closed. But be careful, because this restaurant operates on a shoestring budget, and the power will go off if you keep the doors closed too long or flicker the lights too often. And once the lights go out, you’re helpless against the animatronics in the dark.

Guiding you through your gameplay is a fellow employee, Phone Guy, who calls you each night with some helpful advice. Phone Guy is voiced by Cawthon himself, and listening to his tapes gives you some hints of the game’s underlying story as well as telling you how to play. A few newspaper clippings and other bits of scrap material help to fill in more details of the story.

Over the next set of games, the story would be further developed, with each new game introducing new mechanics and variations on the theme -- in one, you don a mask to slip past the notice of animatronics; in another, you have to play sound cues to lure an animatronic away from you. By the fourth game, the setup was changed completely, now featuring a child with a flashlight hiding from the monsters outside his door -- nightmarish versions of the beloved child-friendly mascots. The mechanics change just enough between variations to keep things fresh while maintaining a consistent brand.

There are so many things these games do well from a storytelling and horror perspective:

Jump Scares: It’s easy to shrug these games off for relying heavily on jump scares, and they absolutely do have a lot of them. But they’re used strategically. In most games, the jump scares are a punishment (a controlled shock, if you will) -- if you play the game perfectly, you’ll never be jump-scared. This is an important design choice that a lot of other horror games don’t follow.

Atmospheric Dread: These games absolutely deliver horror and tension through every element of design -- some more than others, admittedly. But a combination of sound cues, the overall texture and aesthetic of the world, the “things move when you’re not looking at them” mechanic, all of it works together to create a feeling of unease and paranoia.

Paranoia: As in most survival horror games, you’re at a disadvantage. You can’t move or defend yourself, really -- all you can do is watch. And so watch you do. Except it’s a false sense of security, because flicking lights and checking cameras uses up precious resources, putting you at greater risk. So you have to balance your compulsive need to check, double-check, and make sure...with methodical resource conservation. The best way to survive these games is to remain calm and focused. It’s a brilliant design choice.

Visceral Horror: The monster design of the animatronics is absolutely delightful, and there’s a whole range of them to choose from. The sheer size and weight of the creatures, the way they move and position themselves, their grunginess, the deadness of their eyes, the quantity and prominence of their teeth. They are simultaneously adorable and horrifying.

Implicit Horror: One of the greatest strengths to FNAF as a franchise is that it never wears its story on its sleeve. Instead of outright telling you what’s going on, the story is delivered in bits and pieces that you have to put together yourself -- creating a puzzle for an engaged player to think about and theorize over and consider long after the game is done. But more than that, the nature of the horror itself is such that it becomes increasingly upsetting the more you think on it. The implications of what’s going on in the game world -- that there are decaying bodies tucked away inside mascots that continue to perform for children, that a man dressed in a costume is luring kids away into a private room to kill them, and so forth -- are the epitome of fridge horror.

The FNAF lore does admittedly start to become fairly ridiculous and convoluted as the franchise wears on. But even ret-conned material manages to be pretty interesting in its own right (and there is nothing in the world keeping you from playing the first four games, or even the first six, and pretending none of the rest exist).

Another thing I really appreciate about the FNAF franchise is that it’s quite funny, in a way that complements and underscores the horror rather than detracting from it. It’s something a lot of other properties utterly fail to do.

The Genius of Scott Cawthon’s Marketing

OK, so FNAF utilizes a multi-prong attack for creating horror and implements it well -- big deal. Why did it explode into a massive IP sensation when other indie horror games that are just as well-made barely made a blip on the radar?

Well! That’s where the real genius comes in. This game was built and marketed in a way to maximize its franchisability.

First, the story utilizes instantly identifiable, simple but effective character designs, and then generates more and more instantly identifiable unique characters with each iteration. Having a wealth of characters and clever, unique designs basically paves the way for merchandise and fan-works. (That they’re anthropomorphic animal designs also probably helped -- because that taps into the furry fandom as well without completely alienating non-furries).

Speaking of fan-work, Scott Cawthon has always been very supportive of fandom, only taking action when people would try to profit off knock-off games and that sort of thing -- basically bad-faith copies. But as far as I know he’s always been super chill with fan-created content, even going so far as to engage directly with the fandom. Which brings me to....

These games were practically designed for streaming, and he took care to deliver them into the hands of influential streamers. Because the games are heavy on jump-scares and scale in difficulty (even including extra-challenging modes after the core game is beaten) they are extremely fun to watch people play. They’re short enough to be easily finished over the duration of a long stream, and they’re episodic -- lending themselves perfectly to a YouTube Lets Play format. One Night = One Video, and now the streamer has weeks of content from your game (but viewers can jump in at any time without really missing much).

The games are kid-friendly but also genuinely frightening. Because the most disturbing parts of the game’s lore are hinted at rather than made explicit, younger players can easily engage with the game on a more basic surface level, and others can go as deep into the lore as they feel comfortable. There is no blood and gore and violence or even any explicitly stated death in the main game; all of the murder and death is portrayed obliquely by way of 8-bit mini games and tangential references. Making this game terrifying but accessible to youngsters, and then marketing it directly to younger viewers through popular streamers (and later, merchandising deals) is genius -- because it creates a very broad potential audience, and kids tend to spend 100% of their money (birthdays, allowances, etc.) and are most likely to tell their friends about this super scary game, etc. etc.

By creating a puzzle box of lore, and then interacting directly with the fandom -- dropping hints, trolling, essentially creating an ARG of his own lore through his website, in-game easter eggs, and tie-in materials -- Cawthon created a mystery for fandom to solve. And fans LOVE endlessly speculating over convoluted theories.

Cawthon released these games FAST. He dropped FNAF 2 within months of the first game’s release, and kept up a pace of 1-2 games a year ever since. This steady output ensured the games never dropped out of public consciousness -- and introducing new puzzle pieces for the lore-hungry fans to pore over helped keep the discussion going.

I think MatPat and The Game Theorists owe a tremendous amount of their own huge success to this game. I think Markiplier does, too, and other big streamers and YouTubers. It’s been fascinating watching the symbiotic relationship between these games and the people who make content about these games. Obviously that’s true for a lot of fandom -- but FNAF feels so special because it really did start so small. It’s a true rags-to-riches sleeper hit and luck absolutely played a role in its growth, but skill is a big part too.

Take-Aways For Creatives

I want to be very clear here: I do not think that every piece of media needs to be “IP,” franchisable, an extended universe, or a multimedia sensation. I think there is plenty to be said for creating art of all types, and sometimes that means a standalone story with a small audience.

But if you do want a chance at real break-out, run-away success and forging a media empire of your own, I think there are some take-aways to be learned from the success of FNAF:

Persistence. Scott Cawthon studied animation and game-design in the 1990s and released his first game in 2002. He released a bunch of stuff afterward. None of it stuck. It took 12 years to hit on the winning formula, and then another several years of incredibly hard work to push out more titles and stoke the fires before it really became a sensation. Wherever you’re at on your creative journey, don’t give up. You never know when your next thing will be The Thing that breaks you out.

If you want to sell a lot of something, you have to make it widely appealing to a bunch of people. This means keeping your concept simple to understand (”security guard wards off creepy killer animatronics at a pizza parlor”) and appealing to as wide a segment of the market as you can (ie, a horror story that appeals to both kids and adults). The more hyper-specific your audience, the harder it’s gonna be to find them and the fewer copies of your thing you’ll be selling.

Know your shit and put your best work out there. I think there’s an impulse to feel like “well, nobody reads this anyway, so why does it matter if it’s no good” (I certainly have fallen into that on multiple occasions) but that’s the wrong way to think about it. You never know when and where your break will come. Put your best work out there and keep on polishing your craft with better and better stuff because eventually one of those things you chuck out there is going to be The Thing.

Figure out where your target audience hangs out, and who influences them, and then get your thing in the hands of those influencers. Streaming and YouTube were the secret to FNAF’s success. Maybe yours will be BookTube, or Instagram, or a secret cabal of free librarians. I don’t know. But you should try your best to figure out who would like the thing that you’re making, and then figure out how to reach those people, and put all of your energy into that instead of shotgun-blasting your marketing all willy nilly.

You don’t have to put the whole story on the page. Audiences love puzzles. Fans love mysteries. You can actually leave a lot more unanswered than you think. There’s some value in keeping secrets and leaving things for others to fill in. Remember -- your art is only partly yours. The sandbox belongs to others to play in, too, and you have to let them do that.

If in doubt, appealing to furries never hurts.

Do I take all of this advice myself? Not by a long shot. But it’s definitely a lot to think about.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go beat The Curse of Dreadbear.

#horror analysis #writing advice #fnaf

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tt0bu · 3 years

Text

Periwinkles

Originally posted at AO3

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: GiyuuTan

The first time Kamado Tanjirou met Tomioka Giyuu, he was eight years old.

His Ma and Pa came out of the back door, away from their old oven where the last batch of the shokupan was left to sit, maybe to burn, since little Tanjirou thought something must be wrong. There was haste in his father’s steps, hurried and careful. His mother’s strides were stiff, nervous, unsure. Nezuko, his little sister, was pulling on the grass where she sat, streaks of bright sunlight bouncing off her giggling face.

Tanjirou watched his parents trek up to the end of the street on that little hill in the middle of a city they call home.

He saw every adult from the neighborhood walk the same path, disappearing behind the gates of Nishida-san’s house.

Except for one unfamiliar uncle.

The said uncle, who looked too western, who looked like those uncles from foreigner spy movies his father loved watching, stood unmoving under the waiting shed just across the Kamados’ home. He was looking towards the end of the street too, where all the adults had disappeared, but made no move to follow. He was holding a black book close to his chest, and little Tanjirou couldn’t see anything aside from three blue lines on the cover of it.

New neighbor? “Uncle!” he called out to the man, jumping on his feet and waving his little palm enthusiastically. His young mind wouldn’t have noticed, but whenever Tanjirou would look back to this moment, he finds it weird how everything just disappeared – no adult to reprimand him because he was talking to a stranger, no chirping of the sparrows perched on the wisteria tree behind their fence, no sound from the nearby train station.

Maybe he dislikes being called uncle? The unfamiliar man with raven black hair and pale skin didn’t heed his call, not sparing a glance at the curious boy trying to catch his attention. Tanjirou took the man’s cold demeanor as a sign of discomfort, probably because he may be new to the neighbourhood. But it did not stop him from crossing the street, diligently looking to his left and right, twice to be absolutely sure, just like how his Pa taught him.

“Uncle,” his tiny hands pulled at the hem of the coat the pale man wore.

Tanjirou saw how the most beautiful pair of eyes, blue like the noon skies and the periwinkles he picks behind the hill where the Hashibiras live, looked down on his little self with disbelief. The man continued to gawk on him, gaping and frozen in his place. He clutched the thick book closer to his chest, tightening his grasp on its spine. The blue lines seemed to shimmer, a quick flash of shine running through the three lines, but Tanjirou thought nothing of it. After all, it’s almost naptime, his eyes may be playing tricks on him at the moment.

“You-“ the pale man with the clothes of a spy and the eyes of the sky swallowed, eyeing little Tanjirou with hesitation. “-you can see me?”

“Uhhh,” Tanjirou looked around, but neither his parents nor the neighbor uncles and aunts were in sight. “Am I not supposed to? Are you hiding from anyone?”

“How, how is this possible?” the boy heard the pale man whispered, his own burgundy eyes examining the leather shoes he wore. Those are pretty shoes, but he never saw his father wear one. Maybe, when he gets a little bigger, he will get the same pair for his Pa. “You never saw me before. Not even once, not even when you d-“ the man with blue eyes bit his bottom lips and stopped muttering to himself. “What’s the difference this time?”

“Uh-oh, no,” Tanjirou shook his head, the hanafuda card earrings swaying along his movement. “Are you new here, Uncle? Are you lost? My Ma and Pa went to Nishida-san’s house but if you’re hungry I can get you these anpans my Pa made! They sell out really, really fast and I’m lucky Ma keeps some for me and my little sister before taking them to the store-“

By the time Tanjirou realised the lost uncle was never really listening to him in the first place, he could already hear the faint wailing and sobbing from the house at the end of the street. However, before he could ask, he heard the lost uncle take a shaky breath, pinching the base of his nose in annoyance, Tanjirou wasn’t sure, before carefully opening his book to a certain page. The pale uncle traced what the little burgundy-haired boy could only imagine were words, before softly uttering the name he knew very well.

“Nishida Sora. 58. Lung disease.”

“Oh!” Tanjirou bounced on his feet at the idea. “You know Nishida-san? Are you here for him? If you don’t know where he lives, just walk to the end of the street. You’ll see a really huge wooden gate with crow carvings. That’s where he lives!”

The pale, blue-eyed uncle didn’t even acknowledge his words.

“If you want, I can walk with you. I just need to take Nezuko with-“

The lost uncle gently tugged on his collar to stop him from running back to their home. “I know where it is, tiny human.”

“Owwkay, big human!” The man visibly grimaced at his words, yet Tanjirou beamed. “Are you his doctor?”

The big human seemed to be ignoring him again.

“Sensei?”

“Uncle?”

“Sir?”

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa? Do I look that old?” Blue eyes met tiny burgundy ones again, offended, making Tanjirou giggle on the back of his hand. The little boy just shrugged, rocking back and forth on the heel of his feet. He saw the uncle sighed once more before shaking his head. “Cheeky tiny human.”

Tanjirou pretended to know what cheeky meant, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at the man who was ignoring him a minute ago. “Are you Nishidan-san’s relative? I can introduce you if you want?”

“No. I am here to collect.”

“Collect? Collect what? Stones? Bugs? Ohhh! I know a great spot to catch emperor beetles! Inosuke-chan always catches the biggest ones though and Zenitsu-chan’s just a scaredy cat so we don’t have to worry-“

“No, not that. Not beetles. Look-” This time, the man crouched to the little boy’s eye level, and with the close up view of his blue eyes, Tanjirou thought he was staring at the sky itself. “You shouldn’t be seeing me. You shouldn’t be talking to me.”

“I can see you though. I have eyes, Uncle. Ma said they’re very pretty.”

“That’s true – uhum.” The big human coughed to his fist, hiding his face. Tanjirou wanted to ask if he was alright and should he fetch this uncle a glass of water? But the man faced him again, gone was his coughing fit. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“They did.”

“And?”

Little Tanjirou tapped his finger against his chin, pursing his lips, deep in his childish thoughts. “You seem lonely, and Ma said if one of my classmates smelled lonely, I should do something to cheer them up!” He tugged on the hand of the pale uncle, jumping slightly at how cold his palm felt. “What’s your name? I’m Tanjirou!”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Boo! Don’t be silly!” Tanjirou giggled like a child on a swing flying into the air. “Everybody has a name!”

“Not me.”

“But I told you mine!” Tanjirou stomped his little feet on the concrete pavement of the empty street, throwing a tantrum. His father would give him a good scolding, maybe a little spanking, should he see the burgundy-haired boy giving others troubles. Remembering his father’s words, Tanjirou decided to attack from a different angle.

“Hey, hey – hey, oh, come on.” The blue-eyed man crouched again, meeting teary, burgundy orbs and blushing cheeks. “What now? Why are you crying?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me your name!” Tanjirou wailed louder, acting like a spoiled little kid which is nothing like him, all because he wanted to befriend this uncle who has the bluest eyes, who looked like a spy.

The big human exhaled, evidently troubled, while Tanjirou beamed. “Fine. You can call me Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Not Yuu-chan. Yuu. Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Why am I even trying,” Yuu-chan whispered mostly to himself, and Tanjirou’s grin grew wider. “I need to go. Nishida Sora will be here any moment. Is that your house?”

Tanjirou followed where his Yuu-chan was pointing. Red, wooden gates, unlit house lanterns, an old service truck with Kamado Bakery hand painted on its back. Yep. That’s their house. “Yes, Yuu-chan! I live there!”

“Come.” The little burgundy-haired boy tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. Uncle Yuu-chan seemed to understand his unspoken question. “I’ll walk you back to your home.”

Years later, when Tanjirou would look back to that moment, he would laugh at the memory of what he would always fondly call as his first brush with death. But his little self wouldn’t realize that, enjoying the coldness of Yuzu-chan’s palm against his own, celebrating his newfound friendship. He wouldn’t catch how Nezuko, as young as she was, got confused about him laughing on his own, hand raised in the air like he was holding something invisible.

Later that night, delirious from a high fever, Tanjirou dreamt of blue skies and periwinkles and spies invading Japan in crisp suits.

“I heard you spoke to humans today, Giyuu.”

“Human. A tiny human, Shinobu. So what of it?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“He has the gift of Sight!”

“Just be careful, Giyuu. They may let this slip up pass, but we both know consequences are harsh. There’s a reason we never interact with living, breathing humans.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Tanjirou would always look out of his room’s window, ceremoniously, watching each and every adult passing on their street. He was lucky enough to have his room on the upper floor, albeit slightly hating the room during summertime when the sun would burn through the roof. But it was the perfect place, for he can spot Yuu-chan from the crossing.

He mentioned Yuu-chan one evening at dinner, and even when his Ma and Pa was glad he made the new neighbor feel welcomed, they expressed their interest in getting to know the blue-eyed man. He even overheard them talking about it when he went for a pee and his parents were in the living room watching old spy movies again.

“Tanjirou said he’s a new neighbor. But we didn’t hear anyone moving here.”

His father’s kind voice cut through his mother’s worried one. “I’m sure he’s just a passerby.”

“But what if...”

“Don’t worry, if anything, he may be talking about an imaginary friend. Yuu-chan seemed harmless.”

Imaginary? He’s pretty sure Yuu-chan is real! But even if he wanted to defend his ‘not-imaginary’ friend, he would hear his Ma’s voice reminding him to never eavesdrop at adult conversations, Tanjirou. So he let them be, did his business, and went back to sleep. He decided between dreams that he would invite Yuu-chan to his home one day.

But Yuu-chan never showed up at his street again for a long time.

It was snowing when Tanjirou saw him once more. Not the harsh, unpleasant winter, but enough to color the world white. He was clothed from head to toe, layers over layers of protective shirts, mittens and socks. His Ma had always been careful, reminding him that it would be awful to catch a cold during Christmastime.

He was permitted to accompany his Ma on her trip to the local hospital to drop their freshly baked breads and pastries, a Kamado tradition during the holidays. His parents would wake up really early to prepare for it, kneading doughs and cooking fillings because it would mean the world for the health workers if they can get savoury curry pans or their bestselling anpans in between shifts.

Tanjirou watched as his mother dropped the box on the counter, the hospital guard behind her bringing the second one. From the corner of his eyes, on the far-end of the long, white, empty corridor, stood a man who seemed too familiar to him. Before he could even think, Tanjirou let go of his mother’s dress, walking hastily to catch up, sprinting into a full run when the figure headed for the door.

Yuu-chan?

Tanjirou really did his best to catch up, but his tiny legs could only do so much, the stranger who bore resemblance to Yuu-chan got further away even when he pushed against the floor with all his strength. He did not hear his mother’s faint cry, calling his name, wondering where on earth would his first born go and who he was chasing after. But Tanjirou only had one thing in his mind.

“Yuu-chan!” He pushed the heavy glass door open with his little hands, no guard to hold it for him since the man helped his Ma haul the box of pastries inside. But the stranger, with the same black hair cascading below his shoulders in a loose bun, the same crisp gray suit, the same lonely, closed off scent, didn’t acknowledge the pet name. So he tried, hoping to get a reaction, his young heart clenching in sadness because why wouldn’t Yuu-chan want to talk to him? How did his collection go? Would he know if Nishida-san was really gone? “Yuu!”

The man continued walking, past the gates, leaving no chance for the boy to catch up. Tanjirou watched as Yuu-chan turned right to the sidewalk, disappearing behind the brick wall. He wanted to run and give chase even when his lungs felt like it was shrinking in exhaustion, his legs numb from the sprint, his head aching from the lack of oxygen. But before he could move, a gentle yet firm hand grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around and before he even realized, his Ma’s comforting and worried scent enveloped him.

“Don’t you dare do that again, my boy.” His Ma whispered in his hair, running her palm up and down Tanjirou’s back to let him know he wasn’t in trouble. “You scared me Tanjirou. What was that about?”

“Sorry Ma,” he was suddenly sobbing, partly because Yuu-chan ignored him like he was a stranger, but mainly because his Ma’s scent was so distressed, anguished, and he never wanted to make his Ma feel that way again. “I-“ a hiccup. “I saw Yuu-chan and I wanted to say hi but-“ another hiccup, and he reached up to wipe the snot dribbling from his nose with the back of his hand. “-but maybe he didn’t like to be my friend anymore.”

“Oh Tanjirou,” his Ma cooed, embracing him tightly against her chest, occasionally wiping his son’s face with her handkerchief. If she noticed that there were no fresh footprints on the snow, no signs of another human being around, she never said a word. Even when she saw his son calling out Yuu-chan to an empty corridor, running after a formless person, she never mentioned a thing. His son doesn’t need anymore heartbreaks on Christmastime, and doesn’t need to hear about how this Yuu-chan is only a fragment of his imagination.

Year: 1945

Month: April

Day: 26

Battle of Okinawa

Giyuu stood in the middle of the dense foliage, on the isolated island of Okinawa, as he watched soldier after soldier fall to their death at the hand of the enemy. Bombs would go off in the distance, their detonation shaking the earth. But he stood unmoving, completely in displeased awe, because this was a scene he had witnessed numerous times before.

“I will never understand humans and their obsession with war.” Makomo stepped quietly to the ground beside Giyuu, and he knew his fellow collector shared his facial expression. They were tired of humans killing each other, hurting each other, to satisfy their greed and hunger. “It hurts Them, these pointless endeavour of humans to best each other.”

“How many have you got?” He chose to ask instead, because even if they wanted to do something, they’re merely collectors. Humans and their dumb ways of dying were out of their duty; they were just sent to collect their due.

“Considering the numbers of soldiers on this island and the guarantee that not even a fourth will come out alive?” Makomo opened her book, flipping several pages. “A lot. You?”

“Thinking about the cups of tea I have to prepare for Choosing already wore me out.”

“Don’t worry, Giyuu. Kyojurou, Mitsuri, and Tengen are here too. Who knows, maybe the numbers are off and we won’t have to collect these much considering the collectors present?”

“When was the book ever wrong, Makomo?”

“Don’t ruin my optimism!”

Their little banter to pass time came to an end when a young, bleeding soldier ran towards their way, a group of foreign forces hot on his trail. He hid behind the trunk of a fallen tree, crying and clutching his jammed rifle to his chest. Giyuu only saw a part of his hair, black like his own, peeking under the helmet he wore on his head. Soot and mud dirtied his young face, but what caught the blue-eyed collector’s interest was his fierce, burgundy eye.

Eye, because his right was shut close, blood covering the half of his face.

“This is what I hate the most.” Makomo opened her book again, tracing the names under her watch. Once she located what she needed, she clicked her tongue in frustration. “Beautiful, innocent souls like him who get dragged to a war he did not wish for. Do you think he cries because he knows he’ll never see his family again? Or perhaps, because he killed another human even when he didn’t even want to fight this war?”

“I think he’s praying.”

“Should we listen to his words?”

“What? No, that’s private.” Giyuu looked at his companion with slight horror in his expression. “He prays to Them, and we can’t disrespect this young soldier’s last minute on this land.”

“I’m just kidding!” Makomo poked him on his cheek, but immediately turned when footstep grew nearer. When they saw the group of soldiers who gave chase surround the praying man, Makomo tucked her book in her arms and whispered. “It’s almost time, little soldier. I’m sorry your family will never see your beautiful eyes again.”

Giyuu decided to leave and do his part of the job too. He gave one last glance at the praying soldier, only to see one of the enemy hammer the heel of his rifle down to the wounded soldier’s forehead. Said soldier slumped against the trunk, but Giyuu thought he saw enough and turned around in haste.

A blunt force like that would likely scar, and he hoped it won’t seep through the soul. But it had been a traumatic experience for the young soldier with burgundy eyes, spending his last minutes alive surrounded by unfriendly faces. That wound would be a birthmark in most cases, but Giyuu hoped this soldier wouldn’t carry the wound to his next life should he choose to be reborn.

Tanjirou reached for the towel as he straightened his back, wiping away the droplets of water on his face. He absentmindedly traced the birth mark on his forehead as he brushed his teeth, his mind going over his plans for the day. He will meet Inosuke and Zenitsu at the latter’s grandpa’s house for a group study in preparation for their high school entrance exam. On his way back, he has to buy cough drops for his Pa who refused to see a doctor and will always counter their arguments with all I need is a good night sleep and plenty of water.

There’s nothing much to do for the day but to study, he figured, so he stuffed all his textbooks and notes into his bag and rode his bike to the Hashibiras to collect his friend. Inosuke thrashed like a bug lying on its back, complaining about why he always gets to sit and not pedal. He said he bets he’s a much better rider than Gonpachiro.

“It’s my bike, Inosuke. That’s why.”

“You’re just afraid I’m better at bikes than you, Monjirou.”

Zenitsu once told him, back when they were young, that Inosuke would actually get their name right after seven tries. I counted, his blond friend would say, because he kept yelling at me and shoving worms and beetles and acorn nuts in my face. Tanjirou tried to keep track the first few months after knowing the dumb fact, but eventually grew tired counting the wrong names before he could hear the right one.

The burgundy-haired teenager squeezed on the breaks, the rubber tires squeaking against the asphalt. He then got off, and gestured for Inosuke to take the handlebar grip. “Pedal away, Inosuke-sama.”

“Ha!” His loud friend thumped his back, with the aggressiveness that would match his excessive energy. Tanjirou had to step a foot forward to stop himself from toppling over. “I knew choosing you as my favorite friend was the right decision!”

Tanjirou shook his head with a little laugh. “Oh, what an honor!”

“Stop daydreaming and get on already! I can’t wait to run Monitsu over!”

“Don’t do that Inosuke.” Tanjirou transferred his backpack to his front, facing the opposite direction, watching the hills roll as his friend pedalled vigorously downhill. He only realised his mistake when they zoomed past the gate of Zenitsu’s home. “Inosuke, stop! Don’t go too fast –“ Tanjirou looked back to see his blond friend getting smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny dot of yellow. “ – we’ve passed by Zenitsu’s house! Turned around!” He shouted over his shoulder, closer to his friend’s ear. “Inosuke! TURN AROUND!”

Without a warning, Inosuke swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees, not knowing he had almost threw Tanjirou off. The burgundy-haired miserable back rider yelped in surprise and fear for his life. But before he could complain, Inosuke started pedalling again with the same intensity, Tanjirou thought he would die on the ride back to where Zenitsu’s home is. Good thing his friend waved and jumped, catching Inosuke’s attention, and the boy squeezed on the break so hard they almost did a cartwheel with the bike.

Never again, Tanjirou thought, as he combed back his hair. I refuse to ride a bike with Inosuke ever again.

“Wow,” Zenitsu stared at the two of them from head to toe. “I’m surprised you didn’t get into an accident.”

“He’s a walking accident.” Tanjirou pointed at his friend who wore his favorite boar shirt. “I am not getting on a bike with you again.”

“Just admit I’m better than you!”

Zenitsu pushed the two of them inside before their pointless discussion lengthened, the three greeting grandpa Jigoro along the way. Soon they fell into a series of question and answer, index cards and flashcards flying across the room. Inosuke would constantly complain about math and why did he have to learn such useless things. Zenitsu would also complain about Inosuke’s complaints, but would snatch away the problem, solve it for the boy, and explain how he got 12 as the value of X.

“Uhhhh,” Tanjirou stretched his arms, arching his back to pop the joints as he stood from their table. “I’m going for a quick konbini run. Anything you guys want?”

“Didn’t you bring any snacks from the bakery?”

“We didn’t open today. Pa’s sick.”

“Onigiri and Nissin for me, Tontaro!”

“Same, but I want tamago sando instead of onigiri.”

“Then it’s not the same, stupid butter head!”

“Bold of you to call me stupid when you’re the walking definition of the word!”

Tanjirou didn’t want to witness the inevitable wrestling match to which Inosuke would mercilessly hug Zenitsu from the back to squeeze out his oxygen, so he excused himself without saying a word. He checked for his wallet before mounting his bike. He didn’t spot any konbini on the way, so he decided to try the opposite street so see if there’s a nearby store. To his luck, he saw the green and red signboard a couple of streets away.

He parked his bike on the sidewalk as he repeated his friends’ choice of snack over and over again to make sure he wouldn’t forget. He opted for a katsu sando and a bag of potato chips, carrying all the food he picked to the counter. Just as the girl behind the register dropped the change to his open hands, he caught a hauntingly familiar figure, through the glass walls of the konbini, with the identical black book held against his chest.

No way.

Yuu-chan?

He quickly grabbed the brown paper bag after throwing a hurried sankyu to the cashier , pushing the doors with his shoulder. He then left the bag on the basket of his bike, before taking off to run after his Yuu-chan. Why didn’t he take the bike instead, Tanjirou could no longer think rationally because he couldn’t believe he’s about to see Yuu’s after all these years.

Was his eyes playing tricks on him again?

Because there’s just no way the person he was made to believe wasn’t real and was just a part of his childhood imagination was actually there. He looked exactly the same; charcoal gray three piece suit, light blue dress shirt, and a navy blue necktie. Just like the spies from his Pa’s old movies he often dreamt about.

“Yuu-chan!” He could no longer contain his excitement, jumping on the back of the man when he was an arm length away. But Yuu quickly turned around, reached for his wrist, effortlessly twisting it in a quick, practiced movement. Tanjirou didn’t manage to introduce himself because his wrist hurt and was twisted in a very awkward way, he thought he might snap it any second. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! It’s me, Yuu-chan! It’s me! Ow!”

As quick as Yuu grabbed him, the man immediately let him go once recognition dawned on his face. “Tiny human?”

“Wow, you remembered me!” Tanjirou beamed, the same wide smile he wore the first time he met Yuu. He almost forgot about those periwinkle eyes and snow white skin as he tried to bury the memory of the day when Nishida-san succumbed to lung cancer. “I almost thought you weren’t real, like a story of make believe I came up with in a desperate attempt to make friends.” Yuu-chan looked away, and Tanjirou wished he could read whatever was on the man’s mind. “It’s been seven years, Yuu-chan.”

“I owe you no explanation, tiny human.” Yuu-chan continued to look away, his blue eyes never meeting Tanjirou’s burgundy ones. “I never agreed to being friends.”

“But you remembered me, big human.”

Yuu-chan flinched. “My work involves a lot of names, and a mistake would result in grave consequences.” The man tucked his book in his arm again, turning around to walk away. “Go home and stop following me.”

“You sound like you’re just making excuses!” Tanjirou continued to annoy the man, hoping to make him talk more because his voice was somehow calming. He didn’t know where the boldness came from, but before he could think, he reached for Yuu’s hands, cold as ever, and pulled him towards the empty bus stop across the street. It should have been strange, with the absence of people on the street and the silence in the air, but Tanjirou didn’t notice. “Come with me! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What are you doing?” Yuu-chan gently freed his arm from Tanjirou, keeping it inside the pockets of his pants this time. “This is dangerous. Please keep your distance.”

“Why do you talk so formally, Yuu-chan? Come sit beside me!”

Tanjirou watched as the man glared at the innocent bench, burning holes in it as he considered his options. All the while Tanjirou’s wide grin never wavered, choosing to observe quietly as Yuu-chan argues with himself. The man looked like he never aged at all, like the past seven years were merely a week for him.

“You won’t stop until I indulge you, would you?”

“Nope!” Tanjirou bounced in his seat, grinning triumphantly.

“Fine.” Yuu-chan finally took a seat, a meter away from him. “But you shall not cross this distance.”

“What? Why? I’m not sick!” Tanjirou whined but immediately shut his mouth when Yuu glared at him. There was no hostility, but Yuu-chan has the ability to disappear from his sight, like how he did the past years, so Tanjirou chose not to push his luck further and truly anger the man. “Alright, no need to kill me with you eyes. Very pretty eyes I must say.”

Tanjirou’s throat tightened, and if he was standing, his knees would have buckled from the intensity of Yuu’s eyes. At first he thought the man didn’t like praises, didn’t like talking to him, but he continued staring. Tanjirou, unsure on what to do, chose not to meet Yuu’s eyes as he tried his best not to crumble because the weight of his stare makes the burgundy-haired boy melt.

To his surprise, Yuu, who was so adamant to observe distance, pushed against the metal bench and stood in front of him. Tanjirou raised his head to look at him, but Yuu-chan’s cold fingers brushed against his forehead. Chilly wind blew past them, causing strands of burgundy hairs to fall, but the cold fingers were there to brush them back up. Tanjirou couldn’t help but shiver, due to the wind or the cold skin, he couldn’t tell.

“Is there something wrong?” He managed to ask even when the chill he felt crept up from his lungs to his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“This,” Yuu ran the pad of his thumb over the mark, twice, before tracing the outlines. “Was this always here? I didn’t – “ He stammered, as if he couldn’t make a sentence out of his train of thought. “ – seven years ago – “

“Oh, this?” Tanjirou instinctively reached up, not expecting a cold hand meeting his own where his sturdy forehead should be. “It had been there as far as I can remember. It just got bigger as I grew older. Seven years ago, it was just this tiiiiiiny thing, you could have mistaken it for a scar.”

He heard the blue-eyed man, who was acting so strange that day, mumbled something under his breath. It was so soft, Tanjirou could have heard three different languages, because even when there were no cars, no people around, he still didn’t understand the incoherence mumbling. Tough luck, for he has lost his gift of keen nose after turning ten, so he has absolutely no idea what this strangeness was all about.

“Does it hurt?” he heard Yuu-chan ask as he pulled his cold fingers away. But he didn’t step back to create a meter of distance again, much to Tanjirou’s delight. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really, no,” he bit his lip, recalling a stupid myth Zenitsu recounted once when they were nine. “They said birthmarks were signs of how a person died in his past life, but that just sounds silly to me.”

Tanjirou looked up, hoping to see Yuu share his opinion about the absurdity of the myth. But he only saw anxious eyes which couldn’t meet his, lips flattened into a straight line, brows furrowed. “Sometimes, old stories passed down with words of mouth would hide a truth or two.”

“Are you telling me - ” Tanjirou’s voice climbed a pitch higher, trying to suppress his laughter after considering that he had a life before this. “ – that I died from a blunt force trauma to the head in my past life? Was I murdered?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tanjirou wanted to scoff because Yuu-chan dared call him silly when he was just spouting nonsense about old stories and hidden truths a minute ago. “Besides, is that your only birthmark?”

Immediately Tanjirou crossed arms over his chest, balling the shirt he wore with his hidden palms. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t spooked at Yuu-chan’s question, because he sounded like an honestly curious man, but his instinct pushed him to cross his arms over his chest where a different set of marks hide. “How did you know about that?”

“Know about what?” Yuu asked back, and Tanjirou couldn’t determine if he was feigning ignorance. “I was just asking.”

Tanjirou gulped the knot on his throat, suddenly feeling stupid about his fascination with his own birthmarks. Science has explanations for these, there must be, so he shouldn’t be bothered by Yuu-chan’s vagueness or Zenitsu’s old stories. He was about to ask the man where he went and why he didn’t see him again, but Yuu was suddenly flipping a page of the book he was carrying over and over again. “What are you doing, Yuu-chan? Looking for something?” Tanjirou tried to peek at the pages, but Yuu-chan pivoted his body around to keep the book out of his sight. “I can help?”

“This is strange.” Yuu flipped the page again like he was trying to see if flipping back and forth would make a change to what was already written in the book. Tanjirou wanted to laugh at Yuu-chan’s endless turning of the page, but the man seemed troubled. “How did this happen?”

“How did what happen?” He was never proud of his nosiness, but it was harmless, he thought. He just wanted to help and stop Yuu-chan from tearing the poor page out of the book. The same book, with three blue lines spreading out horizontally, he was carrying back then.

“I was here to collect, ” Yuu shut the book close, tucking it under his arm once again. “But it seemed I was mistaken. I need to go.”

Collect? Like Nishida-san? Tanjirou wanted to ask, but such things weren’t easy to explain, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready to accept Yuu-chan’s secret, if there is one. He chose not to define who Yuu is, all that matters is that he was there again, talking to him, no longer ignoring him.

Tanjirou knew Yuu was going to disappear again. To where, he had no idea, but at least now, he was sure Yuu wasn’t just a part of his imagination. He felt him, his cold touch, his intense stare. Yet he couldn’t help but feel lonely for no reason at all. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” was Yuu-chan’s answer which offered no comfort to the boy. Perhaps could mean another seven years, or never again. Perhaps isn’t a guaranteed yes, sounding more like a gentle no. “These meetings wouldn’t benefit the both of us, and could put you in danger. Think of it as breaking the law, tiny human.”

Because more spies will be watching. This he knew, after seeing crisps suits blending in the crowds, peach hair and platinum, purple and aqua eyes. Yet he pulled Yuu to an embrace, burying his face on the folds of his three piece suit. “I stopped dreaming about you. For reasons unknown to me, I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever. But when you disappeared, the dreams went away too.”

Yuu removed his arms around his waist, Tanjirou already missing the coldness that seemed to come from every part of Yuu’s skin. He couldn’t read his expression again, but he didn’t expect anything more from the strange man. He speaks vaguely, dresses the same, never aged, so his expressionless face was the least of Tanjirou’s concerns.

“Stay healthy, tiny human.”

Tanjirou snorted at Yuu’s choice of response, turning back to where he left his bike at the konbini. He didn’t want to say goodbye, even when he knew that perhaps he wouldn’t see Yuu-chan again. So he continued walking even when he didn’t hear the man move from his place, because he has his hungry friends waiting for him.

He looked back, hoping to see Yuu watching him leave and walk away.

But like how he disappeared seven years ago, the man was suddenly gone, like he wasn’t even there a minute ago.

He rode his bike back to Zenitsu’s home in a bleary state. Thanks to the numerous trips he made to his blond friend’s house, he found his way even when he didn’t even remember pedalling. He couldn’t feel his legs, his head buzzed, his fingers numb. He recalled grandpa Jigoro asking him what’s wrong and why he looked so pale, before seeing Inosuke’s worried face rushing to him as he slumped against the nearest wall.

He black out a moment after that.

I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever.

“That’s not it,” Giyuu sighed, finding it hard to breathe as he watched Tanjirou stumble out of his bike, pushing the gate of his friend’s house with all his strength. That was his fault, for he couldn’t help himself, even when he promised not to bring harm to the beautiful soul again. “It was the other way around. You get fevers because of your dreams.”

“Who are you talking to?” came a voice behind him, but Giyuu didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Instead, he walked towards the gate of Kuwajima Jigoro’s humble home. He pushed it open, stepping into the other side where his office was. Sabito came in after him, shutting the metal door. “You were supposed to collect a soul today, Giyuu.”

“Who are you, my assistant? So what’s my next schedule?” Giyuu dragged a chair to the table in the middle of the wide room, the only furniture present. His office, much like the others in his line of work, was a high-ceiling room, with a tiled countertop where he prepares teas, coffees, sometimes even sodas, for the souls he brings to the Choosing.

Sabito hauled a tea bag at him, hitting Giyuu on his head, flakes of the dried leaves scattering in his suit. “I wish your brain was sharper than your tongue!”

Giyuu clicked said tongue, wanting to agree because he admits his earlier actions were not well thought out. How could he let a human touch him? How could he not say no, only because those burgundy eyes kept haunting him?

“Kuwajima Jigoro should have died today.” Giyuu pressed his fingers between his eyes, already feeling the early signs of migraine, still wondering what and how it happened because he wasn’t mistaken; he never made mistakes in his job. “I saw his name. It was cardiac arrest.”

“Were you on time?”

He shouldn’t be answering such silly questions. “You know I was never late, Sabito.”

“Were you,” His peach-haired friend sipped on the tea he brewed, holding Giyuu’s periwinkle eyes in an intense stare. “on time, Giyuu?”

Okay, so there was no use lying, and he sincerely believed the slight delay couldn’t hinder death that was already written in the book. He would be guilty if Kuwajima Jigoro’s name was there and that death had simply taken a detour due to his tardiness, but the name was completely gone. Erased, with no sign that it was there before Giyuu left his office, which it definitely was. “I may have been late by a couple of minutes. But it shouldn’t matter because the time of death is absolute even when no collector is present to – “

Sudden realization dawned on Sabito’s face that he was momentarily stuck with his jaw dropping to the floor, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. “You talked to a human again, did you? What were you thinking? Were you even using your head like you’re supposed to?”

“He jumped on me from behind! He recognized me-“

“Oh no,” Sabito took the chair opposite him, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He catches his head in his hand, murmuring curses at Giyuu’s stupidity. “It was the same human back then. The human with the gift of Sight. Oh no.”

Giyuu nodded, feeling incredibly frustrated with his inability to follow the rules. “Seven years ago.”

“That was already seven years ago? Yet he still remembered you?”

Giyuu nodded once again, not finding the words to defend himself from Sabito’s unabashed judgment. He couldn’t blame his friend and fellow collector for reacting the way he did, because they weren’t Divines with blessed holiness, nor humans with free will. They were just reapers, tasked to guide souls to the afterlife where they could exercise their freedom to choose one last time and help them decide what they want their fate to be.

He wasn’t human, therefore he doesn’t have the same freedom.

Even if he wanted to see Burgundy Eyes again, not only on the times he was dying, he simply couldn’t choose to do what he wanted.

The clanking of the Sabito’s teacup on the saucer shook Giyuu out of his silent dilemma. His peach-haired friend frowned, the scar on his face more prominent as he pursed his lips in frustration. He once asked the man about his facial scar, which they both agreed seemed to be a birthmark, but Sabito couldn’t recall how and when he acquired it.

“You can’t keep doing this, Giyuu.” Sabito sighed, tracing the patterned yellow and green lines of his own book sitting on the table. “We didn’t know, we may never know, how our presence affects living souls. I’m sure you’ve heard of the myths.”

“I have, but they’re just myths.” Like those about birthmarks, and Giyuu suddenly found himself with the realization that if the myths of men were real, then there’s a chance the myths of the reapers of the old were real too. “No,” he hunched over the table, burying his face in his folded arms. “I messed up. What if – “ Giyuu raised his head, the frantic look in those periwinkle eyes making Sabito flinched. “What if Kuwajima Jigoro’s death took a turn and – “

Sabito reached for his head, shaking it vigorously in an attempt to rattle his brain. Giyuu groaned at the harshness, but was thankful for the distraction. “Don’t think too much of it, Giyuu. If something was indeed wrong, you should have heard from Yorichii-san by now.”

“I swear the name was there!” Giyuu flipped his book open again, trying so hard to prove he was simply mistaken so he could step out of his door to collect the soul. But he couldn’t find the name, couldn’t find the reason why it would just disappear when death was something no one could hinder. Not even the Divines could defy death if They deemed it to be the right time to take back the gift of life They bestowed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tan – “

“Don’t speak of his name!” Sabito abruptly stood, his chair tripping over. His booming shriek effectively stopped Giyuu’s string of apologies. “Don’t make another mistake, Giyuu. Remember who we are, and what we bring. Don’t.”

Giyuu understood, for there is a reason souls should only see them after passing.

There is a reason he should never let Tanjirou see him again.

For he brings nothing but death.

Tanjirou should have known.

He tried to whisper, sometimes in his pillow before he sleeps, a wish to see Yuu in his dreams again. But he never had bad fevers again, never got the chance to see the man turn his nightmares into sweet stupor.

He tried to whisper, against the glass pane of the train as it whirred and swayed, words of intercession and petition, begging for a chance to see Yuu once again.

He tried to whisper his name, trying to call for him to come and explain, to let him know that he doesn’t care what he is, to finally understand why he can’t get Yuu out of his system, even after trying to make himself believe the man with the sky in his eyes isn’t real. He wanted to ask him why it felt like Yuu knew him longer than he should have, the same way he felt strangely familiar even when he only met him twice.

Tanjirou should have known that perhaps meant an empty promise, a parting word disguised as an assurance that he will see Yuu again.

For after he touched him with his cold fingers and reached for the scars he was born with, he never saw Yuu again.

#giyuutan #kny fanfic #grim reaper au #reincarnation au #demon slayer #tomioka giyuu #kamado tanjirou

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darkmindsotome · 3 years

Text

Icy Interrogation

Title: Icy Interrogation

Fandom: Love365 Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: Kazuomi Shido x MC

Word count: 2,998

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Summary: A sudden trip with no explanation triggers a game of unmasking that becomes hotter than the weather.

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #10: Ice Cube Cool Down | Ice Cream Cool Down

---

It was a lazy day and I found myself still temporarily “homeless” and staying at Raven. When everything had happened, Kazuomi stepped up and offered me a job and a roof over my head. I was really grateful to him. Not just with the offer but knowing that I would have lost another part of myself in the line of duty without him.

As ludicrous as it sounded, he was my safe place I could run to and know I would be accepted. The man topping the world's blacklists as the number one bad guy. The man who at any moment could once more be my target. It was his loving arms always reaching out for me, willing to hold me. Me as I am, not who I was for work. Plain old Mc. It was a joy I had never experienced before in any other relationship. He was his own brand of dangerous persuasion and I continue to fall fast and hard for it every time.

Since becoming a couple, he had helped me remember the me who I was before all the lies, aliases and espionage. He comforted me when I didn’t even know I needed it and accepted me no matter how I was acting. The love and kindness of this man was an absolute truth he hid well behind his usual playboy mask. That’s not to say he was an Angel, if anything he was a Devil at times. Still, better the Devil you know right?

Raven in England was different to Raven in New York or Tokyo. It was still a grand luxury hotel but there was something a bit more reserved about it. I giggled imagining how that sat with Mr Dramatic. A man famed the world over for his extravagance and love of all things opulent.

I had been rushed onto a private jet in the early hours of the morning in New York only to wake up in an airfield in England nearly seven hours later. All my repeated requests for my boyfriend to explain why I was here were met with evasive answers. In typical Kazuomi fashion, he would not reveal any secrets, if I wanted to know I would have to uncover the answers myself. Well, game on.

When I was pondering how I would get him to crack the door to the penthouse opened, the man in question strolling inside. The dark green bags in his hand had the words Harrods picked out clearly on them in gold. He vanished into the kitchen and reappeared empty-handed moments later with a big grin on his face.

“Welcome back.” I adjusted myself on the sofa dropping the magazine I had been idly perusing on the coffee table. The ice in my glass clinked against the tumbler where a final mouthful of fruit juice remained waiting to be drunk.

“What no third degree?” Kazuomi practically purred. He was really in a very happy mood which made me even more suspicious. Seriously what was this guy up to?

“What would be the point? You already made it very clear you intend on telling me nothing. I’m not in the habit of wasting my time on a blisteringly hot day.” I shrugged pretending my curiosity was not reaching its limits.

Kazuomi was watching me intently. My little act was no doubt doing nothing to hide anything from him. Damn him and his observational superpowers. It was easy to tell that he was wanting me to bite. Take the bait and play along with his little games. ever since my questioning on the plane he had this playful look in his eyes.

The heat of the summer here was different to that from back home and I was feeling sluggish. It was so hot even the locals had dubbed the weather “unseasonal” and I had found a bit of solace in a light cotton dress.

“Fair point.” He agreed with me smiling that Cheshire cat grin. I was just about to reach for my glass to finish the last of my drink when he took it for himself. I watched as the minted apple juice was drained over his lips and slid down his throat. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

“Hey!”

“Yes?” He kept hold of the glass in his hand-balancing it on the back of the sofa we were sharing. The look on his face was far from guilty if anything it was yet another taunt to get me to play with him. A silent request I was already planning on fulfilling.

“Oh, you are so going to regret that.”

“Am I? I can’t wait to see what my Goddess has in mind for retribution.”

That cocky grin on his face was as irritating as it was sexy. Well, the game had officially started so I guess now it's time to play. His successful theft of my drink had given me an idea.

I moved over to his side careful to push my breast against his arm and let him see them taking a new form as they pressed into him. He was observant enough to have seen from the second he walked in that I wasn't in a full set of lingerie. Trailing my hand over his leg from his knee to the top of his thigh, I made sure to brush a little too close to his cock. He relaxed back into the sofa. Both arms now stretched out over the seat he looked like the epitome of a lion surveying the savannah.

“Mm don’t tell me my girl has been bored waiting for me?” That same playful happy purr rippled through the room. This time instead of spiking my curiosity it made my heartbeat speed up.

“You left me all alone again without a single word as to when you’d be back and with only glossy magazines to keep me company.” I whined a little as I played the part he wanted. I wasn’t so new at these little games that I would not know my own role.

Reading my target was something that kept me alive on missions. It was what made our games together so much fun. Both of us competing to unmask the other. To get the other to surrender and declare a winner. It was a little amusing that it normally “officially” ended in a draw between us even if Kazuomi was really the winner in all honesty.

“A disastrous oversight on my part. How ever would you like me to make it up to you?” On cue, he made the first play. He was matching my mock whine with fake placation in his voice. Moving his hips so my hand brushed harder where he wanted it to.

“Well, you could tell me why we are here. I thought you had work in New York to attend too.” I pulled my hand away preventing his move and brought it up to his cheek. Brushing my thumb over his lips as I looked into his eyes. He took the pad of my thumb between his lips biting down onto it before answering.

“Somethings are more important and can’t wait.”

“What things?” I tried pressing for a real answer knowing how futile it was. His eyes were locked on me in that stubbornly defiant manner he had where he was not going to give up anything until he was ready.

“All will be revealed in due time.” The grin on his face spread wider. He was certainly enjoying this.

I gave up simply stroking him and decided to straddle him instead. The sight of him trapped under me was always a thrill and not one I always had. Kazuomi was the type to enjoy what he called a perfect view. It only happened for as long as he would allow it before I was usually flipped over and he ended up on top.

Our bedroom activities were always a flurry of motion and give and take. The endless competition between us to come out on top. This kind of contest that carried throughout our relationship and into sex left us both craving more. Right now, I was looking for something he had, the key to the secret emergency trip to England that in his mind couldn’t wait.

My fingers undid his shirt while he remained very calm and collected, his arms still locked over the back of the sofa. The only part of him moving except for the growing bulge under my thighs was his eyes. They were roaming over me taking in every detail and mapping every curve.

After uncovering his broad bare chest, I dipped my hand down and relieved him of his belt. Leaning forward I covered his lips with mine. His tongue lapped at my lower lip before pushing past and ravishing my mouth. The remnants of mint and apple on his tongue dissolved inside me as the heat between us rose.

The arms that had been holding back were wrapping around me tight like a snake. The cold glass in his hand pressed into the dip of my spine causing me to groan into his mouth. If I wasn’t careful, he was going to steal all of my rational thoughts and I would forget about my self-imposed mission.

Reaching behind I took the empty glass from his hand. After breaking out of our lip lock I poured one of the melting ice cubes into my mouth. The devilish smirk on his face was still plastered there. He had never once tried to hide how he loved his kinky little games and I was always willing to play along.

I reached up and pulled a fist full of his reddish-brown hair exposing his neck to me. Dragging the ice in my mouth over that pulsating artery and feeling him moaning under me was like I was charged with an electrical current. His hands settled on my ass rubbing his thumbs over the top of the elastic on my panties through my dress. I pushed his hands away pinning one on either side of him and brought my mouth lower.

The water from the melting ice escaped my lips running across his muscles. That broad chest becoming something of a salacious slip and slide. I tracked the flow to his own waistband and slid my weight from his lap to rest my head over his now rock hard desire.

He hissed as I pulled it free from the confines of his pants exposing enough to do what I planned and no more. The hiss became an almost instant grunt as he bucked his hips against me when I slid the ice along his shaft. Rolling it and my tongue around that throbbing head and back down again. He hated to be in clothes at times like this and I was taking a little satisfaction in his discomfort. Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?

Ice melted now I wrapped my mouth around his cock bobbing my head alternating fast and slow. I was taking full advantage of the chill in my mouth before it had time to fade, seeking peeks at him from between his thighs. Each time I looked up I saw that dark and powerful look waiting for me. The one that didn’t just threaten to eat me up but promised to. I felt my own passions stirring more and was a little thankful when he freed his hands and pulled me off his cock back up into his lap.

“Is that another of your little spy tricks?” He was rushing to free me from my dress. His fingers fumbling with the buttons.

“You know I never sleep with someone when I’m working.” I reminded him of the facts, rolling my hips against him before whispering in his ear. “It’s all me.” He shuddered when I took the lobe of his ear in my mouth and gave it a little tug. Our little game was only just beginning.

“What a bad girl you are.” He chuckled pulling me to him so he could clamp down on my collar bone. A sting of pain later and I had a fresh very visible mark for the world to see. It was childish and as much as I would complain later about it I also loved the idea that he wants me so badly he felt compelled to do it. “I always knew you were my kind of woman.”

His fingers now given up with undoing my dress properly slipped into the gaps between them and tugged hard. The sound of fabric ripping and popped buttons hitting the floor like a rainmaker only served to create the music to our mood. His trousers and my panties were yet more fallen victims to our passions.

Shimming to the edge of the sofa he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted us both off the seat. I didn’t complain about the dress I knew it would only be met with “I’ll get you a new one” later. What did make me confused was we weren’t moving towards the bedroom at all.

“Mhm… where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Kazuomi walked into the brightly lit space that was the kitchen. Instead of putting me down on the floor, he sat my ass on the cold hard countertop. The polished marble was beautiful and smooth but damn it was freezing.

He bent down and rummaged around in the freezer for a second before pulling out a small tub with a very familiar logo.

“Is that Lady Borden?”

“A completely new and exclusive flavour. It was released today.” He smiled pulling the paper cap from the carton and then dipping his fingers into the frozen treat. He brought it to my mouth and bit his lips as I slid my tongue over his digits chasing that luxurious creamy delight.

I was so absorbed in not letting the ice cream on his fingers go to waste that it took a few seconds for what he had just said to sink in. Lady Borden was known to produce limited flavours in different countries all over the world. They were exclusive to the place so it was not a massive shock that one would be done in England, but it was released today?

“H-hang on. Are you telling me you put work on hold and flew from one side of the Atlantic to the other JUST to get this?” I snatched the carton from his hand and looked at the pale green container. Luxury Early Grey Tea flavour ice cream. I’d been so into what we were doing I didn’t even taste it.

“Naturally. I know you’re a superfan too and the chance to get my hands on the first tubs of this was too much to pass up.” He took the pot back with one hand and used his other to push me lower onto the marble. “And now I also get to have my favourite dessert on the best plate in the house.”

I felt ridiculous laying on a countertop but I knew that feeling wasn’t going to be in my mind very long. I shivered as he took a scoop of the ice cream out once more on his fingers and drew a line on me from my belly button to my clavicle.

“It’s cold.” I squirmed. Kazuomi dipped down and dragged his tongue along the line he had just painted. Instead of going right to the top, he stopped at my chest. Taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before moving to the other side.

“I’ll warm you up.” His breath over my flushed skin was hotter than anything else in the room.

“It’s all sticky.” I arched against him his trail of kisses and gentle nips with his teeth continued as he lazily painted me with more of the ice cream.

“I’ll be sure to clean it all up and lick you nice and clean.” He vanished from my peripheral vision. I felt his heat move away leaving me laid out for all to see. His “plate”.

The ice cream was melting fast running in ticklish rivers over me and one that he had placed low down was working its way towards my core. I didn’t have time to look to see where my bad boy boyfriend had gone. With a slap on the counter from his hands, he pounced, his face buried between my thighs as he pinned me in place with his arms and tongue. All strength in my body vanished as it tried to focus on him and his targeted attacks.

“Ah! Kazuomi!” I wasn’t just arching I was sure I had probably contorted into a pretzel at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving me. His mouth was always so talented and the things he did with his fingers? My mind was getting foggy trying to keep up with him.

I was so close and if history told me anything he wasn’t far behind. I was lost in his eyes when he stood back up. The gleam of my own juices lingering on his lips as he licked them clean. With one hand on my hip and the other dragging one of my legs to his shoulder, he positioned me well enough to tell me what was happening next.

Hanging partly off the edge and stretched out in a way that meant he had full control I saw sparks the second he entered me.

“Ngh… Mc.”

The sounds of us joined together echoed in the bright space of the kitchen. The ice cream on my skin adding a new scent between us as our heat soared higher than the weather outside.

I said before Karma was a bitch. The games we had as we had our unmasking sessions added to that knowledge. Right now though as we both lost ourselves in the moment for the first of many times today I really couldn’t bring myself to be angry with them.

---

#summer of smut #summer of smut content creation challenge

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

Colour symbol ask:

Fluff: grey: maturity

Gordon & Alan

Secret Tunnel

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Alan, Gordon

Well, my muses have come to life again, which is both great for my mental state and annoying timing with regards to the uni work I'm supposed to be doing, but I'll make it work :D

After making a Military Bros masterpost of everything I've written for those two for Military Bros Day, I started thinking about all the different brother duos and how much I've written for each of them. Now, I might be forgetting something, but the one combination I don't recall writing anything for at all is Gordon&Alan, so I poked at my muses and we came up with this!

It's only a loose tie-in to the prompt, I think, but some sensible Tinies content counts as being mature, right?

Colour Symbol Prompts

“So.” Alan glanced up at his brother, raising an eyebrow at the drawl. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Gordon continued, tone light in a way that would have been disarming if it wasn’t Gordon, and they weren’t in the remains of a collapsed building.

“What’s the bad news?” he asked, rolling his shoulder. It was stiff, vocally complaining at the movement, and Alan was well aware that without the pauldrons his overprotective brothers had thrown on his uniform before letting him join IR it would be a lot worse. While none of the debris had hit either of them directly, some smaller chunks of masonry had glanced off his left shoulder.

Gordon’s sharp amber eyes tracked the motion even as his brother spoke. “Well, the bad news is that our comms are down.” Alan had suspected as such, but the fact still dumped a heavy weight on his chest. No comms meant no John, no Scott or Virgil, no help from outside. He didn’t like being cut off from his brothers at the best of times, and this was hardly the best of times.

Still, he at least had one brother this time, and despite his penchant for not taking things seriously at home, when out on a mission, Gordon was as reliable as they came. They might not have Thunderbird Five’s data at their disposal, or Scott’s leadership, or Virgil’s muscles, but they did have two working brains between them.

Panicking, as Alan had learnt the hard way on other rescues where things went wrong, did him no favours at all. He swallowed back the instinctual panic and met Gordon’s eyes in the artificial half light of the glowstick from Gordon’s baldric.

“So what’s the good news?” he asked.

“The good news,” Gordon said with a flourish and grin reserved for when things weren’t going their way and Alan’s immediate brother decided the world wasn’t allowed to do that, “is that I think I’ve found us a way out.”

“You think?” Alan couldn’t help but question, even though he was already scrabbling his way to his feet and looking around in the hopes of seeing whatever Gordon had found.

“Over here.” He followed the glowstick as Gordon headed over towards where the rubble looked the thickest, blocking them in. “There’s air flowing in.”

Neither of their uniforms offered much by way of exposed skin, but Alan leaned down where Gordon gestured and took off his helmet just long enough to feel a faint breeze on his cheek.

“Where’s that coming from?” he asked, tugging his helmet back on. Gordon pointed at the floor, or what had once been the floor.

“It’s coming from down there,” he said.

“The floor?” Alan knelt down where Gordon gestured. “Why would it be coming from the- oh.”

The house they’d been in, and were now trapped inside, had been an old one. Alan didn’t remember the exact age, but it was a couple of centuries old at least. Old houses, especially larger ones, had secret passageways.

“So how do we get it open?” he wondered out loud, already rummaging around the area. Gordon crouched down next to him with a shrug as his hands joined Alan’s in trying to find a way to open the passageway that had to be there if they were getting airflow.

“Figured finding ways to open secret passages was more your thing,” his brother admitted. “Don’t those games of yours have secret passageways in all the time?”

The question was an honest one, and Alan blinked. “Well, yeah,” he said, “but those are games. This is real. It won’t be the same.” Despite his words, his fingers were still pulling and pushing at the stones that made up the floor, because at least it was a lead.

They could, of course, wait for their bigger brothers to barge their way in, with Virgil encased in his exosuit and Scott so close behind he’d be standing on his heels while John guided them non-stop over the comms, but there was still a lot of work to be done and they were deep inside the building.

Said building took that moment to groan again, threatening another collapse if they didn’t get out pronto. Alan loved his brothers, but he wasn’t about to get crushed because he’d waited helplessly for rescue. The danger zone covered a large area, and while he and Gordon had found no casualties in their sector, Virgil and Scott would have to prioritise the civilians elsewhere no matter how much they might be panicking about losing contact with the pair of them.

If he and Gordon could find their own way out, so much the better.

“It’s close enough, right?” Gordon shrugged, still sounding inappropriately light-hearted for the situation. Alan didn’t take it personally – Gordon’s coping strategies had time and time proven themselves to be effective.

“I’ll let you know,” he grunted, finding ridges in the stone floor. “Bring that light closer. I think I’ve got something.”

The sickly green glow spread across more of his vision as Gordon held it close to his hands, illuminating the remains of the floor below them. There were multiple ridges carved into the stone, all uniform and completely mundane.

Except for the section that wasn’t.

Alan almost missed it, huffing in defeat as he sat on his haunches and rubbed at his shoulder again. At a glance, it looked no different to the rest of the floor, but it had caught his glove in a way the others hadn’t. It was also in the same place as the mysterious airflow.

Gloved fingers scrabbled at the discrepancy, hunting for a purchase that would hopefully reveal their way out. Gordon had moved to crouch right next to him, holding the glowstick aloft but otherwise keeping his hands to himself and leaving the investigation to Alan. His presence there was comforting, helping Alan to keep it together when part of him wanted to scream into his dead comms in the hope that John would pick it up anyway.

There was a click, barely audible over the noise of creaking masonry in their immediate vicinity. Alan felt it rather than heard it, his fingers suddenly pressing down as the resistance vanished. Age old mechanisms whirred back into life, until with a clunk part of the floor moved down and to the side, revealing a small, dark, passageway leading down into the belly of the house.

“Nice one,” Gordon acknowledged, leaning forwards and peering into the inky depths. A second glowstick was snapped and tossed in, illuminating what was definitely a rough-hewn rock corridor. “I’ll go first.”

He was halfway in by the time the words registered, and Alan peered at the opening with some reluctance. “And you’re sure this will get us out?” he checked, because he didn’t want to wait to be rescued like a civilian, but he also had no intentions of being buried alive.

“That air’s coming from somewhere,” Gordon reminded him, edging forwards a few more paces until he reached the glowstick laying where it had landed on the floor of the corridor. “And the roof of this thing seems pretty sturdy.” He rapped it a couple of times with his knuckles. “If the rest of the house collapses, this’ll be the last thing to go.”

A glance around showed that his brother was probably right. Alan swallowed before following him inside, sticking right on Gordon’s heels as the older blond led the way, glowstick held up high for light.

As far as passages went, it was small. Apt for a secret passage, but annoying when the ceiling lowered and the pair of them had to stoop almost double to get through some sections. It twisted and turned, in some areas narrow enough to force them to go through sideways, and at one point the way forwards seemed to vanish altogether before Alan realised a shaft of rock was concealing the next section.

It definitely lived up to its likely original purpose of a secret escape. Pursuing someone through there would be difficult; luckily, the only aim Alan and Gordon had was getting out of the collapsed building.

The first sign of the outside world was when their comms crackled in unison. It was impossible to make anything out through the static, but the garbled voice of John was definitely missing the calm tones their ginger brother usually deployed on rescues. Scott’s response was short and sharp, clipped in a way that screamed panic, and the low rumble of Virgil felt on edge, too.

Returning comms promised that they had to nearly be out, and Alan stumbled forwards, almost catching himself with his painful shoulder before he arrested his momentum with his healthy arm instead.

Neither he nor Gordon spoke, even though he was certain the same thoughts had to be running through his brother’s head as well. They were close, but they weren’t out yet, and had no reassurance that the exit for the secret tunnel hadn’t been collapsed or buried by more falling debris.

Still, it remained the best chance they had. Alan didn’t fancy trailing back through the passageway and sitting back in the rubble of the building, and he knew Gordon felt the same, so pushing onwards was their only choice. It continued to twist and turn, dog-legging and backtracking with no apparent rhyme nor reason. Alan tried to keep track of it in his head, logging it like any secret passage in Cavern Quest, but it put all the virtual ones to shame.

Then Gordon stopped, and Alan walked straight into him.

“Ow!” he exclaimed instinctively, before stepping back a pace. “Why have we stopped?”

“It doesn’t go any further,” Gordon said, holding the glowstick high. It was running out of juice, leaving the sickly green glow far fainter than it had been earlier. It was barely enough light to make out his brother’s face, let alone whatever the rocks surrounding them were doing. “This must be the end.”

“So get us out,” Alan shrugged, rubbing his shoulder and trying to hide the wince of pain that came with the action. Their comms were still broadcasting garbled static interspersed with panicked voices, but the signal was still too poor to even attempt to get hold of John. “There’ll be a mechanism somewhere. Try looking for something slightly off in the ridges on the stone?”

“Trying,” Gordon grunted. The faint green-lit silhouette of his shoulders strained as he pushed and pulled at the rocks. “Not finding anything, Alan.”

“Let me try.” He pushed forwards, trying to squeeze past Gordon to get a better look at the wall of rock blocking their way. Gordon fell back without complaint, although it took a lot of pushing and pulling, and a concerning scrape against his helmet before they managed it.

Alan was struck by a flash of gratitude that none of their older brothers were with them. Scott and John would both be too tall, and Virgil was too bulky. Getting through the passageway with one of them would have been a nightmare. At least he hadn’t yet stopped growing and Gordon was small – not that he planned on mentioning that to Gordon just yet. There was a time and a place for the teasing, and this was neither.

With Gordon now behind him, looming over his shoulder with the ever-fading glowstick held out helpfully in his periphery, Alan reached out and felt around for something similar to the switch he’d found to get them into the tunnel from the other end. Carefully uniform ridges carved across the rock and he followed them with his fingers until, finally, something gave.

Bright light spilled in as the end of the tunnel opened, blinding him with midday sun.

That, however, paled in comparison to the way both their comm audios suddenly sharpened.

“Any sign of them?” Scott’s voice demanded.

“Keep working on getting the mother out of that room,” John non-answered, still sounding far too on edge. “Virgil, there’s a small life sign the other side of the wall.”

“F.A.B.” The forced calm of Virgil’s voice told Alan he was no less agitated than the other two.

“Hey guys.” Gordon chipped in, echoing in Alan’s helmet from the comm channel in stereo with the sound of his voice in real time. “Where do you need us, Thunderbird Five?”

“Gordon!” All three voices overlapped in frantic cacophony. “Where are you?” Scott demanded. “Where’s Alan? Are you okay?”

“I’m here, too,” Alan promised.

“We’re fine,” Gordon added. “Who’s left to save?”

“Virgil and Scott are on the last life signs now,” John told them. “Your signals have reappeared a fair way out from the danger zone; get yourselves back to Thunderbird Two.”

Alan looked around and realised he was right – the two Thunderbirds gleamed in the sunlight, but it was immediately clear that the passageway they’d taken had led almost directly away from the crafts. Even in a straight line, the walk was going to take a good quarter of an hour.

Next to him, Gordon sighed and started walking. “F.A.B.,” he agreed. Alan stumbled a little as he lurched forwards to keep up. “We’ll see you there.”

Sure enough, by the time they arrived, both on-site brothers were waiting impatiently. It was clear that it was only the presence of their rescuees that had stopped them from striking out to meet them, but even that wasn’t enough to stop their big brothers charging towards them as soon as they were visible.

Scott reached them first, always the fastest runner, and Alan let out an oof as he was crushed into a frantic hug alongside Gordon. Worried blue eyes looked them both over, narrowing as they found something they didn’t like.

He was pushed aside as Virgil reached them, Thunderbird Two’s pilot refraining from giving them a bear hug only because he’d clearly spotted the scrape on Alan’s helmet as he’d approached.

“Are you hurt?” A medscanner was deployed almost before Virgil was finished talking. Scott didn’t wait for permission from anyone before carefully detaching Alan’s helmet and peering at his head. Alan didn’t bother to stop him.

“I’m fine!” he made sure to protest, though, although his hand betrayed him as it subconsciously moved across to rub at his shoulder again. None of his brothers missed the action, and before he knew it he was being whisked inside the green Thunderbird so Virgil could take a closer look.

Scott hovered worriedly by his side, glancing over periodically at Gordon. Alan followed suit, catching Gordon’s eye, and his brother rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. It was fond, though; Alan wasn’t at all surprised by Scott and Virgil’s behaviour, and he highly doubted Gordon was, either.

It was just a hazard of having older brothers.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #alan tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #drabbles #thunderfluff #janetm74 #secret tunnel

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thedragonemperess · 3 years

Note

What's your personal opinion on why Elite Force was so bad? Since I've ranted about that a lot and started the 'elite discourse' tag.

Introduction

I don’t think it was really bad. Yes, it was terrible compared to Lab Rats and Mighty Med (of which both deserved more seasons since they both set up so much and than threw it all away), but it wasn’t too bad. Why it was bad, though? They undid all character development, overlooked some of the best characters, and so much more!

Chase

There’s a lot wrong with Chase. First of all, they undid all of his character development and reduced him to a self-centered smart guy. (I’m not gonna say a mini version of Donald because he’s really more like Douglas, but they really just threw away his character.) And for character archs. When AJ made his list, he put Chase at the bottom. A good thing to point out is that this list was based off of the number of powers each person has and the number of powers each person has alone. So lets count how many powers they all have:

Kaz: Pyrokinesis and Flight Oliver: Cryokinesis, Flight, and Super Strength Bree: Super Speed, Vocal Manipulation, Invisibility, and Super Agillity Chase: Molecular Kinesis, Force Fields, Super Intelligence, Super Senses, Laser Bo Generation, and the Commando App (technically Super Strength as well, but that’s only Spike) Skylar: Flight, Super Strength, Super Speed, Acid Spit, Regeneration, and 21 other abilities (10 after the whole thing with Bree, but that still leaves her with the most) CHASE SHOULD BE #2 ON THAT LIST!!

And even if this wasn’t based on only their powers, he’d still be at #2!!

Then we have the Arcturian. The Arcturian Space Rock will kill you if you make direct contact with it, key word being direct. So Bree, being NUMBER #3 on the list (did I mention they overlooked her abilities, too, with the exception of one throw away line?), decided to touch it. After a series of events, she gets superpowers from it.

Bree got superpowers.

Because she was insecure about her bionic powers.

THIS WAS CHASE’S ENTIRE ARCH FROM THE BEGINNING!

And he wasn’t only insecure about his powers, he was insecure about his appearance, self-worth, and a ton of other things.

This arch was engineered for Chase, and they threw it away in favor of Bree.

Skoliver

Skylar and Oliver was the main romance of Mighty Med. Oliver had a crush on Skylar and Skylar was a lesbian didn’t reciprocate. This didn’t stop Oliver from trying to get with her, though. But the difference between Oliver persevering in Mighty Med and Olvier persevering in Elite Force is that in Mighty Med, he did it in a healthy, respectful way. In Elite Force, he became a stalker!

He watched her in her sleep, recorded her without permission, had a pretend version of her that he was dating, and more.

They turned a really nice thing from Mighty Med into something terrible just so that they could put less time into coming up with actual jokes. (The writers of these shows never really handled healthy relationships and comedy well, if Adam and Chase’s relationship says anything, but you would think [I’m only saying this because its Disney] they would put more effort into a romantic relationship.) The worst part about this is that they got together somewhat in the end of Elite Force.

Reese

Reese existed as a way to lead us to the finale of the show. She also existed as a love interest for Chase. She had the potential to be Elite Force’s Marcus or Experion, but they just didn’t do it right.

The Lab Rats’ relationship with Marcus was built over the course of two seasons, which let both the audience and the characters get to know him. Sure, we knew he was evil before everyone else, but how evil he truly was changed up until Douglas’ plan was finally revealed. He was also really close to a lot of the characters, so that makes it really painful.

Experion was one of Skylar’s close friends, almost like a brother, and we saw that play out on screen. He was only there for a short amount of time, just as Reese was, but he was already in a predetermined relationship with him. Reese had literally only met Chase that day, meaning that connection just wasn’t there.

(Also, was Reese just there to degay Chase? Because that’s what it seems like.)

Representation And Other Things Of The Sort

Lab Rats was a show that had a family in which half of it was married into. Shows have done this before, yes, but this showed the kids really just excepting it and not getting mad at their respective family. This was also a mixed family, which watching now that I’m older and really understand the importance of it, is really nice. Especially as a mixed person myself.

As for Mighty Med, and I’m starting with family again, it had a father figure who, more or less, actually cared about his kid(s) and was active in their life. It also showed him, a person of color, in a position of power. Skylar, who is a woman of color, was a badass who wasn’t boy crazy. She didn’t care about boys and the one time she did chase after someone, it was an introverted girl whom she wanted to be friends with which is pretty gay but whatever Disney. She was pretty freaking powerful, too, even without her powers.

Now for Oliver and Kaz, they were geeks. That’s a recurring fact in the show. It’s also something that is constantly saving all of their butts and was the main thing that got them their jobs. They weren’t picked on or made fun of for it, that was just who they were.

And unlike Lab Rats, Mighty Med showed a healthy relationship between brothers. Additionally, Gus was a really weird kid, but no one ever made fun of him, either. They treated him like they treated everyone else. He even ends up as one of the popular kids a few times.

Elite Force really just threw that all away in favor of (what became) a bunch of bratty kids in a pent house together.

Backstory

Mighty Med ended off on a cliffhanger, with Mr. Terror escaping, Oliver and Kaz obtaining superpowers, Alan meeting his father for the first time, and Horace using his last revival. Not to mention, Mr. Terror is Oliver’s mother and was supposed to be Horace’s wife.

And then they completely forgot about all of that and destroyed Mighty Med, killing all of the people in it in the process while also forgetting about Mr. Terror completely?

As for Lab Rats’ ending, it was actually pretty fitting and satisfying, all things considered. Adam, Bree, Leo, and Chase split up after defeating Giselle, Adam and Leo going back to the island to help the students with the big change (an update that let them control their abilities, hence no need for them to be teachers anymore) while Bree and Chase joined the Elite Force.

But why Chase and Bree? Sure, I guess the fandom Chase, but we did care about Leo more than Bree if we’re looking at it from that stand point. Now if we’re looking at it from a logical, in-universe stand-point, it makes no sense. Bree and Chase were the smarter, more experienced of the four, so they should have gone back to the island, while letting Chase and Adam join the Elite force.

Also, Leo has just become a mentor, which was what he was striving for since the start of the season. He was always being overlooked, and now, when he finally gets his moment in the spot light, its taken away from. That just really bothers me.

What Was Good About Lab Rats: Elite Force?

Quite honestly, not a lot. But considering the target audience, it was pretty good. Having two well received shows come together into an, albeit poorly set up and attempted, spin-off where they can have their own battles and story lines together is pretty cool and different. There are some flaws, like how Mighty Med logic and Lab Rats logic really don’t intertwine, but you have to keep in mind that this is a kids show.

It also showed Douglas being a pretty good father, which is really nice. Sure, he’s their birth father and/or creator, but it also shows them mending their relationship.

There were some smaller things, too. AJ’s introduction, Skylar and Bree slowly become sisters, and Chase and Kaz becoming friends were all really fun to watch. (The characters growing relationships with each other, period, were fun to watch.) The villains had good motives, and the small cameos from other shows (Bob and Crossbow [she’s more of a piece of what Mighty Med used to be, but I’m counting it]) were really fun to see. The plot could definitely be better, but it was still pretty good. And, as much as I hate to admit it, the show was genuinely funny. The amount of times I’ve spit out my water while watching this show is surprising.

Conclusion

Was Lab Rats: Elite Force as great a show as the source material? No. Was it all we thought it would be at the time? That depends on how old you were when it came out. It was, and still is, a fun show to watch, though. Yes, it would have been better if it never happened and the shows continued separately, but I’m glad that we at least have an answer to what Mighty Med and Lab Rats alluded to in their finales. Am I upset about Elite Force’s finale? Yes, and I will probably die mad about it, but we didn’t have as much time to get to know the characters and connect to them, so is it really that much of a loss? That’s up to you. Is it a fun show to watch? Absolutely.

#long post #very long post #long post tw #long post tag #lab rats #lab rats bionic island #mighty med #lab rats elite force #lr #lrbi #mm #lref #lrmmlref stuff #answering asks #fave

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codenamesazanka · 3 years

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Hello, I hope you are well. For the unpopular opinion ask: Shouto Todoroki is not a well-written character. (But pls let's not fight!! I come in peace). Thank you and hope you have a great day.

Heya! And wow, starting off strong! 👌🏼

Hmm, I disagree - Shouto is a well-written character... Just sometimes underutilized, and unfortunately boring - to me. imo. He's just not my type of fav.

Shouto has a solid backstory, goes through tremendous character development, and forms one of the backbones of the story via the examination of his relationship with his father the Pro-Hero and conflict with his older brother Touya/Dabi. He's got goals, strengths and weaknesses and flaws, and he's got ongoing internal conflicts that merges well with his external conflicts. His interactions with his family and classmates gives plenty of meaty material, and he's also actively doing things that affect the plot.

Design wise, he's distinguishable, easily-identifiable, and cute. He's got super strong superpower(s) that allows him very versatile tactics or victory through pure strength and force. His appearance ties into his backstory, from the hair to the scar to the ice and fire, which is good visual storytelling.

That checks off a lot of the 'criteria' for well-written character! A checklist isn't the end all be all, of course, and so his character succeeds by becoming more than just that. He's a character to watch and take interest in - a reader must take interest in. Plenty of people find him a very interesting character and his circumstances compelling; they relate to him and his struggles, and it's fun to watch him turn from an aloof, angry student to a kind, helpful Hero of his own imagining.

He's a perfectly good character in the story of My Hero Academia. I personally just find him utterly boring.

I've been spoiled on his character-type 'processors': Gaara, the kid who was also born to be an ultimate weapon, isolated and trained, and suffers for it; and Zuko, the fire kid with a scar on his eye who also has major family drama. They were intense, they inspired in me much more emotions, I felt their choices had much bigger impact and repercussions and ripples that intrigued me; so comparatively, Shouto just didn't measure up.

Part of it is the writing around him - not the writing about him, but around him - the world and his role in it. Compared to Gaara - ninja-world equivalent of a Weapon of Mass Destruction and child of the leader of a major world power; and Zuko - Prince and Heir to the Main Villain Empire and trying to catch the one Hero that threatens their global conquest; Shouto is just any other good kid going to school, learning to be a Hero, not able to make major changes that really affects stuff. He can't, because he's 16-years-old in a modern-ish society that limits the power and responsibilities of children, and he's a good kid who isn't gonna jeopardize his chances of success. He does what he can, his interactions with the people around him are significant - though mostly on an individual level; and the Todoroki Family Saga has only started, so he always had potential to really change things - just not yet. He really makes sense for the character he's supposed to be, and that's a good thing! Just not my thing.

I guess you can say the fact that he hasn't gone rogue or really rock the boat is bad writing; but I think that's more of an opinion about what you want out of the story and character. For a lot of people in the fandom, his emotional and interpersonal journey fulfills their story satisfaction.

Which is why for what I want for the story, I think Shouto and his character and storyline shines best when he's interacting with his family - Endeavor, Rei, his siblings, Dabi. The Todoroki family conflict is connected closely into the worldbuilding, the themes of Heroism and responsibilities and atonement/redemption and conceptualization of power in the HeroAca world, and the overall story question of whether or not society will be destroyed. His decision to continue interacting with Endeavor, his thoughts and feelings on redemption/atonement, what he thinks he's obligated to do as son and brother, how that will affect what he thinks Heroism is - All that is real good. And the Todoroki family story is best when everyone plays a part (yes, even Endeavor) in a sort of ensemble cast, so it's not particularly Shouto that I'm interested in in this case either.

One can probably make the argument that the changes he goes through at school affects this, which is true; but I think Shouto could've had his epiphany with a total stranger or even off-screen and that wouldn't change how the rest of it plays out.

(God I hate that Sport Festival "Talk-No-Jutsu". I didn't get it and wasn't convinced back then, I still don't get it and am not convinced now. But that's also more with my issues with Deku.)

I'm very tepid on Shouto also because I love my angry, fucked-up kids, love my terrible, no-good-doing characters (Gaara straight up killed people, Zuko being the imperialist soldier he was). Shouto was angry and aloof at the beginning, but he was still an observably polite, good kid: no hurting other people, getting good grades, etc. He would've appealed to me more if he was burning and frostbiting kids left and right, if he was cruel and arrogant, if he was unpleasant and a bully. If what he did left big consequences, if some of his actions were unjustifiable, if his epiphany and 'change for the better' arc was much harder and tougher.

That would've made him a more polarizing character, but I would've been much more interested in how he'll develop in the long run and he affected the world around him.

(Ironically, that means I would've liked him if Shouto acted more like Touya/Dabi. Which seems paradoxical, except I do like Touya/Dabi - that is, canon!Touya/Dabi, the one who is fantasy racist and sexist and ageist, is sadistic and out to really hurt people. We need more of this Very Unpleasant Dabi. Not because I wanna hate him, but because that's also more interesting to me than the usual conceptualization of him as a tragic Loving Big Bro whose flaws can be completely blamed on Endeavor.

Basically: 'unforgivable' characters with big, unjustifiable actions and no excuses -> my great attention.)

Sorry this got super long! Thanks for Reading! And thank you very much for the ask! I hope you have a great day as well!!!!

#asked #answered #unpopular opinion asks #dualfuel #nalslastworkingbraincell #Todoroki Shouto #Todoroki Touya #Dabi #Drabby Dabi #send me unpopular opinions #start a fight with me

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juliettecxi · 3 years

Note

Hi Abby! If you're taking requests, can I ask for a thomastair with “We would make a great couple.”? Thank you and take all the time you need!

Prompt number 9: “We would make a great couple.”

Fandom: The Last Hours

Ship: Thomastair

Genre: Modern au, Non TSCverse, Camp counselor au, Childhood friends who had a crush on each other and kissed once and then grew apart and found each other again to lovers, fluff, lot’s and lot’s of nostalgia

Prompt List | Writing Playlist

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(Flashbacks are in italics)

Camp. Alastair’s favourite time of the summer.

Nothing appealed to him more, then spending two weeks in an outdoor, mosquito infested campsite that had swamp water for showers and he loved having hormonal teenagers under his wing.

But if Alastair hated camp so much, why did he sign up as counsellor every summer? Well, as much as Alastair hated it here, there were just too many memories that he didn’t want to let go of.

Ever since he was a little boy, he’s attended this very summer camp. He’d made friends here; Tried smores for the first time by the campfire, surrounded by other kids his age; He’d met his first summer love here, and had his first kiss here as well.

Alastair let out a sigh as the nostalgia hit him. He picked up the boxes of saltine crackers from head counsellor Jem’s car and headed to the main cabin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alastair!” a voice called. Alastair rolled his eyes, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Will!” he said back, his over exaggerated enthusiasm dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t pretend you’re not excited to see me!” Will said, and tackled Alastair in a bear hug. “I’m not.” Alastair replied, his voice muffled by Will’s shoulder.

“Hey did you know there’s a new counsellor joining us this summer?” said Jesse, who was making an inventory of all the medicine. “Really?” asked Lucie, who was sorting out the pens and paper for her creative writing class. “Yeah, apparently he’d attended camp a few times before, back when he was a kid.” Will, who’d finally let go of Alastair, added.

Alastair raised an eyebrow. “Why would anyone want to come back here?” he asked. “I don’t know Alastair, why do you?” Lucie said, without missing a beat, and Will and Jesse snickered.

“Touché.” he said, and shrugged his shoulders, a small smile on his lips.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, and the new counsellor was yet to arrive. The kids had started to trickle in, both familiar faces and new ones, and Alastair had to make sure the children under his care didn’t get lost or wander into the wrong cabin. Matthew, another counsellor, was notorious for losing the children, and heaven forbid Alastair made the same mistake as him.

“Orientation in the mess hall in half an hour!” called Jem and the counsellors headed to the main cabin to get ready.

“Seems like a no-show.” said Matthew, and the others murmured in agreement. “He’s on his way, he’ll be here.” said a worn out looking Jem. He was in charge and he did a pretty great job, but the poor guy needed a break. He cleared his throat and said,

“James, please don’t allow the kids to swim in the river this year, and Will, for heaven’s sake, keep them away from the poison ivy. Matthew, don’t you dare lose anyone this year, Lucie and Jesse, try to avoid unnecessary midnight Ouija board scares and Alastair, please don’t call the kid’s names.” and he looked at all of them.

“I just get on their level.” Alastair said, and shrugged at Jem.

He was not impressed.

“Fine.” Alastair said and slightly rolled hi eyes. He headed to the cabin he was in charge of, to rally the children to the mess hall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were fifteen minutes into the orientation, and the new counsellor had still not arrived.

The children were actually pretty nice, and none of them had set their cabins on fire yet.

Alastair stood up front along with the other counsellors, while Jem spoke to the children.

“If you have any worries, please don’t hesitate to talk to your counsellor in charge. Avoid going near the lake without an adult, and don’t get late for your session. Punctuality is key here at-”

"I'm here!" A loud voice yelled from the back, interrupting Jem in the middle of his speech.

"I'm so sorry! My alarm didn't ring and I got caught in traffic and-"

Alastair frowned.. those eyes, why were they so familiar?

They reminded him of a similar pair, from many summers ago, But How? The boy he knew was small.

This guy was not small.

He was tall, like extremely tall, and he was muscular. He was good looking, Alastair had to admit, and those eyes were extremely captivating, and also somewhat familiar.

Jem let out an audible sigh, breaking Alastair out of his reverie.

“Everyone, meet your new counsellor, Thomas Lightwood.”

Thomas who?

Wait.

No.

The eyes.

No way.

Holy fucking shit!

Alastair almost fell off the stage.

Thomas smiled sheepishly and scratched the nape of his neck, and Alastair was suddenly whisked away to that one summer, all those years ago.

“Um, hi, is this the bear cabin?” a timid voice asked, interrupting a thirteen year old Alastair from his book. He looked up at a small boy with hazel eyes, who was scratching the back of his neck, with a small smile on his face.

Alastair’s heart did a little flip.

“Yep.” Alastair responded, as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh, well hi! I’m Thomas!”

“Alastair.” he responded, and they shook hands, both of them smiling.

“Alastair.” Will said, and punched him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” he semi-yelled, and punched Will back. “What the hell?” he asked, voice laced with annoyance.

“The meeting is over, let’s go back to the main cabin.��

Alastair nodded his head and looked ahead, and his eyes locked with a pair of hazel ones. Thomas’s face held a mixture of recognition and surprise. His cheeks were tinted pink, and Alastair felt his face heat up.

“Hello.” Thomas mouthed, and Alastair smiled.

These two weeks were most definitely going to be something.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastair and Thomas hadn’t interacted much these few days. Camp was ending in three days, and Alastair had mixed feelings about interacting with Thomas.

There had been the occasional wave and helping each other lift boxes, but other than that they hadn’t interacted much.

Alastair whistled to himself tunelessly, his mind full of thoughts about Thomas, as he arranged the sticks, marshmallows, crackers and chocolate for the smores. He remembered when he and Thomas had snuck out after stealing a box of chocolates from the main cabin, and headed to the lake.

“Do you think they’ll notice?” Thomas asked, and Alastair shook his head.

“If they do they won’t know it was us.” he said and giggled, and Thomas joined him. He looked at the lake, and its clear waters reflecting the sunlight. They both sat in silence, enjoying the chocolate and each other's company.

The kiss happened two days later, on the last day of camp. The campfire was in full swing, everyone was singing and dancing and yelling, it was exhilarating. Towards the end, things mellowed. Everyone went back to the cabin, except for Thomas and Alastair.

“Quite nice isn’t it?” Thomas said, breaking the silence. Alastair hummed in response

“I’m going to miss you.” he said suddenly, and Thomas looked at him in shock.

“Me-me too.” he said, and smiled.

Alastair turned to face Thomas, he looked beautiful, that was all he could think. Slowly they inched closer. It was just a short peck on the lips, But it felt like more for fifteen year old Alastair.

They both looked at each other and grinned, and Alastair felt like he was in heaven.

They'd parted from each other on the last day of camp, promising to meet each other next year, but when next year came, Thomas was nowhere to be seen, And very soon he became a distant memory, a mere summer love.

"Hey!" An all too familiar voice said, and Alastair's heart did that thing again.

"Hey Thomas.." Alastair said, And smiled at the former.

"Brings back memories doesn't It?" Thomas said, looking at the smore ingredients, and Alastair raised an eyebrow. Thomas seemed to realize what he said and grinned. "I was talking about camp.. and smores and campfires.." he finished awkwardly.

"Yeah, yep I was thinking the same thing." Alastair said, and cleared his throat.

"So…." He began, attempting to dispel the awkwardness, "What have you been up to Thomas?"

"Well," Thomas began, "I've been studying, and well you know, just getting around. You?"

Alastair nodded. "Pretty much the same thing."

"Oh, Well, I've got to go get something for Matthew, I'll see you around." Thomas said, and began to walk away.

"Do you remember the kiss?" Alastair said suddenly and mentally slapped himself. "Nice going dumbass." He internally scolded.

Thomas looked like a deer caught in headlights. Finally, "Yeah, I do.. It was nice."

Alastair nodded lamely and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Do you regret it?" He asked.

"What? No! Never! It was one of the best things that happened to me that summer." Thomas said, and laughed.

Alastair smiled at that. There it was again, the little backflips his heart did.

"You know," he said, about to say one of the riskiest things he'd ever said, "We would make a great couple." He held his breath, and Thomas looked like he'd stopped functioning altogether.

"I-" Thomas shook his head. "I've got to go.. I'm bye!" He said, and ran away before Alastair could say anything, and he stood there, wishing the last ten minutes hadn't happened

------------------------------------------------------------------------------It was the last night at camp, and Alastair and Thomas had skillfully avoided each other. Alastair was a little upset. Sure, he hadn't seen Thomas in years, but he'd never grown as close to another man as he had with Thomas, and seeing him again had rekindled something in him.

Oh Well, he'd blown it anyway.

He stared at the growing campfire as everyone hustled around him. Finally Jem stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"These past few days have been extremely memorable and truly remarkable." He said, and Alastair couldn't help but laugh softly. Jem always had a tendency to use big words to address things important to him.

"I thank you all for attending and I hope you had a good time. Enjoy this final night to the fullest, and I hope to see you all next year." He finished, and everyone cheered.

The campfire was perfect. Everyone sang songs and ate to their hearts heart's content. Will attempted to start one of his shenanigans, but a disapproving glance from Jem stopped him.

He was going to miss this.

Once everything had died down and everyone had headed back to the cabin, Alastair sat by the campfire as it slowly dwindled, and looked at the stars, randomly naming stars and constellations.

"Orion's belt is my favourite, but only because it's the easiest to find."

Alastair turned, only to find Thomas settled next to him.

"Hey, not going to bed?" Alastair asked.

Thomas shook his head. "I wanted to tell you something about earlier."

Alastair sat up. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He began, "My mind was all over the place and I didn't think it through."

Thomas shook his head. "I agree with You."

"Huh?"

"I think we'd make a great couple too."

Alastair laughed. Words couldn't describe how happy he felt.

"But maybe we should take things slow." Thomas said and Alastair nodded his head.

"Of course, maybe go on a few dates first, get each other's numbers and then put a label on it." He said, and they both chuckled.

Alastair's chest felt fuzzy and warm. Thomas looked beautiful in the moonlight. Thomas was looking at Alastair funny.

"Hey do you think kissing goes against taking it slow?" He asked.

Alastair shook his head "Uhhhh. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm going to kiss you now." And then Thomas's lips were on his, soft, slow and sweet. Alastair kisses him back, wrapping his hands around his neck. So as the fire crackled on and the stars shone in the sky, Alastair felt like he was fifteen again.

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A/N: @writeforjordelia This is the end! Yeet! *throws smores everywhere* I'm sorry this took so long, but this is it I guess. This ended up becoming way too long but I hope you liked it nia!

-Abby💕

#thomastair #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #tlh #tsc #tscfanfic #tsc fanfiction #tlh fanfic #tlh fanfiction #thomastair fanfic #thomas x alastair #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #abby writes

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