#kicks feet back and forth/mod

[salem-s]

01 ── TEMPORARY TRUCE ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS you absolutely can't stand your roommate's brother, and Rafe can't not take an opportunity to poke fun at you every chance he gets. but when you both accidentally have a jello shot infused with molly, you decide to have a temporary truce and enjoy the night. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS language, drug usage (molly), fluff. 18+ mdni. please i am not condoning drug use don't take after these idiots for the love of god.

WORD COUNT 4.6k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER killing time by magdalena bay

"Your apartment is literally twenty feet away. Can't you loiter and bother someone else there instead of here?"

Your tone is hardly joking or inviting, instead dripping with irritation as you watch the six foot something pest of a human lay on your couch, kick his feet up, and sigh as if he's just gotten home from a long day of work. But no, Rafe hasn't done a single productive thing all day, except go on his consistent mission of bugging you every chance he gets as if he's getting a prize.

And right now, he's accomplishing it.

"No one's home," Rafe responds cooly, even going as far as resting his hands behind his head in a grand sloth gesture. "Besides, I'm scared of the dark."

"It's two in the afternoon," you deadpan.

He hardly sees that as an issue. "Still scared."

Bold of you to assume you'd get any form of relaxation midday on a Saturday.

With his head lulling to the side, his eyes dart from the mess you've made on the coffee table to your cross-legged position on the carpet, sitting idly on a pillow as you craft away. Of course, you weren't expecting such gracious company — not that you would've tidied up for Rafe Cameron, of all people — but nonetheless you frown at his intrusion, annoyed because you were truly in the zone and focused.

Not anymore.

You curse your roommate Sarah for giving him — her brother — a spare key to your apartment.

"Go bug Sarah," you mumble, looking back down at your project, frankly not in the mood for the back and forth. "I'm busy."

"Nah, I paid for her to get her nails done," he excuses with a dismissive wave. "What are you doing?"

"Building a rocket," you deadpan sarcastically, not even bothering to look up at him as you continue working.

Rafe snorts. "Some rocket." Then, he sits up and leans audaciously close to the coffee table, and you get a whiff of his cologne from his intrusion. "Are you...mod podging?"

The teasing tone in his voice makes your face feel flushed, and you don't even need to look at him to know he's flashing you his million dollar smirk, one that you love to try and wipe off his face with endless jabs and bratty remarks. Not that it ever works, instead it only grows when you attempt to shut him down.

"I'm not mod podging," you defend with a scowl. "I'm designing a poster board for Sarah's birthday."

To your dismay, Rafe stands from the love seat couch and maneuvers around the coffee table, taking the liberty of sitting in the arm chair directly behind you. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, moving close enough so that he's - literally - peering over your shoulder to look at your work head-on.

"That looks like mod podge to me," he drawls on.

You feel goosebumps coat your arms when his voice ghosts the shell of your ear.

But you refuse to turn around to look at him, simply humming in response and continuing to work in order to keep your hands busy.

"Please, you couldn't tell a rake from a shovel," you mutter under your breath loud enough for him to hear. "So, I'm hardly taking your jabs to heart."

Rafe ignores your attempt to push him away, instead tilting his head to inspect your project, taking in all of the cut out prints taken from his old camera, photo booth slips, tickets from events you've been to together, old string from Sarah's favorite jeans that ripped on the subway (rest in peace), and, finally, a photo of him, her, and you from the beach last summer, Sarah in the middle with yours and Rafe's cheeks smushed on either side of hers.

"You put me on there," he states incredulously, a wide grin etching on his face.

You roll your eyes, even though he can't see you. "Well, yeah."

"Awe, I knew you liked me, baby."

"Don't piss me off right now," you scoff, ignoring how he's so close behind you. "You're her brother. Of course you're gonna be on there."

Rafe doesn't care about the implications. "Excuses."

You sit up to glue another piece onto the board, a small hand-drawn portrait a random artist in the local park drew of her last week.

"Rafe, it isn't an excuse. You’re literally her brother," you repeat, feeling the heat on your neck.

All he does is hum teasingly, as if he’s unconvinced of your perfectly reasonable response.

You take the liberty of attempting to disprove any of his ill fitted claims, pointing to a Polaroid that has stickers and other magazine cut outs overlapping it. "Look, Wheeze is on here too. Don't think I'm giving you special treatment."

"What if I want special treatment?"

"And what if I want you to leave me alone?"

Rafe's audacious laugh behind you only spikes your irritation, as if your previous words are a big, fat joke. It echoes through the living room, and you have half a heart to turn around and slap him, or berate him, or do anything under the sun to get him to stop bugging you.

That is — until you feel his nimble fingers gently playing with the fraying strings of your sweater.

"Kinda hard to leave you alone when you live with my sister," he says with a rare softness, voice laced with humor from the aftermath of his laughter.

You lean forward purposefully, feeling your sweater leave the grasp of his fingers. "Yeah, well, Sarah isn't here."

Whether Rafe falters from your hiss, he doesn't verbally show it as you still refuse to turn around and look at him. It's quiet for a moment behind you, and after glueing the small portrait in the place you want it to, you flatten your palm on the board to get it to stick. Frankly, you don't want to betray your conscience and glance at him, so your eyes stay focused on the craft in front of you.

But the silence goes as quickly as it came, when Rafe breaks it by humming low, teasing, a baritone pitch that nearly shakes your bones.

"Speaking of the birthday girl," he says after a minute. "What time's the surprise again?"

His nonchalant tone makes you think that maybe he's done being a prick, so you throw a glance over your shoulder to see him leaned back on the arm chair, man-spreading so godforsaken arrogant with his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted as his bright blue eyes remain shamelessly settled on you. He looks as though he has all the time in the world to be here, to be bothering you.

When you lock eyes, a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips.

Nope. Never done being a prick.

You turn back around and look down at the table. "Nine, so get here for eight thirty."

"Be here at seven, got it."

You groan. "Rafe—"

"Nah, I'll behave. Swear." You still refuse to look at him. "I'll help you and Kie set up, yeah? Since you two can barely reach anything?"

Scoffing, you hold up your finished board and inspect it, looking for any missed spots or empty spaces you need to fill. The thought of having to micromanage everything he'll decorate (in a non-organized, chaotic way that you'll definitely have to rearrange) makes an uneasy feeling of dread settle in your gut.

"We'll manage just fine," you murmur, busy analyzing.

But Rafe doesn't take that lightly. "Remember when you dislocated your shoulder—”

"Oh, c'mon—!"

"—because you fell off a chair trying to hang up streamers for Halloween?"

"That was one time."

"Yeah," Rafe mutters behind you, scoffing incredulously, "one time too many. You're banned from standing on any chairs, you know that."

You think of the pretend law your friends enacted for the group, glancing up to the hand-written friend group constitution you have on the wall, the latest amendment being no standing on chairs or other wobbly surfaces without another person present, thanks to your little mishap. It was a detrimental evening, for sure, as what usually constitutes a new addition to the faux plaque.

You try and ignore how Rafe was the one who found you on the ground, swearing and crying and in so much pain that you didn't protest when he carried you all three blocks to the urgent care (even though your legs were fine). It's a little funny looking back on it now, given you both were in your Halloween costumes — you as a Bratz doll and him as the Mandalorian — in such a serious moment.

"Fine," you secede. "Seven. Thirty. Seven thirty. But if you even think about being a prick or distracting us from decorating, I'm going to kill you."

Rafe chuckles from behind you, finally standing to loom over you and inspect your finished poster board a little too close for your liking, a little too audacious even for him. "You say that all the time, but you haven't killed me yet."

"Once murder is legal, trust."

"Hm," he hums in baritone, void of any teasing regard. "Looks great, Star. Sare's gonna love it."

You hate when he's serious, narrowing his gaze at him as you watch him round the table and raid your food pantry (which, thank god he's not looking at you to see the effect that nickname has on your soul). The way he says it so nonchalantly make you reel, rolling off his tongue in a manner so casual that it makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts to not care.

Putting up your walls again, you straighten your posture.

"Whatever. Don't call me that."

"Why not?" He plucks out a bag of chips — your bag of chips — and doesn't hesitate to open them and begin chowing down. "At least it's not baby, right?"

All you can do is roll your eyes, thinking back to the origin of the nickname where you accidentally got a little too high one night, and Sarah abandoned you to go sleep across the hall at her boyfriend's apartment, coincidentally Rafe's roommate, who enlisted her brother's help to essentially babysit you to make sure you weren't going to green out and freak out. Instead, you laid on the fire escape and talked his ear off about all the constellations you could see in the city's haze and what each one meant.

To your surprise, he listened to every word. He had questions for you, even though he clearly was egging you on to keep rambling and had a shit-eating grin on the entire time, yet seemed relatively interested in your cannabis-induced yap session.

From that point on, he only called you Star when he knew it would make you flustered.

"Whatever," you say again, ignoring his gaze when he slips his sneakers back on by the front door. "Can you at least leave the chips here?"

Rafe grins at you, opening the door after plopping a particularly large chip into his mouth.

"Nope," is all he says, grandeur and all, as he winks at you and shuts the door behind him, leaving you coated in silence.

Rafe ends up arriving around six thirty, contrary to your verbal agreement.

Yet, surprisingly, he manages to help you and Kiara get enough done around the apartment so that by the time guests start arriving around eight thirty, all the decorations are already up, all the food's been laid out, all the drinks are set up and ready to be poured as soon as Sarah walks through the door.

You'll never admit to him that he actually did a good job, contrary to popular belief, with limited smart-ass talk and a weird-found eagerness to help out. He hung decor without complaints, he moved furniture without any lewd comments about his muscles, he even ran down the street to the corner store to pick up candles for the cake with little to no complaints (the only complaint being that he has no self control to not buy a piece of candy at the shop, and split half of the bag with you anyway).

You push the implication to the back of your mind, blaming it on the fact that he loves his sister and wants tonight to be perfect for her.

And when Sarah arrives back to the apartment with John B, instead of quiet solemn walls, she's greeted with all the people in the world that she cares about, cheering and hugging her and giving her all the love she deserves.

Thankfully, John B hadn't spoiled the surprise (he is notoriously known for spoiling movies without meaning to) and you gratefully thank him when he arrives, handing him a drink for all the stress he endured by not spilling the secret. He takes it, graciously, claiming how incredibly difficult it was not telling her, since they tell each other everything (and you mean everything. It's disgustingly endearing).

The party goes great. Awesome, even.

People mingle, dance, drink. Pope and Cleo hold fort in the back corner at the joint rolling station, keeping the right audience occupied with the constant weed handouts. Sarah and John B talk animatedly with one of her coworkers by the door. You and Kiara hover by the drinks to make sure no one steals anything (one of JJ's old pals from one of his classes snagged three bottles of tequila once under everyone's nose), as Rafe leans against the fridge a few paces away, conversing with a pretty blonde whose name escapes you.

The night is perfect.

That is, until JJ barrels into the kitchen, hair awry and eyes wide with excitement, precariously holding a tray of seven jello-shots. He nearly drops it at the ferocity of his movements, harshly bumping his hip into the corner of the counter but paying it no mind as his jitters outweigh the pain.

He albeit races up to you and Kiara. "I think I got the recipe down."

Kiara cautiously takes a cup and studies it, frowning at his jittery demeanor. "Where did you just pull these from?"

"I just made them in the bathroom," he says nonchalantly as if it isn't a major red flag waving in your mind right now. "Now, are you going to try them, or what?"

"What is it?" Rafe asks cooly, intruding onto the moment as the pretty blonde lingers behind him, eyeing the tray, too.

Although, he's hardly paying attention to her anymore, instead flickering his gaze between the tray, JJ, and you for some reason you cannot comprehend. When he catches you staring at him quizzically, he manages an audacious wink, to which you roll your eyes and focus your attention back to the eager blond in front of you.

You narrow your eyes at JJ, slowly grabbing a cup to thoroughly try and study the contents. "Is this going to kill me?"

JJ laughs boisterously, even tipping his head back for dramatic effect. "This isn't like that one batch of pot brownies, promise. It's even better. I got one for all of us."

Kiara frowns next to you, and even in doing so she looks pretty, as she puts the cup back down on the tray. "I wish, Jay. I have my drug test next week, remember?"

Dismissing her words, Rafe takes a cup as well and sniffs it, nose scrunching up at the scent. His head tilts at the odorless jello, confusedly darting his gaze between it and the tray, trying to inspect if his cup differs from any of the others.

The pretty blonde that's behind him also reaches for one, and you nearly snort at how fast JJ yanks the tray away from her.

Her eyes widen at the gesture, pulling her hand back lightning fast as JJ recoils at his harsh movement, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He not only startled her with the motion, but himself as well.

"Uh, sorry, sweetheart," the blonde grimaces, "day ones only."

You roll your eyes, knowing damn well you aren't a day one either, but nonetheless keep your mouth shut as you watch the girl scoff, crossing her arms to show off her newly manicured nails and muttering to herself before stomping away.

"Thanks a lot, man," Rafe mutters as he claps a hand on JJ's shoulder, almost a little too harshly.

But JJ beams, unknowing. "No problem, bro. Now, I'm dying here, guys. Are you going to try it or what?"

By the way he's nearly jumping up and down in excitement, you can't help but sneak a glance at Rafe, who's already looking at you with raised brows. You share a look, silently saying fuck it as you both bring the cups to your lips, knocking back the jello-shots with little-to-no problem. You figure if you get a little too high, you can just venture back to your room to sleep it off and skip the club portion of the night (Sarah's favorite past-time).

Although it doesn't taste like normal weed-infused food, as there's usually a bitter aftertaste to edibles or brownies or (once) a cake. It actually tastes...good?

Rafe smacks his lips, impressed with raised brows. "Wow, man. That wasn't bad at all."

He beams. "Right?"

Setting the empty cup back down on the counter, Rafe nods. "Didn't taste like weed in the slightest, either."

But JJ frowns, tilting his head in confusion. "Weed?"

"Yeah," you hum brightly, equally as impressed. "You should sell that shit. How many grams did you put in it?"

"Wh— Guys, that wasn't weed."

You and Rafe still, blinking stupidly at him.

Silence fills between the four of you, the outside chatter and music seeming to dim as the uncertainty rises. The blond is speechless for one, two beats before blinking stupidly right back at you, eyes cautiously darting between you and Rafe as if he's waiting for the gotcha! from you, except it never comes.

Despite your blatant nerves, Kiara whistles low, stifling a laugh. "Ohh, shit. Jay, you didn't tell them?"

“Tell us what?” You hiss incredulously, heart pounding as you stare at your idiot of a friend. “The fuck did I just drink?”

"That was molly."

You and Rafe both widen your eyes at him, simultaneously — and nearly screaming — "What?"

JJ furrows his brows, not utterly panicked in the slightest at your surprise. "Yeah, molly. Guys, I've been trying to make it lately, I told you a million times. Do you even listen when I speak?"

As much as you want to answer no, the obvious answer, you can't help but stupidly blink at your friend, heartbeat suddenly thumping up to your ears as nerves prickle your gut.

He keeps talking, rambling about how no one listens to him anymore, how he's been working on cracking the recipe all week only for his friends to not appreciate his craft, unbeknownst to your inner turmoil as you let your gaze drift down to the counter, staring at the empty cup as your mind races. His voice is, frankly, underwater as all you can hear is your heartbeat.

Fuck, you've never done molly before, nor do you know how much was in that one cup. Are you going to see stars? See hidden figures? Feel like you're floating? Will it put you to sleep? Will you be wide awake? Are you going to trip for the next hour or next six? There's obviously no taking it back now. Could you throw it up or is it already in your system? A million answer-less questions come and go, causing you to reel and speculate and panic.

Barely noticing JJ and Kiara walk away, most likely to find Pope and Cleo to be his second round of guinea pigs, you take a particularly ragged breath that causes Rafe to frown.

"Hey," he says firmly, moving right in front of you to grip both of your biceps to steady you, "are you good?"

You blink, eye level with his stupid graphic t-shirt. "I just took molly."

"I know—"

"Molly, Rafe," you emphasize, looking up to him in panic.

He hardly looks afraid, but his eyes hold a shroud of concern, most likely for you, because you just realized now that your hands are shaking. With little to no thought, his thumbs are skimming over the smooth skin of your arms in an effort to cease your spiraling, but it does no good as your mind races, fuck, sprints to indulgent conclusions.

"I've never done it before." You bring the heels of your hands up to your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself down. "Fuck. Fuck. What am I going to do?"

"It'll be alright, Star." You hear him say with ease, still feeling his hands splayed on your biceps. "It'll be over in a couple of hours."

Your hands drop from your face as you peer up at him, wide eyed. "Hours?"

God, the small smile hinting his lips only makes you spiral further, unsure of why he's amused at the fact that you just took a strong drug without even knowing, unsure of why he's laughing at you.

Why is he so relaxed? Acting like this is fine? Acting like your anxiety is a form of entertainment?

The sight upsets you. Detrimentally.

Normally, you can handle his incessant teasing at the expense of your existence, but you can only allow his self deprecation in the confinements of sobriety, times where you're not borderline hysteric surrounding by a bunch of people who probably don't even know your last name. You can deal with his taunts any other day, any other time, but you're in no joking mood. At all.

No. Because now it just feels mean. It makes you feel stupid. It threatens tears to spring to your waterline.

"It's not funny," you say pathetically, voice wavering. "Don't laugh at me."

His brows furrow a fraction, head tilting at you in confusion. "I'm not— I would never laugh at you, not for this."

"You're literally laughing."

Rafe rubs his hands gently up and down your arms in a feeble attempt to calm you down, and you really try to ignore the casual intimacy of the act. Why haven't you shoved him away yet?

"Not at you, Star," he assures gently. "I'm laughing because JJ's an idiot. But there's no reason to freak out, yeah? It's going to be fine. I know it seems scary, but it's not." He chuckles lightly to keep the mood up. "Promise."

You feel yourself shrink in his grasp. "How am I supposed to trust your promise?"

"C'mon-"

"You knew the end of Red Dead Redemption II and you told me to play it anyway."

"Baby, please—"

You huff, covering your face with your hands, barely registering the pet name. "Oh my god. I'm going to fucking kill JJ. What am I going to do?"

Rafe keeps his hands on you, grounding you even though the drug hasn't hit, and won't for a little while. You ponder the implications of him keeping his paws on you longer than he knows he should, but the thought comes and goes as the real problem at hand keeps surfacing.

You take another particularly ragged breath that worries him. Wordlessly, he gently takes your hands away from his face so you can look at him, and all you can do is blink stupidly up at him while he darts his gaze between your eyes.

"Listen to me," he says softly yet firm, commanding. "I'll stay by your side all night. I've done this before, and it's not as bad as you think. You're going to be with your friends all night, friends that you, on multiple occasions, have said you love and trust with your life. And you're also going to be with me, and I'm going to watch over you, okay?"

Suddenly, you feel squeamish under his nearly possessive gaze, feeling a bit childish that you're basically a mess in his arms right now. And of course it's him, of all people, the one person who you don't want this to happen with.

The thought of tucking under his arm all night makes you sick. "I don't want you to have to babysit me all—"

Rafe shakes his head, gazing at you seriously. "Don't think of it like that. Think of it as... us having a bonding night."

You quirk a brow. "A bonding night? Rafe, you and I have never bonded once."

He almost looks offended at that. "I totally beg to differ, but whatever. What about a temporary truce?"

The phrase makes you frown quizzically, blinking a few times to make sure you heard him right. But he looks entirely serious, patiently waiting for your response as you only now register that he's been holding your shaking hands gingerly with absentminded thumbs smoothing over your warm skin.

"A...temporary truce?" You drawl out slowly, phonetically sounding out the phrase as if they're new words.

But Rafe nods genuinely, almost proud of his brain for making that up. "Yeah. Because I know you and I like to go at it sometimes—"

"Sometimes doesn't even cut it—"

"But tonight, we don't bullshit each other," he continues, ignoring your jab. "No games, no fucking around. We just...have each other's backs, and have fun. Okay?"

The whole scheme settles something foreign in your gut, and you can't tell if it's a good or a bad feeling. You have no doubt that he'll break the truce almost immediately once he finds a girl he wants to bring back to the apartment, or the second the night gets boring for him (as he's been notoriously known to simply leave a function without telling anyone if he's not having a good time). Additionally, the concept of having fun with someone such as Rafe Cameron seems like the biggest damn joke you've ever encountered.

You take a deep breath. "We're supposed to be going to that club in an hour, how are we gonna—?"

"Relax," Rafe interrupts, "we'll drink waters, if that's what you're worried about. Actually, being at a club might make you feel better."

"In what scenario would that ever be true?"

That makes him stifle a laugh, brushing some of the hair away from your face and shaking his head lightly at you, almost in disbelief. It almost makes you scoff in retaliation, because he's really taking advantage of the whole she hasn't pushed me off yet so I'm going to keep holding her in a way that will definitely make someone spiral at the intentions behind it act.

If you weren't so amped up on nerves, you would've shoved him away as of yesterday and told him the next time he touches you will be the last time he has hands. But the words don't come, and, frankly, you need his touch in the moment to ground you to earth.

"For once in your life," he says, "will you trust me?"

The words almost come but die in your throat as you stare at him.

Really stare at him.

At the end of the day, despite how much he infuriates you and riles you up and makes your life more complicated than it needs to be, he is your roommate's brother, a roommate you've grown unabashedly close to in the past few years. You trust Sarah with your life, and she trusts him with her life, and you know that has to count for something beyond a simple sibling truce. One word she used to describe him before you two met was loyal. That has to mean something, right?

Deep down you know he wouldn't bullshit you about something like this. Regardless if he is the Prince of Pricks, he's always told thing how they are. He isn't a liar, never has been.

Despite everything in your mind telling you no, telling you that this is a disaster waiting to happen and that you're most likely going to be left alone, you find yourself nodding slowly, putting a proverbial knife in his hand and hoping he won't stab you with it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes haiiiiiiii please do not follow in anyone’s footsteps in this fic huge disclaimer I am not condoning drug use TRUST. I wanted to wait until ptputss was fully uploaded before I started uploading this one, so now that THAT’S done (rip), I’ll be solely focusing on this. Hope you enjoy!

[sim0nril3y]

GIRL I LOVE YOUR WORK. YOU'RE AMAZING.

I love your series ghost x civilian and I wanted to see you writing about Simon getting jealous. Love the way you express words girl, you had me screaming, giggling and kicking my feet the whole series.

Note: You're so cuuuuuuuuuute! Thank you, thank you for your kind words ily and thank you for the wonderful request, I loooooove a jealous bigboy <3<3<3 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, mentions of jealousy, mentions of oral (male receiving), one little spank, canon-typical swearing.

With the little regard and car that you put into your car it shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise when it just stopped working. Simon had tried arguing that the damn thing was a money-pit, just sell it for scrap and get yourself something new and safe, with all the mod-cons. You, on the other hand, argued that it had sentimental value, so off it went to a local mechanic who you awaited a whopping bill from.

In the meantime, Simon was picking up the slack of driving you back and forth to all your appointments, sending back parcels, picking up food shopping or simply waking him up in the dead of night from a deep slumber for the whims of late night food cravings.

One evening in particular you had stepped into the lounge looking absolutely mouth-watering in a pair of form fitting gym leggings, the damn things hugged all of your curves in a way that had Simon gazing a little too intensely. “Si…” Your voice cut through, smirking as his dark eyes flit up from observing your hips and thighs to be gazing into your eyes instead, brows raised in surprise and asking. “What was that, love?” It made you simmer with pride as Simon wasn't typically someone who got distracted like that, but it seemed like you simply standing here had him practically frothing at the mouth.

“I said…” You drew out the words playfully. “Would you mind dropping me off at the gym? I have a session with my personal trainer.” This was something new that you had started, only a few sessions in but Simon was encouraging your interest. He thought that your body was perfect the way it but he liked to support your good habits. “Right…” When you had originally mentioned wanting to go to the gym Simon had thrown his hat into the ring, offering to help you but with the way he reacted to you dressed up in leggings it seemed you made the right choice to go elsewhere, what he had planned wasn’t particularly the workout that you had been thinking about. “Course, just let me get my jacket.”

With a little noise of effort Simon pulled himself up off the sofa, stepping past you and smirking to himself as his eyes lingered on your rear. “Oh and don’t forget-” Turning you caught his eyes flitting up again from his gaze and you smirked, quirking a brow at him. “Were you staring at my bum?” “I was admiring, babe…” He took a couple slow steps towards you, stopping when he was finally mere inches from you. “Y’look fuckin’ good…” Large hands captured your hips, winding down to cup your rear in his hands, gripping at it playfully. “I’ll be late~”

“I’ll be quick.” Simon groaned softly, yanking you up into his arms then, legs tied around his waist as you squeaked in surprise. “Simon~” You giggled uncontrollably as he lead you back towards the sofa, dropping you and watching you bounce against the cushions softly. “I can’t show up at the gym smelling of sex!” You giggled, watching him pushing down his jogging bottoms to his midthigh, smiling down at you, reaching a hand forward to stroke his thumb against your throat. “Pretty girl, they aren’t gonna know if I’ve been down your throat, will they…”

Dropping you outside the gym Simon watched with adoration as you rushed inside, blowing him a multitude of kisses in his direction before finally through the sliding doors. For a few moments Simon lingered, waiting until you were safely inside the building before beginning to drive away. A flash of a phone screen illuminated from the seat beside him and Simon glanced over to see your phone lingering there. “Fuckin’ hell…” He muttered; it wouldn’t be possible to call him later to pick you up if you didn’t have that.

A moment later he pulled into the gym car park, collecting your phone and entering the gym in search of you. It was fancy in there. It all smelt so new and fresh, the floors practically sparkling. All the machines looked barely used and they all seemed to work. This was nothing like the gym that Simon went to across town, that was a run-down old boxing gym, there he felt like he fit in but here Simon really felt like he stood out amongst all the pretty looking gym-goers.

Shrugging off his initial discomfort Simon began to walk onto the main gym floor in search of you. Eyes lingering over all the different people, stepping past all the doors that lead to the class rooms and private areas and finally looking through one window to see you inside, on the ground stretching diligently. There you were on all fours, arms and torso stretched out in front of you, knees spread wide with your bum raised up. Simon felt fury spread through him as he looked behind you and spotted a man knelt between your legs, hands on your hips and talking to you, adjusting your stance to put you into a deeper stretch.

A moment later Simon opened the door loudly and stepped into the room, your trainer looked up in surprise and then you followed. A delighted gasp found your lips as you scrambled to your feet and then wrapped your arms around him a moment later. His arms possessively wrapped around your frame, holding you tight to his strong body and setting a cold pair of eyes on the man who was slowly pulling himself to his feet. “Simon, what are you doing here?”

“Left your phone.” His voice was even as he placed it into your hands as you pulled away from the hug. “Thanks.” You grinned up at him before following his gaze over your shoulder. “Oh, babe… This is Andy, my personal trainer.” You announced, gesturing to the man who was awkwardly standing aside. “This is my boyfriend, Simon.”

Awkwardly the younger man nodded, holding out a hand in his direction for Simon to clasp into his own, using all his strength to shake it and causing Andy to tug away sharply from the pain, though Andy never said a word simply smiled tightly. “Weren’t sure you were real, mate; a lot of my girls tells me they have boyfriends and it turns out not to be true.” Andy shrugged and Simon hummed. “Mmm, probably don’t wanna be leered at whilst they are working out.” Then narrowing his dark eyes.

Sensing some type of tension, you glanced between them and blinked slowly before looking at Simon. “Maybe I’ll just call you when I’m done? Or they have a café... you could get a tea, if you like?” You suggested, rubbing his arm soothingly, trying to get his attention again. This was unusual. It wasn’t like Simon was the jealous type, he was certainly possessive when he wanted to be, but something about Andy must have really set him off because even though Simon didn’t particularly like affection in public his hands stayed tied tight around your waist.

“Maybe I could stay…” Simon shrugged off his hoody then, throwing it aside nearby your stuff. “If you don’t mind, mate?” He looked at Andy who frowned heavily and cleared his throat. “Well, you aren’t a member-” “I actually have some guest passes.” You quipped sweetly and then adding with a shrug. “We could pay for a double session, if it’s trouble having us both…”

Andy didn't seem to like the idea but the money finally made him agree. “Whatever. It’s your session.” Then turning on his heel. “Why don’t you continue your stretches. I’ll get us some equipment.” Stepping from the room and allowing the door to swing closed behind him.

When you two were finally alone you finally spoke. “What do you think you’re doing exactly?” Quirking a brow and resuming your stretches, Simon joined in half-heartedly. “What am I doing? What did he think he was doing? Putting his fuckin’ hands all over you.” Simon grumbled, feeling his shoulders tensing. “Lucky, I didn’t break his fuckin’ hand…” He commented under his breath and you fought a smile before looking over at him.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” Quirking a brow at him causing him to look at you sharply. “Don’t be stupid, of course not.” He grumbled lowly. It cause you to giggle sweetly, sauntering towards him and wrapping your arms around his bulky frame. “There anything to be jealous of?” Then looking down at you intensely. “Of course not.” You giggled. “I’m surprise you even had to ask that question considering I had you cock down my throat an hour ago…”

You watched the way his lips twitched to fight a smile. “Shut up.” He grumbled, which caused a bright giggle to pull from your throat. Turning your back to him was a mistake because not a moment later Simon’s hand sharply found your rear, clapping a hand against your cheek and causing you to squeak and jump away from him. “You just wait until I get you home, good thing you streched considering the positions I'll be putting you in…”

Masterlist | Ask | 24-11-2023

[oscconfessions]

for mod ☢, it was Bomb X Pickle.......i should have clarified. but i too enjoy the bomby x nickel. i could go on happily telling my nickel bfdi ships kicking my feet back and forth like a joyful college girl

- ☁️🎉 / 🎉☁️

.

[canines4cole]

[cole took a moment to actually register his words, but when he did it was far too late and the kiss had been set and his lover had already ran off] wait! i— i love you too

[his voice descended off into a whisper as he watched telemachus practically sprint off. cole’s ears went up and down and his tail wagged back and forth, his eyes staying in that widened look and his face flushed a completely redish color]

he loves me?

[he repeated, only to himself, hoping no one else would hear, not even the birds or the trees. there was disbelief lacing his words, as at first he thought this was just telemachus playing with his feelings. until he realized telem wasn’t the type of person to do that]

oh my gods, he loves me [cole breathed in and out heavily, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he thought about the notion that somebody actually loved him. the one he loved liking him back, no less]

he loves me! i must be dreaming, this can’t be real. did eros accidentally shoot him with one of his arrows just now? no that can't be it. oh my gods! I have to tell lord dionysus! i didn’t even get to tell telem i loved him back properly

— cole 🪻

HOLY SHIT EVERYONE STAY CALM THE CONFESSION JUST HAPPENED started giggling and kicking my feet — mod kore

sooo, telemachus [cole cleared his throat, a totally inconspicuous expression on his face. he seemed a bit more nervous than usual, maybe it was because of what happened yesterday, maybe some clarity hit him. he avoided eye contact quite a bit, twiddling his fingers around as he tried to find his words]

just a question because i'm curious, no other reason— but, are you getting married anytime soon? [he paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing on with his thought]

I would assume that by now at least a love interest would be in mind, considering you are the prince of ithaca after all [cole tilted his head up, looking at the sky before finally looking at telemachus in the eye]

you're kind of the future of this nation, which honestly sounds like a lot— sorry for bringing it up in case it stresses you out. but I would think because of that, you would have found your other ruling partner. whether it be on your own accord, or an arranged marriage. though, I trust that queen penelope wouldn't make you do anything you wouldn't want to.

sooo, any special someone? [he asks this with a faint smile]

— cole 🪻

Um, I do have someone in mind...

[He starts avoiding eye contact as well as fidgeting with his cloth]

But I don't know if they like me back, let alone marry me so I don't think I'm tying the knot anytime soon

[leprosycock]

this is actually so funny because i was literally just talking about the seventeen year old mod he had back in 2016ish earlier on twitter. the fact that he has/had multiple teen girl mods that he talks to privately makes me giggle. kicking my feet back and forth

[forbidding-souda]

I HAD A BRILLIANT IDEA FOR A REQUEST (well I *think* it’s brilliant?? Lol) Okay. So. Reader teases Gundham by stealing his scarf before school, making him uber embarrassed ‘cause now all the hickeys reader left the night before are on display for their classmates to see 👀

S/O stealing Gundham’s scarf before school

YOOO I AM CRYINGNGNNGRJGB THISR IHRBWHKD. ETGUS TGSU TSUGTUSTUHFBWJKAHSDBFJSDFJLHSD

Also someone did one of my asks and I'm literally so happy like ?!! is this how ya'll feel when I do yours because ooh my goodness

-Mod Souda

❣ You think it's funny. Even more; you think it's hilarious.

❣ Violently running through the halls and holding the scarf tightly to your chest. Gundham gives a hard chase. But he's not as skilled to the interior of Hope's Peak Academy as you are.

❣ You trick him into a dead end before swooping into one of the closets, finding yourself slamming the hidden door behind you as you make your escape.

❣ He rounds the corner. You're gone before he could even hear the noise.

❣ This isn't a joke to him. His comfort - where he can hide whenever he gets anxious - is being taken away from him. And even worst is the secret he was hiding underneath.

❣ You're not even in class when the bell rings. Not at first, anyways.

❣ By the time you walk in he is already being surrounded by his classmates.

❣ "Stand back, mortal wenches!"

❣ His efforts lay unresponsive.

❣ Displayed on his neck is a canvas of lovemarks, both made from tongue and teeth.

❣ Ibuki even reaches out and pokes one of them. She watches the color fade from pale to purple.

❣ Sitting at your desk, you kick your feet back and forth in amusement. The scarf is in your bag. You didn't have the energy to hide it somewhere. Plus, you weren't too confident that you'd even remember where it was.

❣ Being a nuisance is your hobby but being an asshole isn't.

❣ Once the man in the spotlight notices your presence he practically shoves his friends out of the way.

❣ "You thief!"

❣ "Thief?" You counter, already digging into your bag. "I was just borrowing it."

❣ He closed his eyes tightly. Breathe.

❣ They open in surprise, not predicting that you would have wrapped the scarf around him yourself.

❣ You whisper to him. "You look quite gorgeous without it, my love."

❣ He mutters a thank you softly into the fabric before sulking down into his chair. The damage had already been done. And Ibuki still wouldnt stop trying to touch them.

[whalesfallmoved]

hand over wound

round two. 

chargestep, rated t. 1.9k.

a brief, helpless attempt at ortega’s point of view. the shameless flirty banter and back and forth of pre-heartbreak ricardo, whose main goal is being an absolute menace to society- population, sidestep. horribly self-indulgent in every way, but she lets herself get helped in this one, so what can I say.  

ao3 link.

—

She’s got a hard grip and a bite sharp as her bark, and when you finally get her to put her hand in yours it’s not without the same sensation of coaxing a street cat out of hiding, flinching at the first sudden movement. 

Not this time, though. This time, she lets you catch her wrist, lets you turn it over, and— oh boy— this is the most skin you’ve ever seen, sleeve pushed up almost to her elbow, wrists on display, never would’ve thought they’d look this dainty, crisscrossed as they are by scar tissue and branching blue veins and solid as birdbone.

She squeezes that small, angry little fist in your hand and the tendons flex, the knuckles split raw and furious, scabs already coagulating where the damage runs reddest. Her trophies for that blitz quick punch she packs, armorless and fast (but not as fast— not as fast as you— lightning striking twice.)

Fidgeting, antsy, she kicks her feet against your chair, knock-knock-knock, squeezing her mask in her other pink, exposed fist. Jittery, and you bite back something wry and flustering, something that’ll earn you a freeze and an idiot and a blush and oh, you love that even more, how you can watch it bloom freely now, worth the wait and the coaxing to get her to finally tug Sidestep off the rest of the way, leave just Noa and her big, big eyes (deep brown as a hound’s and you weren’t expecting that, for her to be so warm underneath the hard, cold turquoise) and how she desperately needs the mask, they’d never be scared of her otherwise—and with your other hand you loosen her curled fingers free. 

Toss her a grin, tap her leg with yours, pretend you aren’t surprised by how soft her skin is when it’s not covered in skinsuit and blood, the way it’s never seen the Los Diablos sun—at least, not long enough to match the freckles on her doughy cheeks (freckles down her shoulder? her back?) Layers and layers and here she is, in your apartment, hand in hand, and fuck, you can say something about that too. Something about that kiss something about— later.

“So, I was thinking.”

“Wow. Did you hurt yourself?” Reflex, but she straightens up, watches, waits, and you like that too— the way she can’t hear, the way she has to ask.

“A little, yeah,” medkits and rags and clean water, you dab at the cuts and earn yourself a hiss.

“Out of practice, huh?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You wink and that gets you a scowl, a twist of her mouth, and you’re pretty sure if you weren’t you you’d get her teeth, too. Not even Themmy would get away with that, much as she likes them, they can’t cross the hard line of her last name yet, and you’ve earned smug, you think, you grin, you drag the antiseptic across her knuckles while she’s still glaring and pink at the ears—her hand jerks in yours and you squeeze tighter, gentle. “I was thinking about your suit.”

“Trying to give some fashion advice? Pass.”

“First of all, if anyone here’s in desperate need of it—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, not this again.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you make the unwashed seventeen year old boy look work for you, somehow—”

“Asshole.”

“Sorry, would you prefer sexily disheveled?”

“You— shut up,” there it is, her averting gaze, her grooving brow, her pretty cheeks— ow, fuck— her foot ramming into your calf. “You are such a dick.”

“You love it,” wink, sly grin, she glares harder but doesn’t argue, you’ve got her there and you both know it. “And that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

The split cuts are worse than you thought, wounds wiped clean revealing the deep and the raw all laden on top of each other, opened again and again, her smarting palms scratched and torn, not so different from yours when you try hard enough but it’s different (because it’s her?) and fuck, how long has she been doing this?  

Still can’t win her over with the blue and the white and big capital R and the promise of solid health benefits. Too bad. Can’t blame her though, even if it makes your job twice as hard to let her into the systems, to let her put her darting fingers all over the Rangers’ files, to let her anywhere near the missions you need her most. 

“Well?”

Look up, and she’s watching and waiting still, and you must’ve gone quiet for a moment, turning her knuckles over.

“Your suit’s crap.” Homemade and spliced together, practically sportswear these days, riddled with seams and stitches she’s mended. Not bad for a third-rate vigilante, but that’s not her, not Sidestep, not your—

Not your anything, and she’d eat you alive if she ever caught the tail-end of a thought like that. But she’s going to get herself hurt all the same. More hurt than usual.

“It’s just lightweight. Yours isn’t any different.”

“Mine’s definitely different,” fresh white bandages over red, swollen bruises. You wind them around once, twice, taking care. “The material’s outdated. Where’d you get it, anyway?” 

“None of your business,” she snaps, and you half expect her to rip away, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. “And it’s not like I can just hit Uncle Sam up for some brand new state of the art gear.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Don’t.”

“I think you’d look good in blue.”

“Ugh.”

“Just think about it. You. Me. Matching uniforms. We could get you a little lightning bolt, right here,” hand over your heart and she’s definitely going to hit you for that one. “I don’t mind sharing the brand with you.”

“Go die in a hole.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please go die in a hole.”

“Will you join me?”

“Fuck no. I’m putting you there myself. Can’t stand your ass.”

“Good thing you’re sitting down then. Also, thinking about my ass, hmm? Good to know.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Bad time to ask about what other sounds your mouth can make?”

“Try it and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs.”

“Ohh, promises, promises.”

She wants to laugh, catching it quick between her teeth, a soft indent in her softer cheeks, and if you try a little harder you might be able to shake that grin from her, earn yourself a glimmer in her dark, dark eyes—and she’s running out of bark, out of bite, so the first round goes to you as you set her fist down, wrapped, clean and new in bandages that won’t last the next fight.

You reach for the other and she goes willingly, fingertips settling butterfly-light on you, her thumb to the heel of your hand, scars and nicks aligned. There’s something about it, about the skin, about the colder palm that rests quietly in yours, the mods sticking to your bones, and— yes, you like this the most; the way she lets you touch her, even if it’s just this, one kiss in the aftermath of violence and her wrists on display. 

She breaks the silence not with a laugh or a sigh but a shake of her head, a suspicious cant of her eyes to yours, then away; blushed, accepting defeat. You smile, wash her wounds again with the slow repetition of old, small ritual and she knocks her ankle against yours, knee to knee. 

“You’re a deeply troubled and troubling man, Ricardo Ortega.” She finally says, low and almost sweet, and there it is; a dimple beside her mouth, unwillingly surrendered, and the sight unfurls something achy and bruise-deep in your chest. 

And the truth is, you can’t help yourself. “I love the way you say my name.” 

“I swear—” a gasp, an exhale, her bandaged hand meeting her forehead, fissuring that barbed facade of sneers and razor-edged tongues. “You’re so fucking weird. Can’t you just take an insult like a normal person?”

“Oh, those were insults? But they sounded so sweet coming from you.” You reach for the bandages again. Repeat. Gauzy, featherlight loops around her flinching knuckles. 

“God…”

“No need for that. Ricardo works just fine.” 

“How about idiot?” And oh, you’ve got her soft, how’d you manage that? She’s red from her ears down her neck, flush disappearing beneath the black nanomesh, and you wait for her to smack your knee or bring a little teeth but all she does is squeeze your hand, nose scrunched jaw dimpled, melting, and your heart’s tattooing itself to the ribs—maybe you can get her to let you kiss her again, just to see what her lips feel like when they’re not red-slick with iron and sweat and fear. They were softer than you thought. Desperate, too. Almost as desperate as you, and fear’s a thrill a rush a jump but when you thought she’d ended up mashed on the pavement it—

“Only for you.” A tease or a confession and the most honest lie to cross your lips, you tuck the gauze but keep her hand, and she lets you, thumbs over the boundary line of your wrist. Strange. Almost intimate.

She pulls back just enough to trade places, snaring your hand between her own wounded ones, running circles around the emitter, fearless, unflinching, trusting, waiting. Always waiting and never staying long enough for an answer, like you could give her a straight one either way, like you even know what it is beyond aches and bruises and the pained gasp pressed to your lips when you pried her loose and held her tight, Psychopather gone on the ground, victory in the shape of her mouth.

Still, a skip runs down your spine as she massages down, down into the calloused meat of your hand, not even jumping at the kick of electricity, spiteful as blanket static. 

“What, nothing stupid about kissing it better?” She mutters—disappointed?—and of course, how could you miss that chance—but she’s always been better about the plans, a thousand little ways to sidestep dancing around in that lovely skull of hers when all you want to do is charge right in, and as she pulls away you pull back, catch her gauzy, angry fists in your open palm.

She waits. Waits to see what you’ll do. 

You watch, hold your breath, the biting grin gone now, mask shucked loose for a moment when she looks like that, soft and vulnerable in the white-gold light of your kitchen, and she could pull away if she wants, or careen forward, turn it into a punch, into a throttle. 

But she doesn’t.

Her eyes really are pretty, warm brown like the slow burn of whiskey down your throat, and you keep them as you draw her hands up, bring those softened knuckles to your lips, feel the first twitches of a smile that you press lightly against her and— kissing— 

And she raps the back of her fingers against your cheek, barely more than a tap, a reprimand and hey—! She jerks away, stands up, darts from your grasp, gone again. Moved too fast. You sigh, catch yourself, remember to smile. 

“Idiot.” She scoffs, grabs her mask off the table, ducks her head like she’s expecting that soft hair to make a curtain, a shield, but it’s twisted back at the nape and you chuckle, lean back, because it looks like round two is yours again, and you want— you want—

She’s on the other side of the kitchen, working that mask back, turned away, and you don’t ask her to stay, you already know the answer, but fuck if you don’t love to watch her leave, if you can’t wait for round three.

[agere-fandom-time]

Hello! Could you please make a fanfic about regressor!eraser head and caregiver!Present mic?

Yes I can! If you haven’t already read Mod Kat’s fic with these two, you’re missing out: it’s on AO3 right here! 

Here’s your new story, written by me! It’s below the ‘keep reading’ or you can check it out on AO3 if you prefer. 

Content Warnings: Shouta and Hizashi are married in this fic, and at the end they share some affection as a couple when Shouta isn’t regressed (cheek kisses). Aizawa is a non-verbal regressor. Sensory issues are mentioned but don’t flare up, as is Hizashi’s loss of hearing. Vague mentions of villains (and villain-related trauma). Shouta experiences memory loss as part of his regression and finds this distressing. 

-Mod Stella

“Hey Shouta, I’m home!”

Hizashi closed the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the table beside the door, bending over to begin the long process of unlacing his boots. Silence greeted him in the house, which wasn’t unusual. Shouta could be asleep, or just focused on his work. It was hard to guess what Hizashi would come home to, on the days that he patrolled alone. Shouta’s sleep schedule was erratic by nature, and had been since they were teens. The chaotic hours of hero work and heavy workload as a teacher had only added to the uncertainty, and Hizashi was lucky to get one night a week where Shouta slept next to him in their bed.

Kicking off his boots, Hizashi turned his attention to the speaker around his neck. It was held on by a series of metal buckles, only unlocked by his own fingerprints so that it couldn’t be torn off by villains that got close enough for hand-to-hand combat. It was second-nature to reach behind himself and fit his fingertips into the divots that would unlock the device and let it drop into his other hand.

Breathing deeply, Hizashi stretched his neck from side to side and dropped the speaker on the table beside his keys. Shouta’s capture weapon was hanging on the set of hooks, and Hizashi threw his jacket beside it on his way into the apartment.

Shouta wasn’t at the coffee table, although there were some papers spread out across it, many of them already bearing Shouta’s scratchy comments, his pen strokes as sharp as his criticism. The kitchen was empty, no sign of how recently he’d eaten. Finally, Hizashi pushed the door to their room open.

Sure enough, Shouta was in the bed, but he wasn’t asleep. He was sitting against the headboard, his knees drawn up to his chest and his gaze fixed on the opposite wall. As the door opened, Shouta’s eyes moved towards the hallway.

“You okay, babe?” Hizashi asked, staying in the doorway. Sometimes Shouta needed space and quiet, and Hizashi didn’t want to intrude if this was one of those times.

Shouta blinked at him, a slow and deliberate motion, and didn’t reply. His hair was pulled up behind him in a messy ponytail, and he was wearing one of Hizashi’s pyjama shirts with an American band logo on the front.

Hizashi recognized that expression. “Are you feeling little, baby?”

Shouta blinked again.  

“Do you want company?” Hizashi stepped inside the room, but didn’t approach until Shouta gave another languid blink as confirmation. “Okay, gimme space there.”

Shouta obediently pushed the covers back, and Hizashi wiggled his way underneath. The bed was pure heaven after a shift on patrol, and he sighed happily as he took his feet off the floor and shoved them under the nice warm blankets. One of them brushed against Shouta’s leg, who made a small noise of complaint.

“Sorry, baby. Cold feet, I know.” Hizashi made more of an effort to keep his toes on his side of the bed, stretching out an arm to invite Shouta to cuddle. He really needed a shower after the work shift, but as heroes, the two of them never minded cuddling while one or both of them was sweaty.

Sure enough, Shouta shifted over and tucked himself under Hizashi’s arm, pressing into his side.

“There we go.” Hizashi curled his arm around Shouta’s back, getting him settled. “Long day, huh? It’s good to see you.”

Shouta stayed quiet. Hizashi didn’t mind that. When Shouta felt little, he was usually quiet. Hizashi could talk enough for them both, easily. And Shouta didn’t mind listening to him babble.

“I was thinking of this bed the entire way home,” Hizashi confessed. “And a little bit of patrol before that. Just daydreaming about how soft the sheets are. It’s the good stuff. Thank god we dished out for them.” Hizashi wiggled his butt on the mattress to make his point. He could feel Shouta smiling against his chest. “I was thinking about you too,” Hizashi said. “Hoping you were in the mood for some cuddles.”

Hizashi kissed the top of Shouta’s head, where he’d curled up under Hizashi’s arm. Shouta grumbled and burrowed deeper, almost disappearing into Hizashi’s armpit.

“Oh, come out of there,” Hizashi laughed. “I’m a stinky man, you don’t want to hide under there.” He tugged the shoulder of Shouta’s shirt, who emerged to frown up at Hizashi.

“Yeah, I know, I’m the meanest for not letting you nap in my armpit,” Hizashi said. “Come on, baby, let’s get you a smoothie. I’m guessing from the lack of dishes that you haven’t had dinner, and you’re gonna be cranky in the morning if you don’t eat anything tonight.”

Shouta visibly considered this, twisting his mouth slightly as he thought. Finally, he sighed and nodded, sitting up and away from Hizashi’s embrace.

“Here, you can have my soundblockers for the blender.” Hizashi took them off his head and hooked them around Shouta’s neck for when he would need them. They protected what little hearing Hizashi had left when he was using his quirk on patrol, but when they were at home they were more often in use by Shouta. They helped with his migraines and generally bad sensory days. Hizashi knew from experience that little Shouta usually had problems with big noises, so he was always careful to suppress his quirk and keep the volume on electronics low while Shouta was regressing.

Shouta raised a hand and touched the soundblockers around his neck, looking down at them for a moment. Then he raised his eyes to meet Hizashi’s and offered a big toothy smile.

“There’s my precious Shouta,” Hizashi grinned back. “Hi, baby.”

Shouta reached out and took hold of Hizashi’s face, one hand on each cheek. He kept Hizashi turned towards him, their gazes locked. Still smiling, Shouta’s eyes narrowed as if he were trying to use his quirk. To anyone else, the expression would have looked entirely terrifying, but luckily Hizashi had almost two decades of experience with reading Shouta when he didn’t feel like verbally communicating.

“Uh-huh, I love you too,” Hizashi said, bopping Shouta on the nose.

Shouta withdrew, wrinkling his nose and brushing his fingers against it like he was trying to rub off the remains of Hizashi’s affection.

“You wound me,” Hizashi told him, pressing a hand to his chest. “Come on, kiddo, time for dinner.”

Hizashi popped out of the bed, trying to hide his wince as his work-weary feet hit the floor again. Shouta was slower to untangle himself from the blankets, but eventually got to standing. Hizashi hid a smile as he realized that Shouta had discarded his pants somewhere along the way and was wearing some cat-patterned boxers with the stolen shirt.

“Is light bad? Do you want some sunglasses?” Hizashi asked before he opened the door. The light in the bedroom had been off, the glow of the city outside the open curtains leaving the room dim.

Shouta hesitated, glancing towards the city lights behind them, and then shook his head once.

“Let me know if that changes,” Hizashi said, and led the way out into the hallway, Shouta following close behind. Their apartment was familiar, the bathroom to the right and the open living area where their belongings mixed on the shelves. Mostly Hizashi and the various things he’d bought for Shouta over the years, honestly. The other man would live like some kind of monastic hermit if left to his own devices. Thank goodness he had Hizashi here to spoil him. Speaking of which…

“Where did you leave Hana?” Hizashi wondered out loud, glancing around the apartment. Shouta’s stuffie usually lived on their dresser in the bedroom, but Hizashi hadn’t seen her while he was in there.

“Mmm.” Shouta wandered into the living room and retrieved the stuffie from under the table, careful not to disturb the papers spread across the top.

“Oh, was she keeping you company while you were working? What a good kitty!”

Shouta came back to Hizashi’s side, Hana in his arms. She was a big stuffed cat, soft as anything and patterned with a tortoiseshell coat. Satisfying to hug and perfect to use as a pillow when Shouta fell asleep on the floor. One of Hizashi’s best purchases, if he did say so himself.

Shouta pressed his cheek against Hana’s head, rubbing it back and forth with his eyes closed.

“Okay, kiddo, here’s your chair.” Hizashi pulled out Shouta’s chair at the kitchen counter and watched him take his place, Hana held in his lap. “Do you want music or quiet while I make your smoothie?”

Music, Shouta answered in sign language, then wrapped his arms around Hana again. A little smile was curling his lips, and Hizashi found it impossible to resist smiling back.

Hizashi shot back the sign for awesome!! and made sure the volume was pretty low before he switched on the radio on top of the fridge. It rarely left the frequency of Hizashi’s station: Shouta liked to listen to Hizashi’s shows when he was away, and Hizashi liked to check in on the interns and other hosts when they were running things. Made it easier to solve problems on the fly when people started blowing up his phone if he already knew what was going on.

Music flowed into the kitchen, and Hizashi hummed along as he assembled the various pieces of the smoothie, frozen fruit from the freezer and fresh bananas sliced into the blender with practised ease. Whenever Hizashi checked on Shouta, he saw him rocking slightly to the music, hands busy with Hana’s fur, eyes following Hizashi’s movements around the kitchen.

“Time for soundblockers, baby!” Hizashi warned, and made sure that Shouta had the headphones over his ears before he screwed the lid onto the blender and smoothied it up.

Retrieving a swirly straw from the drawer, Hizashi added it to the smoothie and put it in front of Shouta.

All done! Hizashi signed, and Shouta pulled the soundblockers off, pushing them across the counter towards Hizashi. “Thank you!” Hizashi said, and went to hang them by the door with the rest of their hero gear. There were doubles of most of it inside their bedroom for emergencies, but their work costumes remained in the main space.

By the time Hizashi got back, Shouta was working on the smoothie. If their lives were different, Hizashi would love to snap a photo of his adorable husband with his hair up, dressed in his shirt, and drinking a bright pink smoothie with a straw shaped like a heart. But with the constant threat of hackers, and public appearances to keep up, that wasn’t the sort of thing that Hizashi could take a photo of. Instead, he just smiled and tucked the memory into his mind where he wouldn’t forget it.

Hizashi sat next to Shouta and let the radio fill the silence, bobbing along to the music and keeping his humming low as Shouta worked away at his late dinner.

“Mm- Hizashi?” Shouta asked, and Hizashi immediately turned his attention to him.

Shouta was blinking down at Hana and the smoothie in front of him, clearly a bit lost.

“Hey, babe. Welcome back.”

“How long was I- gone?”

“I dunno, you were little when I got home. You had Hana with you while you were marking, so you must’ve been fighting it at some point.”

“I remember that.” Shouta rubbed his eyes, and Hizashi quelled the urge to tug his hands away and remind him to use his eyedrops. Adult Shouta got to make decisions like whether he rubbed his eyes when they were itchy. “I wanted something to do with my hands, so I got Hana. Marked some more, and then- I think I was going to take a nap?”

“Makes sense with the outfit,” Hizashi teased lightly.

Shouta looked down at himself and shrugged. “It’s cozy.”

“Uh-huh. Softie.” Shouta frowned at Hizashi and took another slurp of the smoothie through his swirly heart straw. “You were in the bedroom when I came home, spaced out. You didn’t seem upset, though, just out of it.”

“I might have fallen asleep.” Shouta dug his knuckles into his temples. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, I don’t think you were there for long. I only got home a couple hours after you, and you did a lot of marking.”

“Yeah.” Shouta was trying to sound like he wasn’t bothered, but Hizashi knew he didn’t enjoy when his regression ended up giving him gaps in his memory. It was too much like villain quirks that got in your head and messed things around. Every hero had a horror story about lost time, missing memories.

“You were really cuddly when I got home, but I knew you hadn’t eaten yet, so I dragged you out here, found you Hana, and made you a smoothie. I’ve only been home for about half an hour.” Hizashi glanced at the numbers on the microwave to make sure he was telling the truth, and nodded. “Yeah, thirty-five minutes.”

“Thanks.” Shouta discarded the straw, throwing it perfectly into the sink, and drank the rest of the smoothie straight from the cup.

“Any time, babe, you know that. But I do really need to take a shower.” Hizashi had been putting it off until Shouta was ready to take care of himself, but he was desperate to get out of his work clothes.

“Go ahead,” Shouta said. “All yours.”

“I love you, babe. And seriously, it was no trouble.” Hizashi slid off his chair and pressed a kiss to Shouta’s cheek, resting his forehead against his husband’s temple. “I don’t mind taking care of you when you’re tired.”

“I know.” Shouta’s little smile was back, pulling at the corners of his mouth. He turned his head and kissed the tip of Hizashi’s nose. “I love you too, now go take a shower. You reek.”

“So mean!” Hizashi pouted. “So mean to your loving husband!”

“My loving husband is a stinky man.” Shouta poked Hizashi in the side, making him yelp and back away. “Go shower. I want cuddles in bed, so dry your hair before you join me.”

“Yes sir!” Hizashi grinned, and stole one more kiss before he headed for the bathroom. Life was busy, but life was good. And that was all Hizashi needed.  

[zutaraangtastic]

Could you do a little drabble about zuko and aang sharing dreams? maybe that is how zuko’s relationship with aang and katara starts, like it is what sparks it all :)

Also inspired by this post by @vomara! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The moonlight pools in a pale circle on the dark water, perfectly still until Aang lands. His light footsteps cast ripples outwards as he spins Katara for an extra few beats in the air. Her eyes are squeezed shut with laughter as he guides her down gently, but she opens them, a gleam of mischief in their blue depths, and takes the lead as soon as she finds solid footing.

Aang gladly follows, letting her twirl him out to the end of her arm’s length and bring him back in. They sway together for an easy, quiet moment, with his back to her front and her smile pressed to his shoulder. He feels secure, wrapped up in her embrace, as he always does.

It’s a dream he has often, dancing on the sea with her—it’s one he never tires of. In the back of his mind, he knows she’s sleeping peacefully right next to him, so it’s not like it’s coming from a place of unfulfilled desire, as far as he can tell. They dance together all the time in their home, at fancy Republic City functions, at the Fire Lord’s galas. It’s just nice to steal away this extra secret time with her between night and day.

Even if it’s not quite the same as in real life, his mind does a pretty good job of conjuring Katara in a sleek sky-blue dress that tapers down one leg, her shoulders bare and her hair cascading in waves down her back. She’s utterly enchanting.

She dips him low, and Aang raises a hand to her cheek, his heart so full of love he feels like he could drown in it. “Baby, you’re my moon and stars,” he whispers, watching for the way the corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile as she leans in to kiss him. His own eyes flutter shut.

Something changes at that moment, heats up on his skin, brightens against his face. He doesn’t think much of it until he peeks his right eye open just a crack and gets a close-up look at an unmistakable scar—closer than he’s ever seen it in real life, close enough to see rivulets of pale tissue and faint pockets between rough scarlet ridges.

“Uh,” says Zuko.

“Um,” says Aang.

Neither of them moves. Around them, the scenery has turned to a soul-baringly sunny day, the water glittering beneath their feet. Zuko’s hands are where Katara’s were, one supporting Aang’s backwards lean and one resting high up on his thigh, Aang’s other knee raised up to frame Zuko’s side. Golden light, reflecting off the pool, dazzles in Zuko’s wide eyes, which soften little by little with something like gratitude.

Finally, he breaks the stillness of the moment with a somewhat dismayed laugh, letting go of the breath he seemed to be holding. Aang could almost swear he catches a sharp firewhiskey aftertaste brushing warmly over his lips. It’s an oddly specific detail, for a dream.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Zuko says, his mouth curving in a rare, secretive smile. “You’re just the person I wanted to see tonight.”

Something about it rubs against the grain in Aang’s mind, doesn’t quite add up the way it should, but he finds himself laughing, too, settling with ease into the firm hold that shifts to his waist. His own arms naturally find their way to wrap behind Zuko’s neck.

“You’re a lot smoother when I’m asleep, sifu hotman,” he remarks, and if Zuko’s brow furrows momentarily, he doesn’t really think twice about it after Zuko quickly twirls him a few times, catches him again by the hand and shoulder and steps with him in perfect sync.

Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wonders about Katara, but she wasn’t really here, and neither is Zuko. Even if his keen gaze makes Aang feel just as flustered as it does in real life, when he judges Aang’s firebending forms to “keep him sharp.” Even if the hand gliding up his side through the open slit of his robe makes him feel as hot as the sun.

He loves Katara. If he could love Zuko, too, he would—or, well, he already does, he thinks, but what difference does it make? All he knows is the real Zuko is sleeping soundly on the other side of the world. This can’t do any harm.

A little bit of sparring seems to blend naturally into their exchange. Instead of breaking apart to do the full Dancing Dragon, they stay close, trailing rainbow fire from their footsteps and trading precarious kicks around each other’s knees, legs crossing back and forth over one another as they move to and fro. The water doesn’t sizzle when their bending makes contact with it but splashes up into crystallized leaves of amber flame, scattering in their wake.

Aang ends up in the lead at some point, supporting Zuko’s weight in a high lift and a descending spin, their orange and red robes catching with a friction that might as well make a spark of its own. Several long strands of hair have strayed from Zuko’s topknot, falling messily around his face, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. There’s a simmering, unwavering intensity in his eyes now, never leaving Aang’s face. Aang flings him this way and that, dips him low and whispers, grinning, “Baby, you’re my sun and stars.” 

Zuko smirks invitingly, only to backflip over Aang’s bracing arm before Aang can act further. He lands easily, links his hand with Aang’s again and steps in close and fast to snap one leg up around Aang’s hip. They lean together, an unbroken line of contact from chest to thighs, breathing heavily. The shared hallucination of rhythm and music fades, and the utter brightness of the sky, too.

The closeness is so tempting, would make it so easy to kiss Zuko, but Aang decides to let his subconscious decide whether Zuko might make the first move instead.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” he says, with just a teasing note of accusation.

Zuko snorts, rolls his eyes with a distinctly affectionate exasperation reserved for Aang alone. Unthinkingly, Aang reaches to brush the loose hair back behind Zuko’s ear. His hand lingers gingerly against Zuko’s scar, warm, real, solid. Zuko doesn’t flinch away. Aang expects this dreamed image to melt away at any minute, but it doesn’t.

Before he loses the nerve, he blurts, “I didn’t know you would ever want to. With me.”

At that, Zuko chuckles, a self-deprecating sound edged with hopelessness that makes Aang’s heart clench. He closes his eyes and says, seemingly more to himself than Aang, “I knew this was all just stupid wishful thinking. That’s what happens, going to bed after too much to drink. Stupid.”

His eyelashes paint delicate, spidery shadows towards the arch of his cheek, shining damply, and his eyebrow digs down into a tense furrow. Aang doesn’t know what to do. This doesn’t make sense anymore—everything was going so well, and he thought that at least in a dream he might get a happy ending. He can’t put his finger on what went wrong. 

Lost, he bends his head slightly to press his lips to Zuko’s forehead, as the last golden light is swallowed up in the gray dawn all around them.

When Aang blinks slowly awake, the morning sky through the window is the first thing he sees, the first rays of sun stretching up into the receding blue. Katara is snoring gently, facing him, with her hair spilling over half her face. Aang lifts her sleep-heavy hand and works his fingers between hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips to kiss them softly.

He doesn’t know how long he lies awake there, watching the sun turn the clouds a rosy orange. Normally, he would get up and find somewhere to meditate. But he feels reluctant to leave Katara’s side this morning.

He stays long enough that she wakes up, though he’s sure she’ll doze off again soon enough. She squints at him with a reflexive, familiar smile and rasps, her voice rough with sleep, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Like what?”

“The way you always did when you thought I wasn’t watching you, back then.”

Aang laughs, and Katara does too, their breath stirring together between. “I can’t help it. I just love you.”

“Mm.” Katara scoots closer, snuggling her head under Aang’s chin and draping her arm over him. “Something’s on your mind, though. You always looked at me like that, all in love, ’cause you didn’t know how to tell me yet.”

Aang falls quiet. Reading the tension in him, Katara raises her hand to rub his upper arm gently, expectantly.

“I had a dream,” he says eventually. “About you…and Zuko.”

Katara leans back to look at him sharply. “Sweetie, you know you can’t let the tabloids get to you like that. I love you,” she says, with just a hint of scolding in her voice. “Zuko’s just a good friend.”

Aang opens his mouth, then closes it. “Yeah,” he says, pushing down the regret in it. “He is a good friend.” 

He can’t explain this to her, can’t ask her to understand something that might very well tear them apart. And that dream, as weird and real as it was…there’s just no way that Zuko feels like that, too. 

When Katara eventually does slip back into sleep, Aang kisses the crown of her head, carefully disentangles himself, and wanders down to the seashore to practice his firebending forms.

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[ionlydatesassyelves]

mods are asleep post more gay drabbles it's the only flavor i can write

modern human au where L and Luigi are seperate people who have to deal with each other, and then they also have to deal with Dimentio. because that's the only other flavor i can write.

((will format correctly in the morning because fuck tumblr mobile))

~~~~~

L wasn't entirely certain when a street performer had set up a magic show in front of his mechanic shop, but it didn't seem to be driving away business, so for now he ignored it. For several weeks, actually, he did a stellar job of ignoring it.

The performer stopped him one day on his way into work, sauntered into his path before the crowd with a dazzling smile. He conjured a rose for L and offered it with a bow, the trick met with cheers and applause.

L scoffed and moved to step around the attention whore, but his path was blocked again. "Not one for flowers, then?" the shorter man sang. He pulled the scarf from his own neck, wrapped it around the delicate rose, and pulled it away with a flourish.

He now held a bouquet of rusty wrenches and screwdrivers wrapped in colorful paper.

L couldn't help it, he laughed, the whole crowd laughing and applauding as well. The man bowed again, and this time L accepted the gift, and he was at last allowed to go on his way.

He pulled the bouquet apart once he entered the shop--not excellent tools, gathered probably from the dump, but the gesture was still hilarious. Once L had unwrapped the paper, he found a card nestled among the tools. No number to call, no elaboration on the givers identity. Only a name.

"Dimentio"

L tried very hard not to hope Dimentio would be hanging around outside his shop again, but he couldn't help being glad to see the thin boy stood up on a box and talking excitedly to the crowd before him.

L elected to spare five minutes to be late for work and watch a couple of Dimentio's tricks. Dimentio smiled when he spotted him in the crowd, asked him to pick a card at one point and summoned it from a little girls knit cap. The girl was delighted, her mother twofold, and she let the little girl hand Dimentio a sizeable tip at the end of the show.

L was more than disappointed he couldn't spare the cash to at least tip Dimentio. He knew Luigi often liked to leave a parting gift for hard working performers that had made him smile, and Dimentio had done that two days in a row. Which was not an easy feat, given L's situation.

The thought pressed firmly at the back of his mind all day. Eventually, he decided to take an early lunch and bolted to catch Dimentio outside.

The performer was gathering tricks and props into a worn duffle bag by this hour, moving onto a different spot. L called out to him before he could go, and Dimentio seemed surprised to see him again.

"I'm afraid you've missed the encore," he teasingly replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Nah, I got enough of your flashy tricks, thanks," L returned. He jogged over to meet Dimentio on the corner, and it was more apparent without the box that Dimentio stood more than a full head shorter than him. It was also more apparent he wasn't wearing shoes.

L frowned down at the sidewalk, taking in the boys pale toes and wondering if he was okay. It wasn't the coldest of the year yet, but it was still far from warm.

Dimentio shifted in place, seemingly eager to get on. He smiled at L anyway. "To what do I owe the pleasure then?"

L ran a hand through his messy hair. He was never very good at this. "You eat yet?"

There was a laugh, and L smiled again. It was different than the stage laugh. Dimentio choked on it a little suddenly, and his voice cracked on the end of it. "Was than an invitation?"

L snorted and jerked his head over his shoulder, walking back towards his shop. He was thrilled that Dimentio followed him.

There wasn't much to the shop, but there was a small, worn couch tucked away in a tiny back room where L could retreat to relax and warm up a little. Dimentio left his pack at the door and happily settled onto the couch with his legs folded under him. L tried not to sit too close to him, but it was difficult to not squish in the small space.

L brewed hot coffee for them both and they shared the sack lunch L had brought for the day. He tried to get Dimentio to eat the whole sandwich, insisting he could make something later, but Dimentio refused to touch more than half of anything.

They sat and talked in the warm little nook for some time longer than they probably should have, but eventually Dimentio went on his way.

L didn't mean to go on and on to Luigi every time this happened afterwards, but eventually Luigi encouraged him to take enough food for L and Dimentio to both have a decent lunch. Gradually, their dates became routine enough that Dimentio swung by the shop even when he had been performing elsewhere that morning.

L didn't quite realize he had a crush until the afternoon the windchill picked up and he gave Dimentio an old coat. It swallowed him up, but he had thanked L sincerely, and stood on tiptoes to give L a kiss on the cheek before he left that day. L didn't want to admit he had spent the rest of the day finding his fingers softly touching the spot, but he did.

It was three dates after that when L finally worked up the nerve to scoot closer to Dimentio on the couch and kiss him fully. Dimentio was so quick to slide his arms around L and return the deep kiss. They wound up making out on the couch, and it wouldnt be the first time.

------

Luigi got to meet Dimentio three weeks after the first time L had invited him to lunch. Usually he kept to the quiet, shambly part of the city, but he'd been visiting a friend on that end of town and ran into Luigi on his way to work, mistaking him for L. They had laughed at the mix up, but Luigi was glad to meet Dimentio at last, and Dimentio was thrilled to discover L had been talking about him.

Dimentio had neglected to tease L about it later that day, but when Luigi told him that night his boyfriend was indeed very cute, the flowers and lovebites L had to come home with suddenly made sense.

Luigi and L both began to look forward to Dimentio brightening their days, either in the silly gifts he would conjure for Luigi before work, or the warm kisses he snuck around L's shop to steal. It wasn't uncommon for Dimentio to come up in conversation while Luigi and L ate dinner together.

Winter rolled around, and they began to wonder more and more where Dimentio called home. If he was safe at night, or at least warm.

L stayed up later pacing some nights, wondering where Dimentio might be and if he was okay. Some days his make out session with the preformer turned into something more, and L could give Dimentio an hour or more of warmth and comfort. But Dimentio always left into the bitter cold with L's old jacket pulled tight around his thin form, bare feet against the cold sidewalk, but no less a spring in his step or spark in his smile.

L began working late and hoarding spare change, cutting little treats for himself where he could to gather up a little bit of extra cash. When Luigi finally asked what he was up to, if he needed help with anything, L admitted he wanted to get Dimentio something warm to wear. At least some new shoes. Luigi gave him the sweetest, warmest smile, and began working overtime as well, adding extra tips to L's fund.

L was beyond tickled the day he finally could lead Dimentio into his worn shop hand in hand. After they ate and exchanged their usual quips, L reached behind the couch and handed Dimentio a very large plastic bag. They couldn't do much to wrap the gift, but Dimentio took it with a bewildered grin. "What is this, now?"

"Call it an early Christmas..." L muttered, sitting back and trying to appear as casual as possible. He was sitting on pins and needles, praying Dimentio didn't notice.

Dimentio eagerly set to digging through the bag, but his motions soon slowed. He pulled out two large, fluffy sweaters in bright colors, and a wool scarf with matching hat, holding all the items in a bundle against his chest. He turned and gave L a shaky smile, like he was waiting for the punchline. "...is this for me?"

"Yeah, it's for you," L almost laughed. "Don't want you to fuckin blow away in the wind out there."

Dimentio turned very quickly back to the gifts in his lap. He looked like he might cry. He busied himself instead pulling the box from the bottom of the bag and opening the lid with a quiet gasp.

"They're a little worn..." L apologized as Dimentio ran his fingers thoughtfully over the black boots. "We found them at a thrift store but, uh... I really didn't want you to freeze..."

Dimentio smiled, and choked a little. "I love them." he said quietly.

He tried them on, and they were a size too big, but only half a size with the colorful wool socks Luigi had tucked into the box. They were big and bulky especially since Dimentio didn't bother lacing them, but they somehow suited him when he kicked his legs back and forth on the couch, and L couldn't help smiling.

He pressed his face into L's shoulder and wrapped his arms tightly around the larger man. "I love them," he repeated.

L tried not to respond "I love you too."

Dimentio hung out around the shop the rest of the day, leaving only when L locked up for the night. L insisted he might as well come over for dinner, but Dimentio fidgeted anxiously and insisted he couldn't owe L any more favors.

L wrapped both arms around Dimentio and kissed him slow and deep. "You don't owe me. Just stay safe, okay?"

Dimentio winked, adjusting his scarf around his face to hide the bright blush coloring his cheeks. "No promises."

L bit his lip, but he steeled his nerves and tightening his grip before dimentio's fingers could slip from his. He had to know. "You got somewhere warm to sleep right?"

Dimentio gave L a peck on the cheek and squeezed his hand. "I'll find somewhere."

And then he left.

L couldn't sleep that night.

The thought of Dimentio huddled in the freezing streets was keeping him up. He had already been sick with worry, but previously he could chalk it up to paranoia. Now it had been confirmed, Dimentio was homeless. It wasn't fair. Nothing was in this awful city, but that especially tore L up.

Four times, L almost asked Luigi if he could invite Dimentio to stay. But every time he tried to come up with a reason, he felt like he was asking to keep a dog, which was both insulting to Dimentio's independence and throwing another burden on Luigi. L hated both of those things, so four times, he shut his mouth.

The fifth time had been an impromptu trip to the grocery store, stocking up on essentials. L had commented idly on people looking like they were preparing for the apocalypse.

"Its probably the storm," Luigi had carelessly reminded him.

"...what storm?" L asked, face melting to horror.

Luigi sighed a little as he compared their cart to their list. "I told you, there's supposed to be a blizzard rolling in tomorrow. They say the streets are going to freeze. Oh--remind me to leave the water running tonight, we're fucked if the pipes freeze too."

L couldn't help his knee jerk response. "Dimentio's homeless."

Luigi's eyes flew up to meet L's, wide and shocked. He knew what that meant. "What?" he asked anyway.

"Dimentio's homeless," L repeated, his voice shaking. "He's out on the streets, I don't think he has anywhere to go."

Luigi took that in for about three seconds, then took a deep, steadying breath. "Let's hurry up here and get this home, then we'll see if we can find him."

-----

Luigi almost wrecked the car when L spotted Dimentio from the passengers seat and just jumped out onto the sidewalk. L ignored the frustrated scolding behind him and bolted towards the performer.

Dimentio had taken shelter from the falling snow on a high slope beneath a bridge, but when L climbed up he discovered that Dimentio was already shivering. He was bundled in several layers, but his nose and ears were already a pale shade of blue.

"Get up, you're coming with us," L said sternly, not waiting for a reply as he grabbed Dimentio's bag and slung it over his own shoulder.

"N-no, L, it's... d-d-don't--" Dimentio tried to stutter out a protest, but he was shivering too hard in the howling wind.

His effort was interrupted by L scooping him up off the ground--all the clothes put together probably weighed more than Dimentio himself. "I don't want to hear it. We're going home."

Dimentio didn't argue with that.

Luigi had managed to stop the car nearby when L struggled back down the hill with Dimentio in his arms. L didn't think much about taking the backseat on the ride home and holding Dimentio in his lap, but the preformer didn't seem very intent on moving, so no one questioned it.

Granted the rickety apartment wasn't much, especially for three people, but anything was better in a blizzard. Luigi took Dimentio immediately into the bathroom and showed him how the shower worked, told him to get clean and more importantly, warm. He left Dimentio a soft towel and some of his own cozy pajamas, and Dimentio still seemed at a loss for words.

While he was in the shower, Luigi made a warm soup for dinner and L busied himself cleaning space in his own room for Dimentio's things and piling spare blankets onto his bed.

Dimentio arrived in Luigi's pajamas and the coat he'd been wearing, and L traded it for a softer hoodie. He was still a little uncertain, but he seemed happier and at least the color of a healthy human again.

The three piled on the couch together and ate soup out of mismatched bowls, watching TV as they chatted late into the night.

Before they headed to bed, Luigi got Dimentio to gather up what little clothes he owned so he could wash them in the morning. Luigi also produced a spare toothbrush for Dimentio they "happened" to have, and certainly hadn't bought that day hoping and praying they would find Dimentio tonight.

Dimentio was grinning ear to ear by the time everyone was getting ready to settle into bed. L insisted Dimentio keep his bed tonight, and went to the couch himself, but the preformer clung to him and bashfully asked if L would be willing to stay.

They snuggled into bed together, squished in the small space, but warm and happy to hold onto each other. They whispered in the dark for several hours before falling asleep, sneaking in soft kisses here and there.

The storm did end up snowing them in for several days, and Dimentio was happier to be in the house with each passing hour. Dimentio taught them both several card tricks, and Luigi taught Dimentio new, flashy ways to shuffle the deck. They traded stories about the ongoing struggle against the upper class, laughed over preparing meals, and snuggled together in the quiet.

On the fifth day, news reports began to state that the worst of the storm had passed, and streets should begin to get clear. The weather in the early morning channels also seemed to indicate that the danger of freezing outside would be gone.

L found Dimentio staring out of a window soon following the newscast, watching the snow fall on the empty streets outside. L sat behind him and slid his arms around Dimentio's thin waist, and the smaller man leaned back against his chest. "So I have bad news," L began with a sigh.

"Mm." was all Dimentio said.

"The truth is, we've kidnapped you," he announced grimly.

Dimentio snorted, and L could just make out his smile in the window reflection. "Is that so?"

"Unfortunately, yes, you've actually been a hostage this entire time," L went on in a deadpan, sarcastic tone. He propped his chin on Dimentio's head, and a sigh ruffled his curly hair. "I'm afraid you're going to have to stay forever."

Dimentio's grin crept a little wider. His hands wandered up and rested over L's. "Unfortunate indeed... and if I were to refuse?"

"Well, Luigi gets attached easily, so you might make him cry," L informed him.

"Hmm. Tragic." Dimentio hummed. "You're not one for tears, are you?"

L shrugged carelessly. "Nah. I'd just drag you back here. What do you weigh, like eight pounds?"

"Probably six," Dimentio agreed. He squeezed the toned muscle of L's forearms latched around his waist and teased "Hardly a struggle, even for a weak shrimp like you."

L laughed into Dimentio's hair, and squeezed the performer tighter against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dimentio's head and murmured "I want you to stay. We both do."

Dimentio bit his lower lip - a failed attempt to control the excited grin on his face. His hands squeezed awkwardly around L's wrists, and he sucked in a short, thrilled gasp. "I'd love to," he managed.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XXII

The Crown of the Monster Queen

Trigger warnings: canon violence, language, gun, drug and alcohol use. Mature/sexual content.

Please enjoy!

…..

…..

It was his turn at watch, but when Wraith checked the bedroll, Danse was nowhere to be found. His power armor was gone as well, “What the heck?” She pushed down a brief surge of fear, “Probably has the internal military clock and is already up… off having a pee…” The two of them were on their way to Breakheart Banks to clear a super mutant camp, and the little nervous voice in her head was suggesting that he had taken it upon himself to scout, or even worse, engage the pack without her. “He doesn’t strike me as the impetuous type… goddammit.” She waited patiently for all of five seconds before suiting up and going to look for him.

The previous evening Danse had frowned at Wraith’s suggestion to camp on the river, “In light of our power armor, it is ill advised to bivouac with water to your back.”

His pushback irritated her, “I thought you said you’d follow my lead on this trip, considering it’s for the Minutemen. Besides, in light of the existence of mirelurks, we would be more likely to retreat inland. Plus,” she folded her arms and smiled at him, “it’s pretty here.”

Your stupid blimp is at the airport. The airport is on a peninsula. With water around it!

He raised a voluminous eyebrow and glanced around, “I suppose the visibility is optimal at this location. And this outcropping of sandstone should provide concealment for a smokeless fire as well as a vantage point,” he gave her a slight smile of his own, “to watch for said mirelurks.”

The small cove had a clear view of the river as well as a relatively easy escape route up and into a small cluster of sheltering trees. Wraith and Danse collected dry driftwood along the shoreline and while he started the fire she disembarked her power armor to start meal prep.

“You should practice doing more tasks while in the armor.”

“Okay, but after I finish setting this tripod up, I’m going to go water those bushes,” She gave him a significant look, “and that’s not a task one does in the suit, correct?”

His eyebrows knit, “That’s too close to camp for a latrine, knight.”  

Proud of herself for choosing such a great campsite, Wraith sported a large grin while she made dinner. She was in a good enough mood that she turned her radio on low and hummed tunelessly along with the music. She noticed Danse watching her, an inscrutable look on his face, “You need something, Paladin Danse? You’re just kinda spacing out o’er there.”

He blinked and shook his head, “Negative,” He lowered his eyes and his voice, “I was simply lost in thought.”

Mama Murphy had told Wraith that she could “save a soul lost in steel” and she had taken that to mean Elder Maxson. To that end she had reconsidered her previous rejection of Danse’s invitation to join the Brotherhood. Now, she figured the best way to gain the elder’s ear and remain in his good graces was to play friendly with his apparent favorite. Initially she had been put off by Danse’s stiff and formal demeanor and had put him in the same category of irritating as Rhys, but after spending more time with him her opinion had begun to soften. Somewhat.

“No problem. You know, if there’s something bothering you, I’m happy to listen.”

He looked surprised, “Oh! That’s not... Thank you. I’m going to do a perimeter check, if time permits…”

“Chow will be ready in about ten.”

Can’t wait to get away from me, huh?

“Acknowledged.”

They hadn’t spoken very much after that and the silence was less than comfortable. Wraith had volunteered first watch and had been relieved to put some distance between them.

Now she was worried for him (underneath the irritation) and she set a brisk pace as she stomped southward along the shore. She hadn’t gotten very far when she heard a shrill whistle from behind her. Whipping around, she lost her balance. The shoreline had angled upward sharply to form a cliff and she had a scary moment where she attempted to pinwheel her arms as she teetered dangerously close to the edge.

Danse came charging to her rescue, “I got you!” He whipped off his helmet, a glare created from worry on his face, and immediately launched into a graphic lecture on the finer points of drowning in power armor, “… and furthermore the joints and cockpit are not water tight. Ha… although this allows for a greater mobility… ha… it will fill quickly,” As he spoke a grin kept pulling on the corner of his mouth as the image of her flailing arms kept playing over in his mind, “and so standard procedure maintains you must keep a level head and wait until the water has completely filled… ha… the quick release… ha ha…” The smile had gotten free and now there was no denying he was laughing.  

Wraith was not amused, “You picked a helluva time to develop a sense of humor!”

“You…” He stopped trying to fight it, “your arms!”

Wraith sighed and chuckled, “Yeah, yeah.” She shoved him playfully, “Where were you?! I don’t think it’s standard procedure to disappear like that.”

He pointed back toward camp, “You walked right past me, knight. I hailed you but you must not have heard me over the noise generated by a quick march.”

“Okay, but why were you up already?”

He kept a perfectly straight face, “Morning constitutional.”

Wraith’s laugh came out like a bark, “HA!” She shook her head and smiled, “Okay. Okay.” Turning away from him, she headed back to camp. “Paladin Danse, I think we have been working next to each other but not with each other.”

“Agreed.”

“So we need to communicate better, right? No more one-word answers…”

“Agreed.” He smiled at her when she turned around to give him an incredulous look, “That was a joke, knight.”

“That’s another thing; call me ‘Wraith’, please.” They were back at the campsite and she exited her armor, kicked off her boots and crawled into the bedroll.

“That’s too…”

“You call Haylen and Rhys by their names. You guys are a bonded team, right?” She yawned expansively, “We need to be a team too. So start bonding.”

He chuckled, “I believe that works both ways, knight. I’m going to patrol now; we can bond over super mutant eradication later today.”

“OORAH!”

“AD VICTORIAM!”

That afternoon the pair scouted the super mutant camp before falling back to work on a plan. To her surprise, Danse was all for just the two of them clearing the site and not calling for reinforcements.

Maybe he’s more reckless then I thought…  

On the eastern edge of the former farm was a small lookout tower with a single super mutant in residence. After Wraith quietly dispatched the occupant, they set up a perimeter of mines then both took up position in the tower. Picking their targets, they began their first volley.

The mines were quickly exhausted as the humanoids swarmed the tower. This was all part of the plan and Wraith, whose armor was modded for melee, vaulted over the rail to smash and chop their opponents; keeping them clear of her teammate. The two of them stayed in constant communication: calling encouragement and tips back and forth to one another. It was working out fairly well until the alpha, a huge and imposing primus, got a couple of hits on Danse. The mutant called his two remaining pack mates back to him at the encampment’s main structure, and ducked back into cover before Wraith could return fire.

“Are you alright?!” Wraith retreated back toward the tower, crouched as low as the armor would let her.

“Affirmative. Taking cover.”

She put the tower between her and the primus and removed her helmet, “What’s your status?”

“Shoulder’s a little hot, but no stimpak required. This monster has fought the Brotherhood before.”

“Or, at the very least, opponents in power armor. Can you get a shot on either of his brutes?”

“Both, actually.”

“Okay, pick one.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna kill the other one, silly.”

His small grunt indicated his annoyance at her oversimplification, “I understand. What I’m asking is ‘then what’?”

“Well, we’ll see, but I’m hoping the big guy will be motivated to come out of cover once he sees how much fun wrestling with me can be.” She winked at him.

He chuckled, “Put your helmet back on, knight. I’ll take the one on the left.”

“Fantastic. I’ll signal you when I’m in position.”

To get within striking distance, Wraith looped right, part way down the steep, rocky hill that overlooked the river while trying desperately to be stealthy in the power armor. Rather than stare at her intended target, she kept her eyes on a tuft of grass just in front of them.

You don’t feel me. I’m not here. You somehow can’t see this large, metal suit coming to kill you…

Once satisfied with her position, she uncovered the small mirror on her gauntlet and sent a ray of light back toward Danse. After counting to three she launched herself at her intended victim. She could hear her teammate’s plasma rifle hit the brute on the left just as she slammed her gauntlet’s bayonet through her brute’s closest knee. The impact forced their legs together and when Wraith raised her arm to flip them onto their back, the incredibly sharp instrument sliced right through, severing the leg completely. A quick chop at the neck beheaded the humanoid and Wraith was satisfied to see a large puddle of green where Danse’s mutant had been standing.

All according to plan.

“TIME TO DIE, HUMAN!”

The primus, on the second level of the farmhouse, took several shots at Wraith through the floorboards, clipping her helmet while she attempted a somersault which she couldn’t complete, “DammitFUCK!” She was able to roll away to the other side of the structure and get to her feet, but dropped her rifle and was shot two more times in the process, “Fucking ARMOR! Now I know why Deacon fuckin’ hates this shit!”

The primus laughed at her, “HA! BUCKET HEAD IN THE DIRT LIKE A MOLE RAT! HAHAHAHAHAA!”

“OH YEAH? WELL, PUNY GREENSKIN IS AFRAID TO FIGHT ME WITHOUT A GUN!”

The primus howled in rage; swinging his fists as he thundered down the shack steps to prove her wrong. Just as Wraith moved to meet him, an alarm sounded which indicated her fusion core was low.

Gotta wrap this up quick.

The alpha was an excellent fighter and Wraith, having some small difficulty adjusting to the suit’s more limited range of motion, got her bell rung a couple of times. She backed away as they grappled, hoping to bring him into range of Danse’s rifle, but when she cleared the building, she could see the paladin was no longer in the tower.

Gotta wrap this up quicker!

She trusted that her partner would circle around the other side of the building as soon as he lost sight of her, probably even taking the same route she did, so she didn’t panic. She was tired of being bashed around though so she caught up her opponents arms at his wrists and held on for dear life.

“GAAAAAARRR! LET GO, BUCKET HEAD!” Flexing powerfully, the great mutant lifted Wraith a couple of feet off the ground in his attempts to free himself from her grasp. He shook her back and forth but when that didn’t work, he raised his arms even higher before slamming her violently back to earth.

She was able to keep her feet and her grip, “HA! Can’t get rid of me that easily!” She heard a gasp behind her and was able to turn her head just enough to see Danse was watching them, “Don’t just stand there being impressed! Help me!”

Danse flinched guiltily before blasting the primus to green goo, “Are we clear, knight?”

Wraith doffed her helmet and patted her sore head experimentally, “Yeah, he was the last of ‘em.”

Danse removed his own helmet and was beaming at her, “Outstanding! Are you sound?”

“I hear ringing, if that’s what you mean.”

He chuckled, gave her a hefty pat on the back and ducked into the shack staircase, “We should check to see if they had any valuable equipment…” he turned back to her when Wraith didn’t immediately follow, “Are you seriously injured?”

“My core’s spent.”

He frowned, “You should still be able to move…” He smiled at her when she stuck her lip out at him, “I’ll just switch it out for you. I didn’t realize it was so low. I thought you said you went through the checklist I gave you…”

“Danse, I really like working on power armor…”

“As do I.”

“But, fighting in it…”

“Practice makes perfect, knight.” He gave her another pat, this time more gentle and affectionate, “You’re all set. AD VICTORIAM!”

“Oorah.”    

…..

…..

“Emogene…” Hancock narrowed his eyes as he repeated Wraith, “Emogene…” He turned away from her and looked to MacCready, “Emogene? That Cabot dame? Isn’t she…”

“Dead? Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

Hancock looked down at Infamy who had flopped backward and was lying on the floor, “What the hell’s she mean?”

Panting, they weakly waved him away, “I couldn’t begin to guess.”

Hancock knit his brow and briefly entertained the images of choking the life out of the glowing one as he walked past them on the way to the staircase, “Nicky… I need Valentine...” He took the steps two at a time with MacCready, Deacon and Danse hot on his heels.

“You’re thinking you got something?” MacCready tried but failed to keep the desperation from his voice.

Hancock paused before picking up the Radio Freedom receiver, “What I’m thinkin’ is that we need to find out where Wraith hid the alien artifact that started this shit.”

“Alien artifact?” Deacon’s eyes widened, “Like, UFOs? I leave for a little while and you guys are picking fights with aliens?”

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Well, MacFeisty, I just assume it was you…”

“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!”

“Will you boys be quiet?! I’m on the phone!”

The minutemen operator who answered was less than courteous, “It’s the middle of the night and I’m not your errand boy, Mayor Hancock. Furthermore, this line is strictly for Minutemen personnel, and not for your personal use.”

“May I?” Danse accepted the receiver and lit into the unfortunate solider at full volume, “SPECIALIST REGIS, THIS IS CAPTAIN DANSE. THIS IS AN URGENT MATTER AND YOU WILL PERSONALLY COLLECT NICK VALENTINE AND BRING HIM TO THE RADIO AT ALL SPEED OR I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT YOU ARE ON LATRINE DUTY UNTIL THE DAY YOU EXPIRE! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

MacCready smirked at him, “Well, I guess you’re useful to have around after all.”  

In a few short minutes, Valentine’s worried voice came through the speakers, “John? What’s going on?”

“Tell me everything about what went down with Emogene Cabot.”

…..

Mama Murphy sighed, “Child, I know I can be of use. The Buffout won’t kill me. It’s my choice regardless.”

Sofie prickled at being called a child, “Ms. Murphy, what you do with your free time is none of my concern. That being said, I will not condone the recreational use of chems. As for your being of use,” her smile was forced; her perfect teeth a stark contrast against her scarred lips, “I’m sure Wraith wouldn’t want you to risk your health to help her.” The tiny ghoulette returned her gaze to the reports on her desk, brooking no further argument.

Murphy sighed again as she rose stiffly to her feet, “Thank you for seeing me, then.” After she left Sofie’s office she had fully intended to go home to her chair, but found herself walking through the door of the clinic instead. “Hello? Noah? Are you in here, son?”

The handsome young man poked his head out of a supply closet, “Hiya, Mama! How can I help you today?”

“I need you to give me some Buffout and then write down everything I say after.”

He blinked rapidly for a moment, “Uh… I’m a medic, not a chem dealer?”

“Semantics.”

He frowned, “I think the subject matter is a little more complicated…”

“Wraith needs my help. Our help. I can feel it…” She half closed her eyes and reached a hand out toward the ceiling as if the vision was tangible and she could pull it from the air, “I can just see…” She let her arm drop, “Please. I’d prefer if someone is with me; my memory ain’t what it was when I was young. But if you won’t help this old lady out, I’ll still find my own way to what The Sight wants me to see.”

Williams bit his lip, his dark eyes troubled, “This goes against what the doc taught us… but I seem to remember her also telling us to explore and discover new science, so… loophole?” He ducked back into the closet, “How many do you need?”

“Just one, child. Get ready to take notes.” She settled into the office loveseat, tossed the pill into her mouth with a casual negligence and closed her eyes, “Ohhhh, that’s the stuff. Feels like I could tear down a building, ha ha.” After a few seconds her eyes opened and when she spoke her voice was different: a cadence closer to chanting, “The one who can’t speak will tell them where. I can see them descending into the deepest dark where there is no air. Power’s lesser, ravaged twin calls to it. Guarded only by an ancient, unseeing eye, they seek and find their sorrow at the very bottom of the world.”

Williams felt compelled to the edge of his seat. After a few moments of silence so absolute, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, he touched the elderly woman on her arm, “Mama Murphy? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye, “I… think so. Oh dear. Oh no…” Alarmed, Williams half stood but she waved him back to his seat, “I’m okay, son. Oh, Noah, I didn’t see him come back. Child, I fear he’ll be lost to the darkness.”

…..

…..

“DARN IT, GERTY! MOOOOVE!” MacCready shoved at Bossy’s brahmin, “How can you have two heads, BUT NO BRAINS AT ALL?!”

The caravan from Goodneighbor to Sanctuary had been ambushed by super mutants near Lexington and in her attempt to flee, the terrified bovine had trapped the merc in the doorway of one of the town’s many dilapidated buildings.

“Damn it, MacCready, will ya stop playin’ with Gertrude and give us a hand?! The hell I’m payin’ ya for?!”

Diving between the brahmin’s front legs, the young man had to roll to the side as one of the mutants attempted to stomp him with a large green foot. He unsheathed his bayonet as he went and stabbed viciously, piercing the limb. When the humanoid involuntarily lurched downward, MacCready vaulted to his feet and slashed their throat from ear to ear before spinning away and shooting two more mutants who were closing in on the bawling cow.

Bossy nodded at him, “Now, that’s caps well spent.”

“Hancock’s caps, you mean?”

“Bah…”

Just as MacCready felt they were making a dent in the mutants, a mob of ferals, attracted by the commotion, attacked as well, “What is going ON TODAY?!” He dodged a roundhouse from a super mutant that when it made contact with the feral behind him, all but annihilated the ghoul’s misshapen head, “Thanks!” MacCready smiled at the mutant then shot him in the eye. He was knocked flat a moment later as a tangle of ferals verses mutant crashed into him. He got the breath knocked out of him and panic settled in as he realized they were being overwhelmed by the sheer chaos.

“CHOOOOOO CHOOOOOOOO! HERE COMES THE PAIN TRAIN!”

Wraith, wearing her power armor and wielding a rocket sledge, came crashing into the middle of the brawl; scattering ferals and mutants alike. Danse followed right behind her, strategically reducing the mob’s numbers to green puddles as he came.

There was moment when Danse nearly shot a caravanner, but for MacCready slamming his rifle butt into Danse’s arm, forcing him to miss.

“SHE’S NOT A FERAL YOU DUMBASS!”

Wraith stepped in between the two men as it looked like it might come to blows, “Easy boys. We’re all allies here…”

“Yes, it’s fortuitous that we happened by. Otherwise this group of… wastelanders, would have surely been killed…”

MacCready stepped around Wraith to hiss in Danse’s face, “We were doing just fine…”

“Must’ve been hard to get an accurate assessment from your back…”

Wraith saw the deadly look in MacCready’s eye and quickly intervened, “Whoa, whoa! Knock it off, Danse.” She turned back to MacCready, “I’m sorry about that…” She was interrupted by a message from Radio Freedom and after listening intently to her Pip-Boy for a moment she smiled apologetically at him, donned her helmet and left with Danse as quickly as she had arrived.

It was much later that night when Hancock crossed through the mostly empty bar and poked his head into the V.I.P. section of the Third Rail. There he found an extremely morose MacCready, well into his drink, “What’s the good word, little brother?”

After answering with an impressive burp, the young man patted the couch seat next to him, “Comere ‘nd cheer me up.”

Hancock slung an arm around to squeeze his shoulder as he sat next to him, “I see yer drinkin’ with purpose. Bossy said ya had a bit of a dust-up today…”

He waved the comment away, “’Snot that. I saw Wraith.”

Hancock made a face, “Still stomping around with the full metal jackass?”

MacCready laughed, but it tapered off to growl, “Can’t believe she ditched me for that tin can. What the heck’s she doing helping the Brotherhood of Squeal for anyway?”

“Well, I think she’s mostly touring ol’ rusty bottom ‘round the Commonwealth helpin’ Minutemen settlers. She wants him to see the plight of the people on the ground so when he flies up and reports to that balloon-wielding clown they call ‘Elder’, maybe he’ll have a more down-to-earth sensibility, you feel me?”

MacCready guzzled the last half of his beer and belched again, “I feel they should’ve mindeded their own busses… boise… butts, back to the Captinnal…”

“Or, better still, puncture their zeppelin on Trinity Tower and,” Hancock ran his thumb through the air while blowing a raspberry, “cast themselves out to sea in one long fart.”

MacCready laughed so hard he nearly fell off his seat, “Whew! Isneedsome air!”

Hancock helped him up the stairs, but hesitated when they opened the door to a substantial storm, “Oops, looks like this air’s damper than usual…”

The merc gently pushed off of him, removed his cap and stepped out into the torrent; closing his eyes and lifting his chin to let the rain wash his face, “Feels good…”

Hancock caught his breath as the young man turned and smiled at him just as lightning flashed across the sky; turning his eyes a brilliant aquamarine. He stepped out into the deluge, caught MacCready under his arm and led him past the doors to the bar and into the Old State House proper, “Can’t have you getting’ sick, now…”

Once up the winding stair, the ghoul led him to his bed and eased him down on it, “You can sleep it off here…” he helped him out of his gear and stooped to help with his boots as well.

“You gonna take my pants off too, big man?”

It would be so easy. Hancock could picture it in his mind: pushing MacCready onto his back, his mouth on his, hands exploring the young man’s warm, lean-muscled skin in search of scars… But when he brought his dark eyes level with MacCready’s brilliant blue ones, he hesitated. Yes, there was lust there, but it was the bleary-eyed-non-specific lust of someone lost in drink. He leaned in close, pushed his damp hair from his brow and planted a kiss on the merc’s forehead, “Ask me again when yer sober.”

When the ghoul turned to walk away, MacCready caught at his hand, “Please… just… I don’t want to be alone… Would you read to me? I… wanna to hear your voice.”

Hancock’s sigh was weary, but he smiled kindly down at him, “Whatever you need from me.”

…..

…..

“I need you to stop naggin’, that’s what I need!”

“It might be that Strong is the only thing keeping her at bay, and now you’re running off on a wild goose chase…”

“Nicky, I’m not…”

“When you know you have people who can go for you!”

Hancock stopped his jog, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Valentine, you have my permission to shoot me if Radiance turns me feral, alright?!”

“Christ, John!”

“I should be able to restrain you in the event that you are mentally incapacitated.” Danse’s armor squeaked slightly as he pantomimed a hug.

Hancock chuckled at him, “Thanks, brother.”

After much debate, Hancock and Danse had left the Peabody Safehouse, stopped at Diamond City to pick up Valentine and were now making their way to the Cabot’s home.

“Besides, Nicky, she’ll have more of a fight on her hands: I’m stone sober.” He resumed running, “I think the closer you are to being out of your mind the easier she can get in it.”

“I can see that being a possibility; you said most of your people just had headaches, but the ones who were steady users went feral.”

“Were you imbibing on the day in question?” Danse tried to phrase the question as politely as possible.

“Well, no. I was watching my grand baby. But, I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind, you feel me?” Hancock picked up the pace, “Wraith missing, and Preston named General as if she had died. Not to mention that my people were going feral all around me and I had no idea why.” He grunted uncomfortably, “This is all getting a little too touchy feely…”

“So, high mental anxiety paired with what? Your being a ghoul? Still feel like we’re missing a piece of this puzzle.”

“According to Mother Isolde, some of the human Children of Atom were suffering from headaches as well. No doubt from when Radiance was in the Glowing Sea gathering feral ghouls.”

Valentine was breathing hard trying to keep up, “When I questioned Infamy, they said most of the horde had been from their efforts and that Radiance had stolen them.”

“The piece we are missing is that alien headband…”

“There’s no way, Hancock.” Valentine talked louder when the ghoul tried to object, “There wasn’t enough left of anything after Deegan shot Emogene!”

“Well, if I see what’s left lying cold and still in the ground instead of floating around terrorizing the neighborhood, then I’ll have nothin’ more to say ‘bout it!”

Valentine took point when they reached the Cabot House and the patrolling sentry bot seemed to recognize him as he was allowed to ring the intercom, “This is Nick Valentine calling, and I was hoping to talk to Jack, if he’s available.”

Edward Deegan’s tone was cool, “What’s this about?”

“We’d like to talk about the unfortunate events that took place on the day that Ms. Cabot passed…”

“You’ve a lot of nerve, Valentine…”

Hancock gently pushed Nick aside, “You been keeping up with this Radiance business?”

“Hancock? Uh, yeah sure. Why?”

“Wraith says she’s Emogene.”

The door practically flew off of its hinges and Deegan, backlit yet clearly enraged, stood huffing in its frame, “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?!”

“Edward?!” Jack’s voice came drifting down the stairs, “Who on earth are you bellowing at?!”

“It’s Nick Valentine, Hancock and some Minuteman-In-A-Can…”

“Well, let them in!”

The angry ghoul stabbed a finger at Hancock, “Just you watch yourself. You hear?”

As he listened to Valentine briefly outline Wraith’s current plight and the subsequent revelation that Radiance was Emogene, Jack grew increasingly agitated, “I question the validity of any claim made by the former general as she is clearly insane.”

There was a heavy, ominous silence as Wraith’s three friends were shocked to speechlessness. This was followed by absolute bedlam, as all five of them started yelling at and to each other. After a few minutes, the noise took on yet another layer of volume as Jack’s mother Wilhelmina walked into their living room banging two pots together. Then silence reigned again as they all stopped to stare at her.

“Gracious! Five grown men yelling like little boys. What on earth is the matter with you all?”

“Please, Mother, it’s nothing I can’t…”

“Hush now, Jack. Don’t presume to tell me it’s ‘nothing’.” She turned to Valentine and gave him a toe to crown look, “Who are you, young man?”

He chuckled at her choice of words, removed his hat and dipped his head respectfully, “Mrs. Cabot, I’m Detective Nick Valentine, P.I.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were with my Emogene…” She fell in on herself for a moment then straitened and gave him a hard look, “What do you want with what’s left of my family?”

Doffing his helmet, Danse dropped to one knee, “Apologies, Miss, but we would like to pay our respects to your late daughter. Such a tragedy was her passing we would lay a laurel on her gravesite, but only with your approval.” As all eyes turned to him, he maintained a look that was a masterful mix of chivalry, humility and sorrow; the perfect personification of a knight.

Wilhelmina was completely entranced and stood gazing at him for a moment, “Yes. Yes of course. She’s entombed in the family crypt at Wildwood Cemetery.”

“Mother! These ruffians fully intend on disturbing her grave and you just told them where to go!”

“Now, don’t be ridiculous, Jack. Why should they want to do that?”

Although he was irritated by the pomp of the Cabot household, Hancock wasn’t without sympathy for a mother who had lost a child. He followed the example set by his companions and removed his hat, “We’ve no intention of desecrating a quiet grave, ma’am.”

Jack glared daggers at him, “I shall be going along to make sure of it.” He turned to Deegan, “Edward?”

The family guardian sighed heavily, “Yeah, Jack, me too.”

The group left almost immediately yet the sun had set by the time they arrived at the cemetery. They paused at the broken gate and crouched low, expecting to see feral ghouls wandering around. However, all was quiet and the only thing moving was a swirling mist that had settled into the graveyard.

The scene sent chill fingers up his spine and Valentine found to be very fitting, “Like the set of a horror flick…”

Jack scoffed at him, turned on his flashlight, stood up abruptly and briskly led the way through to the mausoleums built in to the eastern embankment. His pace slowed as the beam of light reached what was meant to be his sister’s final resting place, “How…”

The concrete building had been blasted apart from within.

“Looks like she’s not in at the moment. Perhaps we should check back later?” Hancock was smug.

“Fascinating!” Jack turned to Deegan, “I was shocked that any part of her head remained. The bullet must have fully struck the artifact! I gave what I thought was the total remains of it to Wraith, per her insistence, but I must have been mistaken. A small portion must have remained. Perhaps the combination of radiation…” He spun away from Deegan and grabbed Valentine by the arms, “I must go and speak with Wraith!”

Valentine blinked a few times before looking over at Danse and Hancock, “Anyone else just get whiplash?”

…..

“I don’t trust you…”

“Naturally.”

“And I don’t like you.”

“Oh! I’m terribly hurt.”

Once again Wraith and Infamy were together in the void of her consciousness. No longer pure white, there was a yellow-green haze overhead that bent down to meet with the horizon. Wraith theorized that because none of it was technically real, the coloration was a way that her mind had come to terms with Radiance’s barrier. It gave her something to push against so she had grudgingly admitted that Atom’s Assassin was apparently helping. The glowing one had danced around her gloating and so she wanted to make sure they understood what their relationship was.

“Once I’m free of her then I’m going to make sure I’m free of you.” Even though it wouldn’t take her away from them, she turned her back and walked away anyway.

Infamy followed behind, skipping, “And here I thought I was beginning to grow on you, hahaha!”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a cream for that...” Wraith trailed off as she felt a change in the void. If air existed there it suddenly became heavy and hot. She turned back to tell Infamy off if it was something they were doing, but the words died on her lips. Radiance was standing right behind them.

Infamy turned as well and took a few steps backward to get outside of striking range, “Looks like your chaperone is here. Curfew already? Hmm. Seems sooner than usual…”  

“Infamy, you should leave,” There was something different about this Radiance: something more solid. More like the version that tormented Wraith with the memories of Marie’s death. More like the one that had burned her, “I don’t think this is a proxy…”

Radiance had locked eyes with her opposing glowing one, “You. I thought I could ignore someone as weak as you.” She glanced at the barrier, “You’re becoming a problem, I see. I’m close enough now though. Close enough…”

“Infamy! Leave! Leave NOW!” Using all her strength, Wraith ejected her ally before Radiance could destroy them. Then, left alone with her tormentor, she lifted her chin defiantly.

Wraith’s display of strength and nerve thrilled the monster queen, “Yessss. Beloved, you are strong!” She took a step closer, her arms out wide, “Imagine how much more powerful you could be if only you would join with me. Give yourself to me, my love. I could give you such pleasure…”

Wraith growled at her, “Never. You don’t love me. You don’t love anyone.”

“You’re wrong! From the moment I met you when came to rescue me from that silly preacher, I have loved you.”

“Prove it. Let me out.”

Radiance seemed to flicker out of focus and just for a moment, an image of Emogene Cabot flashed in her place, “We can’t. You have something we must have. We are incomplete without it.” Now the glowing one turned up the heat and sent tendrils of chartreuse flames crawling across the unseen floor toward Wraith, “You must tell us! Tell us where we can find the rest! Tell us where our crown is!”  

…..

…..  

“Ah, here you are.” Danse had been looking all over the Prydwen for Wraith and it had been Proctor Ingram that suggested he check the forecastle of the airship. “I take it your audience with the elder didn’t go as you had expected?” The wind was intense and he practically had to shout in order for her to hear, “It’s certainly bracing out here!”

Wraith stood at the very tip of the narrow beam. She was in her power armor, but had removed her helmet and was staring at the city, “No. It went pretty much exactly how I expected.”

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you, knight.”

She chuckled humorlessly, and turned her head to smile sadly at him, “I’m on the precipice, Paladin Danse. I’m going to have to make decisions soon. Hard choices…” She could see he was confused and concerned. The concern was genuine and she felt a guilty tug at her heart. “I’m having a hard time getting through to him. I thought that I should… find it easier. He doesn’t want to hear me.”

“Take the time to remember why we’re out here; the elder has only the highest concern for the citizenry of the Commonwealth…”

“All her citizens?”

“You mean ghouls?”

“Don’t make that face.” She walked back toward him and had a brief moment of disorientation as she wasn’t used to looking down to talk to him, “Daisy. Remember Daisy?”

“The shopkeep in Goodneighbor? What about i… her?”

“You very much enjoyed speaking with her… don’t shake your head!” Wraith let herself sound angry, “Your elder would have her ejected from any B.O.S. settlement and forced out into the ruins.”

“Simply to protect any human citizen from the day when it… she, inevitably goes feral...”

“No human has ever acted spontaneously out of passion and hurt or even murdered someone? Besides that, there is a distinct lack of evidence that all ghouls would go feral given enough time.” Saddened, Wraith swallowed a few times to prevent herself from crying, “I guess I’ve failed with you too.”

Danse looked slightly panicked, “Failed? How do you mean, knight?”

“I’ve grown to like you, Danse. I feel like we’ve become friends. How do you feel about us?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Unaccustomed to heart-to-heart conversations, he was struggling to articulate how he felt about her, “I’ve told you off-the-record, personal information. Things I’ve never told anyone. You’ve become a confidant; a true friend.”

“I’m glad.” Her smile was sad. She let her eyes drop to the airport and was quiet for a moment. “Do you know where I got this?” She drew Kremvh’s Tooth and held it aloft so that the setting sun glinted off the wicked-looking blade; making it seem as if it was made of fire. “Hancock and I were responding to a Minutemen call at Dunwich Borers. There was a raider clan there. Bedlam. That was the name of their leader.” She sheathed the ornate knife and returned her eyes to the ground below, “After the fight we pushed forward. I guess we felt like tough shit and were looking for trouble. I saw some stuff. Never could explain… anyway,” She looked back at Danse who was listening intently, “There was a well… or something and I decided I was going to show off for Hancock. I dove in and swam to the bottom which is where I found the knife. I can hold my breath for a very, very long time, but I didn’t tell him that. About half way back I saw him. He had jumped in, fully intending to save me. Except now he was half drowned and I ended up towing him to the surface. After he caught his breath, do you know what the first thing he said to me was?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

“He said ‘Whoa! That’s a badass knife!’ and asked if he could hold it.”

“Knight…”

“He risked his life in an attempt to save mine…”

“I don’t see how that’s rel…”

“Of course it’s relevant!” She wasn’t shouting just because of the wind anymore, “He’s a ghoul, yes, but that doesn’t preclude him from being a caring person! A citizen of the Commonwealth! Why should his wellbeing be any less a priority?” She pushed on when he didn’t answer, “I hope that you will spend some time thinking about what I’ve said. For now, we should go our separate ways.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand…”

“I know you don’t, Danse. And that’s upsetting.”

“I’ll… verify if there’s a vertibird available for you…”

“No need.”

“No! Do not jump from here. If you land in the water…” He trailed off as Wraith had already vaulted over the railing. He saw her land safely and was impressed despite his frustration. He stood at the rail for a long while; letting the harsh wind buffet him as the sun went down.

…..

…..

Infamy stood, dazed, “She kicked me out. She kicked me out?! She kicked me out!”

“Stop saying that! What the heck are you even talking about?”

They acted as if they couldn’t hear MacCready and ran up the basement steps, “Ohhhh, Strong! Where are you my great green galoot?”

“STRONG IS NOT YOUR ANYTHING!” The massive humanoid had been sitting in the doorway cleaning Smashy but now lurched to his feet to glare at the glowing one.

“Never mind. Radiance is here! Somewhere…”

“How do you know?” MacCready ran out into the yard with Strong. Peering through his binoculars he rotated in a circle.

“She crashed my session with our problem child.” They scrunched up their face, “Wraith just might have saved my life. Not sure if it was just self-preservation or if she genuinely cares what happens to me. She is the sort who would act automatically altruistically. Yet again, I like to think I have a way with people, you understand…”

“Will you shut up?! Jeez! You’re making it hard to concentrate!”

“Never realized one might need their ears to see. But, then again, you are the professional.”

“GHOUL’S SKIN WOULD MAKE A NICE BELT AND HAT!”

Infamy took the hint.

“I don’t see any glowing lights. I think you should still go out, Strong. Even if we can’t see her we want her to see you.”

He nodding then threw back his head and bellowed mightily, “RADIANCE! STRONG WILL RIP YOU APART AND PRESENT YOUR GUTS TO ALPHA!”

Deacon, haven taken an earlier shift, was napping on the couch when he heard their commotion. He joined MacCready on the lawn with his own pair of binoculars just as the super mutant jogged away, “Infamy, what‘s Radiance’s range?”

“For me it’s a few hundred feet or so. Might be more, might be less with your caged monster.”

“I don’t see Radiance but I do see our intrepid trio… Looks like they brought guests.”

The two groups came together and brought one another up to speed. Danse woke Curie and afterword they moved en masse to the basement. Rather than greet them with her customary threat display, Wraith gazed vacantly off into a shadow-filled corner. Apart from Deacon, who stayed near the staircase, they fanned out around the cage and stood in silent uncertainty.

“You thinkin’ she might be duking it out right now?”

“Could be. It’s hard to tell…”

“I suppose I should try to get back in. As much as I love being here this close with you all, breathing in your various body odors, no sense standing around waiting for something to happen.” Infamy sat cross-legged on the rough-hewn floor and closed their eyes.

To the shock of all, Wraith suddenly lunged across her prison, reached through the bars and grabbed Infamy by their foot. They struggled helplessly as she lifted them completely off the floor before violently slamming them to the ground as if she were cracking a whip.

Hancock and Danse leapt to an attempted rescue; each grabbing ahold of one of her arms. She laughed manically as they struggled. Jack, Deegan and Deacon joined in as well while MacCready ran up the stairs for the syringer.  

“Emogene! It’s your brother. Please stop.” Jack pleaded with his sister, “If that’s you, then talk to me! Tell me how I can help you. What do you want?!”

She let go of the unconscious glowing one and shook herself free. When she spoke it was still Wraith’s voice, but the tone and enunciation were just different enough, it was if someone was doing an impression of her, “What do I want? I want it all, you simpleton!” She spread Wraith’s arms and spun in a circle, “I want power and love and to indulge in their delights for all time.” She came to a stop and leveled a murderous gaze at her brother, “I want the artifact. All of it. You will tell me where the rest of my crown is or I will burn Wraith from her mind and leave you all with her broken husk.”

“It won’t make a difference either way, you hag. You’ll still try and kill us all; even if we give you what you want.” MacCready leveled the rifle at her but didn’t pull the trigger.

“O’er my dead body.”

“That’s the idea, Hancock.” She smiled at him evilly, “Though in your case, I’ll be making an exception. I will see you dance for me, just like you did for Wraith.”  

“I don’t know you, sister. I’m thinkin’ I don’t want to. And I don’t think you thought this through.” He spread his arms and gestured to the group, “Ain’t a one of us who knows where your dime-store crown is.” He leveled a finger at her, “There’s only one person on this entire planet who knows, and you’re squatting in her brain!” He shook his finger back and forth, “I would think that you’d play this a little nicer; you get more with sugar than salt.”

She yawned, “Ugh, what a bore. I forgot how much you like to hear yourself talk.”

“He’s talking a lot of sense, Emogene.” Valentine stepped over Infamy’s prone form and stood just outside of her reach, “Give this up. There is a chance we could still help you. Curie here is an excellent doc. Not to mention your brother…”

“MY BROTHER?!” She gripped the cage bars and leaned forward to shriek at him, “MY BROTHER HAD ME KILLED!”

“I… no… I…”

“NO!” Deegan wouldn’t let that stand, “Your brother sent Valentine and Wraith to try and help you. I… I shot you, Emogene. I thought you had killed everyone. That you’d become a monster. And the only way I could save the memory of a girl that I’ve known since she was a child…” The ghoul closed his eyes and looked away, unable to continue.

“Oh, poor Edward. Poor sweet fool; I am a monster! And just to prove… what?” She took a step back, her eyes confused “How? How did you find me?!” Confusion turned to fear, “NO! GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU BRUTISH, GREEN…”

As suddenly as she had become Radiance, Wraith returned to herself. She shook her head a few times before leaning into the bars, “I could really use an aspirin.”

Deacon stepped over Infamy and reached out a hand to touch her, but caught himself and pulled it back, “How much time do you have?”

“Ah, the eternal question.” She was happy to see a few half smiles on her friends’ faces, “I’m not sure. I don’t even know all of what just happened.” She popped her chin at Atom’s Assassin, “They alright?”

Hancock nudged them with a boot and seemed satisfied that their groaning was indicative of good health, “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll mend.” He pushed his tricorn back to clunk foreheads with her, “You sound better, sunshine.”

“She must’ve dropped the barrier completely. How did you manage that?”

“I sicked Strong on her.” MacCready came to give her a kiss, “I hope he eats her or, whatever.”

Curie passed a bottle in-between them, “Excusez-moi, Madame, but please drink this.” She beamed as Wraith drank it down without question, “You see, Monsieur Deacon; it does not taste like frowns!”

“That’s… not exactly what I said.”

Danse made a mental note that Deacon had once again taken a step back so the others would have room. It irritated him but he wasn’t sure why. He waited until Wraith had finished chugging Curie’s health drink before reaching through the bars to give her a bear-hug that was almost crushing. He didn’t trust himself to speak so held her quietly for a few moments while gently patting her back.

Wraith caught sight of Jack and pointed an accusatory finger at him, “You! You made this mess. You had better damn well help me clean it up!”

“I’m not entirely sure…”

“Tell me how to block the artifacts effects!”

“I’m not sure…”

“How about a goddamn tinfoil hat?!”

“Block nothin’,” Hancock was holding one of Wraith’s hands, “destroy is more my thinkin’, you feel me?”

“Unfortunately, that is quite impossible. The artifact is simply too powerful; it cannot be destroyed by any means…”

“Clearly, it ain’t.”

Valentine nodded and gestured to Wraith, “I was wondering about that too. You mentioned that it was indestructible, but maybe it only makes you think that it is. It’s proven to be vulnerable against an AMR, at any rate.”

“It’s sentient, then?” Danse was making a face.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then, let’s go get it, strap it to a mini nuke and call it a day.” MacCready turned to Wraith, “So?”

“So what?”

He blinked a few times, her confusion having confused him, “So, uh. Where’s it at?”

She released Hancock’s hand and folded her arms, “Nope!” She started to laugh and shook her head, “Ha ha. You almost had me, Radiance.” She took a few steps back away from her friends and shook her finger at the ceiling, “There’s no way I’m telling you where it is so you can just sit and spin.”

“She thinks she’s… that we’re…”

“Not real.” Hancock was crushingly disappointed.

“But of course we are real. Why should this not be so?”

Once again Wraith’s eyes glazed over and she growled lowly. There was a collective groan and Curie began to softly cry. Danse held her and whispered soft words of encouragement into her ear.

MacCready clenched and unclenched his fists, “She went someplace by herself.” He seemed to be speaking to the ceiling, “No, that’s not right. She took Dogmeat!” He turned to Valentine, “Wraith went off someplace, just her and Dogmeat, right after you got hurt. That must’ve been when she ditched the alien thingy!”

“So the dog knows? Maybe. Does that help us?”

He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by someone yelling through the Radio Freedom speakers. The group trouped up the stairs to hear better, leaving Infamy in the tender care of the concrete floor.

“I’m not sure if you heard me; this is Mama Murphy. Noah, dear, I know how these work. Probably better then you, sweetheart, so stop pushing buttons. Hello, kids? Is anyone at home?”

Hancock picked up the receiver, “Murphy? What’s happening?”

“Hancock, I’ve seen the way to help Wraith.”

.....

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my masterlink post tagged under Wraith in the Ruins (also my pinned post). As always, if you have any questions/concerns/comments please drop by and send an ask. Anon too. =^..^=

[wheelersdealer]

All of You

Summary: You and Steve went from being the troublesome Queen and King of Hawkins High to the mother and father of the party. With a similar fate of working at poorly uniformed stores in Starcourt, and even poorer relationships with Jonathan and Nancy, you escape the Russians early and make an awkward meet up with the group at Hop’s cabin….where the mind flayer grabs onto your leg instead of El’s. 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader, Jonathan Byers x Reader Warnings: STRANGER THINGS SEASON 3 SPOILERS, Profanity, Gore. A/n: This is a "Little Devil” prequel requested by @ponyboy-sunsets. I’m digging the Jonathan elements and contemplating more of this love-triangle. Let me know if you’d be interested!

Starcourt decided that with the mall being the new revolutionary, it was only right to pay homage to the revolutionary hot-spot within its own property.

And you work there in the mock 50s diner with enough space to fit ten to twenty smelly, cramped families. You hate it. 

You’ve avoided having to haul around a beehive or mod wig and took up a ponytail alternative. Big hair or high hair has always been a requirement, even if by crappy wig or extensions.

The top half of your dress was crisp white with a red chiffon neck scarf. You’ve been sputtering and spitting the thing out of your mouth every time the wind has blown it right in there all night. And the bottom half was a deep red with a black felt poodle.

Kicking open Jim Hopper’s cabin with your bare foot and coming face to face with your children in the care of your ex, everyone can see that everything is red.

All of you. 

You drive an intoxicated Steve and Robin, and an eager Dustin and Erica the hell away from Starcourt as soon as those elevator doors open. Well, more like as soon as you spot the front doors of the mall after having to take a detour on account of the guard waiting near the elevator.

Both hands on the wheel yet you’re barely stable, your limbs aching and shaking and burning with how hard you clench your muscles in an attempt to steady your movements. 

You adjust Steve’s mirror and look back where Dustin’s squished between the two dummies who are giggling wildly and flailing, unable to get comfortable like a couple of tired toddlers. Your only choice is to endure the kicking at your back seat, Steve’s strange cooing at all the pretty street lights you pass by, and put all your weight on the gas. 

Erica senses the oncoming doom with the two before you do, and she lets out a strained “Uhhhhhh,” for longer than you like before finally spitting out “Y/n?”

You try your hardest not to snap at her. You can’t not snap at her so you keep your lips shut tight and give her a glance. 

“They’re quiet back there.” 

You look at them through the mirror. Indeed, they’re quiet, Steve’s face halfway out the window, his hand around the ceil, and Robin slumped over Dustin as she tries to get a taste of what Steve’s seeing. 

Your breath hitches and you almost scream, “Dustin, turn Robin’s head away!” 

He scrunches up his nose, ready to ask why. And that’s when Steve begins to hurl. It’s out the window but you can hear it and you close your eyes for just a second as your body shivers. Dustin’s jaw drops and he goes “OooHH—“ just barely getting the gist and pushing on Robin’s shoulder so she can direct her projectile outside of the car.

You wince at it, seeing she perhaps got some slobber on his shoulder and lap. 

But with what they’ve started, you might as well finish it. You hit the gas and Steve and Robin both whimper. The speed certainly does nothing to help their tummy in comfort but you’d like to believe it helps them get all of that gunk out faster. Dustin winces too and pulls his knees up and his hands to his head, preparing for the increased mass of projectile if either Robin or Steve chose to turn their heads to him.

Erica looks away, doing a few double takes but mostly pretending like all that…isn’t what she’s seeing.

“Where are we goING?!” Dustin yells. 

You scrunch your nose, back pressed deep into your seat. And then you fling yourself (and poor, poor, tiny little Erica…and Robin and Dustin and Steve but whatever) forward with the harshest stop you think you’ve ever made in your history of driving….The Byer’s household is lightless, empty. You groan and slap the wheel gently. But for the sake of the possibilities, you hand Erica the keys (hey, you never know when you’ll need another child to drive) and hop out of the car. 

You’re an absolute mess, first of all. And walking in this breeze is the first time you’ve really felt it. The skirt portion of your dress is still quite thick and poofy, but let’s say thicker with how much blood its soaked up from a mix of Russians, yourself, and Steve. 

You knock violently but within seconds deem that useless. And with two hands on the knob you push, prepared to meet a barricade. But there is none. You almost trip inside and as much of a bummer as it is to not be met with the faces of Dustin’s friends and yours (debatable), you’re comforted thinking they might not have come across trouble themselves yet…

So you skip back to the car and halfway down the Byer’s dirt and dead-grass lawn, you stop to pull your stupid work heels from your feet and chuck them off.

You get back in the car and get driving. 

The only other place available is the lab and Hopper’s cabin, but looking back to the last two years of having to deal with this shit you put your bets on the idea that if the others have found themselves in as much trouble as you’ve been in, that they’re going to be secluded. 

“Uck…what the fu—“ You press the gas again and the newly clear-headed Steve grunts as he’s thrown forward into the back of your seat.

“Oh great, glad to have you two back! Did you enjoy your trip?” You mock.

Steve’s curled up in his seat and gripping his head. “Are you mad at me? Or-or something?”

That ‘mocking voice’ is the one you put on for your diner gig, all cutesy and girly and 50s-esk (according to your boss and his pestering). You always use it to taunt customers you’ve found yourself particularly annoyed with throughout the day.

He groans is reminded of the pain, realizes that he really did go through a trip, and decides to put it to rest. 

“Where are we going?”

“Are…?” Robin squints, “Are we driving?” She tries leaning over Dustin to look at the windshield but gravity flings her back against her seat with your speed.

“Yup!” You say through strained teeth. You take a sharp right and drive yourselves straight into the woods.

They all hold onto the sides of the car (as for Dustin, he curls up and tries his best to hold onto Robin and Steve) when your car goes ‘out of control’ and you do a few donuts. But you’re determined, as Erica can see amidst her screaming. You don’t flinch for a second.

After it’s all over and done with, the car rumbling to a stop on dirt and gravel, a mere strand of hair has been flung out of place and lands itself on your forehead. You blow it away, finally get the will to unclench your hands from the steering wheel, then kick your door open. 

You slam it shut and look up the hill and past some trees. There it is — Hopper’s cabin, faint lights seen through the window. 

Never-mind all the sticks and rocks digging into your bare (or perhaps nylon-covered) feet. You stomp forth and Dustin shouts “Y/n, wait!” 

You don’t wait. You keep straight ahead with your teeth dug into your lip. You’d say it hurts and that you’re sad that it’s bleeding after everything,  but frankly the way the red tints your lips fixes up your absolutely battered lipstick and you feel more presentable. 

You run your hand down your dress, grip the doorknob, and give the others a lot. 

To give you some leverage in case this door is barricaded, you put your foot against the door and push, turning the knob and slamming the door into the drywall it lands against.

There’s a collective “AH!” and a cacophony of furniture squeaking and scuffing, but it’s just you.

It’s you facing whaddya know — Jonathan, Nancy, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, and Eleven. Your eyes jump from one person to the next, and each of their faces is as terrified as the next.

“Y—“ Jonathan carefully gets up. “Y/N?” He stands with Nancy who holds onto his shoulder. “What the hell happened?”

Back to your uniform…

The top half of your dress was crisp white with a red chiffon neck scarf, and the bottom half was a deep red — no, more like scarlet — with a black felt poodle stitched somewhere near the bottom rim. But now, everything is red. Even though the amount of blood wasn’t all that substantial when you really think about it, the sheer amount of sweat collected from this little ‘experience’ has the colors spread. The top half has dried a deep, dark red in some parts, with swirls of white and pink in others. Almost looks like tie-dye, but the clear crunchy texture shows them otherwise. The red of your lips is wholly unnatural, the absolute mess your hair is is just plain out of character…and you don’t have any shoes?

When the wind tries to will the front door shut again, you put your palm against the wood and slam it open.

You spit, “Russians.” 

And in that moment Steve, Robin, Erica, and Dustin pop up behind you. You sway a bit when Steve puts his weight on your back, taking a moment to rest from all of that running.

And then the boys yell “DUSTIN!” 

And the pained look on your face, the one that embodies absolute badassery…it fades as you crack a smile. You let yourself be bumped against the door a bit as Dustin and Erica push past you, Robin, and Steve to reunite with his friends and her brother. 

“I’m sorry did you just…?” Nancy crosses her arms and steps forward. “Say Russians?” She chuckles a little. 

You and Steve become a little more lighthearted, saying “Yeah,” simultaneously.

Dustin jumps and breaks up the group-hug with his party. “Where?” He asks, neck popping up like a groundhog. 

Even Robin and Erica look around, nerve-wracked. 

You squint at the image of Eleven approaching Dustin, wetness and discoloration under her eyes. She taps him gently and when he whips back around and he damn-near tackles her to the ground. You step forward, the care-free look on your face on account of this reunion clearly gone to Nancy and Jonathan. 

You raise your chin and speak to Jonathan specifically without looking.

“What’s going on?” Mike and Will come over and hug you, Will laughing and Mike being more calm about it. With him, it’s more of a side hug. You ruffle his and Will’s a bit before Steve steps in and looks at them incredulously. He beckons, wondering where’s his hug and they bother to give him a weak one. 

Jonathan’s jaw drops and he looks to El then Nancy for answers as he runs his sweaty hands down his jeans. When he’s silent for too long your look at him. Poor, poor…adorable boy jumps a bit. 

He sputters, “We uh-El…Eleven she—“

“It’s the Mind Flayer.” Nancy says over his shoulder. You nod at Steve and Robin, and they both come around to join the conversation. Nancy purses her lips at Robin. You beat her to her question—

“This is Robin, works at Scoop’s Ahoy with Steve. She was also trapped by the Russians.” You point over your shoulder, and she waves faintly. “Go on.” You cross your arms and with your poise, Nancy suddenly feels that intimidation she’s way too familiar with. She deflates, reminded of you and you in high-school…never mean to her, never bothered, but there was this air of sophistication her and peers learned to be fearful of as compared to all the other jocks and cheerleaders (not to say you were one, but the majority of the ‘popular kids’ were. You got clumped in the genre). 

Still, Jonathan and Nancy are quiet. 

She squeezes Jonathan’s shoulder a little tighter. And for the love of wanting to keep the world existing, you roll your eyes and make your way over the kids where Mike and Will have caught up. 

“Hey! Hate to ruin this cute little reunion and your fun time but we need to swap information, now.” You soften up for El. “What’s this I hear about the Mind Flayer?”

She sniffles a bit. “It’s back.”

You nod with a strange smile conjured from your attempt to not spit out ‘no shit’. You run your hand over your jaw and just mutter, “Alright, alright…What do you have on it?” You look at Mike. “Do you know where it’s at?”

Mike sucks his lip in. He sighs before stepping forward to explain. “El said it said that it was building something.”

You lean back. “It spoke?”

Max pipes up, “Through Billy.” 

You click your jaw. “Huh.” Strangely, you don’t need all that much convincing.

Mike continues again. “Since it doesn’t have Will, it went to Billy for a vessel.”

“So Billy’s possessed?” Steve asks. You scoff and push against his head, guiding him toward the couch. Dustin helps with that, grabbing Steve’s arm and (much to Steve’s confusion and sputtering) pulling him to a cushion. Robin leans on you a bit, and to Jonathan and Nancy’s surprise, you don’t do anything about it. 

“He went all cuckoo!” Lucas rolls his finger in a circle near his temple. You’re taken back by that phrasing but okay. 

Mike gets back to expository mode. “The Mind Flayer possessed Billy, and Eleven just went into his memories to find the source—”

“Source of what?” Steve slurs.

“Jesus!” You throw your head back, arms still crossed. “Can you let the boy talk for one second, he’ll explain the answers to all of your questions if you just let him!” Steve slinks back into the couch. Dustin’s jaw is dropped, and he pokes at Steve with a sly smile before Steve slaps his hand away and holds his hand to his throbbing cheek. “Continue, please.” 

Mike blinks, surprised. “O…kay.” He shakes his hair out, and just when he thinks to stop you wave on for him to continue as you head into the kitchen and come back out to stand behind Steve and press a bag of frozen peas to his cheek. He puts his hand over yours but you still don’t move. The kids all go quiet at this strange, strange display of affection.

You urge, “Go on!”

“Uh, right! Sorry!” Mike sits down on the coffee table and looks up at you. “The Mind Flayer has been collecting an army. We call them the Flayed. We think Billy’s its main guy, and basically the big guns is the Mind Flayer made up of the melted flayed.” You and Steve wince together. Mike winces. He doesn’t think it’s cute…but it kinda is — anyways. “El just said how Billy and the Flayed are going to come here. They’re trying to stop her.”

Lucas chimes in. “Cause El closed the gate on him last year and royally pissed him off.” 

And so does Will, who sits on the arm rest. “So it’s not to spread. It’s just for her.” 

Mike nods. “Exactly.” 

You hum. “Okay…okay…Well uh, boy so we got news for you.” You chuckle nervously. You catch Jonathan’s eyes and you both look away on cue. For once tonight you sputter, caught up in your own nerves. But you shake them off and look at Mike. “There are Russians in Hawkins, and they have a lab under the mall…” you look to each person in the room. “They’re opening the gate.” 

Will scoffs. He’s much more offended than doubtful. “What?”

“They’re opening…the gate. We saw it. It’s this weird machine that’s shooting a laser at this wall — it’s exactly where the gate was and it looks like it did back then. They’ve just been working and working cause I figure if the energy stops for a second,” you snap, “it starts to shut again but clearly it’s large enough for the Mind Flayer to have gotten through.”

“We think the Mind Flayer might have been here all along.” You look up and Jonathan’s stepping forward. He has an arm around his waist and his other hand picking at his lips. You smile softly at his cracking voice…but you smile even wider (begrudgingly) at Steve.

“Oh great.” He presses the peas deeper into his face. “Is this ever gonna end?”

You shrug. “Space race dude. Doesn’t matter if they destroy the entire world while they’re at it. Gotta show off.” You two chuckle together.

When you look up, the whole group is wide-eyes at you.

You deflate. “What?”

Nancy chuckles, smirking. “Well, what is this?”

You and Steve look at each other. You speak in unison, “What is what?” Everybody goes a little crazy. Laughing, covering their mouths, letting their jaws drop. Jonathan’s enthusiasm is much less…but he’s still soft about it, smiling at you two in a proud way.

Nancy tilts her head. “The King and Queen are actually getting along? I wouldn’t have bet you two like each other in 50 years even if high school me saw this for herself…what happened to you?”

Robin shrugs. “Eh, having the shared trauma or horrible customers and horrible costumes.” You nod. “And like, the mediocre experience of being captured and tortured by Russians underground I’d figure does that to you.” 

You nod again, smiling at her. 

The laughing stops when there’s a faint screeching in the distance…it’s not high-pitched or squeaky. It’s low and followed by rumbling.

Everybody else seems to let it go somewhat, but you, Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy snap your heads toward the window.

The trees are rustling. 

You instinctively look at Jonathan, and in that moment you take your hand from Steve. You and Jonathan stand together behind Nancy.

“Do you guys hear that?” She whispers. 

You hum but Jonathan tries to convince himself that “It’s just the fireworks.” You look at him closely, and frown at the red bruise and subsequent cut on the left side of his forehead. You pad at it gently, and he jumps but accepts it, furrowing his brows at your similar cuts And then like that you look back to the window when another rustle is seen and heard.

Nancy turns to the kids. “Billy.” She nods at El. “When he told you this, it was here, in this room?” El nods. Nancy looks at Jonathan and you, even Steve when he jumps from the couch and looks around for that distant thudding.

Will (with a shaky hand) reaches for his neck. He chokes on his own breath. “He knows we’re here.”

You ‘adults’ look at each other again, and rush to the door. Jonathan opens it first and when you think to go ahead of him he holds you back. And when you think to go ahead of Steve, he grabs your hand and keeps you near him.

It’s nothing. 

Really. 

You stand together on the dirt road. Just a short distance back is Steve’s car. But just a short distance for the Mind Flayer in its new form is what’s between it and you, it’s spider-like features and its length, width is enough to make the thin trees around it snap and tumble. Despite not needing to, it purposely pushes itself side to side to knock down the thicker trees. 

Steve puts a hand to the small of your back, and likewise, Jonathan puts his hand on Nancy’s shoulders. Both boys usher you two inside with Jonathan staying back to hurry up the kids he’s spent most of his time with, and with Steve staying back to hurry up the kids (and Robin) he’s spent most of his time with. 

Before you get inside completely, you quickly reach for the side of the stairs where you find an axe. You force it out of the stump it’s in and as soon as you get it free, Steve tugs you inside. 

But despite the effort, you shove the axe (the handle) into Jonathan’s chest. He grunts with the weight, you shout a “Sorry!” and continue on while the others begin their routine — barricading.

Your palms are against the table as you try to think when you hear the back door open and see Nancy walking out. You hold a hand to Steve’s chest so he won’t come after you, saying “Stay!” As well as twirling your finger around to gesture the great need of the current room. 

You jog outside and watch her take a shotgun off a wall in Hopper’s shed.

“Hey!” You raise a hand when you’re not too far, and without thinking, she tosses you one. You fumble to catch it and manage (barely), but when she sees you looking at the tool completely bewildered, she hands you hers, already set up with bullets and everything.

“You know how to use that thing?”

“Uh,” you sputter, “N-no?” 

She cracks a smile and walks past you, quipping “Aim and pull the trigger.”

You wince and suddenly hold it with one hand, aiming it away from you. After a moment when you realize the stakes, you say ‘screw it’ to yourself and hold it closer, hold it proper. 

You kick the door shut behind you. Everything’s barricaded.

You stand by her, Jonathan, Robin (with a bat she found in the closet) and Steve, your backs shielding the kiddos stood in the middle of you. You mimic her, holding up your gun like she does and squinting to try and get an idea of aim. She nods, mutters “Good,” and admittedly boosts your ego a bit. 

You roll your shoulders, fwip your hanging pony over your shoulder with a flick of your neck…and wait.

It’s silent.

An eerie, uncomfortable silence.

Jonathan is letting the axe hop in his hands, switching their exact position to avoid his sweaty hands letting the wood become all slippery. 

Then the lamps begin to shiver, and the electricity in the room begins to crackle. 

Steve’s done his best and found himself a frying pan as well as the other children with makeshift weapons.

“It’s close,” Will says in the silence.

And then dust falls on you from the roof. 

You squint at it, hearing branches snap, seeing the trees rustle, feeling even the small mass of the falling teacups send waves of rumbling through the floor.

Max looks over her shoulder. “Where’d it go?”

She’s right…too silent.

Nancy inhales sharp, and you do too. 

In that moment one of the creature’s freakish arms tears through the cabin’s corner, and despite the little shield you guys made for the others, the group disperses as it shoots forward and straight toward Eleven. You did your best to be close to her, Max, and Will, shielding them against the wall but still the creature gets in her face and your arm throw out past her stomach isn’t stopping it from doing anything.

But Jonathan grunts and swings down his axe, splitting the creature’s top surface and splattering himself with the flayer’s mucus-like goo. He raises it up again and chops it. The flayer reels back, shrieking and trying to go for Eleven again, only to be hit and with another shriek it enacts vengeance, whipping itself against Jonathan and sending him crashing into the wall and the ground. He drops his axe and just as he starts to get up again, the creature still goes for him. Jonathan tries getting up but can only back into the wall. And your heart hurts like a son of a bitch at the picture.

Hurray for Nancy who steps in and shoots the thing, blood splattering on the carpet as it rounds to attack her.

She’s out of bullets.

“Shit!” She shouts, still trying to pull the trigger.

You feel like you’re just standing there, useless and hopping between your feet. With an annoyed grunt, you shout “Nancy!” And dare to throw her your gun. She catches it just as the creature is feet from getting right in her face. She shoots it in the mouth and it actually reels back this time and for a long time. You look frantically between it, Jonathan, and Nancy. 

The axe.

You run and slide (much to the pain of splinters and rug-burn in your bare feet), ducking under the creature and grabbing Jonathan’s axe. He’s still dealing with the incredible pain in his back, and he can only watch you bring the axe down on it some more. It’s so, so close to just about snapping in half and you can see the last bits of its tearing, gooey membrane. 

But when your arms are in the air it snaps its neck to look, and rushes for you. 

Jonathan feels just as you did moments ago. But with such close proximity, he wills himself to get on his feet just well enough to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you onto the floor in the corner with him. He holds you tight, arms finding their way to your chest as you slide down together. Your eyes are wide at the creature. 

Another shot is heard.

Nancy’s shot it. And when it does that same thing (whipping to look at her with his mouth of horrid teeth), Steve steps in pulls her from her corner just as the creature smashes itself into the wall. But when it gets back its energy and reels away from the two ready to attack again, Nancy’s gun again won’t shoot. 

You clap your hand over Jonathan’s wrist, and he can feel you squeeze. 

Nancy and Steve flinch. They’re ready.

They pop their eyes open, carnage evidently not taking place yet despite the creature’s intent and it’s screeching. You slap Jonathan’s arm, and together you gasp with joy seeing Eleven standing in the middle of the room, her arm stretched out and fingers tensing as she wills the creature away from Nancy. Her calm expression vanishes as she twists her wrist and pulls her elbow into herself, the creature snapping right where its ‘head’ would begin and El screaming when she gets the job done. Part of it flops onto the floor in a puddle of its own blood and mucus-like texture, and the other half shrieks before haphazardly pulling itself out of the cabin through the hole it came in. 

Max yelps as it flies out right beside her. 

You close your eyes and breath a sigh, Jonathan hugging you a little softer now and putting his forehead to your shoulder as you relish in the relief. 

But, reminded of the situations at hand, you both get up, helping one another. You go and grab Max, dragging her away from the window and you’re met by Steve, who in turn shields both of you and guides you away. Jonathan tries going for the others but that bit of energy he spent on you is gone now and he can’t ignore his fatigue or pain. He grips onto the wall but falls to his knees.

Through the wall where Steve was just about to guide you two, in comes another one of the Mind Flayer’s arm-creatures. You all yell and flinch, Steve pulling you two back and making sure to keep his head down when he’s reminded of the giant hole in the wall where the creature just came through that last time.

You make your way to Jonathan, sprinting while knelt. 

You grab his hand and try to help him up, Steve coming to the other side of him. 

Thanks to El, they’re stopped mid air, both of her arms occupied with keeping hold of the creatures. With heavy breathes and panting, and with a triumphant yell, she pulls her arms to her stomach and again splits them in half. 

While everything is silent and steady for a second, your stomach is still aching and you get up. 

Steve and Jonathan reach for you (Max too), with Jonathan better suited for your waist and Steve better suited for your shoulder. But you break from their grasp. They can’t shout their disapproval on account of how selfish that would seem with El being in the middle of the room doing all of the fighting. They can only huff to themselves and give a similar look of worry, though one also filled with contempt and jealousy for the other.

Jonathan has no romantic feelings. Not anymore at least. Steve wouldn’t admit he does, but he does. Still, their conflict at your varying degrees of closeness is what catches up to them. With you finding Jonathan and his outcast persona so fascinating from a young age, and being able to bond with Steve over the high school hierarchy and sharing a pack of kids. 

You start off knelt but come to stand fully, grabbing El by the shoulders and pushing her out of the way.

They don’t know why…by you looked up at the ceiling and saw more specks of dust. This creature is smart and wouldn’t make the same mistake of going through the walls or windows four times. 

You try to guide her forward, go with her.

But you scream = as the ceiling breaks open and the Mind Flayer wraps around your ankle. Your poor, bare ankle. Its flesh burns against yours and while being caught you slam your chin slams against the hardwood floor.

It roars and shrieks and so does everybody else, Jonathan keeping himself stable on a hopping foot and Mike and El jumping forward together to grab your arms and try desperately to pull you.

Mike’s completely out of his head about now, wanting to help you but (like you) wanting to get El out of the monster’s reach. He closes his eyes while mustering all his strength, and you can’t help but look up (in a disorienting manner) at the thing trying to eat you. 

Jonathan and Steve jump in next — Steve sharing an arm with El, Jonathan staring an arm with Mike. And then comes Max and Will — Max with Steve and El, Will with Jonathan and Mike. 

Mike and Will both open their eyes at the same time and look straight at the creature. Mike whimpers and forces his eyes shut again, muttering himself a mantra so he can get his damn strength and not have to watch his pseudo-older sister get eaten by this fucking monster.

His grip weakens for just a moment to readjust, and he yells “PULL!” the group collectively putting together strength they didn’t even know they could muster.

Nancy loads up her gun again, Jonathan shouting “NANCY! SHOOT IT!”

She manages and it snarls in pain.

“COME ON LUCAS!” Max yells for him.

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do. Robin points him toward the axe, and she runs and picks it up for him while she does. She hands it over and grabs the other gun, struggling to load it but managing well enough. Her aim isn’t the best but she lowers the gun with a wide, goofy smile on her face when she swears she hears it groan in response to her. Then she goes at it again. 

Lucas hops up onto the ottoman and screams as he hacks at the limb. Dustin, with not much more room available to hold onto your arm, keeps watch of Erica while running around the room screaming trying to find something to chuck into the creature’s jaws. He manages to chuck a few things he’s sure Hopper won’t miss (an ashtray, notably) but it doesn’t do all that much.

You’re still struggling and flailing, your breath after a point being so lost you can only breathe and ‘scream’ via deep exhales. 

Lucas starts to get frustrated, seeing progress but not as much as he would like. He hypes himself up, hopping between his feet on the ottoman, and gives the final blow his best shot.

He raises the axe behind his head, stumbles a bit before gaining his balance, then hacks the creature straight in half.

It screams and flails, the mouth inhaling part of itself before the sight of it through the ceiling flees and you fall forward. 

Steve catches you in his arms as everybody’s feet are pulled under themselves and they fall to the floor. Steve rolls on his side, holding you close and trying to coo you to comfort while wiping the sweat, mucus, and blood from your forehead. You would be so lovey-dovey, hugging him tight and chuckling madly in relief but still, the best you can do is laugh silently and even smiling is a chore. 

You collapse into his chest, your hand limp on his cheek and eyes bobbing to the back of your head before coming back around with every rumble of the house as the Mind Flayer does what it does.

The kids are all kneeling around you and Jonathan gently pushes Will and Mike apart so he can too. He puts his hands on the floor by your stomach. The slightest snap of a twig has him looking over his shoulder, and the slight ruffle of Lucas’ jeans on the carpet has him looking at him.

You can feel Steve press quick pecks to your face. He really doesn’t put much thought into them, but when he realizes, he can only be thankful he has the opportunity. 

Mike’s eyes go to your leg, where the other half of the creature is still stuck tight, nearly embedded.

He hypes himself up, bouncing on his feet before hopping up and running over. He gets a strong grip around it (as best as he can considering its slippery skin), and though Jonathan and Steve both spit out slurred “Wait Don’t!”s, Mike pulls it off and your let spurts blood.

You will yourself up off the floor just a tiny bit as you scream, neck craning back and eyes sticking shut with the pain. 

Mike winces at the sound, and after chucking the creature behind him (where it slithers out of the cabin) he hurries to your side, hovering his hands over your stomach and hoping for you to see his face so you can see just how sorry he is but how necessary that was.

Then the Mind Flayer, and Eleven hurriedly gestures Mike, Jonathan, and Steve to drag you off. Will stays behind Jonathan and Max and Lucas stay behind Mike, with Nancy, Dustin, Robin, and Erica assisting in hyping up El as she stands strong below the creature that burst through with the intent to kill her.

She raises her chin this time, not shying away, and she plants her feet. 

Jonathan holds onto Mike’s shoulder and pulls him back, the both of them looking between you and El with worry. 

The creature roars, its saliva splattering against all of you.

But even with this (Jonathan now shielding Mike, you, and Will while Steve cradles your head in his lap), she doesn’t flinch. She raises both arms close together and screams at the top of her lungs, her powers already proving themselves faster than they ever have before as the creature’s head starts to close in on itself.

The display is enough to jolt you awake and you’re trying to scoot even further from it. Steve holds you tighter and coos. 

You can imagine her now and you smile all loopy at the thought of her with all her strength and blood pouring out of both nostrils. 

You’re satisfied seeing the creature already begin to let free a pink liquid.

And you cackle despite being breathless when El rips it in two at the end with a blood-curdling scream.

She falls back into Max, and by now with Steve and Nancy helping you to your feet, you can reach just enough to hug El somewhat tight before you’re pulled apart and everybody starts to rush out of the cabin.

“Go go go!” Nancy yells. She takes your arm from around her shoulder and gives Robin the job. Jonathan holds the door open, doing copious double takes to make sure everybody is out of the cabin. 

Most of the group run to the Jeep.

But already knowing trying to get everybody to fit will be a hell of a hassle, Steve shouts for Robin, Dustin, and Erica to follow him “This way!” Back to his car. 

Jonathan stomps his foot against the dirt and screams “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” 

Dustin yells back while hurrying backwards, “WE CAN’T FIT! WE’LL MEET YOU THERE!”

Jonathan looks so pained. He sees Steve pick you up while Robin grabs Erica’s hand. “WHERE?!”

“STARCOURT!” Dustin screams. Then runs. 

“JONATHAN, COME ON!” Nancy’s poking her head out the driver’s seat of the car. 

Jonathan mutters to himself. Even to him, it’s incoherent. He walks backward to the car, and only when he sees the Mind Flayer descend upon the cabin and tear it to pieces does he hurry into the car, Nancy hitting the gas before he even gets the chance to buckle. 

(Message me if you would like to be tagged whenever I post a Steve imagine!)

@stevieharrrr @songforhema @broadwayandnetflix @billyhargrovescigarette @bckysloki @christinawxxx @timeladygallifrey

[ancientbooshartifacts]

The Art of Shaman Persuasion

Author: Bamfwriter

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Naboo, Vince, Howard, Bollo

"You'd better get some magic potions out, Mowgli, or we're gonna hurt you!" Vince's eyes were desperate, and by the tone of his voice, he meant business.

"Give me a break," Naboo said with a grin.

"What, you think we're bluffing?" Noir asked in disbelief, "We're dead serious, aren't we Howard?"

"Absolutely," Howard said smugly, "Make with the magic, shorty, or you'll be sorry."

"You know I can't," Naboo said, spreading his hands with an elegant little shrug. "I'm bound by shaman law to..."

"Yeah yeah, noble cause, we know that bit," Vince said impatiently, "but this IS a noble cause!" He leaned closer and glared at the smaller man. "Helping us will save a shaman from bodily harm!"

"Yeah right," Naboo scoffed, rolling his eyes, "I know you both too well; You'd never hurt me."

"We're desperate men, Naboo," Howard said sternly. "There's no telling what we're capable of at a time like this!" The corners of Howard's mouth twitched up as he fought not to grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vince was trying not to laugh. Somehow, he just knew that Vince was thinking the same thing he was.

"Tell you what," Naboo said, wrinkling his nose, "I'll go put the kettle on while you two decide what sort of dastardly methods of persuasion you plan to try on me." He shifted to the edge of the bed and started to stand. "But keep in mind, I AM a shaman; I don't fold easily. You want eggs or kippers?"

"Alright," Howard said with a grin, pointing, "grab him!"

"Righto," Vince muttered, lunging across the bed at Naboo. The shaman yelped and tried to jump out of reach, but Noir snagged him by the waistband of his pajama trousers and yanked him back.

"Oi, leggo!" Naboo demanded, grabbing his pants as they very nearly slid right off his hips.

Vince wrapped his arms around Naboo's naked torso and pulled him back down onto the bed. The diminutive mystic struggled and kicked, but the mod was too strong. Noir pinned Naboo's right arm to the mattress and laid on top of it, taking care not to put too much weight on the twisting limb. Then he grabbed the shaman's left wrist, pulled it above Naboo's head and likewise pinned it down, effectively immobilizing the smaller man's arms.

Meanwhile, at the foot of the bed, Howard had thrown himself across Naboo's legs, like Vince, taking care not to crush his smaller friend. He moved onto his side, leaning on one elbow, facing his friends.

"Geroff!" Naboo was growling, ineffectively struggling under the weight of both of the much larger men, "This isn't fair!" He started to laugh. After a moment, he gave up and just lay there, defeated.

"Now then," Howard began, grinning, "Will you reconsider, Naboo? Will you brew us something to help us find the new sound?"

"Piss off," Naboo sneered, "I'll brew something that'll make your wangers fall off if you ballbags don't let me up."

Vince cackled. "Oh man, Howard, he's not gonna budge. He obviously needs persuasion."

"Indeed," Moon said with a nod, "You got him?" he asked, his grin widening.

"Oh yeah," Vince replied with a sinister smile at their intended victim. He tightened his hold on Naboo's wrist. "He's not going anywhere."

Unnerved by the look on Vince's face, Naboo's eyes widened. He looked from Vince to Howard, swallowing hard. "Wait...," he began, trying to sit up.

"Too late!" Howard sang, "You had your chance to be reasonable." He reached up and began drawing little circles on Naboo's tummy with his fingertips.

"HEY!" the mystic squeaked, trying to squirm away from Moon's fingers, "Howard! Quit it!" He struggled, twisting, starting to giggle.

"You asked for this, Naboo," Howard said innocently, chuckling.

"Yeah, we warned you, you crease," Vince added, laughing along with Howard. "We gave you a chance to help us, and you refused." The mod reached over and used his long fingers to delicately stroke the skin under Naboo's arm.

"No, STOP!" Naboo wailed, trying to pull his arm down, "Please! Viiiiiince!"

"You know what you have to do, Naboolio," Howard said softly, "You know what we want." He began to lightly rake his fingers back and forth through the little patch of hair around the shaman's navel, eliciting another screech from his diminutive victim.

"EEK! Guys, c'mon, STOP!" Naboo squealed, trying frantically to buck Howard off him, with no effect. He wrenched at his trapped arms, arched his back, trying anything to escape the tickling fingers. "ST-ST-STOP! Please, please, pleeeeease... I ca... I can't..." Whatever it was Naboo couldn't do was lost as the tiny mystic dissolved into helpless, hysterical laughter.

Howard grinned even more widely, and began to tickle softly up and down the hollows at the edges of Naboo's spasming stomach muscles, first one side, and then the other. "We're waiting," he prompted.

Naboo couldn't speak, all he could do was laugh. After a few moments, even his laughter became silent, and the shaman just lay there, shaking with soundless mirth.

Howard took mercy, and removed his hand. He watched Naboo laying there, little body trembling, fuzzy chest heaving, his face flushed and black hair plastered across his brow with sweat, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Do you give in?" the mustachioed man asked, raising his eyebrows.

Naboo shook his head, breathing hard.

"Really?" Moon asked, astonished. He raised one hand, and wiggled his fingers threateningly. "More torture, then?"

"Fuck you!" Naboo growled.

Howard looked across the shaman's body to Vince, whose eyeliner had run down his face from laughing. The mod shrugged.

"Well, what do you think?" Vince asked Howard.

Howard gestured toward Vince. "Go for it," he said with a smile.

Vince leaned over to leer into Naboo's face for a moment. Then he reached down and began scuttling his fingers over the shaman's ribs, and his victim shrieked.

"AUGH, NO! NOOOOOO!" Naboo was immediately overcome with laughter again, thrashing his head back and forth, eyes squinted shut as he pleaded for mercy. "VINCE, PLEASE PLEEEEEEASE, NO!"

Meanwhile, Howard sat up and lifted Naboo's legs into his lap. Pinning the bony shins under his arm, he ran the tip of his index finger up and down the soles of the little shaman's feet.

Naboo gave a screech that set the neighbor's dogs to barking, and with Herculean effort, was somehow able to kick and twist his way out of his friends' grips. He rolled onto his stomach, but before he could rise, Vince jumped on him, straddled him and began ruthlessly kneading his sides. The shaman screamed with laughter, bucking, pounding the mattress with his fists and feet, desperately trying to dislodge the mod.

Howard climbed off the bed, and knelt beside it, putting his face at eye-level with the shaman. He couldn't hold back his own laughter at the sight of Naboo's red face, and he realized how infrequently he'd seen the smaller man laugh. As he watched, he heard the shaman's voice begin to grow hoarse, and the laughter was replaced by a coughing fit. Moon quickly motioned for Vince to stop, and the mod removed his hands.

"Stop... stop... you win... please...," Naboo gasped out each word between huge intakes of air, the last traces of merriment making his voice tremble. As Vince climbed off of him, Naboo rolled onto his back and lay there, spent, sweaty, and giddy.

"You'll help us, then?"

The shaman nodded breathlessly. "Got just the thing...," he wheezed, "Liquid Music." He got shakily to his feet, and Howard and Vince followed as he moved to his supply table. He grabbed a few ingredients, blended them well, and poured the orange concoction into two matching beakers, which he then handed to his friends.

Five minutes later, Howard and Vince were on their way to the recording studio. Naboo was sitting on his bed with Bollo, discussing The Boosh and their chance at signing on with the record company. Bollo asked him if he thought the potion would really help Vince and Howard.

"I doubt it," the shaman replied, wrinkling his nose, "That was just lucozade..." He laid back on the bed, smiled, and smugly folded his arms behind his head.

"...And a LOT of Dulcolax."

[alastar-wyatt]

22- One amazing experience you had because of roleplaying?                          

Oh boy, well there’s a few experience that has happened because of roleplaying; actually many experiences that have happened because of roleplaying. There’s been experiences that had an immediate joy and excitement, there’s been ones that I was not aware of until later, and ones that took years to really understand the benefit of what was going on, and all because of roleplaying.

The first one that pops into my head was meeting my favorite (and who I deemed my best) friend @divergent-lines, but there’s no story too that one. No grit. No aw-inspiring event. It was, actually, a product of a roleplay during the slow moments where not much was going on; recruitment was strong, and from it, I meet @divergent-lines which blossomed into my second longest friend relationship I’ve had in my life. 

Thinking further, a little deeper, sorting all these amazing events and writing them out on paper, the one that was most amazing was a server wide war that I participated in. 

Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and it was impromptu; it wasn’t planned, no guilds came together and talked about it. It was literally one guy really didn’t like the big guild on the server, made his own guild (and I ended up joining that one), and we started attacking their members ICly, with no consent, and everyone had a great time.

(Disclaimer) Before moving forward, I would like to state that the rules for this server were much different than the rules on WRA. The community was tighter-knit, this server was not a giant community as WRA was/is, so those who did god-modded, and those that weren’t willing to cooperate when things dropped to ooc, were easily passed around to all the major guilds and rpers.

There was one giant guild, a bunch of smaller guilds, and most of the RP wasn’t in guild but outside of the guilds- all the guilds interacted with each other, drama still occurred, but everyone saw it, nothing was hidden, and that was helped by smaller guilds who spied on the community and reported on an IC (mostly) and occasional OOC when things were getting out of hand. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough that something like an impromptu server wide war occurred and lasted for 3 months of real life time and everyone departed no worse for wear and in fact kept the story going on a smaller scale.

I love telling this story honestly (and its my birthday so excuse me for being even more excited of getting to tell this story), so sit down and 

I had just started playing WoW on an RP Terms. 

All my PvE and PvP guilds/friends had left the game and I was left to decide if I should continue or quit; at the time, the game wasn’t necessarily interesting to me. So I decided, why not try RP in a game? I had about five years, or less, experience in forum RP, so what was different? (so much)

I ended up choosing Wrymrest Accord- Horde and Ravenholdt- Alliance. I decided that whichever character I got RP on first, would be the server I played on and the race. I was always Horde. I never played Alliance. So I started out on Horde. After a time, I ended up trying the Alliance race out, within an hour I had joined a guild. Amborisal Vanguard. 

Nothing happened at first, naturally, the guild master was elusive, but he had set up a guild website with requirements which were all PvP required; at that time, and as mentioned before, I was a PvPer and did occasional PvE, so these requirements weren’t much of an issue. So, as I waited for RP to occur, I gave horde another chance to woo me. It never got the chance.

Within a month, the guild master returned. Like a good-storyteller he was (but not necessarily a good person), he didn’t tell people what his goals or plans were. He treated us like storybook characters with our own desires and wants and responded to them accordingly. I played a rogue character, as my social anxiety decided that would be the best class to pick in order to watch and have little reason to interact if I choose too. So, wanting to know who this guild master is, how RP guilds worked, so on and so forth, I had a habit of ….spying. Little did I know this was perfectly a-okey in RP and I was doing it all right (at least for this server, because this server was okay with no consent, in fact, if you asked for consent your story was derailed and ruined. You could use any trick in the game to find people as long as you had a good IC reason on how you found them using the /who function. But that was the easy part. I tell you. If you’ve never tried to find someone in the blasteds land, you haven’t yet learned how to be rogue. That place has soooo many hide-holes that the map doesn’t show you, that sometimes its impossible to find someone even if you know where they located. Anyways tangent.)

As the guild grew, so too did I grow as an RPer, learning the tricks of the trade and so forth.

Then one fateful day, the guild master had an IC meeting and we were all told what was to come. We were going to bring down the biggest guild on the server. 

And so, my first real mission begin. The first part of this amazing experience.

If I hadn’t told you two-hundred times yet, I was still new to RP. I had only been playing for about 3 months I believe. I was a baby. And yet, I was the only rogue. So, I was given the assignment to capture the guild master. Yes, a bold move. The first declaration of war we were going to do was too capture the guild master. And I had no clue how that was going to work.

So the plan was this:

Step 1: The guild master was going to take his officers too meet with the enemy officers in a declaration of peace treaty or the like.

Step 2: Me, and a small group of three, were to attack the IC Meeting of the enemy guild and kidnap the guild master, while this other meeting was taking place.

I was there, I scouted out, the plan was I would give the word when it was good to come and cause a little chaos. 

Apparently the enemy officers decided ahead of time that they weren’t going to accept the proposal and as soon as the meeting started it ended. Just as I was getting prepared to attack, a mage summoned all the officers back. 

I called it off, my underling-lings decided otherwise and charged head first. (little did I know at the time, but the guild master had told one of my underlings that if I was to chicken out, that they were to charge in and continue the plan). 

I was on clean up crew now. All the smaller characters, and this server did have civilian rpers and this enemy guild was known for having them, were immediately teleport-ed away on an IC Level. The enemy officers, well, they were all max out level rogues, and they were ruthless. 

I decided that in this chaos, I had a chance to go after the guild master. I did manage it, I did communicate on an OOC Level (my social anxiety kicked in), and they reassured me that it was perfectly okay as long as I was okay with any consequences. So this low lvl rogue, who had no experience in rping, the guild master allowed me to attack her, allowed a hit, but I was immediately welcomed by two rogues. It was my first RP combat, and there were no such things as rolls. Everyone free-emoted on this server, and I got my ass whooped, but not without impressing a few individuals.

I’ll give a quick summary. We were on a tower, the ground was a good twenty-thirty feet down. I managed to stay up for a solid minute, backpedaling crazy good moves, and then suddenly I got struck on the head. My character fell down. He tried to get up. He was kicked. Then as my character rolled, he got back up and as he tried to dodge, forgot were he was. My character fell off the lowest point of the tower, struck the wall, and landed unconscious on the ground; that was all me, that was no rolls telling me I lost, nobody whispering me that I should go unconscious, etc, etc. 

Naturally the officers were impressed on an OOC level that they decided not to kill me (because this server will kill your character on an IC Level, and it was acceptable, and everyone was okay with it; i was okay with it.) I figured i would be killed. Little did I know, that wouldn’t make any sense. After-all, we couldn’t see guild name tags could we, and I wore no tabard. So how were they suppose to know who there enemy was? They captured me, waited for my character to wake up and interrogated me. The normal questions: “who sent you” speech.

I refused to answer. 

I was actually trapped for about a week in real life. I couldn’t do much on an IC level. I couldn’t tell my guild master I was trapped, we didn’t have communication or mental communication, nothing of the like. So a week passes by and my guild master finally whispers me on an ooc level and goes “where are you at, why haven’t attended any meetings?” 

I told him ooc what had happened.

His response was “oh shit,” and rallied a rescue team at that point. 

the story goes on actually, there’s betrayal, love, blood, growth, and one last battle before this all ends. 

And this is why I consider this roleplay experience to be my most amazing. 

If you, or anyone else, wants to know the whole story though, feel free to ask me another question, I’ll give it a write up. Trust me, I love telling this story. 

Thanks for the question

[saccharinedanganimagines]

Falling in love - The fake and real way (Pt ½)

“can i get ouma, hoshi, fuyuhiko and twogami making a bet that they could pretended to like s/o so they could learn her secret/s and when they did they already have fallen for s/o for real and confess.”

Hello hello! Yes you can, anon!

You didn’t specify how the confession goes, so I’ll leave the acceptance or rejection to you guys.

Part 2 here!

~ Mod Ouma

Falling in love - The fake and real way (Pt ½)

Kokichi Ouma

He was suuuper duper pumped for this!

Getting someone to fall in love with him? That’s too easy, almost boring.

With the few encounters Kokichi’s had with you, he knew you were hiding something. Who knows what kind of harm you could do on people.

Obviously, you wouldn’t trust anyone, not even a best friend with whatever you’re hiding. The only way was to get you to fall oh-so helplessly in love with him so you could tell him aaaall your dirty secrets!

Getting you to do that took months, it was a slow but consistent process that almost mechanically bore results. You started dating him not too long ago. You grew a sense of safety and trust with the liar every time he revealed a tiny bit of himself to you- unbeknowst to you, he did it in exchange for first-hand information about you. It was sooooo boring and easy! Kokichi felt like he was playing a really bad dating game.

… That was a lie.

At first, he was only wary and curious. Then, after a few months pestering you, he became invested. The ones following after that made him respect and admire you.

Kokichi could pinpoint the exact moment when he realized the beating of his heart wasn’t just born out of the danger surrounding you anymore.

It was when he kissed you the first time, he felt his resolve weaken.

... Welp. That doesn’t matter now. Kokichi had a plan. And he intends to see it through.

This is a game. He wins games. He has to.

“Hey. Hey, S/O. You’re hiding something aren’t~? Something… Dangerous?”

“Jeez, S/O, don’t look so scawy! Or scared. What I mean to ask is, are you hiding a Justin Bieber poster in your room? Ooh also- what’s your favorite type of tea?”

He unceremoniously brings up the topic of secrets. Sometimes you suspect that he’s purposely prodding at you- but you can never tell for sure with that impish grin of his. Kokichi was being blatantly obvious, even though he brushes it all off as lies.

Because deep down, he was hoping that you’d call him out before the feelings broke through the wall he built for himself ruined him.

And the latter happened.

So here he is, forcing himself to act in his own brand of normal. Kicking his feet back and forth as he stringed words together in his head, before his heart beat him to it. He’s giving you his admission of guilt.

“I’ve always tried to warn you, y’know. I’m a liar, and yet, you’re still here. Am I that cute S/O~?” He feels shame in him for batting so innocently at those attentive, loving eyes, trained at him.

“I told you. Never trust liars, stupid.” his grin twitched contemptuously. Not at you, but at himself.

“So, I’m gonna come out clean, okaaayyyyy~?” He took in the chance in your expression.

“… Our relationship started because I wanted to know your secrets.”

There. It was out. Done. Fini ou fini.

“You win, S/O!” Kokichi bubbly, giggling sardonically at you, at this situation. At his feelings.

A flicker of hesitation coats Kokichi’s forcibly malicious gaze. He must be pretty tired of this to let even let a sliver of his true feelings peak through his mask.

“You win this little game of ours,

because I’ve fallen in love with you!”

Not like a confession will help. Yup. If he’s lucky, you’ll take that as a lie and storm off.

“.. I’ve fallen in love with you.” He tried to spit venom, but all that came out was a weak chuckle.

“Only an idiot like me would fall for an stupid nice idiot like you!” Not the best coverup, but it was something.

Time slowed down. He can’t help but cling to the hope that you might return his feelings.. Cut through his words and see his true intentions, his change of heart- the real one.

“I don’t want this game to end.” He wanted to punch himself for how weak that sounded.

Kokichi shook his head, slapping on a million dollar grin.

“... Welp! That’s my piece. Hit me up, or don’t,”

After examining your expression with a steely mask, Kokichi pivots to hide his expression from you.

He’s slow, a little hesitant as he walks away.

Waiting for the universe to somehow turn this around.. But only you could do that.

Ryoma Hoshi

Getting you to fall in love with him brought both chaos and peace to Ryoma.

He had to know your secrets, it was for the greater good. He didn’t know if he was capable of even staying friends with anyone. Not after everything bad he’s done.

He couldn’t deny the slight sense of purpose he found in this small mission.

Everytime he asked you to spend time with him, he felt anxious, keeping his feelings under wraps.

But… You were so kind to him. What could you possibly hide under that sweet smile of yours?

It didn’t take much at all for Ryoma to love you more and more. You actually got to know him, see past his flaws and not be afraid of him. You accepted him.

It was either you were like him and empathized with untrustworthiness or… your relationship was genuine and you really cared for him.

Ryoma both wished for the latter to be true and false.

Then, it finally dawned on him. What if what led you to grow closer to him was his depressive nature? It led you to grow closer to him, comfort him.

He felt absolutely guilty. It was only a matter of time till he cracked.

What if you find out? On your own? What would you do? God, he’s hurting you and you don’t even know it.

Not willing to string feelings born out of deceit, Ryoma got himself to the point where he thinks he could pop the question.

He just didn’t expect for that question to change words so drastically.

He wanted to say, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been honest with you.”

But instead he asked,

“What would you do if I told you I loved you?”

He realized that he had been so caught up with his emotions that it must have been so sudden for you. It’s too early in the relationship- wait- that’s the least of his concerns!

“Sh-Shit. I meant- I-I guess there’s no turnin’ back huh?” Ryoma chews on his candy cigarette stick.

“I’m… not sure if you know but… We didn’t just... start dating for a reason, S/O.” Ryoma swallows the lump in his throat.

Maybe inanother universe, that sentence could be taken as some cheesy romantic pick-up line. Ryoma found himself desperately wishing to be in that universe instead of this one.

“I.. I wanted to know what you’re hiding.” He looks you intensely in the eyes, taking in your reaction.

“I thought you were hiding bad secrets. But I thought, there’s no way someone.. Someone like you could mean harm.”

“And for that, you’ll never know how sorry I am.” Ryoma sentenced his glassy eyes to gaze at the floor.

“.. And somewhere along the lines, I fell for you.” Ryoma had his lips pressed together, mumbling his confession while tugging his hat to his nose.

A silence envelops the room as you take in what he said to you.

“I know you probably won’t believe me, but.. I didn’t wanna hurt you, S/O. I was just.. Heh, curious, I guess.” Time to stop beating around the bush.

“I love you.” He said, choking near the end.

Ryoma wasn’t sure why he confessed. Maybe he wanted to let his feeling go and entertain the possibility of you returning them.

“And I don’t wanna keep secrets about it. But it’s up to you.. If you want a relationship or to leave. I’m not stopping you.” Ryoma flashes you a weary yet reassuring smile.

“If you wanna stay... I’m more than happy to continue. If not, that’s fine too..” Ryoma was already shovelling the familiar thoughts of rejection and deprecation into his mind as he avoids your gaze.

But he decided to sit and wait for your response. You at least deserved to make a decision.

Ryoma patiently waits for what might just be your rejection.

Ryoma’s Good Ending