#Victor the Puppy Strikes Again

[dajaregambler]

HeliosR - Victor Valentine Card story ‘‘First Experience’’ (full)

Translation of Victor Valentine’s #Photooftheday card story from ‘Helios Rising Heroes’.

Includes all three parts in one post.

Part 1

Victor: My apologies, Dino. I ended up summoning you for such a thing again.

Dino: Nah, feel free to pet my tail all you like if it helps

Nova: How nice, Vic. You’ll get outta that slump before you know it with this~♪

Dino: Huh, a slump? Are you in a pickle?

Victor: I feel that I’ve come at a bit of a standstill with this research, but I wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s severe-

Nova: It’s gonna be fine! By petting Dino’s tail, you’ll totally go brrrr ding! like that one time and inspiration will strike you once more

Victor: You’re overexaggerating too much, Nova. And I fail to believe it’ll go that smoothly…

Nova: If you never try you’ll never know, is what they say. It was the same before, riiight~?

Victor: …..

Dino: Victor-san, wouldn’t you like to at least give it a shot?

Victor: I’d prefer to refrain from wasting my time on such illogical actions.

Nova: It went great the first time, I’m sure trying it again will have some value to it!

Victor: …..

Nova: I’m ready whenever, so go ahead!

Nova: C’mon, Vic. Even Dino-kun’s supporting you~

Victor: ….Very well then.

Victor: Don’t mind if I do.

Dino: Waha… that tickles…!

Dino: H-how is it? Victor-san.

Victor: ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Victor: ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Nova: ….Did something come to mind?

Victor: No, not at all. No matter how much I caress, it’s not the same impression as that one time.

Nova: EEEH~~~!?

Dino: Sorry for not being of help…

Victor: There’s no need for you to apologize. It seems the effect from before was a mere coincidence after all. 

Nova: I see… What other tricks could we…

Victor: Please do not fret over it, Nova. It is my day off after all, if I refresh myself by going outside I’m certain I’ll come to a solution.

Nova: I see~ Yeah, that might work. Who knows, inspiration might randomly end up striking you~

Dino: That’s right! Victor-san, would you like to go eat some pizza together then?

Victor: Pizza, you say… I’m not quite in the mood for that.

Nova: Eeh~ You should go. Dino-kun, aren’t there any pizza places that serve some delicious coffee?

Dino: There is one! I went to this one with Brad before, he ordered an Italian coffee and said that the blend was out of this world.

Victor: Italian coffee…

Victor: Then I am interested. I’ll accompany you.

Nova: How nice~ I’d come too if I didn’t have a meeting

Dino: We’ll go with you next time. And invite Marion-kun and the others too♪

Nova: Yeah. I’ll be looking forward to that~

-

Dino: Nihi, it sure has been a while since you and I ate pizza together!

Victor: You do seem to be elated over it, Dino.

Dino: I mean, it’s not often we… Huh?

Jay: W-wait…! Calm down…!

Dino: Is that Jay? What is he doing?

Part 2

Puppy: Woof woof!

Jay: Please, go over there instead…!

Victor: He’s being cornered by a dog.

Dino: Heeey, Jay!

Jay: Gh, you two, came at just the right time…! Please do something about this little guy…!

Dino: Huh… Didn’t you say that you conquested the dogs when you performed at the circus?

Jay: W-well, in reality I’m still far off from--

Puppy: Woof woof!

Jay: Uwaaaaaaah!!!!!!

Victor: Please calm yourself, Jay. There’s nothing to fear about this small dog--

Puppy: *Whine*!

Dino: I-it ran away…

Victor: ………

Jay: …He bolted away in a blink…. Just what did you do? Victor.

Victor: I didn’t do anything in particular.

Jay: Still, that little guy had so much energy in him but ran away just from seeing you…

Victor: It’s no different than usual.

Jay: R-really…?

Victor: Meanwhile, dogs seem to quite adore you instead.

Jay: Uh, yeah, I’m not sure if they adore me but they’d often come and jump me as long as I remember.

Jay: Either way, I got saved thanks to you. ….And not often that I see you two together now that I think of it.

Dino: We’re on our way to eat some pizza at this place that also serves delicious coffee♪

Jay: Oh, mind if I join then? I’d like to thank you for saving me. The lunch is on me.

Dino: Waah, thanks Jay! ---Even though I didn’t do anything.

Victor: Isn’t that fine? I’ll gladly take the offer.

-

Dino: Now what pizza should I order today. Maybe Hungarian pizza… No no here you can get the true classic Margarita…

Dino: Aah but, I can’t just abandon Capricciosa either! Hmmm…

Jay: Haha, order whatever you’d like. Same for you, Victor.

Victor: I have no preference as long as I have my coffee, I’ll leave it in your hands.

Dino: Gotcha! And I’ll order a pizza so delicious it will get imprinted in Victor-san’s mind for the rest of his life

Dino: Excuse me~ I’d like to have a Margarita, Hawaiian and a Montanara Pizza, and some coffee too!

Waiter: Alright.

Dino: Nihi, there’s no way Victor-san won’t be satisfied with this kind of line-up…♪

Victor: I fail to imagine what the other pizzas are besides Margarita.

Dino: Yeah, I chose based on what’s classic, unique and unusual.

Victor: I see.

Jay: I have to say, a pizza parlor is not somewhere I’d expect you to be.

Victor: It’s not that big of a deal, but simply put…

-

Victor: ---And so I ended up depending on Dino’s aid.

Jay: Interesting, to think how Dino’s tail led to this…

Dino: But it was a bust this time around… Even though I’m properly taking care of it too--

Dino: Hold on! What if we follow Jay’s example and go pet some real dogs instead?

Victor: …Jay’s?

Dino: Animals run away from you which is why you chose to pet my tail instead, right?

Dino: By copying Jay, animals will like you, and then maybe you could try some real animal therapy…!

Victor: Hm… I understand the reasoning behind it. However, I believe that the reason why Jay is liked by animals lies with his natural disposition. Even if I were to imitate him, it wouldn’t result in success.

Dino: T-that’s true…

Jay: Then, how come you got a flash of inspiration the first time you touched Dino’s tail?

Victor: ……

Victor: Perhaps it might be attributed to the fact that it was my first experience with such a sensation when I caressed his tail. 

Victor: That touch of fluffiness, the sensation of it stirring within my hands….

Victor: I suppose the stimulus of having something unknown in my palms is what had given me inspiration. 

Dino: So by following that logic, things that you haven’t experienced up until now should inspire you to come up with ideas.

Dino: In that case, I’ll order the ultra spicy Habanero Pizza--

Victor: I already have experience with Nova’s made up, ultra spicy sauce that he created when we were children, regarding spicy cuisine.

Dino: Eeeh…!?

Victor: So far I still have not encountered something that surpasses it in terms of spiciness, extracting inspiration from that flavor would be a difficult endeavor. 

Dino: And here I was thinking that Nova-san had a sweet tooth…

Victor: Nova, by nature, has the spirit of a researcher. The type that chases after whatever interests him, even if it falls outside of what he likes himself.

Victor: Come to think of it, all these unusual sensations I’m familiar with could be due to the fact that Nova would drag me along to partake in it. Animal therapy was originally a suggestion on his part too.

Dino: H-huuh… I wonder what other stuff there is that you haven’t experienced yet, there has to be other stuff, no?

Victor: It’s as Nova said, inspiration could strike me at any moment. Let’s be patient for now.

Jay: ……..

Part 3

Victor: Mm, thank you for the meal. The pizza and coffee was delicious, Dino.

Dino: I’m happy to hear that

Jay: Victor, what are your plans after this?

Victor: Right, it doesn’t seem I’ll be able to gain anything from staying here. I’ll be returning to the lab and most likely rearrange my book collection.

Jay: If you don’t have anything to do, would you like to stick with me for a little longer?

Victor: ? Is there something you need from me?

Jay: Nope. The weather’s nice so I thought to play around for a little while.

Victor: …..Play?

Jay: It’s not typical for you to go outside and play, yeah? It might even help you with getting some inspiration.

Dino: Jay, what are you thinking about doing?

Jay: Something we often do. Since the time you were a rookie even, and always have

Dino: !! Don’t tell me…!

Victor: …..?

-

Jay: Play ball!

Dino: Here, Victor-san. Please use this glove.

Victor: ….A game of catch, hm.

Jay: Ever done it before?

Victor: Never have

Dino: Eeeh, not even once?

Victor: Not at all.

Dino: Then please go all out with enjoying this love and peace filled game of catch today☆

Victor: Are there any differences between love and peace filled catch and regular catch?

Jay: Don’t sweat the details. Just keep your eye on the ball and catch it.

Jay: Alright, go ahead and throw it, Dino

Dino: Okay! Here I go~

Dino: Hup!

Jay: Oof…

Jay: Nice ball. As always your sense of control is in top form.

Dino: I’m not good at chucking blazing fastballs like you are. Which is why I have to focus on elevating my control of power instead

Jay: Haha, your throws are fast enough though

Jay: Okay then, next up is Victor. You ready?

Victor: Go ahead.

Jay: Here it comes…!

Victor: ….!

Jay: Oh, nice catch! A great one for your first time

Victor: ……….

Jay: Well, it was expected from you

Victor: ……….

Jay: …Victor?

Victor: ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dino: Could it be…!

Victor: You have my thanks, Jay, Dino. I would like to verify if there are any problems with this theory that just popped into my head, so I must return to the laboratory at once. Excuse me while I do.

Dino: And he’s off…

Jay: To think that it would work out this well.

Dino: As much as I wanted to play some more, I’m glad Victor-san was able to triumph his worries♪

Jay: Exactly. ….If this is the trick to it, then why don’t we invite him another time to come play?

Dino: Eh?

Jay: How does batting sound for next time?

Dino: Yeah! And then let’s also invite him to watch a baseball game after batting!

Jay: Taking him out for drinks would be fun too.

Dino: And I wanna play games together! Nihi, I’m looking forward to the next day of hanging out with Victor!

Notes:

Victor had attempted 'animal therapy' before and that was in his Animal 3* cardstory (translation by fleetingmelody).

[zsaszattack]

Imagine Victor putting a spoon under the sink and the water just comes right back and hits Roman in the face. Victor is no longer allowed near the dishes.

Oh my god.

Just imagine it though...

Roman just spent like 200$ on that new custom suit then Victor by accident just... splashes Roman's face and new suit with one single spoon, ruining the suit just like That.

Quickly turning the sink off and slowly turning to see Roman with his hands by his sides glaring at Victor with water just dripping off his face.

"Harmless alright." Roman mutters to himself, wiping water off his face.

Victor slowly smiles innocently. Whoops.

[shiosworld]

Pretty Little Physco.

pretty little physco - paring ; henry bowers x patrick hockstetter type ; dark fic/smut requested? requested ( personal ) . warnings ; sex, self harm, manipulation, mentioned child abuse, patrick hockstetter is his own warning to be honest, animal abuse, mentioned s/a. degrading slurs, implied s/a and rape. - ", Baby strike a pose i want your, ", Henry sobbed, curling into a feral position onto his bed, crying out ugly, his face dwelling red and tears pouring out of his eyes, while snot had dripped out of his nose too. god, was he an ugly crier. Patrick hadn't minded, watching closely from the window, before tapping onto it, wondering if Henry could hear from all that muffled screaming and crying. one. two. three. the third knock had caused Henry to shoot up, wiping the tears and snot away with a random sweater on the floor. he looked like death - , tugging the blade that laid next to him onto the side-table, and sluggishly turning towards the window and scrunching his eyebrows and nose, trying to figure out who was out there - within a few minutes, he found Patrick coming into his eyesight, and Henry sighed. he then walked over, and opened the window. ", pretty little psycho! . " god, was patrick pretty? long dark hair and pale skin, making him look like an angel, but oh no - he was nothing close to that, something far beyond . . something far more cruel and careless, something that'd shove you further into the dirt after trying to 'help', you. and well, henry - he knew that more then anyone else. he had the 'won't take no for an answer' mindset, and no matter how many times henry would say , no, i'm not comfortable, he'd never stop. but, henry - he was a loser. no, not the losers club - an actual loser, bullying younger children, smoking and drinking, having only three friends - and only two actually cared for him.

victor, - where was victor? usually, if he didn't feel like being torn apart, or feeling like a kicked-one-too-many-times puppy, or - if he was looking for actual comfort, he'd find himself in victor's home, sitting down on the couch or bed, sniffling and trying to cover up his pathetic expression. victor, he always cared, or tried to help. patrick, did not - patrick got off on the horror and made henry aswell, finding the traumatized, broken and complex boy a beauty, something that should be torn further. like his father, ", you hanging out with that fag again? i swear, henry, you always manage to be such a fucking dissapointment. go grab me a beer, would you, and make yourself useful? ", ", you look like your mother. expect, she was more helpful, henry. that's pathetic, you fairy, yeah - i know you've been hanging out with those damned queers, can't hide from me, boy. ", those taunting sentences - words, played out in his head. he wouldn't be like this if patrick wasn't here. he had to get rid of pat someday. one day. ", there's something about you i've got to have. ", patrick sat close, putting a ', comforting ', hand on henry's back, a sick grin being held back from the raven-headed twat. ", shh, i've got you, hens. ", he muttered, drawing his mouth closer to the other's ear, and his sickening smirk had come out fully, showing his more dark demeanor. to him, this was all some fantasy game, others emotions hadn't felt. no, he could do whatever he'd like, and no one would know, or maybe they'd think they did. ", sh - shut up, you fucking freak! ", Henry stuttered, in a weak voice, making patrick's grin somehow - become even more wide. henry glared daggers at him, trying again. ", shut up, patrick! ", now - his voice was more confident, or wannabe confident. he was so . . uncomfortable, knowing all the dark shit that patrick could do, and had done before. ", patrick, i told you. no, i don't want to- ", ", get the fuck off me, freak! ", "stop, stop touching me - stop, please! ", ", i told you no, stop! please- ah, stop! ", henry cringed, tears welling up further into his eyes, scooting away from patrick. ", i hate you. ", he coughed, patrick raising a brow and grinning further at him. ", what'd i do now, sweetheart? your daddy call me queer 'gain?, ", henry remained silent, and patrick took this as a chance to egg on. he know he shouldn't - toying with something already so,, broken - could mess up the entire plan.

yet he did anyways, ", does your daddy know i've turned you into a freak, henry? is that why he beat poor you, up again? want me to get rid of him, hens? do you gotta depend on me, again? ", patrick continuously asked, knowing it would plunge deep into henry's head. yet, to his surprise, henry didn't hit or punch him, not even shove patrick away as he drew closer. he just - cried. patrick now smiled, finding it so hilarious how henry was deeply broken.

", black-lickstip just like a cat, have you purrin' on your back. ", henry cried out, tears spilling from his eyes - sobbing and shrieking, while patrick rolled his eyes and leaned over henry, stuffing himself deeper inside the other boy. ", p- patrick,ithurtswait!! ", he shrieked, speaking so fast, no one would be able to understand. ", Shh, hens, it'll feel good in a minute, alright. ", it didn't even sound like ressurance, just balant talking. henry took a deep breath, and winced, while patrick had drawn himself in and out of the other. ", shutthefuckup,youfreakihateyou!! ", he screamed into his hand.

this went on for a while, before the stink of sex had filled the entire room, sweat and tears staining henry's face, - and body. Patrick, on the other hand, had already gotten dressed again, and was climbing out of the window, leaving a sore henry alone. he sighed, standing up and grabbing a new pair of boxers, shorts and a t-shirt. henry stepped into the bathroom, putting his clothes on the counter, and leaning into the water, scorching hot. he hoped it would burn off the feeling of hands on his body. he cried in the shower again.

/////////// IF YOU READ THIS IM SO SORRY. also, fuck you risa for requesting this in dms man. you a fake real one for real.. but also this was i guess fun to write with music or something, yeah i write for it(2017) now. i apologize for this monstrosity of angst and hurt.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

(okay hol' up, i just followed you recently despite visiting your blog for over a month now, but you followed me back and i'm short-circuiting) Congrats on 1K! Thought I'd send in an idea for the event - something lukewarm for Priest!Toji and a Witch!Reader? I'm thinking 1600s trial vibes but I know whatever you write will be dope <3

You said 1600's trial vibes and I heard the ghost of Victor Hugo go "hey you remember that one book I wrote" and I said "uh wasn't that set in the 1400s, though" and he said "mmmkay, so? you gonna write this shit or not?"

So here I am.

Bewitched: Preist!Toji Fushiguro x Witch!Fem!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tw: NSFW

1K Follower Event Masterlist

"Recite verses from the Holy Book, take the sacrament, and I will let you go."

You turn your head away from the priest, who is holding out the cracker and wine.

"I cannot do that. It is a--"

"Against your religion!" The priest finishes for you, throwing the wine and cracker onto the floor. You flinch, feeling the wine splatter the tips of your bare toes. "And why have you given your soul to the devil? What does he hold over you that cannot be forgiven by God?" The broad-chested man reaches a hand out to touch your chin with his crooked index finger, but you step back, keeping your eyes on the stone floor of the chapel.

"I have not sold my soul to the devil," you reply, gripping your hands by your sides. "I am not a dark witch."

"Please do not tell me you think there good witches or bad witches," he laughs, stepping over the mess he just made and advancing upon you in the robes befit for a holy king. "A witch is a witch. And you will be hung or burned at the stake if I say so."

"Then kill me," you gripe. "But you will suffer the wrath of a thousand others if you do."

"You are ill," he pleads with you, his green eyes searching your face earnestly. "Come, be saved by the power of God and--"

"Your god does not exist," you retort, but you can't seem to catch the hand that strikes out at your face. You stumble against a pew, bringing a hand up to your face.

"Blasphemy! Repent, witch, or you will burn in Hell for eternity!"

I've got one last trick, you think to yourself. One last option. But I would be breaking my own rules to do it. The priest continues to advance on you, and you muster up the last bit of magic you can to cast a final spell. You don't even need to speak, the thought of the old words is enough.

At first, you don't think the spell has taken effect, but when the priest stops and blinks three times, you inhale deeply, hoping the effect of the love spell is strong enough to save you.

The priest stares at you for a long time before exhaling shakily, clasping his hands together. "I would be remiss if I did not permit you to take sanctuary here for the evening," he finally murmurs, mesmerized. "You are welcome to stay in the comfort of my chambers." He swallows hard, and you nod, silently thanking your magic for the quick solution.

_____________________________________________________________

"Shall I call for someone to light the fireplace? I would hate for you to catch a chill."

"I'm fine," you whisper, curling under the sheets in the large four-poster bed. "Thank you." The priest has changed out of his vestments, now clothed in simple pair of pants, and his black hair is visible, laying against his forehead as he settles into the chair beside the bed.

There are only three other women in your situation - witches who have bewitched priests who sought to murder them. You vowed as a young witch to never put yourself in this situation, for the risk of the spell not working was higher than the reward of it actually taking effect in the way you want it to. But it seems this priest already had wavering faith, which strengthened the hold of your magic on him. He looks at you with a lost puppy gaze, the scar on his lips parting as he drinks in your visage in his bed.

"Your scar," you whisper, reaching your hand out to touch it. "Where did you get it from?" The priest kisses your fingers, then murmurs,

"A witch scarred me as a child when she attacked my family." You hum, frowning.

"I am sorry to hear that. Such a malicious act for no reason..." The brutish man leans into your palm, and you stroke his face as he sighs.

"May I join you in the bed? Feel free to say no."

"You may." In the waning light of the sun, the priest climbs into the bed with you, wrapping a strong arm around your figure.

Before he blows the candles out, he whispers, "Goodnight, my love."

And the lights go out.

_____________________________________________________________

Your hips bang against the dresser as Toji rocks into you, his muscled body hovering above yours.

"Excellent... sermon today," you moan, leaning your head back. You don't really think it was an excellent sermon, but his infatuation grows stronger every single time you praise him.

"Enough about that," he whispers, leaning down to kiss you. "I love coming back to your embrace. You're so perfect..."

For the past three months, you've been living in the church and carrying on a relationship with the priest inside. And you have to admit, beyond his staunch and unmoved exterior, Toji is softer than you ever imagined he would be.

"I'm gonna cum..." he whispers, bracing himself for the sensation. "Oh, my--" The hiss Toji lets out is divine, and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you is just as amazing.

"Toji, that feels so good..." you moan, and he laughs, kissing down your neck.

"You love it when I cum inside of you, huh?" You nod, kissing him again as he carries you to the bed, covering you with the sheets and smoothing your hair away from your face. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you admit, touching his face before curling up and drifting off to sleep.

But you awake in the middle of the night, and upon finding the other side of the bed cold, you sit up and look around the room. "Toji?" You slide out of bed, feeling the stickiness between your legs but ignoring it and wrapping yourself in a shirt discarded on the floor. You open the doors to your shared chambers and walk through the church, peeking around every corner and even daring to look in the confessional box. But there's nothing.

And then you hear a soft whispering, and you creep into the main sanctuary, seeing Toji kneeling at the altar. You hold your breath to hear him better, and you pick up the words,

"Forgive me, Lord, for lying with a witch... I cannot be parted from her, and she believes she has cast a spell upon me... and in essence she has. But I am sure if I remain by her side, she will be converted and--" You turn quickly and rush back to your chambers, sliding back into the bed, shaking.

No, you hadn't truly escaped. Your magic hadn't worked.

Toji had bewitched you, and now, you couldn't leave him.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

pranked ➳ mlqc

➳ WORD COUNT: 669

➳ GENRE: pure satire and bs (don’t take it too seriously)

➳ SYNOPSIS: i tried 

VICTOR // swapping out sugar for salt

in your defense you thought this was a great idea

you clearly didn’t think enough about this

you saw this prank idea on social media and thought this was funny because people would end up putting salt in their coffee

so while victor was out you replaced the sugar in the kitchen with sea salt

and got away with it for awhile

you were very happy about that

until one day victor announces he’s made you pudding

guess what’s a major component of pudding

:> *sweats heavily*

you normally love victor’s pudding, but now you’re trying your best to avoid it like it’s rat poison

you can see victor looking slightly hurt when you refuse it for the hundredth time

your heart feels awful

so, very unwillingly, you place a spoonful of pudding in your mouth under his watchful eye and very nearly gag on how salty it is

you regret so much

victor shakes his head at you

“that should teach you not to play around in the kitchen”

at least he gets you a glass of water after (TдT)

GAVIN // bitter taste

this is a collusion collaboration with eli

you deliver a bento box to the stf headquarters one day as usual and gavin takes it with joy

he sits down in the cafeteria to open it and eli, who’s usually grousing about how he should eat it in his office out of consideration for the singles, is... grinning?

gavin is immediately put on guard

he carefully opens the bento box, wondering if eli’s somehow replaced the inside with a bomb made of silly string or something along those lines

it’s filled with rice

that’s it

just a bed of plain white rice

eli starts snickering, and gavin glares at him, poking the rice carefully with his chopsticks

he feels something under all that rice! it’s like striking gold! he pulls it out to reveal...

...bittergourd

eli laughs so hard he chokes on his food

gavin doesn’t try to save him

the poor man later runs fifty laps around the training field as punishment

when he gets home he sulks, but you can coax him out of it with enough hugs and kisses and promises to never do it again

somewhere in stf, eli is still running 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

KIRO // new favourite singer

you hide away all your kiro albums and tell him you have a new favourite singer

kiro is: horrified

how could his miss chips like another singer more than him??? he’s your boyfriend-

WHO IS THIS SINGER HE NEEDS TO KNOW RIGHT AWAY

is so dramatic about it

pulls out his violin and composes an entire medley of sad songs

he’s like shiapouf from hunterxhunter

mopes about this for a week until you cave and tell him it was a prank

tearfully begs you never to do it again

your heart 💘

you can’t really refuse those puppy dog eyes

SHAW // hair magic

you replace his shampoo with army green dye

he doesn’t realise until he walks out of the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror

you’ve effectively traumatised him for the rest of his life

never before have you seen him look so... blank

he’s caressing his bangs like they’re his firstborns that’ve just passed away

when his eyes come to rest on you, you swear you see electricity crackle in them

when you see that, you know it’s time to run for the hills

he catches up to you easily, of course. this man has absolutely no mercy as he tosses you down on the touch and begins to tickle you with a vengeance 

finally forgives you when the dye finally washes out of his hair

“i looked good in it anyway. i just prefer purple.”

don’t let him know that you have photos saved in your laptop

he will electrocute it

LUCIEN // i tried my best

i tried to think of a way

i got nothing

this man is unprankable

here’s a rainbow for effort

[starrygalaxy04]

Songs That Remind Them of You (MLQC Headcannons)

Victor

Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Elton John)- Victor is a sucker for romantic-style music, and this song is no exception. He can't help but imagine dueting this song with you whenever it plays softly in the background while he's making your favorite caramel pudding.

Adore You (Harry Styles)- He would never admit it, but this man just wants to shower you in affection. His favorite moments are when he gets to hold you in his arms and he can just gaze at you with the insane amount of joy, admiration, love, and unfiltered affection that only you get to see. He's been searching for you for a very long time, and he's going to cherish every second of being with you.

Still the One (One Direction)- He would never admit he ever listens to this song because like hell is anyone going to find out that he listens to boy bands, but this song's lyrics strike all the right chords with him. He loves the message it sends because its the very message he will always reiterate to you when you feel like you're not enough or he could do better. Its you, its always been you.

Lucien

Dark Side (Kelly Clarkson)- This man has a hard time knowing that you love him and are blissfully unaware of the monster that lurks just below the surface. He often finds himself wondering if you would still love him if he were just Ares, or if you would leave after you found out all of the things he had done for the sake of progress. But every time you wrap your arms around him or smile at him, all those worries melt away because he feels true emotion when he looks at you.

Its Gonna Be Me (NSYNC)- He knows that anyone in this world can have you, and it would kill him if you chose anyone else besides him. So he wants to make absolutely sure that he will never even have to think about letting his beautiful butterfly go. He is forever yours, and you will be forever his, even if it takes an eternity for that to happen.

Line Without A Hook (Ricky Montgomery)- This song mainly applies after Lucien no longer remembers MC, because I feel like it accurately describes how he feels. He knows MC doesn't trust him and is purposefully being distant, but at the same time the feelings that the other him felt are slowly trickling in and before long he's wishing that he could fix whatever it was that was tearing MC up so bad inside. And he knows that as he is, he's no good for you. But that doesn't mean that he isn't going to ignore the voice of reason in his head like the other him did and try his hardest to be what he once was for you.

Kiro

Fight For This Love (Cheryl)- Kiro knows that with him being a huge pop idol that sometimes the pressure gets to you. And he wants you to know he is always there and will be there next to you to fight through the thick and thin. He always wants to be with his favorite person ever, and will do whatever it takes to make sure that you're okay and he can be there to experience everything life has to offer with you, and to assure you that you are worth it.

100% Pure Love (Crystal Waters)- True to the name of the song, everything that Kiro feels (well almost everything, if you get what I mean) comes from the purest parts of him. He always wants you to be the happiest you can, always making sure that you have a bright smile on your face. And he knows what you two have is something people could only dream of, and having you in his arms is the best thing that ever happened since he met you again at that convenience store.

Price Tag (Jessie J)- He knows that when you two are together, nothing else matters. He knows you're not with him just because he's Kiro the superstar, but because he's Kiro. The bubbly 22 year-old who has an affinity for sweets and puppies with an adventurous streak. And he knows that if you two are next to each other, you wouldn't need anything else to have a good time.

Gavin

Treasure (Bruno Mars)- Honey, you are the center of this man's universe. He had treasured you since the first day he laid eyes on you, and wanted nothing more than to be by your side. And now that he is, he is over the moon. He may not be able to shower you in lavish gifts like some of the others, but every single moment you two spend together more than makes up from it, whether its a picnic under the stars or a midnight flight.

What A Man Gotta Do (The Jonas Brothers)- This brings back some of his older memories, back from the high school days. He was so shy when it came to you, and he never even knew how to approach you the majority of the time. So he always watched from the distance, wondering what he could do to get you to notice him. The song allows him to reflect on those cringey memories with a smile, and let him enjoy the fact that you were his, even after all that had happened.

Loving You Tonight (Andrew Allen)- This man can't wait to come home and just lay in your arms, or have you lay in his arms. His favorite moments are the ones of pure domesticity, things he never saw between his mother and father when he was younger. It feels so pure and freeing, and just so right. He loves every moment of it, and wouldn't have it any other way.

Helios

Popular Monster (Falling in Reverse)- While Helios is indeed a person, Helios is somewhat of a character that Kiro is playing. Its the side of him that he can't show to the world. He has killed people to protect others, to protect you, and in that way, he's exactly as the title reads, a popular monster.

Therefore I Am (Billie Eilish)- As Helios, he knows that everything relies on technique and execution, so he has completely shut out emotional functions for the most part, except when he's around you. But because Kiro is such a good actor, its very hard to tell. He knows that he's that bitch, and is not afraid to prove it, being blunt about literally everything. But he also knows that you have the perseverance of a God, to the point that its stupid, but as you build the confidence that comes with the identity of your Evol, he sees you growing in a way that he could have never taught you as Kiro.

Cigarette Duet (Princess Chelsea)- Helios knows that he can't associate with you as much as when he was Kiro because Black Swan is a bitch, but one thing he always wants to make sure is that you haven't fallen down and devolved into bad habits. The one thing that didn't leave Helios was his ability to care specifically about you, and even thinking that you would get into a habit that would harm yourself makes his blood boil. So he always makes sure you've remained drug-free and that you see him just enough that it won't get him in trouble and can give you comfort.

Shaw

No Roots (Alice Merton)- Shaw's idea of you is something much like how Victor saw you in the beginning. Someone who thrust themselves into something way over their head and now had to deal with the consequences of it. The only reason he believed you was because he knew of things (the man has his ways) and decided to help you because he found you just interesting enough that he thought it might be fun. But he found himself envying the fact that you didn't have a past in this world, and that you were free to do whatever you pleased without a reputation preceding you. He didn't like the fact that it caused you pain, but thanks to his asshole of a father the idea sounded a little too good to him.

Sad Girl (Lana Del Rey)- Shaw often found you moping around at first, mourning the fact that you had lost everything. But in the end, he was the one who helped you get over it, getting you back to your normal self. He still catches glimpses of that depressed look in your eyes, and always makes sure to lighten up on the teasing when he does see it. He never got the chance to be a kid and grow up properly, so he couldn't fathom exactly how hard it was for you. But he still tried.

White Tee (CORPSE)- We all know Shaw would be more into the punk style, and his music taste is no exception. He likes listening to mostly emo style music, and dabbles into a little bit of everything when he feels like it. However, this song mixes together his anger at the world for giving him such a shit childhood and the fact that with you he feels like he can start fresh. Because even though everyone else falls into the same category with him, you were different, and he wanted to explore that kind of different.

[sakurawarfare]

Amidst the golden blossoms (Lumine x Childe oneshot)

Olah! I'm back~!

First off, thank you so much for all the likes and love that you've given for my first oneshot 🥺

I'm sorry for not posting anything new for almost a month and honestly, writing this one was a real doozy. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy it and again,

Thank you very much and have a nice day!

-Sakura

Exploring Liyue was certainly a challenge. Given how the terrain is a mix of tall mountains, wet marshes and winding paths that go over and under the surface, it was completely different from that of Mondstadt. Though of course, the monsters here were a lot tougher and certainly became a pain in the ass when all she wanted was to explore this new land. 

However, Lumine would always marvel at how everything is so yellow here. In many of the worlds they had visited before, yellow always symbolizes joy and light. In Teyvat, it represented the Geo element, loyal and grounded as it painted the trees, leaves floating in the breeze and the flowers that bloomed almost everywhere she went, resonating with the power of Geo that once lorded over this vast domain.  

Though perhaps, it was the color she was most of as it that reminded her most of her beloved brother.

The girl let out a sigh as the Ruin Guard finally collapsed, fading to blue dust as she continued on her afternoon stroll. Nearing the clearing, she noticed the golden spiral she had discovered just a few days ago. 

She remembered how beautiful it had looked from afar as she first saw it atop the mountain near Guili Plains. It was fascinating to say the least, as she glided down to examine it even further. Unfortunately, she was interrupted by some hilichurls nearby that somewhat soured her mood. Even after that, once she'd activated the elemental monuments, she was ambushed by an Eye of the Storm that she disposed of with some difficulty given that she only had Fischl as her team’s archer. 

Yet at this moment, it seemed that what truly caught her eye was a blot of orange and gray that stood out from the golden landscape.

Deciding to take a closer look, she slowly approached with her footsteps slow and steady. When the figure finally came into focus, she tried to ignore how her heart skipped a beat.

Standing there was no other than Childe, or rather, Tartaglia, the eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui. 

She quietly ducked behind the rock near her, peering out enough just to see. What was he doing here?

Their last encounter had not been so pleasant. After all, she had to defeat him three times and even after that, she had to clean up after him as he decided to summon an ancient god in the midst of a temper tantrum and beat the crap out of countless of his lackeys. 

Looking at him like this seemed weird, listless and silent.  It was certainly different from the Childe she knew, given how she was well aware that underneath that boyish, annoyingly handsome exterior lay the fearsome spirit of a bloodthirsty warrior. 

He was still staring up at the sky when she heard him speak. "Like what you see, ojou-chan?" Her eyes widened, somewhat startled. "You could take a picture you know, that way it'll last longer."

She clicked her tongue. There was no point in hiding anymore. She got up from her spot and strode near him seeing as he stood in the center of the spiral. 

“So what brings you here?” he said with his usual, playful tone, a major difference from when he spoke during their final battle in the Golden House. His eyes were focused on her now, a smirk adorning his face.

“ I could ask you the same thing,” she huffed. She reminded herself to be on guard, after all this is the very same man who threatened to wipe out dozens of innocent people with zero hesitation. 

He chuckled in reply. “Staying inside a stuffy bank the whole day just isn’t my style, you know?” He placed an arm on his hip and she noticed how the action made his top rise a little bit, giving her a peek of his well-toned abs. 

He was a bloodthirsty warrior, yes, but an attractive one nonetheless.  

He continued, “Plus, it’s amazing to see how different Liyue is from Snezhnaya.”

That statement certainly piqued her interest as she asked him with genuine curiosity. She was a traveller at heart after all. “Really? How so?”

Childe looked at her, somewhat surprised. She tilted her head a bit, somewhat bemused by his reaction until she realized the absence of caution in her words. “Shoot,” Lumine thought. “I-I mean-”

“ You know that there’s no harm in me telling you about my homeland, right?” he turned to her, crossing his arms. 

She took a step back, “You can’t exactly blame me for not trusting you after you threw a whale at me. Twice.” 

The girl was surprised to see him frown, eyes lowering a bit narrowing slightly.

Since when was he so emotional? Lumine thought this is definitely a big contrast to the Childe, or rather, Tartaglia, she was familiar with. 

Although, she can’t deny that a part of her wanted to say sorry. It certainly wasn’t nice of her to treat him so coldy, especially now when he seemed to resemble the look of a kicked puppy. Sad but oddly cute. She immediately stopped her train of thought. She shouldn’t think that this man could be in any way adorable. 

He sighed. “Then how about a spar? If you win, I’ll tell you all about Snezhnaya,” she noticed how his eyes gleamed at , “but if I win, you’ll share stories about your place.”

She blinked. “ I don’t see how this benefits you at all.” Given her time with Zhongli, she knows that there should be more to their deal than just stories.

He simply shrugged. “I mean I do get a good fight out of it and honestly, I’d really want to get to know more about you, ojou-chan.” There it was again, that impish, boyish smile that made her heart flutter slightly. 

She put a hand to her chin, a vain attempt to hide the growing warmth on her cheeks.  Although some part of her told her she certainly shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy, there was no harm in a little sparring session. After all, she had beaten him before and this also seemed like a good chance to know more about the Tsaritsa too, if she could figure out a way to worm it out of him. 

She wouldn’t dare to acknowledge how her heart did a little dance at the thought of getting to know more about him though. 

She gazed at him, the small smile from earlier returning. “Fine, we have a deal.”

That seemed to have cheered him up as he quickly ran to one side of the spiral with her following suit and taking her place on the opposite end. 

Even as the sun began to dip in the horizon, she could see glimmer in his eyes, blue orbs glowing in the faint sunlight. There seemed to be no trace of his gloomy disposition earlier, and she could almost imagine him with a tail that swung back and forth, much like how a puppy would greet its owner.

She shook her head. She really should stop with the dog similes.

She was immediately brought back to the present when an arrow whizzed past her, the sound ringing in her ear. She tried to mask her surprise with a straight face, eyebrow raised as she summoned her sword.

“Hey, eyes on me ojou-chan,” she didn’t miss how his voice sounded deeper, huskier, almost like a low growl. Pushing that thought away, she rolled sideways to dodge the incoming arrows then lunged, quickly closing the distance between them.

She wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of metal and water clashing, as she tried to push against him. She was forced to jump back when he switched to a spear, slicing a wide arc in front of him.

He continued his offense, switching again to his blades this time. He gave her blow after blow, leaving little room for her to maneuver in. She parried his every thrust with her own strikes, matching his speed and power. Lumine scanned his movements, eyes calculating for an opening.

Just as she expected, he became more apparently irritated with her sticking to defense.

“Come on, it isn’t fun when-” Lumine quickly cut him off, releasing the Anemo energy she had secretly been building up with her other hand in front of her, making him stumble slightly as she pressed on with her own barrage of attacks.

Even as he stepped away, she made sure that the last swing contained a small gust of wind that managed to graze his cheek. As he caught his breath, she tried to mimic his own cocky smirk. “Eyes on me, Childe.”

She had meant to mock him for earlier but instead she heard him laugh, a sweet, melodious sound that resonated within her. A voice in her head kept reminding her to stay on guard, that she should take the first chance to strike back.

But seeing him like this, eyes filled with so much light and a wide smile adorning his handsome features, filled her with a sense of satisfaction that tugged at her heartstrings. 

“Ojou-chan," his laughter slowly calming, "you are simply adorable."

Lumine felt her cheeks flush as the grip on her sword tightened. "H-hey!"

"Alright, alright." His laughter finally died down as she saw him return to his former stance, his predatory gaze set on her once more yet the smile never left his lips. "Let's have some fun."

~

Their battle lasted until the moon had settled in the sky, bathing the land in its iridescent glow.

A strike here, a hit there, the two exchanged blows with no hesitation. The young warriors fought amidst the golden flowers, filling the air with the sounds of their blades clashing as the yellow petals glided along with them.

Time was lost to the two as they continued in their own world, a dance that only they knew as they kept up with each other's paces, making sure to keep the other on their toes. 

But as always, Lumine was once more the victor, her blade pressed closely to the Harbinger's nape, successfully trapping him underneath her.

He was panting quite loudly, his chest rising steadily against her own. "Fine, you win." He let his blades melt away, hands raised in defeat. 

Lumine smirked at his surrender as she could finally focus on steadying her own breath, willing her sword away as she huffed. 

"Though I've gotta say," his eyes peeked downward then back to her, "I didn't expect that you'd want to go for another round."

She raised an eyebrow in reply, continuing to stare at him in confusion. That is until she glimpsed in the same direction, finally noticing how her legs were straddling his hips as she sat on top of his stomach, the heat emanating from his body seeping into her.

"Ah!" She immediately scrambled to get off of him, trying desperately to mask the crimson that bloomed on her cheeks by sitting a few meters away. Though some part of her missed his warmth, the rational part of her brain shoved that way back inside the depths of her thoughts.

Lumine noticed from the corner of her eye that he was gazing up at the sky. Feeling her blush slowly dissipate, she moved a little closer.

"So, what do you want to know first?" He was lying down now, his blue eyes shining underneath the moonlight.

She laid down next to him, her back slightly tickled by the blades of grass underneath her as they both stared up at the sky in silence.

"Can you tell me about your favorite places there?" She faced him, trying to mask the enthusiasm in her voice.

"From what I can remember…" he muttered, "We had this huge marketplace in the center of the city where my father would always take me and my siblings to buy all sorts of trinkets and goodies for mother. Afterwards he'd take us to an old bakery that also sold Sharlotka."

"What's that?"

"It's this really fluffy cake with apples that melts in your mouyh while you eat it. The apples give it a tart, fruity taste that also balances the sugar dusting on top." He sighed. "Man, I should really make some sometime."

"Hmm, where else...Oh, we also used to go to this frozen lake just a few minutes from our house where my father taught me how to ice-fish." He smiled at the thought. "My old man would make a competition of who got the biggest fish, and he'd always say these really corny jokes just to make me laugh when I had a bad day."

"Those were definetly simpler times." He looked wistful as he spoke.

Noticing how his mood lowered, Lumine spoke in a teasing tone, "you sound just like Daddy's little boy.

He was quick to return her taunt.  "On the contrary, I'm actually a proud Mama's boy," he smirked, "where do you think I got my passion for cooking?"

"Oh?" Playing along, she rolled her eyes. "So you're saying that your cooking tastes better than mine?"

"Girlie, I'm not saying. I know that I'd wipe the floor with just my own version of a Sweet Madame."

"I'd like to see you try, water boy." She laughed.

Their playful banter died down as they continued to watch the starry sky, the two basking in comfortable silence.

Childe was the first to speak. "Perhaps when you get there, you'd need someone who could show you around the city, maybe a few spots outside it too."

She smiled. "That does sound nice." 

There it was. An unspoken promise that they would make plans to spend time with each other, not as Tartaglia and the Traveller, but as….friends? 

She huffed slightly, friends was one way to put it. She was supposed to be wary of him, push him away and strike him down when the chance presented itself. He was a bad guy after all.

Yet somewhere in her heart knew that there was more to this man than his thirst for battle and his honey-sweet tongue. 

"Lumine?"

"Hm?" Turning to face him once more, her eyes widen slightly at the foreign sight before her. For the first time ever, Childe's eyes looked unsure, perhaps even a little shy.

"Thank you for tonight." Never would she imagine that she would hear those words from him. 

"What for?" 

"It's been a while since I've shared something that wasn't work related…" he grinned, though she noticed it didn't reach his eyes this time, "I don't exactly have anyone to talk to about these things."

It finally dawned on her as she continued to stare at him, astounded at his confession. He was a lone soldier facing the world with nothing but his own strength to rely on. He was fierce and merciless, a force to be reckoned with.

Yet the Childe that she was talking to right now was the complete opposite. He was lonely. Vulnerable.

 Lumine tried to speak, but she couldn't think of the right words to say. Instead, she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, breaking him from his stupor.

This was too risky. Too bold of a move that broke all the rules she had followed this whole time. Aether would warn her not to get attached for a traveller will never linger in one place for too long.

However, here she was stuck in an unknown world, comforting one of the most dangerous people in all of Teyvat.

"Well," she whispered, "you have me."

She expected him to laugh, to scoff at her and remind her that they were on opposite sides of a war. She thought he would pull away, and turn around to leave her there.

To her surprise, he squeezed her hand in his, relishing the warmth of her palm as he gazed at her with...Was that fondness? Were her eyes playing tricks on her or was his face turning pink too?

She squirmed underneath his stare. Why was she feeling so weird tonight?

Lumine couldn't stop a yawn from escaping her lips as she tried to fight off the wave of exhaustion that overcame her. Her whole body ached from their little skirmish earlier, on top of that she still couldn't make sense of all the emotions that swirled inside her head. 

"Hey, stay with me." 

Even though her mind screamed at her to move, her body struggled to do anything in her tired state. Her eyes were becoming heavier by the second as she struggled to stay awake. It didn't help that his voice sounded so calming, echoing in her ears until she was lulled to sleep.

~

Lumine opened her eyes as light illuminated her cozy room. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, confused as to how she ended up here.

She wondered why she felt warmer than usual when a red cloth fell from her neck. She pulled it away, finally recognizing it as the scarf that Childe always wore.

He had brought her here. He actually went out of his way to make sure that she was safe despite how late it was. The thought warmed her heart a little more than she would have liked but she welcomed it all the same.

The girl looked around, wondering just where her flying companion was, cheeks warming as she took in the scent of his scarf. 

It reminded her of an ocean breeze, salty and strong, with a hint of lemon as well. Wild and full of energy, just like him.

She shook her head out of her thoughts. It was too early for her to be so sappy.

Though try as she might, she couldn't seem to wipe off the wide smile on her face as she looked forward to the day ahead of her.

[violetrose-art]

Frankenweenie Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Frankenweenie. I might add more later on, so watch out

-When he was six years old, Victor Frankenstein got Sparky as a small puppy from the local pet shop

-Elsa got Persephone as a gift for her seventh birthday

-Victor’s full name is Victor Charles Frankenstein

-Victor is strongly not fond of sports, especially baseball. But he does love to play fetch with Sparky and ride his bike

-Victor secretly has a crush on Elsa, but he’s too nervous to say anything. But he wouldn’t mind just being friends with her

-Even though he doesn’t get along too well with Toshiaki and Nassor very well, Victor doesn’t mind Bob (who was one of the “cool kids”) being nice to him

-Victor used to have a pen pal in London named Shamus Holmes. They wrote to each other back and forth almost every week, until Victor reached college. That was when the letters from Shamus stopped coming

-Victor isn’t allergic to anything, but he does get nauseous around peaches for some reason

-When he grows up, Victor either wants to become a scientist, a vet, or a movie director… but he can’t decide

-Victor likes to watch both horror and sci-fi films. His favorites are Karloff’s “Frankenstein”, “The Fly”, “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms”, “Behemoth the Sea Monster”, and “Earth vs. the Flying Saucers”

-The Monday after Dutch Day, Victor was told to stay after school for baseball practice, but when he hit the ball and ran around the diamond, he broke his arm and got a black eye and he was suspended from the baseball team… which he thought was the best day ever

-Victor isn’t particularly fond of his young cousin, Vincent Malloy. He’s often annoyed by Vincent's slightly obsessive mannerisms and all of his Vincent Price talk and Vincent's mother blames Victor for introducing her son to scary movies in the first place

-Victor was born on August 31st, 1957

-Elsa’s full name is Elsa Anais Van Helsing

-Victor and Elsa first met on their first day in kindergarten. They both reached out to grab the same toy, but their hands touched and their eyes met. After a tiny squabble over the toy, they started playing together and they quickly became friends

-Elsa was born on October 28th, 1957

-Elsa isn’t into sports, but she enjoys going swimming or roller skating on occasion… She also likes to watch Victor Frankenstein at baseball practice sometimes

-Elsa is highly allergic to bees and pistachios

-A year after Dutch Day, Mayor Bergermeister forced Elsa to take ballet lessons recently and she doesn’t like it

-Elsa has an interest in history and she thought about becoming a historian someday

-Elsa has a secret crush on Victor, but she’s too shy to say anything

-After the events of Dutch Day, Victor promised never to reanimate Sparky again if he died one more time. Eventually when he was in his late teen years, he let Sparky die because he and Elsa wanted Sparky and Persephone to be together in death. The two dogs were buried in the pet cemetery together (Romeo and Juliet style)

-Elsa likes to watch horror movies in secret. Her absolute favorites are “Bride of Frankenstein”, “Dracula”, and “The Phantom of the Opera”

-After Dutch Day, Victor and Elsa started to grow closer and closer, as well as their dogs Sparky and Persephone

-Despite her uncle's protests of having a dog around, he agreed to let Elsa keep Persephone. But he insists that she keep the dog away from his front lawn

-Sparky and Persephone had four puppies together. Their names are Coal, Raven, Anastasia, and Hades

-When they were in the eighth grade, Victor and Elsa had their first kiss at a Halloween dance at school. They had their second kiss after a Christmas dance recital; they were performing the Nutcracker together. They started officially dating when they were freshmen in high school

-Elsa’s favorite books are “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”, “Romeo and Juliet” and other works of William Shakespeare and her favorite writers are Lewis Carroll, Harper Lee, and Shakespeare. She also enjoys Edgar Allen Poe’s works

-Elsa considers Weird Girl (aka, Mindy) a friend, but she doesn’t like it when she creepily stares at her

-Elsa had a pen pal in New York City named Kristen. They wrote to each other a few times a month, but they lost touch when they reached senior year in high school

-When Victor and Elsa grew up and got married, they had two children. Their names are Peter Timothy Frankenstein (age 12) and Moira Juliet Frankenstein (age 8)

-Weird Girl’s full name is Mindy Cecilia White

-Mindy was raised by a single mother who was a medium, as well as a psychiatrist

-Mr. Whiskers was adopted as a kitten by Mindy from a local pet store. He was the only one of the litter that wasn't adopted because of his large starring eyes

-Mindy took the same ballet classes as Elsa

-Mindy has a crush on Edgar. She secretly hoped that Mr. Whisker's would one day dream about her and Edgar

-After Mr. Whiskers’ death, Mindy fell into a deep depression. Elsa was there to comfort her in her time of need and she even helped her bury the body in the pet cemetery

-Mindy first discovered Mr. Whiskers’ ability to predict the future through cat litter one morning after changing it; it was shaped in the letter B. On that same day, a girl named Brooklyn from school got three strikes at the bowling alley

-Mindy was born on April 3rd, 1958

-Edgar’s full name is Edgar Abraham Gore

-Edgar has a crush on Mindy, but he believes she’s out of his league and was too afraid to approach her

-At one point, Edgar wanted a snake or spider for a pet, but his mother told him no. Once tried to adopt a wild raccoon, but got a scolding from her when he let it into the house

-Edgar was born on September 14th, 1958

-After Dutch Day, Edgar developed a fear of rats

-Edgar still wants to make a death ray with Victor, even though they can't actually make one

-Mindy and Edgar started dating when they were in their sophomore year

-When they got married, Mindy and Edgar had a daughter named Giselle (age 7 ¾)

-Toshiaki’s full name is Toshiaki Ito Oroku

-Toshiaki's mother and father were originally born and raised in Japan until they moved to the US a month before he was born. Being an open community towards different race groups, New Holland was the perfect location to start a family

-Toshiaki was born on May 28th, 1956

-As a reward for winning his first science fair, Toshiaki was given a pet turtle, who he named Shelly. Shelly was unfortunately passed away when he was left outside in the hot afternoon in his aquarium for too long

-Toshiaki and Victor are frenemies, mainly friends, but mostly enemies

-When Shelly died two times, Toshiaki was very upset. But luckily, he had his friends to comfort him after his second and final burial

-In school, Toshiaki met one of the new girls, a Japanese girl named Mae-Lee, and he quickly developed a crush on her

-Years later, Toshiaki and Mae-Lee got married and had two children, a daughter named Shelley Sue (age 8) and Yoshi (age 7 months)

-Nassor’s full name is Nassor Hannibal Karloff

-In school, Nassor stood out from the other children due to his height and cynical macabre personality. The only thing that made him happy as a child was his pet hamster, Colossus. One day Colossus went missing and Nassor was frantic with worry. About five days later, Colossus was found trapped inside the wall and he had starved to death, leaving Nassor heartbroken

-Nassor has an interest in Ancient Egyptian culture around pharaohs and the afterlife. It was his idea as tribute to Colossus would be mummified and placed in a large tomb

-After Dutch Day, Nassor was found wrapped up and he was untied by the others. While he holds no grudges against Toshiaki, he doesn't exactly forgive him for causing Colossus's second death

-Nassor was born on February 24th, 1956

-After Dutch Day, Nassor met one of the new girls, a young lady named Hillary, and he was instantly infatuated with her

-When Nassor and Hillary grew up, they got married and had a son named Darwin (age 12)

-Bob’s full name is Bob Adam Hill

-Bob’s dad passed when he was rather young, making his mother, Mrs. Hill, extremely protective of him, and he finds it super embarrassing

-Bob hates it when people talk about his weight. When he fell down a manhole by accident, he got stuck and had to have a crane to pull him back out

-Bob was born on July 6th, 1957

-In school, Bob had a crush on a girl named Jenny

-Bob first met Toshiaki shortly after Shelly's death. Despite Toshiaki's cold behavior towards him at first, they became good friends

-Bob has an interest in marine life and he has a fish tank full of different kind of fish up in  his room

-When he grew up, he and Jenny got married and had a son named Carl (age 12)

-Mr. Frankenstein’s full name is Edward Steven Frankenstein

-Edward was an avid lover of sports, especially baseball. He played as a star athlete in high school, where he first met Susan who was cheering with the other cheerleaders

-Edward has a bit of hard time understanding his son, Victor, but still supports him nonetheless

-Edward likes to role play with his wife Susan that he's a travelling salesman when her "husband" isn't around the house

-Edward often gets people who ask him about his last name Frankenstein. An old family rumor was that he was a direct descendant of the original presumed fictional scientist, Dr. Frankenstein

-Edward tries to get along with his next door neighbor, Mayor Bergermeister

-Mrs. Frankenstein’s full name is Susan Delia Woods Frankenstein

-Susan and Edward Frankenstein first met in back high school; he was a star athlete while she was the head cheerleader. A few years after graduation, they got married and she gave birth to Victor at age 31

-Susan has two sisters, Lillian and Francine. Francine is the eldest, Susan is the middle child, and Lillian is the youngest. Lillian is Vincent Malloy’s mother

-Susan isn't as social with the other mothers/housewives with their gossiping. She prefers the company with her family instead. She is friends with Mrs. Van Helsing, though

-Susan had a pet calico cat when she was younger named Lacey. But poor Lacey died when she was around Victor's age, so she knows what her son was going through

-Mayor Bergermeister’s full name is Robert “Bob” Clarence Bergermeister

-The Bergermeister family has been mayors of New Holland for generations. They were known for their strict laws, rules, and leadership towards its citizens

-Bergermeister has a very low tolerance towards animals, especially dogs… probably because he never had any pets growing up

-Elsa’s father’s full name is Jonathon Gabriel Van Helsing

-Elsa’s mother’s full name is Lydia Hermione Bergermeister Van Helsing

-Mr. and Mrs. Van Helsing are philosophers, hence why they tend to be away a lot. They travel to countries mostly in Europe, like Romania and the Netherlands. They sometimes take Elsa with them when they have to go out of the town, state, or even country. But most often, she stays behind because of school and just wants to be at home and spend time with Victor

-Mayor Bergermeister is in fact the older brother of Lydia by four years. Like most siblings, they do love each other but sometimes can’t stand each other

-Lydia is one of the few people and things that actually scares Mr. Bergermeister, despite the fact that that she’s his little sister. She doesn’t take nonsense from him or anyone else and she’s not afraid to stand up to him. When she’s done, he usually replies weakly “yes, sis” or “yes, little sis”

-Jonathon grew up in Romania for most of his childhood, but when he lost his parents, he immigrated to the United States to make a better life for himself. He met Lydia when he was about to start high school

-Bergermeister loves gardening, especially his first prize flowers. He absolutely hates it when the neighbor's dog lays his "business" all over the lawn

-Bergermeister cares deeply for his niece and younger sister… but he isn't very fond of her husband, Jonathon

-At first, Bergermeister greatly disliked the idea of Elsa and Victor being together, but he eventually grew to respect him

-Bergermeister used to be married; he and his wife even had a son named Bernard. But the couple had a huge fight and they filed for a divorce. When the divorce was finalized, his ex left New Holland and she took Bernard with him

-Bernard Bergermeister was never close with his cousin, Elsa. In fact, Elsa often found Bernard to be quite repulsive

-When Bernard grew up, he met a wealthy young woman named Lucille and they had a son named Bruce (age 13)

-Mr. Rzykruski’s full name is Ivan Darius Rzykruski

-Ivan was born in a small Eastern European village. He grew up influenced around various scientists in the community. Both of his parents were scientists in different fields of expertise and would encourage him to pursue his dreams

-By the time Ivan was 18 years old, he immigrated to the United States and eventually landed a job as a university professor teaching quantum mechanics. He met with various famous scientists in his career

-Ivan tends to be a bit dramatic in his teachings. He briefly took acting classes in his youth, but he wanted to focus more on being a scientist

-During one of his science lectures, Ivan met a woman by the name of Vanessa. They quickly fell in love, got married, and had a son named Dirk. Unfortunately when Dirk was about 9 years old, Vanessa passed away because of cancer. Ivan was heartbroken and he and Dirk missed her terribly. When Dirk was 10, Ivan sent his son to a private boarding school in another part of the state. But when the boy turned 14, he went back to public school

-Dirk grew up and met a woman named Clarice. They got married and had a daughter named Ingrid (age 13). But Clarice died of a terrible sickness when Ingrid was about 3 or 4, then Dirk died in a car crash when Ingrid was about 7. That was when Mr. Rzykruski took his granddaughter in and raised her as his own

-The gym teacher’s full name is Coach Darla Gladys Barnes

-Bob’s mom’s full name is Barbara Deborah Ferguson Hill

-Vincent Malloy’s full name is Vincent Sebastian Malloy

-When Vincent grew up, he met a woman named Marilynn, they got married and had a daughter named Winona (age 7). But Marilynn got into a bad car accident and passed away, leaving Vincent to raise his daughter on his own

-The invisible fish Victor reanimated didn't die. In fact, the fish used its invisibility powers to slip out of the glass jar Edgar was keeping it in and disappeared into the sewer, rumored to still be there

-The reason that New Holland has so many lightning storms is part of an old town legend. Centuries ago when the first settlers built New Holland, there was a young witch by the name of Loretta Thistletwing and while she was a good witch, she kept her true nature a secret from the superstitious townsfolk. Unfortunately, one fateful night, Loretta accidentally caused her powers to be revealed and the townsfolk formed an angry mob to have her killed. However, her beloved familiar black cat, Midnight, heard of the danger and tried to defend his mistress, only to get killed in the process. Outraged by the loss of her beloved pet, Loretta unleashed a curse upon the town right before they burned her at the stake, saying that the town would be cursed with perpetual thunderstorms and any lightning that hit a deceased pet would bring it back to life, unleashing its fury upon the town. This is why the lightning brings dead pets back. But Sparky is the only good one to be reanimated because Victor loved him so much

-Susan and her two sisters are the three granddaughters of Victor Van Dort and Victoria Everglot. Susan’s son and only child, Victor, was named after his great-grandfather who passed away before his birth

-In the past, New Holland had experienced horrible monster attacks and many of them were based on famous movie monsters. There was a mutated bulldog made out of slime (based on the Blob), a half lizard/fly (based on the Fly), a gigantic pet capuchin monkey (based on King Kong), and even a phantom like cat (based on the Phantom of the Opera). Of course, the current townsfolk never believed these supposed stories until the Dutch Day incident

-Legend has it that the curse Loretta put on the town could only be broken when a pet that had been deeply loved by its owner was brought back peaceful and the townsfolk came together to save it should it die again. This ultimately ended up happening by the end of the movie and the curse was unwittingly broken

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[jimlingss]

The Weekend Massacre

➜ Words: 19.7k

➜ Genres: 90% Angst, 10% Action?, Serial Killer!AU

➜ Summary: Receiving an invitation to a party, Jimin finds himself in a room of serial killers and a game to see who can gain the most notoriety.

➜ Warning: vomiting, toxic relationship, murder, gore, homeless abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, cults, mutilation etc. I don’t condone the actions of my characters.

cr.

[Friday, 10:00pm]   Jimin grips the envelope.   It’s a dark blue, glittering when he holds it up to the light and silk-like to the touch. A complete blank front, it’s without a return or delivery address. He had tossed the first envelope out, supposing it was a mistake. But then another one was sent. And another. And another.   Another. Until he broke the floral red seal that was seemingly dripping off the page.   It didn’t make sense to him — it was an invitation to a party on the far outskirts of the city with his name on it.   He’s not sure how anyone found him. Who it was that sent this. Or what this was.   Then, as if to add to his confusion, he received several phone calls. Whispers. Incoherent. In the middle of the night. Between hours of the day. Startling as it was jarring. It was as if to show these people were watching constantly, as if to tell that he shouldn’t ignore this any longer.   So here Jimin was. Standing in front of a ragged wooden door with the envelope in hand, shrouded in the middle of pitch black without the moon’s luminescence.   He knocks twice.   The door slot slides open. Beady eyes look through.   “Password?”   Jimin recalls the instructions laid out for him. “Never look in the eye of the beast.”   The slot slides shut and the noise of lock gears unwinding soon becomes replaced with the hinges creaking as the door widens. The hall is narrow with a set of descending stairs, a tiny bulb swinging from the moldy ceiling.   The man is burly, over six feet with bulging biceps and tattoos wrapped around them. Jimin swallows hard, burdened with the stranger’s intimidating air and averts his eyes. But the man isn’t dissuaded and reaches into his pocket to hand Jimin a rectangular business card.   It’s black, but golden looped letters etched into the smooth card reads welcome.   Jimin isn’t sure what to do with the card and receives no explanation. The man simply moves ahead. “Follow me.”   Jimin complies wordlessly, stuffing the card into his pocket, suffocating the many questions he has in his throat.   The man leads him down the rickety stairs, knocks on a steel door that opens with another stranger behind it and then past yet another door. It opens to a room of thumping music and neon strobe lights that Jimin’s eyes have yet to adjust to. But the man doesn’t walk into the room, merely stepping aside.   He stares at Jimin.   And Jimin enters on his own.   The bass is boosted, trembling the walls of the underground room in a beat he doesn’t recognize. The scent of alcohol is thick and people are dressed in lavish outfits and laughing. Jimin self-consciously grips the hem of his hoodie, feeling out of place with his jeans he threw on haphazardly.   He awkwardly shuffles amongst the crowd, looking around, squinting when the pink flashing lights cast into his eyes. He’s unable to recognize the people around. There’s fifteen or twenty so, a mix of women and men—    Jimin’s shoulder collides with another. “S-Sorry.”   He locks eyes with the older man, thick framed glasses around kind eyes and wrinkles, a dimpled smile and blonde locks. “Don’t worry about it.”   The man brushes past him.   Jimin doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know where he is, for what purpose he’s come here for, why the invitation was sent to his name. He feels disoriented. Lost amongst the crowd, dizzy from the strobe lights and the high-pitched laughter closing in on him. Suffocated.   He gasps for air, swinging his head around to look for a wall to lean on, a corner to seek refuge in, where he won’t be swept away by strangers. But no matter where he turns to, it seems like the darkness is encompassing him—   Or at least until he catches another’s eyes.   Across the room. Jimin meets your curious pupils, your quirked head, the edge of your mouth slightly pulled. You’ve been staring at him and that alone captures his attention, roots him back to the ground. You’re in a black dress with white frills that makes it look like it’s a child’s attire.   And as he muses this, you’re approaching faster than he can panic.    Cutting through the horde. Beelining straight to him.    “You’re cute. What’s your name?”   “Jimin,” he stutters out and finally blinks.   “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” Your smile expands and before he can utter your name to memory, you lean in close. “I know what you did.”   Immediately, Jimin frowns. “What do you mean?”   You don’t answer or at least not in the straightforward way he wishes. Instead, you chuckle and Jimin discerns a moment too late that your gaze has always been predatory. “The both of us are quite alike, you know. But haven’t you noticed? Everyone in this room is a serial killer.”   “W-What?” Jimin stutters, his head whipping from side to side, from person to person as he pales. You watch him carefully with an amused expression, how his eyes are widened like a puppy’s, how his mouth has downturned. It’s funny — how he acts when he’s not any different.   But the chance to ask, interrogate or escape is stolen when the music lowers and the lights dim.   “Oh.” You tug on Jimin’s sleeve. “It’s starting.”   He follows your line of sight to the stage at the back, a shimmering spotlight shining down and showing him where the end of the room exactly is. Yet the figure that stands there is obscure. Hidden by their black clothing, their hood, a mask on their face.   The voice booms when it speaks. “Welcome all to the first Weekend Massacre!”   Jimin’s reeling and his eyes travel across the room. Amidst the crowd, he finds the blonde man from earlier, another shorter man with darker hair and a taller brunette. It’s then that the realization strikes him across the face. He’s seen some of these people before. On the news. In the newspaper.   “Each of you who have received an invitation have been specifically chosen to be a participant in our games.” Games? Jimin’s attention is taken back to the stage. “Forty eight hours to commit as many crimes as you can with the promise of endless notoriety and being the first victor.”   He’s nauseous, afraid, petrified of what these people around him have done, what he’s gotten himself into. And he barely has half a mind when you peek at him with another smile.   “Each crime will be weighed differently on a point basis. You will be able to call in at any time to know your rank and the rank of one above and below you. There are two rules. Do not kill another participant and if you are caught by the authorities, then you are suspended from participating any further. The games will officially start in an hour and end on Sunday at this same time.”    “I wish you all luck. The victor is somewhere standing in this room tonight and I look forward to meeting them.”   It’s a game of killing people. A competition to see who can cause the most harm. A crowd of serial killers who have committed the most heinous crimes against women and children.    Jimin feels bile reaching up his throat. He’s dizzy. He can’t hear anything until there’s a crisp call of his name and curious eyes peering into his.   “Jimin? Are you alright?”   No. He isn’t. Not in the least bit.    He wants to run, tell someone this is happening, but he wonders if anyone would even believe him and telling anyone would mean giving himself in. It would mean being tracked down by those who organized this event and the police. It’s the last thing he would want.   And he has a feeling that choosing not to participate isn’t an option either. Not with what happened when he threw out all those invitations, when he tried to ignore those phone calls.   They’ll find him, whoever they are, and make him play.   Jimin doesn’t get a chance to make a peep. You grab both of his hands into yours, smiling sweetly and tenderly. “Don’t be scared, Jimin! How about this? I’ll take you under my wing!”   He stares at you. And an answer comes to him.   It might be the perfect escape, a medium between participating and not — watching from the sidelines. Would that be enough to consider that he’s taking part but without having to do such a heinous thing? Would he truly be resolved from needing to act?   More importantly, Jimin doesn’t understand. All he knows is your name. There’s no reason for you to offer your protection, to let him come along. He’s just met you.    “W-Why?”   “Because people like me and you need to stick together, silly! You don’t look like you can survive a second! So how about it, pet? You can join me. I don’t make this offer just to anybody!”   Jimin gazes at the way you hold your hand out to him.

[Friday, 11:34pm]   He fiddles with his fingers in his lap.   Jimin swallows hard and steals a glance at you. You’re humming some light tune and tapping your hands against the steering wheel — the fluorescent street lights illuminating your face as you drive by before you’re brought into darkness again a second later.   He’s not sure who’s the crazy one.   The one who doesn’t even bat a lash after suddenly being thrusted into a murder game. Or the one who’s cognizant enough to be aware of how insane this is but is still following along anyhow.   “So!” Your loud voice startles him. “We should get playing, shouldn’t we, pet?”   Jimin’s tone stays timid. “What if we don’t?” The game is obscure and the realm of possibilities seems endless. Maybe the repercussions won’t be that bad if he chooses not to play.    Yet at the same time, Jimin feels like he’s back at the party, placed in the crowd, shrouded in the darkness, being swept along by the tide without escape. A helpless follower.   You scoff, looking at him. “And what would we do instead? Sit around and wait for someone else to be crowned the winner? How boring would that be?! I don’t think so. This is a once in a lifetime chance to compete with other killers. Why should we give it up when it’s so much fun?!”    You command, “Pick someone.”   “What?” Jimin’s eyes widen. He grasps his hands, feeling them shake even more.   “I’ll help you kill someone, Jimin.” You smile at him. “I’ll give you the first pick.”   “I...don’t know.”   “It can be anyone you want! Anyone you’re upset with or you don’t like or you think makes your eyes sore!” You have a Chester's grin, eyes that twinkle in the night skyline’s lights. “Pick!”   Jimin can feel the car accelerate dangerously down the empty street. And he sweats, placed under the pressure. He’s frightened of you, of your presence, how it seems like you know a million things about him, but he doesn’t know a single thing about you other than your name.   It feels like you can see right through him.   He wonders what crime you’ve committed. What you’ve done to be considered a serial killer.   “Ji-min~,” you sing-song and he meets your eyes. “Pick already!”   He glances out the window, head swirling, legs quivering. He has to choose the victim. But there’s no one he hates, no one he has malice towards, no one he wants to see dead.   Out of sheer fear and compulsion, feeling the seconds ticking down and your impatience growing, Jimin bites the bullet and impulsively points straight out the windshield. “H-Him.”   It was the first person he saw. A person merely at the wrong place at the wrong time. A homeless man with a parked shopping cart, digging through a garbage can. Oblivious.   The car slows down at once and Jimin hears your hum. “Good choice. No one will miss someone like him!”   Jimin feels nauseous.   He feels queasy when the car is parked across the street, when you get out and dig into the trunk, telling him not to worry about it and how it’s actually a stolen vehicle you got your hands onto.   He feels queasy when you cross the road while hugging his arm, how you approach the disheveled man casually and how the stranger looks up with a tired, worn expression yet retains a compassionate smile—   “Is there somethin’ I can help you with?”   “Yes. My boyfriend and I were actually wondering if we could get directions to—”   And most of all, Jimin feels absolutely sick to his stomach when the homeless man innocently turns away to point to the roads, explaining the directions, and you bear a hammer from the sack you have dangling from your other arm.   It’s mid-sentence. Mid blink when you reach over to smash the man’s head. Without warning, without reasoning, without hesitation. You’ve detached yourself from Jimin smoothly and slammed the head of the hammer onto the stranger’s skull. Allowing him to stumble back on the park bench, wheezing, eyes widened from shock. The sound of the cracking bones echoes.   “P-Please!” The man is petrified, shaking with death setting in his eyes, gripping his head as blood pours down to his face and through his lashes. “I-I have k-kids! I have kids!”   The pleading voice jarring to the ears.   Jimin is horrified.    You loom over the man with an impassive expression. And as the man begs with tears in his eyes, you slam the hammer on his head again, loud enough that Jimin, himself, cries out.   “Stop!”   You turn around, crimson splattered on your cheek. The homeless man’s no longer conscious, flopped over as his head continues to pour out blood.    “What’s wrong, Jiminnie?” You loll your head to one side.   But he ignores you. Jimin looks at the man. The victim he chose.    Bile reaches up to his throat. Jimin collapses on his weak knees. And he throws up. Chunks of his partially digested microwavable dinner spew out as he wheezes. His stomach contracts as he coughs to the ground, face littered with loose teardrops and cold sweat. The pungent scent is sharp against the acid in his throat. Jimin wipes his mouth with the back of his quivering hand.   “Oh my fucking god. W-we...we need to take him to the hospital!”   “Now why would we do that, silly?” you giggle. “We need to finish him off!”   You’re insane and he was insane to come along with you, for taking the invitation and going to the party, for thinking he could go along with this and be safe watching from the sidelines. “I-I’m not a killer!” Jimin sobs into his hands, unable to look at the man any longer. Jimin doesn’t know why he was picked, why he was given an invitation. They have the wrong person.   And like he’s at a confession, he professes, “I’m not a serial killer!”   But instead of a priest, it’s the devil itself. “And what would your family say about that, Jiminnie?”   You lower yourself down to him, carding your bloodstained fingers through his soft brunette locks as he trembles. Your murmur is consoling as it is tantalizing. The silence isn’t as eerie as it should be.   “I heard about it, you know. I saw it on the news. I know you did it. It takes one to know one.”   “Stop.” Jimin hyperventilates between tears, shaking his head, but you don’t.   “You mutilated them.”   Beneath his eyelids, he sees it. The crimson coated floorboards, splattered on the yellow paisley wallpaper, on the popcorn ceiling of the living room. He covers his ears. “Stop it!”   “You flushed your younger brother down the toilet.”   The chaos of the entire scene projects before his eyes. The knocked over chairs, the picture frames thrown, the stench of iron in the two bedroom house heavy, the warmth of the blood.   And Jimin feels the same warmth after you’ve pried his hands off of his ears and you hold his cheeks between your hands. You force him to look you in the eye.    “It...it was an accident,” he sobs, the words barely stuttering out of him. “I b-blacked out. I was angry. I d-didn’t know what I was doing.”   He had no control of himself. And worst of all, he never got to repent for his sins. He had an alibi — a timesheet at work that told them he was at another place at that time, yet in reality, he had forgotten to clock out. But by then, he was too much of a coward to fess up to his actions, to tell them that he was the perpetrator, to be looked at as the monster he knows he is.   But somehow, even with all these facts, you don’t look at him like he is one.    “Something like that is never an accident, Jiminnie,” you coo and with a sweet smile, you stand and finish the man off.   The last pained grunt lingers.   Jimin follows along on auto-pilot as you drag the body yourself with much effort. You bury him by the playground where the soil is softest, where in the morning, old couples and children will trample by the dirt without a single thought.    It takes thirty minutes for you to get rid of it, for you to pour two bottles of water over the bench to wash the blood into the nearby gutter, to shove the shopping cart onto the road as a traffic hazard.    Then, you’re grabbing Jimin’s palm, interlacing your fingers between his, staining his skin with the blood on your hands like it’s part of a ritual. You’ve imprinted the patterns of your palm on his. And then you’re pulling him along like a doll, laughing down the street in a high, in a drunken madness in spite of being sober.   “You helped me kill someone, Jiminnie.” Your eyes seem to shine brighter, more excited than before. “You know what this means? It means we’re connected now! Forever and always.”   It’s unsettling, but you’re right.   He’s an accomplice. A bystander. A follower. No worse than you are.   He let this happen. Chose the victim. Watched you do it.    He allowed himself to become your pet.   “I wonder how many points that gave me,” you hum with pouty lips before turning down the alley. Jimin’s not sure where you’re going but he doesn’t care to ask. As if he wasn’t susceptible to being pulled along by the crowd, he feels exceptionally inclined to follow your whims.   He wonders who you are. How he feels somehow feels grounded when he looks at you, even after everything that you’ve done.   “Hurry the fuck up!”   There are two shadowy figures at the end of the dark alleyway the pair of you turn into. You loll your head to one side, curiosity gleaming in your irises. “I wonder what’s going on.”   “T-This is all I have!” The panicked voice tears out of the stranger’s throat. “Please! Let me go!”   Jimin automatically stumbles back, ready to escape to where he came from. But you lean over, interest piqued and you quicken your steps, tugging him along.   “Who’s there?!” The tall brunette points his revolver towards you and you lift your hands up, stepping into the light with Jimin behind you. “What are you looking at, huh?!”   You greet the man with a smile, not at all frightened with the gun being pointed at you. “Relax. I’m a part of the game too.”   “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he yells from the pit of his stomach, “Don’t tell me to relax!”   Jimin’s eyes search the scene, the stranger with his pockets pulled out, wallet on the floor, shaking incessantly. The one holding him hostage and robbing him is a tall brunette with sharp features. He has a deranged look in his eye, chest rising and falling, sweat built at his hairline.   He recognizes him from the party.   “Taehyung, right?” you chime, “From the infamous Kim family.”   “The hell do you want?!”   The victim looks at Jimin and their eyes meet. The desperation and fear is tangible, and he mouths ‘help’. But then Jimin tears his eyes from the stranger, looking away.   There’s nothing he can do to help him. He can barely help himself.   “Nothing. We’re just passing by. Didn’t think we’d run into someone so soon, but looks fun. I’ll leave you to it then.”   Taehyung glares and gestures away with his gun after a beat. You wave goodbye enthusiastically and pass by humming. Jimin follows after you, quickening his steps until the two figures become distant again.   “H-How’d you know who he was?”   “It’s not hard to know about the Kim family. They might all be imprisoned, but they’re famous,” you tell him as if he should know. “Even if I didn’t know about them, I would’ve, since I had to scope out my competition. I did research on everyone.” You turn to the boy with a sly smirk and your index finger pokes his chest. “Even you, Jiminnie. How do you think I know what you did? But when I read up on you, I knew I’d like you.”   Your smile widens and you turn onto a suburban street. “I’ve always wanted to be part of a Bonnie and Clyde duo.”   He walks with you, shrouded in the darkness while watching a flickering lamp post in the distance. You audibly play eenie, meenie, minie, moe with the houses lined on the avenue and once you land on one, you walk towards it. Jimin stalks after you.    “What are you doing?”   “Watch and see,” you whisper with the corners of your lips curled, twirling around to him as you walk to the front door. From the sack thrown over your shoulder, you come out with two silver pins and you show off to Jimin with your sly smile.   He doesn’t expect you to pick the front lock, but he looks around and hopes no one’s watching.   Within a minute, the door opens. “Nice and easy.”   You skip inside like it’s your own house, but Jimin remains hesitant at the step. It takes a deep inhale before he steps through.   There are shoes haphazardly thrown on the side by the closet, the entrance small. He’s led into a hall and then a living room. Enveloped in the dark, the little street lights cast in and help him find his way. Jimin’s eyes eventually stray to a shelf of frames, old wedding photos of a young couple to pictures of the family gathered around one another with enormous grins.   Yet one photograph takes his attention in particular — one of a little girl in a polka dot dress, showing off her missing front tooth in a wide smile.   You seem to pay no mind to the pictures. Instead, you’re leaning over to shut the open window by the armchair.   The floorboards creak subtly as you creep along the walls, quietly shutting all the windows.    Jimin follows along at a delayed pace, confusion written across his face. At least until you come to the stove and turn all four gas stove tops on with a smile. “What can I say? I like to get creative.”   Jimin pales with the realization. You’re getting rid of an entire family with little to no effort and all you can do is silently giggle.    You walk around the kitchen, up the stairs and on the way, you stop by the carbon monoxide detector to rip out the batteries from it and toss it aside. You’re methodical and careful every step of the way, always controlling the crime scene, playing it like a game of chess.   Jimin’s not sure if he’s scared of you or if he admires you.   The door creaks as you peer into the bedroom. He squints into the darkness over your shoulder but then you slip away to the next door. The following room is brighter. The open window is next to a street lamp outside, so Jimin can make out the princess posters pinned on the pink walls, the toy boxes shoved in the corner, and the little girl asleep soundly in her bed, covers rising and falling every so often.   You don’t blink, taking three strides to reach over and shutting the window. You lock the latch.   Jimin steps into the room as well, but he doesn’t see the doll on the ground. He doesn’t notice it until he accidentally kicks it aside and the thing sounds, greeting him with a deafening — “I love you!”   You whirl around. His entire body freezes. The girl under the covers shuffle.   She twists, turns and audibly sighs. “Mommy?”   Immediately, you move. Like it’s your sheer instincts. Before Jimin can stop you, before he can call your name and tell you to spare her. You rip the pillow from underneath the girl’s head, shocking her awake, and before she can scream aloud, you press the pillow to her face.   Her legs kick out, but you push your entire body weight onto her, suffocating the girl.   Jimin’s knees weaken, his breath staccatos as he sees red beneath his eyes — recalling the splatter of the ceiling, of the paisley wallpaper. He should cry out, shove you off. But whenever he opens his mouth, his voice is lost. He can’t utter a word.   He knows it’s too late. Stopping you would make the girl cry for her parents. They would waken. They would call the police. And he would get caught. Jimin’s too much of a coward.   So he looks away.

[Saturday, 3:28am]   The harsh red and blue spinning lights flash through the alley.   The moment it swirls away, the scene is clouded in darkness before another shade floods inside.   Seokjin releases a heavy breath, shuts his car door and strides down. He shakes away the sleepiness that still lingers after being rudely shaken awake. There wasn’t even time to get a coffee.   “Detective Kim!” someone calls out. A younger man with brown doe eyes waiting for him.    Seokjin wonders how he got here so soon when he wasn’t on a shift. But the new upcoming ones are always like that — ambitious and keen. Give them a few years and they’ll learn to mellow out. Or at least most of them do. He’s not so sure about Jeon Jungkook.   “When’d you get here?”   “Five minutes ago.”   “So I suppose you’ve had enough time to take a look?” Seokjin receives gloves handed to him and puts them on.   “A little.”   The two of them bend over the yellow tape wrapped around the perimeter of the scene. There’s forensics in their white garbs, marking bullet casings and blood splatters, the flashes of their camera blinding to the eye. They set up their lights and the entire alley becomes illuminated.   The victim is lying face up in the middle of the alleyway. His eyes are still wide open. Blood poured out in a pool and staining the pebbles. It’s splattered on the brick wall nearby.   Seokjin’s brows furrow, noticing several bullet holes on the victim’s forehead. His face has been mutilated from the wound. His left shoe is also missing, but Seokjin’s eyes trail to see the leather loafer a meter away.   “What’d you think?” When the older man is met with silence, he turns.   Jungkook swallows hard, quiet as he stares at the corpse. Seokjin doesn’t blame him. It always takes a long time to get used to seeing dead bodies in such a way.   The department might praise Jungkook for being a prodigy with the newer techniques — the whole fancy profiling spiel that Seokjin’s old mind has yet to wrap his head around. But Seokjin has one thing Jungkook lacks. Experience.   Maybe that’s why the chief linked them up. They both could benefit from this partnership.   “Jeon.”   “Sorry.” He snaps back to it and clears his throat. “His name is Park Chanyeol. Twenty eight years old. Works in construction. He was shot in the face six times.”   “Bullets?”   “Point three five seven magnum. They think it’s most likely from some kind of revolver.”   Seokjin hums and Jungkook continues, “His pockets are empty and his wallet is gone. It looks like an armed robbery. Most likely the victim has no connection to the perpetrator. There’s a bruise on his left cheek. He probably had a physical altercation with the perpetrator before he was shot. His knuckles are bloody, so they’re collecting DNA samples to see if it belongs to someone else. That’s most likely going to be our best bet in catching this person considering there aren’t any security cameras in this area or witnesses.”   He nods and after a beat, their eyes meet again. Seokjin asks, “What else? Aside from the main facts of the case.”   Jungkook inhales a deep breath. “The scene is disorganized. There’s no need to shoot someone six times. Whoever did this, not only left the body but left physical evidence. And if they have no connection to the victim, that means they did this spontaneously.”   “So?”   “We’re most likely looking at someone who has poor hygiene and nighttime habits. I’m guessing a man in his early twenties. Below average intelligence. His motive…..is quick financial gain and also being able to feel a sense of superiority and power.”   Seokjin’s eyes narrow into the boy and his soft facial features. He’s not inclined to believe in pure speculation, but Jungkook’s proven himself right on several cases they’ve worked on together and he’s not one to disregard credit where it’s due. So, he takes his word for it.   They cross the tape once more, walking back to the parked cars. The noisy static of the radios and snapshot of cameras fade into the back. “Call Baekhyun. He might want to see this for himself.”   “Detective Byun is down at seventh avenue, Detective Kim.”   He lifts a brow and Jungkook explains, “I heard there was a homicide case there.”   “It looks like it's a busy night tonight,” Seokjin exhales, a cold cloud of air emitting from his lips. He recalls a number of police cars rushing past in the other lane while he was driving here.   Jungkook gets into the passenger seat as Seokjin slides into the driver’s. “Actually, there’s multiple homicide cases being reported at the same time. More than the usual amount. It’s almost like they’re being committed at the same time.”   He puts the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life with the head beams. “Is it gang related?”   “Hard to say,” the younger sharply inhales. “From what I heard, all the crime scenes are starkly different.”   Seokjin frowns and casts a glance down the busy alleyway. At the same time, the DNA sample on the man’s knuckles are swabbed and bagged to be tested.

[Saturday, 7:58am]   You cackle, leaning on the arm of the armchair with your legs thrown over the other.    Even though Jimin was against entering the house again, you weren’t dissuaded by the lingering traces of carbon monoxide. The open window nearby is enough to air out the area and what better place is there to hide out than a definitely empty home. It gave you a chance to steal more comfortable clothes, rid of your dress and burn it too.   “Nearly two hours ago, a suspect has been arrested in the second degree murder of Park Chanyeol whose body was found in the alley between Third Street and Canons Boulveard.”    You’re seated on the armchair like it’s your throne as Jimin stands on your right side, less like a loyal guard dog and more of a scared puppy who’s not sure what to do. But he’s endearing like that.   “Nineteen year old Kim Taehyung, the youngest member of the notorious Kim family, has been charged with second degree murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery and illegal possession of a firearm—”   You laugh as you watch Taehyung on screen cuffed and led out of the car. He’s screaming at the reporters while his lawyer at his side tries to cover his face, but to no avail.   It hasn’t even been twelve hours since the game started and he’s already caught red-handed. In all honesty, you’re a bit disappointed. It’s pleasant to have less competition, but you thought Taehyung would put up more of a fight than that.   Well….you suppose this is the consequence of being as reckless as he is.   “Breaking news that we just received.” The screen flashes to the news anchor. “We believe a bomb has been detonated at the city hall. That happened within the last two minutes, major evacuations are now taking place. Police have still yet to confirm the number of casualties or if this is the act done by a terrorist organization. Stay with us. The scene is now live.”   Your brow quirks. Jimin stumbles forward. His hands tremble, expression stunned.   The news channel gives a helicopter view of city hall, the smoke plumes rising in the air, the chaos on the road with firetrucks and police cars rushing into the scene.   “Is this…”   “A part of the game?” You throw your legs off, feet touching the carpet as your back straightens. It’s not time to be sitting back anymore. “Probably. I’m guessing this is Min’s work.” When Jimin remains confused, you smile and explain, “Min Yoongi. He’s a guy who likes doing flashy stuff like this. Don’t be too impressed, pet. He might have a high fatality rate, but it draws too much attention for my tastes. It makes the cops go cuckoo to find him.”   You stand up and stretch your limbs over your head, groaning as you do so. Finally — there’s some real motivation. The game’s definitely more fun with characters like Yoongi.   “Time to go, Jiminnie.” Your grin is enormous and your eyes gleam. “We can’t just sit back and let someone else win, can we?”

[Saturday, 10:03am]   Even from the distance, the smoky air still permeates through his mask. The scene is largely cleaned up. Just a few hours ago, there were victims crying outside and tens of fire trucks parked on the curb, first responders at the scene rescuing those stranded inside and carrying out the bodies.   The site is still somewhat chaotic, yellow tape lining the perimeter, debris and remaining rubble scattered all over the steps and the road; the shadows of the atrocity committed not long ago.   “In all my years of work, can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this.”   After closing the Kim case in record time, Seokjin only had an hour of sleep before he was abruptly called here. But it’s not just him. All investigators were pulled and dozens of homicide cases have been pushed aside in view of this event.   “How many casualties?”   “Twenty so far.”   “So far?”   Jungkook nods solemnly. “They’re pulling out more bodies from the rubble.”   Seokjin sighs, feeling his dark circles deepen in its lilac shade.    A moment later, he catches a familiar figure approaching from his peripheral vision. Someone with a sharp jawline, darkened hair and a five o’clock shadow around his mouth. Said man appears even more exhausted than Seokjin is, as if he’s aged an additional ten years.   He’s not at all like the strapping, energetic friend he had at the academy all those years ago.   Seokjin manages a smile to the all too familiar Chief of Police. “It’s not often I see you out on the field anymore. I always thought you would get a stroke in that office chair of yours.”   “Sometimes the time calls for it, Jin. I can’t always sit back with my hands clean.”   “And here I thought you forgot what it’s like to get down and dirty.”   “Sir,” Jungkook greets Hoseok, lowering his head just an inch out of respect.   Hoseok nods. “You must be the new profiler that was transferred over. I believe we met once.”   “At the gala.”   “Yes. How have you been managing? I’ve been hearing great things about you.”   “I’ve been doing alright. Just trying my best.”   “He’s keen,” Seokjin says and Hoseok’s lips curl, knowing full well how he feels about keeners.   “Good. Maybe that’ll inspire you to be less grumpy.”   He scoffs and ignores him. “What do you have for me?”   In spite of the difference in their positions, their friendship allows them to be casual with one another. After all, they started at the same time and it was Hoseok who chose to climb the ladder and make his way to the top. Seokjin, on the other hand, has never been one for bureaucracy. Many find his brash way of speaking displeasing, and it’s not what he signed up for either.   “The bomb was sent in a thin package.” The file folder is passed to him as they walk. Seokjin flips it open and studies the photograph of the dollar sign symbol carved into a metal piece, the signature trademark.   “So it’s the Unabomber copycat?”   “I don’t know if I’d go as far as to call him a copycat.”   “Then he’s at least a more advanced version.” Seokjin flips through the report. “It seems like he’s more sophisticated. Are you planning on setting up a task force to find the guy?”   “I don’t know yet.” Hoseok drags a hand over his face. “I have a few investigators in mind that I might assign.”   “But not us?”   “We’re full hands on deck. I’d rather have my most efficient detectives on standby in case something else happens which I have a feeling it just might.” Hoseok’s cautious, always saving his best cards. “In the last twelve hours, crime in the city has spiked to two hundred percent, but there are no connections at all to any of them. I want you to look into it and see if you have any theories. As for this case, the bombing of city hall, I just wanted to hear your thoughts.”   Seokjin hums and turns to the younger man who’s been listening in. “What do you think, Jungkook?”   It takes a second to collect his thoughts. Then, Jungkook’s doe eyes lift, unwavering. “Whoever did this, they left little evidence to work with. The origins of the package can’t be tracked either. So not only did they make the explosive themselves, they controlled every step of it.”   “Above average intelligence.”   Jungkook nods. “And most likely an outcast of society. In the past, this bomber targeted high members of society. And of all the places they could’ve sent it to, they chose city hall this time. Not to mention, his trademark is peculiar. It’s not any initials, it’s a symbol. The dollar sign. I think this person has an ideological motive.”   “Then he’ll most likely be in contact with the police or news outlets soon to spread whatever message he has,” Seokjin adds.   “Most likely. I think we’re looking at someone organized and nonsocial, someone who lives alone and follows the news closely.”   Hoseok smiles. “That’s more than enough to work with.”

[Saturday, 12:01pm]   “Where are we going?” Jimin struggles to keep up with your determined strides.   “Winning the game isn’t just about who kills more, Jiminnie,” you teach him with a sly smile. “You also have to strategize how to take down your competitors.”   The pair of you step up the driveway to the door and you hold the doorbell down with your index finger for an extended amount of time. Then, you knock thrice. There’s silence.   “Who’s house is this?”   “His name is Kim Namjoon. He’s a big competitor.”   Jimin’s head whips towards you. “We’re at his house?!”   You grin. “Pretty sure. What’s the issue?”   He opens his mouth, but no words are uttered. Jimin can’t wrap his mind around how he’s on a serial killer’s doorstep, how you’ve knocked on it, expecting it to open. “How do you even know this is his?”   “I told you. I did my research on everyone, Jiminnie. And don’t worry. If this is really his place, he’ll let us in. It’s not like he can leave us on his porch.”   You turn around to wave enthusiastically at an elderly neighbour walking her dog.   You’re clinically insane — Jimin’s sure of it. But even if you come off as deranged, it’s apparent you’ve thought things through, that you’ve strategized every step. He wonders if that’s why he feels a sense of calm, why it always feels like Jimin’s rooted in the ground when he sees you.   There’s a shift at the door and you look towards the peephole with a massive smile.   The door cracks open.   There’s an older man in his forties, thick framed glasses around kind eyes and wrinkles, a dimpled smile and blonde locks. They recognize each other from the party. “What are you doing here?”   “Seeking refuge obviously,” you sing-song. “Can we come in or what?”   Namjoon’s glare turns menacing. His pupils are blown, eyes bulging from their sockets as his mouth lopsides. The facade of the friendly neighbour crumbles instantaneously and Jimin instinctively shuffles back in intimidation and fear. But then the door widens a moment later.   “Ugh.” You step aside from the large puddle of blood on the floorboards. Jimin’s eyes expand. The streaks of the crimson fluid are pulled towards a closed door meters away as if a body was dragged. “Clean that up, will you?”   Jimin’s knees shake, but he follows after you, stepping aside and slipping into the house. The door is slammed shut.   You’re humming, looking at all the decor of the cozy abode. “Nice house. I like the green drapes.”   “What do you want?” Namjoon stalks after the two of you. “If you’re looking for someone so you can be a trio, I’ll have to refuse. I don’t work well with others and I don’t like anyone interfering with my business.”   “That’s disappointing. I’ll just take breakfast then.” You round the corner, plopping down on the wooden chair by the small dining table. “Have anything good to eat? I’m starving!”   The man glares. You prop your elbow on the table, pouting at him. “Just let us hide out for a while and we’ll leave. Promise.”   “You should’ve done this somewhere else,” he warns, yet turns towards his kitchen.   Jimin releases his held breath from his tense body and comes to sit next to you. He leans in close to whisper, “What are you planning?”   “You’ve never poked a bear before, Jiminnie? It’s all part of the fun. Relax,” you coax him with a crooked smile.    Jimin doesn’t know but it’s because of him that you’re even able to pull this stunt off. He has this permanently scared look on his face, his features etched with fear and regret. It’s endearing, but because of that, Namjoon is sincerely fooled into thinking that you came here as a last resort to escape from prying eyes and just to have a meal.   Jimin has the ability to disarm. And if it wasn’t for him, Namjoon would never believe you.   You look around at the fake flowers in the vase, the nature calendar on the wall, the table without a smudge. Then your eyes trail to a thick pile of photos across the table and you lurch over to grab the stack.   You hum. Jimin pales.   “Is that….”   “Yep.”   Jimin immediately looks away.   It’s dark pictures of dismembered bodies, naked and tied up women caught in the camera’s yellow flash, and women who are just walking on the street, unaware that they’re being stalked and captured from afar. But each photograph is meticulously labeled with a date and name, sometimes with a phone number at the back.   Namjoon’s one of those types who like to call the family of victims just to taunt them, to record conversations he has with victims to play it back for them. Even for your standards, you know he’s sick.   Your study session is interrupted by a meow. An orange tabby cat with narrowed pupils jumps onto the table and then suddenly, the pictures are being snatched out of your hands.   Namjoon’s jaw is clamped, teeth gritted together. He plops down a plate of baked pastries and jams, and quickly collects the stack of photographs.   “That’s not yours to look at.”   “Sorry.” You loll your head to one side. “Got curious.”   There’s an ear-piercing, muffled scream that makes Jimin flinch — a bloodcurdling ‘help’ echoing along the walls. It’s coming from the basement.   You whirl your head back to your host. “Shouldn’t you go take care of that?”   “Don’t touch anything,” Namjoon warns in a low voice and steps away.   You grab the croissant and your teeth tear into it. Your other hand reaches for the cat and the animal allows you to scratch underneath its chin. Its tail curls and it hops off the table.   “Y/N.” For the first time, Jimin calls you by your name and you turn to him. He’s timidly eating his cream cheese pastry with strawberry jam and you reach over with your sleeve to wipe the corner of his mouth free from crumbs.   “Yes?”   “Would...you ever kill me?”   He wonders what it would be like if you considered him a competitor. Or if he wasn’t competing at all, if he could be your victim. Part of him wants to trust you just because it’s easier that way. To be a follower. Hold zero responsibilities. Make no decisions. But he’s not sure if he should allow himself to.   Jimin still has yet to figure out how much he should lean on you and believe in your methods. He doesn’t want to win and you know it too. All he wants is to just be kept safe from the organizers of the event, from the other serial killers, from the police. And it looks like as long as he follows you, everything will work in both of your favours.   “Why would I, silly?” Your smile softens. “It would be too much of a waste if I did.”   It’s not long after the breakfast shenanigans at Kim Namjoon’s house that you make your exit with a ‘see you later’ and slip back onto the suburban street undetected. The older man is happy to have you gone, but if he knew what was up your sleeve, he wouldn’t feel that way.   “A-Are y-you sure this is a good idea?” Jimin’s shaking again, wide-eyed as he grips the phone in the red phone booth. You’re forcing him to make the call purely because it’s too cute to see him sweat under the pressure.   “There aren’t any rules against being a snitch, Jiminnie.” You grin. “And since when did serial killers follow any rules or moral conducts in the first place?”

[Saturday, 6:00pm]   Jungkook scrubs his hands.   Once his skin is free of soap, he turns off the tap and braces himself against the porcelain sink. He exhales staggeringly. He’s seen stuff like this before — made to listen to countless interviews and interrogations, watched tons of videos. It was all a part of his training.    But it’s different when it’s not through a screen and when he’s sitting on a cushy chair behind a desk. It’s different when he’s the one apprehending the criminal and collecting the evidence with his own hands.   Jungkook swallows hard and goes for more soap, trying to rid himself of the disgust he feels.   Kim Namjoon was taken in not even a half hour ago. Luckily, it’s an airtight case. At least with the stack of photos Jungkook found and the two victims barely alive in his basement that was sent away on ambulances. The man might remain silent, but the evidence is insurmountable.   Jungkook turns the tap off, wipes his hands with paper towels, discards it in the trash and walks out of the bathroom. He puts on a stoic expression. He has a job to do. He was assigned this case when they’re short-handed with other detectives and officers, so there’s no choice but to detach himself and be professional.    He finds his partner in his office, seated in his chair and fiddling with a rectangular card.   “Detective Kim?”   Seokjin looks up. “They found this on Kim Namjoon when they were booking him in.”   It’s black, but golden looped letters etched into the smooth card reads welcome.   Seokjin flips it over but there’s nothing else on the card.   “Kim Taehyung had the exact same one,” the older man reveals on an exhale and that immediately piques Jungkook’s attention who cocks a brow.   “Then they know each other. Or at least, they’re connected somehow. If this isn’t gang-related then is it possible that Namjoon knows the Kim family somehow?”   “It doesn’t seem likely. The Kim family is high profile. They wouldn’t have anything to do with a middle class man in his forties living in the suburbs.” Seokjin leans back, scrutinizing the black card and the golden letters. He thinks about the big picture. “But what if this was indeed organized? But by different criminals banding together.” Their eyes meet. “Like they picked a date to have a massacre.”   Jungkook frowns. It’s improbable — an almost outlandish theory. The logistics of it seem too difficult to be feasible. How would a bunch of serial killers with no connection whatsoever be able to meet, arrange and agree on something doing something like that? And for what reason?   Yet that would serve to explain how crime has escalated so drastically in the city within the past day, how there seems to be homicides happening on every single corner.   Jungkook’s train of thoughts crash when Seokjin tosses the card on his desk and sighs, “Have they traced who gave the tip yet?”   “It’s from a phone booth on the corner of Westminster lane.”   “I didn’t know people still used phone booths,” he muses, threading his hands together.   “There weren’t any security cameras, but there was one down the road by a jewelry store. They caught two figures there at the same time the call was made.” Jungkook moves a file folder on his cluttered desk forward and the older man finally flips it open. It’s a fuzzy black and white shot of the camera. He’s barely able to make out the two distinct shapes next to one another.   But Seokjin’s unable to study it for long when his cellphone starts blaring.   He sighs and picks it up. “What is it?” Seokjin’s silent for a long while and then he hums that he’ll be right there before hanging up. That’s never a good sign, so Jungkook braces himself as Seokjin stands and grabs his coat.   “A family was just found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. They suspect there’s foul play.”

[Saturday, 6:00pm]   The curdling shriek tears through Jimin’s eardrums.   He shrinks back, shutting his eyes as tight as he can until they hurt. He doesn’t allow a sliver of light to come through. He can’t look. He won’t. Even when he knows that right in front of him, you’re choking an old grandma, pinning her to the floor, your grip loose enough so she can still scream.   After a long moment, there’s silence and he hyperventilates.   “You can look now, Jiminnie. I’m not finished but you can still look.”   “No.” He shakes his head furiously, curled into a fetal position. He won’t risk it. So he stays where he is, against the wall, on the floral carpet on the floor.   Jimin hears your sigh and then there are footsteps. What follows is the noise of fabric tearing, threads being roughly pulled. He hitches his breath and automatically flinches when he feels you behind him, your warm breath against his neck.   “Relax. I got you a blindfold.”   You delicately wrap the black cloth around his eyes. And you tie it into a pretty bow behind his head while humming a light tune.   Jimin’s fingers brush against the silky material. He hesitates but trusts you enough to finally peel back his lids. He encounters the comfortable darkness.   “You don’t need to look if you don’t want to,” you chime and he feels your presence fade away from his backside.   He exhales, loosening the tension in his body. But he still doesn’t understand.    Jimin can’t comprehend how you can be so accommodating and thoughtful to him one moment and the next, your eyes are cold to others. “Why are you doing this?”   “Because I want to and it’s fun.” Your giggle tinkles. “Don’t you think so, pet? To have someone at your complete mercy. To see the fear in their eyes and hear them beg.”   With his vision gone, his other senses are in overdrive. Jimin perceives the sharp scent of iron in his nose, tastes the sultry air, and hears rustling. He catches the way you’re panting, how each breath seems heavy from your lungs.   “Lots of people do it for different reasons. For sexual pleasure, the thrill, for their beliefs, or even because they get angry like you do,” you state nonchalantly and he flinches. “There doesn’t need to always be a complicated reason. You can do it out of sheer spite even.”   For the next minute, it goes eerily quiet. Jimin doesn’t know if you’re gone, if you’ve left the room, or if you’ve abandoned him entirely. His arms lift up into the air, batting at the empty space. He’s about to call your name, but then hears your footsteps.   “All done!” you sing-song.    You reach behind him, undoing the ties and the blindfold slips off.    There isn’t a body in sight. Jimin’s met with your smile.

[Saturday, 7:48pm]   “What is happening is very unfortunate and our hearts reach out to all the families of these victims. These senseless crimes will not go unpunished. The terror these criminals have inflicted on the population will not dissuade this country from seeking justice. I have called upon the best personnel who will be involved in these criminal investigations. We ask that during this process all people take caution and stay inside. And I ask that people send their thoughts and prayers…”   Jimin’s focus on the President’s press conference happening in the corner television fades as you start singing to the country music playing overhead. He turns his attention to you.   His expression must be impressed on how you know all the lyrics since you lean in with a grin. “I love this song.”   He never took you to be much of a country music lover.   The retro diner is cozy, a long counter with stools, classic red booths and yellow lights. It’s as if time has stopped in this place and the emptiness only adds to the eerie atmosphere.    The waitress with a half white apron and dress comes out and places two plates on the table. “Here’s your regular stack of pancakes with a side of fruit and bacon, and the strawberry avalanche french toast.”   You smile. “Thanks.”   The woman nods with a “you’re welcome” and returns to the back.   Jimin doesn’t have much of an appetite. But he tries his best to stomach the food, cutting through the bread and piercing it with the fork. You, on the other hand, visibly blanch at the sliced strawberries, banana and oranges on your plate and one by one, you transfer them over to his.   The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitches. “You don’t like fruit?”   “Not really. I only like grapes.”   You grab the maple syrup and Jimin watches with his bugged-out eyes how you nearly empty half the canister. By the time you’re satisfied, your pancakes are drowning in the syrup. Yet you grin happily, excited as you cut into them. You fill your cheeks and Jimin lets his entire smile slip.   “I’m guessing you like pancakes.”   “I love them.” Your knife scrapes the plate as you saw down into the fluffy texture. You muse, “I never got to eat them much as a kid.”   “What did you eat then?”   “A lot of vegetables, fermented food, canned stuff,” you say while chewing in your cheek.   Jimin pushes the strawberries around on his plate for a moment before his eyes lift and his voice lowers. “When...did you start killing people, Y/N?”   “I don’t know. Ever since I was born, I guess,” you deadpan. And after he stares at you for an extended period of time, you elaborate, “I grew up in a cult. Anyone who disobeyed or did bad things was killed. It’s normal.” You shrug. “I don’t know why people make such a big deal about it. People are okay with killing pigs and cows to eat, but not humans.”   It’s jarring to hear and it makes it hard to swallow down his food. “Well, it’s different.”   “Is it?” you ask. “We’re all animals. Having exceptions seems hypocritical. Plus, some people deserve to die, right? That’s why the death penalty exist.”   It’s an odd sense of logic. But what’s even stranger is that he can discern where you’re coming from.   “Why do some people deserve to die more than others? Just because of their actions?” You cut into your pancakes. “If the government kills someone, that’s somehow okay. But if I kill someone, then that’s bad. Who decided that?”   “The world is full of contradictions.” You swallow a mouthful. “At the end of the day, aren’t laws just made by people trying to govern and control other people? Burning witches at the stake used to be legal, you know.”   Jimin’s unable to keep his gaze away from you.   If it wasn’t against the law, he wouldn’t be so scared of getting caught. He wouldn’t have had to spend the last year constantly looking over his shoulder and afraid of sirens. But if it wasn’t against the law, would he even be sitting with you right now and having this conversation?   The games wouldn’t exist. There would be no reason to come up with something like the Weekend Massacre.   Then again, it’s because they didn’t catch him that he could be sitting here at this time. The flawed system made up by people to regulate others failed to accomplish their goal.   You finish the pancakes in a flash and somehow, Jimin finds the strength to finish his too.   Once he’s done, he pushes it aside and your eyes gleam. “Ready?”   “For what?”   “Running, silly.” You grab his hand across the table, stand and yank him out from his seat. “Have you never dined and dashed before?”   You start running before he can protest. Jimin hears the shout and curses of the waitress from behind as you shove the door open and it bangs against the wall with the golden bell up top.    You’re giggling, sprinting as fast as you can, ducking and moving between the crowd. Jimin struggles to keep up but he widens his pace and quickly matches your speed. He steals a glimpse of you, catching the fleeting moment of the wind twirling through your hair, the way your eyes are crinkled with your playfully devious smile, how your expression is innocent as you’re committing such a juvenile crime.   Hands held, Jimin interlaces his fingers with yours.   You turn your head, locking your eyes with his, and softening your gaze.   “People like us need to stick together, Jiminnie. We’ll always be marginalized for what we do.”   You’re right. He’s been living like an outcast out of fear, and if people knew the crimes he’s committed, he would be casted away either way. But the realization sinks into Jimin — you’re the first and probably the only person who wouldn’t look at him any differently for what he’s done.   You don’t treat him like he’s a monster. Even when he’s scared of himself, you aren’t.   His hand holding yours tightens.

[Saturday, 9:07pm]   Seokjin hasn’t slept.   He doesn’t think he’ll get the chance to tonight.   There’s no time to when he was being called left, right and center. There are crime scenes behind dumpsters, on the fifth level of a downtown apartment, murderers on every corner of the city. Every officer off duty and on duty have been called, spread thin throughout, and with every hour, there seems to be more and more murders. It’s impossible that this is done by one person or even by five. But Seokjin doesn’t know what to make of it.   He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t experienced something like this before — this massacre.   He leans back into the uncomfortable chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. Seokjin studies the black card with golden letters etched into it, the word welcome catching the light.   If this was indeed an organized massacre, then how and who? How could this many killers come together and be this organized? Who is behind it and orchestrating it? And why? Could it be for fame alone? For chaos?   It feels like it’s all part of some sick game.   “Jin, you wanted to talk to me?”   He’s snapped out of his thoughts by his old friend unlocking his office. Hoseok is disoriented and exhausted, coat hanging off of his arm, briefcase swinging in his hand. He doesn’t look like he’s had the chance to sleep either.   Seokjin stands from his seat, having waited for the man, and he follows him into his office. It’s monotone except for the dog figurine on top of the file cabinet and the many awards and certificates framed in a line on the wall. They offered this office to Seokjin once. He refused.   He’s starting to think he shouldn’t have.   Seokjin shuts the door behind him. With the blinds still opened, he witnesses some officers rush past.   Hoseok throws his briefcase onto his desk and collapses into his chair.   “Did you take a look at the monoxide poisoning case?”   “I have, but there aren’t any leads yet. The extended family’s not looking to do autopsies.”   “Give them some time.” Hoseok rolls up his sleeves. “They might change their minds. What did you want to talk to me about?”   Seokjin leans forward, palms flat on the wooden oak of the desk. “I think we should call a citywide lock down.”   For the first time, Hoseok appears alert again. His posture straightens. “What?”   “We need to tell people to stay inside, Hoseok. That’s the best way to protect them.”   “The best way to protect them is to be out there on the street.”   “And that’s what we’ve been doing.” His index finger juts against the file folders piling up. “This is getting out of hand and you know it.”   But Hoseok merely shakes his head. “It would never bode well.”   “We can’t have people running out on the street to get killed,” he spits.   Jung Hoseok stands and the two of them come face to face. “A lockdown would only increase hysteria. This is the time to keep people calm. Mass panic won’t help anyone.”   “People dying won’t help anyone either.”   “Don’t tell me how to do my job!” Hoseok shouts, red in the face, anger overwhelming exhaustion. Someone outside the windows halts before quickening their pace. “You do your job and I’ll do mine!”   Seokjin’s jaw ticks. He feels frustration’s urge to launch himself forward, shake the man until he’s heard. But instead, he steps back and swallows hard. “Fine.” He’s powerless to Hoseok’s authority and he can sense it — neither of them are willing to budge. “I’ll take my leave then.”   As Seokjin shuts the door, Hoseok collapses into his chair again with a sigh.   “Is everything alright?” Jungkook’s stopped in the hall, doe eyes rounded.   Seokjin nods. He doesn’t dwell on the subject. “How did the interrogation with Kim Taehyung go?”   “It was unsuccessful. He refused to talk without his family lawyer.”   He’s not surprised. “They’re about to start on Kim Namjoon, right?”

[Saturday, 9:33pm]   Jungkook hesitates, left hand on the steel knob. But then he takes a deep breath and opens it.   The room is small, brightly lit, a rectangular table on one side of the cream wall with uncomfortable chairs adjacent to each other. One of them is occupied with a glasses-clad, blonde man. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel, sitting straight, eyes following Jungkook.   “Hello, you must be Kim Namjoon.” The corner of his mouth politely quirks. “I’m officer Jeon Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you.”    Jungkook’s open hand is refused. Namjoon never shakes it. He simply stares at him.   Yet the detective is undeterred and his smile remains, although it never reaches his eyes. He takes a seat and places the file folder on the table. He mimics Namjoon’s posture and leans forward to be closer to the man.   “I believe you know why you’re here.” It’s quiet. “We’ve been looking into several cases of missing women and they’ve all been traced to your house, Namjoon. We found the photos as well and two witnesses are still alive. I’m here because I want to know why you did this. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I want to understand you.”   Namjoon stays silent. His eyes cold. Expression blank.   It’s not looking good. “Look, I’m here to help you, Namjoon. We’re beyond denial. Silence won’t help you anymore. It would be better for you to come forward and let me know what’s going on. It’s not like a person wakes up one day and decides they’re going to kill someone. If it’s something in your childhood or if it’s because these women have wronged you somehow then I want to know, so I can help you.”   A minute passes, but the forty-year old man refuses to utter a single syllable.   Jungkook flips open the file folder. There’s the black business card on top of the paperwork, the golden letters looped into the word welcome. He picks it up and shows him. “What is this?” There’s not a single peep. “Can you tell me where you got it from, Namjoon? Do you know who gave this to you?”   Jungkook continues, “It was on Kim Taehyung as well and unless you want to be responsible for his crimes on top of yours, then I think it’s best if you tell me how the two of you are connected with one another. I know this isn’t normal. The both of you are from very different backgrounds. You don’t know him personally, do you?”   Jungkook is steadfast, searching the man’s expression for some sort of clue. But Namjoon is motionless, unresponsive, as if he’s prepared himself for this situation before. The man has no intentions on revealing a single thing — he plans to make it as difficult as possible.   Jungkook concedes this time and switches his tactics. He puts the card down and flips to the back of the folder. There’s a flash photograph of a corpse without their arms. Jungkook swallows hard upon looking at it and then slides it across the table. “Do you know who this is?”   There’s silence.   Namjoon looks right at Jungkook.   “This is Lee Wendy. She’s a mother of a five-year old boy.” He exhales in staccatos. “You stalked her, didn’t you, Namjoon? We have the pictures you took when she was grocery shopping and when she was taking out the garbage.” There’s a pause. “After you took her, you called her family and told them…that...she cries out for her son a lot, right?”   Jungkook drops his hands into his lap, trying to hide the shakiness of them. Yet he forces his voice to remain steady with the picture of Wendy still on the table. “Why did you do this?”   “You knew all of their names, didn’t you? And you followed each of them for weeks.”   “Have you ever—” The older man finally speaks up in a baritone, nearly startling the young officer. But finally Namjoon’s listless eyes aren’t glazed over. Instead, they’re looking straight into Jungkook’s pupils, ogling deep into his soul. “—felt drawn into someone so much that you felt an itch to do it.”   His voice doesn’t come. Jungkook’s pinned to his spot, scrutinized by the monster’s fixated, terrifying gaze that’s a mere inch away. The same eyes that had looked upon countless women. That lured them into his home. Chained them in his basement around the water pipes. Torn into their bones with the hacksaws—   Jungkook stands.   He can’t do this anymore. He can’t take it.   “If you’ll excuse me,” he manages to mutter.   He staggers out. And once the door shuts, Jungkook braces himself with his hands on his knees, wheezing.    From the adjacent room, Seokjin emerges in alarm. The others in the room look out at him. “Jeon! Are you alright? You were getting somewhere!”   Jungkook shakes his head. “I-I’m sorry. I just...her photo was right there and I...I—”   “Hey. It’s alright.” There are firm pats on the back, a comforting squeeze at his shoulder. “We can get someone else in there.”   Jungkook tries to straighten himself out, but his professional facade has crumbled. He’s ashamed as he is nauseated. “I really tried, Detective Kim.”   “And you did good,” Seokjin reassures. “You got him talking, even if it was just a sentence. Better than any of us could. He’ll crack sooner or later.”   Jungkook takes deep breaths and nods.   But before any of them have a chance to say much else, an officer runs towards them with panic-stricken over her face. It’s not a good sign. “There’s been another bombing.”

[Saturday, 11:19pm]   He picks up the black handle of the payphone. The dial tone is monotonous on the other end and he carefully slips the nickels into the slot.   “Five four six,” you read off the numbers you scribbled on your wrist with permanent marker and Jimin follows, pressing the number pad. He was innocent when he asked you earlier how you knew the number, but it wasn’t a big secret. If Jimin didn’t come late to the party, he would’ve had a better grasp on what the games are about, the details and the how-to’s. He might’ve been able to meet a few others as well.   But it was fine by you. He doesn’t need to know anything or anyone when he knows you.   After you read the string of numbers, he stays quiet. After a moment, you hear the muffled voice on the other end.   Jimin glances at you. “I’m calling on behalf of Y/N.”   Thirty seconds pass and then he’s hanging up. You look expectedly at him, lashes batting, bright smile spreading into your cheeks. “So?”   “You’re in second place,” Jimin informs, swallowing hard to deliver the news. “Behind Yoongi. There’s a person behind you by two.”   “And Yoongi?”   “He’s ahead by ten. There are nine others left in the game.”   You sigh, backside hitting the brick wall of the seedy strip mall. It’s not terrible, but not as good as your estimations. “We need to step up our game if we want to win, Jiminnie.”   His confused and curious expression reminds you of a puppy. Jimin’s too cute, especially when he follows after you when you walk off. He’s always trailing your shadow, one step behind your heel.   You can’t help turning around just to take a peek at him.   “Y/N.”   “Hmm?”   Jimin’s brows are furrowed, pouty lips lopsided, voice tender and quiet in the night. “Do you know who started this game?”   “I don’t.” You face the dark road dimly illuminated by the streetlamps again. Before the games, you did a lot of personal research, but you were never quite able to dig that deep. “People like you and I probably, or people who just want to watch the world burn. Or maybe…”   “Maybe?”   “People who don’t like the current police force and want to overthrow it.” It’s plausible. A theory you never really thought about, but it sounds good. You shift over your shoulder with a glimmer in your eye. “What better way to mess with an institution than by throwing it into absolute chaos? And what better chaos is there than a bunch of criminals running rampant in the city?”   Jimin has that conflicted look on his face like he’s not sure if he should believe you. But you’re not even sure if you should believe yourself. It’s been a long time since you could differentiate between your own lies and truths. Your bad habit of running your mouth and saying whatever you want, whatever comes to mind, has long engrained itself into your behaviour.   “What’s the prize for doing all this? I mean, what’s in it for everyone else?”   “Notoriety, of course,” you giggle at Jimin’s naivety. “Don’t you want to be remembered as the first ever champion, pet? Come on, stop asking so many questions and hurting your head with it.”   You grab his hand, pulling him along while you laugh. Jimin stumbles after you but catches up.   You’ve noticed — Jimin doesn’t seem so hesitant or scared of you anymore. And it’s a change you welcome happily. This is a partnership after all and it’s not right if he’s frightened of you.    The pair of you careen in the middle of the road as you sing songs from musicals you’ve never seen, disrupting the peace and quiet. And when you turn to him, Jimin’s smiling tenderly at you, in a way you’ve never witnessed before.   “Have you ever thought of giving this up, Y/N?” he asks a little later. “Have you ever thought of trying to live a normal life?”   You’re not sure why he’s asking something so useless or what even constitutes a normal life. But any semblance of doing anything different than what you are now seems entirely unnecessary. There’s no reason to when you’re enjoying it so much. When this is who you are.   “Why would I?”

[Sunday, 6:21am]   It’s a sick and twisted game.   Jimin picks and you kill.   It’s eenie, meenie, minie, moe with the worst consequences, where he chooses the victims at their face value — lone, drunk gangsters making a ruckus, the old man trying to convince an intoxicated woman to come along with him, the girl that seems to be harassing her classmate.   He doesn’t know their name or their story, but he tries not to think about it. Jimin doesn’t dwell as he makes his choice.   And as you follow through with his decision, he never once looks.   He can’t. Not when he’s blindfolded himself and can only catch the noises. The begging. The screaming. The crying. The squealing. The silence that follows.   “You can look now—” is the only cue from you that allows him to slip off the black blindfold and not to have to witness the victims looking at him, pleading with their eyes, blaming his passivity.   Most of the time, you’ve moved the body out of the way. Rolled up in a carpet to be abandoned, buried, thrown into the river, or bagged and ready to be burnt. Or even simply laying in their bed as if they died of natural causes. You know how to control the crime scene — every trace and clue has its own purpose, to distract, to mask. You don’t even so much as leave a hair behind.   But this time, none of that is the case.   The corpse of the man lays in front of him and Jimin tries to find his voice again. “W-Why is the body convulsing? What did you do?”   You kick the stranger’s leg and after a moment, it stops moving. You shrug. “I found pills in the medicine cabinet. I made him take it all and covered his mouth with my hand so he wouldn’t try to spit it out.”   Jimin looks at you. And you flash a smile. “Changing up the method makes it harder for the police to capture us. Plus, isn’t it more fun that way?”   “How….a-are you going to dispose of the body?”   You hum, tapping your chin as if you’re picking from a long list inside your head. Then your eyes suddenly light with amusement and you lean closer to him, irises twinkle with the first crack of dawn’s light.   “What if we dumped it in front of the police station?”

[Sunday, 6:48am]   Jimin’s driving this time and he’s sweating bullets with the corpse in the backseat. He constantly ducks his head when a police car drives by and he looks in the rear-view mirror more often than out the windshield.   It’s endearing to watch. He won’t relax even if you tell him to, so you do his part for him. Your feet are propped up on the dash, window rolled down to feel the breeze as you hum to the tunes of the radio.    Jimin really shouldn’t act so suspicious unless he has something to be sorry for.   Everyone likes to talk about how valuable human lives are until their own interests get in the way — polluting the environment, refusing refugees, entering wars for economics. They’re so, so hypocritical.   “There it is!” You sit straight and Jimin’s breaths become laboured as he parks across the road on the curb. The precinct is an old cream brick, sitting right on the corner with the flag on the side of the building. You grin. “Let’s go!”   “Y/N, I...I-I don’t think this is a good idea—”   But there’s nothing to worry about, not when your faces are covered with your hoods and the stolen sunglasses. Jimin really needs to live a little. Everything you do is a calculated risk and this just happens to be on the higher end, but it’s fun that way. He really needs to learn that caution should only be practiced in moderation or else he’ll spend the rest of his life quivering in fear.   You get out of the car before Jimin can finish. His eyes widen and he’s forced to follow after you.   You round the stolen vehicle and pop open the passenger side of the door. “If we’re doing this, we need to do it quickly.” The edges of your lips quirk. “Help me out, pet.”   You grab the man’s ankle and Jimin fumbles before grabbing the other. He winces and looks away. But the both of you pull with all your might. The skull cracks as it lands onto the concrete.   Limbs tangled. Body dumped.    You slam the door shut and run. Jimin slides back into the driver’s seat as you take shotgun again. He shifts the gears into drive, pumping the gas hard as you cackle. The precinct is left in the dust.   “Oh my god.” Jimin exhales. “I can’t believe we just did that. We...w-we just dumped a body in front of the police station!”   “I know!” You grin, riding on the rush of exhilaration. It was done right under their noses without them even noticing. “I knew you could do it, Jiminnie!”   As Jimin drives back to the house to swap cars again, the sun rises over the horizon. It pierces its golden light into the lightening blue sky, the air feeling crisp this morning. You know there’s a lot in store for the rest of the day — in just a few hours, you might be crowned the champion.   “Jimin! Stop the car for a second!” You tap him on his arm and alarm takes over his expression.   The vehicle comes to a screeching halt, wheels marking the asphalt. Luckily, there’s no one on the road to rear-end him, but you don’t dwell on the fact. You undo your seat belt and climb out.    Jimin watches with his hands on the steering wheel as you rush to the phone booth on the corner of the street.   You roll the loose change you have from your pocket into the slot. And you dial 911.   It rings only once before a woman’s calm voice comes alive on the other line. “911, what is your emergency?”   You’re still catching your breath from the excitement of it all. “I killed them, you know. I did it.”   “W-What?” The dispatcher's voice is pitched and you smirk. “Who did you kill?”   “Enjoy that body I left. Good luck catching me.”   You drop the handset while laughing, leaving it dangling on its wire. The echoing voice of the woman with her helpless — “Hello? Hello?” — fades as you walk away. It’s always a joy to mess with them.   You get back into the car and Jimin whisks you away.

[Sunday, 9:14am]   Seokjin is being driven crazy and he knows it. Between caffeine stops and the piles of file folders growing on his desk, his head throbbing was worsening. But there’s no room to complain, not when the other officers and detectives in the department have their hands full as well.   Several other criminals have been caught, charged, interrogated within the past day. All with the same black card reading welcome. Yet most of the crimes left to tackle remain unsolved. Namely the Capital Bomber, as they started calling him, and whoever left the tip. Or rather, the taunt.   The body of Choi Soobin was dumped in front of the station two hours earlier — the two shapeless figures were seen on the security cameras — the victim’s car was being driven and then somehow returned to his home in perfect condition without a fingerprint to dust for. And that mocking voice provoked everyone.   It came from a phone booth again. But it was a woman’s voice this time.   “Detective Kim.”   Seokjin looks up from his desk. The young man’s hair is in a disarray — it looks like he followed Seokjin’s instructions to get some shut eye on the couch in the break room. There’s no point in working oneself to exhaustion and inhibiting cognitive function. He would’ve slept too if the multiple cases on his plate didn’t keep him up.   “I know we’re not officially on the task force, but there’s been some new developments with the charity bombing.”   “What is it?” Seokjin urges him to step forward and Jungkook hands him the folder. Inside, there are close photographs of some penciled scribbles on pieces of metal.   “This was found inside one of the parts of the bomb. It looks like notes of some kind. The lab’s still doing their analysis, but we might be able to match it with someone.”   The corner of his mouth quirks. “They always slip up at some point.”   “I took a look at the list of suspects as well.”   “And what did you make of it?”   “These three particularly stand out,” Jungkook says and Seokjin flips the page. He encounters a brunette with big eyes. “His name is Boo Seungkwan. He’s twenty five. Single. Living alone. No family alive. He has a background in physics. But oddly enough, he’s been unemployed for the past five years. He had been convicted of animal cruelty a while back and has been on the down-low ever since.”   “Sounds isolated.” Seokjin nods. “Worth looking into.”   “The next person is Mark Tuan. Thirty. Immigrated here back in o six. Divorced two years ago with one daughter who’s five. He’s a mathematics professor but he’s been on a sabbatical for over a year now. His sister called in and said he thinks the bomber might be him because of some conversation they had.”   He hums, staring at the picture for a moment before he flips the page.    Seokjin finds a darker hair man with a tender face and sleepy eyes. He skims over the information provided as Jungkook elaborates, “He’s Min Yoongi. He’s thirty two. Single. Lives alone. His older brother works in accounting, but they seem estranged. He spent three months in a youth detention center once, but somehow managed to pick himself back up and graduated from Yale ten years ago with a Master’s degree in biochemistry. But strangely, he never worked a day in his life. I can’t seem to find an address on him either.”   “What was he in the detention center for?”   “Trying to burn his school down.”   “That’ll definitely get you in there,” Seokjin exhales in surprise.   “It was a particularly bad case too, so they never sealed the records of it.”   Somehow, Seokjin feels less exhausted now that there was a direction in the case. He muses how beneficial it is to have such a capable partner, to have someone to depend on. Seokjin feels a tinge of guilt for denying the young profiler all those months ago.    “Good work, Jeon.”   Jungkook’s timid smile disappears as quickly as it comes. “I still haven’t drawn up any suspects for the carbon monoxide family case or the duo responsible for the phone booth calls.”   “We still have some time, so don’t beat yourself over it,” he notes. “I’ve been looking into it myself. I don’t know if this is a purposeful pattern or just a coincidence, but have you realized one similarity between all the crimes being committed in the past two days, Jeon?”   Jungkook’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “What is it?”   “They’re all people who have done this before. They’re experienced criminals.”   Criminals that have never been caught, that are responsible for dozens of cold cases. None of them are first-time offenders. From Kim Taehyung to Kim Namjoon, and the three others that were caught red-handed by other detectives. Even the Capital Bomber has set bombs before, albeit on a smaller scale. It’s clear — this isn’t the first time for any of them.   The look on Jungkook’s face confirms Seokjin’s theory and tells him this new detail isn’t unfounded.   “So I’ve been looking into the suspects of unsolved cases and older crimes. As for the poison monoxide case, no matter how many times I look at it, it appears like it’s done by one person. But for some reason, I can’t shake off the idea that it was done by two.”   It’s just a hunch that keeps plaguing Seokjin’s head.   A thought comes across Jungkook’s mind. In the past day, there’s two particular people that have come up twice now. “You don’t think….the carbon monoxide case has any connection to the phone booth duo, right?”   “I don’t know,” the older detective admits honestly. There's no point in just sitting around speculating. He gets up and grabs his coat. “Well, we should take a quick visit to all the bombing suspects first and foremost. The other cases can wait for now.”   There’s not enough to incriminate anyone or build a solid case, but it’s better than nothing.

[Sunday, 2:53pm]   He feels a tap on his shoulder. A quiet call of his name.   “Jimin.” It’s soothing, a comfort seldom found and one he has always yearned for, even as a child. So he savours it, the notes of his name spoken on gentle lips— “Jimin.”    He can’t resist floating in the darkness. It’s too hard to open his eyes. To face reality.   But then the shaking becomes insistent. “Jimin, wake up. Stop sleeping.”   Taken out from his slumber, the world is fuzzy as he blearily blinks awake. The sunlight is blinding and his limbs ache, body folded to the side as he slept in the passenger seat of the car.   You’re in the driver’s and you look at him with a blank expression. Jimin holds back a yawn and his voice is groggy when he asks, “What’s wrong?”   “I have an idea.”   That’s what you told him.    And then, he was crossing the road in the seedy part of town by a strip. Face covered, hood up, hands dug into his pocket.   “We only have a few more hours before the results are out.”   The people behind the stand didn’t speak the same language as he did. They looked at him skeptically with his suspicious attire — even the children nearby were staring. But he still managed to purchase the fireworks.   “We need to drag the lion out of its den.”   You praised him when he got back into the car and Jimin had to admit to himself that it felt good. It feels good to listen to you, for you to look at him so proudly. He’s happy when you are.   “So what are you planning?”   “We’re going to frame Yoongi, of course.”   The pair of you stopped by a gas station for a cardboard box and some duct tape — it felt like you two were making crafts in the car. But soon, he was gripping the package under his arm while walking up the stairs, brushing past the dozens of strangers during the rush.   “Drop the package at the city center train station. Go as close to a crowd as you can.”   He was here. The intercom making announcements was noisy over top the many conversations of students and families, businessmen and women getting back from late lunches. It becomes even more clamorous with the jingle signaling the train’s arrival, the whir of the doors opening.   No one notices him. Not in the bustle. Jimin’s shoved roughly aside when he slows. There aren’t any apologies, no glances over the shoulders. It’s always like this — those who can’t keep up are pushed behind.   “I don’t think I can do this, Y/N.”   “Why not? We’re not harming anyone, silly. We just want to scare them.”   Jimin takes a deep breath, steals a glimpse of the clock and slides the lighter from his pocket. He lights the end that sticks out of a hole in the corner. And once it catches the flame, he drops it and turns around.   “Don’t you trust me?”   He walks away, blending into the crowd with his hood up and his eyes covered. When he’s at the stairs, the explosion is deafening above the noise and the petrified screams echo behind him.

[Sunday, 4:23pm]   “Maybe he decided to change it up,” someone says.   Seokjin is hunched over the screen, watching the footage of the man dropping the box and then turning abruptly on his heel before disappearing. Moments later, the orange explosion takes up the entire screen. Three were left injured. Seokjin plays the clip again.   “It’s too sloppily done,” he mutters, turning over his shoulder to glance at his partner. He knows that Jungkook agrees. But what’s even stranger is that the figure of the man is eerily similar to the fuzzy one at the phone booth. Seokjin wonders if this is a set up. If so, why?   “You don’t think this is the Capital Bomber?” Hoseok asks.   “It can’t be,” Jungkook speaks up to bolster Seokjin’s professional opinion. “Up until now, he used explosive bombs. This was five fireworks stuffed together and the package it was put in is completely different to what it usually is. No one needed to open it either.”   “So you think there’s a copycat?” Detective Byun stands from his seat, sighing heavily. He drags a hand over his face, shoulders slumped and posture tense.   “Maybe it was a failed package,” Captain Chou suggests, reading the room.   A few others nod along. “Or maybe he decided to change his techniques.”   “Why would he?” Jungkook’s voice pitches up in growing frustration, startling a few officers and the sergeant standing by him. They’re turning a blind eye to logic just because it’s easier that way. “This is someone who’s come up with sophisticated explosives that have killed tens of people! Why would he resort to using illegal fireworks?!”   Captain Chou whips her head towards him. “Are you shouting at me, officer Jeon?”   “Jungkook.” Seokjin squeezes at his shoulder and the younger shifts. Their eyes meet and Seokjin steps forward to redirect the attention back onto him. “I agree with him. There’s too many disparities for this to be the Capital Bomber. He wouldn’t have done something like this. It looks more like a poor attempt to pretend to be him.”   “How will the people react when they find out there’re copycats now?” Detective Byun collapses in his seat. “And we haven’t even caught the real one yet.”   It goes quiet around the room. The Chief of Police clears his throat. “Do you have solid evidence this is a copycat?” Hoseok is looking at both him and Jungkook.    Seokjin’s jaw clenches when he knows where he’s getting at. The answer is ultimately— “No.”   “Then it’s still entirely possible that this could be the work of the real Capital Bomber.”   Anger flares in Jungkook’s eyes. “Sir.”   Little can be said when someone knocks on the conference room doors and an assistant enters, whispering into Hoseok’s ear. Said man stands a moment later. “The press conference is starting. We’ll resume the meeting afterwards. Try your best to follow this lead.”   When he leaves, everyone settles down. The murmur of conversations spark throughout the room in between fatigued sighs and Jungkook turns to Seokjin with irritation.   “Detective Kim,” he unintentionally whines, like a child to a father. “This is obviously not him.”   “I know you’re upset, but control yourself, Jeon.” His own anger is palpable, but knowing someone is on his side helps his sanity. “It won’t help our case if we can’t remain calm.”   Suddenly, a woman bursts into the room. All heads turn and she hyperventilates, “S-Someone claiming to be the bomber is on a call with the dispatcher.”   Chaos follows. “What?!”   Seokjin rushes forward, his facade of composure amplified. “Can you put us through?”   It takes seconds before the deep baritone is fuzzy over the speakers around the room.    He’s shouting. “—wasn’t me!”    “Sir, please stay calm. Where are you?”   “Listen here.” The rumbling timbre is menacing, each syllable punctuated with animosity. “I want them to know that it wasn’t me. They’re saying it’s me.”   The dispatcher on the line is amiable. “Who’s saying it’s you, sir?”   “Everyone.” Heavy breaths pant. “It’s all over the news. But I would never do something so stupid to soil my message. Everything I have done up to this point has been crafted to perfection. It’s been masterpieces after masterpieces. But this….this is a distraction! How dare they try to copy my method—”   “Trace the call,” Seokjin commands.   “It’s already happening,” they inform.

[Sunday, 8:20pm]   It took four hours — tracking, planning, putting it in action. And the efforts have paid off.   Min Yoongi is caught, arrested, and charged. He was the Capital Bomber, the one who killed and maimed so many, who caused terror on the streets and panic through the people. Now, he’s safely behind bars and the whole department is celebrating. Seokjin can hear it through the walls.   But it’s not right.   There are too many missing puzzle pieces. Crucial fragments that aren’t part of the story.   Until the last second of the interrogation, he denied any affiliation to the explosion of the train station and with every breath, he denounced such an act. Then who was it? And why now?   Min Yoongi is a cautious criminal, an intellectual with a message of anti-capitalism to send to the world. He knows how to target the right people, how to make the media talk about him. But for him to contact the police directly from sheer fury, for his temper to flare beyond his rationale — whoever was behind the attack of the station played Min Yoongi.   They knew that mimicking him so poorly would rile him up. They knew it would tarnish his message. And they knew that his message was the most important part of his actions.   Yoongi would be scrambling to separate himself from stupidity. To clear his name. And he did.   Whoever did this set him up. But Seokjin doesn’t know the reason for it. He doesn’t have even an inkling as to who it could actually be and why.   It always feels like he’s three steps behind.   Seokjin knocks on the door lightly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Hoseok is busy organizing his files, stacking them neatly into piles. When he looks up at the sound, he smiles meekly. “Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating with the rest of them?”   “Shouldn’t you be?”   Hoseok’s eyes crinkle. “Don’t tell the rest of them, but I was planning to sneak out of here within the next ten minutes. I haven’t gone home in two days and all I want is a shower and some shut eye.”   “I won’t tell them,” Seokjin assures. “We all deserve some rest, especially after the last few nights. But god knows we’ll have to be here tomorrow at nine sharp.”   The man smiles and grabs his coat. “You should take a vacation day, Jin. I know you have a ton of them saved up. I don’t want the department to force you to take leave.”   In spite of their civil exterior, the air still hangs tense with the last argument that erupted right here.   “But that’s no fun. What would I do at home?”   “Always the workaholic,” Hoseok muses and the next words are full of implication— “You should take it easy.”   His stare lasts a fraction longer than normal. And Seokjin knows his old friend long enough to recognize what he’s implying. But he’s not so willing to give in. “A break doesn’t actually sound so bad. When I’m back, I could look at the station bombing with fresh eyes.”   The smiles fall, silence strained. “It’s over, Jin. The bomber’s been arrested.”   “Not all of them.” Not the phone booth duo, not the carbon monoxide poisoning case. There are still a lot of crimes to be solved, questions to be answered. It isn’t time to be celebrating.   “For all we know, he’s responsible for the station bombing.”   “Then why does he keep denying it?” The detective steps forward. “He was happy to take credit for the rest of them. City hall, the charity event, the one on—”   “Seokjin.” His entire name said firmly aloud. When their eyes meet, Seokjin is caught off guard — Hoseok’s is listless. Defeated. “I’m not going to have a job after this.”   His voice catches in his throat and his brows furrow a moment later. “What do you mean?”   The man looks at him without trying to impose his authority, without the professional demeanour that took years to craft. It’s human to human. Hoseok is frank with him. “Someone has to take the fall for how things turned out this weekend. For letting so many people die and failing to do our jobs. We might’ve caught him, but it was still too slow for them. You know how the media and the politicians are. My name is going to be dragged through the mud for how inefficiently the department ran.”   “But why does it have to be you? We can fight this—”   Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s useless.”   “Why are you giving up?!” Anger surges through Seokjin but all Hoseok can do is muster a smile.   “If I resign, I can still get a severance pay. Enough to last me a long time. It’s better than if any of you took the fall,” he says and quietness simmers throughout the private office. “We did the best job that we could, Seokjin. We caught him and a bunch others. We’ve done our part. They’re serial killers who will be locked behind bars forever. But this needs to end somewhere.”   He continues— “Do you think whoever replaces me will let you continue this?”   Not much is said after that. Not when Seokjin can’t gather any defenses or further arguments. Not when Hoseok takes his briefcase, exchanges a sad smile and flicks off the lights of his office to drown the walls in darkness.   Seokjin slips out when he starts feeling suffocated.   He leaves the office and escapes outside, in favour of leaning on the brick at the back of the precinct where there are rats scurrying by the dumpsters. He lights the cigarette he swiped from Baekhyun’s desk and brings it to his lips.   Seokjin hasn’t smoked in years.   He muses that a break does sound nice.   The steel doors creak and Seokjin turns his head. He least expects to see the dark-haired young officer with doe eyes. “Detective Kim?”   “Shouldn’t you be inside?”   “I just wanted some fresh air.” The door swings shut while Seokjin taps the ash off of the cigarette bud.   “You were having fun, weren’t you?” He manages a small smile. “Looked like that girl had some plans for you tonight. She works in the dispatch department, right? What’s her name again?”   “Yoo Jeongyeon.” With the single incandescent light on the wall, the blush on Jungkook’s cheeks is visible. “She’s alright.”   “There’s no policy against workplace romance, you know. You might hear it from the others, but all you have to do is take it up with HR.”   Jungkook gives a disgruntled hum, not furthering the subject. Seokjin watches the smoke curl.   “Actually, I wanted to come out here to tell you that I was looking into the list of suspects for the station bombing. I think I’ve narrowed it down, so—”   “This is the best we could do, Jungkook,” Seokjin interrupts and sighs out a puff of smoke. He drops what’s left of the cigarette onto the ground and the toe of his shoe snubs it out.   “Pardon?”   “They’re not going to let us continue investigating the case, Jeon.” He turns to him. It's painful to see the disappointment on his face because Seokjin’s sure he has a mirror image on his. “They’re going to replace Jung Hoseok. And even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t let us continue. They want it to end.”   They want to pretend that all the loose ends are wrapped up, that Min Yoongi was the last. Of course they would. It’s the picture perfect finale. The main criminal is caught after the string of others.   No one wants to imagine that there’s more.   “This is it?”   “This is it.”   “But what if they strike again?” Jungkook persists. “We’re just going to let them go free?!”   “Then we’ll have to treat it like a whole separate incident and not part of this weekend massacre.”   He opens his mouth — speechless, frustrated, disappointed. If there’s one thing Jungkook lacks, it’s experience. And with experience, he’ll come to know these emotions well.    Being a part of the system doesn’t necessarily mean fighting crime and striving for justice. It’s much less righteous than that.   The two of them stand side by side, watching dusk set into night as all the events in the past forty eight hours sink into their shoulders. It’s not until the older, worn detective speaks up that the silence is shattered. “What did you think about the phone booth duo?”   There’s a beat and then Jungkook answers. “I was considering the theory you brought up.”   “That they’re responsible for the monoxide poisoning case?”   He nods. “And that maybe they were responsible for the station bombing too.”   Seokjin’s brow quirk. The figure on the footage certainly resembled the fuzzy shape of the security camera. “So?”   “None of the crimes are excessively violent. They’re unobtrusive and all the victims don’t have any connections to each other. It’s likely they didn’t plan who to kill but planned how they would do it.”   The corner of Seokjin’s mouth curls while he watches as Jungkook’s eyes light up again, his mind at work. It’s relieving to know that the future has an intelligent boy in its midst.   “The crime scene wasn’t messy. It was organized. Even Choi Soobin’s car was spotless and they were seen driving it on camera. Not to mention the house. It shows self-control.”   “They were prepared,” Seokjin affirms.   Jungkook nods. “And they used restraints. Whoever did it is competent. Likely to be above average intelligence and probably has some kind of education. They have to be healthy enough to carry a body to a car too.” He continues on his profiling, “They most likely alternated between walking and driving between each crime scene. They follow the news, taunt the police. They probably have nonsocial habits.”   “Then what about the power dynamic of the duo? It was a male voice who gave the tip and the female voice who taunted us, remember? Do you think it was the male who did these acts and the female who’s the accomplice?”   Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t think so. That’s what I thought at the beginning, but then I listened to the recordings again and again, and for some reason, the male who gave the tip sounded...scared. While the female, it sounded like she was enjoying taunting us.”   The older detective hums. It’s an interesting thought.   Jungkook arrives at the end of his analysis. Having nothing left to say, he turns to his partner. “What do you think, Detective Kim?”   Seokjin’s head knocks back on the wall as he considers the facts. But truth be told, he already has a theory of his own. “If the pattern still holds, then the phone booth duo are experienced criminals. They likely have some kind of history, some criminal background. They knew what they were doing.”   Jungkook knows by the way he’s talking that he has an idea. “You were looking into the suspects of unsolved cases, right?”   “I was.”   “What did you find?”   “L/N Y/N.” By the look on Jungkook’s face, it’s an unfamiliar name to him. “She was the only daughter of a cult leader. They were out in the middle of nowhere and called themselves the Seventh Sect. They murdered disobedient followers, women, children, the usual. She would’ve experienced emotional abuse as a child growing up in a place like that. She was educated though. Homeschooled. Got her GED.”   Jungkook speculates, “So she’s likely to be socially competent.”   “Probably on some level.” He pauses. “The entire cult was wiped out six years ago.” Jungkook turns his head and Seokjin can feel his stare piercing into his profile. “Most of them died by rat poisoning. The leader was ruled dead by suffocation and the others by carbon monoxide poisoning.”   There’s a pattern that resembles the most recent cases and the realization makes Jungkook’s eyes widen. He’s sure now more than ever they have the person.   “Funny enough, the only daughter of the cult leader disappeared. They couldn’t find her body. So they ruled her dead after a few months and that’s what everyone assumed.” Until now. “But maybe she isn’t.”   It’s a theory, conjecture that would never be accepted by the general attorney or even the department. It’s circumstantial evidence at the end of the day. Yet deep down, Jungkook and Seokjin know what the truth is.   It feels like they’ve solved the case together, albeit all in hypotheticals.   “Then what about her accomplice?” Jungkook eagerly asks. “Do you know who he is?”   “That’s where I have the most trouble,” Seokjin admits with a sigh. “All we know is that he’s about five foot eight, average physique, dark hair. Likely to be of Asian descent. And he most likely has self-control too.”   “But I don't have any ideas on who he could be.” Seokjin looked hard enough that his eyes still sting and his brain throbs. All the people he considered fell through with one qualification or another. “I don’t know how much involvement he had. If he was strung along. Or if he orchestrated it.”   “He probably orchestrated it,” Jungkook guesses, “It makes sense if Y/N was the one who did the killings, then it would make sense if he was the one who manipulated her and planned it all. He’s the mastermind. The one who came up with the idea for framing Min Yoongi, who wanted to leave the tip for Kim Namjoon, and who made Y/N taunt us. He used her like a puppet.”   He hums. It’s all possible.   “Maybe he’s someone from the Seventh Sect,” Jungkook offers.   But Seokjin knows it’s all just hunches built on top of hunches. There’s no point in playing this game and naming potential criminals. There’s nothing they can do when they’re just standing at the back of the precinct as the rest of the department celebrates inside. It’s worthless when they’re unable to pursue their leads, follow through with their investigations.   It’s merely another day of letting criminals go free.   “Maybe.”

[Sunday 9:36pm]   You’re about to be crowned the victor.   Everything you’ve calculated played right into your hand and now all the efforts are going to be paid off.    Jimin’s holding your hand as the two of you walk down the desolate road on the outskirts of town. The entrance to the underground area was just over the horizon. He would’ve driven instead of abandoning the car and walking, but you had convinced him the walk to victory is a lot better. Plus the weather was too nice to not take advantage of it and Jimin has to agree.    The breeze is whisking against his cheeks, the sliver of the moonlight guiding your way, and he feels warm with you beside him.   Especially with you happily humming. Jimin’s grown to quite like your voice. He could hear it forever if you’d let him. “After we win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, Jiminnie. We can have all kinds of desserts if you want, how does that sound?”   His cheeks are rounded with his grin. “Okay.”   “Only okay?” You turn, pouting at him. “I’m giving you a gift here! Shouldn’t you show more appreciation?”   He laughs. “Fine, I love it, alright?”   You scoff playfully. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you.”   Jimin grins to himself.    The quietness away from the city is serene. He can’t hear the engines of cars or the noisy conversations of strangers — he doesn’t feel left behind. In this place, there’s only the hitch of your breaths, the synchronized footsteps, and every thought of his amplified to a thousand.   “What are you planning to do afterwards, Y/N?” he asks after a moment. Jimin wonders if you’ll let him come with you. The pair of you could go to a place far away from here, where it’s just as quiet. Where he won’t have to worry. Where you both can leave all of this behind and no one could ever find him.   It would be the perfect end.   “I don’t know yet.” You spin to face him with another brilliant smile. “Maybe prepare.”   He squeezes your hand. Forever with you sounds like all he wants. “For what?”   “To play again next year, silly.”   Jimin’s steps slow. The vision of going somewhere far away, of leaving it all behind, shatters just as quickly as it manifested itself inside his mind.   The realization comes crashing down to him — there’s no end. “What?”   “The games are annual, Jiminnie. Did you forget? I’m going to have to keep my title. If you follow me, I’ll even get you second place in no time!” There’s no end. “The two of us need to stick together.”   There’s no end in sight.    The past two days will repeat itself for the rest of his life. He’s stuck to you.   Jimin halts on his heel and you turn your head with a frown. Your lips part as if you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but you’re interrupted by the roar of a car. Attention taken, your eyes light up as you squint past the head beams piercing through the darkness coming closer and closer.    “Look! I don’t think they’re a part of the games. How about we go for one more, Jiminnie?”   Before he can say a word, you’ve left him behind — flagging down the vehicle, standing in the middle of the road.   And the car screeches to a stop. It’s a young woman sitting in the driver seat alone. She looks at you and Jimin, but it’s hard to see him when he’s standing in the dark. The stranger rolls down the window as you round the car.   “Are you alright? Do you need a lift?” He hears the stranger ask, oblivious to how her compassion is a demise.   “No, it’s alright. My husband and I have a farm right around here. We were just taking a walk.” Before she can express her bewilderment, you beat her to the punch. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you have a flat tire.”   “Oh my god! Really?!”   Jimin flinches when he hears the seat belt come off. He looks up to see her get out of her car.   “It’s over here,” you indicate.    Then he hears a thump, a cry, a snicker. Jimin rounds the vehicle to see the young woman on the floor, her head bleeding as you grasp the pen from your pocket in your left hand. You stab her crown again with it, digging the tip into the skin and bone. The stranger shrieks in agony.   “Y/N.”   “N-no, p-pl-please.” The stranger is crawling away, fingernails scratching the asphalt. “Pl-please. I’m….sorr...y.”   “Put on your blindfold, pet.” You smile at him and when he remains motionless, feet rooted into the roadside, you close the distance in three strides. You reach into his hoodie pocket for the strip of black cloth. All he sees is your smile before you’ve covered his eyes, tied the blindfold around with a bow at the back. “I’ll tell you when you can look.”   Jimin hears the crunch of the pebbles as you walk away. This will never end. He hears the woman’s cries become panicked, breaths quick in hyperventilation. This will never end. He hears her screech and it reverberates in his eardrums. “P-Please!”   This will never end.   It will never be enough for you.   He will never be enough for you.   “S-Stop….s-som..eone!”   Jimin’s hands reach up. He tugs down his blindfold. It flutters into his palm.    It’s so easy — he barely had to graze it.   Jimin takes one step towards your bent backside and as he does so, he reaches down, taking the jagged rock on the side of the road. It fits into his hand perfectly.   He takes another stride and holds his breath.   In the heat of the moment, Jimin swings his arm. The rock slams against the side of your head.   You fall to the ground, gripping the wound, the in-between of your fingertips holding blood.   “J-Jimin?” you whimper, eyes enlarged. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”   Jimin never once looks away. He keeps his pupils trained on you, eyes bulged, not wasting a blink. While you’re still down, he gets on top of you, pinning your body to the concrete. He swings back again as you cry his name. “—imin.”   He will never be enough for you. Why? Why?! After all he’s done!   The blood splatters onto his cheek, his expression impassive as you sob. He remembers. The crimson coated floorboards, splattered on the yellow paisley wallpaper, on the popcorn ceiling of the living room.   “Ji—…”   The knocked over chairs, the picture frames thrown, the stench of iron in the two bedroom house heavy, the warmth of the blood. The same warmth he feels now sticking to his skin.   He had no control of himself then. He was so angry. It was the heat of the moment. His mother spat on him for not giving her his money to buy her cigarettes, his father threatened to divorce her again and his younger brother stood by and just cried. They always liked him more than they liked him. Maybe that’s why Jimin dismembered his arms.   Jimin might’ve blacked out then, he might’ve regretted when he came to his senses, but you were right. It wasn’t just an accident. And he most certainly has control of himself now.   “J..i..m..in.” You’ve wrapped your hand around his wrist, but there isn’t any strength left of you.   Jimin’s deranged when he swings. The image of running away with you cracks. He swings again. The vision of the peaceful and quiet life with you he’s yearned for splinters. He swings once more and there are no more calls of his name. The dream he had of you bursts.   He’s maddened. Overwhelmed in the shade of crimson.    You would never fulfill his delusion or even try to. And he would’ve been trapped, stuck by your side or become your enemy, forced to relieve this fearful nightmare over and over again.   Your skull is cracked, eyes rolled to the back of your head, the whites of your eyes red. Streams of tears stain both sides of your cheeks. But Jimin never once looks away. Not until you’ve taken your last breath.   Then, he’s finally free.   Jimin tosses the rock dented by your head aside. He looks off at the distance where your last victim is still alive, slowly crawling away by her fingernails without ever glancing back. She’s still breathing to see the next day.   He turns away from her, stumbling into the head beams of the car. His shadow is casted on the ground until it fades away.    Jimin leaves behind the only person who would ever understand and accept him.    The person he would never be enough for.   …   He knocks twice. The door slot slides open. Beady eyes look through.    Jimin mutters the password and the door opens a moment later. The man standing by doesn’t comment even when he’s dripping in your blood.    It’s a blur, the music playing, the bustle of the after-party, the way the others ironically move out of the way as if they’ve never seen blood before. Jimin’s no longer pushed aside. He wishes he could kill everyone here.   Soon it all stops. The lights dim in favour of a shimmering spotlight on stage. He feels the person’s eyes on him with everyone else's, hears the clearing of a throat, listens to the useless congratulations and acknowledgment of efforts. Then, the announcement is made.   It doesn’t make any sense. Yet, Jimin finds himself climbing the stairs, standing right on stage in the spotlight, being awarded some heavy metal like he just saved someone’s life.   He looks into the eyes of the representative and exhales, “I killed Y/N.”   “Yes, you did.” He says it like it's some kind of honour. “And for that, you took on all her kills.”   “Isn’t it against the rules?” Jimin deadpans. It’s strange — he can’t really feel anything anymore.   “Since when did serial killers follow rules?” the stranger jests. “Plus, isn’t it more interesting this way?”   “Congratulations!” He turns towards the faceless audience a beat later. “The winner of the first annual Weekend Massacre is Park Jimin!”

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon: Weekdays with you

Snippets of life with Kiro, Victor and Gavin

F L U F F

🌻KIRO

[ Morning ]

Waking up is a struggle for your little sunshine

Sets ten alarms on his phone with 1 minute intervals between them

You sympathise with him, knowing that his days are packed with rehearsals, photoshoots, fan-meets, sneaking snacks into his mouth when Savin isn’t looking, running away from Savin when he gets caught, etc.

So you adopt a more encouraging approach:

“You’re going to miss out on breakfast. I made the pancakes extra fluffy today.”

“...”

“If you get up now, I’ll wear your fan t-shirt over the weekend. The yellow one with a hundred Kiro faces printed on it.”

“...”

“Didn’t someone say that it’s been a long time since we last showered together?”

“...!”

When he’s more-or-less conscious, he stares at you with wide puppy eyes and puckers his lips

You give in, responding to his antics with a quick peck on the forehead

“Go brush your teeth. You’ll get your reward later.”

He becomes much chirpier after freshening up and getting his kiss

Beams widely when you set his breakfast plate down in front of him even if it’s just a plain sunny-side up

“Miss Chips, your cooking just keeps getting better! Should we open a restaurant after we retire? You can cook, and I’ll be the mascot.”

Definitely demands for goodbye kisses

[ Afternoon ]

Kiro video calls you during lunchtime because just hearing your voice isn’t enough

He also wants to make sure that you’re actually eating

Cheekily slips in a suggestion for you to include fewer vegetables into his lunchbox next time:

“The vegetables deserve to live.”

On the screen, you see Savin whacking him on the head lightly with some rolled documents on your behalf

Props Apple Box onto his lap to show you its newest outfit

(pretty sure that golden retriever owns more clothes than you do)

The two of you seldom eat out for dinner because of Kiro’s highly-noticeable hair

“And obvious charm,” he adds.

[ Evening ]

Depending on how early you end work, you’d either cook a simple dinner or get takeaway

And also restock the tidbit shrine in the living room

After dinner, you and Kiro play the Wii Fit to aid digestion

But end up with stitches because both of you keep making the other laugh

When you’re unable to sleep, he sings you fractured nursery rhymes while stroking your hair

“Baa baa black sheep have you any chips? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for Kiro and one more for Kiro, and one for the pretty Miss Chips in my arms.”

“Kiro... it doesn’t even rhyme...”

🌹VICTOR

[ Morning ]

Victor’s alarm goes off at 5am

He isn’t worried the sound would wake you up because he shuts it off almost instantly

Knows you wouldn’t stir even if the sky collapses anyway

If the weather is good, he heads out for a morning jog

If it’s raining, he’d grumble resignedly because he knows it’s going to be an even greater challenge than usual to coax you out from under the covers

Since he has a head start to the day, he finds ways to add special touches to breakfast

For example, drawing pictures on the omelette using tomato ketchup, doing latte foam art, etc.

Spends the remnants of his quiet morning reading the business news and answering emails

At around 7.30am, he wakes you up with a string of ‘threats’:

“I’ll cut your company’s funding.”

“Your report is due in 5 minutes.”

“There’s a spider on your arm.”

Would literally carry you out of bed if you refuse to get up

The breakfasts that Victor prepares are divine in both presentation and taste

He tries to vary cuisines every few days so you wouldn’t get bored

He isn’t the type to demand for goodbye kisses

Instead, he sometimes wears his tie slightly slanted so you can fix it for him

He strikes when your guard is down, leaving you a blushing mess

[ Afternoon ]

Most communication is work-related, occurring via email

If you happen to find pictures / videos of cute animals, you’d forward them to him

Victor usually doesn’t reply

But Goldman has witnessed Victor smiling while using his phone on numerous occasions

The sight haunts him.

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and takes you out for a nice dinner

Enjoys a cooling evening stroll in the park after dinner to aid digestion

Towels your hair dry after your shower

Not-so-secretly enjoys your shoulder rubs while he works at his desk

“Oh? Is that a smile I see on Mr Victor’s face?”

“No.”

If you have trouble sleeping, he’d tell you bedtime stories

“Or would you prefer if I read you the very first proposal I received from a certain dummy?”

“No thank you, that would just give me nightmares...”

Gives you a goodnight kiss (or two if you insist

Tucks you in tightly so you don’t kick the blankets (or him) off the bed in your sleep

🎐GAVIN

[ Morning ]

Gavin is an early riser

He spends the first 15 minutes of each new day thinking about how fortunate he is to be waking up next to you...

...and also waiting for the numbness in the arm resting beneath your weight to go away

Thinks your light snoring is the most melodious sound in the world (apart from your laughter and the way you say his name)

Once he finally feels his fingers again, he carefully extricates his arm and heads out for a morning run

While he can prepare simple dishes like eggs and cup noodles, it’s his mission to give you the best possible start to the day

So he usually buys your favourites from a nearby cafe

After he returns home with breakfast, he tries to wake you up by shaking your shoulder gently

When he’s done with his shower, he realises you’re still asleep

Finally wakes you up properly after peppering ticklish kisses on your face

Sets up the table with breakfast and coffee while you freshen up

Sends you to work on Sparky

Gets a little pouty if you forget to give him a goodbye kiss

“Thanks for the ride Gavin.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm? Nope, I’ve got my bag.”

“[coughs lightly] ...Sparky says you forgot to say goodbye to his owner.”

[ Afternoon ]

Gives you a call at noon to remind you to have a proper lunch (while eating cup noodles himself)

Gives you a call an hour later to check if you have had lunch

Gives Minor a call right after to verify

(It’s Minor’s favourite part of the day)

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and brings you anywhere you want to go

“My evening is all yours.”

Winding down for the two of you involves watching television on the couch

He enjoys pressing random kisses on the top of your head while your head leans on his shoulder

“Mm... I haven’t washed my hair yet.”

“Want me to wash it for you?”

“Yes please.”

If you’re unable to sleep, he’ll count sheep, or talk to you about the future

Whenever he returns home past midnight after a long mission, he’d find you asleep, snuggled comfortably with his pillow in your arms

“Thanks for keeping her company, Softie.”

[jenonctcity]

No Nut November - Jeno

Lee Jeno – Smut, Crack, Fluff

Warnings: Explicit content, a lot of mentions of penis’s, dirty talk, unprotected sex (be safe everyone!).

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: 00’s line take part in No Nut November.

The Rules of No Nut November:

You cannot have sex, masturbate, or nut in any way, shape, or form.

Watching pornography and having boners are allowed, but you can’t nut.

You are only allowed one wet dream. If you have more than one, then consider yourself out.

You do not have 3 strikes; you only have one shot at it. If you miss it, you’re out.

 If you have passed the month with a total of 0 nuts, you are a victor and you shall qualify for Destroy Dick December (Not Recommended).

Look man, just don’t nut in 30 days. 

Series

 As you scrolled through twitter, you came across a hashtag that confused you at first. But upon exploring the hashtag, you came to an understanding of what #NoNutNovember was. You also ended up cackling at the memes you’d found. Jeno sat beside you in your apartment and didn’t even bat an eyelid at your laughing, used to you finding random things on the internet that would spur on giggle fits.

“Babe look at this!” You elbowed him to gain his attention, thrusting your phone into his face with a grin still etched on your own.

“No Nut November...?” He raised an eyebrow, taking your phone from you and scrolling down the hashtag’s contents himself. “I could do that.” He shrugged, passing your phone back. You furrowed your eyebrows at him and let out a bark of a laugh.

“No you couldn’t.” You were 99.9% sure that your boyfriend wouldn’t even make it 3 days without trying to stick his penis inside of you.

“I could!” He sounded offended that you didn’t believe in his will power to not orgasm in 30 days. You both stared at each other, waiting to see who was going to cave and speak first. You smirked at him, biting your bottom lip and giggling almost evilly at him.

“Do it then.” You challenged him, raising your eyebrows once at him and continuing to smirk. His face fell momentarily, he didn’t actually think you’d have the balls to challenge him, so he was shocked and also worrying slightly about not having sex for the next month.

“Fine.” He said through clenched teeth, forcing a smile to mirror your own. “Easy.”

“Good luck Mr Lee.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek, letting your lips linger on his soft skin. You thought about not having sex for a month and sighed, realising you stitched yourself up with this because not having Jeno’s dick for a month was a disappointing thought, but the competitiveness you felt spurred on your next words. “I can do it to.” You shrugged like it was nothing, leading him to smirk back at you.

“Whoever lasts longer wins.” He held his hand out to you and you shook it firmly. “Loser has to give the winner oral and do whatever they want in bed.”

“Deal. May the best person win.”

 Day 3:

You and Jeno laid beside each other on the bed, both of you on your backs and staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. You let out a sigh, bored out of your mind as you stared at the same discoloured mark on the ceiling, you furrowed your eyebrows as you thought, how did that get there and what the hell even is it? Jeno sighed beside you, just as equally bored as you.

“Is that a cum stain?” You asked suddenly, no longer being able to stay silent in your curiosity.

“Is what a cum stain?” He glanced at you, following your train of eyesight back to the ceiling, but not noticing the mark.

“That mark.” You pointed up at the ceiling lazily. “There.” He tilted his head, letting out a sound of acknowledgement as he noticed the mark, humming as he thought about it.

“Could be, I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “Most the time I cum on you or in you so I don’t know how it got there if it is cum.”

“Good point…” That marked the end of your conversation, silence ensuing for another 10 minutes before Jeno piped up.

“We could be having sex right now you know…” He followed his words with a bored, fed up sigh.

“We could be yeah…but we aren’t going to…are we?” You both looked at each other, him giving you a smirk and raking his eyes down your body and back up to give you a sultry look. You narrowed your eyes at him, turning to look away before you caved in and mounted him.

“Not unless you give in, because I’m not going be the first to initiate it!” He leaned over, getting closer to you and letting his breath wash over your neck, a shiver shooting down your spine.

“Well neither am I!” You rolled away from him quickly, putting distance between you both and frowning at him. “I guess we could make out though?” You suggested, immediately missing the contact with him. He grinned, nodding fast and you were sure if he had a tail it would be wagging faster than an eager puppy about to go for a walk. You wasted no time in jumping into his arms, connecting your lips to his and moving them in perfect time together. The sweet kissing lasted for about 2 minutes before it turned filthy and desperate, tongues pushing together and his hands wondering down your back to grip at your ass. You purposely moaned into his mouth, knowing it’s something that really gets him going. Without hesitation you trailed your palms up his chest, your fingers tickling him over his t-shirt causing him to feel giddy, his stomach releasing a puff of butterflies through his bloodstream right down to his dick. You drew away from the kiss, letting him messily kiss down to your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at your skin that felt a thousand times more sensitive than usual.

“Jeno we need to stop, remember our commitment to not nutting!” He groaned like he was about to start sobbing, resting his head back on the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I hate life.” He mumbled, rolling over onto his front and burying his head into his pillow in a sulk.

“Me too big boy.” You patted his back and giggled. “Only 27 days to go…”

 Day 8:

“Right I can’t take it anymore (Y/N)!” Jeno burst into your bedroom, tearing his shirt off in haste as he made his way over to you on the bed. You stopped in your tracks, your mouth open and sandwich nearly at your lips. “I need to have an orgasm; I think my balls are about to fall off!” You didn’t know that not orgasming in 8 days would make Jeno as dramatic as what it had, but he looked flustered and desperate.

“Erm…I don’t know if that’s even possible baby.” You shrugged, taking a bite of your sandwich as he plopped himself down on the bed beside you. His lips found their way to your neck, not wasting time in sucking tender bruises to your delicate skin.

“I don’t care.” He mumbled against you, licking a stripe up your neck to your jaw, a hand gripping at your thigh tightly in his desperation. “I need to be inside of you and if I’m not within the next 5 minutes, I might die.” You laughed loudly, shaking your head and batting his face away from you.

“Back off.” He whimpered at your rejection, a pout resting on his face making him resemble a kicked puppy.

“Why? This whole thing is stupid! What do we even gain from it?” He whined, hoping if he pushed you enough, you’d just get fed up of his begging and just spread your legs, giving him full access to your precious goods.

“Firstly, I am committed to this cause, and I’m stubborn, and competitive…and too proud to quit!” He rolled his eyes, tutting and giving you a dirty look. “Secondly, I’m on my period and my sheets are white.” He stayed silent, flopping onto his back on your bed and groaning.

“My poor penis…”

“Jeno Junior will live.” You very gently patted the bulge in his jeans.

“No, he won’t. Him and the twins are lonely.” You nearly spat your sandwich out at his analogy, finding it hilarious that he referred to his dick and balls as people.

“They have each other for company!” You laughed, slapping a hand down onto his naked chest in your amusement, not being able to control your giggles as you tried to swallow the mouthful of sandwich.

 Day 14:

“How are you holding up baby?” You ghosted your fingertip over his bare chest, your fingernail leaving a subtle red trail in its wake. You laid half on his chest; his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you stared at each other. Sometimes you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to be the one in his arms, your mind spinning at how beautiful his smize was, your brain completely in awe at him. He sleepily grinned at you, snuggling into your warmth and finding comfort in the fact you had on Disney pyjamas covering your chest, it being hard for him to get an erection over that.

“I’m okay, you know I actually think that we can last until day 30, I am proud of us.” He stared at your lips through half mooned eyes, wanting nothing more than to have his cock lodged between them. But he quickly steered his thoughts away from that, instead imagining his lips on your own.

“What are you staring at Lee Jeno?” You giggled, completely in love with him. He made your world light up, whenever the looming fear of negative emotions begin to pull you into a depressive mindset, he would be there pulling you out with his unfunny jokes and strong, loving hold. He felt the same way about you, his love for you a stronger feeling than anything he’d ever felt for anyone before.

“Kiss me…” He whispered lowly, his eyes still half open and his lips forming into a soft smirk.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” You giggled, a hand coming up to stroke his cheek, eyes following every pattern on his face, taking in every single detail enough for you to paint the most perfect picture of him.

“No.” With a shake of his head he cupped your hand with his own. “I’m just so in love with you.” You saw his eyes glisten over as the words left his pink lips, a gulp following as he looked up to try and deter the tears from forming in his eyes. You giggled, leaning your forehead to his quickly before pulling away to look at him again.

“It’s a good thing I’m so in love with you too then isn’t it.” At that, he let out a sob, feeling slightly embarrassed at his reaction to you both admitting your love for each other, despite having done it so many times before. “Aww Jeno don’t cry!” His hands came up to cover his eyes, soft sobs falling into the palms of his hands. Tears came to your own eyes as you watched him fall apart in front of you, you didn’t know what to do other than sit up and try to pull at his hands.

“I’m sorry.” With a shaky breath he let you take his hands into your own. A tear trailed down your cheek, his hand coming up and resting on your cheek, his thumb catching the tear and discarding it before it could roll off of your chin. He gulped to clear his throat of his emotions, his bottom lip shaking as he breathed in deeply, trying to recuperate and get a hold of himself. “I don’t know where that came from.” He chuckled bashfully, his cheeks a vibrant red.

“I think I know…” You leaned in slowly, hesitating with your lips a hairs width away from his own. Slowly brushing your lips against his, you smiled, before placing them gently on his own in a closed mouth kiss. His hands came up to rest on your back as you swung your leg over his hips, your hands laying on his chest as you slowly made the kiss more heated. You stayed like this for a while, just kissing and enjoying being in each other’s embrace, until you gently started to rock your hips against his. His hands slowly cascaded down to rest on your ass over your pyjamas, his big palms massaging the soft flesh and forcing your hips to grind into his. His cock started to grow hard, his mind buzzing from the tingling feeling you left behind on his skin with every touch, and his muscles wanting nothing more than to flip you over. You reluctantly sat back, hurrying to pull your pyjama shirt over your head and leaving your half naked. Jeno used this as an opportunity to roll you onto your back, his strong form covering your body and sending prickles of pleasure rippling to your clit when he bumped his hard bulge to your heat.

Jeno attached his lips to one of your nipples, giving it a strong suck before flicking his tongue against it. He stared up at you as he rolled his tongue over the hard nub, your hands lacing through his thick dark hair, tugging it as he caught your nipple between his teeth with a husky growl. He moved up to lick his tongue into your mouth, using one of his hands to hold himself up above you, and the other to push down his boxers. After that, he pushed down your pyjamas pants and hiked your legs up over his waist. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek as gently as a butterfly would dare to touch you.

“Make love to me Jeno…” You gasped in a breathy moan as he very slowly lined his cock up, sliding it inside of your wet hole in a timid manner to avoid hurting you. A very fine spark of pain took your breath away momentarily, the stretch of his cock almost feeling foreign after not having experienced it in over 2 weeks.

“Am I hurting you honey?” He didn’t make a move after he’d filled you to the brim with his cock, your reaction scaring him to be frozen.

“A little, it’s been 2 weeks and nothing of a significant size has been up there.” You giggled nervously, trying to calm him and not wanting him to freak out and refuse to fuck you without taking ages to prep you first. You rubbed your hands over his back, smiling up at him before leaning up and pecking the tip of his nose with your warm lips. “I’m okay now.” You wiggled your hips and relaxed back against the plush pillows. He kissed your lips one more time before wrapped his arms around your body, lifting you from the bed slightly as he started to roll his hips into yours. “Mm just like that.” Soft whimpers left your lips as Jeno slowly started to make love to you. It felt different from all the times you’d both gone feral and fucked until one of you had at least ten bruises and once even mild concussion. The love you both felt for each other circled the air above your heads, almost suffocating you in it in the best way possible. You wanted to stay in his arms forever, being rocked into and feeling the igniting flames of pleasure coursing through your veins to set the fire alight in your stomach. He kept the perfect pace, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and gently biting onto the soft where your neck and shoulder met.  

“You’re so beautiful…I’m the luckiest man on earth.” It was rare that Jeno ever said anything sweet during sex. Usually he would say the filthiest words, knowing how it brought you closer to orgasm and would cause a flush of wetness to gush from you when he’d call you dirty names. But during this tender moment, his sweet words had the same effect on your body, the rush of butterflies you felt got singed in your stomach from the euphoric fire burning within. The sound of his skin slapping against yours got louder as he picked up the pace, keeping his thrusts hard and not letting his chest leave contact your own, the lower half of his body doing all the work.

“Jeno right there!” You gasped, his cock doing wonders inside your tight, soaking heat. You knew it wouldn’t be long before everything came crashing down onto you, all your thoughts being washed away with the fire.

“Wait hold on baby.” He grunted, sweat glistening on his forehead as he moved his arms to frame either side of your head, peeling his chest away from your own. You noticed how quick his chest was rising and falling and the way his abs flexed from working overtime to bring himself to the edge with you. “Cum with me.” He sat back onto his knees, dragging you by the thighs so you were as close to him as he could get, your head being pulled from the pillow onto the mattress. He gave it his all, thrusting his cock into your pussy as quickly as he could, reaching a new angle inside of you. The fire inside of you spark a huge flame throughout your body, your orgasm causing your eyes to close and mouth to hang open.

“Jeno!” You moaned loudly, reaching out for him with your eyes closed and feeling around blindly for him. He came inside of you after his hips became sloppy, stilling completely and screwing his face up with a hiss. His white cum painting your walls, which was something you didn’t let him do often, he always found it to be a treat when you’d let him cum inside you. He panted loudly, laying down over you and cuddling into you as he very slowly rocked his hips into yours a few more times to ride out his orgasm as your walls pulsed around him. You both laid still and in silence, basking in the afterglow even if it was unbearably hot with him on top of you. He chuckled quietly, turning his head to kiss your cheek with his lips lingering on your warm, flushed cheeks.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, smiling against your clammy skin. You could feel his heart beating through his chest, it very gradually slowing down as his breaths shallowed.

“I love you more.” You giggled, bringing your arms around his neck and turning your face to catch his lips with you own. “So…” You pulled away from his lips to smirk at him. “I won.”

“You did not!” You’d never seen him pulled away from your grip as quick as what he did in that moment, using his intimidating stare to look down at you as he sat back on his knees. “You instigated this! You kissed me first.”

“Because you were crying! Maybe you planned this out and used my soft, sensitive, caring nature to make me feel sympathy towards you!!” You sat up and folded your arms over your chest.

“As if I’d plan something as intricate as that out!” He laughed, sitting with his legs crossed on the bed, a shine on his skin from the sweat still lingering behind even after your intimate workout was finished. “Call it a draw? We both lost anyway.” He shrugged, finding your hand and lacing his fingers with yours, playing with your fingers as he waited for you to answer him. You sighed with a roll of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to supress a snigger from escaping.

“Fine!”

 No Nut November: Lee Jeno – Fail.

[assim-eu-sou]

Bia 2:53-54

5:53

- Broken people… broken people…

- Nooooo she’s crying…. I take comfort in knowing that this can only last so long since only 8 episodes remain

- RIP Guillermo

- Luan the Sage

- Celeste always with the relationship advice. Me-Core

- It’s nice that even in his Dark state, Manuel is still trying his hardest to help his friends.

- Noooo Chiara babey….

- Chiara is the number one fan of Binuel I think. As she should.

- Poema de desamor LMAO

- NOT THE TYPEWRITER PLEASEEEE

- Philosophy time in the Residencia Kunst

- Perhaps Pietro Sr has finally changed… go Daisy!

- Victor cannot get Primer Amor out of his head these days

- He needs a different pedal for that guitar…. it would help the tone

- Saved by the Paula

- Zeta is evolving, slowly but surely

- Back to being the Mama’s boy, I hope

- HAHA Paula knows how to catch his interest

- Cringe Moment

- Tsk how anyone would think those tears were real but.

- I wasn’t expecting her to say that Alex was sorry

- OMGEGHIFUEPUODAHIUPPDU ANA SI VUELVO A NACER I’M EMO EMO EMO EMOOOOOOOOOOO

- Me. enamoré. de. una. voz. Y punto.

- Ah….. the classic “Y Victor”.

- Aillén is TIRED of Laix

- Oop. Alex turn on Antonio now? How about it?

- Ok so parents we see in the show: Mother and father of Bia/Helena, Manuel, Alex/Victor, father of Pietro… I think that’s it

- HA go Alex! First time I’ve said that I think.

- Carmín and Chiara both have babey energy but in opposite directions and I enjoy them together

- The tension between Marcos and Guillermo lol

- Thiago is stresssssssed

- She sent it! Soon. The truth will begin to find its way out.

- A silent strike would definitely be impossible for the Fundom

- Dang Manuel looks murderous

- Manuel is mad for Bia. :’(

- Manuel said I WILL be a reckoning for Victor

- Bilena moment :)

- Ana is stronger than any US marine not breaking down and crying whenever Bia talks about her

- Sure would be fin if this was the moment she realized the truth. Too bad it definitely isn’t.

2:54

- What is that was my last straw. WHAT IF THAT WAS MY LAST STRAW. Emo.

- FREAKING PIANIST’S HANDS I’m. It’s all too much TOO MUCH FOR ME.

- WHAT IF THAT WAS MY LAST STRAW FOR REAL THIS TIME

- Es demasiado fuerte díos mio…

- Good on the disillusioned Aillén for being an ally

- Aw her drawing Manuel… and speak of the devil

- Is this… gonna be an apology? Nah probably not.

- Bia is. Super mature about this tbh.

- HA Paula calling him out. Antonio could really make dinner once in a while.

- Zeta makes a point. He is trying tbh

- I see the change in Alex.

- Is this…. a decent brothers moment?

- Aw… it is :’)

- He’s finally singing awwwww

- Paula is so happy to hear it again

- Things get better…

- Awwww Carmín wants what Luxie has I can see it in her eyes…

- I was RIGHT sometimes I feel like I’m terrible at sensing these things

- Dang… Antonio and Mara deserve each other

- Ayyyyy Thiago is NERVOUS

- Lmaoooo Luan is right on time

- BAHAHA Aillén planning her escape

- Harta de ti…

- The Cobra truth makes its way out

- Manuel needs to take that beanie off his fluffy puppy dog hair y ya. basta.

- Awwww Ana bringing her tea with the little sing-song voice

- Omgggg Victor’s performing

- Awwww he’s vaguing Manuel

- Ok not vague anymore

- Awww Bia’s face

- How is Ana not sobbing rn her restraint,,, truly…

- Bia is still perturbed by her face though lol

- Let’s talk about Fer Dente’s range for a second. Like hello? It gets up to the very top of my chest voice range.

- Someone she used to love…. wow…

- Manuel, you’re just gonna tell him? Well, I suppose Pietro can be trusted.

- Carmín probably thought that display of character was attractive lol

- Chiara said Devil’s advocate. But it’s ok in this case.

- Luan Screenwriter?

- Ok but imagine if the show was actually just a story Luan wrote lmaoooo

- I am gonna get out my typewriter tomorrow. I’ve been inspired. Like actually. I have a cool idea to type my poems onto old music manuscripts… i’s gonna be cool.

- Of COURSE Luan is gonna be the one to fix Zeta. I should have seen that coming.

- Kick him out. Kick him out. Kick him out! The new vibe of the Gutiérrez family would benefit from not having Antonio.

- Brothers moment!

- Is this the truth time???? OH WOW

- I do feel sorry for Alex honestly

- Alex coming in with the reality check. I honestly think it’s best that Paula not know. Like it’s bad that she will think badly of Helena but.. idk

- But with Ana coming clean about her identity soon… hm. Whatever.

- Bom dia flor de dia… :’)

- Thiago and Ana are WAYYYY tooo good at coming up with lies on the spot

- I see Manuel’s hair again… slowly healing?

- VOY! Oh women… what can I say.

- Oop. Now Mara knows the secret of the Cobra.

- LEAVE CARMÍN ALONE CHALLENGE

- I believe Alex is a changes man. He switched up on me quick but. I’ll let it happen. There’s no good in holding these grudges.

- I FEEL TERRIBLE ACTUALLY. This montage of all the bad things he did that could have been avoided if only he had known the truth… that feeling is awful.

- Ana always says “No importa” but it always matters

- Thank u Ana… advocating for your little sis

- I LAUGHED sorry Thiago

- Oooooh that recording is really gonna backfire on her LMAO

- Ah well nevermind I suppose she not gonna keep it now HA

- Leave Carmín alone leave Carmín ALONE

- LUAN you didn’t have to SAY it

- Thiago is tired of Luan’s perception

- Poor Thiago eek it’s a sticky situation

- WAIT COBRA>

- FINALLY HE’S TAKING THE POWER AWAY FROM MARCOS

- Pleaseeeeeee Guillermo is so whipped I-

- Awwww Chiara

- NOOOOOOOO THE FUNDOM

- NOT THE BRIDGE

- Bruh I’m nervous omggggg

[ohmrlove]

How They Celebrate Your Birthday!

Because it’s my birthday and I got the cool log in birthday surprise audios, I thought I’d do this post! ｡^‿^｡

🍷 Victor 🍷

If he takes the day off, he’ll let you sleep in. Well, his version of sleep in.

You still get to sleep a bit more than you usually would, but Victor secretly wants to spend as much time as he can with you on your birthday so you’re up decently early

What he does depends on you as a person. It could be as simple, heart-warming, and cozy as Victor making you a personal 5-star meal at home. He’d time it in such a way that you’d have wine (or your drink of choice) as the sunsets in a part of the house he thinks has the prettiest view

If he’s feeling really spontaneous and just wants to spoil you, or thinks you deserve it, boy will flat out spoil you

We’re talking a day trip to an exotic location, sight-seeing, and good food

What’s money if not for showing off? Spending it on you gives him a satisfaction he can’t quite put his finger on

If you and Victor think flying would eat up too much birthday time, he’ll definitely settle for spoiling you locally--this could be anything from shopping to a fancy dinner. He’s definitely down for a couple’s massage

Probably would be the type to get himself a male masseuse and you a female one just so no one gets any funny ideas (he doesn’t like the thought of another guy touching you)

If he’s working or you’re working, expect gifts that will make anyone green with envy absolutely all day long.

We’re talking a personal greeting on the morning news, a little message on the town center ticker tower, roses delivered to the office, and maybe an exquisite catering for your whole office with SPECIFIC instructions that you get the first pick/plate

📢 Gavin 📢

Obviously, he can’t afford everything like Victor can. Gavin’s a semi-private person, anyways. He has a different type of affection

If he’s home, your day is all about you. He’s yours for the whole day--anything you want to do, he’s game!

He basically lets you control the whole day, and he just tags along

Would have saved up some money to go to a quiet/casual restaurant

If you didn’t go on a nighttime picnic under the stars, that is

He’s totally down for an evening motorcycle ride

His Evol may not 100% help with the weather, but he’ll definitely try to keep storm clouds away so you can have a day as beautiful as you!

100% down for just staying home in sweats (or nothing) and cuddling

If you have to work, he definitely delivers a card to your office. He’d probably show up on your lunch break with food for two. Maybe a flower, but he’d feel too embarrassed.

Thinks it’d be nice to float you both high up into the sky so you could pretend you’re touching some of the stars

🔬 Lucien 🔬

He strikes me as the type to mess with you all day; he’d act like he’s super busy or he forgot your birthday but orchestrated something HUGE!

And he’d be so clever/smug about it because he knew it’d make up for everything and more (also that you’d totally love it!)

I’m assuming boy has some money because a research center is named after him and he’s always working on pretty secretive stuff

Lucien matches his partner when it comes to gift-giving and energy. If they’re the type to want to be showered, he’ll shower them with gifts (but sensibly). If you don’t want for much, he’ll help you celebrate in a low-key way

Lucien would rather you tell him what you want. It’s just easier that way

He 100% knows you--loves you, feels like he remembers every little thing about you--but it’s easier on him if you just say what you want to do. Saves a lot of time for someone who tends to overthink.

Also, it’s more efficient. Once you tell him, he’s got the rest of the day with you!

I could see him setting up a little treasure hunt on your birthday--”Go here, talk to X. Then go to the location on the card.”--where you get little cheap things you’ve wanted, something a little more expensive, and finally THE thing you’ve been eyeing

The treasure hunt idea could also be sentimental, like places where you went on dates. By the end of it you’d have a bunch of roses and end up at the theater where he bought up all the tickets so it’s just you two at the showing

Will cuddle you and tease you with pet names. Genuinely happy to be with you and really means what he says, though. Lots of kisses.

🎤 Kiro 🎤

Boy makes your birthday into a freaking holiday, okay?

If your relationship is well-known to the public and you’ve been dating a while, he flat out makes a status telling everyone he’s excited about your birthday and that his fans should tell you happy birthday, too.

If he’s not ‘dating’ dating you yet, the status is more vague (but still about you)

Will post clips of him singing happy birthday that BLOW UP on the internet

Probably does one or two interviews over it--”Didn’t think it’d be so popular. It’s just ‘Happy Birthday’, you know? I just wanted to tell my favorite person happy birthday...and everyone else who shares their birthday!’

Any chance he’s given a mic, he’s mentioning it’s your birthday and how much he loves you. Again, if you’re not ‘dating’ dating, it’s about you. Just vague.

Sends you texts throughout the day. Lots of heart emojis. Lots of cute things--’love of my life’, ‘my most favorite person’, ‘my superhero’!’

Also the type to spoil you rotten.

You want food? He’ll pay to have EVERYTHING you’re craving delivered, no matter if it’s at home or work! May do it himself if he’s got a free schedule and a good disguise!

Kiro’s the type to (nicely) involve others in your birthday. He’s a superstar after all, and he’s got connections. If you really wanted to go shopping, he’d send someone to pick you up and they’d hand you his credit card.

If all you really wanted was to see him, someone would scoop you up and get you to him--doesn’t matter if it’s on a flight or at another studio. You’ll get there!

If Kiro’s off on your birthday, he looks at you like you’re the moon and stars. Boy looks at you with so much love you wonder how he could hold that much! He’s absolutely bursting!

He’s almost like an excited puppy. You want to go to an amusement park? You want to go out of the country?! He’s ready to go on an adventure, anywhere you want to go! (“Your Super Kiro can make it happen!”)

He’s also down for making a day out of restaurant hopping and stuffing yourself silly (and giving you more take-home food than you know what to do with)

As long as he gets to spend the day with you--hold your hand, touch you, cuddle with you--Kiro doesn’t care WHAT you do on your birthday!

[yetanotherauthor]

A gift for @writhingbeneathyou :D

Pairing: HashiramaTobirama Word count: 7628 Rated: E Summary: As an alpha uninterested in finding a mate and even less interested in examining why, Tobirama has long decided he would rather spend a lifetime following his beloved older brother.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Where I’ve Always Belonged

Sometimes Tobirama felt a little silly applying scent before battle. He was already an alpha, no one would ever know the scent was natural rather than applied if he skipped perfuming himself. But a tradition was a tradition and if his father had ever been right about anything it was that a shinobi could never have enough precautions. If all the omega in their clan had to apply scent to hide themselves then the alphas would do it too; no enemy would ever be able to tell the difference between who was actually an alpha and who was merely hiding their true dynamic.

From an early age he had taken his cues from the older brother he idolized, readying himself for war in his own room, a private time that he allowed no one to intrude upon. Some things are learned without questions and from watching Hashirama he learned that battle preparation was a very personal ritual. Today he stared at himself in the mirror and wondered how the world would change now that he only had one other alpha he needed to bow to. Bending his spine for Butsuma had always been a challenge no matter that the man was his own father and deserved a certain amount of respect for being the leader of their clan, if nothing else. With Hashirama it was different. In all his years Tobirama had never once felt threatened by his older sibling and it made coexisting in the same house much easier between them.

Perhaps he should have been more saddened by his father’s death a few weeks before but Tobirama had lost most of his familial affection for Butsuma the day he attempted to strike one of his own children over the freshly dug grave of another. Without the man around Tobirama found himself only glad not to clash so often with another alpha who may have equaled him in strength but surpassed him in authority only by virtue of having taken power before Tobirama was born.

Now he had only Hashirama to follow and Tobirama would follow his beloved Hashirama anywhere. Even in to battle with the Uchiha where he knew his brother would seek out the one he insisted on calling friend so many years after Madara himself had declared their friendship ended. Checking himself over one last time to make sure he had all the weapons and seals he typically carried with him, Tobirama stepped out of his room and moved down the hallway to rap his knuckles against Hashirama's door. The importance of respecting a person’s private space had been beaten in to him at a young enough age that it didn’t matter how long Butsuma lay in the ground, Tobirama would probably never let himself in to another person’s room without knocking for the rest of his life.

“Are you ready, Anija?”

“Just a moment!” The sound of Hashirama's harried cry made him roll his eyes. If ever there was a time to put his best foot forward it would be now while his position as leader of the Senju clan was still a bit rocky. Inheritance was one thing but there were several alphas who saw an opportunity for themselves in a young untested heir.

“You should be ready before anyone else,” Tobirama called through the door with a shadow of disapproval in his voice.

He listened for the huff he knew was coming and then Hashirama was throwing open the door to stick a tongue in his direction. “I just forgot something okay!”

“Sometimes I swear you would forget your own skin if you weren’t wearing it.” Tobirama shook his head and turned to leave, Hashirama scrambling after him and already wearing a pout.

“Would not! I mean, I’d be bleeding all over the place and there would be so many muscles and bones exposed; even I couldn’t miss something like that.” He grinned in triumph as though making the final point in an argument. Tobirama blinked at him slowly and decided he simply looked too happy to fight with.

Hashirama got out of many arguments by looking happy. It was a weakness Tobirama seemed to suffer only for him and it was, in a word, embarrassing. No hardened shinobi should be so weak to a simple smile.

Together they left the house and made their way towards the front gate of the Senju compound where Hashirama took point at the head of their forces and Tobirama stayed where he had always belonged, a single pace behind to watch his back. Where he had chafed at his position of third in command when their father was head of the clan he was perfectly content to remain second in command so long as it was Hashirama in front of him.

Battle that day was much like any other. Lives were lost, blades were crossed, blood was spilled and sworn over. Hashirama made straight for his lifelong rival to hold his might at bay and spout the benefits of making peace between them for the hundredth time. Despite being rebuffed each of those hundred times he persisted with no sign of having his enthusiasm lessened in any way. Of all the annoying things in life that had to be one of the ones Tobirama hated the most, although he’d never been able to pinpoint exactly why it should bother him if Hashirama wanted to waste his breath yet again. It wasn’t like he didn’t spout the same crap to everyone else he met as well.

In the end the battle culminated as it always did, with no clear victor only because Hashirama still refused to bring the full force of his might to bear against the people he believed to be as tired of war as he was and as ready for peace if only the one leading them would finally agree. Madara stood true against his opponent until the last of his people had quit the field. Then he spat at Hashirama's feet with a sneer and told him to stop dreaming of rocks. Those who understood the epithet only sighed.

Tobirama happened to think his brother was foolish to keep chasing such an impossible dream but that didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing the sadness on Hashirama's face as he led their people away from the same scene that had played out so many times. If he could give no other comfort then he could at least give the man a few moments to himself after yet another rejection, leading their people away and heading the march back home. Hashirama caught up to them when they were halfway there, bumping shoulders with his younger brother and offering a smile as a silent thank you. No other words were needed.

“A victory, I would say,” Tobirama noted.

“Can it ever truly be a victory when there have been lives lost?” Hashirama asked.

“We’re shinobi. It comes with the territory.”

“It shouldn’t have to be this way, though.” When he looked over Hashirama had leveled a devastating pair of puppy eyes at him.

Tobirama was having none of that. “Don’t preach at me, Anija. You know very well that while I am more than willing to go along with whatever direction you lead us in I also have less than zero faith in the idea of making peace with the Uchiha. That is your dream, not mine, so don’t come crying to me unless you want me to say I told you so again.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Hashirama pouted.

“And I don’t have to be nice about it either. The benefits of having a forgiving brother.” Lifting both of his eyebrows, Tobirama dared the other to challenge him. He was smugly satisfied to see Hashirama's nose shoot up in to the air. No comeback; not a surprise.

When they returned to the compound it was a relief to let Hashirama deal with the debriefing and reporting to the elders while Tobirama himself was allowed to slip away. Even with only two people left in their now too-big house there was still hot competition for who got to bathe first on any given day. If they were still young boys they might have bathed together and done away with any fights on the matter but Tobirama could vividly remember the exact day when Butsuma decided they were both getting too old for that. Hashirama had been sick through the night and Tobirama wanted only to help soothe the older boy, maybe wash his hair for him since he enjoyed it so much, but he was turned away at the door and cuffed around the ears as he was told that boys their age should respect each other’s privacy in these matters. They had bathed separately ever since.

Slipping in to the hot water was an almost euphoric experience, as it always was for him. Water being his element meant that he was happy to submerge himself in any sizable body of it at a moment’s notice but hot water was always an extra pleasure. As soon as he sat down he could feel the tensions of this never-ending war slipping away to leave him almost entirely free of worries. Today’s clash had left him with no open wounds but several new bruises and relaxing in a bath was just the thing to help loosen his limbs so they wouldn’t cramp when the bruises muscles began to throb.

By the time he emerged from the natural pool their house had been built around he felt ready to face whatever idiocies the rest of the day had to throw at him, cleaning the water as he left after his hour of languishing. If pattern held he would probably make time for another quick soak before bed for no other reason than that he wanted to but for now he decided to have mercy and allow Hashirama a turn to soak away the grime of sweat and blood.

As he suspected, that familiar woody chakra emerged from the room across the hall as soon as he slid his own door shut and headed straight for the bathing pool. Tobirama smiled as he dressed himself in a plain yukata, delving in to the calm of having his precious person close just to keep up his own relaxing good mood. Something must have been bothering Hashirama though because, instead of the usual happy lassitude he always seemed to carry, his chakra was laced with a strange frenetic energy that tasted like worry. That couldn’t mean anything good.

It was just strange enough that Tobirama stayed in his room instead of going out to speak with one of his many cousins about whipping them up a few meat pies for dinner as he had planned to. That could wait until after he’d made sure nothing life-ending had come up during Hashirama's meeting with the elders. Only the gods knew what kind of madness went on in the minds of those old coots.

To allow for some respectful distance in case talking would have to wait awhile, he pulled his senses back in to himself and set about puttering around his room to keep occupied. Mostly he read through some of the correspondence waiting on the desk growing out of his floor, drafted a few replies, poked at a few of the trade requests the Uzumaki had sent them. All things that needed to get done anyway so he could justify waffling around in his room until he was needed. Once or twice he got up to clean some trifling messes that didn’t really need cleaning yet until finally his patience was rewarded by footsteps down the hall and a light rapping at the door. Without getting up he turned in his chair and called for Hashirama to enter but when he did Tobirama frowned.

“Why did you send a clone?”

“I, uh, whatever do you mean?” A beaming smile tried to distract him but he only frowned.

“You’re not the original. I can always tell.”

Hashirama let out a nervous smile and poked the ends of his pointer fingers together. “Ah, haha, how can you tell? I have the same chakra!”

“Because I can’t smell your clones.” Tobirama stood up slowly to approach the clone with a suspicious face. “Which you know already. Are you in your bedroom? I’m coming to see you; you’re being strange and I want to know why.”

“Wait! Hold on! I wanted to talk to you before you go in my room! It’s important!” The clone hurried after him but Tobirama ignored it and continued on his way.

Seeing that it was hopeless trying to stop him the clone puffed out of existence to give his original at least a little warning. A quiet squeak sounded from down the hall only a moment later and Tobirama rolled his eyes. For all the work he had put in to creating a jutsu that would allow him to create his own solid clones he still had no preference for communicating with one. It felt wrong speaking with someone and not being able to smell them, knowing that whatever he was sensing might not be what the person was truly feeling at the moment. It felt duplicitous.

Just before he reached the door he heard a bit of quick scrambling that made him roll his eyes as he knocked, opening it at his brother’s call to find Hashirama standing in the middle of the room with his body language all but dripping with nerves, not something he had seen too many times in his life.

“Anija,” he greeted the man slowly. “Why are you sending clones instead of talking to me yourse-…your…is there someone else in here?” Before he could even get through one sentence Tobirama stopped dead, nearly bowled over with the most incredible scent he’d ever gotten a whiff of in his life. It was undeniably omega and entirely unfamiliar.

“No one is in here but me,” Hashirama said and Tobirama huffed, taking another step in to the room.

“Do you think I can’t smell that? There is definitely an omega in this room. Have you found some kind of seal to conceal them from view or are they under your bed?”

“I promise! There’s really no one here!”

Tobirama took another step forward but the denial that someone must have just left in that case died on his tongue as his attention was redirected. With every step closer to Hashirama the scent grew stronger. Logically that must mean that a strange omega had come in to contact with him. Tobirama was well aware that sniffing another person’s scent off his brother was the absolute height of poor manners but he found he couldn’t quite stop himself, not when the smell was this enticing. Hashirama had never cared about personal space anyway.

Leaning away from him, Hashirama giggled nervously again.

“Um, so, this is what I wanted to talk to you about so before you do anything–”

“It’s you.”

“What?”

“The smell, it’s coming from you. Not like it’s on you but as though it’s coming from your scent glands. Why do you smell like an omega?” Pretending he was only drawn in by the mystery absolved him of a lot of the awkwardness that came from stepping close enough to shove his nose right up against Hashirama's neck, breathing deeply and fluttering his lashes closed.

Something inside of him shifted like an awakening, primal and eager, encouraging him to take another deep inhale and shuffle closer until their bodies were almost pressed flushed against each other. From this close he could hear every shuddering breath rushing passed his ear yet instead of making him leap away with shame as he normally would it only made his blood pound harder. With a light quiver in his voice Hashirama began to babble.

“Please don’t be mad at me! I – I didn’t want to keep it a secret! Father made me keep it a secret from everyone but he’s gone now and…and…Tobi?” Swallowing thickly, unaware of the fact that the motion of it had definitely caught Tobirama’s attention, he went on. “Of course he thought I would present alpha and everyone else did too but when I didn’t he said I would have to pretend to be the son he deserved. He made me wear scent everywhere I went and a different scent for battle to keep up the lie but he said I couldn’t even tell you because the more people who knew the more likely it was for the secret to get out and – Tobi are you listening to me?”

“You smell…so good.”

“Oh. Thank you? I mean it’s – you smell nice too. You always do.”

It was the way his voice came out small and hesitant that cut through the fog in Tobirama’s mind, pulling him back just enough for his hindbrain to recognize that this was his brother before him.

His brother whom he had grown up believing was an alpha and yet never felt threatened by in any way, the brother who now smelled like the most enticing omega he had ever met, the brother who had apparently had the wrong dynamic forced on him since the day puberty hit in what was probably a very confusing and terrifying first heat with no other omega there to help him through it. Their mother, he recalled, had been away on a mission when Hashirama fell sick.

Were he in full control of his faculties this would surely have been a much more overwhelming revelation but at the moment the only thing he could concentrate on was the incredible scent. In all his life he’d never felt more drawn to an omega before. Generally he tended to look upon other alphas with scorn for having so little control over themselves and yet here he was unable to convince himself to step back. The fact that this was his own sibling might have made him jump away if he were a Hyuga or something, one of the clans known for rejecting sibling mate pairs, but the Senju had always believed a true imprinting should be pursued no matter what relation you were to each other.

Of course, if the match were too closely related the omega usually volunteered for sterilization to prevent harm to the next generation but that was a whole other basket of worms. It didn’t happen very often anyway. And that was definitely not what he wanted to be focusing on right now.

“I always smell–?”

“Just because I had to apply scent to cover my own doesn’t mean my nose didn’t work anymore.” Hashirama flushed, obviously trying to say something else with his words.

“Okay.” Tobirama frowned. For once his head was too muddled to read between the lines. All he wanted was to bend his neck and press against the source of that glorious fragrance again. His eyes slid down against his will to linger on the brown expanse of skin before him, so tempting, and now that he was thinking from new angles he noted for the first time that Hashirama's neck had a very pleasing shape.

What the hell that meant he had no idea, only that he suddenly could think of little else but that neck.

“Can I…I promise I’m not trying to be weird or anything but…”

“You can do anything you want to,” Hashirama told him in a breathy voice.

Tobirama took him up on that. In an instant his face was buried in warm skin and his hands had found their way over broad hips before he’d actually given the movement any thought. Surprisingly – or he supposed not too surprisingly considering the pheromones mixing around them – Hashirama moved placidly wherever he was asked to and made no complaints about being held tightly against the alpha so intent on taking in his scent.

“Feel like I should have figured this out on my own at some point,” Tobirama said distantly, mostly thinking about how he could have experienced this euphoria a long time ago if he weren’t so blind.

“Ah. I had to…um…” Hashirama shifted against him and purred a little when the arms around him tightened. “I guess my habit of ignoring social boundaries was kind of helpful. And most people still don’t expect an omega to be stronger than an alpha so…”

“Hiding in plain sight. My clever Anija.”

“Clever. Wow. You don’t usually call me that.”

Tobirama smiled through the fog. “Because usually you’re a dunderhead.”

“Hey!”

“But right now you are a clever little thing and if you don’t push me away I am going to embarrass us both.”

Completely subverting his expectations of a mortified shriek and strong arms pushing him away in panic, expectations that were quite reasonable when one considered who he was standing with, Hashirama fairly melted against him and tilted his head just a bit to one side, exposing a little more of his neck in what was clearly a submissive manner.

“Why should either of us be embarrassed if it’s something we both want?” he questioned.

“That sounds dangerously as though you’re asking for something I truly would not have expected you to be interested in,” Tobirama mused. In retrospect he could guess that the clone had been intended as a way to break the news to him before he had a chance to react in such an animalistic nature, something he’d taken to mean Hashirama didn’t want them to act on these base, instinctual urges.

“Are you interested in…those things?” Hashirama's overly hopeful tone left him with an entirely different impression than sending the clone had.

“I suppose that depends; we should probably make sure we’re on the same page here.” Drawing small circles with his thumbs in an instinctual effort to keep the omega calm, Tobirama bent his head down to slowly draw the tip of his nose up the side of Hashirama's neck. “This is alright?”

He knew his answer by the muted whine that slipped out before his brother could say anything.

“Yes, alpha.”

Tobirama bit his lip to contain the rush that went through his body. He never thought he’d be the type to get turned on by such base and simple words. Apparently he was as much a slave to his own body chemistry as everyone else but it was hard to be upset with himself for such weakness just then. It was much more interesting to graze his lips over the hammering pulse calling out to him like a beacon.

“And this?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. And what about…this?” Tobirama parted his lips and let his tongue dart out for just a little taste, instantly craving more. “Is that alright too?”

Fairly shaking in his arms with the effort to stay still, Hashirama whined again. “Yes, alpha. Yes please.”

“So kind of you to be so polite,” Tobirama purred in approval. Feeling bold with so many positive responses, he scraped his teeth along the jugular vein and down across the man’s shoulder until he heard a desperate mewl and Hashirama clutched at him suddenly.

“Don’t tease, Tobi. Alpha. My alpha? I want – please?”

“Oh, am I teasing?” The lightness of his tone contrasted sharply with how badly he wanted to sink his teeth in and claim the omega before him but he got a laugh when Hashirama let out a small huff of frustration. Knowing how much it usually took for his brother to reach the end of his rope, Tobirama felt a little smug that he could get such a reaction with only a few not-enough touched.

“I am not above begging if that’s what you want,” Hashirama groaned.

Knowing the man was actually serious about that very nearly brought Tobirama to his knees but he stood strong and finally let the restraints fall away to take what he could now say for sure they both wanted. Pheromones flooded his mouth as well as his nose like a mind-bending cocktail the second he dug his teeth in to thick muscles and brown skin. Hashirama arched against him with a shuddering cry and Tobirama had never felt so powerful in all his life.

Not the sort of power one wields on the battlefield or in political circles, something to be brandished as a weapon, no. This was the much more heady power to give pleasure to another and until this moment he had never realized the euphoria therein. Having Hashirama fall to pieces in his arms from a bit of nibbling and a few light draws of his tongue along whatever skin he could reach made him feel as though he could touch the sky and yet it wasn’t long until this wasn’t nearly enough. There was so much more he could do, so many ways he could please the omega in his arms, and he found himself grinning as he tried to imagine what his brother would look like in the throes of ecstasy.

Gorgeous, obviously. How could he have never realized the connection between them?

Slowly leading the both of them step by step over towards to the bed, he thought to himself that it suddenly made a lot of sense why he’d never been all that interested in mating with any of the omegas who presented themselves to him. Even without being able to smell what was hiding underneath the false alpha scent Hashirama had used, it was obvious something inside of him must have recognized the true match that had been right under his nose all this time. With how rare they were many still believed in the misconception that imprinting had no element of choice. Tobirama would be thrilled to tell anyone who asked that both of them still had a choice and Hashirama had obviously chosen him a long time ago; he was only too happy to choose the same in return.

Instead of tumbling them both down on to the mattress when they reached it Tobirama paused and rooted his brother to the floor with one look they both knew from many missions together meant he wanted the man to keep as still as possible. Waiting to make sure Hashirama was going to follow his order, he took a single step back and reached between them to pick at the knots on both of their obis.

After the well-worn cotton of their yukatas slid away to puddle on the floor they were both left bare to each other’s eyes, each man devouring the other with a singular kind of hunger that left Tobirama wondering how he hadn’t figured out his brother’s secret before. Looking was quickly followed by touching of course. Tobirama guided his brother down to the bed and soothed the heat between them with long swipes of his hand over the planes of that glorious chest, tracing every line he could see, then dipped his head to taste them. His omega mewled and arched in to the touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped against warm skin, tongue laving at the ridges of sinful abdominal muscles.

“Anything alpha is okay with,” Hashirama whispered back. His eyes were closed and his face tilted up as if praying to the gods above them but he gasped and looked down when Tobirama nipped at his skin.

“Now is not the time to be coy. I asked you to tell me what you want.”

Layering his voice with the authority of an alpha made his partner quiver with want, writhing under him and whining as he tried to ride out a sudden wave of lust while Tobirama watching without shame for enjoying the sight. And what a glorious sight he made. Hashirama was resplendent as he bucked and squirmed through his mental battle against two decades of habit pushing his own needs down until finally he blurted them out with little grace.

“I want alpha to claim to me! Please, please fuck me Otouto!”

“Fuck. Yes. I can do that.”

Tobirama wasted no more time. Having his own desires practically shouted at him might not have been exactly romantic but romance was quite far from his mind at the moment. All he could think about was the way Hashirama's cloying scent thickened and grew more potent with every touch, more enticing by the second.

As large of a man as his brother was his bed was still fairly small, barely able to fit its single occupant. With two of them on the mattress space was rather crowded but Tobirama found this worked to his advantage as it gave him more excuse to stay close while he skimmed a hand down the outside of Hashirama's left leg to grasp at the ankle. He fitted himself in to space made when he folded the man’s leg up, spreading tanned thighs as easily as he might spread the pages of a well-loved book, and reveled in the sensation of all that skin pressing against his own as he leaned forward to bury his nose in the source of the pheromones that were driving him so wild.

It almost felt as though he were viewing the world through a haze as he licked and tasted all the skin he could reach, drunk on the melody of Hashirama's helpless pleas for more. He had only just realized his own disappointing lack of lube when he found a bottle of it being pressed in to his hands as though he needed more proof that the two of them worked perfectly together. Hashirama swelled with pride when he murmured praise for thinking so far ahead.

Pulled himself back enough to squeeze a bit of lubricant in one palm was almost a physical pain, separation when he wanted nothing more than to burrow himself closer, but he managed because easing the way would stop him from causing any pain and to hurt Hashirama would only hurt himself in return. No omega deserved to experience pain when a joining like this was supposed to bring them only pleasure and safety. And Hashirama more than anyone else deserved pleasure and safety. Forced to conceal his true self since the moment he discovered it, it was nothing short of an honor to be the first one trusted with a glimpse of the person he was always meant to be.

Shifting back up the bed, Tobirama nuzzled at his brother’s jaw before taking his lips in a kiss to distract from the fingers reaching down between them. Hashirama bucked at the first touch against his entrance, a soft keening sound escaping as one finger slipped inside. Almost immediately the older man began to buck his hips as he tried desperately to get just a little more friction but Tobirama held strong, refusing to go any faster than he thought his brother’s body could handle. Clearly if he had been hiding his dynamic for this long he was untouched, his inexperience obvious even in the way he kissed, and rushing in to things would only end with pain.

Which, obviously, was an unacceptable outcome. If Tobirama had his way his omega would never experience pain of any kind ever again for the rest of his life.

Hashirama keened loudly to be finally gifted with a second finger and despite the red painted across his cheeks in embarrassment he made no move to silence his own noises, for which Tobirama was grateful. Keeping his own needs in check was made easier knowing that he was making his partner feel good. In that moment – for the rest of their lives – the most important thing in his world was the need to make sure his partner felt safe and happy.

“More,” Hashirama panted below him. “Want- need more!”

“Patience, Anija. You can be patient for me can’t you?”

“I-! Yes. Yes I can be patient. I can be whatever alpha asks me to be.”

Tobirama hummed and ducked his chin so his brother wouldn’t see the flutter of his eyes and how ridiculously affected he was by those words. He busied himself with the distraction of two pert brown nipples just begging for his tongue and his teeth, riding the wave as Hashirama writhed under the dual stimulation. From the startled cries he gathered that the man had never thought to explore this part of himself before and discovering yet another first he was blessed to give sent a thrill right down to his toes.

Adding a third finger only increased the glorious sounds filling the air around them. Really two fingers was probably more than enough considering Hashirama's body would have instinctively prepared him to accept his new mate but Tobirama was nothing if not cautious and he wanted to do this right.

When finally he slipped his fingers out and reached down to coat his own length with the lubricant Hashirama was keening with almost every breath and begging senselessly as he panted, not even seeming to realize he was doing so. Despite having asked the man to be patient Tobirama allowed himself a moment of pride to have pleased his mate so well before reminding himself not to get distracted. Right now was not about him. He could preen later.

“N-now?” Hashirama gasped and Tobirama couldn’t help but to lean down and kiss him.

“I certainly can’t wait any longer,” he murmured. “Be a good omega and turn over for me, yes?”

Hashirama's answer was to execute a perfect flip in the limited space between mattress and mate without even bothering to ask for a bit of room to do so. When Tobirama did move away a few inches Hashirama immediately pushed his face in to the bedding and lifted his hips high, presenting shamelessly. The sight of him was so arousing that for a few moments all Tobirama could do was stare in wonder.

As soon as he recovered he was crawling forward to drape himself over the other man’s back, curling to press every inch of their bodies together that he could. He rutted in to the cleft between his brother’s cheeks and inhaled deeply of the scent that had first called his attention to the potential hiding right under his nose for so many years.

“Mine now,” he whispered, as mindless as the whimper that slipped from the body under him.

When he lifted himself away Hashirama cried out as though in loss but Tobirama soothed him with a few strokes down the length of his spine and at the same time grasped himself with his other hand, lining up with the entrance waiting so eagerly to be filled.

Pressing inside was the sweetest heaven, an exquisite nirvana unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Unlike what he had expected in the base act of copulation, it was not the pressure around his length that made him stop and take a deep breath to control himself, although he would freely admit that did play a factor. It was instead the sensation of utter completeness and rightness as he made himself one with the mate he was always meant to be with, the one he had imprinted on the moment he finally took in Hashirama's natural scent. With their bodies together he was whole in a way he could not describe but it was an instant addiction.

He was hardly surprised to hear the man underneath him give a weak protest as he shifted his hips to pull out slowly. Nor was he surprised when driving his hips forward again in a steady rocking motion dragged echoing groans from both of them as they were made whole once again. If not for how much he cared for his partner Tobirama knew he would have been completely lost the moment he took up a proper rhythm, such was the pleasure that left him so beyond words.

Rather than losing himself he leaned forward and braced his weight on the bed with one hand, the other reaching forward to weave between Hashirama's fingers where he was gripping a handful of cotton as though his very life depended on it. Then Tobirama bent a little further until he could sink his teeth in to the delicious brown neck peeping out between curtains of silky brown hair.

With a lewd sound the likes of which he wouldn’t have thought the man capable of Hashirama thrashed, instinctively trying to shove himself further back on to the cock filling him. Following his most primal drives Tobirama snapped his hips again and closed his eyes to enjoy the symphony playing just for him. Their rhythm was broken and hurried, nothing like he had ever imagined love-making would be, but it could not have been more perfect. Every shift of weight and twitch of limb was accompanied by new and enticing sounds drawn from Hashirama like he couldn’t help himself, every thrust met with a roll of tanned hips at just the right angle to have Tobirama snapping his own just a little harder, and he would not have changed a thing.

As much as Tobirama wanted to say it felt like forever and not enough at the same time, as much as he wanted to fall victim to the romantic clichés his brother loved so openly, he was at his core a creature of habit and he knew exactly how long had passed by the time he felt his knot beginning to swell. Draping himself a little farther around Hashirama's body was an instinctual response he didn’t bother fighting. He may never have indulged in physical pleasures before but he understood his own body well enough that he knew exactly what to expect when his thrusts grew shallow and his omega began to whine.

“Please,” Hashirama pleaded mindlessly. “I want it!”

“You’re sure? There’s no need to rush, we’ll have plenty of time to-”

“Please, alpha! I want- I need- just please! Don’t make me beg!”

Tobirama pressed his forehead against the nape of his brother’s neck and flashed a grin unseen. “You said you were happy to beg,” he felt compelled to point out. “But how could I say no when you ask so prettily?”

Having grown to adulthood as an alpha he was more than aware what a knot was and what it was for. He’d been given the mating talks when he was younger and he understood what it meant to knot an omega, not to mention now. What he hadn’t been told but really should have expected was the way it felt. Tobirama could feel every last reserve of dignity he had left shattering inside him and bursting out as a sharp cry when he felt his knot pressing inside for Hashirama's body to clamp down around him, both of them immediately giving in to the convulsions of a spectacular orgasm, clinging to each other and rutting mindlessly.

Unsurprisingly, Hashirama was the first to settle in to minute shivers and fall as still as possible while his limbs struggled to hold him up. He whimpered yet again when Tobirama rutted in to him once more.

“We’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t we?” he asked between gasping pants. Eyes still clenched shut as he rode the continuous waves of pleasure that came with being knotted inside an omega, Tobirama grunted and pressed a few kisses to the back of his partner’s neck.

“For a while,” he panted back. “Are you okay? I tried not to hurt you but I – nnnh – I lost control for a bit.”

Hashirama's eyes were dopey and glossed over with exhaustion when he turned to smile happily around one shoulder. Just looking at him made Tobirama’s heart skip several beats, his entire being suffused with the sudden need to protect and pamper this gorgeous, precious creature he was blessed to be mated with.

With that in mind he very gently began maneuvering them both on to their sides as best he could while their bodies were locked together, trying hard not to be too obvious about the aftershocks still running through his system. He’s read in a book once that an alpha could experience several orgasms during the knotting and until now he’d always thought such rumors were utter nonsense. As Hashirama squirmed against him he rethought his stance on what constituted nonsense. Nothing should hace the right to feel that good.

“Otouto…”

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Tobirama asked worriedly.

“Could you hold me a little tighter? Everything is…so much more perfect than I ever imagined.”

“I can do that.” Touched, he did as he was asked and shuffled his arms to hold more of his brother’s massive frame between them.

The two of them curled in to each other as best they could, weaving their hands together and clutching tighter whenever another wave of shivers ran down Tobirama’s spine. It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours before he hadn’t even known his brother was an omega and now they were mated, a bonded pair for the rest of their lives. Not in his wildest dreams could Tobirama have imagined someone more perfect for him than his own older brother.

He had, in point of fact, long contented himself with the idea of following his brother for the rest of his life without actively seeking a mate of his own, entirely devoted to whatever his Anija asked of him. To have happiness handed to him as a reward for his efforts and to know that he would make his brother even happier in return was more than he could have ever asked for.

“I guess we can’t really keep it a secret that I’m not an alpha now since I’ll smell different, being mated and all.” Hashirama made no effort to contain the joy in his voice to say it out loud and it made Tobirama smile a little wider.

“Are you okay with everyone knowing?”

“Even if I wasn’t there’s really no going back now.”

Humming in agreement, Tobirama nudged that back of his partner’s neck. “You knew didn’t you? You imprinted on me a long time ago.”

“Yes. I hope you’re not mad. Not telling you was…it was really hard.” Turning his head, Hashirama looked over one shoulder again with the echoes of a deep yearning in his eyes. “Sometimes I would be sitting right next to you and I would miss you. I don’t know how else to explain it. But it was lonely because I wasn’t allowed to say anything about being an omega so I definitely wasn’t allowed to tell you I had imprinted on you as soon as I went through puberty.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this alone,” Tobirama murmured softly.

They didn’t speak for a short while after that. When they were finally able to separate Tobirama pressed his brother gently down on his back and insisted on fetching some damp cloths to clean them both up himself. He made sure to keep his touches as careful as he could in the hopes of conveying even a fraction of the love and care he felt for the man he was granted the chance to pamper. If he had his way there would be a lot more pampering in the future. Actions had always been easier than words for him. Only when they were both clean and he had fetched a clean blanket from his own room to pull over them did he finally lay back down.

With their arms around each other, face to face on the single pillow they were sharing, the two of them passed a moment simply taking each other in and letting the reality of everything that just happened settle. In different ways this would both change everything between them and yet also change very little. Tobirama lifted one hand to trace his brother’s face, thinking to himself that he couldn’t wait to discover those changes together.

“Mate,” he whispered, rolling the word around on his tongue just to enjoy the sound of it. “I promise that I will try to be everything you need of me.”

“You always have been,” Hashirama told him.

“Mn, even when I angered you? We’re rather infamous for having different viewpoints.”

“You have always been everything I could ever ask for and more, so much more than I deserve. When we see things differently that just means you’re helping me think from a new angle I wouldn’t have considered on my own!”

Tobirama huffed. “I should have expected you to be so kind. Now shush, let me hold you for a while. Sooner or later someone is going to come along and demand your attention for something, they always do, but right now you belong to me and only me. I intend to make the most of the time that I can.”

“Oh my. I…I like that.”

“Like what?”

Hashirama grinned sheepishly. “Hearing you lay claim to me like that. I liked it. It feels very nice to be wanted.”

“You are always wanted,” Tobirama murmured gently and his partner melted against him with a happy purr.

As promised, he tightened his arms to squeeze them together and then loosened his grip to let them both lay comfortably, eyes closed and bodies sprawled in complete relaxation. Never in his life had Tobirama been more grateful for his own sensing capabilities. If he weren’t a sensor he would not have been able to feel Hashirama’s turmoil earlier, he would not have been able to tell he was speaking with a wood clone, and who knew if he would have ever truly discovered the euphoria waiting for him just down the hall. What a mediocre life it would have been to never have Hashirama by his side in the way he was always meant to be.

Forever.

[katzuyas]

I was tagged for a few things still back in 2018, so let’s get these out here to have a clean slate for 2019 and tag some lovely peeps along the way!

tagged by @kazul9

to post the last sentence from a wip, and here it is!

" [...] You're free to get yourself a nice corner of the house and make those love notes come true."

this is from SSS which was supposed to be my christmas smut fic, but I got so busy I never managed to finish it in time for the holidays //sighs regretfully maybe next christmas!

WIP title meme game

tagged by @kanzaki19 and @and-then-yoi-happened

The Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Pick out the title that most intrigues you, or interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

Gardenia's Gathering of Roses

dazzle me with gold

believe in the heart, for tomorrow

samovar

SSS

Apollo (which I will probably never finish rip)

 as for one that intrigues me most... that would be probably dmwg but I won't share that bc it's been too long and I need to get back to writing it soon-ish, so instead have a little bit of Apollo, for the unsung fic that will never find its conclusion:

 Victor felt his mask slip on the sweat caking his face and a single thought had him reach back to untie the strings holding it in place. He was stopped halfway, though.

"Don't," hot mouth whispered into his ear and he'd listened, spellbound.

"You don't want to know who I am?" Victor turned his head to capture that mouth, but he'd missed, nuzzling against the soft velvet of the man's mask instead. "I want to know who you are, too. Will you tell me?"

Clumsy fingers sunk into Victor's hair, brushing through it, while amused dark eyes looked into his as if the man already knew. And he had, which should've spiked caution in Victor, but he was too far gone by that time to care about anything else other than the subtle quirk of the lips that he couldn't forget the taste of.

"Who could ever mistake you for anyone else, Victor?" the man asked, caressing Victor's jaw with his thumb in a way that made Victor lift his chin up like a puppy begging for scratches.

Teeth scraped over the column of his throat like a promise of something Victor desperately wanted with a force that surprised even himself. He swallowed hard, feeling how the man's lips caught on his Adam's apple as it moved, and blessing the second his eyes fell on the guy's ugly tie.

"I'm a little bit at a disadvantage here." Victor smiled, pushing his own hand into the man's hair: clumped with gel, messy, but no less divine. "You seem to know me, but I still don't know anything about you."

"You know I can dance," the man said. He gyrated his hips against Victor's as if to prove his point and Victor greedily pulled him closer. "You know how my body looks like under these clothes," the man was talking while they shifted against each other. "You know how my lips taste like."

Dark eyes looked at Victor, mischievous, and Victor was powerless against the force of his want. He dipped his head down and stole another kiss, a brief, short one, just enough to make him hungry for more.

"Your name," Victor begged, chasing after the man's lips when he swayed away with the music. "Just that. I promise I won't ask anything else."

There were fingers on Victor's tie, undoing the knot, undoing the buttons of his shirt, undoing his self-control. When he opened his mouth to ask once more, the man lifted the expensive fabric of Victor's Armani tie and wrapped it around his head, akin to his own, another crown on another god. Leaning closer, the man smooshed their cheeks together hard enough that their masks shifted. He laughed into Victor's ear, drunk on delight.

"Now we match," he told Victor while he completely ignored his question.

If it was a hint that he would get no answers from the man at all, Victor knew when to take it. He sighed quietly. Rubbing his nose into the side of the guy's head, he got a whiff of the distinct stink of alcohol and sweat, but that gave him absolutely no clues. Victor wrapped his arms around the body pressed so tightly against him that he could feel each breath and thrum of the heart beating to the music, which threatened to have swallowed them both if Victor hadn't allowed the man to steal all of his attention first.

He would've caved and given up on finding who the man was, content enough to have him for this one night of life and love, but the soft, barely audible words spoken into his jaw rejuvenated the hope inside him.

"I've dreamed of you all my life."

A simple sentence like that should've made him uneasy, should've made Victor step back and away, and run for the hills, but it didn't. It made him sway them to the music and say back:

"You've got me now."

And that was his mistake, it seemed.

The man pulled out of his embrace, eyes downcast and mouth a wry smile. Before Victor could take his words back, explain, correct himself, anything, there were lips on his own and then–

–he was gone.

The man disappeared into the mass of bodies around them like a ghost, like smoke into thin air, only leaving the memory of his lips against Victor's and an empty ache inside his heart. Which Victor was not about to take.

He tore through the crowd, only catching the sight of the ugly tie disappear behind another group of people. Victor knew he shouldn't, but something inside him called for the other man, urged him to follow him, and he was powerless to resist it... so he did it anyway. He tore his mask off, dropping it to the floor without a care, and without the obstacle to slow him down he caught him – right when the lighting in the club shifted, the vibrant colours playing off of the fear, regret and beautiful, striking longing in the man's dark eyes.

"Where are you going?" Victor asked, holding the other's wrist lightly enough that he could pull away if he truly wanted.

He didn't.

But he didn't answer either.

Simply turned his head away, the blue of his mask telling Victor how close he was to drowning in the ocean of his own despair.

"How am I supposed to find you again?" Victor asked once more. He wanted. He needed. Pleas–

"The whole point of a masquerade is to stay anonymous, isn't it?" the man said, finally looking at Victor again. He stepped closer, lifting his hand as if to touch Victor's face, but hesitated and let it drop. "You aren't."

Victor felt like his heart was being pierced by a thousand golden spears made up of all the medals he'd won over the years. Was his fame the reason? His media persona? His hand shook where he was still holding onto the man's wrist, but he refused to let go. Not until he tells him to.

"Is there really no chance I could change your mind?"

The man bit his lip, seemingly at a dissonance with himself, and then lurched forward to join their lips together in a kiss that was not only hinted with Victor's desperation, but also the man's own longing. Losing sense faster than he could control, Victor blinked dazedly when the man pulled away too soon. Dark eyes looked into Victor's with something sweet, something fragile, that Victor did not dare call adoration.

"If you can find me, you can try," the man said, his thumb swiping over the plush of Victor's bottom lip.

Swallowing hard, Victor spoke, aware of how his mouth moved around the man's finger. "But how? How do I find you?"

"You're Victor Nikiforov." The man smirked at him, confident, sexy, playful, and with complete faith in what he was saying, added: "If anyone can do it, it's you."

And Victor realized that this was another challenge that he was issued. To keep him on his toes, to make him work for it, to keep his interest going – and going it was. It was only right that to keep a god, he was to go to incredible lengths. Feeling his heart beat so much faster, Victor smiled.

He was ready for this.

First Sentences Game

tagged by @iwritebetterthanispeak

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I'm going to go with ao3 only since those are the fics I actually do any sort of editing and concrete writing for, so let's go!

 A single rose, red like the setting sun that bleeds though the branches of a tree outside a window of a loveless man's house, by all means should look lonely. – from red, for love triumphant

If Yuuri wasn't so used to Phichit's phone going off constantly, he probably would've jumped when the thing came to life in his friends' hands. – from draped in your love, I breathe

"A little shorter in the back maybe," Victor says, looking into the mirror that Lucien is holding behind his head. – from thread your needle through my heart

Everyone knows who Victor Nikiforov is. – from dazzle me with gold

There's an elegant line to Victor's nape when he bows his head over the small piece of paper with jumps and combinations scrawled onto it in a confusing sequence of symbols that no one other than a figure skating junkie could decipher. – from pulchritudinous

"The Garden of Tears, they call it," the old healer says. – from Everlasting

"How about we just take the popular vote and give Yuuri his gold already?" Victor sighs as they all watch Yuuri Katsuki make his way around the ice before the start of his free skate. – from together, we're golden

There is nothing worse, Victor thinks as he shakes the already wheezing bottle of conditioner, than being empty. – from what living feels like

St. Petersburg is... dark. – from lighter, better, fuller

Standing at gunpoint in his own bathroom, of all places, with hands still under the lukewarm stream of tap water, Yuuri imagined there were worse ways to start the day. – from a black heart of gold

 the patterns I see are mostly in titles bc wow all the lowercase really got to me huh? lmao also very dramatic and almost all of them are from some song or another, so I'm very obvious in that department.

as for the actual first lines... I do tend to start my fics either in the middle of some action/scene/conversation or it's a statement of fact, which I then agree or disagree with and try to prove to the readers. the first one, I've found, definitely works better to get people involved faster!

I also tend to put the first names of the characters whose pov I use in the first line, if I can, to help people figure out whose voice to read with

these are all writing tags so I will tag you for all, one, or whichever of these you prefer! @accioharo, @belovedyuuri, @gabzjones, @louciferish, @lilithsins, @joeys-piano, @victuurikatsu, @dreaming-fireflies, @teekettle, and @postingpebbles

have fun, if you wish, and if not then feel free to forget this ever happened 😉 I hope you have an amazing, productive and inspiring new year!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[sneezehq]

Cats and Dogs

@wiseinnerwhispers so this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I think it's close enough that you'll still like it!

no puppies were harmed in the writing of this fic, I promise. enjoy!

Puppies are pretty okay, Yuri has decided. Not nearly as good as cats, of course, obviously. But they're cute and soft, if a little messy. Not bad to have around for an afternoon or two, even if he'd never want to own one himself.

The reason for his musings on puppies, since Yuri doesn't usually sit around and think about dogs in his free time, is the wiggly bundle of fluff sitting in front of him in the living room. Victor and Yuuri had decided that Makkachin could use a young companion in his life, and after almost a year of excited planning (that they'd somehow dragged Yuri into) they'd brought home a young poodle puppy named Anya.

Anya is a cute little dog, Yuri won't deny that. She looks exactly like Makkachin, only much smaller. Her paws are huge compared to the rest of her body, which Victor had said meant that she still has a lot of growing left to do. She'd been introduced to Makkachin, who had instantly adored her, playing gently with her and letting her nap beside her when she'd finally worn herself out. And she seems to really love him in turn, constantly following him around wherever he goes.

Surprisingly—at least to him—she seemed to really like Yuri as well, despite his strong preference for cats over dogs. She keeps trying to climb in his lap and convince him to play with her, dragging over her favorite toy (a giant ice skate that's almost as big as she is) and gently placing it at his feet.

"You already have them wrapped around your little paw, don't you," he says to her as she paws at his leg, her way of begging to be picked up. He scoops her up and holds her close to his chest, still surprised at how tiny and light she is. It's hard to believe that one day she'll be as big as Makkachin, who's easily ten times her size. He's snoozing on the sofa, worn out from playing with the puppy. "You've got a lot of growing to do, little lady."

The front door opens, signaling Victor and Yuuri's return from their grocery shopping trip. Yuri sets Anya down, eager to go and see what's for dinner. He's a growing teenage boy, after all.

And that's when disaster strikes.

You see, Yuri was raised with cats, not dogs. Anya is the first dog he's been around that's small enough to pick up. So, since he's used to cats, when he goes to set her down, he treats her the same way that he treats his cats: he just kind of—lets go, letting her fall to the floor.

But Anya is not a cat. And since she's not a cat, but instead a clumsy little puppy, she doesn't land gracefully on all four feet the way Yuri expects. Instead, she lands in a clumsy sprawl of limbs with a loud yelp.

Yuri is horrified. The sound of the puppy's distress summons Yuuri and Victor, who come sprinting into the living room. "What happened?" Yuuri asks urgently, while Victor scoops up the crying puppy, looking her over as carefully as if she was a newborn baby.

Great. How's he supposed to explain this to Victor and Yuuri? They're going to be so mad at him for breaking their new puppy. "I uh," he begins, unusually hesitant. "I went to set her down, but I kind of, uh, dropped her?" he explains, gaze fixed on Yuuri's shoes. "It works just fine with my cats!"

"I think she's okay!" Victor announces with no small amount of relief, having finished his inspection of Anya. "She just got a bit startled. What happened?"

Yuri isn't looking forwards to having to explain again, but Yuuri beats him to it. "Yuri here forget that Anya isn't a cat," he says with a straight face, before starting to chuckle.

Victor seems confused but willing to roll with it. "I see," he says slowly, before setting the puppy down on the couch next to Makkachin. She promptly curls up on top of the larger dog and goes to sleep.

"I'll be more careful next time," Yuri promises sheepishly, overwhelmed with relief that no one is mad at him. He's learned his lesson: as cute as Anya is, she isn't a cat. She's a dog.

And dogs, unlike cats, don't always land on their feet.