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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch Pt 7

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Chapter warning: Another long chapter everyone! Thanks so much for your patience. Trigger warnings: emotional numbness, sensory overload, PTSD-like symptoms (anxiety, fear, nighmares/flashbacks).

Recommended Chapter Song: Paralyzed by NF

Part 1 Part 6

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 7 – Aftermath

Dabi woke from a dreamless sleep, his body stiff. Disorientation fogged his mind as he tried to place where he was, his eyes bleary. The view of his window, the dark curtains hanging with a heavy stillness, came into focus as his blurred vision dissipated. The angle of them seemed… off. He turned his head slightly, the metal frame of his bed level with his gaze.

He sat up, his hand cradling his head, as he took in his surroundings. He was on the floor, a pillow behind him where his head had rested. His blanket was a messy heap next to him. He had no recollection of how he ended up there.

Dabi stared around his room, noting the time of day from the light through the window – mid-afternoon. There were items scattered around his room. Water bottles everywhere, a box of crackers on his nightstand, a ripe banana on his desk that was covered in little brown spots, and cans of soup.

Hunger hit Dabi like a truck, the need for food primal. He pushed himself up off the floor and opened one of the cans of soup, drinking straight from the container. It was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter. He followed it up with the banana, gone in a matter of seconds. There was no joy in the food; just a basic need to quell the emptiness in his gut. He grabbed a water bottle and quenched his thirst

Then, he sat on the edge of his bed, and did… nothing. His eyes stared ahead in a dead gaze.

Time lost its meaning. Existence meant nothing. He sat, unmoving, his mind frozen, thoughts empty.

Minutes passed into hours.

It wasn’t until dusk began to fall that something began to shift in him. Awareness slowly crept on him, his consciousness dragged out of a grey bog. Time gradually returned, and a single thought surfaced in his mind.

Something was wrong. Something was… missing, but he couldn’t place it.

He looked around his room with empty eyes, seeing everything but observing nothing. It was his room. He knew that. But nothing in it mattered.

He stared at the box of crackers on his nightstand.

Something… happened. Last night. He tried to recall what it was. Half-formed images floated to the surface of his mind, hazy and blurred. Pills swirling down a toilet, a lake dock, sitting on the floor of his shower, your face.

He looked down at his clothes. Was this what he was wearing before? It didn’t seem right.

More images drifted to the surface. His bathroom door framed in yellow light. A water bottle. Your hands. It was like having mismatching puzzle pieces, with half of the box missing. Nothing quite fit together, and he couldn’t remember what the picture looked like.

Before he could dwell on them, deeper, more ingrained images came to his mind. His mother’s face. His father’s eyes. Dabi’s mind paused, focusing on them, waiting for a reaction that never came. For the first time, they stirred nothing in him.

Realization slowly dawned.

He just didn’t care.

Dabi felt nothing. For anything. He was dead inside, his soul a black void where emotions were supposed to be. Even his rage was silenced – the one thing he never let go of, the one thing that defined him. But now, he felt not even that. He had no purpose, no intentions, no motivation.

He sat silently, aware of what was missing, and yet the severity of his predicament eluded him without his emotions to guide him. His mind was intact, but it was a barren wasteland, devoid of color and meaning. Thoughts still ran through his mind, but they were only facts, script on a page. Perhaps he should be concerned. Or maybe even elated, no longer weighed down by his demons. But instead, he felt what could only be described as a gaping maw of emptiness. He could feel the pull of it, a heavy gravity that needed to be filled with something he didn’t have and couldn’t find.

Why? Why was he not feeling anything?

Had he finally gone insane? His mind so broken that he’d officially shut down? He’d gone through withdrawal before, but nothing as severe as last night. But even despite all he’d been through, he’d never been able to completely turn off his feelings like this, especially without drugs.

No, this was something else entirely.

Dabi sat there in silence, taking in every sensation, every aspect of his physical self. It had been probably over twelve hours since he threw up the pills he stole. He should still be struggling with the pain of his scars and the withdrawal. But there was nothing. There was no pain at all. He stared at his hand as his eyes followed the staples along the bottom of his palm. A vague memory of your fingers brushing along his skin drifted up from the cloudy depths. The faint echo of your voice followed.

‘Let me help you.’

This…emptiness…must have something to do with you. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Maybe if he talked to you, perhaps you could explain it to him. Maybe then he’d understand. Maybe you could fix it.

Then maybe… this emptiness would go away.

But Dabi couldn’t find the motivation to get up. Instead, he stayed rooted to his bed, his eyes taking in his surroundings a second time.

His bathroom door was open, and he could see the toilet and sink from where he sat. Flashes of memory flitted through his mind before he could barely register them. The sight of the toilet bowl filling his vision, partially dissolved pills floating in yellow bile. Pills falling from his cupped hands, clattering across the floor. The memory of sitting on his shower floor returned, this time accompanied by the sound of someone humming.

So many broken pieces…

He spotted the hamper, filled with dirty towels; some of them weren’t his. Another memory trickled forth, clearer this time – sitting on the toilet, a towel over his shoulders while someone – no, you – dried his hair for him.

‘I won’t look.’

Another piece of the puzzle. But where did it fit in the twisted, spotty timeline of last night? It must have been after the shower. And the humming… did you sing to him? Or was that part a dream? Some of them had to have been dreams, or maybe hallucinations. His mother, for example, wearing a white dress. His mind began sorting fact from fiction, and slowly the story started to take shape. The vomiting was first; he had stolen your pills. That much he could remember – it was the clearest. Then came… the shower, perhaps. Then you must have dressed him and treated his scars. What happened after that? He couldn’t seem to remember. All that kept coming to mind was his father’s eyes.

Dabi sat with the stillness of a statue while his mind continued to dissect what he remembered, his original plan of seeking you out momentarily forgotten. The more he thought about it, the more he realized – you were there through everything. You were there for the vomiting. You had showered him, dried him, and dressed him. You cleaned up after him, and made sure food and water were brought in for him. You even used your quirk to help with his pain. Each piece of the puzzle somehow connected back to you. You were there for every moment, every step.

You never gave up on him.

Something deep within him began to stir, a part of himself that was normally kept under lock and key by the dark parts of himself. It was something he had very little experience with, an emotion that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was a young boy. A… warmth. It came slowly, timidly, barely recognizable at first, disguised as a gentle ease in the set of his shoulders and the smallest curve of his stoic lips.

Whatever you had done with your quirk was starting to wear off. Dabi was starting to feel again.

The warmth trickled in, the only thing that could fill that empty chasm in himself, and he clung to it in desperate need. Life was beginning to have meaning again… he had meaning. Before, nothing mattered. Now, everything mattered.

When was the last time someone had looked out for him so selflessly the way that you did? How long were you with him? The entire night? His mind played over the memories of you that he could recall. You were gentle. You were patient. You stayed because you cared and because despite what he’d done, you knew that he needed you.

The warmth continued to grow, bringing a sense of safety that he didn’t know was absent before. It settled itself comfortably upon his heart like a dove, as if it had always belonged there, the soft gentleness of it stunning him to the point of breathlessness.

For the first time in forever, he felt… loved.

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a river. His heart tightened, his breaths coming out in heavy gasps. He was so consumed by the impact of what he felt, that it wasn’t until he felt the droplets falling onto the backs of his palms that he realized he was crying. He welcomed it, letting the waves crash over him, the turbulent force of this single emotion reaching every dark crevice that ever existed in his labyrinthine heart. It consumed him in its purity, unfettered by the darkness that normally lurked in his soul.

A heavy need forced itself to the forefront of his mind, to seek out the source of this emotion, the reason for its existence. He knew it instantly – it was you. He wanted to see you, to be in your presence and hear your voice. He wanted to see you smile. He wanted to feel your touch, not for your quirk, but simply to feel the softness of your hands, to feel wanted, to know that he was worth touching. He wanted to touch you too, to wrap his arms around you and feel your warmth, to press his forehead against yours and…

Dabi hesitated, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as his tears dried on his cheeks. What is this??

He wanted….

He wanted you.

When did that happen?

Had it always been there, lurking, going unnoticed in the noise inside his head? Or was this new, something bred from a single night of hardship and selfless dedication?

In that moment, it didn’t matter. Dabi stood up from his bed. He needed to see you, to talk to you. What would he say? For the first time, he didn’t know, words failing him for an emotion he’d never felt before.

Something on the floor under the edge of his bed caught his eye. It was just barely visible, but he noticed it immediately, its whiteness contrasting with his dark wood flooring. He bent down and picked it up, staring at the item. It was a white pill bottle, medication for insomnia.

A new memory – the sound of items falling onto the floor, crashing and clattering loudly.

Did you spill your bag last night?

‘You just want to keep the pills for yourself.’

Dabi froze, his eyes wide. That was his voice. Did he say that to you? The words were sharp, dripping with contempt and barely contained rage. It was a jarring contrast to what he was feeling now.

He dropped the pill bottle as if it burned him. It clattered loudly on the floor, and the sound of it rattled loose another piece of the puzzle.

‘where did you put it??’

His voice again. Demanding. Angry. Threatening. He saw your face, exhausted, wet tears on your cheeks, eyes wide with fear.

What had he done??

Something snapped inside himself, a realization. Nausea washed over him, sinking deep into the pit of his stomach. It flooded the warmth he had felt before, tainting it.

Shame.

Shame at how his addiction controlled him; shame that you had to suffer because of him; shame at his affection for you, as if he had any right after what he did. It began to consume him, morphing into a towering black cloud of guilt, its dark shadow beckoning other emotions from the depths like haunting creatures.

Dabi grabbed his head in his hands and collapsed to the floor on his knees as more emotions were set free, released by your fading quirk like guard dogs freed of their chains. The emotions came and trampled over him with sharp claws and heavy paws. With jagged teeth, they ripped apart at the happiness he had felt minutes prior and tore into his vulnerability.

Humiliation.

Humiliation that you had to baby him, wash him and dress him like an infant, and scold him like a child. Humiliation that he needed you simply because he wasn’t able to handle this on his own.

Disgust.

Disgust with his lack of self-control, disgust with his own fragility. ��Disgust at his feelings towards you, and the vulnerability they opened up in him, a vulnerability he couldn’t afford and didn’t want. He had cried just minutes before, overcome by emotion and all because of you. He didn’t even know he had the capacity for tears anymore. He recoiled from it, a sour taste in his mouth.

Finally, anger.

Anger at your sacrificial ways, at how willing you were to put yourself in harm’s way for a man you didn’t know, a man who didn’t deserve it. Anger at himself for giving in to your kindness and letting you get close. And anger… anger at everything. This fucked up situation, his fucked-up life, his fucked-up family and the fucked-up world they were all a part of. His mind rolled over the dark thoughts like a hard candy melting on the tongue. It was bittersweet. Tainted.

Addicting.

Even as the sinister emotions destroyed him, he welcomed it, embracing them for their familiarity, donning them like an old suit made just for him.

Dabi was himself again.

His eyes roamed around his room, taking it all in – the food on the desk, the makeshift bed, the pile of towels in his hamper, the abandoned white pill bottle on the floor. You were everywhere he looked. Now, all he could think about when he thought of you was that last and final memory he could recall - your exhausted, scared, crying face – and all he could feel was the maelstrom of negative emotions tied together by the thick chain of guilt. It weighed heavily on the newfound feeling of affection that hummed stubbornly under his skin, ever present.

Dabi closed his eyes against it.

He had to get out of here, far away from the presence of you and the cage of memories. He needed to clear his head so he could think. He quickly stood up and dressed himself, before grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and rushing out of his bedroom. He shrugged it on as he passed your door, forcing himself to keep his eyes in front of him.

His feet carried him down the indoor stairwell, old and reeking of piss. His boots pounded quickly down each step until he came out into the old lounge and bar, the only common space for the old, run-down hotel building. There, the other League members sat, watching the news over a game of cards.

Shigaraki glanced up at him as he entered. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you too.” Dabi replied.

Twice chimed in. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?? We don’t want your germs!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dabi grumbled, halting briefly as he grabbed an energy drink from the fridge.

“You were sick as a dog last night.” Mr. Compress explained.

“Yeah. We all heard you.” Spinner chimed in. Magne and Twice nodded in agreement.

Dabi scoffed. “I’m fine.” He opened the can and took a swig.

Toga stood up and got uncomfortably close into Dabi’s personal space, feeling his forehead with her hand. “Are you sure? Y/N said you had the flu.”

Dabi felt annoyance bubble in his veins at the invasion. “Yeah, you know what, I am feeling a little nauseous. I think I might throw up.”

Toga visibly paled and instantly backed away; she hated vomit.

“Hey!” Spinner interjected. “Take it somewhere else! You already got Y/N sick, we don’t need you spreading it to the rest of us.”

“What?” Dabi demanded.

Toga returned to her seat at the table. “She hasn’t come out of her room all day. I texted her to see if she was okay and she said she was sick too.”

Magne folded her cards down on the table and peered at Dabi over her sunglasses. “You two sure have been spending a lot of time together…”

“What is this, high school? She’s been helping me with an injury I got on the job.” Dabi replied. “No different from the rest of you.”

Magne reclined in her seat and took a sip from her glass. “I think she has a crush on you. She gets flustered every time I bring you up.”

“Ew! On Dabi??” Toga scrunched up her nose.

“What’s the matter, Toga? Jealous?” Dabi mocked.

“Why would I be jealous when I have Izuku and Ochako?” Toga said with a dreamy sigh.

Dabi rolled his eyes at her. She was completely delusional.

Dabi’s scars on his ankles began to itch and burn. While the others wasted his precious time with their blathering, your quirk was gradually wearing off. It’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to come seek you out again for your help. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind from the pressure. It was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m outta here. I got better shit to do than listen to your shitty gossip.” Dabi commented as he made his way towards the back entrance.

“Keep a low profile.” Shigaraki ordered. “We’ve got a meeting with the Shie Hassaikai coming up soon. We don’t want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

Dabi didn’t even bother to turn around as he gave a half-assed wave, the door closing behind him.

“Someone’s a little touchy…” Mr. Compress commented in amusement.

Magne let loose a huge grin. “He didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” Twice asked.

“That she has a crush on him.”

“Aww, do you think he likes her back?” Toga asked dreamily. “That’d be so sweet.”

“The man could use a little love in his life.” Twice chimed in. “He should totally hit that.”

“Dabi doesn’t like anyone but himself.” Compress commented.

“Nah, he’s just super committed to Stain’s mission. The man’s got dedication. I respect that.” Spinner replied.

“Of course you do.” Compress replied.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean??” Spinner demanded.

“You’re the biggest Stain fanboy I know.”

While the others continued to bicker and laugh, Shigaraki stared at the back door in silence.

------

Dabi inhaled a deep breath of cool air as soon as he stepped out of the building. He hadn’t bothered to don a hoodie this time, since it wouldn’t make much difference for this seedy, poor neighborhood. Heroes rarely patrolled here, and the ones who were assigned to this area were lower level heroes and newbies. It was a steppingstone towards more “respectable” hero work, where the neighborhoods were less impoverished, and more money could be made.

Dabi let his feet carry him down the sidewalk, sticking to smaller side streets and dark alleyways. He didn’t care where he went, only that he needed to move his body; anything to distract from the creeping fade of your quirk while he dealt with the whirlwind of thoughts in his increasingly aching head.

Magne’s teasing words floated in his head, bouncing around like mosquito that needed to be squashed.

You had a crush on him.

Dabi hated how the words made his heart pound faster, the suggestion blossoming the smallest seed of hope in his chest. Dabi crushed it with a scoff. That might have been true before, but after what transpired last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if you slammed the door in his face.

The energy drink in Dabi’s hand lost its flavor, and he chucked it into the nearest trashcan.

It was for the best. He didn’t need any attachments, especially now that he’d finally managed to find a place where he dreams could finally be realized. The last thing he wanted was to be diverted by something he couldn’t have; and even if he could have it (yeah fucking right), it wouldn’t last. What would be the fucking point?

That was what he tried to tell himself, but the thoughts rang with an empty hollowness. Instead, the only response he could find was the itchy discomfort of guilt mingling with his desire to be near you. It filled him with a painful longing that he couldn’t control, not without his drugs to numb them. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it nagged at him until a new emotion began to creep out of hiding.

Fear.

Fear at losing you.

Dabi nearly faltered in his steps.

Lose you? He never even had you to begin with.

There was no undoing what he’d done; he’d hurt you, that much he was sure. He’d stolen from you and spewed his anger at you… and that was just from what he could remember.

A new fear, heavier and darker, blossomed like fire in his gut as his mind focused on that single thought.

What he could remember…

How far did he go?

Toga’s voice played in his mind. ‘She hasn’t come out of her room all day.’

He knew you weren’t sick, because he wasn’t sick. So, if you truly refused to come out of your room, was it because you were just exhausted? Or were you scared of running into him? Were you tucked away in your room, nursing wounds that he was responsible for, wounds that others could see?

Did he hit you? Burn you? The uncertainty made Dabi’s blood run cold. He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.

Dabi knew he wasn’t a good person. He walked a thin line between ruthless vengeance and vigilante justice, casting judgment on others and killing without shame. He was fueled by his anger, keeping it in check by the thinnest of morality – don’t hurt children.

Even when the Vanguard attacked the training camp, he never directly hurt any of the kids, even if they were training to become heroes. Sure, he led others with more violent tendencies than his own, but that wasn’t his responsibility, right? He focused his efforts on distracting the teachers so they could get their targets.

Dabi gave himself a dry scoff. Who was he kidding… if push came to shove, he would kill them; sure they were technically kids still, but they were swiftly entering adulthood, and just as responsible for the choices they made as he was at that age. They chose to be a part of that life; auditioned for it, even.

But children? Small kids, who had yet to figure out the world? He drew his line there.

Don’t kill kids. But everyone else… everyone else was fair game, because everyone was guilty. Everyone had their hand to play in supporting the lie that was hero society and the damage it wrought – they were all culpable.

But you were different, right? You weren’t a part of hero society, not anymore. That’s why you were with the League. So, you should have been safe. But if his rage became unchained, his delicate moral center muted by desperation and pain, then there was no telling what he would do. He already knew he had that capacity for violence. It had never bothered him before, not once.

Not until now. Now, it scared him.

Too many missing pieces.

He knew his rage was a wild beast and wasn’t easily tamed, yet he saw no evidence of its destruction. On the contrary, he’d woken up on his floor with a pillow under his head. Nothing in his room was burned, and even more telling was the fact that whatever had transpired, you’d somehow managed to make sure he was comfortable, tidied up his space a little bit, and collected your things. If he was that angry, that desperate, how did you manage to calm him down?

Maybe you had knocked him out before he reached that point. He wasn’t sure… he couldn’t feel any lumps or bruises on his head, but then again, your quirk was still in effect. Or maybe you’d used your quirk somehow. Could it even be used for that?

Or maybe it never happened at all… maybe those things he said to you weren’t real, and that image of you that was ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a nightmare. He could only hope...

One thing was certain…

You’d stayed. You stayed until he was unconscious, only leaving when you knew he was safe from himself. If he really had hurt you like he’d feared, the evidence he woke up to would have shown a different story. But there was nothing, no indication of violence. The slightest bit of relief washed over him. Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster after all. Still, he wanted to see you, just to be sure. He needed to make sure you were alright.

This brought forth a fear of a different kind. He was now painfully aware of how much he cared for you, and it scared him. Agony was slowly creeping over his body, his legs now burning and stinging as if covered in fire ants, yet all he could think about was whether or not you were okay. He could tolerate the physical pain, at least for the moment. What he couldn’t tolerate was the cyclone of emotions that stirred in him, some of them new, some of them old. Some of them about you, some of them about him… and some… some of them about his family. After all, when was the last time he felt cared for?

Dabi didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted was to tune it all out like he’d done for years. Except this time, tuning them out was proving to be especially difficult. Dabi normally had his drugs to help him with that part; they let him float in an almost euphoric numbness, letting only the most powerful of emotions through, most typically anger, but sometimes glee, particularly if he was finding his work especially satisfying. This time though, he was on his own, with your quickly fading quirk and his own self-control his only tools.

A new wave of pain began to overtake him as he began to feel the pain of his scars along his sides. He faltered for a moment, ducking into an alleyway to clutch his core with his arms, as he sucked in sharp breaths through his clenched teeth. His muscles began to ache as well.

He was already out and about. Maybe he could find someone during his walk… a dealer. The streets were rife with them at this hour. There had to be something out there that would be strong enough to fix his predicament, right? Something that didn’t involve you.

The idea died as quickly as it had sprung up. Dabi had already betrayed your trust once. Doing so again, after all you’d done for him, would be the nail in the coffin. He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Not yet, at least. If he took too long getting back to you, then that could easily change.

He was running out of time. He’d have to go back soon, but he didn’t want to, not yet. He didn’t want to show up at your door, with only weak apologies in one hand and shame in the other, pitiful gifts compared to what you’d given him. He was shitty with words when they really mattered, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do that could remedy the damage he’d done. But he needed you, and deep down, despite the conflicting emotions he struggled with, he cared what you thought about him – a fact that wasn’t easy for him to recognize let alone admit to himself. He wanted you to know that even though he was an asshole, even if you might not want to have anything more to do with him, he was still grateful for what you’d done.

Dabi needed to find a solution. He wouldn’t return without one.

------

You felt like crap. Exhaustion pulled at you from every angle, your body weak. At least your scar no longer hurt. Sleep had descended on you quickly, but it was anything but restful; the pain of your scar had made you drift in and out of consciousness, with no relief to be found. When you did sleep, the pain brought forth confusing nightmares made of mixed memories. Two pairs of angry, ocean blues eyes haunted you in your dreams, melding together into a single menacing glare, burning you from the inside out. Orange flames licked at your skin, and you had woken up panting, covered in sweat. Nausea washed over you, forcing you from your bed to throw up in the bathroom, your body wracked with shivers.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, trying to rest and forget everything but not being able to. Nausea gave way to hunger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your room. Your nightmares were too fresh in your brain, and you were afraid of running into Dabi, to see his blue eyes and see someone else, an angry, harsh face wreathed in flame and red hair. Instead, you ate the granola bar that had been in your bag and drank the bottled water you always had on hand. It helped for a little while, and you lingered in your room, answering your texts from Toga on your phone and trying to find something, anything to distract you. You knew it’d only be a matter of time before Dabi came to knock on your door needing your help, and you didn’t want your trauma to get in the way of helping him, not after all you’d been through.

Of course, that was even if he decided to come to you anymore. There was no telling how much he remembered or what he thought or felt. You had heard his door open and close earlier in the day, heard the sound of his quick footsteps pass your door. Your heart had pounded in trepidation, afraid he’d come to you before you were ready, and you couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed at being scared of him.

You didn’t want to fear him, but you did. You had found yourself in the crosshairs of his anger last night, and for the briefest of moments you were genuinely afraid for your safety. Your hands rubbed at where he had grabbed you. There were no bruises thankfully, but you could feel the ache where his fingers had wrapped around your arms and squeezed.

A part of you was angry, too. Angry that Dabi had let himself get to that point, angry that he had lost control. You tried not to be – you knew you couldn’t really understand the level of suffering he was going through, and he quite literally wasn’t in his right mind when it happened. But you couldn’t help it; you felt wronged. You’d given so much of yourself, and each step of the way you were either met with betrayal, resistance, or anger.

Your anger wasn’t just with him, though; it was with yourself. Why did you even let yourself get wrapped up in this? Treating his wound is one thing; but helping him with his addiction?

You sighed. The answer was simple: you hated to see him suffer.

Maybe it was your savior complex. Or maybe it was the unspoken attraction you had for him. It wasn’t just physical… that part was obvious. But there was more to him, a complexity beneath his cocky, sarcastic exterior that kept pulling you in like a moth to the flame. You could see it in his eyes when he had moments of silence, moments when he thought you weren’t looking or thought you couldn’t read his body language. He was guarded and isolated, fueled by a motivation that was slowly destroying him. And yet… for whatever reason, he had decided to trust you, to accept your help and let you in, to help guide him through something incredibly personal. Perhaps it was just out of desperation; it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it.

Maybe Dabi was lonely.

Your anger slowly reduced from a boil to a simmer. This wasn’t over; you couldn’t turn your back on him, not after all you’d both been through, not after he put his trust in you. You knew that if he knocked on your door that you’d answer it.

The fear, however… the fear lingered. You still had to see if tonight was any better, if the hybrid treatment of your quirk and your meds were enough to help him endure his suffering until he got what he really needed. What if it didn’t work? Your stomach dropped at the thought. You couldn’t survive another night like last night. You knew you couldn’t. Not with your own trauma lurking over your shoulder and your inability to fall back on your own medications to help you through it. You were a giving person, but even you had your limits.

It wasn’t until dark blue dusk quickly began to surrender to evening that you finally decided to brave the confines of your room. Your stomach was eating a hole in itself, and you knew your body needed energy if you were going to treat Dabi again tonight.

You pulled yourself out of your bed, slipping your feet into your slippers before making your way to the door. You opened it up and nearly jumped out of your skin as Dabi’s unexpected presence filled your exit, one hand stretched out to knock, the other holding a white plastic bag that smelled suspiciously of food.

Your eyes locked with his instantly, and for the briefest of moments, the fear you had been trying to bury sprung forth, freezing you in place. His eyes really did look like Endeavor’s. How had you never noticed it before? It was almost uncanny. But before you could dwell on it further, Dabi’s voice cut through your mind.

“Hey.” He said. It was just a single word, but something in his tone made it lasso around your soul and pulled you back to the present. It didn’t hold its usual taunt, and the anger that you’d heard last night was now complete absent. If anything, he sounded… contrite. Fear melted away for the moment, slithering into the back of your mind like a snake where it planned to make a home for itself.

“Hey.” You replied, lowering your eyes to focus on the details of his jacket. Anything to not look him in the eyes again, at least not yet. The cerulean blueness of them was too intense.

Dabi noticed instantly, of course, and even though he expected as much, he was surprised at how much it stung him. “I brought ramen.” He stated, holding up the bag as evidence.

Ramen. Of all the things he decided to bring you. The humor of it wasn’t lost on you, and you could feel your wariness melt away slightly, replaced by warm amusement. It was a peace offering. It obviously wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start, and oddly perfect.

A small smile teased the corners of your mouth. “Thanks.” You replied.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, a wave of hope and relief hitting him unexpectedly. The strength of the emotions caught him by surprise, and he tried to tamp them down. Damn, he really did miss his drugs. Everything was so much more… sensitive right now.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you continued your standoff in the doorway, before Dabi finally spoke. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a hesitant breath and opened the door enough for him to enter. You gave him a wide berth, avoiding contact even as your heart pounded in your chest. Dabi was in your room. Again. This time though, it felt completely different. He seemed different. And you knew you were different too. You’d lost some of your warmth, your openness.

He entered your room and seemed… lost, which was so uncharacteristic of him. Dabi never looked lost about anything. He always carried himself with a casual confidence that you envied. Before, he would have easily found a spot for himself, kicking his feet up intrusively on your furniture and fixing you with a cocky, lazy grin. This time though, there was none of that. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched him stand awkwardly in your space, unsure of where to sit or what to do. Once again, you couldn’t help but wonder how much he remembered from the night before.

“Here,” you offered, shoving aside the pile of papers and books on your desk to make room for the bag in his hand. He set the item down on the surface and began to untie it. You bravely moved to stand next to him, watching as he took out the chopsticks and the napkins. You were close enough to smell the broth in the containers, making your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Loudly.

“Hungry?” he teased as he kept his eyes trained on the bag.

“I haven’t really eaten all day.” You confessed.

“I know.” He replied.

“You do?”

“Toga told me.”

“Oh.” You watched as he took out the containers, setting one of them in front of you with chopsticks and napkins set on top of the lid. “What kind did you get me?”

He peered at you with keen amusement. “The same kind you got me.”

“That’s fair.” You replied as you opened the lid, the steam caressing your face. You opened your chopsticks and were about to dig in, when Dabi pulled out a third rectangular container from the bag and opened it. “You got gyoza too?”

“And mochi.” He replied.

You stared at him for the first time, and his eyes locked with yours. This time, no fear came forth. Instead, you felt surprised. His eyes, usually dulled by his drugs, were now lively and swimming with emotions. He seemed… guilty. Ashamed. He genuinely felt bad. Some of the anger you had stored in your veins slowly began to evaporate. So, the man had a conscience after all. Not that you ever really doubted it, but you were glad to see he cared; and not just that… he was showing that he cared.

You gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, Dabi. I love mochi.”

He blinked at you but kept his expression neutral before averting his eyes back to his container. “I didn’t get any drinks.” He said.

“That’s okay.” You replied.

Dabi took the mochi and the gyoza and placed them on your nightstand before making himself comfortable in your desk chair next to your bed, slurping up his noodles with his chopsticks. You joined him, sitting comfortably on your bed while you blew on your noodles before eating them.

The two of you ate in silence, the sound of your mutual enjoyment of the shared meal filling the room. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and awkward glances. You watched Dabi as closely as you could without being invasive. He was showing the telltale signs of pain again – back hunched, a sheen of sweat across his brow, his hand clutching his chopsticks with enough tension to show the tendons in his fingers. But he hadn’t said anything about it yet. He was withholding, choosing to share this meal with you instead. You wondered why. Was he trying to give you time to adjust to his presence, aware that you were on edge with him? Or was he scared, afraid that if he asked for your help that you’d deny him? Or maybe he didn’t even want your help; maybe he planned to try to rough it out on his own.

Yeah, you weren’t going to let that be an option.

Despite your curious thoughts, it wasn’t until you finished your mochi and had cleared the empty containers off of your nightstand and back onto your desk, that the silence was finally broken.

“So…” you started. “How are you feeling?” You knew it was a loaded question. He knew it, too – you could see it in how his eyes caught yours and darted away again.

“Fine.” He replied.

“Is that why you’re sweating?” You countered. “Please don’t lie to me, Dabi. I deserve that much.”

He was silent for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching with tension, before he finally answered. “Everything hurts.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was being literal or not. Had your quirk worn off completely? Or were there still traces of it left, a frayed, tattered rope his only lifeline from falling full force into his withdrawal again?

You didn’t want to wait and find out.

“Well, let’s take care of that.” You said lightheartedly, even as your heart raced with anxiety. What if you weren’t ready? Was your body recharged enough to be up to the task? The pain would be back, you knew that much. And what if you failed?

Dabi sat silently for a moment, unmoving, his mind clouded in anger as he stared at you. He could see the fear in your eyes, plain as day, even as your tone remained casual. He was angry at your selflessness, angry that he couldn’t say no to you. Because even though he wanted to deny your help, he knew he couldn’t. Pain was coursing through his body now, unrelenting, and all he wanted was for it to stop before it tore him apart, stitch by stitch. You had everything he needed to get him through this.

He needed you. He needed you, and it grated on him, because he knew he was a burden, even though you would never say so. You were kind and giving, almost to a fault, and he was a selfish bastard who didn’t have the strength to cut you free and face this alone.

He looked away, defeated. “What do you need me to do?”

“Take off your shirt. I need to change your bandage anyway, and I’m going to use my quirk to numb your scars.”

He did as you said, removing his jacket and draping across the back of your chair. The shirt followed as he slowly, painfully, pulled it off over his head.

“I won’t be able to do much for the rest of your body… but I’m hoping my drugs will be able to help with that. The rest will be up to you.” You explained. Dabi gave a small nod in understanding.

You had him sit on your bed where you could more easily navigate around him. Numbing his back and changing the bandages was the easy part. It was familiar and it brought back memories of a simpler time. Had it really only been a few days since you started treating him? It felt like ages.

There was no conversation as you worked, Dabi in too much pain to say much of anything, and you… well, you were doing your best to hold yourself together. You’d finished the bandaging, and now you were running your hands along his shoulder blades, your quirk seeping deep into his muscles. Already, you could feel your senses once again begin to sharpen. You moved your hands down the scar on his side, numbing what you could reach, the rest of it disappearing beneath his pants. Your own scar started to itch, and the writhing snake of fear slunk out of its den, hissing a warning

You did your best to push it away. You weren’t at your limit yet. You could keep going. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be okay…’

You adjusted your position until you were sitting in front of him on the plush comforter of your bed. He waited, blue eyes watching you in silence. You were going to start at his hands and move up his arms like you had done before. You stared at the staples on his hands, willing yourself to move, to reach out and touch him.

But you couldn’t. You were frozen as your heart began to pound in your chest like a drum and the memories began to flood back. The exhaustion, the nightmares, the pain… You were caught in the event horizon of your fear, unable to break free of its hold.

You couldn’t do this. You weren’t ready, you weren’t strong enough. You…

“Hey.”

Dabi’s hand covered yours, and you realized your hand was shaking. His long fingers curled around your palm gently, and you stared at the connection, focusing on the warmth of his touch. Your heartrate began to slow, and you watched as your fingers slowly curled around his in response.

“It’s okay.” He said. His tone sounded… tender.

You looked up, your eyes locking with his. Sea blue stared back at you, open and raw, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze. You could see it – the concern, the hurt… the anger; a storm of emotions surging beneath the surface of his neutral expression. Guilt gnawed at you and you looked away.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dabi let go of your hand, and it felt like a great wall had been thrown between the two of you, unscalable.

“It’s fine.” He said, his tone now as neutral as his expression.

“No, it’s not.” You sighed guiltily. You clasped your hands together, missing his warmth.

Dabi watched the gesture, longing creeping into his chest like an unwelcome guest. He clenched his own empty hands into fists and shifted his position until he was half turned from you. Maybe if he didn’t look at you, all of this would be easier.

Dabi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor in contempt. “You don’t have to do this.” He said, even as his body screamed for more of your touch, to be freed from the agony he was feeling.

“Yeah I do.” You replied.

Something in Dabi snapped. “Stop it. Stop being so fucking nice.”

You froze at the harshness of his tone, and you could feel your heart begin to pound again. You wrapped your arms around yourself protectively, your hands covering where he had grabbed you the night before.

“Don’t do that.” You begged. The quiver in your voice made Dabi look at you again, and he was shocked to see your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Don’t be angry.

Dabi stared at you as he recalled what he had said to you last night in his withdrawal-induced rage. Looks like it wasn’t a hallucination after all. He looked away ashamed, unable to bear the sight of you scared of him. He took a slow breath and spoke calmly. “I’m not angry. I just don’t understand why this is so important to you.”

A long moment of silence passed as he listened to the shuffling sound of you drying your eyes with your hands and take a steady breath. Each sound drove his guilt deeper and deeper into him like a splinter that would never leave. He really was a piece of shit.

Your voice broke through his self-loathing, the quiver in it gone. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you just yet, but he listened. “If I give up now, then everything we went through would be for nothing.” You explained. “And I made a promise to myself that I’d never give up.”

“Give up on what?” the words fell from Dabi’s mouth before he could stop them, hope sneaking past his lips without his permission. He regretted it instantly, but even so, he waited, hanging onto the moment, ready to drink in every word. He wanted to hear it – to hear why you were trying so damn hard to help him.

He nearly jerked in surprise when he felt your hand take his, his eyes returning to watch you.

“Give up on you.” You replied.

Your eyes glanced up to look at him before bashfully ducking away beneath your lashes. Dabi felt his chest constrict and suddenly the moment took on a surrealness as a lightheadedness overtook him. Slowly, gently, you turned his hand until the palm was facing up and began to trace your fingers along his staples. Immediately he could feel the coolness of your quirk begin to seep into him as his chest pounded with such force that he was sure you could feel it through the veins in his wrist.

“So…” you continued. “Let me do this. Please.”

He stared at you, caught in breathlessness, as you returned to numbing his scars along his hand and up his arm. He had no response as the power of your words washed over him, fulfilling a need in him he had never bothered to pursue. How could he deny you and your gift after something like that? To do so would be an insult.

Silence blanketed the room, both of you lost in thought as you continued to work. Your sensitivity gradually increased as you completed one arm and then moved onto the other. The scar on your back began to transition from an itch to a stinging sensation, and you set your mouth in a thin line. You needed a distraction. But before you could open your mouth to start a conversation, Dabi spoke.

“Did I… hurt you?” he asked.

Out of all of the things you expected him to ask, that was definitely not it. The question shocked you so thoroughly, that your eyes shot up to look at him as your hands stopped in their administrations. He wasn’t looking at you; instead, his eyes seemed unfocused and in pain. He seemed slightly worse off than a moment ago, and a sense of urgency began to surge in you.

“What do you mean?” you replied cautiously, as your hands began to move again. Up the arm, to the shoulder. The collarbone would be next, then his neck…

“Last night.” He clarified, as his eyes focused and looked at you. There was still alertness in their depths, and it gave you the slightest bit of relief; you weren’t losing him just yet.

You paused for a moment, pursing your lips. You needed to tread carefully here. “What do you remember?”

“Not much.” He admitted. Dabi tilted his chin up slightly to give you easier access to his collarbone as he trained his gaze over your shoulder. “I know I threw up. A lot. And I told you to leave, which you didn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” You teased.

“I think I remember you using your quirk on my scars… just like this.”

You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “Anything else?” you prodded, as your hands moved along his shoulders.

Dabi narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He grabbed your wrists in a gentle yet firm grip, halting your touch before it reached his neck. “You’re avoiding my question.”

You froze, realizing you’d been caught, and you could feel your body flush hot with embarrassment. You eased out of his personal space slightly, and he released his hold on you.

You began to speak, choosing your words wisely. “You did say some harsh things. You wanted my pills and you were mad that I wouldn’t give them to you.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, watching your body language closely as you once again wrapped your arms around yourself protectively. There it was – just like before. “Anything else?” he asked, as he stared at your posture.

You wavered, but his words cut through your hesitation. “No lying.” He said. “I deserve that much.” Just like that, your own words were thrown back at you. You lowered your arms slowly.

“You… grabbed me.” You answered. You glanced up to check his face and were met with a neutral expression. “You were trying to leave but I got in your way to stop you, and you grabbed my arms to try to move me.”

Dabi’s face was an emotionless mask. “…anything else?”

“That’s it. You stopped yourself, and I helped you by knocking you out with my quirk.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say more than that. If he didn’t remember breaking down into a crying mess in front of you, then you wanted to keep it that way.

Dabi didn’t know whether to feel relief or shame. The two emotions warred within himself. On one hand, he was relieved that he’d caused no serious injury to you and that he hadn’t lashed out purely out of rage, with the intent to hurt. On the other hand, the fact that he had forcefully grabbed you melded with the mental picture that haunted him of your fear-stricken, tear-stained face. That combined with the nasty words he had yelled at you… it was no wonder you were afraid of him when he first showed up, and especially why you reacted the way you did when he got frustrated earlier.

A wave of pain washed over him and he hunched over, gritting his teeth against it. It felt like wildfire, washing over every part of him except for those you had touched, leaving an aching chill in its wake. His head was beginning to pound unbearably, as nausea made his gut roil. Gradually, the symptoms subsided enough that he could straighten himself back up. But his head felt slightly foggier than before, the throbbing ache lingering, and he couldn’t get the image of your terrified expression out of his mind.

“Are okay?” you asked, your voice forcing away the image like a gust of wind upon sand.

Dabi looked up at you, grounding himself in your eyes. The room around him slowly sharpened back into focus. “I’m fine.”

“Where did it hurt?” you questioned, hoping maybe it was something you could treat.

“Everywhere.” Immediately he could see the crestfallen expression on your face, and he struggled to correct it. “Don’t worry about it, I can handle it. Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Is it helping?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

“Yeah.” Dabi replied. “It’s helping.”

“No lying?”

“No lying.”

You returned to where you left off, your hands now on his neck as your delicate touch sent shivers down his spine and goosebumps along his unmarred skin. Your hands moved from his neck to his jawline, slowly tracing the angle of his jaw to his scarred ears. His face would be next – his cheeks, his eyes… his mouth. Your heart began to pound wildly like the running of wild horses, and you could feel yourself start to falter in nervous anticipation. But as soon as your hands cupped his cheeks, Dabi’s hands covered yours, halting their advance.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his troubled eyes downcast.

A soft smile formed on your lips. “You’re forgiven.” You replied.

You returned to cupping his face, palms across his cheeks and thumbs on the scars under his eyes. You let your quirk flow in a gentle trickle, careful not to go too deep. But you lingered, dulling the ache behind his eyes and beneath his temples. Dabi felt his headache recede slightly, the throbbing now reduced to a dull hum.

Surprise filtered through him as his thoughts came through slightly clearer. “You didn’t have to do that.” he said.

“I know.” You replied. “But it helps, doesn’t it?”

Dabi didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at you while he struggled to wrangle his emotions. He’d come here with the intention of making sure you were okay and getting the treatment he needed, while keeping his feelings in check. He knew he couldn’t dismantle them completely, but he could try to build a wall against them, muffling their presence under the weight of his darker emotions. But the longer he stayed here and talked to you, the worse it got. Any sense of control he thought he had was a joke. His wall was flimsy against your gentle assault, the watchdogs of his soul chained and muzzled.

He hadn’t even intended to apologize a moment ago; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d uttered those words. He had always viewed apologies as useless, an empty afterthought after the damage was already done. But this time the words had stuck in his throat, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t release them. And, as you did with all things, you met those words with compassion and understanding.

Dabi drifted out of his heavy thoughts when he noticed the absence of your touch. You sat before him, a slight sheen of sweat along your brow and your eyes unfocused.

You were starting to reach your limit, the light in your room too bright, your clothes scratchy on your skin. The pain in your back was growing ever worse. You could tolerate it, but it definitely hurt now, and you could feel that familiar precipice approaching. You had managed to tackle every scar on his body except for his legs. Did you have enough in you to finish the job? You honestly weren’t sure. You should have gotten more sleep, eaten sooner… maybe then you’d have more in you to give.

Apprehension of a different kind suddenly crashed through your thoughts. He was wearing pants. He’d have to remove them to let you treat him.

He was already sitting in front of you shirtless, and your mouth suddenly felt dry at the idea of another article of clothing missing from him. This was entirely different compared to last night… he was much more cognizant now.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Dabi began to pull his shirt back on, signaling the end of the session. Even so, you pushed your own inhibition aside. “Do you need anything else?” you asked. “What about your legs?”

“It’s fine.” Dabi replied. “You’ve done enough.”

You hoped that he was right. Something crucial nagged at the back of your mind until suddenly, you remembered. “I still need to give you those meds. You can start taking them again, now that we’re back on schedule.”

You realized, however, that the pills were still hidden in your closet. You chewed your lower lip; he obviously couldn’t see where you kept them. You knew better now.

“Um… I’m gonna to need you to step outside for a second, though.”

Dabi raised a curious eyebrow. “You hid them?”

“I did.”

“Wise move.” He got up from his spot on your bed and quietly stepped outside your room, closing the door behind him. You tried to move as quickly as your body would allow. You reached up to retrieve your duffle bag, your back screaming at the motion as your shirt rubbed against your scar. Your eyes began to water reactively, but you gritted your teeth and forced them back.

Soon the pills were out of their hiding place, the duffle bag back at the top of your closet, and hopefully Dabi would be none the wiser. You opened your door to find him leaning against the wall to your left. He turned to face you, making no motion to enter your space again. You were grateful… you felt exhausted, your body at its limit, and you didn’t want him to see how much pain you were really in.

You handed him three pills, like before, placing them in his palm. He stared at them, both hating them and wanting them. “Thanks.” He said simply.

“Do you… do you want me to stay with you tonight?” you ventured.

Dabi’s eyes shot up to stare at you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight bit of color that returned to his cheeks. “What?”

“In case you have a rough night again. Do you want me to stay and make sure you’ll be alright?” even as you asked, you began mentally kicking yourself; what more could you possibly do for him in your current state? Still, you wanted to extend the offer, even just to let him know that he wasn’t alone if things got too tough.

He stared at you for a moment, mouth slightly open before he composed himself and looked back down at the pills in his hand. “No. I’ll be fine.”

You were learning quickly that that phrase in Dabi-speak meant ‘I’m going to suffer horribly but I’ll figure it out on my own.’ You sighed at his stubbornness, but at the same time, deep down, you felt relieved. Maybe tomorrow would be better, once you got some real sleep.

“Okay.” You replied. “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.” He replied, as he pocketed the pills. It was the first time he didn’t take them as soon as you handed them to him.

“Okay. Well, good night then.”

“Good night.”

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Part 8

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Taglist (always open!):

@lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @ghost-of-todoroki @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus @littleladdty @starsforannie @zunmieh-blog @mae-rd @mrsreina @ohh-takuuu @ih8beefnoodles @kellyyween @jojoniles @steale24 @peach-tea-0 @orenjineki @diobrandoatemykids @minionsexuall @liitlesushi

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #touch #dabi touch #soft dabi #angst #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha imagine #mha imagine #TW: emotional numbness #TW: anxiety #TW: sensory overload #TW: PTSD

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artzychic27 · 3 years

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Evillustrator Part Deux

These people have some nerve. Barging into the art classroom, his safe space, the only place in school where he can be himself without people looking at him weirdly. He can be loud and goofy and show his art without fear of being judged. But they just had to ruin it. By 'they' he means his classmates. Not the smart ones like Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka. Yes, that sounded a little rude, but it was the truth! Ever since Lie-la came along with a big mouth full of lies, it's like the rest of the class had lost a good chunk of brain cells. He knows they're trying to be nice and accommodate for the 'disabled student', but they can't tell a con-artist when they see one!

Lila's been nothing but a thorn in the art club's side since she arrived, and all because they knew she was nothing but a lying, manipulative creature. So far, she's lied about Marinette doing a bunch of stuff she'd never do to her and almost got her expelled, Alix spray painting half of her wardrobe so Mylene, Sabrina, and Alya had to buy her more clothes with their money, Juleka cornering her in the bathroom and telling her to kill herself so the goth girl got detention she didn't deserve, and Rose stealing her lunch money which is how she afforded those cute new ballet flats and the other students had to buy Lila's lunch for her. Now it was Nathaniel's turn.

What has Lila said about him? She didn't really lie, but more like got on his bad side by suggesting he should find a new writer since Marc's work was "amateur", making little jabs at his art by saying loudly for the class to hear that her work has gotten many comic book artists' attention which then led to the class telling Lila that she should introduce them to Nathaniel. He said no, of course, since the artists were either dead or not real and they did not react well. They said he was rude, Lila was trying to help, and that's how he became one of the bullies of the classroom.

But then one morning, Lila told everyone that he stole her artwork. They were hesitant to believe her even despite believing Nathaniel was a bully since they knew he HATED art thieves with a passion, probably more than Marinette hated Hawkmoth. But when she showed them the hideously bright orange sketchbook with a crudely drawn cursive L on the cover in black sharpie and flipped through the pages slowly so the class could admire what Nathaniel realized was other artists' work he saw on Instagram that she was claiming as her own.

After seven long minutes, Lila finally stopped on a page that had the class immediately go off on Nathaniel when they recognized that it looked exactly like the art, the original art, on the school website. Alix and Marinette tried to defend him the best that they could, but the sausage-haired brat was a step ahead, saying that she sometimes brings her sketchbook to school and keeps it in her locker because she was always so nervous about what people would say about her art, and Nathaniel must've broken in, took a picture of the page, traced the art, and passed it off as his own. The class was torn, but they were leaning more towards Lila’s side because 'Why would Lila lie?'

Throughout the entire day, Nathaniel was forced to listen to the class asking if he was jealous of Lie-la's art being 'far better than his' (Her words), interrogating him to see if he stole anyone else's art, and they even had the gall to tell Mme. Bustier what Lila had told them. He missed his lunch and was instead tortured by Mme. Bustier lecturing HIM on why art theft is wrong, and that he needed to be the bigger person and apologize for stealing Lila's art. No matter how many times he explained to the woman that Lila lied, she just wouldn't listen! He had so much more respect for Marinette than he already did. She would go on and on about Mme. Bustier telling her to be an example and apologize when she was the one who was wronged. He was going to learn how to bake and make that girl some macarons. When she finally let him go, lunch was already over! Thank God Marc, the best boyfriend in the world saved him half of his sandwich and an apple. He did not apologize, and he had no intention of doing so.

The rest of the day was spent with his actual friends coming to his defense every five minutes when one of them would try and get him to apologize for stealing Lila's art. And when they weren't doing that, they were tracking down the people whose art was stolen by Lila when Mylene found the art Lila had traced on Instagram and Twitter. It's like they're her personal guard dogs. He wanted to knock some sense into them and go- what Lila inappropriately calls- 'feral-mode' on them; a nod to his bipolar disorder. Going against his instincts, he went to Mme. Bustier about what Lila had said about him being Bipolar, but she told him, 'Oh, but Lila doesn't understand your condition. It's your job to explain it to her.' ... He just wants Hawkmoth to come in here and have an Akuma pummel this woman.

Finally, the day was over, they were all gone, and he could now spend time with his friends and a real teacher without being yelled at or accused of being an art thief... For about seven minutes.

"Just apologize," Alya urged.

With a glare, Nathaniel yelled, "For the last. Damn. Time! I didn't steal any art!" Where was M. Haberkorn when you needed him?

"Then explain why Lila's art is in your sketchbook!" Kim demanded.

Lila sniffed, "Nath, if you're jealous of me, I could have-"

"Why the hell would I be jealous of you of all people?"

"Don't be so rude!"

"Why are you saying this stuff?"

"Lila didn't do anything to you!"

"Guys," Alix snapped her fingers to grab their attention and quiet them down, "Nathaniel loathes art thieves. Why would he steal someone else's art? And what would he have to gain from it? He's already the illustrator for one of the best damn comics in Paris, and he's won contests with some of his work." She shot the redhead a proud look before turning back to her classmates, "So do tell us. Why would Nathaniel steal another person's art?"

None of them could come up with an excuse. None of them except Lila just when the art club thought they had won, "Well, maybe he was just insecure," she ignored Nathaniel's offended look and continued, "I didn't want to say anything, but some students were looking at his art on the school website and said it seemed... Amateur compared to mine."

Marinette whispered to Juleka, "Oh, she did not just say the A-word."

Alix coughed into her fist, "Bullshit!"

Alya glared at the pinkette, "Stop ganging up on her!" She turns to Nathaniel, "And Nath, you need to stop being jealous of Lila just because some people prefer her art-"

"Will you shut up already?!" Nathaniel screamed, stunning his classmates at his outburst. "I am not jealous of Lila! I never will be jealous of her because there's nothing to be jealous over!”

Nathaniel let out a sigh. He didn't mean to yell, but they were all just so frustrating. He was telling the truth and they couldn't see it. They're choosing to believe a liar they've known only for a few months over someone they've known for years. They all knew Nathaniel was the resident class artist and not once has he stolen another person's art; it was a level he would never stoop to, not even if you paid or threatened him to.

"Dude, you need to chill," Nino calmly said.

"No, he doesn’t." Everyone turned to the source of the new voice and saw Marc standing at the doorway with his red pencil case. The art club students became relieved when they saw the writer. Marc was a reasonable, level-headed person who could find red flags easily. He'd talk some sense into them all and maybe their Lila nightmare would be over. During lunch, the art club explained to him why Nathaniel was missing, infuriating the green-eyed boy. Because of Rossi, his boyfriend was forced to miss lunch and endure a lecture by a teacher who should really consider pursuing a different career. "Nathaniel is not an art thief." He brushed past them and made his way over to his boyfriend before kissing his cheek.

"Marc, don't defend him just because he's your boyfriend," Mylene said. And in response, Marc rolled his eyes.

"Even if we weren't dating, I'd still defend him." He points to Nathaniel's sketchbook as if asking for permission to hold it. With a nod, Nathaniel hands Marc his sketchbook, and the writer flips through the pages until he stops on the page with the sketch that started this mess. On the page is a full-body sketch of Ladybug, running with her hair out of its pigtails and flowing through the breeze. It took all of Marinette's will-power to not blush when Nathaniel showed her and the others before posting it on the school's website. What she loved most was that she was not wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, but instead, she was wearing battle armor and actually had on shoes. Maybe she could ask Tikki for an upgrade on her current suit.

"Nathaniel always uses the same art style," Marc pointed out. "During lunch, I caught a look at some of the pages in Lila's sketchbook and noticed that she had about ten different art styles. The sketch she claims Nathaniel stole looks very similar to his usual style." Before Lila can defend herself, Marc continued, "And I also noticed that your line art is very dark."

Marinette realizes what her cousin is insinuating and adds, "He's right. Most line art is light so that when an artist makes a mistake, they can easily erase it." She smirks, "So, care to explain why your line art is so much darker compared to Nathaniel's?"

Lila stammered for a response, "I... We-well my wrist-" Before she could say anything else, Alya rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "You don't need to explain anything to them. We know your innocent." After nodding in agreement with Alya, the students headed out of the classroom. Alya pulled Lila out and didn't notice her smirking viciously at the art kids or Alix giving her double middle fingers.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Nathaniel sat down and rested his head on the table. "What is wrong with them?" he groaned. Rose patted his shoulder sympathetically, "It's okay, Nath."

Marinette shook her head, "I try to remind myself that it's not their fault; Lila's manipulating them, but it takes a lot to convince myself that."

Marc took the empty seat next to Nathaniel and brushed his bangs to the side so Nathaniel could see him. "Are you okay?" Nathaniel nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, Rainbow." With a smile, Marc kissed his forehead, slid Nathaniel's sketchbook toward him, and pulled out his journal, "Let's just enjoy the quiet while we still have it."

Juleka nodded as she grabbed her bass, "Yeah, maybe I'll just fake being sick tomorrow."

"Nope!" Alix exclaimed. "There's strength in numbers, Jules. If we all have to suffer, then so do you." Juleka responded by strumming a few cords on her bass.

The rest of the class, sans Chloe and Adrien, decided to spend the rest of their day, cool off from earlier, and cheer Lila up by getting some of André's ice cream. Poor Lila didn't have any money on her because she donated almost all of her cash to her favorite charity, one that helped children from lower-income families. Ivan, being a nice guy, paid for her cone and Lila promised she'd pay him back... Yeah, like that would ever happen. Five euros and all she got was plain vanilla because André couldn't see her being in a relationship with anyone.

"Girl, maybe he just messed up," Alya told her. "André is getting old."

Nino reluctantly nodded, "Yeah. Maybe that's it." He's been getting ice cream from André since he was five, and the man was never wrong. He predicted his first love by giving him cotton candy, peach, and blueberry ice cream, and his future love with tangerine, lemon, and raspberry. If André gives you vanilla, that's it. No love for you. 'But why would Lila end up without love?' he wondered. She's nice, charitable, always meeting exciting people. It confused him.

If Nino could hear what was going on through Lila's head, he'd take it all back. 'Stupid Marinette. Stupid Alix. Stupid Rose. Stupid Juleka. Stupid Marc. AND STUPID NATHANIEL! That idiot has some nerve going against me! Just wait, Kurtzberg. I'll ruin your reputation so bad that not even your freak boyfriend will look at you! With that spineless coward of a Principal on my side, I'll make sure no school will take you!' "Guys, this was sweet of you, but I just wanna go home," she said in a tone that contrasted her inner voice.

Alya smiled and pulled her in for a hug, not noticing the scowl on the Italian's face, "We understand. Maybe you can draw something to make you feel better."

'Yeah, I'll find a sucker on Instagram, make a few tweaks, and have you all eating out of the palm of my hand.' "Yeah," she sighed. "That always cheers me up. I'll see you all tomorrow!" She waved then headed off in the direction of her home. Then once she was out of view, she ran towards the school and threw her ice cream on the ground, not caring about the pigeon she just hit. She was not going to let that stupid redhead get away so easily. She already had a ton of sinister ideas going on in her head about what'd she'd do to Nathaniel the second she caught him alone and those art club brats aren't there to help him.

Once in the school, Lila waited around a corner for him. So that no one would suspect anything, she pretended to be texting on her phone. It took five minutes until finally, Nathaniel walked out of the classroom with his sketchbook in his hand. Lila's original plan was to jump him and drag him into an empty classroom so she could threaten him to comply with her or she’d drag his reputation through the mud, but Marc was with him. She couldn’t have witnesses, or this would never work. But then everything worked out in her favor. The idiot was too distracted by his boyfriend to notice her or that he dropped his sketchbook on the floor when trying to put it in his messenger bag.

She quickly picked up the sketchbook once they were gone, and darted for the locker room. She looked around to make sure no one was there and opened Nathaniel’s prized possession. She scowled at all of the drawings of Marinette with hearts around her. “Obviously has no taste,” she muttered scornfully then continued flipping through the pages full of drawings of Ladybug, and her frown worsened the more she looked. He should be drawing a REAL hero like Volpina. Then she found a few pages with drawings of that boyfriend of his.

“Disgusting,” she sneered, then immediately tore out the page with a drawing of the two boyfriends hugging. She aggressively threw the book to the floor and stomped on it with the dirt sole of her boot, tearing and crumpling a few pages and damaging the spine. She picked it back up and proceeded to tear out more pages before getting a cruel idea. She went into the girls’ bathroom, turned on the faucet, and dropped the sketchbook into the sink. A twisted smirk spread on her face as she watched the water turn an array of colors. Satisfied, she pulled it back out and turned off the water before leaving.

She wasn’t done just yet. She looked for Nathaniel’s locker, which was easy. All she had to do was open every locker until she found the one with photos of Marc taped inside. Lila gathered up the pages she tore out, crumpled them up, and threw them into the lockers along with Nathaniel’s ruined sketchbook. By the time he opened his locker tomorrow, the pages will be dry and everything he’s drawn will be unrecognizable. Slamming the locker door shut, Lila walked out of the locker room feeling proud of herself, but not before she added a little insult to injury and taped a sticky note with an insulting message onto Nathaniel’s locker door. Tomorrow morning, Nathaniel will learn what happens when you cross Lila Diabla Rossi.

Nathaniel was not having a great morning. He accidentally set his alarm clock for the wrong time last night and woke up and three in the morning. He couldn't go back to sleep so he decided to do some late-night sketching until he felt tired. The only problem was that he couldn't find his sketchbook. He wanted to tear his room apart and look for it, but he didn't want to risk waking up his mom and having her come in, wondering why he was up so early. So he waited until it was 7:00 am when his mom was up and getting ready for the day.

He looked all around his room but couldn't find his sketchbook anywhere. 'It could be worse,' he thought to himself. He lost his personal sketchbook and not the one he used for his and Marc's comic. Now that would be awful. But losing his personal sketchbook was just as bad and embarrassing. It still had some of the sketches he did of Marinette back when he had a crush on her and some fanart from animes he wasn't comfortable showing anyone except for Alix and Marc, who showed him some fanfiction that only he was allowed to read.

"Maybe I left it at school," Nathaniel told himself once it was pretty clear that his sketchbook was nowhere in his room. Taking a few breaths to calm down and assure himself that maybe someone found his sketchbook and took it to lost and found, he got ready for the day.

After getting showered and dressed, Nathaniel made his way downstairs to have breakfast with his mom. Hearing him walk into the kitchen, Aya looked away from the stove and greeted her son with a smile, “Morning, sweetie.” Despite Nathaniel smiling, she knew something was wrong. She could tell by the way he was clutching his messenger bag and darting his eyes around the room like he was looking for something. “Is everything alright?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Did something happen at school? Was it that Rossi girl?” Ever since Lila first lied about her son, Aya would always take some time out of her schedule to listen to him vent about the dreaded girl. And in Aya’s opinion, she sounded like a real nightmare in need of a spanking.

“Yeah, but she’s not what I’m upset about,” he answered. “I can’t find my sketchbook. The black one?”

Aya immediately turned off the stove and went to hug him. Nathaniel loved that sketchbook. His father got it for him when he was seven and used up all of his other sketchbooks. It was one of the things he had to remember him by. “Well, maybe it’s at school. I’m sure you’ll find it, sweetie.” Seeing him smile, Aya kissed his forehead and went back to making breakfast, “Now go sit down sweetie; the hash browns are almost done.”

With a nod, Nathaniel sat at the table and thought to himself over and over, ‘You’ll find it, you’ll find it, you’ll find it.’

When he arrived at school, Nathaniel only had fifteen minutes to look for his sketchbook until class starts. He rushed into the library where the lost and found box was stored and asked the librarian for access to it. He took Nathaniel into the break room where a large bin sat in the corner of the room between two shelves filled with items too large to go in the bin. Quickly, he sifted through or tossed aside anything that wasn't his sketchbook. Textbooks, jewelry, one shoe, pants, a purse, but no sketchbook. With a frustrated groan, he put the items he tossed back in the bin so the librarian wouldn't get on his case for messing up the break room. "Where is it?!" Once out of the library, he kicked a wall in frustration and continued to look around for his sketchbook.

He remembered walking out of the art classroom with it, so it wasn't in there. If it fell out of his bag, someone must’ve found it. But why didn’t they take it to the lost and found? Maybe they put it back in his locker. None of the lockers have locks, so if a student finds something that another student lost, they put it in that student’s locker. Maybe someone did that. He still had seven minutes left, so he ran down the stairs, moved through crowds of students in the courtyard, and went into the locker room.

Once at his locker, Nathaniel furrowed his brown in confusion when he saw the orange sticky note stuck to his locker door. He took it down and read it, “‘You deserve this.’”

Still confused and a little anxious by what the note meant, Nathaniel slowly opened his locker, expecting a bucket of paint to fall on top of him or a spring-loaded boxing glove to knock a couple of his teeth out… This was way worse. There at the bottom of his locker was a dingy black book with crispy pages like someone had poured water on it and left it to dry in his locker. He found a few crumpled pieces of paper and unfurled them. He felt like he needed to throw up. These were sketches of Marc, Marinette, and some rough sketches for comics. He realized that they were from his sketchbook and a look of dread spread across his face when he realized that the dried-up book in his locker was actually his sketchbook.

“No, no, no, no!” He quickly took it out and tried flipping through the pages to see if anything had been salvaged, but he could barely turn them without a piece breaking off due to the dry paper. He flipped to the back of his ruined sketchbook and immediately started crying. There was smudged writing that he could barely read, but he could make out what was written at the bottom, ‘Make something amazing, kid. -Dad’ He clutched the book close to his chest and slowly slid down his locker and sat on the floor where he silently cried to himself.

The butterflies fluttered around as the window opened and illuminated on Hawkmoth. He smirked cunningly when he felt a powerful wave of emotions coming from Francoise Dupont. The Akuma hotspot.

“Such feelings of rage, and even more of sorrow.” He beckons for a pure white butterfly to land in his open palm. “This poor, disturbed boy.” He covers the butterfly with his other hand and fills it with dark magic using the Miraculous. Hawkmoth uncovers the butterfly, now an Akuma, and it flutters out of the window. “Fly away my beautiful Akuma, and evilize that boy!”

The Akuma flew over the city and towards the school where its target was. It phased through the walls so no students or teachers would see it, and went into the locker room where Nathaniel was still crying. He lifted his head up at the sound of its wings flapping and with a yelp, he got up and ran around the room to avoid the Akuma. Soon, he was backed into a corner with no way out. He turned his head away from the Akuma and shut his eyes tight as the evil butterfly merged with his sketchbook and turned it pitch black. The glowing, purple Akuma symbol appeared over his face. Nathaniel gripped his hair as Hawkmoth spoke to him, “Welcome back, Evillustrator.”

“Stop it,” he cried. “Not now.”

Hawkmoth paid close attention to the emotions he was feeling right now. It was mainly anger from having his sketchbook destroyed, but he was also grieving. A feeling Hawkmoth knew all too well. He could see the Akumatized object in his head and saw the damage that had been done to it. As a fellow patron of the arts, he knew the importance of a sketchbook to an artist. But there was something special about this one. Perhaps someone he lost gifted it to him. He spoke, “But why not? I too understand the pain of losing a loved one. Let me help you.”

“You’re not going to help me.”

“But I will. That sketchbook must mean something to you. Don’t you wish to find the one responsible?”

"..." Nathaniel’s look of fear morphed into a scowl when he realized who could have done this, “Yes.”

Hawkmoth smiled, “I won’t stand in your way this time. As long as you bring me the Miraculous, you may use your powers however you please. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Black mist bubbled up from his sketchbook and engulfed him. Seconds later, Evillustrator stood in place of Nathaniel with an upgraded outfit. His windswept hair is brighter and more vibrant, fading from orange to purple, to black. He had on a white v-neck tailcoat with four dark purple stripes and three circles colored red, yellow, and blue printed on, a black shirt that had darker cuffs with red, yellow, and blue buttons and a red swan neck collar, white gloves, purple pants, and red boots with a slight heel.

He lifted his right arm where his tablet was attached, tucked his repaired, dark purple sketchbook under his arm, and began drawing. Materializing out of thin air was a fake Nathaniel. With a smirk, Evillustrator handed the Akumatized object over to him and said, “You know what to do.” With a nod, fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook to an empty page and pressed it to Evillustrator’s chest. Immediately, he disappeared in a flash of purple light. Nathaniel turned the book towards him and saw a sketch of Evillustrator motioning for him to leave. He closed the book and made his way to class.

Lila tried very hard to suppress a scowl when she saw the fake Nathaniel walking into the classroom with the sketchbook, she was so sure that she destroyed it. Was it all just a wonderful dream? No! She knew she destroyed that thing! But, wasn’t it black? She needed to destroy it so that redhead would learn his place. Before she could make her way to his and Marinette’s desk in the back, Mme. Bustier walked in, “Alright class, take your seats!”

‘Later,’ she thought to herself then went to her seat next to Alya.

Mme. Bustier began writing on the board, "Today, we'll- OW!" Out of nowhere, a baseball hit the side of her head, much to the shock of the class. She picked up the ball while rubbing the side of her head, "Where did this come from?"

Lila immediately shot her hand up and pointed to the back, "I bet it was Marinette!"

"I am way back here and it hit the side of her head!" She yelled, "If I had thrown that ball, it would have nailed her right in the back of the head!" The students on her side and the students on Lila's side got into a heated argument. Adrien tried to calmly tell Lila's side that Alix was right, but they just talked over him. Chloe, who didn't care, filed her nails. Mme. Bustier clapped her hands, trying to grab their attention, "Class, please!" They settled down, making her let out a breath of relief. "Now, Alix is right about the ball hitting me on the side," Alix shot Lila a victorious smirk. "We'll figure out who did this later, but let's just get to our lesson." She set the baseball down on her desk, eyeing it warily before turning back to the board.

Marinette rolled her eyes. It was way too early for Lila to be pulling this kind of crap. Also, where did that baseball come from? The windows aren't open, so it didn't come from outside. She turned to Nathaniel, intending to ask what he thought. None of the art club students really paid attention to Mme. Bustier's lessons since she rarely taught anything. And when she was teaching, Lila would steer the lesson over to an hour-long discussion about how she was related to some major historical figure. Marinette was pretty sure Vlad the Impaler and Catherine the Great weren't related.

Before she could say anything, she noticed him just staring at a page in his sketchbook. Just staring, not drawing. She couldn't see what he was looking at because he was holding the front cover of the book up. And what's even weirder was that he seemed to be nodding. When he saw her staring, he immediately closed his sketchbook and turned his attention to the front.

'Strange,' Marinette thought to herself then continued half-listening to the lesson.

Ten more minutes in, and Lila was telling a story about being the distant relative of some witch hunter from the Salem witch trials in the states. This allowed the art club kids to text each other on their group chat while everyone ate up whatever Lila said. But Marinette made a new group chat without Nathaniel.

Something's Up

Alix: Care 2 explain??

Rose: Is something wrong?

Juleka: You forgot Nathaniel.

Marinette: That's what this is about. There's something... Off about him today.

Alix: Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one who noticed.

Rose: What's wrong with Nathaniel???

Alix: He's just all zoned out or something.

Marinette: I caught him nodding at his sketchbook.

Alix: I don't even recognize that one. All his sketchbooks usually have designs on them but that one is just solid purple. 🤔

Juleka: Now that you mention it... When everyone was arguing about the baseball, I noticed he didn't say or do anything. Just stared at his sketchbook.

Rose: That's odd.

Marinette: Maybe he's having an off day?

Alix: I did see him bump into the door frame when he walked into the classroom. So... Off day?

Juleka: Off day.

Rose: 👉🏻Off day👈🏻

Marinette: Off Day. Okay, Lila's wasted twenty minutes and we have two minutes left of class... Any weekend plans?

Rose: Family reunion! Can't wait!

Juleka: Luka and I are gonna watch a bunch of trashy high school movies from America. I'm interested in this one called The Outcasts.🍿🎥

Alix: Promised Jalil I'd do some nerd stuff with him.🤓

Marinette: Baking 🥐, sewing 🧵, typical day.

BRRRRIIIIIIING!

Marinette: And once again, we've learned nothing.

Alix: Ah, the glorious history of nothing.

Rose: My cousin majored in the Fundamentals of Nothing.

The students gathered their things and headed to their next class. As Nathaniel was packing, Mme. Bustier called out, "Nathaniel, can you stay for a minute?"

"Are you gonna be okay?" Marinette asked. At fake Nathaniel's nod, she left with the others, leaving him and Mme. Bustier alone.

The first thing she said was, "Nathaniel, I hope you apologized to Lila." When he didn't answer and just stared at her blankly, she sighed, "Nathaniel, I understand that you're upset."

"Upset doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, Caline!"

"But it's not Lila's fault," "Excuse me?!" "She just wants to make friends, and by antagonizing her," "You mean exposing an art thief?" "you'll be preventing her from doing so. Now, I expect you to apologize to Lila before the end of the day." "Or else, what, Caline?!"

The fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook slightly, and immediately, a flaming arrow shot out of it and was dangerously close to hitting Mme. Bustier's foot. She looked at the redhead in shock before slowly backing away as he opened his sketchbook. "N-Nathaniel, wh-what are you- Aah!" The fake has pressed a blank page on her arm, and she disappeared with a scream. He turned the sketchbook towards him and there was Caline Bustier, now a pencil sketch hitting her fists against the paper and screaming to be let out. She was silenced by fake Nathaniel turning to the page with Evillustrator.

"Make sure there are none of those idiots left." With a nod, the fake shut the sketchbook and left just before the next class arrived.

Seventeen minutes in Mendelieve's class were spent learning about physics until the science teacher left once M. Damocles made an announcement over the PA system, telling the teachers to report to his office. That left Lila to take over and talk more and more about herself without the science teacher telling her to stay silent and pay attention. The art club was just minding their business in the group chat but listened closely when Lila started spewing lies about her famous artist uncle. They knew where this was going, and Alix got ready to fight tooth and nail for her friend. Finally, Lila brought up what happened yesterday, causing the students to give the fake Nathaniel wary looks or glares

"So," Kim said as he approached fake Nathaniel. "are you finally going to apologize for stealing Lila's art?"

Marinette huffed, "Guys, for the last time, Lila is lying! Nathaniel is not an art thief!"

"Well, let’s just see if that’s true," Alya said as she pulled out her phone to record and expose Nathaniel as an art thief. Before she could grab the sketchbook out of his hands, her phone was wiped away from existence. "MY PHONE! Where'd it go?!" Fake Nathaniel looked down at the sketchbook and smirked because he knew Evillustrator had something to do with that.

Alya continued to look for her phone, "It just disappeared out of thin air!" she exclaimed as she looked under the desk, believing she dropped it and didn't notice. "How does that just happen?!" As she and a few other students continued searching for her phone, Mme. Mendelieve walked back into class with a look of concern to replace her usually stoic face.

"Class, you wouldn't happen to know where Caline went, would you?" she asked. Everyone either shook their heads or said no. "Odd. No one can find her, When her next class went in, she was gone." She looks to the fake Nathaniel, "Nathaniel, you were the last to leave. Did she say she'd be going anywhere?" The fake looked like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He instead shook his head. With a sigh, Mendelieve continued, "If she's not found or we don't hear from her in two hours, the school day will end early so the teachers can call the police to conduct an investigation." There were some scattered whispers. "I'm sure Caline is fine. Now, let's finish the lesson." The students who were helping Alya look for her phone comply and sit back down in their seats, but Alya kept searching for her phone, "Alya, sit down."

"But I can't find my phone," she said. "It just disappeared right out of my hand!"

"Miss Cesaire, you can try to look for it later," she said sternly. "But right now, we need to continue our lesson. Sit down." Alya reluctantly did so, and Mme. Mendleieve resumed what she was teaching the class before Damocles made his announcement. While she taught, Alix glanced over at the fake staring down at his sketchbook like Marinette said he was earlier. It was so weird. He was just staring and not doing anything. And how did Mme. Bustier just suddenly disappear without a trace?

Thirty minutes passed, and the students headed to lunch while Alya stayed behind to look for her phone with Nino helping her.

Fake Nathaniel managed to slip away from Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka who were walking to the cafeteria as a group, something they did in case Lila tried anything, and he was now hiding in the locker room where Evillustrator was giving him instructions. “Kim often goes to the pool during lunch to practice,” he whispered. "Get him when he comes in." Right as he said this, the door was heard opening. The fake peered around the locker he was hiding behind and saw the athlete walking in and going to his locker. No witnesses were around. He opened the sketchbook to a blank page and sneaked over towards the athlete as he was pulling his gym bag out of his locker with some struggle.

When Kim finally managed to pull his bag out, it slipped out of his hands. The force he used flung the bag behind him, and it hit the sketchbook, making it disappear. Kim looked around to see where his bag went but only saw the fake, who shut the sketchbook before Kim could see what was on the pages. "O-oh. Hey, Nath." When he didn't answer, Kim sighed. "Silent treatment. Deserved that; I get it. Look, man I-I don't want to believe you stole Lila's art, but uh... I mean, why would Lila lie?"

"Because she's evil! Get him, now!"

"Still upset with me, huh?" He chuckled when the fake still didn't say anything.

"You have three seconds. Three."

"Again, I wanna believe you didn't do it."

"Two."

"But you and the girls have been kinda... Antagonizing her a bit?"

"One!"

The fake immediately clutched his left hand like he was in pain, getting Kim concerned. "Nath, what's wrong?!" He uncovered the fake's hand and was repulsed to find that his fingers were starting to vanish. "Oh my God!" Before he could say or do more, the fake mouthed, 'I'm sorry'. Then he opened the sketchbook and pressed the blank page to Kim's face. He disappeared with a scream. Fake Nathaniel dropped the sketchbook in favor of clutching his fingerless hand. The akumatized object was opened to the page with Evillustrator's angry glare, "Hesitate next time, and I'll erase your arm!”

The fake nodded frantically before letting out a sigh as Evillustrator drew on his tablet, making his fingers reappear. As he headed to the door, he heard a slight shuffling sound and turned around to see Myléne standing right outside the girls’ bathroom with her mouth agape.

”N-Nathaniel?” Myléne stammered as she began to slowly back away.

Fake Nathaniel approached her with the sketchbook opened to a blank page. Another silent ‘Sorry’, and Myléne was gone and trapped in the sketchbook. He flipped the pages back to Evillustrator, “Better. Now don’t stop until you have Rossi and those assholes!” The fake didn't want to do this, but he had to; it was how he was drawn. He was made to be a pawn in his creator's revenge plot, but he didn't want to do that. Evillustrator gave him the same personality he had pre-Akumatization, so this just felt wrong to him, but he couldn't go against his commands.

When fake Nathaniel nodded, Evillustrator arched an eyebrow and asked, "Can you speak?" He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He shook his head. Evillustrator started drawing on his tablet, "Hold still." Fake Nathaniel's throat glowed a bright purple before dimming. "Say something."

"S... So... Some... Ting. S-something?"

"So glad I caught that. Now go!" Immediately, the fake put the sketchbook back into his messenger bag and left.

“Hey, Nath,” Marc greeted the fake as he sat down at their lunch table.

Fake Nathaniel smiled. He had his real counterpart's personality and all of his memories, so he knew exactly how to act and what to say (Now that he had a voice). “Hey, Rainbow.” He kisses Marc’s cheek and ignores the stinging sensation he’s feeling in his hand as one of his fingers is being erased. Evillustrator made him and can easily destroy him if he does something he doesn’t like. Apparently, kissing Marc is one of them.

”So, where were you?” Alix asked as she popped a grape in her mouth.

“Oh, I-I remembered that I left my locker open, and went to close it,” he fibbed.

“No point in that, Nath,” she shrugged. “Anyone can just go in and take whatever’s in a locker."

Marinette nodded in agreement, remembering her expulsion, then asked, “So, what do you guys think happened to Mme. Bustier? She couldn’t have suddenly disappeared; we all just saw her.”

Alix leaned back in her seat, uncaring, “Does it really matter? I think we could all use a break from her.” Juleka nodded, “Maybe Mendeleiev will be our substitute and actually put Lila in her place.”

”One can dream,” Rose sighed as she leaned on Juleka, making the goth girl wrap her arm around the blonde.

Juleka looked around the room. She furrowed her brow then asked, “That’s weird. Kim and Mylène aren’t here.”

”Well, Kim probably went to the pool,” Alix said as she looked for the activist. “But where’s Myléne?”

”Maybe she-“ Before Marc could finish what he was about to say, the doors slammed against the wall as Alya stormed in with Nino trailing close behind.

”Nino, a phone doesn’t just disappear like that!” she exclaimed. “There’s probably an Akuma around here!” Immediately, the cafeteria broke out into whispers about if Alya was right about the Akuma. “And Mme. Bustier suddenly disappearing? Explain that. She wouldn’t just ditch her job like that.”

”Tell it to the person doing most of her work,” Marinette muttered, making the students at the table laugh. Mme. Bustier would always force Marinette to do her work for her and say that they’re the duties of the class representative when really, the woman is just lazy to do the work herself. And when Marinette refuses, Bustier will use the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ voice until Marinette complied.

”You think this is funny?!” Lila whined. “Mme. Bustier and Myléne are missing, and it’s probably because there’s probably an Akuma loose in the school!”

Alix groaned, “Mind your own business, Rossi!” A couple of the students that were on Marinette’s side snickered. “And it’s called making light of a situation. Less negativity, fewer Akumas. You're welcome.”

”Why are you guys always so rude to me?” Alya asked before pointing to Marinette, “First you let your jealousy cloud your judgment,” then to Juleka, “you’re always telling Lila to kill herself,” Alix, “you ruined her clothes,” Rose, “you stole her money,” then Nathaniel, “and you plagiarized her art because you’re jealous of her, too! Why do you guys hate her so much?”

”Because she’s a liar,” Marc murmured. "Simple as that."

“I’m not!” Lila yelled with fake tears in her eyes that masked the glare she was sending the boy. “Why does no one believe me?!” Sabrina went to console her.

”We believe you, girl,” Alya reassured. “And we’re gonna prove you’re innocent...” Her eyes trailed to Nathaniel’s messenger bag, “Starting by proving Nathaniel did steal your art!”

Before the fake artist could react, Alya already had his messenger bag in her hands and now the akumatized sketchbook. “Lila, get your sketchbook, we’re gonna...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the moving sketches of Mme. Bustier, Kim, and Mylène, begging to be freed. The other students gathered around Alya and looked in horror at students and teacher trapped in the sketchbook.

Max pointed at the fake, “You-you’re the Akuma!”

With a sneer, he snatched the sketchbook out of Alya’s hands and pressed a blank page to Max’s face. He disappeared and was now trapped inside the sketchbook, alarming the students.

“Th-the sketchbook’s g-gotta be an Amok,” Nino stammered as he pulled Alya away from the fake. “H-he doesn’t even look like an Akuma!”

“There’s no Amok, and I’m not the Akuma.” He flips to the page with Evillustrator. “He is.” As the students stood in shock, the fake tore out the page, and it glowed a bright purple before morphing into Evillustrator, glaring menacingly at the Akuma Class.

”N-Nath?” Marc stammered as he cautiously approached his Akumatized boyfriend.

“Then who’s he?!” Alix grabbed the fake's wrist to prevent him from running and glared at him.

Evillustrator scoffed. ”He's not important.” Then, much to the fake's horror, he put the eraser to his tablet.

”No! Wait!” The fake cried as he was erased from existence, horrifying the students, Marc especially. The sketchbook dropped to the floor with a thud.

“H-how did-“

”Ask her!” He points a shaky finger at the Italian girl. “You,” he draws a lock on his tablet, “will not get away with what you did!” A couple of students, Marinette being one of them, managed to escape the cafeteria right before Multiple locks appeared on the doors, making it impossible for the others to get out unless they were crazy enough to jump out of the window.

”I-I didn’t do anything!” She lied while rubbing her eyes to look like she’s crying again. “Why are you trying to hurt me, Nathaniel?!”

”It’s Evillustrator, now!” He drew a missile on his tablet, and that same missile appeared next to him. The students ran for the doors and tried to pull the locks off, but they were too strong. “NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL SHE’S GONE!” He points his pen towards Lila, and the missile goes after her as she runs around the cafeteria screaming for help. Seeing that they weren't going to get out of this, the remaining students ducked under tables and chairs.

Ismael and Ivan ran towards Evillustrator to try and grab the pen, remembering how that was the Akumatized object last time Nathaniel was Akumatized. Quickly, he jumped out of the way, causing the two boys to collide and fall to the floor, groaning in pain. Evillustrator grabs the sketchbook off the floor and pressed a blank page on them, making the two boys disappear into the sketchbook.

Seeing that the missile was getting closer to her, Sabrina quickly got up from under a table and tackled Lila to the floor before the missile could hit her. It instead crashed into a wall, creating a massive hole that allowed the students to escape. The art club students stayed behind, though, hoping that they could calm their akumatized friend down. Evillustrator was about to run after them, but Akux grabbed his wrist.

”Nath, wait!” she pleaded while trying to not look like she’s afraid of the enraged Akuma that used to be her best friend. “Let’s just talk about this, okay? What did Lila do to you?”

Evillustrator’s glare softened as he looked into Alix's eyes. He needed to get his revenge on Lila but she was keeping him from doing that... “Forgive me, Alix.”

”What?”

Before Alix knew it, she was trapped in the sketchbook, shocking the remaining members of the art club. Marc was about to approach him, but Evillustrator held his sketchbook close to his face, making the writer back away. “Don’t make me do something I will regret, Rainbow,” he warned then ran out of the cafeteria.

Many of the students took refuge in the locker room, their main place to hide during Akuma attacks in the school. They begged Damocles for months to actually build some sort of Akuma safety shelter in the school, but it was always the same thing, 'There's not enough money in the budget.' Well, there certainly was enough for him to create a secret compartment hidden behind the wall for his Owl stuff. Thinking about how much of the money they made during fundraisers being spent by him to create those toy weapons often gave the students horrible headaches.

The students flinched when they heard Evillustrator's booming voice from the second floor of the school, “WHERE ARE YOU LILA?!” A few brave students looked out the window and saw Evillustrator erasing the walls to every classroom he passed by. “YOU’RE WEAK, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He erases the door to a storage closet, revealing two very scared students cowering at the sight of him. The students not targeted by him couldn't help but feel sorry for the Akuma. Whatever Lila did must have been awful to make Nathaniel this upset.

With a frustrated yell, Evillustrator got the two students with his sketchbook. Once they were gone, he jumped down from the second floor and into the courtyard, making the students get away from the window, hoping he didn't see them. Jean Duparc looked around to make sure everyone was safe or not doing anything to attract the Akuma. A few were nervously biting their nails or twirling their hair, others were texting their parents, and next to him, Aurore and Mireille were updating their blog, 'BugOut & CatChat'. Instead of recording Akuma battles like Alya with the Ladybug, they analyzed the akumas and gave descriptions of their powers, let the public know of the Akuma's location so they could avoid it and so Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn't find it. And just for laughs, they critiqued Hawkmoth's fashion choices for Akumas. So far, there was nothing about Evillustrator's new outfit that needed critiquing. He bumped Trouble Maker down to 2nd place on the 'Best Dressed Akuma' list.

“Come out now, or so help me, I will-!” He stepped to the side when Ladybug’s YoYo flew right past him and retracted back to the spotted heroine standing at the top of the stairs. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, you pest!”

Chat Noir dropped in next to Ladybug, “Well, what’s got him so steamed up?”

“Lila,” she groaned, making Chat roll his eyes in annoyance at the mention of the liar. He's given that girl enough chances, as Chat and as Adrien. He was done. ”Let’s get this over with.”

The two heroes ran towards Evillustrator and were already dodging giant boxing gloves, buzz saws, and pitchforks drawn by him. Ladybug threw her yoyo, which he ducked under then drew something on his tablet. A hole that Ladybug would’ve fallen into if Chat Noir hadn’t grabbed her hand in time appeared under her feet.

Evillustrator drew two more buzz saws and sent them at the heroes. Chat Noir quickly got in front of Ladybug and spun his staff, making it act like a shield that deflected the saws. One sliced through the middle of a bench, revealing Lila. He smirked, "FOUND YOU!" He threw his sketchbook at Lila, but she ran out of the way and it hit one half of the bench before coming back to him like a boomerang. Evillustrator continues throwing his sketchbook at the liar while also drawing projectiles whenever the sketchbook was out of his hands. The first round of projectiles was easily deflected by Ladybug and Chat Noir, but there were just too many on their second round. One of them gets one of Ladybug's pigtails, cutting off a few inches and making her hair look weird. Another one nicked Chat on the ankle. He whispered a curse and clutched his ankle.

With Chat Noir subdued, Ladybug had to protect both of them and deflect the rest of the projectiles while Evillustrator went after Lila. As he chased her up the stairs, Evillustrator drew a couple of darts that pinned Lila to a wall by embedding them through her clothes. As she struggled to get free, Evillustrator calmly approached her while drawing on his tablet. "Don't look so afraid Lila. You had this coming after what you did."

"I didn't do anything!" she screamed. "It's not my fault that people like my art better than your-" She's silenced by a cleaver appearing in Evillustrator's hands.

He chuckled darkly, "I am going to enjoy this." After aiming for her head, he threw the cleaver. Lila turned her head away, believing that the cleaver hitting the side of her head would be less painful than it hitting her face. She waited, but the cleaver never came, and there was a 'clank' sound. Lila opened an eye and saw that Chat Noir, being supported by Ladybug, had deflected the cleaver with his staff.

"Took you long enough!" she complained. "Get me down from here!"

Ladybug took a deep breath as she assessed the situation. She could either be a hero and save Lila, or still be a hero and rid the world of Lila... 'Fine!' She made her way over to the sausage-haired girl and slowly took out the darts, and was clearly trying to keep herself from stabbing Lila with the very sharp ends. Once the last dart was removed, Lila pushed Ladybug into Chat, making him stumble a bit and lose his composure before making a run for it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Evillustrator yelled, enraged. He grabbed Chat's staff while the leather-clad hero was still gripping it, and flung him over the railing, making him fall and crash onto the hard courtyard floor.

"Chat!" Ladybug called out. Angered, she threw her yoyo at the Akuma, but he caught it and opened his sketchbook, much to Ladybug's horror. Before the weapon could make contact with the page, Chat's staff extended and the end hit the side of Evillustrator's face. He fell to the floor and clenched his jaw. With him down, Ladybug ran for the sketchbook, only for a glass wall to appear between her, the Akumatized object, and Evillustrator. He drew something else on his tablet, and multiple swords appeared, all pointed at Ladybug.

"Stay out of my way!" He growled. Ladybug swung all around the courtyard as the swords chased after her. Seeing that there were still some students around, she led the swords into an empty classroom and proceeded to dodge them there. Seeing Chat Noir about to vault over to him, Evillustrator drew a giant boxing glove that knocked Chat down to the floor. He was in the middle of drawing an anvil when suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up to see who had the nerve to stop him, but his anger diminished when he saw that it was Marc. "Rainbow, what are you doing?"

"Nath, you gotta stop!" Marc pleaded as he intertwined his and Evillustrator's hands.

"You don't know what she did, Marc!" He exclaimed. "You weren't there! Now let me go!" He tried to pull his hand out of Marc's grasp, but the writer wasn't letting go. 'Rossi's getting away! I can't let her get away with this!' With some reluctance, Evillustrator raised his sketchbook and tried hard to ignore the sad look in Marc's eyes. Just as he was about to press the page to his chest, Marc was pushed to the side, and the page instead was pressed to Rose's face, making her disappear into the sketchbook.

"ROSE!" Juleka and Marc cried out.

Evillustrator hit his fist on the metal railing in anger, "DAMN IT! SEE WHAT ROSSI'S MAKING ME DO?!" Hurridly, he drew a jetpack that appeared on his back. He pointed to Chat, "If you or Ladybug get in my way again, I WILL ERASE YOU BOTH FROM EXISTENCE!" Before he took off, he noticed Alya peering from around a corner. She was recording the fight using Nino's phone. When she noticed his eyes on her, she quickly made a run for it, but Evillustrator was faster. He hoisted the journalist over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me!" he yelled. "I want you to be there when Lila finally gets what's coming to her!"

"Wh-what are you- AH!"

Evillustrator flew out of the school just as Ladybug ran out of the classroom with her pigtails missing a couple of inches, one side strand missing, and some cuts on her face. She knew Evillustrator was a dangerous Akuma. He nearly drowned her and Chat and almost killed Chloe with a buzzsaw, but this was next level brutal. Hearing a groan, she looked and saw Chat Noir slowly climbing up the stairs with a slight limp. "Chat, are you okay?"

He shook his head, "No, m'lady. He got my ankle bad."

"Ladybug, Chat Noir!" Nino called out as he and Sabrina approached the two in-pain heroes. "Are you two okay?"

Ladybug gave a nod, "Yeah, we're fine. And don't worry Nino, we'll get Alya back."

Nino let out a breath of relief before Sabrina said to Ladybug, "Hey, after you were helping Lila down, I-I saw her push you. A-and before that, she sounded so rude when you were trying to help her." Ladybug frowned at that. She's saved that girl's butt so many times, and not once has she shown any gratitude. "Are you two having a fight, or-"

"No. We're not."

"Then why-"

Chat cut Nino off, "They're not friends, okay? Never have been, never will be."

"... Lila was lying?" Sabrina whispered to herself.

"And the sun sets in the west," Juleka muttered, making Marc give her a little nudge with his elbow.

The two bespectacled students cast each other looks of disbelief. Lila was lying about being friends with Ladybug, and she pushed the heroine into Chat, knowing he was injured and trying to fight Evillustrator. If she lied about that, what else could she have lied about? Pulling them out of their thoughts was Aurore and Mireille running over to Ladybug and Chat Noir with their phones.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir!" Mireille called out. "Alya's live-streaming right now." She hands the spotted heroine her phone, and the screen showed a live stream of the Ladyblog. Alya was in an odd position with a look of clear terror on her face that she was trying to mask with a brave smile. "He-hey, viewers! So, I am..." She looks down, and her eyes bulge before she looks back at the camera, "About a hundred feet above the ground right now, and I have nothing to hold onto! B-but don't worry. I mean, I'm slung over an Akuma's shoulder like a sack of flour, but at least he's not handsy like Pharaoh." She panned the phone to Evillustrator. "Care to comment?"

Evillustrator looks to the phone with an enraged look. "Lila Rossi, if you're watching this, I will find you! Be sure of it! And I might consider letting you live if Ladybug and Chat Noir hand over their Miraculous!"

Marc felt a tear about to escape out of the corner of his eye. What did Lila do to Nathaniel?

Alya panned the phone back to her horrified face. The fear of falling from a great height didn't phase her anymore. Now she was scared of the possibility of seeing an Akuma murder someone. Finally, much to her relief, they landed on a balcony.

"Wh-what are you doing here?!" A woman yelled.

Ladybug paused the video, "Thanks, you guys." She turns to Chat, "You gonna be okay?"

Chat gives her a thumbs up, "I'll be fine." He extends his baton, ready to vault out of the school. "Let's go!"

The two heroes swing and vault out of the school and head over to where Evillustrator is, leaving Lila's former followers to awkwardly stand with her haters.

"... We tried to tell you," Marc told Nino and Sabrina after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Evillustrator, this is going too far! Let her go!"

Evillustrator glared at the Italian woman tied up and gagged on a couch. Floating over her were about ten daggers, all of the blades sharpened to a deadly point. "Yes, spare the mother of a demon spawn," he said sarcastically. "You said that you'd stay out of my way!" He turns to Alya, who's trying to inch out of the room. "Don't. Go. Anywhere. And keep rolling! Let's see if Lila Rossi is all she claims to be."

Mme. Rossi lets out a loud muffled response. The Akuma approaches her and rips the duct tape off of her mouth, making her let out a pained yell. "What are you talking about?! What does this have to do my daughter?!"

Evillustrator gives the woman a pitiful look. It's sad how this woman doesn't know what her daughter has been up to. Well, now she'll know.

"MAMA!"

"Perfect timing," Evillustrator smirked as Lila ran up the stairs and into the living room.

"Mama, don't listen to him! He's an Akuma, and he's trying to hurt me!"

Evillustrator chuckled, "Well, that's not the whole story, is it?" He turns to Alya, still recording, "Paris, let's see how committed to her lies, Lila is. Would she put her own mother in danger just to avoid the consequences?" He approaches the scared and very confused woman. "Irene Rossi, your daughter has been claiming many things recently. Confirm a few things for me, okay?" Irene nods frantically. "Great. And if Lila tries to save face, then... I'm so sorry she's your daughter." He draws a ball and chain something on his tablet. That same one appears around Lila's ankle, preventing her from escaping. "Now, Irene. Tell us, have you ever met Prince Ali?"

Irene furrowed her brow in confusion. 'What is he talking about?' She shook her head, no. "What are you-"

"He's trying to make me look bad, mama!" Lila wailed. "Please, don't answer whatever he asks! It's a trick!"

"Damn, Lila," Evillustrator whispered. "I thought you loved your mother." He pointed to one of the daggers, and at his command, it dropped down, dangerously close to hitting Irene's shoulder and embedding itself into the couch cushion. All three women and everyone watching the Ladyblog Livestream let out horrified gasps. "This is what happens when you lie," he taunted. "So, you've never met Prince Ali? So, that would mean Lila's never worked on Go Green charities with him."

"What?!" Irene shrieked. "Prince Ali doesn't even work with Go Grene charities! He's devoted his time to helping children! Lila, what have you been telling people?"

Before the brunette has a chance to speak, Evillustrator interrupts, "Next question. Are you the descendant of a fox hero named Volpina?" Alya's jaw dropped at that question. "Did anyone in the family ever pass along a necklace with a fox-tail pendant down to Lila?"

Irene shook her head, "No! No one hasn't!" She glares at Lila, "The only family heirloom passed down is a wedding veil with the brides' names stitched on!"

"M-maybe you just didn't know about it!" Lila lied, much to Irene and Alya's shock. They saw what happened when she lied, and she's still trying to save herself. "Nonna passed the necklace down to me because she-"

"LIES!" Another dagger came very close to hitting Irene's foot. She managed to move it out of the way at the last second. "So shameful. Letting your mother face the consequences for your lies? Is there no level you won't stoop to, Lila?" When she didn't answer and instead glared at him, he asked Irene the next question, "Why wasn't Lila in school for what was it?... Three months?”

“I was told that school was closed due to an Akuma outbreak and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were too incompetent to stop them.”

”By Lila?”

”...” She nodded, ashamed, “Yes.”

Evillustrator smirked, “Well, while your daughter was relaxing at home, she’s been telling everyone that she was really in Achu with Prince Ali.” He adds, “And it takes Ladybug and Chat Noir about three hours to defeat an Akuma, so they’re not incompetent like your daughter says they are.”

Irene hung her head. How could her own flesh and blood be so deceitful? And how could she risk the life of her own mother like this?

”Aw, that’s so sweet!” Chat exclaimed as he and Ladybug landed on the balcony and made their way inside.

”Nathaniel, you’ve already exposed Lila,” Ladybug tried to reason. “Just hand over your Akuma so no one else gets hurt!”

”My name is Evillustrator!” he growled. “And that wasn’t even half the lies she’s told!” He turns to Irene, who’s gone pale learning that Lila's told more lies. “You thought those were bad? Just wait until you see what else she’s hiding.” He draws a gas mask that appears over his face and a smoke bomb that releases purple smoke all around the living room. There are some scattered coughs that decrease as the smoke clears up due to Ladybug and Chat Noir spinning their weapons. They act like fans and blow the smoke out of the window. When the room clears up, Evillustrator, Lila, and Alya are gone, but Irene still remains tied up on the couch with the daggers still above her.

“Where’d they go?” Ladybug wondered aloud before Chat went to go untie Mme. Rossi.

”Th-thank you, b-both of you,” she stammered while eyeing the still-floating daggers. “I-I am so sorry for what I th-thought of you, I’m sure you’re both-“

”Ma’am, it’s alright,” Chat told her. “Lila was the one making us look bad; you didn’t know.”

"Maledetto," Irene sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Looking back, some things Lila has been telling me did seem far-fetched. The school being closed for months, every student and teacher being akumatized, the people working for the media have been held hostage." The heroes give her unbelieving looks. "Yes. I realize how dumb it sounds now, but I'm new to these... Akumas, and Miraculous. I... I thought I could trust her."

Ladybug rested a hand on the woman's shoulder and gives her a sympathetic look, "We'll set your daughter straight, Mme. Rossi. You can be sure of it." As the woman smiled, Ladybug called her for her, "Lucky Charm!" The object that dropped down into her hands was, "A ram's horn?"

Chat Noir scratched his head in confusion, "You gonna play a little tune?"

"That's also what convinced me you two weren't capable," Irene said. "You rely on random objects to defeat an Akuma?"

Ladybug looked around the room, trying to find a way to use the Lucky Charm, "Well, they do help in battles. I just need to figure out how to use it."

"Hey!" Chat piped up, "Isn't there a Goat Miraculous?"

Ladybug recalled seeing a Goat Kwami when she was battling Kwamibuster, and she wore horn-shaped barrettes. "You're right, Chat! Go and follow Evillustrator, I'll be with you soon." With a salute, Chat was gone. Before she left, Irene told her in a low, threatening voice, "Bring her back, so I may give her the punishment she deserves."

Ladybug tensed, "Well, with what Lila's been doing, she'll probably be out of your hands and in the polices'." She left before Irene could ask what she meant, leaving the Italian woman to sulk in her living room.

'What did she do to him?!' Marc wondered over and over as he sat in the art room with Juleka, furiously writing his feelings down in his journal. Both of them needed a break from the guilty look of Juleka's classmates and decided to spend the rest of the day in the art classroom. It was so quiet without the others.'That sausage-haired jerk deserves what's coming to her!... Maybe not death.'

Juleka takes a peek over Marc's shoulder to read what he's written. Her eyes go wide when she sees the many words Marc has used to describe Lila... Well, he was right. "You feeling better?" she asked.

Marc looked up from his journal and turned to face the goth girl. "... I need worse words for her." Juleka chuckled and took the seat next to him. "I have used every curse word and insult I could think of to describe Lila, and none of them are strong enough."

Juleka pulls out a pencil, "Try this." She writes something down on the corner page of his journal and has him look at it, leaving Marc's face a crimson red. "Eh?"

"Juleka," Marc gasped. "Wh-where did you-"

"You won't believe what mom said around me," she smirked. "One of them was actually Luka's first word." Her amused expression turns sour, "I still think those words are too good for Lila, though."

"Every curse word is too good for her," Marc joked, making Juleka laugh. Cutting off their amused laughter was the sound of something hitting a window. They turned around and saw Ladybug standing on a ledge right outside the classroom. They ran over and opened the window, allowing the heroine to come inside.

"L-Ladybug, what are you doing here?" Juleka asked in awe.

"The Lucky Charm told me to come here." She turns to Marc, "I'm gonna need to borrow you for a while, Marc." The emerald-eyed boy stood, frozen in shock. Ladybug. The Ladybug wanted to borrow him! Realizing that he's just been staring at her for a while, he snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"Y-yes! Of course!"

"Smooth," Juleka whispered.

Ladybug wrapped her arm around Marc's waist and threw her yoyo out of the window. Once it wrapped around something, it pulled the two out of the classroom, leaving Juleka alone.

"... Might as well go home," she said to herself before gathering up her stuff.

Once she and Marc were on top of a roof, Ladybug moved them to hide behind an air vent, away from the public view. "Marc, what I'm about to ask you is very important, okay?" Off his nod, she pulled out a hexagonal box in front of her. "Marc Anciel, here is the Miraculous of the Goat, which grants the power of Compassion. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me."

Marc was speechless. He wanted to faint, scream, and jump up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Ladybug. Was asking him to assist her in saving Nathaniel... But what if he failed? Nathaniel would stay an Akuma forever, he'd fail Ladybug and Chat Noir, and-"

"Do you accept?" Ladybug asked, concerned when Marc didn't give her an immediate response like the previous heroes. "Marc, I trust you. And Nathaniel needs you."

"... I'll do it."

With a smile, Ladybug handed him the box. Marc opened it, revealing two hair clips in the shape of horns. There was a bright flash of light that had Marc shielding his eyes for a moment before looking up at the goat-like creature floating in front of him. All he could think was, 'I WANNA PET THEM SO MUCH!'

"Hi!" She greeted, "My name's Ziggy, and I'm a Kwami! It's a pleasure to meet you!" She flies around Marc, making him chuckle. "I love him already!" Ziggy squealed as she nuzzled against Marc's cheek. "Okay, to transform, you just gotta say, Ziggy, Fleece On!"

With a nod, Marc put the clips in his hair, where they turned into crescent moon-shaped clips.

"Ziggy! Fleece On!"

Ziggy flew into one of the hairclips, transforming them both back into their original design. Marc swept his hand over his face, making a black mask appear around his eyes. A golden sheep's bell appeared on his choker necklace. The magic spread from the bell and formed a white hoodie with black trumpet sleeves, white gloves with black fingertips, black pants held up by a white studded belt, and black and white combat boots. He ran his fingers through his hair, making fake goat ears appear atop his head, and his hair became an inch longer with the tips dyed white. Finally, he reached up into the air and caught a shepherd's crook that materialized in the air. He spun it around before tapping it on the ground.

Capricorn was ready!

All of Paris' citizens stood before the Eiffel Tower, eyes glued to their phones as they watched the LadyBlog live stream with anticipation. Firefighters stood all around the structure with large trampolines ready to catch someone. And at the very top of the Eiffel Tower were Alya, filming the fight between Chat Noir, Stormy Weather, and Mime, both drawn by Evillustrator, said villain plucking at a rope tied to the railing, and tied at the end of the rope was Lila, dangling thousands of feet above the ground and screaming to the top of her lungs.

"Come on, Lila," Evillustrator told her as he continued messing with the only thing keeping Lila from becoming a stain on the ground. "Make things easier for yourself, and tell everyone the truth."

"I'M NOT A LIAR!" she screeched.

Evillustrator snarled before ducking out of the way of one of Stormy Weather's lightning bolts. "You'll do anything to keep up your act, won't you?!" He drew a throwing dark on his tablet and aimed it for Lila's head. She managed to swing out of the way just in time, much to Evillustrator's frustration. He let out a sigh before saying, "Fine. Have it your way." He draws a blade on his tablet, and that same one appears in his hand.

"NO!" Chat Noir yelled before he was pinned to the floor by one of Mime's invisible objects. His staff was out of reach, and he could barely move. Stormy Weather approached him with her parasol, and zapped him with an ice blast, freezing him in place.

Hawkmoth's symbol appeared over Evillustrator's face, "Evillustrator! Forget the girl! Take Chat Noir's Miraculous! Unthaw his hand!"

"She's made my and my friends' life a living hell, and you expect me to let her GET AWAY WITH IT?!"

In his lair, Hawkmoth swayed slightly due to being overwhelmed by Evillustrator's emotions. How can one boy feel so much rage? He looked through the Akuma's eyes and saw him putting the blade close to the rope holding up his follower. Hawkmoth didn't care for Lila, but he wasn't that cruel. Plus, if she died, where else is he gonna find some selfish civilian willing to work for him and get rid of a couple of Adrien's bad influences in exchange for the hero's downfall and a modeling contract? "That's enough!"

Hawkmoth was physically restraining Evillustrator from cutting the rope. The Akuma struggled to regain control, "Why are you defending her of all people?! You got a soft side for Rossi, Hawkmoth?!" He sneered, "What is she, your follower or something?..." He gets the use of his body back and smirks when Hawkmoth says nothing. "Your silence says a lot."

Alya and the citizens watching from down below gasped. Some inexperienced model was secretly working for Hawkmoth? She was working against their beloved hero! Hawkmoth felt like he was about to pass out from the massive wave of emotions. For once, he was praying for Ladybug to show up and de-akumatize the victim. Once this was over, he needed a long break. Screw the jewelry, this headache was awful.

Evillustrator hummed, "Well, less of Hawkmoth's followers, fewer problems." He slashed the rope, and Lila plummeted to the earth with a blood-curdling scream.

"OH MY GOD!" Alya screamed as she dropped her phone.

The firefighters tried to pinpoint where she would drop, and the police stood by, ready the question the girl (If she lives). Lila was halfway to her doom. She clenched her eyes shut and waited while thinking to herself, 'I'm lucky enough to have gotten out of there without him exposing me! That pest better get here in time!' Right as she was at the second level of the tower, she suddenly stopped falling. It felt like something was hoisting her up. She opened one eye and turned her head to see who caught her. (Maybe gain some sympathy while she's at it) "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much for-"

"Cram it, Liar Rossi," Capricorn sneered as he pulled Lila away from the balcony using his crook, and set her down. He unhooked his weapon from her jacket and ran off to help Ladybug.

"HEY!" Lila screeched, throwing away her kicked puppy act. "Aren't you gonna untie me?!"

Capricorn just smirked, having no intention of helping her, and vaulted his way up to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug spun her YoYo, deflecting each of Evillustrator’s projectiles while occasionally using her weapon to hit the ice Chat was trapped in and free him.

”So Ladybug, tell me.” He drew a few throwing stars, “Is Lila really your best friend?”

Ladybug flung one of the projectiles into the throwing stars, making it explode on impact. “She hates me! I try to be friends with her, but she swore a vendetta on me!” She backflips away from the sketchbook before it could pull her in. “Hell, I’m pretty sure she wants me dead! When I was fighting Oni-Chan, she tricked Chat into leaving me!” At the mention of her partner, she threw her YoYo at the ice block once again, creating a few cracks along the surface. “So to answer your question, we never will be friends! Ever!”

Alya felt her hands shaking as she struggled to keep her phone up. She owed Marinette, Nathaniel, Alix, Rose, Juleka, and Marc a huge apology when or if this is all over. So far, it’s not looking good.

Ladybug threw her YoYo once more, intending to grab the sketchbook, but it instead wrapped around a sheet of flypaper. When she retracted it, Ladybug had some trouble separating the two, and just got both of her hands and weapon stuck to the paper. Evillustrator drew a ball and chain around the heroine’s ankle and calmly approached her.

”I won,” he sang as he reached his hand over to grab the earrings. Alya cut her phone off and shielded her eyes. She wanted to know the heroes' identities, but not like this.

But a second before the earrings were in his grasp, Evillustrator was whacked to the side and fell to the ground. While getting up, he watched as a figure dressed in black and white used a shepherd’s crook to break the chain connected to the 100lb ball, and the ice trapping Chat Noir. “Who are you supposed to be?!” He snarled.

He smiled, “The name’s Capricorn.”

Without saying a word, Evillustrator furiously drew a missile on his tablet that appeared and went after the heroes. While running, Ladybug finally got the flypaper off and threw her YoYo around Alya. She flung her over to the elevator and yelled, “Go!” Alya complied and quickly went inside the elevator to avoid the fight.

As he and Capricorn ran, Chat came up with an idea on how to get rid of the missile. To the new hero, he shouted, “Launch me!” With a nod, Capricorn ran ahead of Chat, got down on one knee, and locked his fingers together. Once he was close enough, Chat leaped into Capricorn’s hands, and the latter launched him into the air. Chat called out “Cataclysm!” as he went over the missile, and slid his hand across it, turning it into black ash.

”Nice one, you guys!” Ladybug commended as she rejoined the fight.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without ewe,” he shot Capricorn double finger guns, making Ladybug roll her eyes and Capricorn stifle a laugh. Seeing Evillustrator drawing something else, Ladybug said to the new hero, “Capricorn, use your power. You can connect with Nathaniel and figure out what’s wrong!”

He nodded, “Cover me!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir ran towards Evillustrator, just as he was finished drawing three buzz saws. Chat Noir got in front of Ladybug and deflected them while she called for another Lucky Charm. It was a box of tissues. She set those to the side and went after Evillustrator, wrapping her YoYo tight around him. He kept his sketchbook clutched close to his chest and had no intention of letting go.

With him restrained, Capricorn yelled, “Connection!” And his crook was illuminated by a bright white light. He calmly approached Evillustrator, ignored his threats, and tapped his forehead with the crook. In an instant, Capricorn was no longer at the Eiffel Tower; he was at someone’s home. He looked around and recognized the place thanks to the furniture and photos framed on the wall. He was at Nathaniel’s house.

”Where’s my lil’ Leonardo?!” A playful voice called out followed by some giggling. Capricorn looked towards the door and saw a tall man with dark red hair and turquoise eyes walking in with a bright smile and a bag in his hands. Capricorn recognized the man. He’s seen his photos every time he goes over to Nathaniel’s house. It was his father, Maison Kurtzberg.

The man smiled as a child with long red hair wearing paint-splattered clothes ran into his arms. It was clear to Capricorn that the boy was Nathaniel.

”We really gotta cut your bangs, kids,” Maison laughed as he ruffled young Nathaniel’s hair, making the child laugh.

”Oh, leave him alone,” a voice Capricorn recognized as Aya’s said. “he likes how they look.” The seven-year-old nodded in agreement with his mother, making Maison chuckle.

”Well then, how are you gonna be able to see when you’re drawing in your books?” he asked.

”Oh, our little artist used up all of his sketchbooks,” Aya simpered while Maison just looked astonished.

”All ten of them?” Aya nodded. “Well then...” He hands Nathaniel over to Aya and reaches into the bag his holding, “It’s a good thing I bought this!” He pulls out a black sketchbook with a white outline of a paintbrush, pencil, and pen on the front. The young boy’s eyes gleamed under his bangs, and he made grabby motions with his hands, either to get to his dad or grab the new sketchbook.

Aya giggled and kissed her son’s forehead. “We really need to get him to talk more.”

Capricorn smiled at the scene before it faded away and transitioned to the school locker room. He looked around and saw Nathaniel, standing at his locker and frantically flipping through the torn pages of a black book. Upon closer inspection, Capricorn realized that it was Nathaniel’s sketchbook, the one his dad bought for him.

‘So that’s what Lila did,’ he thought bitterly.

When Nathaniel broke out into tears and sat down on the floor, Capricorn approached and kneeled beside him. “... Nathaniel?” He looked up at him with a tear-stained face and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Capricorn placed his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders, “You had every right to be mad. You-“

Nathaniel cut him off, “Took my anger out on everyone! I-I trapped my classmates, I hurt Ladybug and Chat Noir, I tried to kill Lila!” He covers his face with his hands and cries harder, “I almost hurt Marc...”

Capricorn wanted to tell him, ‘No you didn’t.’ But that would reveal himself as Marc.

”My classmates are gonna hate me even more for what I did to Lila. Don’t make me go back out there...”

“I won’t.” He moves Nathaniel’s hands out of the way and cups his face in his hands. “But you can’t stay Akumatized forever. I get why you’re upset. That sketchbook came from someone very important to you and she took it away...”

Nathaniel sighs and holds his hand against his cheek. “...”

”... If it makes you feel any better, Evillustrator exposed Lila as Hawkmoth’s partner.”

Nathaniel looks up, hopeful, “He did?”

Capricorn nodded, “You won’t have to worry about her anymore. She can’t hurt you or your friends again.”

“... The Akuma's in my sketchbook,” he said, right before the locker room faded away.

Capricorn looked around and saw that he was back at the Eiffel Tower. In front of him was a heavily crying Evillustrator, no longer bound by Ladybug’s YoYo. He slowly loosened his grip around his sketchbook and handed it over to Capricorn. The goat hero took it, turned around, and tore the book in half. The pages scattered onto the floor and morphed into the people Evillustrator trapped in the sketchbook. Finally, the Akuma fluttered out of the book.

”No more evil-doing for you, little Akuma!” Ladybug caught it with her YoYo. “Time to de-evilize! Gotcha!” Emerging from the YoYo was a pure white butterfly that fluttered up into the sky. “Bye-bye little butterfly.” She looked around for the tissue box Lucky Charm until she saw Capricorn using a handful to wipe Evillustrator’s tears away. With a smile, she took the box and tossed it into the air.

”MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

The tissue box burst into thousands of magic Ladybugs that flew across the city. The people released from the sketchbook were placed back on the ground, all of the damage caused by Evillustrator was fixed, Chat and Ladybug’s cuts from earlier were healed, everything erased was restored, and Lila was no longer tied up. Finally, the Akuma’s magic washed over Evillustrator, leaving Nathaniel curled in on himself.

Ladybug and Chat Noir fist bump, “Pound it.”

Chat Noir looks off to the side and notices something lying on the floor. He walks over to it and picks up Nathaniel’s repaired sketchbook. “Hey,” Nathaniel looks up and gasps when he sees his sketchbook, “this yours?” He hands it over to the redhead, who immediately takes it.

”Th-thank you,” he whispered in disbelief as he flipped through the pages. Everything was there. He furrowed his brow in confusion, “I-I thought the Miracle Cure could only repair things caused by the Akuma.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to answer that. Maybe the Miracle Cure could fix Akumatized objects that were previously damaged, she thought. Before Ladybug could reply, he YoYo beeped. She switched it to the phone setting and saw a LadyBlog Livestream, only Alya’s phone was pointed to the floor. Did she know she was live right now?

”Please! All it takes is a few tears, and everyone will think Hawkmoth manipulated or blackmailed me!” It was Lila.

”Did Alya plan this?” Ladybug wondered.

”Clever girl,” Chat said.

“And just wait until tomorrow. Those idiots will fall at my command and attack that asshole, Kurtzberg! Maybe I can get them to tear up his sketchbook again! No doubt Ladybug's fixed it."

Capricorn‘s grip around his weapon tightened when she said that.

She let out a fake whine, “‘Oh, Nathaniel tried to kill me! Lock him away!’ See? It’s that easy!”

“I’ll tell everyone!” Alya retorted.

”And who’s gonna believe some lousy tabloid writer?” She taunted. “One word from me, and you’ll be a social pariah like those f*g art kids!”

Ladybug wanted to punch that girl so badly... Eh, let Paris take care of her.

”What the hell did you do to her?!”

”Well, let’s see... Threatened her, told her she’d lose her friends, and succeeded. Framed her for theft, cheating, and assault. Then I got her expelled so I could have Adrien all to myself."

Chat Noir held back the bile rising in his throat.

”So, I’m gonna go on a limb here and say you’ve been lying about every single thing.”

”Took you long enough, idiot! I hope you like sitting alone tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be rich from taking that dumpy bitch’s charity money, and modeling for Gabriel.”

”And meanwhile, Paris will be hunting you down.” Alya pans the phone over to her smug face. “You heard it here, Paris. Lila is working for Hawkmoth, has been tormenting students and Francoise-DuPont, stealing charity money, and she’s homophobic.”

She pans the phone towards Lila’s horrified face. “So Lila, how does it feel to be the most hated girl in France? Oh, look at that. The comments are rolling in- Wow, everyone really hates you.”

Officer Raincomprix steps in between the two girls, “Miss Césaire, we’re going to need that phone for evidence, please.”

”One minute sir,” the video pans to her face, “Babe, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry. Your phone’s with the cops now. Okay, here you go.” The screen cuts to black.

Chat Noir couldn’t help but laugh, “I love that girl!”

Ladybug ran her fingers through her hair and grinned, “It’s over! She’s gone! She’s finally gone!” She turns to Capricorn with a bright smile, “Capricorn, why don’t you take Nathaniel back home? I’ll meet up with you later.”

With a nod, the goat hero scooped up Nathaniel into his arms and leaped away. Ladybug and Chat Noir swung and vaulted off, feeling very relieved knowing that they would have to deal with Lila anymore as civilians or heroes.

Capricorn landed right outside Nathaniel’s home and gently set him down.

”Thanks,” Nathaniel said as he shyly looked down at the ground. “A-again, I am so sorry about-“

”Nathaniel, it’s fine,” Capricorn reassured him. “You weren’t in control. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

Nathaniel smiled at that, “Thanks.”

Then, without thinking, Capricorn pulled him in for a hug, which Nathaniel returned once he got over his surprise. This lasted for a few more seconds until Nathaniel said, “I- uh... I have a boyfriend.”

Capricorn mentally facepalmed. ‘You’re not Marc right now! Nathaniel is not Capricorn’s boyfriend!’ "Sorry." Awkwardly, he pulled away and the two boys looked away in embarrassment. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, someone called out, "NATH!" It was Alix, running towards him with Rose and Juleka. The latter narrowed her eyes at the goat hero, making him tense up and worry she'll figure out he's Marc.

"Oh, shit!" Alix cursed and she engulfed Nathaniel in a bone-crushing hug. "I thought we lost you, bud!"

"We could hear everything while we were in the sketchbook," Rose piped up. "They know Lila's lying!"

"Everyone in Paris does," Juleka smiled. "A police car drove by me earlier and I saw her in the back seat."

Alix cackled, "You should have seen their faces, Nath! It was priceless! Bustier was rocking back and forth like a mental patient, Max was face-palming over and over, and Mylene? Whoa! Don't get me started-"

Rose pointed to Capricorn, "Who's this?" Alix and Juleka turned their attention to the new hero.

"Sweet!" Alix pumped her fist in the air. "A new hero! And he helped take down Rossi!"

Capricorn's elation from the compliments turned to concern when Nathaniel asked, "Wait, where's Marc? Is he okay?!" Before Capricorn could come up with an excuse, Juleka answered, "Oh, his moms called him home," she fibbed while occasionally stealing glances at Capricorn. "I was gonna go with him, but my mom needed me home for something, too. He's probably still there."

Capricorn furrowed his brow. Did Juleka know?

"Thanks, Jules!" The four of them watched him run to Marc's house. With them distracted, Capricorn took this opportunity to quickly vault away once he heard his clips beeping and go look for Ladybug.

Capricorn met with Ladybug in an alley near his house and said the de-transformation words. "Ziggy, fleece off." The goat kwami flew out from the hair clip and hovered next to Marc, nuzzling his cheek as he removed the clips.

"That was so much fun!" Ziggy squealed. "Can you call on him again one day? Pleeease?" She put her flipper-hands together and gave Ladybug dough eyes, making her and Marc laugh.

"We'll see," Ladybug giggled. She gives Ziggy a little pat on her head before pulling out the box. Marc set the clips back in and said goodbye to Ziggy before she flew back into the horn-shaped clips.

"Thank you, Marc." She tucked the box away then pulled out her yoyo, preparing to swing away. "I knew I picked the right person for the job. Now, I suggest you go make sure Nathaniel is alright."

Marc nodded, "I will."

"See you soon, Capricorn." Marc wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she was already gone. He let out an excited squeal before running to his house. He waited outside for about three minutes until he saw Nathaniel running towards him.

"Nath!" The two ran towards each other and met each other with a tight, loving embrace.

"Rainbow, I'm so sorry," Nathaniel whispered, taking an exhale before asking, "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that. Nath, what Lila was... It-it was fucked up." Nathaniel nodded once he got over the shock of hearing his boyfriend curse. "But she's gone, now. She can't hurt you, me, Mari, anyone anymore."

With a smile, Nathaniel kissed Marc, and he melted into it as he wrapped his arms around Nathaniel.

The next day, the art club kids walked to school together. (Marc made sure to set an alarm for Marinette) They wanted to be prepared for any random apologies from the Akuma class or any reporters swarming the schoolyard looking for Hawkmoth's latest victim. When they realized DuPont was an Akuma hotspot, news crews would always go to get an interview from the Akumatized student or teacher. So far no reporters yet, much to Nathaniel's relief, but there were a few police cars parked outside.

Around them were a few officers questioning the students and teachers as they made their way to the doors. Before they could go in, the doors swung open, and four police officers walked out, escorting Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles to the police cars. Marinette asked Nino, who walked out a second later, "Are Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles getting arrested?"

Nino shrugged, "I heard the school board decided to do an investigation when Lila mentioned missing months of school and getting you expelled without any proof. Some people from the board came, talked to them, and, uh..." He slipped off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't think we're gonna see them for a while, Mari."

Marinette couldn't help but grin at the news, "I don't have to be the class example anymore!" Nino's eyes bulged at that. "I-it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

Nino chuckled before giving the group a remorseful look, "I... I'm sorry I didn't believe you guys."

"Don't sweat it, Lahiffe," Alix said. "You guys are just too nice and naive to notice when you're being conned."

Nino furrowed his brow as he processed what she just said. After a moment of silence, he said, "Thank... You? Well, school is canceled for today and the class is going to get some ice cream. You guys in?"

"Yeah!" Alix cheered. "Let's get some ice cream and apologies!" She sat on top of the stair railing and slid down.

"There they are," Kim said, pointing to Nino arriving with the art students. The Akuma class tensed up as they approached. Some were going over their apologies in their heads while others were figuring out what to say, especially to Marinette and Nathaniel. "Alright," he took a breath, "let's do this, guys."

Before any of them could apologize, Alix spoke, "Yes, yes. You all were idiots, we're smart, you're sorry, and promise to listen to us when we say someone is lying."

"... Y-yeah. Ba-basically," Kim stammered. "But seriously, you guys, we're sorry we took Lila's side."

"We've known you guys since we were kids," Mylene remarked. "We should've known you guys couldn't have done the stuff Lila said you did."

"Yeah, you should've," Juleka muttered, making Rose nudge her girlfriend with her elbow.

Alya walked over to Marinette with a sad smile, "Any chance you guys might forgive us someday?"

Marinette smiled and pulled the girl in for a hug, "Alya, shut up. I forgive you."

The creole girl smile and wrapped her arms around Marinette, "Thanks, Mari."

"... But if this happens again, I will physically knock some sense into you all until you admit that I'm right and beg for mercy," she whispered. The students just stood there, disturbed by what the sweetest girl in class just said.

Alya slowly back away from Marinette and nervously chuckled, "Got it, girl."

"Now, Alya," Alix piped up, "guys, isn't there someone else you want to apologize to?" She gestures over to Nathaniel.

Alya wasn't sure what to say to Nathaniel. The only time they really interacted was yesterday when she accused him of stealing Lila's art. So, taking a deep breath, she said to him, "Nathaniel, I... I jumped the gun, there, I'll admit it." A few nodded along. "When I think about it, the more I realize that you'd never steal another person's art."

"I mean you went into a fifteen-minute rant during history when we were talking about some art thief," Ivan brought up. He chuckled at the memory before stopping abruptly. "Yeah... Sorry."

"I forgive you guys," Nathaniel smiled. "Just don't do that ever again or I might also knock some sense into you guys."

To change the subject, Max brought up Capricorn, and now that was all anyone could talk about. Marc blushed when some of the girls called his hero persona cute. Was he? He didn't really get a good look at his outfit. As they rambled on about the new hero, he and Nathaniel went to get some ice cream.

"So, what'd you think of Capricorn?" Marc asked.

Nathaniel hummed in thought before answering, "I like him. He really helped me out there... Plus, he's kinda cute." Marc tried to fight back a blush. "Not as cute as you, though." Marc wasn't sure how to respond to that. "He was really understanding about why I got Akumatized and he even convinced me to hand over my Akuma."

Marc feigned surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "Do you think he'd mind if we put him in the comic?"

Marc pretended to think about it for a moment, "I don't think so."

AO3

~Taglist~

#Evillustrator #marc x nathaniel #Badass Nathaniel Kurtzberg #lila gets exposed #Goat Marc #goat miraculous #ml salt fanfic #class redemption

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youngbugandtonystank · 4 years

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I’ve seen a lot of things on Twitter recently about the hype over white ppl vs black ppl at marvel on Twitter about how ppl always hype up the white actors and characters but never the black ones .. and about how the black character don’t get that much attention weather it be interviews or even with social media following ? I just wanted to know what are your thoughts about the subject?? I mean I kinda do agree .. with some of them about how they are feeling with the situation

This post can explain pretty well how racist Disney can get, especially with TV shows and movies. Here, let me share it:

This content was made by @anikawalia. You can find more of this in this source: x.

Some of these things happen with the MCU too. Well, Disney /= MCU.

While I adore some of these friendships, it always bothered me how they make the black/POC characters the sidekicks and best friends:

White hero, sidekick of color: why Marvel needs to break the cycle

The problem with this is they get reduced to ‘sidekick/best friend’ when they can cast a black/POC person to be the protagonist instead. Some of those characters are disrespected in major ways in the MCU. They’ve missed several opportunities to introduce more non-white leads. And sometimes they don’t even get them the promo those characters deserve. Ned Leeds for example, Jacob Batalon was the only member of the main cast that didn’t get an official poster/promo for Far From Home, even if Ned has been a major part of Peter’s life and a big character in the previous movies to the point that he had a cameo in IW and Endgame, yet he didn’t get promo for a movie where he actively participates in.

Or the fact that they kicked out Laura Harrier only to give a romantic relationship a spotlight. And when asked about it, Watts said Liz was probably older because of Laura’s age. Disrespectful af. Laura was very vocal about continuing in the MCU, and she didn’t even ask to be Peter’s love interest, no, she wanted to play a more important role in the franchise. She said she wanted Liz to become Firestar and even hinted that she wouldn’t mind playing Black Cat. People forget to credit her for being the first black lead female and love interest for a Spider-Man adaption. Nobody cared about that, they only said she was only a ‘love interest’ that we shouldn't care about because she's not MJ. And this is exactly the problem when they’re casting black/POC characters. They’re not accessories or representation points. If she wanted to continue and they clearly have space for characters like Betty Brant and Happy Hogan, then why is Liz not getting the same treatment? Sorry, I went off but this makes me really mad. You have no idea how excited Laura was about getting this role. Literally every interview, she mentioned how much she wanted to continue.

Also, the Latin-American representation. I’m not even going to start with this because lmao I’m getting mad. I hope we see America Chavez, Anya Corazón, and Ava Ayala getting their rightful throne in this franchise.

Here are some thoughts some of the actors shared about this:

"I’ve done seven Marvel movies where every producer, every director, every stunt person, every costume designer, every PA, every single person has been white," Anthony Mackie.

Laura Harrier thought Zendaya stole her role because she didn’t think Marvel was going to cast two black actresses in the same movie

Zoe Saldana: Because you’re not just dissing me, you’re dissing what that child considers important in their world.”

Benedict Wong: This idea of a manservant-sidekick. That’s not something that appeals to me. I sort of found that out myself, and I thought, “How can we change this?” Maybe there’s a kid who’ll watch and say, “Oh wow, there’s a superhero representing me.” That’s what we want from diversity.

Lashana Lynch: We didn't have to explain that Maria is Black, you can see that she is. She's raising a young Black child, as well."

Jacob Batalon on critics are praising the diversity in the film. And how does that make him feel and what does it mean for him as a Filipino-American.

Michael Peña on How is the MCU doing in Latinx representation?

But we also should celebrate some wins here, our new James Bond is Lashana Lynch, our new Captain America is Sam Wilson, we have a canonical princess Shuri Udaku, and the queen of Asgard is Brunnhilde, let’s celebrate that♥ Also, War Machine deserves his own TV show on Disney +.

#mcu #marvel #disney #captain america #sam wilson #spiderman #far from home #laura harrier #zoe saldaña #lashana lynch #michael peña #anthony mackie #disney +#zendaya #tom holland #jacob batalon

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boymeetsmxm · 4 years

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AUGUST 2020 | #3

Every month, we ask our reader members to rec us some BTS works they’ve enjoyed. The works can come from any source (AO3, Tumblr, Twitter, Wattpad, etc.), can be either a fanfic or a SM AUs, and don’t have to be from our own writer members. We’ve compiled this month’s recs in this list; Happy browsing!

SFW | Fanfic

Acclimatization by peonyswamp

college au | roommates au | oneshot

Summary: Acclimatization or acclimatisation is the process in which an individual organism adjusts to a change in its environment.In which an individual organism is a sometimes grumpy university student and his environment involves a new roommate, a dog barking all night and other terrifying ordeals.

@taerseok said: Okay,,, this fic was absolutely everything and i love the dynamic between sope. it's so cute (mickey stole my heart in this one) and adorable and i was laughing pretty much every time i read the next dialogue. it was so so sweet at the end and for a second i almost expected an angsty ending which i wasn't ready for but then they confessed and i felt so relieved??? the dialogues are top-notch, the characterization is chefskiss, and the plot is just perfect. it's a great story to read when you want something to cheer you up!

NSFW | Fanfic

Chemical X by jvante

fluff | smut | humor | angst | oneshot

Summary: Jeongguk signs up for cooking classes and meets the love of his life. Seokjin teaches cooking classes and meets his mortal enemy.

@joopiterjoon said: This is a feelgood fic. If you are having a bad day, a sad day, a lonely day, read this fic. The friendships are chaotic, the love is silly. Jungkook has the fattest crush with terrible metaphors and he ruins so much food you won't get hungry reading about cooking. Jin has the sass and the class. Vmin are the best worst friends we've all had. It had me lol'ing the whole time.

forever rain by kimlinebiased

Summary: Namjoon made a big mistake six months ago and has been hiding from the confrontation he knew would result. The rain can’t hide him forever.

@httpangelicjimin said: i found this gem when i should've already been asleep. what draw me in where how beautifully the first few lines were written. i got so emerged in the story and with plot that i couldn't contain myself. i would love to see a second part of this~ oh, and i recommend that you read it while listening to forever rain. you will cry a lot like i did but smile in the end. The rain had finally stopped.

how to talk to other humans (and other valuable life skills) by drawingspaces

fluff | smut | angst | single parent au | completed series

Summary: If love is a word, let it be a song. People rarely get a second chance at growing up. Somehow, Jeongguk lucks out.

@hoeuseok said: taekook meet as a student/prof but their relationship doesn’t start until well after that’s over but just in case that makes any one uncomfortable, series. tbh i didn’t know how i’d feel about single dad jungkook but wow did this author pull it off. the characters and their growth in this fic are so beautiful. jungkook trying his absolute best to be a good dad and feeling like he’s falling short and taehyungs endless patience and understanding through it all. just phenomenal writing. this fic wrapped me in a warm blanket and told me it loved me and my flaws.

i like us like this by tendershipping

Summary: Camboy Jimin’s usual playmate cancels on him for an upcoming livestream. Roommate Taehyung volunteers as tribute.

@joopiterjoon said: Jimin needs a sub (pun intended) for his camboy anniversary filming. Best friend Taehyung jumps in to save the day and so much more. I LOVE this series for so much more than the smut. The author focuses a lot on the bond creation and responsibility of a dom even though this is told from the sub (Taehyung's) perspective. There is such a strong emotional connection between these two that is only amplified by the discussions of safety and trust exercises, and the descriptions of Taehyung enjoying being a sub are written so naturally. This is really soft despite the plot content!

kiss me hard before you go by 77735

childhood friends to lovers | roommates | fluff | oneshot

Summary: yoongi and hoseok are childhood friends who live in a terrible apartment with min holly. they are also in love with each other. and bad at context clues.

@j-sope said: listen. hear me out. i wasn't gonna read a sope fic this month because i wanna explore other pairings more. BUT. this fic. i'm crying first of all the flow of it is insane, repeating certain words here and there is just wow (okay i'm seeing it implemented for the first time now and roy peter clark would probably scold me but it was genius). you sort of just fall in love with their friendship and their shitty apartment from the very beginning and THEN of course the fact that they're in love but are being total dumbasses. okay why am i spoiling the fic lmao, the point is. there's not much more than kissing going on for the most part but it feels like the most intense, wonderful, beautiful thing and i'm here for it okay. i love sope so much (and yoongi you perfect dumbass hobi would never leave you istg) i did feel like crying at one point which just shows that it's a good fic. you feel stuff. and you also smile like a dork the whole time, like i did. 10/10 would recommend (also ot7 moments are hilarious as always) ahhhh i love them!

Shipwreck by Anonymus

angst | fluff | smut | completed series

Summary: Taehyung is a scientist who goes to one of the last remaining forests that have werewolves hoping to study them and understand their morphology to better medicines for humans in the city. Alternatively, Taehyung loves his job but falls in love with Jungkook, the heir of the largest remaining werewolf clan.

@absoluteyoongit said: This fic is tarzan meets werewolves. I love this taekook fic and how two opposites slowly fall in love with each other. Plus I am a sucker for werewolf/mate type stories and this one just makes me so happy

SFW | SM AU

None this month

NSFW | SM AU

Dick Picturesque by pornographicpenguin

smut | angst | multi-chapter

Summary: youre pretty cute tho also why were u sendin some dude who u never texted before nudes that’s like a really bad idea u shold be smarter i’m drunk

@megahwn said: I go back to this smau ALL the time, it's so raw and real and reminds me of deep conversations I've had with strangers in my own lifetime. The banter is funny, the smut is sexy and sweet at the same time, and the ending is so satisfying to read. 10/10 would recommend!

#bts fic #bts fanfiction #mxm #sope #yoonseok #jinkook #taekook #vmin #namgi #namseok #bts #official post #readers reading list

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shijiujun · 4 years

Text

On Translations

Once again, I’m just plain incensed by dumbasses who think it’s okay to firstly, steal someone else’s hard work and secondly, think they’ve got some right to edit that person’s work because they think they’ve got a better grip on English (not true btw) - It didn’t happen to me (well, as far as I know) and I’m not in the Guardian fandom and I don’t personally know the person who’s dealing with this ridiculous shit, but oof am I angry after seeing the tweet.

Just saw on twitter that some asshole stole a translator’s works (Guardian, Chinese to English) and edited it - Yes it’s just like the MDZS saga a few weeks ago when some white person who doesn’t have any Chinese language knowledge, tried to ‘improve’ translations done by another person who actually knows what they’re doing in both Chinese and English - And then put in on Wattpad with a ridiculous letter and intro where they said: “Great things can be made greater” to explain why they edited the English of the original translation.

“Great things can be made greater,” said the thief.

“I hope my actions will be appreciated,” said the thief again.

Like wow, once again, the audacity - There’ve been extensive arguments on translations since the MDZS saga a few weeks ago and obviously the fan who took ExR’s translations and ‘made them better’ stupidly stepped on a landmine by fucking with the MDZS fandom that has a longer history, more resources and clout than the amount of time she’s been exposed to MDZS via CQL, and got bitch-slapped by the rest of the fandom where there exists a majority of fans knowing clearly what to do and not to do.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of all fandoms, especially smaller ones - The user i saw is a translator for Guardian and the mofo 1. Stole their translations 2. Edited the translations to ‘better english’ 3. Wrote that they don’t know who did the original translations but “they know where to find me” *cue my eyeroll* 4. And after op commented to say please credit at the very least in May, they’ve been ignored so far - but luckily they’ve got some supporters as well to help report the mofo.

Aside from the ridiculous thievery (not crediting, blatantly lying and stealing, being an arrogant, indecent person stuck on that high horse) of course, the “I believe that great things can be made greater” is a fucking load of bullshit in this instance, and I mean taking someone else’s translations and adding your own spin to it because you think you’ve taken tests in English as a first language in school all your life (fuck off, a lot of these translators did too), that you’ve got some superiority over English or because you think it reads funny?

Granted, most fan translators don’t put up flawless translations (once again, these translators are FREE LABOUR), but you get it for free and you don’t have to (and can’t) read the original text, so suck it up.

Moreover, the disgust that I feel at the claim that the thief’s work is now ‘greater’ is extremely visceral - It’s not a greater piece of work because the thief stole it, period. No one asked for the thief’s help.

(In case you guys are curious the stolen post on Wattpad is here: https://my.w.tt/7dehLj7D56 and if you’d like to report just follow the instructions)

On Chinese to English translations:

1. If you don’t have good grasp of the original language, you have no right editing the translated work after, regardless of language. Until you can clearly understand the original idioms, context, characters etc. or have at least lived with the language for a substantial part of your life, honestly, just stop, you’ve got no right!

Sure, some translators aren’t as good as you like them to be, but the argument is always, well, you wouldn’t even have this minimal translation if they didn’t do it, so yay you’re like a few sentences and words closer to the text than you were before. If it’s really that bad, hopefully there are better translations and you can ignore the one you’re looking at, but the same rules apply across all translations!! Don’t disrespect the translator (especially when they’ve done nothing wrong except try to give you access to more content).

2. For Chinese, it’s even worse because the language is known for its hidden nuances and complexities within just two to four characters that, when translated into English, can sometimes take up to two long sentences to explain. That’s why sometimes shit reads funny. It’s not that these translators can’t do English, but Chinese to English acrobatics is beyond your comprehension, hell sometimes it’s beyond translators’ comprehension, so thanks for editing something you’ve got no idea about. This user Bee made a very good argument thread IMO about this on Twitter which I suggest people read

3. Adding your edits to a translated piece of work especially without permission or discussion with the translator, honestly who the fuck are you to do that? Either work your damn ass off by painstakingly translating the original and then editing it however you like, or just... enjoy the free content. Chinese BL novels (in this instance and as in many instances i’ve seen) and some of these translators have been around for longer than you’ve been in the fandom, so suddenly when you have an interest in the content, in a culture and language that you’ve never seen before, are unfamiliar with and have zero knowledge about, you think that as a fan you now have the right to edit someone else’s work that was already done correctly?

The fact is if the translator wrote a bogus line in the English translations, you wouldn’t have known, and when you upload it as your own and ‘improve’ it, you would be a joke, but you didn’t read the original text did you, so what makes you are any sort of authority to edit the translations?

4. Of course this is not to say that non-Chinese speaking people can’t enjoy the same content or have excellent, poignant discussions and understanding over the content, but honestly a lot of translations don’t capture 100% of a Chinese novel because the nuances are just that complex, and translators do their best to convey it regardless - This is why RESPECT FOR THE TRANSLATOR IS IMPORTANT. And I don’t mean simply paying lip service and typing “we respect all translators for their hard work on this work”, and then disrespect it entirely by not crediting, by the simple act of editing without permission etc.

Respect their interpretation and translations, because it can differ from translator to translator translating the same sentence (and people who don’t speak the original language want to compete with that, I don’t understand?!)

5. Honestly, considering how people are still arguing on the semantics of the Bible for example, not only in its original language but also in English alone - if people can’t agree on every sentence of the holy text and what each sentence means to different people, fan translators get a fucking pass

6. I read in Bee’s threads where someone disagreed with their argument of ‘only people who understand the original language can translate and edit’, saying that it’s okay if the editor doesn’t have a grasp of the original language - I understand that yes, someone else’s English might truly be better (for e.g. actual editors but also please don’t proclaim that you’re one just because you think the translator hasn’t lived with English for most of their lives or whatever), but even then, the editor has to work really closely with the translator because the translator is the primary source of the translation i.e. they know exactly what is going on in a particular sentence in their heads that may not have been translated fully, so how can non-Chinese reading editors truly understand the translated text on its own, editing in silos?

7. Perhaps in actual publishing houses that deal with official translations, this is a fallacy that is ever-present and editors do that anyway without understanding the original text (not sure about this, I’m bringing up the point for consideration, hypothetically putting this out here), but my issue with ‘editors’ in the fan translations space is that they come off sitting on some high horse because they think they’re better in English than you are (which of course yes, might be true, but then read points 1-6 again)

8. A thief is a thief, don’t put up an open letter or disclaimer explaining your motivations. It’s plain and simple, you stole someone else’s work, claimed it for your own and are riding on the great (sometimes not so great but still great, if you get what I mean) work that the translator did. You don’t get to claim ownership for any part of it, even your edits. And once again, “original work belongs to the translators” without actually naming the translators? Fuck off.

9. God, I hate Wattpad and Instagram (okay sometimes Twitter but Twitter seems to be a halfway point) - The Sanctuaries for Lazy Content Thieves Where The Platform Endorses Their Shitty Behaviour

10. Aside from translations, I’ve also seen assholes stealing like shitposts and jokes - These are the hardest to prove as well and it’s almost impossible to claim ownership when someone steals your jokes. Thieves only wish they had as creative a brain as some of you (didn’t happen to me but to a mutual) do. The audacity. The audacity! if the work was actually done and paid and recorded, if TurnItIn.com was available for fandom posts, these thieves would be out of gas.

11. Fan translators are not obligated to answer to any of their readers when it comes to why they translated something a certain way. You don’t like it or don’t agree with it, simply ignore, close the tab and go find another translation you like, it’s that simple. Nowadays readers 1. Threaten/Diss the translator directly and rudely 2. Steal the work 3. Add their own spin on it without understanding the original content and say: Yay! Look at this I made it so much better so give me some attention

*****

The point of this post is not to claim ownership over any fandom or content just because translators or Chinese-speaking/reading people in the fandom know the content better. It’s also not to say that non-Chinese speaking/reading people can’t enjoy, understand, have great discussions over original Chinese content, because just from MDZS alone you can see that they can. Of course there are also individuals who might not be able to speak the language but are familiar with Chinese culture etc. because they’ve studied or lived it well, or maybe they’ve actually watched decades of Chinese drama to be able to analyse it properly now, all that’s awesome.

Also, I’m all for people who are learning Chinese (or any language for that matter) to translate something as practice. That’s great, that’s good, that’s to be admired!!

It’s non-Chinese speaking/reading people who claim they know the original content better than translators without any discussions, claiming some superiority over the content because they think the translation is not done well enough without doing any of the ground work that I really have an issue with (and also the fuckers who steal of course XD).

*****

And unfortunately I had too much time on my hands today and got pissed off after seeing the tweet so some of you have to read through this drivel XD

#translations #guardian #mdzs #rambles #stealing #again XD #not me this time #but then again i keep seeing my stolen shit so it's pent up anger #HAHAHAHA #you'd think i would have learnt #but i also think it's important to get angry each time it happens #even if it's tiring and futile?#if in 100 complaints only 1 gets answered #then that's 1 less mofo and thief who got away #you know?#idk sometimes

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needsmoresleepwrites · 3 years

Text

Gift for Daiyanerd: Miyuki Kazuya. Always cool and collected. Has a great side profile. Good at baseball. Well, no, great is the correct word. (sofa’21)

Moratorium

Read on Ao3

ONE

Miyuki Kazuya

Always cool and collected. Has a great side profile. Good at baseball. Well, no, great is the correct word. Even when he sometimes messes up some of the smaller plays. Reliable. Daring. Funny. Charming. Has probably had a dozen girlfriends, or maybe not. Nobody has been able to get any concrete answer on that one question, but he's definitely a lady's man, his fan club primarily consisting of girls and women that claim they would leave their current lives just to marry him if he so much as hinted interest. Or at least that's what many of the magazines, both sports and gossip ones say about him

Not to be too full of himself, but Kazuya thinks that much of what they say has some foundation. Yeah, people like Yoichi and Jun know better but he has to agree that his catching skills are unparalleled. He might also really like sending magazine covers with blown up images of his smiling (smirking) face to Yoichi just to get a scathing reply or an angry call. His only response is his lady killer (annoying) laugh

He knows he's always being watched by someone, but it completely slips his mind that anything could go wrong on that day

The headlines are brutal and he's gotten many messages and calls from his friends. He hasn't really answered because, well, he hasn't been able to. But he knows what they're saying. He's laying at the hospital with bandages covering most of his torso. He has a sense of deja vu, having been in a similar position when he'd been in high school, but this is much, much worse. Something happened and everyone is scrambling to find out what

Everyone except Rei, who has been detained. The tabloids are lapping this up like it's the sip of water they've finally been allowed after being stuck in a desert for months. Except that they're ruining the lives of the people Kazuya loves the most

He sees different news channels trying to get interviews from the few people that make up his friends. They want to know about Rei from high school. They've dug up her whole life's story and put it on full blast. They want to know about Kazuya, as if they haven't already told all there is to say, invented and created his whole career. They talk about how Rei pretty much scouted him from a very young age. The same women that claim they would do anything for Kazuya have turned razer sharp, claiming that "they knew it all along" and that Rei "had it coming"

They all twist the information for entertainment and Kazuya closes his eyes, disgusted at what they say about her.

There had been an accident. His car had been hit and he knows he needed surgery. Later they found out it was all a setup and he went from being one of the richest people and baseball players in Japan to having nothing. His career may as well be over. It will take too long for him to recover. Games won't wait.

Kazuya throws the remote in his hand and wants to tell them all its lies. He knows Rei would never do something like this. She's smart. It doesn't make sense. As much as Rei will follow a gut instinct, especially if it's about recruiting potential, it's always based on logic. There is no logic here.

His name flashes on multiple headlines and all he wants to scream is no, I didn't she say she stole my money!

The machines connected to his body have been beeping for a while now and finally, nurses and doctors run in. They try to get him to calm down but all he can do is repeat It wasn't her! It wasn't her! Rei would never! Tell them to stop!

Soon he feels drowsy and he realizes he's been sedated.

Before he closes his eyes he sees a picture of Rei next to the news anchor. Her hair is down, her eyes look haunted, but her posture is proud. She's not in her usual suit. Instead, she's wearing that dreaded green top, almost drowning her, making her pale skin paler. She doesn't look right. It's not the Rei he knows. The Rei he owes everything to.

He feels the tears burn his eyes.

----

TWO.

It takes a little over a year for things to "settle" down, but once the storm is over, everything is ruined.

Kazuya still manages to get his face blown up on magazine covers, but this time it's for a different reason. He's now considered a victim and he hates the images of him being wheeled out of the hospital. Of the tabloids somehow getting a shot of his bloodshot eyes, his pale skin, and his hunched shoulders. He wishes his attorney had allowed Kazuya to do something, but everything was too precarious, we have to be careful. Careful of what? He can no longer play baseball. He was already pushing the age of acceptability, only being allowed to continue contracts because he was so good, was still quick, was dedicated in mind, body, and soul to the game. But now he was injured, would be in rehab, and nobody knew if he'd still be able to move as great as before. Nobody would take that risk

Rei is finally released, but her life is ruined too. Hers is worse than Kazuya's will ever be. Not just because she's the supposed mastermind of the accident and subsequent disappearance of his capital, but because she's a woman. It's made him sick how she's been torn apart and left behind. She had already been forcefully (through great results) making her own space at the table. This was just the excuse to make her disappear. Nobody wanted a criminal as their associate. The label was tarnished and it would take time to rebuild their name. "Apologies" had been passed around, but nobody would take the risk of allowing her space again

Nobody thought to ask her side of the story, to reach out and help. She was alone. Nobody could legally take what she's rightfully earned, but they can pile fines upon fines. She is "free to go" but they have severely limited what she can do.

It only makes sense that she finally retires. Kazuya goes to see her with the Seidou team. He breaks when he finally sees what they've done to her, all in "his name", to "protect him". Rei is strong, logical, smart, but she can't help but allow herself to show a bit of emotion at that moment. She wipes away at Kazuya's face, "There's nothing left for me here and there's no use crying. The only way to go now is forward."

Chris recommends that Kazuya go to the same rehab facility he went to in America.

Kazuya doesn't want to leave. It feels like admitting defeat, like running away, like he's abandoning his friends.

Yoichi grits his teeth, tells Kazuya he wants to punch him for being so stupid, "But hitting an injured person isn't my style, even though it's YOU."

There is little progress on his health, both physical and mental, and then Yoichi, who has been singlehandedly taking care of him whenever he has a moment to spare, nearly begs him, "Kazuya, please. Go. Don't let this defeat you. I don't want to admit it but I miss seeing that stupidly smug look on your face. Remember what Rei said. You have to keep moving forward!"

He can't help but laugh one night when he can't sleep, Yoichi's words and his concerned face plaguing his mind. He can't believe he almost let this defeat him. He can't believe he was down enough to force his best friend to make such a face, to make him cry for his sake. He feels like he's let everyone down, especially Rei.

He calls Chris a few days later.

Before leaving, he logs into his Twitter account, which, like any other media source, he's been avoiding for the past year. Someone has obviously logged in and cleared his notifications and as his last stand, no first, because even now "they have to be careful", Kazuya quote RTs an article he hasn't even read, but he doesn't need to. He chooses it because it has one of those headlines. He presses send and logs out.

I NEVER said she stole my money.

----

THREE.

It's two years when he finally comes back to Japan. His rehab had ended months ago but there was a part of him that had been afraid to come back. He's sure Yoichi had sensed it, which is why he'd pretty much dragged him back.

He remembers the conversation they had. It had been really late in Japan, he's sure that Yoichi was on the verge of passing out, could hear every yawn he tried to hide, but he wouldn't let Kazuya hang up, "I'm not hanging up until you agree."

Kazuya sighs, "There's nothing for me to do out there anyway. Here, I've been helping at the hospital."

"But you don't even like that kind of stuff! I bet you're bored out of your mind," Yoichi countered, and Kazuya has to admit that he's not exactly wrong. He misses the excitement from the diamond, feeling the burn on his thighs as he squats behind the batter, signaling different plays to his catchers, the feel of the ball as it lands perfectly in his gloved palm, the roar of the crowd as they once more strikeout another enemy batter. But he can't have any of that. This year Kazuya turns 30 and he has become stiff. He can't move as dexterously as before.

He hears some shuffling on the other end, as if Yoichi is changing positions on his bed, "Look. Not many people know this but...this is actually my last year playing."

Kazuya freezes at that. He knows Yoichi is still keeping up with his own records, has won his team countless matches for his boldness, knows they would never want to let him go. He briefly fears that maybe an injury is involved but shakes his head. No, Yoichi would tell him if that's the case, so then, "Why?"

"That's why I called and I need you to come back," there's another pause, not long, "I'm getting married."

Kazuya blanks out for a moment and then stops what he's doing altogether (he turns off the stove, he'd been making breakfast but this is more important. Besides, he had almost been done), "Married? Did you kidnap some poor girl? I haven't even heard of you dating."

"KAZUYA," he hears Yoichi yell, "I didn't kidnap anyone! And that's because my PR team has been making sure to keep things tightly sealed, and I guess we also haven't been able to see each other much too." That last part is mumbled but Kazuya catches it anyway.

Kazuya hums, still disbelieving, but only slightly. He knows Yoichi wouldn't kid about something like this so if he says he's getting married, he's getting married, "Congratulations then. Not sure how someone found you husband material, but they do say there's a type for everyone. How'd you meet her?"

"You are such a dick," Yoichi hisses, "How are we still even friends?"

Kazuya sometimes wonders the same thing. Yoichi has been with him at his best and worst and has never given up on him. He laughs, "My great personality?"

Yoichi snorts right before laughing, "Yeah right. Anyway, so I met this guy-"

"A husband?" Kazuya cuts him off, genuinely curious, but also can't help but tease, "You hid it so well with all those magazines. I'm sure nobody suspected. No wonder your team is doing such a great job at hiding this."

Yoichi yells into the phone, "Let me finish asshole! No! It's not a guy, her name is Wakana! And she's the childhood friend of this guy I met!"

Kazuya makes a tsk noise, "Yoichi, did you steal her from this guy? Are you a homewrecker?"

Instead of getting mad, Yoichi snorts, "As if. Can you believe Wakana was actually in love with Sawamoron for years and he didn't realize."

Kazuya adds, "So you seduced her?" before Yoichi can continue with the story.

"No? I mean, I'm not sure," but they both know that Yoichi probably couldn't seduce anyone even if he tried. Charmed, yes, but outright seduce? And a girl he liked? Very unlikely, "But she'd been tired of waiting and so I met her after she'd confessed and he rejected her."

"Hmm," Kazuya interrupts again, "So you took advantage when she was down. That makes more sense. She was probably so down about being rejected she would have said yes to anyone. Sadly that someone was you."

Yoichi is flabbergasted, "Take advantage?! MIYUKI, that's not- I'd never - just let me finish!"

Kazuya laughs, "Ok, ok. So how did you meet her? I won't interrupt again."

Just like that, Yoichi calms down and Kazuya notes the happiness in his voice as he laughs, not at Kazuya, but at something, the memory perhaps, and Kazuya is slightly jealous. He's not sure at what or who.

"So this kid, Sawamura, we were going to meet up at the park. He had something to tell me, but then I see him running after this girl, yelling about money or something. So I cut her off-"

Kazuya can't help but laugh, "Y-Yoichi, did you, did you attack the poor girl?"

"Didn't you say you weren't going to interrupt?!" Yoichi screeches, but he starts laughing a bit too, "And no, I didn't attack her but, well..."

There's a groan on the other end and Kazuya can imagine his best friend blushing to the tips of his ears, "I pulled her by the arm and she was surprised, but then she did something and next thing I know I'm on the ground, looking up at her and Sawamura is laughing like he's seen the most hilarious thing ever!"

He wonders if that kid was laughing as hard as he is now. He feels the tears tickling his eyes, his cheeks hurt, and he feels the force of his laugh pulling on his stomach, "I already like the girl. What happened next?"

Yoichi lets him laugh but his voice is annoyed, not at him he notes, but at what happens next, "So Sawamoron comes up finally and he knows the girl and I'm confused and just got thrown to the ground by a girl that doesn't even reach my chin, and I ask him why he was yelling about a thief, because that's what he was doing."

More shifting on Yoichi's end, "And you know what he said to me?"

"What?"

"He goes "I never said she stole my money!" so I knock him over the head because yeah, he's right, he was YELLING IT. Everyone in the goddamn park heard it! Made him buy me dinner and everything."

Kazuya feels a lump in his throat but pushes it aside, he turns the stove on again to finish preparing his breakfast, "I guess for Wakana I can go back. When's the wedding? And will I be your best man?"

----

FOUR.

Kazuya hasn't even been home a month when Yoichi walks into his apartment with their old Seidou team. Everyone seems to be there, even the first years like Ryo's little brother and Furuya. There really isn't anything Kazuya can do but move aside so that everyone can come inside. At the end of the group, right after the first years enter, he spots someone he doesn't know. A kid with unruly brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin who looks slightly nervous. His posture is too stiff but he's also looking around curiously.

Yoichi notices Kazuya looking at him and comes over for introductions. He pulls the kid into a side hug, "Kazuya, this is Sawamura, Wakana's friend."

Kazuya looks him over. He's heard a few things about him from Yoichi, "So this is Sawamoron?" he teases. He can't help the lift of his lips as the kid splutters in indignation.

A high pitched, "Kuramochi-senpai! You can't call me that anymore, we're practically family now!"

Yoichi howls, slapping the kid on the back, "You're always going to be a moron Sawamura, hyahaha!"

Sawamura grits his teeth for a second before standing up straight, stretching out his hand towards Kazuya, "Good afternoon, It's a pleasure to meet you! My name is Sawamura Eijun! Thank you for inviting me!!"

Kazuya looks at the outstretched hand for a moment before he doubles over laughing. Sawamura let's out another unidentified sound before yelling, "That's so rude Miyuki Kazuya!!" but he hasn't dropped his arm.

Kazuya takes a breath, isn't surprised he knows his name (briefly wonders if he knows who he is), right before taking that tanned hand into his own. Sawamura's hold is firm, if a bit sweaty, nerves probably, "Well, as you so clearly let my neighbors know, my name is Miyuki Kazuya." He pauses, "And I didn't invite you."

Sawamura pales slightly, looks over to Yoichi who just makes a rude noise, "Really Kazuya? You have to be a dick right off the bat?"

Kazuya only smiles brightly, finally letting go of the kid's hand, looks around his house, and says, "Actually, I didn't invite any of you over. Why are you all here?"

The others have already settled into his kitchen and, he peers through the doorway, there are bottles of coke and beer and the smell of oily pizza in the air. Jun has already made himself at home on his couch, a paper plate with a pizza on it. He's halfway into that slice and Kazuya doesn't know why Jun didn't just take an extra slice or two with him before settling down. Ryo and Haruichi are putting things in his fridge. He realizes now how empty his fridge must have been. He had been meaning to go grocery shopping but he supposes he hadn't had the energy to go. Kanemaru is clearing up some of the boxes he had yet to unbox, reading the labels Chris had helped him write, and arranging them accordingly.

He knows that many of these guys are still part of the leagues, wonders how they managed to take a moment to raid his home (notices a few faces are missing, like Yuki but he would have been REALLY surprised if they'd managed to get him to come over). He remembers how they'd made it a routine to visit him when they were at Seidou, knowing he could get lost in strategizing and numbers quickly. He feels a penetrating gaze and turns to see the new kid watching him intently. Kazuya can't help the grin that grows on his face and it's finally starting to feel like home.

He motions the two in, "Well, you may as well come in. Everyone is already inside. Feel free to raid my fridge and make a mess in my new kitchen."

Yoichi laughs, pulling Sawamura inside with him. The kid still looks slightly off-balance, but he sits next to the first years like he belongs and he wonders why this picture looks so right.

Yoichi dives in for the last slice of pepperoni pizza just as Sawamura is about to reach for it and then loudly exclaims, "Hey Kazuya, wanna hear something funny?"

Kazuya has already grabbed his own plate and he wonders how he missed all of these pizza boxes when they first came inside. He grabs one with sausage and mushroom, "Hm?"

"So while we were getting the pizza, we sent Sawamura to go get the drinks, right?"

Sawamura, who had just taken a drink from his can of soda, instantly spits it out and Kazuya is both intrigued and disgusted as he sees the drink mixed with spit cover his table, "Kuramochi-senpai, don't!"

He sees Kanemaru chuckling and Jun roars from the living room. Apparently, there were many witnesses to this apparently funny story. Haruichi pats Sawamura's back softly while the kid's face glows red. Kazuya is momentarily worried he might faint but then curiosity wins out, "Oh?"

Yoichi and he share a look, "Get this, we all gave him our share, right? So he goes in and comes back all mad, saying we didn't give him the right amount, but then, but then," It seems the rest of it is too funny for Yoichi to continue because he starts laughing and he notices Sawamura cover his face. He mumbles something but Kazuya doesn't catch it.

Ryo helps him out. He's also amused, a smirk on his face, "The girl stole his change."

Sawamura uncovers his face and yells, "I never said she stole my money!"

There's a moment of silence before...

Jun. He'd come back into the kitchen to get more pizza, "Who else could it have been? Had to be the girl at the counter, or did you just give up your money?"

Kuramochi, "Easy prey, how you're even a teacher is beyond me."

Kanemaru, "Wait. So it wasn't the cashier?"

Even Kazuya can't help but ask, laughter tickling his words, "Emphasis on "she"?"

Sawamura seems to realize his error and covers his face again. He's mumbling again but instead of being annoyed by the bad habit, Kazuya thinks it's almost cute.

"Haruichi?" Ryo questions and Sawamura uncovers his face to yell, "Onii-san! That's not fair! Haruichi you can't tell, you promised!"

Haruichi is looking back and forth between them, "Well..."

Then Furuya explains all, "He was flirting with the delivery guy."

It somehow gets even louder inside his house and Kazuya can't believe he thought of not returning. It's true that his baseball career is over, but this is where his family is at. This is where his life is truly at. He laughs until the tears in his eyes fall.

They spend hours getting him up to speed on gossip.

----

FIVE.

Even though he's only known Sawamura for a few days, maybe weeks, he's the one that keeps Kazuya company the most. And there's a big reason for that named Kuramochi Yoichi. Even though, or perhaps because, it's nearing the end of his contract, Yoichi gets busier. There are some rumors as to why he's finally leaving baseball, but just like he'd told Kazuya, everything is still under wraps. There are no incriminating photos and no face to put to those rumors jealous girls spread online. Kazuya wonders how things will turn out once Yoichi fesses up but until then, Sawamura becomes his shadow

One, he's not bound to such a strenuous schedule (Yoichi told him Sawamura is the grade school teacher at one of the local schools not far from Kazuya's new place. His new house is conveniently placed so close because it will soon be Kazuya's new workplace and they just happen to be on break now), and second...well, Kazuya's not sure. Yoichi didn't want to tell him. Not exactly

He remembers the last time he actually met up with his best friend.

Yoichi had invited him over for dinner and Sawamura had come up somehow (Kazuya comes to realize that Sawamura comes up in their lives very often). Yoichi had been contemplative. They'd just finished watching a movie and were just sitting there in the dark, the credits rolling.

"You know. If Sawamura had actually been interested in Wakana...I don't think I'd have ever had a chance with her. There's just something about him...he's so..." Yoichi makes vague hand movements, "you know?"

Kazuya laughs and wonders if this is what best men have to deal with with their to-be grooms. Jitters, he's heard them called, but he was sure this feeling was supposed to happen days before the wedding, not so far ahead when there wasn't even a date finalized, "Already second-guessing the married life?"

Yoichi doesn't even take the bait. He just sighs and leans back on the couch, "No, I'm serious. There's just something about Sawamura, he's so honest and hardworking. I can see why Wakana liked him."

"Careful, or I might start to think you actually want to marry Sawamura instead."

Yoichi kicks him halfheartedly, "Dumbass."

Their feet are still touching and Yoichi nudges him, "He's a good kid you know."

Kazuya leans out to grab his drink from the low table, takes a sip, "He does seem like it. Although he's a bit..." He tries to find the right word. Dense? Airheaded? No..."innocent?"

Yoichi laughs, "Yes! The stories I could tell you."

It gets quiet and Kazuya enjoys it. It's been years since the two of them have done something like this.

Yoichi breaks the silence again, "You know...Rei actually tried scouting him."

Kazuya takes another swig of his drink, deep, and tries to wash away the feelings of guilt. He hasn't spoken to Rei since the incident. Hasn't really asked about her although he knows she's ok, thanks to Chris

But he's curious now. If Rei had been interested in him then he was undoubtedly good talent, "What happened?"

Yoichi scoffs, "The idiot turned her down! Said he didn't need any fancy schools to play baseball."

Kazuya can't help the snort he lets out into his drink. He hasn't known Sawamura long but he can somehow imagine the face he'd make, how loud he would yell that statement with conviction, "Too bad." He's sure Sawamura could have been someone if he'd come to Seidou and he somehow feels cheated of something

"What position?"

"Pitcher, a southpaw, nasty throw," Yoichi grips his cup tightly. He looks over at him, "He's not a professional but he does still play."

It's a subtle nudge that Kazuya ignores.

Which is probably why he finds Sawamura so often on his doorstep.

Today he's managed to wrangle Kazuya out of his house, but only because it's work-related. The summer heat isn't terrible today so the two decide to walk and even though it's not that far, Kazuya finds himself lightly perspiring. Perhaps he's let himself go more than he thought, and he begins planning a timetable to get his fitness in a better state. Meanwhile, Sawamura is all smiles

"Hurry up Miyuki Kazuya!" He's already at the side door, opening it with his staff key, and Kazuya wonders if they should even be here. There are hardly any cars parked outside and the school is obviously void of children. Classes don't start until next week

"You don't have to call me by my full name," Kazuya tells him as he enters the building. Sawamura slides past him after closing the door, making sure it locks properly, "You can call me Miyuki-senpai."

"What?!" Sawamura's voice echoes in the hallway, "Why should I call you that?!"

"Because you're younger," he pats Sawamura's head and grins, "And smaller."

He slaps his hand away, a blush on his face, "I'm not small! And you're not even that much taller!!"

He stands closer to Kazuya and points at the few centimeters difference between them. Kazuya pushes him back, "Miyuki-senpai."

Sawamura just rolls his eyes and continues walking, "You really do have a terrible personality Miyuki Kazuya!"

Kazuya just laughs, "Thanks!"

"Not a compliment!" Sawamura yells and then points to the rooms in the hall they're in, "I'm usually here with the kids. Since the school isn't that big you'll probably get kids as young as eight and as old as thirteen in your class too, since you're the only gym teacher until Kuramochi-senpai gets married."

Kazuya nods, "Ok, Sawamura...sensei."

Kazuya notes how easy it is to rile up Sawamura. How his face will quickly turn red and his lips will form pouts or grimaces, his body reacting so honestly so quickly. Now he brings up his hands to cover his ears as he yells, "Don't call me that!!"

"Then stop calling me by my full name, it's weird."

"MIYUKI KA-"

Kazuya somehow manages to raise his voice enough to speak over Sawamura, "So Sawamura-sensei, where do the kids go out to play? Sensei?"

Sawamura looks like he's about to burst and goes off yelling. Miyuki follows him, laughing, their voices echoing in tandem

They end up outside behind the school somewhere. Even though it's small, Kazuya is impressed by how well maintained it is. There is a small playground to the side, which has been recently repainted, signs marking the walls and tape clearly discouraging anyone from touching. The mats at the bottom look worn but not in bad shape. Then there is a track that circles what looks like enough field to be a neighborhood. Most of it is empty and Sawamura's talking about how sometimes the kids will go out there and play soccer or volleyball or really whatever sports they need that requires a lot of space. The only place that looks like it truly has a defined purpose is the baseball field.

He feels excited and scared at the same time, wants to run to home plate, to feel the dirt path against his feet, crouch, and take in the view. But he also thinks this is a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have accepted the job. He knows why they want him, why they're willing to wait a year for Yoichi to come and teach. He's not sure if he can take the pressure

"Miyuki-senpai," he turns to Sawamura, who is pouting.

He's not sure why he feels himself calm down, perhaps it's because he'll take any distraction, even if it's loud Sawamura, or maybe it's because Sawamura looks ridiculous with his cheeks puffed out and his eyebrows scrunched up between his eyes. Kazuya smiles. It hurts a bit to do so, "Is this all just for the little gremlins? Lucky them, I didn't have something so big at my disposal when I was at school."

Sawamura suddenly inflates as he grins, "Yeah me neither! I'm from the countryside from a school even smaller than this! Wakana and I had to go to the other side of town with our friends if we wanted to play baseball. That's sort of what it's like here too. We share with some of the other schools and really anyone is welcome to come here as long as the kids aren't out playing."

"Wakana, huh," Kazuya notes. He hasn't actually met the bride-to-be yet, "Is she in the habit of taking people's money?"

Sawamura looks confused and perhaps a bit upset, "What?"

Kazuya only smirks, "I heard how Yoichi met her."

Understanding fills his eyes and he groans, "I keep telling Kuramochi-senpai not to tell that story! It's all lies! Lies! Come on, let's go to the gym, your to-be base."

They head back inside and Kazuya feels the smile that spreads on his face is lighter, amused. It's relaxing being with Sawamura, "So what, she wasn't stealing your money?"

"No!" Sawamura defends, "I never said she stole my money! It was all a misunderstanding!!"

"So what? She was just borrowing it?" Kazuya pushes and can't help but laugh as Sawamura goes red.

"I-It, my, NO! She just grabbed my wallet!! But she wasn't stealing it!"

----

SIX.

Kazuya hasn't been teaching for long when it's time to prepare for Sports Day and he forgets how tiring it can be. Sawamura is ecstatic the whole week leading up to the moment all the kids are let loose to run and play, and he's not sure how the flow of energy works, who feeds off who, but everyone seems to be ready to burst with enthusiasm by then. Kazuya feels like he's the only one who is burnt out. He's not usually used to so much happening, at least not like this

The school asks him to give an encouraging speech before the event begins, which Sawamura jealously admits had been his job the last two years, but he grins all the same. He encourages him to do his best, just like he does to the children and Kazuya isn't sure if he should be offended or glad when he feels the flat of Sawamura's palm on his back.

By then, Yoichi has finally wrapped things up with his team. He still has a few more interviews scheduled, but he's essentially removed himself (as much as he can) from the public eye. He's announced he's going to get married and has been asked many times about his to-be wife, but just like Kazuya, everyone is kept in the dark. On the few nights Yoichi manages to call him, to check up on him, Kazuya teases that maybe this is the most elaborate plan he's ever seen, that maybe this Wakana girl doesn't even exist

Yoichi just laughs, "What? Is The Great Miyuki Kazuya actually curious?"

Kazuya scoffs, "Of course not, and don't call me that. I can't get Sawamura to stop, I don't want you doing the same. It's so weird."

They talk until they're both ready to pass out but Yoichi tells him he'll be there and that he'll bring Wakana too. There's something strange with the way he says this but it's late, they've both been up for too long, and Kazuya doesn't remember the unease the next day

He doesn't remember until Sports Day, right before it happens.

It's usually a big event with parents and friends and the neighborhood coming by to see all their children perform at their best. This school is slightly different because of its size. It isn't just their kids (as Sawamura likes to say and Kazuya, reluctantly, has started to call his students), but a few students from two or three of the neighboring smaller schools. He's never seen the field so packed with kids. There are also a lot of cameras and flashing and suddenly Kazuya feels uncomfortably warm. This year it's not only locals that are here. He can see various news channels documenting the event and there are probably other labels walking around, trying to figure out what the next scoop will be. Or perhaps they've already been hinting at it but Kazuya has been avoiding all the gossip. He briefly wonders if they're here for him and while this might be slightly true, he's sure they're more likely to be here to catch a glimpse of Yoichi and Wakana

He decides to stick with Sawamura for most of the day.

Sawamura seems to be oblivious to all the attention, focusing on the kids, high-fiving everyone who is going to race, yelling encouragements as they pass him by, and yelling out happily as the kids make the baskets and reach the finish lines. Kazuya tries to show his support as well and Sawamura drags him from one event to the next. The parents love him as much as the children do. He briefly wonders if Sawamura will have any voice left for the next day

It's around the time the kids finally get their break for lunch (and that Sawamura pulls him over to an empty patch of grass so that they can finally rest as well, how Kazuya was able to crouch for hours on end before is almost a mystery to him now, he really HAS let himself go) that he starts to hear them

"I didn't say she stole MY money. Did you really not know?" "Is she REALLY here? "The NERVE of her." "We should tell the principal to kick her out. Where is she?"

Everything starts to go quiet as Kazuya looks around. There are too many people around, but he manages to find her by the fence behind the diamond. She's looking right at him and Kazuya feels himself stop breathing for a moment. He isn't sure what he was expecting but she looks exactly like she did three years ago, except somehow better. Her hair is up in her typical bun, she's wearing a pink button-up with her trademark pencil skirt. There's a small coat hanging off her arm, which is the only sign he has that she plans to stay for the whole of the day's events.

He gets up, ignores Sawamura's confused, "Miyuki-senpai?" and goes to meet her.

He remembers how Yoichi had sounded over the phone the other day and realizes that when he said her, he hadn't meant Wakana, he had meant Rei. She's smiling at him and once they're close enough, she says, "Miyuki Kazuya, it's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Rei," he all but whispers and he notices people are looking, the cameras are pointing in their direction and he smiles. He's so happy and relieved to see her. He wonders why he hadn't tried contacting her before, where the guilt and fear have gone. He thanks Yoichi, will thank him later as well, for always doing things like this for him, I'm the worst friend, aren't I? He can already see Yoichi's annoyed face as he threatens to punch him if he says anything so stupid again. He laughs, "It's been way too long. I'm sorry."

He finally has the chance to really apologize for everything, to offer his support, to ask how she's been doing, and he marvels at how Seidou is truly a family. His old teammates haven't just been trying to get him to move forward, they have also been helping Rei regain a semblance of her old life.

When they part, it turns into a game. They both know how things will go so they are bold, they grin, and take each other's hands in a firm shake.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you on the field in the future." It's not a question.

"Of course." It's a promise.

At the end of the day, Sawamura and he are the last to leave the school since Sawamura offered to stay and clean up (and with him Kazuya). The sun is already on the verge of setting and Kazuya can't wait to take a bath and then crawl into bed. He doesn't want to wake up until a week from now.

As they're walking home (or really walking to his house because even now, he's never really asked where Sawamura lives, he imagines not far), Kazuya notices how quiet Sawamura is. He bumps his side with his shoulder, "Lost your voice with all that yelling?"

Sawamura looks over at him and shakes his head. Kazuya is momentarily mesmerized by this side of Sawamura. Quiet, almost shy. He's not pouting or angry, his features calm, slightly sharp on his handsome face. The remaining rays of the sun make his eyes look slightly gold and Kazuya wonders why he's suddenly noticing these things, "What's wrong then?"

The temperature had dropped enough that they were now comfortably wearing jerseys. Sawamura mumbles into the collar of his jersey and Kazuya is annoyed, but only slightly. It's that bad habit of Sawamura's and he wonders if he could tease those mumbled words out of him, is about to do that when Sawamura stops walking, closes his eyes, and yells out, "Do you like Miss Rei?!"

Kazuya is left speechless. At least that answers his other teasing question. Sawamura is as loud as always, "What?"

Sawamura opens his eyes, he's blushing and he can't seem to look him in the eye, "Well, there were those rumors...and then today...I mean, she's really pretty and just..." He goes quiet.

There's a lot here he wants to clear up, but he figures he should start with Sawamura's question, "No. At least, not really."

There's a question in those golden-brown eyes and Kazuya continues to explain, "I'm sure everyone on the baseball team liked her at one point. We were all teenagers and she's a really attractive woman, but that's it. Rei...she scouted me, believed that I could go far, pushed me, pretty much built my whole career. She's not really like my mom, not really an older sister...but yeah, like family."

They're both surprised by how honest he's been, which leads him to his own question, "Rumors? So you knew who I was. Is that why you called me by my full name?"

Sawamura looks embarrassed, "Yeah. I, I was curious about Seidou. I bet Kuramochi-senpai already told you about Rei and her coming to scout me?"

Kazuya nods.

They start walking again, "Well, I started seeing your name come up a lot. I always had trouble with my own catchers, I wasn't very good, sometimes my throws would go wild. I guess. I mean, they felt right, but Wakana, she was my main catcher, it was hard for her to catch them. Anyway, I started following your career. And just, well, then that happened and the rumors..."

They're quiet for a moment. Kazuya thinking back to how Yoichi had called Sawamura's pitch a nasty throw, the way Rei had pointed out Sawamura's staring while they talked and how Kazuya should catch for him, "When I saw him pitch, I knew you two would make a great battery. I knew you would be what could push him to greater heights, and that he would influence you too. All of Seidou. He has the heart of an Ace."

He's curious.

"Do you regret it?"

It's been a few minutes but Sawamura follows his question, turns to him, conviction in his burning eyes, "Never!"

----

SEVEN.

Kazuya finally gets to meet Wakana on his birthday. Yoichi tells him they're going out to celebrate at a fancy restaurant and he's not allowed to say no. Since he is the best man at their future wedding, he supposes it would be rude to not meet the bride-to-be so he pulls out one of his old suits, is relieved it still fits, and decides that's enough effort needed on his part. He also decides to forgo the tie and leaves the first two buttons undone. It's classy.

He's not surprised to see Sawamura also at the restaurant, and he's also not surprised to see him sporting a loud outfit. He's also wearing a suit but his shirt is a bright blue with baseball patterns, he's pulled up the suit jacket sleeves to his elbows (which, might he add, does not match his pants, but it somehow works), and he's actually wearing a tie. There's a girl trying to tame his hair but she soon gives up when Sawamura spots him and calls out, "Miyuki Kazu-mmyaa."

"Eijun!" the girl chides him, "We told you to be quiet!"

She's covering his mouth and let's go once he settles down. He rubs his hand through the back of his hair, ruining whatever work the girl must have done, "Sorry."

The girl shakes her head and turns to him, "So you're the famous Miyuki Kazuya, in the flesh."

Kazuya smiles, "And you must be the infamous money stealing Wakana."

They shake hands and Wakana laughs, "The one and only."

Yoichi comes up behind him, "Good, you're here. I thought I was going to have to send someone to drag you out of bed."

They're escorted to the back where they can dine in private. Yoichi walks in the back with him and Kazuya watches the way Sawamura's body faces Wakana even when they're walking. The way she pushes and holds his arm, laughs at what he says. The way that Sawamura lets her choose where she wants to sit and then makes space so that the table decorations aren't in her way. He sits across from her.

Yoichi whispers at him, "See what I mean?"

Kazuya doesn't need to see them interact to know why Wakana once liked Sawamura, but it definitely solidifies their closeness.

Wakana is very pretty. She has short hair that is slightly tinged with red, natural, she mentions when she sees him looking at her, "I get asked a lot." Apparently, it's a color she inherited from her great grandmother

She's as small as Yoichi claimed her to be, which makes her look tiny with her current company. She's wearing a simple and modest blue dress that matches perfectly with the ties Sawamura and Yoichi are wearing. She's just as honest as Sawamura is, and Kazuya wonders if all the people in his life are like that. It's refreshing. He instantly likes her and knows that Yoichi will be happy. It makes him happy too.

They're waiting on their food when Sawamura tells Yoichi that "Miyuki Kazuya" called Wakana a thief. Yoichi puts down his glass of wine, sending his best friend a glare, "I should have known you wouldn't behave!"

Sawamura is quick to respond, "It's all your fault Kuramochi-senpai! You keep telling that stupid story!!"

"The only thing stupid about that story is YOU Bakamura!!"

They look like children snapping at each other across the table and Wakana is just laughing. She turns to Kazuya, "Did he tell you what actually happened?"

Kazuya nods, "Sort of. Something about borrowing a wallet."

Wakana smiles, "Something like that, yes."

"See! I told you I never said she stole my money!!" Sawamura gets up suddenly but nobody notices the waiter coming with trays until the sound of plates falling to the ground and shattering are heard. But the worst part is probably the cake that Sawamura tries to save. Part of it lands on his hands, some of it on the table, but a big portion of it (thanks to Sawamura's interference), is now all over Wakana's dress. Everyone holds their breath, the waiter looks horrified.

Kazuya knows he shouldn't but he snickers and that seems to bring everything back to life. Wakana laughs and tells the waiter it's ok, she pats his hand reassuringly, "But can we get another cake? We'll pay for both of course."

The man is so relieved, he smiles and nods, and says he'll be right back to clean up, that he can also ask someone to help her out. Sawamura looks constipated and ridiculous standing there with chunks of cake in his hands.

"This is so coming out of your wallet Sawamoron!!" Yoichi cries out as he grabs chunks of cake from Wakana's lap and throws it on the table, "And YOU, I can't believe you did that!"

Kazuya only smirks, looks over at Wakana, and says, "Welcome to the family."

It seems like Wakana isn't just depleting Sawamura's accounts, but also stealing hearts.

----

OMAKE (months later)

It's the wedding night when Sawamura decides to crash at Kazuya's house. They're both exhausted and since they're both going to the same place the next morning, Kazuya doesn't make a fuss. When they make it home, they fight about who will take a shower first and Kazuya wins because, ultimately, this is his house so of course he has dibs. Sawamura pouts as he heads to the living room, ok, ok, just go you evil tanuki bastard.

When Kazuya comes out in a white t-shirt and boxers, he finds Sawamura already passed out on the couch, his arm and leg fallen off the side. He notices that he at least had the sense to take off his suit jacket and shirt. He's only wearing his undershirt and his pants have risen up his shins. Everything else is thrown against the back of the couch and his keys, cellphone, camera, and wallet, are all on the table. He's snoring lightly, his breath coming out more like little sighs, and there's a bit of drool where gravity has decided to do its job.

He's about to wake up Sawamura when he remembers something Wakana told him the first time they met. Right before they left the restaurant, she had pulled him aside, telling the other two NOT to come closer, Next time you get the chance, look inside his wallet. I promise it'll be worth it, and don't worry, he won't mind. He yells a lot but that's all there is.

The wallet is right there and Kazuya wishes it had landed the other way. At least like that, it wouldn't feel like he was snooping. No, he wouldn't. He doesn't really understand why Wakana wants him to look inside, but it's not really any of his business. He shakes his head and walks towards the couch. Before he can even reach forward, Sawamura shifts and mumbles a sleepy, "Kazuya."

Kazuya freezes at the stupid smile on Sawamura's face. He feels his face heat up and he's not sure why. He briefly glances at the wallet again, then moves to shake Sawamura's shoulders.

It takes a moment, a testament to how tired Sawamura is, before his brown eyes open and he sleepily mumbles, "Miyuki Kazuya?"

Kazuya hesitates for a moment. He doesn't have extra bedding and he knows sleeping on the couch is uncomfortable. They were going to share the bed, just like he always does whenever Yoichi visits, but suddenly he wonders if maybe this isn't a good idea. He tells Sawamura it's his turn to shower and nearly drags him to the bathroom. He stands outside just to make sure he doesn't pass out inside and somehow Sawamura looks even more drowsy than before. His skin is red from the heat of the water and they head to the bedroom.

Sawamura is out before his head hits the pillow. Kazuya arranges him on the bed properly and covers him with the blanket.

He finds it hard to sleep, the sound of his name coming from Sawamura's sleepy lips echoing in his head.

---

A/N:

I scoured Reddit for some inspiration and found this interesting prompt: "I never said she stole my money has 7 different meanings based on which word is emphasized." I sort of followed the prompt? LOL

things to note: 1. I just googled "prisoner clothes in japan" and green outfits came up, hence why Rei is dressed in a "green top" 2. I don't actually know how legal proceedings go in japan, if it would take longer or less (but this is fanfic so let's not question it) 3. Again, I don't know how long rehabs take but I'm not aiming for accuracy 4. If it wasn't obvious, Sawamura wasn't in the original Seidou team in this fic (lol) 5. Sports day apparently apparently happens around October (and again, Idk much about it)

I don't think I've ever written anything "complete" for this fandom but I hope you all enjoyed, especially you daiyanerd ^^

p.s. This got out of hand omg it's so long and hardly anything happens i hope you guys don't mind Orz Also, I kind of want to write more for this, maybe Sawamura's side of some of the events, maybe just a continuation, idk....

#misawa #daiya #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #future fic #modern day au #angst and healing #sawamura is best medicine #friendship #kazuya and kuramochi #humor #I write ff #gifts and exchanges #sofatropefestbingo2021 #seasons of anime trope fest bingo 2021 #seasons of anime gift exchange 2021 #fanfiction #First Meetings

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retrorealeyes · 4 years

Text

stomachache

sdfjsdkfhsk I don’t know what this is going to be. I quit twitter so I could stop being addicted and do better in school but nooooo I need attention/my words in the public eye

I have a fucking headache, fucking stomache overall I’m not doing well. (this maybe because I woke up 3 hours ago and I still haven’t eaten because i’m avoiding mother you will see below)

“Why?”

Because my mom saw my BEN SHAPIRO RAPE ART. (to clarify it was post rape or whatevr idk if it even implied rape, but there were naked people,no sex but it was implied to be about sex and not like “anotomy” or something so I cna’t play it off)

“What?” or maybe even “WHAAAAAAAT?????!!!”

Basically it was a joke with a twitter friend, I made of my own accord randomly. Lewd thing’s include

-ben shapiro has no pants

-ben shapiro has his GIANT DICK OUT (2 balls, probably not accurate, basically no references, but it’s obvious it’s a penis,no matter how crude)

-there’s a girl lying in front of him, basically naked, the outline of her showing (tits) touching his dripping dick

-there’s another girl, lying with her butt facing the outside of the drawing

None of it is “detailed or accurate” it was drawn as a joke. But it doesn’t matter. It’s NSFW and my mom had TIME to examine it and whatever other words are on the notepad. I hid it now so I can’t look at it but there’s that. And she wants to talk ABOUT IT.

Also to clarify we’re Indian which is relevant information because it tells you the following:

-we’ve literally never discussed sex,etc. she just lets the school teach me

-i “shouldn’t knwo this stuff” even though I should

-very conservative even if she votes democrat

-etc. etc.

-and ‘m not doing well in school so obviously she has full eprmission to be mad at me over anything EVEN IF IT WAS THE NOTEPAD I LITERALLY WROTE ALL MY HTOUGHTS IN AND LEFT OUT (not to the ben shapiro page) TRUSTING HTEM NOT TO SNOOP BECAUSE I’D SEVERAL TIMES RECENTLY TOLD EHR AND MY DAD NOT TO SNOOP BUT NO SHE DOESN’T CARE THAT I LITERALLY CAN’T TRUST HER WITH MY STUFF EVER AND THIS IS WHY (not this exactly but my parent’s oppressive take to parenting and my dad’s angry outburts have definetly contributed largely) I CAN’T OPEN UP TO THEM OR MY FRIENDS OR ANYBODY,,,, EVER

-i’ve primarily learnt that shit from the internet, though very accurately, I don’t want my internet access taken away because a.school b. I kinda NEED it

SO obviously I have to lay it off as a. just a joke b. not talk about it because she was snooping (which makes me seem suspicious) c. say I drew it LONG AGO and AS A JOKE d. ignore it until she forgets/realizes she cna’t question me on it (v. hard lot’s of avoiding, will probably take away my interent) or even e. I drew it intentionally to see if she’d noop, but tthat takes away my moral high ground because now it’s bait that I left out + she’ll catch my bluff

It’s possible i acted macho enough in the morning when she asked me about it, she’ll leave me and my burgeoning sexuality alone (I’M KIDDING IT WAS A JOKE NOT A HORNY THING I STG). Plus she’s nosy as fuck (as evidenced) so probably not. Plus she stole my computer after I did that, while I lay in bed, so she’s gonna be petty.

SO I guess I’ll avoid her and play up the macho (b.) and fall onto a variation combination of b& c if she presurizes me + if further pressurized uphold my moral high ground in draiwng hta t(it’s normal, a joke, it’s my stupid head pad, we learned shit in shcool) nad the fact she shouldn’t have snooped. If she asks what it is I’ll say somehting like “”naked people,, I’ve seen people draw >boy parts< in shcool as a joke”

(this story ft. the first line of CaliforM.I.A. from Black Friday)

PLUSPLUSPLUS I should be doing my hw but all my supplies except my lapttop are outside my rooma nd my mom HAD to go snoop on my NSFW ABSOLUTELY FUCKIGN SHITTY JOKE ART so I’m oretty stuck

plus I cna’t go on twitter so I have no outlet

plus i stayed in bed because mom woke we up wiht that real nice line, “I saw your art, we need to talk about it” (I forgot where this point was going but, yeah)

I need to change into normal clothes

I’m hungry

I skipped my first class just becuase I--- couldn’t after that WONDERFUL morning and last evening (which I don’t have the will to elaborate on, just assume I didn’t sleep well and that yesterday was similarly but not excessively shitty)

My crush (who I haven’t messaged back for two weeks, yes I have AVOIDANT TENDENCIES and there was no reason to avoid it i’m just a frigging bitch and YES I do hate myself I’m actually really fucking sorry and my parents [it’s implied he hasa crush back so that’s nice] would never let me date him but we can dream or whatever) called me last night apparently (I didn’t see it) and left the messgae “>:(” (jokingly) so I’m tempted to apologize and send the art i drew of him (luckily I have pictures on my comp. before my mom took my ohone away) as a sort of “will this do as sacrifice lol” IDK I’M BIG DUMB DUMB, YEAH?

i’m doing shitty in school

help

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

school

i have no motivation

I HAVE ALL FS AND I’M INDIAN DO Y’ALL KNOW HOW PRECARIOUS MY SITUATION IN BECAUSE IDFK WHAT I’M DOING

there were a few otehr things but honestly i forgot, mayeb they were like “i’ve been avoiding clubs, friends, etc. and i’m still not able to do well in school”

and i’m hella thirsty (source of the headache + my stress i believe) but i refuse to go down :disappointed face emoji:

sorry for the incessant spelling errors, this is literally a freaked out tired rant. I’m going on a walk now which involves going out of my bedroom and passing mother dearest so Imma be fuckign sick. SOrry if you read this mess this far. I hope YOU’RE having a good day, because i’m NOT.

hErE cOmE tHe fUcKiNg wOlVeS (I hear y dad go downstairs and i don’t think he’s seen IT because he claims, “I’ll never snoop if you tell me not to” but guess what? he still keeps trying snoop. so it’ll be hella worse if he has. I thought my lil sister was down but she’s up so I guess I don’t have protection from confrontation any way)

also ft. freaking out by the wrecks (proabbly) though that was mainly wednesday (2 days ago, also when I did no hw despit eit being a free day and quit twitter though I still need a coping mechanism and look where THAT got me (addicted to journaling, scrolling tiwtter and saving tweets instead of liking htem so nobody knows I’m there adn TUMBLR))

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Note

Hi Hoodoo! If you're still taking requests, may I please request a trans masc reader with some serious self hatred problems, with Beej getting so so turned on and horny over them? Any version of him you want! A bitch just needs to be Wanted rn, tbh

Anything for you, handsome! 😘NSFW, Beetlejuice/trans masc reader, loathing, support, hardcore smut

@harderfasterwreckers

Wanted

Nothing was right. Nothing.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom wasn’t helping, because it only showed you exactly what you didn’t like, but you couldn’t look away. As much as you wanted to close your eyes, a small evil voice inside your head didn’t allow them to shut, and you saw everything wrong.

Tears wanted to fall. You held yourself in check by holding your breath as long as possible; when you released it your lower lip trembled and it came out ragged.

You hadn’t realized your bedroom door was open until Beetlejuice gave a low whistle.

Startled, you jumped. You tried to wipe your face and drop your shirt to cover yourself again, but in your mild panic of being caught in a private moment, neither of those movements quite worked out the way you wanted them to.

Beetlejuice didn’t help either. Between one second and the next, he’d crossed the room and was behind you, a set of hands on your hips and another around your waist while he pressed himself up against your back. That made it difficult to pull your shirt back down.“Baby, if I knew you were putting on a show I’d have been right here as your most appreciative audience,” he purred in your ear.

“Oh Beej, don’t,” you said. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack, so you spoke in a whisper.

“Don’t what, baby?” he replied, swaying a little to some rhythm in his head. His mouth was dangerously close to your ear, and you shivered a little. In the mirror, you saw him smirk and he planted a kiss on the side of your neck. His hands–all four of them–made their own abstract patterns on your skin.

“Don’t … don’t act like this is all okay!”

He didn’t move away from your neck, but did look up and meet your eyes in the reflection. Immediately the extra pair of arms and hands vanished, like that had been the problem.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

“No! What? That’s not the problem!”

“Then what, babes?”

For some reason, the fact that he just couldn’t understand your distress made that sadness bubble up again. You wanted to be strong, you wanted to brush it off, but it was just too deeply seated to ignore, and that same evil voice twittered its triumph.

“This! All this!” you exclaimed. You were right, your voice did waver and crack, but now you couldn’t care about that. You made a wild gesture at the mirror with one hand and an even wilder, more vague gesture at yourself, and tried once again to pull your stupid shirt down to cover everything. To cover you, to hide you away from eyes, including yours.

A genuine look of confusion furrowed Beetlejuie’s face. “Baby …?” He let his question linger.

Tears made your eyes burn, and when you blinked, they fell. Angrily, you said, “All this, Beej! All this ugly, wrong body of mine! It’s wrong and I-I just want it to be right and it isn’t and I just can’t–”

The rest of your sentence was choked off as your throat threatened to close up with the amount of rage and sorrow you tried to keep in.

You’d expected him to release you. You’d expected him to have the dawning realization that you were too broken for him to be with, that he’d made a mistake about being with you. You expected him to make an excuse and leave. You wouldn’t blame him.

But Beetlejuice, contrary specter that he was, didn’t. He didn’t let you go. He didn’t step away. The only change on his face was a softening, not the horror and disgust that you thought should be there.

“Baby–” he said again, and you interrupted with,

“Don’t you get it?! I can barely stand to look at myself! Why should you? Why do you?!”

You tried to cover yourself again, still attempted to pull your shirt completely down to hide the source of your perceived shame, but Beetlejuice twisted the t-shirt up and didn’t allow you to complete the concealment. The anger inside you fizzled out against his insistance. You gave up and stood passively, but averted your eyes from seeing yourself in the mirror.

Beetlejuice didn’t. He stood solidly behind you, holding you in place. One hand held your tightly bunched shirt as well as your side, and the other moved from its place on your hip to the side of your chest. His fingers were cool as they dragged over your skin.

You couldn’t help but whimper a little bit as his fingertips ghosted over the scar on your chest, following it like a trail.

“Look,” Beetlejuice demanded quietly.

With hesitation, you obeyed. You looked at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, and more tears fell. Beetlejuice released your shirt and wiped your face dry.

“What do you see?” he whispered into your ear.

“I-I … I see a broken man being held by a wonderful man who deserves so much more–”

“I see us,” interrupted Beetlejuice.

You hiccupped a little through the tears.

He continued. “I see a beautiful, handsome man who puts up with a dead guy. I see someone who is just right. Inside and out. I see you, and you’re exactly what I love.”

You choked out a real sob.

Beetlejuice turned you on your heel to face him and kissed you. It was quick and sloppy and too unrefined to convey anything but desire, but you clung to him and returned it.

Beetlejuice walked backwards, pulling you along with him. There was a bump when his knees hit the side of the bed, then he sat down and kept you close even as it broke the kiss. You whimpered again, a less pained noise this time. The sound made the specter flash you a smile. With his hands on your waist he maneuvered you to straddle his lap, precariously perched on the edge of the mattress and he tugged you down for another kiss.

He stole your breath.

When you pulled back for air, he didn’t let you go far; a hand on the back of your neck kept your forehead pressed to his. He was too close to see clearly.

“I want you, baby,” he said quickly. “You’re perfect and desirable. There’s no shame in your body.”

Part of you still wanted to argue and protest, but you could feel his obvious arousal pressing against you. That couldn’t be faked. And warmth had spread through your belly too. You couldn’t deny that either.

You gave him a quick nod, not dislodging your forehead from his, and he broke the contact when his mouth captured yours again. His tongue was slick against yours, darting through your lips and retreating as you did the same. He gave you sips of air, but now you wanted to keep kissing, keep his mouth on yours, until your lungs demanded a real breath.

He grabbed your hips and ass and yanked you further into his lap so you were pressed tightly pelvis to pelvis.

He moaned wordlessly, then muttered, “I want you so bad–” into your mouth.

You nodded again, still not trusting your voice. But at your second approval, Beetlejuice’s hands were everywhere on you. It may have been more than two; you couldn’t tell. In no time you’d lost your shirt and didn’t even care as he kissed you a little harder, and sucked your lower lip for a second before latching on to your neck.

Your back arched involuntarily at the bite-y little kiss he planted there, then because you were still in his lap his mouth started downward, leaving wet marks as a trail of his progress. You almost pushed him away, another involuntarily response, as he moved from kissing your sternum to one of horizontal scars on your chest, but he only gave it a lick and didn’t linger on the spot. His body contorted in a way that was impossible for someone living and he finished by drawing his tongue back up your body from stomach to the hollow between your collarbones.

Wrapping your arms around his head, you planted a kiss on top of his head, right in his hair, and you felt him chuckle.

In a flash, you found yourself on your back, naked, with a nude Beetlejuice on top of you. Sometimes you hated when he just did that, but this time you let his eagerness wash over you. It was nice to have something positive to focus on.

Once again his hands and mouth explored you. He tickled and teased, and you caught him giving quick smiles through the kisses he covered you with whenever you moaned or writhed. Eventually, once your skin was lightly marked with thin scratches from his nails and red spots from where he’d either sucked or used his teeth just the other side of gentle, he’d moved bodily enough his face was between your legs.

There was a pause, and when you lifted your head to look at him, Beetlejuice crooked an eyebrow at you.

“This okay, baby?” he asked.

“Oh yes–”

“That’s my good boy,” he muttered, and dragged his tongue, long and hard, against you.

You bucked against him. Beetlejuice sucked and licked and purred, sending vibrations through you. You moaned and gripped what you could reach, the specter’s hair and shoulder to both keep him in place and because a teensy, evil part of your brain still worried he would stop and bolt.

Beetlejuice didn’t, of course. He had to know you were close to climax when you couldn’t prevent tightening your grip on him and you voice caught in your throat, so he simply paused and held direct pressure against you with the flat of his tongue until you unraveled in the bliss. With a sharp cry and tensing throughout your core, you came. Your trembling thighs closed around his head.

It took several moments before you gained your senses back and you were able to release him. Residual tremors of bliss gave you random shakes. From his position between your legs, Beetlejuice grinned up at you. “You taste so good,” he said, and pulled his tongue along you one last time.

You jerked at the stimulation and cried out again.

His grin widened, and he stood up. That same evil voice in your brain whispered the irony that a dead guy with random spots of mold on his fish-belly pale skin didn’t have hangups about his body like you did, but a louder voice–and your arousal–shouted for it to shut the fuck up.

To your surprise, the small voice did.

Beetlejuice looked down on you like you were art. He didn’t rejoin you on the mattress; he shifted you until you were perpendicular to it and he was standing between your legs. You reached forward and scratched your fingernails down his belly, and he groaned. Your fingers encircled his cock and gave him a twisting tug, and his chin dropped to his chest to both watch and groan again.

He managed to drag his gaze away from what your hand was doing to your face again.

“Is this okay?” he asked again. “I’d love to fuck you, baby, but if you’d rather fuck me, I’d love that too. That’d be sublime.”

It wouldn’t take long to switch positions, but that wasn’t anything you’d thought about tonight. And he’d primed all your nerve-endings, so–

“Fuck me, Beej!” you agreed, with the faintest plead in your voice. “Oh, please–”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Holding himself by the base of his cock, he rocked his hips forward and filled you. He released himself and drove fully into you, his mouth falling open with a moan as he did. Once again your back arched and you matched his moan with your own.

Beetlejuice started slowly, minute thrusting of his hips that created delicious friction that built on itself exsponentially. He groaned in time to his rhythm, and you did too, and when you were able to open your eyes you found him watching you. Once he saw you caught him looking, his hands went to your chest and he traced random designs over you.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he told you. “I love your body. I love your soft skin. I love that I can see a mark right here–” His fingers brushed against a red spot where he’d sucked a little too long, earlier. “–and know that I did that, that you let me do that to you. I love that you let me use my mouth on you. I love the taste of you, the feel of you–fuck, fuck!”

His dirty praise was wonderful, but it kicked your arousal higher and you couldn’t help but clench around him. When he stopped watching his hands and flicked his eyes back up to yours, the direct eye contact made every nerve in your body flare, and it had nothing and everything to do with his cock driving into you.

He must have felt some jolt of addtional pleasure too, because he couldn’t form words any longer. He dropped himself on top of you, belly to belly, chest to chest, and buried his face in your neck. His arms wrapped under your armpits and shoulders. His hips lost their smooth, easy rhythm and he fucked you hard, pounding a pace that made you gasp and clutch at him and beg him not to stop, please don’t stop, please please please–

The pleasure inside you was unadulterated and dense, and you came again with a cry that wavered. Beetlejuice halted his movements, keeping deep his cock inside you as euphoria rolled in waves through you. This must be what heaven felt like, white hot bliss inside and comforting weight pressing you, holding you steady, keeping you close.

Beetlejuice jerked awkwardly and you felt his teeth on your neck, but you were too lost in pleasure to acknowledge any of that.

By the time you were finally able to catch your breath again, Beetlejuice had pulled away a little. Your skin pulled a little as he did; your tacky sweat had glued him to you. He smiled and untwisted his arms from you, the held himself up and looked down at you.

You brushed some stray hairs off his forehead.

“Wh-what …” Your voice stuck for a second, so you paused and cleared your throat. “What can I do for you, Beej? Do you want a different position?”

His grin widened enough to show his teeth. “No need, baby. I came.”

You hadn’t even realized! He saw that and chuckled.

“Seeing you, feeling you come–I just couldn’t help myself.”

You felt a little bad that you had no idea, but Beetlejuice wouldn’t have any of it. As you babbled an apology, he dropped down on top of you and kissed you, dipping his tongue through your lips muffling your words. When you finally stopped trying to talk and once again wrapped your arms around his head and neck, he smiled against your mouth.

He gave you one last teasing lick across the tip of your tongue, then pulled away again. You gazed up at him with a smile. You felt sated and tired.

Carefully he rocked back and eased himself out of you. You felt empty without him, but he once again shifted you around on the mattress so you were laying properly, then he tucked himself and a blanket around you, spooning you, one arm slipped under yours and across your chest.

The evil voice that lived in the corner of your brain stayed quiet, and that made you smile.

fin.(❤ you!)

#beetlejuice #betelgeuse #writing #fanfiction #request

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zedecksiew · 4 years

Text

d20 Places You Miss

This was done on Twitter. My initial ask was:

“Another weekend under quarantine. This morning there were sirens, where I am.

I'd like to leave the house for a bit. Come with me?

Drop me an object-themed emoji? I'll write you a place you've seen before, and long to see again.”

Original thread begins HERE; with attributions.

d20 PLACES YOU MISS

1. ⛽️ At home, with your husband carrying your crying son; your mother on the phone, chattering --

You miss the rig.

It was no less of a pressure-cooker: sixty crew in a football field crammed with gear, crude, a gas flare.But there, on the deck -wind on an open sea.

2. 🔦 The light on your suit casts a wavering disc. Hadal amphipods and jellies drift into its beam, then dart away.

You waddle up a dead driveway. Shine your light through the windows of a ruined house. You once lived here. Squid and spiderfish live in it, now.

3. 🎠 Carousel Station comes into view as your ketch clears the asteroid.

You managed Carousel for years. Fought to keep it out of anarch hands. Then it was hit by pirates, and the Corp wrote it off.

You shake off your sentimentality, and give the order to fire.

4. ⚗️ Every night, the Queen drew you into her realm: a place of wonder and gossamer delights. The best nights of your life.

Then the Queen tired of you.

Now you spend your nights imbibing hallucinogenic poisons. You will return to Her parlour. Even if it kills you.

5. 🍑 He used handmade peach-and-peppermint soap. You stole a bar of it from his bathroom, the last day you spent together. You didn't ask where he got it from. You've scoured weekend flea markets, since. No luck. It shrinks. You ration it. You use it once a week.

6. 🏝️ The isle of Susile is alive. Its spirit shuffles the barrier reefs around; invading ships invariably run aground.

To land safely, bring:

A shaman, to sing; A pot of palm wine, to pour in the bay; A humble heart -- so you can kiss wet sand, and thank Susile.

7. 🧉 SongLine provides full-sensory holiday experiences, delivered to you via brain-jack.

The package you bought has made you wistful for the warmth of a horse, the taste of mate, and sunset on the Argentine plain.

You are also now loyal only to SongLine, Inc.

8. 💫 Walks with Lady Xiu on the boardwalk of Emerald Lake; That one night with Etienne in the Red Lantern District; A weekend arguing anarchist theory with Sarai in the shadow of the Brass Orrery --

This city is crowded with lovers. You are thinking of leaving.

9. 💃 In his antique shop, Mr Singh tilts the remains of a music box. Its gears are crumbling rust. Its porcelain ballerina is missing a leg.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Singh," he says, blinking back tears.

"It's okay," you want to say -- but the dead do not answer the living.

10. 🌋 The mountain exploded and Xinmen died. Its red walls, sprawling-maze piers; its dancing princes, weeping merchants; its rice farmers hunched under the mountain's shadow. The mountain exploded and Xinmen died. Its ghosts watch from ragged boats, in the bay.

11. 🍯 Far from all harbours, hopelessly lost -- Here the water begins to glow like golden honey. A woman rises. She wears a helm of ammonite shell, holds aloft a sword of sea-glass. St Celeste of the Sea, who points sailors home -- who you got lost just to see again.

12. 🏕️ A ghetto of tents, pitched in the national park. Drugs, drink, love, festival sex. Electroclash among the trees. Dancing bodies glimpsed in morning fog. You'd mis-spend such youth a second time -- but you cannot sleep in tents, anymore. Your back won't let you.

13. 🦖 Walking hunched, elbows to your tummy, V-signs on both hands to simulate Tyrannosaur forelimbs -- You bite your mother's thigh and draw blood. You aren't playing. You have a sauropod's soul. You remember the warm world, before. You remember the sky falling.

14. 🗝️ You lock the door; shutter the windows. You think you can still hear your students, chanting the Serrese alphabet over their chalk sheets:

"Na, ko, pa, go, no -- "

But the white invaders have banned Serrese. Only English may be spoken in their territories.

15. 🩰 You find your old shoes in a box on a high shelf. They are moth-bitten, and no longer fit.

You think of your teacher, fierce Mdm Gissaud; you think of sobbing into the conservatory mirror. You go to your toes, and lift a battement clear past your shoulder.

16. 🪔 They slaughtered the priests, snuffed out the Eternal Fire.

Holy Kilwa -- then but an altar boy -- stole a glowing coal, swallowed it, and escaped. Later he burst into flames. He gave his body so the Fire could burn, always.

We light these lamps for Holy Kilwa.

17. 🏷️ There are so many baggage tags on your drag-along, its handle no longer properly retracts.

You keep them as reminders. "Bali, Greece, Paris." You point to each one. "Precious memories!"

The counter lady rips them off, one by one. "Travel hazard," she says.

18. 🧲 Strange how, even though you and Sylvia lost touch for a decade -- Something let you to end up in the same city, at the same flea market, on the same day, in front of the same display of novelty fridge magnets -- Strange how the heart follows its lodestone.

19. 🎟️ Your wallet is a wad of paper receipts in a raggedy shred of leather.

"Time to throw it away?" Sylvia says.

Your first date, you and Sylvia went to a play. Beckett's “Happy Days”, at the Storeroom Theatre. You find the stubs sandwiched between parking slips.

20. ☕️ Too cold to shiver, with your dogs dead and the blinding wind howling, with your last biscuit eaten and your last battery drained -- You drag your sled onward, and think of the coffee in the Knudsen Station mess: Bitter, with no milk -- and hot, hot, hot.

+++

( Image source: https://iluminasi.com/bm/sejarah-taman-rekreasi-mimaland-dan-sebab-mengapa-ia-ditutup.html It’s a photo of Mimaland, a Malaysian amusement park that folks who grew up in the 1980s remember. Now it is swallowed by forest. )

#fantasies #writing #gygaxian democracy #twitter #random generators #adventures #covid-19 #quarantine

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snow--blanket · 4 years

Text

little soldier, smaller gods

word count: 4846

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: tokugawa ieyasu based off/inspired by leigh bardugo’s work from the language of thorns!! please read it i implore you ***

There is a place where the children knew not to go and where the adults would twist their arms when they tried to. The path there started from gravel, to wooden pickets pledged to the earth, and ends at a dirt path, where it wound like a crooked finger beckoning.

This cottage had the roof tilted unsightly, like an abused seesaw heavy on one side. the windows could only be called such – the aging moss and grime had kept it shut for years and years, and it resembled more like a foggy lens than transparent glass.

In this cottage lived a man. He was old, hunched-over back and his movements were like old machinery. His voice, at the very least, he was still proud of. It rang silver and regal, and whenever he spoke, the words were like breath commanded.

However, such was the cause that had driven away the people around him.

This man was old and lonely, and he lived alone in the shamble of a house he once called a castle. The vacancy in his home bred boredom, and so he chipped away at little crisps of the cracked wall and stole iron wires from a crow’s nest. He melted steel over the hearth of his humble kitchen and it bled into his hands as it did into the molds.

With his coal-ash fingers and his squinted eyes, the old man had created ingenious machinations – one, a clock that told the time by different twittering of different kinds of birds. Second, a mechanical wolf that howled and hunted cotton-like rabbits, and when gnawed on, had raspberry juice flow like blood. The third, gingerbread man that moved and danced on a tightrope, balancing things on its head. Fourth, a roulette wheel of different kinds of murders, and whichever the ball stopped at, it would happen in tandem the next day.

Once, the roulette wheel stopped, and the next day, you could hear the hounds howl silencing the screams of a man being ripped from stomach to crotch. His blood flowed like raspberry.

It seemed more than a little pathetic for an old man to tinker with toys, and still, still, his empty little heart desired company. Company, most of all, to admire his genius inventions, to awe at his skill. He wanted an audience.

And so the old man’s hunched back bent over once more, his baked hands and his sight – strained like lemon being juiced – he created a toy soldier, decorated with six buttons on his uniform and a medal crested onto his lapel.

Tokugawa Ieyasu, he said into the empty air, gazing at his creation. That is your name. You have been made to protect me, to serve me, and to bring me glory.

The green soldier started moving, it’s fabricated limbs now stretching like clay, and appeared before him was a soldier whose eyes would only observe green, and the hair dyed from the petals of a sunflower.

The old man sent the toy soldier to guard the front of his crooked house, as crooked houses attracted the crooked and the morbidly curious.

Ieyasu stood dutifully under the loom of the tilted roof as shade with his hand dutifully at his waist, a ready grip at the hilt of his sword.

When curious children came, he unsheathed his sword and swung in an arc, a warning. The children yelled and skittered away back into the village, and they would tell their mother and fathers about a little toy soldier with a sword in his hands.

The mothers would go, Oh yes, my dears, I’m sure it was, and roll their eyes at them. Now, would you like to tell me the real reason for the dirt on your knees and the scraped elbow?

The fathers would let them be, saying that a little adventure never hurt anyone. But still, late at night in the pubs, you could hear the exchanges between men regarding this fellow soldier with a sword, about the war that passed yet was still in the hesitance in their voices and the matchlock rifles hidden under the creaky floorboards, if only you stepped the right way. There are wolves, they’d say. Dangerous times for us all, and no wolf will eat my child. Still, they couldn’t help the lingering feeling that it was not so simple.

They were right.

Ieyasu reported back to his master, and he frowned. “It seems you’ve scared them away,” he’d said disapprovingly. Ieyasu did not understand. Was that not what he was made for?

The old man set foot in his room once more, engineering himself a painful brace to straighten his posture and screwed in teeth as glossy as steel into his bloody gums, his magnificence only slightly overwhelmed by the yells and rips of pain he’d vocalised, muffled only by an old, wooden door.

The next day, it was observed that the old man no longer looked old — his bearing was upright as to effect a soldier’s, and his teeth were gleaming and his hands were dusted in powder so as to rid the burnt charcoal and molten ire that had been engraved into them.

Ieyasu was ordered to venture forth into the forest, now. “Farther, into the forest, there is a beast of which can only be slain by the likes of you,” his master said, and crested upon his lapel another medal. It was only Ieyasu left. The gingerbread man had gone missing, and the roulette wheel went unspun a long time ago.

Ieyasu felt his lungs fill with pride and marched on forwards into the forest once more, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart beating to the drums of war.

Time passed like this, and the mystery thickened around the crooked house with the old man whose posture was dignified and commanded respect, and the voice to charm them so. The deeper into the forest Ieyasu went, the more people took notice of a soldier in the forest, with his nimble fingers and white teeth.

Finally, a group of scampering adults said enough was enough, and decided to open the closet lay in the monster. They took upon the pitchforks — sharpened like fangs of some beast — and swished here and there, chancing upon the crooked house.

When they barged into the house, they were greeted by the smell of honey lemon tea brewing, the miraculous lights strung from both end of walls, even as there was no generator or power source anywhere in sight. The floorboards were shined like glazed cake in caramel, and the windows, more window-like, were open, letting the smell and sights waft out.

“I see we have an audience,” said the old man, who did not look old. His smile showed his polished, refined teeth, and the townspeople became all the more wary. “Sit down, why don’t you? The tea is almost done.” One might have thought it was a suggestion, had they not hear the voice that carried it.

This is the problem with lesser demons. They dress in tailcoats and emblazoned suits, are pleasant conversation partners, smiled when needed and laughed little, so as to captivate the young ladies and make older women clutch at their handkerchiefs in bashfulness. They do not show their horns until you are impaled in it.

Ieyasu, however, was still deep in the forest and rested under the shade, shifting his sword to a more comfortable position.

A beast, thought Ieyasu. A beast that can only be slain by the likes of me.

The likes of me. What exactly did that mean? He let his eyes rest on the sword by his side. Weaponised? A soldier? Perhaps both?

He didn’t notice the wind this time, did not hear the high laughter of an old friend bark at him.

He thought he heard the howl of a wolf somewhere, and the trees that once gave him shade lent to him darkness he found difficult to accept. “Who’s there?” he asked, his sword unsheathed in one swift movement.

The darkness answered, and a shape moved towards him. He felt the grip on his sword tense. An enemy! The first he’d slay.

He thought about the medal crested on his chest. A beast that can only be slain by the likes of you.

The shape moved, darkness peeling off its body like second skin. “I am not an enemy, sir. I come in peace.”

Peace? No enemy would be one with peace. “Lies! Unsheath your sword!”

“I do not possess such things,” said the shape. It moved closer and closer, out of the darkness, and into the light. Ieyasu’s hand trembled.

The shape was shaped like a human, at least like the humans children drew on sand with sticks. Except…. “I apologise,” said Ieyasu.

The gingerbread man smiled, his how-many-days frosting, which once smelled like vanilla pods, now a smudge on his face, like the crying cottage, leaking out from it’s corners. His arms were gone, the edges bitten out by some zig-zagged teeth, and whenever he walked, crumbs followed him like a second shadow.

“It is no bother. I have no need for these arms, anyway.” The gingerbread man’s eyes smiled, frosting eyes curved like a crescent moon inverted. He looked at the sword Ieyasu still held. “Though it seems you do.”

“Yes,” said Ieyasu, and his lungs filled with pride again, his jaw cut sharp like shrapnels. “I've come to slay the beast that terrorizes this forest.” His tone was somber, as if he wanted to give the gingerbread man his own sword – to protect himself. “And the one that inflicted on you pain.”

The gingerbread man’s eyes were pitying, two pricks of eyes of black that looked at him as if he was the one without arms. “It wasn’t the beast that made me so. It was myself.”

“What?”

“Have you ever wanted something, soldier?”

“I live to protect other people, and my master. It is my duty and my honour.” The words felt familiar and came easy.

”It started when i wanted something, you see. I was a mere gingerbread man, yet I was used as a toy placed on a string. He stacked books on my head and magical, glassy balls with it’s hook pierced into my hands. I wanted to be eaten, and I felt myself move. Then, I wanted to eat. so I used one of my hands and broke the brittle arm of the other, and I ate it.”

“You are crazed,” warned Ieyasu. “Return with me. My master will fix you anew.”

“Crazed I may be, I wanted it.” The gingerbread man looked at him. “Is there nothing you want, soldier?”

“I want to protect my master and my people.”

“And when he finds another soldier?” asked the gingerbread man. “If your people find another hero, and your sword will not be yours?”

“I—” A beast that can only be slain by the likes of you. He had said that. The likes of him. “That is impossible.” The likes of him. There was only one him, after all.

“Like a humble treat like myself might move?”

“You are—” The likes of you. “We are different from each other.” Ieyasu snarled, but he was not able to hide away his confusion. “I am loyal.”

“Maybe you are.” The gingerbread man nodded, and then tilted his head. “Perhaps instead of telling me to return, ask yourself why you remain.”

“You are supposed to be nothing but a juggling toy,” hissed Ieyasu.

“That is the will your master has exerted upon me. I danced on the line he tied, and I walked at his command. But at night, when he is not watching, I tore pages from the books that would be my burden, and in doing so I thought: why not another page? Why not another book? Why not shatter another glasspiece?”

“That is greed,” said Ieyasu. “I am not greedy.”

“And nor are you righteous.” He looked at him differently this time, like he was nothing but an innocent cookie nibbled by the cupboard rats. “Tell me your name, soldier.”

“Ieyasu. Tokugawa Ieyasu.”

“I see. What master do you serve?”

That was an obvious question. “Master—” But he couldn’t remember. Or had he known it at all? His master never called himself by anything but. Ieyasu remembered the moments where his master picked him up and laid him down somewhere high, and there he saw many people like his master enter the room. They hadn’t called him by any name either. “I don’t…know. but he is my king nonetheless.”

Speaking of which, a king of which kingdom? He hadn’t seen any other soldiers in the barracks, only he. But, well, given his master’s private disposition, it was only to be expected that he only trusted one soldier as his guard.

“I see,” said the gingerbread man. “And what of your medals? What was the first one for?”

Ieyasu looked at his lapel. “The first one—” the first medal that had been crested onto him, the first of everything. He’d slain the beast, he had killed a wolf once, one whose teeth shone like knives, and claws that tore at his arm, removing it from it’s sockets and two creatures howled in pain that night. And yet. Yet, his arm was here. Which wars had he won? What put the honour on his chest, this medal? “I do not recall,” said Ieyasu.

The gingerbread man looked at him softly, and Ieyasu imagined that look was the kind one might give to a child. “I live with ants now, can you believe it? It seems there’s use to my balancing act, after all.” the gingerbread man turned on his heel and started to disappear into the shadows of the trees. “I hope you can find yourself, little soldier.”

“I am not little!” yelled Ieyasu to the darkness. The wind howled then, a barking laughter that silenced the voice of a whining child.

He didn’t understand. He was Tokugawa Ieyasu. He remembered this. His master was….his master. His king. He used to slay beasts, vanquish the evil in the name of protecting his master. He remembers the pain of his arm being torn, the pain of being snapped in half like brittle candles. So why? Why couldn’t he answer? Why hadn’t he?

In the end, Tokugawa Ieyasu chose to slay the beast. Indeed, he was Tokugawa Ieyasu in the end, and who he served did not matter. He was a soldier, and he had a duty. He was to defeat the evil, protect the good, return to his master with another medal on his chest and the heart of the monster in his hands.

Ieyasu stepped into the darkness once more, in search of the beast. It did not take long. Once he stepped into the shadows, it felt like an overbearing something was pressing to his sides, and there was a heavy stone in his chest, weighing itself in the cavity of his lungs.

His feet brought him to the entrance of a cave, where it smelled like rotten flesh of a man whose insides were torn at and the scent of decay that followed suit. It was here. The beast was here.

Although he wanted to pinch his nose, it wasn’t very soldierly of him. Yes; this, too, was part of his hurdle, part of the challenge in loyalty. He had to remain unwavering. He gripped his sword tighter. “Beast!” he yelled, and the sound echoed, like the cave was whispering on his behalf as to silence the doubts in his mind. “I've come for your head!”

Instead of a powerful howl that shook the trees, what answered was a whimper. A dog came lumbering, dragging along its weight like a ball and chain. “You’re here again, boy.” said the dog, and Ieyasu flinched, reflex lost to instinctual fear at the sight that met him.

The dog had two heads, parted at the middle like a tree branching east and west. He returned to his stance once more, noticing the blood that stained it’s gums, it’s yellow teeth like bones hollowed and sharpened.

He pointed his sword onto the dog, a challenge. “What did you mean by ‘again’? Was there another soldier before me?” he pushed forth, courage bought by the blade. “Did you eat him alive as well?”

“It has never been more than one,” said the dog, both heads speaking, and their voices overlapped like the cave that echoed. Caves of caves, voices on top of voices. “What did he make you into this time, boy?” Both heads tilted, like the slanted roofs, like wilting plants.

“He made me into a soldier,” This, he said with confidence, for it was an irrefutable fact, no matter what anybody else said. “I see. Then a soldier you must be until a soldier you are no more.”

One head twisted, warped like kitchen towels rung out to dry, and the blood squeezed out of it and watered the ground, dripping, dripping, dripping, like an overfilled kettle bubbling with foam and overflowing. The tendons stretched like gum, stretched in an unsightly way Ieyasu knew could not be right.

Plop! One head of the dog fell to the earth, and it presented itself to Ieyasu like the silence of graves, like the smell of death masked by smoke. Something choked at his throat – a lump had made itself home there, and Ieyasu was no heavy eater, but he felt like he might throw up whatever he had for breakfast.

“Well?” asked the dog, eyes like blood moons. “You have my head. On you go, boy.” the dog retreated into the cave, and his voice echoed. “Be careful of the master you serve.” Voices on top of voices, doubts on top of doubts.

Ieyasu picked up the severed head of the dog, and its eyes stared back at him like it was truly alive. He turned his heel, remembering that it was nearing night, that his master was waiting.

All the way back to the house of his master, there was no satisfaction to be found. What happened to heroism, to conquering fear? His hand still shook like a creature of fear and his heart pounded like a jackrabbit caught in some wolf’s fangs. Even with the medal crested upon his lapel, he could not ignore the feeling that he did not deserve….whatever he got.

“I've returned with the beasts’ head.” These words, although sounded vain, were shame that stuck itself to the roof of his mouth, like moss to the ceiling.

His master smiled, and even that couldn’t soothe his heart rate. “Good work,” he said. His master took the head from him, and the act was disturbingly casual. He gently guided Ieyasu away, back into his room with his work table. “Rest,” he cooed. “You must be tired.”

Ieyasu found that he was tired, and stifled a yawn. “If you’ll excuse me.” The thrill of one whole day wore him down, and the beat of his heart followed the humming of his master’s.

Ieyasu sat down on the chair, and he closed his eyes. Drowsiness took him – but before it could do so, he heard the high voice of a child in his master’s room. Of course, he had not been there to protect his master, and now some child had wormed its way into his master’s castle!

Ieyasu leapt to his feet, and his unsheathed sword sliced the midnight air. With rickety, careful steps, he approached the opening of the door, the light cutting the darkness in one thin line. Ieyasu steadied his breath, tightened his grip, squared his shoulders.

“Your name,” The voice of his master sounded through the wooden doors, and Ieyasu halted. “Is Tokugawa Ieyasu.” Ieyasu felt the air leave his body, felt the blood drain him like he was one of the rabbits in the mechanical wolf’s jaws, makeshift blood spilling onto the grass. “You have been made to protect me, to serve me, and to give me glory.”

Ah, yes, this feeling. He remembers this feeling, remembers the stone in his lungs and breakfast threatening to exit his stomach the way it came. Ieyasu covered his mouth, a sourness taxing his tongue.

The likes of you. He remembers these words well. The likes of him. What did that mean? His master had created another toy. With the same name, with the same voice that had commanded his movements. Tokugawa Ieyasu, he called it.

Another soldier. Another one like him?

Ieyasu crept to the door, the glazed caramel floors now looking murky and like the rust of gears, as if showing their true colours in the night. Ieyasu had never stepped a foot outside at night before, but…. the likes of you. The likes of him. The words resounded in his head, and he needed answers.

He did not count his steps as he usually did, did not follow his legs to the beat of war drum in his heart, a memorised tune. He ran until his legs were weary, ran until all the breath in his body spilled to the cold air, ran like a thief under the watch of moonlight.

When he arrived at the cave, he yelled. “Beast!” the sound echoed, the night wind paying no heed to the haste in his voice. “Come out of your cave!”

The darkness answered with a howl, and Ieyasu unwittingly took a step back. Unpeeled by the moonlight, a shape resembling the dog moved forward. Once it revealed itself, Ieyasu felt that sensation again, his tight chest, his body a scale weighed by stones. “You are not the beast,” his thoughts could come up nothing braver than ones that had slipped forth.

The beast — now true to its name — howled heavenwards, as if answering the beck of some god that had come calling, answering to the moon that was their witness. “I am a beast by night,” the wolf snarled. “Your master made it so.”

That was impossible. But was it really? Ieyasu had remembered the gingerbread man, remembered his master’s voice calling another his own name. “I do not understand. My master— he has created another soldier. please–” Ieyasu was not beyond begging now, with his shaken core and his forested eyes like trembling leaves. “–please help me.”

“I told you, soldier. It has never been more than one.” The wolf looked at Ieyasu pitifully. “You are the same boy that has returned to me again and again, seeking my head on the orders of your master. Perhaps the soldier your master created is simply a toy.” The wolf tilted its head curiously, and it resembled the kind of curiosity he’d seen in children. “And perhaps you are one too.”

Ieyasu wanted to open his mouth to reject the words, but before he could the wolf had pounced on him, digging his fangs into his arm. Ieyasu screamed in pain, trying to shake the wolf off him, but it would not budge.

“Help!” he screamed, hoping the night would take his voice far. “Someone help me!” the wolf would not budge. My sword, he thought. Where is my sword? Ieyasu’s eyes scattered until he felt up the hilt of the sword nudging his ribs, and slowly, his right hand took hold of it.

Ieyasu swung the sword and the wolf, barely scratched his muzzle, a small slice comparable to a child’s papercut. Ieyasu swung blindly into the night; hoping that it would hit, somehow. He had little options, he thought uselessly.

In the perimeter of his eyes he saw the slight glint of ruby catching moonlight – like fragmented pieces of gems had come to his call for mercy. Thousands – thousands of ants had approached him, and they all came to swarm the wolf biting at his arm.

From the darkness, the ants were led by an armless gingerbread man, whose voice carried the weight of more souls than Ieyasu. It was incomprehensible, surely. Why? he wanted to ask. Why you? Why am I not the saviour? What have I done wrong?

It is no bother. I have no need for these arms anyways. He remembered the words of the gingerbread man, and realised why he had not needed swords. He had allies. An army. His blade was in pieces, and it remolded itself into blood steel when he needed them.

“Run!” yelled the gingerbread man. “Run, little soldier!”

So he did. And oh – what a disgusting feeling it was! He hoped that his legs would sag. He hoped his breaths would stop. He hoped for his heart to be squeezed out of his chest. How cowardly was he? A soldier in name, a coward at heart. He wished regret or justice made his body linger, but he ran like a coward until his sweat was condensation in the air.

When he arrived back home, his master had looked at him like he knew he was out the entire time. “You’re sweating. You must be tired.”

“Master, I—” Indeed, as if the air was purchased back into his lungs and the trembling in his arms stilled like dead wood, Ieyasu became all the more tired and drowsy by the second. Still, he had to find answers. He could not sleep until he got them. “Master. I did not slay the beast.”

His smile was as deceitful as the smiling moon. “Yes, I know.”

Ieyasu’s heart ached. “Then why did you…” Ieyasu gulped. “How did you know?”

His master tugged at his hand, leading him to a supply closet full of old, unused toys. There were several lines of nutcrackers, a dusty doll in disrepair with it’s eye gouged out. “Because I created it. I created you.”

Created. Not employed. He was not a soldier. He was a toy. “That is impossible,” said Ieyasu. “My heart beats. My hands shake. I bleed red.”

“You move as much as the gears in a clock do, and bleed like breaking dams of a river. You are as alive as either.”

“You are stolen,” his master said. “I kidnapped you from the village and fed you clay and ash, shaped your fingers that would perfectly fit a blade. You stand still when I do not wish for you to move, and you are tired when I say you are.”

“No. No!” But he felt his throat choke on sawdust, the ashen gunpowder coating the film of his mouth and his tongue tasting steel. His arms were harder to move, as if walking through mud.

“You are a hero,” he said finally, and Ieyasu felt that cowardice come forth again. “You return to me with the beast’s head everytime I tell you to, and another medal will be embedded into your chest.”

So it was simply smokes and mirrors, then. He was to dance for his master, to perform. He realised then that he was not a soldier, but an actor.

“You are nothing more than a toy,” his master whispered, and were his words not immortal? “And nothing more will you become when I do not think of you.”

Ieyasu didn’t know exactly when he’d felt hatred for his master fester. Perhaps it was the hard, lonely rock carved out of someone who had too much darkness with them.

Months passed and Ieyasu could only barely be conscious as the days blurred together. He reminded himself of what he wanted. He was Tokugawa Ieyasu. He was no soldier, but he was an actor, at the very least.

The villagers stopped coming by his master’s house. They heard rumours. The house is haunted, they say. There are corpses under the caramel floorboards, they whisper. But it was simply an excuse, for no one could tolerate his company and the way he spoke like royalty. Mysteriously, more and more kids went missing around the vicinity, so they chose not to risk it. The village patrols were much too frightened of the wolves at night to ever conduct a search of the toymaker’s house.

Eventually, the passing of time made the house as rotten as he, and the toymaker died in the hinges of a wolf’s fangs, the roulette wheel stopping: death by loss of blood.

With time, more villagers came to the house – the weeping mothers in mourning of their children, and the rowdy teenagers in search of a dare.

Ieyasu remembers each and every one of their wishes, whispered into the eerie air. He is an actor. He would perform for those who would watch. And so, he took upon those wishes and could barely muster a voice, not at all serene and all knowing, But a voice that had seen the many wandering souls and the secrets and bodies they’d buried.

Now, Ieyasu waits in hiding. He bides his time with every new morning, waiting for a prayer of some lovestruck fool or greedy, traitorous bastard waiting to stab his master in the back.

He never has to wait long.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen fanfic #ikesen writing

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nightfurmoon · 5 years

Note

So I read on Twitter it’s canon that Dementia and Black Hat may have kissed but I don’t know where that source came from. I’m just skeptical since I know for a fact BH can’t feel love. Just felt the need to confirm it with you before I start to fangirl

It came from the livestream that happened yesterday, but Alan said MAYBE, and that Demencia STOLE it from Black Hat, so he obv didn’t want it. The reason they keep it secret (if it ever happened) is bc BH’s super pissed off about it and he doesn’t want anyone to know such disgusting thing x’D But again it may not have happened.

#villainous #Anonymous #nightfur talks

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icecoldflames · 5 years

Text

The Pinnae Flower Chapter 1

Masterlist

The Fifth Pinnae Book???

People seem to want to know my opinion on Raz Keeran’s soon-to-be-published fifth and final book in the Pinnae series. So, I’m gonna give it to them.

I know Pinnies—fairies and spirits alike—are freaking out. Who wouldn’t? I’m freaking out right now, sitting up in my bed, nursing a cup of tea and writing this blog post. But I’m not freaking out for the same reasons everyone else is freaking out about.

I’m freaking out because I want to know what’s going to happen in the fifth and final book. We never knew there would be five books in the series, only four. However, Raz Keeran stated on his Twitter that five books in his series was always the plan. It wasn’t unprecedented. So, it’s not a money-grab like some people think.

Also, I’d like to point out (or, more specifically, my friend Logan pointed out to me) that there is no actual proof that Raz Keeran is going to kill off Parisa and Arel. I don’t know where that rumour started but, on Raz’s official sites and social media, it doesn’t say anything about killing the two main characters from the previous four books!

I know that the summary for Pinnae: Spelunca that Raz gave us is pretty nerve-wracking. I mean, come on Raz! We need to kill now what this last book is going to be about! His exact tweet says this:

“A short summary of PS:

It will not have Arel and Parisa in it but will focus entirely on a new MC. Fairies and sprites will not have a major role either.”

Thanks for that hint, Raz.

But anyway, with some sleuthing with Logan, we managed to headcanon what this last book will be about:

Number 1. It will probably be about dragons. I mean, this is pretty obvious I think. Dragons were mentioned in the previous books. Also, in PM and PE, their titles are the names of the fairy and sprite villages: Magus and Exsul. This is obvious latin and anyone could put those words into Google Translate and find the words “magical” and “outcast”/”banished person”. The latin of Spelunca is “cave”. Where do dragons live? Exactly. A cave.

Number 2. We’ll figure out who took the pinnae flower. Raz never did answer the question as to why the dragons stole the pinnae flower (I know Raz never did say the dragons actually did take the flower but it’s pretty much canon by now. Unless some fairy or sprite rubbed glitter on a dragon scale).

Number 3. Raz also NEVER TOLD US WHO FREAKING KILLED SIDNEY. I know some people think that maybe it wasn’t a person but I’m not buying it. Raz wouldn’t kill off that character and then say “oh, he died of a heart attack” or “he died by glitter suffocation”. No. Sidney died at the hands of another person. Who, you may ask? We’ll find out in PS, we’re sure.

Number 4. We’ll find out why Arel’s little sister, Kaida, was in that last scene. We’re sure it wasn’t a vision or some weird magical hallucination. Kaida was there at the battle. Sure, she vanished in, how Raz put it, “a blink of an eye” but do you know how that could have happened? Oh, I don’t know. Magic?

Which brings us to Number 5. Kaida, Logan and I think, is going to be the new MC. We both think it won’t be a full-fledged magical character like a sprite, fairy, or dragon, so human (or at least half-human) will probably be the main character. I mean, why else would Raz add that tidbit about Kaida there if they didn’t plan on using this character in the first place?

So, yeah. These are five things Logan and I think will happen in PS. I’m not mad at Raz for making a fifth book. Sure, the ending of PTNE was pretty good and cry worthy but there is just so much Raz hasn’t answered. Something tells me we’re in for a big surprise.

No one was expecting that bloodbath at the end of PTNE and I think Raz might be preparing us for something darker. The first four books might be about cute fairies and sprites but this last book, we know, is not going to be focused on them.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians.

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

Roman read through his post once again before hitting the “publish” button. Then, he heard the familiar whoosh as the post went onto his blog, “The Prince’s Crown”. His blog was his most prized work. A blog—his blog—with a massive and loyal following.

While he started writing posts about musical theatre first, it slowly morphed into a Raz Keeran blog dedicated to Raz’s most famous series: the Pinnae series about fairies and sprites. He still did other posts like everyday life posts and still about theatre. But he was known famously for his Raz Keeran posts. Though, he couldn’t give all the credit to himself. As much as he wanted to, most of his fame admittedly came from his best friend since high school, Logan Holmes.

Logan was incredible with thinking up theories and backing them up with the most forgettable quote from the series. And, amazingly, they usually made sense. Logan also edited all of his posts to make sure he used correct grammar and spelling and sourced everything well.

Logan was not an avid Pinnae series reader or a, as the fandom called themselves, the Pinnies. And Roman could understand that. Logan wasn’t into fantasy worlds with fairies and sprites. He liked mysteries and non-fiction and something that puzzled his mind.

Roman constantly teased about Logan’s last name. Holmes. As in the famous fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes.

With some persuading on Roman’s part, he had managed to get Logan to pick up the Pinnae series. There had been only three books out at the time and Logan had read them in three days. One 700 paged book a day. And Logan was working at the university on those three days. It was like he ate them up and gained the knowledge inside them.

While Logan still wasn’t a full-on Pinnie, he enjoyed the book and had respect for Raz Keeran. “That author can sure write a fantasy novel.” Logan had said after he had finished the fourth book.

Roman watched as his blog post began to be read. His first and most loyal plebeian, an unknown face under the name “theazureflower” commented first, like usual.

Amazing read Roman! Tell Logan that he did a fantastic job! I feel as though this fifth book will not be like any others. And not just because it’s the last book in the series! Your headcanons always seem to make perfect sense! (◕ ˬ ◕✿)

Roman grinned and pressed “reply”.

Glad you liked it! I’ll definitely tell Logan your praise when I see him next!

Roman finally closed his laptop and stood up. He stretched his back and wrists as he made his way to the kitchen for a snack.

He loved Raz Keeran’s series. Maybe some would call it childish for a 25 year old to read such a fantasy novel, but he didn’t care. He had been called many things in life and childish was definitely the one he preferred.

The only thing that really bothered him was that he didn't know who Raz Keeran was. No one did. Raz wrote under a penname and had, so far, not been found out by the public. There was little known about Raz. All Roman and the public knew was that Raz lived in a small town in the USA. No one even knew what gender Raz was. They were completely anonymous and Roman wished he knew who Raz was.

It would be an incredible feat. It would be in magazines, on blogs, in the news! POPULAR BLOGGER UNCOVERED THE MYSTERY BEHIND AUTHOR RAZ KEERAN. He would be famous! It was a secret dream of his to find out Raz’s identity. He knew a lot of people frowned down upon those who wanted to figure it out. They said that if Raz wanted to be found out, they would have shown themselves long ago. They said it was Raz’s own, private, business.

But that still didn’t stop Roman’s dream. He wanted to find Raz. The first one to find Raz. Before anyone else did. He knew there were other people trying to find them. Most of them were large news corporations who could allow that much time spent looking for clues.

But Roman had something that the news corporations didn’t have. He had Logan Holmes.

Roman had hinted at the idea of Logan helping him search for Raz plenty of times. In conversations, in texts, anytime he could speak to Logan. But Logan refused. He had the same opinion as most Pinnies—that trying to find Raz was an invasion of privacy and was wrong.

But Roman’s counter argument was always “but Raz puts themself in the spotlight, they should be in the public. It was their choice to write the Pinnae series.”

However, Logan, always the intellectual, would say “but it was Raz’s choice to stay out of the public eye. You can’t dictate another person’s choice to either stay out of the brutal views of the public eye or put themselves in the limelight where they would no longer have the privacy they want.”

Roman sighed as he opened his cabinet, taking out some crackers and getting some cheese from the fridge. He was sure that if Logan helped him find Raz, they would be able to find them. Easy peasy.

These few months were the perfect time to try to find Raz, too. It was coming up on summer vacation and Logan was taking his summer vacation too. They would both be free from work to travel to wherever Raz lived and find him before their time would be up and they’d have to go back to work.

Roman cut up his cheese in little pieces, humming to himself. Maybe he should phone over to Logan’s house and see what’s up later. Maybe today would be the day he would convince Logan to help him find Raz.

~~~

Logan looked down at his computer screen, reading the picture of theazureflower’s favourite passage from the whole Pinnae series written by Raz Keeran. theazureflower did this every time they messaged each other. He must have at least 10 different favourite scenes in the Pinnae series. Not that Logan was complaining. The passage he sent Logan was from the first book, Pinnae: Forests and Flowers.

Sidney looked absolutely terrifying. The other sprites seemed to think the same too for they made sure to keep a good distance between them and Sidney. His hair was a curly dark red and his eyes were haunting—a smoky grey and golden flecks, sunk deep into his face. He seemed almost impossibly skinny—skinnier than the sprite queen herself.

He was the only one who had a dark grey cape wrapped snugly around his neck with a hood. Most of the sprites had short sleeved shirts on of varying colours. It was like Sidney was a dark stormcloud amidst a large rainbow.

But Sidney didn’t seem to mind the obvious difference between him and the other sprites.

“Hi!” Arel said, looking at Sidney with a toothy smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I like your cape.”

A couple nearby sprites seemed astonished that Arel was even speaking to Sidney and I had to nudge Arel in the side. “They’re staring at us!” I hissed.

Arel looked at me. It was almost a confused look. “Why does it matter? Besides, we’re humans Parisa. Or,” his eyebrows drew down, “at least half human”. He shrugged and turned back to Sidney. I huffed and crossed my arms.

Sidney gave a curt, tight-lipped, smile to Arel. “Thanks. I made it myself.”

“Wow! I wish I could make my own clothes! Normally my mom just buys it at the store.” Arel rambled kindly, making me even irritated.

“That sprite is constantly wearing that stupid cape,” a sprite next to me sighed, climbing onto a branch near my ear. I turned to see a female sprite with bright purple hair. I think Titania introduced her as Mauve. She was frowning deeply. “Once,” she said more quietly, “me and a couple other sprites tried to pull that thing off.”

I looked at her and glanced back to where Arel and Sidney were now having a conversation about leather. “And? What happened?” I asked quietly, urging her to go on.

Mauve shivered just slightly and I was afraid she would fall off the branch. “Let’s just say no one saw him for a whole month. Rumour has it he was exiled.”

“Was there anything you found?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, keeping Sidney and Arel in my peripheral view. “Underneath his cape?”

Mauve shook her head vigorously, her purple hair shaking with it. “Didn’t even get that close to him…” she trailed off and crossed her arms tightly.

Mauve glanced over at Sidney and Arel and I followed her gaze.

They were both laughing silently, as if they’d known each other for eons.

Logan liked Sidney’s introduction too. While the sulky, dark, character was often a cliché there was just...something about Sidney’s character that made him think there was a reason for the cape—a reason for his death in the fourth book. He wasn’t just any morally grey character who would no doubt get an arc in the last book.

But, then again, maybe it wouldn’t happen. Logan had been wrong before. Raz had pleasantly surprised him in the fourth book. He had thought that Raz wouldn’t include such a bloody war. It seemed more like a children’s book than a young adult novel and the blood and descriptions really threw him for a loop.

That was what made Logan like Raz. It was unlike any YA novel Roman had made him read. While some things were alike—fantasy universes, action and conflict and romance—The Pinnae series was something else entirely.

It had hints of dark but children could still read it. It was hidden so well that Logan almost didn’t catch it himself.

theazureflower: I just love sidney’s character!!!

theazureflower: And arel and parisa’s and mauve and lewis’!!!

Logan grinned down at his screen and rolled his eyes.

Lewis’_Journal: You love all the characters. I don’t think you’d be able to choose a favourite character if your life depended on it.

theazureflower: Guilty is charged ;)

theazureflower: But they are all so amazing and raz does such a good job at making their characters feel so...real!!!!

theazureflower: I mean, none of the characters are perfect and their flaws don’t seem like an afterthought. They just...ASDFGHJKL! I relate to all of them all at once!

Logan loved this about theazureflower. He was always so excitable and happy and reminded him of—no. He wouldn't think about him now. Not when he was talking to theazureflower and having a good time.

He did agree with theazureflower, though. Raz’s characters all seemed to be real characters—save that most of them were magical creatures who could fly and speak to animals.

theazureflower: What character do you relate to most???

Lewis’_Journal: Definitely Lewis. I feel like he’s almost exactly like me.

Logan didn’t want to delve too deep into Lewis’ character with theazureflower. It felt almost...too personal to talk about with an online friend he didn’t even know the first name to.

Lewis, Logan felt, was the perfect embodiment of himself.

Lewis was a fairy who was mentioned briefly in the first book before being introduced more thoroughly in the second book, Pinnae: Magus. He was intelligent and smart and did not speak much with the other fairies. Logan liked to think he was the opposite of Sidney to a degree—the outcast character but on the fairy side.

But Lewis accompanied Parisa in her quest to find the missing Pinnae flower. He was, at first, silent and incredibly stoic. It was only when Parisa brought her laments that she was missing Arel that they really bonded.

During that chapter the reader finds that Lewis has a brother. While Logan doesn’t have a brother himself, he can still empathize with Lewis’ emotions connected to his gone missing brother.

theazureflower didn’t reply for a long moment. Logan didn’t think about it too much.

That was when the phone rang. He reached for the phone and groaned at the caller ID. Roman. Roman Falco. His co writer of the popular blog, “The Prince’s Crown”. Logan’s name was never mentioned in the About page but Roman mentioned him enough that almost all the readers knew Logan helped write Roman’s posts.

What really annoyed Logan, though, was that Roman was a, rather scatterbrained and b, was obsessed with the author of the Pinnae series, Raz Keeran.

While scatterbrained was fine (it was only the fact that Roman never had a schedule for his posts and they always came out on random days at random times), it was Roman’s obsession that was borderline stalkerish and just plain wrong.

“Let the author live their life!” Logan had said late last week when Roman had asked him to figure out where Keeran lived for the thousandth time. “If Keeran wants to stay anonymous, that’s their business, not yours.”

Logan was hoping Roman would eventually drop it. But, Logan knew his friend well. Roman was very strong minded and when he wanted something, he would try his darned hardest to get his idea to become a reality.

Logan put the phone to his ear after heaving a deep sigh. “Hello?”

“Logan—“

“—No, Roman. I’ve already told you I’m not going to stalk Keeran and find out where they live so you can unveil them in your blog.” Logan said crossly.

It was silent on the other end for a split second. “...It’s your blog too, ya know.” Roman’s voice finally said. “You help me with all my posts.”

“But you started the blog.” Logan pointed out. If Logan were to have a blog, it wouldn’t be about a book series (no matter how good of a series they were) and he would definitely not call it “The Prince’s Crown”.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything.” Roman said emphatically.

Logan didn’t know why he was arguing with Roman. Besides, Logan and Roman didn’t get paid for the blog. Sure, sometimes they got ads on their blog but, more often than not, “The Prince’s Crown” to Logan was more of a hobby.

Roman seemed to be thinking about the same thing as Logan as he immediately dropped the argument. “Anyway. Logan, you’ll never believe what I just read!”

Logan crossed his arms, squatting the phone between his ear and shoulder. He raised an eyebrow. “What did you find now, Roman? Something about Keeran on another sourceless blog that only relies on speculation?”

“No—well...yes.”

Logan pushed up his glasses and took a breath. “Okay, Roman, what did you find?”

One of Roman’s “brilliant” ideas to find information about Keeran was to search up their name or something about the Pinnae series and then go to the very last Google page.

Most so-called “interviews” with Keeran and “Raz Keeran Revealed!!!” posts were fake and were in the last pages of Google for a reason.

“There’s this new interview! Speaking to Raz Keeran over email!”

“—Literally every interview with Keeran is over email,” Logan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No one has heard Keeran’s voice. No one knows what gender Keeran is either, that’s the whole point of email.”

“Anyway,” Roman continued. “It said that they managed to learn a couple things about Raz. It said that they managed to weasel out of them that they go to this cafe every morning. And!! Listen to this! It says that Raz lives somewhere around the coast and their town does annual art exhibits around their streets!”

Logan’s back stiffened and he instantly began scrolling backwards in his conversation with theazureflower. “Art exhibits in the streets?” He repeated. “What is this blog anyway?”

“‘The Pinnae Flower’.” Roman replied. “Some tiny blog run by this girl.”

“Isn’t that the one who also said Keeran was some big corporation?” Logan asked, still scrolling. He was into last year’s conversation with theazureflower.

“...Well...yeah. But still!”

Then, Logan found it. A conversation he had had with theazureflower two years ago. June. Almost exactly two years earlier.

theazureflower: I can’t wait for this weekend!!!

Lewis’_Journal: How come? What’s happening over there?

theazureflower: There’s this thing my town does

theazureflower: It’s kinda of like this art thing

theazureflower: Artists in our town do some art and over the weekend they hang them everywhere in the town

theazureflower: Like a scavenger hunt but you find wonderful art everywhere!

Logan wasn’t sure if any other USA town did an art exhibit like theazureflower. It felt odd for Keeran, though. If their town and theazureflower’s were the ones to do an art exhibit, then wouldn’t Keeran be more secretive with it?

But when Logan searched it up. There were a couple of small towns that did something like what theazureflower explained.

There were multiple towns but none of them were theazureflower’s home town. Logan knew theazureflower’s hometown, Mayflower Town, and it wasn’t there.

“Logan?” Roman asked, making him jump. He had forgotten Roman was still on the line. “You still there? What are you doing?”

“I think…” Logan said, trailing off. He straightened his spine. “I think you should leave Keeran alone.” He hung up before Roman could say anything else.

Logan went back to the computer and theazureflower.

...What if theazureflower and Keeran lived in the same town?

Logan and theazureflower sometimes talked about meeting each other summer. Maybe…

He quickly shut the computer. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t try to unveil Keeran. It would go against all of his morals. It was wrong. Just plain wrong.

But Roman would want to travel with him—they always did in the summer. And if Logan told Roman about Keeran and theazureflower, Roman wouldn’t leave that town until he found out Keeran’s identity.

Unless...what if theazureflower was Keeran?

No. That was impossible. Keeran explicitly said in previous email interviews they did not read theories about the Pinnae series because they didn’t want to be accused of plagiarism. “The Prince’s Crown” was just about all theories and ideas.

No. Logan couldn’t go against his morals. He wasn’t a hypocrite. Logan did not want to be the one to put a spotlight on Raz Keeran.

Logan got out of bed and poured himself a cup of coffee in a cup that Roman had given him last year for his birthday—a Sherlock Holmes mug that said “It’s elementary, my dear Watson”.

It was going to be a long day. He could feel it.

~~~

Roman loves to teach. Children were always bursting with excitement and ideas. Roman was glad he was a drama teacher—he couldn’t imagine teaching children math or science.

It was nearing the end of school and since elementary schools had no exams, he didn’t have to do major correcting like Logan did.

Thank goodness.

By the end of the day, Roman was feeling electricity running through him. He didn’t think he could go home and do something productive and static right now.

So, he called up the only person he wanted to see. Logan. Maybe they could go to the mall or go out for an extra early supper.

“Hello?” Logan asked from the other end. His voice had a sharp edge to it.

Roman put his phone on speaker and began pulling out of the school’s parking lot. “Want to chillax this afternoon? I just got out of the school. I can come pick you up. I don’t think I can stay at home on this beautiful June afternoon.”

Logan didn’t reply for a long time and Roman had to check his phone to make sure he hadn’t hung up on him.

“As long as you don’t bring up trying to find Raz.” Logan said bitterly. “I’m sick of you always talking about it.”

Roman didn’t even think. “Of course. No talk about finding Raz. Got it.”

“Good.” Logan said. “I’ll just pack some stuff to correct and I’ll be out at the front of the university in five minutes.”

Before Roman could protest (who brought stuff to correct on an outing?), Logan had hung up.

Roman got to the university in less than three minutes and, soon after, Logan walked out. Roman glanced at the dash and grinned. Exactly five minutes since their phone call.

“As always, very punctual.” Roman commented as Logan pulled himself into the passenger seat.

“Why are you surprised?” Logan asked, buckling himself in and putting his massive canvas bag at his feet. “I am always punctual.”

Roman grinned as he put the keys in the ignition. “So, where do you want to eat? We could go to—“

Logan rolled his eyes. “Why do you always ask? We always go to the same place.”

Roman shrugged. “Just making sure. What if you suddenly become sporadic and choose some place different?”

“I’m not messing with tradition.” Logan protested. “We’ve been going to the same place since we were in high school.” His eyebrows knitted together. “And when have I ever been sporadic?”

“Well, there was that one time,” Roman chuckled. “When you signed up for the soccer team on a whim.”

“I need exercise.” Logan protested. “The place where I normally walked went under construction—“

“Sure, sure, sure.” Roman grinned as he pulled up to Fairy Cakes and Fantasy Books.

The whole building was decked out in pink and glitter with fairy statues near the door, greeting customers.

The building was squat between a law firm and a grass lot that seemed to permanently hold a “For Sale” sign beneath it’s uncut grass.

It was far away from most of the city and pretty secluded.

Fairy Tales and Fantasy Books was a cafe and library all wrapped into one. It was mostly booked out for birthday parties and for special events.

Normally, it was empty. Like now.

“I can’t believe this place is still open.” Logan muttered. “And still looks pretty okay.”

Roman stepped out of the car and Logan did the same. The air felt thicker even though they were nowhere near the center of the city.

As Roman opened the door, a bell above tinkled and Logan patted the head of a statue of a fairy clad in pink and doused with a fine glitter.

“Ah! Roman and Logan! My favourite two customers!” The lady behind the counter exclaimed. She had her dyed blonde hair up in a bun and was wearing a green dress like Tinkerbell.

“Good afternoon Breena!” Roman called out, striding over to the desk where all the baked goods were.

Logan was immediately drawn to the books and he began to gravitate towards them.

The books were in the corner and the wooden bookshelves were covered in pink glitter and sparkly fairy stickers. Logan’s eyes read the spines.

Most of them were fantasy novels. Hence the name Fairy Cakes and Fantasy Books.

Logan recognized the Harry Potter series, the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, and the Six of Crows duology. And, in the very middle, was the Pinnae series.

They were the American version. The cover was a glossy pinnae flower with an old time-y map as it’s background. They were all hardcovers.

The first book in the series, Pinnae: Forests and Flowers, was the only book here at the cafe that he had read. All the others he had bought himself.

Scrawled throughout the pages, however, young children had marked it with crayons and the pages were dog-eared again and again, some pages were missing corners altogether. It infuriated Logan to no end.

So, after he had finished the first book, he had bought the entire box set which included a complementary map of the world Raz had created.

“So, what’ll it be?” Breena asked, gesturing to all the pastries and cakes behind the glass.

Roman leaned against the counter, clicking his tongue while making his decision. “I think I’ll have the usual, Breena. Thank you very much.”

Breena grinned and slid open the glass, taking out three churros which had been rolled in pink, edible, glitter. The card next to them read “Fairy Wands”.

“And you Logan?” Breena asked.

Logan came up to the glass and peered inside. He’d been seeing the same baked goods since high school yet he could never really choose “a usual” like Roman.

“I think I’ll have two of those Fairy Cakes,” Logan finally decided, pointing to the powdered sugar topped Berliners.

Breena nodded and put two of the Berliners on a plate.

Once they had paid, Logan and Roman found themselves in their usual spot—in the back corner next to the fairy book display which included a couple of the Rainbow Magic series, the Artemis Fowl series, and The Spiderwick Chronicles.

“I literally love this place,” Roman sighed as he bit into his churro. “It always seems so magical to me.”

Honestly? Logan didn’t see it. All he saw was a cafe-library covered in pink and glitter and fairy pictures and drawings hung on the walls.

But he loved it all the same. Just not for the reasons Roman had.

He loved how the books were all Tetris-ed in the bookshelves perfectly. It was like an oddly satisfying video.

He loved Breena’s desserts even though he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

And lastly, the fact that it was almost always empty. While Breena probably hated that there wasn’t a lot of business, Logan was perfectly content eating Berliners with Roman in an empty cafe with books.

They sat in comfortable silence as they munched on their treats.

As always, Roman was the first to talk. “Guess what I saw today.”

“What?”

“I saw one of my students, Matilda, reading the first Pinnae book! I think she’s going to do her novel presentation on it too!” Roman grinned from ear to ear.

“I, as well, saw a student in my astrology seminar with a t-shirt with the pinnae flower on it.” Logan said, remembering the student and his green shirt.

Roman finished his churros in record time, Logan just starting his second Berliner.

He could feel the pressure building up in Roman’s voicebox, about to ask the inevitable question. Logan knew Roman couldn’t refrain from it. He never knew why he always made Roman promise not to bring it up when Logan knew for a fact Roman could never bite his tongue.

Roman shifted in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “Logan…” he hesitated. “I know that I promised not to say anything about it but...could you please reconsider trying to find Raz?”

And there it was. Logan sighed and shoved the rest of the Berliner in his mouth to keep from screaming. He didn’t think he could handle Roman right now.

Roman twiddled his fingers like a child as he waited for Logan to chew and swallow the Berliner. “I just,” he sighed, “you’re so good at mysteries and stuff and—“

Logan swallowed and angrily shook his head. “No,” he hissed, trying not to raise his voice and alert Breena. “Roman, I’ve told you every single time you’ve asked: no. I will not find Raz for you. There is a reason Raz is anonymous.”

He didn’t know why right now, in a glittery cafe-library, he was finally breaking. After years and years of Roman asking, he had never really gotten mad or angry with him. Logan would just shake his head or logically explain why finding Raz was wrong, hoping it would get into Roman’s brain and he’d finally realize that his dream was unethical. Maybe it was pent up anger from all the years.

A small part in Logan’s brain reminded him of his theory that theazureflower and Raz might live in the same town.

He shook it away. Not now, he told himself.

Roman shrunk for a split second in his chair before seeming to come to his senses and lean forward and straighten his spine, meeting Logan’s height. “I understand why it’s wrong but don't you see it? Our blog could get so many new readers and we could become famous!”

“I’m not interested in becoming famous, Roman. Maybe that’s why I empathize with Raz so much.” Logan snapped back. “I’m not finding Raz for you.”

Roman wasn’t giving up that easily. And neither was Logan. He didn’t know how the two of them—both rather hotheaded—became friends, to be honest. Or, actually, stayed friends after all this time.

“What if—”

“—No, Roman. I won’t take any of your compromises. You’re atrocious at keeping promises. Like this one.” Logan inturpted, not in the mood for one of Roman’s compromises. “Oh! But what if we found Raz but didn’t tell anyone?” or “What if we found Raz and hinted at it on our blog to grab followers?”. Logan was sick of them. Roman would never keep Raz’s identity a secret after he knew, Logan was sure of it.

“This summer is perfect, though, Logan!” Roman exclaimed wildly. “It’s summer and you’ve got a couple of weeks from last summer we didn’t use!”

Logan gritted his teeth and brought his hands into fists. “Roman, for the last time, I am not—absolutely will not—find Raz Keeran for you.” His voice was loud and Logan prayed Breena wasn’t in earshot.

Roman slouched in his chair and sulked, rolling his eyes. “I bet I could find someone on Craigslist that could find Raz quicker than you anyway. They can be my new best friend.”

Logan felt his anger rise and rise until it consumed him. “Craigslist?” He repeated. “Craigslist?” He pounded a fist on the table, the plates slightly jumping off the table. He was better than any random person on Craigslist.

Logan heard the words come out of his mouth before he could logically go over the consequences. “Oh yeah? You think, Roman? Well pack your bags and book us two plane tickets to Mayflower Town. We’ve got some sleuthing to do.”

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