#when she speaks to her step(?) mother on the phone she acts all pleasant she also does that with kaji but that’s more of her wanting intima

[natashadewinter]

akechis your asuka

#neon genesis evangelion #asuka langley soryu #rei ayanami #asurei #i was thinking about that one line about akechi about his personas one born of hate and one born of lies #it reminded me of asuka- obviously it’s not as extreme as akechi but #her hatred of herself and others (“i hate misato i hate shinjii…” that whole breakdown speech). lies is definitely more of a stretch but #when she speaks to her step(?) mother on the phone she acts all pleasant she also does that with kaji but that’s more of her wanting intima #cy i believe. then again she’s not afraid to be rude so maybe more like 3rd semester akechi but less aggressive idk #also the constant need to prove herself #I cant think of any parallels or similarities between rei and joker but i ship them so she's there Imao #OH also akechi's father and asuka's bio mother i feel like there's another parallel there that i'm too lazy to think about #maybe the feeling of not being wanted?? #i was thinking of tagging Persona 5 but i don’t want to clog up tags or anything

[ragingbookdragon]

The Best Of Us

Batfamily x M!Reader

Word Count: 3,035 Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: And here we are with a Batbrother fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

It wasn’t an inferiority complex. Not really. He wasn’t prone to anger or any of the other symptoms listed under it—and he checked. Multiple times. But there was something about being the only non-vigilante in his family of vigilantes that made him feel inadequate compared to the rest. Bruce had the Justice League, Dick and Jason had their own fantastic groups that saved the day, and Tim and Damian were still in school, but even they had their groups too. Hell, even Alfred still had contacts from his days in MI-5. And yet, he had none of the skills his brothers or father had, no extensive martial arts training, master detective skills, or weapon mastery. He was completely normal—or maybe abnormal in this case. And on some level, he resented that he couldn’t be like his family—maybe he did have an inferiority complex.

***

The greatest thing in (Y/N)’s mind about still being allowed to live at home was that no matter what, there was always food around to eat—Alfred saw to it that every growing man in the house had enough to eat—that being said, their grocery bills were outrageouslyexpensive.

He balanced his tablet in one hand, the other hand adjusting the tie around his neck as he stepped into the kitchen, quick to raise the tablet in time to avoid whacking his youngest brother in the head.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking his seat at the table, just after Jason’s. A chorus of tired, ‘mornings’ came back at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, loving the enthusiasm this morning, guys.”

Jason snorted and propped his chin on his palm, watching (Y/N) for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand how you’re always so chipper in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee that Alfred set down. “Someone has to be the ray of sunshine in this group of gray clouds.” (Y/N) cast a glance at Dick who was shoveling eggs into his mouth. “And it seems like our eldest is busy feeding his bottomless pit.” Dick was fast to shoot him a glare, that he returned with a smile.

Just then, Tim trudged into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and plopped down in his seat, immediately shoving the plate in front of him to drop his head onto the table.

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” (Y/N) sighed, flicking at his tablet for a moment. “You’ve seriously gotta take a day off to recuperate.”

“What do you think we do during the day?” Dick retorted, taking a swig of milk.

“Okay I think you’re confusing the entire day with the first half,” he reasoned. “When I say take a day off, I mean the whole twenty-four hours.” He glanced at everyone, and the only person who seemed to not be tired was Alfred, and that’s partly because (Y/N) believed he was immortal. “You guys are gonna run yourselves into the ground,” he said. “I just don’t think—”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/N),” Damian interrupted with a glare. “We know our limits better than you do.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. This conversation had happened many times before and it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m not saying I know them better than you Damian, I’m simply saying that you guys should take a day to relax so that something doesn’t happen on the job that you can’t control.”

(Y/N) glanced at his father. “Dad, c’mon, you know I’ve got a point.”

Bruce hummed and flipped the page of the newspaper. “So does Damian.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t have to worry so much, (Y/N). We know what we can handle.”

He stared at Bruce for a moment then scowled. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he muttered, and Damian was fast to chase his comment.

“I don’t know why you bother either. You’ve never once experienced what we do every night.”

(Y/N) met his youngest sibling’s glare. “Just because I don’t stick my neck out for each person in this city night after night doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like to be exhausted.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you know what it’s like to be exhausted from blood loss because you’ve been stabbed or shot? Or to be exhausted from saving the lives of innocent people? You do?”

“I—” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, then he snapped it shut and looked away with a darkened expression, tasting something sour in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian finalized, and in the wake of the uncomfortable tension, a cellphone went off.

Everyone started looking for theirs, but (Y/N) muttered, “It’s mine.”

He picked it up and put on a cheerful voice. “Good morning Angela…yes, I just got the floor plan…” he tapped at the screen on his tablet. “Do me a favor and move the people from table eight to table three. Mr. Robinson is better friends with Mrs. Grace and will certainly give us a warmer atmosphere in that area.”

(Y/N) paused and listened, then he stood from the table and pushed his chair in. “Let me get to the office and we can situate the rest of the guests for tonight…alright, see you soon. Bye.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, then took the black backpack that Alfred was holding to him. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master (Y/N). Have a pleasant day at work.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was anything but amused. “I have to give a speech tonight in front of the entire company and three different magazines.” He glanced at Bruce. “Think you’ll be able to attend tonight? It’d mean a lot to me.” Bruce grunted, his way of telling (Y/N) that he’d try, but to not hope for a miracle.

It was fine, he was used to parentless ceremonies and events. He cleared his throat and shrugged on the backpack, making his way to the garage door.

“See you guys later.”

***

He’d given a few speeches in his short twenty-four years, and while he’d never say he was an expert on public speaking, he did know his way around a podium. That being said, every time he had to do a speech, he felt like vomiting—nerves he chocked it up to.

(Y/N) cast a glance around the packed ballroom, quietly groaning at the massive amount of people. His own table was empty, save for Angela and thank god for him, Lucius. He couldn’t help but frown at the name tags sitting in front of the empty seats.

“Wondering where the rest of the gang is?”

He met Lucius’ eyes and gave a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to think they took my advice and took the night off but…something tells me that the night called to them.” His lips pulled downwards. “I’m not going to act like this is a surprise, Lucius. I couldn’t even get them to show up for my university graduation.”

(Y/N) smiled and stood up, grabbing the notecards beside him. “What makes you think I could get them to show up to this?” He left the table and moved to the side of the stage, waiting for his name to be called. His fingers briefly shifted to his chest, feeling his heart fluttering beneath chest, nerves causing his breathing to come in short bursts. (Y/N) shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting a pleasant smile cross his face as the presenter called his name, and walked up the steps.

The bright flash of photography momentarily blinded him, but he smiled through it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Centennial Inside Alliance Award Ceremony.” He flashed everyone a million-watt smile. “My name is (Y/N) Wayne, and as many of you know, I am a senior editor for Inside Alliance. It is my pleasure tonight to recognize Inside Alliance’s top writer for the year.”

(Y/N) glanced around the room, making sure to catch the eyes of the hundreds of guests.

“Inside Alliance was created on August fourteenth, nineteen-twenty by a group of immigrant mothers and fathers who wanted to bring knowledge of their homes and cultures to the rest of world. Some of those countries being Germany, Romania, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Israel, and many, many others.”

“The production of their valuable time and extensive care created one of the greatest magazines that is still in business today, that brings attention to the worldwide issues that many groups face, while still connecting to their roots of educating the public on cultures and groups.”

He smiled. “It is with my upmost honor that I congratulate and introduce Miss Flora Janaliyeva, one of our newest and greatest writers that has joined Inside Alliance, and the winner of tonight’s Inside Alliance Award.”

(Y/N) turned to the side and grinned at Flora as she ascended the stairs. Her long black hair was braided down the length of her back and she wore a bright and floral-patterned gown. She reached (Y/N) and he reached with his right, shaking her hand, and handed her the glass award with the other.

“Miss Janaliyeva, it is with honor and congratulations that I give you this award for your excellent talent and recognition of ability from Inside Alliance.”

She smiled brightly and accepted the award. “Thank you, Mister Wayne, the honor is mine.” He nodded politely once more and descended the stairs as she began her speech, quietly taking his place back at the table.

“Well done, Mister Wayne,” Lucius smiled and (Y/N) let out a deep breath.

“I’m just surprised I was able to do that without stuttering or panicking.” He glanced over, smile lowering slightly. “Lucius, are you alright?”

The older man dabbed at his forehead and nodded, though when he breathed, it sounded labored. “I’m fine,” he assured, then reached up to rub at his chest.

(Y/N) shifted. “I don’t think you’re alright Lucius.” He leaned over. “Are you having chest pain?”

“I—yes,” he grit out then met (Y/N)’s gaze. “My chest is getting—tight and I…and I—”

He started to slump over and (Y/N) shot to his feet, eyes widening with fear. “Lucius!” The yell startled the crowd and Flora, who all looked over at the two.

(Y/N) pulled the older man back and pressed his ear to his chest, listening. He pulled away and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

He helped Lucius to the floor and immediately pressed his palms to the man’s chest, starting compressions. His breath came in panicked spurts and he kept looking at Lucius’ face.

“Just hand on Lucius. You’re going to be okay.” (Y/N) kept at it until the EMT’s arrived and they knelt beside them.

“Let us take over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Lucius would die, but one of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder while the other slide their hands underneath (Y/N)’s.

“Son, we’ll take it from here.”

(Y/N)’s arms went slack, and he let the medic pull him away, watching as they took over and started moving him onto the stretcher.

“Please, save him. He’s—he’s friends with my family I—”

The medic nodded firmly. “We’ll do all we can.”

And all (Y/N) remembered was someone ushering him into a taxi heading for the hospital.

***

The first people that arrived were Lucius’ family who were grateful for (Y/N)’s actions, but the young man could barely grimace as they disappeared into the hospital room, leaving him sitting outside, his head in his hands. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought back to what the ER doctor told him.

***

“Mister Fox is in a stable condition, but you have to understand, Mister Wayne, his heart is very weak.”

“But—but he’ll be okay right?”

“Based on Mister Fox’s past conditions, he’s verging into heart failure. His heart is too weak to keep up with what the body needs.”

“And…and what does his body need at this point?”

“At this point? A new heart.”

***

He sucked in a breath and fought to keep the sob from escaping his throat, just as heard, “(Y/N)!”

His head shot up and he saw his father and older brothers coming down the hallway. (Y/N) clambered to his feet.

“Dad I—” he started, but cut off as he choked on a sob, and Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding (Y/N) as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I tried my best but—”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, a firm, but gentle hand coming to rest at the back of his son’s neck. “You did all that you could.”

He pulled back and wiped his face. “But Lucius needs a new heart, and I don’t know what to do. I should’ve seen this coming. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few weeks and I—”

“(Y/N),” his father said firmly, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He met Bruce’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

His libs wobbled and he whispered, “But if I were like you guys, I would’ve seen something earlier. I didn’t and now…” sighing, he added, “and now Lucius needs a new heart, or he’ll die.”

Bruce’s sigh was heavier than (Y/N)’s and it made his chest heavy. “We’ll get Lucius a new heart, (Y/N).”

He lowered his head and lamented, “I’m sorry, dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder then lead him towards Dick and Jason. “Take (Y/N) back home for the night. I’ll stay here with Lucius’ family.”

They nodded and led their brother down the hall, arms firm across his shoulders in a comforting way. They didn’t say anything, knowing that there wasn’t much to offer, but their support was enough for (Y/N), even if he felt horrible.

***

For being the World’s Greatest Detective, his son was evidently the World Best Hider, because it took Bruce a long time to finally find (Y/N). He stepped quietly over to the form sitting on the ledge and took a seat beside him, silently gazing out at the backyard. A bottle appeared in his vision and he focused on it as the smell of whiskey reached his nose.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked but took the bottle anyway.

“Jason gave it to me earlier.” He watched Bruce take a sip. “Figured it fit the occasion.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds like Jason’s way of dealing with a problem.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, simply enjoying the calm around the manor and night.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Bruce suddenly said.

(Y/N) sighed and set the bottle down, kicking his legs out off the roof. “Lucius said he hadn’t been feeling well recently. And I just passed it up to getting older.” He looked at his father. “If I’d actually paid attention, then I would’ve seen the symptoms.”

“Do you actually know what the symptoms of heart failure and heart attack are?”

“I…no, not really.”

“Then you couldn’t’ve known.” He looked at (Y/N). “Lucius works in my office every day. If anyone should’ve known and seen it, it should’ve been me.” Bruce shook his head. “But you did everything you could at the awards ceremony, and that saved Lucius’ life tonight. You did good.”

“I could’ve done better.” (Y/N) muttered. “I should’ve. I’m your son and I’m practically useless to the family but—”

“Woah, woah,” Bruce interrupted, brows furrowing as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

(Y/N) turned to him. “I am the least useful person in this family. I mean you and the guys are these crazy intelligent, vigilante master detectives and I’m just me.” He wiped away a tear that fell from his eye. “I can’t speak seven different languages or solve murder cases with a single strand of DNA left at the scene of a crime. Hell, I can’t even throw a punch.” He sighed heavily. “The last time I tried, I broke my hand.”

Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I just want to be like you guys.” He lowered his head. “I just want to be normal and not an outlier in the family.”

Bruce simply stared at him for a long moment, and while he’d never been privy to let his emotions show on his face, he let them this time—shock and shame. Shame that he didn’t see his greatest achievement suffering.

“(Y/N).”

He didn’t look up at first, but then he did. “Yes sir?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Forever?”

His father sighed. “Son, I…I never wanted you to be like us.”

He gaped at Bruce. “What?”

“(Y/N), every person in this family is driven to do what we do because of our childhoods. You’re the only one who doesn’thave any skeletons in his closet.” He stared at him. “We wish every day that we could be like you and not a day goes by that we don’t think that.”

“I…what?” he floundered, absolutely bewildered at the idea that his father and brothers wanted to be the most boring person ever. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is.”

“No.” (Y/N) huffed. “I’m me. I’m plain and boring, work a nine to five job me. I mean I write for a magazine for god sakes! And you guys save the world!”

Bruce chuckled. “And what we wouldn’t give to be just a bit more normal like you, son.” He shrugged. “You think you’re inferior because you’re not a vigilante, but you’re the one thing that keeps us all sane. You give us the perspective of someone who isn’t what we are. Of someone who’s completely normal.”

He reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “And being normal? Being you?” Bruce squeezed firmly. “I don’t want you to be anyone else.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and though he felt tears in his eyes, he didn’t blink, didn’t let them fall. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Bruce smiled heartfully. “You do, (Y/N). Everyday. Because you’ve always been the best of us.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batbrother #batbrother imagines #batbrother imagine #batfamily x batbrother #batfamily x batbro #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #alfred pennyworth

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Stella with owl demon S/O (The finale)

(This is the last chapter in the secret lover mini-series. If your just finding it, go back and read the full series. Its a fairly long story.) Hope you enjoy~

Years of meticulous planning. Manipulation, blackmail and manoeuvring. And all for this one day.

It had almost been a year since Stolas cheated on Stella, almost a year since You and Stella had become a less than secret couple. And today you were going official.

It had been simple getting information on Stolas.

A few cameras here, a tapped phone line there, not to mention half the staff was on your pay roll. They gave you all the information you could need, you taking any information, no matter how minor.

Honestly, Stella coming to you was a pleasant surprise. You did have this grand plan in place, a plan to split the family at its seams.

And in an instant, Stolas' incompetence had saved you months of work. And so Stolas' arrogance, shall be his undoing.

Over the last year, youd had dozens of visits. Spending months carefully prodding the couple, if you could still call them that. You pushed the wedge between them deeper and deeper, all for today.

You strolled into the palace like it were your second home, a small wicker basket hanging from his arm.

Navigating the halls, you found yourself in the palace kitchen, or at least the one the family had used the most.

Grabbing a set of glasses, you turned to find Octavia sitting at the table. 'Octavia, dear, how are you.' You asked, sounding as overjoyed as you felt.

She looked up at you with dead eyes, 'How do I look.' She asked sarcasticly. And honestly, the girl looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

Sitting down you gave her a sympathetic look. 'Fight?' You asked simply.

She just nodded, taking a sip of coffee.

You sighed, placing your hand on hers. 'What about the white noise machine I got you, that help any?' You asked hopefully.

Octavia sighed 'It helped a little, but they both managed to yell over it.' She told you, rubbing her face.

You sighed again, reaching into your pocket. You pulled out a fist sized stone. 'Here' you told her, handing her the stone.

Octavia stared at the stone for several moments, before looking up to you, blinking heavily a few times, 'Uhhhh... thanks?' She said, clearly confused.

You let out a chuckle, resting your head on your hand. 'Your welcome.'

The girl stared at the stone, before looking back at you 'what is it?' She asked simply.

You laughed again, 'Well it was going to be a birthday present, but it would seem you need it more now.'

Picking up the stone you gently tapped its top, a complex Web of symbols growing across it. Tapping it once more the symbols disappeared.

Octavia looked much more interested now, as you explained it to her. 'This bad boy, is what you'd call a noise sponge. When activated, it basically sucks all the noise out of a room.'

Octavia stood up, 'Really?' She asked seemingly excited. With a smile you told her 'See for yourself' you told her before tapping the top of the stone.

Octavias mouth moved, but no noise seemed to leave. She spoke again and again, each time seemingly getting louder and louder, before taking a deep breath.

Her mouth stretched and her body moved as though she were screaming, but there was no sound whatsoever.

Tapping the stone, sound noticably re-entered the room.

Octavia panted, before giggling like... well a school girl. Picking up the stone, you handed it to her.

Octavia stared at the stone, getting up, you followed her. 'Now remember this. That's not a toy. Its a powerful artefact, so don't use it longer than needed, and no sound can be heard when activated, be careful where you use it.'

Octavia just nodded her head, her eyes never leaving the stone. 'Thanks (y/n)' she told you giving a big hug.

'No problem kiddo.' You told her patting her back and planting an affectionate kiss atop her head.

Leaving the room you reflected on your growing friendship with Octavia.

She truly was an amazing young woman, a spitting image of her mother, if a bit cynical. She had a deep fascination for the occult, something you were more than happy to help her explore.

The two of you had actually become pretty close, having talked and met up dozens of times. You acted as a confidant, and a suspected, only friend for the girl.

You didn't like manipulating the girl, but it was quite easy to sour her relationship with her father, you really only had to bring focus to his selfish nature.

Of course, that didn't mean she was running to Stella's side, but her trust in stolas was cracked.

So with some pep in your step, you made your way to Stella's study, giving polite and playful little bows to the palace staff.

Youd worked hard to become beloved by the staff, acting as sort the "good noble" that looked out for them. At least for the ones not ready on your payroll.

You found her study. Giving your outfit a once over you knocked on the door. Stella snapped back, telling you to go away.

You released a bitter-sweet laugh, you opened the door, 'Are you fucking d-' Stella yelled before cutting yourself off.

'Hello darling.' You said calmly. In an instant she got to her feet, rushing over and wrapping you in a hug.

You pulled her into a kiss, locking the two into a passionate embrace. Breaking the kiss, you asked her tenderly 'How are you doing, my love?'

You'd gotten very good at telling when Stella was upset and when she was trying to hide it, and now she was certainly upset.

'How am I doing? Oh you know, I've had to deal with my slut of a husband and that... fucking Imp! For months now.' She growled, taking several heavy breaths before turning back to you. 'Other then that, I'm fine.'

You gave her a sympathetic smile, before remembering why you were here. 'Well, then I have just the thing.' You told her, giving the basket a little shake.

You pulled her towards the door, Stella resisting. 'Lets go play' you tell her playfully.

'No, I can't' she tells you, resisting your pull 'I have to much work to do.' She said clearly upset at the reality of royal responsibility.

Pulling her close, you looked her in the eyes before firmly telling her 'Do you trust me?' You asked her sternly.

That seemed to surprise her, before she just nodded her head. 'Then we should do this... trust me'

Stella conceded, letting you lead her out of the palace.

Walking out the back of the palace, you passed the field she had once burnt to ash, now regrown into a healthy and lush lawn.

Taking her into the clearing, you layed out the blanket you'd brought in the basket.

Sitting down, you pulled out the bottle of wine. Pulling the cork, you poured you both a glass. Sitting there you both fell silent, a weight hanging over your head.

You turned to her, looking deep into her eyes, you told her calmly. 'Stella, theres nothing in this world I love more then you...' taking your hand, you placed a kiss atop it.

'I'm sorry... I'm sorry I was never good enough for you...' you told her, emotion growing in your voice.

She looked deeply concerned, asking you 'what do you mean?'

You shook your head. 'The truth is. All I've ever wanted was to be with you...' you looked at your hands, 'I had such plans to Get you back, to prove I deserved you. But stolas seems to have ruined everything... You deserve better and I'm going to give it to you.' You looked up at her, 'I love you Stella.'

Looking at Stella, she looked distraught, teary eyed as she pulled you close. 'I love you too (Y/N).' There was a long pause before she whispered in your ear, 'I wish I had been with you... all those years ago'

Her words put everything together, a wave of determination flowing through you. With your purpose secured, you pulled her into a passionate kiss.

The two of you became more physical, your hands roaming her body. Stella's arms wrapped around your neck. You becaming more passionate, Stella matching your energy at every step.

It was as you undid the back of her dress that you heard it... he was here.

Giving her another kiss you asked her, 'Do you trust me?' Your breathing still raged.

It took a moment, but Stella responded 'Yes, Yes I trust you...' With that you kiss her again, carefully readjusting her dress.

It took another moment, but you heard him. 'Well, well, what do we have here?' The voice was cold, clearly unhappy.

Breaking the kiss, you looked up to find a very angry looking Stolas staring down at you.

You carefully pushed Stella off, giving her a more innocent kiss on her cheek. 'Go play somewhere.' You whispered, standing up.

You turned to face Stolas. The prince was absolutely livid, tapping his fingers on his forearm.

'Stolas! My what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?' That was a lie. You specifically picked this spot, at this time because you knew he would see the two of you.

All according to plan.

Stolas spat back, 'Don't talk to me like that you bastard. Trying to fuck my wife. In my own home, do you have no shame.'

You couldn't help but begin laughing. You gripped your legs, laughing so hard it was hard to breath.

Straightening up you looked at Stolas, allowing years of venom to show. 'Shame?' You asked incredulously, 'Your asking me if I have shame?' You chuckled again. 'Pot meet kettle.' You spat at him

Dusted yourself off. 'Shame...?' You spat, through gritted teeth. 'Youre asking me if I have shame? You speak of your lust before your child. Plastering the hellnet with your lust for that satan-damned Imp, Fucking that Hellspawn in the bed, you shared with your Wife. You know nothing of shame, you harlot!' You finished almost screaming.

Stolas grit his teeth, his hands dropping to his side. The weather began to shift.

The once clear sky quickly being replaced with a ocean of grey clouds.

'You think you can take my wife?' He asked seriously. Your smile grew, taking a few steps towards him, smugness growing across your face. 'Think? My good man... I already have.' you tell him simply.

With a flick of his claw Stolas manifested his Grimoire.

In a flash you reached into your coat, pulling out a silver lock and throwing it at the Grimoire.

Almost immediately on impact, dozens of silver vines shot out, wrapping around the book.

Stolas, initially shocked tried to open the book, the lock on its cover not budging against his grip.

He looked up at you, pissed and clearly expecting 'That little item,' you began 'ensures that your little book won't affect the outcome of our little fight, Stolas.'

You smirk at him 'Now' you began 'you'll just have to fight me like a man.'

Stolas seemed both concerned and enraged by this, throwing the book to the side. 'You think I'm scared of you?'

He reached for his cloak, dramatically throwing it to the side.

You just chuckled, cracking your knuckles, the demonic Prince charged, swinging at you.

You easily dodged.

'My, how impressive!' you said, mockingly.

Stolas swung again, and again, missing each time. 'Come on I don't have all day!' You called at him smugly.

Stolas went for a violent haymaker, missing again. This time you retaliated with a hard punch to his nose, hearing a crack apon your fist meeting his face.

He stumbled back, blood dripped from his nose as you taunted him further.

'You know I had such an elaberate plan, Stolas.' You told him, taking out a shiny set of knuckle dusters from back pocket. 'I had every step perfectly worked out, all to turn your family against you.'

Stolas, became enraged, blindly charging at you. You easily dodgeing him, giving him a violent crack to his face.

'And then you, you fool... you did most of the job for me... half my plan, unneeded because you were a selfish, arrogant fool.'

Stolas made it to his feet, his left eye already swelling. He widened his eyes, likely intending to turn you to stone, but before he could, you reached into your pocket and threw a handful of dust at him.

The silver dust shone as it flew through the air, his reaction was instant. Falling to his knees clutching his face.

You chuckled, leaning on your knees for a second, 'When Judas betrayed jesus.' You began.

'He received 30 pieces of silver, as such its toxic to demons. And now it's your payment for all suffering you've put your family through.' You told him, blankly, no emotion in your voice.

'Years, Stolas. I've been preparing for this fight for years. I've played this moments out hundreds, thousands of times. Nothing you can do I havent prepared for.' You wiped your lip, standing up straight. 'Your going to lose.'

You were taunting him now, relishing seeing him suffer.

Reaching down, you grabbed his hair, pulling him up. It was as you were about to taunt him again that you were suddenly punched in the face.

Stumbling back, you found stolas getting to his feet. Wiping his eyes he glared at you, 'You think I'm some push over? I'm a prince! I am a Goetia, I'm not gonna be taken down by some retched lowborne.' He screeched, raising his fists.

You just smiled back, wiping your cheek 'Finally... a real fight.'

The fight was a brutal, Stolas, despite his lanky figure and privileged upbringing, could pack one hell of a punch.

But you were prepared for this.

For every hit Stolas landed, you hit him twice. Every use of magic was thwarted with an item or counter spell. You were almost perfectly matched.

Almost.

You stood across from each other, fists bloody, clothes filthy and torn, bruised and battered.

Still a smile adorned your face. Chuckling, you began 'you've put up one hell of a fight, Stolas.' You said as though remembering something. 'But even if you beat me, I still win!' You told him smugly.

Stolas cocked his brow, 'what are you going on about.' You smiled again, before reaching into your jacket before you pulling out a long white feather.

'Stella, your uh, "wife"...'you ran the feathered across your nose, taking in her lingering scent. 'We've been fucking for the past year now.' You chuckled again 'we fucked everywhere, her study... your bed, and man... can she scream.'

That set him off, he charged you, releasing a desperate a d furious, battle cry, swinging like a mad man.

You dodged the swing, and with one final uppercut the demon Prince stumbled back. He looked at you shocked, before smacking into the ground.

You couldn't help but laugh. The piece of shit fell like a sack of rocks.

Turning around you found a very concerned Stella. With a smile you walked towards her, stumbling over your battered legs.

Stella ran to your side, helping you keep up right.

You chuckled, pulling her in for a kiss. 'I have something for you.' You told her, your voice course and worn.

Reaching into your coat, you pulled out a small black case.

Breaking her grip, you stepped back and fell to your knee.

Taking several deep breaths you began, 'Stella. You are my light in the darkness, the love of my life. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you.'

Opening the case, you showed the sparkling diamond ring. 'Stella, my love. Will you marry me.'

Stella looked shocked, tears coming to her eyes as she covered her mouth.

It took a moment, but she nodded her head, 'Yes... yes I'll marry you.' She said, her voice thick with emotion.

You just smiled.

Everything was perfect.

Just as you planned.

#helluva boss #headcanon #x reader #helluva boss headcanon #helluva stolas #helluva boss x reader #helluva stella #helluva octavia

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Allurement: Confessions

Yandere Namjoon x Reader

The last time she had been to her employer's penthouse, she had never thought that she would find herself there again. But there she was, with her hands around a warm cup of chamomile tea, some cinnamon rolls in front of her along with a few pork sandwiches, her favourites. But she had no appetite, Mr Kim insisted that she at least had the tea, it would relax her. The soothing warmth of the average at least comforted her in some way. She could feel his eyes on her, patiently waiting for her to speak. She had not uttered a syllable since they had stepped in his residence.

"You must be hungry, at least have some sandwiches, I had them prepared today itself." Mr Kim spoke, voice steady and gentle as he filled her a small plate of two pieces of sandwiches.

"I am not hungry, Sir," she whispered out, only to hear him sigh out aloud, but her gaze refused to lift from the chamomile tea. She did not know that if she could even look into his eyes after her embarrassing outburst.

"(Y/N), look into my eyes when I speak to you." his tone immediately made her look up, it was not stern as an employer, but it was firm enough and authoritative.  His gaze sat heavily upon her, not used to such an intense gaze, she had the itch to look away. But as if she was unable to, as if he held her in place with his powerful stare alone.        She felt his hand over hers as he reached to her, his thumb drew small, easy circles over the skin of her wrist. She shuddered at the feeling. How come an act be comforting and agitating at the same time? But his actions were.

"Now, Darling, tell me everything."

--------

She was in tears again by the time she had finished. How that night, after the event, when she had stepped inside her home and switched on the lights, the first sight she was greeted with was her mother's unconscious form with a shattered glass of water laying alongside her unconscious form. She had somehow managed to contact the ambulance and then, Doctor Choi. He had shown her the medical reports and delivered the fatal news that her mother would not survive this time. It was far more heartbreaking and heavy to take than she had anticipated. She knew that her mother was dying, but so soon? She had never seen it happening so soon.

"Oh, Baby...I am so sorry." his voice was low and a balm to her aching heart, especially when he had her head on his chest while his hand rubbed her back. She felt like a silly little girl. And the position and her actions definitely breached many professional boundaries. And she had breached many, many of them already. The most important one being her kissing her boss back. But thankfully, he had not spoken about it since her breakdown.                                                            Her relief was, however, short-lived. She felt his hold tightening slightly as if securing her in place, before he spoke "Now, Darling, why would you tell me to forget about the kiss? Did my words mean nothing to you?" she froze at his words, how could the moment mean nothing to her, it meant so much to her?

But she knew the reality all too well. Yang Baram's words were imprinted on her mind.

She did not have it in herself to speak. What would she say anyway? She had responded to the kiss and then acted as if it never happened. The hurt was evident in his voice, and she did not know if she could keep denying the truth like that. What Mr Kim felt for her was still in the darkness, and that increased her fears.

"We are worlds apart..." the words slipped past her lips before she could collect her thoughts.

"So someone did feed dirt into your brain." his statement caught her off guard with how his voice dropped in a way that was nowhere near pleasant.

"No, you...You do not understand..." she began, pulling away from his embrace slightly, as much as his hold allowed her to.

"I do understand, Jagi, I now understand what had been holding my sweet girl back." she  opened her mouth to protest, only to have his thumb settling  heavily on her lower lip, pressing and rubbing the delicate skin it "Now," began once more, this time, pulling her on his lap after removing his thumb, it was inappropriate on so many levels "Now tell me, who has been feeding my girl such nonsense."

There had been no other choice than to tell him about the 'conversation' she had with Yang Baram, even while repeating the callous words, she felt her lips wobble a bit, not because the woman's words were brutal and her attitude condescending, but because they held absolutely no truth when it came to her love for Mr Kim. She had fallen in love with Namjoon...Just Namjoon, not the Kim Namjoon who had the ladies charmed, not Mr Kim who managed to intimidate many, many a times, unintentionally.

She loved the Namjoon who would understand her plight when she would get confused or embarrassed, something that happened often, and comfort her in his own little ways, the Namjoon who never had lunch or dinner alone in his office, they would often share the meal. She had fallen in love with the Namjoon who dropped his phone all too often, who had lost at least thirty pairs of expensive AirPods. For her, the namjoon she loved was the one who would carter to his bonsai plant in his office every day, with his eyes shining with joy, and she had decided to gift him another bonsai tree on Christmas. She loved him for who he was, as a man, not as the CEO of the Kim Group of Company.

She watched his jaws clenched as he sucked in his cheeks for a while, "Yang Baram..." his voice dripped with bitterness as he took the woman's name, but his voice was no more than a whisper.

"Remember this, (Y/N), you mean the world to me. We can never be 'worlds apart'. We were destined to meet, you are made for me, only me. So throw away such thoughts, they are nothing but dirt." she was surprised by his words, a blissful shudder engulfed her form as she felt herself to be in a dream-like state. "And never do this to me ever again, I shall go mad." She blinked at his words. They held so much passion, his voice almost cracked in the end. Were her feelings were requited then? But the very next moment, her mind was erased of any thought.

Because his lips had taken hers. And all (Y/N) could feel was Namjoon kissing her.  And this time, there laid no fear, or doubt.

****

Taglist(Kindly remind me if I have missed anyone)- @whatpageisthis @amoc94 @theresa-nam-nam-me @dearbambideer @casualminiaturetimemachine @njrwifey @kpopisnicee @illnevertrustmyselfagain @potterbrooke @luvaffaire @bighitfics @mochimochipie @vixenwerr @minshookie29 @sepulcry @omgsuperstarg @rkive-diary @Iyoongx

#yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere namjoon #yandere rm #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere ceo namjoon #yandere rm x reader #yandere dom namjoon x innocent reader #yandere ceo namjoon x reader

[fanmoose12]

Levihan week 2021

Day four: Childhood

Summary: Levi goes to kindergarten. Kuchel worries.

Up, then down, again and again, her leg was moving in frantic, jerky movements that were becoming faster and faster with each tick of the clock.

Kuchel glanced at it, biting her lip. Shit, it was only eleven in the morning. There was still five hours left.

"Oi, sis," a heavy hand fell on her knee, stopping the nervous bouncing. "How many coffees did you have this morning?"

"Two cups," she answered, flicking hair out of her face. "Maybe, three. Or four. I couldn't fall asleep last night."

"Jesus," Kenny sighed. "Nothing will happen to that little runt, stop going crazy over it."

"It's his first day in the kindergarten, Kenny, how can I not go crazy waiting for him?" Kuchel couldn't quite understand how Kenny managed to be so calm. Sure, as a mother, she worried a lot more, but Kenny was as relaxed as ever. Was he actually not nervous at all? Was he not worried for his nephew? "So many things can go wrong! He can get lost or injured! Kids may start bullying him, he may not like the food or the teacher! Or maybe he's feeling lonely and abandoned and scared and—"

"Sis," Kenny squeezed her shoulder, interrupting her tirade. "You know, I'm the first one to give shit to your brat, but he's not an idiot. I'm sure he's doing fine. He's old enough, after all."

"He's only four."

"But he's not that helpless. Relax and enjoy your time without him."

"How can I enjoy my time if Levi's not here?"

"For fuck's sake," Kenny rolled his eyes. "Then get used to being without him. He'll leave you one day, whether you want it or not."

"You're an asshole," Kuchel punched his arm, hiding a smile. As rough as her brother's manner of speaking was, it actually helped to ease some of her nerves.

But just as Kuchel was mentally ready to stop staring at the clock, wishing the point would start to go faster, her phone started ringing.

After glancing at the screen, she froze, the anxiety returning.

"Kenny," she said quietly, forcing words past the lump in her throat. "Kenny, the teacher from the kindergarten is calling me."

"Well, take it!" he urged. "Or do you want to me take care of it?"

She threw a dark look at him, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was anxious, yes, a little bit panicked, perhaps, but she didn’t need her big brother answering the call instead of her. Resolutely, she grabbed the phone, accepting the call. Taking a long, deep breath, she put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

“Good day, Miss Ackerman, it's Levi's teacher. Please, don't worry,” how could she not after words like that? “It's a standard procedure, but can you come to see me? You see, Levi has gotten into a fight—"

Oh. Not even her wildest fears involved Levi, her gentle, kind Levi getting into a fight. She exchanged a look with Kenny, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," she promised and hanged up.

Okay, maybe, deep down, she was a little girl who needed her big brother from time to time.

She turned to Kenny, showing him her terrified eyes.

"Goddamn it," he ruffled his hair and rose to his feet. "C'mon, I'll give you a lift."

___

The whole ride to the kindergarten, Kuchel felt like she was sitting on needles.

"Do you think Levi is the one who started the fight first? Do you think he's hurt? Do you—"

"Kuchel!" Kenny slammed his hands on a steering wheel, throwing her an exasperated look. "It's a fight between two children, how serious can it possibly get? The teacher called just as a formality, I'm sure the runt is perfectly fine. Calm the fuck down already."

Kuchel sighed, forcefully unclenching her fists. She knew she was overreacting, but how could she act any differently? Levi was her son, her dear baby, how could she not worry about him?

"Do you want me to go with you?" Kenny asked, his voice softening ever so slightly.

"No, it's fine," vigorously, she straightened her skirt, as Kenny smoothly parked just outside of the kindergarten building. "Thanks for the ride."

"Good luck out there," he smirked, tilting his hat. "Don't bite off the head of the other kid's parent."

"I'll do my best," Kuchel grinned back, feeling that much calmer.

However, her calmness vanished the moment she passed the threshold to the classroom. Her eyes shifted from one corner of the room to the other, searching for the mop of dark, neat hair. Levi was sitting in the corner of the room, next to a brown haired child, who was whispering something to him and holding his hand. The sight confused Kuchel, but before she could get to her son, she was approached by a teacher and another woman, who, as Kuchel had guessed, was the parent of the child who got into a fight with Levi. Anger sparked inside her as their eyes met.

"Thank you for arriving so swiftly," the teacher smiled, leading both women to her desk. "Miss Ackerman, this is Mrs. Zoe, Hange's mother," Kuchel gave another woman a tight-lipped smile, wondering which one out of dozen kids in the classroom was that Hange who dared to hurt her son. "Like I said, this is just a formality, you have nothing to worry about. As you can see," the teacher continued, gesturing to the corner where Levi was sitting. "Your children are alright, and, I think, the conflict is already resolved."

With her eyes widening in surprise, Kuchel stared at Levi and his new friend. That was the kid he got in a fight with? The same kid who was now holding his hand and animatedly talking with her quiet, surly son?

"So..." Kuchel fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, a little unsure. "What was the fight about?"

"Let's ask the children," the teacher called out to them, beckoning to come closer.

They did, still hand in hand.

"I'm sorry," Levi mumbled, casting his eyes down. "I shouldn't have pushed four-eyes down."

"No!" Hange exclaimed, puffing her cheeks and stomping her feet. "It's me who should be apologizing! Levi told me not to touch him with my filthy hands but I still did it!"

Was that the core of the problem? Kuchel wasn't sure if she should scold Levi or laugh at his habits.

“It looks like the conflict is truly resolved,” Mrs. Zoe chuckled, ruffling Hange’s hair.

“You can take your children home, if you wish to,” the teacher offered. “But I called you just to make sure that both of them are alright and unharmed.”

“Mom, I’ll stay, okay?” Hange asked, smiling toothily.

“What about you, buddy?” Kuchel kneeled next to her son, caressing his chubby cheek. “Want to stay? Or we can go home, I’ll buy you some ice-cream.”

“No,” Levi shook his head. “I’ll stay too, mom.”

Oh. Kuchel didn’t expect this. She was so afraid that Levi would have a hard time connecting with the other kids. But it seemed like he had already found a friend, even if the start of their friendship wasn’t all that smooth.

“Then I’ll come for you in the evening.” Kuchel kissed his cheek, smiling when she saw the light blush on his face. Was her boy truly growing up? “Have fun.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Kuchel noticed Mrs. Zoe walking out of the classroom. She wanted to follow after her, but just as she stood up, she felt a tug on her skirt. Turning around, Kuchel saw Hange. The kid looked worried, her brows furrowed.

“Please, don’t be angry with Levi,” Hange whispered, careful not to let anyone else hear. “He was so afraid that you would get upset with him. I’m sorry I got him into trouble. I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to be friends with him.”

Hange shifted her weight from one foot to another, wringing her fingers. Kuchel stared at her, her chest tightening. God, what an angel of a child. And to think that she wanted to be angry with the kid who got in a fight with Levi. But how could she be angry with Hange?

“I’m not mad at him, honey,” Kuchel gently patted her hair. “And I’m not mad at you as well. You did nothing wrong, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Hange grinned toothily, her eyes sparkling. “Alright then! Bye, Miss Ackerman!”

Instantly, the kid darted away, running to Levi who was waiting for her all this time, staring at them inconspicuously.

Smiling, Kuchel left the children be, catching up with Hange’s mother.

“Sorry for my Levi,” she said, falling into step with another woman. “He’s a good kid, but can be… a little rough.”

“No harm done,” Mrs. Zoe assured her. “My Hange was just as much at fault there. I told it to her a thousand times, but she keeps forgetting that not everyone is as friendly and open as she is. I guess she’s too young to understand what personal space means.”

“Doesn’t look like Levi cares about it,” Kuchel jokes, turning around to watch her son walk around the playground, tightly holding Hange’s hand in his. “It seems like they’re already friends.”

“I’d sleep easier if it turns out to be true,” Mrs. Zoe huffed. Catching Kuchel’s baffled look, she tensed. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I know it may not look like it, but it’s hard for Hange to make friends. She’s… too intense.”

“I’m surprised Levi managed to find a friend so quickly,” Kuchel confessed, patting Mrs. Zoe’s shoulder in a comforting manner. She rather liked Mrs. Zoe. Not just because Hange seemed like a very nice kid, but her mother appeared to be very pleasant, as well. She didn’t ask why Kuchel was Miss Ackerman, and she didn’t seem to mind her less than new and shiny clothes. “He’s a quiet kid, so I was worried he’d feel lonely.”

“Well, looks like our children found each other then,” Mrs. Zoe smiled, offering her hand for Kuchel to shake. “I have to go now, but I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“Let’s just hope that the circumstances will be a little different next time,” Kuchel shook her hand, smiling back.

She waved at the other woman and headed to the car, where Kenny was waiting for her. Before she got inside, she threw a last look at the playground. Levi was on top of the slide, Hange by his side. Both children had a stick in hand, waving them at something in the sky. Levi didn’t seem as enthusiastic and excited as Hange, but he was smiling, more openly than usual.

And his smile was enough to calm Kuchel’s heart. Hopefully, this was the first and the last time her Levi got into a fight.

___

Unfortunately, her worst fears confirmed just a week later, when she was called to the kindergarten once again.

As she was driving to the kindergarten, Kuchel kept wondering what had happened. During the whole week, Levi seemed so happy, coming home every day with a new story about his adventures with Hange.

If he got into a fight with Hange for the second time… Kuchel would give him an earful for hurting that sweet, adorable child.

But when Kuchel entered the classroom, there was no sign of Hange’s mother there. Instead, there sat a black-haired man, who had his arm wrapped around a blonde boy with bloodied nose. When her eyes fell on Levi, Kuchel felt a sense of deja vu. He was sitting in the corner as the last time, and, just like before, Hange was beside him, whispering something into his ear. In comparison to the other boy, Levi seemed uninjured, except for his hand that was wrapped in a white handkerchief.

Kuchel cursed under her breath, slowly approaching the teacher’s desk.

“I’m sorry,” the teacher smiled sympathetically. “But this time, the fight was a lot more serious.”

Kuchel nodded, seeing the evidence of it on the blonde boy’s face.

“Levi!” the teacher called, gesturing to him. “Come here, dear.”

Levi did, with Hange following after him. The teacher sighed, shaking her head. “Hange, I didn’t ask you to join. Please, go and play with the others while we talk.”

“But—”

“Go, four-eyes,” Levi gave her a light push. “I’ll be fine.”

Hange didn’t look all that convinced, but she complied, and, after giving the blonde boy a look that was a little too vicious for the four-year old kid, she went to the table with the coloring books.

“This is Mister Yeager, Zeke’s father,” the teacher explained to Kuchel. “Zeke, would you like to tell us what has happened today?”

“He punched me,” Zeke mumbled, gingerly holding an ice-pack to his face. “Two times!” he added, showing the exact number with his fingers.

“Levi…” Kuchel admonished softly. “Why did you do it?”

“He knows why.” Levi said, his eyes dark with anger.

“Would you tell us what Zeke did then?” the teacher asked.

“No.”

After Levi’s curt answer, there was a beat of silence, as three adults struggled to come up with a solution to this conflict. Tentatively, the teacher tried again.

“Would you apologize to Zeke, at least?”

“No.”

“Levi,” Kuchel whispered. “Please, apologize.”

“No.”

“I’ll buy you an ice-cream.”

“No.”

“I’ll allow you to watch cartoons until midnight.”

“No.”

“I’ll bake your favorite cake.”

At that, Levi seemed to hesitate. But a moment later, the stubborn expression returned to his face.

“No.”

Kuchel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Perhaps, she should have let Kenny deal with all of it.

“Well,” Zeke’s dad chuckled, a little awkwardly. “Not all conflicts can be resolved. Besides, what happened has already happened. There is no use for apology, if it won’t be sincere. Let’s just hope that this accident won’t repeat again.”

“Levi?” the teacher looked sternly at him. “Do you promise not to hit Zeke again?”

Levi glanced at Zeke, his frown deepening as their eyes met. The hand, wrapped in a handkerchief, clenched into fist, but momentarily relaxed, as Levi got ahold of himself. “I promise not to hit him, if he promises not to do the things he did.”

“I promise,” Zeke muttered, just as moodily as Levi.

“If that’s all,” Mister Yeager rose to his feet. “Then I shall take Zeke home.”

As soon as Zeke and his father left, Kuchel turned to Levi.

“Well?” she asked, rather strictly. “What was that about?”

Levi avoided her gaze, staring down at his feet. “The bastard got what he deserved.”

Kuchel winced at his choice of words. Kenny and his damn influence.

But that was probably a conversation for another time.

“And what did he do to deserve it?”

“He… he was throwing rocks at four-eyes.”

Oh. Well, that certainly explained Levi’s anger then. Now, Kuchel even felt bad for scolding him. That Zeke boy did deserve that punch.

“Baby, what you did…”

Was wrong, a good parent would have said. But, perhaps… Kenny’s influence was affecting her as well. Or it wasn’t Kenny’s influence at all. Perhaps, it was her Ackerman’s blood. Whatever it was, but she couldn’t just lie to her son like that.

“Levi,” she said, caressing his hair. “Next time someone hurts Hange or you… make sure no one sees when you hurt them back.”

She winked at himm and Levi relaxed, showing her a small grin. “I’ll remember that!” he promised.

Kuchel grinned back, relieved that her son was feeling that much better already.

“Now go. Someone is waiting for you,” she pointed at Hange.

Levi nodded happily and scurried towards his friend.

Kuchel watched him go, a smile still playing on her lips. She was so worried about Levi having troubles connecting with his peers and finding friends.

But, thankfully, her son was lucky to meet Hange Zoe.

#lhw2021 #levihanweek2021 #some fluff after two days of angst! #levihan

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (5)

“What do you make of all this?” Toshinori asked, when they were finally alone. They’d momentarily parked the kid in the hallway with a cup of tea while the hero had followed Tsukauchi in his office as he took care of the last bureaucratic dregs of the questioning.

“As I see it, there are two major possibilities we ought to consider.” Tsukauchi said without taking his eyes off the monitor of his computer. “The first is that Midoriya’s quirk is just a mutation, and he is in no way related to All For One. His father is likely a government official whose position grants him knowledge of enough confidential files to make him fear negative repercussions in case his son’s quirk was publicly known, and has therefore enforced silence on the matter. We aren’t looking at any outstanding crimes here, although this man isn’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards any time soon.”

Toshinori grimaced. Wouldn’t that be nice? “And what are the odds of this being our case?”

“I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it, for sure.” Tsukauchi typed something on the keyboard, and checked his phone at the same time, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. “The other possibility is that Midoriya is indeed related to All For One, maybe even his son. He’s been fostered to a trusted associate of his and kept in the dark about everything.”

That option could be more statistically or genetically likely, but it still didn’t sit right with Toshinori. “That doesn’t sound like something All For One would do though. Why not raise him as a successor, or even just an underling? Surely another All For One wielder would have made for an important asset to his schemes.”

“You forget that Midoriya’s quirk manifested only two years ago. It is possible that All For One may have planned to do so, but lost interest when the child was deemed quirkless.” Tsukauchi scratched his head pensively. “As for why he didn’t keep the kid close since his birth… we can only assume it was out of caution. Fourteen years ago you had already put a significant dent in All For One’s syndicate and influence. Maybe he was already taking precautions against his own downfall, and didn’t want his potential successor to be involved in case things took a turn for the worse too quickly.”

“... I guess that makes sense.” Toshinori nodded. As per habit, he sent a quiet thanks to his lucky star for accidentally baring his secret to a damnably honest and capable member of the force such as Tsukauchi, God knew Toshinori himself wasn’t exactly cut out for fine deductive work. “In this case, the boy’s father…”

“...Is a former subordinate of All For One’s currently employed by the government, yes. Not a pleasant scenario to work with.” Tsukauchi waited for the printer to regurgitate a disproportionate stack of documents that made Toshinori instinctively recoil. The detective flipped through the paperwork quickly before sprinkling his signature on just about every odd sheet. “Regardless of which of the two hypotheses is true, I definitely want to look into this Hisashi Midoriya. He is by far the most suspicious aspect of the boy’s account.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t visit his family for a decade and a half, he doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t follow basic legal procedures, and you can tell he had more of an active role in encouraging Midoriya to hide the quirk than the kid lets on... It doesn’t exactly paint a reassuring picture.” Toshinori sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for the boy…”

“It never is, when a family member is involved in criminal activities. But the fact that their relationship seems rather distant may make things a little less traumatic for him.” Tsukauchi checked his watch as he tidied up some stationery and turned off his computer. “Well, I guess I’m not too unforgivably late for my other meeting since we don’t have to question Mrs. Midoriya.”

“...Sorry about that. And for springing this on you all of a sudden.” Toshinori said with an apologetic grimace and his utmost sincerity. “You’re a saint.”

Tsukauchi’s small smile implied that he was well aware of the fact. “I’ll drive Midoriya home while I’m on my way to the city hall. Do you need a lift? Or do you want me to let you on the rooftop for a smoke?” That bit of code speak would never not be tragically ironic, Toshinori thought.

“No, I’ve already finished my shift for the day.” All three, scant, scattered hours of it. Japan’s finest, most dependable hero, ladies and gentlemen.

“Then thank you for your hard work.” His friend gave him a quick look and a brief, firm squeeze to his shoulder before heading to the door. No pity, no unrequested sympathy, no disingenuous praise, just straightforward respect and understanding. He really was one of a kind.

Midoriya was exactly where they’d left him, busy fiddling with his phone. He perked up when he saw them return. “Uh, my mother just texted me back. She says she’ll be home in about an hour. If you still want to talk to her.”

Tsukauchi hesitated. “It’s a little too late for me, I’m afraid. I’m expected somewhere else, but…”

“I can wait.“ Toshinori immediately volunteered. “It won’t be as thorough or official as if you interviewed her yourself, but if it can lighten your workload just a little…”

“...Well, I don’t see why not. Hop in the car with us then.”

The return trip was silent. Toshinori glanced at Midoriya a couple of times from the rearview mirror, and he always caught him in an ill-concealed state of unrest. Fidgeting with his phone, picking at the seatbelt, gazing nervously out of both car windows. Toshinori didn’t like that. Why all that agitation, now that the worst of the ordeal was supposedly over?

The boy eventually locked eyes with him. “...Oh. Uhm.”

“Something on your mind?” Toshinori asked.

“Uh, well, I was wondering…” His gaze dropped to his knees. “Are you going to tell my mother about my quirk?”

“I’m afraid so. She is bound to find out anyway, eventually. The police will issue an update on your quirk registration, as per the norm in such cases.”

“...Ah.” Oh boy, now he looked like a kicked puppy. That was just depressing.

“I don’t necessarily have to be the one to break the news to her though. If it makes you feel any better, you can tell her about the incident in your own words.” Toshinori offered, hoping to soften the blow.

“I… I think I would prefer that. Thank you.” The boy quietly acquiesced.

Tsukauchi shot Toshinori a pointed look. All right, maybe that wasn’t the most proper way to go about it, maybe standard procedure demanded the officer in charge to keep mother and son separate during the questioning and explain things personally in the most objective possible terms. But Toshinori wasn’t an officer, he was a washed-up alter-ego of the Symbol of Peace acting in semi-official consulting capacity, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make things a little less humiliating for the forlorn child in the back. He condensed that whole argument into a meaningful glance of his own, that Tsukauchi couldn’t hold for more than two seconds lest he drove them all straight into the back of a truck. Toshinori took that as unspoken permission to proceed as he saw fit.

“I’ll be leaving this in your capable hands then.” Tsukauchi said as the two stepped out of the car. The man had a veritable talent for conveying irony while maintaining the straightest of faces and the driest of tones.

“Your trust is deeply appreciated. Drive safely!” Toshinori shut the door of the car decisively and waved him off with a dazzling smile.

“Uhm. Okay.” Midoriya said, his eyes darting between the hero and the speeding car with obvious perplexity. “Mom won’t be here for at least another forty minutes. I can fetch that photo you wanted in the meantime. I think I know where it is… probably...”

“I’ll take you up on that, thank you.” Toshinori followed him across the parking lot and up the stairs of the apartment complex. The boy’s eagerness to please was a sight for sore eyes in this cold, self-serving world. “You really did something commendable today, you know? Not many people would be so ready to relieve the pain of those who hurt them. That villain owes you more than he’ll ever know.”

“Oh…” The boy fiddled with his keys as a light redness tinged his cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. It isn’t my place to judge anyone... let alone steal from them. I just hope he’ll get better soon.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on his condition, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t need to! It’s fine!” Midoriya’s instinctual politeness clashed against Toshinori’s no-nonsense availability. It was a fierce battle, but one didn’t become the number one hero without developing a certain skill in staring people into reasonableness. Midoriya surrendered with a small smile. “...I-It would put my mind at ease though.”

“Then I shall.” Toshinori claimed with finality. “Honestly, I wish I could have done more today for you and Tsukauchi. You two took care of all the heavy lifting and data collecting while I just stood around doing nothing the whole time.”

“You did, didn't you…?” Toshinori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that candid a confirmation of his uselessness. Midoriya flinched and started flailing about in obvious distress as soon as he realized he’d voiced that thought aloud. “N-No! I mean- I don’t mean that you were- What I’m saying is that you didn’t really need to come. But you did anyway! F-For my sake, I get that. Because you promised you’d help me out, even if you surely have better things to do with your time, and… I truly appreciate it. Really.”

Toshinori laughed softly. Yes, ‘truly appreciative’ was indeed the boy’s default mood whenever he was graced with the barest amount of consideration, as far as the hero had witnessed in their short acquaintance. He didn’t think it was some sort of hero-worship-related response either, the kid just seemed that sensitive to it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” Midoriya finally opened the door and they stepped inside. He let out a small chuckle of his own as they removed their shoes. “I guess I have new insight to add to the online speculation about All Might’s decreasing workload. I guess it is to be expected if yo- if he’s taken  to follow up on all his cases so thoroughly.”

Toshinori had to fight back a traitorous cough. “W-well, there is really no need for me to overexert myself nowadays as I used to do in the past.“ He started, automatically supplying his PR-certified response to any inquiry on the topic. Goodness, people really did notice, didn’t they? It was hardly a new concern, but still… “The crime rate has been decreasing steadily, and the industry is so saturated with heroes that there’s someone ready to intervene almost at any place and at any given time. And those heroes could use the money and exposure way more than me…” Toshinori trailed off as they made their way to the living room. The boy was regarding him with unnerving attention, as if memorizing his speech word for word. “There are other reasons too, of course…”

Midoriya cocked his head to the side curiously, expecting further elaboration. Then it clicked, and he fleetingly glanced at the hero from head to toe with open contrition. “O-Oh! Of course! Your… Sorry, I forgot.”

That simple sentence confused Toshinori so much that he couldn’t help but gape back. The silence grew very awkward very quickly. “...Uhm. So, that photo of yours?”

“R-Right! I’ll go look for it! Make yourself comfortable! Be right back!” The boy bolted fast enough to leave metaphorical dust clouds behind him.

Toshinori wandered to the nearest chair with small steps. He forgot. That was quite the feat, while literally standing in front of the sad, wrecked husk that Toshinori had become. Or maybe the kid hadn’t realized that his appearance was a relatively recent development. That seemed more likely. Perhaps he had interpreted his vague answer about his quirk to mean that the number one hero had always been just that, a sickly, overachieving twig in a bodysuit keeping his own skeleton in the closet for nearly forty years.

Toshinori let out a sigh. Quite the uplifting impression he was leaving with this young one.

His circling thoughts were interrupted by a yelp, and the thundering noise of some heavy objects crashing just outside the living room.

“Midoriya?” Toshinori called, jumping to his feet. The second unanswered call had him by the source of the noise in a moment.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” Midoriya’s voice finally answered, from behind a half-closed door conspicuously marked as ‘Izuku’ by a familiar blond-banged nameplate. 

“What was that?”

“Just… some stuff that fell down...” Toshinori approached it and peeked inside. Even from his limited perspective, he could see the boy sitting on the floor and rubbing his forehead, next to a tipped-over chair.

“And did that stuff happen to include you?” Toshinori deadpanned, inviting himself in... and pausing on the threshold. Taking in the interior of the boy’s bedroom. Which wasn’t the priority right now. He willed himself to ignore the star-spangled elephant in the room assaulting his senses and knelt down beside Midoriya, gently peeling his hand away from the sore spot. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s just a bump.” 

“You should put some ice on it.” There were no cuts or outer signs or damage, which was a good start. Toshinori’s eyes fell on the bottom half of the toppled piece of furniture beside them. “...Did you seriously try to climb on a rolling chair?”

“I do that all the time. It’s steadier than it looks!” There was no appropriate reply to such a claim, but Toshinori’s judgemental glare was enough to make the boy squirm. “I’m fine, really-”

“Ice.” He pointed sternly at the corridor. Maybe there was still a minimal chance of preventing an oversized lump on Midoriya’s forehead from outing to Tsukauchi and other responsible adults the fact the boy had nearly cracked his skull within five minutes of being left in Toshinori’s charge.

“All right. Just a second.” Toshinori kept an eye on the kid, making sure he wasn’t struggling to keep his balance, as he made his way out of the room. Room that Toshinori was now free to observe in all its embarrassing magnificence.

A soft All Might carpet. All Might-themed bedding. Walls plastered with All Might posters. All Might-patterned curtains. Shelves and shelves and shelves of All Might action figures and books. 

It was always… humbling to be reminded of how much passion and care people from so many different walks of life could put in something as trivial as collecting hero merchandise - his hero merchandise, more often than not. Popularity and revenue were Toshinori’s very last priorities when it came to his job, but, despite merchandising being exactly about those, he wasn’t opposed to the practice in principle. It did help cement the reassuring image of the Symbol of Peace in the collective mind, which was definitely one of his lifetime goals. It brought a sizable influx of wealth to the agency’s treasury, which he largely redirected to charity and assorted emergency relief funds. It did seem to spark genuine joy and entertainment in both children and adults. And, when none of these arguments were enough to wash away the vague sense of guilt that came with profiting off the love and admiration of Japan’s fine citizens, Toshinori reminded himself that there were much worse, self-destructive indulgences people could waste their savings on. Alcohol. Tobacco. Drugs. Troll 2 DVDs. The like.

Midoriya reappeared nursing an ice pack against his temple. “Sorry about that. The photo should be in one of those boxes.” He gestured towards the wardrobe that sported a brown cardboard box on the top, and then towards the floor, where its twin lay sideways after a presumably rough landing. They cut through the tape of the latter and, after Midoriya emphatically assured him that he didn’t mind him browsing through his personal belongings in the slightest, Toshinori joined the kid on the carpet in their quest for the photographic Holy Grail. 

“I probably slipped it inside one of these…” The boy said, pulling out small piles of notebooks and publications. Toshinori confined his perusal to dated magazines, comics and books that didn’t seem likely to invade Midoriya’s privacy. The first box yielded no result.

“Maybe it’s in that one. Let me get another chair- oh.” Toshinori only needed to raise his arms and strain slightly on his toes to comfortably reach the top of the wardrobe and retrieve the second- crap, that was heavy. How the kid planned to pull it down himself while standing on wheels was beyond him. “Thank you.”

Toshinori was sitting cross-legged and flipping through an old gossip magazine lavishing pages and pages of speculation on the meager information they had managed to scrape together on his association with Dave - ah, those were the days… - when Midoriya finally let out a triumphant Aha!

“Found it!” He regarded his prize with joy, but his expression quickly morphed into concentration and then confusion. Toshinori held out his hand expectantly, and the boy deposited the photo into it while indicating a specific spot. “It’s, uh… my father’s this one.”

Toshinori looked at the man in question.

And froze.

“He doesn’t…” He heard the boy say distantly, as if from kilometres away. “He looks… a bit different from the picture in the police file…”

Toshinori coughed. He was different, all right. Subtly, cunningly so. Both men had short, snow-white hair, both had relatively plain features and pale complexion, both had faintly-colored eyes that could pass as blue under the right light. They were similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another, when described verbally. But the man in Tsukauchi’s file was a stranger to Toshinori. The man in this photo wasn’t.

“This-” The hero managed, between small bursts of coughs that he couldn’t restrain. “This is the man that- told you to keep quiet about your quirk-”

“Y-Yes.” Midoriya was gawking at him with obvious concern, and it only got worse when the hero’s words sank in. “I-I mean, he didn’t- he just- we sort of agreed that-”

“And the-” Toshinori covered his mouth with his hand, already tasting iron on his tongue as he patted his trousers to find some tissues. “The last time you spoke to him was…?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

Something inside Toshinori just gave up on trying to hold it together. He erupted into a brutal fit, vicious enough to shake his whole body and squeeze his eyes shut. He heard the boy asking something in alarm, and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin before he finally got ahold of a handkerchief to press against his lips. He hacked and spluttered for an interminable minute, his throat and chest tight and sore from the effort. Eventually it died down, and he found himself hunched over and bracing himself against the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath as something shuffled beside him. He turned to check on the noise, and saw Midoriya tapping on his phone.

“Don’t.” Toshinori rasped, swallowing down the remaining blood coating his mouth and reaching out to gesture at him dismissively with his clean hand. “I’m fine.”

“N-no, you aren’t.” The kid looked on the verge of fainting himself. Toshinori followed his horrified gaze, only to notice he’d sprayed plenty of little crimson stains on both the photo and the carpet, not to mention his own clothes. Damn, that was a mess even by his standards. “B-But- it’s okay, I’ll call an-”

Toshinori unceremoniously plucked the phone from Midoriya’s grasp, made sure that he hadn’t dialed any number, and tossed it on his bed. No need to make the situation even more headache-inducing than it already was. “I mean it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

Toshinori cleared his throat as he contemplated the ruined piece of evidence anew. At least he hadn’t marred the spot containing ‘Hisashi Midoriya’. Despite the less than optimal angle, there could really be no doubt. There was no mistaking that face for anyone else’s, it had been seared in Toshinori’s mind by more than three decades of pain and regret.

...Shit.

Shit.

Toshinori collected the picture from the floor and stood up to drop it on the kid’s desk, where it sat innocently surrounded by dozens of pieces of licensed All Might memorabilia.

“...So this is your father, and he’s alive and well.” He stated it aloud and with scorn, because he felt it was important for the universe to hear that its sense of humor didn’t fly with everyone.

“Ehr. Yes. Do you-”

“All right. Okay. Fine.” Toshinori turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“...To your doctor?” Midoriya asked apprehensively, visibly starting to doubt the hero’s mental as well as physical well-being.

“No.” He almost stamped a huge, bloody handprint on his slacks before remembering that he still looked like he’d just slaughtered a pig and devoured it raw. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Second door on the left.” The boy muttered, too stunned by now to object to any of Toshinori’s tangents.

Toshinori washed his face, neck and hands, and rinsed his mouth. He decided he couldn’t bother to do anything about the state of his clothes. He took care of scrubbing the sink too once he was done, making sure he didn’t accidentally leave any red smears on it. He dried his hands and fetched his phone.

“Tsukauchi? Sorry, can you make it back to Midoriya’s house? Yes, as soon as you can. ...No, but we found that photo. You need to see it, it’s… it’s him.”

He closed the call and stared at his reflection on the mirror. His brain didn’t produce a single coherent thought. He walked back to the kid’s room.

Midoriya was peering at the picture intently, even though he hadn’t moved it from where Toshinori had left it. The man’s eyes fell on the scattered blots on the carpet. In his experience, there wasn’t much hope of removing them completely, but it seemed rude not to try, at least. “Got any cleaning supplies?”

Midoriya blinked at him owlishly. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.”

One short trip later, Toshinori was back with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. He waved the boy off when he made to kneel down beside him to help. He handed him the ice pack that lay forgotten on the floor, and the kid pressed it back on his forehead mechanically as he sat on his bed. Toshinori could benefit from only a couple of minutes of silence before Midoriya spoke.

“You know him.”

“...Yes.”

“You’re upset.” 

Toshinori wondered if it showed on his face, or if it was just an educated guess based on the half-baked spontaneous hemorrhage he’d just displayed. He didn’t reply, his attention ostensibly focused on dabbing lightly at each smudge.

“Why…” The boy’s voice faltered. “W-Why is there a photo of another man in the police records?”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a deep exhale. He wasn’t sure he was the most qualified person to have this conversation with the boy. He surely wasn’t the most eager to.

“All Might.” He felt compelled to raise his gaze. Midoriya was pale, his eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. His expression was heartbreakingly imploring. “Please.”

He was going to find out anyway, at least the bare bones of it. Kindness was one thing, cowardice was another. Denying him an answer at this point felt more like the latter.

“I know him because he is known to the police. He’s a villain.”

“...A villain…?” The information bounced right against Midoriya’s shock. Toshinori gave him a curt nod. “No… no, that’s… not…” 

Toshinori could track the gradual, painstaking process of acceptance the poor kid was going through from the aborted expressions quickly blurring into each other. Horror, fear, confusion, disbelief. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“A-Are you sure?”

Toshinori hesitated. Was there any other possibility they weren’t considering? “Are you absolutely certain that that’s the person you’ve been talking to?”

“I… I’ve never met him in person. B-But mom has, and she’s been talking to him too. She said it’s him.”

“...Then I’m afraid there can be no mistake.” It felt like dropping a boulder on the child’s chest, and the way Midoriya crumpled onto himself, cradling his head in both his hands, reinforced that gut-churning impression. Toshinori made no effort to conceal the sympathy in his whisper. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“H-He said…” The rest of that thought was swallowed into distraught silence.

“He told you he worked for the government?”

Midoriya took his time to answer, and he did so with a half-choked snort. “He… he never did, actually. I thought… He said things that… made me think…”

Toshinori grit his teeth. Figures. That silver-tongued demon wouldn’t spare even a child from his precious little mind games. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the boy’s quiet sniffles, and it was so long that Toshinori believed the kid to have exhausted his reserve of bravery for further questions. He’d resumed his ill-concealed procrastination via blood-cleaning when the next inquiry dropped.

“What did he do?”

Oh, man. What didn’t he do? “He’s been involved in a variety of criminal activities, both directly and indirectly. He’s… quite the nasty customer.”

“Since when? How long for?” Midoriya gripped his head even more tightly, his fingers digging deep among his curls. 

Toshinori had the distinct feeling that his well-meaning honesty was now trespassing into inadvertent cruelty. “We should wait for your mother before discussing this any-”

“Please.” Midoriya’s head snapped up, and the weight and emotion of those emerald eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Please, just tell me.”

Fourteen years of lies. Toshinori couldn’t bear to add even one more to the heap. “...Since long before you were born.”

Midoriya’s head dropped anew. Toshinori got back on his feet, unsure whether a kind word or a pat on the head could possibly ease that burden even slightly-

The ring of the doorbell made them both flinch, bursting that odd bubble of private desolation that had enveloped the boy’s room. They made their way out of the room, Midoriya quietly trailing behind the hero as the man opened the front door.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth to greet them, and froze. His eyes immediately homed in on the blood liberally splattered on Toshinori’s clothes, and on the melted ice pack Midoriya was still absently pressing to his temple. 

“...What happened?”

Inko Midoriya had the same dark green hair as her son, styled in a way that made something inside Toshinori’s chest ache with nostalgia and familiarity. She had the countenance of a demure, quiet, respectable housewife that valued stability and her loved ones’ well-being above all, and would never even conceive of starting a family with anyone any less sensible than she was.

That was why Toshinori was thrown for a loop when, upon being informed that her absentee husband was a criminal, she simply closed her eyes and bowed her head with a sigh and a resigned “...Yes, I am aware.”

Toshinori let Tsukauchi lead the questioning, as usual. Inko had met ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ (under a different alias, at the time) when she was twenty-six, working as a secretary at the main branch of Detnerat. The man had been introduced to her as a representative from another support item company doing some preliminary checks on Detnerat for a potential merger. 

This was unusual, but not exceedingly so. In the nearly thirty years he’d spent meticulously dismantling All For One’s organization, Toshinori had gathered evidence of him personally handling certain aspects of his schemes with surprising regularity, even relatively minor tasks or dirty deeds that could easily and safely be entrusted to his subordinates. He hardly ever found any specific reasons for All For One’s direct involvement. Toshinori strongly suspected that the bastard simply didn’t enjoy the lifestyle of the cooped-up, invisible puppeteer, and sometimes just felt like wrecking some havoc with his own diabolical hands. 

Inko had been charged with supplying him with quite a sizable amount of rather sensitive data, but since the CEO in person had given the authorization, she had performed her task diligently and unsuspectingly.

Now, Toshinori had been expecting the worst to emerge while questioning the circumstances that had led Inko Midoriya to her current marital status. Without exaggerating, the very worst. Any sort of revolting account of manipulation, coercion, even human experimentation, there was no low All For One wouldn’t stoop to. They had confined the boy to his room before starting for that exact reason. 

But apparently the universe wasn’t done throwing curve balls at Toshinori that day, and what they’d gotten instead was the succinct description of what seemed to be, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary and unassuming workplace romance. One instigated mainly by Inko herself, no less. Toshinori’s strained mind didn’t quite know what to make of that baffling information, so it promptly repressed it. 

“We didn’t keep seeing each other after he stopped coming to the company, but I did reach out to him when I found out I was pregnant. That was when I became aware that there was much I didn’t know about him.”

“How so?”

“He told me.” Inko replied simply. “He was... forward about it, in a way. He said that he couldn’t settle down in any given place, nor spare the time for being part of a family. He offered to let me join him in his activities, but… the way he worded it made it clear that he wasn’t talking of any sort of legal business.”

“Did he mention any details about what his ‘business’ entailed, in general or in that specific time frame?”

“No, not at all. But considering how we met, I assume he must be involved in industrial espionage.” Grief, brief but intense, shadowed on the woman’s features for a moment. “I… I resigned from Detnerat as soon as I found out. He had been asking rather sensitive questions about the inner workings of the company, and… even though I never technically shared confidential information, I felt like I had exposed it to too great a danger because of my irresponsible conduct. And, honestly… I was afraid of what could emerge if I kept working there in my condition.”

Toshinori rubbed his hands in his lap uncomfortably. No job, a son on the way, a presumably disreputable partner to deal with… What a wretched situation to find oneself in.

“You said he offered you to join him? In what way, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked from above the pages and pages of notes filling his notepad.

“...I am not sure. I didn’t ask, I had no intention of getting caught in that sort of environment. Nor did I want Izuku to grow up embroiled in dubious activities from an early age.” Inko’s brows furrowed, and her fist clenched slightly. “...I didn’t want him to feel abandoned either though. I didn’t want him to grow thinking his father had deserted him. I asked Hisashi to grant us that, at least. Financial support and the decency to call, once in a while.”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a sharp cough at that. Inko regarded him with a mix of concern and suspicion. 

He couldn’t blame her for it. He had accidentally caused her a fair share of grief when, her son having forgotten to warn her to expect guests upon her return, she’d opened the front door and found a freakishly tall, gaunt, haunted-looking, bloodied stranger looming in her hallway. Toshinori had waited in a conveniently secluded corner of the living room, trying to make himself look as small and non-threatening as possible, while Tsukauchi delivered the proper introductions and deflected the few concerned neighbors her terrified scream had attracted. Not exactly brilliant, as first impressions went.

“And he agreed to that?” Toshinori croaked.

“Yes. I was expecting some resistance, but… he agreed almost immediately.”

Toshinori gaped at the remissive-looking, soft-spoken woman who had once been capable of browbeating All For One into exercising a modicum of fatherly commitment. This whole Midoriya case was getting more and more unbelievable by the hour.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat pointedly. Toshinori scraped back together what little dignity he had left and tried to soldier on.

“Please continue, Mrs. Midoriya.” The detective encouraged.

“There isn’t much else to say, I think. I didn’t hear from him for months after that. I contacted him a few days after Izuku was born, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

Tsukauchi tapped his chin with his pen for a few moments, his expression deeply focussed. Then he looked Inko straight in the eye.

“You are being… unexpectedly forthcoming about all this, if I may.”

Inko let out a deep sigh. “I was never under the impression that we could escape the consequences of Hisashi’s actions forever. As soon as Izuku was born, I decided that I would never subject myself or my son to undue duresses just to keep my husband’s secrets. I told Hisashi as much as well.”

Toshinori had to stifle another wet cough with his handkerchief. How on earth was this woman still alive? 

“And he had no qualms about this declaration?”

“No. It rather amused him, actually. He said that any mother worth her salt would put her offspring’s safety above that of their parents. And… something about natural selection and survival of the fittest…” Inko’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, like those of a very normal wife exasperated by the very normal idiosyncrasies of her very normal husband. “He does go off on such tangents.”

“So you aren’t concerned about any possible retaliations on your husband’s part because of your cooperation with us?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, almost shocked by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I really don’t think he’d be capable of something like that.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. Toshinori frowned, admittedly perturbed by the level of trust All For One had managed to establish within the family without ever even deigning to step in their household. Precautions would have to be taken to protect the Midoriyas from the tragic fate that usually befell all those who were deemed traitors by the Symbol of Fear.

More and more questions followed. With his habitual thoroughness, Tsukauchi pursued a multitude of topics and leads that hadn’t even occurred to Toshinori, at least not so readily. Timing and means of communications, occasional postal deliveries to and from the family, details about the sums of money regularly deposited in the family’s account, and so forth. Toshinori was rather out of his depth here, but he tried his best to help Tsukauchi sort through the reams of documents, receipts, records, and diverse paperwork Inko produced at the detective’s request. By the time Tsukauchi declared to be satisfied with his preliminary inquiries, he had earned himself two plastic bags bursting with evidence, and Toshinori had developed a burgeoning migraine.

As they finally made their way to the entrance, Toshinori glanced at the door to Midoriya’s bedroom. Amidst that cascade of new revelations, they’d barely touched upon the topic of the villain attack and of Midoriya’s quirk with his mother. Toshinori felt genuinely sorry for the difficult conversations that were sure to follow between those two.

He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he stepped outside the Midoriyas’ apartment. Sunset had come and gone, and the lampposts and the bright squares of the neighbors’ windows were the only sources of light in the moonless night of that unassuming residential area. As the door closed behind his back, squeezing into nothingness the rectangular glow framing him and Tsukauchi, Toshinori felt the darkness weigh on his shoulders and seep in his bones almost physically. 

He felt, suddenly, extremely tired.

“I’ll drive you home.” Tsukauchi’s wasn’t an offer, so Toshinori didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

They walked to the car as his friend made a couple of quick calls to instruct some agents to watch the house until the next morning. The fresh night air would have felt like a small bliss to Toshinori on any other day, but in that moment it only rattled whatever unpleasant manifestation of his unease had lodged itself in his lung earlier that afternoon and hadn’t left since. He coughed a few times in his fist, then a few more on purpose to make sure he got most of the discomfort in his throat out of his system before he settled in the passenger’s seat.

The drive was quiet. Toshinori gazed absently out of the window, letting the new awareness sink in his mind like a stone in a pond. All For One was alive. All For One was still alive, somehow. Toshinori couldn’t fathom how. They had never retrieved the body, that was true, but there was precious little they had managed to retrieve from the location of their fight back then. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d found Toshinori himself quickly enough to lend medical assistance. The only reason why they’d been able to keep the public from learning of the accident was because it hadn’t happened on the mainland, and the tiny, uninhabited island that hosted it had all but been wiped from the maps. That his foe may have survived that disaster, considering the damage he’d sustained, was almost inconceivable. Toshinori was pretty sure he’d actually caught a glimpse of the man’s exposed brain after landing the last-

“Are you all right?” Tsukauchi asked quietly.

The corner of Toshinori’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m never going to defy New Year’s fortunes again. Moving away from Tokyo was a terrible idea.”

“This is a good thing. If you hadn’t, All For One would still be out there, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Hell. Five years. For five years they’d been none the wiser. How much strength had All For One regained in five years, while Toshinori’s own slowly went down the drain? How much of his criminal network had he managed to rebuild? How many unnoticed, unreported atrocities had he been plotting and executing, unbeknownst to all? The mere notion made Toshinori’s skin crawl.

But Tsukauchi had the right idea, there was no point in brooding over the current situation. Things could have turned out a lot worse. If Toshinori had already chosen a successor and exhausted One For All’s embers, by now he’d be powerless and useless, and the burden of facing his revived nemesis would have fallen entirely on the new, inexperienced wielder. That truly would have been a worst-case scenario. But as things stood, he could still rely on his quirk for a decent amount of time. He could still tie this dreadful loose end himself before passing the torch, and he’d spare no effort in the endeavor. He’d pursue the monster to the ends of the Earth if he had to, even if it meant wearing himself down to nothing for the rest of his life.

Or meeting his gruesome, bitter end in the process.

Toshinori shivered.

“So,” he heard himself say, “where do we go from here?”

Tsukauchi gave him a stern, silent scrutiny, then he told him.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #Naomasa Tsukauchi #deku #izuku midoriya #inko midoriya

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 62: Exploration

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Chapter Sixty-Two: Exploration

Note: I'm enjoying getting so many longer chapters in. Feels good!

(-~-)

The temple was comprised of a menagerie of different corridors and rooms, all of which possessing their own highly specific use case or purpose. Intricate engravings and pictographs adorned almost every visible wall, betraying the truly ancient history of such a grand structure. And although none of it was easily understandable to the average person, It was still more than enough to be able to admire and respect the historical contribution that works like these could pose to the people of this kingdom, and to the rest of the world by extension if they knew anything about it. But perhaps it was best that it stayed as it was, guarded and untouched by the people who it belonged to. In an unknown state. While it was true that some history belonged in a museum, was it truly history if the people who created it or took part in it its creation were still protecting it? Still dying for it?

In some places the walls were painted, but most laid bare, the markings adorning them being the only thing that made them stand out as opposed to a simple stone wall. And that was appropriate considering the fact that most of the walls were still bare, a few spots in the process of being worked on seemingly being abandoned part of the way through. Or maybe that was how they were supposed to look? It was hard to say. He was no anthropologist, and he'd never seen anything like this before.

But it's fascinating as all of them was, and is right as Lucia have been when she said that he might appreciate her people's culture more than his brother probably would, the eldest of the Dark Knight Sparda's twin sons have to admit that they were nothing more than a pleasant distraction in the midst of what would otherwise be a complicated and dangerous situation. Well, it would be if Lucia hadn't been there. She seemed to navigate the retrofitted temple with relative ease, whereas he found himself considering routes or options that were ostensibly the worst possible method to get to where they needed to go. 

And that was the other issue: He had no idea where they were going. 

He was so used to what he was looking for being straight ahead of him in one way or another that he hadn't even really considered it. And with nothing in the way of a challenge to do battle against within the walls of the building, he just found himself sort of quietly following along behind her, taking in the sights and attempting to not seem like the fidgety child that he felt like at the moment. 

It had been a while since things had gone this…  smoothly. It wasn't that things had been easy, it was that they had been relatively straightforward. They made sense. And while the cacophonous and winding always reminded him of the demonic tower that he had helped raise so long ago, this was clearly an entirely different set of people in an entirely different setting. Its craftsmanship easily rivaled that of the tower, but there was just something decidedly more exotic about this location. It was almost exciting. A part of him genuinely enjoyed it, at least for the time being. He was still quietly waiting for something to go horribly wrong. But at this point, was that anticipation, or a self-fulfilling prophecy? Were his very thoughts causing him to carry out actions that would lead to the negative outcome that he was imagining, or was he actually that unlucky most of the time? A question for the philosophers.

"Am I to assume that we are headed to an antechamber of sorts?" It was a good guess based on the structure's presumed layout.

Lucia looked back at him, her red hair blowing behind her as a small gust of wind tossed it about. Little shoots had been cut into the sides of the ceilings in some places, allowing air to pass into the chambers without having access to windows of any sort. It was a clever bit of ventilation considering when the building must have been constructed. And it was probably the only way that most demons could get in, which explained why a lot of them were so small and why they had encountered so few of them.

"Correct. Each of the Arcana is kept in a different portion of the temple behind its own unique protections. We're almost to the one that houses the Arcana Spada."

Placing the torch that she had lit when they had entered the structure in a notch in the wall, She fiddled with a slot in the wall nearest to her. Moments later, a sliding door of sorts opened, rolling out of the way and allowing a second door behind it to lift up out of the floor into the ceiling. It was an ingenious bit of engineering, and Vergil was admittedly curious as to how it functioned. Being alive during the period in which many of these sorts of structures had been built must have been interesting. What could they have learned from these long-forgotten civilizations? The technology used to build this structure seem to be leagues ahead of where it should have been at the time, and much could be said about the Temen Ni Gru. Had their dealings with demons allowed them some sort of knowledge in regards to these sorts of matters that he was unaware of? It seemed that technology had taken a massive step backward after the Hellgates had been closed. What an interesting if not unfortunate circumstance.

Following the young guardian into the antechamber that was hidden behind the doors, it occurred to Vergil that unlike seemingly every other structure he vented, this antechamber was actually located off to the side in an innocuous room instead of in a grand hall in the center of the building. It seemed that they had taken a few clues from some other ancient civilizations in that regard.

Nothing specific came to mind, but he could remember some civilizations doing things that were similar to this in a bid to keep grave robbers away. Some even went as far as booby-trapping what would otherwise be the central area of the tomb or temple just to punish those who attempted to actually break-in. A devious plan that he wholeheartedly approved of. At the very least, you should be allowed to have peace and rest undisturbed after death. There was a special place in hell for grave robbers. He should know. He'd probably seen them when he was down there.

"And what is the significance of this specific Arcana? Why would someone steal it? I assume that it is ritualistic in nature? But it has a secondary use, does it not? Something that causes it to stand out in comparison to the others?" He followed her up the steep, well-worn ramp, noting the abundance of colors and pictographs as he hurried along. Everything that he was now seeing was better preserved than the rest of the temple, which was saying something when how well the structure was kept up was taken into consideration.

Obviously taking a moment to consider what he had just asked her, she paused momentarily to looked around the room, torch in hand. She then stepped forward and began to light some of these sconces along the edge of the wall, eliminating a pillar in the center of the structure. What seemed to be a skylight bloomed over them, but it was currently closed by a large stone dome, so there would be no natural light tonight. The structure was interesting and seemed reminiscent of an altar of some sort.

"You are right. The Arcana is special. While the others were contributed by different groups of our people, the blade was contributed by your father. Its composition is different, and I would not be surprised to learn that he had crafted it himself. The materials seem to be demonic, and have properties to match. The same essence, in a way of speaking.” She gestured towards the room they were in. In the center was a pedestal with some sort of intricate holding apparatus. That must have been the blade’s housing apparatus. “My mother might know more about that, but it would be invaluable in a ritualistic setting. I believe that it is no accident that it found its way into your son's body."

Vergil nodded. That made sense to him, unfortunately. Demons were always after artifacts that his father had either helped create or had at one time owned. His wards and spells had a strong hold on much of the demotic world, and as such getting a hold of something that he had created were used to create something else was generally considered a fable use of time. He didn't need to know the precise secondary use case of the blade to know that if it had been created by his father then it should not fall into the hands of the devil prince.

Upon entering the room himself, a wave of what he could only describe as heavy familiarity hit him. If nostalgia had a sensation, it would be this place despite never having stepped within it before today. The feeling that had been outside in the courtyard was amplified by several dozen times in here to the point where it was almost suffocating, and yet he didn't feel threatened by it or even uncomfortable. Lucia seemed to be somewhat puzzled by its presents, wish she was otherwise undisturbed. 

There was no mistaking it: this had his father's influence all over it.

(-~-)

The Ludwig family had acted swiftly upon receiving his phone call, coming to his location with clearly supernatural speed. They had taken the young adjudicator into their care immediately and had insisted upon doing the same with V in order to ascertain the status of his curse. He had taken little consideration as to his own well-being in the adrenaline field panic that he had been in, and both his admittedly minimal injuries and his slowly progressing curse had been put to the wayside for the time being.

It had been decided that they would hold him until the morning. Magnolia and Flora would be returning to his home anyway, so if this was to be the outcome, then he could easily return with them at that point in time. Perhaps they would get lucky and Sirrus would recover by then? It was probably wishful thinking on his part, but he desperately felt the need to do something, anything to help his companion recover. He had done the same for him. It was the least he could do given the circumstances. He didn't like seeing people who were kind to him suffer.

But upon arriving and being seen by a physician, there had been quite the commotion. He hadn't caught the specifics of the details, but it seemed that they were something extraordinary about Sirrus's blood loss that required an extra amount of care and attention to be shown to it. It was something nebulous from what he could tell like a shortage of a certain blood type, or something equally as strange. Whatever the case may be, it seemed that his blood was not compatible with anything that they currently had on hand and that his body's ability to regenerate its own supply had been hindered somewhat. Stabilizing him had been hellish and troublesome, but after something that he had not been able to see clearly had been administered orally in the form of a liquid powder, he had seemingly started to recover although he had not regained consciousness.

In a strange way, it was good to know that he was not the only one who had these sorts of issues. Though he had never experienced that specifically, his friend's extraordinary abnormality made him feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that he might actually not be quite as odd as he thought he'd been all this time. This was going to be quite the story to tell the rest of his family once they all met up. But for now, he would remain at Sirrus's bedside, awaiting the moment that he would awaken so that he could thank him for everything that he had done and to just see if he was alright in general.

For a brief moment in time, he had considered the possibility of asking some of the Ludwig girls with a significance of his gift had been. It was clearly enchanted to some degree, so finding out what the bracelet did specifically was fascinating to him. Still, it was not the time. As soon as Sirrus was doing better, then he could bother with that sort of thing. No, until he awoke he would just sit here and fiddle with it quietly, allowing Shadow and Griffon a much-needed rest. Maybe he would read his book while he himself was attended to by the wonderful young woman that worked in that wing. 

He'd refused to have his injuries treated by what little staff that they had till Sirrus wounds had been brought under control. He wasn't that badly injured, and he couldn't in good conscience sit there and take up viable resources when someone else needed them more. His temporary discomfort was more than warranted as far as he was concerned. And that's how he found himself sitting there being treated in the room next to him, not nearly within range of cross-contamination, but still within the same general vicinity. 

They had put up some sort of protective plastic barrier between them for that exact reason, but it was indeed helpful to help keep things sanitary. A few bandages and a little bit of disinfectant later and he was basically fine. A bit scuffed up and with several bruises that were sore, yes. But he was alive, and although the curse had indeed spread, he only felt slightly weak as a result. He was admittedly just happy to be unharmed for the most part. The fight could have gone much worse. It normally did.

Realizing that he desperately needed to talk to somebody about what had happened, he spared a glance at his resting companion before making the decision that he could temporarily step out of the room. He didn't want to leave long, but he did want to make a phone call, and it would be rude as far as he was concerned to make one inside of the room where he was. And even if he didn't have that issue, there wasn't a phone in here. He'd have to go and get one. Maybe he should buy one?

Quietly standing and hoping that the chair he was sitting on didn't creak as he did so, he made his way over to the door, opening it and stepping through before closing it quietly behind him in a manner so slow that he wasn't entirely sure that it was necessary. He then looked up and down the hall, wondering if there was one on a table in the breezeway or something. He didn't actually know if they really had a lot of phones in this house. It was lucky that they had picked up when he had called. Almost as lucky as he'd been when he realized that he'd remembered the number.

Making the executive decision to just go and ask someone about where he could make a phone call, he headed into the main hall, sure that someone would be still awake at this time of night. But as he headed through the doorway, he ran face to face with someone that he wasn't expecting to see still up at this hour. He'd assumed she'd gone to sleep after what had happened.

"Good evening, Willow."

She stopped, turning her attention to him for a moment as she seemed to be taken slightly by surprise. A somewhat perplexed look crossed her face as she obviously considered something. But a moment later, she nodded. "Likewise. I was actually just coming around there to see how things were going. Has he awoken yet?"

V couldn't help but notice that she seemed uncomfortable, her hands clenched together in front of her in a manner that betrayed what he believed to be actual, genuine worry. She had been walking in the opposite direction, so he had probably taken her by surprise. What a shift in behavior considering how displeased she had been to see the young adjudicator the last time they had visited, at least initially. Perhaps it was guilt for what she had said to him when he'd been here last? Either way, he shook his head to indicate that he hadn't woken up yet. She did a decent job of hiding her obvious dismay, but not good enough to go unnoticed.

"Oh... I see. Well, do you keep me in the loop if you can? I'll send someone to come and check on both of you soon." She shifted her stance slightly, turning more to face him than she had been before. She unclenched her coupled hands, putting them slightly behind her back on either side of her body before more than likely bunching them into uncomfortable loose fists. There was no anger, only discomfort." Did you need anything? I can't imagine you're just wandering the halls so late at night searching for a sense of clarity."

At the risk of seeming unpleasant or possibly even rude, V decided to make the executive decision to have a meaningful discussion with her for a moment. He had nothing to gain by lying. "I was wondering the very same thing about you, though it may not be my place to. You seem anxious… and you don't seem like the sort to wander anxiously through your own home. But to answer your question, I was looking for a phone. I wanted to call someone. I suppose I just need to get something off of my chest."

Willow stared at him quietly for a moment, seemingly thinking about what he'd said. For a moment, V was concerned that he had upset her before she nodded and something akin to a soft smile spread across her face. It seemed that she understood what he meant by that statement and wasn't upset by it. He was strangely relieved by that fact. He didn't know her enough to have a concrete reason to be worried about what she thought of him, but either way, he didn't like being an ungrateful guest. 

"Are you sure you're your father's son? I don't believe he's ever worded anything in such a thoughtful manner in his entire life. He cared little for causing me upset, but I suppose I did cause quite a bit of grief myself." She seemed to drift off for a moment, thinking of a bygone time and her youth with what we're clearly nostalgia glasses. He got the impression that his father and this woman probably didn't view that memory the same way. Actually, knowing Vergil, he probably didn't remember what she was thinking about in the first place. He'd noticed that his father seemed to have a habit of not recalling things that were important to others because they had meant very little to him at the time. Fleeting moments in an otherwise negligible experience. But he couldn't really fold him for that. It wasn't really a character flaw so much as it just wasn't a lack of awareness of what other people were paying attention to. That was a common enough thing for people to do.

Something akin to a small smirk graced his lips for a moment. "Perhaps it's a product of not meeting him until later in my life." He couldn't be sure why he'd felt the need to divulge that, but it almost felt good to get that off of his chest. There was a strange sort of tension that came with the moments when people asked him about his childhood or his past, not realizing how drastically different it probably was from what they assumed it to be. But he wasn't ashamed of that so much as he just wasn't entirely ready to talk about it to other people. But even given that fact, there was something about this moment that allowed him the levity to speak his mind.

The look of genuine surprise that crossed her face was admittedly unexpected on his part, but she nodded in solemn agreement. He remembered Magnolia telling him that their mother and father had passed away when they had been teenagers. Perhaps he had brought up a memory or a feeling that she could relate to. After all, it had seemingly torn their family apart at the seams. "I suppose that makes sense... There's a phone over here. Feel free to borrow it. Though you can't walk off anywhere with it. It's a landline."

He nodded in agreement, appreciating her assistance. She then gave him a small smile and turned to go back to what she was doing, bowing as if to dismiss herself. It seemed that once again he had dismissed her original assumption as to the family structure of another person that she knew. He wondered where that came from with her, but he couldn't say that he was bothered by it. He didn't really care enough to be. 

But with that in mind, perhaps it would be best to go and use that phone now. There was no telling when Sirrus would wake up, and he genuinely needed to talk to Nero. With the difficult time that he was having right now, he felt like perhaps his little brother was the only person that would truly understand. He just hoped he wasn't disturbing him. After all, it was late. The last thing that he wanted to do was wake the children or their long-suffering parents. Kyrie and Nero deserved more than that.

(-~-)

For a moment there I actually thought that today was Friday. Lol, nope! It's Tuesday! See you on Friday, and the new readers who have joined between now and the last few chapters! It's always wonderful to have new people around and to answer any questions that you all have! Hope to see you in the comment section, and I'll see you all again on Friday! And if you see any errors, let me know! I went over this twice, but I still feel like I might have missed a few little things.

#Hiraeth #V #Sirrus #Lucia #Vergil #Willow #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU OC's #My Post Devil May Cry V AU Fanfiction #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #DMC #DMC5 #DMCV #Vitale #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #Post DMC5 #Post DMC5 AU FanFiction

[calientecoochie]

It Happened So Fast-

•3•

Kirishima told you he was going to pick you up around 8. Which gives you abouttttt two hours to get ready. That’s manageable right? You shower, get all primped and pretty and, now for the clothes.

-Three days earlier-

The outfit Kiri -overall Mina- picked out for you was hard not NOT to get attention in. You can even remember Mina’s singsong voice, “ You’re going with THE Red Riot, Y/N. He’s already flashy! You HAVE to match his energy! This bland shizz has got to go! Here tryyyyy THIS!” She held up the most risqué thing you’ve ever seen. It was still classy but, places were low when they were supposed to be high, cutouts and, glitz/glam. The works.

-Present-

You’re not too sure how the pair got you’re measurements to the t. Going to have to ask that question later.

Just as you were finishing up, a car pulling up could be heard. A red Aston Martin. You didn’t expect anything less... Opening the door, you were greeted with fresh, crisp, night air. This all felt so...nice like, you could actually breathe. Carpe diem and all of that.

“W-wait! Wait right there, Y/N!” You froze, confused. Kiri power walked towards the front of your door. He gingerly closed the door on your face and knocked on it.

You smirked coyly and opened the door. You lean on the doorframe and crossed your arms, “ Really, Kirishima?” You laugh, “You’re too of a gentlemen...”

“Don’t like it” He looked perplexed.

“I’ll get over it.” You joked and threw Red a wink. You took his extended hand and got lead back to his car. “Wow, your car is gorgeous...”

“I could say the same about you.” Eijirou begins to rub his neck, “ You’re outfit and like, your face because you don’t have a car here, haha!” Uh oh, he’s beginning to nervous banter.

“Thank you, Red. You look handsome. Let’s get to the Gala before traffic gets any heavier.” He beamed and nodded.

The car ride over is pleasant. Traffic was okay (it’s been heavier, especially going towards downtown), within the car has been relatively silent but it’s obvious that you two just enjoy the other’s company. At some point, Kirishima threw his arm over the back of your seat. You could not help yourself and focused on the viens in his hands or how his muscular build strained against some parts of his suit. What’s his exercise regimen? How would a hug feel? How long you were looking? You don’t know. The music was low, seems like the whole squad was into the same stuff. Maybe you should try having a conversation?

“Soooo~” you drum your hands on his dashboard, “Kirishima, do you like hero work? Anything, interesting happened?” You curse yourself mentally. Of course he would like hero work!

“Hmmm, yeah! I love it. Cant really see myself doing anything else...” He keeps his eyes focused on the road but it’s obvious his brain is elsewhere, “Some days are harder than others but, there are great day too of course! I get to meet so many cool people. I met you.” His gives you a quick smile, “ Oooohh, let me tell you about this time I was saving these people from a bu-“

Now this car ride is getting livelier. Red is so animated when talking about his experiences. He so passionate... it’s nice :).

-At The Hero’s Gala-

You could not see a single star in the pitch, black sky; the venue was so bright. Practically blinding. How many of these did these Pros have to attend?! You don’t mind being the center of attention but, this is WAY too much. At least you’re not alone. You guess.

“YYY/NNN!! YOU MADE IT! THAT LOOKS SO BOMB ON YOU!”

You could not even process the blur of pink barreling towards you and Kirishima before it practically tackled you (thankfully not to the ground).

Mina squished your cheeks together, “Ah~! You look so gorgeous! Especially you’re hair-!”

It seems like she was about to ask you something else but Red picked her up from under arms and gingerly put her to the side, “Come on, Mina, if we don’t hurry inside we’ll be late-“

Mina waggles a finger towards Kirishima, “Tuh tuh, fashionably late.”

“Late is late, Mina”

“Since when we’re you such a stickler about time 😩! Don’t act brand new just because you got a boo-“

“HEY HEY!” Kiri claps his hands together-loudly- a few times, “Where’s your plus 1, M?”

“Hmm? Wh-She was just beside me! Don’t tell me they just went inside~ Ughhh, where could they be at?” Mina pulls out here phone, “I’ll see you inside, Y/N! Save me a seat beside you!”

“Okay, Mina!” You give her a thumbs up as a sweaty, blushy Kirishima rushed you towards the Gala’s entrance.

•

•

•

You had thought this whole extravaganza would be exhilarating! Exciting! A completely new experience! It kind of sucked. The venue was gorgeous, all pretty and made up. The people were chatting amongst themselves sometimes forgetting about the announcer. The food is great.

You sat beside Kirishima and left the two chairs to your right empty for Mina and her date. Your table was between Bakugo’s and Denki’s. To be frank, there was was never truly a lull, especially when the two blondes spoke to their redhead friend. You could really understand since they were speaking a bit too fast and adding slang you haven’t heard before. Bakugo was always threatening and Denki was just acting like a crackhead. It wasssss fun.

A bit later, it seemed like everyone mellowed out (probably thanks to the alcohol) and started mingling amongst each other. You guess you should start too, this whole thing is for the agency.

As you try to get get up, you feel a firm palm settle on your thigh, lightly pushing you back down, “Relax, Y/N. Bakubro finally left and Denk is off flirting...” You settle back into your seat, “The Agency will still be standing still be there. Just enjoy yourself.” He takes a swig of a soda, keeping his eyes forward as if he was focusing on something but, nothing interesting was in that direction as far as you could see.

“I hope Mina found her date...”

“She probably did. She’s pretty good at finding people.”

“Not going to drink?”

“Mmmm, we got to get home. I’m also much more comfortable drinking at home. I think they water it down at the events now due to...” he makes a painful face, “last time.

“Last time?”

“N’yeah...Some hero got super trashed and just let loose.”

The two of you stare at each other for a bit then start to laugh.

“Mm, I wouldn’t drink either then, I guess! Afraid you’ll say something you don’t mean, Red?”

“PFFT, no! All I have to say are good things. It’s just if I pay for a drink, I don’t want it to be watered down. What’s your excuse?”

“Welll, I thought I was going to be promoting our company. Guess not now.”

“So again, what’s your excuse?”

“Mmmm, I like having my wits”

Just as Kiri was about to reply, you both heard a voice from across the floor, “FINALLY FOUND YOU TWO” it was Mina and her absolutely stunning date. “What are you two just sitting down?! Let’s liven up this place! To the dance floor!” As if either was you had a choice.

Red had absolutely NO rhythm but that didn’t really stop you. The two of you spent the rest of night dancing away (along with Mina’s guidance at times). It was almost perfect.

•

•

•

Kirishima and you trudged back to his red, luxury car.

“Uwaaaa! My feet!” Kiri exclaimed, “When I usually dance it never hurts this bad~”

“That’s because you were dancing right, Kirishima.”

“Tsk, I am not that bad. That first move I busted always kill~”

“Yeah, yeah, people probably.”

“Hey, rude~” He opens the car door for you, “let’s get you home. Traffic shouldn’t be too heavy.”

“Thank you, Red.” He gives you a smirk as he shuts your door.

As it was before, the car ride was hella quiet, more so due to being tired. You look to the driver’s side of the car at Kirishima. His eyes were half lidded and focused on the cars in front of him... or so you thought.

“Hmm, caught the staring bug again?” You quickly turn back forward, caught off guard, “I’m just messing with you, Y/N, I don’t mind.” He flung his arm around the back of your seat again.

I guess it’s our time to talk, “Ha, I just can’t help it. You’re so nice and tonight has been really fun. It’s all been really fun. That and (I hope this doesn’t sound too creepy) your physique is amazing! I can tell you put a lot of care into it.”

“Haha, well, I have to!”

“Of course, of course, hahaa..” you start to break into a cold sweat.

Kiri notices the lull, takes his arm from behind your seat and instead takes your left hand and intertwines both of your fingers together. His hand practically engulfs yours and it’s so clammy.

“Uhh, hope you, don’t mind..” Kirishima says bashfully.

“Nope!” Smooth, Y/N. Real smooth, “Not at all. You’re hand is very soft...”

The car went silent again, hands still tangled together. Both enjoying the nighttime view and the somewhat muted sounds coming from the cars surrounding you guys.

-Back At Y/N’s Home-

Kirishima walked you to your door, “Welp, here we are.” He rubs the back of his neck, “S’thanks for being my da- company and all. It was- it was super fun, yeah.”

You were digging around for your keys but still listening to you stuttering boss, “Hm, hm. It was super fun for me to. Especially getting to experience the Hero Gala!” Finally, you found your keys and opened your door. You turn towards Kiri and he looks as if he is about to pass out, “Uhm, Red? Do you want to crash here? I don’t really think you should drive back-“

“Oh no, I couldn’t! I’m fine, I promise-“

“Then at least let me make you some coffee or something with caffeine, Red...”

“...Yeah, I will take you up on that..”

The pair of you step inside and you lead Kiri to the sofa, “Here, just relax.”

He slumps against the arm and lays his head against his forearm. “Thank youuu~” Yeah, he sounds like he is about to knock out.

You gently shake his form, “Here, Red, drink up.” He doesn’t say anything, he takes the cup drink from it and just stares down into it.

“Is it nasty?”

“<Wha-what? Oh, no, it’s delicious>” pfft, he’s so out of it he didn’t even realize he started speaking Japanese.

“<Want to speak in your mother tongue?>” He seems to wake up a bit more.

“Ha, sorry. Hey, Y/N?” Kiri drums his fingers against the side of his cup.

“Mm?”

“Do you have anyone waiting for you?”

“Uhm, no? I mean I have my family but I can’t say they are really waiting for me...” you ponder his question, “Why’d you ask?”

“...” He seems to be reluctant in whatever he is trying to do. You can really get read on him. He looks scared? Kiri sets him lukewarm cup down on the side table and stares deeply into yours eyes.

“Red?”

He grabs your hands.

“Kiri”

He starts to pull you closer

“Kirishima??”

“It’s Eijirou.”

He pulls you into a passionate kiss. It felt so desperate and longing. The need for oxygen being long forgotten between the two of you.

This was going to be a long night.

#bnha #mha #y/n x kirishima #y/n #y/n x mha #y/n x bnha #bnha x black!reader #reader #mha x reader #reader x kirishima #pro hero kirishima #mha kirishima #mha x black!reader #black!reader #slow burn #fanfic

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Stranger

I Know You

Summary - After that evening, the freckled face of that man was engraved in your memory. You hoped that you would meet him again and you do but not all meetings are pleasant - some reveal the dark secrets of life.

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning - Fluff, Angst (a lot of angst), swearing, 18+ SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it people)

Square filled - Showering together (implied) ( @spndeanbingo )

Word Count - 2.5k

A/N - This is the second part of the series Stranger (my brain hates oneshots). Prepare for the slow burn people.

The dividers are by @talesmaniac89 and the banner is by me.

A/N - This is the first time I have ever written smut. I have tried my best lol. Also thanks to @bucky--barnes because her fic Innuendos helped me a lot to write the smut part. There are certain parts in the smut that irked me a little while writing so I decided not to include those but maybe in the future I can write about those (I'm very new to this whole thing).

Okay enough of nervous rambling, just go ahead and read it!

“This is the last time I'm warning you! Step away from the cake,” you yelled making your husband jump and drop the piece of the cake, “what did you do?”

“You shoufn’t haf yellt,” he spoke with his mouth full.

“Get. Out. Now,” you seethed as you examined the destroyed piece.

“I like it when you get all bossy,” he goes to grab your waist but you successfully dodge his hands. “Y/N,” he pouted.

“Those eyes won't work on me Mister,” you raised your eyebrow, “and I need to clean up the kitchen because your dumbass acted like a child.”

“I didn't.” He grumbled.

“Leave the kitchen now. Go check on your demon spawn,” you said.

“Hey, he's half yours.” He argued.

“He got all your bad qualities,” you smirked. Dean stared up at you with his green eyes and said, “maybe our baby girl will get your bad qualities,” he caressed your still flat stomach.

“How do you know it's a girl?”

“Father's instinct,” he said.

“That's called mother instinct-”

“So fathers can't have instinct?” He grinned.

“That's not what I meant, you fool,” you said.

“Uh-huh,” he smirked, “So you think-”

“Mommy, Daddy,” Jaxon, your three year old came running into the kitchen with Scooby hot on his heels.

“What's up kiddo?” Dean turned and picked up the little boy in his arms. Scooby whined and nuzzled his face into Dean's legs, trying to get his attention. “You're not forgotten, buddy,” he started to pet the German Shepherd.

“Cake,” Jaxcon said and hid his face in the crook of his father's neck.

“Bad qualities,” you threw a look at him and saw him shrugging.

“We have to wait for Grandma and Grandpa to arrive sweetie, then you can eat it,” you said.

“Okay,” he pouted.

“Come on Y/N, give him one piece,” Dean said.

“Don't encourage our son. If he gets a sugar rush, you have to deal with him,” you shook your head at your husband.

“Scout’s honour,” he grinned, as you cut up a piece of the cake.

Dean put the little boy down into a chair, when he started wriggling in his arms. Jaxcon immediately dug into the sugar factory as soon as you handed him the plate. You walked out of the room to check on the other preparations, as Dean kept a close eye on the boy, his hands occasionally petting the dog and scratching his ears.

Life was good. After that night at the bar, you had met Dean again. You were having a bad day - you had just handed the resignation letter to your pervert boss and walked out of your office, when you had bumped into him on the streets.

“I feel like you are my guardian angel who just pops up whenever I have a bad day,” you had laughed.

“Maybe it's a sign from the universe for us to be together,” he had said, a big grin plastered on his face, “let me take you out on a dinner. You won't have another bad day.”

You had agreed and one thing led to another and here you were now married to him with a child and another one on the way, organising a family gathering to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of your parents.

“Hey babe, I think your parents are here,” Dean called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah got it,” you shouted back.

“Hey Mom, Dad, happy anniversary,” you greeted as you opened the door.

“Thanks sweetie,” your Dad leaned into giving a peck on your cheek.

“Mr and Mrs. L/N,” Dean greeted, “thirty years huh? Happy Anniversary. Come on in. Your daughter has made some delicious food items.”

“Dean,” you chided but couldn't stop the smile that was threatening to spread over your face.

“Soon you will be celebrating your thirtieth anniversary. Time flies when you are with the right person,” your Dad said and you knew your Dad was right.

So yeah, life was good.

“It looks like a freaking djinn,” Dean said, clutching the steering wheel tightly as he drove back to your town. He gritted his teeth in anticipation, as he focused on the road ahead.

“Dean you need to slow down or else we'll be dead even before we reach the town,” Sam frowned, “maybe it's a Djinn, but I am sure that Y/N/N’s absolutely safe.”

The older hunter's jaw ticked as he tried to put a brake on his racing thoughts - why did he always have to think of the worst?

After another hour of driving, Dean pulled up his car in front of a house. Jumping out of it, he jogged up the stairs and knocked on the door waiting for a reply.

“Dean stop! Maybe she is at work,” Sam intervened before his brother kicked down the door.

“No. She is in a huge ass danger. I can feel it Sammy,” Dean said, gripping his brother's shoulder tightly.

“You need to focus, Dean. I don't think you freaking out will help us at all. We need to treat this as any other case,” Sam said, “maybe Y/N’s safe after all.”

Nodding his head, Dean went back to his car, Sam following closely. They drove over to the nearest motel. Within a few minutes, they had switched to their fed suits and started going over the case and the alibi of the witness.

“Man with tattoos appeared out of nowhere. Bingo!” Dean exclaimed, “I told it seemed like a case of the tattooed suckers.”

The Winchesters started working rapidly - from interviewing the witness to finding out the locations of abandoned warehouses and buildings in the town.

“Uh….Dean. I think this might be the location where the Djinn is tak-”

Sam’s words were interrupted by the shrill ringtone of Dean’s phone.

“Agent Shaw speaking,” Dean said, “another missing report?....Name?” Sam saw his brother's eyes widened with fear and anger, as he continued to speak with the person over the phone.

“Thanks for letting us know,” He said and disconnected the call.

“There has been another report filed, another person has gone missing. Her name is Y/N L/N,” Dean breathed out, “I am gonna kill every one of those sons of bitches.”

“Mhm,” you groaned, as you were woken up from your deep slumber to your husband peppering kisses all over your face.

You opened your eyes to see him staring at you with his forest green ones. Pulling you close, he captured your lips in a sensual kiss. You moaned into his mouth as his teeth slightly grazed your lip. Without letting go of your lips, his hands started to work on the buttons of the flannel which actually belonged to Dean, unbuttoning it successfully and you laid there in just your panties.

“De-” you whimpered as he started to leave a trail of kisses down your bare body. His calloused hands massaged your breasts, his sinful mouth started to suck at the sweet spot on your neck, eliciting a sweet moan from your mouth.

“That's gonna leave a mark. Gonna let the world know you're mine,” he growled into your ears, his voice making you shiver with anticipation. As his fingers worked on your already hardened nipples, his mouth slowly moved south.

Spreading your legs apart, you felt his hot breath at your clothed, wet core. “N-need you,” you breathed as you felt him starting to kiss your inner thighs.

“Mhm, so fucking wet already,” he mumbled, as he swiftly ripped off your damp panties.

“Dean, p-please,” you whined.

“Please what?” He gave you a cocky grin, his fingers brushing past your sensitive clit.

“Either fuck me or put your magic fingers to use,” you pouted which immediately turned into a gasp as he put a finger inside you. He started to pump at a slow pace. Your back arched in ecstasy as he picked up the pace. He put another finger, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the bedsheet tightly. He curled his fingers inside you and kept pumping at a quick pace, brushing your g-spot over and over again.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, as your hand left the bedsheet, to tug at Dean’s hair, entangling your fingers with the short, soft strands, making him groan.

“De, g-gonna c-co-” you whimpered.

“Then let it go, sweetheart,” he rasped and that's all it took as your body shook with pleasure, you came hard on his fingers. Dean moved up to you as you panted, your mind and body in a euphoric state. He pecked your lips lightly as you tugged at his boxer’s band but he lightly swatted your hands away, “so impatient.” You noticed the sizable bulge in his boxers. He grunted, throwing his head back in pleasure as you palmed his cock through the soft material of his boxers.

He pulled down his boxers, his hardened length sprung free. You took his cock in your hand, giving it a few strokes.

“Nuh-uh,” he groaned pushing your hands away. “I won't last long i-if you do that a-and I wanna be inside you.” You let go of him, giving into his plea.

He kissed you once again as he lined himself in front of your entrance. “Fuck,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering close as he pushed himself inside you.

“Shit sweetheart,” he groaned, “not gonna last long.”

“Mhm,” you moaned, failing to form any coherent sentence, “m-move.” Dean obliged, slowly pulling out of you till only his tip was inside you. He kept thrusting into you, “s-shit, baby.” You jerked your hip forward, trying to meet his pace. He quickened his pace as he roughly kissed you. He continued to ram into you, his cock brushing your g-spot every time, making you moan out loud. His hands travelled all over your body. He let out a breathy moan as the coil in your stomach tightened.

“Gonna c-come,” you whimpered, your pussy clenching around him.

“Let go baby,” his thrusts became a little sloppy, as Dean inched towards his climax. Your hands gripped tightly onto his biceps, as his fingers entangled with your hair.

“Fuck Dean!” You cried out as the coil inside you snapped and you felt yourself coming undone, “fuck!”

Dean thrusted into you a few more times before he let out a guttural moan, his seed spilling inside you, coating your walls. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, his face hiding in the crook of your neck as he collapsed on top of you. Panting, Dean pulled out of you, as he rolled to the other side of the bed. You both laid in bed, as you pulled the covers up to cover your modesty.

“Morning,” you smiled.

“Morning,” he whispered, pecking your cheeks, “I'm gonna go and get a shower. Join me.”

“No funny business. You have work and you are already running late,” you warned, “and the kiddos are up.”

“Scouts honour,” he said as he walked into the bathroom in all his naked glory. You removed the covers and climbed out of the bed to go to the bathroom.

“Y/N,” you stopped in your tracks as you heard a voice calling your name.

“Dean? Did you call me?”

“Nope.” Your husband replied from the bathroom. You shrugged off the feeling and went into the bathroom, joining your husband. Needless to say, you guys didn't make it out of the bathroom in time.

“We already have a ten months old and a five year old. Don't you think you should tame your libido?” You said, while feeding your daughter.

“I can't keep it in my pants with you walking around me,” Dean said, “sooner or later, I will put another baby in you.”

“Daddy!” Jaxcon exclaimed as Dean leaned in to kiss you.

“What?” He groaned making you chuckle.

“I will be late for school! Hurry!” The son urged.

“Who gets so excited for school? He is a nerd like you!” Dean said and walked over to his son not before he had kissed you. “Take one to know one. Go or your boss will kick you out!”

Ava, your ten months old, babbled as she waved at her father. “Oh look, your baby girl says bye,” you said, catching your husband's attention.

“Bye Ava,” Dean waved back as he followed your son out of the door. This was your daily morning routine.

“Y/N, sweetheart, wake up,” you heard the voice again but no one was in the house anymore except your daughter who could hardly form complete words.

“Who is it?” You called out in the empty house.

“Y/N, sweetheart wake up,” Dean said to your unconscious figure lying on the ground. Exhausted, injured, Dean desperately tried to wake you up. Tears pricked at his eyes, as guilt ridden thoughts made their way into his mind. Two lifeless bodies of the djinns laid on the ground beside you.

“Sammy, she's not waking up,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Let's take her back to the bunker. I already gave her the antidote. If she doesn't wake up, maybe we can look through the archives of the British Men Of Letters,” Sam grunted as he stood up. They both were beaten up but none of them suffered any life threatening injuries. Dean picked you up in bridal style, as he made his way towards his car. Sam joined you and Dean after he was done burning the bodies.

The drive back to the bunker was tense. Sam was in the driver's seat as Dean was in the backseat with your head resting peacefully in his lap. He caressed your face, removing a few loose strands of hair, as he waited for you to wake up with bated breath.

“What if the antidote doesn't work?” Dean asked, worry evident on his face.

“You remember what happened with Charlie?” Sam asked, “we have to use African Dream Root to wake her up. We have to invade her dreams.”

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

#supernatural #dean winchester #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #sam winchester #spn #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean smut #dean winchester x you #dean x you #stranger #dean winchester x y/n #deanxreader #dean winchester fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean fluff #angst #spndeanbingo challenge round 1

[tu-mint]

Amendment

A/N: Sooo I’ve been meaning to share my Mortal Kombat stuff on here for a while, I wanted to wait for the movie to come out first 😅🤣

TW: mentions of torture & sexual assault

In which Shang Tsung and the Black Dragon are officially put down and Earthrealm's defenders are able to return home, but Raelynn is stuck in her thoughts, but one of the young Kombatants is able to help her reconsider the negativity in her mind. (Based around MK11 & Aftermath but w/ a twist?)

Raelynn knew this all too well. With her entity as a half god, a change in time would do nothing to erase the horrifying memory in her mind back in the Black Dragon's dungeon -- at least, that's what it felt like. Hours upon hours of nothing but brutal beatings, each kick, punch, and swing as harsh as the last. While it wouldn't have hurt too much being that she was stronger than the average mortal, the bindings fused with the dark power of Shinnok's amulet extracted much of her godlike strength and left her as a helpless bait to be shredded and mauled at by the jaws of vicious and starved predators, desperate to take a leap at the prey before them. It still seemed unbelievable how she was alive even after all the bruises and cuts and blood...but she managed. After all, those shallow wounds were all but nothing comapred to--

The demigoddess shivered involuntarily and inhaled sharply. Thankfully, everyone aboard was too immersed in their own activities to notice her sudden actions, but she knew she wasn't stable enough with where her thoughts were treading. Her eyes searched for her son who was currently speaking in a group of the younger Kombatants. A yellow strip of cloth with an intricate design she couldn't make out was fastened around his bicep, and she wondered where it had come from until her eyes peered at the young male he stood beside. Takeda, son to Kenshi and pupil under Grandmaster Hasashi, was missing the usual yellow band that adorned his head as a reminder to those that he was a member of the Shirai Ryu clan. His short onyx locks blew freely but he didn't seem to mind all that much, instead grinning down at Haru who wore the cloth proudly. Cassie and Jacqui mirrored the telepath's reaction, the blonde pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. The sight warmed her heart and she was thankful the young fighters didn't look upon her son with irritation, but rather genuine care and happiness. When Haru had told her of the adventures and stories spent with them, a pang of guilt struck her for the early misjudgement on her part, believing they were just frivolous juveniles that only gained their high positions due to the status of their families.

Wishing not to allow her brooding to draw unwanted attention, Raelynn slipped silently to the back of the ship. Her efforts did not go unnoticed by Raiden who stood near the hull of the ship, but he decided against speaking with her in that moment.

He recalled the time he had found her, bound like a dog and covered in welts and lacerations big and small. She was curled into a ball, shaking and burying her face into her knees. It was then Raiden became aware of the state of her clothing, torn and barely covering her form as if someone intentionally ripped and pulled at it to expose more of her. Immediately he slipped out of his own robe and pulled it across her trembling form, respectfully averting his eyes. As he helped Raelynn stand to her feet, his eyes widened as countless more bruises and marks made themselves visible, tiny splotches of smooth brown skin barely surviving. These people had clearly put her through a very long, thorough beating, and it was evident that they were in no means hoping to show mercy. No, they wanted her dead. Raiden had teleported into the SF ship and rushed her to the infirmary room. People cleared the way immediately and knew better than to question his sudden appearance as he brushed past them while carrying the barely conscious woman to a bed near the back. He knew the Kombatants would be able to handle themselves well, so he stayed and began the healing process.

It was during this time he realized that Raelynn was no mere mortal, but a half god created by the hands of Cetrion. While it was difficult at first for him to fully trust her said intentions due to her creator's betrayal upon the Elder Gods, he had seen her heart's purity during the mission. The thunder god knew that she was making the best of efforts to redeem herself of past mistakes, and Liu Kang recognized this as well. A twinge of concern fell upon him just then as he knew that she still had much she needed to recover from. Whether she would eventually open up to him or not didn't matter, he would be patient and assist her as best as he could.

Raelynn took a seat upon the thick wooden rail and swung her legs over to face the bloody depths of Netherrealm's ocean. She wasn't afraid of falling nor coming across any odd sea creatures knowing that she had flying abilities, but of course she also wasn't dumb enough to try and test her strength or reflexes. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked on at the overlapping waves, allowing her mind to space out and roam. Her fingers tapped on the rail in a rhythmic pattern, and she suddenly was reminded of something. Her hands came together and moved in a circular motion, stretching further until the form of her solar powers had become a guitar. She clutched the neck and hugged the body of the instrument under her other arm smiling to herself.

Upon visiting the islands of the Pacific in the past, she had learned about the aspect of music through vocals and tools that produced a pleasant audio. The demigoddess found that these brought her a sense of peace and tranquility, and immediately she wanted to learn the ways of this fascinating revelation. What came as an interest to her in the beauty of music was the endless techniques for a new sound, new sensations, new reactions, and day by day, there was always the creation or discovery of another. She allowed her fingers to delicately pluck and strum a mix of chords, a tingle settling in her chest at the euphoria beginning to wash over her. Her hands moved on their own accord, finding a steady tempo and following a pattern with an occasional switch. The nerves that built up in the pit of her stomach had eventually disappeared into wisps of nothingness. Her eyes began to slowly close and she hummed quietly wanting no attention to be drawn to the back of the ship. It seemed to work decently, until-

"Wow, you're part god and a singer? Gotta say I'm definitely jealous."

The woman’s fingers froze in place already in position to strum a new chord. She craned her neck just enough to glance over her shoulder at the intruder, already knowing it who it was. “My life is nothing to be envious of, Specialist Briggs.”

Raelynn heard footsteps tread closer and tapped on her guitar. The younger woman climbed onto the rail and threw a leg over the other. They sat for a moment in silence, staring off at the deep scarlet waters swishing and rolling about. “I owe you an apology, Specialist.”

Jacqui’s eyebrow quirked and her eyes fell upon the half god. Raelynn took her silence as a sign to continue. “I apologize for my behavior towards you and your friends throughout most of the mission. Even after I had caused harm upon your lives and nearly killed your fiancé, you still ensured trust in me. That I could never understand, but-"

"It wasn't easy." The half goddess shifted her attention to the soldier. Her face was impassive as she watched the waves. Raelynn couldn't tell if her expression was a good or bad thing, but she decided against trying to get her hopes up. A great deal (if not all) of her acts under Cetrion were cruel and groundless, and she held no anguish up until the time she had to come face to face with the truth of her doings. It tore her day and night, and meeting Hajoon had her convinced that she would be able to leave the life of corruption far behind and start fresh. Of course, the facts couldn't be hidden forever, and the half goddess found herself back in the deep hole of falsehood, surrounded with nothing but fabricated offers to a better life. She scoffed mentally. That opportunity was officially closed off to her. It seemed as though disaster was always a few steps away, eager to ruin her chances at something sound, and risking it a third time was nowhere near appealing.

"There were many instances where I questioned why the Chosen One defended you to such an extent, especially after it was SF that provided for your recovery." Jacqui's voice had brought her out of her thoughts. "Trust me, I was beyond ready to blast a hole or two through your head a hell lot of times." She paused. "But spending time with Haru and hearing your whole deal...I understood you." Raelynn's brows raised slightly, not expecting such a considerate response.

"I couldn't imagine a life finding out that the one who was supposed to be my caretaker, my protector, my safe haven, was actually the one who robbed me of all that. My mother..." Her words trailed off and she peered down into her lap. She tightened her jaw and bit her lip to keep from releasing the tears awaiting just behind her eyes. Raelynn almost reached her hand out in an effort of comfort but stopped, not wanting to ruin the intimacy in the moment. Jacqui lifted her head and continued. "Man, it would kill me if she'd ever done something like that...growing up believing that everything was all good and sweet, and everyone just hated her for doing what I thought was the right thing, thinkin' it was my own folks who were the crooks trynna steal me away and take my power from me..." She scoffed. "Seein' my dad as a revenant then manipulated by Kronika was betrayal enough, and it hurt like hell. Point is, I realized that you truly had no malice in you. You were just takin' orders and tryin' to keep your mother—uh, Cetrion, happy."

And it was true. Raelynn trusted completely in the virtue goddess as any child would their guardian. She worked vigorously in carrying out the Elder Goddess' wishes, longing to eventually gain any sort of praise or affection, but it was rare that those occurrences came to past. Most of her upbringing revolved around unanswered questions and the constant urge to do better, trying at all costs to win approval. But like a fool, she allowed her heart to get the best of her, put her through the worst of hells just to seek out a foolish desire that would never be anything close to genuine. That's what messed her up in the first place, and she couldn't—no, would not dare to do something as stupid as that again. It was only her and Haru. Nobody else.

"I am...appreciative of your understanding, Ms. Briggs," Raelynn spoke after a long moment of silence. "You and your comrades are owed a huge debt on my behalf."

Jacqui chuckled and shook her head, then turned to look at the demigoddess. "You're damn right we are!" The two women shared a laugh on the rail. "Actually, I believe there is a way to pay back this debt."

"How so?"

"Well, Takeda and I's wedding was put on pause due to this whole mission, and it cost a lot to find decent live music. Cassie offered, but we're trying to have a simple proper wedding, not a drunk karaoke session. And you have the voice of an angel—well, a god in your case. If you can strum a few chords and sing a few notes for a few hours, I'll consider you free of deficit."

Raelynn cocked her head and raised a brow. "That's...that's all?" She figured the woman would request of something more extravagant, like a prolonged lifespan or giving her supernatural abilities. Jaqui nodded and crossed her arms awaiting an answer.

"I...very well, Ms. Br-"

"Jacqui. That formality stuff is weird if it's not comin' from General Blade." The demigoddess was taken by surprise again. She gave a single nod and looked on at the waves which now fell into to a more mellow and calm pattern.

Perhaps it wasn't just Haru and her against the world. Every person aboard had their story, their differences, their fall outs, but they were able to cast it all aside at an effort for peace upon a world that did almost nothing for them in return. Some aspects of the Earthrealm were odd, she thought. It was going to take a lot of time to get used to these people, but maybe, just maybe...

There was a sense of hope.

#oc #mk oc #mortal kombat oc #raelynn #neoma #demigod #demigoddess #mortal kombat #mk #jacqui briggs #liu kang #kitana #raiden #sonya blade #johnny cage #jax briggs #kenshi #sub zero #kuai liang #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #cassie cage #kung jin #takeda takahashi #angst #comfort #mentions of torture #hurt #encouragement #this is honestly kind of an intro to my character

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight

chapter 8 - great expectations

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 3.5K words.

He barely remembers getting dressed and returning to his quarters after such a relaxing shower. At some point he had slipped inside his pants and slid an undershirt on, thrown himself at the desk chair and poured over plans and schematics, a mess of paper and far more motor oil than necessary. He had written and read until his eyes had grown tired, like every other night, fighting off sleep to the best of his ability. He could sleep when he was dead, or when she was dead, when he was far away from this hellhole, when nothing awaited him come morning.

Some nights he would skip it altogether, keep his eyes wide open when his mind was too fraught with dreadful thoughts. He knew what would come if he finally closed his eyes, the memories that he worked so hard to put away. A dream, it was only a dream, he would tell himself over and over, but it was hard to believe it when he would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, throat sore from screaming at the top of his lungs, that all too familiar twinge of sadness and terror balling up in his chest. It was hard to believe and hard to forget, because he would see it when he held the wrench, when he brought a cup to his lips, when he pressed the buttons to get the conveyor belt running. His hands shook, his fingers lost their strength, and then we would remember it all. It was not real, but it had been once, and he is unsure whether the knowledge makes things better or worse.

Heisenberg remembers nothing but the familiar tingle on his fingertips, the numbness that overtook him, anxiety and fear washing over him like he had been engulfed in a sea of darkness. The scribbles on the paper would be evidence of how he had lost control the night before, how he had pressed the pencil hard to try and force himself to focus, to keep going. The cut on his forehead would tell him that he exhaustion had taken the reigns and he had fallen face first into the table, head hitting the metal clamp and inadvertently helping lull him to sleep.

Much to his surprise, that night, when Heisenberg closed his eyes, he was greeted with the blissful sight of nothing. Head void of dreams, of nightmares, body protesting with the awkward way he’d scattered over his work station, but nothing else. The cut had stained some papers with blood and drool had ruined some others; his arms felt numb in the morning, as they had been left hanging off the desk with his head and neck as the only support. It took him a good few stretches of his hands to feel his fingers again - all things considered, this had been a much better night than most.

If the night was almost-pleasant, the morning was anything but. A hot gust of air blew in when the factory kicked into gear with full force, like it did every day around this time, the whirring of blades and purring of engines his usual white noise. Only this time there was an intruder, a high pitched, repetitive sound that threatened to pierce his eardrums - he woke up to the incessant sound of his phone ringing. The thing sat just inside his office, an old landline that Miranda had insisted on him keeping in case she needed to speak to him urgently. She would call him every now and again, but more often than not it was his siblings that would bother him. Moreau would call to ask if he had found any old VHS tapes or old fiction books, Donna would ask him for blades and all manner of crazy-looking schematics built. Alcina rarely called, but given her interest in the bloodsucking beast that prowled the woods, he was certain that would change very soon.

Not that he intended to answer any of them, naturally. Nine times out of ten he was nowhere near the dumb phone to answer, which made Mother angry and him even angrier, because the last thing he wanted was to interrupt important research to tend to any of their petty, cruel whims. When she called, invariably he would be thrust into something barbarous and despicable; she wanted someone kidnapped, or killed, or turned into a monstrosity. She wanted him to spy or intimidate, put on his best scary mask and drill the fear of the Black God into someone’s mind. She never once asked if his research went well, if he was doing well, and though it had been years of such abuse, he could not help but feel the sting of it every time he heard her speak. Somewhere deep down, he still held onto a sliver of hope that she cared; and she would always dig deeper and deeper, until she found it and choked his feelings to death.

Heisenberg lazily lifted his head, right arm coming up to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth, eyes hurting under the bright industrial lights coming in through the window. A strand of hair had sneaked into his eye when he blinked, such a small nuisance upsetting him even further, a simple strand of hair that felt like the devil’s toothpick stabbing his eyeball. The phone had stopped for a few seconds only to resurge like the wailing of a baby, and the ringing prompted him to shoot up and off his armchair in a flash, too disoriented and uncomfortable to fully register what was going on. He almost fell on his way to the phone, tripping over his unbuttoned pants, annoyance levels rising with every step. He rubbed his eyes as he approached the offending object, flicked the room’s light on like it would help him hear better. At least it would keep him awake.

“Heisenberg,” came the voice from the other side, sweet and soft-spoken, domineering and stubborn. “Any news on our quarry?” Our quarry, he mouthed to himself mockingly. As if any of it was a team effort, as if he had anything to gain from this little adventure. Well, as it turns out, he did, but lady super-sized bitch didn’t need to know that. The damn hair was still stuck somewhere between his eyelashes. “A little bird told me you left the forest quite late last night.” A little bird would die a horrible, horrible death as soon as he discovered who it was that had agreed to his sister’s asinine plan of meddling in his business.

“Oh hey, sis. Surprised you get reception all the way up there.” He heard her huff of annoyance, chuckled in response. It bought him enough time to figure out exactly what he would tell her. Hey, yeah, turns out your monster is actually this gorgeous lady with a pair of tits big enough to rival any fertility goddess’? “Slippery little thing, that monster of yours. Found some bodies, some blood,” truth was always easier to tell than lies. “Caught a glimpse of something, too, but it disappeared in the middle of the trees before I could grab it. Little shit gave me the loop, took me quite a while to find the way back.” Heisenberg could practically hear her chest rising and falling as she breathed excitedly, happy to hear something, anything, even if it was a blatant lie. He could hear her nails hitting against wood impatiently, stringing together a tune he did not recognize. “What do you want with this thing anyway, needing a new pet?” Quite the funny thought, really. He was suddenly curious to know if the little witch would put up a fight as a tight collar was snapped around her neck.

“Am I right to assume you will return to the forest soon for another search?” Oh, most definitely, though his intentions were far different from what she expected. She continued without waiting for his answer, clearly aware that he would retort in the crassest manner possible. “I will see you handsomely rewarded once I have it in my possession, brother. House Dimitrescu does not forget such acts of service.” And there it was, brother, the greatest honor she would grant him, a compliment reserved for moments like these, when she desperately needed his help and no one else’s would do.

Blah, blah, blah. What was she going to offer him, a maiden? A scrawny lady with bruises big enough to make one believe her skin was purple, bones showing through her ribs and threatening to poke out at any moment? He had long decided against experimenting on women - they were always so weak and fragile, he would tell himself. Had long left behind his whoring days, too, far too focused on his research to let himself be distracted by a pair of tits. Oh, right; the irony. What else could she give him? A casket of wine made of blood of an innocent, with its thick bouquet of brutality and mercilessness?

She could offer him riches, influence, her undying loyalty. The only reward he wanted was to see her fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, nothing left of her and her daughters but the crystal cores they would dissolve into. The jewelry he would keep, the crystals he would sell to the Duke for a hefty price; the dust he would gather, send to an artist to mix into paint and commission a portrait of himself in his best work attire, his beat up trench coat and ragged hat. To make a statement, his fly would be open and his dick out in the painting, forever immortalizing him as the large, hard Lord of the Castle. With the money he would buy the best brewery he could find and have it make the worst beer, call it Lady D’s Fresh Piss, all in her honor, naturally.

He would bring over his suitcase and set up shop in the castle, tear down every reference to the Dimistrescu family and replace it with cheap replicas of innocent, idyllic landscapes, and dozens of horrible quality photos of his face. The extra large milk pail she called a hat would be used for entertainment when he gathered guests over, shoot the ball into the dead lady’s hat or take another shot. His soldats would clean house, kill every last monster in the basement, replace those god-awful torture tools with something else, anything else - maybe pigs, to pay homage to his dear sister. He would then fire all maids and forbid them from ever setting foot inside the place again, hire an all-male crew to tend to the estate and leave him well enough alone. On a clear day he would grab all of their expensive dresses, the paperwork that dignified her as gentry, her snob literature and photo albums, pile them all into the courtyard and burn it all, the vineyard alongside it, then light his cigar in the blaze and smoke it while facing the inferno, the flames reflecting beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. Once it had all turned to cinders he would strip before going through the front door, waltz around the place while rubbing his dick on all of her favorite spots. He would dump all of her fine wine in the biggest, smelliest cesspool, grab the revenue from the last shipment and throw it from atop the church in the village to watch the peasants fight each other for riches that were supposed to be hers.

Perhaps best of all, he would invite Alcina’s little monster over, encourage her to come in while dragging all the dirt and mud gathered on her bare feet. He would give her a tour of the castle, allow her to decorate every room with a harvest wreath or handmade candle, let her cover the posh couches with handmade quilted throws. Together they would roll up the fancy carpet and throw it in the fireplace, lay down the most unrefined of straw tapestries in its place. The mantle would be a display of their crudeness and peasantry, his schematics and forgotten bits of scrap metal, her incenses and rune-inscribed bones and whatever else her little heart desired. He would allow her to have her pick of his sister’s jewelry, try and convince her to take them all, to wear nothing but her favorite set as she danced under the skylight of the atelier, the flames of all tolling bells and the bright shine of the moon as the only source of light for their unholy, delicious rituals.

When silence settled he would grab her waist and pull her closer, whisper in her ear the most delectable of invitations. Together they would desecrate every last corner of the castle, from the halls to the belfry and the stairwells to the balconies, the cries of agony the place had come to be known for replaced by their sounds of pleasure. When they were far too tired to continue they would work together in the kitchen, he would help her prepare a bloodless meal that they would savor watching the wide open doors to the courtyard. He would sit at Alcina’s spot, ignore every single piece of flatware and eat with his bare hands, audibly chew on every morsel. He would draw every curtain and open every window, let the gelid gale wipe away any trace of her and her daughters. Late at night, he would carry his prized lady up the stairs to her quarters, gently place her on the giant bed and cover her with the decadent expensive sheets. She would ask him to stay, and he would, hold her close as she slumbered and he stared at the top of the canopy and let out a tired sigh almost a hundred years in the making. He would be free, and he would have claimed it all, a fitting end to his sordid tale.

If he wasn’t sure Alcina would rise from the grave and put herself back together out of sheer spite, the whole thing didn’t sound half bad.

Heisenberg barely registered whatever she said after, far too immersed in his little happy place to give a shit. She had talked for what seemed like hours, something about training the beast to present it to Mother Miranda, to allow her to experiment and find out what sort of things they could learn of such a splendorous mutation. Some illusions of grandeur sprinkled here and there, the very obvious wish to become the best, most adored child. He felt like Alcina wished Mother would descend upon her in a ray of light, to lift her up and away towards the heavens to take a place at her side. What a load of crap, though he had to admit it was far more than he would have given her credit for when she came up with this sordid little plan.

At some point, she finally realized she had said too much, exposed too much of her grand plan, had become too excited with the prospect of having that admiration within her reach. That, or she had grown tired of sounding too friendly with the riffraff. She quickly finished saying her piece and hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye, wishing him good luck on the hunt, reminding him she had great expectations. As did he.

He found his mind wandering back to his little witch in the woods as he placed the handle back on its hook. Where did she even come from, anyway? Was she born in that miserable place, brought up among the failed experiments of this village in middle of nowhere, Romania? Did she know how to use money, or were the lei they used foreign to her? He had it in good confidence that she could read, considering all the books he had seen around, but did she know how to write? Had she ever seen electricity at work, or had her life been lived under candlelight? Could she drive a car? Operate a telephone? Did she have toilet paper in her outhouse or did she wipe her ass with ferns or something of the sort? How did she find out about nail polish, of all things?

Had she ever lived outside that lousy shack? Did she ever get a taste of luxury, of fine wine, scrumptious desserts, someone to cook and feed her, maidens to attend to her? Had she always worked the land and tended to livestock, gathered herbs and berries in the forest? Had she cared for her parents or grandparents and learned her trade then, offered her services to lice-ridden villagers when they were no longer in the picture? Had they ever met, some day when he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice her, to take in the beauty that had come to haunt him so? Had she ever shared her body with someone, with a lucky lad or lass that caught her vulnerable and willing on a lonely night? Did she… Did she think of him, as much as he had begun to think of her?

Her shroud of blood and mystery, alongside Alcina’s excitement over the prospect of having her torn apart, had a strange feeling seep within his bones, a pang of anguish tugging at his heartstrings. All the more reason for him to hide the truth for as long as he could - even if the witch turned out to be just really clever with herbs and some hallucinogens, he wouldn’t give dear sister the pleasure of sinking those rusty nails into her flesh. Not when he had so much to discover.

Finally alone with his thoughts and away from his fantasies, he looked down at himself to see his shirt tousled, the fly on his pants undone. He had slept alright, although passed out might be a better description. In his defense, he had tried to fall asleep like a normal human being: sat down and let his mind go blank, eyes firmly shut to try and get some rest. But try as he might, he always startled as he was about to drift off, the sight of the dark horse dissolving into a puddle of blood right before his very eyes, of Sturm’s decapitated arms almost comically flying in his direction. Rage followed soon after - another failure, another waste of time. How would he make that thing rise again? He was then caught in the infinite loop of thinking, and planning, and burning out in frustration, until he could carry on no more.

Of course. He remembered it now, what had finally lulled him to sleep, in the throes of his despair. The way she had distracted him with a well-placed, gentle hand on his face, to work her magic and make his pain disappear, to preserve the secret she worked so hard to maintain. The gash on his hand that had left no trace, the lycans and moroaicas dead but not quite. The way she seemed to have a knack for putting things back together again, to prop them up on strings and have them dance like a puppeteer would. If he brought her here into his den, allowed her a glimpse of his work - would she be able to help him? Would she want to?

At first, he had thought the whole thing was bullshit. So maybe she knew a few plants, knew how to make a mean incense to get him high as a kite and seeing shit. Maybe she had some medical training and could put a nose back in its place, big deal. Maybe she held the world record on fastest, most painless stitching of human flesh, and was in cahoots with the Duke to use whatever seemingly magical substance he put in his antiseptic solution. Whatever she was smoking to say that she could actually heal things, that she might just be able to murder Mother Miranda - he wanted some.

And yet the more he thought of it, the less sense it all made. Her touch was unmistakable when she held his chin up, when the monster’s wispy tendrils had done the same. There was no doubt that she had, indeed, healed his wounds. The decapitated heads were very much alive, the blood pungent, the bite as painful as it should be. If she had killed them, how had she brought them back to life? How had she kept them alive on borrowed time, negated the effects the very creator of the Cadou could not avoid? How far did her powers go? Were they powers, like his and Moreau’s and Donna’s and Alcina’s, or a clever trick of the mind?

Whatever the case, Miranda had spent the better part of a century trying to bring back a dead girl in the body of another, necromancy a far too advanced concept for her young mind back in the late twenties. She had spent countless hours, spilled gallons upon gallons of innocent blood, spread a disease that they no longer had control over in the lycans, all for naught. And suddenly some creepy girl at the ass-end of the woods was the second coming of Jesus? She had knocked him on his ass and somehow morphed into this giant mass of blood that would make the hairiest of grunts shit their pants. If there was any chance that she was for real, then it would change everything. The possibilities were endless. He just needed to tell apart the bullshit from the truth.

#resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes #a rather chill chapter but next comes soon

[quicksilversquared]

An Unusual Run-In

Mrs. Rossi was expecting a quiet lunch out, a little reward to herself for finally getting completely caught up at work. What she got instead... well, it was much less pleasant.

links in the reblog

Mrs. Rossi wandered down the sidewalk, enjoying the Paris sunshine as she headed towards a nearby cafe that she had heard good things about. She had managed to get caught up with things at the embassy and gotten them in a good enough place to be able to have a bit of time to spare for lunch out for the first time since she had arrived, and she was determined to enjoy the break.

Soup and a sandwich sounded like it would hit the spot just right.

There were students all over the place as Mrs. Rossi headed towards the cafe, some headed in the same direction while others were simply heading home or to the park to enjoy the weather. She wondered if she might spot her daughter among the students, but it was probably unlikely. Lila seemed to enjoy staying at the school to eat lunch there with her friends, and she hardly had a ton of pocket money to spend on eating out on a regular basis. Mrs. Rossi generally didn't eat out, either- it was a waste of money, in her opinion, and ate up time- but she had been working hard enough lately that she deserved a treat.

She reached the cafe and joined the line, waiting patiently as the workers at the counter filled orders. A lot of the tables outside were already filled- a pity, she would have liked to enjoy the sun a bit more- but there were certainly enough spots inside and a number of the students in the line seemed to be getting their orders to go, so at least she should be able to find a spot to sit.

The line worked forward at an impressive rate, and soon enough Mrs. Rossi was approaching the counter and placing her order. She stepped over to the side to wait for her order to be ready, and when she did, she spotted a very familiar face, apparently just ducking in to grab a few more napkins.

She hadn't met her daughter's boyfriend before, between her work and his busy schedule (and, well, she hadn't met any of Lila's friends, really, but soon! She had time now, it could happen soon!), but she had seen pictures of Adrien Agreste before. There wasn't really anyone else it could be, and so after a moment's deliberation- maybe she should just wait until Lila introduced him, but realistically, how long could that take? And maybe if she said hi now, he would introduce her to some of Lila's other friends- she stepped forward, eyes trained on the boy. He caught her eye when he turned away from the napkin dispenser and paused, clearly puzzled by the unknown lady staring at him.

"Hello," Mrs. Rossi greeted him, figuring that there was no going back now. She stuck out a hand for him to shake. "I know we've not met before, but I couldn't not say hi when I spotted my daughter's boyfriend."

The boy blinked at her, clearly puzzled. He didn't shake her hand. "Um, I think you have the wrong person. I'm not dating anyone. And I haven't- the closest I've ever come to dating someone- I met her mom, and you're definitely not her."

Mrs. Rossi frowned. Had she somehow found Adrien Agreste's doppelganger, or misremembered what he looked like. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were Adrien Agreste-"

"I am Adrien Agreste." He was frowning now too, and looking more than a little uncomfortable as he glanced towards the door. "And I'm not dating anyone."

"But Lila said that you've been dating since she first arrived in Paris!" Mrs. Rossi exclaimed, confused for a moment until it hit her. Ah, of course! She should have mentioned Lila from the start. Adrien was a popular model and of course he wouldn't want to go around telling people who he was dating, just in case there were any jealous fans around. "And she's told me about dates that you two have gone on."

Adrien's expression flickered with something unreadable, then went oddly blank. "I'm not dating Lila. I don't date liars, bullies, or thieves, and Lila is all three. I don't know why Lila is trying to claim that she's dating me, but it's not remotely based in any sort of truth. Good day."

With that, Adrien Agreste spun on his heel and vanished into the lunch crowd. Seconds later, Mrs. Rossi saw the door open and a nest of blond hair bob outside. She was still staring after him when the worker at the pick-up counter called her name once, twice, three times. Mrs. Rossi jumped as her name finally registered, and she hurried to pick up her order with a quick apology before she found a seat at a secluded table in the corner. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment, though she wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed about- well, whatever had happened with Adrien- or about being so out of it that she hadn't heard the worker calling her name.

Now that she was seated, she could properly puzzle over her brief exchange with Adrien. He had claimed that he wasn't dating anyone, had never dated anyone, and that Lila was a liar, a thief, and a bully. Which... well, that just didn't sound like her daughter! But Lila had said that they were dating, something that Adrien had said was false. And he hadn't acted squirrely or anything, like he might if he was making up a lie on the spot.

But Lila hadn't hesitated at all when telling her mom about the dates that Adrien had taken her on. And Mrs. Rossi knew her daughter, even if they hadn't had as much time together as they used to due to their moving and Mrs. Rossi's busy schedule. She would know if Lila was lying, and, well. Adrien Agreste was a model and, if she was remembering correctly, an actor. He would know how to hide his emotions and look as though he was telling the truth, even if he wasn't. That made him the more likely candidate for not telling the truth.

But why would he reject the very notion of dating Lila like that?

Mrs. Rossi puzzled over that as she ate her sandwich, almost not tasting it at all as she tried to work out what might have happened. The pieces just weren't fitting together- until they did.

Lila and Adrien must have broken up- recently, considering that they had had a dinner date just that weekend- and Lila just hadn't wanted to admit it to her mom. Either that, or she had thought that she and Adrien would reconcile and get back together, so she hadn't wanted to trouble her mom. If Adrien's attitude was anything to go by, though, that hope was a little overly optimistic.

Frankly, Mrs. Rossi thought that was probably for the better. If Adrien was immature enough to start making baseless accusations about Lila to her mom because he was angry at her because of their break-up, then he wasn't ready for a relationship. She would have to talk to Lila about it, which was bound to not be a very happy conversation but it was definitely an important one.

With that settled, Mrs. Rossi went back to her lunch. She had earned this break, after all, and she was going to enjoy it. She wasn't going to let a moody teenage boy ruin it for her or spend the whole time doubting her daughter, not when it was so easy to puzzle out what happened.

  She was second-guessing herself.

Huffing, Mrs. Rossi set aside the paperwork that she hadn't really been reading, rubbing her forehead as if she were trying to banish the thoughts that kept haunting her. It didn't help, unsurprisingly, and so she flopped back in her chair to give herself a moment to try to pick out why she couldn't put that morning's encounter behind her.

Maybe it was because of how oddly specific Adrien's accusations about Lila were. Maybe specific wasn't quite the right word, but something about the names that he had called Lila seemed just a bit off.

A liar. A thief. A bully.

In Mrs. Rossi's experience- from what she remembered from her teenage years- less-than-friendly breakups usually resulted in name-calling of a more general sort. Accusations of being selfish, of being jealous, of being rude or smelly or inconsiderate or petty. They weren't nice names to be called, but it usually related somehow to the reason why they broke up.

But Adrien hadn't used those names, and that was what was throwing Mrs. Rossi off. It was possible- likely, even- that something had just gotten blown out of proportion and that was why Adrien had called Lila a bully, a thief, and a liar instead. Since the school hadn't called, it probably wasn't that big of a deal.

But it would be smart to call and check in, maybe. At the very least, she could make sure that the teachers were keeping an eye on the dynamics in the classroom following the break-up. It would put her mind at ease, and then she wouldn't risk falling behind again when she had only just managed to get on top of things. Hopefully it would only take five minutes at most, and then she would be able to get some quality work done and surprise Lila by actually getting home early enough to make a dinner that wasn't rushed.

Plan in place, Mrs. Rossi picked up her phone and looked up the phone number for the principal of the school. The phone rang once, twice, and then picked up.

"Hello? This is the office, Mr. Damocles speaking."

"Hi, this is Elena Rossi," she told the man on the other end of the line. "Lila Rossi's mother, I'm calling because-"

"Oh, yes, perfect timing!" Mr. Damocles boomed, cutting her off. "Lila just informed us about the trip you're about to be making and I was going to reach out and see if I could actually get through this time. I really must insist that all of the paperwork gets filled out this time- I know we let it slide for the last trip, since it was so sudden, but we can't do that again. And Lila really does have to actually complete all of her schoolwork this time around- if she falls any more behind, we'll have to discuss either summer school or holding her back a year-"

"I'm- I'm sorry, what trip?" Mrs. Rossi exclaimed, completely thrown off. "We're not going on any trips, we haven't been out of the country for more than a weekend since we got here. We've been in Paris the whole time, and- and the only time Lila wasn't in school was when it was closed for several months because of akuma attacks!"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Ma'am, the school has only ever closed for an hour or two due to akuma attacks," Mr. Damocles said slowly. "Never for several months, Ladybug and Chat Noir would never let battles drag out that long. Lila told us that you had to go on an extended diplomatic trip and that she couldn't stay in Paris alone so she would be going along. She appeared to call in from several different locations."

Mrs. Rossi's stomach was sinking and twisting into knots. "No- that's not even part of my job description! I- I don't understand."

There was another pause, followed by the shuffling of paper. "Ah, perhaps her lying disorder was acting up? I must insist, if that's the case, that Lila get medical attention because keeping a lie going for that long, she was insisting that it only makes her tell small white lies every once in a while-"

"Lying condition?" Mrs. Rossi couldn't believe her ears. "She- no, Lila's perfectly healthy. She doesn't have any sort of lying condition. She- she-"

She didn't know what to say. Her five-minute conversation to set her mind at ease was going in a completely different direction than she thought it would, and now she was left floundering.

Surely she hadn't been paying THAT little attention while she got things at the embassy under control?

There was another pause, broken by a small cough. Mr. Damocles sounded as uncomfortable as she felt, which- well, it was no real comfort.

"Ma'am, I think we might need to ask you to come in. The sooner, the better."

  Mrs. Rossi rushed to let her coworkers know that she had to step out for an incident at her daughter's school, then hurried over to the collège. She was ushered into Mr. Damocles' office at once, and then got caught up on what, exactly, her daughter had been up to at school.

Needless to say, she was appalled. The number of lies that Lila had told- pointless lies, sometimes, presumably because she didn't feel like doing something (or eating something)- was absolutely off the charts. Mr. Damocles wasn't even sure that they had everything recorded, since his records were based almost entirely off of what the teachers overheard and had considered relevant information to write down and pass along. The other part of his records were based off of doctor's notes- but they weren't doctor's notes that Mrs. Rossi had ever seen before, and they were for conditions that she had never taken Lila to the doctor for. Closer inspection revealed that they were definitely written with Lila's handwriting, only slightly modified to hide the immediate similarity.

The lies were bad enough. Forged documentation so that she would get all sorts of accommodation that she didn't need? That was horrifying.

"We may need to get the police involved," Mr. Damocles informed Mrs. Rossi as he gathered up all of the "doctor's notes". Not a single one of them had been valid. "This is a very serious situation and we want to treat it as such. Add in the whole situation with Miss Dupain-Cheng, and- well, there might be a case for emotional distress or something there, I'm not sure what it would be called."

Mrs. Rossi sat up straight. Now this wasn't something she'd heard about yet, but it might explain the bully comment from Adrien. "What happened with Miss Dupain-Cheng?"

"Well. Ah." Mr. Damocles shuffled his papers, looking a little uncomfortable. "There were several accusations leveled at Miss Dupain-Cheng by Lila- that she had cheated on a test, that she had pushed Lila down the stairs, and that she had stolen a necklace from Lila. We thought that we had evidence, as the answer sheet was found in her bag, and the necklace was in her locker, and- well, Lila had been at the bottom of the stairs. So Miss Dupain-Cheng got expelled. But then Lila said the next day that her lying disorder had been acting up, which- hmm." He frowned. "In retrospect, that doesn't quite make sense. She would have had to plant things in advance, which suggests- well, anyway, Miss Dupain-Cheng was allowed back. But I do believe we asked her to thank Lila for coming forward and admitting to her condition, which, ah..."

Mrs. Rossi only just resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and groan. She suspected, based on what she was hearing, that the girl targeted had probably known full well that Lila was lying and that she was lying on purpose. Being asked to thank Lila after going through that kind of ordeal...

Frankly, at this point, if Mrs. Rossi had heard anything about her daughter getting beat up by one extremely ticked-off classmate, she would probably conclude that Lila very much deserved it. Sure, Lila had 'allowed' her to come back- and why Lila had decided to make up a 'lying disease' to walk back what had presumably been a fairly planned set-up to get rid of the other girl was still a mystery- but that didn't change the fact that she had been targeted and been forced to go through what was probably a fairly distressing ordeal in the first place.

She was going to have to track down the student and her family and apologize to them for everything that Lila had put them through. Ideally Lila would be the one apologizing, but frankly, she didn't trust Lila to do it. She wouldn't be sincere, for one, and just based on what Mrs. Rossi had been hearing, she would probably try to twist the situation to get in another dig at her classmate.

"Anyway, we should probably discuss punishment," Mr. Damocles said, pulling Mrs. Rossi out of her thoughts and bringing her attention back to him. He looked uncomfortable, fiddling with his pen. "Ah, Lila has been akumatized a number of times. I worry that if we administer punishment fitting to the actions within the city limits, we might end up endangering the staff and students here."

Mrs. Rossi took a deep breath and let it out. She didn't want to think of her daughter endangering anyone and physically hurting them, but she had to consider Hawkmoth's presence in the city and the fact that Lila was clearly a lot more manipulative and vindictive than she had thought. She had failed so spectacularly as a parent until now, what with not catching on to what her daughter was up to, and that had resulted in not insignificant damage. Now, she had to make it right for those her daughter had hurt, even if that meant not giving in to the urge to give Lila one last chance.

"I agree," Mrs. Rossi told the principal, swallowing hard. She hadn't wanted to do this before, but Lila left her no choice. "And while I don't like it, I have a possible solution. My parents have offered to send Lila to the same school that I went to, back in Italy." She had always declined the offer before, for several reasons. It was a boarding school, and she hadn't wanted to send Lila away. While it was a good school that pushed for academic excellence, it was very strict. The sort of things that Lila had been pulling would not be entertained for even a minute, which- well, that was a good thing, but wouldn't any parent have some concerns about how fast punishments were doled out? "I suggest that I send her there. Whatever punishment needs to be carried out, it can be dealt with there. It will be out of Hawkmoth's range and she won't be able to harm her classmates more."

Mr. Damocles nodded, looking relieved. "Yes, yes. That sounds like a good idea. But..." He tapped his fingers, still anxious. "She'll still be in Paris when she finds out, won't she?"

Mrs. Rossi shook her head, her mind whirring as she puzzled together what she needed to do. As soon as this meeting ended, she would have to call both her parents and the school to make arrangements. Then- well, there would probably be more meetings with Dupont and the police to figure out the details of the punishment. She would be incredibly busy. "Once things are set up for Lila to transfer, I can tell her that we're going down to visit my parents for a weekend and then break the news there. It means that I'll have to be the one to deal with packing up her room, but I'd rather do that than have Lila akumatized again and hurt someone. I can get started on those arrangements right away."

"If you want to make any calls right now to get the process started, I can step out and let you use my office to make those calls in private," Mr. Damocles offered at once. "The sooner this is settled, the better, I think."

"Yes, yes, of course." Mrs. Rossi's head was spinning and part of her mind was absolutely screaming about how she was going to fall behind at work again, but she ignored it. There were more important things to prioritize right now, and once Lila was back in Italy, she could work as late as she needed to catch up without worrying about her daughter left alone at home. "That would be much appreciated, thank you."

"Of course, it's no problem." Mr. Damocles was standing up already, stepping towards the door. "If you need me, I'll be in the library."

"Thank you." Mrs. Rossi waited for him to step out, then pulled out her phone and dialed her mom. The phone rang once, twice, and then picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi mom, this is Elena," Mrs. Rossi said, sinking back in her chair. "I know this is an odd time of the day, but I have a very big favor to ask of you..."

  It actually took very little time to get Lila registered for her new school, her files transferred over and her behavior record caught completely up. The Dupont staff took care of briefing the staff at the other school on what Lila had done, and over the course of several video conferences they figured out fitting punishments for at least part of Lila's behavior.

Some of it, like the emotional distress and truancy, would have to be settled in court later on. But they could at least address some of the lesser offenses right away, and they could remove Lila from Hawkmoth's range before she hurt anyone else.

Thankfully, it was easy enough to get Lila to join her on a trip back to Italy. They left mid-afternoon on Friday- what Lila had told her friends, Mrs. Rossi didn't know and at this point, didn't care- on a trip to 'visit her grandparents for the weekend'. On the drive between the train station and Mrs. Rossi's parents' house, Mrs. Rossi took an early turn and pulled up to Lila's new school.

Lila's new school, which wasn't the same as Mrs. Rossi's old one. They had told her that they weren't well-enough equipped to deal with someone like Lila and had recommended another boarding school that was specifically geared towards students with behavioral problems. Mrs. Rossi hadn't been a fan at first- there was still a part of her that wanted the best for her daughter and didn't want to subject her to the sort of environment that a school for kids with behavioral problems was bound to have- but she also wasn't willing to subject any more innocent students to Lila's behavior.

Thankfully, several campus police officers had been there and on hand to help, because Mrs. Rossi had never been more scared of her own daughter than she had been in the minutes after Lila got informed that her lies had been discovered and that she was being transferred to the boarding school. She had screamed, she had thrashed, she had threatened, she had tried to bargain and persuade her mom that it was actually everyone else who was lying. Mrs. Rossi had forced herself to ignore it all, simply unloading Lila's luggage and handing it over to one of the employees who had come out to get Lila moved in before getting back in her car. Lila had raged after her, screaming that she was a terrible mother.

Mrs. Rossi had bit back the and you're a terrible daughter as she shut her car door and drove away. It wouldn't help anything, and it would just make Lila resent her more, if that was even possible. She spent the rest of the weekend with her parents before returning to Paris late on Sunday. It felt like an elephant-sized weight had been taken off of her shoulders, though there were still things that she had to take care of. She had to get caught up at work (again), pack more of Lila's things to ship down, and check in with- well, if perhaps not with Lila, then at least one of the staff at the school.

Then, of course, she had to deal with classmates that Lila had left behind. Lila's former teachers had offered to break the news to their students that none of Lila's stories had been true, but Mrs. Rossi felt somewhat obligated to fix things herself. She had ended up too focused on her work to check in with the school, too trusting that Lila wouldn't get into any trouble and would faithfully report what was going on, and the class had suffered for it.

Besides, without a daughter in the city to look after, it would be easy enough to catch up on her work on the weekend. It wasn't ideal, of course- she would prefer to have the weekends to explore the city, perhaps, or to clean the apartment or take care of the multitude of other things that had been neglected ever since their move- but it would be easy to do.

On Monday, Mrs. Rossi headed into Lila's old school. She briefly stopped by the principal's office to check in with him, and then headed to what had been Lila's homeroom. As she drew closer to the door, she was very, very glad that she had come in person.

Because just inside the door, there were a few students chatting. And the topic of their conversation was Lila.

"Wait, Lila's not coming back?" one girl asked, high-pitched and upset. "It's not just another trip?"

"No, not this time," another classmate- Alya, Mrs. Rossi was guessing, just based on what she had heard about Lila's classmates- said. She waved her phone, grinning. "She texted me last night! She apparently wasn't actually visiting her grandparents this weekend. That was just a cover! She was actually trying out for some super-secret role in a movie and she wasn't allowed to tell anyone ahead of time, because there's a lot of details that the project wants to keep secret. And she got the part! But that means that she'll be getting a private tutor while on set instead of calling us here, because her schedule's going to be so intense that it would be impossible to keep up otherwise."

...well, if that wasn't the biggest load of bull Mrs. Rossi had ever heard, she wasn't sure what was.

"Oh, I'm so excited for her, but I'll miss her!" another girl exclaimed. "Presumably she'll come back after filming is done, though? So maybe we'll be in the same lycée class!"

"And it'll be super-cool to see her movie," the first girl added. "We'll have to all go together as a class to see it when it comes out! Did she say when-?"

Alya was shaking her head. "No, it sounds like it's a longer-term project. And after this comes out- well, they're going to be working wit a lot of big names. How often do child stars come back to normal school? I bet that she'll get offers for other projects. Which- how cool will it be to be able to say that we knew her before she got super-famous?"

"I hope she doesn't forget about us when she gets famous!" another classmate chimed in, twisting around to join in the conversation. "I mean, I know she's got more important stuff going on at the moment and I don't want to distract her at all, but there were people that she said she would introduce us to and she just didn't get around to it before."

"Oh, I'm sure she remembers!" the first girl piped up again. "Maybe she won't be able to introduce people in person, but Lila's not going to forget about us. And maybe she'll even invite us to screenings or cast parties for her movies and we'll get to meet people that way! That would be amazing!"

"It would be very cool, I'm sure," Mrs. Rossi said, stepping into the classroom. All eyes swung around to her, and- oh, good, the entire class was here. "If it was at all true, which it isn't. Clearly Lila has learned nothing."

"Uh, who are you?" Alya demanded, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow at Mrs. Rossi. One row down, Adrien glanced up, caught sight of Mrs. Rossi, and immediately leaned over to whisper something to the girl standing next to him. "Lila wouldn't lie to us, not unless she had to, to keep her project secret!"

"I'm Lila's mother," Mrs. Rossi told her dryly. "And oddly enough, I think I have a better idea of what's going on in my daughter's life than you do at the moment. She got shipped off to a boarding school for children with behavioral problems because she wouldn't. Stop. Lying. The fact that she's decided to double down and make up some story instead of coming clean tells me that I did the right thing. I hear that she claimed connections with all sorts of celebrities and said she had a whole bucketful of ailments. Neither of those is remotely true."

Alya blinked, clearly befuddled. "But..."

"That's what I came in for today, actually." Pressing past the disappointment of finding out that Lila was clearly digging her heels in and refusing to change- it really shouldn't have been a surprise at this point- Mrs. Rossi strode to the front of the room. She refused to break down in front of her daughter's former classmates. She had done enough of that in her parents' house in Italy, wondering where she had gone wrong and if she would ever get the daughter she thought she knew back. "I wanted to break the news myself, so that I could be available to answer any questions you might have. So. If everyone's here, I might as well start, if that's okay with your teacher." She glanced towards Ms. Bustier, long enough to see her nod, then back at the class. "Okay. So, early last week, I first found out that what my daughter was telling me and reality didn't quite line up..."

  As soon as she finished fielding the last of the students' questions and left the school, Mrs. Rossi leaned against the side of the building with a sigh. This wasn't what she had pictured her life being, not at all. Sure, she had her dream job, and was earning enough to be comfortable, but losing her husband and having her only daughter turn out to be some sort of twisted bully, unwilling to acknowledge when she was wrong, to the point where she had to be sent away...that hadn't been in her life plan. Not at all.

But there was no point in lingering too long on that unpleasantness, especially in a city where a supervillain lurked, ready to take advantage of negative emotions. She had to focus on the positives. By coming in and telling the class the truth about her daughter's stories, she had set at least one friendship on the road to repair. The entire class would no longer be subject to the whims of a bully. And perhaps most importantly in her own life, Lila would hopefully be getting the help that she needed now, in a school that had all of the resources to address her behavioral issues and do their best to correct them.

Mrs. Rossi took one deep breath, then another, then pushed herself away from the school building to head across the street to the bakery there. She wanted to apologize to the Dupain-Cheng family for the trouble that Lila had caused them and their daughter, and then- if the apology didn't go over badly, if the Dupain-Chengs didn't blame her for Lila's actions- she might purchase a breakfast pastry to go. That would be a nice start to the day, a little bit of sugar to wake her up before she returned to the embassy and threw herself back into her work.

And maybe, by the end of the week, she would have enough time to go out for lunch again. And this time- well, hopefully that lunch out would be a lot more peaceful.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #one-shots #Lila downfall

[apossessionadaybreak]

Teacher's Day Special

Matsumoto Sensei. Base of the pine tree. Solid, stable, unmoving. A solid foundation to build upon and for unbounded growth to occur. He had been my homeroom teacher for a year now and yet I could still barely look him in the eye without fear of embarrassing myself. There was just something about him, stern features, yet his eyes were kind. He was the kind of man who you could trust, who you could depend upon. And did I ever need someone like that.

I live alone with my mother. I never knew my father, he had passed away before I was born. All I had of him were photographs and the stories that my mom told me. From the sounds of it he had been a good man but fate had not been good to him. It was difficult for her to talk about him so I didn’t ask her much but still I felt as if there was a hole in my heart, something missing from my life. I remember the day I met Matsumoto Sensei yet the emotions remain too complicated to process. Like meeting someone you had been missing your whole life. Somehow or another, life had gifted me the father I never had. I remember bowing to him and looking at his shoes, how they shimmered at me so perfectly. I longed to have him notice me, to look at my work and tell me what a good job I had done. I had worked hard all year long and yet my efforts never seemed to be enough. Even now I was struggling to keep up with his dictation, scribbling as fast as I could but always remaining just a step behind, always just out of reach. I felt tears well in my eyes as I listened to him. His voice, always so confident and deep. I closed my eyes and allowed myself a few moments to just listen to his soothing tone. I hadn’t even realised how fast my heart was beating but could feel it already beginning to slow down as I listened, allowing the sound of his words to reverberate in my mind, calming me down. I was just overthinking this, it was just a matter of mind over matter. Mind over matter, mind over matter...

I heard him call my name and I snapped my eyes open to look at him, trying to cover up the fact that I had been all but sleeping in his class. On Teacher’s Day no less, after we had just presented him our gift. But somehow things felt different, I felt too… light. Practically weightless. And the world around me seemed oddly blur, distorted, distant. I saw Matsumoto Sensei’s face grow annoyed as he raised his voice, calling my name again. I responded, or tried to but my words felt barely more than a whisper. I tried again. I was as good as mute. My hand went to my throat, and passed right through it. I saw the anger drain out of Matsumoto Sensei’s face as worry filled its place. He began to walk towards me but his movements seemed off. In fact, everyone else seemed to be moving in slow-motion. To make things even weirder, I couldn’t even feel a hint of panic, somehow my body didn’t seem to agree with how crazy my mind was finding everything. I looked down, and saw myself.

At this point I was certain I was screaming but was only met with further silence. I seemed to be dead, slumped over on the desk and yet I was also floating in the air, halfway to the ceiling. Nothing was making sense. I saw Matsumoto Sensei shake my shoulder, heard him calling my name but my body didn’t move an inch. In front of me, he checked my pulse, and started yelling to others to call emergency services, to fetch other teachers, to let people know that something was very, very wrong. I watched, frozen, as people panicked, as they moved around me, as they moved me, my body around. All I could think of was to stay by Matsumoto Sensei, he would know what was going on, he would know what to do. 

And then an odd thought came to me, and the thought became an urge, and the urge became a movement, and the movement became an action. I moved close to him and hugged him from the side, tentatively at first. I… felt, for lack of a better word, some hint of the strong muscular body he was hiding beneath his clothes. I thought I detected a scent, ever so faint, of what he smelled like. An oddly pleasant mix of coffee, paper, cologne, laundry powder. I buried my face in his shirt sleeve, relishing the brief snatches where I could almost feel what it was like. When he didn’t respond I moved my head from his sleeve to his back, pressing my face as closely as I dared against his back. I wanted to be close to him, to press myself as tightly against him as possible, to feel his warm, strong presence, reminding me that everything would be all right.

And then slowly I felt feeling return to my limbs, and it was the feeling that I had been longing for, the feeling of his clothes covering his body, how it wrapped around him and clung to him. I felt the distant pump of a heart in my ears as it grew louder, moving closer to me. I felt a surge of strength, and for a moment I felt almighty, invincible, omnipotent. I struggled to open my mouth and when I finally did I gasped, breathing deeply, hungrily sucking as much air as I could into my lungs, my chest heaving away as it worked to inhale, exhale, keep me alive. Alive. I felt so alive. I blinked, and realised that I was suddenly looking through glasses again. I felt tall, towering over the floor but not floating anymore, instead my entire body seemed to have extended to a new height that I could only have dreamed of. I blinked again and the world came back into focus, colour rapidly returning, and a face came into view. I blinked, the face seemed unfamiliar and yet I knew they were a teacher.

“Matsumoto?! Matsumoto, are you alright?!”

I blinked again. Recognition sparked in my mind and I knew they were the homeroom teacher from the adjacent class. But I had never spoken to them in my life, and why was she calling me Matsumoto? And for that matter where was Matsumoto Sensei? Her voice came again, urgent.

“Matsumoto, please respond! Let me know you’re alright!”

“Uh-.” I began. “I-.” Something felt weird, something was different about my voice, it wasn’t supposed to be so low, it wasn’t supposed to sound like… Matsumoto Sensei. 

“I-I’m alright” I managed to stammer out, the bass of my voice shocking me even as I spoke. She flashed me a concerned look. I held her steady gaze, despite everything being beyond my understanding, something in me felt, solid, stable, unmoving.

“Yes, I’m alright.” I affirmed, and somehow I knew that I was speaking the truth. I was alright. Things were going to be OK. I just needed to find Matsumoto Sensei. He’d know what to do.

She looked doubtful but turned to face something else, apparently there were more pressing issues at hand then a student who had been mute up to this point. I… was a student right? Somehow I had thought for a moment that I was a teacher, but that couldn’t be right. She walked off in a direction of some commotion and I followed closely behind her. A crowd of people were gathered around what seemed to be an ambulance, and being loaded into that ambulance, was me.

I stood there, dumbfounded. That didn’t make any sense. I tried to make my way through the crowd, but there were too many people. Suddenly a buzzing came from my pants. When had I put on such a pants and belt? This wasn’t my school uniform. This sleeved shirt wasn’t mine, it was what Matsumoto Sensei was wearing… Dazed, I pulled my phone out. But it wasn’t my phone, the model was different and the background was cherry blossoms instead of my favourite band. I looked closer to see the message was from ‘Principal Kobayashi’, asking about my whereabouts. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know. I swiped to the forward facing camera, and saw Matsumoto Sensei looking back at me.

I was stunned but somehow not truly surprised. Somehow I had known before I had seen, that somehow or another I was not myself, and that I was Matsumoto Sensei, in his body. A call came in then, from the Principal and I answered. For a moment I worried about what I was going to say but my body seemed to know, answering rapid-fire questions as I made my way to the front of the crowd. Now they readily parted for me as they saw who I was, bowing quickly out of the way. Principal Kobayashi motioned to me to get into the ambulance and I obliged. He began talking to me, asking what had happened and I told him about how I had fainted in class, how I had checked my breathing, called the ambulance. It all seemed surreal, how calm and composed I was acting but I couldn’t feel anything but, Matsumoto Sensei was an experienced teacher and I was Matsumoto Sensei. We arrived at the hospital and I followed still in a daze, absentmindedly looking at my phone now and then, seeing the same face I had come to know staring back at me in the black glass. I was Matsumoto Sensei. I was him. Somewhere inside me, he was here as well but I was the one in control. As I moved I studied my hands, studied my arms, so different from mine and yet I felt completely comfortable moving, using them. I became aware of something heavy in my shirt pocket and pulled it out to reveal the wrapped mochi we had gifted to him earlier. 

Someone was talking. They were telling me and Principal Kobayashi about how I was in a coma. Principal Kobayashi did his best to hide his shock, as he reached into his pocket to call my mother. But I was barely listening, scarcely paying attention. I was Matsumoto Sensei and I felt amazing, I didn’t want to go back, not yet. Instead, I peeled the wrapper open and took a tentative bite of the sweet dough, Matsumoto Sensei’s, my favourite. I read the note, “Happy Teacher’s Day.”

#daddy #teacher #teacher's day #male possession #long story

[gohyuck]

hi, for the dreamie drabble game; jeno with 4, 8 and 6 please ^^

based off of this post

this is highkey a ficlet because it’s 1.7k words but whatever

okay i wanna expand this and make it a full fic with a lot more detail and timestamps but idk if anyone would ever want that so lmk if you do i guess?

4: college

8: childhood friends

6:  “you used to joke calling me little brother but something changed and now you’re my girl.”

[february of 2019]

after being denied entry at not one but two frat parties (dismissed each time with ‘what kind of freshmen think they’re allowed in?’ and laughter that can only be described as mocking) your friends and you find yourselves back where you pre-gamed: the lobby of your residence hall. your RA has been turning a blind eye for quite some time (you mentally thank johnny for being the chillest person alive), allowing all of you to drink almost completely freely in your dorm’s common areas.

as you settle onto one of the beat up couches in the corner farthest away from the entrance, you can’t help but survey your surroundings. mark is getting his ass absolutely handed to him by donghyuck at the center pool table while renjun discreetly videotapes the debacle. you have a sneaking suspicion that he’ll edit it to death (you can envision it now - the camera zooming in on mark’s face after he accidentally hits the 8 ball in prematurely, colors fading to black and white as wasted swims across the screen in bold, brilliantly red letters) and post it on his growing youtube channel by tomorrow night. jaemin, ryujin, and chaeryeong are parked in front of the sole tv, hollering drunkenly at whatever game replay is flashing across the screen. yeji and chenle are bickering over something or the other - “a yellow hat? with that monstrosity of a jacket? are you out of your damn mind, zhong?” - and jisung, who, like chenle, is definitely still a high schooler, sits on his phone in a corner of the room, likely playing pubg.

even in a room full of the people you love most, however, your gaze ends up naturally falling on the person beside you - jeno, who pauses in whatever he’s doing (moving magazines off of the coffee table so he can put his feet on it) to send you a small smile that makes your heart beat out of your chest. he finishes up, setting his bottle of dos equis down on a haphazard stack of time mags before leaning back onto the couch, throwing one of his arms around you as he does. before you can say anything, he pulls you into his chest, pressing his lips to your temple.

you relax into his arms, knowing it’s exactly where you’re meant to be. frankly, you note, it’s a wonder that it wasn’t always like this.

[june of 2012]

you shift awkwardly on your feet as you wait. you chew on the inside of your cheek, you inspect your nails for dirt not once, not twice, but thrice. the door stays closed, though, and you wonder how long you have to stay before your mother calls you back.

after what feels like a true eternity, you sigh, finally giving up. just as you turn around, however, you hear the door fly open behind you, hitting a wall - or a person, you aren’t sure - with a resounding thwack that makes you wince on impulse. you turn around quickly, only to come face to face with a boy who’s wearing the most sheepish expression of all time.

“hi,” you say once you’ve regathered your wits, stepping forward to reach out your hand. “i’m (name), and i live right next door. i figured i should introduce myself, since you’re new.” a lie. your mom had noticed that your new neighbors seemed to have a kid around your age and had all but forced you to go talk to him. she seemed excited at the prospect of you making a new friend. you? you really couldn’t care less.

the boy smiles, taking your outstretched hand into his. he shakes it once, twice before letting go, and you find yourself smiling back before you can register your own reaction.

“i’m jeno,” he finally says, and a voice in the back of your mind tells you that this moment is important. you push it away. “it was nice to meet you,” he says politely, although not unkindly, and you recognize that neither of you have much else to say to each other. it isn’t an unpleasant end to the conversation, but, and you only realize this much, much later, it’s a reasonably pleasant beginning to the most important friendship of your life.

[april of 2015]

“so i went in and asked for extra credit and, surprisingly, he said y- jeno!” you reach across the table to smack your best friend’s hand away from your basket of french fries, only to hand him one of your precious fries yourself once he pouts at you. your friend felix snorts at your interaction, and you shoot him your best pissed-off glare you can muster.

“i can’t believe mr. kim really gave you extra credit, though. he’s usually kind of a hard ass.” somi brings your attention back to your story, and you nod in agreement.

“maybe he just likes (name),” jeno says, leaning across the food court table to finesse another one of your fries. “after all, who could dislike you?” he directs the last part at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes even as you smile at him.

“you’re just saying that because you want more of my fries,” you state, pulling your tray towards you. your best friend furrows his brow at the growing space between him and his (your) potatoes, but before he can say anything, hyunjin beats him to it.

“we’ll be late to the movie if you two idiots keep flirting, so let’s get a move on, maybe?”

before you and jeno can protest, the rest of your friends are already getting up to go throw away the remnants of their lunches. you simply share a look with jeno that says everything you need to say before you both toss your trash away and move to join the rest of your” friends. as you all fall into step and chatter with each other, jeno throws his arms easily over your shoulder. you fall into his side embrace naturally.

neither of you notice the glances your friends throw at you from time to time.

[january of 2017]

“are you sure you and jeno aren’t a thing?”

somi has always been fairly blunt, and you suppose you can’t blame her for something that’s so inherent. still, you choke on air, forcing daehwi to smack you repeatedly on the back until your breathing pattern restores itself. 

“god no, not at all,” you force out between wheezes. “he’s like - he’s like a little brother to me.”

“so i guess we live in alabama now-” she starts, but before she can finish her sentence, jeno drops his backpack down onto the seat next to you. 

you turn around to greet him, only to be taken aback by just how pissed off he looks. in that moment, you decide it’s better if you leave him alone, though you do make sure to tell yourself to ask him about what’s bothering him after school. after all, he’s your ride home anyways.

“can you find someone else to drive you home today? i have errands to run.” jeno asks you, abruptly pulling you from your thoughts. his voice is low, slightly gruffer than usual. whatever it is must really, really have upset him.

“sure,” you say, shooting him a smile that’s - you hope - reassuring. he doesn’t return the expression, only nodding curtly before moving to pull his notebook out of his backpack. you turn away from him as well to face the board, although you find it hard for you to focus when the teacher starts to drone on and on about l’hospital’s rule.

you started the class period with no worries, and you’re going to end it with two: is your crush on jeno really that obvious? and, speaking of jeno, what’s bothering him so much? it can’t be you, can it?

[september of 2018]

“so that’s it, then?” 

jeno’s voice is steady but as sharp as a knife, and if you weren’t so angry at him you’d stop pacing to ask him if he’s doing okay. unfortunately for both of you, however, you’re pissed. extremely pissed. at him. 

“what’s it? huh? pray, tell me, what the fuck is it?”

“our friendship. it’s over, right? ever since you started hanging out with that prick yeonjun -”

“- he’s not a prick!”

“ever since you’ve started hanging out with him,” jeno continues. “you’ve had no time for me. none! i don’t care if you don’t like me back, but at the very least it would be cool if you made some goddamn time for me!” he slams his hands onto the frame of his bunk bed to emphasize his last point, but you don’t register the noise.

he likes you? jeno... likes you?

“you like me?” your voice is soft, a direct contrast to how jeno’d been speaking only moments earlier. he whips his head around to stare at you, and you see the realization of what he’s said dawn on him.

“fuck...” he murmurs, stepping back to lean against the ladder that’s build into his bed. you take the opportunity to step forward, your chest heaving as you try to let all of your anger go as you realize why jeno’s been acting the way he has.

“i’m not dating yeonjun, by the way,” you finally say once you’re directly in front of him. “how could i, when it’s always been you?”

[back to february of 2019]

“you know, it’s kind of crazy that we ended up together now, just within the last school year, after being best friends for all these years.” you say, looking up at your boyfriend. he raises an eyebrow back at you before leaning both of you over so he can grab his beer. 

“yeah? and whose fault is that?”

“both of ours? duh?” you respond, though you know he’s only messing with you. still, he just laughs before throwing a reply back at you. 

“you used to joke, calling me little brother, but something changed and now you’re my girl.” he emphasizes ‘something’ with just the right amount of pointedness, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“yeah, that something was me confessing to you, you idiot.”

“you only confessed because i told you i liked you first!” he exclaims, and you can’t help but giggle at his antics before craning your neck to press a kiss to his cheek. before jeno can capture your lips with his own, however, you hear someone mutter a ‘disgusting’ from somewhere above you.

you both look up only to come face-to-face with renjun’s video camera.

#Anonymous #jeno #jeno lee #lee jeno #jeno scenario #jeno scenarios #jeno imagine #jeno imagines #nct #nct dream #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct dream scenario #nct dream scenarios #nct imagine #nct imagines #nct soft hours #nct dream soft hours #jeno fluff #jeno smut #nct dream smut #jeno angst #nct angst #nct dream angst

[secretlynestaarcheron]

If Hogwarts had Instagram: Cassian Takeover

(It was so hard not adding pretty detailing but I don’t think that’s Cassians vibe)

Part One

“What’s that?” Rhys says, peering over Cassian's shoulder to see what he was typing. Cassian looks back to see his friend shoving his practice jersey over his head. “Have to make your instagram stories all pretty for a certain ravenclaw?” 

Casian shoves his friend before turning back to his phone. “No, I got nominated to do a day in my life,” Cassian says, uploading the picture before tossing his phone on his bed and looking around for his own practice jersey. He finds it shoved under his bed and he lifts it to his nose, grimacing. “Besides, you have an even bigger crush on her sister, so you’re one to talk.” 

“I would hope it’s obvious I have a crush on her, she’s my girlfriend,” Rhysand deadpans. 

Cassian glares at him as he slips the shirt over his head and puts on some shoes. “You’re just jealous that no one cares about your day in life enough to nominate you,” Cassian replies, as they make their way out of the Gryffindor Common room and towards the pitch. 

Rhysand laughs, “Yeah, that’s what I am jealous of,” he retorts with an eyeroll. “I think that they really want to know if you and Nesta are dating, you know everyone thinks you two are. That’s probably the only reason they nominated you.” 

They push their way into the locker room and Cassian spots Azriel sitting on the bench tying his shoes. “Oy, Az, do you think the only reason I was nominated was because-,” 

“People think you and Nesta Archeron are dating because there is no way that two people that act the way you two act with one another can’t be dating? Yeah, I do?” Azriel interrupts, high fiving Rhysand as he walks by. 

Cassian frowns as he shoves his gear in his compartment. “Well, if that’s what they want, that’s what I’ll give them,” he mutters under his breath as he follows his friends out onto the pitch where the rest of the team and their team captain, Amren, were already waiting. 

“Nice of you ladies to finally join us,” Amren shouts as she waves them forward immediately getting into what practice would hold for them today. 

Cassian drops back down to the ground an hour and a half later next to Rhysand. “I don’t know what crawled into her pants but first sunrise practice and then a full hour of conditioning? We’re all going to come off these practices injured,” Cassian grumbles as they make their way to the locker room. 

“I told you to practice over the summer, but you were too busy following your girlfriend around to every book shop in London,” Rhysand chirps as he begins wiping down his broom with broom wax. 

Cassian makes a face at the back of his head as he slips off his shirt and begins dressing in his uniform. “What period do you have first again?” Cas asks as he straightens his tie. 

“Charms,” Rhysand responds. 

 Azriel walks in while saying, “I have a free period, I am heading to the great hall to get some breakfast and then-,” 

“Accidentally finding yourself outside the Hufflepuff common room? Or perhaps down to the herbology greenhouse?” Cas snickers. 

Rhysand reaches over to shove him lightly. “You’re one to talk, who’s your potions partner again?” he replies. 

“That wasn’t because I like her, that’s because she’s smart and “Potionsmaster Amara” already hates my guts. I can’t afford to get anything lower than an A this semester,” Cassian retorts, “It’s just smart thinking.” 

Rhysand smirks as he puts an arm around his friend as they begin making their way up the hill back towards hogwart. “Hopefully you have that smart thinking this weekend, Slytherin has to go down. I can’t take another year of Tamlin and Luciens gloating.” 

“Don’t you worry, Rhys. Those two are going down more ways than one,” Cassian retorts before they go their separate ways. Cassian towards the dungeon for potions and Rhys up to charms. When Cassian walks in everyone is already setting up their equipment. 

He moves through the table until he drops his bag on the stool beside Nes. She crinkles her nose, “Would it kill you to shower?” she murmurs, as she flips through her Potions book, stopping on a certain page before looking up at him. 

“I did take that into consideration, unfortunately I wouldn’t have made it here in time and I couldn’t deprive you of one of the only classes we have together,” Cassian retorts. “I did take your comments into consideration though and start wearing cologne.” 

She frowns, peering up at him with her bright and stern eyes. “Now you just smell like a pine tree and sweat,” she retorts sliding her book in front of him. “We are making Amortentia.” He lifts up his phone and snaps a picture of everything out on the table. “It's a love potion, you smell what you love the most- what are you doing.” 

Cassian pauses and sits back in his seat to add a caption to his phone. “Day in my life,” Cassian responds, when he looks up and sees her annoyed expression he adds, “It’s what the people want.” 

“What I want is for you to pay attention,” she retorts. “Did you listen to anything I said?” 

He sets his phone down after posting the picture. “Amortentia, a strong love potion, makes you smell what you love the most,” he retorts, giving her a half amused smile as he leans in resting his chin on his hand. “How much do you want to bet that you’ll smell my cologne?” 

She shoves his elbow causing him to slip forward, crashing against the table, just as Amara walked into the classroom. She glances over towards the noise and scowls when she sees that it is Cassian. “Mr Valeris, is there a reason for the commotion?” she asks sternly as she begins setting up her instructions. 

“Just excited to learn,” Cassian retorts and Nesta snickers. Amara doesn’t scold him anymore and claps to gain the rest of the class's attention before going into detail on the history of the potion before sending them off to try it on their own. 

Nesta gives him mundane tasks while she does the majority of the work, looking over at him at times to make sure he’s doing it correctly. “Pearl dust, Cas. Not chunks!” she scolds or “Merlin, Cas, let me know there are rose thorns littering the table please.” Or “Light stirring, not pace of a sloth stirring.”

Amara walks down the aisle of tables, critiquing the technique of the students very loudly as if to embarrass them in front of the tables around them. “Mister Velaris and Miss Archeron, how is my star pupil and my-,” she looks at Cassian, “my not so star pupil doing?” 

“I think it’s complete,” Nesta replies, sitting back and looking at the liquid bubbling in the cauldron. Professor Amara leans forward to sniff it, giving Nesta a pleasant smile. “Very good. Both of you smell.” 

Nesta leans forward first and Cassian after her. He smells coffee at first, memories of his mother sitting at the table when he was a child sipping on the dark liquid as she reads the paper, then old books, he’s reminded of the endless bookstores Nesta would drag him into over the summers and the hours they spend hidden between the shelves of the library, and then strawberries and creme, Nesta’s body wash. 

“What do you smell, Miss Archeron?” Amara asks. 

She smiles, “Buttered popcorn,” she says, squinting at the potion as she continues to think. A sad smile, “Lavender and-,” she frowns, realization dawning on her face and she looks up at Amara and sits back. “Forestry or something.” 

Professor Amara nods, “And you?” she asks Cassian, who turns away from Nesta to look at Amara who was staring at him intently. 

Cassian clears his throat, “Oh um-,” he pauses, leaning forward to sniff it once more wondering how he was going to talk himself out of having two scents belong to Nesta. He didn’t even know he was that in love with her. 

There’s a crash across the room and Professor Amara shakes her head. “You both are free to go, homework is 5inches of parchment talking about the effects of Amortenia and what you smelt.” she calls before rushing across the room. 

Cassian lets out a breath, he really got lucky there, he stuffs his supplies back in his bag. “We both have free period next want to head to the library and go ahead and knock this essay out?” he questions. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Can we stop by the kitchens? I am starving,” she asks. 

He's glad she wasn’t suspicious, at least he knew he was better at keeping it cool outside. He swings an arm around her shoulder and is shocked when she doesn’t shove it off. “Anything you want darling,” he retorts. 

She pulls out her phone as they make their way towards the kitchens. “Merlin, did someone die?” she asks, he glances down to see her screen full of notifications. Just as he looks down she shoves him away from her. “In love with you? Me in LOVE with you?” 

He laughs, “It’s what the people want!” he retorts. 

She shakes her head, grumbling something under her breath as she begins texting others. “No one wants your lies,” she replies, stepping away from him to distance herself as she texts wildly. 

She doesn’t speak to him again until they’ve grabbed their snacks from the kitchens, being chased off by house elves, and make their way to their usual spot hidden between the shelves. 

“Take it down,” she says, as she drops her bag on the table loudly. “Or I am switching potions partners. You can say goodbye to your A.” 

He shakes his head. “You are unbelievable, Archeron,” he retorts, grabbing his phone and snapping a picture of her. 

“What are you doing? That’s not taking it down,” she responds, taking a bite of her apple. 

He begins typing out a caption. “If I took it down it would look too suspicious, I am just going to clarify that it was a joke,” he retorts with a mischievous smile. 

“Put that I am not in love with and that I did not smell your cologne,” she says, pulling out a roll of parchment and her quill. “You haven’t even told me what you smelled.” 

He uploads the picture, and slides into the chair in front of her, shuffling through his own bag. “Gotta quill I can borrow?” He asks, ignoring the question.

Her eyes narrow but she reaches into the bag and hands one to him. “Thanks,” he retorts, as they both silently begin their work, he’s glad she’s dropped it now but he knows that won’t be the end of it. 

They work in silence for the remainder of the period. Nesta silently chewing on her apple as her hand moves wildly across the parchment. “Stop staring,” she says, setting her quill down and leaning back in her seat to look at him. He doesn’t have time to reply before she’s changing the subject. “Want me to edit?” 

He looks down at his paper that only talks about the first scent, he doesn’t even know what he will say about the other two. “Uh, no, I’ll have Rhys do it tonight. He’s got some quill that will edit it for you or something,” he retorts which was a flat out lie. 

She smiles and stands up. “Have him do mine too, eh?” she says sliding it over and standing up. “I’ve got herbology, you?” 

“DADA,” he retorts. 

They step out of the library, “See you around, Velaris,” she says with a wave as she makes her way to the path leading to the greenhouse. 

He begins towards the classroom, unrolling Nesta scroll to see her smells. He knew none of them correlated him to him, but he could hope. Buttered popcorn reminded her of the the endless muggle movie marathons she would have with her sisters, each of them snuggled together under a blanket with a large bowl of popcorn.

Lavender for her mother, she would use lavender scented everything. Nesta hated it growing up made her nose feel itchy but now she couldn’t get enough of it. 

Forestry, the woods outside her house where she would get lost for hours. 

All reasonable and very Nesta-like smells. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed as he rolls it up, shoves it in his bag, and stumbles into the classroom with the rest of the students sulking as he makes his way into the back. He’d never know how Nesta Archeron felt about him. 

“Where have you been?” Rhys asks as Cassian comes in that night for dinner. Cassian grumbles as he sits down putting a bunch of food on his plate. 

“Homework,” he says, it appeared every professor wanted to assign a paper or assignment, not to mention he had to proofread Nesta’s paper and read over and over again how she wasn’t in love with him like he was in love with her. 

Rhysand nods, his eyebrows pinching as if he was thinking about all the homework he had to do too. “Amren canceled practices tomorrow, supposed to be an ice storm or something,” he retorts. “Az and I are planning on having a little get together in the common room.” 

“Fire whiskey?” Cas asks. He needed that after today, maybe he will be so hung over he won’t even remember handing in his essay that practically screams ‘I AM IN LOVE WITH NESTA’ 

Rhys chuckles, “Of course,” he retorts, “Why, you need some liquid luck?” 

Cassian rolls his eyes as he takes a bite of a dinner roll. “How’s the day in the life going, Valeris?” Feyre pipes up, sitting in the open seat next to Rhysand, giving him a peck before filling her plate up with food. “Everyone keeps asking me if you and Nes are a thing.” 

“Oh yeah, they all want to know if this is going to end in you two going on a date,” Azriel says, sitting down beside Cassian and knocking him with his shoulder. Cassian frowns. “Is it?” 

Feyre shakes her head as Rhysand says, “He doesn’t have the guts, I think you should let the viewers decide.” He reaches forward and takes a phone from Cassian, snapping a pic of the hall before typing away. 

“Honestly, I just want this day to be over,” Cassian responds. “Should have never let Mor peer pressure me into doing this stupid thing, who put her in charge of student organizations again?” 

“Are you sure that's all?” Feyre asks, raising a quizzical eyebrow as she opens her pumpkin juice. “I heard you guys made Amortenia in potions class.” 

Cassian gives a half hearted shrug. “I mean yeah we did-,” he pauses, “Why do you know about that?” 

Feyre stops midswing. “Oh, um, Nes was telling me about it earlier. Ranting and such, you know how she is,” she replies, fixating her eyes somewhere else. “Rhys said you guys don’t have practice tomorrow, any plans?” 

Cassian shakes a finger at her. “Not so fast,” he retorts, “She smelled something of mind, didn’t she?” 

Feyre blinks at him. “I don’t know what you're talking about.” 

“You are a terrible liar, Feyre Archeron,” he retorts, looking around the room until he saw Nesta walking away with a few of her housemates laughing at something one of them said. He quickly gets up ignoring the protests from Feyre. 

“Nes,” he yells as soon as he gets into the hallway. She pauses looking back at him, her eyes narrowing at him as she thinks about weather to stay or not. He catches up with her before she can decide. “You smelled something of me, didn’t you?” 

She rolls her eyes, shifting the books that were in her arms to the other side, waving off her housemates who linger slightly before moving down the hall. “Does it matter?” Nesta asks, his smile falters. Of course it mattered. “You needed a poll to decide if you should ask me out or not.” 

Cassian eyebrows furrow as she pulls out her phone and holds up the screen to him. “That was Rhys, I didn’t-,” he stops when she shakes her head. He shifts his jaw as he watches her intently. 

“I am sorry, Cas. I didn’t smell anything from you. I think you can see that clearly in the essay I wrote,” she responds. “I am not your dream girl and I never will.” 

He watches as she moves down the hall without a second thought. She doesn’t even look back as she turns the hall disappearing from view. He doesn’t know how long he stood there but then Feyre comes up next to him. 

“What’d she say?” she asks softly. 

“That she didn’t smell me,” he replies, blinking as he looks down at Feyre. “She’s not the one for me.” 

Feyre takes a breath, eyes flickering to the ceiling before back to him. “I wouldn’t say that just yet, Cas,” she says, rubbing his shoulder. “She doesn’t do well with being cornered, you should know that. She doesn’t admit things easily.” 

He gives her a half smile, but his heart wasn’t in it, she lets her hand drop as Az and Rhys come barreling into the hall. Rhysand throws an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. You’ll forget all about your lady troubles in an hour or two,” he says. 

Cassian lets himself be pulled towards the Gryffindor common room, only remembering to snap a view picture to end out the night before becoming succumbed to the fire whisky. The last thing on his mind before he falls asleep is fierce green eyes and long dirty blonde hair.

#nessian #acotar #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #sjmaas #acotar instagram au #rhysand #acomaf

[adropofgoldenrachelx]

No Show - A Thread: Part One

Summary: Rachel has been a no show for a while and Toulouse shows up at her door to find out what’s going down. She tells him her story, and why she’s been hauled up inside for a week. It’s kinda sad but also it’s cute and we’re not sorry. Reply order: Rachel, Toulouse (blockquotes).

Featuring: Rachel and @beaumont-ague , Mom (Arianna) and Dad (Fredrick). Also guest appearance from Dad’s Moustache.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, flashbacks, references to past trauma as with the drabble.

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It wasn’t like Rachel to choose not to go to her classes. She hadn’t missed a single day (except for three days where she was overcome with an unfortunate flu and forced to stay in her bed) since enrollment, and by every intention she wouldn’t miss another. College had been a grand milestone in her life, after finding her freedom and spending her first two years in an intense schooling program to bring her up to the standard (or as close to) of her peers. It hadn’t been easy, given what they were working with, but she worked her butt off and was finally allowed to enrol in Redwood College when she received her high school diploma. Rachel loved learning, so much so that, after finding enough courage, she would sneak into the back of lecture halls she wasn’t enrolled for just so she could learn as much as humanly possible.

So, for Rachel to be missing from class for a day, two days, a week was strange.

She hadn’t told anyone she wouldn’t be there. It hadn’t been planned, but she had lost so much sleep lately that she slept in for her morning lecture, and then couldn’t face showing up late in the afternoon. It spiralled from there, and now here she was, cooped up in her bedroom a week later wishing she wasn’t. Artist Block she would say, all the while painting away at the mural on her bedroom wall.

It was Rachel’s father, Frederick, who answered the door. He was an imposing figure, moustached for the gods and flaunting a raised brow at the young man who had knocked looking for his daughter.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse didn’t really pay attention to who he saw and who he didn’t see around campus on a daily basis. Actually, he never really paid all that much attention to anything on campus, let alone people. He was always in his own world, rushing to classes or trying to get inspiration for a new piece. However, one person that he knew for sure he hadn’t seen in a few days was Rachel. At first, it hadn’t dawned on him that he didn’t see her for a few days. What gave it away, was the fact that he’d delivered his latest gift to her for their gift exchange, he hadn’t received one back. Even if they’d only known each other a short period of time, it just didn’t seem to be in character for her to up and quit. At least not without an explanation.

Of course, that wasn’t why he was worried or upset. He didn’t mind that she hadn’t given him a gift. In fact, he did feel slightly guilty for enjoying that he was currently winning. The lack of gifts in their exchange had simply alerted him to the fact that he hadn’t seen her recently, prompting him to ask around. Rachel was fairly popular. Of course she was, he thought to himself as he’d gotten plenty of answers when asking for her around campus. Toulouse had managed to get her address, and fortunately someone was nice enough to tip him off that her parents could be sort of… strict. How strict, he hadn’t known, but he thought it better to make a decent impression than show up in his sweatshirt and joggers that he’d been wearing to class. Substituting them for a polo with some slacks and loafers was a much better choice. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t take pride in his appearance, he really did. But, it was to be expected of a college kid to just want to get through class, and really, he didn’t have that many people to impress. Throwing on a watch and trying to comb his unruly mess of hair before leaving, Toulouse made sure to bring his phone and one of his rings, which he often used as a fidget toy. He didn’t suspect he’d need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it along. When he’d arrived at Rachel’s address -at least, he hoped it was the correct address- he was met by a rather tall man with an even more intimidating mustache. This was where his proper etiquette would come in handy. 

“Hi Sir,” he greeted the man politely with confidence. “My name is Toulouse Beaumont, I go to school with your daughter. Some of us were worried when we realized we hadn’t seen her around the campus in a few days, and were hoping to see that she was alright. I also had some assignments to drop off for her, if that’s alright?” Holding out a small stack of papers, only the top was a legitimate assignment. The rest were ones he’d made up, copying previous lesson plans he’d seen or received. Of course, no one else would know that without a very close inspection. “One we’re supposed to work on together, actually,” he added quickly after, to strengthen the chance he might get to actually see Rachel. Her father could very easily just take the papers and ask him to leave, which he had prepared for, though he was optimistic. 

—————————————————————————————————

Frederick could hardly help himself from vetting everyone that came within a ten mile radius of Rachel and their home, and had no intention of being any less intimidating when Toulouse introduced himself politely, or explained the reason for his visit. “Rachel is doing perfectly fine,” he answered, offering no further explanation to her current plight. It was none of this young man’s business, after all. “I’ll pass the a--” Frederick was soon interrupted.

Rachel’s mom had been in the sitting room reading, but emerged behind her husband shortly after Toulouse introduced himself. Arianna was a touch more savvy than her husband (though not any less protective) and knew that it was important for Rachel to still see her friends. She recognised his name after Rachel had come home from the festival gushing about paper flowers and cupcakes. Arianna didn’t have to say much to Frederick -a cough and a lifted brow was enough- before he stepped out of the doorframe begrudgingly.

“Rachel’s in her room,” Arianna offered, gesturing to the foot of the stairs. It was important to her that Rachel was treated like everyone else, and if that meant letting her friends in to see her, then so be it. The young man didn’t seem like he would hurt a fly anyway and Arianna was sure her daughter wouldn’t want to miss out on too much work. “You can head up, but knock on her door first. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll pass the assignment on for you.”

Rachel was still occupied by her painting, huddled under a quilt on the floor like she was turning into a human tent. She wasn’t sure how long she had been trying to mix this very specific shade of coral, but she had every intention of keeping at it, humming and singing and mumbling to herself to pass the time and fill the silence.

Had she any inkling that Toulouse might appear, she would have made herself look slightly more presentable, maybe even tidying up her paints and forty other hobbies and projects she had been occupying her hands (and her mind with) over the week.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse was never that great at talking to older men, and he knew the exact reason why, but he didn’t feel the need to disclose that at the moment. Fathers and father figures just weren’t a comfortable subject for him. Mothers, on the other hand, were different. He knew how to win over the heart of a mother figure. If it weren’t for Rachel’s mother sitting in the other room, he was sure that he would have to go back to his dorm and try to figure out a different way to speak to Rachel. Thank god for that, as she quickly stepped in to allow him into their home. 

With a grateful smile, Toulouse gave her a wave. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome.” If Rachel didn’t want company, he’d leave willingly. Still, it didn’t hurt to try, right? He mainly was just glad to hear that she was alright. Toulouse hadn’t completely lied when he said there was something that the both of them were meant to work on. It just wasn’t an official assignment. Rather, something to cheer her up. That was of course, permitted that she wanted to be seen. 

Taking the stairs up to the second floor, Toulouse took a guess at where Rachel’s room would be, and was just about to knock when he heard soft humming on the other side. Definitely her room, then, he thought to himself. His hand had been raised, ready to knock, though it slowly lowered as he listened to her sing more. She sounded nice, better than most people who casually sang to themselves. It may have been a selfish move, but rather than announce his presence, he stayed for a moment and just enjoyed her singing, eventually joining in subconsciously as he leaned up against the wall. 

—————————————————————————————————

Arianna offered Toulouse a sweet smile, all the while side-eyeing her husband who had puffed up his chest and was acting a little miffed. She would have a gentle word with him later, but for now they would leave Toulouse to it. Rachel’s room wasn’t terribly hard to locate, as she had started painting her door with some pretty flowers (fully intending on moving on to every door in the house when she had the time for it). 

Rachel continued to sing, none the wiser to the listening ear at her door. She liked to sing, finding it a pleasant way to fill silence. She sang in the studio sometimes, and she sang in the shower, and when she was making breakfast. It was a comfortable past-time. Of course, she didn’t always have an audience (a visible one anyway) and so the faint voice from the hallway, matching her song, caught her off guard. Dad didn’t sing (and the voice wasn’t deep enough to be Dad’s if he did). After a short continuation, to make sure she wasn’t going completely loopy and making up harmonies in her head, Rachel’s singing fizzled out.

There was a brief panic that her parents had left the house, and someone had broken into her house. (That had happened before, it wasn’t a wild conclusion to draw.) With her quilt still draped over her shoulders, Rachel grabbed the first thing at hand (thankfully not a frying pan) and crept toward her bedroom door, opening it just enough that she could see who was standing on the other side and close it swiftly if she had to.

It was a surprise (a pleasant one) to find Toulouse leaning on the wall outside her room, a stack of papers in hand (and an equally pleasant look on his face.)

Oh no. Oh no, the room is a mess! My hair is a mess! I’m holding a weapon! He’s gonna think I’m a weirdo!!!

There was no time to fix anything, so all she could do was stare dumbfounded from behind her door frame. “Hi…” Rachel managed, throwing on the closest thing she could find to a cheery smile. Should she bring up the singing thing? It was kinda cute… No, no that would be peak weirdo, he obviously didn’t know she could hear him, right..? She went for the safe option. Or rather, the obvious question that anyone who wasn’t totally freaking out right now would ask. “Uh… Come here often?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right one. 

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse wasn’t sure how long he would wait before knocking on the door. He was preoccupied listening to her sing, which was probably weird, in hindsight, but he’d deal with those consequences later. Sure enough, later came quickly, and Rachel was opening the door faster than Toulouse expected her too. Maybe he was singing a bit louder than he thought, since it seemed a little too coincidental that she would be leaving her room at that moment. 

He made no comments about her appearance, or the fact that she was only looking at him through a crack in her bedroom door. “No, actually. Not yet, at least,” Toulouse responded to her question with a chuckle. “Actually, I’m sort of surprised I made it this far. Remind me to thank your mom later.” Clearly Rachel wasn’t expecting company, and he could understand why. Anyone who knocked on the door would have likely been greeted by Mr. Moustachio, potentially with a scripted list of questions before being turned away. He wasn’t rude, just... stern, from the impression Toulouse gathered. 

It was at that moment that his eyes lowered a bit to an object that Rachel was holding in her hand. Pointing to it hesitantly, Toulouse furrowed his brows before asking, “Is that… is that a lamp?” The amount of effort it took for him to keep a straight face was almost painstaking, a smile creeping onto his face as he tried not to laugh. He sort of understood, afterall, given that he’d just been standing outside her room with no warning. “Maybe we ought to plug that in, yeah? It’d be a bit hard to read these in the dark.” He gestured to the papers in his hand. 

Mentioning the assignments was mainly so that in case her father was listening to their conversation downstairs, his story would ring true. While he didn’t want to invite himself into Rachel’s room, as that was sort of a private matter, the suggestion of plugging in the lamp and going over the papers implied that it might be easier to do so somewhere other than the hallway. 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel was kicking herself for her awkwardness, though Toulouse seemed to take her stupid question in his stride. It had hardly occurred to her that Toulouse would have knocked the front door, and that Dad would have answered it. He meant well, Rachel knew, but she wished he was less stubborn sometimes. “Oh, you made it past Dad,” she laughed apologetically. “Sorry about him, he’s kind of… He means well.”

Rachel grimaced, glancing down at the lamp in hand. What on earth was she thinking? That a lamp could save her butt? She floundered for a reasonable explanation as to why she brought a lamp with her to greet a guest at the door. “... Yes… Yes, this is a lamp. I was just-- It needed… dusting...” Yeah, that could work. She was going to dust it! The reality was Rachel was jumpy, but there was no chance she was going to explain that right now.

Wildly embarrassed at sporting the lamp, but deciding hiding behind the door was only making it worse, Rachel opened the door just enough to invite Toulouse in, still hiding behind the door itself. Now that she knew she wouldn’t have to use the lamp on him, it seemed silly to leave him standing out in the hallway. “Sorry,” Rachel laughed quietly. “Uh, you can come in just-- Ignore the mess?”

By Rachel standards, the room was a bombsite but it wasn’t nearly as messy as she thought it was. Everything had a place, and she tidied every morning when she woke up to make sure nothing was amiss. There were paints and a few sketchbooks dotted around the floor that she had been using, and a half eaten plate of cookies on her dresser as well as a few odds and ends not in their proper home. (Notably, the paper flowers Toulouse had given her at the Hootenanny had a special place on the centre of her bookcase, inside a tiny vase, and the other gifts from their competition were set out neatly on her desk by the window.) By any other standards, her room was perfectly fine but she scurried to place the lamp back where it belonged and then set about moving a few things to make the place seem more presentable.

—————————————————————————————————

This was probably the first time that Toulouse got to see Rachel’s awkward side. It was a nice change of pace, really, though he wouldn’t dare say that out loud. No, he would keep that to himself for his own enjoyment. “I can tell. It’s alright, seriously. I’d probably be a little weary too about some strange kid showing up at my doorstep.” Giving a shrug, he looked back at her with a playful grin. 

Did he believe the lie? Of course not. Did he pretend to? Yes, yes he did. “Makes sense. I usually forget to dust my lamps, but you know, too much dust could be a fire hazard. Good on you for being proactive.” Toulouse was grateful for the invitation inside, slipping past the door. Truthfully, he was pretty curious to see what her room was like. Toulouse always thought that a person’s bedroom was another outward expression of themselves, and to be invited into one was a rather intimate matter in a different way than most people would associate it. He liked his space, and only if he fully trusted someone would he ever let them into his room back home. At school, it was slightly different, but still, he liked to control who was and was not allowed to see certain things.

Immediately, he started to look around, not at the so-called mess that Rachel tried to get him to ignore, but all of the things that made this Rachel’s room. Besides, it was hardly messy at all. He noticed the paper flowers that he had gotten her, which made him smile, perhaps even more than seeing all of their little knick knacks from their gift exchange going on. Then, he noticed that Rachel was fussing about, trying to clean and organize what she likely saw as the mess she’d left behind, not thinking anyone would be over. “You don’t have to do all of that. Trust me, my room is five times messier than this when I’m home for longer than the weekend. I’ve seen far worse,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood before bringing up the serious topic. “Sorry I didn’t say anything before showing up. But, since you never returned the gift I gave you last time, I just had to come find out your excuse.” 

His words were light, and playful, and much better at bringing up the subject of Rachel’s absence than flat out asking her why she hadn’t been at school recently. It must have been a good reason, considering it wasn’t like her to skip, from what he knew about her, and the fact that she looked hesitant and possibly even scared to open her door. 

—————————————————————————————————

It seemed her Father was weary of anyone that showed up at the door looking for Rachel, whether they were rough and tumble or not, but she couldn’t blame him for it, given circumstances. Of course, Toulouse didn’t know the circumstances. Maybe if none of this had happened Toulouse could have waltzed right in. “I did tell him about you, a little, but there’s not much convincing him everyone is fine.”

She glanced at the lamp, giving it a quick dust (partly to prove the lie, mostly because Toulouse was totally right and she didn’t want the curtains catching fire.) “Yeah, it’s always the last thing to get cleaned, I guess.“ Despite the insistence that she didn’t have to tidy up, Rachel continued to do so anyway, putting things back where they were supposed to be, with the exception of the paints that she intended on using to work on her mural after Toulouse left again. If anything, it was nerves. Something to keep herself occupied with that didn’t involve any anxious tugging at her hair (her tell). Usually she was better practiced in hiding all of her messy feelings, except for those who knew her, but she wasn’t having much luck today. “At least let me clear you a seat,” Rachel insisted, lifting a few cushions to give them a good fluff before she plopped them down at the bottom of her bed. She didn’t have guests over very often, and her desk chair wasn’t the most comfortable. Cass always sat on her bed when she visited, so it didn’t seem strange to think Toulouse could do the same.

Rachel gasped with the realisation that, in cooping herself up, she had forgotten all about Toulouse’s gift. So much so that she hadn’t even thought about making it yet. Immediately, she jumped to the conclusion that he must think she was a terrible friend for not keeping the exchange going and then saying nothing to him all week. That was textbook bad friend, right? “Oh no! I-- Sorry! I forgot all about it and I haven’t made it yet but I promise I’ll return it by, like, Tuesday.”

(Toulouse, well-intentioned though he was, had picked a bad week to visit.)

“It’s just that it’s been kind of a weird week and I got… artist’s block and stuff and it went totally out of my head.”

—————————————————————————————————

It came as a bit of a shock to hear Rachel admit that she told her parents about him. Surely that was normal though, wasn’t it? To talk about your friends to your parents? Toulouse never really understood those parents who had known their children's friends for years and yet still couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. He hoped that if he were ever to become one that he wouldn’t be one of those. “Maybe he’ll warm up in time,” the blond shrugged. Not that Toulouse was planning on coming over every day, as that was a bit excessive to think about now, but still he’d hoped to spend more time with Rachel in the future, thus meaning eventually they’d probably come round each other’s homes more often. His mother would definitely be more than willing to have her over. 

Something was definitely wrong. Over the years, Toulouse had been able to pick up on habits that people tended to develop under stress or trauma, and this was giving him flashbacks. Clearly Rachel was bothered by something, and though he wanted to be there to listen to it, he also didn’t want to force her to talk about something she didn’t want to. Clearing them spaces to sit was fair enough, so he didn’t object. Before sitting down, Toulouse took his shoes off so as to not get anything dirty. 

Unfortunately for Toulouse, Rachel must have been too focused in her manic cleaning spree and overthinking that she didn’t understand he’d meant to go about it in a light hearted way. That wasn’t what he cared about, really, but he wanted Rachel to open up on her own terms. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, Rachel, really.” Anything he said however was going in one ear and out the other as Rachel continued to ramble. Finally, Toulouse just reached forward and grabbed her hands, squeezing them to get her attention. “It’s fine. I’m not worried about the gift, or how long it takes, really. Don’t fuss over it. I’ll survive another week, I’m sure,” he smiled softly, shaking his head to reassure her that he didn’t need it right there and then. 

Letting her hands go, Toulouse put them by his sides as he scooted further back onto the bed. “Everyone gets artists’ block now and then, no need to stress about it. I just meant that you haven’t been around, recently. Is everything ok?”

—————————————————————————————————

"I hope so," Rachel replied casually, truly hoping her Dad would relax a little more around any of her friends. He seemed to like Cass well enough, but Rachel guessed that was mostly because of her job. She didn't invite many other friends over, but that was mostly because she preferred spending as little time indoors as she could. Still, it would have been nice if Dad's moustache didn't turn upside down whenever he was greeted with a new guest.

Rachel was trying very hard to remain as chill as possible, and keep the freaking out to a bare minimum. Usually she was better at hiding her worry than this, or she thought so at least (but there was a lot to unpack with that, which was another thing Rachel didn't need to completely spiral over). Her smile was still genuine, thankful for the company that Toulouse offered, but it didn't quite hit her eyes in the usual sunny way. 

It felt a little like she was walking in circles, moving things here and there that didn't need to be moved and she would have kept at it had Toulouse not taken her hands, catching her off guard and stopping her in her tracks. Rachel had jumped to so many conclusions in a minute that now she felt all kinds of silly for worrying over nothing. The squeeze of their hands was just enough to halt that worry. "Are you sure..?" Rachel asked quietly, just to be totally one hundred percent sure that he wasn't actually upset about the gift thing.

It was an instinct to twist the ends of a lock of hair when he let go, rapping it absently around her fingers as she sighed onto the free space on the bed. She didn't think anyone would notice her absence enough to wonder where she was, let alone come to check up on her. Rachel hesitated too long to reasonably answer yes to Toulouse's concern. Artist block wouldn't cut it. Would a proper explanation do any better though? Rachel wasn't sure what she could even say without the risk of Toulouse freaking out too.

"I've been worse?" Rachel admitted finally, a grimace masked by a bashful laugh. "It's… hard to explain. I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone, I'll be honest. I just… I mean, I wanted to go to class but I just couldn't, I guess. I don't know." 

—————————————————————————————————

As someone who was used to having his own difficulties with anxiety, Toulouse understood that Rachel was probably just acting on those impulses, which was why he didn’t try harder to stop her from running about and cleaning. Sometimes you just had to get it out of your system, and he understood that. Control what you could, and confront what you couldn’t. Only, it was the confronting part that he was worried about for her. Had she even taken the time to sit down and process why she had been missing classes? He didn’t know the reason himself, but he hoped that she did, and would understand why that was.

Grateful that catching her hands seemed to calm her down at least a little bit, he nodded casually with a smile. “Absolutely. Besides, you know you never even had to get me one in the first place. I haven’t been expecting any of the ones you’ve given so far. Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d give up one day, ‘cause that’d mean that I won,” he teased, laughing as she sat down on the bed.

Anything was hard to explain when it came with emotional baggage. Toulouse was sure that he could handle it, though, after years of practice. “Try me. I bet you I’ve heard stranger stories.” When she mentioned not assuming anyone would notice she was gone, however, Toulouse took that a bit personally. He didn’t show it of course, but the personal offence was only because he really didn’t think Rachel was being as kind to herself as she could be. “How could someone not? I mean, you’re probably one of the most outgoing people who go to that school. It’d be stupid for no one to notice.”

Laying down on his side, Toulouse propped himself up onto his elbow, his gaze softening as he looked to her to continue speaking. He wanted to know as much as she would tell him, but didn’t push too far. “That’s understandable, I mean sometimes we all need a break to deal with emotional things. Do you think talking about it might help? I’m a great listener, if I do say so myself,” he humbly bragged, trying to get her to smile. 

“Or, if you’d prefer, I can ask you questions completely unrelated to any of that, and try to take your mind off of it? I have the perfect one to start,” Toulouse assured. “For example…” His facial expression suddenly got quite serious, leaning in slightly toward her as if to tell her some sort of precious secret. “How long did it take your dad to grow that moustache?” He couldn’t even keep a straight face as he nearly burst into laughter, shaking his head. “But really, I have to know! It’s quite impressive.”

—————————————————————————————————

Glad that Toulouse wasn’t fussed about the gift, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to worry about. That being said, there was no way she was not going to give him a gift at some point just because she was feeling down. It was a competition, after all. Rachel wasn’t a quitter. “Sorry, you haven’t won yet. This is just a momentary interlude.”

“Trust me, you really haven’t…” Rachel insisted through an awkward laugh, running her fingers through her hair. She would be willing to put a bet on it, actually. If it wasn’t her own story, she would have thought the whole kidnapped as a baby, raised by a fake ‘Mother’ in isolation for nineteen years, then rescued by some dude who eventually abandoned you and became your art teacher four years later all while coming out relatively unscathed thing was totally made up. Truthfully, it had been suggested to Rachel that she didn’t bring it up as flippantly as she had done when she was first introduced to the outside world and now she wasn’t really sure if she should bring it up ever. She said nothing to the fact that people might actually notice if she was gone, shrugging it off to avoid arguing another case against herself.

“I’m not sure if I should,” Rachel admitted meekly. It might not do any harm, or it could tarnish Flynn’s newfound reputation. Rachel held her breath when Toulouse leaned in like he was about to tell her a secret, and snorted a laugh when his question came. It was a totally unexpected one. “He does have a very impressive moustache, doesn’t he?” Rachel nodded, relaxing just enough to keep laughing. “He’s had it as long as I’ve known him. I think he even had the moustache on his wedding day.”

A distraction would have been welcome, but it also could have been part of the problem. Everything previously scattered around her room had been a distraction, as was the current patch of wet paint on the wall, and the five batches of cookies she had baked for everyone at the precinct, and everything else she had done until she couldn’t take it any longer. Rachel desperately wanted the distraction Toulouse was bringing in making her laugh -Cass would have insisted she face the problem head on instead- but if Toulouse had any intention of sticking around, it made sense that he would have to know what was going on.

Rachel hesitated for a moment, looking rather serious as she looked for any sign that Toulouse would nope on out of the conversation the moment he realised just how much baggage she was about to unload on him. He seemed trustworthy enough, but that kind of thinking had gotten her burned before. “Can I trust you?” she asked. It seemed the simplest way of knowing. She didn’t think he would lie. “I mean, I probably should actually tell you some things if we’re going to be friends and all that but if I tell you, you have to promise not to freak out.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse had to admit by now that he was curious. What could be so mind boggling that Rachel seemed to think he would find her crazy. He had his own fucked up past, sure, and knew very well that most people did. For whatever reason that just didn’t seem to fit Rachel’s personality. For someone so nice to have such dark secrets… it was both scary and intriguing. “Hey, I understand. Trust me, I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to make you talk about it.” 

Hearing Rachel laugh was possible one of the best sounds he’d ever heard. The worrying after not seeing her for a week or so had been dialed down once he made it past her front step, but making her laugh made it worth the concern. “Do you think it takes a lot of effort to keep it looking so nice? I mean, one could only imagine,” he continued, chuckling to himself as they joked around. The joking didn’t last forever though, and by the expression change on Rachel’s face, he wondered if she was going to start opening up more. 

Had Rachel not looked so serious, Toulouse might have answered somewhat sarcastically. But with Rachel, his sarcasm meter was usually lower anyway. So instead, he gave her a reassuring nod. “Of course. I trust you, so I hope you would be able to trust me. Here, give me your pinky.” Toulouse shifted closer to her, sitting upright on the bed with his own pinky extended. “Have you ever heard of a pinky promise? They can never be broken, so that means they’re extra special,” he explained with a smile.

Toulouse took his pinky promises very seriously. Hopefully Rachel would too, since this was the best way that he could think of to ensure she trusted him. “You should never make a pinky promise if you plan on going back on your word. So, I’m going to pinky promise to you, that whatever you tell me, anything at all, whether it be that you have an evil twin, or like… you hate coffee or something ridiculous,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, I pinky promise I won’t freak out, and that you can trust me with anything.” 

—————————————————————————————————

“Don’t tell him I told you, but he spends ages in the bathroom preening it.” A sincere smile swept Rachel’s features as she looped Toulouse’s pinky around her own. Rachel never broke a promise. She liked having a signifier of trust here. “Thank you,” she replied gently and could only hope he meant it.

Rachel took a deep breath; it was mostly to steady herself, but it was also a preparation for the long, rambling story she was about to tell. She supposed the best way to go about telling the story was to just let it all out in one fell swoop. The quicker it was out, the quicker it was done and the quicker Rachel could shrug it all off like none of this was really that big of a deal. 

“Okay, so,” she began, pushing her hair back from her face. Just rip the bandaid off. “I’m a-- I was a Milk Carton Kid. I was kidnapped when I was a baby, and raised by a woman who I thought was my mother. She homeschooled me, sort of, and said that there were people out there-- out here-- that would want to hurt me, or steal me. That I had to stay inside the house, with her, so she could protect me.”

Rachel took a pause, glancing carefully at Toulouse. Any sign of a freak out and she would end her story there. It had been the easy part for Rachel to tell, but it also happened to be the part of the story that made most people uncomfortable. Still, Toulouse promised not to freak out, and Rachel was going to hold him to it. She went on but her stomach was starting to turn itself in knots again, and the fingers through her hair found a lock to tug at.

“‘Mother’ was the only person I knew for my whole life, and she never let me-- I never-- I thought everything outside of my home was dangerous and scary, and that the ruffians and thugs would probably get me. I had thought about asking her to take me to see the lights for my birthday a few times, but something always came up so we never did… Um, but anyway, one day when ‘Mother’ was gone someone broke into our house, not realising I was in there, and I obviously totally freaked out and hit him with my frying pan because I’d never seen a grown man before.” 

(At this, Rachel hoped Toulouse had forgotten about the lamp.) 

“When he woke back up… I asked him to take me with him. I wanted to see the lights on my birthday, and he agreed to take me there and bring me back in one piece.”

Here, Rachel hesitated. She had lost so much sleep in the past few weeks over the next part of the story that she could feel the knots tightening, and her eyes starting to sting at the corners. That would surely be enough for Toulouse to process for a moment while she swallowed the horrible feeling.

—————————————————————————————————

When Rachel started to tell her story, Toulouse used all of his focus to make sure he was giving her his undivided attention. He could tell as soon as she started that it was a very emotional story. What he didn’t expect however was just how traumatizing it was going to be. Not wanting to be disrespectful by interrupting, Toulouse let her get everything out, hoping it would help her from stopping and creating awkward silences. Watching her body language, it was obvious that the topic was uncomfortable to talk about. For that, he commended her greatly. 

As soon as she did pause, Toulouse jumped into the conversation so that she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. He had promised not to freak out, and though all of this was pretty freak out worthy, he wasn’t going to break his promise. “Wow… so you’ve only really been home for a few years? That’s… well, I couldn’t even imagine.” For Toulouse, his family meant everything. To think that Rachel was raised from such a young age to find out that her mother was just some deranged lady who’d kidnapped her? He wouldn’t have known how he’d react. No wonder she was having so many emotions the past week. Not to mention she’d robbed Rachel of things like basic human knowledge. To have never seen a grown man before sounded almost impossible. 

“So… you saw them, then? And what happened after that? I mean, obviously you found your parents eventually.” Toulouse could see she was hesitant to continue. Pausing for a moment, he shifted his positioning on the bed to get more comfortable and turned to her. “You don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want to. It’s just- I know what it’s like. To you know, go through something pretty traumatic.” He didn’t want to unload all of his trauma on her, especially not when this was supposed to be a safe time and place for her to tell him what was on her mind. Rachel deserved to tell her story with no judgement and no diversions. 

—————————————————————————————————

“Four years this month,” Rachel admitted quietly, a strange melancholy lingering in her chest. It felt like much longer, and somehow like no time had passed at all. Until recently, Rachel thought she had been doing just fine settling in. She had been doing just fine. No one had counted on her past bumping into her on the streets. Rachel didn’t expect Toulouse to understand what any of this had been like. Hell, she hardly expected him to believe her at all, what with how outlandish it must have sounded. But he hadn’t ran yet, and he hadn’t freaked out, like he promised. For that Rachel was thankful. So for all it was uncomfortable, she thought it was best to continue and leave nothing up to speculation.

“I did see the lights...” she replied, watching Toulouse carefully as he shifted on the bed. For the most part, Rachel had kept herself rather close, a knee pulled up to her chest, a comforting arm around it. There was an ever present twisting of her hair. She took another pause from her story to offer Toulouse a genuine, heartfelt smile, finding some sort of comfort in his reassurance. “Thank you, Toulouse…”

Determined not to hesitate again, Rachel buried her discomfort and went on. “It gets kind of complicated after that. Or more complicated, I guess. After we saw the lights, Fl-- the man was supposed to take me home, but he didn’t. He, uh… He brought me here, to Redwood Hollow instead. He left me at the Police Station without an explanation and I thought I would never see him again.”

“I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t know I was missing. My birthday wasn’t even my real birthday. And suddenly they were asking all these questions, trying to get me to prove that I was this missing kid and before I knew it I was meeting my real parents and testifying against ‘Mother’ in court even though I barely knew what she had done wrong. Then they realised that I knew literally nothing, and I had to go on this schooling program just so I could maybe go to college one day…”

Of course, this explained a few things, but she didn’t think it explained why she had been skipping class, and at that thought the tears sprung from her eyes. “Sorry… This is definitely not what you signed up for.”

—————————————————————————————————

Four years. Four years! Toulouse couldn’t even imagine being away from home for one let alone four. Then again, Rachel hadn’t even known that the home she was living in wasn’t home. She hadn’t suspected anything at all until that day, and even then, she had no clue what was going on. Toulouse’s head was spinning as she told the story, it getting wilder and more complicated as she told it. Honestly, he wasn’t shocked that she remembered it all, but he was surprised that she was willing to tell it. 

“Wait, so if you really had no idea that you weren’t with your actual mother until this man showed up, did he recognize you? You know… after he regained consciousness,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, it’s good and all that you weren’t hurt, but that part is sort of suspicious that he would just agree to take you somewhere. Especially since he broke into the house not knowing you were there.” 

It was definitely a lot to unpack. Toulouse had a hard time imagining Rachel trying to process it all back then, especially since it must have been one hell of a shock. “I mean, I signed up to listen, didn’t I?” He reassured her. After a moment, he shook his head though. “Damn… I mean, I just can’t imagine what that must have felt like.” Running a hand through his hair, Toulouse sighed, looking back at Rachel. “I’m guessing there’s more, though, right? I mean, if that was all the past, what’s been happening now?” 

Before she could even respond, Toulouse held up a hand. “Wait,” he hesitated, laying down on the bed on his side and motioning for her to do the same. “Might as well get comfortable, right? Okay, I’m ready.”

—————

All Rachel could do at the question was shrug. By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense, but it had been advised that Rachel didn’t dwell too long on Flynn’s true intentions. “I guess he must have recognised me or something,” she replied, pulling some hair away from her neck to show a small, dark mark behind her left ear. “I have a birthmark shaped like a sun behind my ear, and I look a lot like my Mom when she was a teenager. He probably heard about the reward and when he realised who I was… It was a lucky fluke.”

A nod of her head followed when Toulouse asked if there was more. They were up-to-date and now the whole reason she hadn’t been in class was looming. All that other stuff had been easy in comparison to admitting that things weren’t going so great now. 

Rachel froze with her mouth drooped open, paused before the answer could find her tongue. Her eyebrow raised as Toulouse held up his hand and he proceeded to lie down, and she almost assumed he was preparing for a nap at how boring he was finding her story. But then he went and made her laugh quietly despite her nerves and in spite of her tears. She didn’t move immediately, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, and then with a sigh she lay down on her side, propping herself on her elbow to mirror him.

“I thought I was actually doing okay until, like, a week ago…” Rachel admitted through a sniffle.

She had to think of the best way to word this part of the story. Obviously Toulouse would know who Mr Rider was, and the last thing she wanted was for any of this to taint his opinion of him. For all he had hurt her, for all she was now convinced he hadn’t cared about her at all, Rachel still thought there was good in him, and that he deserved to be treated as fairly as anyone else. With a defeated huff, she plopped down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, half-way painted with the beginnings of a new mural.

“So, you know the man that found me? I haven’t seen him since he left me at the station four years ago. And then just before the Hootenanny I bumped into him on the street and it was like-- I don’t know, it was like nothing had happened, and obviously I was kinda surprised but I thought that was the end of it until he, like, showed up at college.” Rachel took a moment to steady herself, in between speaking a mile a minute and crying more than she wanted to. When slightly less frantic, she glanced at Toulouse out of the corner of her eye. “You know Mr Rider, the new art teacher..? That’s him. He didn’t even say anything and I’ve just been pretending we never met because I thought I would be fine, ‘cause he seemed fine. And Cass was like oh you should tell the school and get a new teacher, it’s bad for you to talk to him and I was like no, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen! And now… Tada! I wanted to go to school, I really did, but I just-- I couldn’t get past the driveway.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could see there was a look of confusion on Rachel’s face when he asked her to wait a second. For a moment he wanted to apologize and reassure her it wasn’t a bad thing, but she seemed to come around quick enough. He could tell that she was a little emotional about all of this, but didn’t comment on it as he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. She didn’t have to hide the fact that she was upset around him, but he did feel bad that this had impacted her so greatly. “So what happened a week ago then?”

Watching her carefully as she fell on the bed, Toulouse wondered what she was thinking about. He took the opportunity to follow her gaze to the start of a beautiful painting. Smiling to himself, he turned back to give her his attention, and just in time, it seemed. When he heard the name of the man Rachel had been talking about, Toulouse nearly sprung up out of the bed. But, he had promised to keep it together, thus the most he gave in response was a wide eyed stare. “No… no way. You’re serious?” Mr. Rider had seemed cool enough, Toulouse thought, though he always got along better with his female teachers. Of course, he hadn’t really put in the effort to get to know him, but now he kind of felt like he did. At least, a part of him. 

“Wait, so Mr. Rider broke into your house? And then was still allowed to teach? How does that make any sense?” That was probably the most confusing part about all of this. Toulouse was raised with the knowledge that there were people in the world who committed crimes, but those crimes had always been followed with a consequence. Then there was the conflicting opinion of Cass, who he didn’t really know, but he had to admit they had a point. Clearly it wasn’t good for her mental health to be seeing him this soon. Not out of the blue, anyway. 

“No one is going to think less of you because you missed school, Rachel. It’s okay to take that time that you need.” Rachel was still at a very vulnerable part of her life. Toulouse recognized that, and wanted to make sure she knew that it was okay. But also, he just really wanted to give her a hug. Debating it over in his head, he finally said fuck it, why not? and decided to offer one. Nudging her gently, Toulouse motioned for her to come closer, holding his arms open. “You look like you need one,” he offered, rather meekly. 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel waited for the penny to drop, for Toulouse to lose his mind over the ordeal. Continuing the absent twist of her hair, she could see out the corner of her eye the look of total disbelief written across his face. “Mmhm. Deadly serious.”

In Rachel’s head, the whole breaking-and-entering thing was a total non-issue. She had learned enough of Flynn’s history to know why he had been breaking into her house in the first place, and by the time they were off to see the lights that detail was all but forgiven and forgotten. Cass freaked out about it because she was a police officer, so of course that made sense, but at this point Rachel couldn’t see what the big deal was about a previous thief teaching an art class. (Her judgement was quite clearly skewed in the wrong direction, it seemed.)

“Everyone gets really hung up on that part…” Rachel muttered incredulously, already having logiced her away around the dissonance of being terrified of ruffians and thugs and completely sympathising with one. She was blissfully unaware that he had done jail time for his crimes too.  “I don’t know, I guess he was just going through a rough patch a few years ago? I mean, it was petty theft. It’s not like he killed anyone.”

Rachel sniffled a few more times, and though she wasn’t totally okay, she managed to pull herself together just enough to stop sobbing. “I know…” she replied quietly. “It’s just that-- I don’t know… It’s a whole mess.” She would have lay there moping for a few more minutes had it not been for the nudge from Toulouse, which took her by surprise. With his arms open, she hesitated (Rachel never asked for hugs no matter how badly she wanted or needed one). “I do kinda need one,” Rachel admitted finally, giving a thankful smile before she scooted close enough for a good old hug. “Thanks…”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could tell that she was dismissive about it. Though he didn’t want to pick an argument by trying to explain that any crime was still a crime, he also worried about her judgement of character. Deciding that wasn’t the focus of the conversation, he let it go. Obviously the college would have looked into it, right? So it was probably fine. At least, he was going to say it was for now. “Yeah.. you’re probably right, it’s probably nothing…” Even if it was just nothing, Toulouse wanted more information. For now, getting to lay down with Rachel and just comfort her would be enough. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he hummed, giving her a comforting squeeze. Besides, a good cuddle was always the best kind of thanks, really. Of course he couldn’t say that out loud —at least not yet. Toulouse didn’t break away from the hug just yet, wanting to enjoy the moment a bit longer. “But I mean… if you really want to thank me, I’d take a look at the papers I brought you. Some of them are boring school work, but a majority are fun. I made some up, and some are just fun things to do when you get bored of just sitting at home,” he explained, letting her go from the hug with a playful smile. 

“I don’t know if there was more I need to hear about, but if you want, we can take a break,” he offered. Rachel seemed to be pretty drained emotionally, and he didn’t want to push her further. “Can I ask you a silly question, though? Had you really never seen a man before? I mean, that’s pretty crazy,” he said with a chuckle. “Most of them aren’t that exciting, though, so you didn't miss much.” 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel hoped it was nothing; she couldn't take any more curveballs at this rate. (Admittedly though, if one good thing came of this, it was that Toulouse threw a soft curveball by showing up, like a weird, cuddly saving grace.)

Just as apologising had become a force of habit, it seemed thanking people for tiny things was right up there beside it, and she had to actively think about not saying sorry for saying thank you. Her curiosity piqued at the mention of the things Toulouse has brought, pulling back just far enough to give him a flash of her raised eyebrow. She had all but forgotten he had something in his hands, you know, because she was so preoccupied with the lamp and all… "What's in the papers?" she asked, wondering if some of it was missed homework and what on earth he could have made up.

“A break would be nice. I think that’s everything…” Rachel sighed, a strange feeling of relief finally hitting her. A faint blush crept its way across Rachel’s cheeks as she nodded in admission. She wished she had been making it up, but Rachel hadn’t even laid eyes on the Postman. The house had been surrounded by a great deal of trees and high hedges, and a wall that was supposed to be unscalable. The Postman left letters in a postbox outside the garden gate, and Rachel had been forbidden from collecting any mail until the late afternoon, when he was long gone. “I wish I was kidding,” she laughed bashfully. “I mean, I’d seen men in, like, pictures in books and sometimes on TV and stuff, but never in person. I think everyone is a little bit exciting, but I don’t exactly have much to draw from.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Some missed assignments, nothing too major. Plus you have an extension to do them. I had to ask around a bit, but everything should be there,” Toulouse explained. “The ones that are made up were just in case your dad tried to take them.” Chuckling slightly, he shook his head, turning to look at her. He was glad that Rachel agreed to take a break, though he knew that sometimes when people got into slumps like this, taking a break only made them feel worse. Fortunately Toulouse was always good at making them fun. “Some of the activities are things like watching a bad movie on purpose, baking, trying a new skill, helping Toulouse with an art project, you know, just fun stuff.” 

That last activity he’d slipped in there purposely, hoping that it would peak her interest. He wanted to collaborate with her on something, if she was willing. Of course he hoped she was, otherwise he wouldn’t have put it in there, but that meant he would once again have to get past her father. Unless he came at a time the man wasn’t home; her mother seemed much more accepting of strangers into their home. 

Toulouse couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the idea of never having seen the opposite sex in person. “What about when you went to the doctor? Grocery shopping? A taxi? Surely you had to have at some point,” he further investigated. Rachel made a fair point, he supposed. There were plenty of things that each person had that might have been exciting, but as far as men go, Toulouse wasn’t very impressed. “Do you think I’m exciting?” he teased, his lips quirking into a half smile as he waited for her to answer. The feeling was mutual, if her answer was yes. Toulouse found her very exciting. Just then, the sound of the doorknob turning caught his attention as he directed his gaze toward Rachel’s door. 

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“You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Rachel replied quickly, hoping that her absence hadn’t been too much of a burden on her friend. She was quite sincerely touched by the gesture and the effort, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone to go out of their way for her, friend or not. “I promise my Dad isn’t that scary once you get to know him,” she insisted, though she couldn’t completely understand why Toulouse might think he would take the papers away.

“Those definitely sound like you made them up,” she laughed quietly. Fun, yes! Not real assignments? Definitely. Luckily for Toulouse, Rachel was as naive as the day was long; his not-so-subtle hints, that would have been obvious wink-wink, nudge-nudges to everyone else, went right over poor Rachel’s head and she took the bait without even realising it. “An art project?” she asked, thoroughly interested.

It occurred to Rachel that Toulouse probably didn’t realise the extent of I Never Left. She genuinely hadn’t seen another human being because she genuinely hadn’t been allowed to leave the gates of the house. “Nope. I didn’t get to go to any of those places. I… couldn’t leave.” Now, for some reason, Rachel was blushing furiously. Her only ideas as to why was being embarrassed about the not leaving thing. It obviously had nothing to do with Toulouse asking if she thought he was exciting. “I might,” she replied, trying to play it cool. She didn’t have time to offer further explanation before her bedroom door opened.

Dad’s moustache peeked around the door, the rest of his head following quickly after. He looked just as gruff as when he had answered the door, his brow pulling together when it was apparent the pair were sitting far too close for comfort on the bed. Rachel paid it no mind, and threw on her usual sunny smile (hiding the fact she had been crying moments prior).

“Your mom said I should bring you snacks…”

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End of part one.

#rachel #toulouse #no show #part 1 #the formatting of the replies from the doc hasn't transferred over but i'll fix that later #panic attack tw #flashbacks tw #abuse tw #trauma tw #also this is long lol soz