#I can’t stop calling her by the human scientific name it’s funny

[krispiebones]

Glamrock Homosapien au, i disliked sun and moon but eclipse was cool.. ballora makes me go insane she is a cool character

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

What Happens When You Dream? - Bakugou Katsuki - Smut

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder​ Rating: NSFW 18+ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki/F!Reader (Implied Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi), Aged up (College), Quirkless AU. Words: 8,624 Warnings: swearing, oral (male receiving), ghosts, hauntings, brief mention of violence, horror movie references, witchy things, Bakugou bad mouths the occult and witches but I do not share his views on the matter. This is probably unnecessary but it should go without saying that seances are no joke and you shouldn’t preform one unless you know what you’re doing (which I certainly do NOT). I pulled what is said off of a damn WikiHow so don’t try this at home. AN: Another collab piece for the BNHarem server! Have some Halloween Bakugou! This came out softer than I imagined it would but I just enjoy writing him as a sarcastic grump. Also, I didn’t mean to put in the Shinkami but it happened so we’re rolling with it.  I honestly don’t know what this is but I hope you enjoy it! Please check out the Masterlist for this collab HERE My Masterlist is HERE Buy me a KoFi HERE --

Every night, you dream at least ten dreams a night Do you remember the dreams? If you do, you're well on your way To having some fantastic times when you close your eyes. - Bring Me The Horizon - Steal Something

Bakugou lugged the last box up the porch steps and into the house, bypassing the living area and depositing it on the kitchen counter. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he surveyed the mess around him.

God, he hated moving.

“That’s the last of it?” Kirishima asked as he entered the kitchen behind him. “I’m so tired already.”

Bakugou just grunted in response, turning around to walk back outside and close up the moving truck. It was still early in the day, so they had plenty of time to start unpacking and get the house into some sense of livability before they needed to return the vehicle, and he wanted to get as much done as he could while he still had the energy.

Kirishima was on the phone when he came back inside, chattering happily as he leaned against the counter. When he hung up, he grinned. “The squad is going to come by and help!”

Ignoring the stupid nickname they’d adopted for their friend group, Bakugou shot the redhead a look. “You mean they’re going to come here and fucking distract you.”

“No! Mina hasn’t seen the place yet, and Denki promised to bring food. They want to help us unpack!”

Bakugou snorted. “Sure. Whatever. Just tell them to stay out of my way.” He walked over to a box labeled “dishes” and got to work, unwrapping the newspaper from around them and placing them on the counter.

Kirishima left him alone to move the furniture around in the living room and, presumably, hook up the TV. He let his mind wander, thinking about how they’d ended up finding this place. It was in a little suburban neighborhood, a park across the street with an excellent path for his morning runs, a convenience store around the corner for Kirishima’s late-night beef jerky cravings, a short walk to the train station, and three stops away from their university. 

Rooming with Kirishima was a given, too. He was the only one Bakugou could tolerate for long periods, and he knew how to handle Bakugou’s erratic moods. He didn’t push too hard, gave him space when he needed it, and was moderately neat. Bakugou knew if he’d roomed with someone like Kaminari, he’d spend the rest of his life in a jail cell, so Kirishima was the safe option.

It helped that they were going to the same school, even though they had completely opposite majors. Bakugou was studying physics, and Kirishima was going for sports education. Sometimes he pictured Kirishima as a school gym teacher, and it made him roll his eyes. He’d be perfect for something like that. 

One day Bakugou would be a nuclear physicist and win a Nobel prize. That was the goal, anyway. Number one in his field, his face on the cover of Time magazine, everyone would know his name some day. Nothing was going to stop him from reaching the top.

He had nearly finished unpacking the dishes when Sero walked into the kitchen carrying bags of snacks and soda. Kaminari followed behind him and dropped three pizza boxes on the island in the middle of the room and shot Bakugou a funny look. “Mina is scared to come inside.”

Snorting, he raised his eyebrow. “What?”

“She says she’s got a bad vibe, dude. I don’t know.” Sero shrugged. “You’re the most logical one, maybe you can get her to come in. Kiri’s trying and failing, man.”

Grumbling under his breath, wondering why he even bothered with these idiots, Bakugou stomped out of the room to see Kirishima leaning in the frame of the front door and talking to someone out on the porch.

“...been here all day, Mina. Nothing weird has happened.” 

“Oi, Raccoon Eyes, what’s your problem?” He shoved Kirishima out of the way to get a look at the girl, his eyebrows furrowed.

She looked nervous, her eyes flitting to the windows up on the second floor, her hands clasped in front of her. “I don’t know, Bakugou. Something just doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. “What are you even talking about?”

“Mina’s always been sensitive to energies and stuff, Bakubro,” Sero said from somewhere behind him. “She burned sage at my apartment when I moved in because she said something felt off.”

He vaguely remembered that Ashido had always been into some weird shit; Ouiji boards and hypnosis, tarot cards and reading people’s auras. Bakugou didn’t believe in that hippy dippy shit, especially being a man of science, but if it ended this dumb standoff on his front porch, he’d let her do whatever. 

Wrinkling his nose, he sighed. “If I let you burn that nasty shit in here, will you come inside?” 

“It might help…” trailing off, she stepped back. “I can just tell that something bad happened here. You don’t feel anything?”

“Fuck no.” 

“It just feels...sad.” Mina shivered, frowning.

“That’s because I haven’t hung up my Crimson Riot posters yet.” Kiri gave Mina a placating smile, stepping forward and placing his hand on her shoulder. “Let me take you to the store to get what you need, huh? We can talk about it in the car.”

Mina looked like she wanted to get as far away from the house as possible as quickly as possible, so she nodded.

Sero handed Kirishima his keys, since he was parked behind Kiri’s dumb ass truck, and the two of them headed out. Bakugou went back inside to finish the rest of his unpacking, slightly annoyed by the whole situation.

“What do you think it is?” Kaminari asked, opening the top pizza box and grabbing a slice. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”

“Maybe there’s a ghost here or something.” Sero chuckled. “Maybe you’ll open up a closet door somewhere upstairs and there will be a portal to the other side.” He wiggled his fingers at Kaminari, laughing. “Carol Ann, go into the light!”

“Idiots. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” Bakugou slammed the cabinet shut after he’d loaded in the last of the glasses. “She’s just being weird, as usual.”

“Hey, man. Don’t be like that.” Licking grease off his thumb (like a heathen, Bakugou thought), Kaminari fixed him with a look. “She looked genuinely terrified. It’s nice of you to let her burn the sage though. It’ll give her peace of mind.”

“Smells awful, though. But she says it worked at my place.” Sero added.

Bakugou had had enough of the conversation, so he just grunted in response, turning and leaving the room. 

He figured it was time to set up his bedroom, that way he didn’t have to worry about it later that night. Plus, it would get him away from dumb and dumber and Kaminari’s inability to use a napkin like a normal human being.

--

Later on, after Mina made the entire house smell like burnt ass, Kirishima took Kaminari with him to return the moving truck, Sero following behind him in his car. Mina stayed with Bakugou in his room as he put together his bookshelf, sitting quietly and making herself useful by unpacking his books and stacking them by author so he could arrange them when he was done. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but her silence was irking him. She was never this quiet.

“What’s your problem?” He asked gruffly, frowning at the allen key in his hand as he twisted a screw into the base of the bookshelf.

He glanced up when she sighed, her body moving to lean against the bed, her head falling back so her gaze was fixed on the ceiling. “Nothing. I just feel like the sage didn’t work.” 

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Why should it? That stuff isn’t real anyway.”

“It is so!” He saw her glare at him from his peripheral. “You shouldn’t dismiss it so quickly.”

“I’m a science major, idiot.” He didn’t feel the need to elaborate further.

“So?”

“So, what? Science can explain away all of the so called phenomena that people like to believe are ghosts. There is no scientific proof that ghosts exist. All of the things that people attribute to hauntings are hallucinations are tricks that your mind plays on you. It’s all in your head.” He stood up, lifting the finished bookshelf to stand beside him. “Besides, you’ve been here all day and nothing bad has happened, has it?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Mina bit her bottom lip. “Well, no. It’s just...it feels anxious and sad in here? So it’s not that I expect anything bad to happen, really. It’s just uncomfortable.” 

Choosing not to comment further, Bakugou pushed the bookcase up against the wall, picking up the drill nearby so he could anchor it into the sheetrock.

When he was done drilling, she continued. “You shouldn’t shit all over my beliefs, either. It’s not nice.”

“Since when have you ever known me to be nice?” He pointed at one of her stacks. “Give me the A’s.”

“Fair point.” Mina stood, picking up a few books from the first stack and handing them to him. “Just do me a favor and be careful. If anything weird happens, let me know, okay?”

Bakugou bit back a groan. “Will it shut you up about it if I agree?” She nodded. “Fine. I’ll let you know if you need to call an old priest and a young priest to perform an exorcism, okay?”

Mina snorted at that, handing him another set of books. “Okay, good.”

--

Bakugou blinked sleepy, pressing his face into his pillow and breathing deeply. Waking up in a new room was disorienting, the light from the window hitting his face in a way he wasn’t used to. He sighed, closing his eyes again, annoyed that he’d woken before his alarm went off. 

He was just convincing himself to go back to sleep until it was time to get up when a soft groan from beside him made him pause, his eyes flying open at the sound. Turning his head, his mouth went dry at the sight of you laying beside him, your hair strewn over the pillow next to his, bare shoulders peeking out from underneath the covers.

Mind racing, he tried to remember who you were and what had led to you sleeping in his bed beside him. The last thing he could recall was shuffling off to bed early as usual, leaving his friends in the living room, the group of them laying haphazardly across the couches as they watched a movie. 

He hadn’t gone out or drank anything, so there was no way he could have met you at a bar. It’d be easier to explain that way, because he was no stranger to drunken one night stands. 

Opening his mouth to ask you what the fuck you were doing in his bed, the words were stuck in his throat when you turned around to gaze sleepily at him.

You were pretty, even with the sleep in your eyes and your unruly bedhead. Your smile was what made him pause, heart stopping and beautiful.

“Morning, Katsu.” You sighed, burrowing your face into his chest.

“What the fuck?” He managed, scooting away and frowning. “Who are you?”

“Ah, the million dollar question.” Giggling, you sat up, one arm moving to keep the sheet covering your obviously bare chest. “Normally I’d be offended that you don’t know it, but, it’s par for the course.” 

“How did you-”

“Get here? Through the front door, just like anyone else.” Shaking your head, you used your free hand to rub at your eyes. “I’m not really sure how this works, honestly. Maybe we just need to try again later.” You frowned, shrugging your shoulders and changing the subject. “You’re very warm, you know that?”

Frustration bubbled up in his chest. Why couldn’t you just answer his questions the way he meant them?

Before he could press further, you yawned, turning and shuffling to the edge of the bed. He watched in silence as you stood, his gaze lingering on your naked backside as you pulled on a pair of panties. He was quiet as you dressed, watching your movements and racking his brain, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Turning to look over at him again, you smiled. “Well, guess I should get out of your hair.”

Your cryptic words left him floundering, his eyes widening as you headed for the bedroom door. “Where the fuck are you going?”

Pausing, you turned to speak to him over your shoulder. “Time’s up. Your alarm is about to go off.”

Eyebrows furrowed, he watched as you opened the door and walked over the threshold. 

The blaring of his alarm startled him into a sitting position, his chest tight as he gasped for breath. What the fuck?

“A dream.” He grumbled, lying back down, his arm reaching out to smack the snooze button on the top of his clock. 

Rubbing his face tiredly, he groaned. It was very rare that he dreamt anything at all, so the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had no idea who you were, he couldn’t remember ever seeing your face before, so he wasn’t sure why his mind had conjured you up to be the one in his bed.

He remembered reading an article once about dreams, and how it was impossible for your brain to make up people’s faces. It was believed that faces you have seen in passing in a crowd, even those you didn’t consciously look at, were stored somewhere in your memory, and could be brought forth in your mind in a dream. Maybe that’s where you’d come from.

He sighed, shifting in bed until his feet were on the floor, turning off his alarm for good and standing up. Stretching, he decided to forget all about you, focusing on the day ahead. He didn’t have time to dwell on dumb shit like dreams. He blamed it on his mind trying to get used to being in a new place, and left it behind him. 

--

“We really have to stop meeting like this, handsome.”

Bakugou opened his eyes, squinting over at you as you lay beside him, your head propped up on your hand. This was the fourth day in a row, and he was getting tired of it already.

“Again? What the fuck.” He slumped back onto the pillow below him. “Why the hell do I keep dreaming about you? I don’t even know you.”

You giggled, shrugging. “Kirishima sleeps like the dead, so you were my only option.”

“What does that mean? I’m getting tired of your cryptic bullshit, shitty woman.”

“Hey, you don’t need to call me names, Katsu.”

Growling, he sat up. “Well, you won’t tell me your real one, so I have to be creative.” He paused. “And how do you know my name? I don’t even let my hair for brains roommate call me that, and we’ve known each other since we were 16.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind. I can just call you Bakugou if it makes you more comfortable.” 

“None of this makes me comfortable, you idiot. I don’t even understand what’s going on here.” He was tired. Ever since he’d started dreaming of you he woke up feeling like he’d barely gotten any rest, and it was grating on his nerves. “Why can’t you ever just be straight with me?”

Shrugging, you made yourself more comfortable in his blankets. He jolted when he felt your cold toes press against his calf. “It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, maybe for you.” He let himself lay back beside you, folding his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. “Have we met before?”

Humming thoughtfully, you snuggled up against him again, your fingers ghosting patterns across his bare chest. “Nope. Kind of wish we had though. You’re pretty cute.”

Huffing through his nose, he ignored the fact that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he usually did. “I’m not fucking cute.” Secretly, he liked the praise.

“Would you rather me tell you that you’re hot?” You peered up at him, smirking. 

“Fuck you.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Hm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The thought had crossed his mind once or twice. The fact that he always woke up in these dreams naked next to you wasn’t helping the matter. “You wish.”

The grin you shot him was almost sinister, and he felt his cock stir beneath the blankets.

What the ever loving fuck.

Almost as if you knew what he was thinking, you pressed against him, your lips brushing against his ear. “Wish we had more time, Katsuki, but your alarm is about to go off again.”

Bakugou shot up in bed, his heart racing and skin damp with sweat, a shiver racing down his spine. He could still feel your warm breath on his ear, like you’d just pulled away. 

When he looked over, he was alone. 

—

“You been sleeping okay, Bakubro?” Kirishima asked him from the doorway to the kitchen, his ridiculously bulky arms crossed over his equally ridiculous chest. 

Bakugou looked up from his toast, his head aching. “Like fuck I have.” 

His friend raised an eyebrow at him. “You look like hell, dude. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

“Fuck you.” Sighing, he dropped his toast on his plate, wiping his hand on his napkin and hunching over. “I keep having these weird dreams.” He paused, turning to look at the redhead. “What about you?”

“Me?” Kirishima pushed off the door and walked to the fridge, wrenching open the door and pulling out a carton of orange juice. “I’ve been sleeping fine. Best sleep I’ve had in a while actually. It’s nice not having all the campus noises around and stuff, you know?”

“Kirishima sleeps like the dead, so you were my only option.” Your words rattled around in his brain, and he frowned. 

“I don’t know, dude. I think you’re overworking yourself.”

Bakugou growled. “I’m trying to land that internship. I don’t have time to be a lazy asshole.”

“Hey, I’m not lazy!”

“I didn’t say you were. Guilty conscience?” He couldn’t help the smirk that curled onto his face.

Kirishima took a sip of juice straight from the carton, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done. “Shut up.” He grinned, his shark teeth on display. “You should take a day off, maybe. Or just, don’t study all day on Saturday and hang out with me! The squad is coming by for a barbeque. Maybe it’ll help if you just relax.”

He made a disgusted face when Kirishima put the carton of orange juice back in the fridge, making a mental note to buy a new one. Gross. “Being around you idiots will just stress me out some more.” He finished his toast, standing up to put his dish in the sink. “I’ve got a late lab tonight, so order some takeout.”

“You got it, man.” Kirishima grabbed his shoulder as he passed him. “Hey, think about Saturday, okay? I’m kinda worried about you.”

Shrugging him off, Bakugou nodded. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll think about it.”

—

Things progressed in mostly the same way for the remainder of the week. He got up, went to school, stayed late in the lab working on his project for the internship interview, and collapsed into bed when he got home. 

When he closed his eyes, he was back in that dream with you by his side. 

He liked to make you laugh, and it didn’t seem hard to do. You got a kick out of his shitty attitude for some reason, and you liked to listen to stories about his dumb friends. You seemed particularly fond of Kaminari, mentioning you knew someone that would probably like him. You seemed more morose than usual when you talked about your friend, and when he asked why, you just shrugged and said you hadn’t seen him in a while.

“So you aren’t just a figment of my imagination?” Bakugou asked, folding his arms behind his head.

You shook your head, your hair brushing his chin as you laid on his chest. He’d gotten used to the cuddling, and though he enjoyed it, he’d never mention that out loud.

“Of course I’m not, Katsu.” Sighing, you tilted your head to look up at him. “Man, you’re taking way too long to figure this out.”

“You’re not very forthcoming with information about yourself, idiot.” He grumbled, annoyed. “What’s your friend’s name, anyway?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” You grinned, a faraway look in your eyes. “He’s my best friend. I kind of miss him.”

“Why don’t you call him?”

“Can’t. It’s fine though.” You sat up further, hovering over him. “Maybe you could get him to meet Kaminari. He needs a little sunshine in his life. He used to work at that cat café over by the university. Bet he’s still there.”

“Cat café?” Bakugou wracked his brain. “Next to that udon place?”

“That’s the one. He’s got purple hair, you literally can’t miss him.” 

Bakugou snorted. He didn’t give two shits about his blonde friend and his love life. But if this Shinsou guy knew you, maybe he could get some answers. 

—

“Since when do you like cats?” Kaminari asked, falling into step beside him.

Bakugou was regretting his entire existence as he walked, wishing he didn’t give enough of a shit to find out more about you. Kaminari had been chattering beside him non-stop the entire train ride over, wondering why Bakugou was insisting on visiting the café and why he had to be the one to accompany him.

“I’ve always liked cats. Just shut up, dunceface.” Huffing, he shoved his hands in his pockets. He was unsure how he was even going to talk to this Shinsou guy, what he was going to say. “Hi, you don’t know me but I think I’m having dreams about your friend?”

“Mauhaus Cat Café?” Kaminari giggled, breaking Bakugou out of his thoughts. “If this place isn’t full of hot goth boys I don’t want any part of it.”

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou opened the door and let Kaminari walk in first. Standing behind the counter looking half asleep and thoroughly done with life stood a man with purple hair. 

“Oh, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Kaminari stopped and stared, and Bakugou nearly walked into his back.

“Oi, idiot, come on.” Grumbling about his friend under his breath, he pushed him further inside, neck craning back to read the neat chalkboard menu over the coffee machines. 

Kaminari, on the other hand, shook his head and waltzed up to the counter, a bright smile on his face. “Hey there, tall, dark, and handsome.”

Amethyst eyes gazed at Kaminari, his facial expression flat. “Oh joy, a loud blonde.”

Bakugou snorted. “Are you Shinsou Hitoshi?”

The man stood up straighter and covered his nametag with his hand. “That depends on who’s asking.”

Kaminari, being Kaminari, grinned a little wider. “I’m Kaminari Denki, and I think I love you.”

Shinsou blinked at him, his eyes alight with amusement. “Oh yeah?” Bakugou saw him glance down at the leather choker on Kaminari’s neck, before his eyes flicked back up to his face.

They’d known each other for two seconds and they were already eye fucking. Wonderful.

“Trust me on this, dude. You and I are going to get along great.” Kaminari turned to Bakugou. “Why have you been hiding this gorgeous boy from me, Bakugou? I thought we were friends.”

“We’re not. Now go away.” He pointed to a brindle colored cat sitting on a table on the far side of the room. “Go pet a cat or something.”

“Oh! Look how pretty!” Kaminari wandered away, not before throwing Shinsou a wink over his shoulder and biting his lip in a way he probably thought was sultry.

Shinsou seemed to be eating it up, but he was a bit more subtle. Bakugou almost felt bad for the guy, before he remembered that he didn’t care.

“How do you know my name?” Shinsou asked, tearing his eyes away from Kaminari. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

Nodding, he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. “No, we’ve never met. A friend of yours told me about you, and I just...I wanted to ask you something.” Frowning, he pushed on, knowing how weird he was about to sound. “She said you were her best friend.”

Shinsou snorted. “I don’t really have any friends, man. Who was it?”

“That’s just it...I don’t know her name.”

“Okay, but she told you mine? That doesn’t really add up.” Shinsou’s eyes narrowed. “What does she look like?”

Bakugou described you, cutting himself off when he noticed how pale Shinsou suddenly looked. The slight look of horror on his face turned to anger so fast that Bakugou got whiplash.

“Do you think this is funny or something, asshole?” Shinsou’s voice was low and dangerous. “Get the fuck out of my shop before I kick the shit out of you.”

“What? What the fuck is your problem?” Bakugou was always quick to anger, but he especially didn’t like being threatened. 

Kaminari must have sensed that things were about to go south, because he appeared at Bakugou’s side a moment later. “Is everything okay?”

“You think this is some kind of joke? Like I don’t miss her and think about her every day? Like I don’t blame myself for what happened?” Shinsou’s deep voice cracked slightly at the end of his question, and Bakugou was horrified to see tears starting to gather in his eyes.

“What are you even talking about? Who is she?” He was starting to get really frustrated.

Shinsou moved to round the counter. “Fuck you, man. Get the fuck-” 

“Bakugou, who are you talking about?” Kaminari turned to Shinsou, his palm pressing gently to his chest to stop him from reaching Bakugou. “What’s going on?”

“Your friend here thinks it’s funny to come into my shop and rub my best friend’s death in my face.”

Bakugou choked on his own spit. “Death?”

Kaminari looked between the two of them in confusion. “Bakugou?”

He didn’t want to do this in front of Kaminari, but he had no choice. “I’ve been having dreams! Ever since we moved into the house…” Trailing off, he stared at Shinsou. “I didn’t know she - how is this even possible?”

“So, Shinsou’s best friend has been visiting your dreams, and she’s...no longer with us. She told you about Shinsou, so you came here to find out more?” Kaminari summarized, letting his hand drop from Shinsou’s chest when he noticed he wasn’t struggling anymore.

Bakugou just nodded, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“What house?” Shinsou asked. “Is she…”

Bakugou told him the address and Shinsou practically crumpled in on himself, his breath coming out in short pants. Kaminari had enough sense to guide him over to a nearby table and sit him down on a chair. Bakugou was glad the shop was empty.

Somehow completely level headed in this brief moment of crisis, Kaminari went around the shop counter and came back with a cup of water for Shinsou. He then pushed Bakugou, who was still standing frozen in front of the register, into the chair across from Shinsou, and then pulled up his own chair. “Shinsou, hey. Can you tell us about her?”

--

Heart pounding, Bakugou woke up in a dream. 

This was different.

Instead of waking up to you lying beside him, looking disheveled but beautiful as you teased him and held the blankets over your naked chest…

He was sweating, breath coming in short pants, his fingers tangled in someone’s hair, wet heat surrounding his cock.

Bakugou’s eyes flew open, taking in the white ceiling of his bedroom. He let his gaze travel down, the dark comforter on his bed hiding the identity of the person between his legs.

He didn’t need to see them to know who it was.

You hummed around him and his toes curled. He should definitely be freaking out right now, kicking you off of him and flying from the bed to the other side of the room, hiding his modesty as he screeched at you.

But then you did this thing with your tongue that he couldn’t even begin to describe and his eyes rolled back. It had been a while, he reasoned. He was too preoccupied with school and moving and not sleeping right to take care of it himself. 

Letting his fingers card through your hair, he tugged, reveling in the groan that left your throat and shot right through him. He rocked his hips in time with your bobbing mouth, biting down on his bottom lip to hold back his moans.

He felt himself getting close, eyes fluttering shut again as he let himself get lost in the moment. Later, he would contemplate how easily he accepted what you were doing, but for now, he was going to enjoy every second of it.

“Y/N…” He groaned, pushing his head back into the pillows. 

All at once, your mouth was off of him, and he felt the blanket fly off of his body, exposing his hard and aching cock to the cool air.

“What!?” Your voice was wrecked, but he was too keyed up to pay much attention.

Popping his eyes open, he groaned and sat up on his elbows. “What the fuck, shitty woman? I was about to come.”

“How do you know my name?”

Suddenly, everything came rushing back to him. He remembered where he was, who you were, what you were. “Fuck. What the fuck?”

“Learn another word, Katsuki. Jesus Christ.” You were still kneeling between his legs, your hand resting on his thigh. “How did you find out my name?”

Flopping back against the pillow again, he rubbed his hands tiredly over his face. “I met Shinsou today.” His dick was still so hard that it hurt, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t be helping him take care of the problem anymore.

You were quiet, so he peeked through his fingers, frowning. You were crying silently, tears sliding down your cheeks. “He told you?”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He said finally, letting his hands drop from his face. He didn’t know why he was being so nice. Usually he’d tell someone who cried in front of him to suck it up, but it felt wrong to give you a hard time. Sighing, he threw his arm out to the side. “Come here.”

You sniffled again, climbing over his leg and settling on the bed beside him, your head resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you. “I’m sorry, Katsuki.”

“For what? Don’t apologize.” He grunted. “But later we’re going to have a conversation about what was going on when I got here.”

“That’s the first time you were you during it, I think.” Your voice was rough, and you sniffled loudly when you were done speaking.

“What does that even mean?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, that’s happened more than once? What the hell?”

Giggling, you nodded. “What, do you think I just get naked and climb into bed with you every time?” He huffed, and you continued. “It’s like...it’s you of course, but it’s like all of a sudden something clicks.” You snapped your fingers. “I’m not sure if I’m just tapping into your fantasies or what…”

He could feel the blush heating up his cheeks and he hated it, so he chose not to comment. 

“Usually I come in and you’re waiting for me, we get naked, then we fuck, then we cuddle, and that’s when you get here.”

“Tch. No way. I don’t cuddle.” Scoffing, he tightened his grip around you. 

This time you snorted a laugh, your hand sliding over his stomach as you got more comfortable. “Oh? You do with me, teddy bear.”

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t call me that.” He shivered. “That’s the worst pet name I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ll try to be more creative next time.” You shifted again, pulling the blanket over both of your legs. “And, if you don’t cuddle, then what are we doing right now?”

“Having a conversation.” 

“About?” You moved to look at him, raising your eyebrow.

Fighting hard not to smirk, he rolled his eyes. “Not cuddling.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re annoying.”  He hissed when you pinched his side. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Shut up and go back to sleep, Katsu.”

--

Bakugou Katsuki did NOT ask for help. The word help was not in his vocabulary. He could do everything and figure everything out on his own, thank you. However, he thought maybe, just this once, he was in over his head. 

He didn’t know shit about ghosts or spirits or hauntings or whatever the fuck this was. Mina, as Kaminari had pointed out to him after they’d left Mauhaus, was practically an expert. He was dreading the moment when she rubbed it in his face that she had been right about the house all along, but his annoyance over it paled in comparison to the need he had for a night of uninterrupted sleep.

Not that he minded, really, because he got to spend time with you.

The sudden affection that he had for you was unnerving. Because, besides the whole not asking for help thing, the other constant in his life was that Bakugou Katsuki did not catch feelings. Feelings were unnecessary. He hated them. He hated being fond of people, the weird ache in his chest made him want to puke. The only person he felt any kind of warmth for was Kirishima, and that was because he was his best friend. He tolerated everyone else to a degree, but he didn’t feel anything for them.

But then there was you, who he’d known for an entire two weeks. (He wasn’t even going to unpack the fact that you were literally haunting his dreams in which he was apparently fucking you.) Somehow, through the brief interactions you’d had, whether they were real or not, he’d managed to care about you. You were funny, and you didn’t put up with his shit.

It would figure that the only girl he’d ever had feelings for was dead.

He had come to terms with that fact now. His next course of action was to find out why you were coming to him. Mina was the only one he knew who could help him find some answers. (He didn’t really trust the internet.) The problem was getting her alone without the rest of the idiot brigade around. Kaminari knew, obviously, but he just wanted to talk to Mina.

His chance came on Saturday, when everyone came to his and Kirishima’s house for the barbeque. 

Bakugou was slicing vegetables in the kitchen when Mina came inside, offering to help. He grunted, pointing at a bowl of spinach. “Finish making the salad, raccoon eyes.” 

Mina rolled her eyes and stood beside him, taking the tomatoes he’d chopped and adding them to the bowl. “So, how’s the house-”

“What do you know about ghosts?” He blurted. Well, that was one way to ask.

She stiffened beside him. “Did you see something?”

Huffing through his nose, he picked up a cucumber and began slicing it a little harder than necessary to mask his discomfort. “Maybe.”

“Bakugou, what happened?” She grabbed his shirt sleeve, tugging on it. “Is it bad? Do we have to set up surveillance cameras or something?”

He snorted. “No, this isn’t a dumb horror movie.” Shrugging her off of his arm, he pushed the cucumbers towards her. “I’ve been having dreams-“

“How do you know it’s a ghost?” She interrupted, turning back to the salad.

Bakugou decided to be as vague as possible. “It’s the same dream every night, the same person. She never told me her name, but I was able to figure out who she is. She used to live here...” Swallowing thickly, he turned to look at her. “I just don’t know why she’s visiting me.”

“Well, most of the time ghosts are spirits that are still tied to this world in some way. People believe they have unfinished business, something they need to do before they can pass on.” Mina looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe she has regrets?”

Grunting, he went back to chopping. “I don’t know, it’s weird. She said she picked me because she tried Kirishima and she couldn’t reach him or whatever.”

“Maybe she thinks you're cute, Bakubabe.” Mina teased him.

“Fuck you.”

“Okay, alright, sorry!” Mina held up her hands in surrender. “So, she’s here somewhere, huh? I wonder why she hasn’t appeared to you outside of your dreams.”

“No idea. I wish she would though, I haven’t slept right since we moved in.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” 

Bakugou stopped chopping, thinking back to the other day at the cat cafe.

“I was working the late shift that night, and Y/N was home alone.” Shinsou rubbed his face, leaning back in his chair. “There had been a bunch of break ins in the area, so I told her to lock the door and leave the light and the TV on in the living room, that way it looked like someone was up. They must have been watching the house though, because it didn’t deter them.”

Bakugou swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to Shinsou as he stared down at the cup of water Kaminari had gotten him. He felt rage bubbling up in his chest, and he had to talk himself out of going to find whoever did this to you and making them pay. 

“Oh no, Shinsou, I’m so sorry.” Kaminari put his hand on his shoulder. “Did they catch who did it?”

Nodding, Shinsou finally looked up, eyes meeting Bakugou’s. “It was two guys. One of them turned themselves in, and the police were able to catch the other that way. They apparently had never agreed on killing anyone, they were just supposed to be looting. Not like they would have gotten a lot from us anyway, unless they had a thing for Siouxsie and the Banshees records and Funko Pops.”

“How-” Bakugou said suddenly, before closing his mouth and shaking his head. He didn’t really want to know.

“Shot her.” Shinsou said stiffly. 

“Fuck.” Kaminari breathed. 

“What does she say to you.” Bakugou blinked at the purple-haired man, realizing he was speaking to him. 

“Mostly she makes fun of me.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he sat back in the chair. “She was telling me how she missed you, wanted me to introduce you to Pikachu over here.” He nodded his chin at Kaminari. “Said you needed some sunshine or some shit.”

Snorting, Shinsou’s lip curled into a half smile. “Sounds like her.”

“So what now?” Kaminari asked. “Why is she visiting you?”

“Hell if I know. She mentioned this place and you and I kind of just wanted to see if I was making it all up in my head or something.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe. I don’t really know what to make of it.” Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Shinsou sighed. “I know you’re telling me the truth, though. Sorry for yelling at you.”

“Tch. It’s fine.” Bakugou didn’t blame the guy, honestly. 

“I think you should talk to Mina,” Kaminari said suddenly. “She knows a lot about this kind of stuff for some reason. She tried burning that sage, remember?”

“She told me she didn’t think it worked.”

“Sage is used for cleansing. It’s supposed to ward off evil. I don’t think Y/N fits the description.” Shinsou hummed. “She’s a soft hearted nerd.”

Mina gasped, eyes wide. “That’s so awful. That’s why this place feels so sad.” She turned back to the salad in front of her. “We should have a séance.”

Bakugou made a face, picturing that scene from Beetlejuice. “No one is going to be singing that god damn Banana Boat song at my kitchen table, fuck that.”

Snorting, Mina rolled her eyes. “You watch too many movies.” 

When the vegetables were chopped, he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “What will that do?”

“A séance? It’s a way to communicate with the dead. Maybe we can get her to come forward and speak to us, we can try to find out what she wants.”

Bakugou couldn’t explain the flash of panic that he felt suddenly. “Is that...going to get rid of her?”

His pink-haired friend blinked at him owlishly. “You don’t want her to go, do you?” 

He didn’t really have an answer to that, his ears burning hot. He shifted uncomfortably and snapped his mouth closed.

“You like her.” 

It was just a statement, and he couldn’t form the words to deny it. His embarrassment turned quickly to fury when he saw the look of pity in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, Katsuki.” She reached out to touch his shoulder and he jerked away. “You can’t-”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t fucking do.” He seethed. “And don’t call me that.”

“She’s dead, Bakugou.”

“You think I don’t know that already? Do I look stupid?” He was trying to keep from lashing out, his hands forming into fists at his side. He could feel himself shaking.

“What is going on here?” Kirishima asked from the doorway, brows furrowed. He looked between his two friends, arms crossed across his chest.

Bakugou shot Mina a pleading look. She quirked her brow in confusion, until she finally caught on. “You didn’t tell him? Bakugou, he lives here too, he has a right to know.”

“Shut up! I know that! I just...haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Tell me what?” Kirishima looked even more confused.

Kaminari chose that moment to waltz into the kitchen, bypassing everyone and plucking a piece of cucumber from the salad on the counter. He shoved it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Everyone watched him, Bakugou more wary than the rest, until he spun around and shot finger guns at Kirishima. “Your house is haunted, my friend.”

--

Bakugou opened the front door to see Shinsou standing on his front porch, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The ash blonde shared the sentiment.

Mina was in the dining area, draping a black tablecloth over the table and setting up candles. Kaminari was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, relaxing infinitesimally when Shinsou walked in the room behind Bakugou.

“Hey, Hitoshi.”

Oh, they were on a first name basis already.

It had been a week since the barbeque, and his forced confession to Kirishima about what had been going on since they’d moved into the house.

Kirishima had taken the news way better than he’d expected.

“Oh, you’ve seen her too?”

“What?” Bakugou froze, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.

“I mean, I keep seeing shit out of the corner of my eye, and I thought I was going crazy or something.” He shrugged, helping Sero set the plates on the table. “I’d blink and she’d be gone. I guess I kind of got used to it after a while. I never felt scared or anything like that, and she never bothered me. It was like she was just watching.”

“She thinks you’re nice,” Bakugou mumbled, slumping into a chair.

Kirishima chuckled. “I am nice, bro.”

The rest of the evening had consisted of everyone bothering him with questions, and Mina preparing everyone for tonight’s séance. Kaminari had insisted that Shinsou should participate, and Mina had agreed, saying it would help to have someone close to her in the room. She had decided to drop the subject of Bakugou’s other admission, the one only she had heard.

He was kind of in love with you. 

It was selfish, wasn’t it? You didn’t belong here anymore, and he couldn’t have a relationship with you. He would drive himself crazy if he tried to keep going the way he had been, running on little to no sleep and burying himself in his textbooks, spending his free time researching the paranormal and diving into the dark recesses of the web. When he caught himself on a questionable website that talked about resurrection and spells he knew he’d taken a turn down a road he didn’t want to travel. 

He wanted to go back in time, to meet you before your death. Maybe you would have dated him, and you wouldn’t have lived in this house with Shinsou. You wouldn’t have been here when those assholes broke in. You’d still be alive.

Kirishima’s warm hand resting on his shoulder shook him from his thoughts. “You alright, man?”

He shrugged his friend’s hand away. “Peachy. Can we get this over with?”

Shinsou hummed in agreement. “It feels really weird to be in this house with other people’s stuff.” He didn’t need to mention how uncomfortable it felt to be in this place with everything that happened, but he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face.

Mina was lighting candles and calling everyone to the table, her normally bright and cheery expression gone, replaced with a serious and forlorn look. Kaminari introduced Shinsou to all their friends as they all took their seats, Mina at one end of the table and Bakugou at the other.

“Did you bring something of hers?” Mina asked Shinsou.

The purple-haired man nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small battered book. “Her notebook. She carried it around with her and wrote down things to remember, stupid poems, little doodles.” He handed it to Kaminari, who passed it to Mina. “Also, I have this photo, I don’t know if it helps.”

He turned it to show it to Bakugou, and he felt his chest ache. You were smiling, wearing a ridiculous maid’s outfit, your hair frizzed out with a little white bonnet pinned to it. Shinsou stood beside you, wearing a plague doctor’s mask and a button up coat. 

“Halloween a few years ago. She was Magenta from Rocky Horror, and I refused to wear fishnets and heels to be her Dr. Frank-N-Furter.” A small smile appeared on his face. “She was a riot.” He leaned forward and placed the photo next to the notebook in the center of the table.

“That’s perfect, Shinsou, thank you.” Mina said quietly. “Okay everyone, phones off. When you’re ready, take the hand of the person next to you. It’s very important that we keep the circle closed until we’re done, so don’t let go.”

Bakugou grumbled, switching his phone off. He rubbed his sweaty palms on the leg of his pants, and then held his hands out. Shinsou took his hand on his right, Kirishima on his left.

Mina situated the Ouija board in front of herself, and then took Sero and Kaminari’s hands in hers. “Close your eyes and clear your minds. We want to think about our purpose, of contacting Y/N. I’ll say an opening prayer and we’ll wait. I’ll repeat it until we get an answer. Make sure you remember your questions for her.”

Trying to clear his mind and ignore how stupid he felt at that moment, Bakugou let out a breath and closed his eyes. He thought about contacting you this way, wondered if he’d be able to see you.

“Together we ask the spirits this night, to send us only the blessed and bright, we claim protection for everyone here, and no evil beings can come near.” She took a deep breath and continued. “We are reaching out to Y/N. Please join us in our circle tonight when you’re ready.”

Nothing happened for several minutes, so Mina repeated her greeting. 

And that’s when Bakugou felt it. It was like fingers on the back of his neck, blunt nails scraping over his skin and tickling him, warm breath on his ear. “Y/N?”

He felt Kirishima tense beside him, a soft laugh leaving him. “Is that her?”

“What’s she doing?” Mina asked quietly.

“Playing with my hair.” he audibly swallowed. “It’s kind of nice.”

On his other side, Shinsou jerked his arm. “She just pinched me. Typical.” He snorted, chuckling fondly.

Kaminari squeaked, saying it felt like she kissed his cheek. Mina felt her squeeze her shoulder. Sero felt her tug on the ends of his hair.

Shinsou hummed. “She probably thinks you need a haircut. She used to do that to me a lot, too.”

“Y/N, are you with us?” Mina’s voice rang out into the room.

Bakugou opened his eyes, watching as Mina leaned over the board in front of her, a surprised expression on her face as the planchette began to wiggle. 

“She says yes.” Her head snapped up, smiling at all of them. “Okay, who has the first question?”

“I’ll go!” Kirishima said cheerfully. Clearing his throat nervously, he smiled that shark toothed grin of his. “Hey, Y/N. Uh, have you been hanging around and watching me work out?”

Scoffing, Bakugou turned his attention back to Mina. She watched the planchette move, snorting when it stopped moving. “She said ‘sick gains’.” 

Kirishima blushed the color of his hair. “She noticed!”

“Shut up, shitty hair. Who’s next?” Bakugou tried to tamp down the spike of jealousy he felt knowing you had been spying on his best friend.

“My turn!” Kaminari grinned. “I was going to just feed you a pickup line, but Shinsou said no, so I just wanted to thank you for helping me find him. He’s pretty great.”

The planchette wiggled again. “She said ‘notebook’.”

Shinsou sighed. “She wrote down pickup lines in it all the time. I think she wants you to look at them.”

“Yes! Oh man, so cool. Thank you Y/N!”

“She said ‘be happy’. Aw, that’s so nice!” Mina looked at Shinsou. “You want to go?”

Nodding, Shinsou closed his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

“‘Not your fault.’” Mina read.

“But it is! If I would have been home-” He stopped when the table shook slightly. 

“She moved it to the ‘no’, Shinsou. She doesn’t blame you. I think that’s a good sign you should stop blaming yourself.”

The purple-haired man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He seemed to look a little less haunted, like he was finally going to accept it.

Sero cleared his throat. “Hi Y/N, we don’t know each other, but I wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’ve heard some nice things, I think you would have been a great addition to the squad.”

“It says…” Mina took a minute to follow the rapidly moving heart shaped piece of wood. “‘Beat you at Mario Kart’.”

The whole table laughed, except for Bakugou. He was too busy thinking about his question, his gut wrenching and heart squeezing in his chest. 

“Bakugou?”

Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and he knew it was because you were near. “Why are you still here? Don’t you want to move on?” He hated asking. He didn’t want the answer.

He felt you move away, his body relaxing slightly, his eyes trained on the board. He couldn’t read it from here, but he could see the planchette move. 

“‘I’m not ready.’”

“Why?” Bakugou heard himself asking.

The entire room was quiet, everyone waiting with bated breath. 

“‘I’m waiting for you, Katsu.’”

[heartbreakgrill]

Anyone Else; Calum Hood

You leaned down over Calum’s shoulder, blocking out the bright sunset behind the two of you. He inhaled, reveling in the coconut scent of your shampoo, fused with sunscreen and chlorine-d pool water. He shook his head lightly, reminding himself to open his eyes and focus on the phone in his hand. You lifted your free hand, that wasn’t cradling a White Claw, and pointed at a profile.

“She’s super cute! I feel like she’s your type,” you commented at the picture of a taller girl, sporting fishnets and a Led Zeppelin.

“You think I’m only into girls who like rock?” Calum chuckled a little.

You shrugged, moving away to tug over a free camping chair. You leaned back in, giving Calum the view of your neck as your hair fell away from it. He licked his lips as you spoke again, “I mean, I think you look good next to someone like that based on how you dress and shit. If you’re not into that, dont let me pressure you.”

You giggled and twisted around to look at him. His eyes focused in on yours, “Uh, yeah. Or, no, youre good. Youre not pressuring me. Just helping, right?”

“Right,” you scrunched your eyes in a beat, to show you were somewhat confused by his confusion. “Anyways, swipe right or left and lets move along.”

“Okay.” Cal did as you said, allowing the screen to switch to another girl.

“Oh, no, no, she looks too much like Crystal,” you giggled lightly. “Love Crystal, but that’d be creepy.”

“So I can’t like anyone who looks like anybody in our friend group?” Calum remarked, his heart hoping you wouldn’t break it by what you would reply with.

You wriggled in your seat, “I dont know. I feel like its weird. If they look like Luke, Ill allow it.”

His lips fumbled before his brain could reach out and grasp the words and shuffle them back into a drawer, “What if they look like you?”

“Yeah, right,” you looked back at him, “I’m unique. One of a kind, baby.”

Calum flushed as you spoke. He fumbled again, about to spill again, when Sierra called your name from the pool. “Show me that boy from last weekend?”

You quickly got up, excusing yourself from Calum, and pranced across the concrete patio to the fire pit, where Luke and Sierra were cuddled up, talking to another one of your friends. Calum tried not to break his neck and watch you animatedly talk about your Tinder date last Saturday. Yet he knew it was noticeable he was trying to pry.

He felt a hand slap down on his shoulder and Calum jumped in his seat. Michael took your seat, Crystal trailing along behind and slinking into his lap. “You got it bad, mate.”

Crystal grinned at him, “You really do.”

Calum shook his head, “Dont know what youre talking about.”

“Oh, my God,” Michael pressed his fingers to his forehead, eyes cartwheeling in their sockets. “Seriously, I never understand situations like this. I dont think it’d ruin your friendship if you asked to kiss her and she rejected you.”

“It wouldn’t,” Calum remarked, speaking the honest truth. He shifted in his seat, glancing at you before meeting Michael’s eyes. “But it would ruin me. And I dont really want a broken heart right now.”

Crystal’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “Cal, is it worse than we thought?”

“Worse?” Michael furrowed his brows, looking between the two before realization hit him like chance. “Oh, shit. Dude?”

Calum stood suddenly, tossing his empty beer can in the garbage. “I’m going home. See ya later.”

He didn’t give them the chance to say anything else as he gathered his damp towel, shoes, and bag from around him. He passed through the kitchen, waving lazily to Ashton and Kay, who were preparing the food for s’mores.

“Not staying?” Ashton called after him.

He heard Kay mutter something else to him and Ashton shocked a small, “Oh.”

You finished telling the story of Matt, who you had gone on a date with last week as Calum was pulling out of the driveway. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m going see him again.”

“Why?” Luke asked, puzzled by the fact that you sounded like you were really interested in him for the past five minutes, but didn’t wanna go on another date.

“I dont know,” you crossed your arms. “He’s just not my type. He’s kinda, like, stern. He’s funny, but funny in an unconventional way. He doesnt seem like he’d, I dont know, be playful in a relationship. Does that make sense? i want a guy who can be playful, but who’s mature.”

Sierra grinned to herself, nudging Luke with her elbow. “Yeah, that makes sense. Hey, ya know, Y/N?”

“Hm?” You looked to her.

Luke took over, “We know someone who’s like that.”

“Oh!” You smiled wider, “Who?”

You felt Michael slink an arm over your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “Calum.”

You moved from under him, his weight overbearing to you. “Yeah, okay.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Crystal sat on the couch across from Sierra.

“Nothings wrong. Hes just super out of my league. Plus, I’m not his type. I’m all, strawberries and picnics and, like, Hozier. He listens to Nickelback and he’d rather go to a club than kayak. I dont know, I feel like he wouldn’t like me because of my interests.”

“Cal’s a softer, you know that, right?” Luke replied. “Hes a big rockstar, yeah, but he loves hiking and nature, too.“

“He loves y- ow!” Michael groaned out, Crystal interrupting him with a shove to the ribs.

You gave him a strange look before looking back to Luke, “I know, but still. He’s still out of my league.”

-

The weeks passed, more pool parties and barbecues filling your lengthened free summer days that you weren’t working or going on sporadic Tinder dates. You’d been on five total, with four different guys. Each party brought more stories, more tall tales of Derek, the free lance artist who wore a scarf and ordered you red wine, Gideon, the police officer who hadn’t put his career in his bio, and got slightly upset when you talked about your advocacy for human rights. Spencer was just weird, with piles of facts, criticizing your jokes for being politically incorrect or scientifically impossible. However, Aaron was nearly perfect. He was super sweet, dressed like a normal person, and laughed at your jokes, agreed passionately with your advocacy.

Each time you retold a story, Calum would slide down in his seat, frown at the world around him, excuse himself from the party too soon. You were catching on slightly, smelling the jealousy seeping from his pores, though it was masked by chlorine. You figured he was just jealous because he couldn’t manage to match with a good enough woman on Tinder. So, tonight- though you had to leave early for a date with Aaron- you would most definitely find him a match.

Calum had arrived early to Luke’s house to get the meat started on the grill. He was flipping a few burgers, sipping at his first beer with absentminded concentration. His mind wandered as Luke rambled off his ear about something he saw on Twitter. Luke laughed at a joke he made, while Calum’s eyes lost focus and went blurry. His thoughts swirled with you- your shampoo, and its coconut scent that reminded him of his first crush in middle school. Your eyes were seen in so many, so similar, yet freckled with so much heartbreak and kindness that emitted from your soft spoken lips and light hands that had contact with the stars.

He didn’t care if he would look better next to a girl with jet black hair and a perfect body. He didn’t care if they played bass, too, or if they were famous and loved The Rolling Stones. He didn’t care if she was hard headed and loud. He liked that you were soft and quiet- he was, too. He loved that you dressed so different; your floral patterns went well with his dark jeans t-shirt combos. He didnt care about things looked, just how they felt. And things with you...Hell, you felt good.

Calum jumped as Luke shouted, “Youre burning the burger- Cal!”

Calum dropped his beer can, spilling the liquid all over his bare feet as he grasped for the spatula. He tossed a burnt burger into the trash with a huff, scooping the others onto a tray. “Sorry.”

Luke shook his head, sitting down beside Calum, who was dipping his feet into the water to clean them off. “What’s your problem, mate? You’ve gotten so quiet lately. Especially when Y/N’s around.”

“Part of me is hoping I’ll be able to fight the urge to kiss her if I just stop talking to her. But, then she comes around and i cant stop talking to her. We get on so well,” Calum murmured, though Luke could hear.

“Yeah?” Luke urged him, feeling proud he could get Cal to say so much. He was a quiet person, a loud jokester in social situations, but so soft and enclosed about himself.

Calum shook his head, huffed, “I cant settle for somebody else. I know that sounds selfish and stupid, but she’s all I want. She’s all I’ve wanted since i met her. She’s so perfect and good and...she makes me feel good. I dont know. Its not impossible for her to like me back, but she’s so obsessed with the idea of someone being her type. Its like she’s afraid to just take a chance and love someone who she doesnt have figured out. She wants it all to be certain and specific and exactly the way she expects it to be.”

Luke sighed, creating small ripples with his feet in the pool, “Cal, Y/N is like a literal angel. She’s gentle and quiet and contained and confirmed. She’s perfect, like you said. But, Sierra knows her so well. She keeps herself like that because she’s been heartbroken before. So many times before. She’s scared, yes. But I think shed be willing to give you a chance if you just tell her...tell her exactly what it is.”

“What do you mean?” Calum already knew everything about Y/N. But, he didnt want Luke to think he was obsessive even though she knew everything about Cal, too.

Luke shrugged, both of their head’s turning to the patio door as it opened. “I dont know. But, you do. Just tell her.”

“How will I know if I’m saying the right things?”

“You just will.”

Sierra led you over to a lounge chair, sitting beside you as you slipped out of your sandals and tugged off your shirt. You were left in your bikini top and shorts, a combination that made Calum’s heart palpitate. He took the courage from Luke’s words and stood, walking over to you.

“Yeah, so if he ever wants to...” Sierra trailed off as Calum’s shadow fell over the two of you.

He gave you a shy smile as Sierra grinned and excused herself.

“Hey, Cal,” your lips lifted, eyes following him as he sat next to you. “How’ve ya been?”

“Good, you?” He was shy. He knew you could tell, too. His eyes kept switching between yours and his hands, your lips and...

“I’m okay. A little burnt out. Work has been busy because its summertime. High fashion and stuff, ya know?” You laughed, jabbing at a joke. Your eyes glinted when Calum tossed his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, I know, dont you see my high-end swim shorts?” He made a motion to show off his pants, and you admired him.

“Cute,” you replied. A beat of silence passed before your phone made a noise. You didnt touch it, knowing it was rude to do so, but your brows flicked up. “Oh! Have you matched with any other girls on Tinder? If you haven’t, I’m making it my mission to find you someone else.”

“How am I supposed to think about anyone else?” He blurted out suddenly.

You stopped smiling, blood freezing and your body turning stiffly. “What?”

“Uh,” Calum thought, wondering how he should go about this. “Theres a million little things I haven’t told you. I cant go on keeping them to myself. And pretending I want anyone else.”

You met his eyes and Calum felt the world melt away. Like a focused lens on a camera, he only saw you, your golden little halo. Your shocked expression.

“Cal,” you hesitated, “Aaron.”

“Is he the guy you want to hold you?” Calum whispered.

You visibly shivered, your heart beating out of your chest.

“It kills me thinking of you with him,” he paused, “you and i could have it good. I dont know him, but I know myself, and I know that I can love you so much better than he could.”

You shook your head, sweat pooling on your hands and the back of your neck. “No, Cal. Please. Dont make it hard.”

“It’s not hard unless you make it hard,” Calum spoke as soon as you began to stand.

“No, its not supposed to be hard. I want it to be easy for once,” you said.

Calum grabbed your hand, turning you back around, “It is. I know were so different, and I’m on the road all the time, and I’m fucked up because of people from my past. I know I smoke, and you help clean up cigarette butts in the park and I’m silent when I shouldn’t speak, but if you jump, Ill jump, too. C’mon, please?”

You finally met his eyes, feeling the rhythm of your heart steady. “I know its dramatic, but I’m just so afraid. So many guys have hurt me and made me feel ugly. I carry myself in a way that allows protection and routine. I hate the idea of some disturbance because disturbance has always meant hurt. Cal...i could love you. I think I’m very close to loving you, but i dont know if i can let myself.”

“I do love you, and I’m letting myself,” Calum stepped closer, tugging you to close the distance more. “Just let go.”

With silent permission, his hands slipped around your waist and your clutched his t-shirt. Your fists were tight, your lips stoic. Until you felt a lock pick inside your soul and you relaxed.

TAG LIST: @mantlereid @boxofteenageideas

, @dinosaursandsocks , @ashhdaniellee95 @zhangyixingxing1

[writing-fool]

mlqc | let’s hit rewind

What kind of videos would the MLQC guys make if they were YouTubers? I think this is a youtube!au, but to be fair, Kiro probably has a YouTube channel in canon. See it as you will? I won’t really talk about their life outside of YT/internet so you can decide for yourself whether this is an AU or not, and whether they’re a full-time YouTuber or not.

As always, enjoy, and requests are open!

Love,

R.

Warning(s): none

Victor

Victor probably has a cooking channel

scratch that. he absolutely starts as one of those Aesthetic™ cooking channels like Cooking tree, HANSE, Sweet The MI or Nino’s Home.

his channel is called Souvenir because he’s not THAT original you can’t expect everything from a man, people. 

he starts off doing these voiceless cooking videos, but after a voice and face reveal at 2 million followers where he cooks something for his followers as a thanks...well, who wouldn’t want more of that sultry voice and glorious face

currently has about 4 million subscribers

Victor’s channel is kind of comparable to Junskitchen, a rather relaxed, casual atmosphere combined with exquisite, refined cuisine

if he feels like it, he does a voice-over, otherwise he just puts calm jazz, blues or r&b over his cooking

HAS done an ASMR special. low-key dislikes the video because he has to whisper voice-overs but people LOVE it

likes making all kinds of foods, but his channel features quite a lot of sweet foods and desserts because a certain dummy has a sweet tooth

a pretty popular feature during quarantine is Cooking w/ Sou, essentially a live stream where Sou (aka Victor) cooks a whole three-course meal while talking to and instructing his followers

his subscribers notice that he doesn’t really need editing to look clean during cooking because his technique is IMMACULATE

by the end, he’s made a themed dinner for two...which always raises a question mark

is Sou single? does he have a roommate? a girlfriend? a kid? WHAT?

after getting your explicit permission, Victor addresses the situation in one of his recent Q&As

“Why do I always make dinner for two? I have a fiancée, she edits my videos in her spare time. She works as a producer. *you wave your hand over the lens* Dummy.” he breezes over it like it’s no big deal even though he’s a tad nervous about exposing something personal like this

his fans blow up the internet, baffled but not entirely surprised that someone like Sou isn’t a bachelor

of course, some leave hate under the video honestly, people who do this to celebs who start dating are HORRIBLE

most subscribers are super supportive of your relationship and thank you for the editing that makes Souvenir such a well put-together channel...also did he seriously call his fiancée a dummy? such a tsundere!

sometimes, you’ll (well, your hands...we’re keeping a bit of privacy here) even be in the end shot of videos, munching away at the carefully plated food

one day, Sou will be making a video titled Wedding Cake.

Lucien

Lucien’s channel LucidLight is a tad bit all over the place

he’s a man of many talents, and his channel reflects just that

i’m not saying it’s a disorganized channel, because the theme is very much there - the uniform theme in Luci’s content is a cozy background, a cup of tea and a soothing thumbnail

i mean that content-wise, his subscribers don’t really know what they’re going to get next...he has a slightly similar style to the YouTuber simon plant 

his content varies from interesting science theories to poetry reading sessions to ASMR to painting/sketching to cooking and much, much more

he has an heavenly soothing, smooth voice. it’s his trademark since Lucien doesn’t show his face on camera. ever. 

doesn’t have a TON of subs, because his channel is a bit of a niche thing, but I’d say he has 1,2 million subscribers and 400k followers on his added ‘business’ Instagram

he holds a lot of live streams on Instagram/YouTube (i know Moments exists in the game, but that’s more like a Facebook or Twitter kind of app...) and is always shown with just his torso and neck in frame. the lives usually include some poetry reading and generally just having a nice, relaxing chat with his followers. they can last up to 5 hours at once, and YOU know it’s because he doesn’t need sleep like a normal human being, but his fans are still asking questions about his timezone

his subscribers are strangely fascinated by his mysterious, gentle nature and also incredibly obsessed with his large, elegant hands

his ASMR videos are often roleplays of Librarian Lucien or Professor Lucien explaining to people why their rest is important

other times, they include soft affirmations, positive whispers, finger fluttering, hair touching and maybe kissing sounds...

Lucien paints a lot too, although he works primarily with ink and pencil sketches. you’ll find a watercolour or oil painting somewhere, but they’re not his most prominent media

his art videos are usually silent, although he might say something once in a while. there’s always some type of solo instrumental music playing in the background.

he does educational videos about biology and universe theories, but will also have reading sessions about scientific books

not intentionally secretive about your relationship, but he’s not one to mention it either

the first time you appeared on screen was when he was doing another live stream. he’s in his office talking about a play, when you come padding in to bid him goodnight.

“Yes, indeed. Laura’s glass menagerie, as the play suggests, is a symbol of fragility. Laura herself is very frail, but her favourite—”

“Good night, darling.” your soft voice rings through the room. viewers see Lucien’s torso turning a little bit, a hand on his shoulder and a curtain hair appearing from the top of the screen. his hand moves, presumably to cup the person’s cheek, before a soft kiss is heard through the mic. “Sleep tight, my love,” he murmurs.

“Ah. Laura’s favourite glass figurine is the unicorn, which...”

people are in uproar, but Lucien is a strong-willed man who refuses to explicitly announce the nature of his relationship.

his subscribers stop asking after a while, because it really isn’t any of their business, and they now know Lucien’s a taken man

you kind of appear on live streams accidentally a couple more times, but nothing’s really changed about Lucien’s content

the only thing he WILL say, and this is purely to give you credit, is “Ah. The background instrumentals in my art videos are played live. Yes, my lover’s very talented.”

you guys are the mysterious, talented, soft-voiced power couple of YouTube

Gavin

Gavin’s channel probably starts as a joint channel with you, something like Rachel and Jun

it’s relatively obvious from the start that Gavin from Birds&Cops is in a relationship, since you guys have a vlogging-style channel

your channel is filled with gym vlogs, travel vlogs to other countries and a lot of self-defence and sport at home videos. 

you guys also post a lot of funny vlogs talking about your day, going on fun dates, of course food vlogs in restaurants, all that stuff...

you often sit down and talk about your life, and maybe you’ll even do a mukbang during it for someone so fit, Gavin does eat a lot of food. 

Gavin’s channel didn’t blow up right away, because vlogging channels aren’t exactly unique, and he looks like the typical ‘straight boy with a girlfriend’

but he started gaining followers after people noticed how cute and blushy he acts, and how incredibly respectful and caring he is towards you

one of the most popular videos is Boyfriend Does My Makeup and it’s adorable. Gavin’s handling your face with so much care, and comments like “I know what this is, I’ve watched you do it many times.” or “Babe, does it hurt? Should I be more gentle? I’m sorry...my hands are rough.” make everyone SWOON

toxic masculinity left the chat. Gavin loves taking care of you in any way, whether it’s getting pads, chocolate and hot packs during your period or braiding your hair

in those yoga/celebrity fitness routine challenges, subs get to see Gavin in a tight singlet and sweatpants/shorts, and it’s HOLY

you’re very much aware of the attention Gavin receives from female fans, and how lucky you are to have found such a sweet partner

Gavin will usually see this type of comment while scrolling and will turn to you and go “Babe, you know I’m the lucky one here, right?”

anyways, a feature that you do to show fans the extent of Gavin’s sweet personality is Pranking My Boyfriend, where you set up the camera for a harmless prank like pretending to have a nightmare (similar to channels like Farina Jo)

that particular video was so fun to shoot, because it ended up with Gavin softly singing a lullaby to calm you down in his arms

“Baby, wake up. I’m here, you’re safe.” Gavin knows how to deal with panicking people, but he hates this prank afterwards because ‘he didn’t like seeing you in pain’

fans squealed. Birds&Cops gained like 50k subs through that video. the channel’s currently at 999k subscribers

overall, it’s just a really lovely, family-friendly channel

Kiro

Kiro knows his way around the web, alright?

not even just as Key, but he’s had a YouTube channel since the age of 15

his channel, CtrlAltChips is a hit with many people of many, many ages

he streams gaming sessions on Twitch and posts them on his YouTube channel afterwards

other content includes (primarily) covers & original songs, simple talking videos, thrifting & fashion videos, mukbangs and candid dance videos in a studio

think of chloe moriondo, doddleoddle, Victor the Drum Destroyer and Cat Strat

alternatively, for the ARMYs here, think of Jeon Jungkook as a YouTuber

Kiro has about 18 million subscribers, which is A LOT, but he’s been on YouTube for 7 years and he’s made a name for himself as a super likeable and bubbly guy with an angelic voice and killer moves

you’d think he’s just a cute boy when he sings acoustic covers, but his dance moves suggest that he’s not THAT cute

also how does he stay so fit with all those snack mukbangs?

he has a segment named In Our Kloset where he talks about social issues (because our boy uses his platform for good) around the world while customizing (not just pins. we’re talking patches, sewing, painting, embroidery) thrifted clothing to his liking. at the end he holds a little fashion show with his new outfits

after a while, you’ll see many of his outfits in giveaways or on sale for charity. Kiro tries to give back to his fans as much as he can, and how better than by sharing a piece of his unique clothing with them?

a great singer and performer. has held actual concerts before and has an actual music career (author-nim leaves it up to you readers to decide whether this is his idol career or some other musical project)

keeps his private life PRIVATE. he knows how the internet works, and he knows there’s no way he can keep your relationship a secret forever, but he’s not about to expose it to the world because of that reason

keeps tabs on information or rumours regarding you and makes them vanish

he’s simultaneously the most open and the most secretive out of the four boys. his fans know his favourite colour, what type of underwear he wears (trunks. Kiro wears trunks.), his birthday,...

but they know nothing about his past, his location, his close social circle or his family (teeechnically he’s an orphan but ig we’re talking about his mentor here. the blood of the covenant blah blah blah...y’know?). Kiro protects his loved ones fiercely

for someone who’s kept so secret, you’re actually really involved in Kiro’s virtual persona. you’re usually behind the camera during his In Our Kloset videos and are in charge of extra research regarding topics so he doesn’t spread any misinformation 

you also give pointers during filming (of course, these bits are edited out) because Kiro tends to trail off and get distracted when sewing

another way you’re involved is setting up the food during mukbangs. you have a great sense of aesthetics, so all of his videos in general will go through you.

while you like being low-key in Kiro’s life, you don’t want him to feel like he has to protect you from all the hate. 

he doesn’t particularly love keeping you a secret either, and it makes him feel guilty because he doesn’t want you to think he’s ashamed of you. he could never be.

you guys give it a good chat over how you’re going to announce it, and he just ends up making a video titled Miss Chips where the two of you sit down and talk to the camera

“Hello my little chips! Uhm, as you can see, there’s someone sitting next to me today. Maybe you already guessed from the title, but this is...my girlfriend, Miss Chips,” cue the cute jazz hands in your direction, “We’ve been dating for a long, loooong time, right, Miss Chips?”

“I just wanted to share this with you guys, since it felt wrong to keep such an important person in my life private. I hope you’re all kind to her, because I love her dearly, even to the point of giving up my snacks...so it’s serious.”

it really is that serious, hm?

Hope you enjoyed reading! 

[arts-and-drafts]

Unexpected Delivery

(This is the start of the Big Brother AU! I made it in fic form since my hand was out of commission at the time!)

-

Cleo hummed absently as she finished up the last of the DNA samples for the cloning tubes. It was routine by now; she was nearly halfway done cloning the other hermits for her zoo, the growing duplicates catatonic in their seperate tubes.

Cleo thought there was nothing wrong with her quote "questionable" science, but the other hermits seemed uncomfortable whenever she casually brought it up. Which was fine! She was sure they wouldn't mind that she didn't tell them they were being cloned this time. She'd take great care of them! It'd be a great feature of the zoo.

Cleo poured the last sample into an empty tube, having already confirmed the cells were reproducing as expected. She gave a soft smile as the tube filled with the liquid she liked to call "human fertilizer", which would help the clones grow to their correct proportions in the span of a few weeks.

Cleo removed her protective lab gear, carelessly throwing her gloves on the ground. She wasn't alive, there was no danger of hazardous disposal. And her lab was entirely Joe-proof, so not even he could mess this up. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

-

Cleo started in stunned panic at the last tube. Oh no. No no no.

Instead of a recognizable hermit taking shape by now, it was a small, bean shaped fetus. Something was very very wrong.

The other clones were nearly finished, already clearly resembling Cleo's friends. But instead of a nearly fully grown adult, there was a developing BABY in the last tube.

Cleo was terrified. She had no idea what could've gone wrong. She swabbed each hermits individual bases EXACTLY so this had no chance of happening. What was she going to do?! It was too small to even see any definitive traits of who the parents could be, but even if there was, what was Cleo going to do? Just walk up to them and hand them their accidental test tube baby, sorry and good luck?

Cleo paused her panicked fidgeting. That could actually work. She did just successfully create a scientific breakthrough, accidental or not. Surely that was something no-one could be mad at. All things considered she should be very proud of herself, actually. How hard could taking care of a kid be anyway? Cleo found it relatively easy; that's why she was a teacher before she died, after all. She loved the little buggers.

Surely it would be fine. Everything would be just fine.

Cleo sat in front of the cloning tube, now an artificial womb. The soft green light from the tube shone on Cleo's thoughtful face, her eyes focused on the small little creation growing in front of her.

What a miraculous turn of events.

-

Mumbo was awoken in the dead of night by something banging on the door to his hobbit hole.

He blearily looked around the bedroom, unsuccessfully trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes. He saw the light from his son's charging cord gently pulsing in the corner of the room, Grumbot still soundly resting in sleep mode. Rain battered the glass ceiling of the two-room house, the trees along the coast lashing in the monsoon-like winds.

The banging at the door came again, and Grian stirred at Mumbo's side. "Whazzit." Grian mumbled without opening his eyes. Mumbo listened intently at the knocks.

"Zombie." Mumbo realized, Grian groaning in annoyance in response. "You geddit." Grian stated, waving a hand vaguely towards the direction of the door. Mumbo sighed exaggeratedly, resigning himself. "It's raining," he complained, but was met with pointedly fake snores from his husband.

Mumbo shook his head with a small smile, pulling back the blanket to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He yawned and stretched as he stood up, shaking out his hands before grabbing his netherite sword from the bedside chest. Zombies weren't terribly dangerous, but Mumbo doubted he could take one on without serious damage if he was sleepy.

He swung open the door to his hobbit hole, sword poised to strike, but stopped suddenly as he recognized Cleo's face staring back at him, sopping wet and holding a mess of blankets. "I guess I was right," Mumbo stammered with a small laugh, not knowing what else to say. "There was a zombie at my door."

"Very funny." Cleo scoffed, wrinkling her nose to signify no harm done. "What--it's the middle of the night, what are you doing here?" Mumbo asked, sheathing his sword and yawning again.

Cleo opened her mouth, but was instantly cut off by a massive thunderclap. The mess of blankets she was holding suddenly came to life, squirming and bawling its lungs out.

Mumbo stared as Cleo frantically shushed the thing in her arms, gently rocking it back and forth. "Is that a baby?!" Mumbo gasped. "I would love to come in, if you don't mind." Cleo said dryly, purposely ignoring his question.

"O-Oh, of course--get out of this weather, goodness--" Mumbo stuttered, moving aside.

"Hold this." Cleo said distractedly, shoving the screaming bundle of soaked blankets into Mumbo's arms after he shut the door to the raging storm. Cleo shook off the water like a dog, spraying Mumbo and his nice furniture with a shower of droplets. "Ack--Cleo, come on!" Mumbo complained over the wailing of the creature in his arms.

"It's fiiine." Cleo responded, wringing out her hair over the doormat. "You can't just say 'it's fine' whenever you do something," Mumbo muttered, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. He turned his attention to the bundle in his arms as Cleo peeled off her soaked striped socks.

Mumbo pulled back the top covering of the screaming heap, revealing what he'd recognized from the beginning; a small human baby, very clearly newborn.

"Is that a baby?" Mumbo looked up to see Grian, out of bed and staring at the poor thing in Mumbo's arms. "Hi Cleo. Oh hi Grian! I'm doing great, thanks for asking!" Cleo flipped her hair back from her face and glared at Grian, the avian sticking his tongue out at her in return.

"Here--can you get new blankets, Gri? These are soaked." Mumbo asked, unconsciously slipping into Dad Mode. He freed the still crying baby from the soaking bundle, unceremoniously dumping the blankets on the floor.

Cleo moved to sit her wet butt on Mumbo's nice couch as he tried to quiet the baby. "Where--where did it come from? Why the middle of the night?" Mumbo stammered, wordlessly handing the child over to Grian, who had returned with clean warm blankets. The baby was dressed in a plain leather tunic, something Grian quickly replaced for an old nightshirt of Grumbot's. It was still too big, but at least it was dry.

Cleo took a breath, clasping her hands together on her knees. Mumbo and Grian sat on the couch across from her, the baby finally quieting from ear-splitting wails to snuffled fussing. "Please explain, Cleo. Who's is it?" Mumbo pleaded, moving a hand through his hair.

"Well, ah, it came from my lab." Cleo began nervously. "Yes, I have a lab." She interjected at Mumbo's surprised look. "And uh. Well, it's yours."

Grian snapped his head up from the baby, having the same shocked-slash-confused look as Mumbo. "Wh--what? Sorry?" Mumbo stammered. "We're both boys." Grian stated stupidly. "Men. We're men." He corrected, going red.

Cleo rolled her eyes. "It's not a traditional baby, dummies. It's a test tube baby. A--an accidental one." Cleo wrung her hands awkwardly at Mumbo and Grian's faces.

"How do you make an accidental test tube baby, Cleo?!" Mumbo exclaimed. He wasn't mad, just--well, extremely confused. "Why were you making a test tube baby in the first place?!" Grian continued. Cleo held her hands up in surrender. "I--okay--I'm making a hermit zoo exhibit! And I'm cloning you! For the zoo! And uh--well, THAT happened." Cleo explained, gesturing at the small being in Grian's lap. "I individually swabbed your bases, so--I'm not really sure how it happened?" Cleo stuttered.

Mumbo stared. "Cleo. We're married. We live together." Mumbo said, holding up his hand to display the ring Grian had made him.

Cleo stared back. "Oh. Well, that would make sense." She rubbed the back of her neck self consciously. "Cleo, you came to the wedding!" Grian stated incredulously. "You were my groomsmaid!!" Cleo winced. "Right. That's right. I remember now." She said apologetically.

"I--anyways. That baby is a perfect mix of your DNA, so--I mean, technically speaking, I managed to create life without the use of traditional means, so you should be not mad, you should be impressed, really." Cleo rambled.

Mumbo opened his mouth and then closed it again. His redstone brain was truly very impressed, actually, but his parent brain took over. "So you just--gave us a baby? We have a baby now, that's it?" He asked, his voice pitching.

Grian gasped quietly next to Mumbo, pulling his attention from an increasingly nervous Cleo. Grian was staring at the baby, who had finally quieted into idle murmuring. "He has your eyes, Mumby." Grian whispered, his voice catching. Mumbo leaned over, startled to see the same shade of red as his staring back at him. "Oh," Mumbo breathed, a strange feeling coming over him.

Grian held out his finger to the baby and was immediately grasped by the tiny thing's button-sized hand, letting out a coo of endearment and peeking the smallest of smiles. The baby was a naked newborn, hardly a day old, but Mumbo was instantly struck by how much the little smile reminded him of Grian.

Mumbo finally looked away from the baby to Cleo, who brandished a smug grin. Mumbo huffed in annoyance he couldn't bring himself to feel.

"Well...he needs a name." Mumbo reluctantly stated, silently accepting the new member to the family that Cleo had brought them. Cleo grinned wider, undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion that he had.

"Jrum--wait." Grian bit on a laugh. "We can't call him Jrumbot, Grian." Mumbo corrected dryly over Cleo and Grian's giggling. "Okay, how about Junior, then?"

Mumbo wrinkled his nose. "That sounds patronizing. And cliche." He disagreed. Grian hummed in thought while their unnamed son sucked on his finger.

"Okay, how about Juni? That's got a nice ring to it," Grian suggested. Mumbo smiled. "You're just saying that because you can't think of another name than Junior." He teased, letting out a laugh when Grian shoved him in response.

"I like Juni." Cleo piped up, visibly more relaxed after knowing they wouldn't be mad at her.

Mumbo looked down at their new son again, his bright red eyes now curiously swiveling around to everything he could see. He was so young, so small and fragile, and yet Mumbo could already see so much life in him.

"Yeah." Mumbo said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. "I like Juni too."

[yzkhr]

For the entirety of his 20 years of existence, Kudo Shinichi finds himself in one of the most difficult situations.

Everything was going so smoothly. He already had enough clues to figure out who the suspect was. All he needed was evidence to prove his surmises. It was all according to his plans.

Not until the suspect kidnapped Ran.

He should have seen that coming. After all, when the Conan incident ended with his name plastered all over Japanese Television for defeating one of the most notorious criminal organizations in the world, stuff like this happened afterwards.

If they can't target him to shut him up, they'll target the ones he care for. It happened more than once already, but everyone Shinichi knows can defend themselves(he's actually the easiest one to attack).

Hattori Heiji is a fellow detective who can swing a sword really well, Tooyama Kazuha knows Aikido, Masumi Sera is a Jeet Kune Do specialist, his parents are out of the question—or out of the country—, professor Agasa has his inventions, Ai with her scary scientific knowledge, the detective boys' unbeatable luck, Suzuki Sonoko with her boyfriend being the world's strongest security, the FBI and first division are a no go, and even the british detective Hakuba Saguru and phantom thief Kaito Kid can easily fend attackers off.

But the one who's always been the primary victim would be his girlfriend, Mouri Ran. Most of time, he doesn't worry one bit. After all, he knew more than anyone else just how much impact she can do with her karate—the Conan aftermath was proof of his girlfriend's ridiculous strength— and would even be afraid for the criminal, feeling sorry for their battered bodies afterwards. But today was a different matter. Ran was sick and couldn't possibly defend herself in her bad condition.

He believed himself to be a forgiving and understanding man. Being Edogawa Conan taught him a lot of things, including little compassion and sympathy towards even to the most horrible of culprits.

But this man was different. Not only did he involved Ran who had no idea of what's going on, he didn't hesitate, even after knowing she was sick and defenseless.

Shinichi was a kind man through and through, but concerning his innocent and ill girlfriend was a different matter.

Now, he stood on the rooftop of the criminal's twenty floor apartment building, anger barely contained. The man was grinning in that deranged way of his, while holding his girlfriend with a small but clearly sharp knife at her neck. What makes matters worse, was that they're at the very edge, one wrong move and both of them could be flat at the ground, bones broken.

Just from that alone, Shinichi was itching to shoot the man with his pistol but restrained himself. What almost pushed him to doing so however was his girlfriend's tired and pained expression, from her fever and the current predicament.

With the wind blowing furiously, it doesn't take a genius to know that Ran was freezing, specially with her condition.

He blocked out his primitive reaction of shooting the man for now, and willed himself to finish the issue faster, for Ran's sake.

"Listen, you can still go back from this! Just drop the knife and walk away from the edge!"

He shouted, taking two steps towards the two of them. The man only grinned even wider, as if finding something funny about his words.

"Why would I go back there? To just go in jail!? I'd rather die!"

'If you wanna die, then die. Don't take my girl with you!', were the words he wanted to say but decided against it.

Instead, he treaded nearer, trying to look as innocent as possible to not alarm his target.

"You knew what you did was wrong! You'll just have to repent it in prison for a few years! You can't go back from dying!"

The man wasn't having it. He gripped tighter against Ran's neck with his knife getting dangerously close. Shinichi's initial thought was to sprint, but managed to catch himself on time.

"That bitch deserved it you know! She cheated on me when I gave her my everything! I only did what was right for her! What she deserved!"

The man was going crazier by the second. Not that Shinichi could blame him. For all he knew, the suspect was a respectable man who loved his wife very much but it turned out she was cheating on him with another man.

Shinichi couldn't even imagine that happening to him. Even back then as Conan, Ran's faithfulness was so strong that something like cheating or attraction to other men didn't even cross his mind(except with Araide's case, Okita's case and many others).

Still, murder is murder. The husband could have dealt with it in a more rational way but he didn't, causing him to spiral downwards to madness.

Well, Shinichi will most likely go towards the same path as well if he would be unable to save Ran.

"You shouldn't have killed her! She was wrong! Cheating on your partner is stupid and unforgivable! But what you're doing right now is the same! You're only commiting murder! So please, turn yourself in. You can still change."

It seemed to have worked, with the culprit's grin dissipating and his hold on Ran loosening. Shinichi fasten his pace, while the man was still contemplating. But before he can even reach his end goal, the suspect looked at him with vicious but hurt eyes, tears forming.

"You're right. I shouldn't have done something so terrible. But I can't go back now. I can't go to jail."

All the detective could do was to stand there, disheartened by this man's irrationality. He was so close, just a few more steps and it would had been over.

Seeing as the suspect's humanity slipping away, Shinichi tried to take one tentative step at a time.

Before he can even put his right foot in front of him, the man violently shakes Ran, causing Shinichi to froze at his spot.

All his girlfriend could do was slightly whimper, still weak from her fever. The wind wasn't getting any calmer and it was bad for Ran.

"Stop this! Please! Give Ran back to me!"

The desperation was leaking but he didn't care. He was too worried for her to even think of something like pride right now. It wasn't helping that the man was slightly getting unstable from their spot at the edge.

"I'll give your girlfriend back to you in one condition."

The man eyed Shinichi with determined eyes and he didn't like it one bit.

"Call the police right now and tell them that the culprit is my wife's other man."

The detective thought he didn't hear him correctly but the expression on the culprit's face was telling him otherwise.

"Why would I even do that? I'm a detective, my job is to reveal the truth!"

The suspect laughed and the tip of his weapon was now touching his girlfriend's neck. Ran tried to wiggle out from the pain but the man kept her still. Shinichi couldn't do anything but widen his eyes and tried to run at her, only to be stopped by their culprit's daring looks.

"Don't come any closer or I'll slit your girl's throat!"

Seeing his pursuer's conflicted reaction, the suspect's smile was back, even more disturbing than before, lacking of any human compassion he might have had left of him.

"If you know the truth, then you can easily twist it right? You're the great detective Kudo Shinichi! Everyone will believe you!"

"I can't possibly do that!"

Hearing his resolute answer, the culprit slowly averted his eyes towards Ran.

"Not even for you lover?"

He couldn't answer. Because how could he? Choosing between the truth he valued and his most precious person was impossible.

Seconds passed but Shinichi didn't let a word out. He only stared at his girlfriend, with contrast beliefs and emotions swirling in them. The man was getting impatient but before he could speak, a new voice entered.

"Don't do it."

For the first time, Ran spoke. Her voice was hoarse and guttural, but she made sur eit can be heard.

Everything in her body hurts. From her legs that's been almost dangling down the edge, her arms weakly flailing on her side, her stomach wanting to throw up, her entire being physically burning and being cold at the same time. She felt horrible and wanted nothing but to karate chop her kidnapper.

But right now, her focus was on Shinichi, like it has always been whenever they were together. He looked tired, running all the way here from her house where he found out about her disappearance.

He was in deep thought and his eyes were conflicted on what to choose. She knew just how important she was to him, specially after knowing the lengths he had gone through as Conan to protect her. But, she's also aware of his morals and love for the truth.

Ever since they were kids, being a the greatest detective in the world like his idol, Sherlock Holmes had always been Shinichi's biggest dream. It started off as something silly but as they grew older, his dream didn't looked so far away. From all his struggles and successes, Ran was there. She knew all the hard work he put in his job just so he can achieved his childhood wish. She was present in all the steps he took to be this great. To be the Sherlock Holmes of the modern era.

Now, that dream was on the danger of being crushed. If he were to do what the culprit wanted, Shinichi would also lose his chance to achieve his goal. And Ran didn't want that.

"Don't do it."

She said, line more vivid than before.

He didn't know what to say. He wanted to asked her if she was fine, but she clearly wasn't.

"Ran, I-"

"Don't. Please, Shinichi."

He wanted to apologize, because he'll disappoint her with his answer. Yet, he wasn't able to, with Ran not letting him.

She wanted him to choose his morals, but he would lose her. He don't want to—can't—lose her.

However, her next words were what really made his decisions clear.

"Don't lose your dream for me. Please."

Ran wanted to cry but held it in. She needed all her energy for her last move and crying won't save her or anyone.

The man was getting more and more impatient. He waved the knife around blindly, making Shinichi stepped back a little.

Ran wished from the bottom of her heart a distraction could come for her plan to work. But since she didn't have any time, she'll just make one herself.

"You're trying to kill someone innocent. You're not right about anything at all. You're just a killer."

The culprit's attention went to her almost in an instant, fury present in his eyes.

"Silence, woman! Girls like you are all the same with your pretty faces thinking you can get any man! Not being contented with one man who would give his all! Vile! That's what women are! They're vile!"

She wanted to protest, because she's not the same. She'll never be the same. Just the thought of cheating on her lover already makes her want to puke. She would never cheat. After all, Shinichi was enough.

But she had to pretend he wasn't.

"That's right! We're cheaters! Vile people! We never cared about you men at all!"

'What is she doing?'

Shinichi was extremely confused. Ran was obviously lying, trying to provoke the man holding her at a knife point.

'Why would she even try to make someone aggressive when they're in the literal--'

As his mind reached it's conclusion, Shinichi didn't waste any time to move. However, it was a little too late.

The man was already losing his balance himself, making him vulnerable. Ran, with her remaining strength, wished to all gods her plan would work.

Albeit her left arm was tired, she steeled it with everything she got, elbowing the man's stomach and making him instinctively let go of her.

He stumbled forward, while she inevitably stumbled on the opposite direction. Down.

She closed her eyes, succumbing herself to the fall. However, a familiar presence force it to open, and she did.

There, falling with her was the love of her life, who was supposed to be at the rooftop arresting the man. Instead, he was reaching out to her, ready to die.

Suddenly feeling all the pain and tiredness, against her mental protest, she blacked out.

-

It was a good thing Hattori was there when he went back at the office temporarily. His best friend noticed his strange actions and decided to follow him.

Knowing that they were in a pretty tight spot and seeing Ran and the culprit at the edge, the Osakan detective dashed to find a trampoline, in case of the worst case scenario. Fortunately, he managed to hugged Ran's unconscious form and guide her through the unexpected trampoline while falling down.

Shinichi truly owed Hattori this time.

As they walked out the police station hand in hand, Ran looked uneasy. She managed to regain conciousness when they were already at the station, making a witness report. He didn't wanna do it in Ran's condition but he knew he caused enough trouble at them already.

He squeezed her hand, letting her look at his direction.

"Is there something wrong? Don't worry we'll get home soon and you can get some rest."

Ran's eyes slightly widened at his words. She then smiled, but it was strained.

Worry taking over him, he put his forehead on hers, feeling her hot one.

Ran instinctively blushed and tried to pushed him away. However, being stubborn had always been Shinichi's strongest points, so he didn't backed down. Instead, he asked.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

With such a soft and gentle way of questioning, Ran couldn't help but give in and let her hands go to both sides of his handsome face,feeling his skin under her warm—felt cold to her—fingertips. Then, she breathed heavily before speaking.

"What you did was reckless. You shouldn't have jumped after me."

Shinichi regarded her a confused look.

"What wouldn't I? I didn't know Hattori was there. So I thought you would really--"

"Still, you shouldn't have done that. What if Hattori-kun wasn't there?"

"Then we would both die."

He spoke in such a calm and nonchalant manner making Ran annoyed at him not getting her point. She bunped him lightly,making Shinichi backed a little bit away.

"Ouch! What did you that for?"

"Because you were being dumb! You could have died back there Shinichi!"

He returned his forehead against her, leaning again. He closed his eyes this time, looking peaceful, like they weren't in the brink of death just a while ago.

"I could have. But so were you."

His voice was laced with pain, specially at the last part. Tears gathered around her violet irises but she willed for them not fall.

"You have a dream Shinichi. You had it since you were little."

He nodded at her words, still looking unbothered even with the confirmation. Frustrated, she continued on.

"You would have killed yourself back there. Why didn't you listen to me? I told you didn't I? Don't give up your dream for me."

He smiled, catching her off guard. It was so sincere and bright that Ran wanted to step away. When she was about to do so however, he encircled his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as much as possible.

She opened her mouth, ready to reason out but was beaten by his answer.

"You told me to not give up my dream for you but,"

His next words left her breathless, tears finally cascading down her soft cheek.

"You are my dream, Ran."

-

I wrote this instead of sleeping, forgive me for its lameness.

[escxpedes]

loopholes (cont.)

I literally can’t even begin to tell you how much everyone’s support meant to me on the last chapter. All your comments and tags were so sweet, it was seriously the highlight of my day. I’m sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out a couple of days ago, but I’ve come down with a bad cold. This part, while fun, was so hard to get right. Angus Macgyver is a genius, his mind goes a mile a minute, and I wanted to do my best to replicate that. This part is a little slow in getting to the Macriley stuff, but I wanted to show how much he really thinks about things. He’s such a complex character, that if I didn’t do him justice, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Also, there’s dialogue in this one! Sadly, Jack isn’t mentioned in this chapter, but he’s there in spirit. Clearly, we all love and miss him. I hope you guys enjoy, the last part will be out soon! x

~

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system

~

Riley finally moves into her new apartment, but struggles to adjust after the events of Codex and the realization of her feelings for Mac. When Mac finds her passed out over her keyboard after a late night of coding at Phoenix, he decides a talk is long overdue. Just some slightly angsty soft!macriley to help you cope with this season 5 hiatus.

~

of lips that i am yet to kiss (and eyes not met my own.)

It's highly unlikely that you'll find Mac walking down the halls of the Phoenix Foundation so late at night. Without the bustling energy of his coworkers fetching important documents or discussing the best way to break down one of the many mysteries the foundation deals with, the darkened hallways and quiet atmosphere can be unnerving.

Sure, he spends nearly every waking hour employed there, but he'd rather be outside the office in different countries, doing hands-on work and saving lives. When you work in his profession, It can be difficult to separate business and pleasure, but that only makes it more important—if only to conserve what mental health he has left. 

However, in the haste of putting together last-minute preparations for yet another meeting with the Department of Justice and trying to make it back to his house in time for something Desi whipped up, he managed to forget his cellphone.

It's funny, mainly because of how little the small device truly matters to Mac.

It only goes to show how insignificant material objects, or even human beings in general, are. The idea that something so meaningless can affect someone's life so much when, if they just looked past that obsession and considered its part in the profound scope of the universe, another perspective would take shape.

It's fascinating stuff, really.

There's a concept essential to understanding Japanese aesthetics, otherwise known as an ancient set of ideals important to Japanese society, called Yūgen. When applied in the right context, Yūgen underlines this deep awareness of the universe and the experiences we have within it. It's often the feeling interpreted when you gaze at the stars late at night or watch the sunset dip behind a hill.

Mac wouldn't think twice before breaking his phone, or rather, breaking the phone of his nearest friend, open for an obscure part that might make one of his many homemade devices come together. However, when he's the only person able to communicate the scientific specifications of an unheard-of-until-recently base plan for saving the planet, he's practically on call 24/7.

He remembers having it in the labs earlier that day when he stopped by before his meeting to remind Bozer to come by his house on Friday for the team's new weekly attempt in group-bonding.

After the betrayals that surfaced during the climax of taking down Codex, the team collectively decided to spend more time as a group in hopes of eliminating any lingering doubts. 

They used to hang out all the time before the government dismantled the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac still can't believe that, after everything they had been through, he allowed his friendships to dissipate over the year they had been separate.

Bozer is his childhood best friend, and Riley had become a solid foundation in his life. He didn't have anyone outside his team at Phoenix, and while he deeply cared for Desi, their first relationship was proof that too much time—and too little communication—with each other can do severe damage to one's sanity.

If Russ hadn't brought them back together, would they have tried to reconnect at some point?

Mac wants to say they would have but wouldn't blame them if they didn't; they all lost something they cared about, and each served as a constant reminder of it.

It would've been hard, but part of him feels like living without them is a lot harder.

When he manages to access the lab, flipping his shiny new I.D. card over his fingers and into its place in his wallet, his eyes scan the room. It's empty, which isn't unusual at this time, but years of military training have rewired his brain to notify him of threats, even if there aren't any.

Just like he thought it would be, the device sits untouched a few tables behind Bozer's workspace where Mac had been sitting.

Quickly, because he left the house in a hurry and forgot to leave a note, he scoops up his phone and makes his way towards the exit. There's a couple of missed calls, but it doesn't seem like he missed anything too important.

Not that they would let him. 

At any rate, they would probably show up on his doorstep if they couldn't get a hold of him. With days off so few and far between, that's the kind of interaction he's hoping to avoid. Hence, why he came to pick up his phone when he realized it was missing instead of waiting until the next day.

He's nearly made it to the end of the hall when a light flashes in his peripheral vision, coming from the I.T. department.

His body is tense with apprehension; his mind races with several different kinds of possibilities and outcomes. He slows his pace, his movements fluid, silent, and controlled from years of stealth practice.

The light is soft, he notices, as if only one or two monitors are in use.

When he gets to the doorway and nudges open the door, hands at the ready, his entire body sags in relief to see the dark wavy hair he's come to associate with one of his closest friends.

"Riles?"

The nickname falls from his mouth before he can stop it, and even though the light from the monitor creates a halo above her head, shadowing her features, it's unmistakably her.

She doesn't move. 

It becomes abundantly clear why as Mac moves towards her and notices the monitor's screen filling up with a sequence of letters that look nothing like coding despite his lack of knowledge in programming languages.

Her elbow balances precariously on the edge of the table, her arms creating a makeshift pillow for her head. The weight of her forearm bears down on the keyboard, causing the side of her hand to press down multiple keys at once.

He shakes his head a little, amused by the situation unfolding. 

Her cheek rests comfortably on her hand, a serene expression masking the signs of exhaustion that showed on her face.

Mac's lips curved into a soft smile, seeing Riley in any state that wasn't cloaked in layers of worry or anxious determination always washed away any doubts he might have about working in such a stressful field.

The scars that covered his body, the secrets he has to keep, and the pain he has to endure are so unbelievably worth it as long as she out of harm's way and able to sleep peacefully.

Of course, he couldn't imagine anyone else by his side on a mission, knowing they share the same love and passion for kicking ass and saving lives.

However, he also knows that more lies underneath the surface.

He wouldn't wish the hardships of this job on anyone. Seeing it affect someone he cares about, watching it break them down slowly pulls at his heartstrings and fills him with a knowing sadness. 

When a piece of hair falls into her face, his fingers don't hesitate to gently brush it behind her ear, lightly tracing her cheekbone and caressing her cheek.

Kneeling, his hand drops to her shoulder in an attempt to gently wake her.

After a couple of shakes, the expressive brown eyes he's come to look forward to seeing begin to flutter open and nearly render him speechless.

She blinks a couple of times, inhaling slowly, "Macgyver."

Her voice is full of sleep and breaks from misuse, but the way she says his name—like there's nobody else she'd expect to see when she wakes up —has him grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Rising from her position on the table, she scans the room before meeting his eyes and scoffing, "It's hardly the morning."

He laughs softly, holding back the urge to mention that technically it is morning considering its past twelve. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, or more likely, the question at hand.

"What are you doing here so late?"

She's more alert now, sitting back in her chair and lifting her arms to stretch out the muscles that stiffened while she slept, glancing at her work on the monitor.

Her face drops into a grimace when she notices her mistake, "Matty and I were talking about updating the foundation's firewall and spyware," she yawns, "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Mac's eyebrows scrunch in thought, remembering something Bozer said earlier about Riley spending quite a few nights this week working late.

Between going over his mother's scientific data, trying to patch up whatever relationship he had left with Desi, and making sure he didn't go off the rails with grief, his effort to check in on everyone decreased significantly.

"Yeah, you've been doing that a lot lately," his hand returned to her shoulder to emphasize his point, "Everything okay?"

She waves him off, "There's too much work that needs to be done around here before we can get things running the way they used to."

Riley doesn't lie to him—if you overlook the whole situation with her ex, Aubrey, that is, but the movements she's making indicate otherwise.

Her eyes refuse to meet his, flickering down and to the right. When she talks, her head shakes lightly, and she purses her lips in an attempt to give off a careless impression. Maybe someone who doesn't know her or didn't train to pick up on it would believe her, but he knew better.

She was definitely hiding something from him.

Part of him understands that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. However, his instincts urge him to press harder, locate the problem, and bring back her contagious smile that always seems to fill him with warmth.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you can't patch some things together by sheer will and sellotape, so instead, he stands up and drops his hand from her shoulder.

"Let's get you home."

[datawyrms]

Prove it with one hand behind your back

Dannymay day 12: Gloves There is reference to the events in Hypothesis, but can be read stand alone. Now Ao3′d “Uhhh, Danny?” Jazz called up the stairs, laundry basket under her arm.

“What? I’ll get my stuff when it’s dry!” Her brother yelled back down, apparently not interested in leaving his room so they could speak semi-normally.

“Normally it would be my duty as your sister to throw your wash on the floor. Were you aware your laundry is glowing?”

Her frazzled brother appeared at the stairs then, taking them two at a time. “Geeze Jazz, tell the whole neighborhood why don’t ya?” he hissed as he passed.

“Mom and Dad aren’t here, and you’re welcome.”

“Obviously. Jerk.” he made an exaggerated frown at her before ducking into the washer, dragging out handfuls of the expected tee-shirts and jeans followed by an impressive amount of mismatched lightly glowing gloves.

“You’re taking trophies now?” she raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of it. Not a single one had a pair, and none of them were even his ghost form’s hazmat gloves. Quite a few of them looked rather elaborate, some very interesting embroidered patterns making it obviously not something of her brother’s making. Delicacy was not his strong suit.

“Huh? No! These are-” he paused, taking a breath as he covered the glowing handwear with several shirts. “You remember that whole Sam got dragged to the ghost zone because Aragon’s an idiot thing?”

“The self important dragon shapeshifter with some serious hangups and anger issues?”

“Yeah, that one.” he nodded, rubbing at his chin. “Did I mention Dora sort of knighted us for helping drive him out of power?”

“No, but I’m pretty used to you leaving out important details by now.” Jazz smirked as her little brother rolled his eyes.

“It was nice of her and all but apparently they have a sort of tradition in her Kingdom? Where to show you’re worthy of joining the Queen’s guard you challenge one of the newest knights to a duel.” Danny paused to fish out one of the gloves. “Giving over a glove is basically how they ask for that duel. All very formal, I’d write it down if I could explain how I know without completely blowing my cover.”

“So you’ve got a bunch of medieval ghosts throwing gloves at you and wanting to duel...and you decided to wash them. At home.” Jazz crossed her arms. “Seriously?’

“Where else was I gonna do it? I thought they’d make decent proof so show Dad ghosts have society and rules.” He paused, throwing the glowing thing back under his regular clothes. “Then I remembered there’s no way I could explain how I got these. So now they’ll just smell nice in Sam’s closet or something.”

“Your closet a little too risky this time?”

“Nope. All of these belong to Sam. She’s the one getting all the challenges, not me.” he glanced down at his basket. “I think she named some of these.”

“It’s it a little unfair for a ghost to fight a human? That goes against the whole honourable and fair thing it seems to be going for.”

The half ghost grinned. “That’s what they think! Challenged gets to set the rules, and it turns out ghost knights are really, really bad at adjusting to ground only combat.”

Jazz blinked, the part that had been bothering her clicking into place. “Wait, so there’s that many because you’re still the newest knights?”

“Wasted every single challenger. I keep trying to convince them they’ll have a better shot against me, but noooo, they insist on trying to best the ‘breathing banshee’.” he shrugs. “Most of em would absolutely wreck me in a proper fight, I don’t usually need to fight ‘fair’ or anything.”

“So why don’t they go after Tucker? Getting all the way out here for a tradition can’t be easy.”

“He still insists he’s Friar Tuck. You don’t swordfight the clergy. None of them have actually called him on it, so maybe he is?” his brow furrowed, thinking on that. “Maybe I should ask Dora that sometime. Find out if we need to worry about some ghost pope later. Would not want to be the guy who punched the dragon queen’s ghost pope.”

Jazz couldn’t suppress a snort, easily able to picture such a mishap. “A year ago if you said that I’d say you should be committed. Now I’m just nodding along.”

“Even if you were saying it now, I’d get out.” A wicked grin accompanied a flash of green eyes.

“Very funny, dork.” Still, the idea was worth thinking about. “Well I can see why you wanted to try using them as proof.” The project was rather important to Danny, seeing as it was his best shot to get their parents to re-evaluate their ‘ghosts are mindless’ stance. “Maybe you could get Tucker to film a fight? Sam keeping ‘contaminated’ gloves wouldn’t seem that weird, and the variety can prove it’s not just one ghost mindlessly repeating the same behaviour.”

“I’d still be stuck explaining how Sam became ‘Sir Manson’ in the ghost zone. Which seems like a disaster waiting to happen.” his shoulders sagged. “They’ll think I made it up or Tucker did some video editing.”

“I still think it’s worth trying. Sam’s got a rich family, you could probably think up an excuse that she’s practically ‘royalty’ and that’s why they come.”

“Eh. Maybe. Don’t tell Sam but I’m giving the challengers tips now. The sooner they stop coming, the sooner I can stop getting all antsy about a ghost attack where I find out it’s another steel welding glove thrower.”

Jazz set her shoulders, determined to get some of that humour back in her dispirited sibling. “Use that. They owe you if you help them out, don’t they?”

“Well, I guess they do. Like I’ve had them tell me stories about what it’s like for them, if they remember stuff or have always been ghosts, they’re pretty chatty to a ‘fellow of the sword’...but it’s all stuff I write down. I can’t prove a ghost told me. I can’t film it, or have Dad listen in. The second they call me ‘Sir Phantom’ I’m toast.”

“He said he’d at least listen to what you found, right? It can be a starting point, and if you have some really specific detail it’s less likely that you made the whole thing up.” she stopped to ruffle his hair. “That, and if you were going to make something up, you’d have some star ghosts or ecto-aliens.”

“I would not!”

“Yes you would. And you’d draw them little space ships and everything.”

“...Okay maybe I’d make up some ships.”

“A lot of ships. With long complicated names. With scientific reasons for those names. Cus your my dorky little brother.”

“Well you’re my nagging big sister. You get to be the black hole equivalent.” 

“Just don’t give up on the idea so quickly, okay? It’s a good one, and it really can’t hurt too much to try.”

A small smile returned as he elbowed her “Careful, or they’ll think you’re being influenced by ghosts too.”

“It’s not like their theories can have any more concrete proof than yours does. What are they?”

“Dad thinks ectoplasm naturally ‘homes in’ on stuff over here, and that’s how they’re finding the portal.” he closes his eyes, foot kicking at the floor. “He’s got this box thing? A lot of box things with different kinds of ectoplasm to see if they move towards ‘our world’ over time. I keep forgetting it’s floating right next to the portal and almost kick it.” his face turns into a grimace. “Dad thinks ‘that ghost kid’ is messing with his experiment on purpose now, so that sucks.”

“Well you could mess with it on purpose, that would be intelligent.”

“Nope. That would be the ‘natural aggressive action’ towards human materials. Tried it.”

“What’s mom’s hypothesis then?”

“That the portal always being here makes this part of Earth more ectoplasm rich so they’re drawn to enter here instead.” he waves a hand. “She’s half right? I don’t think strong ghosts can go all that long without ducking back home to recharge. She’s using the frequency of ‘higher level’ ghosts as proof that they ‘need’ a certain level to function outside of the ghost zone.”

“Another theory you’re accidentally stomping all over.”

“Since they almost never spot ‘Phantom’ going back to the Zone, yeah. I apparently account for ninety four percent of all ghost sightings. Yet only three percent of that is being spotted outside of a fight. Which sounds really bad! No wonder they think I only think about fighting other ghosts.” he rubbed at the back of his head. “I think she plans to test that by uh. Sticking a ghost in a place with no ectoplasm to see how long they hold out, if at all. So I’ve kinda been...making sure she can’t do that.” he swallows, his glance towards his sister more timid than anything. “It'd be a really, really nasty way to die. From what I heard.”

“Good for you. She’ll thank you once you prove that sort of thing would be unethical.”

His frown didn’t move. “If I prove it. So far I’ve just proven they really don’t like that ghost kid.”

“From what I’ve heard you’re the one with the most solid proof. Once you’ve shown everything you’ve collected, then you could try convincing them to see for themselves you aren’t making it up.” Jazz urged, not wanting to watch her little brother give up again.

“Even if I could convince Dad to come in the specter speeder with me we’d scare most ghosts off. The ones we don’t might want to beat me up, or not use a name I can’t explain away.”

“Sam gets to set when one of those challenges happens right? Invite him to one of those.”

He blinked. “...I guess that might work. If Sam made it clear that they couldn’t say my name under any circumstances. There’s one lady who keeps coming, insists she’s going to be the one to get to succeed after ‘Slapping Sir Manson with her glove’, she might be down for that…” he caught the weird look Jazz was giving him. “Oh. Apparently if you’re rivals hitting the person with your glove is ‘provoking your betters’ into a fight? So it’s a respect thing? I don’t really get it. Sam thinks it’s great, which I didn’t see coming but I didn’t think we’d still be having ghost knight fights either.” he let out a breath. “I’m rambling again.”

“You know, if Mom and Dad could see how you talk about this stuff they’d know you aren’t making it up. Looks like ghost research does run in the family.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m a ghost hunter if anything. It’s just nice being able to chat instead of fight sometimes. The ghost zone is pretty neat. If you know, half the stuff in there wasn’t trying to skin me alive.”

“I still think you have a good shot. You know it’s true, so they’ll have to see it given enough time.”

“Maybe. Can’t really talk about this stuff to them though. Gee dad, how do I know about Frostbite? Well when I stole the Ecto-Skeleton and shoved back Pariah Dark this whole tribe of yetis decided I was their Great One. So now we’re pals. Oh what’s that dad, you say the ghost kid did that? Funny thing!” he dropped his arms with a scowl. “That’d go over like a lead balloon.”

“Maybe stick to the dragon queen society for now. It’s not like anyone over here saw that. Then you can expand into the rest of the friendly areas.” she put a hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time Danny, you’ll get there.”

“I hope so. If it doesn’t, I blame you if I’m torn molecule by molecule.”

“Ew Danny! Don’t be so morbid, it’s not good for your development.”

“Is it morbid if I’m dead?” he winced from his sister’s whack to the head. “Ow! Half!”

“Better. Now scram with all those gloves before someone thinks you robbed a ghost antique boutique.”

“You’re such a busybody Jazz.” the half ghost teased before darting off with his half spectral laundry. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to convince their parents, but he did seem to be on the right track. So of course it was her job to make sure he stuck to it. Siblings had to look out for each other, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[wolveria]

Unable to perceive the shape of you - Ch. 6

Pairing: Connor x f!Reader x Nines

Summary: After breaking the RK twins out of the MarineLife facility, you were determined to return them to the ocean before getting caught by your employer.

What you hadn’t counted on were the brothers deciding you belonged to them.

Prompt: Mermay! (Shape of Water/Splash AU)

Word Count: 2.9k

AO3

When Nines offered to drive, you tried to say no. There was no way he knew how to drive, but he insisted he was a fast learner, and you were barely able to stand.

Connor had explained the reason why with his cheeks tinged an adorable blue. Something about ceta semen having a ‘sedative’ effect on humans. Your response was to give him a goofy smile and tell him that meant you were ‘drugged on his cum.’

His face had gone an impressive shade of blue as he’d led you out to the car.

It turned out Nines was a decent driver, or seemed to be from your limited view of the backseat, your head resting in Connor’s lap. He hadn’t exaggerated about the strange aftereffects, though in all honesty, you didn’t mind. Connor’s fingers trailed lightly across your hair, fingertips rubbing your scalp, you thought you might have died and gone to heaven. Even the pain in your legs was unnoticeable, something you hadn’t experienced in years.

You were going to joke if ceta semen had magical healing properties but you fell asleep before you could, and by the time you woke up, you were sober and aching again. Not a magic cure-all then, but a temporary, effective distraction.

It would have been scientifically interesting if you hadn’t been so shocked at your own behavior. You’d had sex with, not one, but both of them. You hadn’t planned for it to happen, and now that it had, your stomach churned terribly with nerves.

As if that wasn’t complicated enough, you had the two bite marks on your shoulders that meant something very specific to ceta behavior. Were they aware of what the marks meant? They’d bandaged your shoulders with the supplies meant for them, and apart from apologizing for biting you (“I don’t know why I did it,” Connor had said, brows furrowed), they hadn’t said anything else about it.

They couldn’t possibly know. According to the records, they’d been wild-caught very young and hadn’t been old enough to be taught by other wild cetas. It had just been instinct, nothing more. You weren’t going to tell them that cetas only bit during sex to mark their chosen, lifelong mate.

What would be the point in telling them, anyway? It wasn’t like you were a viable mate to begin with. Plus, you would reach the coast by the end of the day, and they would be gone from your life forever. Leaving you only twin scars to remember them by.

You buried your face against Connor’s thigh, wishing you were drugged or high or whatever. The biologist in you wondered why their semen even had that affect. Was it simply a mismatch of biology? Or was it a way to actually lure and capture their prey, like a spider with a web.

If so, you were a thoroughly captivated fly. Connor’s fingers had started moving in your hair again, and your eyes were already half-closed as you fought to stay awake.

You couldn’t stay in Connor’s lap forever, unfortunately. Rubbing your eyes, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, wincing at the sharp pain in your spine from the awkward position.

“What do you guys want for lunch?” You stretched and cracked your back, wincing as you you stared out the window at the slanted sunlight. You frowned. “Or… dinner. How long did I sleep?”

“A few hours,” Connor said, tilting his head. “You seemed tired and we didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks warmed uncomfortably. You were supposed to be taking care of them, not the other way around. “We can stop for something to eat then—“

“We can’t stop.”

Nines voice cut through yours, short and tense in a way that was unlike him. When your looked at him, you realized the tablet attached to the dashboard was on, muted but on a 24-hour news channel.

“What?” you asked. “Why not?”

“Show her.”

Connor leaned forward and tapped his finger on the screen. You’d forgotten he said something about stealing smartphones belonging to the techs to use them, and he definitely seemed comfortable using technology.

He sat back but stayed close, his knee pressed against yours. The news segment played, unmuted now.

“Today in what can only be described as an egregious theft, two Ceta sapiens were stolen from the research facility known as MarineLife. It’s suspected that this woman, an employer of the company, is responsible for the missing creatures.”

You stared at the blond newscaster as she read your name aloud, and when they showed your employee pictures on the screen, the car slightly spun around you.

“If you have any information of the whereabouts of this woman, contact the proper authorities immediately. Do not approach the suspect as these animals are dangerous and highly aggressive.”

“They know what my car looks like,” you said once the news clip ended. “The police will have my registration. We have to ditch the car. Find a new one. Steal one, or, or something.”

Connor said your name, but you barely heard it.

“I should have thought of this. I should have anticipated—“

“It won’t be a problem for now,” Nines said, effectively cutting you off again. “I have been using your GPS to keep us on rural farm roads. No one should stop us.”

“What if they do?” you asked faintly. You didn’t miss the way Nines gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“We will make it to our destination. I won’t allow anyone to get in our way.”

You shivered and wrapped your arms in front of your stomach. The warmth of Connor beside you wasn’t enough to ward off the cold feeling of dread tucked along your spine.

Since going into cities with your car and showing your face was out of the question, so was NYC. You’d planned to drive them to the beaches and let them go there, directly into the ocean. Now having to evade authorities, Nines drove the car further north of the city toward the Hudson.

True to his word, you only stopped for bathroom breaks. Aside from sunglasses you didn’t have anything to hide your face, so you were careful to avoid cameras, even as Connor assured you they were interrupting the feeds with echolocation bursts.

At least ten hours from when you’d left the motel that morning, you finally arrived at your destination, a mystery to you since Nines wouldn’t say where you was going. Between him and Connor, they’d completely taken over the journey and you didn’t have much say in the matter. You’d convinced Nines at one point to let you drive, and after a couple of hours of magnifying leg pain, you gave up and let them handle maneuvering the backroads of New York.

You should have been impatient to get them to freedom, but you couldn’t help but be relieved, if not a little confused, when Nines turned down another backroad deeper into the maple and birch forest.

You narrowed your eyes at the road but couldn’t read the sign you passed in the darkening twilight.

“Where are we going?”

In the rearview mirror you watched as Nines’ eyes flickered to Connor’s in that way of silent communication. As if to prove your suspicions, Connor turned to you and answered in place of his brother.

“Someplace safe where we won’t be seen for the night.”

Racking your brain, you tried to think but couldn’t think of any places in the area that would fit that description. It wasn’t until the car passed other parked vehicles, some of them trailers and campers, that it finally clicked.

“Oh.” You rubbed your aching knees. “I don’t have any camping equipment. Just some blankets, and it’s going to get chilly.”

“We will make due,” Nines said in his usual dismissive manner.

You didn’t know if he meant to come across as so cold, but it didn’t stop you from leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms, pointedly looking out the window. You were growing self-conscious, even anxious over what had happened the night before. Neither brother had mentioned it, when it had filled your thoughts for most of the day.

Connor gently nudged you with his elbow. He’d been beside you the entire time, either in the backseat with you or in the front seat as you’d driven. Practically connected at the hip all day, even he hadn’t mentioned anything about last night, and the tension in your stomach wound tighter. A taut bowstring about to fire or snap in half.

So it was no surprise when Connor touched you, you flinched hard in your seat. His brown eyes went rounder and he moved closer.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You gave him a quick upturn of your lips. “Just tired.”

Connor’s brow sharpened as he studied you closer. You tried not to squirm in your seat. The bumpiness of the dirt road, if it could be called that at this point, helped cover the movement.

Nines turned the car into the forest and carefully maneuvered the vehicle through the trees until he came to the edge of a clearing. He put the car into park and turned off the ignition.

The sudden silence, without the sound of the engine or traffic or city noises, was an uncomfortable pressure on your ear drums.

Desperately needing to fill the dead air, you asked, “Are you sure you two don’t want to leave tonight?”

Connor slightly tilted his head but Nines’ shoulders stiffened from where you could see them under the headrest.

“The Hudson isn’t far,” you continued, forcing yourself to sound neutral, as if each word didn’t hurt somewhere in your chest. “We could be there in less than an hour, and you could follow it out to the sea. You could… go home.”

Connor shifted in his seat and slightly leaned forward, brows so sharp there was a crease between them.

“What about you?” His eyes searched yours, his teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. “They’ll catch you. Punish you for helping us.”

“I’ll be fine.”

It was almost funny how your lies had changed. You were the one without hope now. Trapped in a pool of water with no way out. But the lie was as necessary now as it had been then in order to protect the twins.

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Connor opened his mouth but Nines cut him off.

“You want us to leave, then?”

You were completely taken aback by his hostile tone.

“What? No. Of course not. Nines—“

He was already moving, shoving the door open and shutting it hard behind him. You quickly lost sight of him in the dim tree line.

Your mouth hung partway open, at a loss of what to say.

“He’s scared.”

Connor’s words were delicate and his eyes soft, moving from where his brother had disappeared and down to your face.

“He’s afraid to lose you. We both are. We know it’s unavoidable if we go back home.”

“If?” Your voice rose slightly, your chest tightening. “There is no if. You-you have to go back home. There’s no other option. You can’t—“

Connor reached out and took your hand from your lap, twining it between his, leaving you warm and without a voice.

“Maybe… we could find a way to work.” His words were slow and careful but his expression was one of lingering hope. “We can survive on land so long as we’re hydrated frequently. With our abilities we could easily disrupt ATMs and cameras, so money and moving around won’t be an issue. The Canadian border isn’t far, and we—“

His words had sped up, the excitement in his voice building, and it hurt you to have to cut them down.

“Connor, you can’t.” You squeezed his hand tight, pleading with him to understand and not make this difficult. “You and Nines have to go home. You don’t belong in this world. Why would you even want to stay when it’s been nothing but cruel to you?”

He tilted his head and angled his brows upwards.

“Because you’re in it.”

Your mouth opened but no words came out, and you were left like that, gaping stupidly at him.

Connor leaned closer, a gentle tug teasing his lips.

“Did you really think we would leave you behind? Let the humans lock you away after you risked your life to save us?” His expression folded into something slightly pained. “Nines hasn’t told you, has he? What they were going to do to him after I was sent to the breeding facility.”

You shook your head, mouth too dry to speak as your gut twisted. You hadn’t actually thought about it, but knowing your employers, it couldn’t be anything good.

“They were going to kill him.”

A darkness passed over Connor’s face, one that was rare to see but genuinely frightening.

“‘Destroy him,’ is the phrase they used. Afterwards, they planned to take him apart. Disassemble him to learn more about our species.”

Connor searched your face. “Do you understand, now? We owe you our lives. The both of us.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Your words had to fight past the lump in your throat; your grip on his fingers must have been painfully tight. “This isn’t about me.”

Connor raised his other hand to tangle his fingers in your hair and leaned forward as if to kiss you. Instead, he leaned his forehead against yours as his hand cradled the back of your neck.

Somehow it felt more intimate than a kiss, sharing the same breathing space with him and feeling the heat radiating off his skin through his clothing. A tremble rippled down your spine when Connor sighed and you felt the puff of air against your lips.

“We’re not abandoning you.” The smile tugged at his lips again. “Especially Nines.”

You frowned at the very confusing statement. If anything, you felt like the tension between you and Nines had gotten worse since last night, and you couldn’t understand why.

Connor caught sight of your frown and raised a brow. “You’re important to him. Have been since we first met you. You… treated him like a living being. No one else at that place did. You even gave him a name.”

You remembered it all too well. On the official research documents, the twins were labeled as RK800 and RK900, and they’d never bothered to give Nines a name. Dr. Stern had given Connor his name, and you’d found out why the other brother had been left as ‘RK900’ late one night while you were cleaning the offices.

Dr. Kamski was tucked away in his office also working overtime, but there was an open bottle of whiskey on his desk. It had been obvious he’d had more than a sip, and you imagined that was the only reason why he’d started talking to you.

“Do you know why we gave a name to the cute, little one, and not its larger, aggressive sibling?” He’d smiled with the same warmth as a shark. “Temperament. Everyone loves Connor, or as much as one can love a wild animal. But its twin, that hulking beast… well… there’s only so much you can do with a vicious creature like that.”

Dr. Kamski had leaned in uncomfortably close, smiling in a way that didn’t meet his eyes, and said, “You name the family pet. You don’t name the livestock.”

You hadn’t known exactly what he’d meant at the time, but knowing now what they’d had planned for Connor and Nines, it made you sick down to your bones. You wanted to hide your face from Connor, at the gentle look he was giving you. It was undeserved.

“Yeah,” you grumbled. “I named him like a pet.”

“He didn’t see it that way. Still doesn’t.” Connor’s thumb rubbed across the back of your knuckles as if to soothe you.

“Aside from me, you were the only other person who’s ever been kind to him,” he added, a teasing edge to his voice. “I know you care about him too.”

“Of course I do,” you said, it wasn’t even a question. “That’s not… not the issue, Connor. I don't want you two to be caught because of me. It’s not worth it.”

Connor slightly lowered his head, giving you a piercing stare that turned his brown eyes into dark stones.

“I think that’s for us to decide.”

Connor leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead. Unable to resist or deny him anything, you closed your eyes and basked in the warmth, leaning into the touch. Already your internal walls were breaking down and you wanted to tell him yes, you would stay with them no matter what.

But you couldn’t make that promise, not when it put their lives at risk.

“Just think about it, okay?” Connor’s smile was so faint it almost wasn’t there, though the sadness was. As if he knew the thoughts running through your mind as there wasn’t anything he could say to stop them. “There’s still time.”

Pulling away from you, Connor opened the door and got out of the car, leaving you cold and alone.

A glimpse of your life without the RK twins in it.

Next Chapter

[vendeavendea]

How Entrapta Has Become My All Time Favourite Autistic Representation in Media: Long Version

Just so you know what to expect, this is more of a very long and boring personal post and less of a character analysis. By "very long", I mean "very long". Also, half of it was written at night when I was supposed to be sleeping (like, right now), so some parts might not even make sense. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Just days before I started to watch She-Ra, I answered a question in a writer group where someone asked what are the do's and don'ts of writing an autistic character. I've been told a couple of times in my life that I can’t be autistic based on the fact that I'm not really interested in or good at science, so I think special interests of autistic people are something that definitely has to be presented better in media. So I advised this person to make their character have a special interest that's NOT related to science, technology, space or computers, because it's a very common misconception that people on the autism spectrum are always into these stuff, and there are so many autistic fictional characters based on this stereotype that I feel like we absolutely don't need any more.

And then I saw Entrapta.

I didn't know she's canonically autistic until a much later episode, but it didn't surprise me when I was told she is, because my autism radar went off like a hundred times while watching System Failure and all her other season 1 appearances (so did my ADHD radar, by the way, but as far as I know, this hasn't been confirmed by the creators, so it's just my headcanon). And she looked like the purple ponytails princess version of the autism stereotype that I didn’t want to see any more of. The genius who is into space and robots, knows nothing about human relationships and keeps driving everyone nuts with her long and impossible-to-follow scientific monologues. Also cute and funny, yeah, but still, as someone on the spectrum who is super artistic and has nothing to do with science stuff, my first reaction was "dang, not this shit again." Just for once in my life, I wanted to see an autistic representation that's not just that typical weird tech-lover but a character that's at least a tiny bit more like me. Seeing her only in her first episode, little did I know that Entrapta's character has an incredible depth and her whole arc was going to be hair-raisingly personal to me (I know I'm not funny, but pun intended).

First, let’s talk about robots, because we can't talk about Entrapta without talking about robots. Entrapta builds robots just for fun, because technology is her thing, but there's actually a lot more behind this. Starting from as early as her debute episode, we see through the whole series that she creates robots with different designs, abilities, personalities, very similar to real people, as a sort of substitute for the human (or whatever species) company she'd wish to have. She even gives them names. She programs them to like being around her, to understand her, something that she hasn't really experienced from real people, which is sad enough on its own, but even sadder if we consider that she actually has human staff working at her fortress. She pretty literally makes friends, and she does it with the help of her special interest. And this totally reminds me of my primary school years when I had zero real friends and used my special interest, which was writing fictional stories and creating worlds/universes/languages in my head, to make up imaginary characters that could be my "friends" so that I wouldn't be that lonely.

Then, her interactions with other characters, especially with Hordak. Entrapta consoling Hordak in Huntara is a very powerful scene to me, not only what she says, but also how she says it. When Hordak starts venting about how he is a failure and all, Entrapta's first immediate response is to provide a practical solution, to design an armor for him, and comforting him with words is only a secondary action. She's helping in her own way, with technology, because that's what she's the best at, but she also wants to make sure he understands that fixing imperfections isn't always the solution, embracing them is. I also love how it's hinted with the "loved" crystal that Entrapta's love language may be acts of service (and probably quality time as well), which is another thing we have in common. And there's another thing in that scene I found very relatable: that part when she stops consoling him and starts to talk about herself being a failure instead. In real life, most people would read that in a negative way. I've been in many situations where I've tried doing something similar to people who were venting to me, and normally, they're like "ew, I'm the one complaining now, stop making it about you." But Hordak's reaction is different, all he does is try to tell her she's not a failure before she shushes him, then he just listens. He understands what Entrapta means by saying all those things about herself isn't "hey, look, my life is also horrible, so I get to complain, too" but rather "I feel you, we're the same". For a person who thinks and acts as differently from average people as Entrapta does, connecting with someone through similar experiences and feelings is a huge thing, and this is so relatable to me that I cried like a baby while watching that scene. Also, kudos to Christine Woods for making Entrapta's monologue sound so factual and casual. It really gives the impression of someone who is fully aware of her own strengths and weaknesses and accepts herself as a whole with all her flaws. The way she lists all the things that make her feel like a failure right after saying "imperfection is beautiful" is just... wow. But seriously, this whole "imperfection is beautiful" thing in general is such a cliché that it's not even supposed to work on me, but hell it does, because it's so well-presented that it's actually one of the most powerful moments of the whole series. Entrapta giving me self-acceptance lessons is all I've ever needed in my life (Hordak probably agrees, lol).

Speaking of self-acceptance, I also love how Beast Island shows that it's a long and difficult process with its ups and downs instead of just a door you walk through once in your life and then stay on the other side forever. Even if I accept and love myself the way I am, it's still totally normal to have low points with thoughts like "I'm not suited for friendship" or "everyone leaves me behind". And it's very nice and uplifting to have someone's love and support when I'm in a bad mood with stuff like this on my mind, but personally, I often find it easier to deal with if I have something related to any of my special interests around that I can focus my thoughts on. My "we flew here on an ancient First Ones ship, do you wanna see it?" would be something like "do you wanna create some characters and then write the shit out of them?" and before this show I've never actually realised how neurodiverse it is to use a hobby or interest for self-care like this. The "definitely the ship" part called me out so hard, and I just adore how the writers were able put so much meaning into a single joke line.

Back to interactions, there's also something painfully relatable in the way the other princesses treat Entrapta. Even in the beginning in No Princess Left Behind, but mostly in season 4 and 5. In most cases, Entrapta is only considered to be worthy enough to not be left behind in situations when her skills are useful. Other characters "liking" her isn't really about herself as a person but her tech knowledge. Just like when you go to school and the only reason your classmates want to make friends with you is because you always do your homework and let others copy it, or you're good at explaining stuff and are willing to help people getting prepared for tests/exams. When I was in grammar school, my classmates ignored me or mocked me for liking animation and comics, but every now and then they did the bare minimum of treating me like a human being and expected me to do their arts homework in return, because I was the only one in my class who was good at arts. When I studied linguistics at the uni, I was really into phonology and historical linguistics, and those were the compulsory subjects most of the other students were struggling with, so many people wanted to hang out with me just to make sure they could get my notes before the exams. The same people kept calling me nerd and making fun of me behind my back. I also had a few genuine friends, which I'm grateful for, but I still know what it feels like to be needed only for a specific skill while not being noticed and respected as a person, and Launch portraits this experience in a very clever way. It's so amazing to see how the princesses realise who Entrapta really is and start to treat her as someone who just thinks differently instead of someone who's a deliberate bad person. They finally get to see that she's not just an unwary tech nerd, but also a determined, caring and loyal friend who gives others so much love in her own geeky way and deserves love, too. But I shouldn't even be surprised, I mean, we're talking about a show that teaches us "you worth more than what you can give to other people," and it's great how this message applies to other characters as well, not only to Adora. And the best part is that this whole conflict is not presented as something black and white, it's not like Entrapta is the poor misunderstood autistic person and the princesses are the evil allistic bad guys who mistreat her. It's simply a miscommunication between neurotypical and neurodivergent individuals, and while the other princesses get to understand that they hurt Entrapta by their actions and that they should be more respectful of her, Entrapta also realises that she's made mistakes and hurt people, becomes aware of her own bad habits and makes efforts to get rid of them in order to save Glimmer. Plus I also love the faint implication that most of the princesses never really, genuinely, 100% make friends with Entrapta even after this scene, because sometimes people just don't resonate with each other enough to become close friends, but they learn to accept her differences and treat her with respect, nonetheless. This episode is so full of realistic interactions and character development it blows my mind every time I rewatch it.

I could just go on and on about all those tiny relatable details such as "I've waited years for someone to ask me about my theories!" I think this was the line that first made me fall in love with Entrapta's character. I mean, if someone from the crew wrote this line, that means they might know the feeling, too, so I'm not the only dork who feels this way every time someone asks me a question about my hyperfixations. And it's just so reassuring. Entrapta has many lines of the kind, they're not even important plotwise, but still super relatable and validating.

Now that we're here, and I know that I probably should have said this at the beginning of the post, but I'm too lazy to rewrite the first paragraph accordingly, I'd like to note that these are all my own interpretations and reflections on Entrapta's character based on my own experiences. This whole thing is totally personal, and I don't want anyone to think that this is how Entrapta is supposed to be seen by the whole fandom. So yeah, that's pretty much it for now.

[missmarthanightingale]

empire - exploitation & erasure

exploitation & erasure are constant themes throughout both s11 & s12 in the leadup to the reveal in the timeless children.

going episode by episode, we start with the stenza in the woman who fell to earth.  they’ve been coming to earth, for lord only knows how long, hunting humans & bringing them home as trophies to prove their prowess.  this is a way of proving their superiority - in this case, a ritual demonstration of their ‘right to rule’ - & it’s a fox hunt.  the details are different, but it’s a fox hunt.  bc the stenza are an empire, & in doctor who, every empire is the british empire.

then we have the ghost monument, which properly delves into the stenza as a civilization.  angstrom, played by an irish actress, talks about how her people are suffering, how the stenza invaded & occupied their world & are now committing genocide, how the only way to save her family is to win the race so they can afford to emigrate.  this was blatant.  the other obvious theme of exploitation is the scientists of desolation, held captive & forced to give up their secrets in the name of scientific progress - this is, remember, the same episode in which the idea of the timeless child is introduced.

rosa is, at heart, a conversation about the civil rights movement & neo-nazis.  krasko is literally trying to erase rosa parks - &, by extension, the civil right movement - from history.  rosa parks is not the entire civil rights movement, but krasko’s an idiot, so let’s roll with that idea.  neo-nazis today are constantly trying to rewrite history; this episode is a call to refuse to allow it, & a reminder that the work of the civil rights movement is yet unfinished.  in britain, as well, as ryan & yaz’s alley conversation clearly shows.

next we have arachnids in the u.k. which is very blatantly a condemnation of corporate pollution.  it’s not explicitly about exploitation, except that jack robertson is exactly the sort of man who exploits anything & everything he can, & who gets ordinary people killed for his greed, just more dramatically & directly than most corporations that dump industrial waste wherever they damn please.  we also suspect that robertson will cover it all up & get away with everything, as his sort generally do.

the next episode that deals with empire is demons of the punjab, which really doesn’t fuck around.  the partition of india is a particularly shameful & very poorly handled chapter of the history of the british empire, following a century of exploitation & abuse, which resulted in a lot of bloodshed & death, & ongoing tensions even now.  it’s also generally ignored aspect of british history.  also ignored are the indian soldiers - indeed, the soldiers from across the commonwealth - who fought in the world wars.  this episode also deals with the forgotten, unacknowledged dead.

kerblam! is definitely about exploitation.  it indirectly deals with the exploitation of workers - on a meta level, i find it almost funny that they don’t dare call amazon out more directly - with things like the tracking anklets, the invasive monitoring of employees, the rebukes for even interacting with coworkers while on the clock.  & the system is explicitly being exploited by charlie, being used to harm people & intended to be the scapegoat for his actions.

the next episode has a strong theme of exploitation is the battle of ranskoor av kolos.  the ux are very blatantly being exploited - the younger, a black man, is physically trapped & used to create things for the benefit of t’zim-sha, while the elder, a white woman, is psychologically trapped by having her faith used against her.  interestingly, she also is made complicit in keeping the younger enslaved.  the ultimate goal of their labour?  reducing entire planets to objects that can sit on t’zim-sha’s metaphorical mantlepiece.

the exploitation in spyfall is about calling out tech corporations which treat people as products, harvesting data & selling it on.  or, in this case, use it to erase dna - destroy that which makes a person what they are.  that theme of erasure carries through to the doctor removing noor & ada’s memories; memories are a significant part of what makes a person who they are, & removing them is erasing a part of that person.

orphan 55 is a grim projection of the end result of exploiting the earth - explicitly attributing the bulk of the blame to the wealthiest & most privileged - even as kane refuses to stop trying to get something out of an already dead planet.  there’s also the appropriation of land which is already inhabited by the dregs, & yes, i’m still sulking about how the doctor had nothing to say about how kane was by some standards an invader & a colonizer - worse, the descendent of someone who abandoned the land, now trying to reclaim it from those who had no choice to remain behind.

next we have nikola tesla’s night of terror, which is a condemnation of both capitalism & empire!  edison exploits his employees & denies them credit for their work, taking all the acclaim for himself instead; tesla, despite his brilliance, is largely forgotten by history.  it’s interesting that the doctor makes a point of saying that the erasure of his contributions doesn’t make them or him any less valuable in long run - it is what you do, not what is remembered, that truly matters.  the skithra, meanwhile, are another empire, very strongly paralleled with edison, who try to exploit tesla’s brilliance - the tesla, i remind you, who is explicitly compared with the doctor - try to use him to further their own power.

praxeus is a more subtle & insidious sort of exploitation, using earth as a petri dish in order to solve another planet’s problems.  they also use adam lang as a test subject, keeping him in a lab & injecting something foreign into his body; rather the opposite of what happened to the timeless child.  suki’s actions, interestingly, are said to be born of fear & desperation - she says that her species are all but wiped out.  the shobogans, in the timeless child, are said to be very few in number; perhaps a future storyline for tecteun will feature similar motivations.

the next episode is also about exploitation.  the villains of can you hear me play at destroying entire worlds for their own amusement, they literally harvest nightmares, & they use the doctor to free rakaya - by convincing her that rakaya is something other than what she is, that’s she a prisoner & a victim.  the doctor always does take the side of the victims.

& finally we get the cybermen.  this isn’t an origin story for the cybermen, which is the most common type we get on the show; this is the cyber empire, which is set on eradicating the human race, sometimes hunting them down just to kill them, sometimes using their bodies for parts, literally erasing their emotions - their humanity - & turning them into obedient machines.  however unusual ashad may be, these concepts are impossible to divorce from any cyberman story.  which makes them the perfect lead-in to the timeless child reveal - the exploitation of a child’s body, with no care for them as a person, being the foundation of an empire.  which probably also makes the master’s cyberlord scheme a particularly satisfying just desserts, in his mind.

& of course, throughout both seasons, we have the doctor’s past as a constant theme - in the first episode she has no memory of who she is, but is nevertheless completely herself; she subsequently continues to erase her past, in a way, by refusing to discuss or even acknowledge it in s11; she never tells her companions the full story in s12; fugitive of the judoon, of course, has her running into a former version of herself she has no memory or knowledge of; all culminating in the discovery that she has aeons worth of lives that have been erased, not just from herself, but from the matrix as well.

also, i know i can’t shut up about ireland, but i reiterate that every empire in doctor who is some shade of the british empire, so i find it really very interesting that the hidden truth of the doctor’s life, disguised as the brendan metaphor, was set in ireland.  & he was working for the police.  Very Interesting Indeed.

[spacecrone]

Sorry, Cassandra.

So, it's definite then

It's written in the stars, darlings

Everything must come to an end - Susanne Sundfør

I first learned about the climate crisis in 2008, as an undergrad at Hunter College, in a class called The History and Science of Climate Change. For the next decade I would struggle with how to process and act on the scientific paradigm shift climate change required: that human activity could disrupt the climate system and create a planetary ecosystem shift making Earth uninhabitable to human life. I became a climate justice activist and attempted to work directly on The Problem which was actually, as philosopher Timothy Morton writes, a hyperobject, something so systemic and enormous in size and scope as to be almost unintelligible to human awareness. I’ve cycled through probably every single response a person could have to this knowledge, despair, ecstasy, rage, hope. I’ve landed somewhere close to what I might call engaged bewilderment. For me, his particular locale has a soundtrack, and it’s Susanne Sundfør’s cinematic dance dystopia Ten Love Songs, an album that tells a story of love and loss in the Anthropocene. Sundfør is a sonic death doula for the Neoliberal project, with a uniquely Scandinavian version of bleak optimism. To truly grapple with this time of escalating transition, we need to really face what is, not what we hope or fear will be, but what is actually happening. A throbbing beat with shimmering synths around which to orient your dancing mortal envelope can’t hurt.

Susanne Sundfør’s Ten Love Songs was released a few days after Valentine’s Day in February of 2015, six months after I had been organizing Buddhists and meditators for the Peoples Climate March.  I was already a fan, having first heard her voice as part of her collaboration with dreamy synth-pop outfit m83 on the Oblivion soundtrack. Oblivion was visually striking but felt like a long music video. The soaring synths and Sundfør’s powerful voice drove the plot more than the acting, though I loved how Andrea Riseborough played the tragic character Vika, whose story could have been more central to the plot but was sidelined for a traditional Tom Cruise romantic centerpiece. But since the movie was almost proud of its style over investment in substance, the music stood out. The soundscapes were as expansive as the green-screened vistas of 2077  in the movie. It was just nostalgic enough while also feeling totally new, a paradox encapsulated in the name of m83’s similarly wistful and sweeping Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming.  I am not exempt from taking comfort in style that signifies a previous era, and I am also not alone in it. It’s a huge industry, and while the MAGA-style yearning for a previous era is one manifestation, maybe there are ways to acknowledge culture as cyclical in a way that doesn’t sacrifice traditional knowledge to some imagined myth of perpetual progress.

When Ten Love Songs came out the following year, I listened to it on repeat for days.  Sundfør seemed to have absorbed the music-driven sci-fi into a concept album, with m83 providing her with a whole new panopoly of sounds at her disposal. Like Oblivion,  Ten Love Songs told the story of a future dystopia with high speed chases, nihilistic pleasure-seeking and operatic decadence against a backdrop of technocratic inequality. It mixed electro-pop with chamber music and I listened to it on a Greyhound ride to Atlantic City in the middle of snowy February. I hadn’t felt like this since high school, that a full album was a sort of soundtrack to my own life, which I could experience as cinematic in some way while the music was playing. This situated me in my own story, of studying climate change as an undergrad and graduating into a financial collapse, working as a personal assistant to an author writing about ecological collapse and ritual use of psychedelics, to joining a Buddhist community and organizing spiritual activists around climate justice. 

Ten Love Songs is a breakup album, with lyrics telling of endings and running out of time. But it didn’t read to me as an album about a single human romantic relationship coming to an end. It felt like a series of vignettes about the planet and its ecosphere breaking up with us, all of us. People. Some songs like Accelerate, one of the album’s singles, throb in an anthem to nihilistic numbness and speeding up into a catastrophe that feels inevitable. Fade Away is a bit lighter, tonally and lyrically, (and if you listen, please note the exquisitely perfect placement of what sounds like a toaster “ding!”), but is still about fading away, falling apart. The way the songs seem to drive a narrative of anthropocenic collapse built on science fiction film scores, the combination of orchestra and techno-pop, absolutely draws on Sundfør’s experience collaborating with m83 for the Oblivion soundtrack, which itself combined Anthony Gonzalez’s love for the adult-scripted teen dramas of his own 80’s adolescence. In Ten Love Songs, Sundfør takes what she learned from this collaboration and scores not a movie but a life experience of living through ecological collapse and all of the heartbreak and desire that erupts in a time when everything seems so close to the knife’s edge.

I am reminded of another Scandinavian dance album that was extremely danceable yet harbored within it a sense of foreboding. The Visitors, ABBA’s eighth studio album, was considered their venture into more mature and complex music. The two couples who comprised the band had divorced the year before it was released, and the entire atmosphere of the album is paranoid, gloomy, and tense. The cover shows the four musicians, on opposite sides of a dark room, ignoring each other. Each song is melancholy and strange in its own way, unique for a pop ensemble like Abba. One song in particular showcases their ability to use an archetype of narrative tragedy and prophesy to tell the story of regret. Cassandra is sung from the perspective of those who didn’t heed the woman cursed by Zeus to foretell the future but never be believed. 

I have always considered myself a pretty big Abba fan, something my high school choir instructor thought was riotously funny. I was born in the 80’s and nobody in my family liked disco, so I seemed like something of an anachronism. But pop music, especially synth-oriented pop, has always felt like a brain massage to me. It could get my inner motor moving when I felt utterly collapsed in resignation to the scary chaos of my early life. But I only discovered the song Cassandra in 2017, while giving The Visitors a full listen. It felt like I had never heard the song before, though, as a fan I must have. But something about 2015 made the song stand out more. It starts with piano, soft tambourine, and the ambient sound of a harbor. It has a coastal Mediterranean vibe, as some Abba songs do, foreshadowing Cassandra’s removal from her home city, an event she foretold but could not get anyone to believe. It’s a farewell song of regret, echoing the regret the members of Abba felt about their own breakups. 

We feel so full of promise at the dawn of a new relationship. Only after the split can we look back and say we saw the fissures in the bond. The signs were there. Why did we ignore them? This happens on an individual level but the Cassandra paradox is an archetype that climate scientists and journalists are very familiar with. This particular Abba song, and the Visitors album overall, uses this archetype to tell the story of a breakup in retrospect. With climate change, the warnings have been there, even before science discovered the rising carbon in the atmosphere. Indigenous peoples have been warning of ecological collapse since colonization began. Because of white supremacy and an unwavering belief in “progress,” perpetual economic and technological development and growth, warnings from any source but especially marginalized sources have been noise to those who benefit from that perpetual growth model and from white supremacy itself. Is there a way to undo the Cassandra curse and render warnings signal BEFORE some major event turns us all into the chorus from Abba’s song, singing “some of us wanted- but none of us could--  listen to words of warning?” Composer Pauline Oliveros called listening a radical act. It is especially so when we listen actively to the sounds and signals of those we would otherwise overlook.

When I look back at my life in the time that Sundfør’s Ten Love Songs and m83’s movie music seems nostalgic for, the late 1980’s in New Jersey,  I was a child with deeply dissociative and escapist tendencies, which helped me survive unresolved grief, loss, and chaos. I recognize my love for Abba’s hypnotic synth music as a surrendering to the precise and driving rhythm of an all-encompassing sound experience. I also see how my early life prepared me to be sensitized to the story climate science was telling when I finally discovered it in 2008. I had already grown up with Save the Whales assemblies and poster-making contests, with a heavy emphasis on cutting six-pack rings so that sea life would not be strangled to death. I knew what it was like to see something terrible happening all around you and to feel powerless to stop it, because of the way my parents seemed incapable of and unsupported in their acting out their own traumatic dysregulation. Wounds, unable to heal, sucking other people into the abyss. I escaped through reading science fiction, listening to music like Abba and Aphex Twin loud enough to rattle my bones. I wanted to overwhelm my own dysregulated nervous system. I dreamed of solitude on other planets, sweeping grey vistas, being the  protagonist of my own story where nothing ever hurt because ice ran through my veins and the fjords around me. My home planet was dying, and nobody could hear those of us screaming into the wind about it.

Ten Love Songs woke up that lost cosmic child who had banished herself to another solar system. Songs of decadence, songs of endings, songs of loss. Though that album was not overtly about climate change, Sundfør did talk about ecological collapse in interviews for her radically different follow-up album Music For People In Trouble. After the success of Ten Love Songs, Sundfør chose to travel to places that she said “might not be around much longer” in order to chronicle the loss of the biosphere for her new album. It is more expressly and urgently about the current global political moment, but the seeds for those themes were present and in my opinion much more potent in the poppier album. But maybe that’s the escapist in me.

The old forms that brought us to this point are in need of end-of-life care. Capitalism, white supremacy, patriarchal theocratic nationalism, neoliberalism, they all need death doulas. Escapism makes sense in response to traumatic stimulus, and for many of us it may have helped us survive difficult circumstances. But if we are to face what it means to be alive on this planet at this moment, we might be here to be present to and help facilitate and ease the process of putting these systems to rest. And maybe this work is not at odds with a dance party. The ability to be visionary about shared alternatives to these dying systems is not inherently escapist, when we are willing to take the steps together to live into those new stories. What would happen if cursed Cassandras, instead of pleading with existing power structures to heed warnings that sound like noise to them, turned to each other to restore the civic body through listening, through bearing witness to each others unacknowledged and thwarted grief over losses unacknowledged by those same systems of coercive power?

Engaged bewilderment means my version of hope, informed by Rebecca Solnit’s work on the topic, comes from the acceptance that things will happen that I could never have imagined possible. Climate change is happening and there are certain scientific certainties built into that trajectory. Some of it is written in the stars. But as with any dynamic system change, we do not know exactly how it will all shake out. These unknowns can be sources of fear and despair, but there is also the possibility for agency, choice and experimentation. The trajectory of my individual life was always going to end in death. Does that make it a failure? Or does it render each choice and engagement of movement towards the unknown an ecstatic act? As the old forms collapse, no need to apologize to the oracles. At this point they are dancing, and hope you’ll join.

[purplesurveys]

1047

What’s the most historic thing that has happened in your lifetime? I can think of a few things. There’s 9/11 though I was barely conscious then, Osama Bin Laden’s death, the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, 2011 Japan earthquake, and the H1N1 and Covid pandemics. In my country, there were typhoons Ondoy and Yolanda, the Manila hostage crisis, and the Hello Garci election corruption scandal. Out of these, though, I’d say the heaviest ones to bear have been 9/11 and Covid.

What happens in your country regularly that people in most countries would find strange or bizarre?

We use a spoon and fork to eat and only really fancy shmancy restaurants give you a knife and a fork. Many eat with their hands as well, though this is way more common in provinces.

Everyone is late to everything and punctuality isn’t a thing, which is a big culture pet peeve of mine and I still like arriving early/on time anywhere.

This applies to Asia in general lmao, but shoes typically aren’t allowed or at least frowned upon if they go beyond the main entrance of houses.

We start Christmas as early as September, and we end it by the last week of January

When families get together, aunts/uncles will usually greet their nieces/nephews by asking if they already have a boy/girlfriend and/or telling them that they got fat. Horror relatives will greet you with both.

People generally like to keep to themselves, so striking a friendly conversation with strangers even if you have the pure, genuine intention to be simply friendly will just lead them to think you’re being a creep lol

What has been blown way out of proportion? The effects of video games and the question of it increasing violence among kids. Sure there’ve been gruesome accounts and no one’s invalidating those, but the overwhelmingly vast amount of people who play video games end up okay. I had so many killing binges on GTA but to this day I can’t even look at a real gun without shuddering, lol. When was a time you acted nonchalant but were going crazy inside? This is me every morning at work. 9 AM-11 AM is always the busiest period and it’s a lot of shit happening at the same time and a lot of morning deadlines to meet, but unlike college I can’t exactly call for a timeout whenever I want and have panic attacks anymore.

What’s about to get much better? I hope my fucking life is next in line. I’m tired of being tired of being tired.

What are some clever examples of misdirection you’ve seen? Probably all the times WWE would mislead viewers on a rumored return or debut of a big name by saying they’re in another city, implying that there’s no way they’d be appearing on a WWE show. This happened with Ronda Rousey and it was so fucking exciting when she finally showed up, haha.

What’s your funniest story involving a car? I don’t know, really...I don’t try to be funny when I’m on the wheel lol. Probably the time I let Angela use my car on campus, and when she needed to make a u-turn she ended up doing an awkward 90º turn and had an SUV nearly crash towards us. She had only driven a handful of times at that point so she was a little clumsy, but neither of us had any idea she’d fuck up a simple u-turn as badly as she ended up doing lmao.

What would be the click-bait titles of some popular movies? I can think of more clickbait posters than titles, but I can’t seem to remember what those films are called right now.

If you built a themed hotel, what would the theme be and what would the rooms look like? Themed hotels generally make me cringe. The most theme-y place we ever stayed at was the lodge in Sagada and it was really just more homey than anything. I’m not into themes when it comes to hotels as I find it a little cheap lol and I’ve always preferred a straightforward experience in the places I stay at for vacations.

What scientific discovery would change the course of humanity overnight if it was discovered? A way to live forever. < This is a good one. Also, maybe a huge asteroid or meteor bound to hit the planet that will make widespread extinction a certainty? I can’t even begin to imagine the panic that will rise from something like that.

Do you think that humans will ever be able to live together in harmony? I doubt it. It sounds difficult especially when you realize we’re 7 billion in total.

What would your perfect bar look like? As long as there aren’t any annoying younger college kids, who are almost always the loudest crowd and not in a good way, I’m okay with any kind of bar.

What’s the scariest non-horror movie? Some shots in 2001: A Space Odyssey are freaky as fuck. There were several scenes that included sudden HAL shots, and I did not enjoy those. How the fuck Kubrick managed to make a computer scary is beyond me. I’ve also always skipped the vortex scene with the creepy face shots after seeing it once.

What’s the most amazing true story you’ve heard? This is a really vague question... a few months ago I watched this video diary of parents who had a child born at like 25 weeks. Just way too early, basically. And they recorded the kid’s weekly progress, how she kept fighting, and her journey of being transported from one machine to another while she still needed them. It was beautiful to see her get bigger and plumper with each week that passed and it was just such a feel-good story to watch. I was so relieved when they showed footage of her as a normal, healthy toddler by the end of the clip.

What’s the grossest food that you just can’t get enough of? I know balut is pretty unpopular in the Western part of the world, but I’ll gladly eat a dozen of them in one sitting. In general Asian street food is usually considered gross - pig intestines, chicken intestines, chicken feet, pig ears, etc., but all are normal in the culture I was raised in.

What brand are you most loyal to? It’s annoying and I can’t help it, but Apple.

What’s the most awkward thing that happens to you on a regular basis? I try not to make it regular, but sometimes a mistake on my end will slip through in an email I’m sending and I have to send another email correcting myself and apologizing for the oversight. One of my least favorite parts about work.

If you had to disappear and start a whole new life, what would you want your new life to look like? I’m not wishing for much. I just wish it was easier to remove any trace of me on social media sites and have it be as if I never existed because I think that would make it easier for me to move on from...well, you know what. I still have trouble verbalizing it and I don’t feel like mentioning it tonight.

But idk, I like staying connected to my family and friends, so idk if I can ever achieve that. And that said, I think I’m bound to always keep seeing her around.

What movie or book do you know the most quotes from? I memorize a pathetic amount of dialogue from Love Actually, Twilight, Titanic, and The Proposal.  What was one of the most interesting concerts you’ve been to? I guess Coldplay? They gave assigned lightsticks for each section and the crowd looked amazing when the production crew activated the lights for certain songs. I still have some of the clips because I posted them on Snapchat, so I’m really glad I did that; otherwise I would’ve lost the videos forever.

Where are you not welcome anymore? I’ve felt pretty unwelcome around her. How she could do a 180 and just not be interested in having anything to do with me is really soul-crushing.

What do you think could be done to improve the media? Fact fucking check, please. Also keeping sources balanced, avoiding clickbait headlines, being more objective than neutral, and don’t fucking sensationalize. How timely that this landed on a journalism graduate, hahaha.

What’s the most recent show you’ve binge watched? Start Up but I haven’t continued in the last two weeks :/ I think it’s because I know I’m nearing the finale and I subconsciously just don’t want to run out of Start Up episodes to watch lol but yeah, I still have four episodes left and I have no clue when I’ll watch it again.

What’s a common experience for many people that you’ve never experienced? Being close with their mom and considering them as their rock.

What are some misconceptions about your hobby? I don’t know enough about embroidery to know misconceptions about it.

What did you Google last? 2001: A Space Odyssey because I needed to be sure of the scenes I planned on citing in the question above that made me mention the movie.

What’s the dumbest thing someone has argued with you about? Not being able to find a restaurant to eat at. The backstory is a little complicated but it’s the same fight that led my younger brother to slap me across the face, and what subsequently led me to stop speaking to him.

If money and practicality weren’t a problem, what would be the most interesting way to get around town? Probably a tank.

What’s the longest rabbit hole you’ve been down? It’s always the ones on Wikipedia lol. I find weird and interesting articles on there all the time; there’s always something new to read.

What odd smell do you really enjoy? The rain, though sometimes it can be too overpowering when the humidity has been high. I like it for the most part, though.

What fashion trend makes you cringe or laugh every time you see it? Streetwear is so fucking dull to me. I never saw the appeal.

What’s your best story of you or someone else trying to be sneaky and failing miserably? Hahahaha this happened just a few weeks ago actually. My parents and I were headed out to have some ramen, and I opened the car door to hop onto the backseat. They didn’t prepare beforehand and they left the Christmas gift I asked for - a corkboard - in the backseat, so I was able to see the whole thing, unwrapped and with price tag and all. Their mortified faces knowing that their secret’s been blown were hilarious. They had no choice but to just give it up, and the corkboard has been on my wall since.

If you had a HUD that showed three stats about any person you looked at, what three stats would you want it to show? I guess the stability of our relationship, their general mood for the day, and erm how badly they need a hug because I’m always willing to give some.

What’s the best way you or someone you know has gotten out of a ticket / trouble with the law? My mom fake-cries her way out and it’s always been hilarious to see a grown ass woman do it and pull it off every time.

Tear gas makes people cry and laughing gas makes people giggle, what other kinds of gases do you wish existed? I don’t really want to manipulate people’s action in this way, so pass.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 8

Interlude: David

“Talk to Nightingale,” Peter had said. Of course David was going to converse with Thomas, frequently and on all manner of subjects. The matter of the missing crystal ball, however... well, it couldn’t hurt for David to ask around in his spare time, and catch up with Thomas on the matter at his leisure. Perhaps when he already had something to show for his efforts. Oh, Thomas would be delighted. Certainly, he was going to try to hide it and insist on him following the rules and not interfering with investigations in the future, but beneath that, he’d be glad to have this task taken care of. Then he’d see that David could still make a valuable contribution to the modern Folly.

So, inferring that Peter didn’t want to be bothered looking for that crystal ball, David ventured out (with what he dearly hoped was Peter’s covert permission) to see if some of his old contacts from the demi-monde were still around. Certainly, he expected to find the demi-monde as much changed as everything else, but some people stuck around for a seemingly indefinite amount of time.

Oberon had apparently wed one of the new river daughters, acquired some children with her and was now hosting something called ‘art therapy’. Well, David had always loved to draw. He accepted the offer of an easel, canvas and paint and got to work.

“And I may choose what I draw?” he asked.

“Of course,” Oberon told him. “The aim of this procedure is for you to confront upon the canvas whatever you feel you must.”

David nodded.

Oberon’s place was spacious in a way that was not to David’s taste, but he claimed the minimalism was conductive to his creative process. There was coffee on for him - sweet and almost white with milk, the way he preferred it - and a plate of snacks (no obligation). The food was kosher, Oberon informed him. David hadn’t often been in a position to keep kosher (it had been unheard of at the old Folly, at Casterbrook everyone had received the same boarding school lunches, and during the war you ate what you could get) and thus couldn’t claim he had been afforded even the opportunity to miss it, but it was a nice touch.

“This looks as though you knew I would return here,” he said.

“I suspected it,” Oberon said smoothly. “Your return has made little waves already, and I assume it will only make larger ones.” Apparently the orisa Peter was involved with was a sister to Oberon’s wife, and thence the news had travelled.

“Are you glad to have me back, old friend?” David asked softly. He kept his eyes fixed on the canvas, where his sketch was coming along. It would be a simplistic little thing, compared to his usual work: his hand was quite out of practice after six years of handling his staff and rifle with nary any time for anything else.

He had kept a notebook tucked into his breast pocket, where some of the other men had carried bibles, quite worn by the end of the war. Beyond drafts for new spells, notes on troop movements and strategy, and idle thoughts of his scientific work that he had let his mind drift to during the lulls, there had been little sketches there, and snippets of poems. He had drawn most of the men in his unit at some point. His poems had been dilettantish, and they had shifted focus with the time: what had started out as paeans to sweet Phoebus Apollo, the boyish god of the eyes of sun, had turned, later, to the warlike deities. He had read one aloud once, one he’d deemed sufficiently disguised, and the lads had teased him for weeks about what a harridan of a girl he must have at home, that she must compare to Athena of strategy, while their Captain had watched on with a lopsided smile.

(”What happened to Apollo?” Thomas had asked later, when they’d been alone, the only ones awake during the first watch of the night.

“The war changed him,” David had replied.)

(He’d never shown Thomas the poems to Thanatos, the angel of death.)

“I am glad you ceased the abandonment of your post,” Oberon said. “I am glad you stopped hiding.”

“It was rather chosen for me,” David argued. “The abandonment as well as the return.”

Oberon gracefully nodded his assent. He was always rather graceful in his movement. David liked to look at him, had always rather. All the controlled strength to him, the fluid, natural elegance of him. Masculinity misted off him like a golden vapour. Perhaps he should ask... but no. A wife, children: potent obstacles to that sort of thing.

For some reason, he had to think of Peter for a second. He shrugged it off. If Thomas truly hadn’t figured that one out yet, well, what on earth was David to do? Perhaps it was best to let the young man be, and look for suitable candidates for some... little adventures later. Or perhaps he was being overly optimistic, seeing as Thomas still barely gave him the time of day.

“And what is it you seek here now?” Oberon asked. “Hopefully not to disappear again? Because I am unsure of whether I would lend my hand a second time.”

David shook his head. He had wanted to disappear so badly, then. Oberon had taken pity and helped him find someone who might assist in that, who would create for him a replica of a dead body - his dead body. Now, funny enough, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

“No more running,” David said. “I am assisting the Folly in an inquiry.”

“What is your capacity within the Folly now?” Oberon asked. “I hear tell from my wife that certain elements will want to know, and soon.”

David didn’t know what certain elements meant, nor the answer to the question. “It is yet to be determined,” he said. “The Folly are looking for a dangerous magical object, that might have recently been sold to someone unaware. I don’t know my way around the demi-monde as well as I used to, my friend. With whom would I begin a search for such an object?”

Under David’s hands, the canvas began filling up with landscape. Not so simplistic after all, apparently. He couldn’t recall consciously deciding what to draw, but now he had already started, and it was going to take itself to some sort of conclusion. He had drawn the snow, the overcast sky, now for the leafless trees. He added the dark trunks, tall and imposing, and a clearing in the middle.

“I will outfit you with a list of names, and places to start,” Oberon said. “The goblin market has changed little since you last visited. The faces differ, but the customs remain.”

“That is heartening,” David replied. Satisfied with the look of his painted landscape, he started populating it. The dark shapes, so still in the snow, pitiful heaps of humanity, sunken now, vacated of their souls. A corpse, a carcass, where was the difference? The werewolf, writhing in the snow. Beaten but not yet knowing it.

“Mind where you step, though,” Oberon said. “The relationship of the demi-monde to the Isaacs has hardly grown any more cordial.”

David looked up from the canvas. “What happened?” he asked.

Oberon shrugged. His tight shirt left little to the imagination, and David watched the ripple of his muscles below the fabric with appreciation. “The Starling is working on doing things a new way, reaching out, establishing relations between the community and the Folly, but the Starling is... a recent phenomenon.”

“Pardon me. The... who now?”

“Peter Grant. Nightingale’s Starling. Some interesting ideas, that one.”

Peter Grant. David hummed thoughtfully. Peter was turning out to be a more interesting person by the day. New ideas. Peculiar methods. A man after David’s own heart, it seemed, and handsome too. And... Nightingale’s Starling, really? Then he remembered the actual topic of conversation, and mentally walked himself a few steps back.

“What does Thomas say to that?” he asked.

“Not much.” Oberon rolled his shoulders. He was doing it on purpose, David was sure. “The Nightingale keeps to himself.”

There was something odd to that statement. David picked up a smaller brush, to finish off the contours of the werewolf in its death throes. “Hm? Strange. Thomas was always the social butterfly.”

Oberon gave him an expression somewhere between amusement and incredulity, which to David was entirely weird. “Is that so?”

“I can’t imagine Thomas never popped ‘round to mingle. Sure, he wouldn’t have before the war. But he is technically fae now, and it does seem like the kind of thing he’d do, barring any other society... no offense meant.”

Oberon shook his head. “The Nightingale can barely show his face in any demi-monde pubs without half the clientele fleeing through the back door. His arrival heralds emergency, and most likely combat. Nothing else. He’s not... widely trusted by anyone in my circles.”

“I don’t understand,” David said. His hand holding the paintbrush sped up a little. The outline of the soldier, the only one upright, bent over the werewolf, got a little messy, so he corrected himself. He had not forgotten this moment, even after there had started to be many like it. The bayonet affixed to the rifle, pointed forward and downward, soon to arch for the werewolf’s throat. The staff, too, strapped to his belt. And then, out of some inexplicable impulse, David gave him wings.

These were not the serene, down-feathered wings often featured in depictions of biblical angels. These wings were breaking out of the man’s shoulders in a way that should not be, wrong and painful and bloody and raw. At last, David took another paintbrush, dipped its stiff bristles into the scarlet paint and flicked it with his index finger against the canvas. A fine red mist.

“Are you finished?” Oberon asked.

David nodded.

“Well, let’s see your offering for today.” Oberon crossed the room to stand behind David, scrutinizing the painting.

“This is a scene that you witnessed?” he asked.

“Well, the wings are an embellishment,” David said, “but otherwise, yes.”

“Is this figure supposed to be you?”

“I don’t have wings.” David shook his head.

Oberon crossed his arms. He chortled. “Oh, but you do. False wings, of wax, and the foolish hope to boot.”

“I’m Icarus,” David surmised, “my hubris caused me to fly too close to the sun and I plummeted. Very on the nose, my friend.”

“Oh, not at all. You’re Daedalus. You made these wings, you gave them to him, and you are watching all you ever loved take a nosedive off a cliff, and you’re asking yourself what you have done.”

There wasn’t much David could say to that. He wondered where Oberon had received that information. He wondered how Oberon knew what he had done.

Oberon cocked his head and gestured again at the painting. “This is the Nightingale, then.”

“I do wish everyone would stop calling him that,” David said. “The Nightingale is a construct that served to maintain troop morale. I am told that over seventy years passed since then.”

“A blink of an eye to some of us,” Oberon stated. Of course, David thought, he was much older. But that wasn’t the point.

“The point is,” he said, “I want to know what happened. I want to know how almost eight decades went by and this...” He gestured at the painting. “...is still the reality.”

“Maybe,” Oberon said, “I am not the person to ask this question.”

----

It really was a nuisance, David reflected, to be without his own vehicle. In town, it would do, but not outside of it, and as far as he remembered, his new destination was quite a drive out. He had only been once or twice, but he was certain that, outfitted with the navigation device on his new phone, if he figured it out correctly, he might get there without much trouble. But the problem of the car remained.

Well, Thomas and himself had had an agreement, back in the day, to share everything they owned between them. What’s mine is also yours, it had run. They never reneged on that agreement, and David figured this was important enough to infringe upon Thomas’s Jaguar again. At least this time around, Peter couldn’t possibly get caught in the crossfire.

As he was leaving London, he switched the radio on. Modern music was something he hadn’t gotten around to discovering yet, but he expected it to be as changed from what he remembered as everything in this new age. What he got was a mellow-voiced man singing (he would only later learn that the song was about as old as the car he was driving),

Try to see it my way Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on? While you see it your way Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone We can work it out We can work it out

While the lyrics were a little bit somber at times, the melody was upbeat and had David humming and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It was repetitive and by the second iteration of the chorus he was singing along. His singing voice wasn’t anything to write home about, not at all like that of Thomas, but it raised his mood a few notches and that, he supposed, was rather nice to have.

The melody stuck, and still coursed through his mind when, hours later, he arrived at that strange little tower. He got out of the car and stretched his stiff limbs expansively before walking up and ringing the doorbell.

The door was opened by... oh boy!

The door was opened by, there was no other word for it, a fuzzy young woman. Owing to the rather warm weather, she was in shorts and a black-and-gold top of some sort that, David observed, cut off an inch or so above her navel. It was very plain to see, because of this, that the whole of her was covered in a fine golden fuzz, like... like the fur of a bee, if the hairs on a bee were indeed called that. A single tendril of a glamour beckoned, almost probing, testing the waters out of routine rather than genuine interest, telling of the taste of honey and the steady buzz of the swarm and a... fuzzy embrace. As per usual with fae of the female persuasion, this left David largely unaffected.

“Yeah?” the young woman asked.

“I am looking for Hugh Oswald,” David said. “Does he still live here?”

“Sure, grandad still lives here,” the young woman replied. “Why, what do you want from him?”

Grandad. Indeed, David thought. Hugh always did ensure us rather too profusely that he was interested in beekeeping a normal amount.

“I’m come from the Folly,” he said.

“Oh,” Hugh’s granddaughter said. “They have another guy now?”

“They’ve had me for a while, in fact. Long story.” For once picking up on his opposite’s reluctance, David said, “He will want to see me. I know him quite well, we served together.”

The young woman - just now it occurred to David that he hadn’t asked her name, was it awkward doing it now? - cocked her head in a deeply sceptical way. “But you’re not the Nightingale.”

So she too knew that moniker. The Nightingale. David felt anger bubbling up within him. He took a deep breath to contain it. “No. But he is why I’m here.”

“I don’t know about this,” Hugh’s granddaughter said. “I don’t want to stress him out.”

“He will very much want to see me,” David insisted.

“I’ll go ask him if he’s up for it,” the young woman said, and slammed the door in David’s face.

David waited a minute that felt approximately like a thousand minutes, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet with pent-up energy, picking at his collar as always when he was agitated. He’d never known why very little other people tended to have these little nervous habits, but to him they seemed natural as breathing. One plucked at one’s clothes when one was nervous, and one flapped one’s hands at about chest-height when one was in extreme happiness. That was how feelings were appropriately expressed. Curtailing these expressions could feel grating to the point of extreme discomfort, so he had never put much effort in trying, even when people stared sometimes.

The door opened again, revealing the bee... woman. “He says you can come up.”

David nodded. “Splendid.” She waved him to come in, and in he went. Not much had changed from his vague recollection of Hugh’s weird tower. Some furniture had been replaced or positioned differently since, but it was still much the same place.

“Out back,” Hugh’s granddaughter waved a hand in the direction of the staircase. “He’s in the garden.”

“I know my way,” David said, and yet still she followed one step behind him. Should he ask her name now? He did not.

They stepped out into the garden and David registered the omnipresent buzz of the swarm, the many bee-friendly flower arrangements and fruit trees before he registered the old man in the wheelchair. “Hugh Oswald,” he said, “We’ve much to discuss.”

The old man made a startled sound and recoiled so violently he almost toppled his chair over. David winced in sympathy and started towards him hands raised, not sure what to do to help but needing to do something, but Hugh’s granddaughter beat him to it. She rushed to her grandfather’s side and steadied him, stroking his back soothingly, then turned her head to throw David a look of pure venom. For a moment, he felt a prickle down his arms, like the painful little stings of a myriad bees.

“See,” she exclaimed, “this is why I didn’t want to let you in here, moron!”

“Mellissa...” Hugh Oswald gasped. His voice sounded as frail as he looked, god, he looked wizened, he looked like he’d disintegrate into dust at a careful touch, this couldn’t be, this wasn’t Hugh, Hugh was twenty and strong and full of the brimming vigour of youth, Hugh wasn’t old, couldn’t be old, and David was beginning to tremble- “Mellissa, you see him too?”

“What?” Hugh’s granddaughter snapped. (Mellissa, she was Mellissa, that was her name.) “Of course I see him. The idiot! I had no idea he was going to scare you!”

“But...” Hugh raised a shaking hand, pointing in David’s direction. He had trouble catching his breath, and his other, gnarled hand clawed into the armrest of his chair as he gasped. “David Mellenby is buried.”

“No, Hugh,” David said softly. Oh, he was still trembling, he felt like he should faint, but he couldn’t now. “No, I’m quite alive. Please, we can sit together and I can explain.”

“Nope,” Mellissa said. “You’re leaving. Right the fuck now, or I’ll have the hive on you.”

The bees seemed to buzz louder. David began to retreat.

“Wait,” Hugh Oswald said, sitting up a little straighter with a small amount of struggle. “Wait, Mellissa, let him stay. I want to hear...”

“Grandad, I don’t think you should...”

“If he’s really here and not dead, I want to know why,” Hugh Oswald said, his voice a tad firmer now.

Mellissa seemed extremely reluctant to agree to this, but she relented. “I’ll be close by.” She glared at David one last time as she went back inside the tower. “You pull any shit at all and I’ll see you chased out, Mr. Folly.”

David could do nothing but nod.

He picked up the spare chair and sat across from the old man. When he looked into his face, he could just about see, beneath the fine net of wrinkles and the wisp of thin, white hair, the boy Hugh Oswald he had known. It sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t realized...

He hadn’t realized until that moment what ‘eighty years’ really meant. At times, it felt like he had simply been transported into a kind of fairyland, a place where up was down, being... the way he was was legalized and celebrated with parades, but his lover was determined to never let him near again. A dimension of opposites. But Hugh, here, like this, showed him plainly that it was the same world, although having turned times upon times without his active participation. Hugh Oswald had grown old in his absence, so very old it seemed a miracle he was upright still. How many survivors of Ettersberg had died in those long interim years, simply from a too-long life? How had David not thought to ask?

“Yes,” Hugh said, “it’s not looking too well, is it?”

It took David a second to realize he meant himself. “You look fine,” he muttered, drawing patterns on the tablecloth.

Hugh Oswald made a wheezing sound. David grew worried, but then realized it was laughter. “Still a miserable liar.”

“I’m not...!” David started, but was there any use in denying anything now? Hugh looked frail, and that was obvious enough.

Hugh waved it off. “Do tell, old friend,” he said, and while he was trying very hard to put a calm face on it, the tremor was still present in his voice, “what brings you here, back from the grave? I found your body...” His voice caught, and splintered on the last word, and for an endlessly, agonizingly long moment, he fought to maintain his composure.

David felt like dirt. What had he done to the boy? How could you do this to Oswald, Thomas had asked him, a few days ago in that cave, and he had been right to ask.

“Never, in fact, in the grave.” In short, David summarized what had happened to him, his heedless flight into the countryside, the faerie he’d met, the long sleep. “I’m dearly sorry,” he said, something he seemed to be saying often these days, “of course I should’ve remembered that my sudden appearance would startle you. Only, I assumed Thomas had already told you I was back. You would’ve been the first to call, no?”

Hugh Oswald wheeze-laughed again. “Thomas? Hah! The Nightingale hasn’t spoken to me in over twenty years.”

David blinked.

David blinked again.

David blinked back to the year 1944, to Arnhem, Private Hugh Oswald’s first engagement. The boy had barely been of age. After the dust had settled, he had broken down weeping, and David had found him later cradled in Thomas’ arms, head resting on his shoulder, both hands clutching his Captain’s jacket, tears and snot leaving a growing stain on Thomas’ uniform. Thomas had shushed him, muttering that yes, he knew, yes, he understood. Oswald had become one of Thomas’ boys, a favorite, maybe. Thomas had always had a way of almost obessively mothering the youngest recruits. And David, of course, as Thomas’ lieutenant and partner (although no one would have known about that latter part, obviously) had, as a matter of course, shouldered his part of the weight.

They hadn’t talked for twenty years? Why? How?

“What happened?” he asked.

At this point, Mellissa came back out with a cup of tea which she placed in front of her grandfather, and nothing for David. David decided not to mind.

“What happened?” Oswald carefully took a miniscule sip of his tea, testing the temperature. “Time passed. I grew older. Thomas grew younger. It... pains him, I suppose, seeing me this way. It pains you right now.”

David waved it off. Yes, it... shocked him seeing Hugh like this. But that shock was his own thing to overcome. “People grow old. Surely Thomas is not so thin-skinned as to break contact with one of his closest friends over this alone.”

Oswald shrugged. “I don’t know what else it might have been. We used to meet fairly regularly up until the late sixties. I can’t recall exactly when, but he broke contact fairly shortly after the rejuvenation event. We didn’t see much of him after that.”

“Who else is still standing?” David inquired.

“Ah. Arkwright is still alive, Patterson, Simpkins, Gerald and Mercier - John, not Edwin, obviously. Giles the younger and Rooney, although he’s been having heart problems. Blaine and Gardiner. A few others. Thomas doesn’t talk to them, either.”

David began drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Have you fellas asked him why? Has he ever explained himself?” It seemed impossible that Thomas should, for any reason, leave his ducklings behind. A world of opposites, again.

Hugh Oswald looked out at his garden. “We weren’t going to make demands of him. He’s... he’s the Nightingale.”

The flat of David’s hand hit the table so hard it smarted. “No!”

Oswald winced. “Wh- what...?”

“Perhaps Thomas stopped talking to you because you insist on doing this!”

“Doing... what?” Oswald cocked his head, confused at David’s sudden ire. Oh, yes, they all tended to forget he could be angry. Had always tended to forget that. Lieutenant Mellenby had always been the soft, pale shadow attached to Captain Nightingale, until they’d learned that he had been made Lieutenant for a reason, that he held ferocity within him rivalling, and sometimes surpassing, that of Thomas.

“The Nightingale. You really kept that up all these years, hm? He is still going about his life like that, isn’t he! The war has been over for such a long time! How old are you now, Private Oswald, hm? You must be pushing a hundred. Did you lads have him carry you all on his shoulders for the entire duration? And then you did not even have the common civility to reach out and inquire whether he was struggling?”

Because Thomas was having troubles, as much was clear. David remembered the other night in the reading room in stark detail, remembered how something had been revealed to him there in its sudden vulnerability that he could not categorize.

“It was just his way. You don’t...” Oswald interrupted himself, but David could guess at the end of that sentence. You don’t ask the Nightingale whether he’s struggling. Goodness but he wanted to drop his head into his hands and stay like that for a while. Thomas had gotten that nickname when he’d joined the school choir. In this moment, David wanted very much to chuck a fireball at a few of Oswald’s pretty flower arrangements, and was almost thankful for the inhibitor cuffs.

“Well, you didn’t know him before the war like I did.” David sighed. And how indeed would Oswald know? He was much too young. “I see how it all changed him. And it’s not improved a bit, it seems, in all the years. He doesn’t seem to have one true friend in all the world. He secludes himself even from me, and I’m his lover.”

Oswald shifted in his seat. “You...?”

“You heard me right, his lover.” He didn’t originally come here to unload this on Hugh, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was allowed now, the law was on his side now, and there was nothing Hugh could do but sit and take it. “Do you understand me? We are as Orestes and Pylades, Achilles and Patroclus, we are as Wilde and Bosie Douglas, we are two Alan Turings. We are Friends of Mrs. King. We commit acts of buggery upon each other, and we do so extremely well. We-”

“I know what a gay man is, Davey, you can quiet down,” Hugh Oswald said with a tired wave of his hand. “Look, none of us knew this for certain about the two of you, but a fair few of us suspected. We thought it best not to pry at the time. What makes you tell me now?”

“I’m...” David rubbed his eyes. They stung a bit. “I’m telling you in part because I can, I suppose. And because I need to impart to you that Thomas is a man who bleeds red. He lost everything too, you know. He lost me, and that is my own shame to bear, but he would have needed a friend, and what he got appears to have been a gaggle of mouth-breathers chorusing ‘If the Nightingale can do it, so can I’. Yes, you lads needed something, too. But you went back here and lived out a life in peace, and Thomas has kept on fighting the war every second since. And you’re surprised he didn’t show at company reunions? You gave him notice of my ‘death’, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Oswald gripped the edge of the table with both hands, attempting perhaps to keep his calm. “He sort of nodded, and dismissed me from the hospital room. ‘Thanks for telling me’, he said, ‘Dismissed, Private’. And he did that blank face of his. And that was it, that was all of it.”

David ran his hands across his face. He couldn’t begin to imagine how they both had to have been hurting. I’m such a bloody idiot. “This is a mess,” he groaned. “This is a mess and I’m not equipped to fix it.”

“Well, well.” Oswald patted his hand. “You’re back now, isn’t that enough?”

“No,” David said. “It’s too little too late. I fear we all broke Thomas, and there’s no unbreaking him.”

----

Back at the Folly, David parked the Jag, snuck in through the back door and collapsed on a couch in the drawing room. He felt drained. Driving from Herefordshire had taken a while. It was late, darkness was beginning to fall, and he was tired.

He felt more than saw Molly enter. When he turned and beheld her, she was carrying a tray with tea and small sandwiches. The small dog they had here now was following on her heel, hoping to catch a bite. David noticed just then that he had missed lunch and dinner, and he was quite hungry.

He gave Molly a small smile. “Oh, are these for me?”

Molly nodded, and set the tray down on a coffee table. The Folly was full of these rooms, David thought idly, rooms of artfully arranged armchairs and little tables, rooms that nobody now used. What a waste, what a tremendous waste. He took a sandwich. The dog - his collar said Toby - immediately begged, and David bent down and stroked his fur. Good boy.

“I still don’t understand it, Molly,” he said. “I saw Oswald, but he gave me more questions than answers. Why were things permitted to get this way? Yes, Hugh is old now, and frail, but he had a life, in his way. He continued doing what he loved to do. He fucked a bee, somehow. Why was this not a possibility... here?”

Molly tilted her head to the side. The look in her eyes was... calculating, somehow. Do you want to know? she seemed to be asking. Can you bear the knowing?

“I want to know anything anyone can tell me,” David told her. This was his penance. And more, he couldn’t stay his natural curiosity. He had to empty this cup to the bitter dregs.

She took a step forward, reached out her hands, and suddenly was touching him. In all this time, she had never touched him--

He blinked his eyes, and a brief bout of blackness enveloped him, and he was suddenly elsewhere. He was in his own bedroom. How had that happened? It was night, not dusk. He quickly cycled through, and dismissed, half a dozen hypotheses. He had certainly not sleepwalked, and Molly certainly hadn’t carried him here. This felt too strange to be any of those. And the room was different, clothes and books and magazines lying about that he didn’t own anymore and hadn’t in a long time. What...?

There was someone in his bed.

When David went closer to investigate, it felt like he was floating rather than walking. It took him a few seconds to identify Thomas there in his bed (where he had every right to be) because so much was different. This was not Thomas of present days, except if he’d fallen very grievously ill very quickly while David had been away. He was gaunt and sickly pale, messy, unwashed strands of his hair hanging into his face, his jaw littered with chestnut-coloured scruff. He was fully dressed, down to his combat boots, and clutching to his chest a piece of fabric - a jumper, one of David’s own old favorites.

He waved a hand in front of Thomas’s eyes and got no reaction. Just a vacant, empty stare fixed at the ceiling.

The door was cracked open, slowly, carefully, and Molly entered. She was carrying an empty laundry basket under her arm.

Oh, this had to be a memory, David thought. A memory that Molly was now sharing with him. How fascinating. How did she do that? Had she always been able to do that?

Molly approached the bed and gestured with her free hand in the vague direction of it. No reaction came from Thomas. He seemed catatonic, wholly somewhere else, or maybe nowhere at all.

Molly hitched the laundry basket higher up her hip. Still no reaction.

She gestured again, perhaps a bit frustratedly. When there was still no movement in response to this, she bent down and carefully, with the very tips of her fingers, reached for the jumper in Thomas’ hands.

“No!”

Immediately, Thomas snapped to, curling protectively around the bit of fabric. One of his hands twitched and his shield came up, with the same intensity as on the battlefield, with a whoomph of raw energy that, as always, even just in this second-hand memory, felt like it made David’s teeth rattle.

Molly threw up a hand almost in exasperation, and gestured again at the bedsheets, the jumper - a cream-coloured one - then at her laundry basket.

“No... no. You can’t... can’t.” Thomas looked up at her out of wild, red-rimmed eyes. His voice sounded like he’d screamed it hoarse. David thought of his boyfriend as he’d met him, with that easy grin and the sun on his face, thought too of his revered Captain, sure as a rock in every crisis, a force of nature when unfettered on the battlefield. This iteration of Thomas looked feral.

“It smells like him,” Thomas muttered. “It does, still, a bit. Nothing else does anymore.”

Molly shook her head, enveloped by deep pity.

“Do you understand, nothing else... Molly...” He began rocking himself back and forth, cradling David’s jumper to his chest like a mother her baby, like a child a favorite doll. “Please don’t take... please, please don’t make me...”

Thomas Nightingale, pleading.

Molly stepped back, and the shield broke apart, and Thomas buried his face in the cream-colored wool, and David could hear his flat, hitched sobs, like they were being torn out of him, and he wished to never have been born to cause such grief.

Beyond the window, the light changed. It changed rapidly, light and dark and light again, and David watched as Thomas remained still and unmoving on the bed, barely changing position, watched in fast-forward as his hair and beard grew, as he got ever thinner, as Molly came and went and tried and more often than not failed to force some food upon him, and the days turned to weeks turned to months--

“Stop,” he cried, “Stop, Molly, stop, I can’t see any more!”

Seemingly Molly had heard him and was complying, as David felt a huge, yanking tug and was back in the drawing room, breathing heavily and slightly nauseous and... still... holding a sandwich. He put it down for Toby. He wasn’t hungry now.

“Damn,” David said. He pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, not caring if it didn’t look proper, there was no one here but Molly to witness it. “Was it like that all of the time?”

Molly vaguely waved a hand.

“But it’s better now. It is better now.”

Molly shrugged. She had always been able to communicate much with sparse gestures. She then lowered her hands, and looked at the floor.

“Listen, don’t you think that. You’ve done more than enough, I’m sure. You’ve given your all. You still do, don’t you?”

There was some movement at the door, and David looked up to see the second fae had appeared, the new one - Foxglove. Molly’s... sister?

She moved - in that gliding way the high fae moved - closer to Molly and opened her arms. Molly stood still as a statue for a second, then she accepted the comfort, hugging her sister, resting her head on Foxglove’s shoulder. Even amidst all the misery, David’s heart felt a flush of that comfort, too.

This is good to see, he thought. And he knew what he had to do next.

----

The light was still on in Thomas’ bedroom, pouring out under the door in a warm, golden sheen, so David knocked and then let himself inside.

Thomas hadn’t undressed for bed yet; he was seated at his desk, pen in hand, finally correcting Peter’s homework. It was good to see him, not whole by a long shot, but at the very least not driven frenzied by grief.

Thomas put his pen down. “What is it, David? Come to apologize for disappearing with the Jag a second time?”

“I’m sorry,” David said. He couldn’t bear to look at Thomas’s face and see that cold disapproval there now, so he hung his head, and scrutinized the carpet.

“You do realize you cannot just go off like that?” There was a small scraping sound as Thomas pushed his chair back and stood.

“What’s yours is mine,” David muttered. “What’s mine is yours.” He felt so very tired.

He felt the sigh more than he heard it. He knew without looking up that Thomas was rolling his eyes now. “Look, certainly it annoys me that you keep spiriting my car away, but there is more to this than me feeling territorial about my property. I didn’t know where you were all day. You only recently got back. We’ve not gauged yet how deeply you’re affected by what you’ve experienced, you might endanger yourself going off alone, you might be volatile...”

And now Thomas was stood before him, and David felt his hands resting on his shoulders - Thomas had such beautiful hands, fine and graceful, he had always loved them - cupping his face, combing through his hair, like Thomas was reassuring himself that David was really here. Searching. David laughed.

“I might be volatile? I? Me?”

“You’re something, that’s for sure.” A hand lifted his chin, gentle but unyielding. “Look at me, Davey. What’s going on?”

And David met those clear, grey eyes and something in him bubbled over. He threw his arms around Thomas with abandon, and pulled him close, and held him there. “Oh, Thomas. Oh, Thomas.”

A hand was carding through his hair, and it felt so good after the day he’d had. “David...”

“I went to see Oswald.”

Thomas’ hands withdrew, and he took a step back, disentangling them again. “You...?” For a moment, something flashed in his eyes, and was suppressed too quickly for David to decipher. “How was he?”

“He was old... very old. His granddaughter is a bee. But Thomas, I understand now. I understand it all.”

David laughed again. His head spun. “I understand why you are this way now. And you’re not mad at me because I ran away, you don’t even bear a grudge against me because of Ettersberg. Or perhaps you do, but that’s hardly the point, is it? You’re not angry, you’re scared.”

And there it was again, something flashing in the depths of those grey eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, ruthlessly smothered. “I beg your pardon,” Thomas said.

“For all these years you’ve had to go it alone,” David replied. He felt fevered in that way that resembled emerging from a week-long series of gruelling and time-intensive experiments crowned at last by success. How everything fit together so smoothly at last! Hypothesis, experiment, conclusion. “Letting no one close was where your salvation lay. You stopped contacting the lads because they couldn’t see that you were struggling with them starting to age past you. That you felt some sort of way about it. You’ve been Hugh’s Greek hero for so long. You don’t know how to step off that plinth and be human again. You have reason to fear that it will get bad... very bad, if you try it.”

David grinned, and seized Thomas by the lapels, and would have picked him up and spun him around the room if he didn’t feel so light-headed, so very drunk on the exhilaration of everything coming together at last. “But that’s all right now, my sweet songbird. I’m here! I will take good care of you. I understand you, fully. You’ve had to build these walls, but me going past them is a good thing. You can finally put that all down - that sword and shield, all down and away. And I will stand guard. Won’t that be good?”

Thomas tore himself away.

The exhilaration shrivelled, all joy in David took a fatal plunge at the cold rage in Thomas’ face.

“Lieutenant Mellenby,” Thomas said quietly (oh, he never raised his voice when he got angry anymore, he grew quieter), “What the fuck did you just say to me right now?”

David felt tears threatening to spill at last. He was no longer light. He was miserable and anchored to this carpet, his body a lead weight. “Thomas...”

“You have no right. No right at all. How dare you? How... dare you? After Ettersberg? After all you’ve caused to happen?”

“I only meant...”

“There’s the door. Leave now, before I start throwing fireballs.”

[emsartwork]

If you’re comfortable with sharing, it would be cool to hear more about your winx next gen, if that’s okay with you?

Yes of course!!!! below the cut cus i get rambley

the story so far: Daphne and Thoren are king and queen of domino. Ashia and Nex are king and queen of Andros. Sky and Bloom are king and queen of Eraklyon. Stella and Brandon are queen and king of Solaria. Tecna was queen of Zenith for a while but got bored and decided to do something else, now she and Timmy run an exploration research company that explores the outer reaches of the magix dimension. Flora is the potions teacher at Alfea, Helia runs a small art gallery in Magix city. Musa started her own record company, and Riven became the assistant combat instructor at Red Fountain. Icy broke Tritannus out of mer-prison and transformed his tail into legs, the two are now in hiding along with Darcy. Stormy left the Trix after an issue with Icy. 

THE CHILDREN:

alrighty lets start off with Sky and Bloom, or Skoom as I like to call them. This is Aidan.  He attends Novatan University, a new school now on Magix. He’s a classically trained necromancer but will use magic in just about any way he can. He uses the tile of Necromancer of Ash.  Aidan does not posses the dragon flame, and boy is he angry about that. Though he gets along with his cousin Ophelia pretty well, he is intensely jealous of her destiny as bearer of the dragon flame, and to compensate he seeks power above his own and some times other’s safety. Aiden is loud, prickly, and easy to rile up, but cools down quickly and forgets about whatever made him angry. Bloom, in true Bloom fashion, generally avoids her son because she doesn’t know how to deal with his attitude (he also occasionally reminds her of Valtor and that scares the hell out of her). Sky does his best to spend time with and curb Aidan’s more destructive impulses but he also has to rule his kingdom. Aidan basically only gets along with Ophelia, he can hang out with Selene and Jack occasionally but they tend to annoy him. He and Thorn do NOT get along. 

Daphne and Thoren!!! Daphen? Thorphne? idk their names don’t mesh that well lol. any ways this is Ophelia. Ophelia attends Alfea and is known far and wide as fairy of the dragon flame. After Daphne became pregnant, she had to ask bloom to return the dragon flame to the royal line of Domino since its always been passed down from one heir to the next. Bloom(after a few emotional breakdowns) eventually transferred the dragon flame to tiny fetus Ophelia. Ophelia doesn’t want it. She doesn’t really tell any one, but she hates being the bearer of the dragon flame. She hate the attention, the pressure, the legacy, the kidnapping attempts, the random attacks, the fact that she’s always the target. Ophelia isn’t even sure she wants to be queen of Domino in the future. in her free time Ophelia writes stories. Ophelia shoves her feelings down, holds grudges, and she can be VERY passive aggressive. When she finally explodes she can very destructive and cruel. Ophelia loves her cousin Aidan but can’t spend a lot of time with him because she can eventually feel the jealousy streaming off of him. She gets along really well with Anemone, but when they do fight its Armageddon. She also gets along really well with Thorn, as they’re both level headed older sibling types.  

Timmy and Tecna!!!(Tecmy?) I know. She looks nothing like either of them.This is Ruth, Timmy and Tecna’s adopted daughter(they have actually adopted several other children but Ruth is the oldest and most important to the plot). When Ruth was about 10, her family’s ship crashed on a tiny desert planet in an uninhabited solar system. Her parents didn’t make it, and Ruth herself was severely injured. She managed to stem the flow of blood from the gashes in her shoulder and thigh, and cobbled together a radio system from the pieces of the ship. Timmy and Tecna were out on an scientific exploration mission when they picked up her distress signal. Infection had already set into her deeper wounds and her arm and leg had to be amputated. Ruth uses a prosthetic leg in day to day life, but prefers not to have a regular prosthetic for her arm. Ruth attended and graduated from Cloud Tower, and is the Witch of Metals, she manipulates metal into a movable prosthetic arm when she needs to, but doesn’t maintain it as its a drain of her magic. Ruth is Koyuvian(a fake planet/race thats in my version of winx club) and wears the tinted glasses to filter light. Ruth is a mechanic, and loves to build different contraptions. She’s hopeless at coding, but builds a lot of prototypes for her adoptive parents. She gets along Selene the best. 

Flora and Helia! Floria!!! (Helora?) This is Thorn. Thorn is Silva Lynphean and a quarter Vaonaaj. He attends Red Fountain and is a team lead in his class and possibly the strongest. Thorn is quiet and sarcastic, generally preferring a books to spending time around people. He’s a little awkward when not in a “specialist” situation. he kind of wishes he was really good with people, but also doesn’t bother practicing socializing because he’s scared lmao he’s basically Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. to compensate for his social ineptitude, Thorn hangs out with Jack a lot. He is very observant though and can pin point people’s weaknesses in a snap, and he’s not shy about using those weakness if he needs to.  He and Ophelia get along well, but he thinks Aidan is a spoiled brat who throws too many temper tantrums. 

Musa and Riven = Riva. So this is Jack. Jack attends Red Fountain. Jack loves to be the center of attention, and hides all of his insecurities behind an over the top inflated ego. He isn’t terribly interested in his dad’s career (fighting) or his mom’s career (music) but he is decently talented at both. Jack true passion is design. He isn’t totally sure the type of design he wants to do yet, but fashion and architecture are both interesting to him. He’s the best or the worst dressed guy at Red Fountain depending on who you ask, considering he usually throws together items that don’t seem like they should be on the same body at the same time. His mom and dad don’t really get either of his interests, but are trying very hard to be supportive. Jack is the easiest going out of these characters (except maybe Ramiel) and gets along with just about anybody. He’s Thorn’s “wing man”(for both platonic and romantic interests because Thorn just doesn’t frickin talk to people) and the two are kind of a funny pair to look at since Thorn is so so tall, and Jack is….. not. He also gets along well with Anemone. Jack is very intuitive, and doesn’t feel comfortable around Eirlys, usually actively trying to avoid any contact with her. 

Stella and Brandon have Selene. Selene attends Alfea and is the Fairy of the Sun and Moon. Selene is kind of a screw up. She’s clumsy, forgetful, chronically late, messy, and awkward af. Selene doesn’t really think she suits the role of “princess of Solaria”, one of the most televised planets of the Magix Dimension(kind of like Los Angeles is the celebrity center of the US), but is constantly trying to be better at her role. Unfortunately she’s trying to force herself to be like her mom instead of trying it her own way. The one thing Selene is really good at is sculpting, and can usually be found hidden away in her studio with clay in her hands. and in her hair. and on her clothing. basically everywhere she is not neat. She’s pretty quiet in general but get her started on a project and she’ll rattle ideas off one after the other. She and Ruth are crafting besties, and trade creations frequently. She’s horribly intimidated by Thorn, though its mostly their mutual awkwardness clashing. She doesn’t like to be around Aidan much at all. 

This is Anemone! The unlikely product of Aisha and Nex! Anemone is the Fairy of Coral, and is attending Alfea. Anemone is the girly-est girly girl to ever girl. She likes the pink she likes the ruffles she likes the make up and the fashion and the pastels. But the thing Anemone REALLY likes about being a girly girl is that it means stupid people underestimate her, giving her the upper hand and allowing her to reign terror down upon her enemies. Anemone is a girly girl and also a stone cold bitch. She’s not the nicest girl, but that’s mostly because she has the highest self esteem of any of these characters and does not bother with things that are not worth her time. She’ll be respectful and polite as long as you are. She does confide in Ophelia and considers her a good friend, but also thinks Ophelia needs to get her shit together and stop moping lol. She also gets along well with Jack, as they both enjoy fashion and whatever trend is happening at the moment. She dislikes Eirlys, but doesn’t have a solid reason for why lol. 

Ramiel! Ramiel is Stormy’s son, his father isn’t in the picture. So basically after the news broke that some of the winx were pregnant (because lets face it they would be celebrity news) Icy processed it as “shit. they have reinforcements. we need reinforcements.” and proceeded to have herself, darcy, and stormy try to have kids. Icy had already broken Tritannus out of prison, and it was now just a matter of getting their human merfolk mix to actually work. Darcy has always been a romantic at heart so she promised to have a kid with the next man she was actually interested in. Stormy on the other hand has never really given a damn about romance, so she bore the brunt of Icy’s new obsession with continuing the ancestral witches blood line. Stormy didn’t necessarily mind the actual sex part(wasn’t enthusiastic about it either tho so :/ ), but HATED being pregnant. After a rough pregnancy, Stormy gave birth to a son who Stormy immediately became attached to, which was NOT was Icy was looking for, the ancestral and the trix power is passed down through the female line, meaning a son was functionally worthless to her. After Icy basically told her she would have to try again, Stormy took her son and noped out of there asap. She went to Ms. Griffin for help as a last effort, and after agreeing to be stripped of her magic she and Ramiel were relocated to a hidden, sparsely populated village deep in one of Lynphea’s forests. Ramiel knows nothing of his mother’s past, and, against her express wishes, decided to enroll in the Paladin program at Lynphea College. He thinks of Cymmeri as an annoying younger sister, and doesn’t know Eirlys or Arcturus. He vaguely knows of Thorn and Jack due to Red Fountain and the Order doing group training together occasionally. 

This is Darcy’s daughter Cymmeri, usually just called Cymi. She’s kind of a know-it-all, sassy child, who has only just started to display signs of her magic. She and Ramiel form coincidental friends after a random encounter, and she’ll occasionally go to him when she has a problem she can’t talk to her mom or other cousins about. She, like my version of Darcy, is at least part Koyuvian(my own personal made up planet not from the winx) which gives her the solid eye color. She wears enchanted glasses to make her eyes appear more ordinary, and to filter light that would otherwise hurt her eyes. Cymmeri also really likes to lean into the creepy goth child role just for kicks.

Eirlys and Arcturus are Icy and Tritannus’ twins. Eirlys attends Alfea and is the Fairy/Witch of Snow, Arcticus will eventually attend Red Fountain, though right now he’s learning magic from Tritannus, and acting as a support to his sister. The twins are actually too young to be attending either school, but their height and forged documents take care of that. both of them usually have spells in place to hide their more fishy traits but i wanted to draw them lol. Eirlys is a fitness nut and spends most of her free time exercising or playing sports. This also gives her an excuse to go on long solo runs so she can relay info to Arcturus who then takes it to their mom. Eirlys is kind of arrogant and can do no wrong in Icy’s eyes, where as Arcturus lacks self esteem and is constantly trying to prove his worth to their mom. Arcturus has an affinity for water, and most of his spells use it. Eirlys tries to force her relationship with most of the winx’s kids, but does genuinely get along with Ophelia.   

this isnt totally accurate for their heights but i did some of these really fast and the proportions are off lol. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 5

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says, and Madara has had nightmares about this man saying that, this man who has, despite all odds, become something very much like a friend over the last year.

Madara dreams of it, sometimes: imagines Tobirama dull-eyed, as he’s gotten more and more in the year since Hashirama’s disappearance, imagines him standing there patiently, having waited to informed Madara of his ensuing death because the bastard is polite enough that he wouldn’t want to leave a co-worker hanging like that but already holding his sword aimed the wrong way round.

It’s the same place every time: he’s always standing and waiting for Madara at the edge of the forest, and that’s the place where it ends, where the sword goes in and cuts off the younger man’s life before its time.

The dream never changes in that respect – it’s never at Tobirama’s home, or in the office of the Hokage, because he’d never leave a mess for someone else to clean up like that. He’d have already cleaned up his precious labs and locked away the more dangerous inventions that he couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy; already have tidied up his desk and finished the paperwork for the next two weeks in advance; already ensured that no one from Konoha would be lingering around to see – considerate, that’s what Tobirama was, always thinking about the big picture, thinking about how one thing might affect others, but never really caring about the emotional impact any of it would have.

It’s always at the edge of the forest.

Always at the same place, too, a place Madara knows by now too well: just beyond the western gatehouse, where Konoha spills over from clearing into woods – trees a bit too thick for the age they seem to be, the light dappled from shining in through their branches and leaves, the ground well-covered in grass and weeds and bushes.

The last place Tobirama saw that which that he loved the most, walking away from him.

That’s where he’ll do it. Madara’s sure of it.

That’s why Madara is here, now, making the proposal that he is. He has to do something, his very nature rebelling at the thought of simply accepting Tobirama’s untimely death as a foregone conclusion, and this plan is the only thing he can think of to make those dreams go away.

(He can’t let it happen like that. Not – not after watching Izuna die, after losing the only brother he had left; not after knowing that Tobirama is all that’s left of Hashirama, that he’d be losing what little is left of him, too. Not after working with Tobirama this past year, in the time before that; not since he snapped out of that horrible madness brought about by Izuna’s loss and realized that Tobirama is more than just a brother-killer, realized that he’s brilliant and devoted and meticulous, terrible with people and flat in affect even in private, possessed of a wicked sense of humor that he tends to hide more often than not – no.

No. Madara can’t let him just die like that. He can’t.)

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says again, and his eyes are far too wide with surprise to be dull right now. “You’re proposing that we what?!”

“Have sex,” Madara says, not entirely understanding what the problem is. “For the sake of the village, of course.”

“Of course,” Tobirama says, his voice a little strangled. “Of course…would you like to explain your logic? I think I might be missing a few crucial steps.”

Madara is not, by nature, a subtle man, and while there’s probably a better way to say it, he’s not one to mince around a delicate subject. Not when there’s this much at stake.

“This village needs you as Hokage,” he explains. “It needs your expertise, your attention to detail, you management skills, your diplomacy…and just as it needs you most, you’re deteriorating.”

Tobirama’s back straightens in offense. “I have never let Konoha down!”

“No, you haven’t. Not once, not even when you probably should,” Madara says dryly. “I meant a personal deterioration. You barely eat, you sleep poorly, your bathing schedule has gotten erratic –”

Admittedly, it’s only gone down to the level a normal person would consider more than reasonable, but for a neat-freak half-fish like Tobirama, that’s shockingly seldom.

Tobirama holds up his hands, still looking bewildered. It’s a rather amusing expression on his normally impassive face. “I admit all that. But – why – no, how, exactly, would having sex solve the – ah – underlying issue? Which I know you’re aware of?”

Neither of them mention Hashirama’s death during daylight hours. It’s better for both of them that way.

Madara shrugs. “Touka said the only thing that would help you with your particular issue is another brother for you to treasure. Now, I can’t get you that short of time travel or resurrecting your parents –”

“Please don’t ever make that suggestion again. I don’t mind resurrecting the dead, but I don’t have any desire to see either of my parents again, much less for the purpose of breeding them.”

Hmm, fair enough. Madara concedes that that suggestion sounds a lot more creepy once he thinks it through a bit more.

He certainly wouldn’t want to see his parents again, even putting aside the, er, breeding business.

“– so a lover will have to do as the next best thing,” Madara concludes, deciding to ignore Tobirama’s unhelpful interjection. “You need someone to hold onto to tide you through your loss and a lover is the best sort of distraction for that sort of thing. It’s sometimes used as a solution to the curse of hatred, and given that your particular, uh, issue is more akin to the one suffered by Uchiha rather than Senju, I don’t see why there’s isn’t every reason that it would work for you as well.”

Tobirama stares at him. His eyes are wide to the point of being vaguely owlish.

“I’m not suggesting that it’ll fix the issue!” Madara adds quickly, realizing that Tobirama might be offended. One couldn’t replace a beloved brother with a bit of sex, after all, and he’d never suggest as much. If this wasn’t the only thing he’d been able to think of, he wouldn’t have suggested it at all, but – it is. And he’s desperate. “Especially since we’re not, you know, actually lovers. I’m perfectly happy to admit that we barely stand each other at the best of times. But sometimes having the semblance of something can help, even in the absence of the real thing.”

“I…see,” Tobirama says, his face finally abandoning the shocked expression and settling back into normal contemplative lines. “Essentially, you’re suggesting that if we simulate the behavior of lovers, the effects of having a lover might apply regardless of the actual feelings involved and it will…function as a stopgap, essentially?”

“Exactly!”

This is why Madara enjoys working with Tobirama, even though he’s a sharp-tongued bastard with no sense of limits – whatever one can say about the man, one must admit he’s quick on the uptake and very unlikely to reject any idea out of hand, no matter how bizarre.

“Hn. Dare I ask why, exactly, you’re volunteering yourself for this task?”

“Well, I can hardly volunteer anyone else for it without it coming across as extremely unfortunate,” Madara points out, quite reasonably in his view. “Also, having spent the last year of my life cooped up in as very small office trying to establish a village with you, I can now state definitively that you hate humanity. Previous to this, I only suspected as much – but now I’m certain of it.”

Tobirama scowls at him. “I do not hate humanity.”

Madara snorts. “Fine. You hate vast swathes of humanity. In a village currently consisting of, at minimum, representatives of every reputable shinobi family in Fire Country, aka the sort of people you might conceivably get along with, the sum total of people you actually like – as opposed to are willing to tolerate in order to achieve your goals – is a list limited to: your students, three of your close cousins, me, and that weird shark-person ambassador from Kiri, and the last one only because of those truly awful fish puns that for some bizarre reason you find amusing.”

“Hoshigaki’s fish puns are amusing.”

“No one got that joke about the clam except for you.”

“It’s not a clam, it’s a freshwater mussel, and I told you, the scientific name of that subspecies is Anodonta imbicilis –”

“And that’s why he was calling the Inuzuka representative a muscle-bound imbecile, yes, I got it after you explained it. It just wasn’t funny. Jokes that someone has to explain are not funny. Listen, if you’re willing to risk the almost inevitable assassination attempt, I can call him instead –”

“She. Not he.”

Madara stops. “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“Impossible!”

Hoshigaki was built like a bookcase, a walking rectangle with arms like tree trunks. It hadn’t even occurred to Madara that conventional gender definitions might apply.

Do sharks even have genders?

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “As you’re not wrong in that she would feel obligated to at least attempt to kill me on behalf of her village, and, perhaps more importantly, is married with children –”

Hoshigaki? Married? With children?!

Madara’s going to have nightmares about swarms of baby sharks with legs, he just knows it.

“– let’s not call her. Not that I’ve agreed to your ridiculous idea at all.”

Madara crosses his arms and scowls at the intractable bastard.

“It’s not like I’m suggesting we do this for fun,” he says. “We’re not in love, of all ridiculous things, and I highly doubt we’re ever going to be more than people who have managed to be able to work together efficiently. But the village needs you, and you clearly need someone. Might as well be me.”

Tobirama scowls.

Madara really didn’t want to have to play dirty, but clearly it’s necessary. He was quite serious about being willing to do anything to save Tobirama’s life, and he wasn’t talking about sacrificing his body.

“Hashirama wouldn’t want you to just fade away like this.”

Tobirama flinches.

“And you know he’d be happy about anything that got us to spend more time together outside of work that isn’t sparring or training…”

“I can’t believe you’re using my brother to convince me to sleep with you.”

“For the good of the village! Besides, it’s going to work.”

Tobirama makes a face, but Madara has no doubt: he knows Tobirama’s weakness, now, and he’s merciless in exploiting it.

(No wonder the Senju make a practice of not telling other people their principles; it’s a weakness just asking to be abused, like an Uchiha making too clear who his most precious people were.)

Sure, Madara’s aware that it’s in bad taste to invoke the name of the man who was, for all practical purposes, his soulmate in order to bed the man’s younger brother – but Hashirama is gone, and anyway, he’s sure it’s what he would have wanted, if it meant Tobirama lived a little longer.

It’s entirely virtuous what he’s doing. Entirely. There’s not an iota of selfishness in it.

“One day you’re going to pull that line of reasoning and I’m going to turn you down just to see the surprise on your face,” Tobirama says, standing up. “Very well, come along.”

Madara blinks, having expected to have to argue about this for at least another hour. “Come – where?”

“To bed, of course. Your plan is ridiculous, but if we’re going to try it, we should test our compatibility now. If we don’t have that, there’s no point at all.”

Entirely virtuous, Madara reminds himself a few hours later, staring up at the ceiling and unsure if he’s blessing or cursing his entirely unconscious decision to activate his Sharingan at some point, burning the images of white skin beaded with sweat and swollen red lips and heavily lidded eyes in a head thrown back in silent pleasure into his mind forever. It’s entirely virtuous. Giving Tobirama something to live for is the best thing for the village, and this will help. That’s all that’s going on: the only person I could have loved was Hashirama, and he’s gone – this is just a physical thing, a sacrifice that I’m making. Nothing more.

It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him or anything.