#who is in the middle of a dead cat bounce

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I really don't understand what I'm happening with the whole situation (just something about ai), and I've been reading you fanfics for a while now (and I've been eating them up, theyre scrumptious and yummy), and never once have I thought they were ai. You can see it in writing structure(?) And the way you write, it feels human. And there is nothing wrong with using grammarly cause we all do.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for your hate, but if it's not much trouble, can you make a fanfic about childhood best friend!reader x Han Su-gang who is older than her by 2 years. She left town, sugang was devastated, and she came back and transferred for her last year.

He makes himself known by lingering around her for a long while (in the halls, brief touching, just tormenting her), wondering if she remembered him. things have been quiet, and no one tells her the incidents. She simps over Han su-gang about how handsome he is to her friends (she's a bunble Ray of sunshine and naive so they tell her nothing) and how adorable their children will be and all that like a middle schooler. It's like pure and adorable saying they'll have 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl, and have 5 cats (being dululu), and he hears about this and decided to give her a good time!(smut)

Anyway, please and thank you and take care of yourself (so sorry that this is long💔)

hey babeee thx for the request sorry for the delay btw 😘

Title: Guess You Grew Up Pairing: Han Su-gang x naive!sunshine!childhoodbestfriend!Fem!Reader Rating: 🔞 MDNI Tags: childhood best friends to something else, naive reader, light corruption, possessive Su-gang, unaware reader, fluffy smut, oral (f receiving), size kink, breeding talk (delulu style), soft and dark tension

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Han Su-gang never forgot you.

You were the only bright thing in his life back then. Messy pigtails, scraped knees, and that ridiculous laugh. You were the first person who held his hand without flinching. Who told him he was your “favorite person in the world.”

Then one day, you were just… gone. Moved away. No goodbye.

It haunted him. For years.

And then—just like that—you were back.

You transferred in mid-term, your backpack bouncing, your voice still sweet and chirpy as you introduced yourself with a wide smile to a classroom full of half-dead teenagers. “I used to live here when I was little! It’s so good to be back!”

Su-gang leaned back in his chair, staring at you from the back row, jaw tight.

You’d grown. Legs longer. Hair shinier. Same fucking smile.

But you didn’t even look at him.

Did you forget him?

He watched. Waited.

And when the bell rang, you skipped right past him like you didn’t even notice the boy who used to protect you from bullies.

He almost laughed.

You started following him with your eyes first.

He could feel it when he walked down the hallway, his hands in his pockets, and you’d pause mid-conversation, glancing up at him like a little lost puppy.

Then came the whispers. The blushing.

“He’s so pretty, right?” you said to your friends one day in the bathroom, unaware he was around the corner. “Like, dangerously hot. Oh my god. I want him to kiss me and then ignore me for a week so I can cry about it like in a drama.”

Your friends stared at you in horror.

You just kept going. “If I married him, our kids would be gorgeous. We’d have, like… three. Two boys, one girl. And five cats! Or maybe seven. He looks like a cat dad, don’t you think?”

Su-gang bit his lip to keep from laughing.

You really hadn’t changed at all.

He started showing up more.

Behind you in the hallway. Lurking near your locker. Sitting near you in the cafeteria. His knuckles would brush yours when you passed. His shoulder would graze yours in class.

It drove you crazy.

You kept stealing glances, your brain turning into fluff every time he licked his lips or leaned against the wall like a walking daydream.

One day, after your “dream wedding fantasy” rant, Su-gang finally snapped.

He cornered you after school, pulling you into a supply room and shutting the door with a soft click.

You gasped, back hitting the shelf.

“Han—Han Su-gang?!”

He stared down at you, silent.

Your heart thumped. “Are you—um, are you lost?”

He stepped closer. "You really don’t remember me?"

You blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“I used to walk you home. You made me hold your stupid Hello Kitty umbrella.”

Your mouth fell open. “…Sooie?”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh my god—Han Sooie!” You laughed, teary-eyed, and then threw your arms around him. “I missed you! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

“I was waiting,” he muttered into your hair, his arms tightening. “Wanted to see if you remembered. You didn’t.”

“I do now!” you pouted. “You got hot. That threw me off.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze dark. “You really think I’m hot?”

You nodded without thinking. “Like… really hot. In a ‘ruin me’ kind of way.”

“…You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I will.”

He kissed you hard, like he’d been holding it in for years.

Your lips parted in surprise, and Su-gang took full advantage, sliding his tongue into your mouth, one hand cupping your cheek while the other settled low on your waist.

You melted into him instantly.

“I should make you pay for forgetting me,” he murmured against your lips.

“S-Su-gang…”

“You say I’m hot? Say you want kids? Say stupid little things about marrying me?” He kissed down your neck, biting gently. “You think I wouldn’t hear that?”

You whimpered. “You heard that?!”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re not subtle.”

His hand slipped under your skirt. Fingers finding you embarrassingly wet already.

“Oh my god—”

“You this wet just from seeing me around, sunshine?”

You nodded, dazed. “You always look so good. I—I just thought about it a lot.”

“You want me to give you a good time, yeah?” he whispered, fingers stroking your clit slowly. “Since you dream about it so much.”

You whined and nodded again.

He kissed you breathless as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them slow and deep. His other hand moved to your chest, pulling down your top just enough to mouth at your nipple, sucking lightly.

Your legs shook.

“Please—please, Su-gang…”

“Shh. Let me take care of you, sunshine.” He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up.

“Wait—w-we’re still at school—”

“Then be quiet,” he smirked, before licking a thick stripe up your pussy, making your knees nearly buckle.

He ate you like he was starved. Like he owned you.

You were already close—years of fantasy finally crashing into reality.

“S-Su-gang, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” he murmured, fingers tightening on your thighs. “Cum for me. Then maybe I’ll fuck you for real and give you those kids you keep talking about.”

You cried out, biting your fist as you came hard, hips grinding against his mouth.

When he stood again, your legs were trembling, and he kissed you soft this time.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Got it?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless, ruined.

“Good girl.”

[thedrowsydoormouse]

So in the continuation of "The Universe enjoys using Kass as an irl game of Break the Cutie" I had a really bad reaction to a new medication, talked to my doctor and got a new one worked out on Friday afternoon, on Friday night the pharmacy sent me a text saying the new prescription was ready but oops it's the same as the old one so I have to call the pharmacy and explain what happened and then wait until today when I called the doctors office to follow up but my doctor just happened to take a day off today so I have to wait and hope they can get in touch with her which thankfully they did and they got the right prescription sent in. Then I get a text right now saying the meds are out of stock and they have to order more. Literally as soon as I get a problem solved or adjust to my new normal the universe starts a whole new fire behind my back that I have to deal with. I am exhausted. I need a break. Can I just hire someone else to put out the fires for me for a bit?

[bloggerspam]

Not Exactly the Apple of my Eye

I wrote this for the @haunting-heroes-creative-games WWT Myths game last month, and subsequently co-won my first game!

Figured I'd post it here too, now that all the reveals have happened---have a DPxYJ/DPxDC Snow White AU Crack fic!

===

"You gotta be kidding me," Kon says as he looks down at himself, "this can't be real, right?"

"Feels pretty real to me!" Bart chirps happily, fiddling with his overly large green sleeves.

"Rad." Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and popping his hip and yawning like a disgruntled cat. Sarcasm practically drips from every orifice of his body language, even as he looks 2 seconds away from falling asleep.

"Is this what I think it is?" Cassie yells from further into the room, the sound of a small clamor echoing behind her words.

"If by it you mean some kind of inter-dimensional fucky wucky, then yeah!" Kon waves his arms around, gesturing to the room at large even if she can't see; Tim and Bart can, and that's all that matters. "I think so!"

"No, I mean is this Snow White?" Cassie clarifies as she comes huffing into the room. She too is adjusting her clothes as best she can, trying to figure out what to do with the glasses suddenly on her face.

The four of them stand gathered in the middle of the cottage they've been dumped into, freshly shrunken in height, stripped of their powers and gadgets and suits, and dressed in what seems to be simple cotton peasant shirts and work leggings.

They also have comically large and weirdly soft and sturdy leather shoes, of the Snow White Dwarf variety.

"Aren't there supposed to be seven of us?" Tim mumbles thoughtfully, another yawn causing him to slump and looking mad about it.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Kon huffs, picking up Tim with very little resistance for once and dumping the yawning boy onto a bed labelled Sleepy. Kon himself grumbles as he takes a seat on the next bed over labelled Grumpy.

An angry Kryptonian is not a great idea. Who let this be okay?

"I'm not calm about this…" Tim yawns once more, irritated, "I just can't think straight, I'm too tired."

"You don't sleep on a daily basis though?" Bart walks his way to his own bed, labeled Dopey and test bouncing it. "But it seems fitting at least. Plus, You're not straight anyway. Who's Cassie supposed to be?"

"Doc, I think." Cassie goes to her own bed, looking at it dubiously before deciding to ignore it completely. "He's the only one with glasses right?"

"That…" Tim is curled up on his side now, "still…doesn't answer…"

Soft snores start to drift through the room, another anomaly, considering Tim doesn't actually snore.

"What did the genie lady say?" Bart starfishes on his bed, making snow angels with no snow, "This is all because you decided to hit on her anyway."

"How was I supposed to know?!" Kon angrily pulls the covers off his bed to dump over Tim. "All I said was that she was pretty!"

Before anybody else can say anything, there's another clatter outside the cottage.

"Seriously!?" A voice screams, "Seriously?! Three years and you-" A violent sneeze interrupts the voice—"-still make fucking wishes?"

A small murmur answers the voice, barely audible.

Kon, Cassie and Bart look at each other, before scrambling over to the door. Tim stays dead asleep. When they burst out, tumbling over each other, they're met with the other three dwarves: A young gothic looking girl who keeps sneezing, an African American boy hiding behind another boy with a bedsheet of all things tied around his neck like a cape. The caped boy, with his black hair and blue eyes, looks like he's trying to be a knock off superman.

Kon does not like that. At all.

"Hey!" Rao, it's like he has no control over his temper, "Were you guys fucked over by the genie lady too?"

"Language~" Bart singsongs, giggling. The gothic girl whirls towards them, angry like spitfire, and sneezing just as violently.

"Hello, citizens!" Super-knock-off intones, "What brings you into the ill graces of Desiree?"

"If by Desiree you mean the genie lady," Cassie jabs a thumb at him, "then this guy hit on her."

"O-oh," The shy boy still hiding behind Super-knock-off is blushing hard enough that Kon can see it even with his darker skin, "w-wow, you're pretty…"

"Thanks!" Cassie smiles, winking at him. "The ladies love it, anyway."

The boy squeaks, hiding behind super-knock-off again. Goth-girl rolls her eyes before addressing Cassie.

"Desiree hates that-" a sneeze, "-kind of shit." Goth-girl rubs her nose, to which the bashful boy passes her a tissue from his backpack as if dealing with a rabid animal. The girl takes it with a scoff-turned-sneeze.

"Figured." Cassie shrugs, waving to herself. "I'm Cassie, by the way. Grumpy over here is Connor, and Cutie Pie down here is Bart."

Kon huffs, waving begrudgingly as Bart does a happy little wave.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Danny!" Super-knock off puffs out his chest, before gesturing to the once more sneezing Goth. "This is Sam, and behind me is Tucker!"

"We're not—usually like this." Sam sniffles, sneezing between pauses, "Danny's usually more chill, and Tucker's not this—shy. But if my—math is mathing, it's because—of the dwarf traits."

"Why does being Happy make him so…" Kon sneers, "Do-goodey?"

"Long story. We call him Super Danny in this state." Tucker smiles, peeking out a little more, "Fun Danny was better."

"Hey!" Danny wraps an arm around his friend to bring him up to the forefront, causing Tucker to squeak. "Super Danny had his moments!"

"Where's-" Sam sneezes four times in a row, "-Sleepy?"

"Our friend Tim." Bart gestures towards inside the house, "He's napping in one of the beds inside. He's usually an insomniac, so this is actually pretty great!"

"So," Cassie gets them back on track as they all convene around a sleeping Tim. "Do you guys know how to escape?"

"That is difficult," Danny hums, patting at Tucker who seems to be taking deep breaths to overcome his shyness. Kon tries to follow suit, to temper himself. "Did you perhaps make a wish when hitting on Desiree?"

Kon felt his face go blotchy red, rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand and looking away.

"Connor." Cassie's voice goes threatening, hands on her hips like a mom scolding a child.

"All I said was Move over Snow White, 'cause you're truly the fairest in the land!" Kon grumbles, crossing his arms. "And that she made me all Bashful, or whatever! I didn't wish for anything!"

"All I did was wish Sam would lighten up," Tucker scratches the back of his neck, inching closer to Danny when Sam bears her teeth. "Normally Desiree would just make Sam glow, or something."

"Who is Desiree anyway?" Bart starts to frown down at himself, rubbing his tummy absentmindedly. "We were just having lunch with Tim's brother-"

Suddenly Kon, Cassie and Bart whip their heads towards each other, exclaiming at the same time: "Dick!"

"Language?" Tucker, who had startled at the sudden yelling and is firmly hiding behind Danny again.

"No, Tim's brother, Richard—he goes by Dick." Cassie explains as the three of them separate to look under furniture and through the house for the older man. They collectively ignore the whispered on purpose? from the other trio.

"He was with us when we got snapped here." Tim yawns, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Who are you?"

The new trio introduces themselves to Tim as the rest of them split. Kon is looking under the beds, Bart is upstairs, and Cassie is opening cabinets in the kitchen, if the sounds are to be believed.

"This doesn't really feel like Desiree's usual fare." Sam taps her foot, for some reason the only dwarf who was able to keep her own black studded combat boots. It looks comical paired with her brown shirt and red pants. At least the black belt matches?

"How would you," Tim yawns, standing up and leaning heavily against Kon when he comes back around. "Usually…get rid of her?"

"Usually Phantom would deal with her." Tucker mumbles as Sam starts to pace. She's no longer sneezing now that they're inside, which seems odd.

"Who's Phantom?" Bart's voice bounces as he descends the stairs back to join them. "He's not upstairs, by the way."

"He's Amity Park's local hero!" Danny flashes a gleaming smile, before frowning. "Truly a mystery why she's hanging out around Bludhaven."

"What were you guys-" Kon is interrupted by Sam, who knocks twice on the window she's stopped in front of.

"Uh, guys?" She's staring at something confusedly, "Is Dick…uh, black haired, wearing eye-searingly ugly patterns?"

"That's…" Tim yawns again, sluggishly making his way over to Sam, "probably…him."

"I think he's in the backyard?" Sam tilts her head, "and I think we've found our Snow White."

The seven of them gather quickly around the window, pushing and shoving and…

"Is that a fucking glass coffin?"

===

Jazz has fucked up.

Oooooh she's definitely fucked up.

How was she supposed to know Ghost Writer and Desiree just wanted to hang out?

How was she supposed to know that Desiree's cousin was Scheherazade?

How was she supposed to know Ghost Writer knew that infamous One Thousand and One Night's protagonist?

She just wanted to finally meet her online friend and talk about Jane Austen books, have dinner with her brother and his friends in Bludhaven after!

She really should have aimed better. Stupid thermos, Danny always made it seem so easy!

Now she's running around in this random forest trying to find her brother and his friends dressed like some kind of Prince.

Why do Princes wear such white tights? It's impractical is what it is, there's already a bunch of dirt on the back of her calves!

She's been in this forest for what feels like hours when she hears it; sweet salvation in the form of other people. Jazz frantically makes her way towards it.

"—Snow White?" A boyish voice asks.

"Well, he's certainly—achoo!—pretty enough for it." Sam is saying—is she with the others? "Even with all…that going on."

"At least Danny isn't in the coffin this time?" Tucker sounds unusually shy and timid—it makes Jazz quicken her steps and almost trip over tree roots at least twice.

"Hey—" An unfamiliar feminine voice cuts in, "Tucker, what does that mean?"

"Worry not, Cassie!" Danny! Oh sweet souls, Danny!! "It's an inside joke!"

"It's not really funny…" Another voice, sounding sleepy beyond compare and yawning like a "…is it?"

"Believe it or not," The mysterious feminine voice, Cassie cuts in. "He's usually the one in charge of the brain-cell. We're smart too, he just has no humor."

"I…" Another yawn, "...resent that."

"Tim just doesn't have that sense of whimsy!" That first boyish voice cuts in, ignoring who Jazz presumes is Tim.

"Does that mean we have to find a Prince?" Another masculine voice, angry and fed up, "In the forest?"

And, well, there's never been a better time for Jazz to stumble ass over kettle into the clearing.

"Jazz!" Her trio yells in greeting, rushing over to her as she rights herself. She blinks.

They're all…a lot smaller than she left them. No matter, hugs first, confusion later. (And crying/yelling much much later after that).

They're small enough for her to hoist all three into her arms, even as she notices the other four dwarves and the…glass coffin housing a fully grown man.

"What the—" Jazz whispers, eyeing the strangers.

"Are you the Prince?" Danny asks, and in this form he reminds her so much of when he was little—she wants to squeal but she won't, she won't.

"I think I am." Jazz answers, putting everyone down as they clamor to introduce the new kids and update her on the situation. Jazz, through years of dealing with her brother's trio, manages to understand and reciprocate the exchange of information.

"So I have to kiss him?" Jazz looks at the man, Dick, in the glass coffin dubiously. "I don't even know him?"

"This might be the first time someone's seen him and not kissed him on sight." Bart jokes, "Or, at least, not wanted to."

"Consent is important." Jazz scrunches up her face in consternation. "I will not subject someone to a kiss when they cannot consent."

"What about a kiss on the…hand?" Tim yawns, desperately trying to stay awake. "Nobody…said you had to kiss him on the…lips."

Jazz makes a face in thought. Hm. "What about you?"

"What…about me?" Jazz gestures at Dick when Tim looks at her in confusion.

"He's your brother, you love him, right?" Jazz picks up the sleeping man's hand. "Nobody said it had to be romantic love. Besides, again, I don't believe in love at first sight. I'm demi."

"Demi like, demigod?" Cassie's brow furrows. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Demi as in demi-sexual or-" Sam sneezes, "-demi-romantic."

Tim seems to think on that a moment, before shrugging. "I do love him. And I used to have a crush on him when I was little, before I got adopted." He picks up the hand and kisses it lightly.

"Oh dude, same." Connor laughs, turning to them. "I think everyone's had a crush on Dick before."

"Not me!" Cassie harrumphs to Bart's laughter and agreement. "Though I do love the guy."

"That doesn't count!" Connor huffs, "Lesbians and Aces are obviously excluded!"

"I'm Ace…" Tucker shyly raises his hand, making a little eep! sound when everyone turns to him. "And I, uhm, have eyes. He's real pretty…"

"Fairest of them all," Sam sniffles, sort of agreeing. "And all that."

"I think," Danny cuts in, "That you have no choice here Jazz. I'm sorry, but it doesn't seem like Tim's kiss is the solution!"

Jazz eyes the sleeping man once more, pursing her lips. No, she really doesn't think she'll do that. Pretty as he is, he's a stranger. And bodily autonomy is important, even if it's just his hand. It sounds like this guy has a lot of admirers, but nobody's actually said anything about how Dick himself feels about it.

Plus, he definitely looks at least a couple years older than her. Though it's hard to tell when you're in your mid twenties.

"Just think of it this way, Jazz." Danny tries to gently say, "You're saving his life, sort of. Like CPR."

Jazz hums, leaning over the man and observing the man's throat. Hm...

"What's she taking so long for?" Cassie whispers, to which Sam only sneezes in response.

Jazz grabs the man by the shoulders, sitting him up and…whack!

"Jazz!" The chorus of children yell at her, some even grabbing at her but she ignores them.

She gives the man's back another smack! And then another, and another until—

Hack! Dick coughs out the piece of poisoned apple lodged in his throat, taking in deep breaths as Jazz rubs his back in support.

"Th-thanks." Dick wipes at his mouth, smiling up gratefully at Jazz. She smiles back, before stepping away to let Tim and his little friends crowd over Dick and give him hugs.

Sam, Tucker and Danny make their way to Jazz, and they watch the reunion fondly.

"How'd you know that would work?" Danny asks her, laughing as Jazz shrugs.

"In the original fairy tale, the Prince discovers Snow White in her glass coffin and decides to keep her because she's so beautiful." Jazz bares her teeth in disgust. "The guards that were with him were kind of clumsy and dropped the casket on its corner, dislodging the apple piece from Snow White's throat. She wakes up, and then they get married."

"That's…" Tucker whispers, shuddering.

"Yeah." Jazz rubs her arms. "Figured I'd give it a shot. Thankfully it worked."

Just as Dick gets out of the coffin, the world around them starts to waver. The dwarven teenagers flicker until they're bigger, almost glitching into their original sizes and proportions. Sam stops sneezing, Tim stops yawning and falling asleep (though he still sports eyebags the size of Guam), and Danny's little blanket sheet disappears.

Jazz, Dick, and seven 17 year olds suddenly find themselves in the middle of the streets of Bludhaven, in the outdoor seating of the local restaurant all of them were eating at before the whole debacle.

Ghost Writer and Desiree are sitting at one of the tables, having tea.

"Well, that was certainly quick." Ghost Writer mumbles, Desiree groaning as she puts down her cup. "I thought we'd have at least a couple more hours."

"I knew I shouldn't have set win conditions." Desiree pouts. "We were just getting to the good part!"

"Every story has to have some kind of conclusion." Ghost Writer argues, jabbing his mug at her. "Besides, I can just-"

"Yeah. Nope." Danny deadpans, grabbing his backpack and jabbing a hand into the bag. "Fuck you."

Before Ghost Writer Desiree can do more than charge an ecto-blast, Danny pulls out a Fenton Thermos and aims it expertly at the two, sucking them up with very little fuss and muss. Jazz is not jealous or mad about it. At all.

As long as she doesn't have to wear those stupid white tights again, everything is A-OK.

"Well." Dick breathes, putting his hands on his hips like some kind of mom. "That was...anti-climactic."

"What the hell was that?" Tim asks Danny, trying to get a closer look at the thermos, "Is that a thermos?"

Jazz looks up at the restaurant, waving over a sever as she takes a seat and beckons for everyone else to do the same. The others start to squish in a couple tables and take seats.

"I'm sure everyone has questions," Jazz smiles up at the waitress in thanks as she passes out menus. "But first, since it's still…" She checks her watch, "just past three, lets have a late lunch, shall we?"

"As long as there's no apple pie for dessert." Dick laughs, opening up his own menu to peruse.

"As you wish!" Jazz rolls her eyes, grinning. Everyone at the table groans.

[microwavesaferat]

April Fools day is a busy day in Gotham, you've got several themed rogues wanting to do something big to commemorate the day, and this year was no different. The Bats were spread so thin trying to deal with the Joker, the Riddler, Calender Man and the Penguin (unrelated to the date, he was just up to shit), that they never got around to any fun sibling pranks. So Stephanie has taken it upon herself to reschedule (not notifying the others though).

Stephanie is not cruel though, she wants to do a trick and a treat almost, one good dead to balance out each prank, so she makes a plan.

First up is Dick. She goes to their gym and applies a liberal amount of oil to every single surface she can find, before finally adding a thin coat of sticky wax to the basketballs. She watches through cameras as Dick slips off every single bar he tries to hold onto. The best is when he gets to the pummel horse and gets so much momentum that he slips off and out the open door. She and Babs then watch as, defeated, Dick tries to play a bit of basketball, only for the ball to not bounce off the floor and get stuck in the net.

She makes it up to him though, she contacted Hally's Circus (it's now under new management and touring in Florida) and managed to arrange for Zitka the Elephant to be brought over for the day. Dick cries at seeing the old elephant. Damian tries to convince Bruce to keep her.

Next on the list is Jason. In the middle of the night, with help from Cass, she dyes his white streak bright blue. He doesn't notice until he comes down for food and Dick gets excited that he's wearing Nightwing colours. He then walks around wearing his helmet all day, unaware that it says "kick me" on the back, in blue ink.

On Jason's bed, there's a VHS tape. When played, it shows the Joker's old standup work, before crime became his full gig. Jason has never laughed so hard before, not at his jokes, but at the booing. Oh my god, he bombed!

But for now, Steph moves onto Babs. Barbara has eyes everywhere, so Steph has to reach depths never before seen; she takes Jim Gordon's laptop, changes the system language to Dutch and all his passwords. Babs spends the full day trying to coach him through changing his passwords to something other than 'Barbara1' and how to use 2-factor authentication.

Barbara gets an anonymous email the next day. It's footage from a hidden camera in Jason's room. He's in a towel and singing ABBA off-key into a hairbrush. Worth it.

For Tim, Steph enlists the help of Kon. See the problem a panicked Kon brings to Tim is as follows: On a mission, Steph got hurt bad. She's woken up, but with no memory of the last 2 years. Now while this is worrying on its own, the true horror lies that, 2 years ago, Tim and Steph were dating. So now Tim has to try and let Steph down gently while his boyfriend watches on. Steph has to break character when trying to plant a kiss on him.

She makes it up to Tim. During her 'injury', Tim had brought her a Gatorade to drink, and she just happened to spill it on Kon's shirt. Guess he'll have to take it off!

Up next is Damian. She swaps his katanas with prop breakaway blades. He goes to practice only for them to shatter on impact. This is the first time Steph has seen him look so heartbroken. The best part is, he can't even threaten to cut her head off.

Forgiveness was easy, she simply opened the barn and the backdoor. Soon the manor is overrun with dogs, cats, cows, and demon-cat things. Even Zitka gets involved. Damian has spent the day in the library, practically drowning in fur and feathers.

The barn escape also serves as Alfred's prank as he has to convince Damian to let them go back to the barn.

When Steph presents him with an apron reading "Kiss the Cook Butler", he sheds a tear.

Now for Duke. This was simple enough to do: the entire family put lifts in their shoes. Duke wakes up to find that Dick, who insists he's 5'10" is taller than him. Duke was sure he was an even 6 foot, but he's now an inch or two shorter than Dick. What's worse is that Tim is the same height as him! When did that happen?????

Once Duke is sure he is not shrinking, Stephani procures a set of noise cancelling headphones. It is difficult to sleep at night when every other member of the family is nocturnal and unconcerned with making noise.

While Steph could never properly get the drop on Cass, it's the effort that counts. So she puts the squeakers from a dog toy into the toes of her ballet pumps. This takes an extra few days to be fruitful, but it is beautiful when Cass, with the grace of a swan, and the noise of a goose, leaps across the floor.

From working with Tim, Steph gifts Cass a small button that can attach to Cass's hand. A simple squeeze and the button will speak. "Idiot, stop it", a phrase too often spoken by Cass to her idiot brothers in the middle of their ill-advised plans. Now the process is streamlined. Cass takes to poking others with the button.

Now last, but not least: Bruce. Steph has been planning this, she phones up Vicki Vale for an anonymous piece. "The Truth About Bruce Wayne" is a headline that gives Bruce a heart attack. Luckily, whilst not revealing his identity, Stephanie has instead created a web of lies about how Bruce actually can't spell, can't drive a car, and is afraid of the dark. All gossip that Vicki Vale would eat up. Bruce is just glad Stephanie doesn't know about his college days.

The chaos in the house when Bruce comes home is bizarre, but having all his kids under one roof? He couldn't be happier. Even if Damian is hidden under Batcow, Jason is frantically googling how to get rid of hair dye, Dick is dangling upside down from an elephant's tusks, Babs is showing a video to Tim, who is definitely paying attention and not at all staring at a shirtless Kryptonian, and Duke and Cass are both squeezed under one set of headphones, listening to music.

In a week's time, Steph wakes up to every Bat and Bird logo drawn on her face, along with angry eyebrows and a moustache.

[ayumigotabittoolonelyquitted]

Anchored to You

Stinger x low-energy(gender neutral)!Reader

Sypnosis- Stinger is all energy, all excitement, the kind of person who throws himself into battle without hesitation. You? You’d rather keep things quiet, steady, and slow. Somehow, though, he always finds himself gravitating toward you, as if your calm presence is the only thing keeping him from burning out.

Word Count: 4k+ (because I can’t hold back when it’s fluff)

MOON 🌑 AND SUN ☀️

♡ The first time Stinger noticed you, it wasn’t in a fight or a dramatic moment. It wasn’t anything exciting, actually.

You were napping.

Right in the middle of the Hero Association’s break room, curled up on a bench like the world's softest looking cat. Your arms were folded under your head, and the faint rise and fall of your shoulders told him you were either asleep or about to be.

Meanwhile, he had just finished beating a Deep Sea monster, his pulse still racing, adrenaline thrumming through his veins like electricity.

"Man, I need to move," he muttered, bouncing slightly on his heels. That fight had been insane, and his body wasn’t done riding the high.

That’s when his eyes landed on you again.

Completely still. Absolutely unbothered. A direct contrast to the mess of energy vibrating in his limbs.

Before he even realized it, he was walking toward you.

"Yo."

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

He tilted his head. How the hell were you sleeping through this? The room was packed heroes moving around, people yelling, and yet, you looked like you hadn’t been conscious for years.

Stinger knelt next to the bench and poked your arm. "Hey, you good?"

Your eyes fluttered open, the laziest blink he’d ever seen. "You’re loud," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Stinger grinned. "And you’re half-dead. You sleep here now?"

"Only when my bed feels too far away," you murmured, shifting slightly. You didn’t exactly invite him to sit, but you didn’t tell him to go away either.

So, naturally, he took that as permission and plopped down beside you.

And in hours, he felt his heartbeat settle.

♡ Stinger learned something very quickly about you.

You weren’t the type to say things outright.

You wouldn’t run into his arms after a mission. You wouldn’t tell him you missed him. You wouldn’t text him first, wouldn’t cling to him in a traditional sense.

But your love was in the details.

It was in the way you always waited for him to sit down before leaning into his space. It was in the way your fingers brushed against his, hesitating for half a second before curling around his wrist. It was in the way you reached for the fabric of his sleeve absentmindedly, as if just making sure he was there.

And for a guy like Stinger, who had spent most of his life running headfirst into danger, that kind of quiet, subtle love? It destroyed him.

One evening, after a long mission, he stumbled into your apartment.

Normally, Stinger was all grins, all noise, never letting exhaustion show. But tonight, his shoulders ached, his ribs were bruised, and the weight of being a hero felt just a little heavier than usual.

He expected you to ask what happened.

Instead, you just… reached for his wrist and pulled him toward the couch.

No words. No questions. Just a simple tug, guiding him down until his head rested on your lap.

"Stay?" he muttered, already half-asleep.

You hummed, running your fingers through his messy hair. "Always."

And that was enough.

♡ "You ever wonder how we work?" Stinger asked one lazy afternoon, arms wrapped around your waist while the two of you lay tangled on the couch.

"You mean how you’re a walking explosion, and I prefer existing at two miles per hour?"

"Yeah, that." He grinned, shifting slightly so his chin rested on your shoulder. "How does that work?"

You thought for a moment. "You chased me."

Stinger scoffed. "I did not chase you."

You raised a brow. "Oh? Who followed me around for a whole week, bringing me snacks and asking if I wanted to ‘hang out’?"

"Okay, maybe I chased you a little," he admitted, laughing against your skin. "Worth it, though."

"Mm." You leaned back against him. "I think you needed someone to slow you down."

He paused.

And maybe you were right.

Because before you, he had never really stopped moving.

He had always been running, always rushing into the next fight, always burning through life at full speed without stopping to breathe.

But with you?

With you, he could be still.

Home wasn’t a place.

Not for Stinger, at least. He had moved around too much, fought too many battles, to really consider anywhere permanent.

But one night, after a long mission, he went into your apartment and found you half-asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket with your fingers loosely grasping the edge of his jacket.

You had been waiting for him.

Even in sleep, you had been waiting.

And for the first time in his life, he felt it.

That quiet, unshakable warmth. That anchor pulling him back to solid ground. That certainty in his bones that no matter how far he ran, no matter how much energy he burned, he’d always have somewhere to return to.

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, "I’m home."

And even though you were half-asleep, your fingers curled tighter around his sleeve, voice barely above a murmur as you mumbled,

"Welcome back."

Extra Notes

💌 Softest boy ever → Stinger is a himbo with too much energy, but he melts the second you touch him.

💌 Reader is his safe place → You’re the one person who can get him to sit still, slow down, and breathe.

💌 Home isn’t a place, it’s you. Period.

[hamburgerndsprite]

TEMPTATION ON TRIAL ✓ CH 3

“He’s falsely accused. She’s legally unhinged. Together, they’re chaos in designer suits.”

➳ Pairing: Actor! Kim Seokjin x Criminal Lawyer! Oc

➳ Genre: Courtroom Chaos | Crack with Consequences | Enemies to Lovers | Legal Romance | Slow-burn & Subpoenas | Found Family but Make it Unhinged | Actor x lawyer au

Series Masterlist • Main Masterlist

Chapter 3: Of Drinks, Drama, and Destiny

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

All Jin wanted was bulgogi.

That was it. That was the plan. After fourteen hours on set pretending to be a cold-hearted prosecutor with a tragic past and a secret twin, Kim Seokjin wanted sizzling meat, white rice, and peace.

“I swear,” he muttered, undoing his cufflinks as he stepped into the living room, “if one more person tells me to ‘look more brooding,’ I’m going to start brooding in court for real.”

“You do look brooding,” Taehyung said, brushing lint off his silk shirt without looking up from the mirror.

“That’s my face,” Jin said flatly.

“Your face looks tired,” Jungkook called from the kitchen, mouth full of something aggressively crunchy.

“That’s because I’m living with you two.”

Thus began the traditional evening debate: cook or dine out. Within five minutes and zero effort from Jin, the bulgogi plan was dead. A few collective grumbles later, the three brothers were in the car, bickering about side dishes and playlist control.

They ended up at Mir, a lowkey upscale fusion restaurant in Gangnam known for quiet service, great food, and almost zero drama.

So naturally, chaos walked in.

The doors flew open with a gust of indignation and heels.

“I AM NOT LATE,” the woman declared, eyes blazing, curls bouncing, coat flaring behind her like the final boss of a designer mafia. “The world is simply unprepared for punctual brilliance.”

Jin blinked. That wasn’t an entrance—it was a warning wrapped in heels and chaos.

Behind her staggered a poor man carrying a bag, three binders, and the broken spirit of someone who hadn't slept since the Moon landing.

“Aria, please—”

“Don’t ‘Aria please’ me, Jimin, this is justice, not brunch.”

The Kim brothers paused mid-banchan.

“...What the hell,” Jungkook murmured, eyes tracking the whirlwind in heels and rage.

“Someone’s clearly having a normal dinner,” Jin said, unimpressed.

Taehyung didn’t say anything. He simply sipped his water, gaze fixed on the pair now causing a minor paper avalanche in the middle of the restaurant.

Unaware of their rapidly growing audience, Aria swiveled toward the bar like a hawk spotting prey. “There he is. Mr. Tax-Evasion-in-Gucci. God, I love when they don’t run.”

“Aria, I thought we were just going to observe—”

“I am observing. Observing his crimes.”

Then, fate intervened. Or Jimin did.

Trying to sidestep a passing waiter, Jimin miscalculated, caught his foot on a chair leg—specifically Jungkook’s, because of course the man was sitting like a sprawl-goblin—and the drink on their table went airborne.

Straight onto Jungkook’s shirt.

There was a collective gasp.

Jimin froze. “Oh my god.”

Jungkook blinked. Looked down. Then up.

“I think my nipples are awake now.”

Aria didn’t miss a beat. She shoved a napkin into Jimin’s hands, muttered “stop assaulting attractive people,” and then turned to face the splash zone.

Three men. Vaguely familiar faces. One with a jawline that could legally qualify as a weapon. One already smiling like a cat in trouble. And one—tall, serene, unreadable—whose eyes didn’t waver from hers.

She raised an eyebrow.

Jin raised his glass.

They said nothing.

The glance was brief. But something in it felt sharp, like the first flicker of static before a storm.

And then she forgot them completely.

Her eyes locked on the man near the bar—the actual reason she was here. Mr. Yoo. Smarmy finance bro. Accused fraud. Gave a fake alibi in court this morning. Claimed he was in Hongdae.

Aria smiled stalking over in heels that echoed like judgment.

“Jimin, show me the footage.”

“Here? Now?”

“Right here, right now.”

Jimin fumbled, opened a tablet, and turned up the volume.

A video played.

Mr. Yoo. In Busan. Shirtless. At karaoke. With a parrot on his shoulder.

“Hongdae, huh?” Aria said sweetly, “Cute story. Shame about the timeline. Also, your business receipts? Faked. Your witness? Bought. Your entire outfit? Tragic.”

“Excuse me—”

“Sir, you filed court documents with Comic Sans font. You are not excused.”

Jin lowered his chopsticks slowly. “...What the hell is happening?”

He couldn’t tell if he was horrified or impressed. Maybe both.

“I think she’s live-destroying someone,” Jungkook whispered, utterly transfixed.

“Is she a lawyer?” Jin asked.

“Is she a war general?” Taehyung murmured.

They all flinched as Aria dropped a binder dramatically onto the man’s table. Jimin, now mildly vibrating with stress, held up a folder of cross-referenced time stamps, call logs, and a hospital bill that apparently belonged to Aria’s cousin—the same cousin Mr. Yoo had used as a fake alibi.

“She was with me,” Aria said, smiling. “At hot yoga. She dislocated a hip. I have receipts. And photos.”

Mr. Yoo stammered.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Jimin?”

A glossy hospital photo appeared. Aria’s cousin in a hip brace, holding a thumbs up and a smoothie.

“Timestamped,” Jimin added weakly.

Aria leaned forward like a villainess in act two. “You’ve got 24 hours to settle before I request a contempt hearing and send you back to law school. Do you know what happens when I get bored in court?”

The man fled.

Aria turned back to Jimin. “I’ll have the japchae. And maybe a gin and tonic. You deserve one too, sweetie.”

They walked off like nothing had happened.

Back at the Kim brothers’ table, silence.

“She just obliterated a man and then ordered noodles,” Taehyung said, blinking.

Jungkook looked down at his still-soaked shirt. “Honestly? Worth it.”

Jin didn't speak. His gaze hadn’t moved from her face. Unreadable. Calculating. Maybe a little amused.

She was unlike anyone he’d seen today—and he’d spent all day pretending to be ten different people.

Just a flash. Just a moment.

But some people didn’t need more than that to start trouble.

“I think we just met karma,” Jin replied.

“No,” Taehyung said, finally smiling.

“We just met trouble.”

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

Previous • Series Masterlist • Next

[gravehags]

hot to go - the beatrice edit

Pairing: cirrus x f!oc (ghoul bicycle oc)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: dom cirrus, sweaty sex, strap riding, titty sucking, praise, possessiveness, lil bit of tenderness because i can't help myself

Words: 1,523

Summary: The air conditioning has broken in the den and Beatrice's room is the hottest - because of course it is. Luckily she knows an air ghoulette who is more than happy to help out.

a/n: and who among us wouldn't bounce on cirrus' massive strap

~~~

Hey - you up?

It’s late, near midnight, and Beatrice has been in bed tossing and turning for hours now. The air conditioning in the den breaking in the middle of a heat wave makes her want to die and for some reason her room has the joy of being the hottest. She didn’t want to bug Cirrus or Cumulus tonight but…she needs one of them. For more than one reason.

Yeah. What’s up?

Can I come over? I’m sweating my tits off in here

A couple minutes go by and Beatrice finally sees the impending text bubble pop up.

Give me 5 and then head my way.

Bea wants to cry with relief as she flings herself up and out of her damp sheets. Her nightgown clings to her uncomfortably but that won’t be a problem anymore in just a little bit. The thought of curling up next to her own personal ice pack has her shoulders sagging and a chill running up her spine. She putters around sluggishly until she checks the time and sees that it’s been well over five minutes. The den is quiet as she tiptoes to Cirrus’ door - she knocks lightly before opening it and scooting inside. The lighting is dim and when Beatrice catches sight of what’s before her she stops dead in her tracks with a gasp. Cirrus is there - splayed out in the middle of her bed wearing nothing but a thin cropped white tank top, a smirk, and the most enormous strap she owns - the one Bea is convinced she had custom modeled after Mountain - secured snug on her hips.

“Hey,” the ghoulette says, low and sultry. All of a sudden Beatrice’s nightgown is not the only thing that feels damp.

“H-hey,” she says, cautiously stepping closer and gesturing to her, “this for me?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods, bringing a hand down to lazily stroke along the cock’s thick ridges, “I know why you’re here, love. But you’ll have to do something for me first. Tit for tat.”

Bea’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and she sees the ghoulette’s sharp eyes narrow in on it.

“Okay,” the redhead says, the ache between her thighs insistent, “I’ll let you have your wicked way with me, I suppose.”

Cirrus chuckles and stretches luxuriantly like a cat.

“Oh, I won’t be doing anything, hon. You want it, you work for it. Now be a good girl and strip and come here.”

With an indignant huff, Beatrice peels her nightgown off, leaving herself bare in the warm room. Cirrus lets out a little purr as she approaches the foot of her bed and presses her knee into the mattress.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Cirrus says, crooking her finger at her. Obediently she crawls up her body and sits astride her lap, the silicone cock resting heavy against her.

“Closer,” she murmurs, so Bea scoots up a little further. All she wants right now is to collapse against her, letting the chill of the ghoulette’s skin seep into hers - but she knows she won’t allow that.

“Wanna make sure you’re nice and ready for me, baby,” Cirrus says, cocking her head with a smile. “I’ll do you one favor - bring those pretty tits up here and I’ll take care of them for you.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice breathes, and she knows her eagerness combined with her good manners pleases Cirrus. She slides closer and leans her chest down to her mouth for her to lazily lick a stripe across her right nipple. The sensation combined with the heat of her room and the coolness of her skin makes the redhead’s hips buck against her and Cirrus smiles as she sucks her nipple into her mouth. For several minutes the only sounds in the room are Bea’s heavy breathing and the ghoulette lapping at her breasts. The sister jolts when Cirrus gently closes her jaws on her, fangs biting into her swollen bud.

“Cirrus,” Beatrice pants, “n-need you.”

The ghoulette pulls off her with a pop.

“I know baby,” she coos as Bea scoots down her body and rocks against her strap, “go on then. You know what to do.”

With a thrill in her stomach, Bea sits up on her knees and takes the cock in hand, surprised by how wet she is when she presses the tip against her entrance. Slowly - she always had to go slowly with this one but the results were well worth it - she lowers herself, shivering at the way it stretches her open. There’s a ridge resting snug against her clit and experimentally she rocks against it.

“Such a good girl, I know how much you like this one,” Cirrus murmurs, arms resting above her head. Her breasts press against her shirt, dark nipples clearly visible through the thin material even in the dim light. The sight makes Beatrice hungry.

“Come on, pretty girl. I wanna see you bounce on it.”

Exhaling heavily, she doesn’t need to be told twice as she raises her hips and eases back down. It takes her a moment to find her rhythm but soon enough she’s bobbing up and down, panting with her head thrown back.

“Fuck, Cir,” Beatrice whimpers, her cunt clenching around her strap, “feels so good.”

“I know, baby. Pick up the pace now, I want to see those titties bounce. Put your back into it.”

She tilts her head and laughs quietly as Bea whines but still acquiesces, amused by how eagerly she bends for her. The sister can barely catch her breath in the suddenly oppressive heat, and her hips and thighs strain and burn. 

“Please, please, please,” she breathes, “please Cirrus.”

“You’re in control here, remember sweetheart? But if you beg prettily enough maybe I’ll be merciful and help you out.”

Beatrice knows exactly what she wants to hear and she’s more than happy to tell her.

“I’m yours, Cirrus, fuck, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

The ghoulette’s nodding, unable to keep the arousal and delight from her voice when she speaks again.

“Whose pussy is this, angel?”

“Yours!” Beatrice half-shouts, “It’s your pussy Cirrus, all yours. I’m all yours.”

“Atta girl,” she growls, and in a swift movement she brings her hands down to Bea’s thighs and begins jackhammering into her. She can feel tears pouring down her cheeks as she weeps in relief, the ghoulette’s cock slamming into her even deeper than she could manage. All of a sudden everything becomes too much - the heat of the room, the coolness of her skin, her cock pounding inside her - and Beatrice sobs as her cunt spasms wildly around her. Cirrus brings her body down to hers, wrapping her arms around her as she continues to fuck her, even after she’s come. Bea is not sure how long it takes for her to come down from her high and for her breathing to even out, but the ghoulette’s hands are running cool trails up and down her sweat-slicked back.

“I got you, honey,” Cirrus whispers, as Beatrice mouths weakly at her shoulder, “come here, I got you.”

Gently she rotates both their bodies so they’re side by side and she eases the cock out of her. Bea whimpers at the emptiness as she fusses with the buckles of her strap, tossing it aside once free of it. She strips off her shirt and cooing, takes the redhead in her arms and lays her body half on top of hers. When Bea finally finds the energy to speak, her voice is comically hoarse.

“Thank you.”

The ghoulette chuckles, brushing Beatrice’s damp hair out of her eyes and kissing her forehead.

“You were amazing, hon,” Cirrus murmurs, “watching you come apart never gets old. Thank you for indulging me.”

Bea chuffs out a laugh against her skin, her hand drifting to the juncture of Cirrus’ thighs.

“Do you want me to…?”

“No,” Cirrus says, gently pulling her hand away and kissing it, “the show you put on was more than enough for me.”

Beatrice smiles and nuzzles into her shoulder before taking a deep breath and cringing.

“Unholy fuck, I stink,” she grouses and Cirrus laughs.

“Yeah, you do,” she admits, scratching at her scalp. “Shower?”

“Please,” Bea groans, lifting herself off her. Cirrus starts to get up and pauses a moment, thoughtfully.

“How come you texted me and not ‘Lus?”

Beatrice is halfway to the bathroom when she turns and faces her with a sly smile. Cirrus shakes her head and laughs.

“Am I that predictable?”

“Let’s just say I knew I would be killing two birds with one stone if I came to you at this hour, hmm?”

Bea’s exhausted but a familiar heat stirs in her belly when she sees her prowl towards her, eyes glinting in the low light. 

“Cheeky,” Cirrus purrs as she advances on the sister, “get in that shower and I’ll add a third bird to your kill list.”

She lunges at her and Beatrice shrieks, darting into the not-so-safe bathroom.

If this is what she gets out of it, Bea might be okay with the air conditioning breaking every once in a while.

[acaplaya-musings]

Random VoicePlay fic thing

Had an idea that was bouncing around my brain for a few days, and finally decided to write it, over the course of like three weeks because of sheer procrastination (if I could just type words through sheer thoughts without having to use my hands, I would be unstoppable, but alas). Basic premise: Greta, the prop doll from the Thriller video (Kathy's "stunt double"), being a haunted/cursed doll, and basically this is a story told from her perspective.

(Word count is a little under 3,000 words, roughly)

.

"I'm back! I got a doll!"

"Great! Gimme a look!"

The doll blinked to life as the human carrying her reached whatever destination they had in mind. The doll was raised upwards, and she did her best to get a look at the human whose grasp she was in. It was a woman; short and with long straight black hair, similar to what the doll herself had.

"I'm calling her Greta; Greta the Gruesome!" said the woman, sounding pleased with herself.

I suppose that's my name. Not bad, I suppose, thought Greta.

Most haunted dolls didn't start life off that way. They weren't haunted when they left the production factory, and most of them remained 'unhaunted' when they sat on display in stores - it'd be harder to catch people off-guard otherwise, and it'd be bad for business. No, hauntings oft resulted from a combination of factors, such as the doll's appearance being creepy enough to start with (whoever heard of a haunted Barbie?), and the type of person gaining ownership of it, although it was getting harder to find decent scare victims these days, and you just couldn't get proper exorcisms like you used to!

The spirit inhabiting this doll, now called Greta, had possessed a doll once before, but had gotten bored of her previous owner, as well as slightly worried by the owner's cat, who appeared to take much more notice of the doll's true nature than its human did, and spent much time eyeing the doll suspiciously, tail swishing back and forth. When the cat one day decided that it wanted to have an even closer inspection, the spirit wasted no time in departing from her physical form. She had spent an undefined amount of time floating about in a separate plane of existence, before being pulled into her current form.

"Woah! She looks just like you already!" said a man from the other side of the room, grinning.

"Already"? The humans kept talking, but Greta stopped paying attention to them, to instead focus on her surroundings as she was carried further into wherever it is she was. The first room had chairs on one side sitting in front of brightly-lit mirrors, while the rest of the space was decorated with an eclectic mix of props, toys, posters, and costumed mannequins. Ah, performers, it seems, or a production company for performers, at least. Greta's guess was further supported when she was taken through a large red stage curtain into a separate, larger space, which appeared to be some sort of filming set, with large lighting rigs on tall poles illuminating some sort of mock cemetery scene, judging by the assemblage of prop gravestones and eerie-looking dead trees.

Theatres were largely considered the more preferrable option when it came to haunting a performance space, but still, this certainly had potential.

"I'll just leave you here, for now, ready for tomorrow," said the woman, putting Greta down amongst the fake gravestones. Greta was positioned so she was lying on her front, but with her head held up, leaning on her arms out in front of her, as if she was crawling, perhaps.

Greta waited until the studio was fully devoid of noise and movement before plotting out her first move. Part of her wanted to bide her time, to wait until the humans were right in the middle of filming before unleashing hell, but perhaps that was too ambitious, and besides, she was already long overdue for some decent entertainment. Perhaps something small wouldn't hurt - just something to put the humans on edge a little for the time being.

Greta surveyed the filming space, and took notice of another doll - a regular, unhaunted one - a few feet away from her. It was slightly larger than her, and positioned similarly, but more closely resembled some sort of male zombie. Hmmm...

.

The red dividing curtain was first opened the next day by the man that Greta's acquirer had been talking to, a tall individual with brown, shoulder-length hair. He idly walked over to the filming set, carrying a large black bag under each arm, but stopped as he properly took notice of it. At first he looked down at the floor, at the space where the zombie doll was previously, but then his gaze lifted to the dead tree just further back of it, and to the tallest branch, pointing upwards like a spire, and currently poking through the back of the zombie doll's shirt.

The doll had been slightly heavier than he looked, but Greta had had plenty of energy stored up, with more than enough time during the night to concentrate and get it done correctly.

The man was joined by the woman who had bought Greta in the first place. She followed his gaze, and as she did so, an eerie, childish giggle echoed around the space (perhaps it was overkill, but Greta really couldn't help herself).

"Ah," said the man, while the woman sighed. The pair looked at each other.

"Hey, don't look at me!" the man said. "You're the one who bought the doll this time!"

"Well what should we do? Should we go buy a replacement doll now while we've got the chance?" asked the woman in response.

For a split second, Greta was worried that her fun would be over before it really began, but the man raised a hand and said "no, no, I'll deal with it," and dropped his bags at his feet. He then walked right over to Greta, and crouched down so he could look directly at her face.

"Hey, it's Greta, right? Unless you prefer a different name?" he asked her. No response. "Okay, Greta it is, then! Listen, we've got this video that we're filming today, and you are going to play an important part of it, alright? And if you behave yourself, then there might even be a surprise for you at the end! You play nice for us, and we'll do something nice for you! Do we have an agreement?"

Nothing. Not a single whisper of sound, nor a single flash of motion. The man looked over his shoulder towards the woman, who did some sort of gesturing with her hands at him. When the man turned his face back to Greta, he now wore a much sterner, darker expression, and when he spoke again, it was with a deeper, rumbling tone.

"I said, do we have a deal?" he asked, and Greta was so startled that she couldn't help but briefly flash her eyes a glowing red colour. Fortunately, perhaps, the man took it as an acceptable response, and smiled, shifting back to his original demeanour. "Much appreciated," he said, giving her a nod, before standing back upright, and going back to where he had placed the bags.

Greta stayed quiet as she watched the studio become a hive of activity over the next hour, with people moving in and out of the filming space, and doing things like carrying cameras, looking at a laptop screen, and drinking from disposable coffee cups. She also caught enough bits of conversation to learn that the tall long-haired man's name was Geoff, and he appeared to be the director of the videoshoot, as well as one of the performers in it. So he's got double reason to care about things going smoothly, then.

Greta was just beginning to weigh up the other options for potential scare victims (surely there'd be at least one person in here who'd be an easy target?) when she noticed that the short woman had changed her clothing, and was now wearing a black dress which greatly resembled the one on Greta's current physical form

"Yas Kathy! Slay!" cheered one of the other humans as he saw the new outfit.

"Wow, you've got your makeup done already!" said Geoff, teasingly.

The woman, Kathy, rolled her eyes with a smile. She then walked over to Greta and picked her up. "Figured I might as well take Greta with me as a bit of reference base for Rick," she said, before walking with Greta back through the red curtain.

Greta was sat down in one of the chairs facing a brightly-lit mirror (though she was too small to see any of her reflection), and Kathy sat in the chair beside her. A broad-shouldered man with short grey hair, ("Rick", presumably), attended to Kathy, spraying her face and sticking rubbery-looking things on her, slowly transforming her into a hideous old hag (of the undead variety, perhaps).

"Just sit here and let that set for a few minutes," said Rick to Kathy, before he turned his attention to Greta. "In the meantime, how about I give you a bit of extra makeup as well?" he asked the doll, grinning.

'Hmph, I'm fine the way I am, thank you,' thought Greta. She felt like making a hissing noise at the man, but knew that she had promised to behave (for now), and so remained quiet and motionless as Rick used an airbrush to delicately apply some coloured substance to her face. It only took a minute or two, and once he was done, Rick grabbed a small handheld mirror and held it in front of Greta's face.

"There, whaddya think?" he asked with a chuckle, as if treating a doll like a living being was amusing to him.

Greta had to admit that it wasn't actually that bad. He hadn't gone and made her unrecognizable, and instead had merely given her some extra shadow and contouring, enhancing the creepy look she already possessed.

Once back in the filming room, Kathy grabbed her phone, and held Greta right up next to her so their two faces were level with each other. Kathy seemed extremely excited, though Greta really couldn't figure out why.

"The resemblance is uncanny!" said Geoff from a few feet behind as Kathy kept filming. "I can't tell which one's Kathy!" Greta wasn't sure whether to be offended by that or not.

There were some photos taken, a couple of which included Greta, and then filming began. Greta was placed on the floor next to a small table at the front, and Geoff explained to her that they would be filming some parts with Kathy first, before it would be Greta's turn.

Geoff, along with four other humans, appeared to be making some sort of music video. Kathy, Greta noticed, was lying on her stomach in the background of the shot, in more or less the same spot and position as Greta had been earlier. The doll grew interested as she watched Kathy slowly crawl forward along the ground, and then grab the ankle of the man right in front of her and bring her mouth towards it. Greta was a little disappointed when she remembered that it was just pretend, and that nobody was actually getting bitten.

.

"Kathy is wrapped for filming!"

There were claps and cheers from the rest of the group, while Kathy walked over to Geoff, talking to him in hushed tones. Greta was too far away to pick up on anything Geoff or Kathy were saying to each other, but noticed that the pair were stealing occasional glances towards her. Then Kathy left the room (to go return to normal, presumably), and Geoff approached Greta.

"You promised to behave yourself, remember?" he said to her in a low whisper as he picked her up. Then he brightened again as his attention went back to the group. "Alright, how about we practice this first?" he said. "Layne, if you just come and stand over here - it might be safer doing a practice go in this direction." Layne, another tall human, wearing a black longsleeve shirt, came and stood next to Geoff, just as instructed.

Geoff seemed slightly nervous, but was hiding it well enough that Greta was seemingly the only one there that noticed it. He continued talking. "Yeah, so you get bitten, and you panic, because something just grabbed your leg, and so you just kick it away on instinct, like not really a graceful kick..."

Before she had finished processing what Geoff had said, Layne took Greta and put her on one of his feet, which was lifted slightly above the ground. "Like this?" he asked, and then swung his foot forward, sending Greta flying several feet.

The impact of hitting the floor didn't actually hurt Greta - even a broken limb was usually little more than a minor annoyance for a spirit in a doll's body - but that was beside the point! It was the principle of the matter! Oh no no no, Greta simply would not stand for this sort of treatment!

Greta had landed face-down on the floor, so as Layne began approaching her to pick her up, she whipped her head around 180 degrees, flashing her eyes bright enough that Layne couldn't help but wince and turn his head away. A howling wind swept through the room out of nowhere, rustling the branches of the artificial trees, and then finally, a dark red liquid was noticed appearing on one of the walls, starkly obvious against the black surface as it dripped down.

The howling wind faded away, and a thick silence washed over the group. There hadn't been any screaming, sadly, but Greta had at least noticed some alarmed expressions on some of the humans if nothing else.

One of the other performer humans, a short, bald man with a thick beard and moustache, looked at Geoff and Kathy, and then followed their gazes down to Greta, before looking back at Geoff.

"Something you'd like to share with the group, Geoff?" he asked drily, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought we had an agreement!" said Geoff, glaring daggers at Greta.

"So is this like your new 'thing' or something?" asked one of the other humans, who had been standing in the middle during filming. "Instead of getting kidnapped, you're dealing with creepy dolls now?"

Geoff sighed. "I thought I could get her to cooperate," he said, walking over and picking Greta up. "I'll head over to Spirit Halloween and ask if I can exchange her."

"Wait wait wait, hang on, maybe we can still work something out?" said the other performing human who hadn't yet spoken up. He had light brown skin and thick curly hair on his head. "Maybe Greta just wasn't expecting to be kicked in that moment and freaked out when she was flung across the room?"

The short bald man raised an eyebrow. "Are you gonna say that she has feelings, Cesar?" he asked.

"Well yeah! Probably!" replied Cesar. He turned to Geoff. "Geoff, you said you had an 'agreement' with Greta, but did you actually tell her the specifics of what her involvement in this video would be?"

Geoff looked sheepish. "Uh, well, I did promise her a special surprise afterwards?" he said.

Cesar took Greta from Geoff and cradled her in his arms. "And what would that be exactly?"

Geoff leaned in close and whispered in Cesar's ear. Cesar's eyes widened and he looked uncertain.

"Really? You think the two of them hanging out together is a good idea?"

He said it in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, but Greta heard it anyway, and also heard Geoff's quiet response.

"Maybe a companion will do her some good."

This definitely caught Greta's interest. Cesar kept talking, but Greta stopped paying attention as she began fantasizing. The "special surprise" must surely mean being a gift for a child, presumably Geoff's, and presumably a young girl. Perhaps the child would indeed treat Greta like a new playmate, or perhaps she would be creeped out by the doll. It was of no matter; children could be manipulated either way. And once the child was under Greta's control, it likely wouldn't be too hard to hold influence over the child's father. From there, she could even extend her reach to other workers of this studio, and then maybe even the whole mall, and why stop there? All she had to do for now was to play nice for a little longer. Oh yes, perhaps this Geoff was indeed more naive than he first appeared.

"...So what do you think, Greta? Should we give you a second chance?"

Greta snapped out of her daydreaming just in time to hear what Cesar had asked her. She rotated her head just slightly to look towards the red-stained wall, where some of the other humans were making a great effort in an attempt to clean it (but with little results). As Greta looked at it, the dark red liquid faded away to nothingness in mere seconds.

Cesar grinned. "That's a good enough 'yes' for me!" he said, and Geoff nodded in agreement.

And so, Greta forced herself to put up with multiple rounds of being flung through the air, across the room and onto the floor, as if she were a simple old ragdoll. She mostly tried not to think about it too much, and instead focus on what surely lay in store for her afterwards, but she couldn't help but feel some amusement when on one occasion she was kicked right onto the cameraman, which amused Geoff and his friends also.

Finally, Geoff and the others were apparently satisfied with Greta's involvement, and she was to be kicked no more.

Geoff picked Greta up and looked directly at her. "So Greta, do you wanna stay in this room and watch the rest of the filming, or do you wanna find out your surprise? Your surprise is in the other room, and we're gonna be moving between the two spaces a lot today anyway - we're still far from done from this video! Uh, can you do one flash of the eyes for stay in here and watch, and two eye flashes for finding out the surprise?"

"My surprise is in the other room?" thought Greta. Hm, perhaps the child had been brought to the studio. Sure, Greta could work with that. She flashed her eyes twice.

Geoff smiled. "Fair enough," he said. He called out to the rest of the group "I won't be a minute!", and then took Greta back through the red stage curtains.

Greta became confused when she couldn't see any child in the room with the makeup chairs, and then even more confused when Geoff didn't take her out the door, but instead moved closer to the shelves at the back of the space, filled with props, toys, and other such items. She suddenly found herself looking at another doll, one she hadn't noticed the previous day. She had the likeness of a baby doll, with chubby cheeks and short brown hair painted onto her head, but her physical form appeared notably older than Greta's. And she was also most definitely haunted.

"Greta, I'd like you to meet Clara."

. (So I am maybe probably gonna write a short part 2 to this at some point, which was actually gonna be combined with this part, but I ended up writing more than expected (what else is new) and this felt like a good place to end it or at least for splitting it).

[softcarebears]

HOCO WEEK 9/21-9/28

monday 

41. ga tells me that he has a crush on this girl bow that i used to be bsfs w/ before she moved to the other side of cali

42. me and bbsf become close w/ bow 

43. ga tells ginger and bbsf that he likes bow

tuesday  (nothing happened)

wednesday 

44. me and pinkie go get our tickets for hoco 

45. pinkie gets bullied bc she’s (not to be rude to furries cuz idrc abt that do what u want, the context in which she does it makes it weird) wearing a hot pink hoodie w/ cat paws, giant REAL fox tail hanging from her belt and has a cat headband on and also wants to be called a japaneses name (she’s 100% white)

46. i find out that the only real reason i haven’t been over to pinkie’s house is bc she has a wall of real animal bones that she doesn’t properly clean that have bugs in them 

47. i leave pinkie to go w/ a and turtle bc they’re like my bsfs 

48. pinkie gets pissy and skips fourth block

thursday 

49. tutorial time, me and bbsf share my water, bbsf mentions that i’ve done his makeup before. i wouldn’t normally bring that up cuz it’s very common for us but this leads to turtle further trying to get us together 

friday 

50. hoco rally, i sit w/ cowgirl, pinkie, pinkie’s friend tootsie and my friend from dance and drama, ruby 

51. turtle and a sit behind us and i mainly talk to them and ruby the entire rally, pinkie is oddly nice abt it

52. i walk up to bbsf, bear and bow after 4th block ends and apparently pushed bbsf into to bushes and cut him the fuck up 

53. hoco game, band/colorguard get new uniforms (aka bbsf, five, berry, zim and no name)

54. me, pinkie, cowgirl and tootsie sit by band section to hangout w/ them

55. 8pm i have a breakdown bc that officially marks 2 years of my dad being dead

56. obvi all of my friends try to comfort me 

57. pinkie tries to make it about her for some reason

58. one of my friends wins hoco queen

saturday

59. me and pinkie go to a boba shop to take pics before hoco 

60. we run into bbsf who was across the street

61. we get to the school and i go get my friend diamond 

62. bbsf finally arrives

63. bbsf pulls me into a hug (and rejects pinkie’s hug after) 

64. me, diamond and our other friend fuego (can u tell i’ve run out of names) r all dancing when ga, ginger and a guy who i think i mentioned once like a year ago all come up to me and ask if i’ve seen bbsf 

65. like an hour goes bye and i find out the trio is planning on jumping bbsf

66. i send that voice message to bbsf 

67. i find bbsf and we have, the best way to describe it, a moment…

68. bbsf leaves early

69. bbsf’s older sister finds out abt the almost jumping and chews the trio out

70. a bunch of other shit happened bc i was bouncing around like 4 groups but this is called the bbsf saga so everything else will have to wait until the other sagas

HEY POOKIESTAR! sorry for letting that ask marinate...i was very busy (i was lazy bababooing BUT IM HEREE!!😔)

also miss gworl i'm in the middle of a cyclone class 3 rn hehe..but cyclone is not really cycloning...ITS MORE CYCLOWNING🤡

ohhh so ga basically was threatening to jump BBSF because he bbsf grew close to manic pixie dream bow girl BECAUSE HE GA HAD A CRUSH ON HER OHHH

so bow came back from other side of cali very demure...

PINKIE IS A FURRY WTF...she wears a tail and wants to be called a japanese name ITS GIVING ASIANFISHING

..um..chile anyways...hell naw...does make sense though she acts like a feral child...🥱#imapinkiehater100percent

"me and bbsf share my water"FIRST THE SLUSHIE NOW THIS?? JUST SAY YOU WANNA KISS HIM AND SHARE SALIVA U STOOPID biatch U ARE DOWN BAD IN SUPERLATIVE FORM SO THAT MEANS YOU ARE "DOWN WORST"

"bbsf mentions that i’ve done his makeup before." i have a theory about this particular part...ill say in the end but im hella delulu yknow so don't listen to my words 100 percent lmfao (you should actually listen to me)

everyone else's names:🎀🌈✨💎🌺🦌🧸

the others:

for number 55 oh noo pookie im sorry to hear that...fawk pinkie...CAN'T SHE JUST SHUT HER GOOFY FURRY ASS UP

HE REJECTED PINKIE'S HUG AND PULLED U IN A HUGGGGG BOMBOCLATTTTT HE A MAN OF CULTURE HE LIKES YOU GIRL JUST FUCKING DATE ALREADYYYYY HOW MANY SIGNS ARE U TRYNA LOOK FOR U BLIND ASS

Y'ALL HAD A MOMENT OH MAHHHH GAWDDDDDD and not u saving him...stawp!! its giving hero x damsel in distress trope; bbsf is the damsel in distress ofc🎀

haiya but why did he try to frolick in the meadow with bow though...tskk i feel like he is kinda a player my dakoko 🥥

anyways my theory about the makeup thing...because i am a whore in THEORY and not in practice (i am but secretly hehe at times dw...3-5 business days)

ok so when u do someone's makeup...YOUR FACE IS CLOSE TO THEIRS RIGHTTTTT....you get what i mean...there is so much proximity there is no distance at all...BABABOOI

similar to when you are about to kiss someone [coughs coughs]...so the fact that he "randomly" remembered AND SEEMINGLY POINTS THAT OUT OF THE BLUE shows that this particular and notably phenomenal romantic and very intimate moment that emerged from the planets and stars from the milky way galaxy aligning [pro poetic yapper] has marked him or left an impact on him yknow what i mean...LIKE HE MIGHT THINK OF THIS MOMENT EVERY NIGHT OR SO OFTEN THAT HIS TOES ARE TINGLING OR HE IS GIGGLING AND BLUSHING LIKE A MIDDLE SCHOOL GIRL IN HIS ROOM...like y'all were close to kissing...he definitely was examining your face perhaps HIGH CHANCE of him staring at your lips [cutely sips her pomegranate tea under the covers with plenty of passion🍵🔥that shit bussing btw]

also him mentioning that shows his interest in you also in all delulu interpretation that this particular mention to you evokes a sense that he may have been secretly inquiring about whether you remember that very intimate moment of high chance of smoochy smooch camouflaged by you doing his makeup...to see if you have feelings for him or have a romantic interest in him...VOILA!!🎀

bai bai

[fallinginvictus]

WIP Wednesday Andrew & Aaron Time Loop AU [part 1/4]

8ish years post-canon (aaron at the end of his first year of residency)

time loop fic where aaron dies of an overdose and andrew keeps waking up on the morning of his death and tries his best to save him

tw for this specific chapter: character death, mention of drug addiction, mention of relapse, mention of drug overdose, dead body

Part 2

CHAPTER ONE

It's Tuesday, 8 May at 15:19 in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Stop lying, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling in his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“Aaron is not dead,” he says to the empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature. If something happened, what's the point in lying to yourself and denying the cold hard truth? What's the point in delaying the inevitable?

And yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

He walks to his room in a trance, throwing clothes and underwear into a black duffle bag without even checking if the clothes are clean, if they are his, he just takes anything that he can get his hands on and throws it in the bag until it's full and then he closes it.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car.

Andrew had never much cared for the guy but Neil liked him and that was enough for Andrew.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had driven much longer just to meet Neil when they were in different teams, in different states, and yet none of those drives had ever felt as long as the one that is going to bring him to his brother's cold and lifeless corpse.

Every other car on the interstate seems to be moving in slow motion and Andrew wants to scream at every single one of them. He tightens his hands on the wheel, wondering why he needs to go faster, why he needs to speed. Aaron is already gone, his body already cold. It won't matter at all how long he takes to get there. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome will be the exact same.

As he passes through towns and fields, Andrew wonders when Aaron had relapsed. How long had Aaron been lost to drugs before his death? How many times had he relapsed throughout the years without ever telling Andrew? How many times had he picked himself up on his own, alone in Boston?

“You are the one who wanted freedom,” he mutters, stuck in the 6 pm traffic as he lays his head on the steering wheel. “You are the one who wanted this.”

They hadn't talked much in the past nine years. Aaron hadn't talked with anyone much. He had left Palmetto State and the rest of them with it without ever looking back.

Nicky would always cry about it, about Aaron's lack of contact, about his distance, about his unwillingness to get mixed up with the Foxes after graduation.

“Oh, Mr. Harvard is too good for us now? Can't even show his face for one dinner?” Allison had said once while they were having dinner at Wymack and Abby's housewarming party.

“He's probably just busy,” Nicky had defended him, his eyes tired from the 10-hour flight from Germany that he had taken just to be there for their little reunion, knowing how hard it was for all the Foxes to be free on the same day.

“Yeah well, we are all busy.”

Once, Nicky had called Andrew while he was still crying after he had gotten in a huge fightwith Aaron about his indifference, about his distance.

“He never even texts,” Nicky had said. “Did you know that he and Kate broke up two years ago? Two fucking years Drew. Of course you didn't know either because he never tells us anything at all. It's like we don't exist anymore to him.”

That bastard had done his best to distance himself from them just so that he could have his perfect and normal life just to then go and overdose on some stolen morphine.

What a humiliating way to go.

So much for a perfectly normal life.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks will be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. He could've at least overdosed in a farm out of town and spared Andrew the headache. What an asshole.

He stands outside the hospital for a few or a hundred minutes, listening to the ambulances’ sirens as they race behind him, looking at the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he finally walks inside, a nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground while she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” one of her colleagues says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just like Dr. Minyard.”

“As twins often do,” he replies without blinking, the nurse's reaction shaking him more than he thought it could.

“Of course. You must be Andrew. I'm Nurse Mary.”

He just stares at her in silence as she stares back at him as if she were looking at a ghost.

Andrew wondered how he will ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again.

“Are you going to bring me to my brother or are you going to stare at me all day?”

“Yes. Of course. I'm so sorry. Here, follow me,” she says as if coming out of a trance before turning towards the other nurse. “Tell Dr. Allen that Dr. Minyard's brother arrived.”

Andrew had been expecting white hallways, white tile floors and white walls illuminated by bright white lights, instead he's met by green and yellow hallway walls, little animals like rabbits and deer and butterflies painted all around, flowers made of paint blooming in every corner.

“This is a children's hospital,” Nurse Mary says as if Andrew had asked.

“I know,” he replies because he might've lost contact with his brother but at least he knows that much.

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, Andrew unwilling to entertain any form of conversation, unable to let words come out of his mouth, incapable of interacting with the world outside of his mind.

He wonders if Aaron had even thought about the consequence of his relapse. If he had thought of his career, of the future that he had worked so restlessly to achieve.

If Aaron was going to throw it all away anyway, he could've at least avoided making Nicky cry.

“He's here,” Mary says while stopping in front of a white door. “We haven't brought him down to the morgue yet. We were waiting for you.”

Andrew just nods.

“We all knew he was-”

“I didn't ask,” he replies. “You can leave”

“Of course. I'm sorry,” Andrew can tell that there is still something stuck on the tip of her tongue that she so badly wants to say, but he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to hear how everyone knew about it, how Aaron hadn't managed to escape from his past, how he hadn't been able to achieve that normal life that he had always yearned for.

He waits until the nurse is gone and then another few more minutes before he finally pushes the door open and walks inside the dim room.

There is a bed on the right, it's empty and white and perfectly made.

There is a bed on the left, white lines pulled over a body, gloomy and silent and perfectly still.

Andrew walks quietly towards the occupied bed and then stops for a second, his cement-stuffed shoes anchoring him to the ground, his metal-filled bones weighing him down. He feels like he's trying to run in a dream, trying to walk on quicksand, Aaron's silhouette so close to him and yet so impossibly distant.

The quiet of the room is deafening, the grains of dust falling and dancing in the air in slow motion suddenly starting to look beautiful and interesting and making his eyes stray from his brother's dead body.

He doesn't want to look at it. To look at him.

He wants to run.

He wants to open that door and never have to look at his traitor of a brother again. He wants to spit in his face and curse his name, curse his short existence and meaningless departure.

He removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“You are so stupid,” he says. “I hate you so much.”

He stares at Aaron's motionless face, trying to remember the last time he had seen it flushed red, the last time life had still been cursing through his body, beating in his chest, shining in his eyes.

It had been so long. Too long.

He can't remember the last words he had said to Aaron, can't remember the last conversation they had. He can't remember what Aaron had said or if he had smiled. (Aaron never really smiled.)

It had been spring back then too, Andrew and Neil were in Boston for a match. They had met at a coffee shop. Andrew can't remember what Aaron had ordered. They hadn't talked much, feeling like strangers who had once lived in each other's pockets, two people who knew so much and yet so little about each other.

Aaron had left in a hurry with an I'm sorry, I'll text you.

Andrew had said nothing in reply.

“We didn't even say goodbye,” he whispers as that knowledge slams into him like a fast-moving train. “I hate you.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he doesn't even notice, his left hand resting on Aaron's blond hair as his right moves on top of his chest, searching for a beat that he knows he won't find.

“After all we did for you, how can you throw it all away just because you wanted to get high? How could you do this to us? What am I supposed to tell Nicky now? You know how much he loves you,” a moment passes, words that he had never said to Aaron trying to crawl their way up his throat, their sharp claws scratching it raw and leaving a trail of blood behind. “I love you.”

His breath hitches and his hands shake as he tries to take a hold of himself, as he tries to swallow those words back down, the taste of metal invading his mouth.

“I said I love you. So come back now,” he begs the silence and only the silence replies.

Aaron doesn’t move, his eyes remain closed, his chest unmoving.

“What do I tell Nicky?” he whispers to himself as he sits on the wooden chair next to the bed, his left hand softly holding Aaron's ice-covered hand while taking his phone out of his pocket with his right.

From: neighbour

not a problem at all!!!

I hope everything is alright :)

u don't have to worry i am GREAT with kitties

From: 0Neil

where are you? why did you ask jake to look after king and sir?

He wants to call Neil, to ask him to drop everything and meet him in Boston, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to tell anyone before telling Nicky.

If there was someone in the world who had gently and unconditionally loved Aaron, it was him.

If there was someone in the world who would fall apart at the news of Aaron's death, it would be him.

Andrew wishes there was another way to do it. Wishes Nicky didn't have to hear of Aaron's death the same way that Andrew had: from a voice through the phone.

“Andrew, is everything alright?” Nicky answers after letting the phone ring five times.

“Are you home?”

“It's 1 am of course I'm home and also sleeping,” he says on the phone before adding quietly. “It's Andrew.”

“Erik is next to you?” Andrew asks because he needs someone to be there with Nicky. He wouldn't survive the news if he were alone.

“Yeah. What's going on?”

“Turn on the lights and sit on the bed with Erik next to you.”

“Andrew, it's so late and Erik has to get up from work in like, five hours. Can't this wait?”

“Just do as I say, Nicky,” he gritts out as he holds Aaron's hand. “And tell me when you are done.”

He can hear a little commotion on the other side, the rustling of covers as they are being moved, german words he can't understand, someone sighing in annoyance.

“Okay, we are now sitting on our bed with the lights on like two idiots.”

“Hold his hand.”

“Andrew-”

“Just do as I say.”

“You are scaring me.”

“Are you holding his hand?”

“Yessir.”

“Nicky,” is all that comes out of his mouth, the rest of the sentence drowning in his chest before he can get it out.

“Is something wrong with Neil?” Nicky asks and Andrew can hear the worry in his voice, the gentleness in his tone.

“It's Aaron,” he spits, the acid-filled words burning his flesh on their way out.

“Aaron? Is he sick? What's wrong?”

“He's dead,” he says as if those words aren't about to make Nicky's whole world crumble to the ground.

“He's not dead,” Nicky says with a chuckle. “I texted him two months ago and he was fine.”

“Nicky,” Andrew breathes out. “He's dead.”

“He was fine so how can he be dead now? That doesn't make any sense Andrew. Don't be silly.”

“He relapsed. He overdosed early this afternoon.”

“He went to Harvard. He's a doctor in one of the best children's hospitals in the country. He's a doctor, Andrew. He's happy. Why would he relapse?”

“Because he's a drug addict, Nicky. That's what they do.”

“Shut up. Not Aaron. He's clean. He can't be dead. Please. We didn't- I didn't even-” and then all he can hear through the phone are a series of sobs being pulled out of Nicky's chest as he falls apart on the other side of the phone, on the other side of the world.

“I'll take care of him and book the first flight for Boston,” Erik says as Andrew listens to Nicky falling to pieces before the call ends.

He stares at Aaron for a few seconds, his hand still softly holding Aaron's, “You see what you did? You made Nicky cry again. How is he supposed to move on from this now?”

His phone vibrates again as it rests on his legs.

From: 0Neil

reply?

I just need to know that everything is okay

To: 0Neil

I'm in boston

come as soon as you can

aaron's dead

From: 0Neil

I'm coming right now

Andrew looks at Aaron's face one last time, his fingers hovering over his icy cheek for a few seconds before placing a kiss on his forehead, something that he had never dreamt of doing when Aaron's forehead was still warm, and then he covers him with the white hospital sheet.

“Where are his things?” he asks Nurse Mary once he reaches the nurses’ station.

“My God,” another nurse whispers in the background. “They look so similar. He looks like a better and healthier version of Dr Minyard.”

A better version of Aaron.

Andrew snarls at those words.

That's not how their lives were supposed to turn out. Aaron was supposed to be the better twin, the one with his life together, the happy and normal one. How had things turned out like this? Why was Andrew the one with a normal life and Aaron's lifeless body was lying in a hospital bed under a white sheet?

“Here, I'll take you to his locker.”

The staff changing room is closer to the nurses’ station than Aaron's body is and to Andrew's relief, is also empty.

“You can put his things in this bag,” the nurse says as she hands him a plastic bag. “Number 13. It's already opened for you,” she stands there awkwardly for a second. “Goodbye then.”

“Who do I have to invite to the funeral?” he asks her before she can walk out.

“I'm sorry?”

“His close friends. Who was he the closest to? Who must I invite to the funeral?”

“Oh,” Nurse Mary says awkwardly as she fiddles with her hands. “Dr Minyard wasn't really- he didn't really have any friends here. Or anywhere. I'm sorry I don't- He just didn't really talk with anyone and always kept to himself. Dr Allen always says that he's his favourite prodigee, that he will become a great doctor but that he's not really a fun person to be around. He's great with patients just not-” She stops talking, realising how rude her words may sound to a grieving family member. “I'm sorry.”

“So nobody?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Something breaks in Andrew at those words, a pain that he can't place, that he can't understand.

He had always imagined Aaron living a happy and normal life, laughing with his colleagues while eating lunch at the hospital cafeteria, having a drink after work at a bar near the hospital, spending the holidays around a table full of people while laughing about something that had happened at work the night before.

He always thought Aaron had left them behind because he had built a new life for himself, that he'd left them behind so that he could build himself a perfect life surrounded by normal people.

He doesn't know what to do with the image of an Aaron who had no one in his life, who spent all of his time either at work or at home alone, who never laughed and never smiled. Andrew wonders if he had ever even known his brother at all.

Was it the absence of people in his life that made him relapse, he wonders, or was the fear of relapsing that kept him away from people?

There isn’t much in Aaron's locker, just a yellow stethoscope, a white coat with a yellow sunflower-shaped pin, his house keys, a box of assorted teas, a pair of spare scrubs and a set of cutlery. He picks everything up and throws it in the red plastic bag, a piece of paper falling to the ground as he does so.

He kneels on the ground to pick it up but his hand stops in mid-air as soon as he realised what it is: a picture of the Foxes during Aaron's third year of college, their orange uniforms bright under the sun, smiles painted on almost all of their faces, Wymack and Abby standing by their side.

“What the fuck Aaron,” he asks closing his eyes for a second before picking up the worn-out picture and staring at it for a few seconds, a confused expression on his face, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

He can't stop thinking about that picture the whole drive towards Aaron's apartment, questions swirling inside his brain as he almost blows through a red light.

Aaron's new life, now that Andrew got a glimpse of it, looks a lot different than what he had imagined and he just can't understand it. Nothing makes any sense and there is no one left who can shed light on it because the only person who could make sense of it is now dead.

Aaron is dead.

Aaron is dead.

Andrew wonders how he's supposed to move on with his life with those words always swirling in his brain.

Aaron's house is fifteen minutes away from the hospital, the building modest but well maintained, Aaron's apartment on the sixth floor.

He stands in front of the door for a few minutes delaying the inevitable as if it would change the outcome. He has been doing a lot of that the past few hours.

He used to always dive face-first into any situation, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.

Aaron's death is something he's unable to face. Doesn't want to face.

Aaron's bed is still unmade when Andrew opens the door to his bedroom, dirty clothes scattered around the room, empty boxes of ramen piled near the full trash can, sheets of paper covering the floor, open books piled on top of more open books on his desk.

Andrew wonders when was the last time Aaron had cleaned up the room as he opens the window.

When they lived together, Aaron was clean and neat, he used to hate when Andrew left clothes lying around and when he didn't wash his dishes. He would clean his room once every other day without ever leaving even a pen out of place. Even when he was so high he could barely remember his own name or understand where he was, he would always take the time to fold his clothes and put his shoes in their right place before going to bed.

Andrew wonders what had changed.

He sits on the bed, on Aaron's bed, his body heavy, his tiredness bone-deep, and closes his eyes for a second, Aaron's freshly washed hoodie next to his head, the scent of honey and lilies invading his senses, Aaron's pale face right behind his eyelid.

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

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open.

He's lying under his light green covers, in his own bed, in his own house, King purring on his chest, waiting for Andrew to pet him like he does every morning, Aaron’s pale face still dancing behind Andrew's eyelids, his lifeless hands and unmoving chest tattooed on Andrew's brain.

He grabs his phone from where it's charging on the nightstand to look at the time but what catches his attention is the date written in big white letters on his phone screen: 7:09 am, Tue, 8 May.

Had it been just a dream? Just a cruel creation of his own imagination? But it had felt too real to be nothing more than a nightmare. Andrew can still recall every second of yesterday, of today, every step he took, every move he made, the way Aaron's cold skin had felt, the way his moonstone-white face had looked. How could it have been nothing more than a figment of his own fucked up imagination? How could it all have been fake when he could still feel the ache in his heart, so real and tangible?

He dials Aaron's number five times before his brother finally answers, his voice like a stab to Andrew's heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew wants to scream at him, to never speak to him again.

“Are you still clean?”

“What?” Andrew can hear the disdain in Aaron's voice but pointedly ignores it.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?”

“No?”

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone, Aaron's voice too painful to hear, the memory of his death too fresh in Andrew's mind even if it had been nothing more than a cruel dream conjured up by his treacherous mind.

Andrew finally feels like he can breathe again.

Eight hours and ten minutes later, Andrew's phone rings again, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Not again, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling inside his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“This can't be happening again,” he says to an empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature, but how he can he be relieving the worst moment of his life for a second time? Is he lying in Aaron's bed trapped in a nightmare? Has he died and gone to Hell, forced to relive the worst day of his life for the rest of eternity?

Andrew was never one for denial and yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car in a trance, his mind lost in a fog he can't disperse.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had taken the same exact path yesterday, he had cursed at the same exact people he is currently speeding past.

Andrew can feel his hands tightening on the wheel and he wonders why speeding. He has already seen Aaron's lifeless body lying in that dim hospital room. He has already stood by his bedside and held his cold hand, has already felt Aaron's icy skin under his warm lips. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome would be the exact same.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other just waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks are going to be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. How dare he make him drive through it for a second time? What an asshole.

He walks inside the hospital as soon as his car is parked, the sound of the sirens as they race behind him loud as he bumps into the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he walks inside, the nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him like she had the day before, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground as she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” nurse Mary says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just-”

“I know,” he says, walking past her and heading towards the room where Aaron is resting.

“Oh- wait,” the nurse says running after him. “I can take-”

“I know where he is.”

“That's okay,” she says, trying to catch up with him but remaining silent as they walk in the right direction.

“You can go,” he says as soon as they reach the white door.

“Well, alright,” Mary says a little flustered. “My condolences.”

Andrew doesn't wait for her to leave before walking inside the dim room and closing the door behind himself.

He ignores the bed on the right, immediately heading towards the one occupied by his brother's body. The quiet inside the room deafening as he removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“How can you do this to me twice?” he asks the silent corpse. “That's cruel Aaron. That's just too fucking cruel.”

He looks at his brother for a few more seconds before shaking his head. “Is this some kind of divine punishment?” he asks towards the sky. “This is not fair. It's not fair.”

He covers Aaron's unloving face and walks out of the room and towards the doctors’ changing room as quickly as he can.

He wishes he could bleach his brain and remove the image of Aaron's lifeless body from his memory but he knows it will haunt all of his dreams, all of his waking moments.

“Wow. He looks like a better version of Dr Minyard.”

“Mr Minayrd-” Marys says.

“I know. Locker thirteen,” he interrupts her before entering the changing room and taking only Aaron's house keys and the Foxe’s picture out of the locker before bolting out of the hospital and speeding towards Aaron's apartment.

He doesn't know what he's doing, what he's looking for, what he's hoping to achieve, he just keeps looking all over Aaron's house as if he could find a solution there, an explanation.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks the empty house and receives no reply, a picture of him, Aaron and Nicky during their graduation staring at him from its silver frame.

He lies on Aaron's carpet, the picture in his arms, staring at the bright light on the ceiling until his vision becomes blurry and there are black spots in his eyes.

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

"This one also wasn't very highly requested, but it was the main one Mel wanted to write, so you're getting it anyway. This took place on Halloween, after the Trick-or-Treat arc, and somewhere in the middle of The Wedding Planner arc. It covers some of our Halloween festivities and includes my first time seeing Valentino since getting engaged. It also shows how Angel ended up being my groomsman. If you want some visuals, all the inspirations for our Halloween costumes are linked here."

Macabre Masquerade

Vox had decided to be generous this Halloween and had gotten the entire Hazbin Hotel into the VIP section of one of his clubs for their Halloween party. It was up on a balcony overlooking the rest of the club with far fewer people and much better service.

Vox had gotten them a large, semi-circle booth towards the front of the balcony. He sat in the center (looking quite handsome in his vampire costume, if he did say so himself), and Alastor and Lucifer sat on either side of them, both drop-dead sexy in their bloody (and in Lucifer's case, artfully tattered) wedding dresses. Husk sat on Alastor's other side, his only 'costume' piece a clown nose that Alastor had forced on him when he'd refused to dress up. To be fair, on the opposite side of the table, Angel's costume wasn't much more involved, having just thrown on some cat ears and a complimenting black corset. Beside him, Cherri was semi-covered in strips of white fabric to look like a mummy; though she either hadn't wanted to spend much time on it, or all of the exposed skin was intentional - or both. Then there was Niffty, clad in a pumpkin costume that she had made herself, bouncing around between the floor, the table, and crawling over Husk and Alastor.

Charlie and Vaggie in their role-reversal angel and demon costumes hadn't lingered in the VIP area long - they'd had a drink then excused themselves to go downstairs to the main club, probably so that they wouldn't feel awkward grinding on each other in front of Charlie's dad (or because Charlie was hoping to sell some of the other patrons on the hotel). Vox certainly wasn't complaining, since he and Lucifer had absolutely no qualms being handsy with each other, so long as his daughter wasn't around. His hand slid under the tatters of Lucifer's skirt, giving his thigh a squeeze. His other arm was around Alastor, enjoying the way the Radio Demon leaned into his side, his fingers trailing along the deep 'V' of his blue silk neckline.

"I don't like how many people are looking at you," he murmured thoughtfully. "You should have worn the jabot."

Vox snorted. "Let them look. You're the only two that can touch."

"I'd rather be the only ones who can look, too," Alastor mused, glancing around the television demon. "Wouldn't you agree, Lucifer?"

"Nope," Lucifer answered with a grin. "I like showing him off. So long as everyone else remembers their place, of course."

Vox smirked proudly. "Show me off all you like, baby."

"Hmm," Alastor hummed, clearly displeased. "Perhaps I'll just have to start plucking out the eyes of your admirers."

"Oh, that'd be hot," he chuckled.

Their conversation was interrupted by Niffty suddenly scurrying off, deeper into the VIP section.

Husk sighed, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll watch her." He left the table, seeming almost grateful for the excuse.

Angel breathed out a breath of relief, slumping back against the booth as some of the tension that had been present in him all night drained out of him.

Vox raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you can do better than him."

The spider demon's eyebrows shot up in shock as he turned to look at him, but he shook his head. "No, I can't. Tha's the problem. That an' all these fuckin' expectations hangin' over us. It's fuckin impossible ta' relax around him anymore!"

"Angie, you're makin' it into a way bigger deal than it needs to be," Cherri objected, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "He's totally into you! Who cares about expectations?"

"I do!"

"Well, Husk sure doesn't," Vox muttered with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. "I don't think he actually gives a shit about anything anymore."

Alastor let out a thoughtful hum. "Except for Angel," he commented with a wry grin that led Vox to believe that Angel had proven to be an excellent motivator for Husk.

Angel blinked at them, then frowned down at the table. "I just want things to go back ta' how they were."

"I think he does, too," Lucifer pointed out gently.

His brows furrowed, but he said nothing.

"Are you really gonna keep lettin' a few assholes keep you away from someone you like?" Cherri pressed. "And here I thought you wanted ta' put a stop to other people makin' you miserable. I say fuck their expectations and do what ya' want!"

"It's not that easy," Angel protested.

"Why?" Vox asked flatly. "Because Valentino taught you that the most important thing is meeting the public's expectations? Not even to exceed them or defy them, just to make everyone happy. Kind of a pathetic way to live. Maybe don't let his manipulations define you. Just a thought."

Slowly, Angel looked up at him with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted as his words hit home.

"Course, if I were you, I'd throw all those expectations out and forget Husk entirely," Vox continued with a shrug. "But I doubt you're going to do that. So, maybe just stop overthinking everything and avoiding him. It makes things weird for all of us."

A small smile turned up the corners of Angel's lips. "Thanks, Big V." He perked up a little, not-so-subtly scanning the VIP section to see where Husk had gotten to. But then a couple more people stepped onto the balcony, and he immediately shrank back into the booth.

"Oh, great," Vox muttered under his breath when he spotted Velvette in her witch costume and Valentino looking like he had grabbed whatever in his closet would cover the least amount of skin.

Velvette's eyes went wide when she spotted them, and he could see her lips form a quiet "shit" as she immediately turned and attempted to pull Valentino towards a table in the back. But Valentino had already spotted them. He made a beeline to their table, stopping directly across from Vox with a smirk and a hand on his hip.

"Voxxy, this is a pleasant surprise!"

"Shit, V, sorry," Velvette hurried up to Valentino's side. "I didn't realize you were gonna be here."

Vox waved off her apology. "Not your fault. Valentino, let's not make a scene," he spoke calmly, though his gaze was cold. "There's plenty of space, so just mind your own business and leave us alone - and that includes Angel, he's off tonight. We don't need to have any issues."

Valentino pouted. "How are you still being so cold to me? Aren't we past all that shit now?"

His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward over the table. "You drugged me," he hissed. "There is no getting past it."

"You're being dramatic," he complained with a roll of his eyes. "You should be touched that I even cared enough to try to keep you."

"Drugging someone is not caring about them!" Lucifer snarled.

"Just walk away, Valentino," Alastor said, his tone dangerously sweet. "Before you get hurt."

"¡Dios mío!" Valentino threw his arms up exasperatedly. "I was just coming over here to fucking congratulate you three on your engagement. I want to bury the hatchet, Voxxy. Can't we put everything behind us?"

"No," Vox answered coldly and without hesitation.

"Val, come on," Velvette groaned. "I agreed ta' come out with you tonight, but I'm not dealin' with your fuckin' drama. Vox has every right to never want ta' see you again."

"As if he could stick to that," Valentino insisted with a wave of his hand. "Come on, he's getting married soon, and we all know I have to be up there with him."

Vox scoffed. "Val, you're not even invited to the wedding. You absolutely will not be up there with me."

"Oh please, you don't mean that. Of course I'm going to be your best man."

"Nope. Velvette's my maid of honor. That's already decided."

"What?" he snapped, glaring at Velvette, who gave an unapologetic shrug. "I've known you longer than she has!"

"Yeah, you have," Vox agreed. "But you betrayed me, and she hasn't."

Valentino pursed his lips, crossing both sets of arms irritably. "What about groomsman, then? Who else could you possibly have up there with you?"

He hesitated. Because that he hadn't figured out yet. He had plenty of fans, but very few friends. All he'd had for years was Valentino and Velvette. Hell, the only people he was even friendly with these days were all part of this hotel.

He smirked as a sudden idea occurred to him, and he directed his attention to the end of the booth. "Angel. How do you feel about being my groomsman?"

Angel looked up at him in surprise. "Oh, uh... sure."

Satisfied, Vox turned back to Valentino, who was positively fuming. "We're only having two attendants each, and both of my slots are filled. And again, you aren't invited."

"You fucking bitch!" Valentino snarled, and he started to take a step forward, but Velvette grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"No," she said firmly. "Either come sit at a table and be reasonable, or we're leavin'. I'm not dealin' with this shit today."

"This is bullshit! You don't even like Angel, you just want to be fucking petty!"

"I like him more than I like you," Vox objected matter-of-factly.

"Val, don't be an idiot!" Velvette snapped. "We're in public, an' you're just makin' yourself look like a jealous ex."

"Isn't he?" Alastor laughed.

"Well yeah, but the people don't need ta' know that."

"You probably also don't want the people to see you get your ass kicked if you try to lay a finger on Vox," Lucifer chimed in, staring down Valentino with a fire in his eyes.

Valentino's lip curled and his gaze darted towards Angel, a calculating look in his eyes.

Sparks danced dangerously around Vox's fingers. "Don't even try it."

"He's my whore," he snapped furiously, his glare once again directed to Vox.

"And he's here as my guest. Leave him alone."

Valentino scowled and spun away with a frustrated, "Ugh, come on, Vel, let's go somewhere else. Come find me when you decide to pull your head out of your ass and realize you can't get married without me," he called over his shoulder.

Vox rolled his eyes and looked at an exasperated Velvette. "You're welcome to join us, you know."

She glanced after Valentino, then leaned closer to the table to not be overheard. "Give me a minute to ditch the piss baby, then I'll take ya' up on that."

He nodded, watching them walk away.

"Thanks," Angel muttered once they were gone, his arms loosening where he had wrapped them around himself. "I thought for sure he was gonna try ta' drag me with him."

"Don't mention it," Vox shrugged off his thanks. "And if he gives you a hard time about the whole groomsman thing, just let me know and I'll deal with it."

"So... ya' really want me as a groomsman?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure. Don't know who else I'd have. But you will be standing up there next to Husk, so try to resolve your shit before the wedding, okay?"

Angel nodded with a small laugh. "Sure thing."

"Okay, well I think that's enough excitement," Lucifer sighed, waving a hand in the air to flag down a waiter. "How about another round of drinks?"

There was a chorus of agreement, and they all relaxed a little more into the booth as they returned to enjoying the Halloween festivities.

[dogesterone]

laying and bed kicking my feet dreamily cause i love my boyfriend and im gonna infodump about how much i love him

weve been dating nonstop for 8.5 years. he was my first partner ever. he asked me out via tumblr fan mail back when that was still a thing. i genuinely sometimes question if id have ever realized i was trans if i didnt have him in my life. he likes idol rhythm games and kidcore aesthetics and one piece and queer theory and midwest emo music and theatre and poetry and mixed media art and plushies and his moustache that he worked so hard to grow out and his weird haircuts that im always hesitant about but they always grow on me cause i love him and they make him happy. ive recently done a lot of introspection since we started doing a lot of ENM/polyamory stuff and i think ive realized that im honestly just a lesbian with how intensely im attracted to other trans girls but that doesnt matter in regards to my boyfriend because he was, is, and always will be such an important part of my life and makes me so happy that i can't imagine my life without him in it. his body feels so comfortable and familiar pressed up against mine in bed and even if his snoring is really loud i never go sleep in the living room. i am attracted to him in a way that transcends romance and sexuality. he calls me a dyke and a faggot and a tranny in exactly the right way to genuinely make me laugh. we have a cat together. he gave himself a christian name specifically to piss off his reddit atheist dad. i let him complain to me about his shitty coworker and his family and whatever internet discourse is bouncing around his head. his fursona's a cat. his middle name is named after a grateful dead song. he has so many keychains and charms on his car keys that you could beat someone to death with them. he likes littlebigplanet and pokemon mystery dungeon and i think he's just about the only person in the entire world who could explain the onceler fandom in a way that actually makes it sound cool. he is my prince and i am his knightess. his stepdad is japanese so he likes japanese food a lot. his favorite color is yellow.

i love him so so so so so much.

[purplewitch156]

Ooh, I'd love to hear about Strange Horticulture or the White Road!

Strange Horticulture is a video game. It’s quirky and chill and atmospheric. You run a plant shop, receive mail, find cryptic notes in your desk from the previous owner, and make concoctions from your plants to sell to customers. Periodically you get to travel and source new plants for your shop. It rains often. It feels very Victorian. You can water and rearrange your potted plants. You have a cat.

I’m aware that by making Harry a plant shop owner, I’m pulling him pretty far from his canon blueprint. That’s more the kind of thing Neville would do. But I think I can make it work. I love the idea of how much Lily could have influenced Harry with her Potions expertise. I easily imagine little Harry tagging along with his mother when she set off into the woods to find mushrooms and sap and plants, etc, and help her chop and brew. The fact that you do get to make potions fits in nicely.

It's been a while since I’ve played the game so I’m stretching my memory, but the protagonist has memory problems that seem to hint toward something big and dramatic and there is a cult in the town that is trying to resurrect some kind of demon and you’re kinda in the middle of it.

ALSO, I recently read (and bounced off of cuz I wasn’t enjoying it) Into the Woods by Tana French. In that story when the main character was a child, he and his friends were in the woods and were attacked. The two friends are never found again and the survivor has lost all memories of the event. That was a very compelling idea to me and it’s something I’m mulling about in regards to this story, especially if I decide to lean into the memory loss/amnesia that is implied in the game. But I also may not do any of that. Or I may go down an entirely different road.

I don’t have a whole lot of ideas yet for this one, so I’ll just list some of the big ones down below.

Instead of a cat, Harry has Hedwig.

Snape will be a friend to Harry. I’m leaning more towards making him the same age as Harry, but we’ll see. I think he could still have a crush on Lily but in a childhood/innocent kind of way that would make Harry often say, “EW. GROSS!” We’ll see. This might change.

Tom will obviously be involved in the cult and trying to utilize Harry for his own gains, but I’m not all that sure what that’s going to be yet. I kinda like the idea of him playing Harry – being a charming, handsome, helpful member of the community who is there to welcome the newest addition to the village and get into bed with him as soon as possible while also unleashing a hellish demon.

When Harry gets particularly stressed, he waters his plants and between this cult and rumors of a demon creature terrorizing the countryside and the romantic drama that I imagine Tom might cause, and the possibility of old memories returning of his two childhood friends getting eaten by said demon, Harry’s gonna be watering his plants a LOT. I have such a vision of him in one of these nervous/frantic states and he grabs the watering can and starts pouring it over some poor plant and Tom saying, “Don’t you think that’s enough?” And Harry notices what he’s doing and the poor plant’s practically drowning, flailing its tendrils, and he replies, “It can take it.”  

>>>

The White Road is a short story by Kelly Link. It follows a group of traveling performers in a post-apocalyptic setting. The story is very loose and doesn’t explain a whole bunch which means there’s a lot of room for interpretation. In the story, these strange entities walk the White Road. The White Road is always there, always following, always in the corner of your eye. At night, the creatures that walk the road seek others out and if there isn’t a dead body around, they kill everyone, so if night rolls around and you don’t have a dead body, someone pretends to be dead and everyone else pretends to be mourning them. The traveling group goes from town to town, performing and delivering mail.  

Now let’s talk about Harry. Harry will be a member of the group, along with Snape and Tom. (I’m not sure yet who else will be part of the caravan.) Whenever the caravan comes to a town, it’s a big deal. It’s a big deal because they have a doctor (Snape) and they have Harry who can see and communicate with the dead. People will flock to him to seek closure and the caravan is extremely protective of Harry because he (along with Snape) turn out the crowds more so than their renditions of Much Ado About Nothing.

Tom is the interesting one in this. With his personality, you’d think he’d be the guy in charge, but I’m not sure if that’s what I *want* to do. I do think of him as the protector of the group. The one who doesn’t mind taking care of threats and problems with violence and he’s killed quite the number of people. Harry’s going to be a later addition to the caravan and Tom is fascinated and scared of him for what he can do. He’s never really thought about the people he’s killed and the idea that they might be (and some of them are) following him and talking shit about him unnerves him. He’s also extremely attracted to Harry and will be pretty irritated when Harry refuses his advances every time. He will be EXTREMELY irritated when, for example, he learns that instead of sleeping with him – the most handsome bloke for miles – Harry decides to sleep with Snape. It’s gonna be that kind of dynamic, where everyone in the caravan knows everyone’s business and everybody’s hooking up with everybody else.   

[letkirillfight]

15 people 15 questions

thanks for the tag @babygirlspurgeon, @masonshaws, @giveemgreef, and @babygirlboberrey

1. are you named after anyone?

I share my middle name with my mom.

2. when was the last time you cried?

A couple days ago. The last month has been a bit rough.

3. do you have kids?

No and never will.

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

I played soccer when I in like elementary school and then did a season of tennis in like high school. Low-key hated doing both of them. I'm not really one for playing sports unless it's the sort of casual pick up game with friends. I much prefer to watch.

5. do you use sarcasm?

Yes, religiously.

6. what's the first thing you notice about people?

I'm going to be honest I am not self aware enough to know the answer to this one. But probably their outfit if I had to guess.

7. what's your eye color?

I always say gray.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

To my endless annoyance my brain is absolutely the worst while watching scary movies, like the most obviously built up jump scare will still spook me, so happy endings I guess.

9. any talents?

Uh, I'm really good at packing? And I'm pretty good with horses? I don't know, my mind kind of blanked on anything I have ever been good at when I read this.

10. where were you born?

Michigan

11. what are your hobbies?

I am a huge nerd and also a grandmother (this is not a slight towards grandmothers). I love watching movies and binging tv shows and have an extensive dvd collection because they will tear physical media from my cold dead hands. I also love playing video games and really want to build my own desktop one of these days towards that end. I will read anything that looks half interesting and have also lost many an hour to writing whatever idea pops into my head. I crochet, can technically knit, and am learning how to spin yarn and sew beyond basic mending. I also play sudoku, solitaire (spider specifically), and do puzzles. Plus like hiking and traveling to occasionally get out of the house. Oh and hockey.

12. do you have any pets?

Nope. I grew up with a wide variety of animals but have yet to get one of my own. Someday I'm considering getting a cat or two but we'll see.

13. how tall are you?

I am 5'5".

14. favorite subject in school?

History, followed closely by English. This probably has just as much to do with my teachers as the actual subject material as those classes were really fun.

15. dream job?

None lol. I dream of financial stability not working. If I had to pick something though it would probably be something physical. I like being able to say "I made that" or something with horses. I loved working with them before. Most realistically though it wouldn't be one thing. I like the idea of being a jack of all trades type and bouncing around learning how to do a bunch of things.

tagging: @wildrangers, @eis-hockey,@kirill-kaprizovs-curls,@cecishockeyblogging, @jonassiegenthighler, @lindholmline, @carpehistoryandthepens, @stanleyoffseventh, @couthbbg, @dwisp, @devils-wild, @thecardiackids, @wehaveagathering, @flaticeball, @oetter if y'all want to do it and haven't already done so. Plus anyone else who sees this and is interested consider yourself tagged.

[ragesin]

the astral express nestles amongst the stars, its eternal journey halted in fleeting moments of rest. while the other passengers sleep, march 7th slips from her room - footsteps soft and careful so as not to disturb their slumber - and finds her way to the kitchen, where forbidden snacks await in the form of ice cream she ought not to eat in the middle of the night lest she never find sleep at all. it's as she's digging it from the freezer that the slightest noise alerts her and she yelps, jumping like a startled cat with her ice cream container clutched between her palms. her gaze darts about wildly, and lands on ... oh. it's meliodas.

march sulks. "you move real quietly! sheesh." mere instants later, she's seemingly recovered from her upset enough to cross the room, settling upon a seat and rummaging for a spoon. "why're you awake at this hour? i thought everyone was sleeping." it's odd. he's a passenger of the express just as she is, and yet march never quite feels she knows anything solid about him. "d'you have trouble sleeping?"

Ears perked as the faint scraping of ice floated down the halls of the carriage, bringing pacing steps to a stop as thumbs pause against the phone’s screen, dim flickers of frenzied activity desaturating as the game’s paused. Light pangs of hunger gripping the stomach and hard earned knowledge of where Pom-Pom squirreled away the secret stash of donuts had altered aimless wandering of the express’ cars into a guided goal for midnight snacks but it sounded like another passenger beat Meliodas to the goods. Carefully, he inched to the doorway, the question of who decided to sleuth about at this late system hour ( besides himself ) bouncing around in his mind. Mild amusement rearranged blank visage into a wry smirk, the cover of darkness failing to hinder clarity of vision at all as he observed a tub of ice cream dislodge from the freezer’s icy grip to rest squarely in March 7th’s. The conductor probably wouldn’t be happy about desserts vanishing without a trace in the dead of night, not that he retained any modicum of room to cast judgement when he intended to be guilty of the same offense in short order.

Just as he was about to step back, come around again after the coast was clear, the faint ring of a notification from the phone sitting between his hands popped the bubble of relative quiet with the sharpness of a tack, the soft sound ripping through with the subtlety of a balloon bursting and startling the both of them. Caught red-handed while catching her red handed. Plausible deniability already crumbling to dust, he pocketed the device with a shrug of the shoulders, a mental note scribbled to put alerts back on silent rather than low later. It announcing his presence defeated the entire purpose of being able to move real quietly.

❝ That’s not it. ❞ Usually. But tonight wasn’t one of those nights, just nocturnal proclivities prompting him to be active during the shroud of evening. ❝ I’m more a night owl kind of guy. I stay in my room mostly, but I take walks through the Express sometimes. Got hungry though. ❞ It’s not out of the ordinary for his footfalls to carry him all over their starlit ride. Even now, they moved him forward, making a beeline straight for the inconspicuous bottom cabinet at the very end of the left side counter. He crouched and rustled through items deliberately placed to conceal and deflect attention, seconds later pulling out his own prize of four large donuts balanced atop one another, reaching next to an overhead cupboard to deposit his haul onto a plate on the countertop. A conspiratorial glance paired with an air of mischief was cast to March as he fixed the cupboard exactly as it had been, ❝ You didn’t hear this from me but this is where the conductor hoards all the real good snacks, okay ? ❞

@starspurn

[hamburgerndsprite]

TEMPTATION ON TRIAL ✓ CH 5

“He’s falsely accused. She’s legally unhinged. Together, they’re chaos in designer suits.”

➳ Pairing: Actor! Kim Seokjin x Criminal Lawyer! Oc

➳ Genre: Courtroom Chaos | Crack with Consequences | Enemies to Lovers | Legal Romance | Slow-burn & Subpoenas | Found Family but Make it Unhinged | Actor x lawyer au

Series Masterlist • Main Masterlist

Chapter 5: Barbie's Legal Breakdown™: Now With Extra Muffins

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The doors to the law firm opened with the kind of dramatic whoosh that deserved theme music. Preferably something from a spy movie, or at least a K-drama with slow-motion hair flips.

Unfortunately, all it got was a screaming Nerf dart flying across the lobby and hitting Taehyung square in the jaw.

“What the hell—?” he staggered back, hand to his face, eyes wide.

“Oh hey,” called a voice from behind a standing cutout of Beyoncé in a judge’s robe. “New clients? Nerf zone’s to the left. If you’re bleeding, the med kit’s under the coffee machine.”

“Why would it be under the coffee machine?” Jungkook blinked.

“Because that’s where the tequila is. Priorities,” said another voice, this time from somewhere in the ceiling.

Jungkook looked up just in time to see someone in a blazer and pajama pants slide down a fireman’s pole into the reception area, high-fiving a girl in crocs and a blazer that said “Litigate or Die Trying.”

Aria sauntered in behind them like she hadn’t just walked through a live-action fever dream.

Behind her, Hobi strolled in like he was stepping into his living room. He even waved at the guy watering a bonsai tree shaped like a middle finger.

“Hey Tiff, Nerf Fridays moved to Tuesdays now?”

“Budget reasons. And logistics. Also, Kevin got banned.”

“Again?” Hobi asked.

“Again.”

Meanwhile, Jin was standing dead still in the middle of the chaos, wearing the unmistakable look of a man who had survived scandals, stalkers, and several international film festivals—but absolutely not this.

“This…” he gestured vaguely at a dude walking a cat in a polka-dotted tie, “is your law firm?”

Aria didn’t even glance at him. “No. This is my circus. You’re the clown I haven’t tamed yet.”

Jimin bounced past them with two iced coffees in hand and a third somehow balanced on his head. “Morning, demons!” he chirped.

“Morning, glitter-bomb,” said a woman behind the front desk who was wearing elf ears and typing a cease-and-desist letter with glittery acrylics.

Jungkook looked like he was this close to teleporting out. “Are we being punked? Is this one of those hidden camera things? Because I’m like 90% sure that plant just winked at me.”

“Don’t touch Ferdinand,” Aria said without turning. “He bites.”

“Is that a—”

“Venus flytrap hybrid. Long story. Don’t ask.”

They made their way down the hallway, past a mural that read “Defending the Guilty, the Innocent, and Everyone Who Pays On Time,” and into Aria’s office—an explosion of neon signs, organized chaos, and enough caffeine products to classify as a war crime.

Taehyung immediately beelined for a banana-shaped stapler on her desk. “Okay but this is art.”

“Put it down unless you want your soul stapled to your tax record,” Aria said sweetly, tossing her bag onto a velvet couch shaped like a mouth.

Jungkook took a cautious seat on a chair that turned out to be a yoga ball with wheels and nearly did a somersault.

Jin stood. Still. A vein in his forehead pulsed.

Jimin handed him a muffin. “Vegan! It’s not horrible. Probably.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be after the breakdown,” Aria said cheerfully, kicking off her heels and hopping onto the edge of her desk like it was a stage.

For a few seconds, it was chaos in slow motion: Taehyung inspecting a rubber chicken on the bookshelf, Jungkook spinning in slow, confused circles on the yoga ball, Jimin arranging mugs labeled “Slay,” “Perish,” “Don’t Talk To Me Unless You’re A Cat,” and “Court is a Drag Show” on the desk.

Then, like a conductor snapping her baton, Aria clapped once.

“Alright, clowns. Let’s play ‘Meet Your Roast.’”

Jin visibly tensed. Taehyung perked up like a kid promised candy. Jungkook looked vaguely alarmed.

Aria leaned back, eyes glittering. “Kim Seokjin. The face that launched a thousand delusions. Korea’s beloved prince, with a temper shorter than Jimin’s attention span and more public meltdowns than my printer.”

Jin’s jaw twitched. “Charming.”

“You’re welcome.” Her grin turned toothy. “Kim Taehyung. Model. Actor. Artist. Local hazard to public decency. Once gave an entire Vogue interview while drunk on kombucha and existentialism.”

“Valid,” Taehyung said, entirely unbothered.

“And Jeon Jungkook. Golden maknae. Walking protein shake. Once got kicked off a film set for trying to adopt a raccoon named Greg. I have the footage.”

Jungkook blushed. “He was so smart…”

“I’m sure he was,” Aria drawled. “Smarter than some humans in this room.”

Taehyung leaned in. “How do you know all this?”

Aria smiled slowly, like a cat who’d just eaten a diamond-studded canary. “Because, darling, I don’t take cases without peeling you like onions and seasoning you with salt first.”

Jimin: “The Himalayan pink kind. She’s fancy like that.”

Jin’s voice came low, sharp. “This is what you brought me into, Hobi?”

All heads turned.

He stood there like a statue, gorgeous, tired, and clearly seconds from combusting.

“My life is on fire and you brought me to a—frat house with plants that have names and snacks that look like cardboard?”

Hobi scratched the back of his neck. “Well, technically the snacks are made of cardboard—”

Jin shot him a look so betrayed it could’ve been painted and hung in a museum titled ‘Et Tu, Hoseok?’

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “I’m in legal hell and you’ve enrolled me in RuPaul’s Courtroom Drag Race.”

“You’d make it past the first round,” Jimin chirped, offering him a heart-shaped cookie with something green in it. “You have the bone structure for a wig.”

Jin blinked at him. “What... is this?”

“Matcha. Or maybe seaweed. The label fell off.”

He handed it back like it was radioactive. “I’ll pass.”

Meanwhile, Jungkook was busy poking a lava lamp shaped like a gavel. “Is this... evidence? Or decor? Or a threat?”

“Yes,” Aria said without looking up, flipping through a file she’d pulled from a drawer labeled “Stupidly Hot, Deeply Doomed.”

Taehyung had seated himself cross-legged on the neon beanbag chair like a smug cat in a throne room. “So this is where justice happens. Smells like incense and mild psychosis.”

“That’s probably Andrew,” Jimin said, pointing to a glassed-in office where a guy was meditating while wearing a full suit of armor and typing with chopsticks.

Jin was pacing now. Slowly. Like a man calculating the number of seconds before a nervous breakdown.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “My name is getting dragged through the dirt, my entire reputation is bleeding out in real time, and my defense team is… whatever this is.”

Aria looked up, deadpan. “Oh sweetie. This isn’t your defense team.”

He froze. “Excuse me?”

She gestured casually around the room. “This is the welcoming committee. The confetti. The soft launch of your rebirth. You’ll meet the real defense team when I decide you’re not going to faint like a Victorian widow mid-trial.”

Jimin raised a mug. “To the rebirth!”

Taehyung sipped his coffee. “He’s gonna faint.”

Jungkook nodded solemnly. “Do we have a fainting couch?”

Aria sighed, “It’s literally right there. Velvet. Dusty rose. Jin, if you collapse, fall pretty.”

Jin looked personally attacked. “Why is everything here color-coded like Barbie’s panic attack?”

“Because if we’re going to fight crime,” Aria said, flipping her hair, “we’re going to look fabulous doing it.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait. Are we actually fighting crime? Like do I need brass knuckles? Or just emotional support glitter?”

Taehyung didn’t even look up. “You are the crime, baby. The crime of poor fashion coordination.”

“Says the man who wore leopard print Crocs and called it ‘experimental form’.”

“They were limited edition!”

“They were a hate crime.”

“OH MY GOD,” Jin snapped. “Why are you all like this? This isn’t a joke. My life is one headline away from spontaneous combustion, and you’re debating footwear like we’re on America’s Next Top Lawsuit.”

Aria held up a hand. “Correction: you’re one headline away from career arson. What we’re doing is assembling the bomb squad.”

She spun her phone in her palm like a gun in a Western and hit speed dial.

Jin frowned. “Who the hell are you calling now?”

“My anger translator,” she said sweetly.

The call connected. One ring. Two. Then—

“Who died,” Yoongi’s voice came through, grumpy and glorious, “and why do I have to care?”

“Hi sunshine,” Aria said brightly. “Drop everything and get to my office. We have a scandal, three idiots, one ghost of a public image, and I may have threatened someone with a Nerf gun again.”

“You called me for that?” he said, yawning. “I was literally mid-nap. I was dreaming of peace. Of quiet. Of a world without your voice in it.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “You miss me.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You say that every week.”

“Because it keeps not happening.”

“I have a client who’s being railroaded by the media and possibly framed by a studio, and you’re over there playing corpse. Get your ass here or I’ll tell everyone about your K-drama Pinterest board.”

Yoongi groaned. “You are a menace. I’m bringing coffee. You don’t deserve any.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

Aria beamed.

Jungkook whispered, “He sounds like a villain I’d simp for.”

“He is,” she said. “And he knows your internet history, so tread lightly.”

She was already dialing again.

The phone didn’t even ring this time before a calm, collected voice answered.

“No,” Namjoon said.

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Aria grinned.

“I don’t need to hear anything. If you’re calling, someone’s either bleeding or plotting to.”

“There’s glitter,” she offered.

A sigh. “Do I need bail money or caffeine?”

“Both. Get over here.”

“Fine. But if I show up and someone’s crying over a plant again—”

“That was one time and it was a very emotional cactus,” Aria cut in.

“I’m bringing a taser.”

“Love that for us.”

Namjoon hung up with the grim precision of a man preparing to babysit drunk raccoons.

Aria turned back to the room with a look of dark delight.

“There. My disaster soulmates are en route. Any other questions?”

Taehyung raised a finger. “Can I pet the office cat now?”

“No, Snowball’s in a mood,” Aria said.

The room was still, then. Jin was quiet. He looked like he wanted to scream into a pillow or possibly walk directly into traffic, but there was the smallest shift in his expression—just enough to register surprise. Not because things had calmed down. But because… somehow, despite the feral energy and the circus-level decor and the glitter muffins, the people Aria called had sounded dangerous. Capable. Loyal.

Like they’d show up just because she asked.

And maybe that meant something.

Aria’s phone buzzed. A text. She glanced down, smirked.

“Yoongi says he’s bringing explosives,” she announced.

“Metaphorical?” Hoseok asked.

Aria shrugged. “Let’s hope so.”

Then she kicked her feet onto the desk, tossed a muffin crumb at Jimin, and smiled like a devil in Dior.

“Welcome to the team,” she said. “Now let’s go cause some legal nightmares.”

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