#and imagine the level of frustration journalists feel when facing this and they have to write up an article for an episode

[911bts]

Hi! Random question and you might not know but, do you know when new Bio photos for the cast members might be going up on the abc site? It seems like 911 and only one other shows cast don’t have any up yet for their actors.

They have released the photos but haven't updated the bios page to include them. I've posted them but they're admittedly buried in the last few days chaos.

One thing to know is while ABC isn't Fox level bad, they're not great about keeping up on their press sites either 😂

[my-mt-heart]

Season 11 Emotional Arc Breakdown: Carol Peletier

From fixing everything to realizing it’s not enough

We all know Carol’s story so far this season leaves much to be desired, and it isn’t just a matter of screen time. What’s frustrating is the lack of POV. We don’t get to follow her as often as we should, instead having to rely on other characters’ stories to clue us into what she’s doing and feeling. She’s essentially in our blind spot, relegated to a supporting role, but like I said, I’m not here to talk about what’s missing. I want to focus on what we have and what we have for Carol is…also heartbreaking. Ironically enough, I think the character’s emotional experience falls in line with the viewers’ in the sense that she feels trapped in the dark, trying to find light in what she can accomplish for others. 

11A: Condensed again because I still can’t find the energy to do a play by play. Fresh off the rude awakening from Daryl, Carol persistently tries to “fix what she broke,” including a devastated Alexandria in the aftermath of the whisperer war she believes she started. It also means finding Connie, whose fate she takes responsibility for. Not to say these issues aren’t worth fixing in their own right – we can plainly see the relief in Carol’s eyes when Connie shows no sign of resentment toward her – but in Carol’s mind, this is her best shot of fixing things with Daryl. Or rather, for him. 

11x09: It’s that sense of fixing things, not an absence of deeper feelings for Daryl, prompting the smile on Carol’s face when she observes Daryl’s and Connie’s reunion. She’s at peace knowing he gets to reconnect with someone who can make him happy in a way she assumes she can’t. Because while it may be in her power to fix everything around her, there’s nothing she can do to fix herself. She’s still broken inside and someone as broken as her can’t expect to obtain happiness. She can only watch it play out from the sidelines, and in theory that should be enough to fill the void. 

11x10: Perhaps tired of playing pretend, Carol’s not going all in at the Commonwealth the way she did when she first arrived at Alexandria. She’ll bake the cookies, she’ll put on the apron, but she isn’t changing out of the plaid shirt she wore while trying to survive. It’s possible Carol didn’t want to relocate in the first place, but at least it allows her to remain close to Daryl and the people she cares about without getting too close.

She’s living on her own because after Henry, she can’t trust herself to be a maternal figure to Judith and RJ and she most certainly can’t form a nuclear family with Daryl. She isn’t wearing his bracelet anymore, a visual sign that she doesn’t want him to be tied down to her. From their friendly, but tense exchange, it’s apparent they still haven’t talked through any of the issues raised at the cabin and maybe on some level, Carol doesn’t think they need to anymore. As far as she’s concerned, Daryl is set up to have a good life and she needs to give him space to live it. If she inserts herself too much, her biggest fear of losing Daryl might come to fruition considering her long history of spreading pain and death like a damn virus. But unbeknown to her, inserting herself is exactly what she’s doing. 

Carol mentioning to Daryl that she used to read a lot of tabloids, going as far as to call Pamela Milton classy, reveals a toxic understanding of what’s “better.” Hence why Carol also gives Daryl an impressed look when they learn about Connie’s successful career as a journalist. She’s putting her on a pedestal, using Connie’s “higher status” to convince Daryl that she is a good match for him. Carol succeeds as far as getting Daryl to stare after Connie as she walks off. 

But much like the glamor she attributes to celebrity life, the romance she sees between Daryl and Connie is a construct of her imagination stemming from negative feelings toward herself. At one point, she even jokes to Ezekiel that she is “a lady of high caliber” to which he replies “the highest.” The look on her face afterward is one of dejection. She doesn’t really believe it, so why would a good judge of character like Daryl ever believe it? As long as she thinks Daryl is better off, she’ll keep using Connie as a buffer, containing her own longing that’s communicated in the lingering shot of Carol watching Daryl head off to work. 

Convinced Daryl doesn’t need her, Carol turns her attention to helping Ezekiel because despite their failed marriage, she ultimately still cares about him and wants to support him. For her, that support translates to striking a deal with Lance Hornsby to get him bumped up on the surgery list. It just goes to show that while she may not be a journalist or a politician, Carol is more than capable of doing important things if only in her own way… 

11x11: …not unlike Lance. He essentially acts as her mirror, telling her that he does better “on the outside,” working behind the scenes and using back channels in order to provide for his people. Though Carol always has her guard up and is basically just using Lance to get something she needs, it’s understandable that she wants to believe his intentions are good. Why? Because that validates her own actions, especially the ones that have been ill-received in the past. When Lance arrests the poppy farmer for abuse, something Carol herself is no stranger to, it gives her a reason to trust him. For the time being. 

11x12: Unlike Lance though, Carol doesn’t seek recognition for the tough decisions she makes. She can take backlash in stride, which we see when Ezekiel accuses her of cheating the system in order to get him the surgery he needs. She’s able to keep her emotions in check because the way she sees it, she’s doing the right thing again, adamant that Ezekiel’s life will make a difference in so many others’ in the future. She’s well aware it goes against Ezekiel’s moral code, but whereas her argument with Daryl compelled her to make amends, she’s not interested in reconciling that difference with Ezekiel. It isn’t his judgment that Carol can’t live with. It’s Daryl’s. 

11x14: Evidently giving Daryl space is no match for her desire to be close to him. She greets him outside the station with that high-pitched “funny running into you here” tone despite knowing he works there, also rocking a bold new color and a new hairdo. In the same way the aesthetical changes capture our attention, they’re also meant to capture Daryl’s. She misses him. She wants him to notice her and perhaps putting the responsibility on him helps her maintain the illusion that she isn’t smothering him. What she doesn’t expect however, as per her inquisitive “yeah?” is that she was already on his mind as much as he was on hers. 

When he doesn’t show up for their lunch date, Carol doesn’t waste time entertaining simple explanations. She knows Daryl is a man of his word and if he doesn’t stick to it, then something must be wrong. As always, she is the one who has to bring him back to where he belongs. 

Having to rescue Daryl from a pointless heist and then watch Mercer execute two of his own men sets off alarm bells in Carol’s head. She trusts that Lance can help put a stop to the clear corruption plaguing the Commonwealth, only to realize that he’s part of the problem too. He shatters the hope she had for his leadership and especially for the chance her people had at a fresh start. Feeling that urgency to protect them, she easily slips into a disguise she’s worn countless times, telling Lance what he wants to hear in order to keep him in her pocket. But as soon as she turns her back to him, she takes it off again, clearly calculating her next move. 

11x15: While her wheels are surely turning, Carol temporarily steps in as Judith’s and RJ’s guardian. She’s a little closed-off around them, still attempting to maintain boundaries while also wanting to be there for them and for Daryl when they need her. Curiously, she’s wearing a ring on her left ring finger, the placement of it very reminiscent of the dream Carol had in 10x03 wherein she expressed a yearning for normalcy. It could be that Carol is trying to recreate that normalcy with Daryl and the kids, but only in Daryl’s absence so as not to disrupt his own sense of normalcy. It could also be a visual representation of Carol's headspace as she's faced with the choice of rekindling her relationship with Ezekiel. The stone is blue, a stark contrast to Ezekiel's ring which had a red stone. Thus, she's emotionally committed to somebody else, somebody who's a stark contrast to Ezekiel himself. 

She dismisses all of Ezekiel’s efforts to reconnect, vaguely stating how busy she is with her “new job” with Lance and how she needs to “fix things.” She’s not looking to make Ezekiel complicit in whatever she may be planning, nor is she looking to join Ezekiel on his personal quest to rebuild his future. She does get pulled into the underground clinic eventually, proud that Ezekiel has found his light, but it is ultimately *his* light. It’s not the key to her own happiness despite what he may hope. No matter how many times Ezekiel finally shows Carol the gratitude she deserves for saving his life or how much he admires her strength for carrying so much darkness, it doesn’t make her feel better. She doesn’t want to exist in the darkness, but she doesn’t know where her light is if it even exists (Of course we know where it is: “Follow my light.”)

By telling Carol she makes the light, Zeke is basically encouraging her to go after what she wants. She has the power to bring others happiness, which means she has the power to make herself happy too. The question remains though, will she actively try now or does she need a hard nudge from the right person? I state that as a question because it seems like Carol is still behind Daryl on her emotional journey. She may be more conscious of what she wants than she was at the end of season 10, but we have yet to see a significant evolution. She’s been stuck in one headspace pretty much all season, believing her desires are unattainable, believing she hasn’t earned the right to choose. It’ll be a huge relief to see her finally get out of that in the final block. 

To be continued (again). 

[littlemixnet]

To me, a good ally is someone who is consistent in their efforts – there’s a difference between popping on a pride playlist or sprinkling yourself in rainbow glitter once a year and actually defending LGBT+ people against discrimination. It means showing my LGBT+ fans that I support them wholeheartedly and am making a conscious effort to educate myself, raise awareness and show up whenever they need me to. It would be wrong of me to benefit from the community as a musician without actually standing up and doing what I can to support. As someone in the public eye, it’s important to make sure your efforts are not performative or opportunistic. I’m always working on my allyship and am very much aware that I’ve still got a lot of unlearning and learning to do. There are too many what I call ‘dormant allies’, believing in equality but not really doing more than liking or reposting your LGBT+ mate’s content now and again. Imagine if that friend then saw you at the next march, or signing your name on the next petition fighting for their rights? Being an ally is also about making a conscious effort to use the right language and pronouns, and I recently read a book by Glennon Doyle who spoke of her annoyance and disappointment of those who come out and are met with ‘We love you…no matter what’. I’d never thought of that expression like that before and it really struck a chord with me. ‘No matter what’ suggests you are flawed. Being LGBT+ is not a flaw. Altering your language and being conscious of creating a more comfortable environment for your LGBT+ family and friends is a good start. Nobody is expecting you to suddenly know it all, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect ally. I’m still very much learning. Even recently, after our Confetti music video I was confronted with the fact that although we made sure our video was incredibly inclusive, we hadn’t brought in any actual drag kings. Some were frustrated, and they had every right to be. You can have the right intentions and still fall short. As an open ally I should have thought about that, and I hadn’t, and for that I apologise. Since then I’ve been doing more research on drag king culture, because it’s definitely something I didn’t know enough about, whether that was because it isn’t as mainstream yet mixed with my own ignorance. But the point is we mess up, we apologise, we learn from it and we move forward with that knowledge. Don’t let the fear of f**king up scare you off. And make sure you are speaking alongside the community, not for the community. Growing up in a small Northern working-class town, some views were, and probably still are, quite ‘old fashioned’ and small-minded. I witnessed homophobia at an early age. It was a common thought particularly among men that it was wrong to be anything but heterosexual. I knew very early on I didn’t agree with this, but wasn’t educated or aware enough on how to combat it. I did a lot of performing arts growing up and within that space I had many LGBT+ (mainly gay) friends. I’ve been a beard many a time let me tell you! But it was infuriating to see friends not feel like they could truly be themselves. When I moved to London I felt incredibly lonely and like I didn’t fit in. It was my gay friends (mainly my friend and hairstylist, Aaron Carlo) who took me under their wing and into their world. Walking into those gay bars or events like Sink The Pink, it was probably the first time I felt like I was in a space where everyone in that room was celebrated exactly as they are. It was like walking into a magical wonderland. I got it. I clicked with everyone. My whole life I struggled with identity – being mixed race for me meant not feeling white enough, or black enough, or Arab enough. I was a ‘tomboy’ and very nerdy. I suppose on a personal level that maybe played a part in why I felt such a connection or understanding of why those spaces for the LGBT+ community are so important. One of the most obvious examples of first realising Little Mix was having an effect in the community was that I couldn’t enter a gay bar without hearing a Little Mix song and watching numerous people break out into full choreo from our videos! I spent the first few years of our career seeing this unfold and knowing the LGBT+ fan base were there, but it wasn’t until I got my own Instagram or started properly going through Twitter DMs that I realised a lot of our LGBT+ fans were reaching out to us on a daily basis saying how much our music meant to them. I received a message from a boy in the Middle East who hadn’t come out because in his country homosexuality is illegal. His partner tragically took their own life and he said our music not only helped him get through it, but gave him the courage to start a new life somewhere else where he could be out and proud. There are countless other stories like theirs, which kind of kickstarted me into being a better ally. Another standout moment would be when we performed in Dubai in 2019. We were told numerous times to ‘abide by the rules’, which meant not promoting anything LGBT+ or too female-empowering (cut to us serving a four-part harmony to Salute). In my mind, we either didn’t go or we’d go and make a point. When Secret Love Song came on, we performed it with the LGBT+ flag taking up the whole screen behind us. The crowd went wild, I could see fans crying and singing along in the audience and when we returned it was everywhere in the press. I saw so many positive tweets and messages from the community. It made laying in our hotel rooms s**tting ourselves that we’d get arrested that night more than worth it. It was through our fans and through my friends I realised I need to be doing more in my allyship. One of the first steps in this was meeting with the team at Stonewall to help with my ally education and discussing how I could be using my platform to help them and in turn the community. Right now, and during lockdown, I’d say my ally journey has been a lot of reading on LGBT+ history, donating to the right charities and raising awareness on current issues such as the conversion therapy ban and the fight for equality of trans lives. Stonewall is facing media attacks for its trans-inclusive strategies and there is an alarming amount of seemingly increasing transphobia in the UK today and we need to be doing more to stand with the trans community. Still, there is definitely a pressure I feel as someone in the public eye to constantly be saying and doing the right things, especially with cancel culture becoming more popular. I s**t myself before most interviews now, on edge that the interviewer might be waiting for me to ‘slip up’ or I might say something that can be misconstrued. Sometimes what can be well understood talking to a journalist or a friend doesn’t always translate as well written down, which has definitely happened to me before. There’ve been moments where I’ve (though well intentioned) said the wrong thing and had an army of Twitter warriors come at me. Don’t get me wrong, there are obviously more serious levels of f**king up that are worthy of a cancelling. But it was quite daunting to me to think that all of my previous allyship could be forgotten for not getting something right once. When that’s happened to me before I’ve scared myself into thinking I should STFU and not say anything, but I have to remember that I am human, I’m going to f**k up now and again and as long as I’m continuing to educate myself to do better next time then that’s OK. I’m never going to stop being an ally so I need to accept that there’ll be trickier moments along the way. I think that might be how some people may feel, like they’re scared to speak up as an ally in case they say the wrong thing and face backlash. Just apologise to the people who need to be apologised to, and show that you’re doing what you can to do better and continue the good fight. Don’t burden the community with your guilt. When it comes to the music industry, I’m definitely seeing a lot more LGBT+ artists come through and thrive, which is amazing. Labels, managements, distributors and so forth need to make sure they’re not just benefiting from LGBT+ artists but show they’re doing more to actually stand with them and create environments where those artists and their fans feel safe. A lot of feedback I see from the community when coming to our shows is that they’re in a space where they feel completely free and accepted, which I love. I get offered so many opportunities to do with LGBT+ based shows or deals and while it’s obviously flattering, I turn most of them down and suggest they give the gig to someone more worthy of that role. But really, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place. The fee for any job I do take that feels right for me but has come in as part of the community goes to LGBT+ charities. That’s not me blowing smoke up my own arse, I just think the more of us and big companies that do that, the better. We need more artists, more visibility, more LGBT+ mainstream shows, more shows on LGBT+ history and more artists standing up as allies. We have huge platforms and such an influence on our fans – show them you’re standing by them. I’ve seen insanely talented LGBT+ artist friends in the industry who are only recently getting the credit they deserve. It’s amazing but it’s telling that it takes so long. It’s almost expected that it will be a tougher ride. We also need more understanding and action on the intersectionality between being LGBT+ and BAME. Racism exists in and out of the community and it would be great to see more and more companies in the industry doing more to combat that. The more we see these shows like Drag Race on our screens, the more we can celebrate difference. Ever since I was a little girl, my family would go to Benidorm and we’d watch these glamorous, hilarious Queens onstage; I was hooked. I grew up listening to and loving the big divas – Diana Ross (my fave), Cher, Shirley Bassey, and all the queens would emulate them. I was amazed at their big wigs, glittery overdrawn make-up and fabulous outfits. They were like big dolls. Most importantly, they were unapologetically whoever the f**k they wanted to be. As a shy girl who didn’t really understand why the world was telling me all the things I should be, I almost envied the queens but more than anything I adored them. Drag truly is an art form, and how incredible that every queen is different; there are so many different styles of drag and to me they symbolise courage and freedom of expression. Everything you envisioned your imaginary best friend to be, but it’s always been you. There’s a reason why the younger generation are loving shows like Drag Race. These kids can watch this show and not only be thoroughly entertained, but be inspired by these incredible people who are unapologetically themselves, sharing their touching stories and who create their own support systems and drag families around them. Now and again I think of when I’d see those Queens in Benidorm, and at the end they’d always sing I Am What I Am as they removed their wigs and smudged their make up off, and all the dads would be up on their feet cheering for them, some emotional, like they were proud. But that love would stop when they’d go back home, back to their conditioned life where toxic heteronormative behaviour is the status quo. Maybe if those same men saw drag culture on their screens they’d be more open to it becoming a part of their everyday life. I’ll never forget marching with Stonewall at Manchester Pride. I joined them as part of their young campaigners programme, and beforehand we sat and talked about allyship and all the young people there asked me questions while sharing some of their stories. We then began the march and I can’t explain the feeling and emotion watching these young people with so much passion, chanting and being cheered by the people they passed. All of these kids had their own personal struggles and stories but in this environment, they felt safe and completely proud to just be them. I knew the history of Pride and why we were marching, but it was something else seeing what Pride really means first hand. My advice for those who want to use their voice but aren’t sure how is, just do it hun. It’s really not a difficult task to stand up for communities that need you. Change can happen quicker with allyship.

Jade Thirlwall on the power, and pressures, of being an LGBT ally: ‘I’m gonna f**k up now and again’

[dreams4kahaani]

In Tennis, though I'm not an expert and only a fan and an admirer, it gets disheartening that when I surf the internet about the players, the first (and sometimes only) link options are about male players. It might be because of the instituionalized preference and prejudice leaching into internet system, but I didn't write 'best male/female player', I wrote 'the best player' for a reason (the gendered tabular representation wasn't a project variable) and I expect a comprehensive list and an immediate answer! If I wanted to keep cross comparing and looking through multiple records without any regard of a tight time schedule I would've looked up in official records.

I had to look through too many links and the wiki lists (when most academic institutions look down at it! *idiots*) to get down to relevant information and websites which actually provide full info (without unnecessary gendered and binary accomplishment lists) but I can't even begin to imagine the frustration the fans must feel when they had to check unnecessarily complicated info just so any dude bro out there doesn't have to go into a misguided rage at their fav actually having less grand slam titles than a female player. Margaret Court is the most accomplished tennis player of all time and she is ignored for Djokovic and Nadal, and doesn't even get the glow of her accomplishments which international tennis hall of fame clearly states as being 'best in history, regardless of gender'

Serena Williams faces sexism and racism at such disruptive level that ignorant people still label her perseverance as arrogance (she's a badass!) And don't get me started on Martina Navratilova. I could only find one website which was inclusive and didn't actively try to assert the gender binary division of accomplishments, it was @sportshow.net

When Roger Federor himself praised and asserted that Serena Williams is THE Best, it was slept upon! Let him fanboy over her!!! (even though she was like 'no you be the best! bestest boy!)

And @Sir Andy Murray shutting down ignorant journalists about the Williams' olympic achievements and Virginia Wade's achievements and being a great addition to men I respect extremely.

All of these new efforts do give hope even in the face of backlash 'everything needs to be overloaded with feminist agenda' even though women and non binary people have always existed and existed valiantly and gloriously talented. The long rant does help with catharsis :/

[creambunnie]

Once Again📖

ONEWE - Kanghyun x Y/N (angst)

enjoy!

From : Kang Pingu 🐧

- if you are done taking pictures with your family and friends, meet me in the classroom for a bit♡ -

you grinned when you received his message and excused yourself from your parents and friends before heading towards the classroom of the last year of your highschool life.

it was finally your graduation day and Hyungu planned to celebrate together after celebrating with your families respectively.

you arrived at the classroom but no one was there. you pouted and decided to wait by sitting on one of the desks. you scanned the classroom for the last time, absorbing every single detail of the place where you created bittersweet memories with your classmates. it was also the place where Hyungu confessed about his feelings to you.

you smiled widely as you recalled his bold yet funny confession. he put up a brave front but was actually so nervous that when you responded back to his feelings, he fell down because his knees got weak. your friends were quite worried when they heard you started dating Hyungu. well, Hyungu did not really have a good reputation, among the students and the teachers.

but you ensured your friends that you would be careful and that you were sure Hyungu was serious about your relationship.

you snapped out of your thoughts and decided to wait for Hyungu at the door. you peeked out to see if your boyfriend was already on his way to the classroom, but instead, a couple caught your eyes.

they were at the staircase, the girl was backfacing you so you did not see her face. the boy's head was also tilted to the side so his face was blocked too.

"oooh, a new couple? but really? at the stairs? i wonder who that guy is, he looks super familiar." you thought and was about to give the 'couple' their private space when the boy straightened up, revealing none other than Kang Hyungu. he smiled at the girl and stayed for a while as the girl patted his head before walking down the stairs towards your classroom.

you blinked a few times as you tried to process what you just witnessed. you felt your heart squeezed in pain as tears started flowing down your cheeks.

"did... did i just jinxed myself?". you mumbled to yourself. you quickly took your bag and wanted to leave quickly but Hyungu was faster.

he opened the door with a big smile but it quickly turned into worry when he saw you crying. "babe? what happened?". he asked softly as he approached you.

you avoided him and was about to exit the classroom when Hyungu grabbed your wrist as he balanced the box he was carrying with his other hand and his body.

"babe, what happened??". he asked again.

you sniffed and pulled your hand away. "you, all these while i thought you changed. but i was wrong. you are still the same playboy Kang Hyungu. old habits die hard, huh? you came here late because you were having a fun time with another girl? i should have listened to my friends. dating you was a mistake,".

Hyungu frowned, confused about what you were talking about.

"huh? what do you mean? i was late because i was preparing my presents for you,". Hyungu explained.

you frowned deeper at his words. "i saw everything, Hyungu. you don't have to lie! if i am not a good partner, then just tell me that, no need to cheat behind me, just break up with me!".

Hyungu was confused at your sudden burst of anger. "but you're the only one that i like! have you seen me flirting with others when i started dating you?".

you rolled your eyes and glared at him. "i wouldn't know, you might have done it when i'm not around!".

Hyungu sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. "do you not trust me?". he asked.

"no, i don't.". you replied without hesitation. you gulped your pain when you see the hurt in his eyes.

"look into my eyes and tell me that you didn't feel any sincerity from me in these 5 months that we've been together." Hyungu asked with teary eyes.

your heart felt so painful. but you had to do what was best for you. you promised your friends to be careful so you were going to keep that promise.

"it must have been fun playing with me, right? just like how you played with other girls. i really thought i was the special person who could change you. but i was being pathetic. i'm just an idiot who fell for the school's infamous playboy.".

a tear finally fell on Hyungu's cheek. he was hurt. extremely hurt. he then stretched his arm to give you the box that he had been carrying since just now.

"i want to give some presents to congratulate you for graduation. please accept them." he managed to whisper.

you frowned at his sudden change of topic and slapped his hands away together with the box.

you heard something broke when the box made contact with the hard ground. if you didn't know any better, you would have thought that you just heard your heart shattered.

Hyungu froze on his spot as he stared at the box. you quickly ran out of the classroom before you softened back up for your ex.

and that was the last time you met Hyungu before the both of you moved on with your lives. you remembered to quickly block Hyungu's number and blocked him on every social medias that you had. you didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

you were embarrassed of yourself. you were so proud when you started dating Hyungu, you were so confident that he was serious about you. but at the end, it was just your imagination. he didn't change at all.

~4 years later~

after graduating from high school, you got accepted into your dream university and studied in Japan for 4 years majoring in journalism. writing has been your hobby since you were little and aiming to be a well-known journalist was your ambition.

it was not easy to leave things back at your home country behind you especially after getting your heart broken so harshly on your graduation day. but you believed working hard towards your dream was a good way to distract yourself from all the unnecessary drama.

you focused on school and excelled all your semesters. you became the best student and was given the honour of being the valedictorian of your cohort.

it was finally time for you to come home to your family. they did visit you a few times when you were in Japan, but the feeling of coming back home was different.

From : Yubi❤

-you're back in South Korea?! great timing, our class reunion is next Saturday. you better come after skipping 4 years of our reunion dinner !!! we all miss you🥺-

you sighed as you read the message from your close friend. you were not really someone who likes to socialise with others, it's true they were your highschool classmates, but it had been years since you've met them. you might be awkward.

From : Yubi❤

-if you even think of skipping, i'm gonna drag you out of your house😠-

you chuckled and rolled your eyes.

To : Yubi❤

-okay okay, i will come, just text me the venue when it's confirmed.-

you scanned the huge hotel and took a deep breath before walking through the grand entrance. "wow they must be rich to book such a fancy place." you mumbled as you went to the customer service counter to ask for the room number that was booked for your class dinner.

as the staff was looking through the lists, you couldn't help but check out the beautiful architecture. your gaze fell to the floor as you realised that each tile had a different design. "wow, this hotel is totally on another level.". you whispered as you analysed them one by one.

a pair of pink shoes stopped walking and caught your eyes. you raised an eyebrow and looked up slowly to see the owner of the pink shoes.

your breath hitched. you made eye contact with the person. the person's eyes widened as he saw you. just as he was about to walk towards you, a lady grabbed him by his arm and dragged him away, she probably didn't notice you who were a few metres away.

"oi Kanghyun!! will you hurry up and walk? they're all waiting for us in the room already!!". the lady called the person by his nickname.

your thoughts were interrupted when the staff tapped your shoulder gently. "your room number is 3. i will bring you there". you nodded and bowed slightly to thank the staff.

you were now in front of the room. loud excited voices could be heard from the inside. *such youthful energy* you thought and knocked on the door before opening it slowly.

the previous noise quietened down at your entrance. you were frozen at the door. *w--why are they staring at me*. you smiled awkwardly and waved your hand at them.

"hi?". the second you greeted, your former classmates cheered and some even ran to you and gave you hugs and pats. "y/n!! we missed you so much!" "y/n! you are finally home!" "welcome back!!" "how was school in Japan?".

"there there guys, y/n needs to sit first at least. your questions can wait. the evening is still young!". Yubi came to your rescue. you gave her a grateful smile. Yubi smiled back and hugged you tightly. "welcome back!!".

you caught up with your friends. some were working full time at big companies, some were getting engaged, some just finished their studies, like you. you were engrossed in your conversation when a word, or a name, from the table next to you caught your ear.

"Kang Hyungu, how many girlfriends have you had in uni? still a playboy aren't you?" one of the boys joked.

your hand curled up into a fist. you were about to shoot the other table a glare when the lady who dragged Hyungu earlier defended him.

"this guy? trust me, he never dated anyone after highschool. he focused on his studies and never looked at girls. he rejected everyone who confessed to him. i was shocked too, you know being his classmate in highschool and seeing his abrupt change in uni, a whole new experience."

your former classmates widened their eyes as they looked at Hyungu, who was eating silently. his composure was still as cool and cold as ever.

"you are kidding !! he couldn't even be single for a week back then! what do you mean he never dated after highschool?".

the lady, Ara, nodded her head and sighed. "i don't know who broke his heart so bad he didn't even want to date or befriend other girls. that's why i'm stuck to his side." Ara explained and knocked Hyungu's head. Hyungu pouted and rubbed his head as he looked up.

after eavesdropping the conversation, you were surprised too. you turned to look into the direction of his table and saw his pouty face. you gulped. "cute..." you mumbled and quickly turned away when the both of you accidentally made your second eye contact for today.

you almost forgot he was your former classmate too, of course he would be here. you were just too busy with your close friends that you didn't realise his presence earlier.

from your peripheral vision, you sensed Hyungu still staring at you. after a few seconds, you finally let out the breath you were holding in unconciously when you see him turn his head away.

"bye bye y/n!! see you again soon!!" Yubi bid you goodbye as her boyfriend came to pick her up. you waved back at her and waited by the entrance for your ride.

"y/n?". you felt your head tingled as you heard a familiar gentle voice calling your name. you looked up from your phone only to be greeted by none other than Kang Hyungu.

"Hyu--Hyungu... it's been a while". you managed to breathe out.

Hyungu gave a small smile and nodded.

it was awkward. after all, you separated on bad terms and never contacted each other ever since.

Hyungu moved closer to you. his expression looked sad yet happy.

"can i hug you?". Hyungu suddenly asked. you bit your lips. you hesitated before nodding slightly. letting him hug you won't hurt, right?

wrong.

when his arms wrapped around you, your emotions from 4 years ago surged up again. his gentle yet tight hug. his warm scent. his soft face buried into the crook of your neck.

you were frozen. everything was too overwhelming.

"i mis--" Hyungu's words were interrupted when someone called out your name.

you snapped out of your zone and gently pulled yourself away from Hyungu. Hyungu let you go hesitantly as he wiped his teary eyes and looked at the person who called your name.

"ah Harin!! did you wait for long?" you approached the person earlier and patted his shoulder. Harin shook his head and looked at Hyungu.

you thought it was only right to introduce them to each other. "Harin, this is my former classmate, Kang Hyungu, and Hyungu, this is Ju Harin, we went to the same university". Hyungu gulped and bowed slightly towards Harin.

"ni--nice to meet you. thank you for taking care of y/n! i--i should excuse myself now.". Hyungu said as he quickly left you and Harin. Harin shrugged his shoulders and led you to his car.

~

it had been so long since you came back home, you finally had the time to walk around your neighbourhood. you realised that in the span of 4 years, alot of things could change. you continued walking in the homey streets until you reached your favourite bookshop. you smiled widely and quickly entered it. you were happy the shop was still there.

your body automatically brought you over to the comics section. you enjoyed all sorts of genres but comics were your stress reliever. your eyes widened at some new collections.

"ooh, this one looks interesting". you mumbled as you picked up the new crime comic. "that one is good, you should read it". you jumped at the sudden voice beside your ear.

you quickly turned to your side. Hyungu backed away abit and gave a cheeky smile.

"wh-what are you doing here?". you asked abit too loud than usual because you were shocked. Hyungu blinked and chuckled with a pfft.

"i am here to buy some books, then i saw you looking at that good comic so i decided to greet you. yo!".

you nodded awkwardly and wanted to walk away but Hyungu's words stopped you.

"you know, i can suggest you other new good comics that will surely suit your taste!". you bit your lip and shook your head. "it's okay, i just wanted to look around. thanks for your offer". you bowed and quickly walked away.

Hyungu watched your back moved away from him. his shoulders dropped as he pouted. *did i scare her away?* he thought as he went to the cashier to pay for his books.

you felt blood rushing to your face as you exited the shop. you totally forgot that Hyungu also regularly visits that shop. heck, it used to be one of the places where you always went to during your dates.

despite his bad boy image, Hyungu was surprisingly an avid reader. he always had the best recommendations. you were tempted by his offer but you thought it was weird to suddenly be close again with him.

your mood was abit down after the encounter as old memories came flooding back to your mind. *ah, i thought 4 years were enough to forget about him. but meeting him twice right after coming back like this is not helping at all* you thought as you walked back home.

~

you tapped your foot on the ground, following the rythm of the song that you were listening to as you waited for Harin in the mall.

you planned to meet up at 2pm but he was abit late so you waited for him inside since the weather was hot.

"we meet again!" you heard as you felt one of your earpiece being pulled out softly. you jumped and turned only to be greeted by none other than, you guessed it, Kang Hyungu.

you frowned and took out your other earpiece. "at this rate, i feel like you're stalking me". Hyungu chuckled and shook his head. "no no, i was here since morning, i had some stuff to do, and then i saw you here alone".

"i'm actually waiting for Harin. ugh why is he so late? i'm hungry.."

when he heard the name, Hyungu's smile was gone. his current expression was unreadable. "oh, well then, i will wait here with you". you let Hyungu be as you scanned the crowd for Harin.

"how was Japan?".

"it was great and refreshing. school was okay too, abit hard but i survived. how about you? you graduated from uni too right recently?". Hyungu nodded.

"i started working at the music shop here, today is actually my off day but i had to fix some things so yeah.."

your mouth turned into an "O" shape as you heard him. he was very interested and quite talented in music back in highschool, it was not a surprise for him to pursue something related to music.

Hyungu saw a familiar face among the crowd. "oh there's H--" he cut his own words when he saw a lady beside Harin, her arm linked with Harin's.

*he is late because he is with another girl? he is cheating on y/n at the place that they're meeting up at?? how dare he?* Hyungu thought as he tried to block your view from Harin. *i gotta protect y/n*.

"yo y/n!! y/n?" Hyungu heard Harin's voice but he still stood in front of you, blocking Harin from seeing you.

you frowned and gently pushed Hyungu aside. "oh Harin! you are finally here!!!" you slapped Harin's arm and quickly turned to the lady beside him.

"Dani!!! you are here too!" you greeted and hugged the lady. Dani hugged you back and passed something to you. "i'm sorry,,, i misplaced the souvenier i bought you so Harin had to search for it with me, that's why we were late.". you cooed at Dani and patted her head. "aww it's okay, thank you for the gift!".

Hyungu looked at the scene with a confused look. you finally remembered him being there and introduced him to Dani. "Dani, this is Hyungu, my former highschool classmate, Hyungu, this is Dani, my former housemate back in Japan!".

Hyungu frowned. *Harin is cheating on y/n with her former housemate?!?!*.

"oii mr boyfriend, where are we going to eat at?". Dani turned to Harin and asked.

Hyungu's eyes widened. *huh???huh???*

"you and y/n are not dating each other?" Hyungu blurted out as he pointed towards you and Harin.

you and Harin looked at each other and shivered in disgust at the same time. "never!! why would you even think that?!" you asked. Harin quickly wrapped his arm around Dani and shook his head. "Dani is the only one for me".

"then why did he pick you up the other night?".

you bursted a pfft, Hyungu's face was hilarious. he was furious and confused at the same time.

"the three of us had plans after my dinner, so Harin picked me up. Dani was in the car too. Harin, being the gentleman he is, volunteered to escort me personally to the car".

Dani couldn't help but laugh too. you were the one who introduced her to Harin anyways, it was funny to think that someone misunderstood Harin and your relationship.

"ok that aside, let's go eat, i'm so hungryy" you whined and linked your arms with Harin and Dani. Hyungu's eyes twitched when he saw how comfortable you were with Harin.

"Hyungu should join us too!! the more the merrier!" Dani invited Hyungu. Hyungu was about to reject but seeing your flustered expression, he quickly accepted the invitation. he kind of missed seeing this side of you.

you ended up walking beside Hyungu while the lovely couple led the way to Harin's recommended restaurant.

the walk was quiet between the two of you. Hyungu felt abit guilty for being selfish, he accepted the invitation, totally ignoring your feelings.

"if you don't want me to join, i can back away now." Hyungu said. you quickly shook your head and unconciously tugged his sleeve. "i don't mind.. please join us". Hyungu grinned at your response. "alright, i will stay".

as you arrived at the restaurant, Dani excused herself to the bathroom. you decided to help Harin with the orders while Hyungu reserved a table for the four of you. the other reason you volunteered to help was so that you didn't have to be alone with Hyungu.

Dani came back from the bathroom and went to Hyungu. "oh y/n is helping Harin? then i will sit here and chat with you!".

Hyungu gave a small smile. he was still abit awkward around other girls if he was alone. "Hyungu, you like y/n don't you?" Dani attacked with an innocent smile.

Hyungu was taken aback but nodded anyways. like was an understatement. you were in his mind every second for the whole 4 years, meeting you once again made his dull world colourful again.

Dani giggled and poked Hyungu's arm. "you are so obvious. don't worry, i will help you!" Dani winked and quickly backed away when you and Harin came with your food. Hyungu pursed his lips into a thin line. he didn't know what Dani was up to.

you sat beside Dani, acrossed from Hyungu. you focused on your food and Dani, trying your best not to stare at the handsome Hyungu.

"so y/n, do you have anyone you like now?" Dani randomly asked you. your hand paused from picking up food for abit before chuckling awkwardly. "hahaha what a question, Dani. hmm i don't think i like anyone now". you swore your voice was trembling.

Dani smirked slightly at your response and was about to turn to Hyungu when Harin chirped into the conversation. "eh? how about that Jungwoo guy? don't you have a crush on him?".

you gulped as you felt your whole face became warm. "Ju-Jungwoo? he is cute, but i just admire him from afar. i don't like like him..."

Harin raised an eyebrow. "really? then why are you so emba--" his words were cut off when Dani kicked his leg under the table. she signalled him towards Hyungu and widened her eyes as if saying "have some sense Ju Harin!!". Harin pouted and continued eating his food.

there was definitely tension between you and Hyungu now. Dani tried to lighten up the mood with another topic as her plan A failed. she really wanted to help Hyungu.

after the meal, you and Harin started discussing some matters related to your future job, which was the main agenda for today's meet up. you switched seats with Dani so that you were opposite of Harin.

Dani called out Hyungu's name softly. "sorry for earlier. i just wanted to help but Harin interrupted. anyway, i'm gonna move to plan B later." Hyungu frowned and glanced at you and Harin who were engrossed in the discussion before leaning closer to the table. "what exactly are you planning??". Hyungu whispered.

Dani smirked and whispered her ideas. Hyungu listened carefully and processed her words. "so, what do you think?" Hyungu slowly nodded, agreeing to her plan.

it was finally time to separate. while Harin and Dani were going back by car, your house was just a walking distance from the mall.

"oh! Hyungu, do you have anything after this? why don't you walk y/n home?"

you almost choked on your own saliva and quickly shook your head. "i-i can go home by myself". Hyungu patted your head and gave a big smile. "i can, no, i want to walk you home!".

you sighed in defeat and nodded. "fine then. thanks Harin and Dani for today! and i'll email you the file later, Harin." Harin nodded and bid you goodbye before leaving with Dani.

you looked at Hyungu and pointed your finger awkwardly to the direction that you were going to. Hyungu walked beside you in silence. you too walked quietly, selfishly enjoying the warmth of his company.

"it feels like we are back to highschool days where i always walk you home". Hyungu started.

you just listened, not responding to his words. "we should go visit the bookshop again together one day. i remember how you would always frown slightly when you read the description of some comics, not because you hated them, but you actually loved them that your expressions couldn't be controlled. also the little pout when the volume you wanted was sold out and we have to either go to another shop or buy them online. oh and remember when--"

"that was all 4 years ago, Hyungu. can we not talk about it anymore?" you said with a slight firmness in your voice.

Hyungu paused for abit before chuckling. "for these 4 years, i've been trying to think of what you meant by me having fun with another girl that's why i was late" your fists curled into a fist as you felt your head become heavy.

"i really like you, y/n. i was serious about our relationship back then. you changed me, you were the only one that i like, i never look at other girls when i started dating you. i was hurt when you said those things to me. i really didn't understand"

you stopped in your tracks as you faced Hyungu with teary eyes. he really dared to lie to you even after 4 years?

you were about to hit his chest but he grabbed your wrist. "i finally figured it out".

~4 years ago~

Hyungu ensured that he had wrapped the big box of gifts for you properly. he carried the box carefully and walked down the staircase towards your classroom.

it was a bit difficult for him to see what was in front due to the box and Hyungu accidentally bumped into someone. he panicked for abit and quickly hugged the box to his body tightly.

"sorry, i didn't see you there!" Hyungu apologised.

the person he bumped into also apologised. "ah Hyungu? sorry! i was in a rush. oh no your hair! are you meeting anyone now?".

Hyungu's hair was a bit out of place after bumping into Ara. "is it bad? i'm meeting my girlfriend!" Hyungu asked, worried about his appearance. he wanted to look his best for you.

Ara reached out her hand to help but Hyungu leaned away. "it's okay, i can do it by myself".

Ara rolled her eyes and flicked Hyungu's forehead. "yeah but you can't see yourself, i can. here squat down abit, you have to look extra handsome for you girlfriend! after bumping into you, the least i could do is help you look presentable".

Hyungu hesitated but squatted for abit and tilted his head for Ara to help. Ara fixed Hyungu's hair and patted his hair for the last step.

"all done! now go impress your pretty girlfriend!"

Hyungu grinned cheekily at the thought of you and thanked Ara before heading towards the classroom.

and that was when the harsh break up happened.

~

a tear fell down your face as you finished listening to his explanation.

"it was all just a misunderstanding! and i totally understand you, i should have been more careful. i really really like you, y/n. i was sincere for all those months. you heard Ara the other day right? i didn't date anyone at all after you. thoughts about you occupied my mind 24/7. i wanted to reach out to you but.. you blocked me on all platforms. i came to your house a few times but your mother said you didn't want to meet anyone. the next time i visited, you already went to Japan. i tried asking your close friends on how to contact you but, they didn't like me so they didn't help me at all. they said i didn't deserve to talk to you anymore because i hurt you. so i waited for fate to bring us back together. and that night, when i saw your face after so long, i felt so happy".

more tears flowed down your face. Hyungu wiped them away with his thumb as he felt himself tearing up too.

"i'm..... i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry" was all you managed to say to Hyungu as you started sobbing into his chest. Hyungu hugged you as he rubbed your back.

"can we go back to our happy moment, y/n? i missed you so much." Hyungu whispered as he sniffed.

you pulled yourself away from Hyungu and rubbed your eyes before cupping Hyungu's face with one of your hands. you carressed his face gently with your thumb and shook your head.

"that was all 4 years ago, Hyungu. we can never go back to those happy time. things aren't the same anymore"

Hyungu frowned and leaned into your palm. "then we can start over. things don't have to be the same. i just want to be with you again".

you let his face go. "my feelings for you are not the same anymore, Hyungu. how can we start over if my heart is already closed?"

"you're lying." Hyungu said as his voice trembled.

you chuckled bitterly. "i'm sorry for hurting you Hyungu. i really am. i just, want to focus on building up my career now. i was offered a job back at Japan and i don't want to lose this opportunity. i can't afford to be distracted by relationships. i can't accept your feelings like how i accepted them in highschool. i have other commitments to focus on now. i'm...sorry"

Hyungu clutched onto his chest as he felt nothing but pain in his heart.

you slowly walked away from Hyungu but was stopped by Hyungu's soft voice.

"i won't disturb you anymore but i just want to know one thing. do you hate me?".

you gulped and took a deep breath before turning around to look at his pained face.

"of course not, Hyungu. i will never hate you."

Hyungu gave a small smile despite tears falling down his face non-stop.

"thank you y/n".

you turned away as your feet quickly led you back to your house. you ran up to your room and locked your door before breaking down fully.

you buried your face in between your knees as your sobs echoed in the room.

*you don't deserve to talk to me? i'm the ONE who doesn't deserve to talk to you, Hyungu* you thought.

Hyungu was so gentle and kind to you, he loved you so much but just because of your insecurity, you ruined everything.

you didn't even let him explain things back then and said hurtful words to him. and yet he continued liking you and wanting to clear up the misunderstanding even after years of not meeting each other.

you didn't deserve such a kind person. you didn't deserve his love. you were embarrassed to even face Hyungu now after knowing the truth.

you hated yourself for again escaping from reality. you contacted Harin, asking for the job process to be quickened.

*this will make me forget about him. this will help me forget about him* you chanted and fell asleep from the exhaustion of crying and from the pain in your heart for lying to Kang Hyungu.

.

.

a/n: how was it? haha i hope yall enjoyed the roller coaster ride!

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (20)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

All artists have a muse. An inspiration. Motivation, unwavering will. A signature of their own. It’s impossible to copy the work of an artist, because he always leaves a part of himself, a small detail, whether in the choice of shapes, lines, colors, etc., which allows us, little observers to recognize his work. We could take the example of Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Sandro Botticelli, Michelangelo, Andy Warhol and finally Salvador Dali. All these artists had a particular signature, a little something that made their works unique, inimitable. Yet many have tried to reproduce them in order to make money. And even if some of them succeeded, they quickly found themselves behind bars.

But Danny is an... Particular artist. His works are particularly... Bloody. Certainly, he’s an assassin, but an assassin who wants to leave behind a trace of his passage, a piece of him in this vast world. Something that will remind everyone that he existed. At least Ghostface existed. But if every artist has a muse... What's Danny's muse? To tell the truth... He's got two. The first is simply envy. His insatiable urge for blood, to hear the gentle howls of his victims and to see the authorities tearing their hair out in the face of the lack of clues, is the reason he does this. As for his second muse...

Well, his second muse is you. For him, you are a precious jewel that he must protect at any price. No one should approach you and he won't let anyone near you. Of course, you will have the right to have friends, but don't plan to spend too much time without him. Besides, he feels frustrated that you prefer Jed to him. His alter ego is so boring compared to him! And yet how many times did he tell you? How many times did he tell you to think carefully?

And yet you chose Jed. But what happened that night ... He will remember it forever. Those little chills he felt on your skin when his tongue ran through your belly, your chest. And your little moans...A twisted smile appeared on his face just thinking about it. He's going to make you languish, but he's going to enjoy himself. And if you change your mind... it is beyond the seventh heaven that he will take you.

But for now, he has a more urgent matter to deal with. Because tonight is the big night. Everything was ready. Hoggins had brought charges to McKellan, who of course had retaliated strongly. How does Danny know? It's a journalist don't forget it. During one of his nightly visits, he had spied on a conversation between the two men and judging by McKellan's tone, the exchange was muscular.

“it's been so long that I've been waiting for this moment ... You dared to attack my angel in front of me. It's time for you to pay. I'm going to make you the best masterpiece ever created." He said, looking at McKellan house.

He had checked everything. He knew everything by heart. The round of the guards, the presence of the camera, McKellan's habits... absolutely everything. No surveillance camera.... humph, he thinks he's so untouchable that he doesn't feel the need to have security cameras. Poor fool. You're going to bitterly regret your arrogance. And Hoggins is going to pay the price.

It does not enchant Danny to attribute this murder to another, but if it is to see Wilhelm go round in circles, the game is worth it. He had parked his van in a place well out of sight. McKellan's villa is a staple, isolated from the city. No neighbourhood, no one to see or hear anything except the guards. Danny will never understand the rich and their desire to get away from people. Even if in a way, it feels good to have nothing around you, except the birdsong and the rustling of the leaves. But for these people, it's mostly a way not to mix with the "plebe".

He put on his mask and proceeded to the villa discreetly. It's time for the show. It's time for the massacre. From the bushes of the rear terrace, he watched the guards stationed. He knows that in a few minutes they will move to the sides and go around up to him. He must therefore move forward without being spotted to the building. And indeed after a few minutes, the guards moved. They always start at the inside of the terrace before returning from the outer sides. It was therefore cautiously but without concern that Danny advanced, not without paying attention to the flashlight that often came in his direction. Once near the walls, he glanced inside.  

As expected, it was impossible to get in from the back as the number of guards was too large. But he knows where McKellan's office is, and he knows that in exactly 20 minutes, he's going to go to his office and lock himself in and listen to music. He always puts the volume to the fullest, a significant advantage since so no one will hear him scream. He will be the only one who has the privilege of hearing it. Perfect. Once he's dead, Danny will have exactly 1 hour to make his masterpiece and leave because the guards will start suspecting a problem because of the music. Obviously, their boss listens to it every day for the same time. So, if it goes beyond the usual time slot, it's not normal.

Danny passed on the right side of the villa, on the side of which McKellan's office should be. And indeed, the second window of the office is open, surely to ventilate the room. He climbed to the gutter and clung to the balcony to enter the room. And the least we can say, is that this was to be the richest room in the house. He had something in common with Hoggins.

The walls were white marble making the room brighter. The many decorations in gold and red, as well as carpet flooring of the same color, recalled the time of ancient Rome. The few sculptures also for that matter.

“A passionate man of Ancient Rome... that will make my pleasure even more... Living. He will not only be my best masterpiece... but also the masterpiece of this room. It would almost bother me to soil this place of his filthy carcass and pig's blood. But he has to pay for touching and insulting my little angel...my precious love.” He said looking all around the room.  

He saw multiple objects that could be used for him, including multiples knife that look much sharper than his own. He could steal them but Ghostface is not a thief. He had taken a rope that he had found in the garden shed a few nights earlier. Like all the strings he took... this one will help him keep his "work" still.

He had the diagram of his artistic project in mind, with every little detail, of what he was going to cut to what he was going to leave whole ... Nothing much. He looked where he could hide and wait to strike. The cabinet in front of the desk will be the ideal hiding place. As soon as he will be close enough... he will catch him. Suddenly he heard footsteps. McKellan is on his way. Danny hides in the cupboard and waited. McKellan entered, furious as ever.

“Hoggins asshole... after all the services I have rendered to you to enrich yourself like a fat pig, you dare to accuse me?? I should cut your balls off... And this little whore and her damn coffee... not only has it not closed but it also gains in reputation! I'm surrounded by fools.” He said heading to the CD player. “Maybe I should kidnap her and torture her...or sell her as a prostitute...I’m sure that she can make a lot of money...”

Danny's blood was boiling. How dare he imagine for a second making you a toy for filthy fat pigs???  For a bonus profit??? He wanted to jump on him now, he wanted to slit his throat, butcher him, tear him to pieces... But if he goes out now, the guards will hear him and his whole plan will fall apart. He's got to stay calm. He's got to stick to the plan. As soon as he's at the cabinet level... he can attack. McKellan set the music on and turned the sound loud enough for the guards outside the room to hear it. Either he's deaf or he's crazy. Or both.

He stood for a few minutes in front of the reader before starting to "waltz" with his eyes closed. He reached the level of the cabinet and once in his line of sight, Danny went out to knock him out with a blow. He used the rope to tie him to the chair. He knows that from now on, he has 1 hour to do what he has to do. And he intends to take advantage of it. McKellan awoke after five minutes, trying to get away. The music was too loud for anyone to hear, so he looked at the knives but was quickly attract by a sinister sneer.

“Well, well... You finally woke up. You have a beautiful office. In fact, you have a very nice house, I would almost be jealous if it were not yours. Such a beautiful home for a rotten man like you... It's a shame.” said Danny, playing with his knife.

“You...I should be honoured by your presence... but unfortunately, I'm not very friendly with psycho like you. Hoggins sent you, didn't he? he's just a bastard.” Said McKellan with disgust.

“Sorry to tell you, but I'm not a man you can hire... I am acting and I will always act on my own. See if I'm here... it's because you and I have to settle.” Replied Danny before sticking his knife in McKellan's leg, making him scream.  

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!!! I’M GONNA CUT YOU HEAD OUT!!!!

“You see... You attacked someone very precious to me... and if there is one thing, I hate more than anything in this world... is that a rotten man like you, touch on what belongs to me. I'm sure you're wondering who I'm talking about. The "whore" as you like to call her, the boss of the Nebula... No luck for you... She's mine. And I'm going to make you regret every word you say. I hope you enjoyed your last musical moments... But don't worry... I intend to make you the masterpiece of your collection. And my best signing. Let the show begin.  

He cut off the leg where he had planted the knife, with a dry blow, recovering it before it fell to the ground. He did the same with the second and put it all on the desk. He stopped for a few seconds to listen to McKellan's delicious screams about the "tragic" loss of both legs. What sweet music to his ears... But unfortunately, he can't enjoy it very long, he has a countdown to respect.

“Oh... It hurts? I'm really sorry... I should have gone more slowly to lengthen the pleasure. But don't worry... I still have material. And limbs to cut you up. It's too bad you can't see that.”

“Please please ! I... I will give much more If you kill Hoggins for me!  I can make you the richest and the happiest man in this pathetic city! All the women will fall at your feet! You don't need that little slut! She's good for nothing! Just a little whore who thinks she's going to make a career!”

" I don't think you understood. I'm going to tell you one last time. One...” Danny started, planting his knife in one of McKellan’s arms. “I don't work for ANYBODY. If you think I'm just a puppet, I want you to know that I'm just for myself. I'm only doing this for my one and only pleasure. Never, and I say NEVER, would I work for anyone, even less for a rotten man of your kind. But if it makes you feel any better, Hoggins is going to come and keep you company in hell. Two...”

He thrust his knife deep into MacKellan’s arm to keep him awake until he finished talking to him. He drew his face closer to his.

“I only need one woman and that's her. I won't let anyone.... ANYONE, treat her like a good-for-nothing. You threatened her, assaulted her, you even sent someone several times to kill her. She is mine and only MINE and I will not let anyone near my angel, you fat pig!”

Danny pulled his knife out of Mackellan’s arm before repeatedly stabbing McKellan's skull. He recoiled inwardly at the sight of this bloodied, lifeless skull. He cut off his arms, then cut off his tongue and cut off his belly like a pig. He took out all these innards, cut them to a certain length and used them to tie his victim once again, one end ending deep in the throat, like a snake coming out of his mouth. He made sure to hold his arms and legs on the top of the skull, like deer antlers. How can he do that? A magician never reveals his secrets. Once his work was finished, Danny took out his camera.

“Look at you, you’re a masterpiece....MY masterpiece! You get exactly what you deserve you Motherf*cker. Now my little angel is safe...Almost if we count me in the lot. Well! Smile for the camera!”  Danny said before taking a picture. “Oh, I almost forgot the message! It’s necessary to give a lead to this dear Wilhelm ... even a fake one. Hoggins... You might not like the next few days.”

He wrote a bloody message on one of the walls of the office, leaving the policeman and the guard thinking that Hoggins was the author. One way or another. Then he quickly but discreetly left the premises before the guards were alerted by the unusual extension of the music. He returned to his van, changed, put his Ghostface outfit and mask back in the bag before heading home. On the road, he couldn't help but stop and burst out laughing, a laugh as he thought about what he had just done. The adrenaline was still running through his veins, he could not calm down.

He took a few minutes to calm down, then take the road again and went home. He parked and looked at your window. Everything was off and given the time, it was normal. Everyone was asleep, no one to testify anything to the police. Everything is always perfect. He went up to his apartment, entered, closed the door and walked to his office with his bag in his hand. He put it all down on the couch and looked at his hunting board, a satisfied smile on his lips.

He took his red felt, which was still working despite the rage of the last time, and bared McKellan's face with a long cross. That's it. He's finally dead. And there's more to kill. Hoggins is next on the list. But Danny will let time pass before attacking him. For now, he's going to focus on you. His sweet little star, his precious love, his angel. He looked at his bag, perhaps a little visit is necessary? Anyway, you sleep then ... you're not likely to say much.

A light cool wind entered your room, but it didn't seem to bother you. You were warm in your duvet with a radiant smile on your lip. Danny, or rather Ghostface was above you, a big smile behind his mask. He stayed for a few minutes without moving before lifting his mask slightly to kiss your cheek delicately.

“You can finally sleep easy, my angel. That fat pig won't do anything to you anymore. But never forget that you belong to me. Sleep well my love, hoping I'll be in your dreams.” he whispered so you don't wake up.

He put a small piece of paper on your nightstand to warn you of McKellan's death. The word is simple: "He's dead." He knows you will understand who it is. He left as discreetly as he had come, to go to bed as well, despite the little adrenaline he had left. It's going to be a long night.

But Damn it was so delicious.

***

(I'm practically about to pass my code exam! I'm so happy! hoping we won't be confined to the date where I'll pass it. I want to thank you all as much as you are, you are almost 40 to follow the poor little French potato that I am! In the meantime, I hope you will love this chapter as much as the others! they all deserve to be appreciated so much! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

[stillness-in-green]

If it's any consolation, I'm sure that the Advisors and the rest of the MLA (Re-Destro, Trumpet, Geten) will show back up sooner than the final arc, just because we're going into Year 2 and the students would find great 1 on 1 or team opponents with the Advisors. Re-Destro and Geten are heavy hitters (and Geten could be tied to Dabi, Shoto and all that somehow) and they were locked up with Mr. Compress and Machia, but who do you want to see first from the Advisors?

Thanks, anon; I certainly do hope we'll get to see more of them.  Admittedly, my main concern is that I so liked what was going on with the Paranormal Liberation Front that even if we do see all of the MLA types again, if it's only in the context of speedbump battles for the students, that's still going to be a letdown.  Better than nothing, to be sure, but I really do want them to join back up with the League, even a League that's confused and out of sorts under All For One's hand.  I love RD's big spiritual-awakening-flavored crush on Shigaraki, the cross-organization tensions and relationships, just as much as I love the depth the MLA brings to the world outside of just what's going on with the heroes.

I'm fairly frustrated with how the MLA fared during and after the raid, largely because it's awfully hard not to conclude that, if what we have right now is all the erstwhile-MLA are ever going to come to, Shigaraki would have been significantly better off if he'd just killed them all and shacked up with Ujiko for four months.  And that would be such a waste!  The end of My Villain Academia was such an enormous triumph for Shigaraki! I want his victory to amount to something more than what we've seen, something that shows that both his strength and his mercy will pay off for him in the long-term, will be a concrete benefit to him rather than, with the benefit of hindsight, the reason everything went so wrong.

Particularly with Re-Destro, since Horikoshi saw fit to have Dark Shadow all but one-shot the man, and Edgeshot defeat him off-panel, it's really not going to mean much to me for him to have a big fight with students unconnected to anything else.  The drama's rather gone out of it at this point.  That's particularly the case since, if he's no longer connected to Shigaraki's plot, it's that much easier for him to just be off-paneled and forgotten about.  But, if Rikiya gets looped back in with the League, if his gratitude and admiration of Shigaraki mean he still has a role to play in Shigaraki's arc, that makes it much easier to get invested in any fights that role will lead him to. Ditto the MLA more broadly; it's categorically ridiculous to present that organization with the kinds of numbers, breadth of influence and legitimate grievances they have, only to try to sweep them back under the rug exactly like Shigaraki accuses heroes of doing with everyone they can't save. 

To say the least, I'm pretty invested.  But I appreciate your consolations and am trying to hold out hope that we'll get some good stuff with them yet!

My anxieties aside, and to hit the other portion of your ask--who would I like to see first among the Advisors?--hit the jump:

(All nicknames and shorthand are taken from this post.) 

Well, it'd be nice if they could all get at least as much to do as the Eight Bullets back during the Hassaikai arc, seeing as they got a similar splash page spread introducing all their faces.  There are considerably more than eight of them, of course, but even if they never get more attention than e.g. Galvanize or the hose-faced guy who iced Midnight did, at least then we'd have some idea of their power sets and at least one angle on their personality.

Assuming we aren’t going to get full breakdowns on every single one of them, there are still four things I'd really like to see happen with the MLA/the Advisors: the student fights we're expecting, the jailbreaks we're being told about, the reunion with the League I'm praying for, and for literally anyone in the in-world media to try and get their side of the story.

Student Fights: Seeing the guy who killed Midnight again is as sure a bet as any of these get.  Momo is an important enough character, with enough sustained arc, that she will have to get something else to do before the series is over.  Taking command of a group battle against real opponents--ones with more responsiveness and agency than Gigantomachia--would be in-line with what she's been moving towards so far.  I would, however, love it if that fight would be more challenging than a straightforward battle of tactics.

I headcanon Hose Face and Scarecrow as, respectively, an ex-con and a dude with physical disabilities--both people who have ample reason to want to change the series' status quo irt human rights abuses in prison and overly restrictive quirk use laws.  I'm not expecting the canon to validate me on what amount to wild guesses, of course, but I want those Advisors in particular to have motivations more nuanced than, "They're quirk supremacists; who cares why they're willing to put their lives on the line over this?"

A feel-good revenge match in which a bunch of teenagers lay the smack down on characters whose humanity the audience is asked neither to know nor care about would be lazy, and counterproductive to the series' current thematic concerns. Give Momo her victory, by all means, but don't give it to her easy.  A confrontation like this would be a good way for the less central Class A students to begin wrestling with the question of who, exactly, heroes "save" and what it is that people need to be saved from, exactly the way Deku and Uraraka and Shouto are now wrestling with these questions.

As far as other fights go, I'd also love to see Brand and The Question pop up again. They're probably the two I'm most curious about purely in terms of what their quirks are.  Why does The Question wear a mask, and what's he like that he wound up in Mr. Compress's chain of command?  And with Brand, what kind of quirk does he have that's powerful enough to land him a ranked position in the Guerilla Warfare Regiment but indirect enough that he fights with a sword?

Prison Breaks: I wouldn't expect this to be particularly involved, probably more of an aside than anything, but I want the Bindi Ladies to spring Hole Punch Face, thus getting us an angle on what's going on with that particular trio.  Aviator Teeth can come too because I want at least some hints about what his deal is.

I'd also love to watch Horikoshi even attempt to retroactively justify some of the logistics of the single-day capture and subsequent detention of 17,000 super-powered, combat-trained people.*  I mean, I don't think there are any feasible explanations for that, but I'd be curious to see what he'd come up with, especially if every possible answer just makes Hero Society look worse! We have only ever seen Tartarus as an example of the prison conditions in this country; I'd love to hear more, and an MLA-focused jailbreak would be a great way to show it.

PLF Reunion: Of course, my number one thing to see with a reunion is Re-Destro being just as dismayed as Spinner is over Tomura's possession.  I crave more serious attention being paid to Rikiya's profound awe over Shigaraki's freedom, and would love to see his reaction to Shigaraki apparently losing that freedom.

Aside from the obvious, though, if the PLF does start piecing itself back together, I expect to see Sanctum again, given the attention he's gotten so far, and the fact that he's now the highest-ranked member of the Tactics Regiment.  It'd be great to get some explanation for how he can possibly be "the longest-serving member of the Liberation Army," given that the Army was generations old already when Re-Destro was just a child.  (If we do get that information, I imagine my own explanation will be jossed hugely, so I would also be happy to take time with Sanctum that doesn't explain the discrepancy but also doesn't invalidate my headcanon.)  

In the context of the regiments reforming, I'd also like to see Nimble and Aster, both because this manga needs more women, and because I'd like to see more of how Spinner and Toga interact with the people they were nominally commanding.

Media Attention: Trumpet's my number one hope here--the lack of any look into the state of the government in HeroAca Japan has been a total let-down since his introduction**, but I was particularly annoyed that the last time we saw him he was smiling (albeit in a fairly haggard way), giving me hope that we might next see him doing his part to portray all of this in a light that would sway public opinion.  And then literally one chapter later, we get prison guards talking about how the Hearts & Minds Party, a perfectly legitimized political party with representation on the national level, has been perfunctorily dissolved less than twelve hours from when the raid started.  How is there even an argument that the system heroes were upholding desperately needs to change?

I'm very tired of the media in BNHA only ever showing up to beg for/demand that heroes tell them what’s going on, particularly those damn press conferences. Journalists do investigative work! Newspapers employ reporters to actively seek out news!  Reporters in free countries don't just sit around waiting for the government or heads of major industries to graciously hand them press releases!  For heaven's sake, Trumpet was the head of a major political party.  People should be foaming at the mouth trying to get a statement from him!  

Especially with public trust in heroes breaking down, there should absolutely be intrepid reporters out there looking to get to the bottom of any of the layered conspiracies the public's just been hit with and told to just write-off as a bump in the road on the return to normalcy.

Anyway, Trumpet's the obvious choice, but if I could be sure the manga would validate my headcanons about Nimble and Scarecrow's disabilities, I'd be happy to put them in this position, too.  Trucker Toad would be another good candidate, if there's any basis to my idea that he is or used to be a transport driver who's seen a lot of the country outside the areas e.g. the Top Ten Heroes are patrolling.  He's obviously a good candidate for getting back to that idea of anti-heteromorph bias, too.  But really, I'd take anyone who can give a cogent explanation of the MLA's position on self-determination and the various ways Hero Society has exacerbated quirk-based discrimination.

Anyway, that's about where my thoughts are on where I hope the MLA people are and what we might see of them.  Thanks for the ask!

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

*Or as many as 100,000 more than that, depending on how through the statement, "Their bases around the country were also attacked, and their supporters rounded up," was meant to be.  An influx of 116K people, incidentally, would triple Japan's current carceral population.

**Why! Why would you introduce a politician and then never even glance at your setting's political situation??

[ethelphantom]

The Greatest Miracle

This fandom does not have enough BartAdrien content like, seriously. They're the cutest thing to ever exist. Two sunshine children. Please love them. Please love my greatest creation. Anyway, have some cuteness and fluff and (possible? I have no idea if it is funny) humour for a change! Maribat March day 22, rare pair

Ao3

This is Maribat -- Don’t like; Don’t read

____________________________

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, Adrien. I totally will.”

❋❋❋

“Hey, Bart, give my tablet back! I need it for my speech!”

“Nooopppe! I may not be able to open it but I know what kind of things there are! Kon, catch!”

“Thanks, Bart. Have fun. You forgot I’m also doing the speech. You literally asked me to.”

“Dang it.”

❋❋❋

Marinette snorted as Adrien took one look at her before burying his face in his hands as she stood up, Tim and Conner following suit. She grabbed the microphone from the stand nearby and blew a kiss at Adrien, winking.

“Good afternoon everyone! It’s a beautiful day, even more beautiful than Adrien’s hair, and we all know how beautiful his hair is, soooo… Anyway, before I actually get to any important part, I need to say that I asked Adrien if there was anything that I shouldn’t say in any case, and well. He didn’t say anything in particular, I swear. To everyone else, I’m sorry if this makes your idea of Adrien’s supposed put-togetherness just vanish in front of your eyes. I can promise you, it never existed in the first place.

“I can’t believe this day actually came, seeing Adrien get married to someone,” Marinette said, smiling when she heard the quiet “rude much?” coming from Adrien’s direction. “Oh yeah. In case some of you didn’t know, I’m Marinette, Adrien’s best friend, though I’m pretty sure the only ones who don’t know that are from Bart’s side as Adrien has somehow managed to introduce me to his entire family, all of his few friends — and Adrien, before you say anything, you met most of your friends through me, don’t try — and we went to the same school so there’s that as well. Honestly, I think he’s even dragged me to a few family reunions during the years.”

There was laughter in the crowd but it quieted down as soon as Marinette began talking again.

“Adrien and I have gone through thick and thin. There have been liars, bullies, gold-diggers, over-eager wannabe journalists… Well, we’ve probably seen anything you can imagine. We’re siblings in all but blood, rather literally. My parents even adopted him after Gabitch — I mean, Gabriel, all parents of little children, you did not hear that, and neither did you, Bart, Wally and Dick, but like seriously, if there's anyone that deserves to be called out for being a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad father in a wedding, it's that man —, was arrested. It was easier since that meant he wouldn’t need to transfer schools.”

Marinette tilted her head and bit the inside of her cheek. “Wait a second. Tim, dear, did you have the tablet connected to the projector already? I want the photos, like, five minutes ago.”

Tim laughed at her. “Cuppie, you started the speech less than three minutes ago. But yeah, it’s connected.”

“Shush, you. Thanks! I’ll say when I want the pictures. Anyway. I met Adrien when we were like, 13, and it really didn’t start great. I hated him at first. Like, honest to God hated him. You can imagine how the rest of the day went. Somehow, he cleared the idea I had of him within a few hours though, so we became friends. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, always been there for me through everything.

“I don’t think I’ve got too much time to speak even though I’d absolutely love to do that for the rest of the day because Adrien’s gonna murder me if I try, so I’ll just tell you one of my favourite things with him. Who everyone knew him on some level when he was 17?”

Maybe a quarter of the room raised their hands.

“Great. How many of you noticed he had a crush then?”

Less than half of those people raised their hands, though rather hesitant.

“Fine, Adrien, you win, but that just means they didn’t spend enough time with you. Anyway. He had a crush on our dear Bart over here though he kept denying it for ages. Tim, the pictures, please? Because I’ve got a compilation of how he looked like when I felt like pointing the fact out to him and after I had actually informed him of his crush. I have no idea how he didn’t realise it right away.”

There were pictures of clearly lovesick Adrien, looking at something (a lot of the time it seemed to be his phone) the same way he had looked at Bart only some time earlier.

Someone in the crowd yelled “he was so whipped oh my god, did he really not realise?” when they got to the fifth photo.

Adrien had hidden his face in Bart’s hair.

He was lucky Bart’s hair was like it was.

Bart, though, he was laughing.

“Yeah, yeah he was, and me neither. He literally had a gay panic after he met Bart for the first time — trust me when I say that he was royally screwed already from day one. And yet. Yet. Considering Adrien had known me for only a day or two when he decided he was in love with me when we were like 13 and actually declared this in front of a whole bunch of people, it’s so funny how it took him actual months to admit he was actually in love with Bart. Fun fact, the three of us—” Marinette pointed at herself and then at Tim and Kon on her left, “still have a group chat full of plans to get those two together because they were so oblivious, especially Adrien, and also idiots. God, do I love them, but I swear they caused me more grey hair than the wild kid I babysat as a teenager ever did.”

Tim snatched the microphone from Marinette’s hands, pecking her cheek quickly. Marinette stuck her tongue out at him but didn’t complain about the interruption. It wasn’t like she had anything important left to say anyway. For now.

“Yes, listen to my beautiful and wonderful wife over here. They were so frustrating, always talking about the other like they had hung the moon and the stars on the night sky but neither realised they liked the other until it was pointed out to them. Well. According to Mari, it took until Kon and I got Bart to realise he liked Adrien, which eventually led to him confessing, that Adrien recognised his own feelings. It’s ridiculous, but oh so amusing to tell now.

“So, hello everyone, I’m Tim, one of Bart’s best friends — the other is over there being a loser. I met Bart through Dick and Wally maybe half a year after Bruce started watching over me because my parents were never there, so we must have been seven or eight. I had troubles with befriending other people back then—”

“You still do, Tim.”

“Mari, this is my speech, yours ended already.”

“Yeah, because you stole the mic.”

“Technicalities, technicalities. Anyhow, I had trouble with getting friends around that time, but it was somehow easy to befriend Bart. He was so open, friendly, positive, full of light and determined to befriend you that it was actually impossible to avoid it. After I befriended him, though, I noticed I started getting other friends as well because he made it easier. That’s actually also how I met Mari, the love of my life and my wife, which has me forever thankful to Bart, but that’s a story for another time. Right now, I’m here to tell you how great Bart is and also make fun of him, because isn’t that what best friends are for.

“So, like Mari already said, we had a group chat just because of those two. Favourite ship ever. Not gonna lie, we all shipped them together since the moment we realised how well they would fit together and the only reason today didn’t happen sooner is because this guy here—” Tim pointed at Adrien, “—refused to admit he liked Bart and scoffed every time we tried to suggest it. Yet, every time he made a terrible pun, and we all know he makes a lot of those, it was Bart he looked at first to see if it made him laugh. Always. Not his best friend, Mari. It was Bart.”

That was when Tim lost the microphone — Kon had walked up to them, now behind Tim, and just took it out of his hands. Tim tilted his head backwards and frowned at Kon.

“And Bart. Bart laughed every. Single. Time. Like, regardless of how horrible the pun was that time, and how it should have not made anyone laugh, Bart laughed because he knew it made Adrien smile, and happy Adrien equalled happy Bart equalled happy Adrien. This is why it was so strange they didn’t realise, and this is why them dancing around one another drove me up the wall. Tim and Mari too, I suppose. By the way. Here’s a list of pictures and videos where the aforementioned situation is shown multiple times so that you’ll understand what I mean.”

The (seemingly endless, if Adrien’s mortification was anything to go by) videos and pictures were projected onto a big screen and it seemed that no matter what Adrien thought, everyone else thought them adorable and heart-warming. Everyone. Especially Bart, who had not been aware of said pictures or videos’ existence and was now beaming and nearly jumping up and down in his seat. Marinette could almost swear he was vibrating.

Once they were done showing them, and the roomful of people had stopped cooing at Adrien like he was still that starry-eyed, adorable, baby-faced fool so very in love with Bart (he was), Kon brought the microphone to his lips again. “So yeah. We all had to suffer. And because of that, now you two had to suffer a little too,” he said, snorting.

Shaking his head fondly at the newlywed couple, he smiled. “You know, I have known Bart for nearly my entire life, and I never thought there would come a day I would meet anyone that was as much of a sunshine child as he was. Then we met Adrien.”

Tim nodded in the background, clearly agreeing. Marinette hummed. Kon handed her the microphone as she tapped her foot against the floor with her heel. “Yeah, same here, though the other way around — I thought there couldn’t be anyone I’d call sunshine incarnate other than Adrien, and then there I was, face to face with Bart who I swear glowed when I met him for the first time.”

Marinette sighed, smiled, and walked to Adrien and Bart. “So, Adrien, Bart, I am so immensely proud of you two. I can’t help but be happy whenever I think about you both overcoming so much and deciding to dedicate yourselves to one another and believe me when I say, I am so glad I got to witness you exchanging vows today. I wish all the best for you, as do those two dorks, and remember that we’re all going to be there for you both. You have two souls but a single thought, and two hearts that beat as one. This is the day that now belongs to one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life and I could not be happier to have gotten to see it happen.” She raised her glass. “A toast to these two fools and to their union! May you always be satisfied!”

Marinette returned to her seat next to Tim and rested her head against his shoulder as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“I’m happy for them,” Marinette whispered, watching as Adrien danced with Bart, leading him, before Bart grabbed Adrien and picked him up before running around the room, presenting him like the greatest miracle ever granted for the humankind to everyone. Marinette squeezed Tim’s hand, smiling at their best friends.

“Same, Cuppie. Same here.”

_____________________________________

@kris-pines04​ @thethirdwheelfriend​ @maribat-is-lifeblood​ @abrx2002​ @persephonebutkore​ @rebecarojas07​ @corabeth11​ @kadmeread @silverwhiteraven​ @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @eat0crow @cutechip

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter four

Merry Christmas Eve! This chapter took an unfortunate amount of time cause of shopping for my little siblings but I finally had the night away from anything to do and was finally able to punch something out. Hope y’all have a lovely, safe Christmas! The next chapter is already written so that’ll be coming soon!

cw - religious content

Gil tries to contain his unease as the lock to the cell echoes in the halls. The pit in his stomach only seemed to grow as he makes eye contact with no other than Martin Whitly himself.

He made Malcolm the promise that he would find Jess, he intended to keep it. No matter the price. They’re nearing the 48 hour mark, only 5 hours away. Malcolm only grows more frantic, analyzing every small detail, Ainsley grows more agitated at her lack of freedom to roam at her own risk. 

Their limited resources are growing thin and the media is chomping at their heels for answers to the two bodies dropped in the park. Since a “letter from the killers” was dropped on the media’s doorstep, the questions of “The Needle’s Eye” haunts his every move. Colette herself collected the letter, but even with their top analysts on the case they’re not sure. Nevertheless every piece of news imaginable had attached to the name and rolled with it. Every print, every broadcast, it’s eating at him.

In other words, he’s desperate.

“Gil!” Martin’s face cracks into an almost jovial smile. One that he witnessed firsthand the vicious nature behind. “I have to say when Mr. David said I had a visitor I wasn’t expecting you. My children haven’t gotten themselves into trouble again have they? Can’t seem to get a hold of anyone these days.” Gil bites his tongue waiting until he exhausts himself. “Where is my boy? Not keeping him from me I hope? Didn’t turn out too good the last time, hm?”

“Dr. Whitly-”

“And I haven’t seen Ainsley on broadcast in two days! I was so happy when they let her back from her sick leave,” he speaks out the side of his mouth with a sly wink. As if they’re sharing some fucking gossip over brunch. “They aren’t questioning that decision are they? Because I can still pull some strings if need be, I mean she was made for broadcasting.”

Gil clears his throat and that seems to catch his attention long enough to get off of the topic, “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the needle’s eye?”

“Oh yes, tragic. Point for creativity though” For a moment, he’s not sure whether Martin means the name or the act itself. The thought tastes like venom in his mouth.

“And you’ve heard that they’ve moved their hunting ground to New York?”

He nods but Gil can see the shift as he begins connecting the dots. He straightens taking exactly three steps closer. Any fake smile or sympathy is gone in the split of a second. “Where are my children?” He asks again, this time the question feels more like a threat. It’s almost accustory the way he bares his teeth. Still he doesn’t waver.

“Malcolm and Ainsley are at the precinct. They’re under strict watch until we catch the men responsible.” Martin relaxes, nodding. “I’m here about Jessica.”

“She didn’t fuck him too, did she?” He barks out a laugh. He runs his tongue across his top teeth with a huff. The comment is a dig and it takes all of his power not to turn it right back at the smirking man.

“Two days ago we found her car at the scene of a wreck. Her driver Alphonso died on impact and we found evidence that she was taken by two men pretending to be paramedics.” Gil delivers the case with the most professional tone he can muster with the anger building in his chest. “The license on the car that caused the wreck matched ones connected to the FBI’s case against the killers.”

He’s not sure exactly what he expected but the laughter booming from deep within startles him. The sound bounces off the walls mocking him to his core. It screams with pointed accusations, his failures to protect her yet again dig in with pointed teeth.

He’s slamming Martin against the wall before his brain catches up to his actions. Anger clenches his jaw, wanting nothing more than to pull every damn answer out of him. The sound stopped with the movement, replaced with a taunting grin that doesn’t make it to his eyes. Martin leans his head back against the concrete looking down upon him. 

He played exactly into what Martin wanted.

He lets go before Mr. David can even open the door, retreating back behind the line in defeat.

He won’t help Gil, even with Jessica in harm’s way. The mere thought brings back to bloody, impulsive rage yet again but he tampers it this time. A lump forms in his throat at the thought of her somewhere; hurt, alone, terrified.

He thinks of Malcolm, eyes hollow with misplaced guilt. Driving himself into the ground until it’s too late. He thinks of Ainsley who would burn the city to the ground to find Jess if she could. He remembers his promise to them. No matter the price.

Gil turns back to Martin, who’s still grinning at him like the devil himself. “Malcolm and Ainsley need you.” He bites his cheek so hard that he can taste the blood in his mouth. It’s better than tasting his own words.

Martin’s jaw drops, for the first time he believes The Surgeon is speechless. He gapes, trying to collect his thoughts a few more times. “The Needle’s Eye, possible religious background. I believe the phrase goes: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Now, I think that a little harsh but that’s beside the point.” 

“And the other bodies?”

“No doubt connected to the killers, don’t let the ol’ switcheroo fool you. These men believe the rich to be the epitome of sin. Greed, lust, gluttony the whole nine yards. He’s proving a point. Making them choose who lives or dies. Them, or a perfectly innocent stranger.” 

“They’re partners.”

“Clearly there’s a dominant. The one who enacts the brutal killings, and the one who disposes of the victims. The dominant wouldn’t show remorse for the innocents, they’re simply the sacrifice of his mission.” He curses internally because it makes sense. “But there’s a twist. If they choose to live, they die a brutal death. If they sacrifice themselves, the stranger dies. Judging by the news. Jessie’s making the wrong choice.”

“So she’s alive.”

“At least until she changes her answer.” Gil tries to swallow but his throat feels like the desert. Two bodies, who knows if the killer has found a third victim to capture. It’s only a matter of time before Jess makes the connection to the answer the killer wants, at the cost of her life.

The clicking lock draws both of their attention. Mr. David hovers there with a stern look on his face. “You’re needed at the precinct.”

“What happened?”

“Malcolm just punched a journalist.”

“Oh, good for him.” Martin grins. “Don’t tell Ainsley, but a lot of them can be so pushy.” 

He grits his teeth following Mr. David out of the door. This will not help Bright’s case with Colette. She already struggled letting him in on the case in the first place and it’ll be a struggle keeping it that way. He ignores the calls of Martin as he walks down the hall.

“Do visit again Gil! It was lovely talking with you!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The flooding of sudden light makes Jessica wince, hand instinctively trying to shield herself. After god knows how long in relative darkness the brightness stings her eyes. She squints watching a figure in black stumble into view.

“This is all your fucking fault.” Her heart dips as her eyes adjust. His knuckles are bloody and his footprints he leaves are crimson. The thought sinks in all at once. The partner, the one who had just been pleading and arguing with the man about killing innocents. The one who was young and stupid and impressionable was likely dead at the hands of this evil man. “If you weren’t such a stupid bitch!” 

The backhand across her face stings but the aftermath gives her the opportunity to truly see her captor, even through the mask. Her stomach does a flip as she realizes in horror that she’s all too familiar with the black uniform. One she’s had the misfortune of seeing too many times for her liking over the years. One that matches Gil’s long before he was a Lieutenant. The badges and markers are covered or removed but she recognizes it regardless.

The glint of silver catches her gaze next, the knife is clutched in the man’s hand with a death like grip. She wonders briefly if he actually intends to kill her this time. “You’ve fucked up everything.” He spits before bending over to be on her level. “So I’m going to have to improvise.” With his face this close she can smell the cheap vodka on his breath. He grips her chin between two fingers forcing her eyes to meet his. “I’ll just have to get one of your kids. Maybe they’ll make the right choice. Dear mommy or a poor stranger.”

Whatever energy she still has flares in her with her protective instincts. She rears back and smashes her forehead into his nose before he can react. His drunkenness helps the clumsy instincts. The hit makes her head spin and her side ache with a new flare of pain that spreads all the way across her chest. 

It’s almost worth it to see him bleeding.

He yells both in pain and in anger, raising the knife high in the air. She braces for the kill, it would be worth it to spare her children the pain of that choice. One that they would no doubt in her mind, make to save her in a heartbeat. She closes her eyes.

She screams when the knife pierces her leg. She opens her eyes again to see it deeply embedded in her thigh and the man stumbling back away. The lights flick out again as the tears escape uncontrollably. The pain of it chokes her until she can’t help but weap. All of the energy that had taken over to protect her kids flooded out. 

Tipping her head back she let out a final scream. All of her frustration, anger, fears piled into one as she mentally berated whatever higher power was out there. Afterwards with her throat sore and head heavy, she allowed herself to be pulled into the welcoming darkness.

[goatkingwc]

CONSUMED THE FIRE - Episode 001 of GKWC

GOAT KING WRITERS CLUB, The loosest storytelling Podcast in all the land, were we don’t let Grammar get in the way of a good yarn.

CONSUMED by Nathan Hull

I had been typing frantically for hours, maybe even days. The never ending task of reporting the news consumed me.

Word after word, it was nothing but a blur of letters on the screen. I don't think i glanced away for a second. I was deep into my work, hands trembling from near exhaustion. The second bottle of house brand scotch two thirds empty, seven packs of cigarettes down. Light trickled in through the slit in my curtains signaling the start of another day. It didn't matter to me time had lost all meaning.

I sent the article through to my editer and demanded another job, ignoring his pleas  for me to slow down "Just send through the fucking assignment" I yelled down the phone, knocking the bottle of scotch from my desk. The frustration almost over flowing into frenzy I stormed out of my small home office into the filthy kitchen adjacent.

Upon entering a pain I'd never felt before shot through me, i ignored it and swung the fridge door open, grasping at the six pack of beer sitting alone on the shelf. I stumbled back dizzy before falling into oblivion. It felt like the floor had disappeared I heard the bottles smash but felt nothing at all, just a calming warm sensation pulling me gently into slumber, a peaceful darkness replaced the manic flashing of ideas that had been fueling me for far to long.

 I awoke to silence and the bright florence lights of a hospital ward beaming obnoxiously into my eyes. I had snapped, trying to finish a never ending task is a sure fire short cut to madness and apparently I had reached that level. The Dr explained that I had collapsed due to sever exhaustion and that a dangerously large mixture of alcohol and prescription grade amphetamines had been reported in my system. He gave me a stern lecture and ordered I rest up for some time to come.

I begrudgingly took his advice and relaxed with the days News Paper skipping through the first few pages like a book I had read many times before. At page eleven however I stopped a small laugh burst through my lips, there it was the most ironic thing I had ever seen. A small article titled "Local journalists dangerous decent into chaos" a two hundred word piece about yours truly.i smiled, how beautiful it was, i had been so consumed by the news that eventually, i had become the news.

THE FIRE by Sean Conway

The fire is burning through the bush quicker than I was expecting, the heat is not the most fearful part but the thunderous noise of the wood burning, sounds like a thousand cat of nine tails cracking all around us.

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT, WHY DID YOU ASH ON THE GROUND” Devon, the lippy British back packer bellowed “it’s just a little bit of fire mate, relax” I replied reassuring him through my tears unconvincingly. “WE’RE GOING TO DIE, WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE” Devon kept screaming in an urgent cry. Jesus Christ this back packer has not stopped complaining since I met him at the hostel, I wanted to tell him to fuck off but I had more important things to worry about, like getting out of this mess and suing the tobacco companies and the government’s cigarette pack warnings for not once making me aware of the potential for bush fires by their product. They literally have warnings for everything else except the one thing that can kill you immediately.

Ah man when I sue these political fat cats I’m totally going to buy a sweet double storey house with my winnings, I imagine suing for Bush fire warnings would be a landmark legal case, I’d probably make the front page of the Newspaper. I might even have enough money left over to buy a chrome Lamborghini, fuck yeah that would be sweet!

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET OUT OF HERE?” cried out Devon waking me from my daydream and bringing me back to this deadly reality.

This whole waiting around to die must be playing with my head because I have never thought this before and it seems weird thinking this now, but fire is hot, like ridiculously hot. I looked over to Devon as he continued frantically searching for a way out of the path of the fire “Hey Devon, how hots this fire ah” I said as it fell on Devon’s deaf ears, he blatantly ignored my observation. Sure these are dyer times but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.

I guess Devon is done searching for a way out because he is collapsed into a ball on the ground “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die OH MY GOD I DON’T WANT TO DIE” Devon screamed over dramatically to the skies like a soap opera star, fuck his voice is annoying.

The situation is becoming increasingly stressful and the anxiety is starting to get to me, I really need a cigarette but knowing Devon he’s probably going to have a bitch and moan about it, but fuck him I paid $50 for these Winnie Reds and I’ve only smoked one. I am not going to die letting a perfectly good packet of cigarettes go to waste.

Reaching into my pocket trying to retrieve my lighter without Devon noticing, Jesus where the fuck is it? Are you serious? in all the commotion I must have lost it. It’s moments like this that make me appreciate how crazy and random the world is sometimes, we’re literally surrounded by fire and if we weren’t on the verge of being burnt alive in this hell hole I would consider myself lucky.

The first breath of that sweet sweet Winnie red is always my favourite, it’s almost magical how that first intoxicating breath can make even the most terrifying situation bearable “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS CUNT? YOU’RE SMOKING! YOU’RE SMOKING!” Devon screamed as he rose from the ground with murderous rage “Do you Poms do anything other than fucking complain” I belched back through a cloud of Winnie Red Smoke. I’m really sick of his whinging, I would have given him a piece of my mind but I was too busy trying to do the maths in my head on how long it would take for me to smoke all these cigarettes before the fire consumed us, but before I could figure out the answer Devon’s hands stained from fake tan are wrapped around my throat. “What are you doing?” I gargled, the heat of the fire made his hands super sweaty, It feels like an eel and smells like coco butter, two things I despise especially when they are crushing my wind pipe. “Get off me Devon, your hands are sweaty and gross” I said chokingly and wishing I said something tougher “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU” Devon spat in a salvia filled scream. Man I wished I had said something cool like that rather than your hands are sweaty and gross. I should really fight back but what’s the point, this will probably be a better way to go out, better than cooking alive in the middle of nowhere. I also think I should punch Devon in his Geordie Shore face because in these stressful times he has been a bit of a cunt, that’s how a hero would go out.

I mustered my remaining strength and clenched my fist as hard as I could and wham right in his kisser, to my surprise this worked because Devon jumped off me screaming in pain, he sounds like a dying lama “Ahahalaladahdahdal”. I must of really brought the pain for him to make such a cowardly cry.

The noise Devon is making sounds more and more pathetic, being the asshole that he is I thought he’d be use to people punching him in the head “YOU BURNT MY FACE YOU CUNT” his venomous mouth spit. I must have punched him with my cigarette still lit in my hand. Looking at the ground and seeing the remains of my crumbled cigarette infuriated me, it didn’t matter that I still have a full pack in my pocket, Fuck Devon! If I can’t beat him physically then I will have to beat him mentally, by saying the most badass line imaginable before we both disintegrate to dust “GET USED TO IT ASSHOLE! BECAUSE IN ABOUT 2 MINUTES YOU’RE GOING TO BE NOTHING BUT FUCKING ASH” I screamed aggressively but chuffed with myself for thinking of such a badass line so quickly “so will you, you fucking twat” Devon responded throwing me off my guard with his even quicker rebuttal “Yeah well, fuck you” I responded immediately knowing I had ruined the badass line prior and losing this battle of mental warfare.

Devon is celebrating his verbal stoush win by charging at me like an angry Bull in Pamplona. The thought of having Devon’s gross manky swamp hands wrapped around my throat again was what was helping me fight him off, but it was too late his uncooked sausage paws latched onto me sending shivers down my spine. The only thing going through my mind is how disgusting his sloppy hands are as I slowly fade in and out of consciousness.

The fire must be really close now because I can feel beads of sweat pour off his head from the heat, I felt Devon release his hands from my throat, I’m not sure if I’m dead but I’ll pretend I am so Devon doesn’t put his icky squid fingers around my throat to finish the job.

Playing possum was working until I was awaken by a liquid spraying on my face “AH WHAT THE FUCK DEVON ARE YOU PISSING ON ME?” how much more disgusting can this cunt get? “I’m not pissing on you look” Devon said pointing to the Heaven’s as the water started flowing down our faces like a baptism from God. “What’s happening?” I mumbled, this must be the DMT releasing into our brains because we’re dying, I listen to a lot of Joe Rogan so I’m familiar with this situation, “I don’t know I don’t know” Devon responded in his cunty British accent. The fire around us was being extinguished as the water continued raining down on us, I quickly got my Winnie reds and put them in the front of my pants so they wouldn’t get ruined by the water.

Out in the distance, through the Smokey haze I can see the flashing of blue and red lights, that could only be from fire trucks. “WE’RE SAVED, WE’RE FUCKING SAVED” Devon shouted with tears of joy and excitement. I was less excited because staring at the flashing lights of the fire trucks I came to the sudden realisation I probably didn’t have a case against the tobacco companies and the government fat cats and I was probably facing a lengthy jail sentence for negligence for starting a bush fire.

“OVER HERE OVER HERE” Devon began screaming to the fire fighters “over here over here” I screamed with a lot less enthusiasm. I’m not sure if it was the fire or the choking or the overwhelming confusion of being saved and facing a long prison sentence but something is making me woozy, like that fine line of feeling drunkenly happy to spewy drunk.

Waking up in an ambulance is not a new experience for me, but being surrounded by fire fighters and ambos looking at me like a freak show attraction is definitely an odd feeling. “So what happened, you guys have no idea how lucky you are to be alive” the Fire Department Chief said to us in a stern but congratulative voice. Lucky wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe the situation, I’m facing serious jail time, I haven’t been to prison before and wasn’t looking forward to finding out if all those prison rape stories are true. The idea of it made me more and more anxious.The only thing I could think to do was reach into the front of my undies and pull out my full pack Winnie Reds cigarettes, must look like a creep to the fire fighters and Ambos, but I’m too anxious to care “Do you have a light?” I said to the group surrounding me. The spark that was lit in front of my face didn’t do much for my anxiety but I thought it was fitting that what was potentially my last cigarette as a free man is being lit by The Fire Department Chief.

Breathing in that sweet sweet Winnie Red takes the sting out of any uncomfortable situation “So what happened out there?” The Fire Department Chief said with a controlled curiosity. I was sensing their excitement so I took a long deep breath of that Winnie Red for dramatic effect, blowing out the smoke I could feel I was giving off a real James Dean or John Wayne kind of vibe.

“Well fella’s, here’s the story”

The End

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[gregmikaels]

60 Days - a FF13 fanfiction (Lightning x Hope): Prologue

Take note: the story takes place a year after the events of REMINISCENCE: TRACER OF MEMORIES.

----

PROLOGUE: THE UNMATCHED

I really didn’t see that coming from Serah, not by a long shot…

One year had passed since the journalist Aoede had interviewed us all, save Lightning. She desired to uncover the story of the memories that she had regarding the “other world” we once lived in, along with our journey from Cocoon to Gran Pulse, our battle versus the Sanctum and Caius Ballad, the end of the world, and most but not least, our battle against Bhunivelze, the god of light that we vanquished to free humanity. I had to admit, she really had guts to look after each and every single one of us. She had been brave to pull something as such.

She recently contacted me. She told me that she accidentally was able to finally meet Lightning, but only was able to be brief with her, telling her thanks for what she did for humanity, along with a promise that this world would be looked after, no matter the mistakes of the past.

Reminiscing Aoede’s journey, it made me nostalgic. Though we kept in touch with each other, it had been a while since the last time we had gotten together. Of course, all of us were busy walking our own path and pursing our own lives, ambitions and passions, I couldn’t help missing them.

But luckily, an event was in the making that would gather us in a happy reunion. I had Serah and Snow to thank for that.

Despite our rebirth, their love never lessened for each other. That was something that had left me in awe. To know that such feelings, despite everything that had happened through hurtful struggles and hardship, would survive and grow even stronger, this was the fabric of love that couldn’t be broken. Demons and gods have tried and failed, while their love only hardened over the course of time.

The two destined lovers had taken time to meet and spend time with each other. Serah had become a full-fledged teacher for students at the elementary level. From what I had heard, she is an instant favorite for her class and is known for the kindness and supportive personality. But she had taken a page from her sister is known to be disciplinary when needed. As for Snow, being a great enthusiastic for motorcycles and cars, he had opened his own repair shop for vehicles of all sorts. Serah wasn’t too fond when some of his clientele tried to flirt with him, Snow’s love for her was as immovable as the universe itself; it would be loyal and present forever still. After their accomplished dreams and ambitions, they had resumed where they had left off their relationship, leading Snow to make a new demand for her hand, which of course Serah agreed.

The future duo of husband and wife had announced the news to all of us. We’ve all been genuinely happy and relieved. We knew this moment had to happen, especially after all that we went through. Lightning offered her home and have the wedding and reception. Her place was spacious for such occasion.

Speaking of Lightning… ah, gosh! Why in the world Serah said something like this?

When Serah and Snow had called everyone individually to announce the news of their wedding, I had been the last person on the list. We made a video conference on our laptops for the conversation and my joy was as exquisite as theirs. As we ended our conversation, Serah’s name popped again on my computer screen an hour later.

Perhaps a forgotten detail, I thought at first. Far from it.

“Wait, what?” I exclaimed onto the screen. My face turned instant red as a freshly picked apple.

“See? I knew it! Your face tells it all!”

The purpose of her second call? It had been to ask me about myself… and Lightning. In a matter of… matchmaking.

Lightning…

Back in our first adventure on Cocoon, we had a long and shared history. I’ve learned a lot about her regarding of inner strength, survival and wisdom. Afterwards, she became a role model for me as I wanted to do everything in my power to grow stronger and wiser for the betterment of humankind. And even when we were manipulated by Bhunivelze, stripped of our emotions, I was ready to betray the god of light for her. All I wanted to do was protect her.

But why did Serah’s question made me react as such?

“It’s not that!” I had told her, trying my best to regain my composure. “The topic just came out of nowhere. I mean… me in love with Lightning? That—”

“Oh, she’s not your type?”

“I didn’t say that! I—”

“So she is your type!”

“I mean…!” Serah was really pushing me into a corner. “She’s beautiful, elegant, strong and determined, intelligent, caring and possesses a such a beautiful smile and—”

“Such a beautiful smile?” she repeated my own words a mischievous look. “Wow, that’s quite a long description you’re doing here lover boy.”

“My point is,”I had literally fell into this one. “Anyone would love a woman like her!”

“Even you?” she yearned for an honest answer.

I tried evading this. “Okay, why the sudden talk about Lightning and me? What’s going on?”

She sighed and returned to her usual calm and charming self as she waved head left and right, undecided about the nature of her next words. Or she didn’t know how I would react to them.

“I talked to her the other day, and your name popped up.” She started. “We were talking about all and everything. And then we talked about our shared past. She talked about you. She’s really proud of you, you know; of your accomplishments and on how you’ve grown throughout all of this time, but…”

“But?”

“It’s just that when she mentioned you, there was something there in her heart. And at the same time, there was this distance in her eyes when she talked about you; as if she misses you.”

I was honored that Lightning was holding me in great esteem, I really was. As I said, I learned a lot from her inspirational figure. It helped me shape myself into the person that I am now. Yet, what Serah had been trying to explain didn’t make any sense. At least without any grounded bases.

“Serah, we all haven’t seen each other in a very long time. I’m certain she feels the same towards everybody.”

“I know my sister, Hope, and trust me; there was a tiny spark there, especially when it comes to you. I could be wrong, I know, but… I think your journey from long ago really built something between the two of you. After all, you’ve grown a lot thanks to her when you were on the run as fal’Cie fugitives and even when you were manipulated by Bhunivelze, you were ready to betray him for her, despite not having all of your feelings.”

I sighed, loosening my tie in exasperation. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

A tone of frustration carried her voice. “Then tell me right now that you don’t have an ounce of romantic feelings for Lightning and I’ll drop the whole thing.”

“I don’t have romantic feelings for Lightning.” I said swiftly. “As amazing as she is, I don’t feel like that for her.”

There was a direct surprise in Serah’s face following by a teenage-like disappointment. It was as she had been supporting a favorite pairing from a love drama for years only to see them annihilated for good.

“Bummer…” She rested her head on her right hand.

“I’m really sorry, Serah.”

She let out an embarrassing laughter. “No, it’s okay. I was so sure about the two of you. I guess I got carried away a little bit.”

“No need to apologize.” I humbly replied with a soft laughter of mine. “I think your intention comes from a good place. Seeing people happy together; there is nothing wrong with that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I really do hope that someday that you and Lightning find your own soulmates someday.”

“The day that happens,” I said, “you’ll be one of the bridesmaids, I guarantee it.”

“That’s so sweet! Thank you, Hope! See you at the wedding!”

“Likewise, Serah. Take care of yourself and send Snow my salutations.”

“Will do! Bye!”

The screen shut down, I inhaled and exhaled a large quantity of air, feeling the fatigue of such conversation. Her persistence had been hammering, but at the end, reason and logic grasped victory.

The setting sun was smoothly kissing the ground and ready to bid us good night. The warm and gold light carpeted the horizon in a lovely and celestial way. The view from my apartment was breathtaking indeed. As my eyes tasted this wonder of nature, they caught the attention of a shelf that supported framed pictures. I rose from the couch and approached the collections of wonderful memories.

Some pictures showed my parents and I, others of them showed me with old colleagues at school and work, etc. As colorful and memorable they all are, my favorite ones were captured at my graduation some years ago.

When I think about it, this was the last time that we had gathered together. Learning of this event, they had told me that they wouldn’t miss it for the world. That promise was held with flying colors. I was asked to make a speech. I was very honored of the opportunity. I thought my words back then were words that anyone would say, but I was very applauded by my inspirational message for the future. My father actually cried. Everyone among my friends and old classmates had wanted to take picture with me. Our group picture; the one with my parents and my friends from our past life was beyond timeless. Everyone that I cared for was there. My one and only family.

Among the graduation pictures, there was one that I took with Lightning. Her words of encouragement and support really touched me on that day. Being slightly shorter than I, her arms had circled around my neck and she offered a beautiful and serene smile. With my hand that had rested on her left shoulder, we resembled like a charming couple. I remembered I had blushed fiercely with her being so close to me. And I didn’t mind at all.

I took the picture and took a closer look at it. If I was being honest, I loved how we looked on that picture. I smiled to the memory, then Serah’s words came back to me.

I was so sure about the two of you.

“Me and Lightning?” I asked myself. “I don’t even think that I would be her type.”

So she is your type!

I shook my head in disbelief. What was I thinking? This topic was closed and done for. I didn’t have any feelings nor was I attracted to Lightning. Case closed.

And yet, here I stood in silence, holding a picture of me and her, questioning my own heart. What the hell?

“I need some air,” I put the picture back on its shelf and hasted myself out of my apartment, grabbing my keys along the ways.

Serah’s words; those were the reason why I couldn’t stop thinking about Lightning. She was insisting that there was a romantic bond between her sister and me. I was certain that it would pass.

And yet, an annoyance within myself would later remind me that it was just the beginning.

 For more: https://www.wattpad.com/story/212238725-60-days

[huntertales]

I Don’t Need Saving | Chapter One.

Pairing: Superhero!Dean Winchester x Journalist!Reader 

Word Count: 6,295.

Warning: Slight mention of violence, minor character death.

Summary: To friends and family he’s known as Dean Winchester, at night he transforms into the Red Hood. The vigilante of the city beating up criminals and saving damsels from danger. Nobody has seen his face, nobody knows his true identity. Except for a few helpful allies. The reader is best friends with Dean for long as she can remember, and head over heels in love with the man. But she doesn’t have mutual feelings for the Red Hood. 

However an encounter with the vigilante starts to change her opinion on the hero, and soon, she grows a fascination with him. Somehow she finds herself growing a strange friendship with the vigilante she once was supposed to hate, not realizing it’s someone she knew. Dean, hiding behind the mask of the Red Hood, shows his true feelings for the reader in disguise. Little do they realize both of them are holding a secret from each other that will put them in danger. 

*Based upon Jensen Ackles as The Red Hood.

Mary Winchester hated the city. It was no place to raise a child.

It was too loud. People were mean and rude. The streets were filthy and littered with trash. Not to mention, the noise pollution. Drunks singing loud as they could at three in the morning and drivers honking their horns any chance they could get, as if that was going to make traffic run smoother. Her upstairs neighbors when she first move in was a young couple that fought when people should have been sleeping. While all of these factors drove Mary insane for the first handful of months, her boys didn't seem bothered by their surroundings. Dean was born shortly after they moved, and Sammy had turned the city sounds into his own personal lullaby. She’d lived here for four years, and she still wondered why John wanted to move here.

Well...it was the job offer that brought the newly weds here. Both of them were dirt poor with almost no money to their name. Back at home they were living in an apartment that was half the size of their current place when Bobby gave them a call. John had been out of the Marines for over a year and a half, but he hadn't found a steady job. Mary was determined to make all of this work without asking her parents for a single dime.

They made it quite clear they didn't like John. He wasn't "suitable material" for their little girl, her father said when she first started going steady with the man Her mother ushered her to think about other men she would be happy with when she became engaged. There was so many other boys Mary could have fell in love with, why the Winchester boy?

Because Mary loved him. And John loved her. Why couldn't that be enough for her parents to understand? Sure, John was from the lower side of town. He grew up with a single mother after his father left the family without a trace when he was young. John was rough around the edges, but he cared for Mary. He treated her like a queen. What they had together was enough to make them happy for the rest of their lives. But it wasn't enough to pay the bills and keep food stocked up in the fridge. Mary was slowly losing her hope that she could make it through their first year without asking her parents for help, but, like a gift from God, the couple got a break.

Bobby Singer called one afternoon to see how John was doing. Bobby was a family friend that John met in the Marines. Both of them trained and fought together in the war, developing a bond that would last for years to come. Bobby made contact with the young couple to see how they were doing, and to see if John was interested in a job with the police force. Hundreds of miles away from their small little town in Lawrence, Kansas...away from everyone they loved. And far away from Mary’s parents.

The coupled jumped on the opportunity to start their life over again. Everything seemed to have worked out like it was meant to be. Her parents gifted them with a three bedroom apartment in the better part of the city when they broke the news about moving, and how Mary was expecting her first child in late January. Dean came along a few months after they settled into the apartment and got everything exactly how they liked it. John's new career at the police force was going well and Mary was enjoying her new life as a homemaker. Everything seemed perfect...and it was. Except for the city. Mary tried and tried to fall in love with it like John had. But she couldn't stand it. She missed home. She missed having a yard and trees.

Dean was the opposite of his mother, he loved the city. He was only four and yet to see the flaws in the concrete jungle, but from what he could understand, the place was filled with wonders, and he took in every little thing the city had to offer. The sights of buildings that were monstrous compared to his small view on the world. The smells of all sorts of different cuisines from food carts on the corner and family owned restaurants from people wanting to spread their native foods to the city folks. Not to mention the sight of millions of different people that looked different than him. That was something a small town Kansas couldn't offer. Dean couldn't wait for when his little brother would be old enough to see of this for himself, and to be old enough to play in the vast and spacious park that was only a fifteen minute walk from their apartment.

Mary was a bit afraid of how Dean was going to handle the news of becoming a big brother after she found out she was carrying her second child a little after Dean turned three. Mary and John were both only children. They dreaded the thought of Dean becoming angry and upset at the thought of having the attention not be on him as it had been for the first three years of his life. But to their surprise, the little boy seemed overjoyed. Dean loved his new little brother with every fiber of his being. Mary had never knew the bond of sibling love. She only hoped her children could have what she never did. A strong family bond that lasted forever.

"Mommy?" It was a little late into the evening when Mary was disturbed from the evening news she was watching in the living room. She looked away from the news reporter to see her oldest son standing in the hallway, his glasses crooked slightly on his face and eyes squinted from the florescent lights he was still getting used to. "I heard a noise."

"What kind of noise, honey?" Mary asked in a soft voice. She shut off the TV and sat straight up in her seat on the couch. Dean began to make slow footsteps towards. Her son shrugged his shoulders. "Did it sound like people talking? Maybe a car horn?"

Dean shook his head, “It’s in the walls. I hear scratching.”

Mary thought to herself for a moment what could have possibly made scratching sounds inside the wall. But then it hit her. The reason why she hated this place. Rats. Those disgusting, fat creatures with their long claws and thick pink tails. She let out a quiet sigh and got up to her feet, tempting the idea of calling up John at the station to see if he would buy mouse traps on his way home from work for precaution until tomorrow morning. She'd sit down with Mrs. Wilson, the sweet landlord, to see if any other tenants had the same problem and if she might know of a good exterminator to take a look at the possible infestation while Dean was at preschool.

"Well, I can say for sure that it's not a monsters. Monsters don't like the city. There's not enough darkness to snatch kids up." Mary said, walking over to her son and grabbed him by the hand to lead him back his bedroom. "I'll have Daddy call someone to take a look at it tomorrow. Okay?"

“Okay.” Dean mumbled, agreeing with the plan. He slipped back into bed without much trouble, Mary tucked him back in like he had done two hours ago before he slipped out in a half-asleep state. She kneeled down so she was at level with the bed and fell silent for a moment to listen for the sound that had rose her son from his sleep. But nothing. All she heard was the muffled sound of a police siren passing by. “Mommy, what if it’s a person living in the walls?”

Mary felt her lips stretch into smile at her son's wild imagination. She refrained from laughing as she gave him a slightly confused expression. "It's not, honey. Where did that idea come from?"

"Uncle Bobby said he caught someone living in between a person's walls. He said that he was looking for bad kids to grab and eat them." Dean explained, giving his true reason why he had gotten up from bed to bug her. Mary let out a frustrated sigh from what the old kook had told her very impressionable child. "I don't want to get eaten."

“You won’t. I promise. Uncle Bobby was just...telling you a story. There’s nobody living in your walls. They’re just rats.” Mary reassured her son. Dean seemed to have somewhat believed her, but she could still see the apprehension on her son’s face. She wondered what she could do in order to get him to feel better. Looking around, she spotted the new action figures her parents had bought Dean when they visited last month. She grabbed them and placed each one on the nightstand—Batman, Superman, Spider-Man and the Incredible Hulk. The few that she could find. “See these guys? Long as they’re are around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

“What about Sammy?” Dean asked. Mary smiled at how he thought of his baby brother sleeping peacefully in the next room. “Who’s gonna protect him?” “Well…” Mary looked around the room and found Captain America peeking out from underneath the bed. She pulled out the figure and showed it to her son. “He’ll keep an extra eye on Sammy.” Mary could see the relief cross her son's face when she brought out his favorite toys that he played with every second that he possibly could. Him and John would play for hours with these hunks of plastic. Dean would play the hero as John pretended to be the villain who was trying to take over the world. She had a feeling her son was going to follow in her husband's footsteps in the career department. Dean had a knack for helping people and making sure people were safe. Like father, like son. The child stared at the Captain America action figure for a moment.

“Can I put it in Sammy’s room?” Dean's request was asked in a small and timid voice. He knew his mother was strict when it came to his bedtime and scooted him off to bed whenever he tried to get out. But Mary seemed okay with the idea of letting her son stay up for another few minutes. She had checked on the sixth month old to see that he was peacefully sleeping.

Mary allowed her son to get out of bed one more time tonight to deliver Captain America to the room next door to his to put the four year old's mind at ease. Both of them traveled only a few feet to enter ever so quietly into baby Sam’s room, the only light source besides the hallway light came from the baby giraffe nightlight to help guide their way into the room.

Mary pressed her index finger against her lips when she heard the baby let out a deep breath to follow the rhythmic pattern. Dean quietly made his way into the nursery and to the shelf that Bobby had built himself one afternoon, it was a present after he found out Mary was pregnant with her second child. It was filled with different stuffed animals and baby books Mary remembered reading to Dean when he was small as Sam.

The thought of her son being a baby, small as the one sleeping in the crib felt like it happened a lifetime ago. Children grow up quick, but time felt like it moved so slow at the same time when she thought about it. Soon the boys were going to be going to school before she even realized, and all of this was going to be a distant memory.

She grabbed the action figure from her son's hand and placed it on the very top shelf, making sure it was watching over baby Sammy. When she looked over at Dean to make sure she did a good job, her son broke out into a smile, suddenly seeming to have been filled with relief and happiness that his brother was safe from the fictional monster he thought was crawling inside the walls. Little did she realize there was a monster pacing around the halls outside of her apartment.

+ + +

Mary found herself back in the same spot on the couch she left twenty minutes ago after tucking in her son back into bed and reassuring him that there was no monster hiding in the walls and waiting to eat him. She swore she was going to give that Bobby Singer an earful the next time she saw him about how he spoke to her children. She had a feeling Karen, Bobby's wife, would feel the same way. Hell, she'd probably beat that man with a wooden spoon. But she saved the day from disaster. Mary smiled in the small victory and continued to watch the news, eagerly waiting for the news segment John told to keep an eye out for. Her husband was famous.

A few days ago the police and FBI took down one of the biggest underground crime rings the city had ever seen. Infamous crime boss, Nick something, Mary didn't remember his name, was arrested for a long list of charges that weren't ever going to let him see the day of light again. Drug charges, illegal possession of firearm, prostitution, rape, murder...the list went on for this one man. But Mary forced her husband to stop talking when he admitted that this Nick guy murdered his baby son and wife, but blamed it on a "robber." It didn't matter. Karma got the son of a bitch. Bobby and John were the ones who made the very public arrest.

Mary half-listened to the report about some robbery that happened upstate just this morning. She found her attention drifting away from the TV when she heard the phone start to ring, which was rather odd for this late at night. Mary could think of only one person that was calling at this time of night, her mother. She only called every few week to see how things were doing and the boys were. Her parents were already in bed at this time of night. She’d be only calling at this time of night if something happened to her father. Mary's mind wandered to the worst case scenario as she got up from the couch to answer the phone.

"Hello?" Mary answered the phone on its second ring. Her voice was dull as she was momentarily distracted by her panic of her father's imaginable illness. She looked over her at to the TV, her lips stretching into a small smile at the sight of her husband on the small screen. She thought to herself about how handsome he looked in his uniform as he escorted out the criminal that was going to be locked away for years to come. “Winchester residence.”

“Mary? Is that you?” The voice on the other end was instantly recognizable as her husband. She answered John’s question in a chipper tone, but he didn’t greet her with a hello like always. “Are you and the boys okay?”

"We're fine." Mary reassured her husband. A slightly confused expression crossed her face from the question he asked her. "Honey, is everything alright with you?"

"Mary, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You and the boys need to find somewhere safe to hide." John explained to the woman the true reason why he was calling. Mary felt a shiver run up her spine from the way her husband was speaking. She warned him to stop joking around. "I wish I was joking, sweetheart. But I'm not. Grab the gun I have in the nightstand and take Dean to Sammy's room. Lock the door and don't let anyone in."

“W-What?” Mary suddenly found it hard to form words. “John, what’s going on?”

The line went silent for a moment, as if he was debating with himself if he wanted to tell her the truth. He did. "It's probably nothing. Some kid dropped a note off at the the front desk a half an hour ago. It said that the families of the cops involved with the big bust a few days ago were..." John didn't need to say the words for Mary to understand. It was a threat against her life. And her two precious boys she had sleeping just down the hall. "I'm heading out now. Bobby left five minutes ago to check on Karen and Y/N."

Mary understood that when her husband became a cop his life would be put in danger every single time he put on the uniform. But never did she think her own would be. Her last thought before she heard the door handle start to slightly rattle was about the safety of the Singer family and their new adopted daughter, Y/N. The infant who had been brought into this world in a painful and miserable way that made Mary feel nauseous when Bobby told her the story. She was such a beautiful baby girl. Mary wondered if her and the boys would be good friends. But she would never know the future, as hers only lasted for a few more minutes before it was cut.

+ + +

Dean felt himself inhale a deep breath as his mind tore itself away from the familiar hellish nightmare that could always make him break out into a cold sweat and confuse him for a second of where he was,. In the brief few seconds of his sleepy haze he thought he was four years old again, clutching his action figure he grabbed from his room for comfort and hid underneath his baby brother's crib like his mother instructed him to do. And he did. His four year old self focused on keeping silent as possible, he was a pro at it from the hundreds of times he used to play hide and seek with his father after he came home from work. But trying to block out his mother’s screams for mercy were harder. The seven minutes that it took his father to get home felt like it took a lifetime and a half.

His father prayed to the Virgin Mary, God and their son Jesus that his wife was safe during the entire way back home from the station. John found her dead body lying on the living room floor, bleeding out from the six stab wounds the killer managed to inflict before sneaking out the fire escape. The last thing Dean remembered about that night was seeing all those cops in the living room and the flashing of lights. Bobby was there, too. He took Dean out to the police car and showed him all the buttons that an officer had to use to chase down bad guys. Dean thought that was the night he wanted to help people. And the last time he ever saw his mother.

Three days after his mother's murder, his father quit the force. He decided that his time would be suited better to helping people as a private investigator, attempting to solve crimes and mysteries the police didn't have time for. Dean knew it was an excuse to obsess over the murder that took his mother's life when his father got a little too drunk. He lost count how many times he came home to boxes and boxes of evidence lying around the apartment. Dean was surprised the old man survived until a few years ago from the heart attack that took his life. His mother’s murder drove his father insane. But now the both of them were at rest.

Dean rubbed his face with his hands, forcing his aching body to get up when he heard the sounds  of rustling coming from outside his bedroom and into his apartment. For a split second in his post nightmare haze, Dean reached for the gun that he always kept hidden underneath his pillow, thinking someone had followed him home last night. But then he realized a few moments later that it was Friday morning, your weekly visit to his apartment to make sure that he was still alive and to drop off the food you picked up after each time you stole his credit card. You thought you were being sneaky, but he caught you every time, yet he never said anything.

Dean was thankful for the helpfulness on such a simple task, and you wanted to make sure the man didn’t eat himself into an early grave from all the takeout he had. Dean didn’t remember the last time he cooked a meal for himself, either. You were here almost every chance you could when you and Dean weren’t too busy with work. From an early age you were in the kitchen with your mother, Karen, learning all the tips and tricks to make a delicious meal. You loved loved to cook, and he loved you...r food. Obviously.

"I don't understand why you don't just ask Dean if you can move in. You're practically here every chance you can get." Charlie Bradbury, best friend to you and Dean, was currently occupying one of the chairs at the small dining area and enjoying the fresh pot of coffee you had put on before she arrived. She was drinking out of the cup that was in the shape of Iron Man's head. It was part of a gift you had gotten Dean few Christmas' ago that were a set of Marvel superhero coffee cups. "You cook for him, you buy his groceries."

"Hey, I'm not paying for this out of my own pocket. He pays for his own stuff. I just happen to live a few blocks away from the store. And I know how to cook better than he can. It's the only way I can get him to eat something that isn't a pizza or deep fried." You defend yourself against your best friend as you put away a few cans of vegetables into a cabinet. "Besides, Dean does this stuff for me when I get busy with the paper.”

"You never do it for me." Charlie said.

“That’s because you’re annoying.” You sarcastically shot back at her. You knew what you said would only add more fuel for her to use against her. So you added, “And that's a lie. I was over at your place every single day cooking for you when you broke your leg last year after you and Dorothy went up the Adirondacks to go skiing. It’s what friends do.”

“Yeah. True. But you’re also obsessed with him and his well-being.” Charlie slyly remarked. She hid her growing smirk behind the coffee cup as she took another sip of her drink. She saw your body stiffen in discomfort at how the conversation shifte. She would take any chance she could get to remind you of the dirty secret you confessed to her at a New Years party a few years back while you were too drunk for your own good. “Why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“Because!” You quickly shushed the redhead when you realized that Dean was still sleeping in the room just across the way. Unless Charlie’s big mouth woke him up. “It’s weird. He’s my best friend. I’ve known him since I was born.”

Charlie's brow raised slightly in curiosity, "So you're finally admitting that you like him?"

You opened your mouth to defend yourself against your best friend's assumption, however you slowly shut it as you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment when Charlie's smirk grew into a toothy smile. You would admit in a heartbeat that Dean was your best friend for long as you could remember, along with his little brother Sam, who was almost six months older than you. Your father said all you were like the three musketeers growing up, you were always at each other's side at every chance you could get. And the dynamics stayed the same when the three of you were adults with careers and lives of your own. You and Sam had your own dynamics you formed after going to school from pre-k all the way to your senior year of high school. But your friendship with Dean was...different.

There was something about him, from his nerdish love for everything comics and horror related, to old Westerns he used to make you and Sam watch all the time as teens, to his taste in music. The both of you liked a lot of the same things, sharing a special bond to the old cartoon of Scooby Do when you used to watch it together, and his secret guilt pleasure of Disney movies you would drag him every so often if there was a cute one playing in theatres. He was adamant on not wanting to see "Finding Dory" when it came out a few years ago, but he fell in love with the forgetful fish. Much as the both of you acted like best friends, at some point in your life you grew the tiniest crush on him that never stopped growing.

Luckily before you could try and deflect the conversation from spilling your guts, a familiar face greeted you when you turned around to finish putting away the rest of the groceries. A smile crept at the ends of your lips when you saw Dean standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a slightly groggy expression, his green eyes that you could stare into all day were covered behind this black rimmed glasses he wore since he was a little kid. You realized that you must have accidentally woken up from how loud you and Charlie were talking.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." You greeted the man in a playful tone as you shut the fridge door after putting away a quart of milk. Dean scratched the back of his head, subtly making sure his short hair wasn't sticking out in any odd ends. He adjusted his glasses and mumbled a good morning to follow yours. You took a moment to examine the man when he went on the search for finding himself a clean mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. "No offense, but you like you were dragged through a hedge backwards. Rough night?"

"Yeah. If you want to call it that. I was out until three for a client. He wanted me to follow his wife around to see if she was cheating on him. You know, the stuff that pays the bills. Hey, do you know where the..." Dean tried to remember the word for the bottle of painkillers he was searching for. He rattled an invisible bottle in his hand, you grabbed him a new box of ibuprofen and threw it at him.

"Saw you were running low nd got some more. Stocked your bathroom with a new one, too. I swear, you gotta be careful with that stuff." You warned the man. But you knew you were contradicting yourself when you grabbed an open can of an energy drink you picked up from the store. "Too much of that is gonna give you kidney failure in the future."

"Uh-huh. And that stuff isn't a heart attack in a can." Dean said. You rolled your eyes as you took another sip of the drink that was the only thing keeping you from falling asleep. He ripped open the paper packaging to dig inside the bottle and take out a few pills, trying his hardest to keep the muffled sounds of his pain to a bare minimum so you wouldn't notice. But you always did.

"So," You leaned yourself against the countertop and looked over at the man who downed the few pills with a sip of coffee Charlie poured for him. You pointed to Dean's stomach area that you were guessing was making him walk around like an eighty year old man in pain. "What's the latest injury? The cheating wife kick your ass after she found out you were following her?"

Dean worked as a private investigator after taking over his father's business when John died a few years ago from a heart attack. Winchester Investigations was started before Dean's firth birthday and attracted all sorts of people for John to help them. Mostly on missing people and unsolved mysteries that families wanted closure for. But that didn’t always walk through the door asking for Dean’s investigative skills. Lately it was a disgruntled spouses wanting to see if their partner was cheating on them with someone younger than them. They wanted photographic proof to file for divorce, Dean agreed, and he'd do all sorts of weird things to get his proof.

“I...might have fell out of a fire escape trying to get her picture.” Dean admitted to you. His words became muffled slightly as he brought the cup back to his lips to take another sip. But he knew you heard him as your eyes grew slightly wide in concern as you spoke his name in a serious tone of voice. “Relax, Y/N. I’m fine. Nothing’s broken. Just a little bruised up.”

You let out a sigh and shook your head from how accident prone he could be. You rubbed your face with your hand as you let out a yawn. The few hours of sleep you managed to get last night were demanding more. “You look like crap yourself.” Charlie said. You gave her a small smile as you sarcastically thanked her for the compliment. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“About two hours. Cas and I were down at the docks since four this morning. His ‘friend’ Meg tipped him off about these four girls who said they were kidnapped and kept in these horrendous conditions in one of those storage units. You know, the ones that get shipped off into boats and stuff? Well, we got there first and took a look around. And...trust me, it was messed up." You explained the situation to your friends about the news story you were investigating for your job. These poor girls were kept in complete darkness for days. They barely were given any food. There was no place to go to the bathroom or bathe. God knows what would have happened."

"That's terrible." Charlie mumbled. You could see a slightly disturbed expression cross her face when she imagined what kind of things you had seen. She knew by tomorrow morning you would have written all about it with Cas' pictures on the front page. "How did they get away?"

"This is where things got...ridiculous. These girls claimed a guy dressed in all leather and a red mask saved them. Never saw his face. The guy never said a word to them. He somehow managed to take on four men all by himself." You said, your lips stretching into a small smirk as you retold the statement one of the women had given to Meg Masters. "When the cops got there all of the men were tied up and locked in the unit."

Charlie's brow raised itself slightly in curiosity from the description she heard a dozen times before, "You mean this could be the work of the Red Hood?"

"Red Hood. Who the hell came up with that stupid name?" You mumbled to yourself. You couldn't help yourself when you rolled your eyes as you scoffed from the name you had grown to hate. "No. These girls were severely dehydrated and scared out of their minds. They probably wanted to think it was that psycho."

"If they were in such bad shape, how did they manage to escape?" Charlie asked. You tilted your head to the side and gave her an annoyed look from how she was getting on your nerves today. She grew a smile from how easy the mention of the masked vigilante could make you so angry. "Why do you hate the Red Hood so much?"

"Because there's some stranger out there taking the law into his own hands. Putting the lives of people in danger so they can play hero.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. "Last time I check it only takes three buttons to call 911 and report a crime. It's gonna be a matter of time until they kill someone."

"But they haven't yet." Charlie subtly argued with you. You gave her a look of disbelief from her support to this masked mad man running around the city that seemed to have popped out of nowhere a few years ago. "You've got a point, Y/N/N. And I'm not dissing your dad or the cops. They do a good job. But it doesn't hurt to have some peace of mind knowing there's someone out there looking out for us folks. And he probably saved those girls from being trafficked.”

You let out a sigh as you looked around the kitchen, waiting a second before giving your best friend the satisfaction that she had won this argument. "You’re right. But I still don't like him. And I’m not mentioning him in the article.”

You finished the last of your drink and disposed of it in the recycling. You wanted to stay for a little longer but you needed a nap and write the first draft of the article for your editor, Gabriel, to read over to see what revisions you might need to make before the printing of tomorrow's paper. You said your goodbyes to your best friends and made your way out. A moment of silence fell between Dean and Charlie after the door slammed shut. Dean sipped the rest of his coffee as he started to open up the cabinets, wondering what he might want for breakfast. He ignored the shift in Charlie's expression as she narrowed your eyes slightly on the man.

“You fell out of a fire escape, huh?”

“Yup.”

Charlie tapped her fingers against the ceramic mug, allowing the man a chance to come clean with the truth of his injuries. But Dean remained silent as he settled on a bowl of cereal, ever so slightly wincing at the movements he made. Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. “I thought we were gonna be smart about this, Dean. You could have gotten yourself killed. We should have went to the cops—”

“Charlie, I've went up against worse. I'm just a little sore. I'll be fine in a couple of days. Nothing a little rest and painkillers can’t fix. And besides, I don't think Bobby would like how we found those girls.” Dean cut off of the redhead from expressing her concerns. Charlie let out a faint sigh as she sank down into her seat, knowing that he was right. "But you did a good job. You should be proud of yourself.”

Charlie grew the faintest smile as her face lit up at the compliment. She took another sip of her drink and looked over at the front door. "I think Y/N is starting not to had the Red Hood so much. I'd call that progress." Dean turned his head slightly and looked at the woman from the corner of his eye. "You know, I think she would change her mind for good if she were to meet him."

Dean gave his best friend a disapproving expression from her idea. He didn’t want anyone to know the truth, not even Charlie. But things happened that caused her to know his secret. And he wanted to keep it between the both of them. "Right. Tell the daughter of the city's police captain that I'm really the Red Hood. 'Cause that doesn't end up with me getting hauled off to jail. Or Y/N laughing in my face.”

"I didn't say you had to reveal your secret. Just find a way to talk to her as the Red Hood." She suggested. Dean stopped for a moment as he stared at her with a look of disbelief from how she wasn’t letting this go. He asked her in a sarcastic tone of voice if he wanted her to show up at their best friend’s front door dressed up as the persona he adapted into. “No. But I know Y/N. And she loves a man in uniform. Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never followed her around.”

“What? No. That’s weird.” Dean quickly defended himself against such an absurd accusation his friend thought of. Charlie tilted her head to the side, he quickly moved his gaze back to the bowl of cereal me made for himself. “I did get those pictures of Mrs. Taylor last night. They're still on the computer. Send them to the client and get the hell out of my apartment. I’m going back to bed.”

Charlie watched as Dean grabbed his bowl of cereal and began to slowly make his journey back to his bedroom, the painkillers he took were starting to kick in. The redhead snickered to herself and got to work on her day job, delivering bad news to their clients about their suspicions on how faithful their partner was being. As Charlie uploaded the pictures to the computer, she found herself growing the smallest smile. Sure, this kind of work helped keep her and Dean in a job, but it was what the both of them accomplished last night that made her stick around and help the Red Hood. And she had to repay him back after Dean saved her life that night.

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The Mark of a Soulmate (Negan/BlakeAU) Chapter Seven

It’s been a while since my last chapter so I hope this doesn’t disappoint. Thank you as always to the gorgeous @neganandblake​ for your support Lovely. You’re amazing! <3

Chapter Seven

Blake stood in front of her mirror blankly looking back the dressed up woman in front of her that she was struggling to recognize.

She hated looking like this...the makeup, the hair, the tight fitting dresses that sometimes restricted her breathing. It was all fake. Not one piece of the facade reflecting the real woman underneath. She’d have been perfectly happy with her comfy t-shirt and sweat pants.

But she was part of a brand. A face that represented perfection to the people that gazed upon it.

Laying on her bed; she desperately grasped at any excuse she could think of that would get her out of going to this launch party. None came to mind that would be acceptable for her management. She was already on thin ice for her employment after weeks of skipping work.

Forgotten meetings and scheduled photo shoots; runway shows she’d pretended to be sick for so, she didn’t have to attend.

It was becoming harder and harder to care about any of it. Her mood constantly spiraling into a cold depth of numbing aches and pains; heart breaking every time she looked to her wrist. 

Negan...

Where the hell was he?! And why hadn’t he found her yet. Was she not good enough, not worthy enough to finally find the love she’d been promised by that damn mark on her skin? 

It felt as though it was mocking her at times. A constant reminder that she was alone. That perhaps she would always be that way. That maybe the weeks of research she had been doing was all for nothing. What if he had already had someone else.

It had been known that sometimes people would fall for someone that wasn’t their soulmate, but it was a still a fierce long lasting love that many couples had cherished well into their old age. And other times it wouldn’t prove enough and the relationships would crumple. If that was the case for her soulmate and he did have someone he loved; of course Blake would be happy for him. But where would that leave her? 

She was so tired of obsessing over a man she didn’t even know. It was getting to the point wasn’t sleeping properly, eating an entire meal had become a challenge for her to ever finish; as her appetite was always waning. And the thought of keeping the search for her soulmate going, was beginning to feel like more trouble than it was worth. 

Reluctantly she pulled herself up from her bed, quickly smoothing the creases out of her dress. Adding a last touch here and there to her straightened hair; paired with her rehearsed smile she’d carry with her most of the night. And after one last flick of her golden locks she was ready to go. 

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As Blake stepped into the center of the launch party; the only thing she wanted to do was to go home. 

The photographers; the journalists, designers, models and management teams...Blake didn’t care about any of it. It was a world she no longer wanted to be a part of.  

Looking around, it was like seeing it through a fresh pair of eyes for the first time in years. The privilege, the arrogance and conceit. The unrealistic levels of feigned perfection, it was toxic and Blake couldn’t understand how she’d let herself be taken in by all of it for so long without seeing the true ugliness hidden behind the camera. 

She didn’t even have Tara to ground her from the sea of chaos that surrounded her. She hadn’t been invited; another thing that angered her. Tara’s position as a makeup artist clearly not deemed important enough to include her on the guest list. When in fact her craft was just; if not more important as everyone else’s that worked on the sets or the runways. It wasn’t fair.

The flash of cameras was blinding along was loud thumping music as more guests pushed their way through the bustling crowds. Elbows bumping into Blake almost knocking her over. 

The clinking of champagne glasses echoed with idle chatter and laughter,all washed into white noise as the blonde imagined herself anywhere but where she was. 

Perhaps she could sneak out? Surely no one would notice. She’d attended as agreed, she’d fulfilled the agreement of her contract. Job done. But just as she moved to eye the exit, she was quickly grabbed by the wrist. 

“Ah Blake! Sweetheart finally you’ve arrived!” It was Damon, her boss. An older gentleman, dressing in a suit that practically screamed wealth; paired with a dark red silk tie and designer cuff links, sweeping back his receding grey hair the man had clearly dyed a mousy brown in an attempt to look younger than he was. 

Blake flashed him another well practiced fake smile, but from the frown on his brow; he clearly wasn’t buying it. Leaning in close she could almost feel his harsh breath as he whispered lowly in her ear.

“Get your ass up to my office now!” He hissed. Not giving her time reply as he then proceeded to brag her by the arm up the stairs towards the large wooden door by the landing. 

The blonde flinched as he slammed the door closed before releasing his grip on her, storming over towards his desk. His hands resting on the cold surface as he huffed a deep frustrated sigh from his flared nostrils.

Blake stayed by the door, the party downstairs now muffled by the closed door. Green watering orbs watching Damon’s every move as he poured himself a drink; turning from the window to address her. 

“Blake...” He started, leaning forward, arms resting on the back of his office chair; fingers impatiently tapping against the glass of scotch in his hand. 

“We’ve been through a lot you and I. Hell I’m the one that discovered you. Always thought you could make it in this business.” the man paused, another sigh leaving him. “But you’re just not hitting the mark anymore. You’re late, sloppy, giving excuse after excuse. And I’m getting to the point that I can’t keep lying for you anymore.”

“To be honest, I’m starting to wonder if your looks are fading because of it. You’re not taking care of yourself anymore. But I don’t have time to babysit my clients. You know that, I said as much when I hired you.”

Blake couldn’t believe what she was hearing, it was clear she was struggling and of all people she would’ve expect Damon to understand and give her time. Evidently she had expected wrong.

“We have a standard in this business kid, how else do you think these guys and girls sell the clothes they model or the products they endorse. It’s all about the brand and you have to look perfect while you’re doing it and I’m afraid you’re just not anymore.” Damon finished his drink with one final sip before putting the glass down and stepping out from behind his desk. Long tailored legs striding towards Blake as he placed a hand on her shoulder. 

His patronizing tone grinding on Blake’s nerves now the longer he looked at her.

“It was good while it lasted, but I’m afraid not everyone is cut out for this world sweetheart, I’m letting you. Your contact terminated immediately. I hope you can understand.” He patted her shoulder but quickly snatched it back when Blake slapped his hand away.

“Oh I understand!” She spat. “This obsession for perfection is ridiculous Damon. None of it is real! You pin and tuck everything to point I can’t fucking breath! You paint so many layers of makeup on my skin that it’s hard to tell it’s me, no woman looks like that! It’s not right and if that’s your idea of perfection then I’m glad you’re firing me!”

To Blake’s utter disgust, Damon simply scoffed in her face. An idle cocky smile widening across his face.

“They all get bitter when they realize they’re not as pretty as they used to be. Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m sure you can find employment somewhere else.” Damon joked sarcastically. “Perhaps somewhere that doesn’t require you to think too much, I know with this job ‘standing and looking pretty’ was already a stretch for you to remember all at once dear.”

“Fuck you Damon.”

“Enjoy the party Blake...might as well considering it’s your last.”

Blake trembled with anger at Damon’s cruel words, a chuckle echoing behind her as he stepped back out towards the party to greet his guests. 

Her bottom lip quivering as she refused to let herself cry. Her pride too stubborn to let anyone see she was upset. 

Turning on her heel she also rejoined the party, but surrounding people blurred and bled into the a mix of colours with no faces that seemed familiar. 

The blonde dropped herself on a lonely stool by the bar, raised fingers calling for the bartender as she order her drink. A bitter taste washing down her throat as she threw it back before ordering another. Her throat and chest warming and numbing all at the same time from the booze. 

Stray tears escaping down her cheeks as she wallowed in the depths of darkness she could feel herself falling into. But she didn’t care. She was tired. So tired of pretending. Pretending that she cared about the job she’d just lost, pretending that it didn’t hurt every time she thought about Negan living his life with someone else. Or trying to find the man that might not even want her. But most of all she was tired of pretending she was happy...

She honestly didn’t know who she was pretending for anymore. But she did know she was done with it. Maybe she really was destined to be alone, a lost soul wandering forever looking for a soulmate that didn’t want to be found. 

Message received universe. Thanks for nothing...She knew that now. 

She was finally realizing what it felt like to hit rock bottom and she was more than willing to give in to it. She’d noticed the side-glances and sneered looks from the guests the more she drank, her lip curling in disgust for their unwanted judgement. She didn’t need to sit there and take part in their pathetic game as they looked down their noses at her from their high horses. 

And so she chose to leave, but not before leaning across the bar to snatch hold of the bottle of scotch she’d been drinking. Her slender fingers wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle clutching it tightly as she stumbled towards the door. 

Her actions on everyone’s lips that saw her leaving, Blake giving on-lookers a bitter laced laugh as she passed. She was done with this life, these people and their corrupt world. 

And as she walked out the door, she didn’t regret a thing.

Tag List: @thetruebornwildchild @mychemicalimagines @fanficsharing @island-end

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

[donnasaufley-blog]

Public Accountability For Donna Saufley; Or, Why I Quit Working At Hiker Heaven (2019)

In March of last year, I was sitting in the southern California desert trying to find direction after years of travel and exhaustion from studying communal spaces. I decided I would take on a simpler spiritual pursuit of walking across the country and rather than walking on the shoulder of highways, I decided it would likely be more scenic to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I had about $20 in my pocket, an ILBE marine bag, and had a sharpie made sign up in a public counter-culture tourist location known as Slab City seeking donated gear for a PCT attempt. The hike in itself is a different story of its own and I invite you to follow me on social media if travel for greater meaning without allowing money to prevent it interests you, but the contents of this article surrounds how I ended up working at a famous hiker spot known as Hiker Heaven during the last couple seasons.

Hiking the PCT without finances took a great deal of creativity and ethical approaches in being honest with trail angels as I made my way up the trail. I tripled my money working at Carmen’s Garden, did worktrade for StillHouse Hostel, moved firewood for Trail Angels in Big Bear, etc. I dumpster dived and hiker boxed scored most of my calories. I had written an email and planned to stay a week volunteering at Hiker Heaven, in order to rest before continuing on was the original plan. When I finally did reach Agua Dulce, my perspective of the trail had changed a great deal. I found the rugged desolate nature I once read about on the trail was nowhere to be found in this new boom of thru-hiking popularity where every 15 minutes another person in a puffy is passing by asking how many miles you walked so far for the day. Being someone who decided to hike for solitude and ecological connection, I found the time alone rare and felt more like I was contributing to a form of unsustainable eco-tourism that made me feel ashamed. When Donna Saufley invited me to stay and offered to pay me for my help, I saw my safest route to exit the thru-hike attempt. I ended up staying for a month and a half, which turned out to be profitable to me at a rate of $100 a week for more than full-time work and access to lots of hiking gear.

I decided as Hiker Heaven closed its doors to northbound hikers on the 30th, I would take a train to Portland to work with radicals at OccupyICEPDX protesting the recent family separations and militarization of the border. When that ended, I combined my skills of frugal travel mixed with the endurance of long distance hiking to attempt bike touring down the coast. At the end of my trip, I went a route that put me through Agua Dulce on my way to visit friends in Tucson. While there I was invited to return for hiker season. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to work out as well as the year before, but had nothing better to do and no other prospects for replenishing my supplies. I kinda went out of my way to get a train ticket back from Tucson a month later, but had high hopes the season would make up for the loss.

It turned out upon returning the Pacific Crest Trail was facing very high snow levels at elevation in southern California due to the polar vortex, which pushed back the arrival of hikers by over a month. This is an uncontrollable thing for all parties involved, but meant for me I had a whole month of draining resources to take care of myself in the expensive nowhere mountain town of Agua Dulce. By the time the first groups of hikers began to show up, I’d already drained more resources than Donna was going to pay for the whole season. In a way, it began to feel like an entrapment to work anywhere from 30-60 hours a week just to make up for the net loss of getting into the situation in the first place. I began to notice more details than my short time at Hiker Heaven the year before. Suddenly the comments by Donna about supposedly “barely scraping by financially” became entangled (sometimes within hours) with talk of selling their house at a market value of $500k to move to the pacific northwest, increasing the workers’ of Saufley Electric’s pay, the possible $10-30k in donations from PCT hikers that would be flowing in, and their incessant shopping began to grate. Especially when said to someone who has been living out of backpacks (and now a bike) for nearly a decade of their life. It would be nothing for her to pay all their volunteers a stipend, but she chooses not to for her own benefit. It’s also not hard to imagine when draining resources just for the chance to listen to Donna’s opinions and finally learning some semblance of the economy behind everything, how my bohemian work gig I once thought great to avoid contributing to military violence by doing “volunteer work” for a possible $100 a week “gift” began to feel more like exploitation than the cheat code to avoid taxes to a murderous government it once was.

To make matters worse, those endless opinions from Donna were more politically fueled this year. As last year they had a “no talking politics” rule, most likely because they were an employing a hiker at the time with anti-Muslim and transphobic prejudices than for herself. An example of new frustrations began when Donna started to interrupt and point out my using gender neutral terms for everyone as “wrong.” When explained to her grammatically they/them has existed longer than he or she as a pronoun, with suggestions to learn this by googling some things her response was, “Well, at least I’m only going to be doing this one more year.” This alongside my constantly being referenced as a he/him was one of many annoyances (though it was something I was expecting to suffer for a couple months in exchange for the resources I thought I would get). It seemed I was just nodding my head at whatever the daily opinions were to get it over with, rather than debate a business owning white lady in a $500k house who gets all her news from nightly viewings of MSNBC that she might not have any clue what is happening in the streets or around the world (let alone gender theory).

Things finally came to a head when a group of rightwing hikers came through. Prior to this season you should know, I had discovered a great organization known as Indigenous Women Hike who had a campaign to bring the racism of John Muir into conversations among outdoors culture and industry. I had even been sponsored a Rethink The Wild shirt from them via an individual to wear for hiker season in order to start the conversation with people hiking across indigenous lands via the Pacific Crest Trail. Indigenous sovereignty is a very important issue for me is the reason why I would quit. I quickly began to feel uncomfortable by this group of hikers as they camped by the RV I was staying in and had late night campfire discussions where I overhead bits of Fox News-like dialogue-isms such as: “It’s not racist if it’s a fact, man” in reference to some statistics they were claiming about black people.

“I was never called a Nazi until Trump was in office and I told people I voted for him.”

And references to, “those antifa fucks” and “race wars.”

Originally I thought I would just wait out their leaving, as in all traveling it is a common occurrence to just have to put up with someone repeating Fox News rhetoric. The following day, however, Donna was taking one of them grocery shopping and I had to go along to get my own groceries. On the way back I was in the backseat listening to their discussion. It turned out this hiker (with a name I cannot recall) was an ex-military white South African and he began talking about his country/ politics. This began by Donna mentioning their liberal centrist views of not being proud of Donald Trump, in which he responded that in his country Donald Trump is considered an international hero. This he said was because he demanded white farmers stop being murdered in South Africa or the USA would intervene. The white genocide myth in South Africa is statistically inaccurate and is a story being spun by white nationalist groups around the world. He began talking about how in South Africa white people are the minority and black people would like to kill him just for his skin color. An example he had of this is how in America people consider Nelson Mandela to be a great leader, but his people call Nelson Mandela a terrorist. He lauded Fox News as the only accurate news representation, said journalists could never be trusted anywhere else and how in growing up surrounded by race wars he had a better understanding of what was happening in the world. Donna didn’t have much to say or counter any of this, other than a statement of maybe she would see things differently if she had lived his life and that, “maybe the South Africa stuff is like how everyone gets upset when Israel fires at Palestine, but never when Palestine shoots at Israel.”

The talk about all this dissipated as he spoke of his bodyguard work for figures such as Sean Connery, which seemed to delight Donna.

Back at Hiker Heaven the discussions with the rightwing hikers didn’t cease, and they seemed to get wide-eyed or talk of preparation for the future in the face of the race war stories this man had to tell them. The moment I knew I could no longer work for Donna Saufley was later that evening, while standing in the garage doing laundry. I described the kinds of things I heard these people talking about and called them white nationalists, with which Donna responded, “it makes my stomach churn to know there are people with those opinions here, but there is nothing I can do to change them.” She then followed this by describing how there are “some people” in this world who want to remove monuments or change the names of things, but they can’t change the past. Much like she can’t change their so-called opinions on race. This struck my last chord and so I brought up John Muir directly as a historical figure on the PCT and his anti-indigenous work with the Indian Removal Act that led to countless deaths. When she told me this was just the way things are and it’s silly to change it, I asked how returning the name to something as it was for thousands of years before Europeans invaded and put the name of someone responsible for their relatives' deaths as little as a couple hundred years ago was wrong? She became flustered and said it’s just the way it is, “and there’s nothing anyone can do to change it other than accept it.”

I walked back to the RV I was staying in and didn’t leave it for the night. I halfway packed my stuff up in the realization I had to leave. The next afternoon, Donna came by and asked if I was ready to start working for the day. I told her I planned to leave in a couple days and no longer wished to work for her due to her racist views toward indigenous people and her centrism to (the money of) white nationalists/ supremacists. She then got angry and told me I had ONE HOUR to get off her property. This caught me off guard, as I expected her to at least give me the couple days to get my things in order and be civil about it. I told her no, I’ll leave in a couple days. She demanded I leave or she would call the sheriff. I told her to call the sheriff, as they would have to give me an eviction notice. She stomped off and I began packing to leave within an hour anyways, expecting her to escalate the situation. Within ten minutes she had cut off the power to the RV and turned off the Hiker Heaven WiFi. I’d began separating what could be carried on my bike and tossing useless/ trash items out the door due to the space being small. She then stood in front of the RV and called all the male hikers to gather around, where she then asked them to remove me from the property. Gaslighting and twisting the things I’d said around, such as saying I referred to ALL hikers as “white supremacists” (which thankfully the actual white supremacist and white nationalists had hiked out that morning) and how I had become anti-hiker (in reference to discussions I had with her about the environmental strain of thru-hiking culture over the last years). This is when I pulled out my phone and began to record in case it took a violent direction, as I knew my legal right to be there and how they didn’t have any right to lay a hand on me. I was honestly prepared to defend myself with mace in one pocket and a knife in the other. I hoped making them understand my position in some fashion, my legal right to defend myself in the scenario, warning them of my intention to do so, and the presence of a camera would deescalate the situation. Which thankfully, at some level it did! A few of them asked me if they could help me pack and I said no, plus demanded they not come near me. As I had no idea who these people were or what they might be preparing to do. One became aggressive (older man in back of photo below) demanding I be gone within an hour or he’d make me, alongside the oldest of the men being the most hostile. He even sat in a chair outside the RV while I packed my things telling me how I should be ashamed to insult such a “well-respected” lady of the hiking community. Only one of the hikers (wearing sunglasses in picture below) came up to me before I left and apologized for what was happening, then handed me $15. The rest made themselves scarce. Donna informed me as I was leaving if I shared what happened she would leave a “bad review” of me on my WarmShowers account (an app for cyclists to host bike tourists for free) so I would never have places to stay during my bike tours. As there doesn’t seem to be a depth Donna Saufley isn’t willing to sink to.

After leaving Hiker Heaven, I had to pedal two days to the nearest REI to return some hiking bags I got in order to have some money on the road. All in all, I am traveling again with several hundred dollars less than expected, lost $90 in groceries purchased the day before, and hundreds in equipment I wasn’t given the time to mail off. Not only did Donna prove to be their own kind of racist in the end, exploited labor out of people like me for years, but also ripped off someone with very little in the world for nearly half they own. I’m writing this about a month from the incident, because it’s the first time I’ve had enough of a break to do so. As pedaling 40-80 miles a day and trying to figure out what direction to go in takes up a great deal of time. My hope in sharing this is to encourage people not to support Hiker Heaven if they have any trace of ethics in their decisions, and simply not let such a privileged person get away with doing what they did without it following her legacy.

In the future, I intend to write more about my observations over two years around the thru-hiking industry and subsequent culture. My time spent interacting with such large amounts of hikers and history I learned while working at Hiker Heaven will be used, as well as this event. This article is more to have this specific incident out in the public to warn others ASAP.

[whatsthecraicwithvideogames]

My Definitive Ranking Of All 21 Confidants in Persona 5 (yep it’s a list you just gotta deal)

Persona 5 has some of the best characters in any game I've ever played. Over the 100 hours spent in the game, a lot of these characters are significantly fleshed out and you feel a genuine bond with them. Some not so much. So, because the world needed it so much, here is my official 100% accurate ranking of all those characters. No debate needed. This is the only ranking you will ever need. Enjoy.

21 Yuuki Mishima

Mishima seems to think that just because he figured out that you were a Phantom Thief that he is entitled a spot in your friend group.No. GET YOUR OWN FRIENDS MISHIMA. There are plenty of characters less interesting than Mishima, but none that annoyed me more. It may be completely unjustified, but I just need him out of my life. More specifically, I need him out of my hotel room in Hawaii. Go home, Mishima. No one wants you here.

20 Toranosuke Yoshida

The main issue that afflicts the majority of the people at the bottom of the list is dullness and being underdeveloped. Yoshida happens to be the former. Maybe it's just because I'm young and ignorant, but when I'm trying to save the world from its inevitable ruin, I'm not really all that interested in a disgraced politician. Call me simple minded.

19 Chihaya Mifune

Now we come to the underdeveloped. Although it must be said that Chihaya could have had an amazing storyline that I just didn't see, as her character was so one note and uninteresting that I became equally uninterested in what was going on with her and I didn't pay a whole lot of attention. So I apologize if I've missed an amazing character, but she should have made a better impression sooner.

18 Shinya Oda

I have little feelings towards Shinya. He's a little higher on the list due to his storyline being a bit sympathetic but there isn't really much to his character other than the fact that he's a kid who's good at a video game. I was invested in making sure that he got fed, but that's about as far as it goes.

17 Munehisa Iwai

I am currently holding a bit of a grudge against Iwai at the minute, as he was the only confidant I didn't manage to max out on my new game plus run, basically meaning I wasted about an extra 70 hours BUT HEY. That's not his fault. He also suffers from side character dullness, but he gets bumped up the list a bit because we had a lot of weird dates together that I'll never forget. What other game allows you to go to the planetarium and an all you can eat buffet with a yakuza member? In Persona 5, even the boring characters have something to offer. Some more than others.

16 Igor

There isn't really much to say about Igor to be honest. Of all the people on this list, he’s the one you have the least opportunity to get to know, but there's just something about him. Maybe it's his nose? Or perhaps the eyebrows? Either way, I like his style and he managed to crawl up a few spaces.

15 Haru Okumura

We arrive at another character who took a little while to grow on me. Originally I thought she was just as boring as Makoto, but at least Haru has some semblance of a personality. She's awfully sweet and her storyline is very sympathetic. She struggles under the weight of her responsibility to run a company, and is conflicted by her arranged marriage to a man she has no interest in. I felt genuinely invested in making sure she was okay and safe, even if her metaverse outfit is a bit dumb. Nobody's perfect.

14 Ichiko Ohya

If you're not familiar with Ohya, just imagine a really incompetent Jessica Jones and you're pretty much there. Meaning, she's drunk all the time. She drinks away the guilt she harbours from losing her best friend on the job, but she still remains a fierce journalist who doesn't crack under pressure and is determined to find out the truth. She just happens to smell like gin while she's doing it.

13 Sae Niijima

Sae is cool in the most normal way that you'll find in Persona 5. She's a prosecutor, working against against all odds to become the top in her field. She may have been working slightly against us in the beginning, but she was a formidable foe; working with an open mind and a level head, she eventually began to believe our stories about our time with the Phantom Thieves. Sae is rad without needing a cool outfit (@Makoto) and we should all be more like her.

12 Makoto Niijima

I'm not even going to apologise. Makoto just barely made it above her much more impressive sister, and the only reason she did is because her whole deal in the metaverse is pretty badass. However, and let me say this loud for you Makoto, just because your persona is a motorcycle, DOES. NOT. MAKE. YOU. THE BOSS. Once she joins your team, every plan comes from her, even though I am the leader of the Phantom Thieves. I have tried really quite hard to understand why everybody loves Makoto so much. I even romanced her on my second playthrough so I could get a different perspective on her. It helped nothing. I really tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but anywhere outside of the metaverse, she is dull and boring. Number 1 Waifu she is not, I'm afraid.

11 Hifumi Togo

Before Futaba came along, I was all set to romance Hifumi. To be fair I felt she was the best of a bad bunch, but let that not detract from her good qualities. She's a shogi master (or at least she thinks she is), and yet she still struggles with something that a lot of us can identify with: she is desperately trying to live up to her mother's unachievable high expectations. All Hifumi wants is to play shogi, and when she plays shogi, she plays shogi. She's a bit crazy but we love her anyway, and there's no one else I’d rather play shogi in a church with. Now just to figure out what shogi actually is…

10 Morgana

What would a JRPG be without a resident weird humanoid animal thing? Mediocre, that's what. Morgana is an integral part to the whole structure of the game, in more ways than one. Without him, our character would have no idea about how anything works in the Metaverse. Yes, he can be literally the most irritating presence on the planet whenever I'm trying to go out and Morgana is telling me to go to bed (YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME MORGANA), but deep down I know he's doing it out of love. Sometimes I wish Morgana loved me a little less but hey, you can't pick your family.

9 Goro Akechi

Okay, look. I know what you're thinking. Akechi is a little bit problematic. I know this. But he's just so adorable before all that! That's pretty much that only reason I have for having him so far up the list. His little face in his character profile is just so cute that you can't help but love him. Also the way he yells ‘PERSONAAAAAAGHHHH’ is badass and I can't hear it enough times. I forgive the Ace Detective of all crimes he has committed.

8 Futaba Sakura

A couple of months ago, Futaba would most likely have topped my list. She was the first girl I romanced in Persona 5. I had spent the whole game waiting for someone to come along and sweep me off my (digital) feet. It was beginning to look like I was going to have to settle with Hifumi- and then Futaba came along. She was a hacker and a gamer: my perfect waifu. Her romancing scenes are very sweet and I remained enamoured with her throughout my whole playthrough. After playing new game plus that changed. I went in with the intention of romancing someone different, and boy is Futaba different without those rose tinted glasses on. Her inability to do anything on her own is, while understandable, it's frustrating at best. She's still pretty high on the list though, as I'll never forget our time together, and also she's saved me countless times during combat that she will forever be elevated to God tier in the Metaverse. I owe her a debt I can never repay.

7 Tae Takemi

I won't lie to you. A lot of Takemi’s charm and appeal lies in her character design. The idea of a cool, punk rock doctor who supplies us with our own extreme healing products is great. Even better is that she's got the attitude to match. Confident in her skills but still dating enough to go rogue and have you be her guinea pig for new medicines she's developing, Takemi is a doctor you would want as a friend, but DEFINITELY not treating you. Unless you enjoy drinking mysterious liquids and passing out for hours on end. In which case be my guest.

6 Sadayo Kawakami

Ah, Kawakami. She sure does have it rough. Teacher by day, maid by night, she's a very sympathetic character, although she may not start out that way. At first glance she just seems like your typical extremely incompetent teacher- which she is. However the deeper into her storyline you go, the more you start to understand why she is the way she is. She ends up being quite a sweet person, not to mention her skills enable you to have more of the most important resource in Persona 5: time. Coincidentally, that's the one thing it takes for her to grow on you. Just give her a couple of days, and you'll learn to love her for who she is. A hot mess.

5 Sojiro Sakura

I don't think it’s an overstatement to say that the entire plot of the game would not have happened if not for Sojiro. For some unexplained reason, he agrees take in our main character who has just been put on parole, and it's that act that eventually brings our whole crew together. Even when he discovers that he has a phantom thief right under his roof, he sticks by you and even lets you hold meetings right there in his café. He goes from standoffish jerk to ‘dad we never had’ in a beautiful transformation that is one of the best progressions of a relationship in the game. If it wasn’t for his curious combination of coffee and curry for breakfast every morning, there's no way we could have completed our rehabilitation and saved the world from ruin. Sojiro literally saved the entire world (don't question it he totally did).

4 Ann Takamaki

Of all the characters on this list, Ann is the one that surprised me the most. She's pretty, blonde and a model. In video games, TV, movies; these things tend to be a placeholder for a personality, so really I expected nothing more from Ann: and boy did she prove me wrong. She is kind, loyal and is extremely strong willed. She suffered through sexual harassment at the hands of her teacher, her best friend's attempted suicide, and the her career as a model being sabotaged by a spiteful competitor. Through it all, however, she remains a positive force on the team and one of your characters closest friends from beginning to end. We all deserve someone like Ann in our lives.

3 Yusuke Kitagawa

Yusuke is another character that I love purely because every conversation with him is golden, particularly when leveling up your relationship with him. Throughout his journey to find himself as an artist, I joined him at an art exhibit, a romantic boat ride on a lake, and I posed as our Lord and Savior himself Jesus Christ on the crucifix as a way to inspire the creativity within Yusuke. Some may say that Yusuke’s best quality is his voice, but those people simply can't appreciate what he brings to the table and I simply have no time for them. He is a rare flower and I will defend him at every given opportunity.

2 Caroline and Justine (The Wardens)

Before starting my new game plus playthrough, these girls wouldn't have even been on this list, because I had no idea that they were even confidants until my second time around. The way you level up your confidant ranking with them is by fusing personas with a certain ability, per their request. The only thing I dislike about that is that you don't get to spend as much time with them as I'd like. They are both as entertaining as they are enigmatic, and though it may seem strange to have them so high up, everytime I brought them a new persona, they stole a little bit more of my heart. By force. They demanded I give it to them. But it still counts all the same.

1 Ryuji Sakamoto

I don't care what anyone says, this game would not be half as interesting or funny without Ryuji in it. There are a lot of people who would probably put Ryuji last on this list, due to his loud nature and penchant for yelling in public about how you and all your friends are the Phantom Thieves. But that's all part of his charm! Ryuji owes a lot of his likeability to his voice actor, Max Mittelman, as he somehow manages to be comically over the top while still remaining believable for his character. There are multiple times during the game where you'll have to pick who to hang out with at certain story moments, with the intention really being that you hang out with the girl you're romancing, but every single time I chose Ryuji. Every situation with him is comedy gold. Ryuji will forever be my number 1, and nobody will ever change my mind on that.

[whimstories]

BalconyAU Part 5

Part 1 // Part 4// Next 

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Hey look, convenience of ao3, so you can see my struggling in a brighter and better text! ;D

Anyway, here you go, its a thing. I’m pretty excited to outline some other stories after learning from this one. This one which isn’t outlined at all, and there’s no going back tbh LOL 

I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

——————

After speaking to Manon, Marinette rides the elevator up to her floor, the muffled whirring of the cables and pulleys the only noise, and takes the moment to heave a sigh.  

The entirety of yesterday was spent pretending to be a lady in waiting, none too different from a princess locked in a high tower and imagining her faceless knight whisking her from her troubles. It’s the sort of behavior befit of a teenager rather than an experienced adult who knows the difference between fickle romantic notions and serious pursuits of a relationship.

Her face scrunches when she can’t help but acknowledge her ease at the notion. She rather try the overly romantic perfection in her head, even if it’s fickle, rather than a partner she thought she knew pretending to be serious about her then changing face when they got what they wanted.

But why is Chat Noir taking so long? Had a dragon vanquished him along the route? Did he realize the effort wasn’t worth it? She’s beginning to regret missing the opportunity to grill Manon for more information.

According to her, he called Plagg on Wednesday. It’s already Sunday, and nothing is different in Marinette’s life, besides him missing each night. She wonders how long she would be willing to put her life on hold just from the concept of a male knocking on her door. Her upper lip pulls to a grimace when the answer becomes obvious.

The elevator doors chime and she ambles down the floor, doubt in her predicament slowing her pace. The journey to her door, however, is fraught with an obstacle.

Chloe Bourgeois, in all her feminine wiles, is literally hanging on the shoulders of Adrien Agreste, who looks ready to jump out a window if the option is presented to him. His arms are hovering in a ‘v’ at his sides, as if touching Chloe is an invitation to the nether realm  he is not ready accept.

The biggest issue with this scene is not witnessing a poor man struggling with the attentions of Marinette’s not so precious neighbor, but that he catches sight of her before she can enter her home. She shuffled to the door with as much speed and silence as is her practice when working around hungover co-workers or when she use to sneak sweets to her room from her parent’s bakery— but she must be out of practice.

She struggles to deny him eye-contact, ignoring anything involving Chloe guarantee’s a ninety-nine percent better day, but the growing shadow of his stare implores her to look back and Marinette views something she thought to see from him: frustration, panic, and irritation.

“Adrikins, lets go out today. I want to show you off to my friends,” Chloe cooed.

When Marinette’s keys jangle toward the lock, Adrien’s brow furrow to a definitive pleading curve. They aren’t exactly friends, so she would gladly send a ‘sorry for you condolences’ smile and walk away. As far as she understands, he dug this grave and he will be the sacrificial savior of keeping Chloe out of everyones hair and maybe reforming her to being… well, ‘decent’ is a nice start.

She tries to convey her gratitude for such an offering with her solemn smile, but apparently Adrien decides fate and takes a bold step towards her and grips her arm.

Is he mad?

“I’m really sorry Chloe, but I have plans with Marinette today.”

He wrestles out of Chloe’s dead fish grip, a tad impressive when you consider her self-importance is equal the density of Jupiter, and swivels behind Marinette like a human shield. Coward. His grip on her arm transfers to her shoulders and he’s patting them, a clear indication to open the door— which she is loathe to do, because she certainly didn’t volunteer.  

Chloe scoffs in her direction, taking in her run attire and the many frays dancing around her face. “Her? You might as well visit a graveyard. It’s just as cheerful and nice to look at,”

Marinette puckers her lips, restraining from stooping to her level. It doesn’t do her good saying anything to Chloe, it’s a waste of time and a sap of energy.

“Plus she’s like the dollar menu of designers. Only the homeless would consider wearing them.”

This is the first time Chloe has acknowledged Marinette as a designer at all. She should take it as a compliment. Also, with the money Chloe makes, she wasn’t aware she knew a dollar menu exists. Bravo.

“And don’t get me started on that fake journalist friend that hangs around here. She’s so desperate to keep her job she writes the biggest lies in the city.”

Marinette stiffens, Adrien’s grip tightening on her shoulders in reaction. She should let it go, this woman lives to rile people up over nothing, but all she can envision is tearing the fake lashes and tacky top from Chloe’s overly plastic exterior. Then Adrien, the bold bastard probably sensing her intention, takes the keys from her right hand and jams them into her lock. The door swings open and he practically shoves her beyond the arch before slamming the door.

Marinette turns around, expecting him behind her and telling him off when she all she can witness of him is his stern voice on the other side. She leans to flatten her ear against the door, curious of the rapid altercation, and kind of itching for a piece of the acton.  

Chloe is the easiest to decipher as her shrill voice could cut through vibranium.

“Good riddance. I knew you’d rather spend time with me. Now, what do you say we go inside and—”

His response comes in strings through the door, speaking in low tones, but she can tell his voice is steely in a way that sends chills to her heart. Its cold and unforgiving, a sort of tone that leaves no room for argument and means you have crossed him in the worst possible way. “Stop——say I have plans—take it too far——I was wrong—“  

Marinette wishes she could witness Chloe being told off, she imagines it being equal to the people storming the Bastille, but she thinks she understands without hearing all of Adrien’s words what he’s doing and her chest unfurls and expands with warmth.

A click at the turn of the knob makes Marinette jump back from the door as it swings open, belatedly realizing she probably should have locked it to avoid any more dramatics. Adrien swings inside, leaning against the door to slam it shut behind him. His entire body is tight and high strung, though his head is dipping towards the ground as if he survived a marathon.

She stares at what the entryway lighting does to his hair color and for once it looks less like burning rays from the greek gods, and more like a pale honey, a sweet and pleasant color.  

When he finally deigns to lift his head, his brows are already furrowed in apology. “I know you can handle her yourself and that you prefer I didn’t interfere but, it was my fault she said anything in the first place and what she said wasn’t fair and-“

He’s rambling. She thought him odd since the first moment she met him, but it was always on a different plane of existence. A sort of aristocratic strangeness to him, as if he were bred so perfect he was naturally bound to have strange quirks. However, here he is, nervously attempting to apologize in a language Marinette knows too well—pure ridiculous rambling.

She’s carefully stepping towards him and trying so hard not to laugh, but it’s so endearing that he just defended her, and also her closest friend who has never met, against Chloe— his supposed girlfriend. She can’t help but find it kind of sweet.

She’s mere inches from his space when he stops talking. His face is red and the scent of honey and peaches wraps around him. She places her hand on his chest, pats it amicably, and pecks the side of his face, the overflow of gratefulness filling her to the brim.

“Thanks,” She says simply.

His lips clamp together and his face reaches a brighter red before nodding wordlessly and commences his natural state of staring at her too intensely, which she is slowly finding familiar. His breath hits between her eyes in a way that feels intimate, their distance blaring louder into her mind when he seems to come closer.

She takes a casual stride backwards to cut the atmosphere. “I-um, yeah, but don’t do it again. As you said, I can take care of myself.”

He’s blinking at her, the translucent haze in his eyes slowly changing back to a clear color, before he has the sense to respond. “With a thanks like that, it’s hard to not want to find every opportunity,” He says. Her pinched glare sends him back tracking. “But, if that’s what you want. Of course.”

Marinette awkwardly looks around her entry way. “Well, if that’s all, I guess I’ll see you another time?”

“Oh, no, princess. I said we had plans, and even if I gave her a talking down, she will hunt me down if I’m left alone.”

“That’s really none of my business.” Again Marinette is reminded of his strange predicament and has to ask, “Didn’t you say you fell for her the moment you heard her speak? And now you’re trying to escape?”

“Umm,” Adrien’s eyes are darting beyond her like a child eager to enter a candy store. Which makes her aware that, though technically the son of her favorite designer, a strange man is in her house through forced entry. “I did, but I don’t think I meant it.”

She clears her throat when he takes a few steps forward and tries to look beyond to her living room. His eyes focus on her, feigning innocence, but his tiny smile at her irritated pinched expression seems to grow.

“‘You don’t think’? Have you never talked to a woman before?” Being honest is literally the number one rule of a decent relationship and he broke it on the first line. “Either way, you dug this hole yourself. I am no accomplice. She hates me enough as it is, which isn’t much consequence, but I’ve never looked like a home wrecker to her before.”

“Look, I really am sorry. If you let me stay here for just a while, I’ll make it up to you. Please.” Adrien’s hands slap together like a prayer and he does the look. The same look she’s seen on many models before, she swears its a trade secret only to be used under the utmost emergencies. Their dark pupils expand like globes and they tilt their head that looks both submissive but not pitiful. Their mouths pucker in the slightest pout and she swears for .05 seconds their eyelashes even grow—its a superpower.

If any other model threw that look she could resist it, but her heart was already softened by his empathy so she grumbles, “Don’t touch anything.” Then she turns on her heel towards her bedroom.

She can practically hear his gloating preen.

She takes an inhumanly fast shower, because showering is always a comfort when a stranger freely lurks in your home. Her hair is barely toweled through in strands, falling to the middle of her back and soaking droplets onto her sizable thigh length sweater.

She tip toes beyond her door to the living room, hoping he left in the time she was gone. The apartment is eerily silent, a strange tension likened to the rising music in a horror film when you know a jump scare is just around the corner.

When she can’t view him a heavy sigh cascades from her mouth. “Thank goodness.”

“Oh, you’re finally out!”

The cheerful statement jumps the bones from her very flesh and Marinette clutches around her heart. Adrien appears from the left side of the entertainment system, where his body must have hidden. His expression is much brighter than before her shower, making her wonder if one regains life relative to the distance of a Bourgeois.

His right hand is holding a game case and Marinette gives him a flat stare. “You’re touching something.”

He looks at his hand, surprised, as if it leapt from its perch and he happened to catch it. “Oh—sorry. I was curious,” Which causes Marinette to squint. “and I haven’t played french video games in a while. It’s a fighter, right?”

Marinette takes long strides to pluck the game out of his hands. She glances at the title, her Ultimate Mecha V game that she’s been playing every night this week, before crouching to put it back. “Yes, it is.”

“Do you play?”

“Sometimes.”

“Would you want to play now?”

“No.”

There’s a beat of silence. “So, you’re not any good?”

She bristles and stands with her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”

“Clearly, you don’t think you could beat me. I know my confident looks are rather intimidating, but I’ve really never played. You just don’t want to be embarrassed, I understand.” He is looking around her apartment again, paying no mind that small woman before him is quite efficiently imagining tearing his smug, handsome face through virtual dirt.

“Sit down.”

“Pardon?” He’s looking at her now, a pinched pucker to his lips, as if restraining his expression.

“Sit, stay quiet, and lose with some dignity.” She asserts before turning on her game console and hooking up a second controller. The opening sequence blares in her tiny space before she’s tossing the controller in his direction and sitting cross legged adjacent to him.

His expression is more gleeful that she expects and she’s positive she fell into a trap, but she’s going to destroy him anyway. There are minimal things in this world that can rile her up, and Adrien just stepped on a landmine.

“Do I at least get a practice round?” He smirks.

“It wont make a difference.” She smiles too sweetly in his direction. The bold confidence seems to light something in him. His laid back exterior straightens up, like a metal rod shooting up his spine, and he leans forward towards the screen with greater focus.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Of course, it makes no difference. Their difference in skill isn’t as big as she assumed, but stomping him was as enjoyable as she expected.

“Quarter circle plus low kick and then flying hyper strike, triple combo, and whoop! There it is!” After the last blow ends the life of his mech, Marinette jumps out of her seat and laughs victoriously. “You’re a million years too soon, Agreste, because I win, I win.” She sings in his direction while her arms dance in circles. Her voice carries across the apartment, which when she’s alone is quite normal because no one can hear her competitive wails, but she isn’t alone this time.

Not many people find competitiveness a redeeming trait, especially when gloated in their face, so she tries not to play video games with people outside her immediate social circle. Usually when she plays, she gets so involved she’ll spring across the couch like her movements affect the controller and voices over her commands and plans like a reigning general. Alya describes her as the Julius Caesar of video games, ruthless and unafraid, but also because if the online players heard her comments they would also end her life in a similar fashion.  

As the silence of the apartment weighs down after her shrilling gloat, Marinette’s embarrassment sets in and she’s loathe to look at Adrien’s reaction.

When she gathers the courage, he’s not looking at her with any judgement, which isn’t even the biggest surprise. He’s looking at her in awe while glancing at the controller in her hands, like it’s a radioactive super weapon and only Marinette knows the combinations to wield. Then he’s staring at the screen a wild grin on his lips.

“Again.”

Marinette’s heart stutters. “Look, I get carried away—“

“Again.” He asserts.

Her eyes flutter a couple thousand times, trying to comprehend his excitement. Honestly he should be appalled with her, but his teasing and cocky grin fires her up again and she thumps back onto the couch, clicking for the rematch.

The second time is even easier beating him, though Adrien begins yelling, cheering, and hopping around as much as she does, which causes her to laugh heartily when its over and he’s throwing his hands up in indignation and accuses her of witchcraft. The third round begins without a word, and Adrien again becomes even worse at the game but she realizes he keeps glancing at her controller style, which had to be pointed out to her is quite different.

This happens for at least five more rounds, where he gets progressively worst, which makes her consider he’s losing heart, until he switches tactics. Marinette is in the middle of a low kick, roadhouse combo when Adrien swings his controller and bumps their hands together. It stutters her input and the combo doesn’t go through, dammit. “I want to raise the stakes if I beat you. What do you think?” Adrien asks.

“I think if you win against me, that should be pride enough.”

“Hmm, if I win I want to…” He draws out his contemplation but his tone is already decided. “…braid your hair.”

Marinette doesn’t just stutter on her next combo, her brain fries and she hops a foot away from Adrien to stare at him like a loon. He’s looking at the screen with the same seriousness and smiling with a fierce exhilaration. It’s his tone she can’t decipher, whether he’s ‘pulling her hair’, so to speak, or it’s a strange sincere wish. He is able to get two decent combos off of her in that time and she struggles to get serious again and has to jump her character three times to the left to avoid more damage.

“That sounds nefarious,” She states.

He chuckles, “It’s not. I’m being sincere. You look,” he takes a breath like the word is too grand or too dismissive to say in a single instance, “nice, as you are, but I think you’ll look even better when I’m done. I have multiple talents, too, you know.” He teases. “What do you say?”

Marinette wants to think of a reason to say no, after all it is ridiculous, but she can’t imagine losing to him. The last time she lost a round of Ultimate Mecha she was still wearing overalls and playing at home with Papa. That was when her papa would tickle her to cheat his way into winning, which she doubts Adrien would stoop to doing.

“Alright. If you lose, same stakes. But you probably won’t be recognizable when you leave.”

“As you wish,” he smiles and the screen reads Adrien with a fifty point lead in health but Marinette isn’t discouraged. Well, she wouldn’t have if Adrien wasn’t a sly, underhanded cheater.

Apparently, the last few round were ploys because his last combo was unexpected. He baited her into her high flying kick then did a low kick dash to land behind her. Then a simple low punch to kick combo in her back, which does double damage, and it was over.

“You fox!” She shoves at him and he’s laughing with his head tilted back and adam apple exposed. His shoulders shake the couch beneath them and he’s clutching his sides from breathless shock.

“No, you’re an open book! You do these cute little stresses on your vowels right before you call your next combo. Each one is just slightly different from the next. I was really lucky and really careful to predict that last one.” He’s leaning in her space and grinning like a devious cat, so she covers his smug face with her palm and shoves him away.

“I’m an open book, huh?” She raises her brows, smiling.

“Elementary, my lady.”

She leans heavily into his space, causing him to bend backwards. “I’m predictable, is that it?” She breathes against his chin.

His eyes cannot lock on one portion of her face, switching between her eyes, her hair falling around her, and her lips. The tint of pink on his face is unmistakeable.

She drags her hand through a corner of his locks, his eyes flutter and leans towards the gesture, then she takes her hand on the other side before issuing her attack. She ruffles, fluffs, and mangles his hair to all hell—shouting victoriously when he yelps in surprise—and holy shit its perfection.

His hair runs through her fingers like a cloud was weaved into strands of gold. Even when dealing with models, rarely is she fussing around their heads, since the makeup team would murder her with a bagel, so she cannot recall an immediate comparison.

She could imagine sleeping in a chamber of this texture.

She becomes a tad irritated at the revelation, hoping she can ruffle it to look terrible at least. This man can’t have it all, its just not fair.

When she’s done, she lounges back in her seat in glee, however, on closer inspection his hair doesn’t appear like a misshapen porcupine as she hoped but more like a sex demon rising for the next bout.

Seriously? She thinks.

“That was dirty, princess.” Adrien’s joyful pout reveals itself but the upper half of his face is covered by strands in every direction with one crinkled eye peaking through.

“It was better than kicking you out,” She raises.

Even the frays of his hair couldn’t hide the deep set horror of being found by Chloe. She feels vindicated from that fact, at least.

“Touchè.”

They sit in a crisp silence, staring at each other as he fixes the mess of his head, which takes little more than two doggish and a few combing strokes with his fingers.

Marinette looks down at her hands, grasping each digit in random strokes. “Well, get on with it then.”

“Hm?” Marinette glances back and forth between his face, a picture of relaxed mirth like a kept pet, and her fingers as she tries to uphold his silly deal. Her chest is fluttering from the weird atmosphere, feeling strangely intimate again with him. It seems to come easily, she realizes, and she’s not sure what to do.

“Chop, chop, hairdresser. I don’t have all day,” she attempts to say in a haughty tone, hoping to have a lighter atmosphere again, and flagrantly flips some locks out of her face. She raises her chin and looks straight ahead, like an empress on her throne. A light responding huff from in his direction calms the pitter patter in her chest.

“As you wish.”

Unfortunately for Marinette, the next fifteen minutes are somehow even worse than the atmosphere before. Adrien stands behind the couch and bundles her hair away from her face. She remembers to ask if he needs a brush or hair ties but he denies them immediately. At first, it’s a confusing refusal until she thinks he wants to tease her more and create a sort of birds nest on her head.

But the thought leaves her in an instant when the first sweep of his hand runs from the base of her skull down her long strands. The roughness of his long fingers meticulously maneuver parts of her hair in different angles with soft tugs and twists. Each repetition where his hands have to touch the base of her hair feels longer, almost like torture, and his fingers seem to linger in exploratory strokes.

The soft surprised grunts and occasional sighs leave her without permission, like an attention starved animal, until she realizes thats exactly what it is. Marinette always lets Alya cut her hair when the time comes, since her experience with younger siblings sometimes meant she played rogue hairdresser for styles that the parents didn’t allow. Alya is gentle, which is to be expected, but also clinical and precise. Its ‘tilt your head thing way’, several tugs here and there, and most of the contact is through plastic or brush fibers.

This sort of contact is much more familiar and sorely missed when introduced again.

If Adrien does need to tilt her head, he freely touches the base of her neck, his hands slightly cold, and maneuvers her as he wants. Her head is buzzing like his fingers are laced with alcohol and each touch on her neck puts her awareness on hyperdrive. The house is quiet, but it’s not awkward and it’s not oppressive.

He walks around to face her once, and it’s definitely the worse moment. She attempts to looks towards her lap in serene disinterest but she’s too curious at the sort of expression he could be making. He’s neither a hairdresser, that she knows of, so it’s interesting to know what he’s thinking. Not that she’s had any success deciphering him thus far.

She glances up once and he’s not even looking at her hair. He’s looking directly at her, which causes her to shiver. His eyes are soft and open, yet half lidded with a fierceness of thought, and his mouth is parted in that natural way a model practices in front of a mirror for days—it extenuates the cheekbones yet invites inquiring stares. It’s indecipherable but its like he’s staring at a two way mirror, and Marinette is the key to reveal a long awaited message or person.  

Catching her eyes, he blinks away the expression and sends a devious leer, like he was the one ensnaring her and she flicks at his chin in retaliation.

He walks around her once again, hair still held aloft, and she hears a definitive click. She could have imagined it if not for the singular pressure on her head that felt like it held together a complicated maze of weaving.

“All done,” Adrien’s voice is a soft gravel above her head and a soft sweeping of lose strands is felt at the base of her head.

“Th-thanks,” she coughs to clear her stuttering. “Do I dare look?”

“I dunno,” he purses his lips as he walks around to look at her again. “You might not be able to handle it.”

She grimaces at the imagery of horrible rats’ den of a hair style. “How horrible it is?”

“How beautiful you look,” He says casually, a tilt of his head and a smirk on his lips.

Marinette twists her mouth, disbelieving, but a warmth rises to her cheeks anyway. She stands from her spot to march to her bathroom mirror but Adrien grabs her arm.

“I should probably leave, now,” He starts, though his rocking feet make him seem unsure of his words. “I just want to say thanks, again. Chloe is…um—“ He’s looking around the room, trying to find the word and she can relate in an instant.

“Passionate? Lively? Straightforward?”

He huffs a laugh. “In a positive light, yes.”

She looks at his hand still gripping her arm. A rolling guilt and lump in her throat suddenly gripping her, yet she can’t explain why. “She is your girlfriend, you realize?” She tries to laugh.

A twist of his lips and his glance at their contact, warm and simple, doesn’t give her a clue to whether he regrets it, though according to Manon would be a hell of a way to dig your grave, or perhaps Chloe was lying and it’s something he wants to refute but cannot. He squeezes her arm lightly before letting go and walking towards the doorway.

“I’ll see you soon, I hope,” he smiles. “I still owe you one.” He winks and the soft clicks of his shoes walk across her entry way, then follows with the click of her door.

Marinette just stands. She stands and feels the instant loss of Adrien’s presence in her home, like a tight rope cut from the base and she’s the one lying in the net below trying to remember how to walk without it.

It was weird having him there: the teasing, the irritating, the intrusion, and somehow quite nice. Comfortable. A small smile grows on her lips, realizing she kind of had fun hiding him away, even though they were barely within the realm of friendship.

She tries to flick back a portion of her hair when she catches onto nothing and remembers the possible hideous wreck on her head. She’s snickering and hustles to her bathroom to catch the atrocity. She catches her humored expression and glowing pink cheeks before being flabbergasted at the styling on her hair.

How in Hades did he—?

It’s, to put simply, lovely. It’s one of those princess crown braids that wraps around the head with soft tendrils falling out on the side. It’s better than she could ever attempt. She’s good at symmetrical braids that fall directly from the base of her head, but ask her to create more than a singular part that wraps to fit snugly against her head and she will have lumps and falling frays all over the place.

She’s twisting her head, trying to figure out the conundrum of such a talent from a male with short hair as Adrien’s and without the use of bobby pins. It’s equivalent to witchcraft as far as she’s concerned.

Then she catches the opaque shine at the very back of her head. She can barely catch it at her angle but its about the size of her palm and looks like red vines, curving in organic patterns, with black gems scattered across. It’s the same spot she felt the heavy support keeping her head at bay. He must have had it on him in his pockets. Though, why, is a blaring question in her mind, she’s too enamored with the final product to reflect on it. She’s loathe to ruin it and almost fears when she’ll have to sleep tonight.

She’s still dazed with a giddy joy when she walks back to the center of her apartment and looks beyond her balcony to realize its still midday. Her balcony. She furrows her brows before she’s grabbing her face in horror.

“Chat Noir,” She says like a sudden revelation. “I completely forgot about Chat and a man was just in my apartment. Flirting.” She runs to her couch to grab a pillow and promptly groans abnormally loud like a revving engine.

He could have knocked on her door today. She would be forced to answer and he would see Adrien and assume. Who would want to assume against that? Marinette would never be ashamed to admit when someone is too attractive to walk the face of the planet, some people are just built to be such, but when it comes to budding romance the first judgement tends to lean superficial. Only an overinflated peacock or a self assured handsome Zeus could be confident enough to think there is nothing between them.

“Which there isn’t,” she vehemently swears. Adrien got it in his strange mind that they were close friends since she complimented him twice, sort of on accident, and she was too delirious on love to comprehend her actions in the hallway yesterday— thus his intrusion in her life today.

Plus he clearly has Chloe, albeit unwillingly but that’s his personal business. And getting between Chloe and a man is not a situation she would sick on anyone.