#I didn’t feel like drawing a background and the image is entirely an excuse for the piano pfp

[fancyblogforfancythings]

Trying my hand at the piano.. it is not going well.

[helenazbmrskai]

Not Alone

Title Not Alone

Pairing Yoongi x OC

Summary University is kicking your ass so you always make sure to dedicate a day for yourself and take time to pamper your body and soul. However, you’re cautious around Yoongi your roommate and double-check the d-day to prevent accidents. You're not a fan of revealing any skin because of your insecurities but it’s just happening to be the day when you are - not so alone.

Genre university au, roommate au, romance and fluff, smut

Warning(s) smut (body worshipping, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, messy sex, first time, virgin reader, dirty talk, vanilla sex, yoongi has a virgin kink but not explicitly mentioned) implication of insecure reader, shy and curvy reader

Word count: 9k

Masterlist

This universe is related to my other fic I wrote recently ’one time boy space friend’ you can read that one here.

Washing the excess shaving cream off of my hand I grab my phone I previously placed on the toilet’s folded lid lightly humming the outline of the song currently playing. The new playlist Yoongi recommended is full of bangers as always I have no doubt his fate was eventually to end up as a music major. I take a glance at my reflection when I was able to secure the new position for my phone on the laundry basket with the top slightly open reminding me that I need to do laundry if I want to have clothes to wear.

I take a glance at my reflection removing the fog that made the lines of my face blurry with a towel hanging next to the sink on a hook realising later that I used Yoongi’s looking back at the sheepish smile that greets me in the mirror I placed the fabric back hoping that Yoongi won’t mind.

An unknown rap song’s first beats suddenly interrupted by an incoming call that the familiar piano version of my favourite song signalled. I smile seeing the callers ID, placing the toner back to its dust-filled spot next to Yoongi’s shaving cream I make sure to use the right towel this time to dry my hands with before swiping right on the call.

”Hey, What’s the matter?” I answer it with a huge grin plastered on my face making my cheeks ride up into a chipmunk-like smile.

Our class was cancelled at the last minute so I wasn’t expecting a call from her she told me while we were waiting for the instructor to arrive that she has plans with his boyfriend Jimin. Only having calculus that day after an exchanged heated curses for our lazy professor for not e-mailing about the reschedule I happily took a sweet nap and made an easy breakfast I normally don’t have time to consume or even make in the morning I was able to get my relaxing time to start earlier so it meant more time for me since Yoongi supposedly took the afternoon shift.

This piece of information I remembered while chewing on my sandwich as I thanked the gods that I overheard his conversation about the shift change last night when I went to get my late-night snack but seeing the date expired on the comfort food I had to engage in a yoghurt instead.

”Y/N. Are you home?” She asked matching my good mood in the background I heard clinking noises of a pan she must be cooking. I insert my head through the large black t-shirt’s hole as I started to freeze standing here only in my undergarments the effect of the hot shower faded leaving me in the significantly colder bathroom.

”Of course. I started my pamper routine. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be hairless. If only my hair would grow this fast.” She chuckles hearing my banter the faint sounds of crepitation usually the hot oil makes overpowering her giggle for a few seconds. I remember the sandwich I ate this morning around ten-ish that did not prove to be enough. I get sidetracked with what should I make for lunch.

”Oh, so Yoongi is working?” Knowing about my only one rule regarding this d-day I like to call it is that no man should be around when I’m wearing this revealing clothing. He only saw me wearing jeans and yoga pants before these jelly-like legs cannot make a debut in front of eyes outside of mine.

”Yep.” I confirm. I take a look at the time I still have lots of time to relax before I should start that assignment I postponed.

I have everything planned out since Yoongi usually comes home from work in a grumpy state he likes to shower first and then he retreats into his room to do his assignments and sometimes he writes a song or the song even could be the assignment itself I honestly don’t know how’s everyday life as a music major. Yoongi is not exactly the talkative type.

My silent activity is helping his concentration and the best thing is that I have the apartment by myself to do what I please and leave the comfort of my room wearing what I please without worrying.

The best would be if I could rent out my own apartment but I know I wouldn’t be able to pay it by myself and the fact that Yoongi and I share the expenses of the bill makes things so much more easier.

”Why did you call though? I’m sure it’s not because you already miss me.” Tired of holding the phone up I place it back where it was before leaving the call on speakers so I can rub the cocoa scented lotion into the skin on my legs.

”Right. I almost forgot. Jin taught you that Mexican dish that I don’t know how to pronounce its name, right?” Her voice fades a little mid-sentence probably changed ears hearing the cooking noises seeping through the background she seemed very busy.

”What about it?” I question closing the lid of the lotion after I rub the remaining cream on my hand onto my neck so nothing goes to waste.

”I need the recipe.” She demands. I laugh how desperate she sounds through the phone. I make my way out of the bathroom I need my notebook since I didn’t memorise the dish I only made it once and as it was previously stated with the help of Jin.

”Hold on I don’t remember where I left the notes.” I arrive at the kitchen area placing the phone on the counter I begin rummaging through the drawers bending down to peek at the content of each. Spoons and forks. The second one where Yoongi placed the aprons and towels my notebook must be in the last one. ”So, what are the plans for today?” I ask while still searching for the black shiny cover of my notebook.

”Well, I wanted to cook something Italian since Jimin told me once he wanted to try it out but a crucial ingredient is missing so I thought about making that one you told me about a few weeks ago at Jin’s birthday party. After I’m finally done with this shit I’m going to sneak into his room to give him the blowjob of his life while he’s playing some shit games boys do and tell him lunch is ready.” The huge breath she took before starting the word vomiting makes me praise her lung capacity.

Finally. The book was under the aprons what a hassle. I straighten up turning the pages when I hear the front door opening and shut soon after. I turn to see the face of the intruder as I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen with my hair evidently wet from the shower I took earlier only in my panties and a huge ass shirt to cover myself with.

Yoongi drops his coffee-stained shirt by the foot of the couch the angle is letting me see the living room area without a problem but he can’t clearly see the kitchen from there but my relief is not long-lasting as my friend decides to choose that moment to speak drawing Yoongi’s attention to where I’m standing.

”Y/N are you still there? Shit. I burnt my finger.” Grabbing the phone off the counter I switch off the speaker option and push the device against my ear.

”Yeah, um, I’ll send you the recipe via message. Good luck. Bye.” I aggressively push the red phone button at the bottom left side of the screen until the call ends. Hearing my voice Yoongi walks through the door separating the living room and the kitchen to halt his steps when he takes the image in.

It’s not one of those best times to ponder over how good looking he’s after finishing work and how he always smells like freshly brewed coffee which is not a surprise knowing the fact that he works at a coffee shop near our rented place.

He doesn’t wear the shirt uniform it must be the one he got rid of because of the stains today he wears a simple white t-shirt with washed-out blue jeans. Focusing on his face again I see that his eyes no longer studying my face instead his gaze dipped lower and I swear he's not so subtle about ogling at my exposed legs. My legs!

”You’re … early.” I talk first considering my options. A, I can still make a run for it but the damage is already done. He saw me. Or B, I can try to make small talk pretending that nothing is embarrassing at all just to later enter my room and dig a hole with all of my self-pity and scream into my pillow.

”Um, there was a shift change but I finished 2 hours early in return.” He explains this time his gaze was on my face the entire time no more strayed glimpses. Fuck. I should have paid attention to the whole conversation. ”Don’t you .. have class normally this time around?” He trails off a faint trace of blush appears on his porcelain skin. I use the notebook to hide my panty line that peeks out of the shirt.

”Class cancelled.” I’m horrified how my voice sounds so high pitched the embarrassment paints my cheeks bright red. ”Um, I have something to do in my room so I’ll be there.” I use the lame excuse to escape from Yoongi when I close the door behind me I close my eyes as well because of the extreme humiliation I had to go through.

My phone buzzes in hand I suddenly remember the recipe I promised. I write a quick message to her attaching the picture of the ingredients and notes to help her with the preparations. Now since I’m done with the responsibilities I can swim in my tears for the time being.

I can’t believe after months of caution fate decided to take away from me the deserved me time days. Yoongi is probably weirded out by me too I don’t know how to look him in the eye from now on and it’s a serious problem. For lords heaven, we live together! There’s no way I can avoid him without being obvious about it.

I mean maybe I’m just overreacting. It’s Yoongi we are talking about. He most of the time doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything he certainly won’t mention it and for obvious reasons I won’t either so I can just leave things like that. Just acting as usual like he didn’t saw my legs and my black underwear not to mention he is the very first one to see it I mean outside of my family of course. He’s a boy. No. A man. And he saw me underdressed like that.

It’s okay Y/N, let’s see the bright side at least he saw me when I was shaved. Well, that doesn’t help. Not at all.

”Shit. I’m hungry.”

I waited an hour and forty minutes to be exact despite the rumble of my stomach I sat down to start the book one of my friends lent me to read and I’m over a quarter of the pages when I decided enough is enough.

I waited long enough so he must be cooped up in his room slash studio for the rest of the day. But to be extra cautious I peeked out before fully leaving the safety of my room. I stop once I step into the corridor listening for any noises that might indicate Yoongi has indeed occupied his nest the soft sounds of the synthesizer helps me to relax I leisurely make my way then in the direction of the kitchen.

As I flip the switch the room is enveloped in light. My favourite mug is sitting on top of the counter even though I don’t remember leaving it there. I walk to take a closer look the mug is filled with coffee it’s in a light brown colour so it must a latte. It smells like latte indeed.

My favourite drink. There’s a note glued to the bottom of the mug it’s a messy handwriting and I don’t have to guess to know to whom this belongs to. How did he know my favourite coffee order?

”Sorry for startling you earlier. - myg”

The simple worded note even had his initials at the end. Realising that I never tried out his coffee made me curious about the taste. He works as a barista so It cannot be bad. I’m always late for class so I never had the chance before going into the shop when he’s on duty and order a drink from him.

Most of the time I’m saving on it and just use the shared coffee machine. Don’t blame me I’m just a broke university student.

But if I drink this I won’t be able to sleep it’s pretty late. Fuck it. I’m going to drink it. Not that the unholy time for coffee consumption deterred me before and picked up on some of Yoongi’s personal characteristics I think I can confidently say he doesn’t care either.

I bite into my lip while carefully straightening the lines out on the sticky note. After I was convinced the note won’t come off of his door I leave to go to bed.

”Thanks for the coffee. I liked it. – Y/N.”

***

”Can you guys stop shovelling food into your mouths for a millisecond. I’m serious!” Hitting the table for further emphasis.

Rori and F/N digging through a pile of food before our morning class is something I got used to first as I befriended them and it doesn’t bother me any other time but I wanted some serious advice for once and they don’t even stop digging to say well that’s was awkward. Or shit that sucks.

Not that I don’t know that without them telling me. I appreciated the note and the subtle apology he didn’t phrase it like hey dummy I’m sorry for seeing your sausage legs my bad. Also, it would be unlikely, too wordy for him he’s tight-lipped even in messages. I don’t remember he ever told me like a two full sentence in one go.

”Serious for what Y/N? He saw your underwear and legs. Tell us if you display your boobs or something. Now, I would be interested.” Rolling my eyes at the sarcastic remark I steal one of her favourite apple pie sticks for good measures.

”Hey! I was going to eat that.” She pouts but I take another big bite out of it. It’s too sweet for my liking but everything for the even sweeter revenge. If there’s one thing I learned about these two throughout the years of knowing them is that they take their food very seriously. ”Look. We love you, that’s why I’m going to tell you this. It’s not a big deal.” She pats my cheek before picking up her fork again.

”So what happened F/N. Did you gave Jimin the blowjob of his life?” I used a quote mark at the end of the sentence just how she phrased it yesterday. Rori is more interested in that, of course, there’s nothing more important than sex.

”Let me say the food was cold once we were finished.” She chuckled bashfully. Do I have the right set of friends? Maybe I should be pickier about who I call as a friend.

”So he’s big?” Rori asked with a smirk and I almost spitted out the diet coke onto the dining table. We are in a fucking coffee shop for god damn good. Thankfully not the one Yoongi works for but I think he has morning class so he won’t be working either way.

”Please don’t go into details.” I plea and Rori presents me with a devilish grin while picking the chicken breasts out of my salad.

”It’s fine Y/N. I was a virgin too before Jimin. Your time will come, not that it’s a choice.” F/N tries to console me.

”It’s a choice just not mine.” I murmur it under my nose stabbing my salad with the fork before chewing on it without the meat it’s quite sour.

”Yeah. It’s because you and F/N are both have big sticks up your asses.” Used to her blunt remarks I’m not even hurt or surprised for that matter. The busy cafe drowns out the voices of their inappropriate talk at least.

”It’s not our fault that you fuck every man with a pulse.” F/N retorts back with a giggle satisfied with the remark we exchange high fives.

”How do you know it’s a requirement?” Rori lifts one of her brows making us do gagging motions.

”Ugh, That’s disgusting.” I abandon the food on my plate that was a bit too much and we are in the middle of breakfast.

”A person cannot even joke here? I wasn’t serious. Duh.” I should really search for those new friends.

”That’s something I can believe.” The insult wasn’t even spoken out too loud but she heard me all the same and it earned a kick under the table from Rori with his high heels, I returned the glare she sent my way.

***

”Oh, hi.” I step aside to let Yoongi enter, he furrows his brows in concentration if I wasn’t running late I would ponder over the fact how he measures my body by centimetres. I fidget with my earrings but without a mirror, it’s a difficult task to carry out.

”I thought we’re going to meet with the guys at 8.” Realising the motive behind his stare I nod furiously.

”Yeah. But Rori accepted that guy’s offer to taste wines and she’s afraid she’s going to be abducted so me and F/N will accompany her.” I tell him and he doesn’t seem pleased I wasn’t either at first but I hope he won’t do anything with three girls there.

”Be careful. Anyone else knows about this?” He asks with evident worry lacing his voice he steps closer helping to finally get that chape snap into place.

”Jimin knows and I think Jungkook knows too.” Once he’s done he restores the distance between the two of us. ”Also you know F/N she’s apt to be violent.” Yoongi nods.

”Fuck. I’m late.” I swear as I look at the time. With hurried steps, I pick up my boots and size up my keys ready to leave.

”See you later.” Hearing his voice calling out to me I look back smiling a little managing to whisper back a ’see you later’ of my own. I think this was the longest conversation I held with him so far, what a shame I couldn’t stay to talk more.

The wine tasting went better than I expected. That guy is filthy rich he gave us a little tour around the house before letting us each pick out 5 wines of our liking. We learned that he’s a sports major he’s a swimmer and he told us stories about his practises with the swimming team and talked awfully long about his wins and trophies. To be honest he seemed like a bit eccentric and pompous for me but Rori liked him.

We were late because our taxi on its way to the bar got into a little traffic jam. I got a text from Yoongi at the same time F/N got one from Jimin they were curious about where we are and how we are. We wrote back a short text that we’re almost there.

”So? Whose’s the guy?” Jin asked once we are seated down. F/N took her place next to Jimin and Rori beside her leaving me with the only option of sitting down next to Yoongi at the other side of the table.

Once I’m comfortably seated I look around the table I catch in the corner of my eye Namjoon and Jungkook taking shots. Yoongi grabs his alcoholic beverage before him from the table our shoulders brush against each other due to the motion. I bite the inside of my cheeks don’t want to fidget in place.  

”He’s a sports major.” Rori told Jin she told him about our little tour but she conveniently left out the offer about a threesome that I politely declined.

”Oh Y/N you remember that guy who wanted to get your phone number?” Scrunching my nose as the scene flashed before my eyes, of course, I remember. That was one of my most awkward moments and believe me when I say there’s a lot of option to choose from on my list and it’s still the worst. As far as I know, that guy was a sports major too and he was very persistent.

”Yes, what about him?” I nod. I try to shoo the pictures out of head but a forming blush creeping up my neck quicker than I realise.

”Well he’s here. And he’s coming this way.” F/N tells without looking my way her eyes trained behind my form probably to report back his every move. I physically have to hold myself back from whimpering and its not the good kind.

”Shit.” I bite my lower lip don’t want to make things more obvious I don’t turn around to confirm it.

”Oh. I remember. You gave him Rori’s number, don’t you?” Jungkook, you traitor. He was with me when it happened I was flustered enough that he asked Jungkook is my boyfriend or not that I didn’t want to expand my suffering so I gave him my friend's number. She told me if someone I don’t want tries to get into my pants and bothers me I can use her number as a bait knowing her even though my pants were not on the line I still did that. Well, she did more than that after.

”Then what’s the problem?” Jin asks so invested in our conversation that I want to smack him on the neck.

”I was sexting with him and we fucked.” She shrugs. That was what I tried to say. I really don’t want to face that guy.

I stand up with so much vehemency that I almost knock down a glass from the table it’s Yoongi’s empty glass at the bottom of it there’s a thin line of whiskey left. Yoongi grabs my thighs to stabilise me. Looking over his shoulder I saw that said guy indeed walking into this direction.

”Uh, please dance with me?” I grab Yoongi’s hand surprising him for a moment or two but lets me pull him up.

”You have a habit of running away, huh?” I look back to get a grip at the situation. I led Yoongi into the dance floor even though I don’t even know how to dance. He sees the panic settling in my face so he starts guiding me with his hand flat against my lower back. There’s a lot of bodies to avoid so Yoongi is extremely close.

”I don’t like confrontation.” I subtly hide behind his broad shoulders I can see it on him how he tries to stop himself from laughing. I like the sound of his laugh.

”I’m aware.” He purrs into my ear pulling me closer by a hand wrapped around my waist the sweet scent of his cologne hits me like a tone of bricks. I’m painfully aware how his body touches mine my breast pushed against his flat ribcage I can feel him inhaling and exhaling the used oxygen.

”Y-your hand Yoongi.” His hand is dangerously low on my back I’m sure he feels the curve of my ass under his fingers. The bar is dimly lit so my blush remains subtle in a certain extent seeing me blush so many times I wouldn’t be surprised if he would recognise it before it fully blooms on my face.

”What about it?” He clearly wants me to say it but there’s no way I’m going to bluntly say that his hand touches my ass. Rather die.

”What are you doing? Are you drunk?” I defensively ask answering the question with my own questions. He openly finds my antics amusing because this time he laughs. That gummy smile makes my knees weak for him he strengthens his hold on my waist like he knows it.

”My car is here. I’m as sober as I can be.” The hand I placed on his chest when he suddenly pulled me closer itched. He’s touching me and he’s sober. Heaving a sigh he replaces them around his neck I can’t relish in the feeling as his hand on my ass beyond doubt gone since he places it back soon after even lower. The grin he shows me makes me want to give him my fist instead of my virginity.

”Then why are you touching me?” My confidence wavered significantly as he lowered his head his lips closer than ever but instead of kissing me, he blows air into my ear riling me up with the gesture.

”This makes you uncomfortable?” I wanted to say yes, but the full truth would be it’s undeniably uncomfortable and exciting it makes my blood boil under my skin and it scares me how much I want him to touch me tossing aside my insecurities just to feel him like this. At least he knows his boundaries. I don’t know what would I do if his hand suddenly moved.

”No. I’m just embarrassed.” I nervously twist a hair at the nape of his neck didn’t realise the act just when I did it.

”You ran away because you were embarrassed yesterday too?” I stop toying with his hair once the words register in my head. Is he talking about the kitchen incident? And here I thought that there’s nothing more that could make the situation more awkward.

”Y-yes.” The confidence I felt before left me I shy away from his eyes the way he sized me up that day still vivid in my head.

”Why?” A perfect arch of his eyebrows indicating that he wants his answer this time and I am about to give him.

”Because you were staring at me.” I tell him oh so matter of factly. He practically beams at the offered answer the glint in his eyes telling me that’s the answer he seeks in the first place and he has his own set of words in return.

”Wanna know what I thought about while staring at you?” His eyes pinning me to my spot I wouldn’t dare to move away even if I wanted to he seemed determined to get under my skin and maybe under my clothes too.

”No.” I challenge drunk by the boldness maybe the gin tonic I consumed earlier and the wines finally appearing be to be the liquid courage I needed. Reading between the lines Yoongi tells me despite the answer.

”I imagined how you would look like wearing my shirt. It would cover you below your knees since you are tiny. Tell me you’re wearing one of those black panties I saw before?” I don’t answer but I let him pat my knee I can feel his warm palm under the fabric of my jeans he continues with more words even bolder than the first.

”I imagined how you would look like under me on my bed wrapping those long legs around my waist.” Affected by his words I mirror his hungry expression. He’s normally not a man of so many words and hearing him talk this much makes me feel special that he’s talking to me because he feels the need to let me know what’s plaguing his mind. I entertain the idea that maybe he wasn’t sure how to convey the message since I’m so shy he didn’t have a lot of opportunity cornering me before the kitchen incident. Perhaps it was the undo he needed.

”Tell me Y/N. Do you find me attractive?” His fingers stroke the flesh of my jaw he’s getting confident as I don’t push him away.

”You are attractive.” I tell him honestly and he grins but not in a malice kind of way his grin more like a boyish grin that boys wear after hearing that their high school crush likes them back. The happy kind of grin.

”Have you thought about me too? Like I did.” The next question hits differently it’s not so innocent and I wasn’t in the illusion he is.

”Yes.” Holding onto the boldness I agree.

”Tell me.” He urges. He’s sober I remember. Avoiding his stare I let my shyness getting to the best of me he brushes a strand of hair behind my ears coaxing out the reply. It feels nice to be touched by him.

”It’s embarrassing.”

”I told you mine. You have to tell me your fantasies so I can make them come true.” He trails a finger following the line of my collarbone my outfit leaves literally everything to the imagination the only skin he can feel is on my arms.

”You’re unfair.” I whine the words out Yoongi stops his movements to see the emotions behind my eyes. He seems confused by my conflicted expression. His eyes were always expressive and I loved staring at them. Those rare moments shared, eating together at the weekends letting me hear one of his song he proudly introduces.

”How so?”

I take a deep breath cupping his cheeks. ”You look good with dyed hair but I prefer it black. You look the best when you come home from work all sweaty because the air conditioner still not gotten repaired in your workplace so you always take a shower before doing anything else.” There’s glint catching the light in his orbs watching me closely while I tell him the things I locked away in my memories. He caresses my wrist with a raised hand the other directly resting upon mine as it's his face still trapped between the heels of my palms.

”I like your voice.” I let the words flow out like a river caught up in a thunderstorm. ”I always wanted to know how it would sound like moaning my name. I like your hands too.”

”What about them?” A big smile stretches his face knowing too well he won. I don’t feel the frustration of losing I’d gladly accept this fate again and again if it will give me the same results at the end of this.

”Yoongi.” I whine.

”Did you imagined this? Or this?” His hands leaving their position fondling the flesh on my hip hiding me behind his body he walks a hand up my decolletage.

”Stop, we are in public.” I hiss.

”No one pays attention Y/N. But I’ll gladly take this to the bedroom.” The offer temps me but I remember the boys.

”We can’t. You are the only sober one and the guys need their ride home.” I reason and Yoongi groans in frustration. He forgot about them already. He looks at the booth the others are drinking and laughing.

”If I tell Namjoon to stop drinking he would be sober enough to drive them back.”

I shake my head it would be too dangerous and considering he competed with Jungkook about who can take more shots I bet he’s drunk like a donkey alongside with the younger boy. ”I’m drunk too.” I tell him when he tries to come up with more solution.

”Fine.” Yoongi hugs me close probably to hide his displeased face doesn’t want to sound so desperate maybe he’s embarrassed.

”Don’t be like that. I promise if in the morning when I sobered up you still want to do it I’ll let you.”

He perks up gently pushing me away to look into my eyes. ”Let me do what?”

”Let you take me.”

 ***

I feel something warm tickling my sides a sudden wave of cold air hits my stomach but the cold soon replaced with a warm and wet feel against my skin. My eyes narrowly open I try to fidget away wrapping my fingers around the comforter when I feel that wet and warm feeling on my thighs.

Hands and tongue. The fog in front of my eyes clears I don’t remember when did I fell asleep or how did I end up here. Where am I? I spot the synthesizer in the corner Yoongi’s synthesizer. Yoongi’s room.

”Yoongi, what .. ah” My voice raspy from sleep the way he rubbed his nose into my neck just to deliver a long kiss to it after halted my question before I was able to voice it out.

”Did I wake you up. My bad.” He smiled into my skin loving the way my heart beats erratically with his every touch, his hand above my breast feeling the movements of it.

”You don’t sound so sorry about it.”

”Do you have a headache?” He caresses the side of my face helping to curl the locks behind my ear that interfered with my vision. The thoughtful gesture made me smile up at his face mirroring his expression of tenderness.

”No I’m good. I didn’t drink that much.” My fingers itch to touch his face maybe it’s because of the dreamy state I’m currently in that I have the confidence in doing so. I brush my hands through his bangs his eyes closing the caress urges a smile he grabs my hands once I’m about to pull away to move it against his mouth giving a small kiss onto my palm before intertwining them with his much larger ones.

I could get used to this. The image of him looking so raw and so vulnerable his eyes puffy with sleep lazy motions of his fingertip exploring my body under the duvet. My shirt is rolled up just below my breasts the shirt’s neck hangs around my shoulder in a loose coverage it smells like Yoongi just like the covers. Looking down I realise it’s not my shirt. It’s his.

”Glad to hear that. I want you to repeat your promise to me.” Yoongi burrows his face into my neck again his hair brushing against my bare skin the hand that’s not holding mine drops under the covers finding my hip guiding me to drape my right leg over his waist facing each other sideways.

”Promise? Can you be more specific?” I boldly move my hand caressing with feather-light touches his side I can feel his bare torso and hips under my fingers he shivers and not because of the cold. He’s shivering because I touched him and he’s not wearing a shirt. The thought crosses my mind that the shirt I’m wearing is the one he did wear the whole day but not now. Every other day I would be embarrassed but I quite liked the idea of wearing his clothes in his bed.

”A tease I see.” He recovered quicker than I would like he gave a quick peck onto my shoulder where his shirt didn’t cover that much skin. He cupped my breast above the fabric of my bra the sudden feel of him squeezing me there I whined a little bit too loudly. I pulled my hand away shielding my face due to embarrassment.

”Yoongi.” I shyly call his name. He let his hand stay there but he remained motionless giving my hands each a kiss just where my eyes would be if I didn’t hide behind my limbs. His hand felt warm against me where my bra wasn’t covering his two fingers rested directly on the skin of my breast.

”Do I have your consent baby?” I gulp my shy personality says no but my body says yes for me.

”You can have anything.” I place my palm against his that lays on my body my eyes still closed but I don’t shield my face anymore. The words came out as whispers even though I wanted him to hear me say it. I wanted him to go on.

”Love. Answer me.” I open my eyes again when I feel his hand leave my boobs to cup my face with it instead.

”You can have me. You can fuck me. Did it answer your question or should I be more specific?” I wet my lips poking my tongue against the inside of my cheeks trying to calm down the rapid movement of my heart my hands shook as I grip his hair moving my mouth against his to not just say but show my consent. I want this. I want him.

”No. I think it was explicit enough, I like seeing you blush.” Hearing him say that makes me blush harder and he gifts me with a gummy smile basking in the responsive reactions. I would be more embarrassed if I wouldn’t feel the sticky substance dampening my underwear.

”Do you have something in mind? A preference? Or can I surprise you.” The way he explicitly asks about my sexual preferences makes him appear hotter a new wave of arousal hits me making me grind my thighs together forgetting that Yoongi’s leg is between them. I know he felt the wetness but doesn’t comment on it he instead pushes his knees further up parting my legs.

”You d-decide.” I moan when his knee brushes against my crotch. He hummed delighted by my answer. Placing back his hand once more squeezing my breasts before undoing the clasps behind my back. He slowly lets the material fall he strictly looks into my eyes not wandering downwards seeking out my every reaction. I gave him a little nod he takes it as the permission he needed he moves the cover so he can take a look.

”So pretty.” He sighs into my skin he turns my body to be flat against the bed the cold sheets meeting with my back goosebumps travelling up my spine. ”So soft.” He mumbles the endless of praises dragging his fingers over a nipple before licking it with his tongue a choked moan leaves my parted lips his hair gently caressing the skin. He circles the nipple with his poked out tongue kneading the other neglected one with his free hand. Mewls and sighs, in turn, filling the room trying to keep my voice quiet but it’s hard since the only thing I can concentrate on is his mouth on me and his hands those long fingers as he drags them down on my body a finger slides under the waistband of my panty he stretches the material out before letting it snap back into place. The uncomfortable feeling of it sticking to my folds gets frustrating by every passing minute.

”You smell good.” His raspy voice helps me return from my sudden astonishment I scrape his scalp with my long nails as I weave my fingers through his hair he lets out a low growl my skin covering up the noise the vibration he sends up my body by it makes me tighten my legs around his waist my underwear covered cunt pressed against his firm chest forces a not so silent whine out.

”It’s m-my lotion.” I reply absentmindedly. He hums into my collarbone not sure my answer registered truly in his brain I feel him taking a big inhale before pulling away he pushes himself up with the help of his hands planted beside my head looking with heavily lidded eyes taking in my hazed eyes and swollen lips before connecting our mouths. I almost forgot how good of a kisser Yoongi is.  

The light touch against my inner thigh makes my hip jolt up in surprise Yoongi’s eager mouth swallows all the sounds and whimpers. ”Relax.” He purrs aiming for my hips soothing circles into my skin. I take a few deep breaths Yoongi waits patiently for me to calm down a little the way his eyes sizing me up like I’m some kind of goddess eases some of my nerves. Once he’s positive I’m not going to run away he lets his palm touch me the barrier that’s my underwear stays in place as he drags his fingers directly onto my heat. I feel it throb under his ministrations having confidence after a few moans I let out he gets bolder using more pressure to dip between my folds the underwear’s silky touch lets him move smoothly. ”Can I feel it? I want to make sure you’re wet enough before I do anything else.” Nodding even before the question was fully out I anticipate a laugh or something to tease me about my eagerness. I don’t think I wanted someone this bad before to touch me. But he doesn’t laugh he seems as eager as I feel. He slides a finger under the damp material but he retreats too soon. ”Please, can I take it off?” To persuade me further if his plea wasn’t enough he rubs his fingers where my clit is over my panty. The plea was enough but I’m not complaining. I manage to signal him with a breathy yes. Don’t have to tell him twice he slides the ruined material down my legs his big warm hands gripping my inner thighs preventing my legs from closing before he can take a look.

”Look at that. So pink and swollen for me.” Previously he was careful with every move waiting for approval before doing anything bold but like he’s lost all the continence in him Yoongi drags two fingers up my folds coating his fingers with my arousal letting just the tip of his fingers penetrating just to pull back. I let out the loudest moan blushing as I realise just how loud I sounded but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, not at all. He wanted to coax more of those sounds as he bent down parting the lips with his tongue letting out his own moans while tasting me and if it’s even possible at this point I feel more turned on than ever.

”Warm too. Sorry, my love, my hands are a little cold but I hope you don’t mind.” He finally slips a finger in my eyes slightly open he watches me with a grin loving the way I squirm wanting it chuckles deep and I don’t mind at all. The stretch his one digit means feels familiar reminding me when I was chasing relief on my own but his fingers are so so much better longer and thicker. I can’t wait to feel the second one.

”I want to make you cum on my tongue.” Delivering a kittenish lick sucking on my clit for the demonstration before he goes on. ”Just to bring you another orgasm with my fingers.” Yoongi curls the one finger in me rubbing it into my throbbing walls ”Lastly let you cum around my cock.” He throws his head back moaning sinfully just thinking he’s about to make everything he said come true. ”You deserve at least three orgasms but I shouldn’t be greedy your virgin cunt can’t handle three.” He eases another finger in this time the stretch is a bit more uncomfortable.

”Let’s start with two.” He says settled with the idea he places a wet kiss onto my hip before finding my abused clit again sucking and rolling it around his tongue my walls contacts around his two digits I feel the sticky substance coating my inner thighs and dripping onto the sheets the mess, the way Yoongi’s hair tickle my thighs, the way he moves his fingers inside me, the pleasure gets overwhelming something starts to build up promising a relief I never had the chance of feeling before.

”Yoongi fuck, Yoongi” His name spills from my mouth and it seems to encourage him to be faster.

”It’s fine.” He tells before sucking harshly on my clit. ”Cum for me.” The proud grin he forms still buried between my legs and the vibration of his hum makes my legs shake I let my head fall back into the pillows closing my eyes until I see literal stars.

He stops lapping my juices once I’m finished the proud smile still plastered on his face licking his lips capturing the remaining of my pleasure. He looks so hot. I never knew I’m capable of coming this hard.

”Good?” Placing a kiss onto my nose he caresses my arms I didn’t realise I was grabbing onto the sheets this tight I let Yoongi place my hands onto his shoulder blades he moves to get between my legs once more.

Instead of answering, I can’t help but impatiently point out. ”You’re still wearing clothes.” I grab his hips pulling on his sweatpants playfully.

”Wanna take it off?” He asks smirking. I roll my eyes at his cockiness not that he’s all talk when it comes to his skills but he has more ego than he can manage and I’m not going to increase it for him.

”So what? Don’t tell me you are not eager even more than me to bury your dick into my virgin pussy.” His eyes grow bigger for a split second before it regains its original state, so he can be startled too. I’m surprised by my boldness, but god, it’s worth it seeing him so fucked up by those words.

”You’re playing a dangerous game Y/N. I need my self-control right now.” Something shifted in his eyes he looks like he’s about to devour me. Yoongi shifts onto his knees to get rid of the final barriers between us. I close my eyes my shyness returns too soon but Yoongi doesn’t mind it I open my eyes again as he positions myself above me placing a firm kiss onto my lips he senses I’m anxious.

”Do you trust me?” Seeing the open vulnerability in his shiny orbs, not entirely clouded by lust makes my head swim with a lot of suppressed emotion. I feel the urge to smile lifting my head from the pillows beneath me I give him a peck.

”Of course I am.” I kinda like you. I bite into my lips before the next sentence could slip through we’ll talk about this another time. Right, the only thing I want to focus on is Yoongi. Only Yoongi. His tip brushes against my stomach, shit, I haven’t seen how big he is. His lip pressed to mine swallows the tiny moan leaving my lips as he pushes the first inch inside parting my walls in a painful stretch. Fuck. He’s big.

”Tight.” Yoongi moans, more in pleasure than I am currently in but it’s ok. He made me cum I want to see him cum too. ”Relax for me angel I won’t hurt you I promise.” Relishing in the way he caresses my side I try to relax my body he pushes another inch in slowly his tip must be fully buried by now.

”That’s right. You’re doing so well.” He praises his eyebrows knit together in concentration he’s holding himself back because of me. Touched by the gesture I move my hip to meet his advances he slips in deeper than he intended his groan significantly louder by the sudden pleasure.

”Does it hurt?” He pulls himself together to keep the eye contact he caresses the skin under my eye I nod before answering.

”A little.”

”Let’s try a few more thrusts if it still hurts after that I’ll stop and eat you out again. Shit. Maybe I should have made you cum again for the extra lubrication.” Yoongi regretfully gazes at my face.

”It’s fine. Just go slow.” I say the burning is bearable I’m getting used to the feeling slowly but not sure if I can cum again.

”My baby is so tight.” I’m definitely a sucker for those pet names. It helps me focus on his words instead of his slow thrusts. ”I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. Feeling you wrapped around me a dream come true.” I experimentally squeeze around him and he lets out a loud moan his head nestled into my neck groaning and moaning between filthy words his pace got quicker but I don’t stop him even though it’s not feeling as good as him eating me out. I want to please him though and by the sounds, he seems very pleased.

”Are you alright?” He stops after hearing a louder whiny moan on my part but I don’t let him I circle my hips in place dragging out moans from him but he forces himself to reset his previous slower pace. I’m not having any of it. I want him to cum and want it soon.

”Yoongi” I whine out his name an idea foggily forming at the back of my head. ”Yoongi, I wanna ride you.”

”Are y-you sure?” He stills inside of me waiting for the confirmation and I nod inviting him into a kiss that turns slopy by time. I feel his hands grabbing at my waist to change position this way he sinks in deeper.

Holy shit it feels so much better.

”Fuck. Do you like this?” He grips my hips dragging his cock touching every sensitive part in me as my walls swallow his shaft he pulls me up just to let me sink down with a needy moan I’m starting to feel the appeal.

”Yes. I-ah-think.” I can almost picture the way my eyes roll back behind my skull right now. What was I saying? ”Go faster.” I choke out and Yoongi with a following set of groans obligates I’m too far gone to pay attention to how Yoongi watches with hungry eyes that I ruin the bedsheets.

”I like that you are so messy.” He places a stray hair behind my ears our chests pressed together so he can thrust up faster and harder. Yoongi holds me in place taking control the way his eyes shuts involuntarily and his member twitching inside of me signals that he’s close.

He’s breathtakingly beautiful as he reaches his high he’s so lost in the pleasure my walls provide so tight around him that he doesn’t have the mind to kiss me back so I just press them together for a minute longer. My legs ache because of the exercise but I let him use me to ride out his high the pretty sounds and satisfied look he gives me once seated firmly inside me with our mixed cum spilling out he looks down where our body connects rubbing the skin of my hip lovingly while watching me ruin his sheets. He likes that I’m messy.

”I hope you like me back because I don’t think I could fuck anyone else from now on.” I end up in a pit of laughter leaning my head on his shoulder he feels my body shake with the motion Yoongi whines in overstimulation when I accidentally squeeze his spent member. I peck the skin where my head previously rested before searching for Yoongi’s eyes.

”I do like you back.” I admit it shyly even though there’s nothing to be shy about his dick is still inside for fuck’s sake.

”Glad to hear that.” His grin returns faster than the speed of light. ”I thought I fucked your brains out when you suddenly started laughing. I was concerned for a minute.” I try to hit his shoulder but he’s faster grabbing my hand by the wrist and gives the flesh an attentive kiss the gesture is sweet and melts my heart.

”How are you feeling?” It’s cute how he seeks my reassurance. He lets me move away careful when pulling out so I can finally take the previous position lying down.

”Hm, sore but good. I just need .. some time. I don’t think I can stand up just yet.” I offer my honest reply burying my nose into the duvet that got tossed aside. He leaves the room making me confused but once he’s back with a towel in hand I pierce two and two together. It’s his towel. The thought is enough to make me blush furiously.

”Spread your legs for me.” I take the request as an order shyly spreading my legs so he can clean me up. ”There. All cleaned up.” The bed squeaks under the weight of his one knee pushing me further into the sheets. Yoongi bows down to kiss me his tongue teases my lips as we kiss asking for permission that I eagerly permit.

[simeon-simp]

Perfect Mate

Diavolo × GN!MC

Warnings: none

A/n: Please excuse any mistakes. English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing in a while. Also, no beta so...yeah

--------

"What in the Devildom am I doing?"

Throwing his D.D.D across the room, Diavolo groaned. Shame and embarrassment quickly caught up to him as a small blush formed on his face.

Barbatos had told him multiple times to go to bed or else he wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough for the meeting.

But did he listen?

No.

He didn’t listen, opting to stalk MC’s Devilgram instead. He had seen all their posts and stories, even going as far as to look at brother's pages to see who had been with MC for the day.

Diavolo sighed as he realized; Barbatos was right. He was obsessed with MC. He couldn’t be blamed though as it was in his nature to try and claim the perfect mate when he found them. He would have claimed MC by now if it weren’t for a small problem.

MC was human.

Now that didn’t seem like such a big deal, but it was. The courting process and traditions for Demons were different from what they were for humans. Human noses weren’t as sharp as a demon’s nose was, therefore, humans didn’t know that every living creature had their very own scent. But Demons did.

No matter how much he thought about it, there wasn’t a single person that smelled as good as MC did. It was the first thing Diavolo noticed when they arrived to the Devildom, he’s sure the brothers noticed it too. It helped him relax when he was anxious and calm down when he got too worked up. He never seemed to get enough of it, always craving more of their scent.

The problem was, with how much he craved it, he could easily notice the smallest change when he was around them. Meaning: he instantly knew who had been with MC for the day. It annoyed him to no end when they would hang out with him, and he was able to smell Mammon’s or someone else's lingering scent on them.  

Just the thought about it made him let out an involuntary growl. He couldn’t stand it, the way he would be looking forward to spending time with his MC just for them to walk in smelling like someone else. It truly made him angry. But no matter how mad it made him, he could never be mad at his MC. It’s not like they knew.

Diavolo laid back on his bed. MC had been the only thing on his mind lately, always managing to distract him no matter what he was doing. It always happened, and always would until he got his hands on MC or they were taken by someone else.  

Someone else...the thought of MC with anyone but him made him upset as there was a chance of it happening. That didn’t seem to be the case though. MC had been accepting his gifts, something seen to demons as their desired mate accepting their courting.

Diavolo would observe them, study them, just to know what they liked. He would take in their fashion sense and buy them whatever he could find that would fit it. If he happened to see them sketching or drawing during class, he would instantly buy them whatever they wanted just to so they could draw better. Diavolo would always make Barbatos make MC’s favorite dessert just so he could give it to them during their small lunch dates (MC doesn’t know it’s a date).

Diavolo basically bought whatever MC liked unless they seemed to get overwhelmed by the number of gifts given to them. If that turned out to be the case, Diavolo would instantly turn it down to simpler things. He would give them his umbrella if it was raining or give them his jacket if they were cold. Giving them his jacket was Diavolo’s favorite thing though. He was filled with pride every time he saw them wearing it or when he saw the way the brothers seemed to get annoyed by it.

There was no doubt that if things continued the way they were going, he would be able to ask them out soon. He already had a plan for how he would ask, he just needed a date. Though with Valentine’s Day only 3 months away, it seemed like the perfect day to ask.

With that final thought in mind, Diavolo closed his eyes, sleep finally overtaking him.

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

Valentine’s day arrived and Diavolo didn’t even bother to hide his excitement. He couldn’t stay still, and his voice was louder than usual. He would constantly check his D.D.D and ask Barbatos if it was time yet.

"My lord, please calm down. MC is probably busy with the brothers as the party doesn’t start for another 5 hours.”  

Diavolo hummed in consideration before pulling out his D.D.D once more. “No, they’re not. They just posted something on Devilgram...should I text or call them? I need to make sure that they-”  

Barbatos sighed for the first time in years and let Diavolo continue, ignoring the pain Diavolo’s words brought to him.

"Oh, they answered! I’ll be back!”

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

Humming a song MC had shown him from the human world, Diavolo took one last glance at himself in his bathroom mirror before running out. MC would show up soon and he wanted to be there to greet them.

He only waited for 15 minutes before he turned around and was faced with a tired looking MC. He checked them over to make sure they were fine and wondered if he should just call the whole thing off and let them rest. MC seemed to read his mind though as they instantly smiled, “I’m fine Dia, it’s just that Lucifer made Mammon and I walk all the way here as punishment for a prank we pulled earlier.”

Diavolo blushed at the nickname, looking away as he led them to a chair. “MC, you should sit down. You're probably tired from walking...Lucifer goes a little too far sometimes. Maybe I should have a talk with him...”

MC let out a nervous chuckle and waved him off, “I said I’m fine Dia. I deserved it, I should of known better than to prank the avatar of pride...”

Diavolo smiled, he loved that about MC. They would always look out for others, putting them before themselves. Though no matter how much they begged, he would still have to talk with Lucifer as he had put the future King/Queen in danger.  

Seeming to have remembered something, Diavolo ran off to Barbatos with a short “I’ll be right back! Please, stay where you are!” He seemed to ask for something as Barbatos left and then came back with a plate. Diavolo beamed at him and ran off to MC again, smile not faltering.

"MC, I... Today I tried to make your favorite dessert...Barbatos didn’t let me help much, but I tried my best! I hope you like it!” Diavolo handed them the plate, excited for them to try it. MC just stared at him before looking down at the plate on their lap, a warm smile spreading across their face. “Dia... thank you, I appreciate it. It makes me feel special, knowing that you...attempted, to make this for me.”

MC took a bite and if Diavolo had a tail, it would have been wagging around uncontrollably. He looked like an excited little puppy that had just been praised by its owner, a blush quickly spreading across his face when he realized the way he had just acted. What would people say if they saw him acting like this?

Nothing. They would say nothing as they had just seen it, but it was Lord Diavolo, so they couldn’t really comment on it. Even if they could, it wouldn’t be right for them to say anything as the side of Diavolo they had just seen was for MC, not them.

This carried on for the rest of the night, Diavolo gifting MC items and them thanking and praising him, earning a similar reaction to the one prior. Eventually, the clock hit 12 and Diavolo decided it was time.

"MC.”  

MC spun around, “Yes Di-” they paused. Diavolo made eye contact with them, an adorable blush adorning his face. “MC, may I have this dance?” He held out his left hand for them, waiting for them to take it.

Time seemed to stop for both MC and Diavolo. MC stopped to admire the beautiful image before them as Diavolo seemed to do the same. The world around them disappeared, the background noise dulling to a mere whisper. MC snapped out of it though, taking Diavolo’s hand and breaking the spell.

"Of course, I would love to.”

Diavolo smiled and lead them to the center of the dance floor. All eyes were on them, but they had gotten used to it after the stares they got the last 3 hours. Neither Diavolo nor MC could blame them though, it was the first time anyone had seen The Lord Diavolo acting all excited and cute. It almost made him seem...friendly.

It wasn’t the first time Diavolo and MC danced together. They had done a few times before, as a joke or because they were bored. But this didn’t feel like it did before, this was different. Diavolo’s gaze was serious and loving, not playful and teasing. His hands were constantly on them, not giving them space like he did before.  

MC didn’t mind though, leaning into his touch instead. They always did. They had come to terms with their feelings for the prince a long time ago. MC knew exactly what Diavolo had been doing the last few months, the brothers had taught them about mates and courting just a few weeks after they arrived in the devildom. MC knew what he was doing, yet they let it happen.  

Naturally, MC didn’t tell the brothers. They probably wouldn’t have been them allowed near Diavolo for a long time if they did find out. MC knew some of the brothers had their suspicions, but they assumed MC didn’t feel the same way Diavolo did, something they would probably regret later. That wasn’t MC’s problem though.

The song ended, and MC couldn’t help but feel disappointed. But the disappointment didn’t last long.  

Barbatos appeared from the crowd, a small red box in his hands. He handed it to Diavolo and walked away, giving Diavolo a small encouraging smile. Diavolo gave him a subtle smile in return before turning to MC and clearing his throat. He waited until they had most of the room’s attention before starting.

"MC, you know better than anyone here that I’ve been lonely my entire life. The only ones I could talk to being Barbatos and Lucifer, but that had its limits too. I’ve never had someone who I could talk to as easily as I can with you. You act normal with me, not giving me any special treatment. You’re always so kind, comforting me when I need it. You let me be myself without having to worry about what anyone else thinks. You let me vent and hug you. You just make me so happy...in fact, I didn’t even know it was possible to be this happy. You’re just so precious to me that I can barely take it. So that’s why I’m asking you here...will you be mine?”

MC didn’t know what to say. They knew he would ask soon, they just didn’t expect it to be right there, where everyone could see. But MC had thought about this many times before. So, without a doubt in mind, MC smiled and nodded. They didn’t trust themselves with words, so they decided to use actions instead.

Diavolo was caught off guard when he was pulled in for a kiss by MC. The shock didn’t last long though as he eagerly kissed back.

The room exploded with cheers and clapping. Many congratulating them and wishing them the best. Nobody looked away though as they knew what was next.

Diavolo pulled back first and opened the box in his hands. Inside rested a gold necklace with red diamonds on it. He put the box aside and turned to MC.  

MC wasn’t surprised as gifting their mate jewelry was something demons did often. It was seen as a sign of ownership and possession. MC had seen the design before on a textbook. A necklace with red diamonds was a trend among the royal family. Diavolo’s mother had one, as so did others before that.

MC nodded and Diavolo wasted no time to put it around their neck. He smiled and pulled them in for a kiss once again, not caring who was or wasn’t watching. He finally had what he had wanted for so long... he couldn’t stop smiling.

"I love you, MC. You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this...now that you’re mine, I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

_______

I hope you enjoyed this! The brothers+datables reactions will be out soon. Remember, they were at the party too. They saw it all go down.

[myherowritings]

Fact or Fiction?

— “OKAY get this : pro hero bakugou & pro hero reader are shipped by literally everyone bc it’s painfully obvious that the boy likes her & people keep tagging him in n*fw stories abt reader & him & he reads one & literally cannot look at reader the same & she goes “you’re acting weird. oh no, did you read the fanfics?” because SHE HAS TOO. anyways they finally end up getting together & maybe n*fw???" by anonymous.

pairing: pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader word count: 3.0k genre: pro hero au, humor/crack, smut warnings: explicit language, masturbation (bakugou), imagined oral?, bakugou is just fucking horny y’all, 18+

a/n: tysm for the request! it’s not full on heavy fucking (i’m still warming up to writing that...so prob in my next smut fic hehe) and it’s more crack than smut lolol, but i hope you like it! [y/h/n = your hero name]

GROUND ZERO AND Y/H/N SPOTTED IN KANAGAWA PREFECTURE!

Bakugou rolled his eyes. That was the headline following a Pro Hero meeting at a neighboring ward just a few weeks ago. Of course you were spotted together. You were both Pro Heroes after all.

SECRET ROMANTIC GETAWAY?: GROUND ZERO AND Y/H/N CAUGHT HOLDING HANDS AT MOUNT MITAKE

He definitely was not holding your hand. You simply dropped your wallet--for someone so good on the field, you sure were rather clumsy--and he handed it back to you. Easy as that. It was only the angle of the photograph that made it look like your fingers were interlocked.

Y/H/N SPOTTED WITH A HICKEY AFTER HER DATE WITH GROUND ZERO

There were many issues with this headline.

For one, he did not take you out on a date. Deku invited you, Iida, and Bakugou out for dinner, but of course the paparazzi captured pictures of only the two of you, making it look like a one-on-one date.

And for two, there was no hickey anywhere in sight. You had simply banged your jaw on the table while reaching down for a spoon you dropped, causing a small bruise to form on the place your jawline met your neck.

(Besides, if Katsuki were to give you a hickey--which he wouldn’t even dream of--it sure as hell wouldn’t look as sloppy as that.)

GROUND ZERO PROPOSES TO Y/H/N?!

Now this one was just bullshit.

TOP 5 HOTTEST “GROUND Y/H/N” STORIES YOU NEED TO READ

Bakugou froze at the last headline, cautiously eyeing the link before scoffing in both curiosity and disgust and exiting the window.

He knew what the article meant by stories. He was tagged in them more times than he could count. Plus, he wasn’t stupid-- Katsuki knew that people shipped his hero persona with yours and that some fans went a little overboard with the art and writing. But honestly, he didn’t pay that much mind.

In fact, he gave little to no fucks about what people chose to do in their free time, but tagging you and him in them and commenting links for you to see? That was a different story. Doing so was obnoxious and revolting and if he ever found out someone made you uncomfortable by exposing you to a the obscenity, he would make sure they suffer the consequences.

He hoped you didn’t see any of that shit in your lifetime and he sure as hell didn’t want to either.

So, of course, the universe heard his plea and decided to give him the exact opposite.

“Can’t you people fucking keep these to yourselves?” growled Bakugou when the first thing he saw as he logged onto his social medias were notifications of tags and links to obscene creations on his page.

There were drawings of him and Deku, him and Uravity, and even him and the half-and-half bastard. But the overwhelming majority of the pictures were of him and Y/H/N. Some of the art was normal enough and most of them were incredibly well drawn and pure. But a handful of them were--to put it nicely--lewd as fuck.

And Katsuki couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty was his eyes wandered from the exposed swell of your breasts to the curves of your hip and lower to the smooth expanse of…

He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his phone onto his sofa with a disgusted snort. Even though it was only a drawing, he felt terrible for indulging in it like that.

“Dammit, Katsuki,” he scolded himself, running his fingers through his hair as he tried not to picture how you really looked underneath your hero costume.

Now was not the time to be wondering if your skin would feel as soft under the caress of his fingertips as he had imagined. (Yet, here he was.) Nor was it the time to pick up his phone and stare at the obscene drawing of Ground Zero and Y/H/N he was tagged it. (Yet, he found himself walking over to his sofa and doing just that.)

And it was definitely not the time to be tempted by the link to the “5 Hottest” fanfictions written about the two of you. (Yet, two seconds later, the curiosity--and horniness--won over and he there it was on his screen.)

“Don’t fucking do it,” threatened Bakugou, glaring at his reflection on the darkened cellphone.

But either he wasn’t as strong-willed as he thought or his logic was rendered completely useless whenever it came to you, because he found himself reading through a 20,000-word long story about a sex pollen quirk.

In the story, a villain with said quirk attacked you on the field and the only way to relieve yourself of the unbearable pain was-- Well…an orgasm. And for some godforsaken reason, Ground Zero was the only one able to provide you with that release.

It was ridiculous and would never happen in real life, and yet something about the writing made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

As Bakugou continued to read, a vivid image of you sprawled out underneath him flashed before his eyes and he stifled a groan. His throat felt dry as the Ground Zero in the story trailed kisses from the swell on your breast to your sensitive navel and lower still, hands firmly gripping your hips to keep you from squirming under the assault of his tongue as your fingers tugged at his hair.

“Y/N… Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his one hand clutched his cellphone as he continued reading on, while his other hand made its way down to his semi-erect member.

His touch started light and feathery, almost tentative in a way, as he ran his fingers up and down his length in repetitive strokes. As his cock hardened, Bakugou grew more impatient and increased the pressure around his shaft, thighs tensing at the sudden spark of pleasure.

In the story, he had just finished eating you out and, to return the favor, you dropped onto your knees in front of him. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock and he mimicked the motions, pretending it was your mouth around his head and not his own fingers.

Oh, how he wished it was your tongue instead of his own fucking fingers…

His vision grew hazy as his phone slipped out of his grasp, forgetting the fanfiction and picturing what you would do to him instead. Your eyes would be wide open as you peered up at him through your lashes, lips wrapped around his shaft as you took him deeper into your mouth.

As his thursts grew more and more uncontrolled, a low moan slipped out of him when he gently squeezed his fingers around his member one last time.

The moment he reached his climax, Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut as his chest rose and fell in shallow pants. He was sweaty and flushed and sprawled out on the sofa, praying you would be there between his legs when he opened his eyes.

But of course, that wasn’t the case. And all Bakugou could do was laid spent on his back, wondering how the fuck he was ever supposed face you after that happened.

“Well, fuck…”

- - - - -

It was a Saturday evening and Bakugou and some of your other Pro Hero friends were supposed to meet up at your house, but that wasn’t what ended up happening.

Instead, the moment Katsuki texted the group chat that he was almost there, every single one of your friends began making excuses as to why they could no longer show. Deku had to babysit, Yaoyorozu had a last minute dinner date, Shouto was visiting his family… And the list went on, each excuse more pathetic than the last.

And so, that was how you and Bakugou found yourselves eating Chinese take out on your sofa while a shitty reality TV show played in the background.

“So,” you said, plopping a piece of steamed broccoli in your mouth and chewing slowly. “How was your day?”

He avoided your gaze, glaring down at his container of chicken and rice. The whole evening so far was filled with one awkward encounter after another-- Entirely his fault, he could admit. But he couldn’t help it! How the fuck was Bakugou supposed to look you in the eye and pretend everything was normal when just last night he jerked off to a sex story about Ground Zero and Y/H/N?

There was simply no way.

“I’m fine,” he managed, voice gruff as he almost choked on his words.

You stared curiously at him and he tried his hardest not to look your way. He knew one look into your eyes and he would be stuck wondering how they looked rolling back into your head as he fucked you senseless.

“Why are you acting so weird?” you asked, scooting closer to him on the couch. “Are you mad at me?”

Katsuki shook his head, pressing himself against the arm rest. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he would disappear into it.

“Then what’s the matter?”

You set your food aside on the coffee table and turned your body towards him, tucking your feet underneath your legs as you leaned forward. When he jumped at your brief touch, you studied him with unwavering intensity.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you said, sticking your tongue out.

He winced at the sight of your pink flesh. God-fucking-dammit.

You pouted when he didn’t respond, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Okay, fine. I’m only kidding-- Please, tell me!”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Bakugou lied through clenched teeth.

“Sure. You’re acting like I was after I read all those--” you cut yourself off, eyes widening in realization. “No way!”

“What?” he asked defensively.

There was no way you could have meant that you read those obscene stories… Right?

A teasing grin grew on your face as you scooted closer to him, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t tell me you did it.”

Bakugou jerked away, your close proximity and warm breath too tantalizing after the events of last night.

“What did I do?” he repeated.

“You know what.”

He had a feeling he did know, but he damn well hoped he was wrong. “No I don’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at his avoidance before nodding understandingly. Giving him a little more room, you leaned back against the sofa and folded on leg across the other. (Unfortunately for Bakugou, all that did was draw more attention to your exposed thighs-- Or, as the fanfiction called it, “a long expanse of smooth skin leading to a delectable center.”)

“Remember that one week around Deku’s birthday when I was ignoring you?” you asked suddenly.

He snorted at the memory. “Yeah. You didn’t reply to my messages for days and when we saw each other at his birthday dinner, you turned into a bumbling mess and tried to leave the room.”

To this day, Katsuki still wasn’t certain what exactly had happened that caused you to avoid him like that, but he has a sinking suspicion he was about to find out.

“Exactly!” you agreed. “I got flustered whenever you were around and could hardly think straight.” You turned your body towards him once more, crossing your arms across your chest and accidentally pushing your breasts up. (Not that he noticed.) “Me back then? That’s how you’re acting right now!”

His nose crinkled indignantly. “Bullshit! That doesn’t describe me at all.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Hmm,” you drawled, leaning forward and giving him a clear sight of your cleavage. Bakugou almost choked on air at the sudden assault. “If that’s true, then why have you been staring at my boobs the whole time we were talking? And why does your vein look like its about to pop out of your neck from your overwhelming self-control?”

“And why are you spewing all these lies?!”

You smiled knowingly and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wipe the look off your face with an explosion or with a kiss.

“They’re not lies. Do you know how I know that?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. There was no reason to argue any longer. “Hmph.”

“Because I was once in your shoes, too, young grasshopper,” you said serenely. Before he could get mad at you for fucking around like that, you continued. “I know you read those stories.”

This time, there was no almost-- He really did choke in surprise. You stared at him in alarm, moving closer to gently pat his upper back as he coughed up the fucking air. As if today wasn’t embarrassing enough…

“What stories?” he wheezed, trying to save face.

The word was such a vague term. It could have referred to many things. Maybe you got tired of hearing stories about how great of a Pro Hero Ground Zero was… No. That didn’t make sense even to him.

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to play dumb with me, Bakugou. You know what I’m talking about. And I know you’ve read them-- It’s written all over your face!”

Bakugou made an indignant noise of protest, but what you said next shocked him into silence.

“I know that look on your face very well… Because I’ve read them, too.”

He could only blink in response.

“After I read one, I couldn’t look you in the eye for weeks!” you said, shaking your head with an embarrassed, yet amused, smile. “When I saw you at Deku’s birthday party, I couldn’t even glance your way without thinking about ‘the beads of sweat framing your flushed face’ or ‘the way your red eyes darkened at the captivating sight sprawled out underneath you’.”

An angry blush invaded his cheeks and made its way to his neck and ears as the image flooded his head. Bakugou felt an uncomfortable heat as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. But nothing in the world could prepare him for what you were about to say.

“And don’t even get me started on your ‘big tiddies’,” you huffed, pursing your lips disdainfully.

There was one beat of silence… Two…

“My big what?” he forced out.

You shrugged drumming your fingertips along the couch cushion. “You know-- It’s what your fans call your pectoral muscles.”

If it were possible to die from embarrassment, Katsuki was sure it was bound to happen to him within the next few seconds.

First, you admitted to reading those lewd stories about the two of you. Second, you recited direct quotes about what was most likely his orgasm-face verbatim. And third, you were talking about tits while yours were resting comfily atop your crossed arms.

You tilted your head to the side, deep in thought. “Now that I look at them… They are rather big. I bet they’re bigger than mine.”

Well, if yours were anything like the drawing he saw yesterday, he would have to say you were wrong. Utterly and completely wrong.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Bakugou muttered under his breath as he eyed your breasts, only loud enough for him to hear.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

Shrugging, you brushed off his comment with a pensive look on your face. “Your fans’ description of your chest is so spot on, I’m beginning to wonder if the other things they’ve said are facts too.”

“What other things have you heard?”

“That you have a nice ass. But just one look at your butt in those jeans is enough to prove them right.”

Bakugou’s embarrassment faded away at the compliment. He did have a nice ass. And he damn well worked hard for it too. He puffed up in his seat at your praise while you rolled your eyes in amusement.

“Yours is pretty nice, too.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sticking your tongue out at his teasing. God, if he saw that fucking tongue one more time tonight… He wasn’t sure what was bound to happen. “You know what else they said? That you’re packing.”

Your eyes flitted downwards to his jeans and he shifted in his seat to subconsciously give you a clearer view. You made a quiet nose of surprise but didn’t back away, instead meeting his gaze with a darkened look.

Only the sound of the static from the forgotten television played as neither of you wanted to move and break the fragile moment. When you swallowed slowly, taking your plush lower lip between your teeth, Bakugou decided he was done with letting you have the upper hand.

“You know,” Katsuki said slowly, his voice so gruff it startled even himself, “I guess there’s only one way to find out if that’s true or not.”

The air was thick as you crossed and uncrossed your legs. “W-What exactly are you saying?”

Bakugou smirked. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

You puffed your cheeks up in a pout that did nothing to help Katsuki’s thinning self-control.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No, but a loud-mouthed asshole got on my nerves.”

He scoffed in laughter, taken aback by your blunt tone. Shrugging as you sulked, he warned, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baka.”

“Oh, I can finish just fine,” you remarked with a challenging look in your eyes. “Don’t you worry about me. And I bet when I’m finished, you’ll see it won’t be like the lewd stories you’ve read.”

Tilting his head to the side, he met your gaze without backing down. “It won’t?”

“Nope. It’ll be better. Because it’s the real thing.”

“Is that a fact?”

With a mischievous grin, you leaned closer to Bakugou and craned your neck up so your face was mere inches from his. Using his own words against him, you replied, “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

And it was safe to say that, yes, the real thing was leagues better than the stories could ever imagine it to be.

[coldwind-shiningstars]

ok ok prompts!!! so, I would be Delighted by some more qinxiyao family fic (deleted scenes or things you might have wanted to include in the big bang fic but didn't get to?), or, alternately, anything in the modern tcgf au? anything at all; they're all so excellent <3

both of these are such excellent prompts I started working on both of them, but the modern au got finished first! I’ll probably both a) do a lot of edits on this and b) do the qinxiyao family fic in a week or so, but here this is for now. Also, for those not in James and my brains, this is a very small part of a very large AU! Small note, all characters appearing in this fic are trans; however, He Xuan is still very much an egg and so they are referred to throughout the fic as “he/him,” although SQX at least is aware of this and wondering when to bring it up with her. She is, however, unaware that “Ming Yi” is a stolen identity and He Xuan is actually the eco-terrorist who’s been blowing up her brother’s fish hatcheries. It’s a long story. 

If Xie Lian was being honest, he didn't much like the internet. It was so bright and everything moved too fast. People used a bewildering array of slang and images. It was surprisingly difficult to avoid spending hours reading upsetting news stories. People spent days arguing about pornography. 

Also, his phone didn't really connect to WiFi very well. Even by the loosest definitions of the word, he hardly counted as a netizen.

People were usually shocked when he told them this, though, because Xie Lian's best friend was one of China's most popular beauty influencers.

Xie Lian's face appeared on her Weibo with some regularity. She talked about him often. He'd gone viral three separate times on Douyin, entirely accidentally. 

What Shi Qingxuan was most famous for, however, was makeup tutorials. He had never actually appeared in one of these, but, since there were very few people in the world capable of saying no to a very determined Shi Qingxuan, this was about to change. He was used to being in her charmingly decorated little apartment but not quite used to becoming a decorated thing himself. He'd even put on one of the outfits Hua Cheng had designed and sewn for him, based on some of his old dance costumes and a few frantic weeks of historical research, and kept swishing the skirts around his legs.

Shi Qingxuan started setting up, chattering away to Xie Lian as she did. "You need anything before we start? Bathroom, water, a snack? I edit my videos pretty heavily, so we can always take a break, but it’s good to be comfy." 

"No, I'm fine," Xie Lian said, and then had to close his eyes when she clicked on the ring light.

He fiddled with the makeup compacts laid out on the table.

Shi Qingxuan adjusted her light, scootched Xie Lian’s chair a little to the left and a little back, and then fiddled with the camera. It was quite the involved operation, Xie Lian thought; he knew a lot went into making videos, but he hadn’t realized it took this much effort before the camera was even on. Shi Qingxuan had done his makeup before, of course, but mostly just for fun, or something she could take a picture of and post on Weibo. It had been so long since he'd been filmed.

He watched Shi Qingxuan press record on her camera and then sit back and flash it a smile, putting on her Influencer Face. She squeezed his hand under the table.

“Hi everyone, welcome to Feng Shi!” she said, chirpy. “I’m Shi Qingxuan, and today we’re doing xianxia makeup with my good friend, Xie Lian. Now, for this look, we’re going to need…”

When Xie Lian was little, the makeup artists for his dance troupe had known he took about twice as long as anyone else did to get his makeup done. He was the darling of the company, though, so this was tolerated with fondness.

He didn't like the way the foundation felt on his face when it dried. His eyes watered when they put on eyeliner. He liked to spin his chair from side to side. 

He'd had much worse things on his face than paint since then, and had learned how to be still.

Shi Qingxuan patted his hand cheerfully as she pulled out the setting powder. 

"You're always one of my favorite models," she said. "You're so photogenic and so patient!"

"Thank you," Xie Lian said, and held still while she brushed it in his face.

Ruoye, probably noticing the warmth, slithered out of Xie Lian's robes and curled up on top of his head so she could get the full blast of heat from the ring light. She flickered out her tongue to scent Shi Qingxuan when she leaned in with a liquid eyeliner pen.

Shi Qingxuan made little kissy sounds at her, which only confirmed Xie Lian's certainty that he had good taste in friends. Most people were startled by Ruoye originally, but how they responded to her after Xie Lian introduced them was a good litmus test.

Ruoye settled in, and Xie Lian reached up a finger to stroke her scales. 

He was feeling good, content and warm, happy to sit still. Then the apartment door clicked open, and Xie Lian stiffened.

"Ming-xiong? Is that you?" Shi Qingxuan called.

Ming Yi mumbled something back and shuffled into the room, buried deep in his black hoodie. As always, Xie Lian's first thought upon seeing him was wondering how he could see through all that hair.

The hoodie had a fish skeleton painted on it that he recognized instantly as one of Hua Cheng's drawings; it made Xie Lian smile, thinking of how insistent San Lang was that they absolutely weren't friends, no way, there was no particular reason he would make custom hoodies for Ming Yi. The fish were a coincidence. He’d even made Ming Yi custom salmon breakup boots while proclaiming it meant nothing. 

Xie Lian, wearing an elaborate hanfu Hua Cheng had designed, sewn, and embroidered himself, even making him a period-appropriate duduo to flatten his chest, absolutely did not buy any of these excuses. Hua Cheng covered people he cared about with his art. 

Ming Yi grunted a greeting and wandered off, probably to raid the fridge. Shi Qingxuan winked at Xie Lian.

“I’ll edit most of this out,” she said, conspiratorial, “But my viewers love Ming-xiong. Especially when he’s out of focus in the background. They’ve made memes. I haven’t told them anything about him. It’s good to keep a little mystery! It keeps people watching.”

Xie Lian, having no real idea what she was talking about, smiled and suppressed his instinct to nod. Shi Qingxuan began painting a flower on his forehead with red pigment.

Finally, Shi Qingxuan gently removed Ruoye from Xie Lian’s head and shoulders and settled a wig cap over his hair, then the wig she’d pre-prepared. A few bobby pins, a few tucks, and then she stepped back, grinning.

“Ta-dah! How do you like it, taizi dianxia?”

“It’s beautiful,” Xie Lian said, honestly.

“We’ll end the video here, I think,” she said, “But I’ll get some posed photos of you to edit in here if that’s alright. Oh, tilt your head back and forth a little? Good. Smile at the camera!”

Shi Qingxuan fluttered her fingers at the camera in a wave; Xie Lian waved too, a few seconds later. As she leaned forward to click off the camera he straightened his legs out to try and loosen them up. His knees made terrible crunching sounds as they stretched. 

“You can take a little break if you want,” Shi Qingxuan said. “I’ll set up the area where we’ll take photos, but I’ll try to make it quick. You’re a darling for sitting through all this, you know?"

She was already bustling around again. She seemed to have an endless fountain of energy; Xie Lian found it admirable. He laid flat on his back on her bed, careful to not get makeup on her sheets or wrinkle his clothes. Ming Yi sat next to him, eating shrimp chips. He put a few directly into Xie Lian's mouth, feeding him like a little bird, and Xie Lian felt warm. Like Hua Cheng, it could be hard to know when Ming Yi liked you, but there were ways to tell.

He let Shi Qingxuan pose him until she was satisfied with the numbers of pictures she’d taken, trying very hard not to feel like the chuunibyou teenager he’d once been. He felt himself mostly immune to embarrassment at this point, but he supposed there were always exceptions.

Eventually, they cleaned up, although Xie Lian had promised Hua Cheng to show off the full look, so he didn’t get changed or clean his face. 

“I’ll buy dinner,” Shi Qingxuan said. “We deserve it. You too, Ming-xiong!”

She herded them both out of the apartment and down the street to a small noodles stall. They all ordered (in He Xuan’s case, three bowls) and Xie Lian was fumbling for his phone when he heard Shi Qingxuan cheerfully tell the clerk to put it all on the same ticket. She tapped her phone to pay for it all before Xie Lian could protest.

A few people asked Xie Lian for pictures as they ate. He posed obligingly, hoping he hadn't spilled any sauce on his clothes while eating. When he was done, he packed up his leftovers, let Shi Qingxuan nag him into calling a Didi instead of trying to walk home, and bid both her and Ming Yi farewell. Ruoye, who had spent most of the time they were eating in Xie Lian's backpack, made a brief appearance too like she wanted to say goodbye as well.

Xie Lian clicked his own apartment door closed quietly and tiptoed over to slide his leftovers into the refrigerator. Down the hall, a light shone out from underneath Hua Cheng's studio door.

There was an old picture of the two of them on the fridge; it was them in a hospital pediatric ward group room. Xie Lian, age fifteen, was beaming at the camera, his "FIGHT! JUVENILE SLE" shirt a bright red and his pants an immaculate white. Next to him, Hua Cheng, his right eye patched with patterned tape, bald and tiny, stared up at him with devotion. 

Ruoye bonked her head gently on the freezer door. Xie Lian pulled out one of her mice and slid her gently into her tank before giving her the treat; she was swallowing the mouse as he left the kitchen.

Hua Cheng turned to him as Xie Lian opened the door to his studio. His eye got wide, and his face looked like it did sometimes when he looked at Xie Lian, like he was seeing something holy. He slid his headphones off his ears.

Xie Lian did a little twirl for him, letting him see the way the fabric moved, and then tilted his face up for a kiss when Hua Cheng came over to him.

“Gege, you look beautiful,” he said.

“San Lang,” said Xie Lian. “It’s all you and Qingxuan. I’ll get her to send you the pictures later.”

Hua Cheng kissed the top of his head. He was dressed down, in a soft shirt and pants, not wearing his prosthetic eye. Xie Lian leaned his head into Hua Cheng’s chest.

“Gege seems tired,” Hua Cheng said. “Would you like to get ready for bed? Do you need dinner or your medicine? I can help you take all that off.”

“San Lang, you’re working,” Xie Lian said. “I already ate, so I think I’d like to sleep. But you don’t have to help.”

"Gege is more important than commissions," Hua Cheng said, and Xie Lian let him bundle him off to bed.

post about prompts! 

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 14 full text & content warnings below the cut.

Note: There are text messages in this one. The AO3 posting uses a custom work skin to format them. I’m going to upload them as images for the Tumblr post. Might be easiest to read on AO3, though. (Particularly if you use a screen reader or have difficulty reading white text on green backgrounds and need to highlight those portions of text.)

Content warnings for Chapter 14: Buried-typical elements (claustrophobia, inability to breathe/move, etc.); mention of past suicidal ideation; some anxiety/panic symptoms; brief description of a past depressive episode; relatively mild blood/injury; swears; some Unsettling Spider Trivia (personally I think it’s fascinating but if you don’t like spiders maybe just skip a bit ahead when you get to that part). SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 14: Up and Out

Much like the ebb and flow of the Buried, that sensation of being pulled vacillates. A few times now, it’s disappeared almost entirely, leaving Jon disorientated and suddenly doubting whether he’s headed in the right direction despite being certain only moments before. It always comes back before long, but each time it’s happened, he’s had to pause to fight down the knee-jerk influx panic.

Right this moment, he’s stopped – both because that sensation is dwindling again and because he’s simply winded. They’ve been in a particularly tight squeeze for quite some time now, and he’s aching and exhausted from the struggle.

“Jon?” Daisy prompts, panting even more heavily than he is. Nearly eight months of muscular atrophy and restricted lung capacity haven’t done any favors for her stamina. “A-are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just – just taking a break. Getting my bearings.”

“Anchor f-fading again?” He has a feeling she was aiming for casual, but the trepidation creeps into her voice anyway.

“Yes. But don’t worry, I’ll find it again. I just need to catch my breath.”

Daisy laughs. It comes out as some combination of a wheeze and a whimper.

“I d-don’t think I’ve been able to catch my breath in… I – I don’t know how long.”

“You will soon,” he promises, rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I – I c-can barely remember what that’s like. F-feels like I’ll never know it again –”

“I know,” he says gently, “I know. I – I know it’s worse for you – you’ve been here longer – but I do remember that feeling. I promise I’ll get us out of here.”

“And – and then what?” she says in a near-whisper. “The – the Hunt, it – it’s going to come back, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. But – but you’ll still be you, and I’ll still be me, and we’ll – we’ll both fight to keep it that way.”

“I – I never thought about it, b-but – I’m prey too, aren’t I?” Daisy makes a noise that straddles the line somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It – it’ll always chase me down, and it’s – stronger, f-faster –”

“Maybe, but I think you might be more stubborn.” Daisy gives a weak chuckle. “We all are, aren’t we?” Jon continues, emboldened by her reaction and intent on distracting her from her burgeoning panic. “Wonder if it’s somewhere in the job requirements: must be stubborn, curious, and preternaturally unlucky.”

This time, Daisy actually does laugh – clipped and wet with barely-contained tears, but a laugh all the same. For a minute she’s quiet, before sniffling once and clearing her throat.

“Can you tell me what happened last time? Did I – was I able to…”

“You fought it, yes,” he says slowly. “The call of the blood was always in the background. Distractions helped to take the edge off, sometimes. You spent most of your time with Basira. You and I spent a lot of time together, too. Tried to listen to the quiet. Both of us.”

“It sounds like there’s a ‘but.’”

“There is,” he admits.

“It caught up to me,” Daisy guesses, sounding resigned.

“It did. But… you refused it right up until the point where it was your last resort. The Institute was under attack, and Martin was in danger, and the two of you stayed behind to deal with the threat to buy me time enough to find him. A pair of Hunters cornered you. Basira couldn't take them both, and you… were too weakened from resisting the Hunt to stand a chance against either of them. You let the Hunt back in because it was the only way you could protect Basira. You made her promise to find you and kill you when it was over, and you told her to run.”

“Do you – do you think if not for that, I would have kept resisting? Or was I just – using that as an excuse to give in?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. He hesitates, attempting to balance honesty with tact. “You were wasting away. We all thought that refusing to feed the Hunt might kill you eventually. But whenever the subject came up, you said you were willing to die rather than let it back in. You were – adamant. And I… think you would have followed through on it. Resisting, I mean. Even if it meant dying.”

“I see,” she murmurs.

“Actually, it’s – probably morbid to say, but I envied your resolve. You didn’t want to be a predator again. You thought death was preferable to being lost to the blood. Right up until the end.” He shakes his head. “But – but maybe we can find a – a different way. Me coming back has already changed some things that I thought were inevitable. Just – don’t give up hope?”

Daisy makes a noise of acknowledgement, but Jon can’t glean anything else from it.

“I know it sounds bleak, and – and maybe it is. But for what it’s worth, I’ll be right there with you. I’m not taking live statements this time around, and it – has similar effects on me that refusing the Hunt does for you. Reading old statements takes the edge off, sometimes, but based on past experience, it… won’t be sustainable, and I’ll – have to cross that bridge when I get to it, I suppose. It’s not exactly the same, obviously – our patrons operate in different ways – but it did… help, last time, having someone nearby who knew what it was like.”

“You… know things now, right?”

“It’s… complicated. There are a lot of constraints and” – he huffs – “I don’t have as much control over it as everyone wishes I did, but… yes.”

“Any educated guesses on our chances?”

“None,” Jon says with a grim half-smile. “The Beholding tends to be uncooperative when it comes to concepts like escape and recovery. I won’t lie – marks don’t fade, and as far as I can tell, once someone is fully an Avatar, there’s no undoing it. You embrace it, or you wither away. You feed it, or it feeds on you.”

“Sounds about right.”

“But,” Jon says emphatically, “you should also know that no one had ever escaped the Buried before we did. And we’re about to do it again. So… who knows. Maybe there’s a third option and we just haven’t found it yet. I can’t promise there’s another way, but if there is… we’ll find it.”

“Or die trying?” Daisy replies, a wry edge to her tone now.

“Suppose so. But not without making a nuisance of ourselves first. I still don’t Know if the Fears are sentient, but on the off chance they are, I find that spite is a decent motivator.”

“Naturally.” Daisy snorts. “I wonder what annoys the Hunt?”

“Don’t know. Fraternizing with someone who was marked as prey, maybe. You told me once that on bad days, my blood was the loudest thing in the Archives. We theorized the Hunt wasn’t too keen on you letting me go.”

“You… weren’t you afraid I’d turn on you?”

“No.”

“Is that because you were suicidal, or because you honestly thought I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I wasn’t –” Jon sighs. “My mental state aside, I trusted you. You were as stubborn as I was. Maybe more. Even if we weren’t friends, I imagine you’d have snubbed the Hunt anyway, just on principle.”

Before Daisy can reply, the earth around them begins to shake again, soil coming loose and raining down on them from above. They both hold their breath, waiting for the impending crush – but it doesn’t come, and after a few seconds, they exhale simultaneously. Jon’s comes out as something of a cough, jolted out of him by the now-familiar sensation of an insistent upward pull.

“Anchor’s back,” he gasps out. “Ready to move?”

As they move forward – up, Jon assures himself, we’re making progress – the perpetual squeeze begins to open up into a narrow passageway. Sometimes they need to dig to bypass blockages and widen their tunnel, but the closer they draw to the surface, the hard-packed earth gradually gives way to looser soil.

Between one moment and the next, Jon’s fingertips – already raw and bleeding from burrowing through the debris – scrape against something much harder and rougher than packed earth. Solid rock, hidden by a few inches of soil. He hisses as he feels another layer of skin peel away at the abrasive texture, but he brightens at the memory of the stone steps and walls at the entrance to the Buried.

“We’re getting close, Daisy,” he says excitedly, tugging on her hand. “We’re almost there –”

The Buried compresses in a blink, crushing them up against one another.

“Shit,” Jon hisses. “Shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

“Jon?” Daisy says, her voice pitched higher than usual, shot through with barely concealed panic.

“It’s okay, Daisy. This happened the last time, too. Just” – the earth contracts further, forcing a whine out of him – “wringing one last bit of t-terror out of us before we leave.”

“Th-that’s – greedy of it,” she rasps with a nervous chuckle.

“I find that – a-all the Powers tend to be – like that. Needy, spiteful things, all – all of them.”

So do their Avatars, for that matter. He thinks of how Helen couldn’t resist frightening him one last time before parting ways at Hill Top Road; of how Jude Perry knew she was going to die and chose to spend her last moments pulling him down to her level; of how Manuela Dominguez knew she had failed, but still wanted to take someone out with her; of how Peter Lukas couldn’t lose a bet gracefully, how he dragged Martin into the Lonely and tried to trap Jon there as well; of how Jonah wasn’t content to just have Jon read out his ritual, but had to hijack Jon’s voice to monologue first.

And Jon himself isn’t all that different, is he? Didn’t he force himself to confront Jonah in the Panopticon, even though he knew it would have no impact on anything? Doesn’t he regularly provoke the Eye with small acts of rebellion? How many times has he mouthed off to an assailant threatening his life? He just said it himself: spite can be a decent motivator. Failing that, sometimes it just feels satisfying.

“It’ll – let up,” Jon says, for himself as much as Daisy. “J-just – give it a minute.”

As if to be contrary, it actually takes several minutes before the pressure begins to withdraw. Slowly, so very slowly, the collapsed tunnel begins to expand again, releasing another downpour of dirt in the process. The passage is still tight and they have to squirm through in small increments, but after some of the squeezes they passed through on their way, even a few extra centimeters of wiggle room feels like a luxury.

That said, Daisy’s breathing is increasingly labored, punctuated by soft whimpers.

“You doing alright, Daisy?”

“Y-yeah, ‘m fine.” Her breath catches and comes out as a pained groan. “Chest hurts,” she says brusquely, before Jon can express concern.

“Your lungs aren’t accustomed to having this much room to expand,” he says instead, striving for a bland tone.

“W-well, they’ll just h-have to – get used to it.”

“They will, but – take it slow? Last time, you had a fair amount of bruising. A few cracked ribs as well. We both did.”

In fact, he thinks they might just be the exact same ribs he injured last time, if the pain is anything to go by.

“Listen,” he says, “I – I think we’re coming up on the exit soon.”

“Soon soon?”

“Fairly certain, yes. Before we leave, I should tell you – Elias doesn’t know that I’m from the future, doesn’t know how much we know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way as long as possible. He can’t See us while we’re in here, but as soon as we’re out – the only safe place is the tunnels, like before.”

“Got it.”

“And also, I…” Not much for it, he tells himself. Make your peace with it now. “I might lose my voice again as soon as we’re out. Maybe – maybe even before then.”

“Again?”

“I – I mean, I’ll be able to talk, just – not in my own words.” Jon tries to wet his lips and immediately regrets it, succeeding only in drawing more dirt into his mouth. He grimaces and sputters a bit, to no avail.

“Jon?”

“Y-yeah, sorry. I, ah – remember what I said, about – about the Archive? I’ve – outside of here, I’ve only been able to speak using the statements in my… library, I suppose.”

He says the last part with distaste, all but spitting the words out as if they’re poison.

“Huh.”

“It started partway through the apocalypse, and it followed me when I came back. Being in the Buried’s domain has cut me off from the Archive for now, but once the Eye can reach me again, I – there’s a chance it’ll take over again.” He sighs. “More than a chance, it’s – probably more of a certainty. I just wanted to let you know now, I – I’m still me, it’s just – the Archive puts limits on how I communicate, and it can be – off-putting. And annoying. And… abhorrent.”

“Abhorrent?”

“I mean… appropriating other people’s trauma any time I want to speak? It’s…”

There’s no succinct way to capture just how – how perverse it is, exploiting the words of the people who lived through the horrors retold in the statements. Some of them, Jon himself victimized. More than some, if he considers the billions he condemned in his future. Claiming their terror for his own use doesn’t feel all that different from actually taking statements: dehumanizing, objectifying, degrading. It’s all on the same ghoulish spectrum of monstrosity, just… slightly different shades of wrong.

All he says aloud, though, is the last part: “It’s wrong.”

And yet, you do it anyway, he thinks, disgusted with himself.

“Like going from one hell to another, isn’t it?” Daisy says after a pause. “Getting out of here, only for the Eye and – and the Hunt to be waiting on the other side.”

“Yeah. As much as I want to get out of here, I’m… not looking forward going back to – to that.” He sighs, then rallies himself. “But fresh air and a drink of water do sound nice, don’t they?”

“And a bath,” Daisy says, as if it’s the most beautiful word in the world. Jon laughs quietly.

“The Institute only has the one shower, I’m afraid. No tub, terrible water pressure, occasionally –”

“– occasionally runs cold without warning mid-shower,” Daisy finishes, an audible grin in her tone. “I recall. You won’t hear me complaining, though.”

“Nor me. Not for the next couple weeks, anyway.”

“Mm. Yeah, I’m sure you’ll hear me swearing up a storm at four in the morning about water temperature at some point.”

“Assuming that trivial detail hasn’t changed since I was last here, yes, I will,” Jon says with an amused chuff. He readjusts his grip on her hand and tugs gently. “Come on, we’re getting closer.”

Martin sits in his office, head in his hands and the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

Eight days. It’s been eight days since Jon went into the Coffin, there have been no signs of when – if – he’ll return, and there’s nothing Martin can do to reach him.

Stupid, he thinks fiercely, to think that sitting there and talking to a – a box of dirt would do anything.

Keeping vigil at Jon’s bedside at the hospital for months had done nothing to bring him back. Why would this be any different? When Martin’s predictions panned out, he felt almost vindicated that he was right – comforted by the confirmation that he is still all alone in the world, relieved by the reassurance that nothing will disturb his solitude after all.

There’s a part of him that still has the decency to feel ashamed at that impulse, but it’s small and distant and shrinking by the day. And yet… it’s still there, withered though it may be: a sentimental sliver of attachment that stubbornly refuses to die, both to his dismay and – to a lesser but nonetheless undeniable extent – his relief. No matter how pessimistic his outlook has become these days, he had still hoped against all the odds that reaching out to Jon would have some sort of effect.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. That sort of hopeless romanticism is for fairytales. Sure, given the existence of extradimensional fear entities, it isn’t inconceivable that some sort of… long distance psychic bond, or link, or – or whatever could exist. But Martin has yet to see any evidence pointing to the existence of powers like hope and love to balance out the existence of Smirke’s Fourteen.

That admission alone is enough to whittle away at that stubborn sentimentality of his just a little further.

And that’s for the best, he tells himself.

He can feel a bitter smile flicker at the corner of his mouth. The Lonely’s really got its hold on him, hasn’t it?

But no matter how well-suited he is to the Lonely, no matter how resigned he is to the idea that he’s destined to be alone, and that that’s exactly as it should be… Martin still cares for Jon. His emotions feel dulled most days, as if they’re happening to someone else, but the act of caring… he doesn’t have to feel in order to go through the motions. It takes effort and thought, certainly, but the impulse is second nature.

Peter tells him that he’ll be free of it before long. Martin doesn’t know how he feels about that. Nothing, usually, or something adjacent to it.

Apparently he hadn’t cauterized his feelings as much as he’d thought, though. For the past week, the sense of detachment he’s built up over months of practice and resignation and goal-oriented focus has been interrupted. The calm and quiet that have become so comfortable to him have been punctuated by windows of raw, wild emotion and sensory overload and sharp, racing thoughts, and it’s too much – especially all at once – after months of fog and cold and single-minded resolve.

He still doesn’t know what he feels, but it’s something rather than nothing, and it hurts.

“Brooding, are we?” comes a voice from right behind Martin, sending an icy chill through him.

“Peter!” Martin nearly snarls, glaring over his shoulder at him. “I told you to stop doing that –”

“So, Martin,” Peter continues, smoothly overriding Martin’s complaints, “I can’t help but notice you’ve been quite… distracted recently.”

Martin looks away, clenches his teeth, and says nothing.

“Oh, I’m not upset, Martin. I’m simply curious to know where we stand. To gauge the magnitude of this… little setback.”

“Setback?” Martin whips back around, incensed. “You really think I care about – about my progress right now?”

“Judging by your tone, I imagine not.” Peter smiles, that customary aloof smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not very reassuring, but I thank you for your honesty. It shows that we do still have our work cut out for us.”

Martin should keep his composure. He should keep his mouth shut. He should feign indifference and continue playing the long game to which he’s committed himself, but he can feel his heart hammering in his chest and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears and all the words he cannot – should not – has to say are brimming in his throat and –

He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice when the outburst claws its way out.

“I don’t care, Peter. You promised –”

“That I would protect your coworkers from external threats,” Peter says mildly.

“You don’t think one of the Circus’s monsters just – waltzing unnoticed into the Archives hauling a bloody gateway to the – the literal manifestation of claustrophobia counts as an external threat –”

“By the time the intruder’s presence came to my attention, it had already been dealt with. Quite handily, in fact. As for the Coffin itself, our agreement did not extend to saving a self-destructive Archivist from his own foolhardiness. There’s only so much that I can do.”

“Then apparently I need to pick up your slack.”

Once again, Peter ignores him and steers the conversation to his liking.

“I will say, I was pleased to see that the Coffin’s call has no effect on you. It shows that your connection to the Forsaken is still intact.” Peter begins to pace slowly, hands folded behind his back. “I am interested to know why you’ve been spending so much time so close to it in the first place. Why you were… speaking to it.”

Martin huffs irritably. “I thought it might help.”

“I wonder where you got that idea.” When Martin doesn’t reply, Peter stops his pacing and sighs. “I don’t mean to be invasive” – Martin snorts derisively; Peter continues without pause – “but I notice you’ve spoken to that – woman quite a few times.”

“She’s no one,” Martin says hurriedly, hoping that Peter doesn’t notice his momentary nervous flinch.

“Is that so?” Peter gives a contemplative hum. “If she’s trespassing on Institute property and interfering with day-to-day operations, perhaps I should have her… removed.”

All at once, the world around Martin rushes into focus: clearer, sharper, brighter, louder, more real – every sensation more immediate, every thought more acute. He feels his spine go rigid as he sits up straight and locks eyes with Peter.

“Peter,” he says, balanced on a razor’s edge between firm and furious, “we talked about that. You agreed to let me handle –”

“Workplace disputes and employee conduct,” Peter says. “Not interlopers.”

‘Interlopers’? Martin thinks. Really, Peter?

“Here I thought you might be glad to have someone like her around,” he says, forcing calm back into his voice. “Give me some practice pushing people away.”

“Perhaps. But if she’s posing a distraction in the workplace –”

“Like the Archives aren’t a distraction all on their own,” Martin seethes, his impassivity quickly teetering into agitation again, “what with the – the spooky murder tunnels, and monster attacks, and clandestine coffin deliveries, and the watching –”

“You know what I meant. If she’s distracting you from your work –”

“When have I ever left any administrative tasks unfinished, hmm?”

“Martin.”

“Yes?” Martin says, meeting Peter’s eyes with a level stare. There’s a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly in the other man’s jaw. It’s not easy to provoke that sort of response from Peter, and Martin would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel just a bit gratified.

Peter takes a breath and when he speaks again, he’s regained his usual mild manner – but Martin can still detect just a hint of tension underneath.

“As I have told you before, you are the only one who can do this. The plan –”

“Which you have yet to explain –”

“– requires a servant of the Eye, imbued with the power of the Lonely. And the cultivation of that power depends on your voluntary isolation. I can’t force you to cooperate, Martin. I can only tell you of the consequences should the Extinction emerge – and if it emerges because you choose not to act, then, well…” Peter shrugs. “You can’t keep anyone safe from that sort of power, and that includes the Archivist.”

“You still haven’t convinced me that your theories regarding the Extinction are true.”

If anything, Martin is less convinced than ever. Jon didn’t exactly elaborate on what he knows, but he seems certain that the Extinction isn’t a threat. If that’s the case, the only other reason for Martin to cooperate with Peter is to keep Jon safe – or, barring that, to at least keep Peter away from him. And if Jon is gone, then… what’s the point of any of this?

Peter takes a step closer and slides a folder onto Martin’s desk. Judging by how thin it is, Martin doubts there’s much follow-up or supplementary material within.

“Then you’d best get reading,” Peter says amiably, backing away again.

“Peter,” Martin says, stopping him before he can take his leave.

“Hm?”

“If she disappears,” he continues, mirroring Peter’s faux-pleasant tone, “you can count on my non-cooperation going forward.”

“Come now, Martin. We both know you wouldn’t allow the Extinction to emerge over a single life.”

Martin lifts his chin defiantly and gives Peter a hard look.

“I’d do it for Jon.”

“And he’s gone.” There is an almost hungry glint in Peter’s pale eyes. The temperature plummets a few degrees as thin tendrils of fog begin to unfurl from around his feet. “You’re alone.”

“Exactly.” Peter’s smug expression wavers at Martin’s non-reaction. “You’re a gambler. Shouldn’t you recognize when you’ve shown your hand?” Martin shakes his head with a thin, humorless smile. The mist creeps closer: wispy eddies and grasping coils stretching across the floor to pool at Martin’s feet. “If Jon’s gone, you’ve lost your best bargaining chip. I’ve nothing left to lose. At this point, you really should be thankful for whatever leverage you can find.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

Peter simply chuckles, but Martin can detect the faint uncertainty laced through it.

“I mean it. If my work performance is unsatisfactory, just feed me to your patron now if you can’t resist. Seems a waste to do it before you’ve gotten what you need from me, but it makes no difference to me; I’m Forsaken either way.” He leans back in his chair. “The only one who stands to lose anything is you.”

“And the entire world, should the Extinction evolve unchecked.”

“In that case, let her – let everyone connected with the Archives be. And don’t disappear any more staff, either.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds: “Or statement givers.”

There is a long silence in which Martin stares into Peter’s eyes, willing himself not to blink or falter. Eventually, the fog recedes and Peter’s fake, plastered-on smile reappears.

“Well, I think I’ve kept you from your work long enough.” Peter nods at the statement folder. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The moment the telltale static of Peter’s departure fades, Martin lets out a heavy exhale and rests his head in his arms on his desk. Every encounter with Peter tends to leave him feeling drained, but that one was more intense than usual.

“Prick,” Martin mutters to the empty office.

It takes a few minutes for him to register the low whirring coming from underneath his desk.

“Were you listening the whole time, then?” Martin scoops up the tape recorder from the floor. “Or,” he sighs, his eyes flicking to the waiting statement, “are you just hungry?”

Martin still doesn’t know what to make of the recorders. On the one hand, supernatural artefacts never bode well. There’s no telling what’s they are, what’s listening on the other end, what controls their spontaneous appearance or why. Eavesdropping and surveillance are on brand for the Eye, but Jon had a point when he said that the Beholding would have no need to use tape recorders to listen in, especially within its own temple. They weren’t Elias’s doing – apparently all of his spying is done through eyes. The Web, maybe? But to what end?

On the other hand, Martin has grown so accustomed to their presence that he was actually unsettled by their absence while Jon was – away. When they started manifesting again, Martin was… relieved, almost. It isn’t the same as having Jon nearby, but it feels like having a connection to him all the same. They’ve almost become a welcoming, comforting sight – at least for the first few seconds after their appearance, before they start making their usual demands.

Sometimes, Martin wonders whether Jon might be subconsciously manifesting them himself. Even before his paranoid episode, he seemed keen to document and catalog the world around him, as if it was the only way for him to make sense of it all. It made Martin's heart ache, how Jon could never seem to relax, to let himself just be in the moment. His hypervigilance was exhausting by proxy, and it’s only gotten worse as time goes on.

In any case, ever since Jon’s coma – half-death? – proved that the recorders’ existence is dependent on his, Martin has started to see their regular appearances as decent indicators as to whether Jon is alive at any given moment. And here they are, still showing up. Which means… what? Martin already knew that Jon is still alive. The Coffin doesn’t let its victims die; death would be a release, and it's incompatible with a realm predicated on unending pressure, on the experience of being trapped with no hope of escape. But if Jon was entirely cut off from the world, lost and unreachable, wouldn’t his connection with the recorders be severed as well? So, if they’re still here, does that mean Jon isn’t gone yet? That there’s still a lifeline tethering him to the surface?

If so, it’s a useless lifeline, isn’t it? The tapes always make their way to Jon in time, but what good does that do in this situation? It’s not like they’re two-way radios; Martin can’t communicate with Jon in real time.

Unless…

No. No unless. It’s not even a long shot, it’s just – daft.

But hasn’t he already been treating them as stand-ins for Jon for the last few weeks? And is it really any more foolish than talking to a coffin?

Martin sighs as he eyes the tape recorder, its reels still insistently spinning. It isn’t going to leave until it gets a statement. He waits it out for another minute or so, but in the end he gives in, just like it knew he would.

“Hi again, Jon,” he starts, picking at his cuticles as uncertainly as he picks through his words. “I doubt you can hear me. At least not right now. But I know you listen to all the tapes eventually. Don’t know if you’ll ever get to hear this one, though. If not, I suppose this is rather pointless, isn’t it? You’re always so diligent about listening to them, too.” Martin huffs. “Well, if you want this one, you’ll have to come back and get it. I’m very cross with you, and I’d prefer to tell you in pers-”

Shut up, shut up, what are you saying?

The recorder lets out a short burst of static, as if protesting the break in his confession.

“Oh, shut it,” he grumbles. “Not – not you, Jon. Sorry. I mean, not like you’re hearing this anyway, right? Whatever, just – you’re needed here, alright? It’s been too long. It’s time to come home.” Martin shakes his head and smiles weakly. “Funny, I – I remember when I used to have to nag you to go home at night. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right? Don’t know what good a persuasive argument does in this case, though. It’s not like you need convincing –”

Martin stops short, a sudden thought crystallizing cold and heavy in the front of his mind. For all he knows, Jon’s gotten it into his head that he needs to stay in there to keep the rest of the world safe. It sounds like the sort of conclusion Jon would reach.

“I mean, I – I – I hope you’re not willingly staying down there out of some misguided belief that it’s – safer, for everyone? Jon?” Martin laughs nervously, on the edge of hysteria. “I – I don’t know why I’m talking like I’ll get a response. Anyway, it’s – it’s probably more likely that you want to come back and you can’t, right?” He chuckles again, and realizes too late how teary it sounds. “I don’t even – I don’t know which of those options is worse, but – but it’s not like there’s anything I can do in either case, so – what’s the point of this, of any of this?”

Martin clamps both hands over his mouth to stifle his abrupt, stuttering intake of breath – the precursor to sobbing, if he isn’t careful. He takes a long moment to compose himself, swallowing back tears and slowing his breathing.

“W-well, in case you do need to hear it… things are not better with you gone, okay?” His voice still sounds thick with emotion. In an attempt to steady it, he ends up overcorrecting, his next words coming out far more vehemently than he had intended. “They aren’t. And I don’t know how to make you believe that, but – but – if you don’t come back, you’ll never get a chance to learn, and it’s not like you to pass up a chance to learn something, right, so – so just get back here, will you?”

He stops again. After months of suffocating, deadening quiet, raising his voice even slightly feels like shouting. He finds himself leaning closer towards the tape recorder, as if he’s sharing a secret. Despite the conscious effort to lower his volume, it does nothing to temper the intensity of his speech.

“Jon, you’re late, and everyone’s waiting. Georgie’s worried. Basira spends most of the day camped out in front of your office, just… listening for any change. I – I don’t think she’s been sleeping much. And Melanie, she –” Martin flounders. He hasn’t spoken to Melanie in weeks, but he has no reason to assume her feelings towards Jon have changed. “Well, she – she’ll be angry if you break a promise to Georgie, yeah? And I’m – I…”

Martin doesn’t know what he is.

“Look, Jon, you – you need to come back now,” he says, more softly. More like a prayer than a demand. “Come home, and we’ll… we’ll figure things out.”

He wracks his brain for more, but comes up speechless. There was a time when he could have spoken volumes about what Jon means to him, and the words would flow from him easily. Now, anything he could possibly say feels shallow and jumbled and meaningless. Absolutely useless. But since when did words make any difference anyway? Jon has always been resistant to an outstretched hand. He rarely accepted any offers of help or invitations to talk; could barely handle a kind word or comforting gesture some days. He seemed to be opening up in the weeks prior to the Unknowing, but then –

Martin lets out a sigh and shuts the tape recorder off. Almost immediately, it clicks back on.

“Seriously?” He stares daggers at the thing. “That wasn’t enough for you?”

He depresses the button again, perhaps a little harder than necessary. The moment he removes his finger, the reels resume winding.

“Can’t you just – piss off and let me have some quiet for five minutes?”

It can’t, apparently. After several more foiled attempts to stop its droning, Martin gives an aggravated groan. As tempting as it is to hurl it at a wall, all the archival staff know from experience that the recorders are practically unbreakable, taking only superficial damage regardless of the attempted means to destroy them. Martin could toss it into a bonfire and at most it would come out a bit worse for wear; the casing would never melt or warp so badly as to render the buttons entirely nonfunctional.

More than once, Martin has caught himself wondering whether they get their durability from Jon. It’s a morbid thought and Martin is always quick to shut it down, but, well – there it is again.

At least Jon’s persistence is – charming. Martin glares at the tape recorder some more. Unlike –

The recorder crackles with another impatient uptick of static.

“Fine!” He flips open the folder on his desk, seizes the statement roughly, and gives himself a papercut in the process. Another hiss erupts from the recorder when he swears. “Yeah? Well, I don’t care if personal commentary is unprofessional,” he snaps at it. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

When he finally turns his attention back to the statement in his hands, he makes no effort to hide his foul mood.

“Yet another statement about – I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s bleak and horrifying, or else it wouldn’t be so keen for me to read it. Recording by Martin Blackwood, Assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute…”

Daisy draws in a sharp breath and stops short.

“Daisy?” Jon tugs lightly on her hand. “You alright?”

“Jon, I – I feel something, like a – like a pull, I –” Daisy laughs breathlessly. “There’s an up.”

“What,” Jon says, grinning to himself, “didn’t you believe me?”

But Daisy isn’t listening to him, instead continuing in an awestruck tone: “I’m – I – I’ll get to – to see Basira again.”

Her voice pitches up ever so slightly towards the end, making the statement sound almost like a question – as if she didn’t believe until this moment that seeing Basira again was even a possibility, as if she still doesn’t quite dare to believe it.

Jon has repeated the same promise dozens of times now along their trek to the surface. Once more can’t hurt: “She’s waiting for you.”

“I know,” Daisy whispers, almost reverently. Then, louder, her mounting anticipation crowding out the remnants of disbelief: “I can feel it.”

So can Jon. For quite some time now, that feeling of being pulled along – almost like he’s an anchor being reeled in, oddly – has been relatively consistent. The strength of the sensation still fluctuates from time to time, but it’s been awhile since it last disappeared entirely.

Of course, now it’s also shot through with a far more unwelcome pull. He swears he can feel the Archive drawing closer the more they near the exit. Maybe it’s simply his imagination, increasingly overactive as his dread intensifies, but the outcome is the same either way: the Eye will have him again, and soon.

“Come on, then,” Jon says, suppressing the grim edge threatening to creep into his tone. There’s no point in worrying Daisy just when she’s started to feel hopeful. “Almost home.”

Not long thereafter, the passage widens again. They still have to walk single file with their shoulders angled, forced to sidle through a few tight spots sideways, but the soil has finally transitioned entirely to solid stone walls and there is a noticeable upward slant to their path. All the while, Jon doesn’t let go of Daisy’s hand.

He grits his teeth against the lancing pain surging through his leg with every step as the incline grows steeper. From the sounds of Daisy’s labored breathing behind him, she’s having a far worse time of it. He’s just about to reassure her again that they’re almost there when his foot connects with something and he stumbles, pitching forward and nearly pulling Daisy down with him. His free hand flails in front of him to break his fall, and that’s when he recognizes –

“Stairs,” he whispers, feeling the shape of them, their flat surfaces and angles.

“What?”

“Stairs, Daisy.” After pushing himself to his feet, he places his free hand against the wall as a guide. It’s still pitch dark, and it will be until they manage to lift the Coffin’s lid. “Not much further now. Watch your step, and go slowly. They’re uneven.”

Despite an abundance of caution, they both end up tripping several times on the way up. The steps are all different heights and depths: some short and wide shelves, some steep and narrow ledges nearing two feet high – which may seem negligible were they both not so weakened, winded, and wounded. Occasionally, a step that felt solid moments before would crumble underneath them, giving way like gravel; a few times, Jon could swear a step disappeared entirely just before he put his foot down.

He’s so focused on keeping his footing that he forgets to be wary of his head. When he places a foot on one particularly sheer step and propels himself upward with the other leg, his head collides violently with something just above him. The pain races through his skull, his neck, his spine, and he nearly topples backward in the momentary daze of the impact. He has just enough presence of mind to throw his weight forward so that when he loses balance, he collapses against the stairs instead of tumbling down them.

For a few seconds, all he knows is a high-pitched ringing in his ears and fireworks in his vision. He’s dimly aware of Daisy’s hands patting at him blindly, frantically; her voice is muffled, but he can detect the urgency there.

“‘M’fine,” he slurs. He tries to tell her to just give him a minute, that he recovers quickly from this sort of thing, but he’s pretty sure it comes out something more like gim’nit.

When he finally starts to come around, Daisy’s words, once fuzzy and indistinct, start to break through the haze: “Jon? Jon, are you alright?”

“Will be,” he groans. He pushes himself up with one hand and reaches up with the other, groping blindly. Either it’s closer than he thought or he put too much force into the gesture in his disorientation, but his knuckles collide with rough wood and he hisses when he catches a splinter.

“Jon?”

“Lid’s right above us,” he says unnecessarily. “Watch your head.”

Daisy snorts. “Noted.”

“I – I might need some help lifting it,” he says, his vertigo gradually fading. He places both palms flat on the underside of the lid. “Last time, it was a lot heavier on the way out than it was going in.”

“Got it.” Daisy crawls up a few steps to kneel next to Jon, and he can feel her hands brush against his as she reaches up to find a grip.

“Feel it?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Ready?”

“On three. One – two – three –”

As expected, it offers more resistance than it should, as if a force is pressing down from the other side. For a terrifying few seconds, it refuses to budge. Then, with a prolonged creak of protest, it starts to give. Even just the dim light of Jon’s office filtering through that first tiny crack is enough to hurt. Judging from the startled yelp next to him, Jon assumes Daisy is shutting her eyes as well.

Jon can hear the low chatter of the tapes he left behind, as well as something louder and clearer cutting through the white noise.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this on my own.” Basira’s voice, overlaid with the crackle of radio static. “I’m here, Daisy. I need you to be here, too. I need –”

As soon as the opening is wide enough to stick a hand through, the pressure lets up all at once and the lid swings up the rest of the way. Jon scrambles over the side and grabs both of Daisy’s hands, dragging her up and out. He winces sympathetically when she cries out – she hasn’t properly stretched those muscles in months, and it must be agony.

The moment she’s completely cleared the lip of the Coffin, Jon drops her hands and eases her to a kneeling position on the floor. Rising unsteadily to his feet with a pained groan, he takes hold of the lid and drags it back into place. He stumbles the short distance to his desk for the key and hastens to replace the chains and reaffix the padlock. On the way, he kicks a tape recorder and it goes sliding across the floor; an instant later, the knowledge comes to him: Not a tape recorder. A two-way radio.

His hands are shaking so badly that he fumbles the key four times before he manages to fit it into the lock. He’s so absorbed in that simple, seemingly insurmountable task that he barely notices the swearing and clattering coming from just outside the office as someone on the other side goes through the exact same struggle to unlock the door. Just as Jon turns the key, the office door swings open to reveal Basira, panting and wide-eyed, the radio in her hand dropping to the floor as her eyes rest on Daisy, shivering and gasping for air.

“You’re back,” Basira murmurs, frozen in place.

“Hi,” Daisy says with short, almost giddy laugh, before promptly collapsing forward onto the floor. It’s enough to spur Basira into action, lurching forward and going to her knees next to her.

“Daisy,” she says urgently, shaking her shoulder. “Daisy, please –”

“She’s – she’s alright,” Jon says breathlessly, on hands and knees in front of the Coffin, gulping for air to fill his screaming lungs. “Just – needs to –”

He freezes.

“Jon,” Basira says, disbelieving. “Your voice?”

“I – I – I thought I would – I would lose it again,” he stammers. He begins to move his hand up to his throat, but stops when his other arm trembles violently, unable to hold up his weight on its own. “I don’t – I don’t know, I – I might still, it – it –”

The thought turns to static and the words dissolve on his tongue.

“…it barely even sounded human as it – as it spoke in a strange monotone –”

Jon shakes his head frantically, bringing the lingering pain from his earlier head injury back into the forefront.

“…it was then that I became aware of them – hundreds of glossy dead eyes staring at me from all directions –”

“– a tremendous eye – turning to focus upon me –”

“– staring into me, acutely scrutinizing my reaction –”

“Jon!” He stops and looks up at Basira, suddenly realizing that she’s been repeating his name for several seconds now. “You’re hyperventilating. Just – breathe?”

He latches onto Basira’s voice, forcing himself to breathe – oh, god, he can breathe again –

“Good,” she says after a few moments, calm and steady. “Okay. Can you try talking again? No, Jon, listen – look at me,” she says when he shuts his eyes and starts shaking his head again. “Try talking again.”

“…but my inability to speak –”

“Humor me.”

“…it’s still there, still watching me. There’s nowhere I can go, a place I can hide that it doesn’t keep looking at me – I can’t sleep because they’re watching me – those unseen eyes that hover everywhere and won’t let me rest –”

“– I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words –”

“Yes, you can,” she says. Firm, but not cruel. Authoritative, self-assured, decisive – a solid presence to fixate on. “You’re just – too in your own head. Focus on me and try again.”

“I –” he begins, then stops short. Not the Archive. He gives Basira an uncertain, panicked look.

“Keep going. Try – try something simple. Tell me your name.”

“My name is…” His voice quivers as he forces the words out one syllable at a time.

“Go on. Who are you?”

“The Arch –”

The Archive, he almost says, before a fearful part of him remembers that Jonah might be listening. Besides, right now it would be inaccurate, wouldn’t it. The Eye does not typically dispense outright falsehoods, and its Archive has no use for fictions. Deception is for the Stranger, for the Spiral, for the Web –

“Try again,” Basira says patiently, drawing his attention back to her. “Who are you?”

“The Archivi –”

“No. Who, not what.”

There is a long pause in which he cannot parse the instruction.

“Full name.”

“Jon,” he says slowly. The sound feels strange on his tongue. “Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.”

“Could’ve done without that last bit, but good enough.” Basira relaxes her posture. “You alright?”

“I – I don’t understand.” Lightheaded and trembling, Jon releases a shuddering breath and leans back on his heels, slightly hunched over with his hands on his knees. “How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t. But you were spiraling, and I imagine that’s exactly what the Eye wants.”

“R-right. I, ah –” Jon runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know how long it will stay away, the Buried severed the connection temporarily, but now it –”

“Don’t dwell on it.” At his blank stare, Basira sighs. “Yes, I realize that’s not quite your speed, but try anyway.”

“But –”

“We’re dealing with things that feed on fear and can rewrite reality as they please, right? You said yourself that the feeling is all they care about. Maybe feeding it your fear just makes it easier for it to write your reality – in which case, accepting a hypothetical bad outcome as an inevitability is just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy for yourself.”

“That’s… certainly a theory,” he says cagily.

But it’s a theory that Basira must be invested in, because she leans forward, her eyes as bright and interested as when she’s engrossed in a good book or pouring over some compelling research.

“Yes, it is, but I don’t think it’s too far-fetched. Georgie and I have been pooling ideas, and – I don’t think ‘mind over matter’ is a panacea, but mental state does seem to factor in. I was studying the statements you left for me, the ones involving anchors, and – I’m still not sure about the exact mechanics, but would an anchor help someone survive one of the Fears if state of mind wasn’t a key variable? It might not be the most important aspect, but it does seem significant enough to affect the outcome. Not all the time – not even most of the time – but in some cases, at least. Under the right circumstances.”

“And the Fears wouldn’t even exist without minds to experience them,” Jon says, brow furrowed. It’s uncanny, hearing some of the same ideas he bounced off of Daisy to pass the time in the Buried parroted back at him by Basira now.

“Exactly,” she says excitedly, then closes her mouth just as she’s taking a breath to start on her next thought. She clears her throat, looking slightly self-conscious. “I’m getting sidetracked. We can talk more about it later. For now – priorities.” Her expression turns sharp and focused again. “What should we do with the Coffin?”

“Artefact Storage. Tell them – tell them about the compulsion, make sure they take special precautions. Maximum security. No interaction or hands-on research.” He forces the words out rapid-fire, still expecting the Archive to take over any moment. “Store the key separately, same restrictions. No public cross-referencing, keep the link between the two on a need-to-know basis, preferably restricted to the head of the department. In – in fact, refer them to case number 9982211. Joshua Gillespie had a rather – creative way of containing the key. Simple, but” – Jon laughs, shaking his head – “incredibly effective.”

“That’s…”

“The best we can do without –” Jon huffs. “Well, burying it. Sealing it in concrete.”

“Not a bad idea,” Basira says thoughtfully. She raises an eyebrow when Jon doesn’t reply. “Is it?”

“I – I don’t know. We got out, and it seems – wrong, to completely eliminate that possibility for all the other people trapped in there.”

“You think you can help them?”

“I… I doubt it,” he admits, voice dripping with guilt.

He could try, but he suspects he was only able to reach Daisy because he had a personal connection to her, plus the recording of her voice to help him navigate. Finding anyone else in there would mean wandering around aimlessly until he eventually crossed paths with someone by chance, hoping he could reach them before the Buried whisked him away again.

“But if someone else does make it this far,” he says, “I – I don’t want to be the one responsible for the moment they try to lift the lid and find it cemented shut. The chains will still be there, but at least there’s a chance of someone hearing them, helping them? Probably not, but – sealing it off entirely feels… I don’t know, final? Like we would be condemning them personally.”

“Yeah, okay.” Basira sighs heavily, absentmindedly stroking Daisy’s hair. “Point taken. Can you stand?”

“Not yet. Give me a few minutes. I’ll – I’ll be fine here, though, if you want to move Daisy. Put some distance between her and the Coffin. It’s a good idea.”

“Don’t read my mind, Jon.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I don’t feel right leaving you alone after…”

Jon meets her eyes again, tilting his head to the side slightly. Last time, she had no qualms about ushering Daisy away from the Coffin the moment she got a chance. She didn’t leave him alone for long – she wasn’t cruel – but still, he was undeniably a lower priority. He clears his throat and tries to look less stunned.

“I’ll be alright, I promise. Go ahead.”

Basira watches him shrewdly, frowning as she considers her options. Eventually, her shoulders slump and she relents.

“If you’re sure. I won’t be gone long.”

“Careful moving her,” Jon says. “Sorry, that – probably goes without saying? But just – mind her left side. She has cracked ribs on both sides, but two on the left are broken.”

A flash of sympathetic pain and vicarious anger crosses Basira’s expression.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Her voice is clipped, but not unkind. She’s simply trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions: deal with the situation at hand first, break down later – in privacy – if at all. “As soon as I have her settled, I’ll come back and – and help you move.”

He nods tiredly.

“Jon.” Basira waits until he looks back up at her. “Thank you – for… I really thought I’d never – I…”

“Basira, it’s okay,” he says as she fumbles for words. “I understand.”

“You know, or you Know?”

“Oh, uh…” Jon grimaces. “Maybe both? I’m sorry –”

Basira snorts and begins to gently position Daisy to be moved. “I was teasing, Jon.”

“O-oh. Right.” He shifts awkwardly. “Still, though, I – I apologize. I realize the Knowing can be – invasive, and – I don’t have as much control over it as I would like, but I should –”

“Jon, it’s fine.” Basira says it with an air of finality, but she doesn’t sound angry. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” he says, not quite knowing what to do with her lenience. “Thank you. I’ll just – I’ll just wait here.”

“Yes, you will. You’ve met your self-sacrifice quota for the month. No more pocket dimensions. In fact –” She stands and swipes Jon’s phone off his desk where he left it, handing it down to him. “Call Georgie, let her know you’re home. Keep you occupied until I get back.”

As Basira leaves with Daisy, Jon does exactly that. Georgie picks up on the first ring.

“Jon? Jon, is that you?”

Jon closes his eyes and smiles at the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, Georgie. It’s me. I’m back.”

“You got your voice back?”

“Seems so,” he says tentatively. “For now, anyway.”

Something about the tone of Georgie’s sigh tells him that she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Why are you such a pessimist?”

“I’m not, I’m a –”

“Don’t you dare say ‘realist.’” He keeps his mouth shut. “Does Basira know you’re back?”

“Yes –”

“Are you hurt?”

“No – well, I mean, yes, but – nothing too serious. Nothing unexpected. I’m alright.”

“Okay. Did you find Daisy?”

“Yes. She’s with Basira now.”

“Good.” Georgie breathes a sigh of relief. “I was worried, Jon. Do you know how long you were gone?”

“I –” Jon pauses as the knowledge comes to him. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Georgie, I really didn’t expect it to take – and it’s impossible to tell time in there, so –”

“It’s – it’s alright, I’m just – glad you’re back. Did you let Martin know?”

“Not – not yet, I – I’m not sure how he would feel about me contacting him.” Jon bites his lip. “Do you think I should?”

“Don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants. But I’ve spoken to him a few times now, and he seems to be – I don’t know. Thawing, I guess? Seems less cold. Easier to get through to him than it was that first time. Or – easier to get a rise out of him, at least. He’s actually got some fire in his eyes now.”

Jon smiles to himself again.

“Georgie Barker, are you annoying him out of the Lonely?”

“I –” She pauses, considers, and then chuckles. “You know – maybe? In my defense, it’s not difficult to do. He’s very moody.”

“O-oh. That’s…”

“Not necessarily a bad thing, Jon. I mean, it can’t be comfortable for him, but – at least he’s feeling something, interacting with the world around him? It’s like – well, he sort of reminds me of…”

“What?”

“Me, at certain points in my life? I think I’ve told you before, but – the lowest low of a depressive episode for me has always been when nothing can reach me. Feeling nothing, wanting nothing, being unable to envision any sort of future at all and not even caring about it.”

“You did, yes. I – don’t think I fully understood then, but now, I – I think I have an idea.”

“Well, when I start to get better, it can look like I’m getting worse to other people, because they can see the hurt, where before it was – quiet, subdued. All the things I couldn’t feel before, they all come out at once, and it’s – overwhelming, after so much nothingness. But it’s part of the healing. At some point, you have to let yourself feel again, even if it hurts. I know it’s not a perfect analogy, but – this might not be a bad sign, is what I’m saying. Sometimes recovery is messy. It helps to have someone to lean on for support.”

“But if he’s determined to be alone –”

“The thing is, I don’t think he is. But that’s something he needs to figure out for himself. I’m not saying you can’t remind him from time to time that he isn’t alone, but…” She exhales heavily. “You can’t force someone to accept help. You reached out to him. Give him the space to reach back.”

“So… don’t contact him? Because – because I want to respect his boundaries, but –”

Georgie gives an exasperated but fond-sounding sigh.

“Jon, if you want a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, I can’t help you there.”

“But – but what do you think –”

“I think it’s your call. He might not respond, but… he’s been worried, and I do think he would appreciate knowing you’re back.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise.

“Well, you think on it,” Georgie says. “Listen, I’m walking out the door now, okay? Be there soon.”

“Oh, uh – right. I’ll – see you then, I suppose.”

“You’d better.”

When the call ends, Jon stares fixedly at a speck on the wall, debating whether or not to… what, send an email? That seems too impersonal, but a phone call might be too much. He could always text, but…

Glancing at the screen, he notices that he has several missed text messages. His thumb hovers uncertainly over the icon. It’s unlikely that any of them are from Martin, but he has an irrational need to prolong the confirmation one way or another, to put off knowing as long as –

The Eye informs him that they’re all from Naomi, and Jon heaves an agitated sigh. Not at the knowledge itself – he enjoys his interactions with Naomi, however sparse his side of the conversation tends to be these days – but at having the option of knowing removed from him. When he starts to read her messages, though, his sour mood rapidly evaporates.

“There,” he says with a private little smile. “One for each day I was gone. To start with.”

Once he sends the reply, he sets the phone aside. His mouth is dry, the taste of dirt clinging to his tongue. Luckily, he thought ahead and stored some water bottles here for when he got back, knowing it would take some time before he was ready to drag himself to the breakroom for a drink. Unluckily, he’d been so preoccupied with all his other preparations in the half-hour prior to entering the Coffin that he hadn’t had the foresight to put them within easier reach. As it is, they’re still stored in the hollow under his desk.

He’s still sore and stiff and lethargic, but the prospect of washing the grit out of his mouth is enticing enough to get him moving. Gingerly, awkwardly, he shuffles around to the other side of the desk. It’s slow going; he practically has to drag himself, and he spares a moment to be glad that no one is here to watch him.

Well. Except the Eye, he supposes. And possibly Jonah.

A noticeable chill shivers through him and his breath catches in his throat. Jon shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. He really needs to stop giving Jonah Magnus real estate in his head.

Just as Jon gets a grip on one of the bottles, his phone dings from where he left it on the floor. He bumps his head on the underside of the desk when he starts – not as hard as he did in the Coffin, but enough to send a new wave of pain coursing through him from head to toe. The phone dings several times more in quick succession.

“Okay, alright, give me a minute, Naomi,” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot at the top of his head. No blood, but there’s definitely a bump. It won’t be there for long. He should be glad for his healing abilities, he supposes, inhuman though they may be.

The text messages continue pouring in as he makes the return journey to his previous spot.

“Guess she really is sending a photo per emoji,” he says to himself. The alert goes off once more just as he reaches for it. “Or more than one.”

When he glances at the screen, it’s not Naomi’s name that he sees.

Martin is typing up the new rota that Peter requested when it happens.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a tape recorder drops onto his desk with a loud clack. Before he can think on its sudden appearance, another comes plummeting down, smashing two of his fingers against the keyboard.

“Ow! What the –”

Another collides with the top of his head, and on impulse he covers himself with both arms. Four more fall – one glancing his elbow, three clattering to the floor around him – and then there’s a lull. Cautiously, he brings his arms down and looks to the ceiling, half-expecting more to come raining down. When none do, he relaxes somewhat.

“Huh,” he says to himself, bewildered. “That’s new.”

He’s used to the tape recorders materializing, of course, but usually it’s only one or two at a time, and they don't drop from the ceiling. They just appear – sometimes within plain sight, but more often slightly hidden from view: under his chair, behind his computer, once in a potted plant in the breakroom. They always click and whir to announce their presence – as if they want to be found, as if to reassure him that they aren’t trying to spy unnoticed.

Martin rolls his eyes at himself. Why is he always anthropomorphizing them, assuming they have intentions?

In any case, being pelted with a tape recorder shower is unprecedented. He rubs his hand where the second recorder hit him, then his head. He’s bound to have bruises, and his fingers are already swelling up.

“What the hell, Jon?”

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he has his phone in his hand and he’s tapping out a text message.

He briefly contemplates taking shelter under his desk. When no more fall, he turns his attention back to his phone.

Martin leans back with a sigh, dragging one hand down his face. What is he doing? It’s not like Jon is waiting by the phone for him.

Maybe that’s exactly why he’s doing this. It certainly highlights the loneliness. He probably wouldn’t be texting Jon if there was any chance of him answering, would he?

In the span of a blink, that loneliness turns to frustration. For months, his emotions have been dulled, almost to the point of numbness. Things were quiet. It felt comfortable; it felt right; it almost felt safe, the fog blanketing the world and muffling all of its sharp edges, shielding him from all the things that used to leave him hurt and grieving and wanting.

Then Jon went and ripped that blanket off him, leaving him exposed all over again. Ever since, it's been nothing but sensory overload and raw emotion that doesn’t even have a name. All he knows is that it’s too much and it’s all at once and he has nowhere to put it, and it’s manifesting as irritability and mood swings and a pervasive, indistinct sense of hurt that he thought he’d left behind.

He feels everything after months of feeling next to nothing, as if all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to feel are being regurgitated all at once in a nebulous chaotic tangle, and he isn’t equipped to handle it –

“Alone,” he says aloud. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s too much to cope with on his own. He is alone, and for the first time in what feels like forever, that scares him.

Biting his lip until he tastes blood, he picks up his phone again.

He blinks back tears. It feels wrong, unloading all of this onto Jon, but he’ll never see it, so what does it matter? It has to go somewhere or Martin is going to shatter.

Martin stops mid-rant, mind going blank when the typing indicator pops up. For a seemingly interminable amount of time, he holds his breath, watching as it stops and starts and hesitates before finally –

And before Martin realizes it, there’s a tearful, slightly manic laugh bubbling up in his chest and out through his mouth and he’s crying, when did he start crying? He's giving himself whiplash with his own erratic mood swings, but it doesn't matter, because he can just picture how frantic Jon is right now, stumbling over his words, mussing up his hair and muttering to himself. Martin probably shouldn’t find it so endearing, but when has that ever stopped him?

Martin rubs furiously at the tears streaking down his cheeks, sniffling. He’s debating on responding to save Jon from his own self-consciousness when another few messages come through.

Martin can’t help it: he starts laughing again. Then immediately feels a bit bad about it. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before the next message comes through.

“Jon,” Martin says, shaking his head in fond amusement.

This is a side of him that Martin has always adored: how easily he gets sidetracked and carried away with his rambling, his tendency to trip over his words when he’s excited, the informational diatribes he launches into at the drop of a hat.

And now Martin’s tearing up again.

“God, what’s wrong with me,” he sniffs, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve again.

It’s the heart that does it. Martin doesn’t know why – it’s such a little thing – but that last ounce of doubt evaporates and his reticence crumbles, just like that. The transition is unexpectedly gentle: an easy slip from one state into another, like stepping into a well-worn shoe, a stark contrast to the dramatic, jarring shift he would have anticipated.

He begins typing out a response.

Martin smiles into his hand, pressed to his lips. He’s always found it cute, if a bit silly, how stilted Jon can be sometimes, even when speaking through such informal medium.

And the idea that an emoji is somehow more forward than an overt declaration of love is just…

Martin’s heart glitches at the reminder of what Jon must have just gone through. If he really is more receptive to help now, maybe he can be persuaded to actually rest and recover for once, but Martin doesn’t have his hopes up.

Martin can feel the flush creeping up his neck and onto his face.

“Wait,” Martin says, squinting down at his phone screen. “Is he still…”

“Unbelievable.” Martin huffs an incredulous laugh. “He is unbelievable.”

Martin groans when the three dots repeatedly disappear and reappear.

“That’s a lot of typing for just fixing a typo,” Martin says, tapping his foot impatiently. “Go on, Jon, spit it out.”

Martin rubs the back of his neck and tries to ignore the heat pooling in his cheeks, on his neck, along the tops of his ears. One good thing about the Lonely: it all but eliminated his embarrassing tendency to broadcast his emotions to the world with a blush. Or maybe it just made it so that there wasn’t much to broadcast in the first place.

“So much for that,” he mutters sheepishly.

By necessity, Martin has learned to be adaptable. If circumstances have changed this drastically, he needs to reconsider his trajectory. Steeped in some disorientating mixture of emotion – mortification, giddiness, fear, relief, regret, and so much else he still can’t put a name to – he watches the clock and quietly starts to review his options.

End Notes:

hhhhhh hopefully you’re all okay with a slow-moving plot bc I have a feeling I’m going to continue drawing out the character-focused stuff?? (I know where the story’s going but my outline is extremely loose, which means my pacing has a personality of its own.)

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak: MAG 144; 054/020/083; 002; 060/019

re: Archive-speak – I do plan on explaining the newest development more, I just didn’t get to it in this chapter. But expect more original dialogue from Jon from here on out, with some Archive-speak mixed in.  

I used this lovely guide to help me puzzle through creating an AO3 workskin so I could format the text messages properly. (On which point, I hope the texting isn’t OOC. I admittedly had a bit too much fun with it. Especially Jon’s. He said ADHD!Jon rights and I agreed.)    

Fun fact: Naomi and Jon have a system wherein any cat emoji translates to “Duchess status update, please”. It’s good she takes a lot of photos, because Jon makes judicious use of the cat emoji. Having a bad time? 🐱 Can’t sleep? 🐱 Bored? 🐱 Just looking for something to distract himself from the mortifying ordeal of Knowing and being Known? 🐱 Of course, she sends a lot of photos unprompted, too, as any new Enthusiastic Cat Parent is wont to do.

[makeste]

not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

[kornyo]

Hello, my name is korny and some of you know me as a former beta, then sweet elite’s former clothing artist, that also (singlehandedly) drew the animated mini-game with momo and the little coffee and coin icons. I never had a proper introduction which is why probably most of you see me for the first time now.

I didn’t plan on publicly making a statement, but it has been brought to my attention that the se management said rude and nasty things that – most importantly – are just plain bullshit and I cannot let this be said without a proper response.

 If you click this link you will find a google doc with various screenshots, showing what exactly has been going on that made me (& cecile) finally leave the team. I made the doc and the screens a few days prior to leaving (April 2019) and already shared it with all the betas and some staff back then, but also some people on tumblr who have come into my dms asking me to clarify what happened. I feel the right time has come to share this link with the public, although it might be a little confusing to understand for some.

 Now, what bothers me the most about serenas ugly behaviour from the past few days is the topic of “’lazy’ cecile”. I’d like to clarify that this entire post is MY opinion, and was written because *I* am angry about this, I was not forced to write this whatsoever by Cecile or anyone else. I’ve kept my mouth shut so far bc I could not be bothered, but this is where I draw the line.

“Lazy Cecile” has been something even BEFORE my beta days (which started in January 2018). Serena used (and still does, as you can see in her latest posts) to call Cecile “lazy” a lot jokingly, but saying it that often didn’t make it funny anymore, and it certainly isn’t a nice thing to say to a good friend. She continued to say it even after Cecile approached her not to.

To add, Cecile is - if not THE - most hardworking person that ever participated in the production of the game. While juggling a full-time job, she also drew AND redrew ALL the sprites, for a short time also drew ALL the illustrations WITH customization (2 genders x 3 three different hairstyles), AND new backgrounds because An already left the team. And that’s just the art she did! She also took part in writing large chunks in almost every chapter, even writing an entire big ass chapter 7 ON HER OWN, which she now has posted on her blog @retconomics (which Serena in response tried to make us afraid by telling us how merciful she is by not suing us for copyright. Your case wouldn’t be that strong honey LMAO not without a contract anyway 😉 ). ALL WHILE WORKING A FULL DAY JOB AND GETTING A DOG, WHICH ALSO REQUIRES A LOT OF ATTENTION. Meanwhile, it took Serena several months to almost a YEAR now, guessing from the release date, to write chapter 6 and it wasn’t a rare case for her to magically loose the file or it getting corrupted. So please tell me how the fuck cecile is lazy? In any fucking way?

Her time schedule was very demanding, so of course we had to cheat a little bit, which brings me to my next point: professionalism. Serena claims that Cecile was very unprofessional, “cutting corners” and her art “unpolished” and “not up to par”. In her example of ‘proper’ professionalism, serena used this image:

Illustrating how the new artist does things better and more polished.

This is where I call huge, MAJOR bullshit.

I have worked on the sprites with cecile. Due to the tight deadline Serena has given us, Cecile would give me the rough sprites and I would finish them & look for any spots that were smudges/did not have clear edges or full transparency. Wanna know how these files looked like?

Hm! Absolutely no fucking different! The expressions were all on one layer, unlike in the example above, but as Serena said: she didn’t say anything against that. That was because Serena wanted to pump content out, which, fair enough, and she needed everyone in the team to “set priorities”, as she said. And adding so much customization was NOT a priority at that time and she knows it.

However, if it DID bug her that much, it’s her own fault if she won’t say “hey Cecile, could you put all the brows on one single layer, all the mouths etc”. And if her excuse is that Cecile lacked the time, I could’ve done it just as easily, as I worked on the sprites anyway and did not have the huge workload cecile had at that time. If the manager is unhappy with their product, they should say something, otherwise nothing will happen. So, if Serena was unhappy with the ‘lack’ of expressions (lets be real tho, 5 expressions isn’t lacking at all)? Her fault.

“Not to mention, all of the sprites will be polished and the artstyle will finally be consistent throughout the entire game (something that our old artist really struggled with at times). Also, both Alita and Ariel are awesome at what they do, take growth and sustainability seriously, and constantly look for ways to improve and build onto the world of Sweet Elite.” Taken from here (x).

Ah, yes. You want consistency and yet hired two artists with two very different styles, and even *advertised* it as something good. Also, if somebody improves art wise, they rarely stay the same way. Art is FLUID. Art CHANGES, especially while improving. And if ceciles art was so unprofessional looking and unpolished for you serena, why didn’t you just tell her to stop drawing? Why not “get rid of the garbage” sooner? Would have saved both you and cecile the clownery that has happened and is going on right now.

(taken from here)

Also calling Cecile a weakness while she literally held the weight of the entire game on her shoulders while having to provide so much art and writing while you failed to write even one chapter during all that? You’re pettier than you care to admit.

I literally could go on and on about this, but this is already 1k words, so im gonna wrap this up. But I am so mad about this “boo hoo there is a narrative spun against me ☹” “I was creatively constricted by my cowriters” (also bullshit lmao, but another topic). You’re just a big liar and an awful person overall, and don’t get me started on your boyfriend.

While you’re getting “rid of the garbage”, please also remove MY minigame which I was forced to make while I was collecting money for my dog, and pay me 100€. You can have the clothes as I actually *agreed* on doing that for no money. 25€ for all the coffee and coin icons would be appropriate as well.

Now, as a former fan thats been on this journey since 2015, I am very dissapointed in how this game is developing. You’re taking this game into a direction you promised not to - not diverse, full of clichés, mainstream. As a fan, this broke my heart. A lot.

I hope you learn that your actions have consequences and that I will NOT be quiet if you decide to spit some lies again.

[indelibleevidence]

In the Wake of the Storm, chapter 8

Author’s Note: This chapter adds pretty much nothing to the plot, and if it wasn’t fanfic, I would just cut it out of the story entirely, but since fanfic can have nothing happening and still be enjoyable, I decided to leave it. The next chapter really does have things happening, I promise. (Wow, I know how to promote my own work, right?)

***

The next evening…

“What do you think about inviting the team back for drinks tomorrow night?” Jane looked up from loading the dishwasher—a task she’d insisted on, since Kurt had cooked dinner, and she didn’t want to sit around being waited on—as Kurt pulled an unlabelled plastic container out of the freezer. “I feel bad that I interrupted the fun they were having by taking you away from them. Patterson still looked sober, so you guys must have only just started.”

Kurt limped past her to the oven, powering it up and adjusting the temperature. “You don’t need to feel bad. It’s not like we kicked them out. They…made a strategic retreat.”

And Jane still felt a little embarrassed every time she remembered it. “I know. And I guess it would have been way more uncomfortable for them to watch us trying to act normal all night.”

“Not as uncomfortable as it would have been for us.” Kurt pulled her into his arms, giving her that unguarded grin that always made her heart flutter. “When Reade started making his excuses, I swear, I could have kissed him.”

Laughing at the mental image, Jane brushed a kiss over his lips, then leaned away to put the final couple of items into the dishwasher. “But even so… We just wrapped up the case of a lifetime, saved the entire government from toppling. And I cut the celebration short just by showing up. I think we owe them a second attempt. I have so much I want to say to them all. And to everyone who works in SIOC, too. It will feel unfinished until I can thank them.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have skipped my end-of-case speech the other day,” Kurt teased. “You could have made your own speech while everyone was gathered.”

“I do wish I’d been there to hear it. Did it bring tears to people’s eyes?”

“Well, Brianna did start crying at one point, but I think she’d been crying on and off since Shepherd convinced her to hand over my security code. It’s hard to tell if she was grieving for Pellington, or overjoyed at the case being solved.”

Kurt paused, as though waiting for something, and Jane realised he was hoping his mention of Shepherd would get her to talk about her family some more. Her stomach turned over at the thought of her adopted mother at the CIA’s mercy, but she forced the images away, keeping her reaction hidden from Kurt.

After a few moments, he gave up, continuing, “I think I managed to get across to everyone how much we appreciated everything they did. I know we were the ones on the front lines—you, me and the team—but without all the hours they spent combing through data and connecting dots in the background, we’d never have stopped Phase Two in time.”

Jane nodded, unsurprised that Kurt had thought to thank them. “You’re a great leader, you know that?”

Kurt shrugged off the compliment, drawing out of her embrace to pull a baking tray out of one of the kitchen cabinets. “I’m no Mayfair, but I hope she’d be proud.”

“She’d be so proud, Kurt. I didn’t know her as well as you guys, but it was obvious how highly she thought of you.” Jane’s throat tightened a little at the thought of Mayfair, and of her own role in the death of a woman she’d admired very much. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, after everything that’s happened, but… I know you never wanted her office, but the way you’ve led all of us through this… She couldn’t have done a better job.”

Kurt glanced over, and Jane was startled to see tears in his eyes. His voice remained steady, though quiet, as he said, “Thank you. I guess we’ll never know if you’re right, but…I tried my best.”

Jane hesitated, then reached out to touch his arm. “What are you thinking?”

He looked down at the oven, then returned to embrace her, his arms tighter than she expected. She returned the hug just as fiercely, her heart breaking for him. He’d endured so much loss and heartache, and some of it was her fault. She didn’t know how to make that better, but anything he needed, she’d give.

After a few moments of just holding her, Kurt said, “I was just thinking about everyone we lost. I know you’ll say that it wasn’t my fault. Maybe you even think it’s your fault—which it’s not, by the way. But all those agents Shepherd blew up at her compound, and the ones she killed at the NYO—I can’t help but think that if I’d been a better leader…if I’d been on that raid instead of trying to get to Allie at the hospital, when she wasn’t even there…if I hadn’t gotten romantically involved with Nas…if I’d realised that Shepherd might actually try to get into the NYO…”

“No.” Jane drew back, cupping his face in both hands, so that he’d give her his full attention. “Kurt, you always think everything is your fault, but it’s not. You can’t control every variable, and unless you somehow have the ability to read the future…”

To her surprise, Kurt smiled wearily. “Isn’t this kind of a ‘pot calling the kettle black’ situation?”

Realising he was right, and the same words could have come out of his mouth, directed at her, Jane smiled too. “My point still stands. You did everything you could to solve this case. Above and beyond the call of duty. And if there’s a single person who worked my case who thinks you screwed it up, give me ten minutes in a room with them, and I’ll set them straight.”

Kurt kissed her gently. “Ditto.”

Jane wasn’t sure she agreed that she was beyond reproach—after all, she was the one who’d helped set this whole whirlwind of death and destruction into motion—but she kept her thoughts to herself, gesturing behind him. “What’s in the tub?”

The atmosphere lightened again as they returned to everyday conversation. “Frozen cookie dough. I always make enough for two batches, so I can have some on hand for emergencies.”

Jane suppressed a grin as he transferred the balls of dough to the microwave to defrost. “And this is an emergency?”

“Yeah. We’re out of cupcakes and you still won’t let me go to the store, so this is my only option for a sugar rush.”

“I can go to the store,” Jane offered, taking a step towards the door.

Grabbing her wrist before she could get too far, Kurt shook his head. “Nope. You’re not recovering from surgery, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”

Jane rolled her eyes, hoping it would cover how touched she felt at the way he was considering her lesser injuries. “It would take me twenty minutes, tops.”

“Yeah, well…I need my rest, and since I can’t rest without you, that twenty minutes comes off my recovery time, not just yours.”

His logic was getting more ridiculous by the second, and she loved him for it, knowing he was masking his concern for her behind humour. It was obvious he was still worried that she wouldn’t talk about the way the case had ended, or the time she’d been out of touch before coming over to tell him she returned his feelings. She’d have to face it sooner or later—but she and Kurt had earned this time together. Discussing her family would be an intrusion on their happiness.

She nudged Kurt affectionately. “I’d be happy to help you rest, if you’d just sit down.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I promise, as soon as the cookies are in the oven, I will sit down until they’re done.”

He was as good as his word, and they spent that time snuggled up together on the couch, their attention half on the sitcom on TV, half on each other. Jane was still adjusting to the idea of spending all of her free time in the company of another person. A couple of times over the past twenty-four hours, Kurt had jokingly asked her if she had somewhere else to be, or something she vitally needed to do. She’d had to apologise and explain that she was getting jumpy, waiting for the next crisis to hit.

Anyone else would probably have laughed and told her to stop worrying so much, that the danger was behind them and she should relax. Kurt, however, seemed as though he understood, distracting her with kisses or suggestions for something they could do together.

For the most part, Jane was enjoying the peace, and Kurt’s near-constant presence. They spent most of their time in close contact, either on the couch or in bed, and not once had Jane wished for some time alone. Her body was still aching as it healed from her fight with Roman, and Kurt’s body heat seemed to make it easier to bear.

Or maybe it was the aching in her soul that Kurt was easing. It was hard to tell.

Since Jane had insisted they stop aggravating his leg wound with sex, and Kurt had reluctantly admitted that it was hindering his recovery, they’d mostly been able to push carnal desire to the back burner. With the exception of a few kisses that had gone a little further than first intended, they’d kept their physical closeness free of expectation, though more than once she’d caught him eyeing her with a hunger that sparked her own.

Mostly—though neither of them would admit it out loud—they were too exhausted to think about anything more physical than cooking, showering and clearing up after themselves. The constant stress of worrying about the case had mentally burned them both out, and between the heavy bruising they’d both suffered in fights and the ambulance crash, Jane’s intermittent headaches and Kurt’s leg wound, they were both suffering physically, too. Sex had added extra strain, though it had been worth it in that first incredible twenty-four hours of connection.

Kurt stretched in preparation to move, bringing Jane out of her thoughts. “Want a cookie?”

Jane blinked. “Don’t we have to wait for them to go cold first? You haven’t even taken them out of the oven yet.”

Kurt stared at her as though she’d said something scandalous. “You’ve never eaten cookies fresh out of the oven before?”

“Uh…I probably have, but I don’t remember.”

This was obviously a life experience Kurt considered vital, and soon Jane was holding a plate containing half a dozen chocolate-chip cookies, steam still rising from them.

“Give it a couple of minutes, so you don’t burn your mouth,” he said, his own mouth half-full.

Amused, Jane waited for him to sit down, then leaned against him once more, pointing to the cookie with a conspicuous bite-sized amount missing from it. “Like you did?”

Kurt picked up the cookie, holding it by the edges so it didn’t burn his fingers. “I was taste-testing.”

“Am I dating the Cookie Monster in disguise?” Jane teased, her mouth watering at the delicious smell rising from the treats.

“Nah, the Cookie Monster is Sarah. If you think I’m bad, you should see her. I’m more like Oscar the Grouch.”

For a moment, Jane was sucked into the past, remembering how Remi had teased her fiancé with that exact nickname when he’d been pissed off about something. She covered the unwanted memory with a smile, telling Kurt, “Grouch? Not that I disagree that you can get grumpy, but you’re actually surprisingly mellow these days.”

“It’s the pain meds.” He didn’t seem to have noticed her wavering attention, too focused on finishing his cookie. He nudged one towards her side of the plate they held between them. “Okay, try that little one. It should be cool enough now.”

Jane tentatively bit into the sweet, crumbly warmth, and was instantly in heaven. “Mmm… That’s so good that I might have to learn how to make these, just so I can eat them warm all the time.”

“Thank god,” Kurt said, grabbing another cookie. “For a second, I thought I might have to break up with you.”

Only the mischief in his eyes betrayed that he was joking, but Jane burst into laughter, surprising both of them with the strength of her reaction. She took a few seconds to calm down enough to explain herself, Kurt’s bemusement just making things seem funnier.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…after everything that’s happened, everything that went wrong between us—the idea that the relationship deal-breaker would be me disliking warm cookies…” She swallowed more laughter, shaking her head. “I know, it’s not that funny.”

Kurt kissed her forehead, a flicker of concern behind his amusement. “I get it.”

“But it’s not that funny.” Finally calm again, Jane ate another bite of cookie before admitting, “I guess I’ve spent a little too much time obsessing over whether we’d ever get together, after what I’ve done, and what I am.”

Kurt took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. When Jane looked up, she immediately knew he could empathise. “I know things haven’t been easy for us, on both sides. But we got here, after all this time, all those false starts. No matter what happens, we already told each other how we feel.”

“No more wondering and what-ifs, right?” Jane nodded, but had the feeling her smile wasn’t as convincing as it could have been. “I guess…part of me is still waiting for you to realise you made a mistake.”

Frowning, Kurt set aside the cookie plate and shifted to face her more fully. “Nope. You remember what I said to you, right before I kissed you in Roman’s cell?”

I know your heart. As his words echoed through her mind, she nodded.

“Do you think I’m wrong? That I don’t know who you are, don’t see you clearly?”

As Jane opened her mouth automatically, wanting to put him at ease, he shook his head. “Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Take a second. Think about it.”

She looked into his face, so serious right then, and let her mind run back over the time they’d spent together, not only since they’d stopped Shepherd, but before that. Her mind snagged on a particular moment—of them confronting one another about the lies they’d told. Both of them had admitted that they’d done each other harm because they’d wanted Jane to be Taylor Shaw, ‘more than anything’.

When she’d echoed his words back at him, she’d meant them with everything in her soul. She’d ignored the small suspicions she’d had that Oscar might be lying about her being Taylor, and the gut feeling that something about her identity didn’t fit, because she’d desperately needed that connection to Kurt. And though his own reasons for needing her to be Taylor had been very different, she’d seen the way her words had hit home when she’d spoken them.

Despite how broken and disillusioned their relationship had become by that point, in Kurt’s face she’d glimpsed a tiny seed of forgiveness. It hadn’t been much, but it had been a precious strand of hope to cling to—that he saw how her need to believe, and to return his fierce protectiveness, had led to her being misled by Oscar. Through all the pain and shame, they’d understood each other, and how their own biases had led them astray.

That was where their getting to know one another had truly begun, untainted by the ghost of Taylor Shaw. Jane had stopped trying to fit into anecdotes from his childhood, or wondering if she behaved the way Kurt would expect Taylor to behave. And Kurt had abandoned the unearned affection and support he’d granted her when he’d thought she was his childhood friend. She’d had to start over, his justified distrust and anger making things much more difficult. And he’d probably second-guessed every positive feeling he’d had about her for a long time, punishing himself for the way Sandstorm had used Taylor’s memory against him.

All of her uncertainties about her future with Kurt stemmed from how he might feel about her past actions. But he knew everything she knew about her past, and everything important about her involvement with Mayfair’s downfall, yet still deemed her worthy of his trust.

If anyone knew her heart, it was Kurt Weller, because he’d needed to understand her, just as much as she’d needed him to.

“I believe that you know who I am,” she finally answered. “And that you love me.”

“Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know?” He ran his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand, back and forth, helping to ease her anxiety about the conversation.

“It’s just… Every time I think I’ve found something to hold on to, it disappears. I’m okay most of the time, but I guess there’s this tiny part of my brain that’s trying to protect me from getting my hopes up.” Feeling small and vulnerable, she waited for his response.

“You think I’m going anywhere, now I’ve made my mind up? I don’t know if you ever noticed, but I’m kinda stubborn.”

“Good point.” Jane tilted her head up to meet his kiss, an overwhelming wave of love making her fears seem tiny in comparison. It probably wouldn’t be the last time she worried about losing him, but here in his arms, she couldn’t let it bother her for long.

When they parted, Jane noticed the flash of self-consciousness in Kurt’s eyes. This kind of conversation was still new ground for them, and she tried to lighten the moment. “So, are you gonna save any cookies for the team?”

“Hell, no. These are our substitute-for-sex cookies.” Kurt reached for the plate.

Jane grabbed the largest cookie from the pile, the second he brought them within reach. “In that case, I’m gonna need this giant one.”

[okmica]

After Image | Bang Chan

i know it's wrong, but i still see you in my head

;

a rapper and a vampire share drunk kisses in a bathtub

Pairing: Chan x reader

Genre: Angst, fluff if you squint, do heated makeout sessions count as smut?

Warnings: Alcohol and drug use

Word count: 1,373

Song association/Inspiration: Justin Bieber - Coogie feat. Jay Park

You don’t really know how you two end up in a bathtub; however, you don’t do anything to get out of it. Partly because any physical action seems much too straining in your current intoxicated state, but you also like the way Chan’s left arm wraps around your waist while his right hand rests on your thigh and his lips hover so very close to yours you wish you could stay in this cramped position forever.

Though, you won’t admit the latter part to anyone, even yourself… especially yourself.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?”

His voice brushes your cheek and you feel it trickle down, down, down to the deepest parts of your heart, triggering countless memories.

There was a time when this position was the norm for the two of you. Subtract the bathtub and replace the smell of weed and alcohol with his favorite cologne and you’re back on his apartment couch, snuggling against each other while a random Netflix show is playing somewhere in the background. The ache in your chest is enough to bring a frown to your face.

“A vampire.” You reply a little too loudly, interrupting your flooding thoughts. Your statement replicates a whine, almost sounding like his question brought you the greatest offense.

You can’t really blame him though. The velvet dress and makeshift cape only resemble a vampire if you close your eyes and use your imagination. Your cheap plastic fangs came off some time ago; you just hope you hadn’t swallowed them during the lousy game of beer pong played earlier. You didn’t even bother to add fake blood down the corners of your mouth. You fear that Dracula would be disappointed at your pathetic depiction of his kind.

Though you trusted Minho with your life, you didn’t believe him when he explained that Woojin’s belated New Year’s party was also a costume party. At least half of the party goers had the same doubts, judging by their ordinary attire. You tried to use your skepticism as an excuse not to go, explaining that costume parties were never really “your thing” anyway. Besides, Chan would be there. The last thing you wanted was to ruin the mood. Nonetheless, Minho dragged you into this mess wearing the most ridiculous giraffe costume claiming that there would be way too many people for you to coincidentally bump into your ex.

He was wrong.

You spotted Chan on Woojin’s leather couch with half a blunt between his lips and some stranger sprawled over his lap. Fortunately, you had just downed your fifth beer before walking into the sickening scene. You remember locking eyes with him and exchanging smiles before opening the door closest to you. Maybe that’s how you ended up in the bathroom.

“What are you even supposed to be?” You slur accusingly. Scanning his outfit, once more, you can’t find any great significance to it other than the fact he looks too good to be true. He looks like himself. Black jeans and leather jackets appear often in his wardrobe. What could he possibly be?

“Isn’t it obvious?” He paused for a moment. You don’t know if it was for dramatic effect or it was just the weed that now hit him entirely; you conclude that it’s probably both. “I’m a rapper.”

Instead of formulating a snarky response, you burst out in laughter. The uncontrollable reaction echoes throughout the small room. Your laughter was more so for your incomprehension than for his remark. Chan’s bashful smile becomes hidden when he pushes his face into your neck, suppressing his embarrassment. You wish his lips didn’t feel so perfect pressed against your skin. You assume he heard your prayer, when he lifts his head to look at you, searching for any sign of discomfort.

“I can be a pop star, if you want.” Chan’s voice is strewn with sarcasm. “Your own personal pop star.” His glowing smile drops rapidly as a new thought invades his mind. “No, I hate pop stars. I’ll just be a millionaire instead. How does that sound?”

You answer him by looking at his lips, the nonsense flowing out of his mouth left your focus as fast as it entered, the only thing on your mind is the thought of his lips on yours. He reciprocates that action. You hold your breath.

“Babygirl.” His voice is barely above a whisper, yet that single word is enough to knock down what little inhibitions you had left. “I miss calling you that.”

You creep forward and place your lips on his jaw. His frozen state only brings a smile to your face. You like how you easy it is to make him melt with one small action. His breath hitches when you drag your lips to the familiar spot below his ear. The grip on your thigh tightens when you graze your teeth over his earlobe, slightly tugging the piece of skin. A sound between a moan and a sigh slip out his mouth that rings through your ears melodically.

Motivated by the heat of the moment, you repeat the action, but this time, right above his collarbone. One of your hands is tangled in his thick hair while the other is pulling him closer by his necklace. A whine escapes his mouth when you bite his neck gently. His body jerks and you feel something hard press against your hip.

“A vampire huh.” You can hear his smirk when he says that. His hand trails under the hem of your dress.

Turning his head, Chan takes a moment to study your face, making sure every detail matches the image of the last time he pictured you. Then, he leans down and kisses you. Three months of pent up frustration is released through the passion of his lips. You are cramped in the tiny space, twisted in an awkward angle, and your neck is starting to get sore;  yet all you want is more, more, more.  Kissing him is hot and heavy, sloppy even, like you forgot what it was like to kiss someone. It’s all tongue and clashing teeth, hands where they aren’t supposed to be, and all restraint banished away.

He tastes like cheap weed and cherry chapstick; you can’t get enough of it.

After, what seems like hours, Chan is the first one to break the kiss. He pulls back breathlessly, his chest heaving and hair tousled. His lips are red and swollen from the heated makeout session. There are various lipstick marks on his neck and around his mouth. You take a moment to admire your masterpiece.

“I want it to be like this forever.” The words push out of your mouth with a mind of their own. Regret instantly floods your system.

You don’t have any idea of what he would do next, but laughter was definitely not one of them.

“What’s so funny?”

“This,” He replies simply. He stops laughing, but a wide smile is still plastered on his face. You can’t tell if it’s genuine or caused by one too many beers.

“Why?”

Instead of answering your question, he cuts off your thoughts with another kiss. This time, it was forceful and stiff, hoping he could distract you from the potentially displeasing conversation.

“Let’s just enjoy the moment while we can, okay?” He doesn’t separate his lips from yours when he says that and you feel him tremble against you.

You open your eyes for a split second, telling yourself it was an accident, but really you just want to see him. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close to you. His brow is furrowed and his face is scrunched up so tight you wonder if it hurts. You now register that he wanted to distract himself from the situation to hide the fact that he is broken and upset.

The realization pleases you. A selfish part of yourself is at peace with his crumpled image. It shows you that he feels the same way, that he isn’t ready to let the thought of you go.

“Okay,” you reply. Closing your eyes and drowning out every pestering thought, you draw closer to him, allowing yourself to get lost in his arms one last time.

[dispatchvampire]

Someone To Watch Over Me (Bucky Barnes x OFC)

(image credit for Succubus - Holly Woolford)

Someone To Watch Over Me - Bucky x EnhancedFem!OC (in progress)

Warnings: Smut (so much smut! M/F, Oral Sex (male and female receiving), toys, Bisexual OC), swearing, drinking, killing. 

Summary: The five times Bucky watched Tela, the newest Avenger, and the one time she truly saw him. 

A/N: So many thanks to @stevieang​ for the beta assisting. She is awesome, helpful, insightful, and her work is fantastic and you should read it. 

I.

The first time he watched her, she hadn’t known he was there. 

He’d met Tela a few days before. She was a mutant, enhanced like him, bulletproof, a shapeshifter. A gargoyle, even, and it was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen, when she’d shifted in front of the team the first time. Going from a generously curved 5’6 thirty-year-old woman in a SHIELD uniform to a fearsome, stone-skinned creature who topped out at eight feet with wings and could throw a car or lift a city bus had been quite the introduction. 

She’d been nice, polite; her voice held shadows of a French accent she’d worked hard to suppress. A smile that lit up her whole person. And as it was, when she made the team, they’d moved her into the room next door to his at the end of the hall. Thus far, she'd been a quiet neighbor. 

He’d been on his way to bed one evening when he’d passed by her room and heard a noise. It wasn’t a normal building sound, the night sounds he’d learned to accept and relegate to the background, as he prowled around in the dark chased by insomnia. Between his nightmares and his conditioning, sleep was a rarity and not exactly treasured. 

Stealthily advancing toward his room, he was sidetracked by the sound. It was a hum maybe? A cry? He paused, listening again, with his hand on her doorknob, only to have the door slowly open, granting him entry. Now, that definitely wasn’t normal. 

The knob wasn’t broken, the living room empty and dark. No signs of life at all, except for the faint whimper and hums--more than one now--that came from the direction of the bedroom. He probably wouldn’t have even heard it over the air-conditioning, but it was enough to make sure he laid eyes on her. It was one thing to have nightmares, it was another thing entirely to do so when you had the strength to take out a wall. 

He didn’t have a weapon on him, but then, he really didn’t need one. Mindful of his steps and focus honed to a point, he approached the bedroom, where the door was halfway open. There was another whimper, louder this time, with the strange sounds behind it. Concealed in the shadows of the hallway, he inched forward until he had a clear line of sight of her bed. 

On the bed next to Tela was her phone, projecting a video, a woman being attended to by a man offscreen. Up close and personal, a woman restrained to a bed as a man teased her swollen clit with a vibrator. As the woman moaned and begged to cum, her back arching beautifully even as she struggled against the restraints, the show in front of him drew all his attention.

Tela was on top of the blankets, strong, sexy legs splayed wide, in her hand a pink wand that she dragged lazily back and forth over her clit. Watching her hips rise to the sensations as her free hand pinched and rubbed her nipples damn near brought him to his knees. Definitely not what he would have expected to see, but damn if his cock wasn’t throbbing at the sight. 

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to pull the wand away and bury his face in her fragrant pussy. God, the scent of her arousal was making his blood feel too warm and his skin too sensitive. Just one little taste and he knew she’d melt all over his tongue. He lived to have a woman flood his face with her come, bringing her off over and over again. 

Palming his rock hard dick, he watched a little more as the woman on the screen began to twitch and moan, her pussy convulsing as she came, juices slipping out and leaving her succulent little cunt shiny and so soft-looking. 

“Fuck,” Tela moaned, drawing out the word as her legs stiffened and her back arched off the bed, her body riding the waves of the pleasure that washed over her. 

Buck knew he had to leave, like immediately, while he could still control himself, even as a groan bubbled its way up his throat. Backing out of the room, he kept his eyes on Tela, furtively stroking his cock through the thick fabric of his sweatpants. The temptation was great to finish off right there with her as she drove herself into her next orgasm on the heels of her first, but it was a violation of trust too profound for him to consider seriously. 

Not that entering a friend’s room and watching her rub one out was necessarily okay, but at least he had an excuse because he was checking on her and her unlocked door.  He pulled the door tightly shut and checked the lock twice before he proceeded down the hall to his room. 

Every time he closed his eyes she was there on the bed again, pleasuring herself and making little noises that drove him insane. It may not have been intentional but Tela put on one hell of a show.

[amazildoessomethingstupid]

We Did It Bois!

WE GOT DAT ANON HATE!  I actually had to double-check cause I wasn’t sure if I turned on asks for this blog, apparently not.  Fuck, man I’ve been missing out!  This mad lad had to go over to False Idol to leave a comment anonymously.  And since I don’t want that blog getting cluttered let’s respond to it over here  shall we?  Let’s see what this man has to say.

Oh I’m sorry, was my use of the “N-word” inappropriate?   I thought it was quite clear, I was making reference to a joke that’s been a part of the public conscious and internet culture for like a decade now. And I’m absolutely certain if I used that old artifacted to shit meme you wouldn’t be offended!

Oh wait, no. 

There we go.  That cool?  You get the joke? 

I mean, it’s literally the same words, same usage, same context, and demeanor that’s meant to be conveyed!  I actually shy away from using slurs in a purely derogatory way, because that’s not fun or funny.  And if you didn’t catch on, the whole point of these rants is to have fun, while tearing into the comic where it deserves!  But oh no, I can’t say the N-Word even if its clearly done as reference to a popular meme!  Even if it’s done in a positive sense, in approval of a character and their actions!  How dare I as a brown man use the N-Word!  That’s only for black people!  I should stick to the slang words of my own culture that no one gets or would interpret as a joke, right you fucking cuxika haoli?!

And as for the cocksleeve comment, oh sure.  I’m sorry, did I hurt the feelings of this fictional teenage girl?  By calling her a shameful lazy plot device?    Forget the fact I was carpet bombing these “kids” with F-bombs like LBJ in ‘nam, calling a fictional girl in a comic a narrative cocksleeve is just too far!  Even though I clearly stated what the term represented, and how it’s not actually a sexual term in the context of the rant, this is clearly me calling this fictional girl a sextoy.  How dare I?  I should use a softer word, or descriptor in this instance, to lessen the impact of its use, make it less intuitive as to what it means, like all the words you people come up with! But oh don’t worry, I know what you’re saying.  Alright!  Fine!  It’s a harsh word!  I even stated as such in the rant, I should’ve used softer words.  Kinda like how my friend says I shouldn’t call Paulo a Cop-Out Gay, but instead use the term “queerbaiting” because that definitely has the same impact and gets the point across so much better.  

And while we’re on the subject of fictional character ages, you do realize Sam (the cat I use to represent myself in these rants) is like 13, right?  And hell, in the rant  I’ve not only battered her to a broken pulp.  

Bu I also shot this fictional 13 year old girl in the face!

drink alcohol

and attempt suicide! (although Taeshi’s done that too...)

Oh man I actually forgot where I was in this ask, what’re they going on about now?

If you’re talking about the reaction images, you do realize that these are all speed sketches right?  

I literally made this whole page of reaction Sams in like an hour.  Thus the lack of polish, or that much detail.  This entire series is just a fun side thing to break up monotony (and punish myself for when I start to slack off).  Not to mention, if being good at an art medium was the only way you could be a good critic of said medium, then I guess Red Letter Media, Doug Walker,and Brad Jones are all hacks.  Not to mention all the other independent movie, music, and art reviewers too.  

(although I’m sure you’d probably be the guy who’d argue that RLM are all hacks anyway)

and I like how you’ll insult my art and writing, but the only actual complaints you have are on the words I’ve used.  And a lame insult to my art.  And you say I don’t know how to write a story, but you don’t insult any part of my story or writing.

You don’t even have to look at all of it either!  I had a little snippet right in the rant!  It’s right there, you think I can’t write a story, or character?  Why don’t you criticize these scenes I pulled from my own comic?  And don’t worry, I’ll let you critique it even if you draw worse than me!  Cause I’m just a nice guy like that~

But I see you’ve written more, so let’s see what that’s about. 

Excuse you!  I’ll have you know I’ve been drawing these fancomics for almost FIVE years now!

And yeah, guy.  It’s called perseverance and dedication to the craft.  It’s what happens when you have a hobby that you love, and spend time working on.  It’s how  you can go from this 

to this

From this

to this

I know 4 years seems like a long time to progress, and it is.  But y’know what?  That’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I’ve spent 4 long, straight years on this stuff, and that’s a feat that too few artists are able to accomplish. I’ve seen so many astists and webcomics, fan projects, fall apart and not even reach one year before they burn themselves out or give up.  Artists much greater than me, who honestly deserved to have their stories told, and visions seen.  And you can say whatever you want about me, but y’know what? I can proudly say, I finished a long-form story comic.  I said what I wanted to say, I made the comic I wanted to make.  And that’s something that too many artists don’t live to see.  And hell, that’s something Taeshi can’t say!

I still have work to do, (clean up my lines, work on backgrounds more, be better at plotting scenes...) but I know that if I keep pushing at this rate, and bear in mind what I should improve; the next 4 years will only get better.  The only reason I’m not better now, is because of my time on the forum and being pressured by people like you to give up and not pursue what I love doing.  Instilling a sense of insecurity and self-doubt I didn’t have before.  But then again, it’s because of that, that I learned to look so deeply into my own stories to figure out what’s wrong and work on it.   To look at BCB and see its own flaws and to call Taeshi out on that, and to not make those same mistakes myself.  

and even better

It’s what’s made me smart and tough enough to not just take a punch, but throw it back at you. 

But now to the final comment!

“No note Joe”?

Oh my god, what do you even say to something like that?  Is that really the best insult nickname you could come up with?  Is this the kind of lame ass insults you make when you restrict what words you can use?  Jesus!  That doesn’t even make sense!  I know what a one-note person means, I can assume what a no-note person means, but I don’t know what that would have to do with however many people actually care about my art.  Dude are you okay?  I mean this in a serious way, I don’t mean to insult really but...

Are you mentally deficient? are you actually retarded? If so, I admit I do feel a little bad about this.

but also 

> Only you, and what, three other people give a shit about your stank artwork and attitude. 

BRUH

SuitCase WISHES there was only 3 people who are like me. 

But that’s the problem isn’t it?

You really believe that I’m the only one who thinks this shit.  You honestly think that I’m just a random outlier who is just bitching on the internet.  Let me tell you, I’m not alone.  And for a long time, I thought I was.  When I started doing comics almost 5 years ago, fully believing I was alone.  But what I learned from those 4 years making comics, working on the canon, and now doing these rants was that I wasn’t.  That there are people who feel these frustrations.  Not all of them, maybe not to the same degree as me, but they are there.  And what’s sad is that I’m probably the first and only person they’ve heard talk about this shit.  To say the things they’ve been thinking to themselves, and hiding from people like you, because they know if they tried to voice their opinions they’d get shut down the same way.  I’m not championing anyone, I’m not trying to be a role model, or want to be some icon of controversy or dissent.  

I just got no more fucks to give, and a lot of shit to say.

I’d also like to mention, because someone brought up the point that this person is probably just a troll.  And I shouldn’t respond, but calling/assuming someone’s a troll and ignoring them is exactly what SuitCase does, and if there was someone I’d like to think I’m better than, it’d be fucking SuitCase.  Besides, I’ve already got the next update for False Idol colored and lined, and ready for words, and the next update after that sketched up and ready for lines.  So I can spend the time to meme the hell out of an asshole.  And if you think I ain’t gonna take the opportunity to make fun of a guy who can’t properly criticize, argue, or even insult me.  

Then you really.

on some shit.

(Part 2 of the rant will be coming soon)

[fawnsicles]

Tell me a bit about yourself and where you grew up? I was born and raised in West Los Angeles. My father is a Brazilian immigrant who came to LA in the 80s, and my mother came to LA in the 80s from Austria. My high school was two blocks from the beach, and two blocks from a trail up to a waterfall. I almost didn’t graduate because my best friend and I were constanly ditching class to lay naked in the sun and play in the water. How has your background shaped who you are? My father brought major spirituality and mysticism into my life, as well as teaching me the importance of self-sufficiency and awareness. My mother taught me to always have a world-view and embrace the simple pleasures of life like laying in the sun or getting/giving massages infront of the TV. Growing up in Los Angeles has made me feel like I’m in on some little secret. To be a native in such a major city with so many expectations thrown at it is such a perceptive trip. I am in constant awe of being alive. What is it you do and why do you do it? I make paintings, drawings, and art videos, I run an alternative art space and digital gallery platform with a group of great friends, I make memes, I write spells, and use the internet/instagram to connect with people and their work. Everything I do falls under a unified concept of living in peace with the unseen, unknown, and everchanging energies of life. Through making art and showing other’s art in conceptual shows, I am constantly creating a space for questions and theories. Through making memes and creating an instagram community based in positivity, wellness, and humor - I am creating something I find constructive on a platform that can be shrinking. I love bridging the online dimension with the tangible, 3D dimension, so it’s important for me to engage with both. How did you get into it? I honestly don’t know, it mystifies me how things just happen and grow and all of a sudden it’s “what you do“ and you’re deeply engaged with it. It’s incredible. I believe these mediums showed up as a result of deep love and respect for my interests and the process in general. 

Can you tell us a bit about Sighswoon? What came first the brand or the instagram? The name “sigh swoon“ came first. When I was a teenager, I used to wheatpaste the phrase “sigh swoon sigh“ all around West LA. The “sigh“s were in simple, bold type and the word “swoon” was in a whispy italic. My whole concept with that phrase was that life was full of sighs - passing day-to-day moments and a general confusion - with some swoons sprinkled in - moments of deep connection and euphoria. It became a flirty little mantra to express my beliefs, and an excuse to run around at night.

How did you get into wellness, beauty self-care and positive affirmations? What role do they play in your life? After being a fairly reactive, impulsive teenager and 21-year-old, I noticed that a whole lot of drama and negativity ensues from not being in a self-aware, loving conversation with yourself. I then committed to a life of intention, awareness, and detachment more than ever before. I believe indulging negative thoughts and triggers is a natural, habitual impulse and it’s in our power to pay attention to our patterns in order to change them. I am 24 now, and being more self-aware and accountable has changed my life drastically - whether it saves me from saying something that may damage a relationship, or helps me fall asleep. I can now say I am on a constant quest for better ways to feel, better ways to live, and better ways to de-stress, but always wrapped in the energy of humor and unconditional love.

When did you start making memes, how did you get into it? When I began the page, I was coming out of a specific phase in my life where I was dating like crazy via Tinder, making tons of sexually-charged paintings, and partying a lot. Finding myself reflective and slowing down, I loved memes and had so much niche material floating around in my head. What started as playful starter packs poking fun at past tinder dates & the many personalities in this city slowly became highly reflective, personal content. Memes turned out to be the perfect medium.

How important is humour in your work? Humour is everything to me. Humour is healing and humbling, and an essential ingredient in any conversation with the self.

What inspires your memes? The strange visual experience of the arbitrary digital plain mixed with my analytical, excitable mind.

What do you hope to achieve with them? In the future, sighswoon with serve as an entire archive of my struggles, realizations, and experience in my 20s, in a medium specific to our times, and I adore that. In the present, I want these memes to inspire others on a similar path and create connection and community on a platform that often lacks it. I believe the simple and humorous medium of memes makes worldwide, widespread self-reflection possible because any idea in a meme is presented in this distant, vague energy that allows anyone to project their personal experience onto it. It’s sneaky and sweet. Widespread self-reflection is IT.

Can you tell us a bit about your interest in cyborgs? I am highly interested in the relationship between the digital/technological/internet dimension and the tangible, physical dimension. Born in the 90s, I grew up right when the internet started being a staple in every household, I was around for the start of social media platforms. Hearing my elders heavily criticize the smartphone generation and going through phases of fearing technology myself, I am now in a place where I am fully embracing the two as a unified force. I am on a continuous quest for balance and benefit in the two. A cyborg is half human, half robot, and I believe we are too. We are robotic entities when we turn on our GPS, strap it to our dashboard, and let it guide us to our destination. We are human entitites when we arrive at our destination, and hug everyone at the party. We are robotic entitites when we use an advanced search engine to figure out what food is within a 2 mile radius of our apartment, and we are human entities when the food finally arrives and we eat it in pure bliss. It’s a whole system. My obsession with this concept was further enhanced by Donna Harraway’s “A Cyborg Manifesto“. I recommend reading it, it’s free online by way of a PDF and a google search.

What are you most proud of in your work? I am most proud of the path it has kept me on, and the meaningful connections made through the content. I am also really proud of this beautiful sofa I got recently in exchange for making three memes for the brand. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. (Thank you Burrow) 

What meme sums you up most? The “vs.“ meme template which compares two conflicting ideas and two images to conceptualize duality or a change in perception. Which is basically what’s going on in my head all the time.

What are you working on at the moment? I live in a house with four other artists and together we are opening this alternative art space in mid-city. It’s called DELI. The space is an actual Deli, slicers and scales and stainless steel counters and all. I’m so excited. I love putting on art shows more than anything.  

[anoscetia]

Prompt Seven: Book Covers

A/N: Inspired by a hilarious comedic encounter I heard whilst taking public transportation.

Thick eyelashes fanned her down turned face. Her eyes roamed over the page of a book upon her lap, a winsome smile gracing her soft face. Her teeth would gnaw on her bottom lip from time to time as she read. Was it a thriller or mystery that made her worry her lips so? I stood a few feet away watching her from the corner of my eye as I did most days. For two months now, we'd taken the same hour-long commute into the city. I sat a few rows behind her and to the side so I could steal glances as we rode into the thrumming downtown.

I didn't know why she went into the city as she got off one stop before mine, work I assumed. A soft laugh caught my attention and a I turned my head more in her direction. What book held her attention so rapt? I wondered how she'd gotten along before starting to take the same route as me. I'd been making the hour-long commute for over ten years now, when she appeared from nowhere. I had speculated on how close she lived, but always drew the line of trying to find out. The thought of following her home left a distasteful taste in my mouth.

She always read, headphones in her ears as she tore through every page before her. She neither saw nor heard the train coming. She only realized its arrival when I crossed in front of her to walk towards the platform. I hadn't missed a day of work since, afraid if I wasn't on the train, she'd miss it. Frivolous thought I know, but I still didn't want to take the chance. A small hand reached up and swept thick dark hair behind her small shell shaped ears. Her hands, despite their small size, seemed so graceful. Turning the pages with hunger, she almost cradled the thick tome.

Perhaps a painter? He envisioned her small frame behind a large canvas, colorful paint dripping from a brush. Each stroke creating life upon the unblemished background. A soft gasp left her lips as she began to chew on her lip again. No, not a painter. She wore comfortable looking clothes, often flannels, not paint stained frocks. A writer? She appeared to love the written word. A scene of her in an oversized sweater, drinking cappuccino from an enormous mug made me smile. I imagined the sound as her fingers flew across the keys, a staccato as her story unfurled. Yes, a writer.

A whistle split the air as the train approached. Bending, I grabbed my knapsack. Crossing in front of her, I made sure I passed within her peripherals so she would see the movement. I walked slow towards the train as it screeched to a halt, giving her time to gather her things. The sound of movement met my ears, making me grin. I climbed aboard and stood to the side. Chatting with the conductor as usual, she passed me and choose her seat. Finishing the conversation, I walked passed her and took my normal seat. For the next hour, I took turns thinking about work and her.

When we were about halfway through the commute, an elderly woman climbed aboard. Sitting across the aisle form her, the woman tried many times to strike up a conversation with her. Each time met with failure. Couldn't the crone see she was shy? An introvert in every sense of the word. After yet another failure, the old woman let out a huff and looked out the window. I coughed to cover my laugh. Until an introvert was comfortable around you, they didn't start the conversation. I longed for the day when she would be comfortable enough around me to finally talk.

I laid my head on the window and watched the scene play out in my mind. I would arrive at the platform, my presence alerting her. She would look up from whatever book she was reading and smile at me. Her soft features would light up her whole face as she smiled and said "Hello." I let out a soft sigh as butterflies flew around in my stomach. I didn't even notice the old woman getting off the train, so lost was I in my musings. As we entered the boundary for downtown, the only passengers in our section was the two of us.

Sitting a little straighter as we neared her stop, I wished that she might look back. But no, like every day, she rushed to the exit. I heard a small thunk but thought nothing of it as she climbed off onto the platform. As the train began to pull away from the station, I never took my gaze from her back. When it was time for me to disembark, I grabbed up my bag and walked to the open doors. As I passed where she'd been sitting, I saw an object dropped on the floor. Bending and grabbing it, I had to jump out of the doors right before they closed.

Looking down at what I had picked up, I saw it was her book! I let out a laugh and pumped my fist into the air. This was it! All my prayers and musing answered! Tonight, when I got back onto the train to go home, I could approach her with this book as an excuse. She would be so grateful towards me for returning her precious book. I hugged the book to my chest in delight. Peering closer, I saw the back cover was a deep red with no writing, adorned only with a photo. The author I assumed.

I flipped the book over, almost dropping it when the title and cover art  glared up at me. The text "The Queens Favorite Handmaiden" curled elegantly above the image of two women in a heated embrace. One of the women was in a large regal gown decorated in jewels. The other was in a far simpler gown befitting most servants. The maid's gown was halfway off her shoulders, her head thrown back in apparent bliss. The Queen drew close as if about to kiss her swanlike throat.

My vision narrowed onto the two women on the cover as a ringing began in my ears. Someone else had to have dropped this... this... Abomination!!! There was no way that my angel, my soft introverted muse would read such filth! Not only a book so blatantly sexual, but one about two... women! I stood shocked until some passerby brushed my shoulder as they passed. I came back to myself and realized I was still standing on the platform. So shaken I knew not how long I had stood there! Stuffing the venomous thing into my bag I rushed down the steps to the closest cafe.

I purchased a cup of coffee and sat at a table furthest from the others. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching me before drawing out the cursed item. I set it face up on the table and regarded it sickly. I didn't understand. I had to be missing something! Cupping my hands around my coffee, I tried to absorb the heat that thing seemed to have leeched from my body. I lost track as I glared at the demonic book. I half expected it to laugh at my pain. My mind was in such a whirl.

The shrill ringing of my phone broke the hold it had on me. Grasping my phone, I saw it was my boss. Cursing, I realized I was an hour late for work. Putting on my best sick voice I answered. "Hello boss."

"Do you know what time it is? Where are you? It's bad enough the whole system went down this morning! Your contract signing for tomorrow wants to meet today! This isn't like you, are you in the building?"

It seemed one thing was going my way. If the entire system went down, the program that tracked absences and tardies would be down as well. Barking out my best phlegm filled cough, I croaked into the phone, "I'm sorry to hear that Sir. I did report an absence this morning, which is why I am not there. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about the system being down. I will contact the other party and explain that today will not work for us. I don't have any other current clients so I didn't think it would be an issue. I barely lied, but I thought I sounded convincing enough.

I heard another curse and then a sigh on the other end of the line, "No, no. It's fine. I'll talk to the client and explain that the initial meeting time of tomorrow will have to work. Get better and be in here early tomorrow." A click was all I heard as my boss hung up without even saying goodbye. I groaned and leaned my head back on the wall. This was the day from hell. I had to lie, lose a day of work, and... My eyes flew open and I once again glared at the evil thing upon the table. It was all this things fault! My whole day down the drain.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw I still had seven hours before I would be able to see her and try to return this thing. No point in waiting around that long, I would go home and give it to her in the morning. The train ride home was uneventful. I longed for distraction to pull my thoughts from the horrid burden that was on my mind. Once I reached home, I cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom. Anything to keep my mind occupied. That night, I barely slept. Waking up from dreams I couldn't even recall.

I dressed in a hurry the next morning, not even taking the time to shave before rushing to the train station. Upon my arrival, I saw my angel was already there, which was unusual. She arrived ten minutes after me most days. As I climbed the platform stairs, she passed back and forth in front of the bench agitatedly. I paused on the last step and watched her frantic pace. The sick feeling in my gut grew. I stepped off the stairs and approached her.

Noticing my approach, she turned and looked in my direction. Her gaze was nothing like in my fantasies. Her face didn't light up and her cupids bow mouth wasn't smiling. As I drew to a stop, she darted from the end of the bench in my direction. Her worried eyes met my own but not in happiness. She cleared her slender throat and spoke, "Excuse me? When you got off the train yesterday did you see a book?" My breath caught in my throat. Her voice was so... deep. I had always thought her voice would be as soft as her face, but it was low and rich.

Not waiting for my answer, she rushed on. "I hope you found it. My fiancé won't forgive me if I lost it. She's the author and the book hasn't even been released yet. She gave me the first copy." The trapped breath in my lungs whooshed out, as if I got hit. Fiancé?! The back cover flashed in my mind, a woman's photo starring back at me. I felt the blood drain from my face. No... My angel watched my face and frowned before asking, "Did you not find it?" I couldn't stand to see her in pain. Reaching into my bag I pulled the red monstrosity out.

She let out a whoop and snatched the book out of my hands. "I can't thank you enough! I was so worried I had lost it. It's so special, she proposed to me with it you see." Cold, I was so cold. She clutched the book to her chest in joy, much like I had yesterday. "Did you get a chance to read it? Sneak a peek?" I shook my head in disgust. She tutted at me. My muse tutted at me!

"When it's released you should. It's so good! I know it looks different, but after all, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover right?"

A/N: Bahahahahaaa! Are you laughing? I sure did. I was on the bus and overheard a man telling another man how he had a crush on a woman. They saw each other everyday on his way into work. He created this whole fantasy around her looks and mannerisms. Never having the courage to actually approach her. When one day her girlfriend rode the bus with her, he said it just broke his heart. (He knew they were together because they kissed.) I tried so hard not to bust out laughing. Y'all if you like someone, just tell 'em. Avoid the drama.

(ᗒᗨᗕ)

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 265: Tamaki What Did You Eat

Previously on BnHA: The heroes began their invasion of the Ol’ Villain Marriott. Down in the basement, Re-Destro was all “what’s going my fresh villain citizens, what a beautiful day, well I guess we should start that meeting” and they were all “WE’RE UNDER FUCKING ATTACK” and he made a face and I laughed. Class 1-B, Edgeshot, and Midnight then jovially killed some people, and then we cut to Dabi and Hawks! Hawks was all “sorry it has to be this way Bubaigawara but I’m gonna have to arrest you” and Twice got all Harry Potter in that one scene from the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, and then he did the thing, and fucking Hawks just fucking stood there and DID NOTHING. So now he’s gonna have to fight 100,000 Twices I guess, and meanwhile Dabi is running up the stairs on his way to intervene and somehow make things even more chaotic. Also either Hawks or Dabi thinks heroes are scum, and I’m still not clear on which. But basically it’s safe to say that angst is on the way, friends.

Today on BnHA: Tamaki turns into a horse. I have questions. Dark Shadow fights fucking Re-Destro and fucking destroys him in like two seconds flat, like holy shit whaaaaat. Then Tokoyami just hops on inside of Fatgum like a goddamn marsupial, and spends several pages like this, during which I completely can’t focus the entire time but I do remember that we learned that Machia won’t be joining the fight because he apparently only listens to Tomura, so that’s convenient I guess. Then we cut to Twice and Hawks (I literally typed out “Dabi and Hawks” just now and had to go back and change it, so you can see where my mind is at), and Hawks defeats Twice and is all “guess I’ve got no choice” and is seriously going to kill him (hahaha what the fuck), but then DABI FUCKING BURNS THE ENTIRE ROOM DOWN WITH EVERYONE IN IT WHILE LAUGHING AND THEN THE CHAPTER JUST ENDS. I feel like I just got slapped in the face.

so before we start, let me just mention that I got a ton of asks and messages about the whole “HERO SCUM” line, and I appreciate everyone keeping me up to date on the twists and turns of our wild little fandom lol. so as you all probably know, in Viz’s translation of the last page they had Dabi saying the line (“Twice, this isn’t your fault. as always... scummy heroes are to blame”). so naturally everyone was either like “whaaaaat!” or “I KNEW IT!!”, but then Caleb went and deleted his original tweet saying that it was Dabi, and replaced it with a new tweet, the gist of which was basically “I don’t fucking know either” and admitting he wasn’t an authority on the matter. so to sum everything up, we basically don’t know and will never know until the anime airs this in about three years’ time, or until the only man who can actually clear this up decides to stop drawing weird mushroom men for five goddamn minutes so he can clarify for us

anyway, so in the meantime it’s time to see who’s having angst this week! probably everybody! let’s just assume it’s everybody and save some time

ohooo so we finally get to see why they had Tamaki and Tokoyami in the vanguard, eh?

(ETA: gotta say, “you” is an awfully impersonal way to address someone whose entire body you are shortly going to stuff inside your little quirk papoose and tote around like a fanny pack.)

honestly this isn’t much of a mystery though lol. Tokoyami is obvious, and with Tamaki it’s probably because of his kraken thing if I had to guess

...excuse me sir is this leading where I think it’s leading

sir. Mister Gum, sir. please do not tell me you are actually about to lead these children into the building and down into the basement. first of all the thought of you and Tamaki in yet another basement is already giving me PTSD so no thanks. and second of all, ???!?!?!?!?! [gestures incredulously to the two children] ?!?!?!???? [emphatically taps my computer screen with the wiki page showing their respective ages] ???!?!?!?!?!?! [gestures wildly toward a picture of Gigantomachia I pulled up just now in a google search. yeah that’s right. Gigantomachia!! you all forgot about him didn’t you!! well guess who didn’t forget about him?? that’s right. so you’d better explain yourself right the fuck now, Fatgum. oh wait I’m still talking in action brackets whoops]

holy crap is Tokoyami giving orders lmao

well look at you. a general, huh? somebody must’ve told them about his little maneuver at the Battle of Taanab

so now some generic villain guys are all “HOW’D THEY FIND OUR SECRET PATH” and “WE MUST DEFEND IT” and I sure can’t wait to watch them get their asses kicked three panels from now

OH LORDY

EVERYONE TAMAKI HAS JUST TURNED INTO A HORSE. I IMMEDIATELY HAVE SEVERAL QUESTIONS, THE MOST PRESSING OF WHICH ARE (1) WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO HIS PANTS, AND (2) DOES THIS MEAN TAMAKI ATE A FUCKING HORSE. PLEASE STAY TUNED AS WE URGENTLY INVESTIGATE THESE NEW DEVELOPMENTS

lol and the cow horns too. why though. just completes the look I guess

loooooool he’s all “apologies, but please remain still” who are you, Tuxedo Mask??

LOOOOOOL

by the way, I almost skipped right past this, but the text says Tamaki will be a sidekick at the Fatgum agency starting “next year”, which presumably means “in a couple of weeks because the school year is about to end.” our boy is graduating! I’m so proud, and also really pissed off about Mirio all of a sudden, just throwing that out there. how much longer must his dreams be put on hold. where is the justice. man I need a minute

okay! anyway so now Tokoyami is just running into the basement alone!! hooooo boy. I know it’s dark down there and that’s presumably why they’re sending him of all people, but still. hooooooooo boy

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS NO WAY

IS TOKOYAMI GOING TO TAKE ON FUCKING RE-DESTRO AND IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING AND WHY THE FUCK IS NIGHT ON BALD MOUNTAIN SUDDENLY PLAYING

KDSFLK;L’LLL

AM I IN THE RIGHT MANGA. DID DARK SHADOW REALLY JUST GROW NINETY FEET TALL AND START WRESTLING THE SAME FUCKING GUY WHO ALMOST* BROUGHT DOWN THE ENTIRE LEAGUE OF FUCKING VILLAINS

*except he didn’t, let’s be real. didn’t even come close. but still, on paper the hype looks real good!!

AND DO RE-DESTRO’S ROBOT LEGS SOMEHOW FUCKING CHANGE SIZE ALONG WITH HIM. CHALK ANOTHER ONE UP FOR THE MYSTERY BASKET. PUT YOU RIGHT NEXT TO “BUT FOR REAL THOUGH DID TAMAKI ACTUALLY EAT A FUCKING HORSE”

OOOOOF

LOL DETNERAT’S MERCHANDISE REALLY IS TOTAL SHIT. CAN’T EVEN HANDLE A LITTLE CLASH WITH A GIGANTIC SHADOW DEMON

by the way, check out that one guy in the bottom right corner who just totally doesn’t give the least of fucks. he’s fresh out. he wants to know how much longer this is gonna last so he can go home and get back to playing the new Animal Crossing. did you know they added a new crafting feature. can’t believe he’s stuck here at this boring meeting. this man genuinely doesn’t seem to be at all aware of anything that is currently happening around him and it’s amazing. added to the box of questions

oh man. I don’t quite understand what is happening now but I keep expecting Gigantomachia to just pop up out of nowhere any second and I can’t fucking stand it. Horikoshi please stop showing us these close-ups of destroyed walls

OH GOD OH GOD!!!

(ETA: what a casual fucking line implying that Tokoyami genuinely believed that there was nobody in THE ENTIRE LEAGUE OF PLIFF who stood a chance against his latest super move. don’t mind him everyone, he’s just been lowkey biding his time to become the strongest member of class 1-A offscreen while his loser classmates were having dramatic family dinners. how many High Ends could Dark Shadow take out I wonder. why did I suddenly get a mental image of Toko losing an arm only to sigh and nonsensically quote Shakespeare or some shit before wrapping Dark Shadow around the stump and getting back to the asskicking.)

NO TOKO NOT THE ANGRY BALD MAN, HE’S TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE!! OH FUCK OH FUCK

LMAO

:) :) :) can we maybe get my solemn bird son out of this fucking DEATH BASEMENT right the fuck now. can we do that, please

holy shit!?

:) :) :) I can’t decide whether I trust these panels or not. why is he so confident. does this mean Machia really will be sitting out the arc, or is a trap. help

(ETA: I guess it’s okay for now. ... dammit I’m still suspicious sob.)

also, Tokoyami’s “?!” face is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen though. the fact that he’s physically incapable of altering his expressions no matter what is true comedy gold here

NEVER MIND, THOSE WERE THE WORDS OF A CALLOW YOUTH WHO KNEW NOTHING OF TRUE COMEDY GOLD

WHAT A FOOL I WAS. PLEASE PARDON MY IGNORANCE. SO HERE WE HAVE TOKOYAMI’S MONOEXPRESSION BIRD HEAD STICKING OUT OF FATGUM’S JOLLY BELLY FOR NO REASON, WHILE FATGUM IS ALL “DON’T YOU FEEL LIKE WE’RE KICKING TOO MUCH ASS AND SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN”, AND SOME OTHER POOR GUY WITH SCISSORS HANDS IS JUST LYING THERE DEAD IN THE BACKGROUND. MY GOD. I’M IN AWE OF THIS

dfkjkjk oh noooo

“does this young man amuse you,” Horikoshi says as he darkly pencils in the disturbingly concave shadows of Fatgum’s ridiculous fucking quirk. “are his ‘magnificent fellow’ bird antics pleasing for you to watch. I guess it sure would be a shame if I gave him some... angst”

but for real y’all I genuinely can’t take this at all seriously when Tokoyami’s head is still stubbornly and persistently poking its way out of Fatgum like a goddamn baby kangaroo in every fucking panel

we are entering another Tokoyami+Hawks mentor flashback and this is still all I can think about. why is he even in there. why is any of this happening. Tokoyami really just flung Re-Destro into a wall and then climbed inside of Fatgum feet-first so they could run along to freedom. just fucking ensconced himself. do you think it’s cozy in there. do you think Aizawa would fall asleep

hey Toko please stop having ominous thoughts about my other bird son

have you ever heard of an announcer jinx. “now here’s a guy who the fans have loved since the moment he was first introduced. and if you look at the stats, fourth place in his first popularity poll, which was taken only ten chapters after his introduction. heck, he’s so popular they even went and gave him a role in the second movie even before he appeared in the anime! it’s undeniable that this young man has a bright future ahead of him, Al.” now you listen here. I don’t at all like where this is headed and it needs to stop right now

anyway so of course on that note we are cutting back to Hawks

so we’ve confirmed that Hawks has his hands full just melting all of the new clones as they come, and doesn’t have the speed or the excess feathers (or the conviction? :|) to go after the original and put a stop to all this

or you could just ignore everything I say ever because immediately on the next page Horikoshi is all “actually he’s winning lol”

anyway but it sure would be a shame if someone were to run in and set you on fire right about now. that probably sounds sarcastic but it actually would be really bad lol please don’t set Hawks on fire

(ETA: motherfucker. goddamn. fucking --)

and now Hawks is making clones of his fellow League buddies oh shit!! but right when I was about to scroll down I noticed that Hawks is carrying some sort of recording device?? or communications device?? in his hand very conspicuously in that last panel? and so what is going on here, exactly?

oh shit and never mind about those LoV clones

that’s all well and good Hawks, but I need you to please just be very cautious and aware and proactive about not catching on fire okay. watch your six

oh my god oh my god

“now here’s a guy whose rise in popularity was unexpected but just a real pleasure to watch. he just really cares about his friends.” “you said it; he really came into his own a couple arcs back. twenty-third in the most recent poll, and the fans all love him.” fffffff Hawks isn’t a killer Hawks isn’t a killer, I can’t hear you lalala

LA LA LA

maybe... he’ll just... punch a small hole through one of his lungs... ...

...

or... a large hole... ... ,,,

oh THANK GOD he’s jumping on top of him. so clearly he’s fine because Shounen Rules. that’s right, this is a manga where Toga survived blowing up from the inside out and Jeanist survived being murdered and stuffed into a tote bag. (right??) why am I so tense I hate this!!

HEY WHAT IS THIS

or you could just KNOCK HIM OUT??? ?????!??! did they not teach you that in peewee assassin league?! Hawks

I DON’T LIKE THIS I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!!

STOP SHOWING US TWICE’S SAD THOUGHTS YOU BASTARD NO I DON’T LIKE THIS YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME CRY SO STOP!!

GODDAMMIT HORIKOSHI I FUCKING HATE YOU

“HERE’S A SERIES OF PANELS WITH TWICE CRYING AND THINKING ABOUT TOGA WHILE HAWKS HOLDS A FUCKING KNIFE RIGHT ABOVE HIS EYE,” HORIKOSHI SAYS WHILE IGNORING EVERYTHING I SAY AND DISABLING ALL COMMENTS ON HIS TWITTER, PROBABLY. WOW I JUST LOOKED IT UP AND APPARENTLY YOU CAN’T DO THAT? DAMN, TWITTER REALLY SUCKS, BUT ANYWAY

FINE THEN DABI YOU CAN SET HIM ON FIRE!!

JOKE’S ON YOU ASSHOLES, YOU CAN’T HURT ME IF I CAN’T SEE THE LAST PAGE OF THE CHAPTER THROUGH ALL MY TEARS

FUCK

[SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THE FUCK WAS THAT

DON’T YOU EVEN DARE, HORIKOSHI. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANY “BUT YOU GAVE HIM PERMISSION”, COME THE FUCK ON, YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THAT DIDN’T MEAN SHIT AND I WAS LIABLE TO CHANGE MY MIND YET AGAIN ONLY A PAGE LATER AS PER USUAL! WHAT SORT OF TWISTED MIND WOULD DECIDE THAT THE ONLY WAY TO SAVE TWICE WAS TO SET THE ENTIRE ROOM ABLAZE AND THEN HAVE DABI GLEEFULLY STOMP ON HAWKS’S FACE. WHAT KIND OF SICK MONSTER WOULD DREAM THIS UP. THIS ISN’T HOT AT ALL. HOW DARE YOU

ALSO WTF DABI, “HERE I COME TO RESCUE TWICE” WHILE BURNING HIM ALIVE AS WELL, JESUS CHRIST THESE FUCKING TODOROKIS I SWEAR TO GOD. DID YOUR BRAIN CELLS CATCH FIRE TOO

I CAN’T BELIEVE I WAITED ALL WEEK IN A FUCKING LOCKDOWN FOR THIS SHIT. THIS CHAPTER WAS A FUCKING TRAIN WRECK, AND I DON’T KNOW IF I WANT TO THANK ITS STUPID CONDUCTOR, OR PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE. it’s not the manga we need, but it’s the one we deserve. I guess

[tk-duveraun]

Sunlight 4/6

Setting: SWTOR Rating: T Genre: Adventure & Romance Pairing: Amos/Cassandra Sa’alle Notes: read it on ao3

Cassandra the Mandalorian had called her. The name rattled around in his lungs and fought to be spoken aloud. Amos had some understanding from the exchange. Lord Silence, Sa’alle, Cassandra had loved that Mandalorian’s brother, he died, and Lord Sa’alle the Elder had promise to revive him. He knew well enough already that woman would never give her something she wanted so dearly, even if it were possible, but he understood her desperation at his core. Untrained as he was, he’d been more than ready to jump to Cassandra’s defense if her sister had attacked in the hangar.

His heart hurt to see the naked grief on her face as she leaned over the railing in her ship’s lounge. Her hands shook and her shoulders were bent. Her hair was loose, but not obscuring the pain pulling on her mouth or the tears in her eyes. Unable to keep his distance this time, perhaps never again, Amos stepped up to her and touched her back.

Her entire chest shuddered as she took a deep breath and straightened. She shook her head and turned to him. As if some foreign spirit had entered her body, she started and her expression morphed into confusion, though the pain was still there on the edges. Cassandra pressed against his hand even as she looked down at herself. She closed her her hands, running her fingers over the scars on her palms. She met his eyes.

“I did not expect… This,” Cassandra said with her own mouth and own voice.

“I… You can speak?” Amos asked. It was wrong, wrong. She couldn’t. He knew that. Was she a doppelganger? A vision?

She swallowed and the droid bobbed up over her shoulder. “No. I cannot. Do not think on it,” it said for her. She pushed a lock of hair behind her hair and stared at her hand when it shook.

Amos took her hand when she lowered it and it felt as cold as ice. “You’re hurting. Tell me what to do.”

Cassandra huffed, something close to a chuckle, and tears fell from her eyes. She wiped them away with her free hand and curled her fingers around him. She looked down at her clothing again and shook her head. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Amos whispered. He took her other hand and held them together. He wanted to embrace her, hold her until her tears dried and everything was right again. “When I look at you, I just… I want.” He didn’t know what he wanted, probably wouldn’t have words for it if he did.

Again, she looked down at herself, as if she expected to find someone else’s body. She shook her head as she tilted it up, her hair swishing impossibly loud in the still lounge. More still spilled from her eyes as she stared into his. “I can see that, but I do not understand.”

“I just want to make it better. For you.” For us. The words stuck in his mouth like thorns, but she nodded as if she’d heard them. Amos bowed his head until it touched hers. It shouldn’t have, she was so short, but he couldn’t bring himself to question it when she wasn’t pulling away from him. “Tell me what to do.”

“There are no orders for this, Amos. There cannot be.” Cassandra pulled away then, but just enough to lift her hand and cup his cheek. She was speaking without her droid again and the long lines of her Sith robe tried to draw his attention, but couldn’t keep it. “But we may have time for this. Rest now. I will endure, as ever.”

Blackness overwhelmed Amos. He gasped and cracked his head against the cramped wall his bunk was built into. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and clutched the lump. A dream. It had been a dream. No, no, it had been real. But he’d been asleep. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the pain in his head. She’d spoken without the droid. At the beginning and the end. It had to have been a dream.

He rolled out of the cramped space and staggered around, trying to dress himself properly. His clothes were wrinkled, but hers had changed in the dream. But he couldn’t believe his own imagination could recreate her so truly, so genuinely. Heart aching, Amos staggered through the ship until he found her, again in the lounge.

Sa’alle, Cassandra, was standing at the railing, but not leaning as she had been in the dream. She was waiting for him and nodded when they made eye contact. She was as small as she should have been and her pain was hidden in only the twitch at the corner of her mouth and the slight tilting of her hands. She waited until he was next to her to have her droid say, “It is my father’s talent to enter dreams as such.”

“Then it was real?”

Cassandra turned to look out the windows, but her hand out for him to take. Her meaning was clear to him, if no one else. It is all real. Always real. Between us.

“What do you see?” Amos asked, though he immediately knew it was the wrong question. He pulled her hand to his chest, stepping up to her to avoid pulling her to him. “What are you looking for?”

She leaned against him, just the slightest press, not even enough to share warmth. “Peace.” Cassandra nodded at the window and then pulled away. With no further signs of her pain, of her heart, she disappeared back to her command.

The feel of her lingered on Amos’ skin like a sunburn just settling in. He cherished the feel of it, tried to keep the smell of her in his mind, tried to remember the sound of her real voice, the one stolen from him in the waking world. Something had passed between them, something had changed, like her clothes had in the dream, though he couldn’t think of-

She’d known it was a dream. Known it was his dream and she’d kept looking at herself expecting to see… what? What did she think he wanted to see her wear? An image of her in a formal gown flashed behind his eyes, but it didn’t feel right. He didn’t desire that as much as… Oh. Oh.

His breath caught in his throat and the tingle on his skin turned into a blazing fire. He couldn’t swallow for the dryness in his mouth. She hadn’t expected to be wearing anything.

And the image would never leave his mind again.

---

After she touched his dream with the Force, Amos was unable to wonder where Cassandra was. He could feel her. It was no longer just that his senses functioned better. He wondered if this is what she felt like to other Force Sensitives. This beacon of power and warmth that called to him through the cold metal walls. It had taken him days of agonizing thought, trying to come up with something he could do for her, something he could offer her, before he’d realized that he did have something. He knocked on her office door. Without waiting for a verbal cue, he stepped in as soon as the door unlocked. He took his time closing it, just letting the feel of her so close wash over him.

She glanced up at him, but her eyes didn’t linger. Cassandra had two datapad in front of her and a news report was playing in the background. It was in Huttese, so Amos could only make out “dead” and then several numbers without context. He sat across from her in the purposefully uncomfortable chair. After so many lessons, he was as used to it as a person could be, so he waited for a pause in the rhythm of her work.

When she shifted between the datapads, her fingers typing into empty air, Amos said, “Cassandra.”

The datapad did not fall from her hand, but there was shock in her tight grip on it and the muscles around her mouth couldn’t decide how she felt about his use of her name. She set the datapad on the glass surface and stared into his very soul. “That name is my father’s doing, as well.” The back of her hand brushed against the glass, sweeping away debris that wasn’t there.

He knew her meaning well enough without words. I do not like my feelings on him, but they are what they are.

“I have proof of Lord Aucht’s treachery.”

She froze then, breathing in hard and loud. Her hand clenched into a fist before withdrawing under the desk. “As do I. It was not for the name or the Dream Walking that I refused to turn him to the slaughter.”

Aucht is your father? He wanted to ask.

She answered him with the same silent gestures. She turned her head, leaving her chin at a sharp, accusatory angle. You did not know? Cassandra let out a quick breath from her nose and tilted her head again. Her hands came back to rest on the desktop. Of course not. It is because… “Even if that woman could,” she huffed a rough breath, the ghost of a derisive laugh, “even if she would have returned Aaron to me, I would not sacrifice so many for him. For any one person.” She looked at her hands, still with her Force to stop the tremor. Nor would you. You trusted I would refuse.

Amos reached out and his palm hovered over her hands, completely hiding them from view. He held it there, agonizingly close, but not touching. I had to give you something. Everything.

She tried to pull her hands away - I need nothing - but Amos closed his hand over hers - Let me. She allowed him to hold her still. There was no doubt in his mind she could resist him, remove him from her ship, her life, her aura, but she remained under his touch.

As if she was just as ensorceled by him as he was by her.

“Let me help,” Amos said. He wouldn’t leave room for confusion, wouldn’t let her purposefully miss his meaning or pretend a vague touch meant something else. “I’m no more your hostage than I ever was a servant.”

“That was the purpose of your lessons.” She couldn’t hold his gaze and looked several times at his hand over hers. “But it is not so simple as staying when offered the chance to leave.”

The words hung in the air, bricks in a wall Amos had felt but not truly realized was there. “Because you kidnapped me.” He didn’t need her to say anything, he knew, he understood. “You are no one’s servant” had meant more than words because it was more than words. He could make excuses for her, but if she were swayed by them, she would not be his sun. He swallowed, though his parched throat protested. “Was the purpose.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “That woman is a foe you cannot fight. I cannot afford the resources required to keep you safe.” She stacked her second datapad on top of the first. “I have already contacted the governor of Olkin II. He has produced the purchase documents of one former slave with your bioscan. You are to be released at the earliest opportunity. He believed you would wish to return to Olkin II, but it is at your own discretion.”

“That would be best,” Amos said. He knew he couldn’t convince her to let him stay and there was nowhere else to go. She wouldn’t have left him empty-handed, but he needed a purpose, a task and Morathis could give him that. He didn’t want it. He wanted the one he’d chosen, wanted to stay and bask in Cassandra’s sunlight, even if it was going to burn him. “I-”

“No, Amos. Not now.”

Not now. But later. He could have her later. She would leave him on Olkin II and he would find his way back. He would check on Cate, ensure she was healing properly. He would repay Morathis for everything. He would make himself useful enough that Cassandra couldn’t afford to leave him behind.

Later, he would have her.