#I can’t draw them which is why he’s hardly mentioned at all

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

okie chokie, let’s go

uhhh

just gonna paste this directly from my notes cuz I suck at summarizing…

Witch au:

Okay, so this entire thing essentially revolves around lunar because um reasons that I don’t feel like disclosing (I have none). Okay. So. There’s this funky lil pendant that pretty much everyone sees as a priceless artifact. There’s legends surrounding at, whispers of untold power beyond time and space, secrets that bend reality to your every whim. (Fun fact that definitely isn’t important at all: KC helped design it!) So of course, a certain orange dorito man goes looking after it. He’s dedicated pretty much his entire life to researching its abilities and whereabouts, and finally, after countless years of searching, it’s in the palm of his hand. Exceeeept…whoops! He doesn’t know how to use it. And he tries everything: he flips through all his texts, all the notes left behind, but there’s nothing said about activating it. He tries knocking, incantations, different acids and solvents (fun fact: he was an alchemist’s apprentice for a lil while in his youth!) to no avail. Finally, he rubs the dumb thing like Alladin’s lamp, grasping for straws before giving up and tossingn the damn thing across the room. And who should come out but a little ghost, curious to see who disrupted its vessel.

Lunar is essentially like Casper. Very sweet and friendly, but a little oblivious of boundaries. Besides, he hasn’t been outside in a loooong time; he’s eager to explore and check out what’s changed, much to Eclipse’s chagrin. He doesn’t exactly like the new spirit, but it’s the only lead he has in unlocking the pendant’s power. So, he puts up with him, albeit not with the…best treatment. Eclipse isn’t exactly well-versed with kids; he hardly got to be one for very long. That, and his main priority is the pendant; Lunar’s a liability. He conducts a good deal of experiments, trying to set Lunar free from the object, but that is seemingly impossible. As Eclipse’s experiments continue to fail, his temper grows shorter, and Lunar suffers all the worse for it. Eventually, Eclipse gives up altogether and scraps the project regarding Lunar’s involvement, and seeks out someone to just break the pendant in hopes that that’ll work (his time working on it have made him…less than mentally stable). So, poor Lunar finds out and is cast to the wayside, seemingly forgotten. He resolves to run away and escape Eclipse’s place (since he has no real ties there besides the emotional abuse and manipulation on Eclipse’s part) with the pendant tied around his neck. 

He wanders around for a lil while, and what should he happen upon but a nice little cabin in the middle of the woods. It’s a lot cozier than Eclipse’s, and he wanders inside in hopes of somehow figuring out how to solve this little amulet issue since it’s…kinda not great for him either. So he explores the little house, only to be caught red handed by our good friend the witch.

Moon is the witch in this au. He, like Eclipse, was also an alchemist under KC, but he actually completed his training and went on to study on his own, becoming fairly well-versed in magic and the dark arts. Anywho, he walks into his cabin and meets this little ghost who looks absolutely terrified at his presence. Moon assures him that he’s not here to cause any trouble, and the ghoul seems to relax, if only slightly. Moon essentially decides to just let him stay for as long as he wants to, only saying that he might have a bit of an issue with his brother…

Sun isn’t a witch like Moon, He dabbled a little bit in alchemy, but he only knows the basics of that and most magic. His knowledge gravitates more towards creatures of myth and legend. He’s a demon hunter of sorts (he runs into a particular demon at some point…), collecting the necessary ingredients for Moon’s experiments, as well as a few of his own. He comes home a week or two after Lunar, and, considering his line of work, may have…overreacted a little. Moon stops him and explains the situation, after which Sun profusely apologizes to a wary and somewhat fearful Lunar. 

I’m gonna just cut myself off here cuz I ran out of steam for the day.

(uhh @sunnyinajar mmmgonna tag you cuz uh you seemed uh somewhat hyped about this jumble of ideas earlier but uh I dunno yea here’s this um yes right sorry for tagging you if you already saw it or didn’t uh wanna see it and uh yeah I’m gonna stop talking before I delete this entire thing and shove it down a garbage shoot-)

[g1rld1ary]

the way i see you ; remus lupin x reader

➻ synopsis: you're an artist, but you never let any of your friends see your work. they finally attend one of your exhibits and see your feelings on paper

➻ word count: 4346

➻ content: swearing, allusions to sex, gryffindor reader but literally mentioned once, no pronouns but implied to be fem reader, kissing, no war AU!!

➻ the remus brainrot is strong rn

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were an artist, you had been the whole time the boys knew you. Even in first year as a shy eleven year old, you were always scribbling away in a little sketchbook that lived in the big pockets of your robes. The hobby only developed as you got older, expanding mediums and filling countless sketchbooks. When you weren’t studying (or even when you were supposed to be) it was almost a given that you’d be working on a piece somewhere, far from the prying eyes of others.

Your friends caught glances of your art sometimes, doodles on the corner of your essays or notes, maybe a stray page left out in your dorm which told them you were good, but you never ever willingly let them see it. They didn’t know why, truthfully, you didn’t know either, but it had always been that way and everyone had more or less accepted that.

“Have you ever drawn me?” Sirius asked one afternoon as you all sat out by the Black Lake, cocky grin on his face.

“’Course,” You answered simply, moving to turn back to your conversation with Remus.

“Wait, really?”

“Well you have to have drawn me then, right? Can’t just be Padfoot!” James cut in quickly, making you laugh, nodding.

“Before everyone starts asking, lets just establish that I’ve drawn all of you at some point, okay?” You thought that would calm them down, but it only riled them up further, much to your chagrin.

“And you haven’t shown us?” Marlene cried dramatically.

“I deserve to see you capture my beauty!” Sirius collapsed in an exaggerated performance and you couldn’t decide whether you were amused or embarrassed, giggling and hiding your face in Remus’ shoulder. He merely pat you on the shoulder, shooting you a fond gaze you couldn’t see. James caught it though, and smirked in a way that Remus knew he was about to be embarrassed.

“Have you drawn Moony?” He asked, and you both looked at him suddenly.

“Prongs, don’t,” Remus said sternly, then turning to you, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer… I know they must ruin the picture.” He gestured down to his scars. You just looked at him for a moment, utterly baffled.

“As if some silly scars would stop me from drawing you,” You said, a sweet smile on your lips, “You’re my biggest inspiration, Moony.” He blushed at that but the rest of your friends tactfully ignored it, though the boys shot him some shit-eating looks.

It was probably true that you drew Remus the most, but it was only because you spent the most time with him! Or, that’s what you told yourself anyway. Remus Lupin was your best friend in the world, and you loved him more than anything. Since you were always together and hanging out, clearly you’d draw him more, it was perfectly natural!

Your study sessions together in the library often devolved quickly, essays abandoned to the side, both of you falling into chatter as you studied and sketched him.

“What’re you drawing, dove?” He’d always ask, knowing you’d never tell. You’d simply press your lips into a cheeky smile, shaking your head resolutely.

“Uh-uh,” You’d say, “An artist never reveals her secrets.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s magicians, stupid,” He laughed, running a hand through his curls.

“Oh,” You frowned, “Well I’m that too, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” He snorted, “Your essays are more doodles than writing.”

“Hey, Slughorn gave me a whole extra mark for the portrait I drew last week, so none of that.”

Or you’d follow him out of the pub you were all in when Remus needed a smoke, sitting on the blacked out window ledge as he lit up. You thought he might have been the most beautiful person in the world when he smoked, the way the lighter brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and hair and the shadows of night emphasised his unreal bone structure. You’d probably drawn him in that exact scenario hundreds of times, but it wasn’t your fault he looked like a fallen angel. When he leaned over to give you a puff you took it gratefully, if only for the proximity. You weren’t much of a smoker, but for Remus you’d let your lungs rot.

It was moments like that where you’d wonder what it would be like to kiss him, lean past the cigarette and put your mouth on his. Sometimes you thought he wanted it too, the way he’d get slightly too close for best friends, his own hand being the one to stick the dart into your mouth, sometimes so close your lips brushed his fingers. Moments like that made you wonder if he loved you back. Then later, when everyone was drunker, you’d see him stick his tongue down some prettier girl’s throat and you’d remember your place as his best friend. If it stung you tried not to show it, letting some sleazy guy a few years older than you buy you drinks until Peter told you it was time to leave.

Still, you were mostly alright with just being friends with Remus. You still got most of the benefits; his conversation, his dry humour, the ability to look at his gorgeous face. Who needed everything else? Plus, you could draw him whenever you wanted, doing whatever you wanted — not in a weird way. Mostly. You still would never admit that you’d drawn him holding your hand, or kissing you, or other things you desired… The magic of art, right?

After years of bugging, you finally submitted to your friends constant nagging. The day that you officially graduated Hogwarts was an emotional one. Seven years of constant laughter and magic (both literal and the sentimental kind) were over, and the world seemed too large and intimidating compared to the familiar walls of your school. Yet there was no stopping it, and you were all Hogwarts graduates.

While all your parents cried and reminisced over coffee in the Great Hall, your friends had gone for one last deep conversation by the Black Lake. Discussions of the future were unavoidable, but were mostly positive. Talks of trips you’d take, apartments you’d live in and hell you’d raise. When you all quietened down slightly, struck by it being the last time you’d sit in front of the lake, you cleared your throat.

“Um, I have something for you guys, a graduation gift.” From your purse you pulled the envelopes, all filled with fancy cardstock from the art shop near your family home. You’d drawn a simple grey-lead portrait of each of your friends, framed with a little message of congratulations. You watched anxiously as they each opened the envelopes, nervous all the hype would make the art seem inconsequential. Your fear couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sirius gasped dramatically as he saw what it was, but a genuine smile followed straight after. James burst straight into tears, hardly getting the picture all the way out. You could tell Lily was trying not to follow, but seeing her boyfriend cry set off the waterworks for her. Marlene and Mary were inspecting the others, pointing out the little details you’d put in, like Mary’s favourite daisy earrings or the slit Marlene had impulsively shaved into her eyebrow only a few weeks before. Peter was bright pink, flattered to the highest degree. Remus was hard to read, simply staring at you with the strangest look in his eye. You couldn’t ask him about it though, being ambushed with hugs from every direction.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this talent from us,” Peter said, the rest agreeing.

“Didn’t know we had our very own Da Vinci hiding behind a Gryffindor tie,” Marlene added, making you blush and grin.

You dreaded to imagine what it would look like from an outsider’s perspective, the eight of you teary, sweaty messes all piled on top of each other. Well, seven of you.

“Come on, Moony,” James called in a sing-song voice, “If you can’t submit to a hug at our graduation I am going to give you the biggest, slobberiest kiss and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Remus snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You look like absolute wankers,” Was all he said, but joined the pile nonetheless, and you were extra glad he was mainly holding on to you. When you all finally pulled away it was minutes later, but the whole thing was strangely cathartic.

“We all have to promise that we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” Mary said, putting her pinky finger out. The rest of you agreed, sticking your pinkies in for a very convoluted eight way promise. With that sorted your friends started heading back up the hill to the school building, ready to leave Hogwarts forever and prepare for a long night of heavy drinking. Remus held you back. James sent you a suggestive glance when he noticed but left it that, drawing Lily in for a bittersweet kiss.

You turned to Remus, only for his eyes to be locked on the portrait. You’d spent so much time trying to get it perfect for him, practising the stupid knot he insisted on tying every day despite the rest of the school going with a less convoluted method of wearing their ties.

“Do you like it?” You asked, subconsciously twisting your ring around your pointer finger. Remus let out a half laugh.

“I love it, honest. It’s insane, really. That you can make this just like that. It’s just…” You searched his eyes for the rest of the sentence. “You make me look…” He didn’t finish but you knew immediately what he meant. Remus hated looking at himself, training his eyes down in the bathroom and opting to always be the photographer so he didn’t have to see himself in the final product. You knew of course it was because of his scars, but you genuinely couldn’t believe he thought they were ugly, much less made him ugly.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, just once,” You sighed, grabbing his free hand and interlocking your fingers, leading him back to where the others were waiting.

Four years out of Hogwarts and you’d all kept your promise. Of course you didn’t see each other quite as much as the boarding school schedule allowed, but the boys all had an apartment together which brought you together often enough — except James and Lily who were married and had moved down to Godric’s Hollow to raise baby Harry. That similarly brought you all to meet often, all determined to spoil Harry as his aunts and uncles.

You weren’t a full-time artist professionally, though you still did it just as much. You’d evolved to paints by then; living with a muggle because the rent was cheap had the added bonus of not having to worry about leaving your paintings on the easel since you didn’t really care what they thought about your art anyway.

Your friends were all huddled in the boys’ apartment living room, every seat taken as you all caught up. You were on the couch with Remus, absentmindedly running your hands through his hair as his head rested on your lap. You still weren’t dating, but Lily always said you might as well have been. You laughed her off every time — if he hadn’t said anything by now how could he feel the same way? You tried to pretend it didn’t still sting.

You’d tried dating, Remus too. He’d had countless partners since you’d finished school — even more one night stands. Nothing lasted more than a few months. You’d done slightly better, you made it about a year with some bloke that Remus hated before he revealed himself as a colossal dickhead, and you’d been mostly single since.

The group was trying to organise their next meeting.

“What about the movies next Friday? I wanna see that new muggle film, Knife Runner,” James suggested and you and Remus both snorted.

“Blade Runner, love,” Lily corrected with a giggle and James burst out laughing, making a quick joke at his own expense. You’d dug your planner out of your purse to check your availability and frowned, closing the book quickly.

“I can’t do next Friday, sorry, how about Saturday?”

“And what plans have you got on a Friday night, you minx?” Mary asked with wiggling eyebrows. Even Remus looked interested, which made your heart stutter.

“Just a work thing,” You answered quickly, not wanting to reveal the real reason.

“You lie like a rug!” Marlene yelled, sitting up from her spot on the floor. You winced, you shouldn’t have made an excuse that she could so easily disprove, being in the same department of the ministry. “What plans are you too embarrassed to tell us about, slag?” You laughed shortly, their assumptions were so completely off.

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what you think my arse, who’s ‘Davis Show’ and why is he surrounded by hearts, you absolute tart!” Sirius cried, displaying the planner for everyone to see. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, wheezing as you looked at your friends’ faux-scandalised expressions.

“Look you twats, Davis Show isn’t a man. I’ve been invited to put my art in a show at the Davis Gallery down on Welking Road next week. I can assure you I’m not shagging a man named Davis.”

The whiplash was immediate, the gossip sniffing exchanged for celebrations, you couldn’t tell whose yelling was whose. Peter immediately ran to the kitchen for a bottle of champagne, passing glasses around the room. When the initial excitement wore down you were subjected to a million questions, and tried to answer each of them patiently.

“I can’t believe you weren’t gonna tell us,” Mary pouted and you sighed.

“You know how I get about my art,” You explained, “It’s not that I don’t love you all, obviously, it just makes me so nervous thinking about you guys all seeing my stuff.”

“You know we’re all coming now, right?” James said, wiping his glasses where the champagne bubbles had created smudges.

“You really don’t have to,” You put in quickly, “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why won’t you let us appreciate you?” Marlene whined.

“It’s just, my art is like an extension of my soul. I don’t think I’d be able to recover if you didn’t think it was good.” Your friends grew rowdy at that, offended you’d even think they wouldn’t adore your art no matter what. You felt Remus put a hand on your thigh and gave him a weak smile, knowing he’d shut down the conversation if you wanted him to. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing though, especially when everyone was being so supportive. You figured everyone was so busy they’d forget it by the next week anyway.

Friday came, and you were a wreck of nerves. Although you’d sold pieces here and there throughout the years, this show would be the first time your art would be displayed as a collective, and you were terrified of rejection.

You’d figured your friends weren’t actually coming since none of them had really mentioned anything since. Apart from Lily, of course, who’d sent an owl to your desk that morning with a sweet good luck note and your favourite chocolate.

Even Remus hadn’t said anything when you went for coffee on your lunch break. That did puzzle you, you knew he would never go if he thought it would make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like him as your best friend to forget something so monumental in your life. You thought he was acting kind of weird though, more affectionate than he usually was. He kept looking at you longer than he should, and you wondered if you’d miscounted how far away the next full moon was. When you asked him about it he just brushed it off, looking down at his tea instead like he’d been caught.

“I love you,” He said and you laughed.

“I love you too, Lupin!” You cooed, patting him softly on the hand.

“You’re amazing, you know?” You arched a brow.

“What are you trying to make up for?” You asked suspiciously, giving him a once over to search for answers.

“Nothing, promise,” He smiled in a way that made your knees a little weak, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“You’re gonna give me an ego,” You grumbled, packing up your things to get back to work. As you parted ways he pressed a kiss down to your cheek and you stumbled. Remus was never this affectionate as a person — a pat on the back, a hug if you needed one, yes, but he was never one for casual platonic kisses. You figured it must have been his way to apologise for not coming to the art show? But he knew you didn’t mind, so what was he apologising for? You tried to shake it off and get back to work, but you couldn’t get your closeness out of your head.

Evening fell and you were setting up your stall before the other patrons came in. Rearranging the paintings until you were pretty much perfectly happy, you looked around, still not fully believing you were really here. People were filtering in, well dressed and chattering softly as young waiters handed out flutes of champagne. You straightened out your silky black skirt in an effort to look more presentable, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

At first things were slow, and you almost regretted not inviting your friends, if only so they could make your area look more interesting. And once you let that thought in, you kind of regretted not inviting them anyway. After all, they were the dearest people in your life and this was such a meaningful event to you.

You couldn’t think about that for long though since people had begun to filter over to you, making polite small talk as they admired your paintings. You tried to be energetic, smiling widely if you ever locked eyes with someone. However, deep down, you just wanted your friends.

A little old woman approached you for a while, wanting to know the meaning behind basically every painting and you told her happily, sharing the memories that inspired each work.

“Seems like you’ve got some true friends,” She said, “I hope you keep them close.” You agreed, thanking her profusely as she bought a landscape of the Whomping Willow.

It was growing closer and closer to closing, and honestly, it had been a wonderful night. Seeing the way that people reacted and interacted with your art was a magical experience, and changed the way you thought about it entirely. You decided that if you ever got the opportunity again, you’d want to share it with everyone else.

You were just moving to start packing up when you heard a myriad of gasps.

“What the fuck, dude?” The unmistakeable voice of Marlene McKinnon said from behind you. You whipped around to meet them, breaking into a cheek splitting smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, rushing over to scoop them all up into a hug.

“Fuck that, why didn’t you tell us that we’re your exhibition?” Sirius cried, running up to examine the paintings more clearly.

“And that they’re literally professional?” Peter added, eyes wide in wonder. You flushed red under their praise. If your friends thought your pencil portraits were good, they were nothing compared to your paintings.

Plus, every one of them was of your friends, or something sentimental to you all. Landscapes of Hogwarts, portraits of your friends, captured memories of long summer days, or life sketches from when you were all together. You watched them observe the paintings with nervous excitement, loving as they gave specific, personal compliments that only people who truly knew you could give.

“This our apartment,” Sirius said, pointing to one of your biggest pieces, “That’s our couch, the pillow Prongs has permanently ruined with butterbeer, that’s Moony!”

“There are a lot of paintings of Moony, aren’t there?” James whispered to you, wiggling his eyebrows. You flushed again. Sirius continued on, seeming (or pretending) not to have heard.

“We have to have this in the flat. Right boys?” Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“For sure,” Peter said, “I’m buying this one too.” He gestured to one of him and James playing chess in the Gryffindor common room.

“And this is taking pride of place at home.” James pointed to a portrait of his and Lily’s wedding, and Lily similarly chose one of her and baby Harry. Marlene took one of her and Mary on the beach and Mary took one of the group at a house party. Half your paintings ended up being sold by the end of the night, and you couldn’t feel luckier. The only one who hadn’t said anything was Remus, who couldn’t keep his eyes off the paintings.

You shooed your friends out of the gallery once it really was closing time, and got to work packing away your things. You were deep in thought, reflecting on the wild day when someone cleared their throat behind you. It was Remus, and he moved to help you put your things away, stacking the paintings between bubble wrap to protect them.

“These are really beautiful,” He said, “I mean, we knew you were talented but… these are seriously on another level.”

“Thanks, Remus.” You smiled, unable to make eye contact as you watched him handle all the paintings you’d done of him. Portraits like the others, but also studies of his hands — god you were obsessed with his hands — his profile, and one less than innocent picture of his back, scars resting over muscles. You probably shouldn’t have put that one out, but to be fair you didn’t know he’d see it.

There was a somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Not uncomfortable, per se, but there were definitely things you both wanted to say that neither knew how to.

“Let me drive you home,” Remus settled on and you nodded, letting him help you load your work into the boot of his car. You sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on the dashboard to whatever radio station Remus had turned on. Remus stared straight ahead, knuckles pulled tight around the steering wheel.

“I’m really proud of you, you know. This whole show was incredible.” You went to thank him again but he kept talking. “I just wanted to know, um, there were a lot of paintings of me. I was just wondering why, why me?” You hesitated, unsure of what was going to come out of your mouth.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” You decided on with a bit of a sigh.

“You’ve said that before, what does that mean?” Your breath hitched. You definitely didn’t intend for it all to come out tonight, but if you didn’t say it now you doubted you ever would.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, Remus. I mean, even aside from your personality — which we know I have to be at least somewhat a fan of after all these years — you’re totally fit. Your eyes, your hair, God, your fucking bone structure, you’re literally a walking renaissance painting. And I know you think your scars make you ugly, but you don’t know how turned on I get thinking about how they’d feel on my skin.” Shit, you probably should’ve stopped talking.

You hadn’t realised he’d parked while you were rambling, but now you were sitting outside his apartment and he was looking at you with eyes that looked more like the wolf than him.

“I turn you on?” He whispered, voice suddenly gravelly as he leaned closer in to you.

“More than anything,” You breathed, brain buffering at the feeling of his breath on your face. Suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and electric and not at all gentle. It felt like years of pent up frustration being let out all at once, and if he was anything like you, it probably was.

“Up,” He mumbled between kisses and you heard him undoing his seatbelt, hurrying to do the same. You barely disconnected to get out of the car, attaching yourself to his arm as he led the way up to the boys’ flat.

You made it up the three flights of stairs, not without Remus pushing you up against the stairwell wall to stick his tongue in your mouth, and stumbled straight into his bedroom, shedding layers as soon as the door was safely shut.

The next morning you awoke first, initially convinced you were dreaming when you saw him lying peacefully beside you. Eventually you rolled onto your side, ready to get out of bed for a glass of water when his nightstand caught your eye. There, in pride of place, was your graduation portrait of him, with a polaroid of the two of you stuck to the corner. Maybe he really had liked you as long as you’d liked him.

[epickiya722]

[NOTE: This is long! This is an actual ask about Mineta and among other things that I thought maybe some of you may be interested in reading, but because the font is in orange (due to Tumblr glitching out on Anon and their autism) I'm posting it like this. I'm not too bothered by the color, but I'm sure there are others who may find it unreadable. Now, you do not have to read it. And if you do read it, you may comment or just send me an ask ONLY if you're polite. Don't attack anyone over this. No matter how you may feel about Mineta, BNHA, Horikoshi, a dog, a cat, ANYTHING or ANYONE... DO NOT BE DISRESPECTFUL. Please keep any of your comments that you know are rude to yourself. And now, you may proceed if you choose to.]

Horikoshi said once in some interview that mineta is essentially a self-insert. Coincidentally, early-mha horikoshi had some pretty pervy tendencies (much like mineta—probably why he thought it would be cool to have such a character never really face consequences). The most famous example of this is probably the girls hero costumes, most notably Yaoyorozu. He mentions in an aside very early on in the story (volume three or something?) that he can’t seem to help himself and her boob window always gets bigger every time he draws it. Then there’s uraraka saying she didn’t want such a tight costume, Hagakure being naked, etc. When the anime started airing there was another interview where he said he really appreciated them making uraraka curvier than in the manga, because he likes curvy women. One could also use midnight and mount lady as examples of this but I’d say it’s more of a way of discussing mature themes surrounding hero society and all of its consequences rather than actual sexualisation. Something that sets him apart, even at this early stage, from other shonen mangakas is that he doesn’t only do this to the women, but the men as well. If Yaoyorozus hero costume is revealing, what about kirishimas (this comparison is my favourite because they both need skin showing for their quirks to function well, so why is one considered bad and the other fine? Because one is a boy and one is a girl? Please keep in mind I am not trying to say that kirishima is sexualized. It’s just food for thought)? If urarakas suit is considered too tight, then look at all might. You could probably see the outline of his dick from fifteen yards away when he wears that costume. Then there’s mineta, who makes certain comments regarding the women in his class. But what about mount lady and how she treats shoto? Or one of the wild wild pussy cats asking the boys in class 1-A how old they are to see how long til she can marry them? Unlike basically every other shonen out there, the sexualisation (at least as far as I can tell) is not based in sexism. It’s across the board, and we only notice it more when it happens to women because we are used to it happening to women.

For a long time, I hated horikoshi for the same reasons I hated mineta (it was a love-hate relationship for obvious reasons). He was openly perverted and seemingly one of *those* guys. You know, the ones I’d be afraid to walk near after dark. Or before dark. But I still loved mha and really appreciated what he was doing within the story. As a side note, he writes the women very well, which is rare in shonen (again—love hate relationship with dear old horikoshi). But if you’ll notice, the farther along in the story you look, the less sexualisation there is. It’s gradual so you hardly notice, but compare volume four or five to volume thirty. The difference is stark. It’s not really that mineta has less lines (although since the war started that has been the case) he still talks, just differently.

I think what happened is, when mha started getting popular, horikoshi started seeing huge pushback to minetas character, which probably all came to a head when the anime made him say something super fucked up to eri. I don’t recall if it was in dub or sub or both, but reading back through the manga it’s a bit different and honestly could’ve been poor translation or my own misinterpretation. But in the anime it was clear what he meant. He can’t wait for eri to be older, for exactly the reason you’re thinking now. The process of horikoshi realizing his mistakes started long before this, though, and gradually you can watch him patch up the holes if you pay attention. The anime does a poor job of this, at least until season six. But around the time that season four ends (and this is present in the manga too) there is a scene of Mina tying mineta to a chair and forcing him to watch something. After that, the sexualisation in the manga is gone for good. I’d like to interpret this as horikoshi finalizing his realization and own personal character development. He is no longer pervy, just like mineta is no longer pervy.

The one exception to this rule is that infamous chapter cover. The one with Hagakure on the front? Yeah, when I saw that, it made me rethink all of this. For about two weeks I was convinced that I’d been wrong about it, and he really is just a pervert after all. But lo and behold, he said in an interview that he was running behind and didn’t have time to draw or pick a chapter cover. He handed a bunch of old concept art to one of the higher ups and told them to pick something. He said he was never expecting that drawing to see the light of day, and he figured they’d choose something a little more suited to the story. (A little fucked up that he drew that? Yes, I think so. But keep in mind, these are *old* drawings. People are allowed to change and, following this metric, I think horikoshi has changed quite a bit.)

All of this is to say, mineta is not really a bad person anymore, and also has incredible writing (whether it was purposeful from the beginning or a last minute change) which just goes to show how talented horikoshi really is.

[fgfluidity]

testing 123

Summary: After the events of bon appetit, the DA has some questions. (Vampire!Damien AU)

Pairings: Damien/DA

Warnings: mentions of blood, coercion, damien being a minor punching bag, adultery

buy me a coffee?

@opprose​ @statictay​ @volbeast​ @otterlyinluv​ @mirrorslament​

“It’s a bunch of flowers.”

“Yes!” The DA smiles at him over their notebook, pen poised to take notes. They already have half a dozen filled pages, and their enthusiasm hasn’t diminished one bit. “Specifically, roses. Careful of the thorns, I couldn’t get all of them off in time.”

Damien fixes them with a raised eyebrow, but he can’t stop a slow smile. It’s just too contagious. “You want to see how I react to roses but you’re worried about me getting pricked?”

It’s a guilty pleasure, really, teasing them. They close their mouth against a prepared response, a little wrinkle forming between their brows as their eyes flick away. “Well,” they mutter, and oh, how wonderful that embarrassment sounds. “We haven’t gotten to that part, yet.”

He grins. “And you care about me.”

“Just sniff your flowers,” they bite back.

He’s pleased enough to catch the beginnings of another smile, and it’s enough to help push back the beast that craves the additional warmth emanating from them. He’s fed, and it’s them.

It’s just some flowers. He puts his nose to them and takes a deep breath.

—

It started when they came to the counter and slammed down a thick file.

“Sorry.” They wince, looking over the cool gray stone. Befitting the material, the counter is unharmed, and they breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes, well, I have some research.”

“Clearly.” He looks over the folder, eyebrows raised in surprise. Thick might just be an understatement; from the looks of it, his friend has amassed a small library’s worth of documents and notes in a stack rivaling the length of his thumb. Hand- or type-written, it’s a lot of effort put in. “What caught you so, this time?”

It’s hardly unusual for them to get caught up in a deep dive of research. It served them— and him, if he’s honest— quite well in university. Hours of lectures and coursework and other responsibilities cut true study time short. Law school is an unforgiving mistress, but with a pot or three of strong coffee or tea and his friend’s unusual quirks, it seemed far more manageable.

If, perhaps, at the cost of said friend’s well-being. Not that he could stop them if he tried, and he has.

Now, it’s thankfully more often relegated to just passing fancies, with the occasional case. Learning about the intricacies of literary symbolism, about animal communication, about the names of both stars and plants… at least this kind of study brings a smile to their face to accompany their dark circles.

Not unlike the one crossing their face now, really. “Something quite important, actually. All of this“ — they slide a hand over the folder to demonstrate— “is a week’s study of… your condition.”

The last few words come quietly, their smile fading with a furtive look around at any potential bystanders— of which there are few in the mostly-empty luncheonette. Damien’s hearing, however, is finer than it ever used to be, and he quickly swallows a burning mouthful of black coffee to avoid drawing any other attention with a spit-take. “Excuse me?”

He knows they know. As much as they pretended to not remember that hungry, desperate night, they did. They still do. Why else lower their voice? Why else make up so flimsy an excuse as thorns?

Loathe as he may be to have his constituency know, everyone’s quite well aware that their mayor is ill, in need of regular medication. His meeting with that journalist made that certain, and they’re the one who suggested it; protecting his medical history can’t be part of their agenda.

Thorns could never explain the scarring below their sweater sleeve, a crescent of wrinkled skin slowly fading back to normal.

He saw it once, their sleeves still rolled up from a trip to the restroom to wash their hands, and his stomach turned so severely he had to excuse himself. They haven’t had their sleeves up since around him— why, if it were thorns?

Some may find them unreadable, especially at the poker table, but they’re an open book to him. Their eyes always give it away.

The only question is: why bring it up now after such a lie?

“I’ve told you, there’s no cure,” he says, but the DA quickly waves him off.

“Not a cure. And I know it’s… not just some sickness. That it’s…” Finally, they look uncomfortable, easing into the seat next to him. He watches their fingers drum and pick at the edges of the folder, their heart a touch rabbit-fast with their shame.

“I know what happened,” they say, after long seconds of silence. “The night of your party.”

As suspected, and— as they’re clearly willing to share— he asks the questions on his mind. “Why tell me otherwise? Why wait until now?”

After a moment, their fingers stop drumming, and they turn those so-sharp eyes to his— an unusual gesture, from them, and all the more sincere for it. “I didn’t want you to feel bad for what you had to do.”

Damien could laugh, and he could just as easily cry. Once again, it’s as he initially thought: his friend— his kind, generous, compassionate friend— knows him well. They know him well enough to know how he’d torture himself for it.

Though it didn’t fool him, he didn’t self-flagellate. Too much.

Rather than either extreme, he settles for a soft sigh, unable to stop the corner of his mouth from tugging up. “You know I wouldn’t have, if—“

“I know,” they reply quickly. Their hand edges for his forearm, but their pinky doesn’t even brush his sleeve. “You’re the model of martyrdom, Damien. I had to make you— and there won’t be any more of that, thank you very much.”

He hums around another sip of coffee— much cooler this time. “I have plenty of, ah… medicine. Of course not.”

“Not because of your drinks. Because I’m donating— and that’s non-negotiable,” they add as he opens his mouth to protest. “I saw how it made you feel. Like you used to, before all this. It’s not unlimited, no, but… sometimes. Once a week, maybe.”

“A month,” he counters, automatically, and feels sick at still allowing it at all. If he were stronger, if he were less desperate, he could say no altogether; as it is, though, he remembers the sweet taste of their blood, the rush of energy akin to a sugar-high and the smooth warmth of their skin under his mouth. He can’t turn it down.

That, and they used their lawyer voice. As it always was in debate and in court, it commands a room.

“Once a week.” Their brow furrows just a touch. “I’ve made up my mind.”

As his resolve crumbles, he once again sighs. They don’t get to have an endearing little wrinkle to their forehead; it’s tantamount to cheating. If he held no respect for their actual skill, he’d account all their triumphs in court to that exact face.

“Once a week,” he grumbles, and doesn’t miss the cheery grin that instantly replaces their frown. They know it works, the bastard. “So, what about all of this, then? Your research?”

Their hands pat at the counter, eyes bright. “My research, yes! I will say, it was more fun than usual— lots of mythology from all over the world. I have my notes, some type. I wish it was easier to copy things over; typing directly from the books takes forever.

“But anyway,” they continue, shaking off the tangent, “my reasoning was to ultimately find out as much as I could. The only issue is, this was only thought to be fictional of late. A story made up for whatever reason. That means there’s no way to tell what’s true from what’s false.”

“You could ask me,” Damien points out, raising his cup and idly browsing the menu board. He doesn’t need to eat, but it’s nice now and then. “You always do enjoy a primary source.”

They make a little frustrated groan, and their chair squeaks beside him as they shift around. “I do, but there’s a problem. How do you know what’s true?”

That draws him away from the board, only to find them looking. Intently. “I would hope I know what my condition entails. What do you mean?”

“What I mean is: can you turn into a bat, and have you tried?”

They ask so seriously, so focused on him, that he can’t help a laugh. A loud, sharp, bark of a laugh. “I’m- I’m sorry,” he stammers, aware of the attention he’s drawn from the few other patrons of the lunch counter. “Just— really? My friend, you know something like that isn’t possible.”

He has to clench his jaw at the new rush of heat to their face. No time to hunt, no time to feed. He had blood meal before he even came here.

“Is it not?” The little wrinkle has returned, and they jab their folder with a finger. “I didn’t think this sort of condition was possible until a few weeks ago, and here we are. You aren’t dead, obviously, but we can’t know for sure what’s possible until we try.”

It sends a prickle up his spine, finding the mad gleam in their eye. It’s the same as just before those long research benders, the look when they find something that catches their interest. Their brilliant mind at work, chomping at the bit to put all the puzzle pieces together.

It’s endearing, impressive when he sees it in action. Right now, on the other side… it’s a little bit frightening.

“I’m not certain if I want to be subject to whatever you have in that folder of yours,” he says, eyeing the folder warily.

For its part, the folder sits there, full of paper. God knows how many hypotheses, as well.

“If… you don’t want to, that’s alright,” the DA replies, sounding quite not alright at the idea of shelving their insatiable curiosity. “I could always manage to find someone else.”

Damien’s stomach goes cold.

Someone else is the person who pulled him into a dark alley and fed until he lost consciousness. Someone else is the people, ashen or pale, who only met with him under cover of night and spoke of humanity as their free lunch. Someone else is dangerous, and if their blood is half as sweet to them as it is to him…

That’s a dirty trick to suggest it, if it’s even a trick at all.

“No,” he chokes, then clears his throat. His friend might be excitable, but they regard him as most dear. They would never hurt him in the name of science. “No, I’ll do it, but it can’t be all at once. We do still have lives, my friend.”

They perk up, a wary hope in their eyes. “Are you sure? I know I can get excited—“

“I couldn’t be in better hands,” he assures them with a smile. “You’ll only have to be a little more patient than usual. Do you think you can manage?”

His friend huffs, shoving at his arm and turning to the menu board. “I can be patient,” they grumble, though their tone remains soft. “I’ll buy your lunch. As payment.”

“But I don’t need to—“

“You were considering it. You usually get rye bread, don’t you?”

The sandwich doesn’t satisfy as it once did, but it’s still pretty good. After all, it’s a (relatively) free lunch.

—

So that’s how he finds himself outside their home, anxiety churning with a good dose of hunger in his gut.

Yes, hunger— their damn insistence on being his source once a week means he’ll have to do this every time he goes to see them. Every time they do these tests, he has to…

He swallows, wincing at the growing sharpness of his teeth. He’ll never be used to that.

It’s only a few hours of his time, if that. It’s less than a dozen feet away, just up their slightly-uneven steps. The stone remains solid, though, and the rest of the place— from white wooden railing to yellow numbers marking their address— is welcoming as ever. Any other day, any other reason, and he’d gladly climb up.

What if it was? Just a social call, stopping by for the pure joy of it— they’d putter around getting tea, wind up on the back porch so as not to be disturbed. The old greenhouse sits back there, a bit more worn but still in use, and he remembers drunken and/or youthful dares to scale or pull up on the old tree; its tallest branches loom over the roof, casting the whole thing in dappled shade and sun.

Thoughts of his college days… now he really is stalling. Rolling his neck to ease out the anxious kinks, he makes the journey up those crooked steps.

He barely has a moment to knock when the front door swings open. “I was wondering how long you’d stand there,” the attorney says, ruffled and bright-eyed. “What, is my house sacred ground?”

They grin, and his scoff comes as more of a laugh. “Only to some, and to others the very opposite. I was just reminiscing, actually.”

“Dangerous pastime,” they muse, and their grin softens with nostalgia. “You know, I could come up with another round of tests based on university, alone. If you’re at all interested.”

God knows what all that could entail: drinking, partying, stupid dares that somehow didn’t get them hurt or worse. Algebra. He can’t stop a shudder. “How about we stick to the first round, hm?”

“Fine, fine. I have stations set up for that, anyway.”

Stations. They’re taking this very seriously, aren’t they?

Or perhaps they aren’t— they step back from the door, but they don’t scurry off in whatever direction holds their first test. Instead, they stop a few feet back from the door and watch him expectantly.

He blinks back, mystified. “Do you… still need more time?”

“No.” Still, they watch him. Faintly smiling. Waiting.

But for what? Damien eyes the door, then the frame, but all seems clear; even if they weren’t, the DA is quite unlikely to hurt him, especially right out of the gate. That gleam in their eye, though, indicates that this— whatever the subject— is a test.

Oh. He gives a sigh and walks through easily. “You know,” he says, removing his shoes to set neatly by their own pair, “I think my cover would be blown wide if I couldn’t enter buildings uninvited.”

“Someone holding the door for you is an invitation, isn’t it?” They hurry off to some corner, and his sensitive ears catch the sound of pen-scratching. “People were happy to with your cane.”

Fair enough, but the cane he can’t imagine being that much of a factor. His status as candidate and then mayor, however… “I think that misunderstanding just came from good manners. I wouldn’t just barge in somewhere I wasn’t sure I was welcome, even before all this.”

They raise an eyebrow and gesture to their home at large with one hand.

“I’m quite welcome here, and you know that. You’re the one who said so.” He smiles at them as he approaches. “Perhaps you jeopardized your own test before you even knew you’d hold it.”

“What?” They look down to their findings, written in their messy scrawl, stark black. After a beat, they slowly turn back to him, eyes wide with dawning horror. “Oh, god. It can’t be— if that’s the case, then—“

“Alright, hold on.” Damien cuts them off as gently as he can, one hand resting lightly on their shoulder. “I was simply teasing you, though I apologize; I didn’t expect it to upset you so. Take a deep breath for me?”

It can take some time for this method of his to work, especially when they’re deep in the throes of anxiety, sometimes several minutes.

This time is no exception, as they look to their other notes frantically, breath coming shallow. “What if the whole experiment is— If I have to redo everything—“

He doesn’t miss the slight note of anger amidst the upset. If it’s directed inward, rather than at the circumstances of poor forethought, then he must redirect this as quickly as possible.

With a slightly firmer squeeze— only a fraction, because he’s stronger with his affliction and their shoulder now feels remarkably fragile— he tries again. “My friend,” he starts, coming down slightly to look at them, though their eyes refuse to meet his, “it’s alright. Your plans can move forward. Take a deep breath and relax.”

He doesn’t expect much from it, if they’re really that far gone. Luck must be on their side, however; they take a deep breath just as he finishes his sentence, tension in their shoulders leaking out.

It’s… quite quick.

Was it truly luck, catching them at the right time, or..? He draws his hand back with a troubled frown. “How… how are you feeling?”

“Good.” Even they sound a little disbelieving, blinking as if they’ve just woken up from a nap. “That was… a little strange.”

His stomach twists, and it’s certainly not from hunger. “Yes, it seemed to leave rather quickly.”

Surprisingly, they shake their head. “No— well, yes, but not just that. When someone tries to talk to me when I’m panicking, they feel far away. Like I’m underwater, or they’re in another room.

“But you,” they continue, “when you spoke, it… it was like you were right here. In my head, and—“ They quickly cut off, lips pressing together as a spike of warmth and spice floods their scent.

Spice is new. Spice is interesting— or would be, in other circumstances. He hadn’t meant it. He wouldn’t dare with them, not on purpose, not casually. Is that how it feels when he suggests, purposeful or otherwise? “I… I apologize. I’ve never heard it from the other point of view; I assure you, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t mean to?” They peer up at him, brow furrowed— solving a puzzle, he knows, even if one he hadn’t meant to give them.  It’s clear when the pieces fall into place, because their eyes grow wide— and far too excited. “You can do that? Actually?”

He grimaces, flooded with shame as the memories of his first few months come to the surface. “I try not to. It isn’t right, however fascinating you happen to find it.”

“I agree it’s not something you should do, but you must admit it is fascinating.” Their prior panic seems like hours ago, vanished in the wind as they hurriedly scribble in their notes. “Spiritualists and magicians wish they could do what you do— and if I give you my consent beforehand, it isn’t really that bad, is it?”

To anyone else, perhaps it might be alright, but he knows how far their curiosity might push them to go. That, combined with a suggestion… “I would still rather we not. I’m sure you have plenty of experiments in that notebook of yours that don’t require you to be under.”

The attorney huffs— he almost certainly catches a ‘boring’— but they dutifully turn to another page. “Fine, no hypnosis. In that case, I hope you’re hungry.”

Once more, his stomach turns with hunger and nausea. “I… listen, I’m not sure if I can drink your blood. I know I have, but—“

“I’m not talking about blood.” His friend smiles, wide and mischievous, and his heart sinks. “I’m talking about garlic.”

—

Only half an hour later, he’s on the couch and clutching his roiling stomach. It isn’t the worst stomachache of his life— he came down with a rotten stomach flu in his childhood, and he was in bed for weeks— but it’s none too pleasant, either.

He burps, grimacing at the well of bile in his throat.

“So…” His friend gingerly steps forward, a glass of bubbling Bromo in their hand; they quickly hand it over when he holds out his hand. “Shall we mark that one as a yes? A maybe?”

Mood soured, just like his stomach, he sends them a baleful look over the glass of antacid. “I want you to eat a portion of that meal and then tell me how you feel. I think it might be insightful.”

“… No.” He catches the scribble of a pen over the sound of the bubbles; from the length of that pause, he can guess it wasn’t just a refusal to partake.

His mood can’t stay so bad for very long, though; in short order, they’ve removed the offending dish and come to sit with him.  Their eyes are so apologetic and concerned— almost hyperbolic, really— that he can’t help a laugh. “You’re forgiven, you know.”

“Are you sure?” They twist their fingers together, with a soft pick at their fingernails. “You know I would never—“

“Of course I do.” He nudges them with one knee, a friendly little bump. “I also know you’re a far better cook than that. How many cloves did you use, by chance?”

“Normally? Three. This time…” They start to smile, just a little. “I just doubled it. It wasn’t exorbitant— still a lot, but not unreasonable.”

He nods, somewhat relieved— the food likely won’t go to waste, then. “… Do you think you could make that for me, sometime? Without the double garlic? I liked the dish, otherwise.”

It gets them to launch into a wonderful description of their method and ingredients, all traces of guilt long gone. He just sits back with a little smile, soaking it in.

—

“Can you turn into a bat?”

“No.”

“A wolf?”

“No.”

“A bunch of snakes or insects?”

“Where are you getting all this? And no.”

“Books. A cloud of mist?”

“N- well, you know, I haven’t really tried that one. It might be possible.”

“Really?”

“No.”

—

He outright refuses to lift them when testing his strength— citing danger but really he can’t hold them and not begin pining too much to be functional— but he’s happy to lift their dining table or their icebox at their direction.

They do not look at him as they take those notes.

His speed comes second, before they move onto senses.

He was never the fastest of his circle, though certainly a contender for strongest; now, though, he can make it to their back fence and back in a matter of a few seconds— and without being winded.

“You think you’re distance, or sprint?” They ask when he comes back, jotting down his time.

“I don’t have much reason to run,” he says pointedly, “so I can’t say for certain.”

They hum, jotting down a note. “We’ll hit the trails next week. Less suspicious to your constituency.”

—

Testing his senses is a bit more of what he expected of today, but it’s no less of a challenge; it is, in every meaning of the word, a test.

They leave touch and taste alone because he hasn’t found much change in either, but the others are fair game.

—

They put his eyesight up against a set of increasingly smaller targets, even going into their backyard when he can describe a small stamp in detail at ten feet.

He mentions a cluster of some type of egg under the leaves of one of their flowers. When he goes into detail, they stomp over to their shed, launching into a stream of language so out of their usual vocabulary that he can’t help but to double over in laughter.

—

His hearing comes next, again an increasingly quieter sound at greater distance.

“I don’t know how better to test you,” they complain at the end, though mildly. “I’ve done all I can think of. Do you have anything to add?”

Damien considers for a moment. “Your neighbor is having… an awful lot of fun next door. Suppose her husband has the day off?”

“No, but her friend is over, I saw her walk up the—“ They pause, looking to him with wide eyes.

He can only look back with a similar expression. Finally, after turning his hearing back towards his immediate vicinity, he says, “Good for her.”

“Good for her.”

—

Smell comes next, and he stops them before they go too far in explaining their criteria.

“I haven’t found a lot of change in objects, exactly. Say, food— your food— is about where it used to be. Flowers and other smells, too. The only difference is… well, living things.”

“Interesting.” Their eyes shine. “So you can smell creatures better, but nothing else?”

He nods, a mite uncomfortable. “For… hunting, I would presume. Further and with more… depth, I suppose.”

They just scoot closer with their notes, eyes fixed on him and a smile growing.

He sighs, but it doesn’t stop his own smile. “Alright, I’ll see what’s close.”

After a cursory sniff— and a moment to parse it all, as he still isn’t the best at it— he begins. “You have a bevy of birds up in your tree, though it wouldn’t take a good nose to tell that. Like feathers and eggshells, fresh air.

“The cat behind your shed isn’t alone— there’s another that smells like meat and fur, and there’s… a milky scent. I suppose there are, or will be, kittens soon.

“And you—“ He stops himself, swallowing hard. “That’s all.”

“No, it’s not.” They’re certainly sharp, though he never doubted that; they’re still in the middle of writing down supplies they’ll need for a litter of kittens. “You started to talk about me. What do I smell like?”

Why talk about that when he could go crawl into a hole? “Like… a human. How a human smells.”

They don’t say anything, but the look they give him over their notebook says more than they could possibly with words.

“Alright, alright. Like… spring.” He struggles against rising heat in his face, resolutely not looking at them. “Sun and grass and flowers. Honey, a bit, perhaps.”

“Fascinating…” It catches his attention, and their face is soft, full of wonder when he looks. “Where do you suppose that comes from?”

Damien shrugs. “You garden an awful lot, which I imagine has some influence. It may also simply be you. If someone’s rotten, they kind of smell like it. And I find if I don’t care for someone, they don’t smell so…”

They start to smile— too impishly for his liking. “So you think I’m nice and you care about me.”

“Yes, I do.” It’s one way to handle their teasing— accept it right as it is.

The smile grows bashful— just as their scent grows a little warmer.

—

Finally, a return to the rose. He’s been put through the ringer enough, today, and it’s the final test— or so they’ve said. Nothing to do but dive in.

It’s pleasant enough, as roses go. Fresh from his friend’s back garden, a bit of morning dew and soil to offset the floral sweetness.

Too cloying to be them, but it reminds him of their springlike scent regardless.

One of the soft petals brushes his nose as he takes a deep breath, but he pays it little heed; that is, until he pulls back, and the tickle only intensifies.

“Well?” They lean forward, pen poised over their notes, tense with anticipation. “How is it? How do you feel?”

Damien scrunches his nose, sniffs in order to quell the rising pressure, but there’s little use; in a matter of seconds, he turns aside to sneeze, and violently. “Ah,” he breathes, sniffing once again around watery eyes. “My apologies.”

“You’re blessed. Are you allergic, now?” They look a little too excited at the prospect, scooting forward a bit closer; he can’t even be sure they realize they’ve done it.

He shakes his head, laying the rose back down on the table between them. “No, I don’t think so. A petal brushed my nose, is all.”

His friend gives a quiet, affirming hum, then scribbles one last thing into their notebook before closing it firmly. “Alright, then we’re done for today. Let me get some supplies together for your meal.”

Right, his meal. “About that—“

“You’re eating.” Their eyes snap to his, that stubborn determination once more arresting him where he sits. “I’ve put you through enough, and on an empty stomach. You deserve something that will actually nourish you.

“Besides,” they continue, setting aside their materials and standing, “I’ll need you at your strongest for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He raises an eyebrow. “What, pray tell, is tomorrow?”

At that, they smile. “I have to make a comparison against today. Hungry versus well-fed. I know you’ve noticed some differences— you act a bit different, depending on how hungry you are.”

He hadn’t considered that, but it makes sense. His friend is nothing if not thorough— and quite observant. “If you really insist,” he replies weakly.

They come back with some bandages, pads, and alcohol, setting them neatly aside. “I healed up pretty quickly last time,” they comment as casually as you please, rolling up their sleeve. “Still, it never hurts to be a little more careful about it. Whenever you’re ready, Day. I trust you.”

It’s so soft and earnest, coupled with their warm little smile when he glances up from the bared skin of their arm. Monster or not, he isn’t sure he deserves them.

They take the bite as well as they did last time, with the smallest grunt of pain and a spike in their heart rate, but they don’t try to move away or flinch. Rather, they sit patiently as he drinks, eyes tracking somewhere beyond his shoulder.

He shouldn’t get used to this— not too used to this, anyway— but it’s difficult not to sigh in pleasure. Disgusting as it may be, the coppery flavor of blood almost seems as an undertone to the smell of their skin; warm, it’s like drinking from a cup of spring, the bright flowers and soft grass rejuvenating him from the inside out.

He could swear he tastes honey on his tongue.

It’s hard to pull away when he deems it necessary, but his stomach is comfortably full; besides, his friend’s tracking seems a bit slower, now. He pulls back and quickly reaches for the medical supplies.

“Huh? Oh, you’re finished?” His friend blinks down at him, hissing at the sting of alcohol on the punctures. “Sorry, I must have… lost track of time.”

“Which means I stopped a little late,” he mutters, carefully winding around gauze. “How are you feeling? You ought to have something to eat; I’ll make it for you.”

“You didn’t stop late.” They fix him with a stern, though not unkind, look. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You’re full enough?”

He pins the bandage in place, itching with the urge to roll down their sleeve for them, if only to no longer see the dressing. “Yes, plenty. … Thank you.”

“Any time.” They reach for and squeeze his hand with a smile. “Before you make me my favorite lunch, because I know you will, make sure to wipe your mouth? You have a little…”

“Oh, yes, I will.” He should have expected as much; feeding isn’t the neatest of affairs. “I’ll also be rinsing, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. In fact…” They tilt their head, gesturing back down the hall. “I have an extra toothbrush. It’s all yours.”

His heart skips before he can rein himself in. It isn’t in that way, and yet… their expression is almost too inscrutable, as if they’re at the poker table and waiting for him to call.

He could do it, couldn’t he? Call and see their hands played? But… well, he was never a risky better.

There’s a reason they always win.

“That’s very generous of you,” he says, instead. “Sit tight right here, I’ll be back with lunch.”

If he didn’t bet how they’d have liked— hoped— they don’t show it. Instead, they just smile up at him over a sandwich made to their tastes fifteen minutes later.

Maybe tomorrow there’ll be another chance.

[violetvelourr]

How long I have been doing art

People occasionally ask me how long I’ve been drawing and that question gets me utterly confused 😅 um, probably since I remember myself?.. 😅

First of all, big reveal. I’m old. Much older than you probably ever guessed. Because I’ve been doing digital art since 2003, and I was not exactly a toddler at that point, he-he. Don’t ask me my age though – I’m still a lady and I consider it impolite 🤭 but that might actually answer the questions of many teenagers why I don’t particularly interact much 🙈

So anyways, now we have settled my “art career” span. But saying “I began doing digital art in 2003” – well… I don’t want to do that, because people will be like, “whoa, 20 years”?! And will freak out at such a prospect – 20 years to get to my level, which is, frankly speaking, far from professional. Not to mention that before digital art I also drew traditionally quite a bit.

But the main reason is because “doing digital art since 2003” does not equal “for 20 years”.

How about we revisit these years and look closer at my digital art journey? I can’t promise that I will recall everything 100% accurately, but I’ll do my best.

So around 2003-2004 I tried drawing in Photoshop for the first time. It was an image of a lion, and to be honest, to this day I’m hella proud of myself.

Yes, first attempt. Yes, I drew with a freaking mouse!

My second piece from the same year span is the “Dancer”. oh yes, the remakable hepatitis skin tone 🙈

To be honest, I don’t recall having a drawing tablet that long ago, I'm quite sure I got it only in 2008, but looking at it, despite its flaws, I can hardly believe I drew that using a mouse… I’m not sure, it’s a mystery. The Lion was definitely a mouse artwork.

From thereon I abandoned digital art for a while due to studying, then work, and finally online RPGs…

In 2008 I posted my first digital WIP after a 5 year break.

Oh my gosh... Remind me to never try realism again, clearly not my thing 🙈

I think I was trying to draw an avatar for myself, which doesn’t exactly justify drawing a woman aged probably around 40 🙈 I was not that old!! As far as I can see from my journal, that artwork crashed and only this snippet of it was what I had left. I think it’s for the good. I ended up commissioning the avatar from a proper artist, ha-ha…

Over the span of 2 months I posted 5 more digital art pieces, none of them ever completed actually 🙈 And yes, behold how ugly they are...

My ambitions were growing faster than my skills were improving. The piece with the couple with that naked girl is my special pain because I even attended a digital art course by an amazing artist I was really looking up to back then – Anry – to try and finish this piece, but I failed miserably. I was the only person in that course (5 day 12hr/day intense course) out of 15 people who came “just for fun” – the rest were pursuing a professional digital illustrator career.

This is what I left off with after that course.

In this collage you see on the left what I came with, the middle – what the teacher did after I explained my concept, and on the right – my attempt to take the piece to its final form. But I could never accept that the base was made for me and not by me...

It still grips my heart when I look at it because it was one of my greatest fails. I think that to die peacefully, I need to finish this artwork 😆 If anyone is curious about the story behind this artwork, I’ll post it separately.

Anyway, as I said, I didn’t reach my goal, was hugely disappointed in myself and dropped digital art in April 2008.

However, I came back 1.5 years later, in November 2009, when I got into anime 😂

I think that’s also when I first tried Paint Tool SAI. Up until March 2012, I uploaded roughly 20+/- digital artworks/WIPs. The quality was a bit inconsistent, but I was beginning to get the hang of it a bit, finally. Here are some of them (yeah, the span of the mood is extraordinary):

So, in 2.5 years – merely 20 artworks. Just to compare, in 2022 alone I made 75+ artworks, which doesn’t even include animations and stuff I considered to not be proper artworks.

So, my last artwork from that period was in March 2012 (the one with the winged dude blocking the way for the girl), after which I abandoned digital art again, for good this time. I actually thought - forever, to be honest.

I’m not sure what happened then. I guess I just lost my motivation, got over my fictional crushes, was depressed and not happy with myself…

Problem is that in reality, I don’t have any imagination at all. Part of the reason why I always suspected that despite being quite decent in drawing, I would never succeed as an artist, so I could only say that my dream was to draw for Disney. But I knew I never would. And I knew I can’t do original art. Fan arts – yes, subject to being highly inspired, a feeling similar to a crush. I was too dependent on the mood. But even so… my artworks never were particularly fancy or original, I admit it.

Part of the reason why I’m also so sensitive about AI now. I see people actually living my dream, and I'm so happy for them. Working as illustrators, having an income from what they create... And that is being stolen from them now. That’s why I will probably never accept AI.

Ugh, turned off the subject…

Anyway, as I said, I abandoned art in 2012 and only picked it back up in October 2021 because of Kakashi. 😆

If my math is correct, that’s a 9.5 year break. I have been going non-stop since October 2021, so I would say that my ongoing artistic journey lasts for almost 2 years now. The previous 2-year period with 20 artworks – I’m not really sure about the value of that. The previous 7 digital artworks – even more so.

If I had to sum up my entire digital art journey, – I would say it is around 5–6 years, but in reality probably won’t add up even to 3 years, because the 3 years adding up from a bit of 2003, a bit of 2008 and bits of 2009-2012 had me produce only around 30 artworks, a majority of which were never even completed.

My main progress happened between 2021 and now, so in the last 2 years. And to be honest, I understand that if I am to continue - this is only the beginning...

[buckysdolls]

Chapter 2

Xavier Thorpe x O/C

Having telekinesis was a blessing and a curse. Right now… flinging Xavier across the hall and onto the floor was a curse. I panicked when Xavier made me jump so I instantly reacted with force…it's a bad habit. I dashed over to Xavier who was looking confused and rubbing the back of his neck. I crouched down beside him, my hands shaking as they hovered above him trying to figure out where to place them to help him.

"Ouch" Xavier mumbled.

"Is that how you greet everyone?' Xavier laughed and looked up at me through the strands of his hair.

"Only the ones that startle me…" I replied with a smile forming my lips. Xavier took my hand and hoisted himself up, flipping his hair out of his face. I observed Xavier, closely taking in his facial features, a long chiselled jawline that accentuated when he smiled made him utterly beautiful.

"Knowing your brother I probably should have known better"

"I'm sorry" I was genuinely apologetic.

"You've got a force to you as well" Xavier added referring to mine and my brother's powers. I looked down as he was still holding my hand that he used to help himself up, his thumb tracing soothing circular movements. Xavier caught on to what I was looking at and gently removed his hand from mine.

"It's great to meet you in person you know instead of behind a phone for like three seconds before your brother yells at us for saying hi"

"You know Freddie won't like you talking to me…after dark in the corridors." My voice was soft and quiet.

"Freddie is one of my best mates but that doesn't mean I can’t like and talk to his sister…does it?"

I shrugged my shoulders…did he mean like as in 'oh yeah..you're a likeable girl' or 'I fancy you?'

"Why are you mooching around after dark anyway?" I walked away to sit on a stone ledge that looked out amongst the well-kept garden, I brought my legs to my chest and cuddled myself trying to keep all my body heat seeing as the chill from the wind was blowing into my direction. As Xavier walked over to meet me and sit closely next to me, he unzipped his blue hoodie and wrapped it over my shoulders. Our eyes met for a glance before his eyes trailed down my face slowly and landed on my lips. My own eyes had done the same and when I looked back into his eyes he was there ready to meet mine.

"Thank you" I warmly replied to which Xavier grinned.

"Don't mention it little Stark" Stark being my surname and little because I was the youngest… It was cute.

"My art studio is around the corner on the grounds… Mrs Weems allows me to use it when I need to. Especially when I need to release my frustrations"

"You paint?"

"Paint, draw…make a mess. There's a lot you don't know about me"

He was right, I hardly knew anything about Xavier. I'd only ever said hello in passing on the phone.

"I'd love to stop by your studio at some point and see your work" the moon was bright but barely enough light to see the faint smile on his lips.

"I bet you would" I couldn't tell if he was flirting with me or just making a joke but I unfolded my legs from my chest letting my feet dangle down each side of the small wall, scooted closer to Xavier and zipped up his hoodie trying to deter him from looking at my cheeks that were blushing. Xavier was charming not because he was flirty which I'm sure he could be but charming because he was tranquil and warm, quiet with that stereotypical bad boy look that could lure any girl into his snare.

"What do you paint?"

"Mainly portraits…"

"I could paint you..."

The sound of faint voices and giggling in the distant hallways alerted both myself and Xavier and interrupted our conversation.

"I should leave…" I quickly moved away from Xavier and leapt up from the wall jogging away.

Xavier watched as Alana disappeared… he sighed heavily at her departure something about her was intoxicating to him almost like she was his muse. As the voices reached closer Xavier could make out the figures of Freddie and Clarissa who were holding hands. Xavier jumped up from his seat and approached the two.

"Breaking the rules?" Xavier asked with a sarcastic tone. Freddie draped his arm over Xavier's shoulder and encouraged him to join their slow-paced walk.

"Just about to say goodbye that's all…" Freddie kissed Clarissa and watched her walk up the big wooden staircase.

"What are you doing out… and where is your hoodie?" Freddie noticed Xavier looking unusual without it.

"Just wandering and pondering…I left it in the studio" Xavier lied, not wanting to tell Freddie what was going on.

The boys continued their walk up to their dorm.

"I'm already hearing people talk about Alana… I knew her presence would enrage me. I'm trying to keep my telekinesis under control." Freddie was clearly explaining how protective he was feeling about his sister.

"I'm sure she can handle herself bro, focus on you" Xavier replied feeling slightly uncomfortable knowing he'd just spent time with Alana.

"I know but the boys that like her, will take advantage of her" Freddie said through gritted teeth.

It was true boys did always find themselves drawn to Alana for her looks however what Xavier felt was completely different.

A week passed and Alana was making waves for two reasons, firstly for being the prettiest girl at Nevermore and secondly for being the nerdiest girl at Nevermore. She was due to attend her first extracurricular school activity. As she was making her way along the corridors she was hearing the Nevermore gossip. Another normie had been brutally murdered by a feral and ferocious beast. She walked past Wednesday and Enid who were having their own in-depth conversation about the incident. Walking across the quad Alana stopped as she found her brother and his friends. Freddie's friends instantly stopped chattering. Some of the girls looked her up and down judging her for being far more beautiful than they were and a handful of boys were roaming her body with their eyes.

"Are you not meant to be at an extra curricular?" Alana asked, tapping her brother on the shoulder. Freddie turned around towering over his sister, his friends sniggered at her question. Freddie turned to look back at his friends, his face a scowl for laughing at his sister.

"I don't do everything you're supposed to do" Freddie took his sister away from the group and towards a bench where he sat her down.

"I see… you're in the popular social circle"

"Too cool to follow the rules Freddie?"

"Something like that. Look, stay focused on you Alana, don't worry about me. I'm worrying about you"

"Am I an inconvenience here Freddie?" Alana asked, a little twang of pain in her voice.

"No…kind of… people are talking about you Alana" Freddie observed you a little closer and furrowed his eyebrows expressing confusion.

"Is that… Xavier's hoodie?"

"What do you mean people are talking?"

"Don't change the topic"

"You're the one changing it Freddie! What have I done for people to talk"

"You're the opposite of me sis. You're a goody two shoes and stick to the rules. I have a reputation here. Also, you're too pretty… my friends will want to use you to satisfy themselves. "

"A goody two shoes? I wasn't a goody two shoes when I was breaking curfew the other night with Xavier…" Alana blurted out in a moment of frustration, her hands cupping her mouth to stop her blabbering.

"So it is Xavier's hoodie! I'm going to kil-"

"No!" Alana used her telekinesis to move Freddie back a step.

"Did you just use your power on me?!" Freddie opened his mouth in shock.

"Yes! You need to calm down!"

"I'm going to pretend like you didn't just do that" He pointed at her disapprovingly.

"Whatever Freddie. Come find me when you're ready to stop being a jerk towards your own sister" Alana barged past her brother and stormed towards the target range where Xavier stood shooting a bow and arrow. His hair was scraped back in a low bun. Xavier had already been observing Alana in her heated conversation with her brother when he noticed her walking across in an annoyed manner, he looked away before it looked too obvious. However he did notice how she had chosen to wear his hoodie. Alana stood next to Xavier, picked up a bow and arrow and aimed for the target… her arrow hitting the blue outer circles of the board.

"You okay Alana?"

"He's a jerk…"

"Who? Freddie?" Xavier asked, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see Freddie who had gone back to his circle of friends looking in their direction, intently staring. Although they were friends Xavier didn't always like the other people Freddie chose to hang out with, he was closer to Ajax than he was Freddie.

"Yes Xavier, Freddie!" Alana snapped, getting another arrow. Xavier stood behind Alana, her back was pressed against him as he brought her into him. He guided her arm up that was holding her bow… his face buried into her neck as he looked through her vision to help her aim. Alana was startled at first but instantly relaxed as his hands were placed on top of hers helping to keep the bow steady.

"Pull back" Xavier whispered in Alana's ear and so she did.

"Release"

The arrow was deadly as it smacked into the centre of the target, Xavier was still in close proximity with Alana who was smiling at her success.

"Perfect shot" Xavier softly mumbled, his hands unknowingly to him had settled on her hips. It must have felt natural for them to have not noticed as if it was comfortable. Looking out of her peripheral vision she managed to catch a glance of Xavier who was already staring back at her. Alana slowly turned around and created a gap between the two of them.

"You'll get used to him. He does choose to hang out with some jerks. It's better to steer clear at those times. But he cares about you"

"He only cares that I'm tarnishing his popularity by actually caring about being here"

"Don't worry about it Alana" Xavier's corners of his lips curled up into a smile.

"Thank you for… well everything since I got here" Alana removed Xavier's hoodie and handed it back to him. Xavier looked past Alana and towards Freddie who was sulking. The two were interrupted by Wednesday and Enid asking Alana if she would like to visit Jericho with them to which Alana accepted.

When Alana was out of sight Freddie walked over to Xavier who was concentrating on shooting. He grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around once his bow was free.

"Please don't Xavier"

"Don't what?"

"Ruin my sister. She doesn't need trouble."

"Gosh bro, you need to stop being so confusing towards her. You don't want her to ruin your rep but you won't let her make her own choices."

"I saw the way you were holding her, you like her"

"Whatever man. I've gotta get back to practice."

"I mean it Xavier."

Xavier kicked over a bucket of arrows in vexation and headed for his studio.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 8-- Mummy

Saeran is staring out the window when a knock comes at his door. “Hey, Saeran?” You call nervously from outside his room. “Could you come help me with something?”

He weighs his options— he supposes he could always say no, but you've been so kind to him in recent months, and it's not like he has anything better to do. “What is it?” He asks eventually, figuring that he can make a decision when he has more information.

“I'm making cookies, and—” That's all the information Saeran needs. He throws the door open.

“I'll help.” He’d never turn down an opportunity to eat something sweet, and he’s found since leaving Mint Eye that he very much enjoys cooking and baking. Besides, if he changes his mind later, he can always just come back to his room and wait for you to finish the cookies on your own. You've made it abundantly clear by now that you'll never be mad at him for canceling plans or getting overwhelmed.

You beam at him, wiping a flour-coated hand on your ridiculous cooking apron. “Okay, good. Come on— they're cooling right now; I just need help decorating them.”

“Can't you do it yourself?” Saeran asks as you lead him into the kitchen. Usually, you have no trouble whipping up all manner of baked goods on your own. In fact, ever since you moved in, the bunker is usually filled with the smell of sweet treats in the oven. He’s surprised that you would ask for his help with something you could easily do alone. 

“Maybe, but it's more fun with a friend.” Nearly every viable surface in the kitchen is covered with cooling racks, where you've laid out rows and rows of oblong cookies. A few of them are a little bit burnt, but otherwise, they look delicious. 

“Okay.” Saeran shrugs. Once again, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

“I wanted to do something fun for Halloween,” you explain, “They're supposed to be mummies, but I'm no good at drawing faces. Here's the one I did on my own.“ You hold up a horrifying-looking cookie, with one red eye running down its face and the other hardly a pinprick of crimson icing. The mouth is shaky-looking, like you weren't sure what you were doing when you drew it. It's clear that it's supposed to be a mummy, though— you've done a pretty good job rendering its wrappings with white icing. “I figure I can do the bandages, since I'm okay at that, and you can draw the faces? Maybe? Please?”

“I don't think it's going to look any better if I draw it,” Saeran points out. He doesn't understand why you're asking him to do something like this— it’s not like he’s ever drawn a face on a cookie before.

“Well, it can't be worse than the one I did,” you grin. “And besides, if they look bad, we can just eat them all, and no one will know.” You offer him a conspiratorial wink. Saeran can’t help but be endeared by your hopeless optimism, though he doesn’t plan on mentioning it. As sweet as you are, and as much as you go out of your way to include him in your life, he’s still a bit awkward around you. 

Nevertheless, Saeran considers your proposition. Honestly, he doesn't mind helping you decorate the cookies— it's something to do with his hands, at least, which often distracts him from his thoughts, and he knows that it'll make you happy. It's nice to be a source of joy for once. “Okay. I'll do it.”

You continue to beam at him, like his agreement to help you with your cookies has erased all of his misdeeds from your memory. Saeran doesn't get it, but he's glad that you're enjoying yourself, and that you inexplicably still want to spend time with him. “Here,” you hand him a tube of red icing. “If you want to do the eyes a different color, let me know— I have black icing too, and I can make green and blue.”

“Red is fine.”

Just as he expected, Saeran's first few cookies look worse than the one that you made. He's never so much as held an icing tube before, let alone tried to draw a design with one— but he finds that it's a calming process, once he gets the hang of it. The motions are repetitive, and your constant chattering further distracts him from his thoughts. “These look so good,” you gush, surveying the final row of cookies. “I knew you'd be good at this.”

Saeran blushes at your sudden words. He's still not accustomed to the genuine praise, and he doesn't quite know how to handle it. “Thank you,” he manages, “Your part... looks nice, too.”

“Okay, now that they're decorated, let's eat them,” you decide, “Saeyoung can have whatever's left when he gets home.”

Saeran rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue. After all, he's not going to complain about free cookies.

[fazscare87]

Fazbear World- (CTW) Funtime Freddy/Proto-time Freddy

Meet Funtime Freddy, or rather, THE original/Prototype Funtime Freddy, and he’s no longer fun for all ages, it’s only fun for him now, but that’s when he’s hurting or killing someone. He was once white, pink, and shiny, but that was in 1983 before he got replaced by the newer model, it’s been 34 years, it’s 2017 now and this is him now. It’s also worth mentioning that this version of Funtime Freddy is a few feet taller. When he was replaced, William had his power module removed and stored away. However, he somehow reactivated himself, even without the power module, even worse, he managed to get out, and now he indiscriminately tortures and kills anyone he comes across for sadistic pleasure. This Funtime Freddy is sadistic and psychopathic, much more than his other counterpart. He takes immense sadistic joy in physically, mentally, and emotionally tormenting his living victims, while showing a cold, psychopathic, and remorseless attitude toward his deceased victims. He’s very knowledgeable about the various methods, from how their inventors, their history, and even what will happen to the victim. Though he is willing to let the victim decide their fate, even giving them suggestions, and if they somehow survive, he just might let them go, but that hardly happens. At first, Funtime Freddy barely had anything to kill or harm anyone, just a strong grip and fatally strong bite force. Not to mention his microphone, which he used to bludgeon people, after time it broke, and now it’s just sharp metal and plastic, which he now uses to stab people to death if he gets a hold of them or can’t get them in his stomach. So he gave himself upgrades, finding anything he could from scrapyards, other animatronic parts, and anything he deemed deadly. To name a few, upgrades range from hidden extendable claws, due to being in a state of disrepair his limbs/endoskeleton became looser, so he can stretch his wires and limbs out if he pleases, his right hand/arm can transform, serving a variety of functions, containing a surprising amount of tools as well as weapons, such as a clamp, a blade, Buzzsaw, a torch, and a plethora of sharp implements and tools. He can even shoot out shrapnel from his hand, anything he finds he will use it, and anything he can think of he will add to himself. But his deadliest feature is his stomach, he’s added all sorts of deadly features and has all sorts of ways to kill a person while they're trapped inside. These methods involve, electrocution, blades and saws, toxic gasses, constricting the victim with his wires until they stop breathing and are crushed to death, manipulating the temperature to burn or freeze the victim to death, he can even fill his stomach up with water to drown them, as well as slowly boil them alive, (Funnily enough he might be sadistic but he is hesitant and boiling people alive). It’s worth mentioning his stomach cavity is soundproof, so it’s no use trying to scream for help. He's also capable of rolling his eyes back into his head, peering into his stomach to see the victim and watch them die. He’s still out there, looking for new victims to have fun with.

-Clarification, whenever I make Fazbear World versions of some characters, I will mostly stick to their design, however, in the cases of the novels I like to go all out while still sticking somewhat true to their designs, or rather descriptions. I also like to go out with certain characters and what they do, so that’s why I added so many ridiculous little ideas for the gadgets he has to kill someone, I just can’t help myself, then again it’s an AU, so yeah.

I also learned how hard it is drawing Sister Location characters, that or it’s just me.

Hope you guys like it and have a faztastic day ^^

[saintsir4n]

11. You can’t take it with jules

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF PEDOPHILIA

WAS the world coming to an end or had Nicholas Lott entered the Dubois estate? He agreed to a meeting with the Dubois patriarch and slowly started to regret it. When he discovered Zoya's scholarship was at stake, options were limited and with his income, he couldn't afford tuition in the new year, so he gingerly took his daughter's suggestion and decided to meet with the only option they had. The Devils of the Upper East Side.

"What's the catch?" Nick inquired, opposite Luc and Winnie in their sitting room.

Zoya nudged him, "Dad."

Winnie's lips twitched in amusement at the looks they exchanged that certainly said more than a thousand words. Their relationship certainly appeared warm and welcoming, which unnerved the Dubois'.

"There's no catch is there, Dad?" Winnie interrupted, not sparing a glance at her father who wore a soft smile.

Luc dryly laughed, "Simply helping out a friend. My wife informed me what talent and drive your daughter has, and who would we be to let the faults of a despicable man disrupt that? Davis Calloway shouldn't be an obstacle, and so he's not. The school board love nothing more than to take my money so why shouldn't they?"

"Dad, this way I can stay and this coming January we won't have to pay tuition," Zoya's eyes were practically begging when she turned back to her father.

She could tell he wanted to be anywhere but there. He adorned his smartest suit, vigorously polished his shoes and combed out his hair, so he didn't embarrass either of them, but he was very apprehensive.

The atmosphere of the sitting room, was rather cold, regardless of the Christmas decorations.

Nick locked eyes with Luc and replied, "It seems everything is sorted out, however, I assume there's a clause in this act of yours, pardon me, but I hardly know you, our daughters are friendly, but putting Zoya's future in the hands of Dubois doesn't sound sustainable."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Luc chuckled, "so I've had one of mine draw up," he placed the contract on the table separating them, "You'll see that the board have signed off on it, as has the Headmistress Burton. I assure you, there is no catch, other than Zoya continuing to excel like the bright girl she is."

Nick blinked rapidly, before picking up the 3 page contract.

Zoya gulped, "Dad –"

"I'll look over this," Nick replied, staring at Luc as they stood up.

The girls followed their actions.

Zoya frowned, "But –"

Luc cast her a smile, "Your father is being smart Zoya, don't sign your life away without reading every detail. It was nice speaking with you all, but I have a meeting with some associates of mine, and like me, they value punctuality," he extended his hand for Nick to shake, "Mr Lott."

Nick mirrored his actions, "Mr. Dubois."

"Girls," Luc nodded at both of them, narrowing his eyes at his daughter especially, then strolled out of the room with his phone in hand.

Winnie pulled out hers as she watched the tense exchange between Nick and Zoya.

"We'll talk about this when you get home from school," he whispered, placing the contract in his briefcase.

Winnie plastered on a smile as he turned to her, "Nice to meet you, Mr Lott, Zoya has told me great things."

Nick nodded yet said nothing in response and hastily walked out of the room.

"I don't get why he won't sign it already," Zoya exclaimed, picking up her school bag as Winnie picked up hers.

Monet wouldn't be joining them this morning, she had plans with Luna, but that didn't stop the promiscuous texts she and Winnie exchanged.

"Like my dad said, don't make a deal with the devil without reading the small print. And I know you like to believe my family's company is far from ethical," she stated. Caesar came into the room, and before he could get a word in she said, "We're coming."

"But it's a written contract," Zoya's age was certainly showing.

"Don't be dull, you're the daughter of a lawyer, they know more than anyone that big fucks little. Be realistic," Winnie went on as they have escorted out of the townhouse and towards the car,  "there will always be people at the top and that means there have to be people at the bottom, getting fucked but the puppeteers. You know it's true... people fuck people and that's the way of the world."

Zoya made a face, "I'm convinced you were created in a lab."

A genuine smile grew on Winnie's face, "Thank you."

Caesar pulled open them, he waited until they were comfortable and hopped in.

Zoya turned to Winnie as the car took off, "No, thank you for helping me. Even if you've got an ulterior motive."

Winnie feigned offence, "Do you think that lowly of me?" 

"Yes."

Winnie chuckled, "Good."

But before she could smile, Zoya had to ask, "But I wanna know why you're doing this for me?"

"You've got potential. How annoying and overbearing you can be even a perpetually irritated bitch like me can recognise it," Winnie explained, pulling her black sunglasses out of her bag, "You go on and on about issues that I don't care or relate to and for that I respect you. You've got this fierce spirit. It's annoying but I admire that."

Zoya was stunned, "Wow."

"I know."

Winnie wasn't lying, she respected Zoya, just as much as she found her deeply annoying.

"Can I ask something else? Just one last thing I promise?"

Caesar suppressed a smile at the childish exchange and turned to face the window.

Winnie groaned, "If you must."

"What medication were you taking back there? I saw when my dad and I walked in."

Zoya regretted asking when Winnie clicked her fingers.

"Codeine," Winnie whispered rather teasingly.

"Funny," Zoya rolled her eyes.

"Aren't I?"

Winnie had started taking her medication. Hooray, however, she felt moodier than anything, her appetite was smaller and tended to snack on the goods Max made, provided he didn't lace them.

Zoya decided to change the subject, "I saw them protesting Veloticty Inc. again. You know there are ways for them to be more environmentally friendly. The harm it's causing to the environment —"

"Take a day off Zoya, social issues aren't going anywhere," Winnie huffed, ceasing the girl's ranting, "Besides it's Christmas."

"In a week."

"Still, we're almost at school."

They didn't speak until they pulled up to campus.

Caesar hastily stepped out of the car.

Zoya quickly reached for the handle,  "Meeting Shan, literally now."

"Don't skip your first period," Winnie grinned at the confusion on her face.

"How did you know about that?"

Winnie simply shrugged and the car door was pulled open for her.

"Bye," Zoya went on her way.

Winnie slipped on her shades and immediately felt someone loop their arms with hers as they walked up the front stairs.

Ginny didn't say anything and simply stared, feeling a mellow yet moody vibe emit from her friend.

Winniw tsked, "Only I'm allowed to stare. What is it?"

"Nothing," she's taking her medication, the blonde realised.

"Bullshit," Winnie scoffed just as the lacrosse captain drifted over, "Billy my dad said you're coming around for Christmas this year."

He nodded, snaking an arm around Ginny's shoulders, "Only a few days before we go to Cancun."

They both turned, mildly perplexed.

"You going there as well?" Ginny questioned.

Winnie added, "On the 2nd right?"

He quickly realised, "So we're all going."

Their parents were up to something and Winnie tried to block out nausea creeping up her throat.

When they reached their table, Winnie searched the courtyard and saw the blandest couple on earth.

"Menzies!" her voice got Aki's attention.

He nodded, "Dubois."

He and Audrey begrudgingly made their way over.

"Are you going to Mexico for New Year's by any chance?"

"Yes, why?" Aki blinked in confusion.

Ginny groaned against her hook-up, "You're not alone."

"Well that sounds like fun," Audrey fake marvelled.

"What sounds like fun?" they turned to Julian who sent her friend a small smile that wasn't reciprocated. Winnie and Ginny peeked at the interaction but said nothing for once. "What am I missing?"

"Forced proximity," Billy mused as Monet and Luna joined them. The latter quickly chastised Julian who deleted her account.

"Babe," Monet greeted, pressing a kiss to Winnie's lips.

Ginny rolled her eyes and clung to Billy who sniggered at the interaction.

"Beautiful," Winnie smiled, making her girlfriend realise.

"You're taking them aren't you?" she asked quietly.

Winnie tutted, annoyed at how easily her people could read her.

"Did you hear about the trip?" she asked, changing the subject.

Julian grew impatient, "What trip?"

"Cancun, our parents set it up," Aki answered, dapping up Obie when he hesitantly came over.

"Why, I have no idea," Monet drawled.

Luna gasped, "Why didn't I get an invite?"

"Be lucky you didn't, sounds like hell," Audrey remarked.

"Sounds like a conspiracy," Obie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, which gained Julian's attention.

But it seemed like the people she wanted to make amends with didn't want to talk.

The sharp ringing of the bell brought the conversation to a halt.

"Classics," Winnie announced just when other students rushed into the front entrance.

"Text me," Ginny called out as she and Billy dispersed.

Luna nudged Monet, "Biology."

The De Haan girl nodded, then pressed a kiss to her girlfriend's lips.

Julian followed them, as they walked away.

Winnie locked eyes with Max who mustered a smile when he jogged over.

Audrey's eyes lit up as did Aki's.

"We've got trig," Obie nudged the couple.

"Pooh Bear, let's go," Max took Winnie's hand.

Audrey tried, "Max —"

"Now," he urged, and practically dragged her away.

She chuckled at the defeated looks on their faces, "Trouble in paradise?"

"There is no paradise, so there's no trouble."

"Good," she was glad he was done with them, "did you by chance make some pastries for me?"

He retrieved a Tupperware from his bag, "of course." She uncharacteristically squealed, making his eyes double in size, "Oh, you're for sure a pill popper now."

"Shut up."

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(@gossipgirl tweeted)

Is there anything merrier than Christmas in New York? That dear followers, depends on if you've made my naughty or nice list. Are you trying to wipe the slate clean, but coming up short? Pining for happier holidays past? Maybe wishing you could avoid the holidays altogether this year. Or are you drowning your sorrows the old-fashioned way, with some therapeutic online shopping? Whatever the reason for your season, my lovelies, rest assured that Gossip Grinch is watching and waiting. Waiting to snatch your presents right out from under your nose.

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"I'm bored and I completed my Christmas shopping last week," Winnie declared, walking beside Max as they were the last two to leave their classroom.

He cast her an expectant look, "And what are you getting for me?"

She laughed, "Who says I'm gifting you anything?"

"Hurtful," he playfully nudged her,  "and I need coffee, want anything?"

"Hot Cocoa."

He eyed her in faux disgust, "How basic."

"Fuck you."

She shook her head, feeling a smile tug on her lips, watching him disappear into the crowds.

Monet suddenly appeared, showing off a brand-new pair of Versace sunglasses.

"Have you seen this?" she paused, "You'll be unwrapping this in a week."

Winnie lowered the phone, "I thought you wanted to keep the presents a secret."

"No secrets remember," Monet insisted, squinting her eyes.

"Yeah, no secrets," Winnie agreed rather quickly, despite herself. "Then you'll need a cart for all of the gifts I've got you."

She pulled Monet into a rather scandalous kiss before she could get a response, that deepened with every second. They moved like each other was the very air they needed to breathe.

Luna's face was a picture of contempt when she found them, flustered and panting.

"I feel extremely single. Please stop, before I go from Kendall Jenner to Kendall Roy," she hissed.

Winnie pulled out her phone to correct her make-up, "Killer or drug addict?"

"Potentially both depending on how long this radiating lust lasts. Please separate."

Luna forced herself between them.

Winnie scoffed, whilst Monet fixed her lipgloss, shooting glares at anyone who eyed them.

Winnie announced, "I have a scheduled post and no it's not our Dior sponsor," she specified to Monet who nodded.

Luna cocked her head to the side, "You're willingly conversing with Mr. Depp?"

Winnie glowered, "Please we're not near that man, they keep de-ageing him, I've seen how they do it whenever I speak to the COO, embarrassing right?"

"Obviously," they replied in unison.

"Anyways I've gotta go," Winnie smirked when Monet shot her a wink.

Ginny was next to find her, "Did you know bland bangs and dry Aki tried inviting Billy into their bed?"

Winnie snorted, "God no and how did you find out?"

"He tells me a lot."

Winnie was confused by her irked tone, "That's good right?"

"Yes. we agreed to pretend that we're dating to our parents to keep them off our backs," Ginny explained as they looked out into the courtyard.

Winnie poured her lips, "How very Netflix of you."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "It's working. And I think it's a causal thing."

"You think or you want it to be?"

"I don't know."

"Just talk to him," Winnie's advice startled the blonde.

"How unlike you," Ginny poked her face as if to see if she was possessed, "Give me back my friend."

Winnie swatted her hand away, "Fuck off. I'm serious and I need to post something."

"GG take down stage 1?"

"Yes." Winnie nodded, "But seriously, go and talk to him."

"Go talk to your therapist," Ginny teased.

Winnie playfully glared, "Oh, that's low."

"Love you," the blonde called out before going to find the cheeky lacrosse captain.

With a minute to go, before she hit tweet, Max appeared two drinks in hand.

He passed hers over, "Poor Bear, here's your hot cocoa, I need to go and do something."

"Up to no good?" she recognised the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Always," he pressed a kiss to her cheek and went on his way.

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(@slytherWin tweeted)

It's time for some tea my dear Winners. I'm indeed in therapy, however, that should've been my decision to share. Since Gossipgirl has announced its poor return, it's been doing far more damage than good. It's mocked and ridiculed plenty of minors, me included and I'm appalled that people are still reading and viewing their posts. I mean, how dare a cowardly nobody try and expose us? We've all been through hell and back and just went we thought we could reach peace, an anonymous account tries and takes that away. I shouldn't be ashamed to go to a place that wants only to help me. And I must admit, the constant clowning and tearing down of my character is the reason I started seeking help. I am only a child, just like most of you. So I want all of my followers, on Twitter, TikTok and insta, and my subscribers on Snapchat and YouTube to unfollow this cruel account. Because we should all strive in the face of adversity. It's time to take the power back, now! #blackmindsmatter #richmindsmatter #imatterespecially.

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"GG's followers have dropped by 30%," Monet informed her girlfriend.

Winnie cursed, "Only 30? What is this bitch, Kanye?"

"Easy, it'll take a lot for something this prominent to get cancelled. Just like Kanye," Monet said, "but it's progress."

Winnie tossed back her head in annoyance, "I guess."

It had been hours since school had finished and she had been waiting for good results and this was a fucking disappointment.

"And before we go to Cancun -- I'll never know why they chose that holiday destination."

"Same."

Winnie heard the uncertainty in Monet's tone, "Really? Your parents suggested it."

"We share blood, not a brain Mon," Winnie retorted, slightly suspicious.

"Moodiness. Another side effect of Ritalin, you're skating through them today."

Winnie clenched her teeth, "I'm hanging up now."

"Wait, I wanted to tell you saying."

"Go on."

Winnie grew even more suspicious when Monet took a minute to say, "...I... miss you."

"Sap."

"Fuck you," Monet softly scoffed.

"I miss you too."

___

After she ended the call with her darling girlfriend she got one from an unknown number. It was Obie — she never saved his number. He blurted out several things regarding Max, his sister Heidi and her fiancée. Why she told any of this, she didn't know, but the weirdest part of it all was that she showed up at the restaurant.

Her tongue swiped against her cheek as she glanced at Obie, "I'm here, why?"

"We have suspicions," the performative activist answered.

"You've got Wolfe in this too?" she shot a wry look at the smirking playboy.

The trio discussed several things in front of the coat check.

"Winnie?!"

The Dubois heiress grumbled when she heard her name being called. Max looked highly amused at the look on her face.

"Oh fuck," she cursed.

Obie winced, "Sorry."

She spun on her heel and plastered on a forced smile, "Heidi,"

The Bergmann women went to kiss her cheeks, but Winnie took a step back, still adorning a smile.

Heidi cleared her throat, "This is my fiancée Klaus Wagner."

"Another friend of Obie's?" the blonde man in question held out his hand.

"Not a friend. Not even a fan," Winnie replied, earning chuckled from the two adults.

She didn't shake the man's hand which made Max's smirk broaden.

"He's a French hotel heir," Max said, looping his arm with her.

Winnie tilted her head to the side, eying the man, "Really which hotel?"

"Yes, which hotel?" Max curiously leaned in, "Winnie here is practically French royalty."

"Winifred Dubois," Winnie stated, seeing elation in Klaus' eyes.

"Of Velocity Inc.?" he asked.

"Of what else?"

The teens left shortly after, leaving the engaged couple to do whatever.

"I think he's a scammer. Your sister should know better. Hell, you should too," Winnie hissed at Obie.

"I'll talk to her," he shot a nod at Max, before walking away.

"I'll hire a private investigator," Max went on a rant about the conversation he had over during the dinner.

Winnie remained quiet, she didn't care what happened to Heidi, not when Heidi used to sleep with Max who was almost 10 years her junior.

She was creeped out by the woman.

"But thank you for coming through Poor Bear," he smiled at her.

"I'll get the information myself if you stay away from her," his smile fell at her words.

"But we had fun times," he sounded like a whining child.

"Max. I'm serious, stay away, promise me," Winnie tugged on her LV fur coat.

His brows furrowed, "Why?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, "She took your v-card at what age? 13 and she was what —"

"It's not like that," he cut her off, rapidly shaking his head.

"Sounds like like Deja vu," she rasped.

He exhaled deeply, "Come on."

Max didn't think it was think it was the same as Rafa, It couldn't be right? Right.

"Promise me and I'll help you. And I'll stay over tonight. Quid pro quo, but on friendship terms," she exclaimed.

His face lit up with a childlike glee, "I'm your friend?"

"Yes, you child, now just drop her after you drop the bomb."

"I promise," he quickly agreed, saluting at her, drawing an annoyed grin, "now, will I see you later?"

She grimaced, "No, too much interaction for the day."

"Overstimulation? And I thought sapphics loved it." She let out a genuine laugh as he threw an arm around her shoulder. "Come on, let's get hot cocoa."

"How basic."

"Very basic."

___

"We burn them. They scorch us Grayson, you know that," Monet pressed her ear up to her parent's room, having heard them in a heated discussion for quite some time now.

She mentioned the trip to Cancun during dinner and they stopped speaking until they finished their food. Had she known it was a sensitive topic she would've brought it up ages ago.

Her father replied, "We could always flip the score, this trip to Cancun can be our chance to come out on top."

"What about our daughter's relationship with theirs?"

Monet's heart raced and jaw tightened at the mention of her girlfriend and her family.

"Oh please, we know that Winifred is Margaux's carbon copy, she'll dump Monet with ease. She'll do more harm to our daughter. Hasn't she already? I mean, think about it, this blog Gossip Girl might be good for one thing and that's receipts."

Monet harshly swallowed as her mind roared with suspicion that had been gnawing at her ever since she saw those notes in her girlfriend's room on Halloween.

Her mother scoffed, "Don't be absurd, Grayson, Monet and Winnie have battled and surprisingly they've come out unscathed."

"This family has secrets, secrets that Luc knows and we can't let our family, our legacy turn to ruin because of his own faults," her father snarled.

Monet's nose flared and body stiffened when she thought of the billion possibilities, but in actuality, she had an inkling of what they were referencing.

"Then what do you suppose we do?"

___

"Well I'm glad you came through on your promise," Winnie felt comfortable in the Wolfe's west village townhouse.

It was homey, unlike her own and despite Gideon's personal views on the arrogant teen, he didn't have a problem with her being there.

"You would've assassinated me if I didn't - both literally and figuratively," Max quipped, turning back to the girl who was now in her nightwear.

He thought she looked hot but didn't have it in him to say.

She agreed as they were away from the kitchen, "Got that right."

"Who was on the phone?" he wondered who she was speaking to before.

"Zoya."

Max cheekily smiled, "Your child."

Winnie's face dropped, "The idea of having children is disgusting to me, so I take deep offence in that."

"What? She is. What's your endgame, creating a mini-me?" he kicked the living room door open with his feet and led her in.

"We'll see," Winnie mused, knowing deep down she wanted Zoya to carry her torch.

From Buffalo to Billionaire, how cute.

"What did she want?" Max asked down on the couch whilst Winnie lowered herself into a chair and crossed her legs. He brought out some pastries for her to take with her medication, whilst he snacked on some ice cream.

An inferno roared within the walls of the fireplace, inspiring warmth to flow around the teens but Max didn't want it. He didn't want to look at the Christmas tree, or the ornaments, that were not supposed to be up and yet they were.

Winnie pursed her lips, "Something about her sister moving in with her. She's not a fan but her dad pushed it because Julian's annoying grandmother wanted to pack her up and ship her away to whatever country bumkin town she originated from."

"I wish I could escape this city," he murmured, halting her in her bite.

"Today's been that bad?"

"This year," Max reiterated.

"Second that," She eyed his desolated demeanour, "but is this moodiness about what happened tonight with Bergmann?"

"Something like that," he took another bite of his rocky road.

Max felt trapped, what he once perceived wasn't how it was. Nothing fit, not how it used to. Hell, if he told himself last year he would be spilling his guts to Winifred Dubois, he would've laughed and she would've cackled in his face.

"Are you in love with her?"

Winnie almost choked on her pill when she heard his question. Max wasn't looking at her, he stared ahead, facing the fireplace, clutching the ice cream so it wouldn't slip through his fingers.

"Who?"

He scoffed at her faux innocence, "Who do you think?"

"And why do you ask?" she threw back the question, not wanting to answer.

"Do you think you're capable of love?" he sighed when she didn't answer, "I'm only asking because my dads are divorcing. Pops sent divorce papers. The separation was enough and I don't want their relationship to end. They were my constant and now everything else is slipping."

"Has Gideon signed the papers?" she asked after eating another Pain au chocolate.

"He hasn't looked at them since he saw them," Max said, slumping back on the sofa. "I don't blame him, he's wasted so much time when he should've just stayed single."

"And then you wouldn't exist," Winnie argued, now drawing his sorrow-filled gaze. "And then the world would miss out on the charismatic man-whore who is Maximus Wolfe."

"I'm starting to think that isn't a bad thing," he murmured, putting his ice cream to the side. "All people do is use and abuse me and expect to be this happy and grateful guy. When I can't keep up."

"Then stop, stop living up to other people's expectations."

"Easier said than done."

"I know. People have tried changing me," Winnie admitted, "even the people who raised me. You said before that it's the people that make shit better, but it's hard. Living up to someone else's idea of you is fucking gutwrenching."

"Trust me, all I've been feeling recently is like I've been constantly kicked and pushed around and nothing is helping."

She frowned, "Max..."

"But I'm fine," he blurted, humourlessly chuckling at himself.

"You're spirally. I would know because I've been doing it since I was born apparently," Winnie said with an eye roll, "I've never been good at giving decent advice. Criticism, I'm amazing at so if you don't mind I'll do that."

Max breathed out, "Please."

Winnie put aside her snack and leaned in, not tearing her eyes from his and said,

"You like things that you can't have. It's an obsession, or a fetish, whatever way you want to look at it and I can't blame you for it because of your past and it's repeating. And the shit that's happening with your parents has nothing to do with you. It's fucked because your dads seemed okay, one of the last good parents in this area code. But what you need to get, is Aki and Audrey like you, lust over you but you won't be enough for them. They will use you as glue to their decaying relationship. Sure it'll seem like fun at first but remember how the beginning of that felt. Like an ass, I'd imagine. So now, you have two options, let people keep affecting how you see yourself or do something about it. Because I'm tired watching it, so god knows how your fucking feeling."

The pair just sat back, letting their suppressed emotions dance with the flames illuminating the room. It was raw and gritty but that was their reality.

And It was fucking exhausting.

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(@gossipgirl tweeted)

They say it isn't the holidays until somebody cries. But that doesn't mean they can't be happy tears. Because the holidays aren't about conflict, they're about resolution. It's a time to put the ghosts of Christmas Pasts behind us. A time to grab our Christmas Futures by their bony hands without fear, only excitement about what's to come. But you can't do that without facing the past. Facing what you've done. And nobody knows better what you've done than me. Your confessional. Your therapist. Your friend who tells you the truth. Or do I? I don't think I've been entirely honest. How could I be, anonymously? Like a certain someone called me out. So maybe it's time to give you the best gift I can offer. I told you I saw you, but I meant I saw through you. And it's not fair for me to be the only one with that superpower. So this Christmas, I'm giving it to you. And while you may think you don't deserve it, I know it's just what you need. I made my list. I checked it twice. You know you've been naughty. Now pay the price. X-ho-ho-ho, Gossip Girl.

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a/n:

getting towards the end of this book and as i'm going through the show, i didn't realise how many pedophiles we're around max. like heidi taking his virginity when online it states she graduated constance only 2 years after the NJBC means she's around 28... ewww right? and considering the influence she's got, she's more likely to get away with it, which she has. so to change the end of the episode i made sure max stayed with winnie instead. in season 2 they annoyingly continue their fling which is icky. it's like the show saw pretty little liars and thought it was good.

monet overhearing her parents... yikes. and zoya being winnie's kid is the funniest thing, but honestly quite sad when you realise that she would ultimately become another version of winnie.

[limabeans-babies-forthewin]

Interdimensional Crisis Pt 4

I attempted to post this chapter earlier, but it turned into something longer than I anticipated. Plus I got my own iteration of TMNT working in the brain and that's taking up a lot of thoughts.

(to the point i'm considering posting it later but who knows)

Anyway, thanks for continuing to read if you are! All interaction is appreciated!

FIRST - PREV

The lair Duck finds themself in is more like a well decorated cave; vast, seemingly designed to allow a great amount of natural light in (they’ll happily examine it when they wake up in the morning) and covered in a surprising amount of plant life climbing the walls. Another surprising thing is the amount of toys littering what they assume to be the main area, cluttered in among the training materials and loose pieces of paper. If it weren’t for the toys, Duck believes the area would feel more like an upscale version of the training room in their boys’ lair and not a place where people live.

“Don’t trip on anything,” Ronin instructs quietly. “We don’t exactly got the time to help fix you up.”

“I’m not gonna trip on anything,” they assure in the same quiet tone. They make sure to keep a running loop of ‘don’t talk loud, don’t talk loud, don’t talk loud’ going on the back of their mind. The last thing they want to do is draw attention from the ominously mentioned children when they can hardly keep themself upright. Their head still has a low pulsing headache, their skin tingles uncomfortably, and they really just want to curl up in Raph’s lap and—

Oh. . .

They can’t do that.

Ronin pauses and looks back at them. “Kid?”

“Hm?” Duck blinks for a moment a realizes they stopped in the middle of the floor. “Oh.” They offer a weak laugh and scamper to catch up and level off beside him. “Sorry. Thinking.”

Ronin hums and continues forward. “I told April you’re coming,” he says. “Tea should be ready. Don’t be rude.”

Duck snorts, then covers their mouth and glances away when Ronin shoots them a warning look for their volume. They feel the weight of his attention on them linger for a second before it shifts, then they glance up and follow his line of sight to a hallway in the back of the room. There seems to be a few candles lit in some rooms, but nothing moves inside, save the flickering of the candlelight. Ronin seems to relax when no one reacts, then elbows them.

“Keep it down,” he hisses. “I can almost guarantee the kids just got to sleep, and their mom’ll kick your teeth in if you wake them up.”

Duck rubs their offended shoulder and swallows back a complaint. They don’t exactly blame him for where they got hit since he probably couldn’t control how tall he is compared to them. But he can get blamed for how much force he used.

“I’m not gonna wake the kids,” they whisper back as they’re led down a different hallway. “Motherffffaaaaaaather that hurt.”

Ronin looks at them over his shoulder.

Duck smiles and shoots a finger gun in his direction. “Caught it.”

His eyes narrow.

Right. Don’t channel Leo. They clear their throat and fold their arms behind their back, bowing their head slightly in apology. “Sorry.”

“Why do you do that?”

Duck’s brow ridge pulls together and they glance up at him. “Do what?”

He gestures to them. “That,” he says. Apparently the gesture is supposed to mean something because Ronin sags a bit when they don’t react to it. “You keep flipping your personality,” he explains. “You make jokes, you act cocky, then you get called out on it and you get all. . .Compliant. Like you’re trying to be careful and hide something. . . Or. . .” His expression screws in concentration and he studies them for a moment.

The moment spreads longer than Duck thought it would and soon they’re squirming under the pressure. As they said before, being watched is a normality in their life at this point. But the way Ronin studies them now is heavier than that. Like he’s found a crack in their façade and is searching for a way to break it entirely.

Which is fair.

Duck isn’t sure how to behave around Ronin, nor do they know exactly how to function in this situation. From what he’s seen so far, there aren’t any other mutants in this dimension and the one vaguely familiar one they managed to find is older than they’re used to. He’s not Splinter’s age as far as they know, but he’s quieter than any of them. More observant, maybe even enough to rival Donnie since Ronin is uncomfortably comfortable with making eye contact when he’s examining them. That in mind, they really don’t want to risk breaking the fragile ground they find themself on with him.

So yeah, they’re switching personalities. Sue them.

Something shifts behind Ronin and Duck leans over to see, tensing when they find an orange hair woman moving into view from a nearby hallway.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Ronin answers. He stares at Duck for a few more seconds before turning and moving toward the woman in the threshold. He leans down and they have a private, quiet conversation for a moment before Ronin continues to the darkness down the hall.

The red-haired woman nods a couple times before turning a warm smile in Duck’s direction. “You must be the new stray with the interdimensional crisis Ronin was talking about,” she greets. “I’m April.”

It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Giant mutant turtles aren’t new to them, especially since they think that’s what Donnie was talking about when he opened the portal. Alternate versions of themselves across the discoverable universes. They shouldn’t be surprised that there are more Aprils that team up with them. Does that mean there are more of them? Because they don’t know how they’d handle that.

April’s smile falters around the edges before Duck returns it, making sure to wipe any hesitance from their expression before they meet her eyes. But only for a moment since they aren’t used to holding eye contact for longer than a few seconds.

“Sorry,” they finally respond. They nod a shallow bow before crossing the floor and offering a hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Duck.”

April snorts a bit of a laugh and shakes her head as she returns the shake. “You don’t have to be that formal around here,” she assures, nodding head down the hall Ronin disappeared. “We aren’t stuck up down here.”

Duck shrugs as they’re lead down the hall toward the single point of flickering light near the back. “Can’t help it,” they say. “Force of habit.”

Ronin snorts as they cross the threshold into the kitchen. They can’t tell many details based on the low light coming off the cluster of candles melted to the kitchen table, but it’s just enough to allow them to see the amused look on the older turtle’s face as he lowers his mug. “That sounds like a lie.”

“Ronin,” April says. Her tone is halfway to a warning, but it only makes Ronin chuckle. “Don’t insult our guest, you just met him.”

“Sorry,” he says through his light mirth. “Just saying.”

Duck shrugs. “It kinda was,” they admit. “A lie, I mean. Sorry.” Ronin points at them as if proving his point and they exchange a smile, though it only succeeds in making April roll her eyes fondly as she pours another cup of tea and offers it to Duck. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Here. Sit. I think we got some things to talk about.”

Duck takes a sip as they sit in one of the chairs across from Ronin and watches as April takes a seat beside him. Something in the back of Duck’s mind makes them feel like they’re being scolded, but they swallow it back in favor of tapping their thumbs on the sides of their mug. “I don’t really know what to talk about,” they admit nervously. “I told Ronin everything I know. Donnie wanted to show us something, there was a flash of light, then I was here. . . Well, I assume I was somewhere else before the big guy hit me in the face and we ended up on the top of a bridge.”

“Before what?”

There’s something in April’s tone that makes both mutants in the room tense.

Her hand moves and she swats Ronin’s arm with the back of her hand. Then does it again. And again. “Ronin!” she hisses. “You hit a child and took them to a bridge!?”

“I had it under control,” Ronin defends. That’s a tone they’re used to hearing from their boys. Properly scolded and mildly ashamed. He finally lifts an arm to shield himself from April’s blows but can’t do much more since he’s seated against the wall. “He wasn’t in any danger. Besides, he’s a teenager. I was pulling much riskier stunts than hanging out on bridges when I was his age.”

“You weren’t—”

“I probably was,” he interrupts. Now the warning is in Ronin’s tone, and his feels more secured in its place in his voice. Where April’s was more disappointed in a familial way, this is more. . .

Lethal doesn’t feel like the right word since Duck knows Ronin won’t hurt April, but it’s the first word to come to mind. Like she’s teetering on the edge of something. A chill runs down Duck’s spine at his words.

Both parties flick their attention to Duck and they wither further, dropping their eyes to their tea and stilling their fingers against the ceramic that holds it. “Sorry,” they mumble. “Didn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything, kid,” Ronin assures. There’s still a hint of tension in his voice, but it’s largely wiped by a careful neutrality as he waves. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t—”

“I did. You’re terrible at hiding what you’re feeling, by the way. You might wanna work on that, it’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Ronin,” April repeats, though this time her tone is much lighter than the last time. “We do not shame our guests for having emotions in this household.”

Duck covers a laugh and shakes their head. “It’s alright. Leo says sssshhhhhhhttttuuuufff like that all the time.” Narrowly caught, and based on the look they receive from Ronin, he wishes he were nearby to elbow them again. Duck takes another sip of their tea and pointedly directs their attention to the ceiling over what they assume to be the stove. “Anyway, I’m not great at hiding things, yes. I am working on it. . . Kind of. Leo always knows no matter how hard I try. And that’s kind of embarrassing.”

The older pair go quiet and Duck risks a glance, their expression shifting to a confused frown at the distant look the duo share. They’ve seen the same look on Draxum’s face a few times in the past, but his only forms when he’s reminiscing about times he’s lost. About people he’s lost.

Duck takes a long drink from their tea, ignoring the burn they feel on its way down and setting the mug aside when it’s empty. There’s no need to work themself up with thoughts like that when they hardly understand how this universe works. Slapping their own dreadful ideas on it when they don’t even know where a proper bathroom is seems like a surefire way to fuck oneself. So they swallow their tea and the burning wince that follows and uses the side of their thumb to wipe their lip when they’re done.

“I’m sorry,” they say through a sheepish smile. Once again, Duck finds themself pinned under the attention of the adults in the room and withers ever so slightly. Draxum’s eyes always feel ancient whenever he looks at them for longer than twenty seconds, and they’ve become used to it since he’s ancient. But feeling the same way with a turtle and April?

They shake their head before they can ponder the thought too long. “I don’t mean to cut out so early—”

“It’s almost three in the morning,” Ronin interrupts.

“Jeez. Anyway, it could be that, or the whole thing of getting violently ripped from mine own dimension, but I’m tired. Can I. . .”

April nods and takes another quick sip of her tea before she pushes up from the table. “Of course.”

“Put him in my room,” Ronin instructs. “We packed the spare blankets a few hours ago and it’d be a pain to get them back out. Plus it’s probably warmer than any spare bedroom we could fix up right now.”

Duck straightens. “I—”

“Oughta learn to listen to adults, kid.” He looks at April. “Give him my bed.”

April nods and motions for Duck to move back to the hallway. “You heard the man,” she says. “You’re getting the bed.”

If they were back in their own dimension, Duck probably would argue longer. Especially with a turtle since siblings argue about shit like this all the time. But for some reason, arguing with Ronin seems entirely out of the question. Like arguing with Draxum or Splinter. An actual adult. Entirely out of the question. And there’re are two of them! Ronin and April are full adults! They can’t argue with full adults! Hell, they can hardly argue with their own April, and she’s hardly an adult!

A piece of something hits them in the forehead and their hand moves to catch it, fumbling with how little it is for a moment before securing it against their chest. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust the low lighting, so they just switch to night vision and is able to see the bit of wax resting in their palm.

“You’re thinking too hard about something,” Ronin says. He lines up another piece of wax and flicks it at them, this time nailing them right between the eyes and laughing at their offended expression. “Stop it and go to bed. We still got some things to talk about in the morning.”

“Right.” They flick the wax back on instinct and wince when it bounces off of Ronin’s head, though their hesitation does about slightly when they realizes he’s laughing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Good night.”

“Good night.” They turn to April again. “Lead on, I guess.”

April smiles warmly as she turns and heads down the hallway, making her way through the lair and motioning to keep quiet as they pass what Duck assumes to be the bedrooms. There are low burning candles in four of the rooms and Duck can’t help but glance inside the cracks in the doors as they pass by and they smile.

One turtle.

Two turtles.

Three turtles.

Four.

Four?

Duck double takes and stares into the room of the fourth turtle. It’s another situation that shouldn’t be as big a surprise as it is. If Donnie was right about trying to peer into universes with alternates of them, there could be universes with more than four turtles. Hell, Ronin could be the original mutation and these new four could be their boys as kids. But—

“Duck?”

April’s whisper causes Duck to jump and realize that they probably look really creepy right now, staring into a child’s room with who knows what kind of expression on their face. Smiling probably won’t help negate any of the awkwardness they feel, but they offer one anyway as they move again. “Sorry,” they reply. “Lost in thought.”

Thankfully, it seems that Duck is the only one who feels the awkwardness since April only smiles and nods in understanding as she restarts the journey down the hall. “I can imagine. But don’t worry, we’ll talk about everything you’re thinking about in the morning.” She reaches a door at the end of the hall and pauses as a thoughtful look crosses her face. “Probably. . . I can only imagine what you’re thinking, and even then, I’m probably off by quite a bit.”

“Imagined answers and solutions are all welcomed,” Duck assures. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me yet. I don’t even know if I can help you. But I am going to try. Starting with letting you get some rest.” With that, she pushes the door open and lets Duck inside. “Light switch is—”

Duck shakes their head and blinks on night vision. “I’ll be alright,” they assure. Another yawn builds and falls and even they can feel themself blink much slower than before. They must be more tired than they realized. “I just really wanna sleep.”

“Of course.” Duck can’t blame April for angling the candle further into the room to allow more light for Duck to see by since they never told her they have night vision. “Sorry for the mess,” she goes on as Duck enters. “I’m sure Ronin won’t mind if you move some things around to make it easier to sleep.”

Again, Duck smiles and shakes their head as they examine the jumble of old papers and leatherbound books scattered about the area. The room is comfortable and the bed looks soft and well worn in a way Duck can’t help but imagine as insanely soft. Their body still aches with the residuals of being torn between dimensions, and their jaw still hurts from where Ronin hit them. If they think about it too much, or if they stop thinking about it, they’ll end up falling asleep on their feet.

“Here,” April says, setting the candle on one of the upright structures in the room. It’d be easier to tell what it is if it weren’t buried in papers. “Let me help clear the bed.”

Duck’s mouth open to argue against the assistance before remembering Draxum’s quick lessons on hospitality and hosting. While being a pest and constantly asking for more than what’s being offered is being a bother, rejecting too many times is uncomfortable for everyone and will often lead to hurting the host’s feelings. Or something like that. Point is, they really don’t want to hurt April’s feelings and click their mouth shut against the protests.

“Thank you,” they say instead.

It’s quick work stacking the well-read tomes into various piles on more surfaces and April claps her hands of the dust once they’re settled. “I think that’ll do it,” she says. “I’ve tried to get Ronin to stop sleeping with books in the bed cause I swear it looks uncomfortable. Then when he doesn’t, he gets upset that the pages crease.”

Duck offers a light laugh that melts into a deep yawn at the end. “That sounds about right,” they say with a nod. “Thanks.”

“No problem. And hey, I’m sure we have some spare winter clothes around here somewhere. We’ll make sure you’re bundled up before the worst of it hits.”

As much as Duck wants to say they’ll be fine, the wind did cut through their thin layers barely an hour ago. They’re pretty sure they’re still shivering actually. “Thanks.”

“Get some rest, kid. You need it.”            

Duck can’t argue, so as older April snags her candle from a pile of books, they crawl across the under stuffed bed and nearly drop entirely. Before they can get too comfortable, they remember to pause a moment and remove their hearing aids and goggles and set them on a nearby shelf. They’re fully asleep halfway to the pillow.

(Thanks for reading!)

NEXT

[not-bcring]

Nicky was all nerves as he approached Kichiro, a package held tight in shaking hands enough that the paper wrapped about the soft object inside began to tear. "Uh, so...With the whole uh, puck bunny thing, a-and how you actually like it? I thought you might like this to wear to m' games, since...since you're like my lucky rabbit. Or unlucky rabbit, I guess" It's said with a nervous laugh, a callback to the absolute shit show that was their lives that somehow worked out for the best. Nicky still doesn't understand how that trainwreck of a date actually netted him a partner, but that was beside the point.

Inside the package was a hoodie, it was styled like the jerseys the hockey team wore, this one with Swayman across the back along the back along with Nicky's number, why 69 was funny he still didn't know, but this one was special. Attached to the hood were a pair of bunny ears, and low on the oversized sweatshirt was a cotton tail, a garment truly befitting a puck bunny. "I, um...I still have the receipt? If you don't like it..." // puck bunny uwu

-  ✩   「 @from-across-the-stars 」   ✩  

「 ☆ 」   Kichiro will never understand how they managed to gain a boyfriend. Especially one like Nicky; someone who could easily swoon anyone he set his sights on. Yet, through a mercy of fate, he had not only been literally thrown at Kichiro but stuck around afterward. Since that first encounter, Kichiro had known that Nicky was someone they wanted in their life. Bringing with him a warmth unlike the common chill of other people, easing Kichiro into a sense of comfortable normalcy that one would expect after years of companionship instead of mere minutes. Yet from the start, things had felt like it... clicked, with Nicky.

Which is an amusing thought, considering what a shit show both of their lives can be... For something to be easy, dare-say effortless at times, amongst the ever-present chaos that is their draw for misfortune, is a rare occurrence. Something to be treasured. And now that they’re able to openly treasure Nicky even MORE? One can hardly blame them for notably perking with excitement at the sound of the others voice. With a sharp intake of breath, elation shooting through them like a jolt of lightning, they face Nicky with a bright grin. 

While the other male is a picture of nerves, Kichiro is nothing short of radiant in their happiness, lavender hues focused on Nicky’s face— gazing at it fondly —for a moment before the gift in his hands even registers to them. Once it does though, their curiosity is piqued. Eyes wide as they carefully take the lightly-mangled package, gaze flits from it to Nicky as he talks. Pale cheeks hint pink at the mention of being Nicky’s ‘ unlucky rabbit ’, the title feeling like an honor. A warm color that grows with a soft laugh, theirs endeared rather than anxious.

When they unwrap the gift and see what’s inside?

Kichiro can’t contain their gasp of delight. Not that they even WANT to. 

Lavender hues sparkling as brightly as their smile, they hold out the hoodie in front of them, turning it around to admire it from all angles. With each new detail they discover— from the name and number, to the ears and the tail attached —they start to lightly bounce up and down on the balls of their feet, it not even occurring to them how fittingly bunny-like this behavior could seem.  ❝  Don’t like it? Nicky, this is amazing! I love it! I love it! I’m going to wear it to EVERY game—  ❞  As they speak, Kichiro is already rushing to put the new hoodie on, wanting to see how it feels. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to layer one loose hoodie over another. Struggling for a moment, impatient to wear their gift and having completely overlooked that problem in their excitement, Kichiro pulls it off with a huff and hastily strips off their skull hoodie too.

Goosebumps littering their skin now that they are merely cloaked in striped tights ( of varying purple hues ) and a loose t-shirt with a patchwork heart design on the front, Kichiro hastily hands Nicky their skull hoodie; pulling their gift over their head before their old hoodie has even been in the hockey player’s hands for a second. Head popping from the hoodie like a rabbit out of a hole, Kichiro beams at Nicky and asks,  ❝  So— How do I look?  ❞  Arms outstretched, they give a twirl to show off, quickly pulling the hood over their head so the ears are proudly displayed.  ❝  Do I look like a proper puck bunny now?  ❞  They joke with a laugh, flopping the ears before turning their spine to better show the tail behind them.

Lightly twisting their hips so that the cotton tail wiggles for a moment, they giggle happily, a warmth spreading throughout them from far more than just the hoodie.   「 ☆ 」 

[publicdomainbooks]

VIII. THE CRYING OF THE PUMA.

Montgomery interrupted my tangle of mystification and suspicion about one o’clock, and his grotesque attendant followed him with a tray bearing bread, some herbs and other eatables, a flask of whiskey, a jug of water, and three glasses and knives. I glanced askance at this strange creature, and found him watching me with his queer, restless eyes. Montgomery said he would lunch with me, but that Moreau was too preoccupied with some work to come.

“Moreau!” said I. “I know that name.”

“The devil you do!” said he. “What an ass I was to mention it to you! I might have thought. Anyhow, it will give you an inkling of our—mysteries. Whiskey?”

“No, thanks; I’m an abstainer.”

“I wish I’d been. But it’s no use locking the door after the steed is stolen. It was that infernal stuff which led to my coming here,—that, and a foggy night. I thought myself in luck at the time, when Moreau offered to get me off. It’s queer—”

“Montgomery,” said I, suddenly, as the outer door closed, “why has your man pointed ears?”

“Damn!” he said, over his first mouthful of food. He stared at me for a moment, and then repeated, “Pointed ears?”

“Little points to them,” said I, as calmly as possible, with a catch in my breath; “and a fine black fur at the edges?”

He helped himself to whiskey and water with great deliberation. “I was under the impression—that his hair covered his ears.”

“I saw them as he stooped by me to put that coffee you sent to me on the table. And his eyes shine in the dark.”

By this time Montgomery had recovered from the surprise of my question. “I always thought,” he said deliberately, with a certain accentuation of his flavouring of lisp, “that there was something the matter with his ears, from the way he covered them. What were they like?”

I was persuaded from his manner that this ignorance was a pretence. Still, I could hardly tell the man that I thought him a liar. “Pointed,” I said; “rather small and furry,—distinctly furry. But the whole man is one of the strangest beings I ever set eyes on.”

A sharp, hoarse cry of animal pain came from the enclosure behind us. Its depth and volume testified to the puma. I saw Montgomery wince.

“Yes?” he said.

“Where did you pick up the creature?”

“San Francisco. He’s an ugly brute, I admit. Half-witted, you know. Can’t remember where he came from. But I’m used to him, you know. We both are. How does he strike you?”

“He’s unnatural,” I said. “There’s something about him—don’t think me fanciful, but it gives me a nasty little sensation, a tightening of my muscles, when he comes near me. It’s a touch—of the diabolical, in fact.”

Montgomery had stopped eating while I told him this. “Rum!” he said. “I can’t see it.” He resumed his meal. “I had no idea of it,” he said, and masticated. “The crew of the schooner must have felt it the same. Made a dead set at the poor devil. You saw the captain?”

Suddenly the puma howled again, this time more painfully. Montgomery swore under his breath. I had half a mind to attack him about the men on the beach. Then the poor brute within gave vent to a series of short, sharp cries.

“Your men on the beach,” said I; “what race are they?”

“Excellent fellows, aren’t they?” said he, absentmindedly, knitting his brows as the animal yelled out sharply.

I said no more. There was another outcry worse than the former. He looked at me with his dull grey eyes, and then took some more whiskey. He tried to draw me into a discussion about alcohol, professing to have saved my life with it. He seemed anxious to lay stress on the fact that I owed my life to him. I answered him distractedly.

Presently our meal came to an end; the misshapen monster with the pointed ears cleared the remains away, and Montgomery left me alone in the room again. All the time he had been in a state of ill-concealed irritation at the noise of the vivisected puma. He had spoken of his odd want of nerve, and left me to the obvious application.

I found myself that the cries were singularly irritating, and they grew in depth and intensity as the afternoon wore on. They were painful at first, but their constant resurgence at last altogether upset my balance. I flung aside a crib of Horace I had been reading, and began to clench my fists, to bite my lips, and to pace the room. Presently I got to stopping my ears with my fingers.

The emotional appeal of those yells grew upon me steadily, grew at last to such an exquisite expression of suffering that I could stand it in that confined room no longer. I stepped out of the door into the slumberous heat of the late afternoon, and walking past the main entrance—locked again, I noticed—turned the corner of the wall.

The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice. Yet had I known such pain was in the next room, and had it been dumb, I believe—I have thought since—I could have stood it well enough. It is when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us. But in spite of the brilliant sunlight and the green fans of the trees waving in the soothing sea-breeze, the world was a confusion, blurred with drifting black and red phantasms, until I was out of earshot of the house in the chequered wall.

[astaroth1357]

Ok but like, what if MC's fandom starts to make ships with MC and the guys. Just think about the ship wars, the fancams, the fanarts, the absolute CHAOS when the brothers find out. It would be even worse if they start shipping MC with the undatables, one day everything is normal and the next day there are ship wars fighting over MC x Barbatos vs MC x Solomon (who are both very smug about it)

The MC's Fanclub are… Shippers?!

Perhaps… The italics blurb has been fulfilling its greater purpose all along…? Perhaps in its state of existential angst, it has in fact developed a plot of its own… An arc of introspection and self-discovery in which its own longing for purpose has forged a meaningful identity… It now has… a story…

Lucifer

As if they couldn't get any MORE frustrating…

He's not an otaku. He's not a part of ship culture. He's not even sure why anyone would care about who dates who around this school, but apparently it's a big deal to some people...

He only became aware of their interest in him and the MC's relationship through some very… subtle clues…

Like the groups that would follow them around in the hallways with their phones out.

Or the multitude of fan rumors about their relationship that Satan spams him with from time to time just to irritate him.

"MC refused hug from Luci in halls today!! Are they bout breakup??? 🥺"

"Tots got pic of kiss today!! Relationship upgrade??"

"IS ARE MC+LUCIFER SECET LVRS?!? PLEASE RESPOND"

It only got worse after he found out the MC gets shipped out a loooooot….

If he had to pick his least favorite ship, it'd be MC x Mammon. He can kind of see it with any of his other brothers (admittedly, Levi is also a little mystifying) but the idea of them ending up with Mammon makes his skin crawl...

He once found a drawing of the MC and Mammon in an… explicit position in one of the classrooms and he was so disgusted that he wouldn’t even touch it. He just set fire to the paper outright. Disgusting...

Mammon

Shipping, eh…? More money making opportunities!

Has some passing idea of what shipping is from Levi and, from what he knows of it, shippers eat cutesy couples stuff right up!! If all he's got to do to make bank is to look all couple-y around the MC then sounds like a win-win to him!

He'll happily pose for a photo or two (paid in advance) of him throwing his arm around the MC or something. Want him to hold their hand? Sure thing!

But since this is still Mammon we're talking about, the second MC actually starts getting into any of it he'll still turn into a blushy, stuttery mess...

For WEEKS the headline picture on so many of their fans' blogs was an image of him turning beet red while the MC kissed him on the cheek. (A fan really got their money's worth there... 😏)

Though he doesn’t exactly like the MC getting shipped with other people, he'll still totally sell pictures of any of them together. He almost paid off an entire credit card with the money he got from the t-shirt sales of the MC and Satan!

If he had to point to one ship he doesn't like it's either MC x Asmo or MC x Levi. His opinion, but Asmo won't treat them right and they could do waaay better than a shut-in. Like him. Ship the MC with just the Great Mammon, got it?

Leviathan

… Lowkey super active in the MC shipping community but is a self-shipper to the extreme.

Like, he never uses his real name on anything (and would probably die from embarrassment if anyone ever found out) but a lot of their fans probably know a couple of his aliases.

He does everything from mod forums, runs a couple blogs, even anonymously posts his own work of him and MC that are totally not his secret fantasy dates or AU versions of themselves, shaddup.

It’s a lot easier for him to keep his involvement secret because he’s hardly at RAD, but the few times he does show up he tries to keep an eye out for anybody prowling for pictures so he can get in a good pose and save the image later.

Mind you, his version of a “good pose” rarely gets more spicy than linking pinkies, but even then he’s still lit up a Christmas Tree throughout.

Naturally, he’s also not a big fan of any ships that aren’t just him and MC and he can find a reason to be jealous at almost anything. But he keeps a special corner of hate for MC x Mammon and MC x Diavolo. Like, the first one doesn’t even need an explanation but MC x Diavolo?? Really??? Do those two even talk?? (please, please, please make sure they never actually talk because a guy like him versus literal royalty? He’d lose MC for sure….!! 😫)

Satan

He hates to actually agree with Lucifer on something, but their fans are starting to get out of hand...

Knows what shipping is in concept, he may have done it once or twice to characters in his books, but he was kind of surprised how it could evolve into such a… group activity?

He was pretty quick to pick up that the MC’s fans had a bit more interest in them together than they did when they both were apart…

I mean, those hideous shirts that Mammon was pedaling were kind of a dead giveaway…

Considering he finds their fanclub all rather annoying, even without their bizarre interest in his love life, when they started actively meddling with him and the MC he was ready to smash some heads.

No. He will not stop for pictures. No. What things they do together is none of your business. No. He has zero interest in seeing your explicit fanart and if you don’t start running that will be the last question you ever ask.

He DOES, however, appreciate the cringy “annoy Lucifer” ammo. They could keep that up for a lifetime... 😏

He doesn’t have a least favorite ship because he doesn’t care about any of this, leave him alone. (That’s a lie, it’s MC x Lucifer. He pokes fun at Lucifer, but he can’t stand it either. Big shock, I know 🙄).

Asmodeus 

Oh he is shamelessly a part of the community, are you kidding?? 

He could practically call “Shipping the MC” one of his favorite pastimes. He’ll openly gossip with their fanclub about who they’ve been with, who they’re seeing, who’s got a chance, etc… He lives for this shit!

He’s the only person who knows that Levi is also in the community and what his aliases are (not because he told him, but because Levi’s not as subtle as he thinks he is… Who else would call themselves “SupremeRuri666” and speak mostly in outdated chat lingo?) but he doesn’t out him because he thinks his very obvious crush is kind of cute. 

Plus, Levi needs the outlet waaaay more than him…

Doesn’t stop him from constantly trolling him and getting into arguments over who the MC would be better with though (the two are “virtual nemeses” as far as Levi is concerned).

Appreciates all forms of expression that comes out of the community (especially the saucy kind 😏) and will happily feed into his own shippers without a care in the world.

Truthfully, Asmo will say that there isn’t a ship he doesn’t like but if someone mentions one that he thinks is kind of “eh,” he’ll just add himself into the mix. “Oh, you like MC x Barbatos? Well how about Asmo x MC x Barbatos? That sounds loads more interesting doesn’t it??”

Beelzebub 

Oh, Beel… Sweet, sweet Beel… Beel doesn’t even know what their club is doing…

Because Beel has a reputation of being pretty protective of MC - and against the fanclub in general - the club keeps a healthy distance… but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to sneak in some picture or make a SHITLOAD of fanwork about them.

Between classes and practice Beel is a busy guy, so sometimes he just doesn’t notice that there’s people hiding behind trees when he’s out with MC. 

Honestly, his complete ignorance of it all makes it even cuter because when he acts sweet, it’s not just for the camera. That’s the real deal.

Mammon was the one who eventually let it slip that there was even shipping happening and Beel was… kind of creeped out because isn’t this stalking? But also kind of weirdly happy(?) that MC x Beel was so popular… Very conflicted boy here.

He never actually acknowledges the community, though, and just keeps on being Beel (which still gave the fans more than enough material so all’s well that ends well?)

Beel genuinely doesn’t have a least favorite ship (because he believes the best ship is whoever makes the MC happy) but his second favorite under himself is probably MC x Belphie. They look very cute together...  😊

Belphegor 

Ride or die, Beel x MC x Belphie. 

Just kidding (kind of), Belphie isn’t into the shipping but if asked he’d be pretty okay with that one.

His campaign against the MC’s fanclub and their attention stealing ways means that he found out about their shipping thing only slightly ahead of Beel when Mammon was trying to get pictures of them napping together…

Honestly, he couldn’t care less if a bunch of weirdos were weirdly invested in their relationship, but he’s not about to let Mammon just make a quick Grimm off of it. Belphie makes sure that he gives him NOTHING to work with. 

Since Mammon is the main dealer, the shippers in both the MC fanclub and Belphie fanclub aren’t nearly as well fed and pretty desperate for anything... You best believe he plays that to his advantage (because it’s okay if he does. He’s not Mammon).

Really helps that MC x Belphie is legitimately a very cute looking couple, carried by Belphie’s cuteness alone if nothing else. Add an adorable MC and you reach levels so cute it could actually melt people into puddles of goo... They could be a registered weapon.

Least favorite MC ships are any that don’t involve him or Beel. Any others may as well just not exist, he won’t even acknowledge them. MC x Who? Yeah, that’s what he thought.

[allyecrivaine]

Oswald x Reader drabble

Okay I cannot even tell you where this came from but,, I’m in a Deep Oswald Mood today and I am currently getting it all out of my system.

Here’s a very silly little drabble!! no content warnings (besides mentions of killing...,,,is that implied for Oswald fics?)

[also, besides mentions of Zsasz, I feel like u can read this as both Gotham (TV) Oswald and The Batman (2022) Oswald..........let me know what u think! i wrote it w Gotham Oswald in mind]

~

~

“Ozzy, y’know I’d do anything for you, but isn’t this...a little weird?”

The new uniform was snug, hugging your body in a way you weren’t used to. 

Embarrassing was the word you’d use to describe it.

Oswald shook his head, a reassuring look on his face.

“My love, if you weren’t already mine, I’d be begging on my knees for you,” he said, giving you a loving pat on the shoulder. You sighed, tugging the skirt down. The thing hardly covered your ass, which you wouldn’t mind if you were wearing it only for Oswald’s eyes.

Instead, he was going to have you wear this around his club, and you still weren’t sure why.

“’s just a little...” you trailed off, looking down and patting the front of your thighs. “A lil’ short.”

He gave you a once over, and frowned almost comically.

“No, no I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t say that...” he said, trailing off at the end.

You crossed your arms and pouted your lip at him.

“Tell me why you’re having me wear this and literally no one else. Hm? Give it to me straight, Oswald.”

He tried looking away, playing coy. You marched up to him and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him so his face was right up to yours.

He smirked. “You wanna know?”

You nodded. “Tell me.”

“Easy access.”

You paused, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You loved Oswald, but he sure knew how to piss you off.

“I could kill you, seriously.”

He put his hands in the air in a “surrender” stance.

“I’m kidding, though that’s...that’s a bonus. If you want the truth, I’ll give it to you.”

When he didn’t continue, you pulled his tie again.

“I’m losing my patience, Ozzy,” you said through your teeth.

“God, okay, I want you to be my secret weapon,” Oswald said immediately, facing you down with a grin, “so you’ll draw out the...unfaithful in my inner circle.”

You let go of his tie, causing him to nearly fall over.

“You know I want to be in the loop when you make plans!” you complained. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

“Sorry, darling.”

You shrugged, walking to the other side of the room to look in the mirror, You turned back and forth, trying to get used to yourself in the risqué outfit.

“Whaddya think this stupid outfit will do, though?”

He approached you from behind, putting his hands on your waist. In the mirror, you saw his eyes trailing over your body. It gave you goosebumps.

“I can’t be working with men who wouldn’t respect my woman or my relationship,” he said, trailing kisses along your shoulders. “So, say you’re working and you bring us some drinks, one of them looks at you the wrong way...I kill him.”

“You cannot be serious,” you groaned, “you think everyone looks at me the wrong way.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Anyone who looks at my woman is looking at her the wrong way,” he stated, as if it were obvious.

You kept looking at yourself in the mirror, frustrated by the way this plan was unfolding. You hated...well, you hated most men. Except for Oswald.

He noticed your expression in the mirror.

“If you don’t want to do it, I would never make you,” he said gently, rubbing his hands up and down your back. “I worship you. I’d kill a thousand men for you. I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to.”

You pursed your lips.

“...haven’t decided yet.”

You turned to face him, and brought your lips right up against his ear.

“But I wouldn’t mind wearing this just for you,” you whispered. You felt him shiver. “You want other men to see me like this?”

“No,” he responded immediately. You smiled.

“Then we’ll figure somethin’ else out to flush out the rats, how about that?” you suggested. He nodded.

You grabbed onto his tie again, this time loosening it from his collar a bit. You could feel his face getting hot.

“Why worry about those creeps, baby? If any of them are fucking you over, sic Zsasz on them.”

Oswald sighed, turning his head.

“One problem,” he mumbled. 

“What’s that?”

He met your eyes. “Have you seen the way Zsasz looks at you?”

You shook your head. Really, you had noticed, but at least he’d never been outright disrespectful to you.

“If you wore that around him, I think he’d be the first on my hit list,” Oswald said. You pouted at him and gave him a quick kiss.

“Nothing but floor-length gowns in front of Zsasz from now on,” you teased.

Oswald paused.

“Baby, I’m joking.”

“...you have a point, though. I’m ordering you a new uniform for the club, darling, I’ll see to it that you have it by tonight!”

With that, he limped away. You wanted to strangle him. You loved him to death, but holy Christ.

Before you could do anything, he turned around quickly.

“Keep that on, though. I’m coming right back for you,” he called across the room, blowing you a kiss before going out the door.

[skiller0dani]

Broken Paradise | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut requests info wc | 9.1k summary | you run into an ex boyfriend during an interrogation. except it's you being interrogated, and it's your ex boyfriend doing the interrogating.

song

another draft just waiting to be published. really obsessing over Spencer Reid.

also there's mentions of abortion, nothing graphic it's literally just a short direct reference and nothing else.

You always hear people say your past will come back to haunt you, you just didn't know they meant literally. You leaned back against the metal chair in the interrogation room, you've been in here for what felt like hours. You couldn't complain too much seeing as it's your fault that you're in here at all. You wished they'd come in and tell you something, give you an update, say hi, say anything. You seriously underestimated how maddening silence can be. You knew little about the murders the police were investigating, something about druggie women being found mutilated. The pictures they showed you were downright horrifying, you'd need at least one solid bottle of tequila to forget the bodies of those poor women.

The Las Vegas Police Department were a bunch of judgmental pigs, the only reason they'd brought you here at all was because you were from the wrong side of the tracks. Both of your parents were users, and if you were lucky, also dead. They probably assumed you used as well, and seeing as you seemed to fit the killers physical preference the police brought you in for questioning and also for your own "safety". But really you knew they didn't give a damn about your safety, they just wanted to know where you got your shit from. No matter how many times you insisted you didn't use, they kept pushing. When one male officer started throwing your parents in your face, you stood up and promptly broke his nose. That's how you landed yourself cuffed to the table, tightly.

"Oh thank you so much for gracing me with your presence once more." You smiled sarcastically as another officer walked in, wait he's definitely not an officer. The man who entered the room had cleanly cut dark hair, and wore an expensive looking black suit. Not the run of the mill beat cop that you were expecting. You bit back any other fiery remarks, if you wanted to get the hell out of here you needed to cooperate. Diana would be expecting you, not that you were itching to see her but after letter number 75 of her begging you to swing by- well lets just say that Spencer's mother was never the problem. You doubt Spencer even knew Diana was contacting you, which was good. You wanted nothing at all to do with him.

"I'm Agent Hotchner here with the FBI I need to ask you a few questions." This man was all business, you seriously had to fight the urge to fuck with him a little bit.

"I'd shake your hand but..." Your eyes flickered towards the table, where the police officer who's nose you broke had very tightly handcuffed you. In fact he cuffed you so tightly that your wrists were already raw and bleeding a bit.

"They wouldn't have handcuffed you if you didn't punch an officer. Did he hit a nerve?" The Agent's face was level, and gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You tongued the inside of your cheek, your foot tapping quickly on the concrete floor. These assholes were really starting to piss you off.

"He was being a dick, how many times do I have to tell you guys that I don't use? Are your heads filled with sawdust?" You snapped roughly, yanking away from him to lean back in your chair despite the biting pain in your wrists.

"That's not why I'm here Miss Y/L/N." Agent Hotchner said, his voice even and his eyes on you. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he could read all of your secrets because of the way your eye twitches when you're nervous. You hate these damn FBI profilers- wait.

"How's Spencer?" It's a shot in the dark, a very long shot in a very dark tunnel. Before the scumbag left you without warning, Spencer mentioned that someone was trying to recruit him for the BAU department of the FBI. The profilers. Spencer left and never came back, two guesses as to where he went. Your eyes locked onto the Agent's in front of you, and from the slight upturn at the corner of his brow you knew you got him. Spencer is here.

"You know Dr. Reid?"

"So he's a Doctor now, doesn't surprise me. Let me guess, he has PHD's and Doctorates in Math, Chemistry and something to do with Geography right?" You say as casually as you can and you can only hope this man is wondering how you happen to know so much about one of his Agents.

"Unless I'm speaking to Spencer Reid, I want my lawyer." You snap, leaning back. You know Spencer won't talk to you, and unless they have physical proof you're guilty of something they'll have to let you go.

Check mate.

//

Spencer couldn't ignore the questioning glances from his fellow teammates even if he'd wanted to. He watched you lean back in your chair from the other side of the one way glass, what are the chances that you are wrapped up in this case? You of all young petite blonde women in the metro area. The world was fucking with him, it had to be.

"She a friend of yours?" Derek's voice was the first to cut through the silence.

"No." One word answers were the safest route, the shortest diction would give little time for them to draw information out of the way Spencer was speaking. There was a tremble in his tone, he knew there was. Spencer prided himself for having little to no baggage behind him, but of all unopened suitcases- his previous relationship with you was the largest one.

"Really? Cause she seems to know a lot about you." Derek said, his eyes fixed on Spencer. The tension in the room was palpable, and suddenly it felt hard for Spencer to breathe let alone compose himself. After shoving free from the small viewing room, Spencer found it a lot easier to exist without the scrutinizing gazes of his coworkers.

"You hear her?" It was Hotch, with a patiently guarded expression on his face. Spencer and drugs wasn't an uncommon problem, although in the past his poison of choice was dilaudid. Now there's a string of drug related murders and a possible junky who seems to know a lot about him.

"Yeah, from before the Bureau." Spencer clarified quickly, and Hotch honestly looked the tiniest bit relieved.

"Think you could talk to her, she's made it obvious she won't talk to any of us." Hotch said, and from the tension building in Spencer's shoulders he can tell there's some bad blood between the two of you. Spencer took a deep breath before taking all of those unresolved emotions and forcefully shoving them down. Deep, deep down. It's time to do a job, there's a missing woman who needs to be saved.

//

When that door opened again, you thought you'd won. You thought they were coming to begrudgingly release you. Instead you were met by the big doey eyes of Spencer Reid, your first and last love. All the air was stolen from your lungs in an instant, the memories flood back and you can't stop them. The anger rises then, this is the first time you've seen him since he left you. The one person you trusted not to leave you did, he left like everyone leaves you. Like your parents left you. He's very clearly all business, his face hardly giving anything away as he swiftly reached down to unlock the handcuffs around your wrists. If you wanted to walk away from this without your heart getting broken you needed the upper hand.

"Heya baby." You smiled, you hoped that maybe it would disarm him. At least a little, but when you looked at him all you saw was a stoic and focused expression. Nothing? Really?

"I need to ask you a few questions Miss Y/L/N." Spencer's voice was controlled, even in tone. His voice... God his voice could bring you right to tears. You could still hear him saying how much he loved you with that stupidly angelic voice of his. Spencer was very quickly taking control of the situation and you did not like that at all.

"You know you can ask me anything, there's no secrets between us right Spence?" You leaned forward on your elbows, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in your wrists. One of Spencer's biggest giveaways is eye contact, when he's upset or feels guilty he'll avoid looking into your eyes. You turn your gaze up to meet his, but once again you're completely disarmed to see him unabashedly looking into your eyes like it isn't a problem at all. Either Spencer has amnesia and forgot who you were, or what happened between you two doesn't hurt him like it hurts you. You refuse to believe it's the latter, he just forgot. Definitely forgot. Somehow he must have forgot.

"Nina Fredricks, have you ever seen her?" He slid a photo in front of you, you recognize her as the woman who was most recently kidnapped. Most recently being 12 hours ago so chances of her still being alive are unfortunately slim. You nibble on your lower lip, come to think of it you actually might have seen her.

"Yeah, saw her at Winchell's, little coffee shop on the corner of 5th? You remember right Spence? You used take me there all the time, I loved giving you head under the table." You smirk, but it quickly falters. Whatever training he went through must have stripped him of all emotion and turned him into a machine. Built only to solve cases and do nothing else. That wasn't the case however, you just didn't know how good Spencer is at compartmentalizing his emotions. He could only imagine the looks on his coworkers faces upon hearing you say that, at least he can just say you were lying to try and illicit some sort of reaction from him. They don't have to know that you totally used to slip under the table and swallow his cock in a diner full of people. They don't know about that side of him, and Spencer doesn't plan on changing that.

"When?" He presses on with the interview, and surprisingly you're forthcoming with information when you're speaking to Spencer. Even after all this time, he has this annoying power over you. This innate ability to get you to do whatever he wants you to, although you would prefer him to use this special ability in the bedroom. No! No you have to eradicate thoughts like that, Spencer hurt you worse then anyone else ever has. He hurt you worse because he made you think he was going to stay, and then he didn't.

"Few nights ago, she looked really messed up though. Winchell threw her out, definitely doped up on something. Before you ask, no I didn't see where she went." You sigh, finally giving up flashing Spencer the all too familiar 'you win' look. Usually a victorious grin stretches across his face, but not this time. Those times are over.

"Did you see anybody with her?" You're not entirely surprised that Spencer isn't writing any of this down, that stupid eidetic memory. You're fooling yourself if you think he forgot what happened, Spencer never forgets anything. Ever.

"Every detail matters."

You genuinely try to remember if anybody was with Nina, and while you didn't see anyone you remember shortly after she left the diner there was this horrible screeching sound. "After Nina left I heard what sounded like tires screeching on the street. Never saw a car though."

"Thank you Miss Y/L/N, is there anything else you can remember about that night? Anything that sticks out?" After a few moments of quiet contemplation, you shake your head.

"Am I free to go?" You ask quietly and Spencer shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we're going to have to keep you in protective custody. We'll move you to a more comfortable room, but you'll need to stay in the precinct."

"But why? I'm not a drug addict-"

"You are exactly this killers type, and we don't know if looking a certain way is more important or if being a drug addict is when it comes to him choosing his victims." Spencer explains simply, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he stands. When he turns his eyes back on you, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him. You stand and follow him out of the cold interrogation room to a comfier waiting room. It has a table and chairs, vending machine and a big plush couch.

"You can stay in here, we'll let you know when it's safe to go home." Spencer says, and this is when you finally catch the crack in his façade. His eyes flicker away from yours, trying to disguise the waver in his voice, the desperation to vacate the room as quickly as he can. But now that you've seen him break, even a little, you're going to crack him wide open. You won't let it go that easily.

"Spencer?" Your voice is soft, with an innocent drawl that Spencer can't resist. He turns his head to look at you, swallowing thickly when his eyes meet yours.

"You do remember me don't you? Once upon a time we were in love." You see the rest of his coworkers trying and failing to look like they're not listening. But it's not like you care if they do, Spencer will though but luckily his back is to the door. After a few moments of tense silence, he finally speaks.

"Of course." It's not the answer you were hoping for but it's an admission, which is more then you were getting earlier.

"Do you miss me Spencer? Miss me in bed next to you?"

"W-Well I-"

"Do you miss when I used to cook your favorite dinner every night when you came over? Do you miss how I loved you unconditionally?" Your voice was steadily growing more hostile, and you knew there were tears building in your eyes. This has all been building up for so long you know you can't stop it now.

"Y/N-"

"Do you miss being able to fuck me whenever the hell you want? Is that what you miss the most Spencer? You must not miss me that much because when you left I didn't even get a fucking call! You didn't even say goodbye, you just left!" You were yelling now, with tears streaming down your face. Spencer had slyly shut the door by now, he knew this was going to happen the second he saw you. He wished he could help you understand why he had to leave the way he did. He was trying to protect you, and he still firmly believes he's protecting you. Look what happened to Haley, what happened to Maeve. Spencer loved Maeve and he lost her like Hotch lost Haley, and Spencer can't lose you. Not you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

"Please try to understand-" You never even let him get close to finishing his thought.

"Understand what? Leaving me? You said you loved me! How could you love me and then leave me alone? While I was pregnant!" Your hands flew to your mouth, you honestly never planned on telling him that. Spencer's eyebrows rose high in the air, and you can tell you just knocked the wind out of him. Spencer's hand reached back for the door handle, "pregnant?"

"Spencer I'm sorry I didn't mean to tell you that way." You tried to explain, and despite the fact that he'd abandoned you, you were dead terrified of him leaving again now that he was stood in front of you.

"Do I have a child you never told me about?" His voice is shaky, afraid. Now you can see all his coworkers heavily invested in your conversation.

"N-No, I...I got rid of it." You said softly, watching the mix of emotions swirl across his face. When his trembling palm curls around the door handle you launch forward to grab at his arm.

"I'm sorry, please don't leave. Not again-" But he's pulling his arm free from yours and turning out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

//

Spencer ignored the questions, he ignored the looks. His legs gave out somewhere near one of the couches. He stared ahead numbly, trying to make sense of what you'd just told him. Trying to somehow wrap his head around the terror of you being pregnant and then the grief of the lost possibility all at the same time. By now, JJ and Rossi had shooed everyone away from Spencer. Which he was immensely grateful for, the only thing he wanted now was to be alone. Completely and entirely alone.

Pregnant.

The word kept replaying like a scratched record, screeching in his ears every time he closed his eyes. Spencer pressed the balls of his palms into his eyes when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching him. Whoever it was, he already wished they would go away.

"Damn Kid, I didn't expect you to date such a spitfire." Derek joked as he sat down, doing what he can to ease the tension. Spencer didn't even bother looking up at him, his head stubbornly lowered and his gaze locked on the ground. Derek racked his brain for something adequate to say, but what was there to say? How could Derek find a way to make this right? Spencer just found out you were pregnant with his child and that you'd got an abortion all in the same 10 seconds. It was a lot to process.

"You gotta talk to her Spence." Derek's voice was less humorous this time. Spencer wrung his hands nervously, his eyes finally lifting to meet Derek's. A sharp shake of his head and a flash of the tears in his eyes and Spencer stands, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Time to get back to work. Someone has to talk to you, Derek can't stand of someone crying by themselves like that.

"It's not really my place-" JJ tried to argue as Derek stood in front of her.

"Someone needs to talk to her, and Spencer isn't going to." Derek said, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes flickered back to Spencer. Who was currently throwing himself headfirst into the geographic profile of the killer they're looking for, because maybe if he works hard enough the rest of the entire world will just disappear. Maybe if Spencer keeps working and does nothing else you'll just vanish from that room and he won't have to deal with this. It's not that Spencer wants you to go away, the opposite actually but there isn't room in his life for you anymore. It's not safe. Spencer would rather be alone for the rest of his life then put you in danger because he's lonely and misses you.

"Alright, fine. But only for Spence." JJ says, jabbing a finger in Derek's direction before reluctantly heading towards the room you're in. She glances back at Spencer, who has become consumed by the map in front of him. JJ can always tell when something is bothering him, he has physical giveaways. The way his shoulders are rigid as he scribbles something on the whiteboard, the furrow in his brow that lets her know that while he's working on something, his mind is elsewhere. The tremble in his palm from trying so hard to hold everything back, everything he doesn't want anyone else to see. To someone that doesn't know Spencer, he looks perfectly composed, his attention and focus completely on his work. JJ knows him well enough to know that his mind, and heart are sitting tattered in this waiting room on the couch next to you.

JJ creaks the door open, flashing you a smile that makes you absolutely hate her guts. Spencer probably has some puppy love crush on her, she's beautiful. Long blonde hair, slender body, stunning smile. Everything you're not.

"Hi I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ." The way she's looking at you lets you know that she came in here to try and understand. You're not in the mood to talk to her or anybody else in this stupid building except for Spencer. You want to hate him so bad but you can't. You can't because of how much you fucking love him. The bastard.

"Look I know you're probably not all that excited to talk to me-"

"I want Spencer." You snap, and by the look on her face you can tell she isn't surprised that you said that. JJ chewed on the inside of her cheek, how does she say that Spencer doesn't actually want to talk to you?

"Dr. Reid is needed elsewhere right now, but I'm willing to talk if you need to."

"You don't have to lie Agent Jareau. I know he doesn't want to see me, he's doing that thing where he pretends to work on something while secretly obsessing over something else." You say casually, and the fact that you can pick Spencer apart so easily is somewhat off-putting to JJ. But that could be her unrequited crush on him shining through, deep down JJ doesn't like that some other woman knows Spencer better then she does. While you'd love to sit here and wallow in your misery, a much worse idea strikes you then. If you can't talk to Spencer why not fuck with the woman who's clearly in love with him.

"And the little twitch in his fingers, the slight clench in his jaw. See that? He keeps rolling his shoulders back," while everything you were saying isn't a lie- it's guaranteed to annoy her. JJ stayed quiet, she hated that she didn't know what the goddamn twitch in his fingers meant.

"He's tense, but there's more. He can't stand still, keeps shifting from foot to foot. It's driving you crazy that you don't know why he's doing that." You laugh as her annoyed eyes flash to yours for a second before settling on Spencer again.

"You're a profiler, you can't figure it out? That doesn't surprise me, you've probably never considered the fact that Spencer has an unusually high sex drive." Your words completely stun her, and JJ's cheeks flush profusely.

"It means he's horny." You say casually, leaning back against the couch. You love the blush on her cheeks, and the fact that she's clearly biting her tongue to avoid saying something rude. You love that you got under her skin, and yes you're aware that you're a bad person. Now that you've said it, JJ can't get it out of her damn head. Spencer is horny. Spencer isn't a virgin. The thought of Spencer having sex makes JJ feel a sick turning in her gut. She was happy believing Spencer was a virgin, believing that nobody has gotten to experience that side of him yet. Happy to believe that he was untouched, but apparently that was not the case. Now that the illusion has been shattered, JJ feels as though the jagged pieces of it are cutting into her, and she knows you enjoy watching her bleed.

"Trust me, I know just what to do to relieve the tension, I know how to get him off quick. Do you?" You smile as you let your eyes shamelessly drag down his slender frame.

"You're only saying this because you want to control the conversation, and you hate that I see him everyday. That I can talk to him whenever I want, about whatever I want. You wouldn't lash out if you didn't feel intimidated." JJ says calmly, rendering you just as speechless as she was moments ago. The pain that was sent stabbing into your heart caused you to recoil back from JJ, trying to hide your misty eyes from hers. You can't let her know that she's winning.

"Look, we can both get nasty all we want but that's not why I'm here. I just want to help." JJ says sincerely, but you still don't budge. JJ taps her fingers against the wood of the table, thinking about leverage she can use to get you to talk to her.

"Spencer fell in love again." JJ says finally, and this time you turn your gaze up to look at her. You push your emotions down, no matter how much it hurts to hear her say that. Who is she? Are they still together?

"If you want to know more about her, then I suggest you talk to me. An answer for an answer, fair?" You can see her trying to bait you, and damn her because it's working.

"Fine." You grumble, leaning back fully against the couch. Your eyes catch Spencer's for a second when he turns to face the table, presumably looking for a map you remember being on the right side. You point to the right side of the table and Spencer looks nothing but annoyed when he follows your direction and finds what he's looking for. He hates that he functions better as a person when you're around.

"What's the deal with you and Spence?" JJ asks, and there is a lot to unpack with that question.

"Gonna have to be more specific." You say with a shrug, your eyes hesitantly meeting hers.

"How long were you two together?"

"2 years 8 months." You answer without pausing, causing her eyebrows to raise. JJ didn't expect you to remember down to the month, it's been years since you and Spencer were together. That's not a short fling like JJ originally thought, that's a substantial amount of time.

"What's her name?" You ask, desperate to get information on this mystery woman who has stolen Spencer from you.

"Her name was Maeve." Was. You don't miss how she says was instead of is.

"Why do you hate Spencer?" JJ looked like she cared, but you know it's not you she cares about. She's in here to try and protect Spencer in some way, she's acting like you're the villain.

"I don't hate him. He abandoned me. Just packed up and left, no note, no goodbye. Haven't heard from him since." You snap, hating the amount of emotion that was in your voice. JJ's eyebrows furrow, that's just so unlike Spencer. He's not cruel, he's never been cruel but that...is cruel. You see a look flash across her face.

"Sweet boy isn't as sweet as he seems." You say softly, folding your arms over your chest.

"He must have had a good reason." JJ insists, her eyes landing on Spencer's back as he continues to map out the hunting grounds of the killer. You know he's just wasting time to avoid coming back in here. Spencer is a certifiable super genius, he finished mapping it out a while ago. He's just pretending he hasn't finished yet.

"Spence still with her? Maeve." Her name felt like poison on your tongue, and JJ slowly shook her head.

"She died in front of him, really tore him up." Your heart cracks a little bit at her words, you can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. You see JJ open her mouth to ask something else when the door opens, and a man with darker skin pokes his head in.

"JJ? Reid found him, we gotta go." As soon as he arrived, he's gone with JJ hot on his heels. She sends you a smile before she rushes out of the room, and you see Spencer following her path out. They're going to arrest a murderer who has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal.

"Spencer! Y-You can't go, it's not safe!" You blurt from the doorway, and he pauses. His eyes find yours as he holsters his pistol, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's my job." And that's all he says before he disappears out of the precinct, leaving you once again.

//

You couldn't quell the anxiety turning in your gut, you're not sure how to exist while Spencer is out there hunting a murderer. You wished that you could turn off the part of your brain that's still so damn attached to him, but no matter how hard you try you can't silence your heart as it calls for him. You're not sure you could survive the constant fear of losing him if you ever ended up with him again, this life is too much for you to take. Maybe he knew that all those years ago when he left you the first time, Spencer always could see right through you. Maybe he left because he knew staying would only lead you to live a life of constant fear, maybe he was trying to protect you. Either way the reasons don't matter anymore because he left, and nothing can change how badly that hurt you.

"Does it normally take this long?" You ask a passing officer, who in turn shrugs before continuing on his path. You feel like you're going to explode or vomit, or both. It's been over 2 hours, should it be taking this long? What if he got shot? What if he's dead right now and you're sitting here with your damn thumb up your ass worrying about him like a useless housewife? Feeling useless, that's what you hate the absolute most. Knowing there's nothing you can do to stop a bullet on it's trajectory to his heart.

"Spence, are you sure you're okay?" You hear a flurry of voices and when his name graces JJ's lips you're pushing out of the room. Your eyes find him instantly, and then travel to his palm which is pressed tightly to his neck. His bleeding neck. You feel your heart rate spike, hammering like the hooves of wild horses as you move without thinking about it. Before you even understand that you've moved, you're stood in front of him. Your eyes try to scan his neck for wounds but his palm covers the location the blood is coming from.

"C'mere." You grab his wrist and yank him back towards where you saw a first aid kit earlier. Luckily your 2 and a half years of nursing school taught you how to stitch a wound and perform basic first aid. Spencer offers no resistance as you yank him to a back corner of the precinct, pushing him to sit down. You grab the first aid kit, slowly prying his hand from his neck. Your eyes mist at the wound, it's a bullet wound. Looks old though, there's scarred tissue. This had to have happened a few weeks ago at least. You see the thin line of the scar, the middle section seems to have opened up again.

"You didn't wait long enough for this to heal." You scold gently, not missing how his eyes watch you with an intensity smoldering in them. You miss the way he used to look at you, the way he's looking at you right now. You miss being the center of his whole world, you scoff. Look how easy it was for him to walk away from you. You threat a needle to stitch the center of his wound shut again, and when you look for numbing cream you discover that there isn't any.

"Spence, there isn't any- I can't find the numbing..." Your voice trails off as you begin to yank things out of the first aid kit to search for the numbing cream. Spencer's hand catches your wrist and it's only just now that you realize you're trembling.

"It's okay. I'll be fine." He settles back against the chair he's sitting in, turning his head to reveal his neck to you. You hesitate, the Spencer you remember had a very low pain threshold. All of a sudden he's expecting you to stitch him up with no numbing agent?

"Y/N, I can handle it." Spencer says again, his voice firmer than before. You swallow a lump in your throat before reaching forward to begin stitching. You press the needle against his neck, eyeing him to gauge his reaction as you puncture his skin to make the first thread. To your surprise he hardly flinches, a small quirk in his lip is the only giveaway that he's in pain. Is this the same man that got squirmy getting a shot? That would shy away from the needle? Now he's sitting here letting you stitch him up without moving a muscle, without even flinching? The more time you spend with him the more proof you get that this isn't the same Spencer that left you all those years ago.

"How did it happen?" You ask, wondering how he could have survived a gunshot to the neck. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Got shot, two inches away from hitting my jugular." Spencer says it so casually, but you're so stunned that you halt your movements for a moment.

"How many times have you been shot?" You ask, your voice hoarse. Is him getting shot a common occurrence?

"Twice. Also got shot in the leg." The casual way Spencer talks about it almost convinces you it isn't a big deal. But it is. It's a bullet ripping through his body, and it's happened to him on two separate occasions. You finish stitching and bandaging him up, your hands moving away from him as soon as you can.

"Thank God you went to nursing school or I'd be six feet under." He jokes. You know he's kidding but still, the thought of it makes you feel lightheaded.

"Don't say stuff like that." You snap softly, and you know Spencer can see the fear and vulnerability in your eyes. You hesitantly steal a glance up at him once he's stood up only to find he's already looking at you. You shy away from his intrusive gaze, and you could practically feel him probing at your mind. Reading your thoughts as if they were written down for him. You hate that he can always tell what you're thinking, you hate that it was so easy for him to read you. Like a damn book. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand, it's what you always did when you felt lost or unsure. Spencer was always there to ground you and bring your mind back out of your thoughts.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You hear JJ's voice gently interrupt you two. You shoot away from Spencer as though you were doing something scandalous. He doesn't move an inch.

"Yes!" You blurt a little too loudly, suddenly flustered being so close to him. Why does your sharp tongue always leave you when you need it?

"You're clear to go home."

"I can take her." Spencer speaks up before JJ has a chance to offer, and she knew he would. You swallow a nervous lump in your throat, your palms shaking.

//

The SUV has dark tint, you weren't expecting that. The second you sat back in the plush leather seat your mind flew to lewd thoughts of you leaning over the center console, Spencer's hand in your hair as he helps you take his cock in your mouth. You steal one glance at Spencer, his right hand holding the steering wheel loosely. Your cheeks heat up as you glance down between his legs, get ahold of yourself.

"The address is-"

"I remember." You knew he would. That damn eidetic memory ensured that he never forgot anything. It broke your heart a little, because some naïve part of you was hoping he remembered because it meant something to him. You hoped he remembered the way to your house because he didn't want to forget, because forgetting it meant forgetting you. But you know the reality, you know that he remembers because he has no choice but to remember. His memory is too good to allow him to forget anything, even if it was something he wanted to forget. You're grasping at straws and you know you are, holding onto that foolish notion that Spencer still held onto the memories. That he still held onto the gifts you gave him, crying softly in the night like you did sometimes.

"JJ told me about Maeve." You say softly into the silence, and you saw Spencer swallow thickly out of the corner of your eye. "I'm so sorry you lost her Spence."

"Thank you." He honestly wasn't expecting you to say that, to acknowledge the pain. Because acknowledging the pain meant that you knew he loved her. He did love her. But it was a different love then the love he feels for you. It was special, but so are you. You're special too.

"Have you...dated anyone else?" Spencer can't help but ask as he subconsciously continues the drive to your house. A drive he's committed to his memory, a drive he never wants to forget. You shift to look at him, there were a few you dated. You know when you tell Spencer about them that it'll drive him crazy.

"Tony Anderson." You say and just like you thought, Spencer groans deeply. Spencer detests Tony, they were practically mortal enemies when he still lived in Las Vegas.

"Tony? Seriously?" His tone is incredulous as his grasp on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly.

"He was a good fuck at least." You know you shouldn't wind him up, but he hurt you for Christ's sakes. He deserves a little bit of pain too. Spencer flinches, a look of anger and something else simmering in his eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't have sex with Tony."

"Why does it matter?" You shouldn't enjoy upsetting people as much as you do. But there's still a small part of you that's convinced that Spencer deserves this.

"Because I can't live with the fact that somebody else has gotten to feel that perfect cunt of yours, let alone Tony." His crude words take you by surprise, and you can't fight the gasp that escapes your mouth.

"Well before you start digging your grave, relax. I never had sex with Tony." You decide to put him out of his misery, and you see the relief physically flood his body. You lean against the window, the next admission from you will leave the air heavier in it's wake.

"I've never slept with anyone but you Spence." You realize it's been a long time since you've seen Spencer let alone had sex with him but you could never bring yourself to sleep with someone else. It's not as though the opportunity never presented itself, you had plenty of chances to have sex with someone else. But you couldn't because there's still a stubborn part of you that doesn't want to betray Spencer.

"Really? Why?" Apparently this revelation surprised him.

"Because no matter where you go I will always belong to you." You snap without thinking, blinking tears from your eyes as you avoid his gaze. Spencer fell silent then, and you know he feels guilty. Probably because he's slept with someone else in the time since he's been with you.

"I know you have and it's fine I'm not trying to-"

"I haven't." Spencer corrects instantly, his eyes meeting yours through the darkness of the SUV. If he could see you he would see the look of utter surprise on your face. It's not as though Spencer was an overly sexually ambitious person when you dated, but you figured he probably slept with at least one person. "I haven't slept with anybody else either."

"I know someone that wants to though." You grumble without thinking, your mind drifting to JJ and the obvious crush she thinks isn't obvious. Spencer tilts his head in a way that resembles a confused puppy, you resist the urge to ruffle his hair.

"Who?"

"Agent Jareau." As soon as the name slips past the threshold of your lips, Spencer's jerks the wheel in surprise. You see a dark blush color his cheeks as his other hand reaches up to steady the wheel.

"J-Jennifer? No way! She's my best friend." You nearly laugh at his flustered state, and normally you would push it a little further but you decide to let it go. You don't want to completely destroy the way he sees her, you know you already destroyed the way she sees him.

"You have no idea what a catch you are Spencer." You tell him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting ready to exit the SUV. Spencer reaches over and places a warm hand on your wrist to stop you from leaving, his eyes searching yours for an answer he isn't sure you have.

"Come in?" You ask hopefully, you're not ready for him to leave again. Damnit why did he have to turn up again after so long? You were just starting to think that maybe you could move on and find someone new. You were finally starting to feel okay, and then Spencer reappears and turns your entire world upsidown all over again. Deep down you know that nobody will ever compare to Spencer Reid, and you don't want them to. You don't want anyone to be like Spencer, you want him to be his entirely own person. It's what you love the most about him, is his ability to be himself no matter where he is or who he's with. All of his little quirks, the things about himself that he doesn't notice but you do.

"Yeah." His answer comes across as an exhalation of breath, and you try to hide how excited you are. You want to hold on to any moment you can, stolen moments that you take as you please with no regret whatsoever.

"Nothing has changed." Spencer muses once you unlock the front door and push inside the darkened living room. You blush, admittedly nothing about your small townhouse has changed. It's all basically the exact same as when Spencer saw it last. You rub a hand down your arm as Spencer's eyes go wandering. Trailing over the curtains he remembers hastily pulling closed to protect your decency on more than a few occasions. His gaze then travels to the couch, all those movie nights you two spent curled up together. Or when he got you into Star Trek and you couldn't stop watching it. Pain stabs his chest for a moment, it's hard to remember everything he had to let go of to get the job he has now.

"I miss you too, you know." Spencer says off-handedly. It takes you by surprise, the sureness in his tone is jarring. He sounds so comfortable admitting when he's vulnerable, it's never been easy for you to be vulnerable with him. Maybe that's part of the reason he left, maybe you drove him away by shutting him out. His eyes meet yours, a look so soft in his eyes it feels as though his gaze is caressing your skin. You bite your bottom lip to keep the emotions at bay, what is it about this man that makes you so emotional?

"I never said I missed you." You try to snap, to add an edge to your tone. But instead it came out watery and broken, and in turn Spencer reached up to swipe away a falling tear.

"But you do." You can't even deny it, it's obvious.

"Damn you Spencer Reid, I was finally starting to feel okay again." You cry softly, curling your arms towards your chest in an attempt to shrink away from him. He cups your cheeks in his palms, turning your face up towards him.

"I wasn't." He admits before his lips are on yours, and it's not frenzied and desperate like you've been picturing all these years. It's slow and calculated, soft and passionate. Firm but with a tenderness that makes your knees buckle from the gravity of it. Spencer's fingers card into your hair, pulling your head closer to his. He nips at your lower lip, his arms crushing you against his chest. You throw yourself into him, your arms holding him as tightly as you possibly can. Afraid that if your vise grip loosens, even for a second, that he'll slip through your fingers like trying to hold onto water. You almost don't want to let your eyes close, you don't want him to disappear again.

"I missed you, I miss you-" You gasp against his lips, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt. Spencer continues to move his lips languidly against yours, backing you against the wall. His hand ghosts down your side to the hem of your shirt, his fingers toying with it.

"O-Off." You beg, and in an instant Spencer is pulling your shirt over your head. His eyes land on your bare chest, shocked that he almost forgot that you never really wear a bra. His hands curl around your back, drawing your chest up into his awaiting lips. His mouth curls around your hardened nipple, your hand flying into his hair from the contact.

"Is this a dream? Please tell me you're really here Spencer." You beg, almost becoming lost in the emotions again. His eyes flutter up to meet yours, his mouth reluctantly leaving your nipple. He brushes his lips over yours, his hand trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your leggings.

"This is real, I'm here baby. I'm home." Hearing those words was too much, and you launch yourself into his chest as the first tear trickles down your cheek. Your lips press sloppily to his, the kiss messy and wet as his hand slides into your leggings. His fingers find your wet slit in an instant, desperately parting your lips to slide a lithe finger into you. Your body reacts to him instantly, in a way that surprises you. Almost as though it too was crying out for him, keening into him and begging for his touch as much as your mind is. Spencer hauls one of your thighs up to hook around his waist as he presses another finger into you. You cry out softly into the quiet air, accompanied only by the labored breathing fanning across your face.

"I need to feel you, I- I need-" You can barely get the words out as he steadily pumps his fingers into you. His mouth on yours silences your desperate pleading, his chest firmly pressing your back into the wall. You missed being able to feel him and you hate that you forgot what it feels like to have his body on yours. It's been so long you forgot what the sting of his cock feels like. What it feels like when you stretch wide open around him, to feel like you're being ripped in two. Spencer continues his pace, his thumb rolling your clit to provide the extra stimulation you're missing. It's not enough to satisfy you, but its enough for you two cum. Which you do. You gush around his fingers as you gently come undone, your back arching into him.

"Please," You beg wantonly, curling your other leg around his waist as his hands hook underneath your thighs. Spencer's lips press against yours, moving slowly against your own. You know now that you will never stop loving Spencer, and that he's completely ruined you for life. You'll never be able to love anybody else without your heart wandering back to him. But then again, you don't really mind because you don't want to be with anybody else. You don't want to love anybody else. You just want him, only him. He pushes into your room, walking the entirety of the way with his eyes closed and his mouth pressed against yours. He has the layout of your house mapped out in his head? He never even bumped into anything until he was dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Tell me what you need, I'll give you whatever you want." Spencer husks against you, hovering above you. Your fingers are already unbuttoning his shirt before you even have the chance to respond to him. You know instantly what you want, what you need from him.

"I want all of you, give me everything." You plead, your lips practically chasing his as he kneels up over you. He's being soft tonight, and that's something you appreciate greatly. You need to feel his love, you need to feel everything you know he can't quite put into words. His hands are shaking as he undoes the button and zipper of his dress slacks before kicking them off the edge of the bed. You stare up at his naked body, looking as though it's been sculpted by the Gods specifically for you. Spencer smiles softly at you as he pulls your leggings down your legs, leaving little nips and kisses on your inner thighs as he goes.

"Hurry." You groan, nearly clawing at his bare shoulders to pull him back up to you. Spencer chuckles at how eager you are, watching with interested eyes as the head of his cock breaches your folds. You reluctantly stretch open as he continues his intrusion, his fists curling tightly around the sheets. Christ you weren't lying about not sleeping with anyone else, you're so tight it's making him feel a little lightheaded. Inch by inch Spencer presses into you, his forehead resting against yours once his pelvis is sitting flush against yours. Sure, you've had sex with hi before but never have you felt this connected to him. Spencer sits like a gentleman and lets you adjust to his size, trying to take a few deep breaths himself. It's hard to breathe with your heat sucking him in with a vice grip.

"Can I move?" You're surprised by how collected his voice is, but the furrow of his brow is a giveaway that he's losing the battle to stay stock still inside you.

"Yes, please." You moan, unashamed. Spencer gently draws his hips back, pulling himself nearly all the way out before swiftly sliding back into your inviting cunt. He sets the pace slow and deep, his hands reaching up to lace through yours. Every time the head of his cock nudges that spot deep inside you, you can feel your toes curl. Your head slams back against the pillows, unable to keep your gaze on him any longer. You feel yourself becoming one with him, and you wish you could capture this moment somewhere other then just in your minds eye. Your memory is nowhere near as good as Spencer's, he'll be able to recall every detail of this moment up until the day he dies. But over time, this memory will fade for you. It'll wear out, all the details becoming fuzzy and blurred. If he's not here in front of you, you'll forget and you don't want to forget.

When the night draws to a close, and the moon has reached its peak, Spencer slips carefully out of bed. It chisels away pieces of his heart as he carefully gets dressed, reaching for his go bag which he'd brought inside upon realizing that he'd be staying a while. He pulls out a t-shirt he'd worn recently and leaves it folded neatly at the end of your bed, something for you to hold onto when he's gone. Spencer's cheeks are wet with tears as he leans over and presses a kiss to your head.

"I love you." Is the last thing he whispers in the space between you two before he's gone again.

//

On the jet, Derek can't keep his eyes off Spencer and that helplessly broken look on his face. A book is laid nestled in Spencer's lap, but Derek can tell he isn't really reading it. Trying to bother Spencer into opening up probably won't work, but it's worth a try. Derek has to do something and this is all he can think of.

"You okay kid?"

"Yeah fine, why?" Spencer draws his eyes up from the book, his gaze meeting Derek's from across the table. While Spencer might be a talented actor, he can't lie to Derek.

"Look I know how hard it must have been leaving her again-"

"Did you know that on average the FDA allows a minimum of 1 rodent hair per 100 grams of peanut butter? They have to allow themselves room for error just in case of-"

"Alright you win, forget it." Derek sighs, turning his gaze out the window. In an instant Spencer drops his peanut butter spiel, turning back to his book. A guaranteed way to get people off his back is to start rambling about something boring or gross, they usually leave him alone pretty quickly. It's not that Spencer doesn't appreciate Derek's concern, he just doesn't want to talk about it. He can't talk about it, because every time he imagines how you're going to feel when you wake up, tears come to the surface of his eyes. He hates this case more than all the rest even though they saved the victim. Spencer hates this case for ripping open an old wound, one he thought healed.

He was wrong.

//

When you wake the next morning you knew he'd be gone. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you reached over and felt cold sheets. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you cried how much you loved him over and over again even though he couldn't hear you. It doesn't change how badly this hurts, how much worse it feels compared to the first time he left. Your eyes catch the shirt folded at the end of the bed and you grab it instantly. You pull it over your body and you lay down in your bed, inhaling his cologne that you know will fade over time. Eventually his scent will disappear, removing all traces that this fabric belonged to him at all. Every trace of him will disappear over time, every mark from your body will slowly vanish. When it's all gone, you'll be left with nothing more than a t-shirt that's too big for you, and a cold reminder that the man you love will never truly be yours. A reminder that every time he comes home, he leaves again.

A cold reminder that this world is cruel for bringing you Spencer Reid, only to rip him from you again and again.

[4dtk]

oh hi!! congrats on reaching 2.5k (2.8k) followers :] i really really really like your content and you’re like the most amazing blog cause your aesthetics are so good, your writing is amazing, and you write about anime and kpop???? dude i can’t believe you exist

liu yangyang + 🖤(with a little bit of🤍) + ❛are you wearing my shirt?❜ ❛you look like you were jealous.❜ + non idol!au and if you can, add an oral fixation for yangs s/o ):

ahhh thank you for the kind words <333 hope u like this!

warnings: roommate!yangyang, sorta fuckboy!yangyang, yangyang messes around with other girls, you included, mentions of fingering, bit of dry humping, clothed sex, no foreplay, protected sex, aftercare, N//SFW UNDER THE CUT

your roommate raises a brow when you storm back into room, anger and something else laced in between your features that yangyang can’t help but let out a little laugh. it’s only earlier that you could see him picking up the delivery package, but the way he talked to the delivery girl rubbed you the wrong way, sending signals all throughout the movie with him (although not even making a fucking move) to let him know of your discontent. the ignoring, the looks, the little scoff you could manage without feeling at least a little bad.

“are you wearing my shirt?”

you shoot him a confused look, almost in disbelief, “of course? what did you think i was wearing? something made of whore material?”

yangyang knows the question was directed at him by your tone, but he only whistles lowly at your blow. he isn’t all that impressed since he’s made knowing to you that he wasn’t explicitly yours, but here and there he still found you jealous. it was cute, he had to admit, but he hated to commit to dumb stupid relationships — fucking around with other people was more fun, right?

he only clicks his tongue, nodding towards the door that you know never stays locked. but when yangyang manspreads like it owned the place and asked to turn the lock — which he technically did, he offered to pay for the rooms when you first moved in — you knew you’re in for trouble. when you first asked for yangyang to define ‘fucking around’, you didn’t know it involved you, but once his hand went right down to your panties, you couldn’t even protest, hitting all the right spots with technique and precision.

sure, that’s what you liked, having his fingers fuck you until you’re heaving for air but, what you didn’t like? how he flirted with other girls effortlessly, along with your general bashfulness that didn’t exactly come in handy. in short, you wanted the boy for yourself.

“you look like you were jealous there, baby,” yangyang says once you’re situated on his lap, a lilt to his voice like how he always teases you. the pet names roll off his tongue just fine, as are his one-liners that feel like they’ve been picked out of a book and yet he makes them sound so sultry. “care to tell me why?”

you can hardly concentrate when his hands caress your ass, sat so snugly on his crotch where you could practically feel his bulge press up against your clothed cunt that your hips move to catch that familiar feeling. yangyang only smirks slightly like he’s won, “is that so?” he bucks his hips into yours, drawing a loud moan out of you.

“fuck you. fuck you because i need you and yet you, aahhn…” you mewl out as yangyang encourages movement, even going as far as taking your arms to wrap around his neck, “…you throw yourself around like a man slut.”

those are the only words you can articulate, because his hardening cock against your thin-clothed clit feels too delicious to stop, pelvis having a mind of its own when it reliefs you of your own awkwardness. it grinds down on yangyang’s crotch, the other adding more pressure when his thumb makes his way to your clit.

“thank god your pants are elastic. can i?” and with how crude yangyang always makes those other girls scream, he’s still so gentle with each one, you included. there’s always the jokes he pulls after each session, and he never misses out on aftercare. it made you wonder why he was so repulsive to relationships.

yangyang’s fingers prompt a yelp out of your mindless wander, prodding at your hole while the other has already removed his underwear. his smile is different from the smirk he always dons, but the question he asks melts away the uncharacteristic softness in his eyes.

“you ready, princess?” yangyang has already rolled on a condom, getting used the silicone feeling in your walls. even then, it felt weird, but you weren’t going to get knocked up by a man who couldn’t stay. as much as you wanted him to.

“no prep, you sure?” yangyang huffs, and you can tell he’s eager to insert it in, cock already rock hard from the sight, the smell, the very thought of you. it’s criminal that he gets so easily affected by you, but it’s only natural. your nod makes him want to go feral.

the both of you let out a long moan when it first goes in inch by inch, hands clutching your waist while yours hold onto his shoulders. the stretch is so familiar yet new each time, and no matter how many times your roommate fucks you, you’ll never get enough of it.

“oh... fuck, yangyang!” he moves you slowly, your hips meeting his. you can already feel your hole fluttering and spasming at his groans, muttering praises about how well you fit him. “d-don’t go too fast.”

he heeds your plea, with slower and deeper strokes, although he can’t help but jerk up into you every few thrusts. he lets out a small laugh at your pleasure-filled face, but it’s more of awe than a tease. “can i go a little faster, baby?” and you’re so out of it that you just nod. sweat lines your forehead and body, staining yangyang’s shirt and yours yet all he’s focused on is the way your ass jiggles as you ride him.

“that’s it, darling, sucking me in so well, doing so g-good,” yangyang mumbles, noticing how your moans get more and more high-pitched. it’s a signal you’re close, but he doesn’t want to let go just yet. switching to a lying position, he brings a leg up, having the pleasure of seeing your features into something he’s only dreamed about. brows pulled together, mouth remaining lax while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull.

“you’re so beautiful,” he groans out, hips moving faster to chase his high. with a scream and a hand to your bundle of nerves, you find yourself shaking on his cock, still moving mercilessly. your body reacts to the sensitivity on an all-time high, cuddling into yangyang’s chest at the sensations until he cums, too, calling out your name into your hair. he fills the condom, imagining that it was your pretty pussy instead, imagining that it was your walls that was slowly dragging against his length.

tying the condom, he chucks it into the bin beside him, already returning to a dazed you who couldn’t keep their eyes open. although your arms stay curled around him, you still wanted some sort of change, and yangyang was willing to give it to you.

“stop talking to other girls you dipshit,” you mumble, hiding deeper in his shirt to avoid showing him your flustered state. “i’m jealous.”

yangyang only chuckles, pressing a peck to your forehead gently. “i won’t, for real. now, come on, i still gotta clean you up. and it won’t be the last, either.”

EVENT CLOSED (thank you!)