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genshinluvr · 27 days

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Where's the Update? (Genshin Filler)

Pairings: Somewhat Genshin men x Isekai'd!Reader, but there's no romance in this fic... at least, I don't think there is one

Summary: You and the men go and visit the person who writes the script for every project you all do.

Note: Here's a random filler fanfic because I feel bad for not updating in so long. This is me trying to write something because I've been having a really hard time getting back into writing and updating. I don't expect anyone to read this, really. But since I've been getting numerous asks about when am I going to update, here is a filler chapter. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

“Are you sure you want to ask her about it?” Aether asks nervously, watching you approach the closed door to an office.

You nod at Aether wordlessly, knocking on the door. Aether turns to the other men, pursing his lips while the others behind him shrug their shoulders. Dainsleif sighs and rubs his temples, watching you press your ears against the door after not hearing a response from the person behind the door.

“Maybe we shouldn’t disturb her.” Tighnari rubs the back of his neck, tapping his feet on the ground while subconsciously trying to hear anything behind the door.

Again, there’s no response from behind the door. You let out a huff of breath before knocking on the door again—no response from the person in the room. You groan and press your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s been, what, six months since you have heard from this person.

“I understand she was busy with her life, but we’ve been waiting for so long for an update. She even said she would try to update us when she can, but….” You trail off, rubbing your eyes with mild annoyance.

Al Haitham shrugs, opening his book while leaning against the wall. “Exactly. She would try to when she could, but she wasn’t able to because she was busy with her life.”

You try to refrain from breaking the door down yourself and drag this woman out of her small space to have a word with her. However, being a nice person (you try), you refrain from doing so. Before you can knock on the door, the door opens, and lo and behold, the woman in question finally answers the door.

Her eyes widen, and she glances at the calendar frozen in time on the wall. “How long have you guys been standing out here? How long has it been since…” She trails off, scratching her head.

A fake smile plasters on your face while you press your lips into a thin line. How long has she been in that room to the point where she loses track of time? You clear your throat, placing your hand on the woman’s shoulders, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Dear author, it’s been a long time since we’ve heard something from you. It’s, uh, good to see you again!” You said, feigning cheerfulness.

The woman pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, only for it to slide down. “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She mutters.

“Aside from the small life updates here and there, we’re happy to see you again!” Kaveh interjects, placing his hand on your shoulders and giving them a squeeze as if he’s warning you to be nice.

The woman shakes her head, gesturing for you and the others to enter the small space of her office. You and the others walk into the small area, surveying the space. You’re surprised to see an organized work area for someone who barely has the time to update. Speaking of organization and updating… this woman has time to organize her workspace but not enough time to update?

The woman collapses on her seat and turns to look at the crowd in her office. “What are you all doing here? I’m assuming it’s not to check up on me.” She teases, pushing up her glasses, only for them to slide down once again.

Itto nudges you, gesturing you to answer the woman in front of you. You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck when you feel multiple eyes focusing on you. “What do you mean? We are! How have you been doing in the past few months? How’s life?”

The woman sitting in front of you shifts in her seat, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve been stressed and incredibly burned out for the past few months, but I’m doing okay.”

You nod, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Silence falls over you and everyone in the room. The woman kicks her feet back and forth, unsure of what to say. Scaramouche rolls his eyes and groans, garnering attention from everyone in the small space.

Scaramouche points at the woman, “Ugh! Enough with beating around the bush! When are you going to update?!” he demands.

The woman stares at Scaramouche with wide eyes, almost clueless. “Update….?”

Venti giggles nervously, pushing Scaramouche to the side. “Don’t mind him. He’s just, uh, lacks filter.”

You grab the closest chair and drag it over to where the woman sits. You sit beside her and clasp your hands together, crossing your legs. She stares at you and glances at the others blankly, pressing her lips into a thin line. You let out a long sigh, hugging your knees to your chest.

“How are you, really? I know you said you’ve been stressed and burned out, but how are you?” You whisper.

The woman leans in her seat, rolls her head back, and stares at the ceiling. “I’ve been stuck in a loop,” she says, “The constant loop of doing assignments, dealing with personal life, worrying about whether I would graduate on time, and wanting to write so many things, and yet nothing will come out.” The woman leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.

“So… you weren’t slacking off on writing?” Childe asks, only to get slapped upside the head by Zhongli.

The woman makes a so-so gesture. “Yes and no. I want to write, and I have been trying my best to write something. However, I would lose the motivation to write, and writing isn’t as easy as it seems. It takes a lot of time and effort— at least for me, it does.”

You rest your chin on your knees, staring holes into the woman’s skull if you stare any harder. The woman shifts in her seat while you continue to stare her down. You inch closer to her and awkwardly pat her head while she sits there, reminding you of a gargoyle. “I’m not good with comforting people, but I hope this makes you feel a tiny bit better despite my failed efforts.” You said, giving her an awkward smile.

The woman snorts before sighing and turning to her computer. “I’ll have something out hopefully soon. Would a filler update be okay? I want to get something out, you know? And maybe once I get used to writing, I’ll try my best to update more.” She mutters, tapping on her chin.

“If it works for you, then it works for you. I don’t speak for others, but I can wait,” Xiao comments, looking at you from the corner of his eyes while you rub the back of your neck, attempting to avoid his gaze.

The woman sighs, opening the file on her computer to show many uncompleted works. Lots of stories, both titled and untitled— some have a decent amount of words while others have little to none. You peek over her shoulders, squinting to read the title of the unfinished stories. “Oooh! Another chapter for Tragic Outcomes?! Wait, that document says you haven’t touched it since September!”

The woman clears her throat, nodding sheepishly. “I have a somewhat decent amount typed out, but I didn’t like where it was going…” she trails off, “So, I decided not to work on it.”

You turn to Xiao. “Do you think I dumped you in that story?”

Xiao scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I would do it if I were you.”

You turn to the computer and watch the woman scroll through the endless documents. The majority of them are completed and have already been published. However, a few catch your eye.

“What’s this one? It said you opened it two weeks ago.” You point at the somewhat.

The woman sighs, slumping in her seat. “It’s been sitting on my head for a while. I like the idea, but I feel like people are going to complain about it.”

Wriothesley scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t please everyone, you know? People will find the littlest things to complain about. Your character doesn’t act the way they do? They whine about it. Your character does something this one specific person wouldn’t do? They whine about it. You have your character be paired up with one of us and not this specific person? They whine about it.”

“Why do they whine about these things? It’s not like the author specifically makes the main character based on them. If they want something very specific, they can pay up and commission her for something specific.” Itto declares, propping his hands on his hips. “And if they don’t want to do that, then too bad, so sad.”

“Care to tell us what this uncompleted story is about?” Cyno asks, walking over to the woman’s desk.

The woman scratches her head. “I don’t know if I want to say it.”

Tighnari blinks at her, tilting his head. “Why not? Is it because you’re worried people aren’t going to like it and will complain?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, it’ll be me spoiling the future story that I’m trying to work on. But if that doesn’t work out, then I’ll start a new series.” She shrugs her shoulders, leaning in her seat while scrolling through the documents. The woman gets up from her seat and starts moving them towards the entrance of her office. “Anyway, that is all for now! Thank you all for visiting me, but I do need to complete a few things.”

After being kicked out of the office, you and the men all stand at the front of the woman’s office, looking at one another. You sigh and plop on the ground, rolling over and curling up into a fetal position.

“How much longer do I have to wait?” You groan, rolling around on the grass.

Capitano huffs. “The more you whine about it, the more she’ll delay it.”

You glare at Capitano from where you’re at before sitting up. “I don’t think she will do that!” You argue. “Archons, I hope she doesn’t.” You scramble up from the ground, knocking on the office door.

“What are you doing?” Dottore sighs, rubbing his temples as he and the others watch you knock on the door repeatedly.

“I’m going to tell the author that she can take as much time as she needs because—”

Neuvillette shakes his head, grabs you by the waist, and tosses you over his shoulders. “We understand the sentiment, but there’s a chance you’ll make her upset.” Neuvillette pats your head as he walks away from the office, and the others follow.

Note: To be honest, this was way easier to write than stories with plot— and I have a lot in the drafts, and they're all unfinished and untouched, which sucks because I want to write, but the motivation is nearly nonexistent. I'm not sure when I'll actually post a full plot fanfic, but we'll have to wait and see. As you can see, there are little to no hashtags because it's not really the usual story I post, and it's a filler fanfic. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#genshinluvr #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact imagine

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semicolonsspace · 4 months

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Him (your favorite) (Stiles//Dylan O'Brien)

No use of names. Just pet names and Y/n.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Roleplay, unprotected sex, edging, begging, praise kink, degradation kink, Bondage (use of handcuffs), breeding kink, stretch kink(?), mommy kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, subspace.

"Honey, I'm home," he yells as he shuts the door. He would always do this, he would always say it's 'hilarious'. Y/n found it humorous so soon after they made it a thing she started doing it as well. But except she put her spin onto it, talking like a 1940s housewife that just got back running errands.

Y/n rounds the corner to the front door. She was wearing his favorite, his T-shirt and shorts— or at least he thought she was wearing some; She wasn't. She was doing errands around the house in his shirt—Which mostly consisted of organizing the new room they had just renovated— more like Y/n renovated because she wanted it to be perfect!

"Hello, dear," she says in her housewife's voice. He laughs at her and pulls her in by the hips to kiss her. His hands snaked under the shirt she wore and slapped her ass when he realized she was only wearing underwear and his shirt. "You tryna kill me today?" He asks in a guttural groan. Her forehead rested on his as she smiled lovingly at her boyfriend of two wonderful years. "Not currently."

He gave her a playful shrewd look. "I think I'm already dead, then," he hums suggestively as he pulls hair out of her face, then resting his hand to cup it. His soft touch sent a chill down her spine as she stared up at him with lust that was masked by playfulness. "Oh, yeah?" She starts as she bats her eyelashes. "Well, I guess I might have to resurrect you."

He looked intrigued by her choice of words, choosing a decision for himself he indulged her humorous antics. "How so?"

"By laying you on my sacrificial altar bed and extracting your life force fluids," she jokingly purrs at him. That seemed good enough for him because he slung her body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As he walked he shreaded his layers then threw her on their bed.

Y/n scolded him for being so careless, as she almost hit her head on the metal bed frame. She pulls him down, and pulls his shirt off effortlessly—as she had done it so many times before due to the numerous times of "catching up sex" they had due to his work. She pins his pale buffed arms to the mattress while speaking. "Now, baby. Don't you remember how I said 'I' have to extract some fluids?"

He looks up at her and smirks. He decided to indulge her roleplay and started improvising lines. "Please, don't hurt me— I'll be good— you said you needed fluids, take my spit anything but my blood!" He whined with feigning horror. But she knew he was aroused, she could feel it— feel his 7-inch cock pressing— begging to be drained by her— and if he was lucky he could have her cunt to grip her tight.

Y/n chuckles darkly, something he thought was too authentic to be in their present roleplay. "I never specified which fluid I needed, dummy."

His eyes widened when he 'realized' what she meant. "By all means, go ahead— just don't kill me— please—" he begged once more. Y/n plants a soft kiss on his pointed elf-like nose as if saying 'good.'

That led to having him cuffed to the bed for hours. Her hand wrapped around his cock— jerking it just to stop before he would release. She wanted him to explode when he did so. And she wanted it to be inside of her. She wanted to feel the familiarity of the thick warm liquid rife her up just for it to enter her cervix. She was on the pill, plus she had a few boxes of plan B she liked to keep a stack of.

"Mama! Please! Just let me cum! I'll be good!" He screams, fake tears streaming from his eyes. Some of them were genuine tears from how delicious the pleasure was.

"Will you be my little ingredient holder?" She tilted her head as she spoke, speaking in the most condescending tone she could muster. "I need lots of human sperm to make my potions, would you like that? For me to milk you dry every day?"

He lets out a guttural groan that she didn't think was part of the roleplay. This was purely him. He was enjoying every bit of this, lapping up all the attention his girlfriend gave her.

The last statement was proved by his hips thrusting into her hips in an attempt to chase his orgasm. She stops and rubs his stomach. "How many times was that? 6 times? 6 potential orgasms just for me to stop... That makes me powerful don't you think? To have the ability to stop you from doing something your body chases? It's okay though, you'll get it soon."

Then her cunt was hovering over his red cock that was tortured for the last 2 hours. He nodded eagerly as he babbled how much he needed her to finish him off— to give her the "ingredient" she needed. She sat on him, wincing at how big he was, Every time she had him in her at first she would always be shocked by how much he stretched her fluttering walls.

"Going to be the best ingredient ever— make the strongest potion," she praises, continuing their little roleplay. He didn't seem to be acting anymore due to the immense pleasure, mostly just him begging for mercy for her to finish him off finally.

"For fucks sake— please just ride me, mama— need it," he whines, actual tears falling down his face. He was ruined— disheveled. And she felt glorious; she had done that. She had made him feel so divine just for her to deny his unholy release six whole times.

Y/n clicks her tongue and slaps his chest slightly, before reaching back and squeezing his balls. By his reaction she knew it was painful from how much he groaned— a different type of groan— he needed that release and she was just toying with him— She had been toying with him this whole time. "Next time you won't finish. I may need the ingredient but I can always use other fluids," she warns darkly.

He seemed to get that she was still roleplaying and nodded, breathing a sorry that was soon sucked in as she started hopping on him, his dick curve hitting her spot every time she sheathed onto him.

Her hands rested on his pecs before finding his nipples and tugging on them harshly. "Pretty boy looks so good fucked out for me," she whispers into his ear, her one hand caressing his sweaty hair. "Only for you." His eyes flutter, his mouth staying open. She kissed him— now instead of hopping, she was rocking into him, which seemed more sensual to them as they moaned in sync, telling each other they loved each other, completely forgetting about the roleplay. Now it was just the couple of two years that have lived with each other for eleven months.

Y/n reaches for the cuffs and he shakes his head while begging a no. "Keep them on, please," he moans.

Her mouth forms a smile before opening from the pleasure. She gets an idea so they both have what they want. "Wanna feel you touch me," she says uncuffing one singular cuff. His hand immediately finds her hip while his hips thrust into her—seeming like he was trying to gain control.

"Fucking being a brat for not letting me cum, baby," he groans as he pinches her nipple. She smiles at him before kissing his neck. "Good," she whispers, before unlatching the other cuff. Then she was flipped on her stomach, her ass in the air, her face buried in the mattresses as he plunged his abused cock into her. "Oh, you feel so good—way better than your hand, that's for damn sure," he murmurs breathily. Y/n was clawing at the mattress, bratty almost pornographic moans being muffled into the light grey satin sheets.

She lifts her head finally, positioning her body to arch, her elbows propping her up as he continued to rail her pussy into oblivion. "Cum in me— wanna feel you-"

He cuts her off before she continues with a humorous moaning chuckle. "Trust me, I'm gonna fucking milk every fuckin' drop inside this pussy, gonna stuff it full so you can carry my baby," he growls, making his thrust harder to punch— not kiss— her cervix. She squeals as a sudden wave of intense pleasure knocks her out. Her vision faded black and he coaxed her, his thrust becoming sloppy before he stilled in her. He doubles over from the climax, whispering praises into her ear. "S'good, I love you so much, honey," was all she could make out.

She thought he was the one who was going to be exhausted but he kept going, his cock continuing to piston inside of her for round two. She was more than okay with it, letting him use her just how he wanted; he deserved it.

By the time he stuffs her brim full with a second orgasm, she is on her back. The cum oozed out of her cunt as he pestered wet-sloppy and open-mouth kisses all over her neck and chest. She was bound to have marks all over her in the morning. "Look at that, baby," he says as he plays with his release around the hole. He was still inside, his finger lapping up the release and stuffing it back into her.

"Fuck, don't do that, or we're doing a round three," y/n squeals. He smiles cheekily at her and stuffs his finger into her again.

His cock and his finger were both inside, stretching her to limits she never thought she would be able to with him. Then he starts thrusting slowly, his vacant hand holding her ankle in the air so he can have maximum access to his favorite toy.

"We need to get those ankle holders like hospitals have so I can fuck you better," he says between grunts. "Or a fuck machine so I can get payback."

At the mention of the machine, she screams, especially because he removes his finger and presses it onto her stomach. "Scream for me again, baby: tell the whole fuckin' neighborhood I'm breeding my little whore again."

And she did, she couldn't take his rough thrust with his hand pushing on her stomach, it made her tighter— sensitive. But she could not bring herself to stop such amazing pleasure.

His stamina never seemed to shock Y/n. It did at first, having to beg her to eat her out. She let him, barely saying no simply because it was a win-win. He would always say "I get pleasure from eating my girl out, I don't need anything else." Which she loved, it almost became a love language for him to do so. While she answer emails for her stay-at-home job—when he was home that is— he would rarely pass an opportunity to either 1: eat her out or two: fuck her while she worked— and trust the universe, he made sure she would take it while working whatever she did on her computer.

He soon got tired of the position and pulled her by her thighs, manhandling her and flipping her back on her stomach. Y/n pushed herself down the bed, her feet touching the ground in front of him. He pushed himself back in, his hands grabbing her hips so he could pull her back onto him repeatedly. His thrust was a little harder, exactly how she wanted right now, making loud pleasured moans to leave her lips— along with many praise for him for how good he made her feel.

She then pushes herself off, causing them both to stand, he gets the hint and pulls her close, grabbing by the throat to choke her. Her vision fades a bit, from the pleasure of his cock hitting her cervix and his slender hand stifling air from her throat. "I love you, honey. 'Missed you at work; 'Could only think of my beautiful girl all alone at home," he says between moans. "My good fucking girl," he growls as he moves her hair from her face just to return to her throat. His thrust never faltered either, his words, and admiration, all pushing her over the edge so hard she went limp. "Did I fuck you too dumb, baby? Awe, my poor baby." He then pushes her face back into the mattress, spreading her cheeks to gain better access to his cock moving into her pussy repeatedly. "Take me so well," he groans, massaging the fatty flesh of her rump.

Y/n was too far into subspace to talk. She could barely even comprehend his dirty words, plus the painful pleasure she had from overstimulation of her recent orgasm was going straight to her head.

He continues to fuck her, eventually picking her back up and carrying her to the bathroom—while fucking her. Her arms wrap around his shoulder lazily, his hands steadily gripping her ass to push her onto his cock repeatedly. He lays her down in the huge circle bathtub, turning the water on and continuing his work to chase his own orgasm. "Baby, fucking love you and your pussy, both of my girls make me so happy," he then doubles over, his face going for her neck, stifled whimpers escaping his mouth traveling from her neck to her ears.

Y/n holds him, her hands rubbing his back as he finishes for the third time inside of her. "I love you too, dear," she whispers. He whimpers causing her to chuckle. "Too sensitive?" She asks, feeling his dick twitch inside of her. He nods into her and she splashes water onto his body. "You wanna take a nap in the bathtub?"

He moves his face to look at her with a dumbfounded expression. "Honey, as much as I love being in your embrace, I don't want to risk you drowning."

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wifetomegatron · 7 months

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perceptor wants to study you. afab!reader. nsfw! drabble. skirt mentioned.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. The most reliable questions to answer were equations, solid and truthful: numerical variables were tangible enough to pull apart and rebuild without straying too far from his reality. They only have one answer.

But you were different. A moving target that never stood still. Always changing and taking him by surprise. You were a blow to his ego. And that caught his attention. A beauty that had no source in his stout and unyielding world. The possibilities were endless.

He wants to drink you dry.

" Open your mouth."

His voice was barely short of a whisper. Do all humans have this ability to render sentient beings speechless, to rob the room of any sound? Maybe they are also capable of manipulating magnetic fields: of defying the laws of gravity to knock their opponents off their axis. That would be dangerous. It was a good thing that you didn't see him as a threat. Not when you were looking at his past your lashes, eyes coy — fingers drawing circles around his shoulders.

" My," You hummed, " How bold of you, Perceptor."

Have you always had this lilt to your voice? He searched his processor for a comparison — the water running down the creek back in your green organic planet, the lonely echo of bullets as they ricochet, the tentative hum of a spark as it reignites. None of them comes close. He feels sick. Dizzy. Maybe he needs to go and see Ratchet.

" Open your mouth, please."

He repeats himself. Voice surprisingly level, even though it felt like his vocalizer was going to snap. And that earned him a smile. He did nothing to warrant your laughter, and yet you indulged him like you always do. Tongue — pink and wet — peeking past the row of pearls you call teeth as you tilt your neck gently backward. His hand moved instinctively, dwarfing the back of your head for support.

He pressed the pad of his thumb flat across the soft surface and felt the metal sink. Your eyes fluttered shut, legs, slightly parting to let him slot his body in between. He held you in place. Chest to chassis, the thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to hide the subtle race of your heart.

Sinew and muscle, humming, unlike anything he's ever heard.

This is for science, Perceptor tells you, retracting his servos to pick up his PADD, mind bursting with a flurry of thoughts. He couldn't even remember what he wrote down. He will have to review it later.

He runs a few more exams. Medical needs it. And yet he had offered himself to run them. He says it was also crucial for his research.

What kind of research, Ratchet had asked him.

A personal one, he had replied.

No one stopped him, especially not when you were so eager to help.

He kissed you on the lips. Tentatively, once, twice. You sighed into his mouth. Lips soft. Too soft. He needed to know if you were just as delicate between your —

This is for science, Perceptor tells himself, already sinking onto his knees. You were a plethora of texture, so different from his biology. So far from the mundane. While he clings almost religiously to the dependable — facts, numbers, metal — the purest, rawest form of science is the unknown. He nudged your knees with his nose, wider, and you wordlessly complied.

Every scientist is an explorer at heart. And what is more unfamiliar than the feel of your skin?

Perceptor rubs up and down your thighs, feeling you shiver. His cooling fans clicked to life, reacting, responsive. And this pleased you. And you pleased him.

Prettiness is symmetry, all things in the right place. And yet you were an artifact of unknown beauty, with no origin, no source. All things have to start somewhere — stars were born out of gases, sparks out of a mass of positrons supercharged by energon. But where did you come from? So alien. So different.

If the Earth was your creator, then you must be molded out of clay, shaped by her gentle hands, not carved, for he was sure even under his touch you would break. That the slightest misplace of pressure would shatter and scatter you into pieces.

But humans were known to be resilient. He likes to call you generous instead. Ever so giving, ever so kind.

Today, you wore what you called a skirt. Isn't it pretty? He doesn't have much to say about its color other than that it was practical and worn with a purpose. An invitation.

You mewled in encouragement when he pressed a kiss square against the plush, wet slit of your cunt.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. And there is still so much he wants to learn from you. He wants to map every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He wants to chart every delicate twitch, every clench. And with your body arching atop his table — sweat dripping down your brow, you were his muse.

But make no mistake, this was a symbiotic relationship. You were also studying him, changing him. ( He was certain you've ruined him for anyone else.)

Perceptor knows he should have stayed as an objective observer, standing on the sideline. Yet you were a very seductive hypothesis, just waiting to be kissed to life. There was lubricant leaking down his chin as you reached your high, nails scratching the back of his helm. Objects cluttered off the table in the distance, yet he continues to drink.

You broke his idea of truth, and Perceptor lets you.

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hussyknee · 5 months

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Just found out that the baby baked in an oven thing Zionists accused Hamas of doing is actually something Zionists themselves did during the Deir Yassin massacre of 1948. And the fetus cut out of the pregnant woman's womb is something that was done in the massacre of the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps by Lebanese militants in concert with Zionists. We already know that they rape women and children in detention. I think the only other huge fucking lie about Oct 7th was the beheaded babies, and I'm legitimately afraid of learning whether or not that was also just something Zionists themselves did at one point.

I mean it's not even improbable because this type of unfathomable cruelty is par for the course with genociders, that only happen when the dominant group has so much disproportionate power in the region that there is only mindless hatred and perfect impunity. (The Brits used to use native infants as crocodile bait.) The reports of IOF ripping babies from their mothers arms, shooting them dead, throwing them aside and dragging the mothers off in front of witnesses were numerous even before this. I've also heard reports of young parents being dragged off and abandoning their toddlers and infants on the roadsides (saw a video of it and I'm going to be haunted to my grave). So those premature babies being left to die of starvation at the hospital was shocking but only surprising because there were so many eyes on the situation due to the efforts of the aid workers and journalists. We thought that Western governments wouldn't pull this shit with the whole world watching. As it turned out, the only reason the last twenty-odd premature babies at Al Shifa Hospital survived was because the director of the place refused to leave them until they were safely shipped off to Egypt (unaccompanied, God knows if the parents will ever get them back. Egyptian governments refused to let the few critically injured people allowed safe passage by the US to go through without visas and passports so they died in the ambulances). Then the IOF kidnapped the director right afterwards. He's still missing.

The organ harvesting thing is also true btw. We've been talking about it ever since they made off with those dead bodies at Al Shifa Hospital. Whether they were going to use them to stage their own propaganda, harvest their organs and skin, or just did it to deprive their families of giving them a burial. Probably all three.

I'm so tired of you people refusing to pay any attention to the news streaming out of Gaza via their own citizen journalists and Al Jazeera and Quds News and families of activists and then accusing us of spreading conspiracy theories! "There's so much misinformation" just say you don't trust Palestinians to tell the truth about their own genocide with your whole chest. Say that your charges of antisemitism is about how much you fear Black people and Muslims. Say that you don't reblog calls for the Jewish community to interrogate their whiteness and their enmeshing with Zionism over the decades because you feel like "it's not your place" to amplify Black and brown people challenging whiteness. Say that you shut us down and police our language about Zionists because you're philosemites who believe Jews could never be as genocidal and bloodthirsty as every other group on the world given the same power. Say that you still don't think Zionists are "as bad as" Nazis because they haven't murdered enough people yet.

I'll take the Zionists cheering over the deaths of people we're mourning over all the hidden polite lethal racism you're hiding under your white liberal tongues. I can't take this death by a thousand cuts shit anymore. Seriously why are you scrolling past? You think we aren't talking about you?

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brabblesblog · 3 months

Text

Ch 19: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Two months after the trip to Reithwin, the Ascendant and his consort celebrate their first year in power.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Ban stood on the balcony, savoring a quiet moment before the guests arrived. With their numerous trips throughout Faerûn in the past two months, they’d only just barely managed to organize a party to celebrate the Ascendant’s first year in power.

Another night, another party. It should’ve been quite trite by now, except this was the first event they were hosting together since they’d reconciled. How things would be different, she couldn’t exactly guess; they hadn’t really discussed anything beyond the usual reservations and planning.

Planning that had not gone too well, incidentally. She had booked the caterers a little late, resulting in a lack of ingredients available for purchase in the market, which had in turn caused a delay in the delivery of the hors d'oeuvres to the palace.

Hands on the railing, Ban looked over the city sprawled before her. She was relieved the party had mostly fallen into place, the preparations having been slightly more challenging than they would have been, had she and Astarion not been constantly on the move the entire time. Not that it would have made any difference regarding the catering, though - she had just plainly forgotten.

Ban shut her eyes for a moment, failing to hear the near-silent footfalls behind her.

“Love.”

His voice was a soft murmur, his hands wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her close. He breathed in her scent, the fragrance matching his own: the faint smell of death, masked by bergamot, rosemary, and brandy. Beautiful as always, he thought, peeking at her face, although he couldn’t help the small worry that rose in his chest at the expression he found there. Tired, yes, he could tell - but of what?

She leaned into his touch.

They watched the world go by, watching the passage of time as they themselves remained timeless.

“Been an interesting year,” Ban said, turning her head to look at him. His gaze had shifted towards the city, but a smile broke across his features at her words; she watched his smile lines crease. He was dressed in black trimmed with gold tonight; the outfit never failed to make her weak in the knees.

“Hm. Nothing more significant than anything in the past two centuries,” he teased. His smile widened a fraction more, the tip of his fangs peeking out. The worry he’d initially felt eased a little, smoothed over by the sight of her relaxing in his presence and rather visibly admiring him.

She scoffed, nudging his side with her elbow.

“Your ascension’s not significant enough?”

The smile shifted again, becoming more pensive. “You would think it the most important thing, but no.” Astarion leaned down a little, just enough so that his breaths ghosted over the shell of her ear, making her shiver. He liked that, liked her responding to him in such a reflexive manner - as if she still couldn’t help how she felt for him, despite everything that had happened.

Astarion pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “This. This is what’s important.”

He let go of her waist, moving in front of her, blocking her view of Baldur’s Gate in an attempt to get her to focus on his words. The thought of what this day represented made his eyes go impossibly soft, a little guilt seeping into his voice.

“It’s also been a year since I turned you, you know?”

Ban considered that for a moment. A year since she’d technically died, reborn into this unlife in her lover’s arms. A decision that could have honestly gone horribly wrong - and for a while, it had.

Did she resent him for it? A question without any real answers. It should probably be a resounding yes, given the turbulent times that had come afterwards, but the truth was that she didn’t regret anything, because it all led to being in this moment with him.

“Do you ever regret that? Turning me?” she asked, waiting as he searched for a response, his face unreadable.

Astarion had expected the question; after all, he was the one who brought up changing her. That didn’t mean he’d actually prepared a good response, though.

“Don’t be upset,” he began, “but no, not really.”

His eyes immediately locked onto her face, searching for signs of her withdrawing into herself. It had become a reflex for him to do so whenever he said something risky. He figured if she wouldn’t talk, he could explain the moment he noticed her beginning to retreat.

Ban didn’t, thankfully. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest - not the best reaction, but neither was it the worst.

They obviously had the same answer about her being turned, she thought, but there was still the rather interesting question of why he felt that way.

“Because I would have aged, and why would the Ascendant want to be with some old crone, huh?” She tried to keep it light, smirking.

Astarion shook his head. “Because I don’t want to lose you to something as pedestrian as time.” That much was true. The idea of losing her was already inconceivable to him, but especially to something as avoidable as age? Something he could easily remedy with a bite?

He offered her a hand, which she took; he pressed hers against his chest. “I want you here, with me, forever. And turning you was essential to that, as… as unsavory as it is to think that I may have pressured you into it.” The other hand wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“You did give me a choice,” Ban reminded him, as a gesture of conciliation and comfort; he dipped his head in acknowledgment of this grace.

“There was, of course, a degree of selfishness there, too.” He didn’t elaborate; they both knew that possessiveness had taken him over, made him keep her inside the Palace for months. That possessiveness had been born of fear and hurt and anger, but had damaged them nevertheless.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Astarion,” she replied quickly. She wasn’t hiding; but she wanted tonight not to be about the darkest parts of their past. “We’ve said everything that needs to be said on the matter.”

He bit his lip. “I merely wanted you to know I haven’t forgotten.” That he kept what he’d done in mind; that he was trying, even if things seemed well enough now. His eyes tried to convey what he’d been denied the chance to say; they were round and pleading, asking for her understanding.

Ban’s eyes softened as she saw the earnestness in his. “I know. But I don’t really want nor need you to remind me just how much of an arse you were. Trust me, I remember plenty.”

Embarrassed, Astarion laughed, conceding the point. He took the moment to retreat to safer waters; it had begun feeling a little too charged for a casual conversation with his wife.

“Fine, darling. Whatever you wish, even if it’s deluding yourself into thinking I’m not that person anymore.”

“Oh, I know you’re still just as horrible as you were back then,” she teased back, “To others, at least.”

He made an affronted noise and opened his mouth to retort, but Ban shushed him, brooking no argument.

“Don’t you remember this afternoon?” She smirked.

Fingers snapping, he stalked through the ballroom.

“Where’s the food? Did we not schedule it to arrive by highsun?”

The head caterer approached him, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

“My lord, it’s just been delayed a few hours. We didn’t have the time to prepare, with such short notice and-”

“Short notice?” He glared down at her, daring her to interrupt. “You’re saying it’s my wife’s fault? We paid exorbitant amounts of coin with the expectation of exceptional service, and that includes being on time - regardless of when we put the order in.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Now run along and get the hors d'oeuvres in, lest I change my mind about hiring you lot.”

“To be completely fair, darling,” Astarion said, “I was doing it to defend your honor.”

The mirth was still there, the slight tease in his voice that protested but I did it for you! - obviously not his only reason, but he’d run it into the ground if he could get away with it.

“Sure you were,” Ban responded, amused. “I have to admit it’s rather adorable of you, though.”

Astarion scoffed, but did not object.

Instead he stilled, allowing the quiet to stretch between them. They gazed at one another, savoring the feel of the other’s presence as they reveled in their mutual affection.

Astarion eventually broke the silence.

“I may have something for you tonight. An idea.” He was nervous, part of him already reconsidering bringing it up. “You needn’t say yes.”

Ban tilted her head at him, curious. “If it’s another gift from Halsin, Astarion-”

“No!” He said, a tad too quickly, a little offended she thought he’d accept more advice from the druid on sex. On any damn topic, really.

“Well- I mean- it kind of is? Not a gift from Halsin, but it’s within the general vicinity of that topic.” Astarion cleared his throat. “To be clear, I mean sex.”

“Spill it,” she said, her eyes crinkling as she tried to hold back a laugh. It was only lately that Astarion had felt comfortable enough to be visibly flustered around her again, instead of being, well, angry, and she cherished each instance of it.

Astarion drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, trying his best to regain his composure and seem unconcerned. He shifted gears, deciding to play the rake again. If nothing else, it would at least make her laugh.

“I was just thinking. You’ve been so wonderful to me, so willing to try out delightful new experiences.”

He smirked; eyes dropping into that half-lidded gaze that had stolen the hearts of countless people, but most importantly - had stolen hers. Astarion was still nervous, but he mastered himself and proceeded with his plan.

“It got me thinking about this idea - ceaselessly - and what better time to bring it up than our - I suppose our anniversary? Every wicked turn deserves another, after all. So - when we make love tonight, when it’s just you and me… would you be willing to let me lead?” he purred. There was a hint of mischief in his gaze, but there was also trepidation - they both knew exactly what had happened in the past, and how those previous instances of Astarion taking charge within the bedroom could have affected Ban.

He wasn’t doing this as repayment for trying out new things with him, especially as he knew she was likely to decline. Instead, he offered it as a way for him to demonstrate progress: a subtle plea for her to surrender herself to him and trust him, the way he had done for her.

All that, and a little bit of fun, of course.

Ban couldn’t help her body’s reflexive response, stiffening. The request wasn’t something she’d expected to hear in her near future, perhaps even at all, ever again, and she immediately felt the instinct to hide - for a moment, she allowed it to rule her, lifting her hand from his chest. Astarion, ever vigilant when it came to her, noticed immediately.

“Love, no,” he urged, his demeanor quickly shifting to one of concern. He was already regretting running his stupid mouth without thinking through all of her possible responses. “We do not have to. Don’t ever have to, if that is what you want.”

He felt her hand pulling further away. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

He felt himself becoming more anxious, unsure how to defuse the situation before she could withdraw even more. Frantic, he spoke the only word that could.

“Please.”

Relax. Ban forced her hand to stop, allowing Astarion to gently press it back down against his heart; she felt it hammering beneath her palm. She wanted to comfort him; she also wanted to give him an answer that was genuine.

She mulled over his request. He kept his eyes on her; the picture of patience, although he wished to be anything but.

“I can try,” she ventured. She wasn’t completely sure she could handle it, but she couldn’t deny that there was an appeal in having Astarion dominate her again.

It had been good, once upon a time, back in the Shadow-Cursed lands. She remembered when they’d still been exploring each other’s bodies, what the other wanted and enjoyed, without sex itself. Astarion had intuited that she did, in fact, like having him in control. For someone like him, who’d had none of that for so long, it had been an exhilarating discovery.

And then, of course, Ban thought, the rite had come along.

Astarion recoiled at her response, mistaking her calmness for reluctant acquiescence.

“If you’re doing it for my sake, there’s no point. I’m not - of all people, love, I won’t do that to you. I merely asked because I know you did like it, before it all turned to shit.”

No. Don’t think I want to force you. Please.

The idea that she might be going along just for his sake made him physically ill.

Ban bit the inside of her cheek, dropping her hand. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest to close the small gap that remained between them; a gesture of comfort and reassurance. His response was automatic, the arm around her tightening. He kissed the top of her head.

She gathered her courage. It still took effort, to fight back against the unnecessary voice in her head that screamed run, hide - but it got easier by the day; he made it easier.

With his soft words, with his candor. With a forbearance she had never before known to exist in him. With his love.

“Can you tell me, Astarion, exactly why you ask this of me?” Ban mumbled into his embroidered jacket.

A soft chuckle broke free of him, as fear was replaced with elation and relief. Yes, she’s working with me!

“You allow me to show you how much I trust you, when we… when you take charge of me,” he said, the bravado and seductive act discarded for now. “I had hoped you would afford me a similar level of trust.”

There was a small hint of hurt in his words; he made no effort to conceal it.

“However, you do not have to. You never have to. It was just a suggestion; you can forget I ever said anything.”

Ban considered it. It would be helpful, an opportunity for her to display her renewed faith in him. She closed her eyes, exhaling; his hands moved to her back, tracing comforting circles between her shoulder blades. Astarion rocked her gently, as though they were dancing to some tune only they could hear.

Sheltered in his arms, the answer felt easier to arrive at. “I think we can try,” she repeated, “I can use the same word we used to, if it gets to be too much.”

Astarion smiled, relief and gratitude suffusing him. “Thank you, Ban. Truly.”

He hesitated. “There is… another thing, if you’ll indulge me once more.” Another pause, longer this time. “Rhapsody.”

“What about it?” She’d known that he’d often spent time gazing at it after she’d left him. She’d never bothered to ask why, she’d assumed it had to do with the rite, and hadn’t wanted to pry.

“Would you mind if we brought it to bed with us?” The words came out in a rush, almost stammered.

She raised an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

Visions flashed through her mind - of Rhapsody, protruding from his heart, his blood staining his shirt, all over her hands, as she carried his barely-conscious body out of Vel’s manor. Her breathing picked up and she felt cold all over. Why isn’t leading enough for now? she wondered.

“The dagger played a role in numerous moments of my life - moments that altered the course of my fate. None of them have ever been good.”

“Then why bring it into our bedroom?” She crossed her arms, bringing her breathing under control with effort. “Look. I had to watch that thing almost end you. That’s not something I’m itching to relive.”

“For precisely that reason. It is a weapon steeped in painful memories, memories I’d very much like to write over. I want… to see it in your hands whilst I’m inside you, to keep that image in mind instead of… everything else. And what better time to do it than on this night, an anniversary of sorts?”

Ban sighed, exhaling through her nose. “Is that why you used to go stare at it? To remember?”

Astarion’s eyes flicked to her, uncertain. “Indeed. I have made effort to make peace with my past, and Rhapsody feels like the one piece of it that remains unchanged. We’ve rebuilt this palace; almost nothing tangible remains of that time of my life, other than that blade.”

“And so you think this would… finally remake it?”

“Redefine it,” Astarion corrected. “Making new, out of the old.”

Ban considered it. Rebirth, in a sense, just as tonight was also a rebirth of sorts, recontextualizing his ascension and her turning from something she regretted into something they could celebrate. It wasn’t a horribly unpleasant concept, in any case, and she figured if it was too much, they could stop.

“One condition - the blade is not touching you. I don’t want to draw blood. And once you have the image you want, we stop using it.”

He nodded. “That’s perfectly fine by me. Thank you, for considering this, and for allowing me to take the reins once more.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“I do think taking the lead would also help me, darling,” he added. He vacillated between revealing an even deeper truth and leaving it at what he’d just said.

He decided to err on the side of openness. “It would help me determine whether my own faith in myself is warranted.” If he’d truly improved and become someone worthy of her.

Ban sighed, but didn't look up from where she’d buried her face in his chest. She found it easier to speak this way at times, not meeting those crimson eyes and that too-handsome face.

“I have faith in you. Not completely - but enough for this,” she said softly, “I know, however, that saying it is one thing, and doing it is another. I’m not afraid - not really. It’s just that old, instinctive-”

She waved her hand, trying to signify that it was a frivolous thing; something she could easily cast aside. A small mistruth, one she was willing to offer to further smooth over the wrinkles of their relationship.

He wouldn’t allow that. “Your old fears - ones that I caused. I am aware, much as you like to pretend I’m not.”

Ban tried again. “Well, they’re not-”

“An issue?” Astarion shook his head. “They are, Ban. I watch for them, attempt to catch them before they sink their claws in, fight them off with whatever honesty my wretched heart allows me to express.”

“I don’t begrudge you this, nor for having these fears in the first place, but don’t discount them. Not when I work as hard as I do to dispel them.” He felt a little piqued, a little insulted she thought he didn't notice, that she didn’t see how hard he worked to spot them, assuage them.

“Just- just let me have tonight, in spite of them. Let me win against them for once.”

Astarion gazed down at her. She looked so small, wrapped around him like this, and it made him wish for nothing more than to hold her forever.

Ban was pensive. Astarion had never been one to be so open about their struggles; that had been a recent development. This sudden burst of frankness threw her off-balance, but in a good way. His candor yet again made it easier for her to dismiss the very fears they were both fighting.

“I mean, I already did say yes, Astarion,” she teased, but immediately backtracked when she saw he wasn’t in the right mood for banter.

“But I’ll repeat it. I do trust you enough, and I definitely love you enough, to try.”

Astarion tried to remain stoic, stewing in his own melancholy. Elation won out, however. He broke into a rather giddy, unguarded grin, squeezing her tightly in a hug.

“I-” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, then slipped back into the seductive act, although it came off more playful than anything else.

“I’ll make sure tonight will be one you won’t forget.”

They danced in the middle of the crowd. They made a striking, if slightly mismatched pair - her dress was simple, his suit ornate. Where he was pale and silver-haired, she was golden and dark. He was long and lithe, she was small and muscular. And yet, they were so obviously in love, so in tune with one another as they glided across the dance floor, that their differences only heightened their allure for all who observed.

While Astarion had previously encouraged her to pick more lavish outfits, he had been leaving her clothing choices to her since they’d reconciled. He now realized he should have done so long ago. The dress clung to her perfect body and it made his cock stir pleasantly. He tried to tamp down the wave of arousal, knowing they would have all night. He spun her around elegantly, catching her at the end of the turn.

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?”

Parties had not been something she had enjoyed in the past; she was often relegated to being a piece of décor, hanging on his arm when needed and dismissed when not. Ushering guests around, then standing by the door to bid them farewell at the end.

Ban cast a sweeping glance across the ballroom, taking it all in. Not much had changed; it was still the same sort of vapid, soulless event these types of parties had always been. But tonight was better because of Astarion - he hadn’t left her side tonight, and had kept her involved in every conversation. A far cry from how they used to operate.

“I could take it or leave it, I suppose,” Ban answered playfully, as he pulled her tight against him. The music swelled and he leaned in; she smirked, expecting some snarky response.

The playfulness dissolved as the heat of his lips pressed against her own. He pressed her flush against his body; his hips ground against her muscled thigh.

She had to bite back a moan; his hands on her back were insistent, his hips impatient, as if he couldn’t wait to ravage her; whether that was true or manufactured didn’t matter to her right now.

“I needed a little taste,” he whispered as their lips parted. His eyes gleamed with need, an almost predatory look in them. Ban hadn’t seen that look in so long, and a small sense of trepidation crept over her at the sight of it. However, a much larger part of her felt anticipation. Heat began pooling between her legs.

Astarion’s hips were mid-grind when he noticed the arousal in her gaze. Between that and the way she pressed even closer to him, he was confident his tactics weren't unwelcome. But there was still a niggling what if in his mind, the habit honed to near paranoia by his constant need to be vigilant with regards to her emotions. He wanted to be sure; to check in anyway.

“Was that alright, love?”

He wanted to begin laying down the playful, teasing banter, to set the mood, but… not without Ban’s express approval.

She responded with a small nod. The gaze that met his was sultry. Coy - not attempting to wrest control from him, but full of lust. His excitement escalated and he felt himself hardening. He shifted his legs to readjust the fabric of his trousers and slid a hand down to her ass, giving it a squeeze. She raised her eyebrows in amusement and he grinned, delighted in the response he’d received.

“It was acceptable, my lord,” Ban said demurely, the old sobriquet slipping from her lips with ease. Long unused, she felt confident enough to use it tonight and trusted him not to take it too far. She was aiming for unconcerned, but entirely missed the mark, coming across as more eager than anything. She silently cursed herself when Astarion smirked knowingly.

That eagerness went straight to Astarion’s cock, and he let out a breathy groan.

“Then I’m sure you’ll positively love what I have in store for you later,” he murmured. He gave her another quick kiss, another quick squeeze on her ass that she tried and failed to slap away, then Ban disengaged, chuckling.

Minx, he thought, shaking his head. It was mind-boggling how easily she could bring him to his knees.

“You’ll have to wait, Astarion,” she whispered as the dance ended and she pulled away, taking two steps back. “Go mingle, now. I’ll check on the catering.”

With that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone, but happier than he’d been in a while. And with a decidedly rock-hard cock.

He watched his wife fade from view, then went to talk to his guests, more confident and more present than they’d ever seen him before, in this first tumultuous year as the Ascendant.

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 11 months

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Hi! Hello how are you? I hope you're doing well!

So i would like to make a request, can you please make one where the reader is a runaway child, going on adventures and seeing new places and helping lots of other people, And as how she was able to survive that long is because she is a witch who tampers with dark magic, that's why she's running away from her previous life.

She died due to the people who she ran away from, found her and they ripped out all her organs in revenge (gruesome i know) as was then dubbed the traitor child

She is also on the human side, so may i request with all the human figthers so far? Or if not, maybe king leonidas, qin shi Huang, kojiro, tesla, adam and aswell as some other gods like thor, hades and poseidon and as for how her story goes. This is how it went

She goes into the arena, other people expecting another grown man. But to their surprise it was a child, the crowd burst into an outrage, but she calms them down saying that can handle it and that no one needs to worry and that she'll make them proud, when her opponent talks to her she is polite and respectful, they then fight when her opponent hits first, she teleports behind them. The fight then soon ends and she wins, the gods and humans in shock! Did this child really win against a god? After that she meets up with the people who i mentioned this to be for.

You can decide after that! Thank you very much

-Traitor, demon, witch, evil, those were all words that you remember well, being called those numerous times, despite being a child.

-You ran away from your home young, no longer willing to put up with your family’s abuse, and you spend your days traveling, exploring, and being free.

-But being a child in a cruel, unforgiving world, you did what you had to do to survive, and learned with dark magic to defend yourself.

-However, a child is still a child, and it wasn’t long until you had been caught after your parents deemed you evil, and after many saw you using your dark powers, you were deemed a witch and sentenced to death, but you were given no quick death, you were torn limb from limb, disemboweled, brutally tortured until you bled out.

-You couldn’t even fathom on how cruel some humans could be, especially to a five-year-old.

-However, in Valhalla, you were free, you got a safe and warm home, you were never hungry, and nobody thought too much about you, just seeing you as a child.

-There were only a few who knew about your power, Odin and Brunnhilde, knowing full well that you were strong with magic, and after years of honing your skills, you were dangerous, but still looked like a child, much to your annoyance as nobody took you seriously.

-That is, until Ragnarok occurred and Brunnhilde took a gamble with you.

-The amount of shouts of rage and outcry, seeing a young child walking out into the stadium was almost deafening, so many were furious, seeing that a child was being forced to fight.

-Your bright smile and look of fiery determination did throw them off as you spoke, “Don’t worry about me- I’ve got this!!” but your words and confidence did little to deter their anger.

-It wasn’t until you easily defeated your opponent that they finally shut up, completely stunned as you did nothing to hold back, showing off years of training work with your magic.

-When you returned backstage, you were no expecting to be hugged so quickly, by a man who wanted to adopt and protect you, even more so after Brunnhilde told them how you died on Earth.

-Instantly had you in his arms, hugging you close, ignoring your futile attempts to struggle free, “Let go! I’m not a child!” he found your struggle amusing, holding you by the back of your shirt like you were a feisty kitten, “Struggle all you want, you’re my kid now, and nobody’s ever going to hurt you again.” You paused at his words, eyes narrowed like you didn’t believe him, “Really?” he grinned, keeping you in his arms, “Really- c’mon I’ll get you some ice cream.” Your hands flew up as you cheered, showing your child-like nature, which you were quick to deny.

-Leonidas, Qin Shi Huang, Hades, and Thor

-Kneeled down and introduced himself to you and you did the same and he offered you a hand, “Would you allow me to adopt you, Y/N? I don’t want anyone to ever hurt you again.” Now that your powers had been revealed, you did think it was a good idea to have some extra protection, mainly because you were afraid of being attacked for using dark magic again. It was rather cute, seeing you acting so mature, because you were, but in the body of a five-year-old, it was rather amusing to see. You agreed, taking his hand and he pulled you up and into his arms, holding you like a child so he could take you to a waiting room to relax with him.

-Adam, Kojiro, Poseidon, and Nikola

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror leonidas #ror qin shi huang #ror hades #ror thor #ror poseidon #ror adam #ror kojiro sasaki #ror nikola tesla

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nichenarratives · 6 months

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Frozen Hearts 3

[Atlas talks to Mordecai about recent decisions.]

3. Regrets

Consciousness returns slowly, trickles of sensation flowing into a scattered mind, confusing and jumbled as Mordecai drags himself from the numbing comfortable blankness. At first, he's aware of very little; a roaring heat in his face and a heaviness around his body that seems to echo in his head; his thoughts are sluggish, his throat is thick and unresponsive, and an unusual leaden quality lingers in his limbs.

It's a chore to simply open his eyes. He squints, pince nez absent, but a raging fire is unmistakable in the old, familiar hearth as yellows, oranges and reds scald his retinas. Mordecai hisses and cringes, narrowing his eyes to slits in an attempt to lessen the sudden migraine they encourage, dragging the blanket wrapped around him over his face for a moment to allow his brain to catch up.

He soon wishes he hadn't, as he becomes aware not only of a deep cold in his bones but a sharp pain in his right arm - numerous sharp pains peppering his flesh, in fact. There's a radiating ache through the same shoulder too, spreading between his shoulder blades and sending sharp twangs up his neck. An attempt to move his arm sends fire down the length of it and he inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut with a low gasp, wishing he'd just stayed unconscious.

"Easy, Mordy. Try t'breathe normal, get that air in ya head." The advice goes mostly unheard, though Mordecai makes a concerted effort not to gasp again with someone else in the room. He inhales through bared teeth as the warm air sends another shudder rolling through his aching body, his left hip and right leg now throbbing in rhythm with his racing heart. He feels like a popsicle, refusing to thaw. "Quack's comin', an' I made a cuppa tea. You wanna sit up and drink it?"

Sitting up sounds like an awful idea. He tries to shake his head, but moving his neck sends a shooting pain down his entire right and Mordecai groans. Bare feet pass his head as Zib sets a china cup down nearby, then sentiments lost in translation, the tuxedo is little more than a painful ragdoll as the musician slips his arms under the triggerman's armpits and with a grunt of his own, hauls Mordecai off the rug and across to an armchair, legs dragging useless on the wooden boards. "C'mon… Heller. Help me out, would ya?"

Mordecai isn't in a state to help. His limbs won't comply and his brain remains fuzzy, distracted by the immense pain now apparent in his ribs and face. Grunting when he's deposited roughly into a chair, he finds himself left awkwardly angled against the backrest. Having staggered under his meager weight and not entirely sober, Zib sighs with relief and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow once he's done.

"Or don't," Zib mutters a touch sourly, then cringes as the usually snippy tuxedo does little more than reposition with his left arm as leverage, hissing quietly in pain. His right arm notably stays protectively to his chest, rigid and unused. Zib runs a hand through his hair guiltily. "Sorry, man. I'm not good at this shit. I just wanna play the fuckin' sax an' call it a nigh', you know?"

From what Mordecai has experienced, it's generally better not to become proficient at getting injured. To onlookers, he seems to have an affinity for it though; this is his third injury requiring a doctor or surgeon in two years, with a multitude of minor injuries between. He has scars in the double digits, if you know where to look for them, most over precariously vital organs or important blood vessels and a fraction of an inch too shallow to cause disaster.

By all accounts, he should be dead a half dozen times over, as if he wants to die in a mundane skirmish over liquor.

Survival instincts stronger than willing submission, Mordecai also has a flair for pulling through with honest reflexes, snap decisions or simply by the skin of his teeth on sheer grace of fortune. He's cost Lackadaisy more in medical bills in his twenty-four months tenure than any coworker before him - he's personally doctored the fees out of company ledgers - a concerning amount, if Atlas weren't fond of him, but repeat offenses eventually might cost the hitman such allowances.

His work history has always been tumultuous; his boss back in New York City paid for the Heller family's new house, the funds skimmed off the criminal syndicate's profits not long before Mordecai fled the state. The young tom had taken advantage of their disjointed hierarchy to embezzle funds, a tactic that worked flawlessly for over a year. He managed to accrue almost seven thousand dollars in eighteen months and had been on the cusp of spending it when his scheme fell through.

It had been hard to respect a mob who's key players were more gullible than a child. Hiding the money laundering had been easy. Maintaining a façade of obedient mediocrity far less so. He'd had to pretend to be just intelligent enough to be useful, without drawing suspicion or focus from those he needed to avoid. It was a balancing act, one he played well until some nosy middle manager took a closer look at his cooked books on a whim, fracturing his success.

Mordecai wishes his could find joy in his work, but he does not. Whether it's clean assassination to clearing out a warehouse, interrogations, torture or mutilation, he's only disgusted by what he's willing to do for this charming man, a soul he's known only a few years. He's been sucked into the very same world he fled from and been crafted into a finely honed weapon, one so deadly, even coworkers fear him.

His heart may be of ice, his soul corrupted, but a sharp mind remains in turmoil, recalling all he's done for Atlas May.

Raised by a traditional Jewish mother and following all the teachings of his faith until adolescence, Mordecai Heller is not the man he was destined to be. If Hashem destined his life to be this way, then his faith had been misplaced, and he cannot believe the deity his mother so adamantly believed in could be so cruel. By extension, his corruption - and his failure to rectify it - are his own, and with that clarity comes a deep self loathing that can't be put into words.

"Drink this." He's snapped from introspection by the gravelly voice, just in time to have a test cup and saucer placed in his lap, the latter scalding on his legs. A cold hand comes to touch the delicate porcelain, but he doesn't raise the drink to his lips, simply stares down into the cup with distant eyes, another shudder rippling through his thin frame with the new heat on his skin. "I put a drop of whiskey in it. Mitzi says it'll help with th'shock. You in shock, Mordy? Can ya hear me? Cause you ain't even insulted me yet, an' that's worryin'."

A door opens and closes, but Mordecai doesn't look up from his tea. It's got milk, an unsettling pale brown concoction that smells far too sweet to comfortably ingest, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't even notice Zib straighten beside him, the voices in the room becoming hazy and indistinguishable as a ringing starts in his ears. He's vaguely aware of the broken glass in his arm, of the swelling turning the right side of his muzzle into a balloon, but it's all inconsequential as the world fades from focus and seems to tilt like it had when he crashed.

"Go wait for Doctor Quack outside," a deep, level voice cuts through the haze cleanly, filling Mordecai with nausea and relief all at once. He doesn't need to look up to know Atlas has entered the room. Zib's absence is finally noted, as is a thickness in the air. Olive eyes glance up and immediately meet stern, narrowed yellows. Mordecai shudders, but not from the cold, and averts his gaze. "And send Mitzi to bed. She doesn't need to see any more tonight."

The musician mumbles his affirmations and heads out to the cafe beyond, closing the adjoining door softly behind him. For the briefest of moments, it's silent beside the crackle of the fire. The tom cradles the teacup in his good hand as his tail wraps around his left ankle, large ears folding back and shrinking into the armchair in submission. For some reason, he feels an inordinate amount of shame, but can't pinpoint the cause by the time Atlas sighs and rubs his temples.

Slow steps pad closer but Mordecai doesn't look up, eyes fixed on the fire, body intermittently shivering as the last of the cold leaches from his bones. His skin is still icy, but his core has warmed considerably since waking up, slowly reinvigorating his brain. He wishes it was still dormant as Atlas pads behind the chair and stops, staring at dancing flames over the tuxedo's head.

"You're done," the man finally says in a quiet tone, a crackle of burning wood almost swallowing the statement. Sick to his stomach, Mordecai finally looks up to find the striped businessman already blandly staring down at him. Yellow eyes hold no apology, his expression set into a grim frown. The triggerman flattens his ears and sinks further into his seat as Atlas continues."Once Quack's fixed you up, you're to clear out your room."

"Mr. May-"

"Viktor has agreed to house you until you're recovered," the tiger-esque man continues, looking back to the fire as he slips a hand into his robe pocket and withdraws a cigar, the end already clipped for swift ignition. A box of matches soon follows, one extracted and struck, then cast into the fire after the cigar smokes in fine lips. "I'll write a glowing reference for your bookkeeping skills tomorrow morning."

"Atlas-"

"You're fired." The response is sharp and loud enough to make the tom flinch. Atlas doesn't seem to care, continuing on in the same vein. "Our contract ended when you totaled one of my cars on a whim, Mr. Heller. You attempted to drive in a snowstorm, without a license or prior approval. You're fortunate to be alive, more so I'm covering damages and medical fees, and you will clear out your room and be gone before the Little Daisy opens tomorrow. Am I clear?"

His chest feels tight, ribs aching as he inhales. "Perfectly so, Mr. May."

He doesn't respond but stares back intensely, a smoldering cigar pinned between pale lips until eventually, he drags on it, takes hold of the bulbous wrapping and draws it away to exhale the smoke over the tuxedo's head. Only then, as the choking smoke descends on Mordecai, does he finally turn and exit the room without another word, leaving his former prodigal triggerman to wallow in a mess of his own design.

#mordecai heller #lackadaisy #frozen hearts #frozen hearts 3 #chapter 3 #fanfiction #niche narratives #fanfic #lackadaisy mordecai #vikdecai #tracy j butler #no beta we die like atlas may #lackadaisy cats #viktor lackadaisy #mordecai x viktor #viktor x mordecai

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afi-mukami · 2 months

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Did she see something more?

Final Fantasy VII

AerTi

Teen and up

Tifa disagrees with the other members of the Avalanche about the way the organization works, so she leaves the scene to vent her feelings. Her legs take her to Sector 8, where she accidentally runs into a woman selling flowers.

The door of 7th Heaven slammed shut. Harder than I meant. My feet tucked down the stairs to the hard-packed sandy street. Corners of my eyes tried to get wet, but I wiped them with my hand. I had to take a deep breath. It would have been better to even stop for breathing, but my feet pushed forward. Ahead. Ahead. To the station and to the train leading to the upper level of Sector 8. I did not know if some people starred after me. I crashed into the bench just as the train jerked off the station.

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in my head that did not wanted to calm down, even as I tried to relax and closed my eyes for a moment.

“I already investigated it. The bomb doesn’t have to destroy the entire reactor to shut it down,” Jessie said.

Barret crossed his arms and nodded. Wedge's gaze shone in a strange way. In a different way than ever before. Biggs looked more insecure. I got up from the table and pressed my palm against the wooden board. My fingers swept the pit that numerous pots had slowly consumed into it.

“A lot of people live near Mako reactors. People who can die if something goes wrong. The Avalanche is not a terrorist organization, although Shinra wants to say so.”

I emphasized every word, but Jessie gave me a look that did not require words to support it. I heard her voice in my mind. Don't fuss now. Let us take care of this. I shook my head at her.

“Jessie can do it. It doesn’t go wrong,” Wedge said.

“I think we’d do well to go through all the possible chains of events yet, because there may be factors here that we don’t—” Biggs started, and I just had time to nod to him as Barret slammed his fist on the table so hard that the board popped against my hands.

“Jessie has thought about this and shown her bombing plan to me. It's bomb-proof!”

"We cannot sacrifice innocent people!" I said.

“No one is innocent in this war,” Jessie said. "I thought you were involved in this, that your background -"

"I'm involved with all my heart in Avalanche. I don’t want to see Shinra destroy everything we love.”

“Then there’s no problem,” Barret said.

"If people die because of us, that's the problem."

“No one dies. The plan is perfect.”

I stared at Barret. He had his stubborn look. The hands crossed again, which was an achievement in itself with the weapon that replaced the right arm. Only sunglasses were missing, with them his wall would have been perfect. My throat squeezed, my breathing became heavy and my field of vision began to quiver. No, not in this company. I was stronger.

My legs worked before my mind got along, and the door of 7th Heaven slammed shut. Harder than I meant.

The train pounded at a steady pace from the slums of the Seven Sector. The identity check swept through the cart with red lines, but I barely paid attention to it. I rubbed my temples and focused on staring out the window, even though there was only darkness.

It had been foolish to rushed out this way. Not like me. I wanted to think I was calm and sensible, accepting. I am not a drama queen. My chest was still squeezing as I thought what the bomb might do.

The train slowed down. Arriving at Sector 8, the announcement said in the same voice as on each train. The voice of a faceless woman, probably someone from Shinra. The blackness behind the train window changed into rows of buildings above which the evening sky could be seen. The stars were indistinguishable as they were covered under the orange night light of Midgar. The view was mixed with a green hint of Mako.

Twitch and stop. People got up from their seats. I followed suit and walked to the station now at a much slower pace than I had arrived on the train. The rush flowed somewhere on the tracks as my shoes hit the cobblestones. Some of the hair had escaped from my dark brown ponytail and the wind swept them to my face.

I pushed my hair out of my field of vision and let my gaze run through the landscape. People here were better dressed than in the slums. The scent was more pleasant too. Now a little damp but not stale, the air maybe a little fresher. Admittedly not at all like in the mountains of Nibelheim.

My heart pounded. I immediately pushed the memories aside. I could not stop at them now. I could not stop at all, so I set out to leap off the station. To wander aimlessly through the streets with several cafes. Full of people, whose face had no worries at all. People who did not count their gills when they bought another pint. People for whom tomorrow was a new opportunity, not a struggle.

I stopped at a corner and took a breath. I absorbed the coolness and let it filled me. There was magic in the evenings and nights that was not reached during the day when the rough light revealed every detail. Twilight, on the other hand, wrapped everything above a veil of mystery and made the world softer.

"Are you lost?"

The sound was friendly, even soft, but it had a nasal tone. Customer service voice. I turned around and forced a smile on my face. The green gaze examined me. As the woman turned her head, her long bangs, divided on both sides, waved for a moment to cover her eyes, but soon her eyes watched me again. The light brown braid swinged in her neck, emphasizing the femininity of the delicate red lips. I had not seen this woman before, but a basket of flowers on her arm told me enough.

“I guess you could express it that way too,” I replied and did not even know why.

"Where are you going?"

The woman pressed the flower basket against her stomach, and the hems of her pink dress followed the movement. I quickly looked up back into her eyes, where curiosity radiated. It was impossible to say which part of it was genuine and which was carefully considered. On the other hand, I was not a potential customer, so she had no reason to use her sale tactics for me.

As I changed the weight from one leg to the other, and the woman mirrored my gesture. The braid swung from side to side, and her head turned obliquely. A smile danced on her lips.

“Not really anywhere,” I replied.

“Oh, then you’re really lost,” the woman said, smiling. "Sometimes the right path is found when you wander far enough, and sometimes you have to go far to see close."

I blinked my eyes and smiled again. Something in this woman made me smile genuinely. She made my curled upwards instinctively.

"You’re probably right,” I said.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?"

The woman leaned closer to me, and the scent of flowers flooded against my face. I had to gather all my willpower not to close my eyes and take a deep breath. I did not even remember the last time I smelled something as sweet.

"Aren't you in the middle of work?" I asked and tried to keep my face still. It was hard when the scent of lilies exuded from the flower basket. The scent, which did not suit the urban environment of the Sector 8 at all, not to mention the slums.

"A break would be nice."

I shrugged. Of course, I could measure the streets alone all evening or even the night, but it would hardly make me feel better. Instead, a friendly chatting at the corner table of a nice cafe might be a whole other thing. That would feel normal. Something that had disappeared from my life long ago. Besides, I could not say I would have spent time in cafes with girls ever. My childhood friends were all boys, and Jessie was not the type who I could ask to have coffee with me. Coffee dates among women were things that happened to others.

“Maybe I could use a coffee break too,” I finally replied. Far after too long a silence, but the woman looked as if she had not bothered at all about my quietness.

“I know a nice place. I go there sometimes to sell flowers to customers,” the woman said, pointing to a side street. "By the way... I'm Aerith. I didn't remember to introduce myself earlier.”

"Tifa."

Aerith nodded at me, and her forehead hair swinged again. There was a light laugh hovered on her lips as she steered me away from the hustle and bustle of the main street. The houses were so close together that the alley did not look outright inviting, but 7th Heaven was not in the best possible area either. Still, the bar was more of a home than the apartment building I had been settled into.

A bell tinged as Aerith pushed open the cafe door. The place was lit by lanterns instead of Mako energy lamps. It was hard to even imagine such a place on the upper levels, where much more Mako energy was utilized than in the slums. My heart jumped, there was still hope.

Maybe Aerith had read my previous thoughts as she guided us to the corner table. The waitress immediately rushed to take our order and carried the cups in front of us quite quickly. There was air of good service and peace in the cafe. I did not want to know how expensive the coffee would be.

I crossed my legs and leaned my elbows on the table. I pressed my chin against hands and a curl of hair ran past my cheek. I did not bother to swipe it back. It was so short that it never stayed put. I breathed warm room air filled with the rich scent of coffee. It mixed with the summer glow swaying from Aerith’s flower basket, which was almost more intense than the dark drink in front of me. Lightness hovered over me and dragged me along as if I had been drinking alcohol instead of coffee, even though I had not even tasted my drink yet.

Aerith spun a spoon in her latte and seemed to have disappeared to another planet. The gaze of the green eyes wandered somewhere beyond reality, but still smile did not leave her lips.

"Stagnant, quiet moments are the best, aren't they?" Aerith asked, and her gaze brightened again. The green gaze stuck to mine, and something warm flowed to the bottom of my stomach.

“Sometimes they are,” I replied, finally lifting the cup of coffee to my lips. Dark and tasty. The products of this cafe were made from quality beans.

"What do you do for a living? You don’t actually look like you’re working here in the Sector 8,” Aerith said. The spoon was still spinning in her latte.

“I work in a bar at the Sector 7,” I replied. I almost already opened my mouth but decided at the last minute not to say anything about Avalanche. I could never know who was listening in the shadows, and besides, I did not know Aerith at all.

"Sounds exciting. I sometimes go to bars myself to sell flowers, but I usually come here to the upper levels.”

I nodded. Certainly, flowers got a better trade here. I could not even imagine our customers buying a bouquet of lilies. When I did not say anything, Aerith started talking about her customers and the nightlife in the Sector 8, which sounded quite lively. But drunks were drunks even when they were rich, and people needed places to relax. It was easy to identify with her stories.

"Well tell me, Tifa, do you have someone special in your life?" Aerith asked suddenly and leaned forward. The elbows dug into the tablecloth and her latte swayed. Her lips curled to a smile the way that made my heart flutter.

"No, not really."

The first months in the slums were the heaviest. I had imagined that in Midgar, Soldiers would appear everywhere, but you did not actually see them in the streets. Still, my gaze fetched blond hair, and I turned my head as soon as one flashed in the corner of my eye. Although the years had rolled by and we had never been immensely close, I wanted to think that our paths could still cross.

Months passed and our paths did not cross. Barret hired me to 7th Heaven, life settled down, I got into Avalanche, helped people in the slums, built a community where everyone cared for each other, I found my place, I found my purpose, I found my own life. I never found him. Maybe he had died in some battle before he had time to rise to the level of Sephiroth. Maybe that was better. After all, we all knew that Sephiroth was not the kind of hero he had been painted in the headlines in my childhood.

One day I realized I had not looked for him in the crowds for the longest time. I focused on what was here and now. That was good.

"And now you lied." There was no accusation in Aerith's words. She laughed but got soon serious. “I had one. A Soldier.”

The word pounded in my chest. The pounding was followed by such a throbbing that I heard nothing else for a moment. The voices in the bar disappeared, even though people were still having their own conversations around us. I swallowed two times and took a deep breath. I should not let my imagination fly. The past was gone, and it was better to focus on the future. And yet the thought tickled my mind downright embarrassingly.

“But he disappeared five years ago, so no more of that,” Aerith said, waving her hand at the air.

A thousand questions raced to my lips at once, but I swallowed each one. Aerith had no obligation to answer me, there was no need to say anything more. We were just two women who had met by chance in an evening in Midgar. We would probably never meet again after this. Still, I wanted to… If I did not ask but just lead the discussion to the right direction… There was nothing wrong in that. Such was only considered polite. If I kept talking, no embarrassing silence would arise.

"A Soldier?" I repeated. "I knew one who came to Midgar years ago to become a Soldier."

“Really? Did he succeed?”

"I do not know. I have not heard from him in a long time nor have seen him in years. I wish we had met again, but…”

"In my experience, the Soldiers are terribly busy… I could have stayed staring at those blue eyes forever, but there was never enough time."

My chest jumped again. I was fairly sure my heart wanted to throb out through my throat. Would it be possible…?

“But that’s about it. It’s not worth longing for the Soldiers,” Aerith continued before I had time to say anything. She reached out her hand over the table and grabbed my wrist. “Believe me, you deserve something better. The world still has something to offer you.”

"Yes, it is better to leave childhood friends as childhood friends…"

"I have heard that childhood friends are special though," Aerith said. She tilted her head like she was thinking. "Maybe it's still better to keep your eyes open for opportunities."

"You're definitely right."

Aerith smiled again. She smiled a lot. The pink lips curled sweetly, seductively even, while the long lashes over the green eyes fluttered. Those eyes were as deep as the world itself. You could almost thought that there was Lifestream swirling in them.

“I think there are plenty of opportunities for you,” Aerith said.

The words floated in my ears as warm fingers brushed my wrist. Should I have jerked my hand farther? Maybe, but I could not even move. There was something hypnotic, soothing, and stopping about Aerith.

I had to concentrate so I could grab the coffee cup with my free hand. It trembled against my lower lip as I lifted it up. The drink had cooled, and the taste refracted in a more bitter direction, but I downed most of the coffee. The cup slammed against the table a little harder than was appropriate at the same moment as Aerith let go of my hand.

I watched how long fingers snatched a yellow lily from the flower basket. Aerith got up, walked around the table over to me. Her scent of flowers danced over me and enveloped me in pleasant memories of a time when I sometimes went to pick flowers from the fields near Nibelheim. My eyelids slid shut and I swam in the scent.

Aerith's fingers brushed my hair, my ears. The flower slid behind my ear.

“Perfect,” Aerith whispered straight into my ear and breathing swept the skin of my neck. As the cold and hot shivers ran down my neck all the way to my toes, I opened my eyes. The green gaze was closer than ever before, and yet I could not get my eyes off her slightly open lips. No lipstick, the glow was Aerith’s own, and was highlighted by a colorless lip balm. Like a pink flower bud that was about to open to its full glow.

“A lily should bring you good luck. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

Aerith's whisper could barely be heard, but still it lifted goosebumps to my skin. The voice wiped my cheek, the heat swept my ear. My heart continued it bouncing.

“Maybe we’ll meet again,” Aerith added and straightened up. She grabbed her basket of flowers and waved her hand goodbye. She had disappeared from the cafe before I had time to properly realize that she was really gone.

"The payment, please."

The waitress appeared as if from scratch next to me.

I glanced at the untouched latte and my half drank coffee. A smile climbed to my lips, though I realized I should have reacted differently. My stomach itched. Aerith had used me, but the anger did not pulsate inside me. Instead, even previous despair had swung away with Aerith.

I checked what I needed to pay from the receipt and counted the appropriate number of gills on the table. I did not wait for the change but rushed into the damp twilight. I did not even see the hem of Aerith’s the pink dress.

My shoes creaked as I headed my steps back to the station. I would still get to the last train of the evening. I already knew I would not find Aerith anymore, so I might as well return home. Maybe she was never there.

When the train arrived at the Sector 7, I was no longer sure of anything. The evening was foggy. Maybe I had not really met anyone, maybe I was just sitting alone ventilating my mind. When I touched my ear, I understood the truth. Aerith had really passed my life. Maybe our meeting had meant to happen. A reminder that there was still a lot of good in the world to fight for.

No one else got out of the cart, and the station was quiet as I stepped into the orange light and was going to head towards the home. I had stepped down the stairs when I noticed someone leaning on the bench. Not sitting on it but leaning on it. A young man laid on the ground with a huge sword in front of him, dangling his head between his shoulders and leaning his back on the bench seat. I had not seen him before, and by nature he looked like a soldier. Maybe one of Shinra’s ranks have had too much fun and zonked out.

For a moment I thought I would pass the man. Shinra had not brought anything good into my life, so I was not in debt. Still, my legs were nailed to the ground. I stared at the light spiked hair, and my chest flicked again. I could not help but squat next to the man.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His head rose, and fuzzy blue-green eyes swayed as they looked at me. I was not sure if the man really saw me. His lips tried to form words, but I could not understand. Words got stuck in my throat as tears popped into my eyes and blurred the view.

Aerith had known something. I was sure of it.

#final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii #ffvii fanfiction #aerti #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #afi writes

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gkt-tummyaches · 7 months

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why dont u think blossom and brute would get along?

as i've said in numerous other posts about brute, she's not a likable person. she's a villain - in less gimmicky terms, a criminal. she's incredibly selfish and self-aggrandizing, with very little regard for other people's autonomy, let alone their thoughts and feelings. she's pretty much the antithesis of everything i believe blossom stands for, to an extent that is unforgivable nor able to be overlooked.

brute believes herself to be the utmost authority. it's bolstered by the confidence in her strength and power but also in the way she's carved out a place for herself in the world: brute is greedy, power-hungry, and dangerous. not somebody that blossom would want to be around.

blossom, whose childhood revolved around her upholding a certain standard, a certain goodness, being the pinnacle of all things on the side of political correctness and moral righteousness. while i believe she grows from such a strict mindset (and cruel over-expectation of herself), some things stick. refusing to tolerate the presence of a very dangerous, murderous-if-felt-like-it criminal in her city isn't so far-fetched.

we're not talking about moral ambiguity or antiheroism on brute's part. there's no redeeming intention behind her actions. she isn't a sympathetic villain for blossom to eventually lend a hand to. brute wants, brute gets. regardless of the cost, or perhaps in spite of it. she's irredeemable.

it's my favorite thing about brute. she won't change. she'll continue to antagonize blossom, laugh and mock any attempts blossom makes to shut down brute's organization or mode of operation. she's bigger, stronger, has way more resources, and most importantly she's involved in a side of crime that the powerpuff girls weren't exposed to in their line of work. brute delves into the very real parts of crime, and its certainly not to help anybody.

it's not like brute is a monster of the week to just be sent sailing back to monster island.

there's no secret agenda. brute wants money. brute can get money much easier by simply becoming a crime lord with various illegal revenues, like drug dealing and arms dealing. she doesn't care about the fall out. she doesn't care about what lives are lost. she doesn't care about getting her hands dirty.

do you see how that would be morally reprehensible to somebody like blossom ? how could she stomach standing in a room with brute, knowing all of that ? worse, when knowing blossom doesn't have legal authority to arrest or apprehend brute, doesn't even really have case evidence of any of this - she knows all of this because brute hints at it. revels in dropping bombs because she knows it gets under blossoms skin.

that aside, brute has enough money and enough people in her pockets that she can just pay off any kind of investigation or bail. can bribe people in power. she's the embodiment of power and corruption; she's a reminder of the dark parts of the justice system.

i think it'd make blossom sick. brute is somebody who makes her feel powerless without raising a finger. under no circumstances would they get along. ever.

// none of this is to discredit the gray areas of crime & justice, or to villainize all people who have ever had to break the law. just, in this case, brute is a villain and also a criminal. she has zero nuance. i don't want her to have any. she's a very simple person with a very simple motive, and doesn't let anybody get in the way or achieving her goal. blossom is an obstacle that brute could flick away like lint. brute has some exceptions to her world view, but those exceptions are largely motivated by some self-serving purpose. blossom makes plenty of exceptions for plenty of people, but there is a line. in no way, for me, would they ever get along.

i might have more to add later (writing on mobile is very difficult) but that's the jist of it.

#ask #ppnkg #ppg #headcanons #hcs #powerpuff blossom #blossom #powerpunk brute #like nothing abt them is compatible 💀#brute

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colleencrossingg · 30 days

Text

So this happened.

I apologize for my inactivity, school and work has been absolutely insane. I have been playing New Leaf every day though to get as much as I can before the servers shut down. Yes, this includes exchanging 100 visits with randos on Reddit for unlimited hacked Sanrio items. I decorated the bottom floor of my house, so I’ll post that later. I also started the Beautiful Town ordinance, because I am SICK of watering flowers.

I finished funding for both the Roost and the Dream Suite (with the help of friendly Redditors), so my main focus has been trying to visit others and get to 500 dreams. If you want me to visit, leave your Dream Address!

Things in my personal life are not going as well. My dog passed away yesterday at 6 years old. We have no idea what happened, but it seems as if he had severe organ failure. He was always very sick, even as a puppy, but this was very unusual and he declined very quickly. I don’t want to get into it, but this was the third major health scare in less than 9 months where we thought we’d have to put him down.

I am struggling to get things done because I am having POTS flare ups and I have been dealing with depression-related fatigue. I am trying to keep going, but it is hard. I am also dealing with a lot of stress because of my fiancée, because we might have to move in June so he can start grad school. He is stressing me out with financial talk and trying to convince me to enter a mortgage on a property I’ve never even seen in a city we’ve never been to. The FAFSA delay is screwing us because we don’t know how much in loans we’ll have to take out, so this affects which school he chooses to attend. I also don’t know what I’ll be doing until I can start my MA program. I may try to take Chinese or Vietnamese courses as a nonmetriculated student at the university my fiancée is going to, or I may be ambitious and try to do it at the Ivy League school nearby…

I recently won two awards for my thesis as well as my service to the department I belong to. I am dealing with major impostor syndrome because of this. I don’t feel like I deserve to win, and I even consulted my favorite professor to make sure that he didn’t influence the decision in any way because he is the department chair. I’m not sure if I want to even attend the ceremony because I am dealing with intense body image issues and if anybody tries to take a picture of me, I’ll go insane.

I will try to post occasional updates if I can. Animal Crossing is my main coping mechanism through everything going on. I have so many other games I want to play, but so little time.

I want to try the new Stardew Update, but I have such minimal progress in my main save file. I’m horrible with getting through the Skull Cavern mines, and it’s really holding me back. I haven’t played Stardew in a very long time, so I may just play from a completely different save file and start over.

Another game I’ve been playing more lately is Minecraft. I wouldn’t say it’s been a full-on intense Minecraft phase, but I started a new "Survival" world (I play on Peaceful until it’s not convenient for me - I have been playing for 12 years and beaten the game numerous times, I know what I’m doing!) and I’m trying to exit my comfort zone by building in biomes I would usually skip over.

Sorry for my inactivity, shit is rough right now. I don’t know what else to say. I deal with grief really weird for someone who is extremely mentally ill and emotionally unstable. I’m oddly fine. He died in such a traumatic state, so maybe it’s me knowing that he’s at peace now. I don’t know.

Also this has been me every morning sitting in my office at school high as FUCK listening to Strawberry Switchblade/Rose McDowall and getting absolutely nothing done. I have absolutely cooked my Spotify Wrapped and it’s not even April.

Ok I’ll update you in another month. 🫡

#animal crossing #personal #animal crossing new leaf #acnl #new leaf

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shinagawa-division · 1 year

Note

It wasn’t uncommon for Mizuki to deliver really suspicious packages.

Usually she didn’t know the contents though.

“You got mail!” She shouts hoping that someone other than the recipient would hear her. She had met Ritsuko in the past- she had worked with the Sato family before after all.

She hardly ever spoke to her- strictly for business reasons when they did interact. She knew Ritsuko had better things to do than to talk to a loan sharks kid but she still hated the blank look the woman always gave her.

When the door did open she handed the box to what looked like a clone.

“A gift- from the Sato family…it’s dads way of saying thanks for helping us screw over the guy who skipped town and tried to hide out in Shinagawa”

She paused for a moment

“It’s the usual stuff- chemicals and all that…but I’m pretty sure someone threw a bag of weed in there so she can do with that what she wants”

She watched as the being took the box from her hands and shut the door in her face.

It wasn’t unusual for Ritsuko to receive packages despite what people would believe, while she does prefer few people as possible to know about her place of residence, sometimes things had to be done at the sake of a little privacy, besides having things be delivered to her was much more easier and convenient than wasting time sending out one of the clones or having to go get it herself but I’m getting off topic. The clone which looked eerily similar to a certain celebrity in Shibuya except this one was dressed in all black and had a blank look on his face, with the Roman numeral “CXXIV” tattooed below his right eye, mutely nodded, silently took the package from the girl’s hand and promptly shut the door in the girl’s face.

Sighing, 124 headed down a familiar hallway within the house, passing by many of similar faces, his faces, his brothers while doing so, Master was out today, having been called in due to a sudden complication in one of the experiments in Chuuoku’s science department, although he wasn’t present with her during the call, 124 knew by the slight furrow of her eyebrows that she was annoyed but she had made her order’s clear all the same, 124, 272, and 173 were in charge as always and any of the inside clones were to never step foot off the property not unless they wanted a repeat of what happened. 124 tried not to grimace at the thought, poor 347 had only wanted to pet the bunny…

He shook his head and continued on, it really wasn’t all bad, Master does allow them some freedoms, whenever she was gone that was the time that they could get to roam around the house and the surroundings (of course, not going too far) and sometimes she comes back with treats and books and other things to entertain them. It was good sometimes and 124 was not complaining unlike the others, he rolled his eyes at the thought, spoiled they were, he had been alive for a good two years (that’s longer than the others could say they’ve been alive, of course not counting him) and he can say that things had been a lot worse beforehand. Oh, he made it to the door, he really needs to pay attention, 124 thinks before punching in the code to open the door and into the familiar lab of his master.

He shouldn’t be surprised to find 173 here, he’d always been fascinated with Master’s work despite being told numerous of times not to touch anything, just one beaker out of place could spell disaster to not only just him but to the rest of them as well. “What are you doing now, 173?“ 124 didn’t even look at him as he placed the package on a nearby table and opened it carefully, beginning to put the chemicals away into organized spots, he was sure Master would appreciate it, seeing as how she always got on everyone’s asses about being organized but whenever she was finished experimenting, everything in her lab looked as though a tornado had been through it. Master is a bit of a hypocrite but 124 figured it wouldn’t be his master if she wasn’t the slightest bit contradictory.

173, who looked like a carbon copy of 124 except he was wearing an all white entire and had the Roman numeral “CLXXIII” below his right eye sent a small smile at his way, that wasn’t a good sign. “Just thinking.” He chirped then got up from the chair he was lounging on and bounced over to 124 who looked more exasperated with each step 173 took, said clone was peering over his brother’s shoulder and into the package. “Ooh, did Master get another package? Who’s it from?” He hummed curiously and 124 sighed, putting the last of the chemicals, Arsenic and Benzene, in cabinets labeled A-B. “The Sato family, a thank you gift.” He answered, narrowly avoiding the mutated Venus flytrap that tried to take a bite out of him. 173 snickered, “Aw, that’s our Master, so kind.” He began laughing and 124 could only gaze at him with the a look that can only say ‘please shut the fuck up’. “Have you been keeping an eye on the others.” He bluntly stated, already knowing the answer-

“Nope, 272’s handling babysitting duty but don’t worry 451’s helping hi-sorry, her.” 173 waved him off and 124 had to refrain from sighing in disappointment, of course, 124 thought and he wondered why exactly does Master make him one of clones in charge, 124 and 173 were around the same age (that age being 2 years old) but ever since he could gain the ability to remember, 173 had always been a slacker. “Shouldn’t even have asked, whatever, I’m going to prepare for dinner, I would say go make yourself useful but we both know you’re incapable of that.” 124 gave him a look, causing 173 to stick out his tongue at his dark counterpart, 124 rolled his eyes and walked out of the lab, leaving 173 alone again to his devices. “BUt wE BoTH knOW YoU’Re iNCapABlE oF thAT.” He mimicked in a funny voice before scoffing, crossing his arms and glaring around the room before stopping at the package which seemed to have something sticking out inside, peaking 173’s interest.

Lowering his arms, he raised a brow and pulled out the small package of…green plants? Was it a herb or something? Who would send this? 173 examined the baggie in curiosity before opening it and peering inside, immediately drawing back from the potent smell of…well, weed. It…smelled weird, but it kinda reminded of the chemicals and herbs Master would make them eat to record different reactions for data, some were good and others….well, 173 tried not to think about it, already feeling the phantom pains in his stomach. He shook his head, whatever, he thought, holding the baggie up and dumping the contents in his mouth, he was feeling rather hungry and didn’t really had the patience to wait until 124 finished scrapping up what little food they could eat, seriously, 173 really thinks that his Master is not human. The taste was awful and 173 had to refrain from spitting it on the floor, he reluctantly swallowed and made a face. “Eugh, Master needs better friends…and tastier snacks.” He muttered before collapsing back on the chair and spinning lazily.

— 2 Hours Later —

124 scowled as he stomped over to Master’s lab, it was late and Master had called him, saying that she would be home any minute now, and judging from the slight bite in her voice, she was in a bad mood which meant that meant that all clones had to be back in the basement before she gets home unless they wanted to be punished. So he, 272, and 451 had to round up everyone and get them in the basement which was a lot easier said than done, it always happens whenever they were allowed to roam upstairs and while 124 could understand that being shoved underground might not be appealing, rules were rules and he really didn’t want to see his fellow clones get caught in the fray. Which is why 124 was planning on strangling 173 as soon as they got to safety in the basement, he didn’t show up for ‘dinner’ which was a bit of a red flag since 173 always showed up for dinner so he could get the biggest piece so him not showing up meant that something was wrong and that trouble is right around the corner.

Putting in the code, the door slid up and 124 stepped inside and was immediately greeted with the sight of 173 lying face down on the ground and mumbling to no one or nothing in particular, the chair he was previously sitting on was now on the other side of the lab. 124 blinked once, twice, three times before noticing the small baggie in 173’s hand, prying it from his grasp he inspected the now ripped up plastic and green particles, unlike the poor thing that was reciting Drops word for word with the gracefulness of a headless chicken and the singing voice of a strangled cat, 124 put two and two together and came to the realization…

“You’re going to get us killed, you fucking pothead.”

“Pyon pyon pyon pyon…”

Thank you for the ask!

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis microphone #ritsuko okada #ramuda clones #ramuclones #clone 124 #clone 173 #ask

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asa--holland · 10 months

Text

A S A H O L L A N D

BASICS

Age: 45 Birthday: October 25, 1978 Gender & Pronouns: Cis man, He/Him Sexuality: Gay Occupation: Head Librarian District: Washington Park Face Claim: Andrew Scott

Full Bio under a Read More due to some adult themes, please be aware of any trigger warnings!

BIO: TW // Abuse, Homophobia

Asa grew up in a small family home in a town on the outskirts of Dublin. Both parents were devoutly Catholic and the whole family walked to church 3 times a week. He worked summers helping clean up the little church-house in the valley and his father often pawned him off to ‘learn a hard day’s work’ at various places in town, making pennies to take home. Despite his father having plenty of money and working at a bank in the city, Asa was often treated like he had to provide for his family as well. He wanted to spend time with his siblings but it often fell on him to get a job first, to get his license, to get into college. There was immense pressure from his family at all times to be the model son. He had always been introverted but starting in high school, he started to rebel, getting angry at his parents and lashing out at them. His father had just started a very high-profile job in the government and his 13 year old son was the least of his issues.

Eventually, Asa was sent away to a place for ‘troubled children’ and was essentially beaten into submission by orderlies and people who did not care about his wellbeing or his mental stability. He was treated like a problem, like an inmate in a prison at the age of 14 and was kept there for years due to his father’s negligence and lies. Saying after Asa came back for a short time once that he was still ‘acting up’ and ‘deranged’. That they had failed and he would expose them if they didn’t take Asa back. Through it all, Asa was manipulated into thinking he was the problem. That he had done so much wrong that he was being punished, and would continue to be for the rest of his life- tormented by the Devil. Because of the severe mistreatment he’d faced, his father continued the manipulation- Asa was in and out of a few psychiatric facilities, severely depressed, and lost in his own life. His father was a constant terrifying presence in his life, shipping him out to the army to try and ‘straighten him out’ even after briefly coming back from the many places he’d stayed in.

Asa came back with numerous injuries, a medical background from being taught by the chief medic, and a ton of nightmares. In a desperate bid for freedom, Asa decided to run off with what money he had and move. After flying to the first place he'd spotted on a list of cheap flights, he worked a few odd jobs to make ends meet, and would take server jobs, desk jobs, data entry- anything that would pay the bills.

A few years after he moved, Asa began crafting a case to close down St. Irene’s, the terrible place he’d been locked in for years. With the help of other former patients, he successfully sued the hospital and had it shut down- he and many patients were given huge payouts and suddenly Asa didn’t HAVE to work. But he found he had a knack for organization and lists, and began working at the library. In the past few years he's taken over as the head librarian and many know his face around Denver now. In his spare time he enjoys painting and gardening.

Headcanons:

-Asa is an incredibly off-putting individual, due to his time away from ‘society’. While he tries to make conversation with others, it is clear he is still figuring out how to make friends and to have relationships.

-Despite how he appears, Asa spends a lot of his time in the arts. He enjoys books, painting, and plants, and will often be found on his front patio with his watercolors. He has rescued many cats that all live in his surprisingly beautiful and eclectic home.

-While he is an enigma wrapped in another enigma, Asa is a kind person. He often is thoughtful in small ways- having everyones’ coffee orders pegged on his bulletin board in his office, sending small and odd cards for birthdays and events. On the other end, Asa’s ‘kindness’ at the library he works at often is seen as disquieting and he is not as great with older folks and children.

-A large part of his being sent away was not only his rebellious adolescence but also that his father found out pretty early on that his son was gay. Asa hadn’t told him, but his father found a few things- letters from an old boyfriend, some magazines.

#asabio #asaintro #!!!!

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danikavasile · 1 year

Text

N E C E S S A R Y D E A T H

When: November 2, 2022 / 11:50 PM Where: the lab in Gyeonggi For @ilnerium

Danika switched on the harsh white light of the overhead lamps, tracing the body’s webwork of veins in brilliant blue. She looked down at the corpse on the medical table and felt within her a germ of aversion. It was not due to her being so near death or the nude body itself (both of which Danika was intimately acquainted), but the species of the body - vampire. She’d operated on numerous vampires in her 620 years but still subsisted a dark animus curling within her ego.

The ego. Though science could not confirm this fact with any degree of confidence, Danika had long suspected that the ego was the last element of the organism to die. And this proved true in humans, vampires, werewolves, mermaids - the ego was the last to go.

Likewise Danika’s own ego was throbbingly present whenever she autopsied her own species. It was a fate - the finality of nothingness in death - she’d welcome the least. But it was rare that she be given such a pristine vampire specimen to study; such was the nature of the vampiric demise that they usually came to her in pieces or a pile of ash, if they came to her at all. This creature on her table had donated himself to research, and she would take an abhorrent delight in cutting him open, appreciating the exquisite object that his body was. Her version of gratitude.

Later. For now, she was only admiring. She zipped up the body bag and shut off the overhead lights. Her heels clicked against the waxed black laminate as she crossed the lab floor, pushing through the double doors and hanging a left toward her office. Her office was a baroque fantasy of thick velvet curtains before a solitary window and molasses-dark hardwood flooring. It wasn’t especially large but big enough to house three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stocked with all manner of medical textbooks and anatomy almanacs. The shelves were pressed against the back wall behind her mahogany desk, which faced a voluminous black leather settee.

Danika hung her lab coat on the rack and went about acquiring a bag of blood from a small fridge, pouring it into two delicate china teacups. The silver dial of the wall clock read ten to midnight. Soa had been expected at 11:30, but Danika had stopped anticipating her chosen sister to be on time. Danika lifted one of the tea cups to her ruby lips and drained its dregs.

Danika’s hair was secured in a low chignon by one of her most treasured hairpins. It was silver and hollow, once serving as a container for lethal poisons. Danika had never used the pin for the purpose herself but loved its morbid history. She was attired in an ensemble that was rather understated for the ancient vampiress: black slacks and vest with chain detailing, banker stripe button-up, and tie.

Soa arrived as Danika was pouring a second serving of blood into her teacup. She could feel her presence as she stood in the doorway of her office and needed not to look up. “I would’ve thought,” said Danika, sealing the blood bag and returning it to the fridge. “That your relation with Mr Okada would make you more punctual. Or is your punctuality reserved only for those you fuck?” She rendered a familiar fanged smile at her sister.

#i: soa #t: necessary death

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lackyghost · 1 year

Text

LOCAL ONSEN EMPLOYEE, MINETA MINORU, FOUND DEAD, NUMEROUS SUSPECTS BEING INVESTIGATED

—

Seated alone in his living room, lying across his faded black sofa, watching an overhyped and entirely lackluster horror movie is one Bakugou Katsuki.

His pale blonde hair is almost white against the dark of the sofa, flaring out around his head and face like an explosion of natural spikes.

His usually scowling face is neutral as he watches the woman on screen get brutally mauled by a chainsaw.

The blood is too bright, closer to the scarlet of Katsuki’s eyes than the deep crimson of actual blood. Just another mistake that makes Katsuki want to just shut it off and go to sleep.

Thoughts of moving to his bed are cut off by his phone buzzing on the coffee table. Katsuki lazily swipes for it and frowns at the unknown number. He ignores the call and drops his phone back down.

Almost as soon as his phone goes still again, it vibrates with another call from the same unknown number. Katsuki scowls as he grabs his phone, angrily swipes the answer button, and slaps the device to the side of his face.

“What the fuck d’you want?” Katsuki growls out, his usual deep, gruff voice even harsher than usual.

“Oh, so angry,” a deep, smooth voice says with a chuckle. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Big fucking deal,” Katsuki grouses. He’s certainly been in the news often enough, not in a few years though, but there is one type of person who still occasionally tracks down his phone number. “I’m not gonna give you a fucking interview, asshole.”

“An interview?” The voice asks, amused. “You’d want to confess your crimes to me?”

Katsuki groans loudly. “So, you’re one of those assholes, hah? You with Chisaki and his band of fuckwads? He didn’t get my goddamned message last time?”

Katsuki absentmindedly rubs his free hand over the old, faded scars hidden beneath his shirt, trying not to let his mind wander back to his time in the Yakuza’s ‘recruitment camp.’

The man on the other end of the line hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not part of his band of fuckwads,” the man finally says. “But you’re on my list.”

“Whoop-de-fucking-do,” Katsuki says dryly.

“It’s lots of fun, yes,” the man says, and lets out another deep, rumbling chuckle. “Don’t you want to know what list?”

Katsuki snorts derisively. “I don’t give a single fuck, asshole. I’ve been on shit lists for fucking years now, and you’re no fucking different from any of those other dumbfuck extras who start spewing shit without even knowing what they’re talking about.”

The man makes a curious huffing sound. “I think I—”

“What?” Katsuki snaps. He sits up angrily and shuts his television off. “Think you know how I refused to join the Shie Hassaikai? Think you know how even after that bastard Chisaki nearly killed me, I still fucking spat in his face and refused again? You think I give a single fuck about you and your goddamned list? News flash, dumbass, I fucking don’t! Pieces of shit like you have been adding me to lists like that for a long fucking time, and the answer will always be no! I’m not fucking interested in beating people up for money or kidnapping or what-the-fuck-ever. So, good-fucking-bye.”

Katsuki hangs up angrily. His chest is heaving with furious pants as he storms across his small one-bedroom apartment. He turns his phone off and plugs it in on his nightstand, and then he opts to take a long, hot shower to soothe his freshly tensed body.

—

‘TOUGH LOVE’ TEACHER TORINO SORAHIKO FOUND DEAD IN HIS APARTMENT

—

One thing many people don’t know about Katsuki is that he spends every Sunday deep-cleaning his apartment. Every nook and cranny, every item of clothing, every blanket and even his goddamn shoes get cleaned.

It’s a habit that started initially as part of his therapy when he’d been diagnosed with PTSD after his Yakuza incident back when he was a teenager. He finds it soothing now, and gets jittery any time he can’t complete his full regimen.

He loses himself easily in the ministrations, listening to music playing in his little Bluetooth speaker that he carries from room to room as he goes.

It’s been a week and a half since the strange phone call incident, and Katsuki has honestly forgotten about it. It wasn’t the first time he’s received a phone call from an assumed journalist, and he doubts it’ll be the last.

He gathers his full trash bag and leaves his apartment with just his keys in his pocket and the smelly bag carried at his side. He doesn’t bother locking his unit door, knowing he’ll be in and out.

It’s a bit chilly out, but summer is definitely approaching so he doesn’t whine too much about it as he takes the stairs down from the fourth floor to the sidewalk below.

He walks around the side of the building toward the dumpster and cocks a brow at the man standing there; tall and broad with black pants and a black hoodie that’s zipped up all the way and pulled over to hide his face in the shadow of the material.

The guy makes a soft, startled sound and jumps away from the apartment’s fire escape, but Katsuki just rolls his eyes and throws his bag in the dumpster. He’s about to turn around when he spots something unusual behind the man.

Katsuki starts walking forward and the guy holds his hand up, gesturing for him to stop. The blonde easily ignores him and walks past, squatting down in front of a little cardboard box. He frowns at the tiny orange kitten inside, shivering and looking absolutely pathetic.

“Hey, there,” Katsuki says gently as he lifts the tiny thing up. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

He cradles the kitten to his chest and wraps his unzipped hoodie around it securely. He stalks right back past the hooded figure, not really giving a shit what the guy is doing.

Once he’s back inside his apartment, he grabs a small bowl of water and sets it on the floor. He sets the kitten down next to it and tries to coax it to drink. After a few minutes, it finally does and Katsuki sighs in relief. The poor thing can’t be more than eight weeks old.

Katsuki gets back up and riffles through his cabinets for a can of unseasoned tuna in water. He always keeps some around, it's easier to season it himself and therefore more versatile.

He opens the can and dumps some of it into another little dish before setting it down next to the kitten. He squats down and strokes the tiny fluffball as it sniffs the food curiously. When it finally starts eating, he jogs to his room for his cellphone to look up the closest veterinarian.

—

CEO OF AFO CORPORATION MURDERED, STEP-SON IS TOP SUSPECT

—

Katsuki has owned ‘Dynamight Bowls & Curry’ for six years. He bought the food truck back when he was eighteen and spent two years working full time in a restaurant as an assistant chef while he attended culinary school. He also used that time to fix up the truck and save up for business startup costs.

He quit his job at the restaurant and started working on his truck full time when he was twenty years old, and he has never regretted it.

He works Monday through Saturday from 11am to 7pm, rotating on a set schedule of plaza venues that gets regularly updated on his social media.

Dynamight’s serves bowl meals, different choices of protein with various types of marinades and seasonings, sautéed vegetables, served over a bed of rice and sometimes pickled vegetables as well. All with their best matched added flavors and textures, extra sauces, and garnishes.

He also offers beef and chicken curry, served with a vegetable croquette and a side of rice, garnished with cilantro and pickled daikon.

His food is damn good, and he fucking knows it.

—

Katsuki has his apron tied tight around him, snug on his trim waist. He’s got several things cooking at once thanks to the lunch rush. He’s got a bit of a unique method of running his truck. People order using a digital touch screen outside and scan to pay for their meals, then the order shows up on a screen in front of him once it’s paid, and he gets to work. It’s unusual, but necessary since he runs the truck by himself.

“Grilled Salmon with Yuzu and Ponzu for Ashido!” Katsuki shouts as he pushes a steaming, covered to-go bowl onto the serving counter. Once it’s taken, he shoves another up and yells again. “Yakiniku Beef for Kaminari!”

“Thanks, Blasty!” Ashido and Kaminari say as they wave at him. Katsuki flips them off and they laugh at his antics.

“Teriyaki Chicken with extra soy sauce for Sero! Yakiniku Beef with extra meet for Kirishima!” Katsuki calls out as he pushes another two bowls to the edge.

“You’re the best, bro!” Kirishima says cheerfully.

“Yeah, thanks, man!” Sero says as he and Kirishima take their dishes and rush off to catch up with Ashido and Kaminari.

Those four have been religiously eating at Dynamight’s for over two years now, every single Friday they spend their hour lunch break at his truck. They’re not the first group to become regulars like that, but they are the first group who actually seem to like his prickly attitude and sometimes come by before he closes on Saturdays to hang out while he meticulously cleans and organizes his truck.

—

After the lunch shift has died down, Katsuki lets out a breath of relief at the short break. He turns away from the order screens and the open window so he can wash his knives and utensils quickly.

“Hey, I’m gonna try the ‘Death by Curry,’” a deep voice drawls from behind Katsuki, nearly making him drop his supplies.

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and takes in the man outside his truck. He’s tall and pale, nearly every inch of visible skin covered in black and deep purple tattoos, a face full of piercings, and almond shaped eyes that house vibrant turquoise irises.

His hair is snow white, spiky and untamed as it fans out around his head. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and firm chest, the black leather jacket atop it only further accentuating the look.

Katsuki cocks a brow and moves to set his things in the drying rack before wiping his hands on his apron. He crosses his arms and steps over to the serving window. He leans his folded arms on the little serving platform and stares down at the man, who’s nearly at eye level even with Katsuki having the truck’s height at his advantage, putting him around 200cm, a full head taller than Katsuki.

Katsuki smirks at the guy. “You think you can handle it?”

The white-haired man returns the cocky expression. “I’m pretty sure I can handle some spicy food, doll.”

“Sure,” Katsuki says, too amused to even be bothered by the nickname. “Beef or chicken?”

“Beef,” the guy says.

Katsuki chuckles darkly as he pulls out the ingredients. No one has ever passed the ‘Death by Curry’ challenge. It’s Katsuki’s personal favorite; perfectly seasoned and spiced to levels that could arguably be considered lethal.

The white-haired man watches through the window curiously as Katsuki cooks his meal. When it’s done, the blonde dumps the contents into the take-out bowl and adds his usual garnishes. He snags a water bottle from the fridge and hands it to the guy.

“Good fucking luck,” Katsuki purrs as he hands the bowl over.

The tattooed man chuckles. “Don’t worry about me, doll, I can handle the heat.”

He heads over to one of the little tables of the plaza and Katsuki drops his elbow on the ledge and perches his chin on his open palm as he watches the white-haired man open the container and scoop up a good portion. He holds eye contact with the blonde as he blows on the spoonful and brings it to his mouth.

First, he looks pleased by the flavors.

And then Katsuki’s smirk widens into a grin as the man’s face flushes red and his eyes go glassy. The white-haired man gives him an incredulous look and cracks open the water bottle so he can chug half of it in one go.

“What the hell!” The man groans. “There’s no way anyone can eat that!”

Katsuki cracks up laughing. He pushes away from the window and shoves open the door of his truck. He locks it behind himself just to be extra safe, and stalks over to the table. He plucks the spoon from the guy’s bowl, scoops up a big serving, and pops it into his mouth. He hums appreciatively as he chews, thoroughly enjoying the mix of flavors and textures.

“You gonna finish it? Or is this my dinner now?” Katsuki grouses after swallowing his mouthful.

The tattooed man gawks at him for a moment and then pushes the bowl closer to Katsuki, who nods and picks it up. He chomps away at the meal, getting halfway through it before the white-haired man finds the ability to speak again.

“Damn, doll, you’re one hell of a spitfire,” the man says, sounding both impressed and mildly amused.

Katsuki cocks a brow and swallows. He holds his hand out for the water bottle still in the guy’s hands, and the man slowly hands it over. Katsuki takes a small sip before sighing and handing it back.

“It’s my favorite,” Katsuki says with a shrug. “Ain’t my fault no one else can handle my shit.”

The white-haired man gives Katsuki a once-over. “I think I could handle you.”

Katsuki snorts. “Sure, Patchwork.”

He turns away from the man, bowl in hand, and eats as he makes his way back to his food truck. When he gets back inside, he turns and finds the white-haired man already at the truck again, putting in an order on the digital pad. Katsuki chuckles and throws the now empty bowl away and drinks some water before checking the screen.

“Yakiniku Beef with spicy barbecue sauce?” Katsuki asks as he gives the white-haired man a skeptical look.

“Gotta work my way up to the ‘Death by Curry,’ I think,” the man says.

He winks at Katsuki, and the blonde rolls his eyes and turns to scrub his hands before getting to work on the man’s food.

—

EX-COP TAKAMI KEIGO CHARGED WITH MURDER OF BUBAIGAWARA JIN; FOUND DEAD IN CELL HOURS LATER

—

Katsuki doesn’t go out very often, it’s maybe once a month that he decides to head over to the nearby bar just to get tipsy and let off some steam.

He’s not interested in getting hit on, so he simply pulls on some loose jeans and an old black t-shirt with a white skull on the front. It’s tighter than it used to be and now hugs his muscles, but he pulls a black hoodie on over top and zips it half way up so he looks properly lazy.

The walk to the bar takes about fifteen minutes, but the night is decently warm. He kind of regrets bringing the hoodie already, but he’s not interested in turning around just to bring it back to his apartment, so he trudges his way into the bar.

It’s busy and half the patrons are already drunk, but he ignores them and stalks up to the counter. He plants himself on a stool and gestures for the bartender’s attention.

“Suntory Toki,” Katsuki says, and the bartender nods and reaches for the whiskey.

Katsuki sets the cash down and nods his thanks to the purple-haired man as he slides the glass over.

Katsuki is blissfully zoned out after two glasses of whiskey, just watching the boxing match on the television angled at the end of the bar, when someone taps on his shoulder.

With an agitated grunt, Katsuki looks up to see a tall man with black hair and brown eyes. Katsuki glares at him, already ready to refuse to get up from the bar.

“Wanna dance?” The man asks.

“The fuck,” Katsuki says. “No.”

He turns away from the man with a scoff and goes back to sipping his glass of water. It’s one of his drinking rules; one glass of water for each glass of alcohol.

Heat fans across his back as the man leans over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Come on, pretty boy. I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.”

Katsuki responds by slamming his elbow back into the man’s gut. The guy wheezes and stumbles back. Katsuki glares over his shoulder at the man for a long moment before going back to his water.

“You’re pretty feisty,” the man says, still breathless from the hit.

“And you’re pretty fucking stupid,” Katsuki grouses, still not looking back at the guy.

The man chuckles and walks back up to the blonde. He runs a hand down Katsuki’s arm as he speaks lowly. “Can’t wait to break that bad attitude.”

Katsuki sets his glass down with a sigh. He looks to the bartender, who is glowering at the black-haired man and looking absolutely done with his shit.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and turns around quickly, startling the man behind him. The guy smirks and opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by Katsuki punching him in the jaw. The man falls flat on his back and gapes up at Katsuki.

“Consent is key, asshole,” Katsuki growls out as he steps over the man’s prone body and stalks out the side door into the alley. His mind is fuzzy and he feels light, but he’s not stumbling, so he figures its safe to walk home.

He doesn’t even get halfway down the side alley before the bar door is slammed open and three furious men step out, all glaring at Katsuki.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” One of the men demands.

“How dare you punch Shindou like that!” The second yells.

“All you had to do was go with him and have some fun,” the third says as he cracks his knuckles. “But now ya gotta deal with us instead.”

Katsuki scoffs and crosses his arms as he turns to fully face the men. “You seriously think you assholes can take me?”

“Oh, we’ll take you down,” one says darkly.

“And then we’ll take you home so you can be Shindou’s new plaything,” another adds.

“Yeah, just keep repeating your boss’ name,” Katsuki says dryly. “Really fucking smart.”

All three men laugh and step closer to him. Two draw knives and then one retrieves a pair of glistening brass knuckledusters from his pocket. Katsuki scoffs derisively as he moves into a fighting stance.

“Cute,” one of the men says sarcastically.

“You assholes have no idea who you’re fucking talking to,” Katsuki snarls.

“Wait,” one says, squinting at Katsuki. He licks his lips nervously. “You’re not… you’re not that Bakugou guy, right? The Beast of UA?”

Katsuki’s lips turn up in a malicious smirk. “Oh good, you’ve heard of me.”

“Doesn’t matter who you are!” The knuckleduster man roars. “We’re going to fuck you up and drag you away so the boss can fuck you up!”

The back door slams open again, and all eyes shoot to the large, white-haired, tattooed man. He launches himself forward and Katsuki watches, fascinated, as the man knocks the largest man out with a single hit to the face. He then spins around with incredible speed and sweeps the feet out from under the second man, who’s head hits the ground with a sickening crack that renders him unconscious.

The third man rushes for Katsuki in a desperate attempt, clearly believing he’s the lesser of two fights. Unfortunately for him, Katsuki didn’t gain his title of ‘Beast’ by being the gentlest MMA fighter in his University.

Katsuki slams his hand down on the man’s wrist, spins around, and kicks his knee out of place. The man yelps in pain and Katsuki smashes him face first to the ground before karate-chopping the side of his neck in the perfect spot to knock him out. Katsuki straightens up and looks at the white-haired man, who is once again gaping at him.

“I fucking had that, Patches,” Katsuki grouses. “I ain’t some damsel in distress.”

“I see that, doll,” the man says, and then he grins broadly. “You’re really something, aren’t you, spitfire?”

“Fucking obviously,” Katsuki says with a scoff.

He can feel his face heating up, but he blames it on the alcohol and not on the obscenely attractive and obviously incredibly strong and well trained man in front of him.

“You heading home?” The white-haired man asks.

“That was the fucking plan,” Katsuki says with a shrug.

“Want to get something to eat first?” The man asks.

“No,” Katsuki says dryly.

The tattooed man pouts, and tilts his head in the most out-of-character puppy dog expression the blonde has ever seen.

It’s stupid—the guy is huge, and the back light in the alley shines off of his piercings and casts an ominous shadow across his tattooed skin, making him look like a demon.

Even his turquoise eyes seem to be glowing. He does not look like a cute, innocent little puppy and Katsuki absolutely should not give in.

But fuck if he doesn’t do just that.

Katsuki lets out a long sigh. “Fucking fine. But you’re buying.”

“Fuck yeah!” The man says cheerfully, a lopsided grin on his lips. He walks up to Katsuki and gestures for the blonde to walk with him. “There’s this ramen place close by. Not as good as your food, but they’ve got an extra spicy tonkatsu that you’d probably like.”

“Fair enough,” Katsuki says with a shrug.

“I’m Todoroki Touya, by the way,” the white-haired man says.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” the blonde says.

Touya chuckles. “I know who you are. I’ve watched your old matches. Guess you quit to focus on the food truck, huh?”

Katsuki shrugs. “Cooking’s better. I still go to the gym daily and train several times a week. Ain’t no chance of some fucking extras taking me on.”

“I believe you,” Touya says, looking pointedly to his shoulders. “What gym do you go to?”

Katsuki squints at the taller man. “Why? You stalking me?”

Touya scoffs loudly and waves his hand nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

“Fucking weird ass, patchwork fucker,” Katsuki grumbles. Touya laughs and Katsuki cocks a brow at the unexpected response to being outright insulted.

“I like you, Bakugou,” Touya says with a grin. “I think we’ll be really good friends.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Patches.”

—

DOCTOR UJIKO DARUMA FOUND DEAD IN HIS OFFICE, NO BIRTH RECORDS CAN BE LOCATED; WAS HE A FRAUD?

—

Katsuki opens his apartment door, fully intending to go down to the mailboxes.

He blinks in surprise at the massive box waiting just outside his door. With a furrowed brow, he reads the address on the label, and cocks a brow when he finds his name there.

He knows it isn’t from his parents, they haven’t contacted him since he moved out at eighteen and he prefers it that way.

It could possibly be from Deku, that asshole sends Katsuki random things for his birthday, but it’s June and his birthday was in April, so scratch that.

Katsuki shrugs and lifts the box up. It’s incredibly heavy and awkward to lift, but he manages to get it through his door with only one tiny scratch to the frame that he will easily pretend he doesn’t notice.

He sets the box down in his entryway and shuts and locks his front door before heading to the kitchen for a knife. He carefully cuts the box open and then sets the knife on the kitchen counter.

He pulls the box open and at the top is a piece of heavy cardstock paper with a border lined in various animals. It’s got a printed message on the front and Katsuki lifts the paper to read it curiously.

Doll, I volunteer at Kouda’s Veterinary Clinic, and when I saw that you have a kitten set for an appointment next week and read the note attached saying you rescued little ‘Queen Murder Mittens,’ I couldn’t help myself. – Patchwork PS, here’s my phone number, spitfire (xx-xxx-xxxx)

“Huh,” Katsuki says, for lack of a better response. He sets the note aside and starts pulling out the items.

There’s a five-pound bag of high-quality dry kitten food, a 24 pack of the same brand in different canned flavors, treats that claim to be good for dental health, a twenty-pound bag of cat litter, various cat toys, a scratching post, and a huge five-tiered cat tree.

Katsuki gapes at it all in absolute shock for a long minute before whipping out his phone and punching in Touya’s number.

Katsuki: What the fuck? Why’d you send me so much shit?

He’s barely pocketed his phone again before a response comes through, forcing him to pull the device right back out.

Patchwork: It’s not for you! It’s for Queen Murder Mittens!

Katsuki: …fuck.

Patchwork: Yeah, don’t argue, Spitfire. Just let me know if she likes it.

Katsuki sighs and puts his phone away. Queenie, as he calls the kitten for short, is already sniffing curiously at the new items.

Katsuki gets to work building the cat tree, and he only messes up once, thank-you-very-much. He sets the thing up by his large living room window, so the little hammock thing near the top will get plenty of sunlight.

He opens up the other toys, some are just loose mice and balls with bells and rattles inside, while others are sticks with a dangling toy and a suction cup on the end. He could easily stick them to windows so she could still play when he’s at work. It’s weirdly touching to know that the white-haired man’s gift is so considerate.

By the time he’s done getting things put up and the food stored away, Queenie has found her way up the cat tree and is snoozing away in the hammock. Katsuki kisses her head and strokes her back before snapping a picture to send off to Touya.

Katsuki: [Image attached.] She says thanks.

Patchwork: Adorable. She is very welcome. I haven’t even met her, and I would kill for her.

Katsuki snorts aloud and accidentally startles the poor kitten. He whispers an apology and kisses her head again before walking to his bedroom so he can get ready for work.

Katsuki: Riot Gym. I go every morning at 6am.

—

SMALL TIME GANGSTER SHINDOU YOU FOUND DEAD ALONG WITH THREE OF HIS MEN

—

Katsuki is only a little anxious about meeting Touya at the gym for the first time. The more he gets to know about the man, the more he likes him.

So, Katsuki devises a plan in his evil gremlin brain.

He pulls on his favorite compression outfit; black shorts with orange trim, and a black tank top with an orange ‘x’ across the front. It’s tight and hides absolutely nothing.

Katsuki secures his black sneakers and grabs his gym bag, swinging it over his shoulder before heading out. He’s got his clean clothes, water bottle, phone, and wallet shoved inside the bag along with his shower bag and towel.

He’s somewhat surprised to find Touya standing outside of Riot, scrolling aimlessly on his phone with his gym bag on the ground by his feet. Katsuki takes a moment to just look him over, clad in loose eggplant purple shorts and a low-cut black tank top with slits down the sides, giving a delightful view of the tattoos where they travel down his pecs and ribs.

“You ready for me to kick your ass?” Katsuki asks.

When Touya looks up, his eyes widen as he scans over the blonde’s body, which is as close to exposed as he can get without actually stripping down.

“Damn, doll,” Touya drawls. “You sure know how to taunt a guy.”

Katsuki snorts and scans his entry key, trying to hide his smug grin and light blush. “Whatever, Patchwork. We’re starting with stretches. You any good at yoga?”

Touya hums as he steps inside after the blonde. “I’ve never actually tried yoga.”

“S’ good shit,” Katsuki says. “Let’s put our shit away and I’ll show you some of the basics.”

“Lead the way, doll,” Touya says.

Katsuki just grunts his acknowledgment as they go to the locker rooms. He pulls his water bottle out before shoving the locker closed. He leads the white-haired man to the room usually reserved for instructor-led courses.

“Earliest class starts at eight, so we’re fine to just stretch in here,” Katsuki explains simply as he goes to the little shelf with mats and tugs two out. He hands one to Touya and leads the way to the center of the room. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to copy me.”

“Please, I’m limber enough for yoga,” Touya says with a scoff.

Katsuki smirks and starts in a basic standing pose before stretching up into upward hand. He holds it for a moment, ensuring that the white-haired man is watching, and then Katsuki folds forward into a perfect standing fold, arms curled around the backs of his calves as he bends completely in half. The man’s tattooed face flushes red, but he manages to grip his ankles.

Katsuki snickers and arches up into a half standing forward fold. Touya follows him, and Katsuki notes that he’s biting down hard on his tattooed lower lip, which contrasts heavily with his unblemished, pink upper lip.

Katsuki moves into a triangle pose, and holds before switching sides. He goes into a warrior A pose, then switches sides and repeats with warrior B pose. Then, deciding he’s given Touya enough of a break, he folds down into wide leg forward fold pose; hands flat on the ground and legs spread as his head brushes the ground.

Touya nearly falls over and Katsuki has to bite his inner cheek to hold in a laugh. While holding the pose, he stretches his arms out behind himself, and then moves into a half-bound lotus, holds, and then switches sides.

Then he adjusts himself into downward dog and holds before sliding into upward facing dog. He goes back up into downward dog and then sits back on his ass and grins at Touya as he extends his legs straight out and reaches forward to grip his toes, folded in half once again.

“You okay there, Patches?” Katsuki teases.

“You’re killing me here, doll,” Touya groans, face flushed as he does his best to copy the blonde. Katsuki cracks up laughing and Touya pulls his knees up as he looks at the ceiling, letting out a long breath. “It should be illegal to do that with shorts that tight.”

Katsuki snorts. “Glad you like ‘em.”

He stands up and walks to the wipes dispenser, grabbing two. He hands one to Touya before he wipes his mat clean. The tattooed man grumbles in mingled agitation and embarrassment as he wipes his mat down. Katsuki chuckles as he rolls his mat up and puts it back on the rack. Touya leans over his back as he puts his own mat away.

“I’m picking next,” the white-haired man says, voice deep and husky. The sound sends a shiver down Katsuki’s spine.

He looks over his shoulder at the man, nearly kissing him on accident from the unexpected closeness. He doesn’t back away, but he does let his breath fan over the man’s lips when he speaks lowly, “Whatever you want, Patches.”

“Fuck,” Touya groans as he pulls away. “Why are you so fucking hot? You’re playing dirty, Spitfire.”

Katsuki scoffs as he follows the white-haired man out. “You’re one to talk.”

Touya smirks mischievously back at him before looking around for his goal. With an ‘Aha!’ he leads the way to the bench press. He starts loading up plates and Katsuki cocks a brow when he only adds 90kg.

“Warm ups?” Katsuki guesses.

“Yup,” Touya confirms with a sharp nod. “We’re gonna see who can bench the most. You wanna go first?”

Katsuki shrugs and slides onto the bench and into position. He gets his grip and easily pushes out ten reps before racking it. He gives the other man a bored look, but Touya just shrugs and gestures for them to switch places.

They keep up the pattern, ten reps each, add 10kg, repeat.

Katsuki maxes out at 205kg, but the white-haired man just gives him a cocky smile and tells him to add more weight. Katsuki shrugs and adds ten more. Then ten more… and ten more…

When the bar has 230kg on it, Katsuki looks down uncertainly at the white-haired man. “You fuckin’ sure about this, Patchwork?”

“Aw, don’t worry about me, spitfire,” Touya says with a grin.

Katsuki clicks his tongue, but gets into spotting position as the other man finds his grip. He lifts the bar, and there’s definitely some straining, but he does ten slow reps. Katsuki quickly reaches in to help rack at after the tenth, and he just stares down at the smugly grinning white-haired man.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki says eloquently.

Touya laughs loudly and sits up. They work together to remove the weights, each taking one side so the bar doesn’t get upended. When they finish that, they move on to Katsuki’s next choice.

—

“I think we’re a good match, doll,” Touya says as they step out of the gym together, both freshly showered and in clean clothes. “You’ve got the flexibility and speed, and I’ve got strength.”

“You weren't the worst fucking person to work out with,” Katsuki says with a shrug. He’s really trying not to focus on how fucking hot the tattooed man is.

“We should do this more often,” Touya says. “I felt way more motivated today than I have in a long time.”

“Me too,” Katsuki admits.

“So, doll, you wanna go on a date with me?” Touya questions.

Katsuki looks up at him and blinks in surprise before his lips betray him with a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Hell yeah!” Touya says with a loud whoop. He beams down at Katsuki, smile wide and turquoise eyes glinting. “I’ll plan something for after seven, yeah? So it doesn’t mess with your work?”

Katsuki shrugs. “I can always take a day off. No boss to call in to, just have to update my social media.”

Touya gives him a surprised look. “You would take a day off… to spend it with me?”

“Fucking obviously,” Katsuki says with a scoff. He averts his eyes as heat rushes to his face. “I really fucking like you. ‘M not gonna bitch out of a date because of work.”

Heavy, hot hands land on his shoulders and Katsuki looks up in surprise at Touya, whose eyes are full of affection as he smiles down at the blonde.

“Next Saturday? We could start with dinner?” Touya suggests.

Katsuki nods. “Fine. But I’m cooking dinner. Use my stolen address to find your way.”

Touya huffs out a laugh and nods. “Absolutely.”

—

SHIE HASSAIKAI LEADER CHISAKI KAI FOUND DEAD AMONGST THE BODIES OF THE ‘EIGHT BULLETS’

—

Katsuki is going all out for his dinner date with Touya. They’d agreed on 6pm and Katsuki spent a good part of his afternoon grocery shopping for a killer meal.

He knows Touya likes meat and hates fish; something he’d learned over the past couple weeks of the guy going to Dynamight’s for lunch, which seems to happen more often than not since his first time there.

For tonight, Katsuki had settled on rice, clear soup, steamed vegetables, and pan-seared steaks cooked in his beloved cast iron pan.

He also has homemade strawberry mochi in the freezer, and he picked up two bottles of wine when he was out.

His little two-seater dining table is already set with plates and cutlery the way he was taught in culinary school, water glasses filled, wine glasses ready and one bottle of wine at the edge of the table. He even fan-folded the damn napkins, for fucks’ sake.

Okay, so he’s nervous.

He’s gotten to know the white-haired man pretty well over the past few weeks, especially after the damn bar fight, and more so after the unexpected gifts for Queenie.

They text every single day, and Katsuki is fairly certain that he’s falling for the bizarre tattooed man who sends funny pictures and sarcastic quips, flirts and snarks with equal ease. He’s kind, sarcastic, strong as fuck, and he finds Katsuki’s attitude endearing rather than something that should be kept away with a 50-foot pole.

A strange clatter from Katsuki’s bedroom makes him look up from the pan he’s heating up. Queenie is napping on the cat tree’s hammock, per usual. The blonde furrows his brow and walks to his bedroom.

Touya is climbing through his window from the fire escape, a single red rose held in his mouth.

Katsuki leans on the bedroom doorframe and watches him until the white-haired man suddenly freezes and looks up, one ankle still out the window. His turquoise eyes lock with Katsuki’s scarlet orbs, and they just stare at each other in stunned silence for several long moments.

“Go wash your hands before dinner,” Katsuki says and then turns, heading back into the kitchen.

Touya cheers loudly and the window slides shut. Katsuki snorts out a laugh and puts the first steak on the pan, swirling it to keep it coated with the butter and herbs.

He hears Touya walk to the bathroom and the man hums cheerfully as he scrubs his hands

Katsuki chuckles to himself as he flips the steak, just allowing himself to breathe and try to calm himself down.

Warm, thick arms wrap around his waist and a chin drops to his shoulder, totally enveloping Katsuki’s back in Touya’s broad, firm chest. The blonde finds himself leaning against the man without actively choosing to do so.

“That smells so good,” Touya says.

“It’ll taste even better,” Katsuki promises.

They stay like that, relaxed and warm as Katsuki transfers the first steak to a plate and covers it with foil to keep it hot as he cooks the second steak.

Touya inhales deeply, squeezing the blonde a little tighter, and Katsuki is definitely in love because he has never felt more content before in his entire goddamn life.

“So, tell me about your mortal enemies,” Touya says and Katsuki spurts out a laugh.

“Fuckin’ mortal enemies, seriously, Patches?” Katsuki questions, shaking his head lightly.

“Come on, tell me who you’ve secretly wished would just fuck off,” Touya says.

Katsuki hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’d say Chisaki, but seems like that fucker finally got what was coming to him.”

“Seems that way,” Touya says, hiding his pleased smirk in the man’s hair.

“Probably my old high school teacher,” Katsuki says after a minute.

“Oh?” Touya questions curiously.

“I won this competition in my first year, but it was a fuckin’ joke of a win and I didn’t wanna accept the award, so she fuckin’ chained me to the podium while the news broadcasted the fuckin’ thing live,” Katsuki says, sighing.

Touya’s grip tightens on him and he hums. “I’m sure karma will get her eventually.”

“Sure,” Katsuki says, snorting softly.

When Katsuki moves to place the first steak to a plate, he does his best to not dislodge Touya without being too obvious that’s what he’s doing. The rumbling chuckle through his spine suggests he’s not as coy as he’d hoped, but he just moves the second steak to the pan to repeat the process.

“You’d make such a nice house-husband,” Touya says teasingly.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, but the man just snickers. “I ain’t some fuckin’ bride to keep locked up in a damn tower.”

Touya hums what sounds like an agreement. “True, I would rather show off my pretty husband everywhere we go. Let everyone see what they can’t have.”

“Who the fuck says that shit on a first date?” Katsuki mumbles, and he can feel the shit-eating grin on the taller man’s face.

“Someone who knows what he wants,” Touya says, voice low and husky, hot breath fanning across Katsuki’s ear, and fuck, if it doesn’t have his cock swelling.

“Shut up and sit down,” Katsuki says, elbowing the man lightly.

“Fine, fine,” Touya says. He places a soft kiss to Katsuki’s neck before releasing him, leaving the blonde stunned and frozen for a moment.

He swallows thickly and plates the second steak, adding the rice and steamed vegetables to both before turning to carry them to the table. The red rose the man had carried inside is placed neatly at the center of the table, and Touya quickly picks it up.

Katsuki quirks a brow at him as he places the plates, but the man just moves the flower safely aside. Katsuki brings the miso soup over next, setting it at the middle of the table.

“Made with vegetable broth,” Katsuki says, and Touya grins.

“Aw, you remembered,” Touya says; his voice is teasing but his expression shows the genuine fondness he feels for the blonde.

“Shut up and eat,” Katsuki mutters as he grabs the bottle of wine.

Touya chuckles as he watches the man expertly spin the corkscrew and tug the cork out with a pop, dropping it to the table and swiftly filling both glasses with the red liquid.

Katsuki slices into his steak and Touya does the same. The blonde lifts the first bite to his lips and his eyes flick up to the tattooed man as his lips close around his own forkful.

His turquoise eyes flutter closed and a deep, satisfied groan comes from his chest. The sound has Katsuki’s cheeks pinkening and his pupils dilating.

“You’re perfect,” Touya says, eyes opening part way.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, scowling as he scoops up some of the steamed veggies.

Touya just hums; the sound is deep and delighted and it has Katsuki flushing darker without even looking at the man. He can feel the tattooed man’s gaze burning into him.

The rest of dinner is quiet, just the sounds of them eating, the scraping of utensils, and the occasional chirrup from Queenie whenever birds fly past the window.

The air is thick with tension between the two men; the kind that has their senses on overdrive.

Touya, finished with his meal, takes a sip of his wine and stands up, grabbing the red rose. He walks around the small table, placing one hand on the back of Katsuki’s chair, using the other to hold the delicate thing out for the blonde.

“The brightest I could find,” Touya explains, locking eyes with Katsuki when he finally raises his gaze. He slowly takes the flower, unsure of what to do with it.

“Thanks,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Touya chuckles softly, leaning closer and licking his lips. His newly freed hand cups the blonde’s jaw and his whole face goes soft.

“Your eyes are a much more stunning shade of red,” Touya says.

Katsuki’s cheeks flush even as he narrows his gaze defiantly. Touya just grins at that, leaning closer and pressing his lips to Katsuki’s.

There is an immediate jolt through his entire system, and Katsuki drops the flower on the table so that he can bury both of his hands in the man’s silky white locks. Touya nips at his lower lip, then sucks on it, and Katsuki moans.

A feral growl rips from deep within Touya’s chest as a darker side of him breaks through the cracks in his self-control. He roughly wraps his arms around the blonde’s hips, shoving them down to his ass and lifting him up off the chair.

Katsuki gasps in surprise, but the show of strength is so fucking hot that he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. He lets out his own growl as he bites down on the side of the man’s neck, and Touya moans as he starts walking toward the blonde’s bedroom.

He falls onto the bed atop the blonde, making him grunt, but he refuses to move any further away than necessary as he crashes their lips together again.

Katsuki roughly grabs the hem of the man’s shirt and tugs on it, and Touya lets out a shaky chuckle as he pulls it off, then immediately rips Katsuki’s off as well.

Their mouths connect again as their hands roam down each other’s exposed flesh, both delighting in the muscles that move beneath their fingers. Katsuki reaches the man’s jeans and cups the obvious bulge, squeezing lightly and making Touya bite down on Katsuki’s lower lip.

The blonde moans again, squeezing his covered cock once more and making Touya snarl against his lips as he starts undoing the buttons for Katsuki’s pants, while the blonde does the same to his.

Their boxers go with the pants, shoved somewhere to the floor where neither of them gives a fuck.

Katsuki reaches over to his nightstand, growling when he has to move from Touya’s lips to rip the drawer open, making the few dildos inside clatter together. He shoves them aside, grasping the slick little bottle of lube.

Touya licks his lips as the blonde clicks the cap open and grabs Touya’s hand, drizzling the cool liquid over his fingers, some of it dripping down to his abdomen.

“You’d better fucking prep me well, your cock is fucking massive,” Katsuki snarls and Touya grins.

“And I’m sure you’ll scream so nicely on it,” Touya says, leaning in to kiss him as a distraction as he roughly shoves two of his long, thick fingers into the blonde’s hole.

Katsuki gasps and moans, precum leaking from his cock at the stinging from the stretch. He licks over Touya’s lips, shoving his tongue into the man’s mouth as soon as he opens up, dominating the kiss while the man thrusts his fingers in and out, scissoring and twisting them.

When Touya adds a third finger, he pulls back to pant for breath, both of their chests heaving, and he chuckles as he starts kissing and sucking down Katsuki’s neck.

“Fucking what?” Katsuki snaps, though he tilts his head for the man.

“Just didn’t think you’d be a pillow princess,” Touya says, snickering lightly. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind, Katsuki.”

The blonde just smirks, humming as the man continues kissing down him, knowing he’s going to surprise this fucker pretty goddamned soon.

“Condoms?” Touya questions.

“Nightstand,” Katsuki says.

Touya kisses his neck once more before leaning up, pulling his fingers free from Katsuki’s ass to lean over. He makes a curious sound when he spots the toys inside, but carefully tucks that information away for later and pulls out a large, heavily used box of condoms.

Jealousy soars through him and he rips one from the bundle. He grits his teeth as he rips it open, rolling it down his length before looming over the blonde.

“Get fucked often, doll?” Touya questions, obvious anger in his tone.

Katsuki smirks devilishly and leans up as he hooks a leg around the man’s hip, flipping their positions in a quick move that has Touya blinking in surprise and gripping the mans thighs.

“Hmm, jealous, hah?” Katsuki taunts, gripping Touya’s cock as he lines himself up.

“I don’t like to share,” Touya says, eyes locked on where the tip of his dick is kissing the blonde’s hole. He rolls his hips up, but the man doesn’t budge, and he growls.

“Good thing those condoms were for my dildos then, eh?” Katsuki says.

Touya’s jealousy simmers out and his eyes flick up to the blonde. “Wait, wha—fuck!”

His question is cut off by Katsuki dropping down, spearing himself on the man’s cock. The sudden envelopment of the tight heat around Touya’s dick has him moaning, fingers digging harshly into the blonde’s thick thighs.

“Ah, fuck, that’s good,” Katsuki says, leaning forward and planting his palms on the man’s tattooed pecs as he starts to rock slowly.

“God,” Touya groans, moving along with the man to smack their bodies together, feeling his cock move deeper with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” Katsuki moans as Touya’s cock drags along his prostate. He starts moving faster, grinding down harder. “Sh-shit, Touya.”

The man beneath him growls, flexing his grip on the man and waiting for the perfect moment to slam up, ramming his cock harshly up to meet his downward movement. Katsuki gasps, his own nails scraping along Touya’s chest as he fucks himself down.

Touya grits his teeth as he drills up into the man, making him bounce with each movement, but the grip on his thighs doesn’t let the man move far. He can feel the band of pleasure quickly approaching it’s peak and he pants as he forces his hips to move faster.

Katsuki reaches one hand down to grip his cock, stroking only a couple times before he cums with a keen, his ass clenching around Touya’s dick as his spend spills out over his hand.

Touya manages a few more thrusts up before he tugs the blonde down, burying himself as deep as possible as he fills the condom. His chest is heaving, but the pleasure is so fucking good that he just keeps rolling his hips, drawing it out, not stopping until the blonde flicks his nipple to gather his attention.

“Fuckin’ stop,” Katsuki says, his entire body shuddering.

Touya grunts, but complies, reaching up instead to grasp the back of the man’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The blonde kisses back, pressing his cum soaked hand to Touya’s abdomen as he pulls himself off the man’s dick.

He slumps down next to the man, too tired to move at the moment, and Touya lets out a breathless laugh as he wraps his arms around Katsuki, ignoring the sticky condom on his cock.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” Touya announces.

“Uh-huh,” Katsuki says with a snort.

“You wait, it’s gonna happen,” Touya says cheerfully, planting a smacking kiss to Katsuki’s temple.

“You’re a fucking sap after sex,” Katsuki mutters and the tattooed man laughs.

“You’d better get used to it,” Touya says, his eyes darkening as he leans his head against the blonde’s. “I’m not letting you go, Katsuki.”

—

UNFORTUNATE CAR CRASH CLAIMS THE LIFE OF NEMURI KAYAMA

#dabibaku #bakudabi #dbbk #my hero academia #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #yandere dabi #strangers to lovers #stalking

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