#and suddenly there’s a switch flipped where he realized he doesn’t care if anybody knows. because the look on your face when he *does* admit

[togamest]

barou seeing you upset and even though he feels weak doing so he pulls you into a hug, a warm, all encompassing embrace. his kiss is soft, and his eyes match his touch as he looks at you with stars in his eyes. “i love you,” he whispers, “and i don’t seem to wanna care who knows it.”

[aster-d-angelo]

Reth and Valia — Growing Pains

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Sweet Lord above, I’m gonna murder him. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way.

It’s only been a week and already I’ve developed a twitch that kicks in with a vengeance whenever he’s brought up.

*sigh*

Where to begin…

Okay, so I realize being a handler is supposed to be a good thing. It shows I can handle my responsibilities and care for a living being without fail. It might even be enough for a promotion in the near future.

But good God, did it have to be him?

Yes, I know I shouldn’t complain. I was given a responsibility and I’m gonna fulfill it even if it kills me, which at the rate things are going is a likely possibility, but dammit, he can’t go a little easier on me?

Every day, it’s the same: get up, go take care of the giant bastard, nearly grind my teeth to dust, and then go about the rest of my day.

Until dinner, when I have to do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.

It actually wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t make it an excruciating point to get on my nerves every single minute of every single day. He just won’t let up; every other sentence out of his mouth is teasing, insulting, or downright flirting, and the whiplash from irritation to anger to embarrassment and back has long since given me a near-constant headache in his presence.

I just…I just don’t know how to act around him. His moods flip like a goddamn light switch, leaving me scrambling to keep up. Just when I’m feeling sympathetic towards him, he starts teasing me again, and the moment I’m ready to flip my lid, he sobers up or God forbid starts flirting.

That’s probably the worst part, feeling like I’m just another warm body for him to hit on. I realize he doesn’t get out much, but it feels so useless. Like, are you really getting something out of that?

I’m probably being too hard on him, but would it really kill him to stop trying to get a rise out of me for more than two seconds? It doesn’t help that he’s so good at it…freakin’ jerk…

With a heavy sigh, Valia pushed back from her desk, dropping her pen and stretching out stiff muscles. It was probably best that she stop that particular entry right there before it devolved into a spate of name-calling and increasingly violent threats.

A glance at the clock brought on another sigh and Valia reluctantly threw on a jacket, latching the gauntlet back on and grabbing her key before heading out.

Nights were cool lately, much cooler than the warm days they’d been having. The indigo sky above was speckled with stars, wisps of cloud barely visible in the dying light. Hands in her pockets, head craned back, Valia star-gazed until the barracks blocked her view.

Walking down the dark, silent corridor alone was never fun, Valia hurrying past cage after cage trying not to look inside any of them. She almost walked past Reth’s cage in the dark, turning on the little lantern light set in the wall by the door so she could see to use the key. Should really think about a flashlight…

The cage door squeaked open, Valia slipping inside and venturing a couple steps into the darkness beyond. The lantern light didn’t reach inside very well and her skin crawled at the impenetrable blackness filling the cage. “Anybody home?”

Not ten feet in front of her, a pair of teal eyes suddenly blinked open, shining eerily in the dim lamp light and scaring the shit out of her. Before she could beat a hasty retreat back to the door, however, a hand materialized behind her, dimly backlit and deepening the gloom around her. A toothy smile gleamed in the shadows, sending a shiver up her spine.

“Well, look who’s back,” came the low rumble she was slowly becoming accustomed to. “Wasn’t sure you’d be back after this morning.”

Ah, yes, this morning, when she’d basically stormed out the second his needs had been met, head ready to explode with frustration. “Yeah well, I have a responsibility to take care of you. I’m not going to abandon my duty just because you’re being a massive jerk,” Valia shot back, a thread of steel in her tone despite the lightest tremors running through her.

The hand withdrew with a chuckle, trailing light drag marks through the dust. “Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.” Sand and clothing shifted, Reth presumably sitting up in preparation. “What're we waiting for, then?”

Mouth thinning, Valia twisted the dial, smacking the button. The bright flash illuminated the cage for a second, an afterimage of a light dust cloud and a swiftly shrinking giant burned into her night vision. Then darkness returned, Reth soon sauntering into the dim light, hands stuck in his pockets. For once, he didn’t say anything, a fact for which Valia was secretly grateful as she led the way back down the hall.

Their first and only stop was the “cafeteria” — really just a fancy name for the patch-of-dirt courtyard across from the wash stations. Reth plunked down in his usual spot against the wall while Valia went to retrieve his meal. The tray was twice the size of normal ones, half-full of stale bread, a handful of slightly overripe fruits and veggies, a cut of jerky, and a cup of water. The cadet couldn’t help the wince as she hauled the tray back to the giant — at least it wasn’t gruel.

Reth accepted the tray like he always did, with a nod and a smirk. Valia just ignored him like she always did, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms as she scanned the courtyard. They were a little later than usual today, so only a couple other assets were around, finishing up their own meals. Their handlers looked bored as hell, hardly acknowledging their asset’s existence until they were done, then leading them back to their cages with hardly a word or even a glance.

Unexpectedly, a sliver of guilt slithered through her chest, watching fellow officers handle their assets so callously and sensing an uncomfortable similarity to her own actions. She’d never thought of herself as a cruel person, and from what Reth had said when they first met, she was different, apparently more kind than others had been. She had taken a strange sense of pride in that, having won the vague approval of a species that severely disliked her own.

But given how quiet and relatively compliant Reth had been lately, she wasn’t sure how well she’d kept that up. Indifferent could be just as bad as cruel, after all.

A poking sensation pulled her from her thoughts, Valia skittering to the side instinctively as she noticed Reth in her immediate peripheral, a hunk of bread in his hand. “Wha…did you just poke me with your food?” she sputtered, brushing at her uniform and scowling at the bread crumbs.

“Well, nothing else was getting your attention, sweetheart,” Reth answered lazily, tearing off another chunk of bread and holding out the tray with a smirk.

With a huff, Valia snatched it up, feeling heat climb her neck a bit as she took the tray back.

They made their way back to the cage without issue, Reth ducking inside and heading for the corner while Valia trailed some feet behind. Another twist, another click, and Reth was full-size once more, invisible in the dark as he presumably settled against the wall.

And that was that. Okay, time to head back to the dorms and hit the books for tomorrow’s quiz—

A yelp escaped her as a hand abruptly descended, cutting off her path to the door. Valia whipped around, staring up at disembodied teal eyes, mind racing for an explanation.

“Where’s the fire, sweetheart?”

She struggled with the spike of irritation. “I’m going back to my dorm. I have a quiz tomorrow.”

“And you hafta be studying every second until then, right?” She could hear that goddamn smirk as he tilted his head. “Do you ever relax?”

Breathe, Val, just breathe. “I do, actually. Thanks for the concern, if that’s what that was,” Valia snipped, pivoting on her heel and attempting to sidestep the long fingers in her way.

They shifted with her, making her teeth grit as she glared over her shoulder.

“I don’t think ya do.” His fingertip gently tapped her shoulder, making her jerk back. “How ‘bout you hang out with me for a bit so I can be sure?”

He couldn’t really want her to stick around; hell must’ve frozen over.

“What’s the catch?” was out of her mouth before she realized it.

Another chuckle, soft and amused. “You wound me, sweetheart.” His arm came down just like before, letting him lean down into the dim light and putting her level with his smirk. His warm breath just vaguely brushing past her, Valia resisted the overwhelming urge to step back, her back mere inches from his fingers, breath held as their gazes locked.

“…maybe I just appreciate your company,” he said quietly, making her freeze in place.

Hold up. Was this flirting? It seemed like flirting, but…

Her mouth opened once or twice, but her usual sarcastic responses didn’t seem appropriate somehow and she didn’t really have any others handy…

The silence stretched almost to the point of uncomfortable, Valia struggling to process as her face slowly flushed. Thankfully, it was enough for Reth to pull back with a snort, hand moving just off to the side, essentially freeing her. “Well, that’s a no. Don’t study too hard, kay?”

For the second time that night, guilt squeezed her chest as that neutral expression of his slid back into place. It didn’t take a genius to know why he wanted the company and used her wellbeing as an excuse, but she still couldn’t wrap her head around why he’d choose her. They hadn’t had a decent interaction the entire week she’d known him, barring that one moment when they’d first met, and even now, she couldn’t talk to him without wanting to punch him in his big smug face. Sure, she was around him the most, but he had to have somebody else to hang out with!

…right?

No, now she was just being stupid. He spent at least half of each day in the cage, interaction between assets outside the cage was frowned upon, and none of the officers wanted anything to do with the assets — there was literally no one else.

She took a deep breath and let it out.

Alright — time to start being the decent human being he apparently thought she was.

Before she could change her mind, Valia moved a little closer, hesitantly taking a seat on the sandy floor and catching his attention. “I guess I can stay for a few more minutes,” she mumbled, a finger swirling through the sand as she tried to avoid eye contact. “But you try to pick me up again and we’re gonna have a problem.”

A moment’s pause and she felt more than saw him lie down on the dusty floor, getting settled a comfortable distance away to her mild surprise. Eyes still on the floor, she missed the little smile that appeared.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, and Valia’s heart skipped a beat as the words practically vibrated through her.

This was gonna take some getting used to.

-.-

Shutting her dorm door behind her, Valia stifled a yawn as she made her way to her desk, rummaging through her textbooks. Finding the one she needed, she plunked down and went to crack it open, only to catch sight of her abandoned journal entry just off to the side. A thoughtful pause had her toying with her pen, eyes tracing the neat, tight words.

It’d only been a few minutes and she’d pretty much hightailed it out of there, but…

Her pen scrawled another few words at the bottom of the page.

Okay, he’s not so bad.

Satisfied, Valia turned back to her book, settling in for a night of study.

The next morning, she went about her duties as usual, stopping in for breakfast before heading to the cage.

“Morning,” she murmured absently, mind occupied by the day’s schedule as she unlocked the cage door and stepped inside. It was a fairly light day and her quiz wasn’t until after lunch, so she could squeak in a review if she needed to…

The lack of response finally broke into her thoughts and Valia glanced up to see Reth propped up on an elbow, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. He was unusually quiet, making her squint suspiciously. “What?”

A smug little grin appeared, Reth tilting his head. “Nothing.”

What was his deal this morning? Valia just rolled her eyes, spinning the dial. “Whatever.”

[artoftamashi]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events (Pt. 3 of 4)

Part 3 is finally here! I think it's my favorite part of all. So thanks to you all who read parts 1 and 2 and are still here for part 3!

Why not just get to it?!

Spoilers: etooo, mentions a moment of the fight of episode 5.

TW: a lot of cursing, some anxiety feelings, oppression, helplessness, panic, and the word kitty is mentioned once.

I mean, 2 years isn’t temporary haha but he named me Hirano after about a year. He said I had a light and warmth around me like the sun (Hi-). But I won’t go by that name. Even after telling him not to come looking for me if I disappear, I don’t want him to find me using that name. Plus, I just got my new identification.

Oi, Natsu.

“Hm?”

I’ll take a break after this job.

“I don’t think Yamamoto-san will like that.”

I don’t care. That old-fart of a pervert doesn’t deserve my service.

“Tama….. Just make sure you’re polite…”

Yeah, yeah.

Tama’s current job is just a curse hunter. No attachments, commitments, or any responsibilities. The agency that handles these curses is not certified—that they can do with illegal shit. No paperwork or repercussions. The wealthy people hire them and pay them as long as they do the job in the allotted time.

Tama sighs. “At least Matsuda-san wasn’t a pervert. Hm? Oh we’re here. Well, I should be saying ‘I’m here’ but having you listening in all the time, well, doesn’t feel like I’m alone.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Haha! No need! Anyway, I guess I should look around and investigate this place a little.”

The curse that’s been wondering around this abandoned construction site is a grade 2. People’s fears about ghosts around construction sites really fed this thing. I don’t think it’ll be that easy to defeat it, but I should be able to nonetheless. However, something doesn’t sit right with me. After observing the site, they did not even start a foundation. They only cleared the field where they were going to start. And there’s still a lot of forest behind this site.

Tama gasps at a realization. I’m sure it’ll appear if I start walking towards the forest. The thing is, it’s probably not the construction site that’s ‘cursed.’ It’s the forest.

Tama starts hearing a low grumbling as she nears the tree line.

“So there you are! Hurry! I don’t have much time!”

A curse appears. Not so big in size, but as Tama expected: she’ll have a little trouble.

“What do you say I we dance?”

Tama takes her phone and plays some music.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After some “dancing”, Tama is able to exorcise the curse, when something—or rather—someone catches her attention.

“Hm?… OOOIIII! Are you okay?!” She asks while waving her arm. They’re not responding but they seem to be walking this way.

Wait… what’s this feeling?.. Blood thirst??

And just like that, she recognizes who the man approaching her is. She drops her weapons and puts up her hands, as surrendering, so he can see that she truly means no harm.

He suddenly appears in front of her, Fast… inches away from her face.

“Ohoooo… I thought you’d have more of a reaction!”

Gojo Satoru. The man with a blindfold who I should tread around carefully.

“I know how to pick my fights. And I’m not trying to pick one with you.”

“Hm? Why not?” A grin appears in his face.

“Gojo Satoru. A man who should be feared if a fight should ensue.” “Hahaha. I shouldn’t be feared! I’m the greatest being in this world.” Still grinning with arms spanning about.

“I never said I feared you. I’m just relaying what I heard.”

“Oh. You must be well informed, then?”

“Not really. I was only warned. Anyway, now that you know I won’t wield a weapon, I’m bringing down my arms.” Tama, tired from the fight, just wants Gojo to let her go.

Nothing. The man isn’t saying anything. Even though he has his blindfold, I can see him staring. Studying.

“Oh. Gojo-sensei!” A boy with fluffy pink hair comes running to his sensei’s side. “Mm? Who is this sensei?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Yuji.”

So he was ‘examining’ me.

“Why don’t you just ask?” Itadori grunts. “I’m Itadori Yuji. This is Gojo-sensei. And these two are my classmates, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.”

“I’m Haruna Natsumi.”

“Nice to meet ya! Oi, sensei. We should go. Seems like the curse is gone.”

“Guess you’re right! Let’s go get some sweets!”

Then suddenly, another sinister feeling creeps up Tama’s spine. It makes her shiver to her core.

“What’s this?” Itadori’s face has another mouth.

Tama jumps back in fighting stance. Her instincts just make her move; no second thought. She even grabbed her shikomizue in that split second.

“This one’s got fire, Yuji.”

“Sukuna, you! I’m sorry! Please, I don’t mean any harm.”

“That is not normal.” Tama says as she points to Itadori’s face. Damn. I can’t control my heartbeat. It’s like my soul is trying to escape my body. My entire skin feels like its being pierced by needles. An extreme uneasiness that I cannot contain. I’m sweating profusely.

“Keep this one around. She gives me the same sense as Fushiguro. Ha. Ha. See you later, Natsumi.” And just like that, Sukuna’s presence disappears.

Tama can’t stand. Trying to catch her breath, she maintains a distance from the lot. Was that…? No, it can’t be…?

“Nat..su..mi….?” A concerned Itadori asks.

“I’m sorry…. Just… let me… catch my breath….” Panting as if she ran for her life. You could say her soul tried.

“Who are you?” Gojo abruptly asks.

Tama looks at the blindfold with eyes filled with regret as if she could see his eyes. Many things run through her mind right now; the many times she was going to die, how she grew up, Matsuda-san, Ryoku… Natsu…. After catching her breath, she gets up and recollects herself before answering.

“I already introduced myself. I’m Har-“

“You have no curse energy. You yield weapons without curse energy. You sensed Sukuna before he appeared to you. So: who. are. you?” Gojo is not backing down, standing right in front of Tama.

Tch.

“Hmm….," he stares intently. "How about you come with us?!” He flips his switch. Serious -> Spontaneous. How does one even do that?

“Oi, sensei. Bringing in another stray?” Fushiguro steps in.

“Are you jealous Megumi?”

Fushiguro’s face says it all. Not a damn he gives.

“Whatever. The principal will be the one to put up with you. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going.” Tama doesn’t want to be involved with anything that has to do with Gojo Satoru. Ryoku’s words remind her that anybody around Gojo eventually get in serious trouble.

“Why not? Leaving something or someone behind?” Gojo asks as he puts his hands in his pockets.

“Uh, no. I need to pick up my pay for this job, so…”

“Oh! That’s what it is! We’ll go with you!”

“OI. SENSEI.”

“Megumiiiiii, so you are jealous.” Gojo pouts.

“As if. Just let her stop by when she’s done; of course, that’s only if she wants to come. Stop trying recruit.”

“I’ll go. But just give me time.” Tama isn’t sure if she should go with them. But maybe I can learn about myself if I have them around. “Oh, but wait. Sensei? Principal? You’re taking me to a school?”

“Riiiight.. I haven’t mentioned it. We are from Tokyo Jujutsu High! A high school for jujutsu sorcerers!”

“OI!”

“What Megumi? I think we can trust this kitty.”

Tama feels her stomach clench. Now, she’s not sure if she should go.

“How about sharing emails? So we can keep contact.”

“Uh, sure. I suppose.” Nobody tries stopping her so she assumes it’s safe.

“Okay then! I’ll be messaging you every day until you come! Bye-bye!”

“Every da-“ Why didn’t they bother to warn me?

And just like that, the lot of them leave, and Tama does too. I’m killing that pervert Yamamoto!

Phew! We've made it this far! I hope yall enjoyed this part. I focus on Gojo more because he's like my focal point (As I mentioned on a previous part.) Please stick around for the last part! Not so exciting so I understand if you don't stick around by then but it's a close interaction with Gojo and the heroine. Any way, thanks loves! 💖

[blookmallow]

hello friends do you like GHOSTS

i found a short story i started ages and ages ago and completely forgot about/never actually finished and decided to finally finish it up. it’s about a strange little boy named george, and a very lonely little girl named clara

The Girl From The Bad Place

( img ) 

George was very small. He had small hands and small ears, a small face and a small voice, but he had large eyes that could see everything. Sometimes, he saw things no one else did. Sometimes he saw things he wasn’t supposed to see.

Sometimes he saw shadows standing in the corner, but mommy said nothing was there, and stop trying to scare her like that, Georgie, it’s not nice.

The cat stared at the corner all day.

Once, when George was even smaller, so small you might mistake him for a little lump of cloth instead of a child, the neighbor boy – who was small himself, but not so small as George – told him about the Bad Place.

“Don’t go to the old shack in the woods,” Tony said. “It’s a bad place. Something just terrible happened there. Something just dreadful. Something so bad the grown ups would never tell you what it is. But I know what it is. Do you want to know what it is?”

George didn’t know if he wanted to know what it was, but Tony told him anyway.

It was something called Murder.

George didn’t know what Murder was, but it sounded very bad indeed.

“If you want to know, why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Who?”

“The little girl. The one who died there. They say sometimes you can still hear her in there.”

George didn’t know what Died was, either. When Auntie Marilyn Died, George’s mommy didn’t come out of her room for weeks and always had her eyes all red. Daddy said not to ask her about it. George realized he hadn’t seen Auntie Marilyn since she Died. He wondered if she needed a doctor.

He remembered they had gone to the park full of odd stones that were all stuck in the ground in little rows when Aunt Marilyn Died. Daddy said it was called the Graveyard.

Everybody was very sad to be there, but George liked it very much. It didn’t seem like such a sad place to him.

His favorite thing was the funny people with flour all over their faces that peeked at him from behind some of the stones and waved and made silly faces to make him laugh.

They were very nice people, but for some reason, when mommy saw him laughing, she got very angry and told him there was nobody there.

“That isn’t funny, Georgie!” Mommy yelled, “Don’t ever talk like that!”

George asked once if they could please go back to visit the Graveyard people again, since they were so much fun and he missed them dearly, but mommy got so upset he never mentioned it again.

George was afraid of the Very Bad Place for a long time. Sometimes he had awful dreams about it, even though he had never been there. He imagined a door with snarling teeth that would crash down and devour you when you tried to go through it, or a rug that would tangle you up and drag you away. Tony moved away before George could ask if he had ever been there to see it.

One day when George was a little less small, he wandered away in the woods much further than ever before. He liked to play in the woods, and knew his way very well; but this time, when he’d gone as far as he knew, he didn’t stop.

The air grew cold, and George could see a building hidden by the trees a bit further up ahead. Somehow, before he could even see it clearly, George knew that it was the Bad Place.

Maybe, he thought, Tony was lying to scare him. Maybe it wasn’t a Bad Place, really.

But maybe it was.

He stared at the Bad Place for a long time, and his feet seemed to decide to move closer before the rest of him could argue. The shack came closer, and the air grew colder. Everything in the forest became quiet, as if God had flipped a little switch at his desk up in Heaven to turn all the birds and the wind and the squirrels off for the day so that He could have some peace and quiet, George thought. But this quiet didn’t feel so very peaceful at all. This quiet felt all wrong.

The trees and the plants were creeping all over the place, breaking through little cracks in the walls and spilling into the broken windows like they were all trying to drag the shack away into the woods so that no one would ever find it again.

The door was broken, too, and was hanging off its hinges and thinking all the time about giving up and falling to the floor but hadn’t gotten around to doing it yet.

But when George reached out to touch it, the door decided now was as good a time as any and fell to the ground with a loud crash that sent dust flying everywhere, and George falling over backward on the ground.

There was nothing in the shack except a lot of dust and spiders, and shelves that held old rusty tools and jars of nails. Someone had spilled something red on the floor, but it had dried long ago. George wanted to go home.

He almost did, but now his feet didn’t want to. Go, said George’s mind. Go! We need to go home! But his feet wouldn’t listen. George didn’t know what he was afraid of, but he knew that he was more afraid of it than anything he had ever been frightened of before.  

“Who’s there?” Asked no one.  

“George.” Said George, immediately wondering whether he ought not to have said anything at all.

“Have you come to play with me?” Asked no one.

George didn’t know what to say to that.

“Who are you?” George asked, looking around.

“My name’s Clara.” Said no one, who sounded very much like a little girl.

“Where are you?” Asked George.

“Why, I’m right here with you!” Said no one, who George supposed was called Clara.

He looked all around him, wondering if it were possible that Clara was a little spider on the shelf, though he had never heard of a spider saying hello before, or if Clara was perhaps hiding somewhere, though there wasn’t anyplace to hide even for somebody as small as George.

“Promise not to be scared.” Said Clara.

“I can’t help that.” Said George. But now that he thought of it, he didn’t feel so afraid after all. The shack didn’t seem like such a Bad Place with someone else in it, even someone he couldn’t see.

“Okay, promise you won’t run away.” Said Clara.

“I won’t run away.” Said George, thinking to himself he might run anyway.

“And I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” Said Clara.

“Okay,” Said George.

“Okay… I’m coming out, now.”

George looked all around again, wondering where in the world Clara could be hiding. She couldn’t possibly fit in a broken old plant pot, or behind a rusty shovel.

Slowly, something very strange began to happen. The shack suddenly felt terribly cold, though George had on his favorite sweater, which had never failed him before. Then he saw something in the air before him, like dust caught in a sunbeam; and he thought for a moment that it was. It began to grow thicker, until it looked like a silky, transparent sort of cloth floating in the air. It grew slowly brighter and larger, until George realized it wasn’t a cloth at all – it was a little girl in an old grey dress, floating a few inches off the ground where her feet should’ve been, her long grey hair flowing around her as if she were underwater.

She was very pretty, though she seemed only half-there; George could still see the old shelves and the broken windows behind her as if she were made of dusty glass. Her eyes were clear and empty, but she smiled like the sun. Her face was all white; just like the Graveyard People that George had seen so long ago.

She smiled, but her hollow eyes looked sad, and she folded her hands neatly behind her back, waiting to see whether George would be afraid and run away after all.

He didn’t.

“Are you from the Graveyard?” George asked before he had any time to think.

“No. I’m from Clearvale.” Clara said, shaking her little head.

“I’m from Clearvale. I’ve never seen you before.”

“Well, you’ve never come out to visit before.”

“You live all the way out here?”

“I don’t live at all!” Clara laughed, but George didn’t understand the joke.

She was a strange little girl, but George liked her very much, and they were friends always from that moment on.

For a while, George would go out to pay her a visit every weekend (for he was no longer afraid of the little shack in the woods, now), and sometimes he would bring sandwiches or cookies along with him, but Clara never seemed to be hungry.

Then, one evening when George was visiting, he had forgotten the time and stayed out far too late; the sun had already gone to bed and left the whole forest dark without him.

“Mommy will be worried,” He said, hurrying to the door. “I’ve got to go home.”

Clara looked very sad, shimmering a little in the dim moonlight.

“Won’t you be in danger, out there by yourself in the dark?”

“I know the way home,” George said confidently (but he wasn’t, really).

“What if there’s wolves? Or monsters?”

George had never seen a wolf or a monster, and he didn’t care to meet either.

“Maybe I’d best go with you.” Clara said after a while. “May I come too?”

George thought about that.

“But if you come with me,” He said, “Then who will go with you back home to keep you safe from the wolves and the monsters?”

“Perhaps I could stay with you,” said Clara, quite shyly. “I don’t think this place is home anymore. I don’t want to be here.”

George felt terribly sorry for Clara, living out here all alone without a mommy or a daddy or anybody at all except spiders, which were never very good company.

But he remembered how angry his own mother had been when he’d told her about the Graveyard people before. How she couldn’t see them, and how she told George never to talk about them again.

“I don’t think my mommy would be very happy,” George sighed. “She’s a good mommy, mostly, but sometimes-… sometimes she isn’t very nice. Sometimes she doesn’t understand things.”

Clara looked very sad, but then got a mischievous little spark in her empty eyes.

“That’s alright. I could be a Secret. I can go invisible anytime I like. She’ll never know it. Then you and I could play together always.”

George liked that very much. What he loved most of all, more than anything in the world, was Secrets. It was always very exciting to have a Secret, and he hardly had anybody to play with at home now that Tony had gone. Mommy and Daddy were always far too busy to play, but that was alright with George, as they were never any good at it anyway.

So Clara followed George home all the way through the dark woods. He felt something strange happening, like there was mist gathering around him, and something like spiderwebs sticking on to him, though there was nothing there whenever he tried to brush them off. The next time Clara spoke to him, it sounded like she was speaking to him inside his head next to where his thoughts were, and he could hear her very much better in there.

Thank you, George. Oh, thank you, thank you!

Now we can be the best of friends. Forever and ever and always.

[gwaciechang]

A Very Pierre Interlude

Have some arm porn, praise kink, arm porn, cunnilingus, and did I mention arm porn? As well as just straight-up porn porn. This one starts right where the last one left off.

As usual, feel free to point out grammatical and stylistic error to me. The content itself you will leave alone unless you want to be blocked.

When you wake up the next morning, he’s still asleep. You’re not surprised, since he must still be recovering from the day before. You place your hand on his stomach, to check the bandages as much as to feel him breathing under your hand. He must feel this, because in between one breath and the next, his eyes slam open and he tenses. But then his gaze lands on yours and he softens entirely.

“Morning, darling,” the word is clumsy in his mouth, but the intent is warm is sincere, and you feel a smile grow across your face as you snuggle into his shoulder. Your fingers draw shapeless figures in the hair on his chest, lower and lower, pausing when they meet the bandages. You look up at him with a question in your eyes, and his answer is a growly, “Hell yes.”

He pulls you flush against him, and you pause one more time to ask if he’s sure. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a gasp when his fingers find out exactly how wet you already are. Suddenly, he's everywhere around you. His arms circle you completely and hold you up in the air as he adjusts his own position.

“You think you can hold me up, big guy?” you shoot him a smirk that you know he won’t be able to resist. You’re rewarded by feeling his arms tighten around you. You wrap your legs around his hips and rub yourself against him until you feel his eagerness for events to progress. He growls at his own chest before reaching downward. You get a good grip over his hair and tug until he freezes. “Not yet, not yet,” you snarl. “Not until I tell you.”

He gives one, two, three full-body shudders before finally becoming still. You line yourself up with him and sink down. You feel muscles jump in his thighs and stomach as he strains not to come. You take him in slowly until he’s fully buried inside you and his breaths have turned to whimpers.

“What do you want, darling?” you bring one arm to brace against the wall in case his legs actually do collapse under him.

“Want to move,” he nearly sobs.

“Alright,” you whisper into his ear.

He thrusts once, twice, and suddenly you’re wincing at the sun in your eyes.

You thank whoever owned this house before you for planting soft grass. You look past the trees to find Pierre climbing out of a hole in the wall that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago. “Jesus, what the fuck?” you wince when you sit up. You were going to have plenty of bruises on your ass when this was done, that’s for sure. “What the hell did you do?”

He fidgets and refuses to meet your gaze. “I, uh, I might have fuck you through the wall.”

You know you should punish him, but you’re having difficulty focusing on anything other than how much your body is throbbing with heat from those words.

You can’t help but snicker. “If you wanted to fuck a hole so badly, I have two you could use.” He smacks your shoulder playfully, even as he laughs. You love his face when he laughs, so open and light.

Then his laugh changes, and a darkness gleams in his eyes.

“You’re not going to fuck me here, are you?” You glance nervously over your shoulder for emphasis, “Anybody could be watching us.”

“Let them see,” his response grumbles in his chest. “I want them to see that you’re mine.” He grabs your shoulders possessively and pulls you down on top of him. “Comfortable?” he smirks.

Of course you are. He’s surprisingly soft for someone who’s lived the type of life he has. You reach forward to stroke his beard. It’s not unlike stroking a cat, in how soft he is and how a purr rumbles in his chest at the sensation.

His hands hover on the back of your head like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch, but he desperately wants to. You do what you’ve seen him do, which is bump your head into his palm and then suddenly his hands are all over you, setting you on fire. You keep one arm on his chest for balance (and to keep him from straining his injuries too much, not that you would ever let him know) and lean down to kiss him. His hand reaches down, finds your stomach, finds your hip, finds your-

He breaks the kiss to look you in the eye. “Are you ready?” he asks, unsure.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes by reminding yourself that he’s not actually doubting his own prowess, he just knows exactly how poorly people can treat each other, and he never wants to be part of that again. You adjust his fingers until he presses on the right spot, and wetness coats the top of his finger.

“Keep going, and you'll see how sure I am,” you manage to say.

His fingers are magical. Coarse, but gentle, and they don’t feel like any of your other lovers’. You close your eyes to ride out the wave until, suddenly, they’re gone, and you open your eyes to glare at him. But you’ve already been lifted into the air, and soon his tongue replaces his fingers. His hands are now in yours, and you grip them so tightly that you must be hurting him, but you can’t let go either. Your legs shake with the need to slam closed, this is too much, then suddenly his hands are on your thighs, stroking fiery paths up and down. Arousal tightens in your stomach and you grind down until you can feel his breath on your folds, until all of a sudden, you can’t.

He doesn’t stop, and you can’t stop the gasps and keens coming out of your mouth, the little forward thrusts that he somehow manages to keep up with, and then the tight spool in your middle unravels and spills down.

He keeps going, but you can barely keep yourself upright. It’s like all your muscles have turned to warm water, and all you want to do is drape yourself over him. You must eventually tilt too close to the ground, because he picks you up again with those steel bands he calls arms, and settles you over him like a blanket. He gives you a lazy, messy kiss, and you can taste and smell yourself on him. His cock throbs against your hip, sending an answering throb that picks you right up.

Oh, hey muscles, nice to see you working again, you think as you shakily line yourself up. You manage to cover the head of his dick, but you’re not quite slick enough to take more than another inch, even if you were more coordinated. You press down on his hip as an unnecessary warning, but he's completely still save his rapidly rising and falling chest. You take one of his hands and place it on your breast, his other hand follows suit. They squeeze warmth up into your head, and when strong, careful fingers rub your nipples, you feel yourself pulsing and sinking down, down, until he’s fully buried inside you.

His eyes are laser-focused on you now, like the rest of the world doesn't exist, and he's still not moving. “Good boy,” you murmur to see him blush all the way down to his chest. You pet the top of his head and he honest-to-god whimpers as he leans into the touch. You keep one hand there and lower the other down his cheek, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his pecs, leaving a trail of goosebumps and flushed skin in your wake. “You’re so good for me,” you say into a kiss.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and a single tear sparkles down. Amazing how a few kind words could wreck him more utterly than twenty blows with a flogger.

“You’ve been so wonderful,” you keep going, hoping he’ll accept one more before his own self-loathing makes him reject your words. “I think it’s time for your reward.”

It’s like a flipping a switch, how quickly his eyes snap open and he rolls the both of you over. He’s grinding you so hard into the ground that you feel some less-than-pleasant things poking you, and you grab his hip to force him to slow down.

Worry starts to creep into his eyes, so you wiggle around until you’re in a more comfortable groove before you wrap your arms around him and pull him down. He seems to understand, putting his own arms around your back so you’re lying more on him than the ground. Only once your hand moves to play with the hair at the top of his neck does he start to thrust again.

You feel his hands feeling around your back even over the rising temperature in your core. You realize that he's checking for cuts and bruises from flipping you over and fucking a hole into your poorly-constructed wall. He finds a scab just under your right shoulder, and he looks away when he begins to soften. Your own temperature drops too, when you think about how your darling sees everything he does as a failure to you.

The cold is replaced by steel, and you stroke his back with one hand and play with his sweaty hair in the other. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, darling. You think I would ever fuck anyone else in the woods, wild, like this? You think any other man has ever thrust so hard that the wall broke? Pierre, come on, wear a groove into the ground deeper than the ones I wore into you.”

Spurred on by praise, Pierre doubles his effort. You feel him swell inside you, and you feel him shudder when you clench. He lets out a scream when he comes, which vibrates against your shoulder. Funny, you’ve never considered your shoulder an erogenous zone, but the vibrations travel straight down, and you come with a moan seconds later.

“And here I thought my muscles were water before,” you murmur. Pierre looks down at you with a line between his eyes. You would be worried, but your brain is just as mushy as the rest of you, so all you can think about is how the hair framing his face looks like a halo in the rising sunlight. “My angel,” you don’t mean to say.

Your angel takes two tries to pick you up in his sweaty, trembling arms, and a further two attempts to actually stagger to his feet. He has to brace himself against what remains of the wall when he reaches it, and then again on the edge of the hole, before he carries you to your bed.

Pierre takes care to tuck the blankets around you before lying down next to you. Unfortunately, despite the rising sun, the air is still so cold that you shiver when the wind blows. Your darling angel notices, and after a second of glaring at the hole in the wall as if he could scare it away, he gets back up again.

He’s cold too, you can see his suppressed shivers as he picks up the biggest piece of whatever the wall was made of and tries to put it back in place. It’s clearly not going to work, not unless he has nails and a hammer, and you’re only going to let him do one type of hammering while naked. You tell him so, because he’d keep trying to fix the wall until he freezes otherwise.

“Come back to bed, darling, and keep me warm,” you add, flipping the blankets over despite the cold so he can see you. He growls and yanks the blankets out of your hands, but rather than tucking you in, this time he wraps you entirely in the blankets like a burrito, trapping your hands and legs as you futilely try to wiggle out.

“Where are you taking me?” you protest. You trust him, you really do. He’d flog himself without your input if he actually did anything to hurt you, but he does sometimes have interesting ideas about what’s best for you, and right now is probably one of those times.

He picks you up, and even through the blankets, you can feel the strength in his arms. You really shouldn’t be so surprised, after all, he literally fucked you through the wall, and if you squint as he carries you past the hole in the wall, you can see a groove in the grass where he fucked a hole into your backyard.

It turns out you didn’t need to be worried. He simply carries you to the couch in the living room, all the way across the apartment. Despite having been flogged within an inch of his life, his arms hold you steady. You start wiggling just to mess with him, see if he could keep a hold of you in your slippery, silky sheets. It turns out his hands are talented in many, many ways.

He throws you over his shoulder, places one hand over your ass to secure you in place, and continues walking. Now, if you wiggle, there’s a pretty good chance you'll actually slip out of the sheets. You wiggle just enough so you can cross your arms and curse at him, which just makes him chuckle. The sound bounces off his shoulders and into your hip, which you pretend you can’t feel.

He shrugs you off when you reach the couch, and for one breathless second you’re in freefall for much longer than you expected to be, but then Pierre’s arm catches and dips you, and you realize he was messing with you, too.

“You fucking dick!”

“I thought you liked being fucked by my dick,” Pierre pouts. And oh, now you’re done for, done for by the fact that he just made a joke and he’s pouting, how is that fair?

He places you down on the couch so gently that you don’t even realize his arms have left you until you see them by his sides. Now you’re wriggling in earnest, trying to find purchase against your blanket cocoon so you can-aha! There!

He stands and he’s starting to go back the way you came, and you call his name so that he'll look down. God knows what duty he thinks he has to fulfill right now while you’re all cozy on the couch, but it’s not nearly as important as cuddling with you right now.

It works, he crawls into the blankets with you, and you-

You-

You jerk up on the bed together when you hear something clatter in the kitchen.

[popatochisssp]

Make Your Mark, 8/10

Series: Undertale, Swapfell Relationship(s): SF!Papyrus/Reader Chapter Warnings:  Potential tw before the cut for being drunk around unpleasant people, nothing happens but could be scary, take care of yourselves!

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

You…may have made some bad decisions.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to go out and celebrate your move to a brand new city. You didn’t have any friends yet to go with, or any idea of where to go, but you didn’t really see why that should stop you from having a good time.

You were in Ebott now, the very definition of excitement and opportunity!

…But…you were coming to realize that there was perhaps such a thing as too much excitement.

Casual revelry with strangers at a monster bar was fun at first. So were the glowing, sparkling, color-changing drinks they’d encouraged you to try, even buying them for you when you admitted you were on a bit of a budget.

You’d been having a great time.

But now, somewhere between the drinks and the strangely-colored smoke in the air, you’re…kind of intoxicated and… the smiles your new monster friends are giving you seem to be taking a turn for the sinister.

You wave off the next glass slid your way and get up, trying not to stumble. You’re met with groans, chiding and coaxing you to stay, just a little longer, but no, no, you really can’t.

You’re disoriented, struggling to remember where the exit was and how to get there while cloying claws and paws and tentacles brush against you, not quite trying to hold you back…

Yet.

It occurs to you that probably every eye in this place is squarely on you—the lone, dizzy human making itself easy pickings—and it sets your heart going hard against your ribs, robbing you of precious breath.

For one terrifying second, you feel like you’re about to faint.

And then, an arm drapes across your shoulders, pulling you into somebody.

You look up into the eye-lights of an actual skeleton— tall and menacing, with one gleaming golden fang.

“you’re cute,” he tells you in a low, raspy voice. “let’s get out of here.”

“Uhh—?”

You don’t have a chance to argue.

The skeleton is strong and he tows your dazed and staggering self along with him like it’s nothing, and you certainly don’t have the wherewithal to fight him.

You look around and in a moment of clarity, you realize you’re suddenly being given a very wide berth.

You don’t know what to make of that.

As you’re dragged out of the bar, into the empty street behind it, the ever-worsening nature of your predicament hits you: you were really, actually about to become a statistic, mugged or murdered or worse in an alley with no one around for miles to call or even notice you were missing.

You think you’re too scared right now to even scream for help, anyway.

Suddenly, you stagger as the arm around you unceremoniously lets go.

“……sorry,” the skeleton says. “i shoulda asked ‘fore i… i just……didn’t really have any other…ideas…”

All you can do is stare at him, blankly.

Under your gaze, his cheekbones go a stunning shade of violet and he turns to stare at the wall of the building, like he can’t quite look at you.

“i mean. you… you just…looked kinda nervous? i…i saw you an’ thought, ‘hell, i know that feeling,’ an’ you didn’t come in with anybody, so. …not!” he hastily adds, “that i was watchin’ you or anything, uh, weird, just, humans, you stick out, an’ you were alone, so if you needed help, i………”

The skeleton pauses, sweat beading along his skull as something seems to occur to him.

“maybe you were havin’ fun?” he wonders with a wince. “in which case, i, uh…probably ruined your night ‘cause i didn’t… i didn’t even ask you…!”

He breaks off with a wordless noise of embarrassed frustration and your fuzzy brain can’t quite parse…most of all that anxious word-vomit, but you at least get the last bit.

“I wasn’t,” you hastily blurt out. “I wasn’t…having fun, I… Thank you, for…for getting me out of there? I… Thanks.”

The skeleton looks very relieved to hear that.

“o-oh…yeah, that’s…it’s fine,” he shrugs, with the most forced nonchalance you’ve ever seen in a shrug. “i mean, you probably shouldn’t…go places like that alone, though? humans know about the buddy system, don’t they?”

You can’t be sure, but you might be blushing, too.

“Yeah, well… I didn’t see you with a buddy,” you mutter, maybe a little childishly.

“i got…connections,” the guy tells you. Then, he laughs a little. “…nyeheheh, and a…a pretty good ‘resting bitch face.’”

You snort. “Yeah? Let’s see it.”

The skeleton takes your dare and it’s like flipping a switch—the shy magic coloring vanishes from his cheekbones and he fixes you with a look nothing short of stony. His expression is flat and his skull is abruptly all sharp, spooky angles where there’d only just been a cute, sheepish grin.

He tilts his head back, just so, and you think you understand now why nobody tried to stop this monster from absconding with you: looking like this, he seems like the type of guy who really would’ve dragged you into this alley to murder you.

“Snrk…holy shit. That’s… that’s really good, dude!”

The skeleton flips right back the second you laugh, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“papyrus,” he says, introducing himself at last, and you happily introduce yourself in return.

When he asks if you’ve got a ride home and you admit that you don’t know your new address too well—you wrote it down, on your phone, but of course it’s dead, your forethought is in peak form tonight—he offers to let you spend the night at his place.

It’s probably another bad idea and maybe you’re still reeling a bit from all the monster-drinks and secondhand who-knows-what, but he feels like a nice guy.

Trustworthy.

You let Papyrus take you home with him.

-

It turns out you put your faith in the right skeleton.

Even though he only had his own bed to offer you and you insisted he not go sleep on the floor, you woke up safe, sober, and fully-clothed (albeit very thoroughly cuddled).

You stayed the morning to make breakfast, as a ‘thank you.’ You met Papyrus’ very scary brother who stared at you across the table until Papyrus wandered in and eased some of the tension.

It was still a little awkward—turns out, Papyrus’ default state was ‘quiet’ and he spent most of the time wolfing down his syrup-drowned pancakes while Sans held eye-contact with you and downed a whole bottle of Sriracha (a power move?), but somehow, by the end of it…

You still decided to give Papyrus your number, in case he ever wanted to hang out or…do whatever. You were new to the city and anyone you could call a friend was a good person to know!

All things considered, it wasn’t long before Papyrus went from ‘friend’ to ‘boyfriend.’ He was a sweet guy with a real gift for snuggling and an untapped well of affection that he was happy to shower you in with only the slightest provocation.

Just a few short months after your first near-disastrous night in Ebott things are going great for you—you’ve got a decent job, actual furniture in your apartment, a cuddlebug boyfriend, and even a passing civil relationship with said boyfriend’s brother.

There’s not a single thing you would change about your life right now!

…Except…

Well.

You have a soulmark.

Which is either really, really good, or really, really bad.

You found it when you got home from that first breakfast, after your…unpleasant…night at the bar.

You’d been out of it and so many strange and dubiously-intentioned monsters had brushed up against you, skin to scales and slime and any number of textures.

Really, any one of the people there that night could’ve sparked your soulmark to manifest.

In your heart—and maybe even all the way down to your soul—you know which strange and dubiously-intentioned monster you want to have left the twisting strings of ivy wrapped around your belly, climbing up your torso and always seeming to have moved from the last time you looked.

And…Papyrus has a soulmark, too, you’ve seen it, so he’s…

It’s probably yours.

But you’re just not sure.

It doesn’t really matter if it isn’t, of course: you’d rather be dating Papyrus than any of the shady creeps who’d plied you with drinks that night, and even if he’d gotten his own mark long before he met you, he seemed perfectly content with your relationship; more than!

It doesn’t matter… but there’s still a part of you that wants to know.

-

Papyrus is sprawled out on the couch, and you’re lying on top of him.

It’s not the most comfortable position for you, with him being a literal skeleton and all, but he told you once that he likes to feel you on him, so you’re hanging in there awhile longer.

And thinking about the soulmark thing again.

Papyrus seems to notice your preoccupation and cranes his neck down a little to nuzzle your hair.

“what’cha thinkin’ about?” he murmurs.

You don’t see any reason to lie.

“The night we met,” you say. “…you were pretty smooth back then. Y’know, the first…five minutes or so, at least.”

You bounce a little as he laughs.

“daiquiris, angel,” Papyrus winks up at you. “coupla those an’ i’m a regular casanova.”

You snicker…but, “Knight in shining armor, more like.”

His skull turns a very cute shade of lilac.

“…aaahhh, stop,” he grumbles. “it wasn’t…that big a deal……”

“It was to me!” you insist, pushing yourself up on his ribs. “You saved my ass and you know it, Rus.”

“mmmnn…s’a cute ass…”

Papyrus was hot garbage when it came to just accepting a compliment.

You fully intend to work on that, but you decide to have mercy on him and let it go for now.

Instead, you go for a different sort of gamble.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause we’re soulmates,” you accuse.

You keep your eyes on Papyrus’ face, not sure what kind of reaction you’re looking hoping for.

The way he just…smiles at you, eye-sockets crinkling at the corners, feels a little like running into a step on the stairs that you didn’t know was there.

“nah,” he says, “it’d be cute no matter what.”

You sag a little in sheer surprise— was it really that easy?—and Papyrus tilts his head, trying to piece together what’s going on in your head.

For as awkward as he is around people, he’s not half-bad at jumping to conclusions.

“……did you…not know?”

“No,” you hasten to assure him, “no, I…knew. Or, I mean, I kinda figured… I hoped, mostly, but…” You laugh a little, more at yourself than anything. “It was kind of a…weird…night, and we never exactly talked about it…”

Slowly, but surely…

Papyrus starts to snicker.

And then to outright laugh.

“nyeheheheheheh, holy shit,” he wheezes, “i thought i was bad… yuh…you weren’t sure and you took this long to ask about it??? pfft, stars above,you’re the best…”

If it wasn’t for the total, unflinching sincerity in that last bit, you think you might be a little offended.

As it is, you don’t really protest very hard when Papyrus deftly turns you over on top of him, so your back is to his chest, or when he starts to wriggle a bit and you can’t really see what he’s doing.

Apparently, he was shrugging off his jacket.

When he wraps his arms around you again, they’re bare and you can see the artful line of feathers along them, trailing all the way down from his scapulae.

“why d’you think i call you ‘angel’ so much?” he chuckles, setting his jaw atop your head. “m’wearin’ your wings…”

He says it so simply, so matter-of-fact…

And honestly, it’s everything you needed to hear.

You’re so glad Papyrus found you.

UT!Sans | UT!Papyrus | US!Sans | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | UF!Papyrus | SF!Sans | HT!Sans | HT!Papyrus

[anarchist-puppet-on-strings]

Stories Worth Telling

SUMMARY: Jackie only said yes to this interview in hopes of getting people to hate him less.

TW - VERY BRIEF MENTION OF PEDOPHILIA

Jackie’s nervous. He hopes to any higher being that may hear this that he doesn’t look as anxious as he feels. When people see him from afar they see someone calm and collected, a joke or witty comment at the ready. He prays this interview doesn’t reveal what a dorky mess he actually is to the public.

He watches with vague interest as the reporter he’d saved a week ago—Danny—got ready. A notebook was pulled out of her bag, pencil pulled from behind her ear, phone opened to the voice memo app and set on the table between them…. It seems like she really thought this whole thing through huh. Maybe she knew he'd say yes.

He fidgeted uncomfortably. He'd never done this sort of thing before. He’s talked to few people for extended amounts of time as Jackieboy Man and that was to calm a few victims, most being children—this is a journalist. The voice in his mind told him he'd mess this all up and make even more people hate him. Oddly enough, that thought is scarier than some criminals he's fought.

The phone sitting on the table, ready to record their whole conversation is more like a viper than a phone at this point. It stares at him like it’s waiting for him to fuck up once.

“Alrighty then looks like we're nearly ready!” Danny chirped happily. “I’m going to start recording our conversation—if that's okay with you,” she said, shooting him a questioning glance.

Against his better judgement, he swallowed and nodded nervously.

She tapped the screen and suddenly the interview had begun.

“So Jackieboy Man—can I call you Jackie?”

He nodded before catching his mistake. “Err yeah. Go for it.”

“Great,” she said absentmindedly, flipping through her small notebook. “First off: why’d you agree to this interview? You’ve shied away from reporters before.”

His mind blanked and he’s left struggling to pick out coherent thoughts. “Uh, well, I was kinda hoping this would clear up some questions people might have about me? I dunno, make them hate me less? And you seem less demanding and invasive than the other ones who’ve asked.”

She hummed, glancing up at him with a soft smile as she scribbled something down and flipped back a few pages. “What makes you think people hate you?”

He scoffed. “Oh please, I’ve seen the looks I get. And I can hear all the rumors.”

Someone started something saying he’s a leader of some new gang or something. While it’s kinda amusing, it hurts his fragile reputation of being the new hero in the city. Enough people didn’t trust him as it was and he didn’t need some stupid rumor messing things up even worse than they already were.

“Well, what you’re doing is illegal,” she pointed out dryly, giving him a look that he’s all too familiar with. Stay in your lane; it’s not your job. That look always pissed him off.

Jackie couldn’t help but bark a sardonic laugh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “Yeah, well, the cops aren’t doing shit, so I’m steppin’ up instead.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that because now her interest is peaked. Her hazel eyes were glittering in excitement as she leaned forward.

“Ah, I’m sorry; that was uncalled for-”

“No, no,” she said eagerly. “Go ahead. What’re your opinions on the cops?”

Relax, Jay; this is an interview. It’s all about you. You’re not gonna get in trouble… yet.

“Well, I don’t really needta tell anybody how corrupt this city’s justice system is. All I see when I turn on the news is about how some cop abused their power and aren’t gettin’ charged blah blah blah.” Now that he’s clearly listening to himself, he realized how bitter and… sad he sounded.

“It happens pretty often,” Danny noted, pencil scratching against paper.

“Christ, it’s like this happens every few weeks!” He complained, running a hand down his face and over his mask. “It’s stupid! I mean, it’s not hard to be a good person!”

“Is that why you’re doing this?” She cut in. “Because of all the corruption?”

“Well, yeah, why else would I be doin’ all this shit?” He asked. “I have a job and stuff to do. Why would I want to be doin’ something I don’t needta be doin’?”

“People can argue that you don’t have the right to do that. There’s law enforcement after all.”

“Technically we just talked about why we can’t trust the cops but I’ll humor you. Ya can’t just sit around, twiddling your thumbs while you wait for someone to stop the people everyone put in power cuz nobody’s gonna stop them. Sometimes ya have to step up and be karma.”

“That’s… that’s quite the statement. Very raw.”

Jackie hummed.

Silence fell for a minute until Danny spoke again. “A while ago, one of my coworkers caught a video of you stumbling into an alley after a gunfight between two gangs when she arrived on the scene. Did you get hurt?”

Shrugging helplessly, he glanced down at the ground. ”Maybe.”

“Do you… do you get hurt often?” She asked. To Jackie’s disbelief, he heard genuine concern in her voice.

“I mean, yeah… not too often for bad injuries but normally scrapes and bruises here and there every night.” He chuckled. “Most the minor ones are my fault anyways. I’m not exactly graceful.”

More writing.

“Aren’t you scared?” She asked.

“Of what?”

“Getting hurt.”

“Oh, nah, not really,” he said dismissively. “What happens happens. I just brush it off and keep going.”

“Do your family and friends know you’re doing this?” She asked.

He blinked. “What?”

She repeated the question.

“Uh—no. I don’t have any family or friends.” It slipped out before he could stop it.

The look he received was of pure pity. He hated it.

Danny tapped her pencil against the edge of the table, watching as his leg bounced up and down.

“So… tell me about your spray painting.”

“Uhm, what d’ya wanna know?” His brows furrowed. Of all the things she could’ve asked, she asked about that?

She hummed. “Well, what’s with all the messages? You have some pretty meaningful ones plastered across the walls.”

Trying to recall any only resulted in a jumble of memories. All he could really remember is the fumes of paint and the dark shielding him from prying eyes.

“Which ones? I’ve done a lot.”

She flipped through her notes again and pulled out a few pictures stuck between some pages. A bright green eyeball with the optic nerve hanging down with a blue iris and a black pupil was present in every picture but...

Danny spoke before he could examine them of them close enough. “‘Don’t tell me what you want to be; tell me what you want to do.’”

He shrugged. “It’s always what d’ya wanna be when you grow up. I think what you’re gonna do is much more important.”

She furrowed her brows while nodding before moving onto the next one.

“‘Respect existence or expect resistance,’” she read aloud.

“I think that’s pretty self explanatory.”

She gave him a patient smile. “Tell me anyway.”

Jackie sighed heavily. “People don’t respect one another and then suddenly everyone is surprised when others start to say something about it or try to do something. It’s hypocritical.”

Once he made it clear he wasn’t going any further, she continued down the line. “‘Smile because you’re loved.’”

That one made him smile slightly. It’s one of his favorites. “I think reminders are nice. People always have someone who cares, even if they don’t think so.”

She stared at him for a moment before smiling gently. “That’s a nice message.”

“Yeah, I wish people told each other more often.”

“‘Stop being silent.’” She tapped the mute button drawn next to the phrase.

He stared her in the eyes. “Citizens have power. They’re just not using it. They’re trying to scare us into silence and it’s working. We need to do something.

“‘How many have to die?’” She turned the paper towards herself and rattled off, “‘Charlie Unger, Hailey Davis, Michael Crow, Thomas Marsh, Cale Sanders, Macy Parish, Gail Sullivan…’ and there’s many more. These are names of protesters.”

“And people who the cops killed,” Jackie added steelily.

“Why those names?”

“People have argued whether some of these people were “good” or not, but here’s the thing: most of them were children. I know Macy was 16 and the others were mainly older highschool or college students. You can say they were adults but they were still in school. They had things they’ll never get to do now, and they’re not getting their justice. It isn’t fair.”

Danny’s silent as she slid the picture back into her bag. She turned her attention on the next one. “‘Divided we stand, united we fall.’ This is pretty similar to the American motto.”

“Mmm it’s switched around.”

“Why this one? Are you bashing America?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I’m bashing this city. We all have our differences, opinions, and stories, and we let those define us. But when we fall down, we fall together. We have the same fate eventually. We stand divided but we fall united.”

She hummed again (she did that a lot). “What about this one? ‘Always watching?’”

“I don’t remember doing that one.”

Danny frowned. “It has your calling card by it. Or, at least, what looks like it.”

He frowned, turning the picture to face him. The words were jagged and sloppy with little care for how it appeared. But the eye by the words was… wrong. It was black with a combined neon green iris and pupil. It looked… ominous.

“That’s not mine,” he said. He picked it up, trying to figure out where this was. “Do you know where this is?”

She reached over and plucked the photo out of his hand and flipped it over.

In scrawling letters it read: 65830 Detroit Boulevard

Drumming his fingers on his leg, he hummed.

“Can I, ah, take a picture of this?” He asked, flipping it back over and staring at the cryptic words.

“Go ahead.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a picture of the graffiti. He copied the address into the notes app before turning it off and putting it away. He slid the photo back to her so she could shuffle them back into her notebook.

She cleared her throat after a minute and continued. “Your latest stunt caused some controversy. People say you have no right to reveal people’s personal information like you did.”

“I’d say those rights are forfeited when you’re caught doin’ illegal things.”

“So it can be argued that your rights are forfeited as well?” She pointed out, jabbing her pencil at him.

He shrugged again. “I mean, yeah, sure.”

The answer must’ve let Danny down. “You’re pretty nonchalant about all this.”

He smiled. “Well, at least I know where my morals lie. I’m happy to say I’m not on the deep web watching little kids like McCallister was.”

At the mention of that, she became uncomfortable. “Why’d you reveal that information to the public?”

Jackie grinned. “Because he couldn’t be left off the hook with the whole city angry, no matter how corrupt the cops are. Even if he escapes criminal charges—which I doubt—people’ll throw him outta office. You have ta get people’s attention for them to listen.”

“I… I think that’s enough for now…” She said weakly.

“Oh? Am I free to go?” He asked.

She shoved her notebook into her bag and picked up her phone. “Sure, just give me some contact info, so I can get in touch to ask follow up questions.” It sounded like she didn’t realize what she’s saying. Contact info from a hero? Psssh.

He laughed as he made his way to the open window. “Nah, you’ll see me around. Just holler.”

“Hey! Wait!” She sputtered.

It’s too late—he’d already swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped down onto the fire escape.

Danny rushed to the window and peered out, watching him vault over the railing and drop into the darkness of the alleyway. She sighed, phone clutched in her hand. She looked at the new recording named by the date and time. “Oh well, at least I have this.”

This would be the biggest story since Jackie’s appearance—maybe even bigger! She could feel it.

(A/N) I’VE WORKED ON THIS FOR  D A Y S  AND IT’S FINALLY DONE!!!

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic 

[dragonleesupporter]

Heat (Paradigm Series)

Summary: After realizing he’s in love with the prince, Alo decides to visit Shasta again. Little does he know that this particular night will change his life forever.

           “What’s wrong with me?” Alo turned on his other side for the fifth time.

             He had tried other branches on the tree, since he didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the abandoned bar that anybody had access to. He had tried switching sides so many times, but realized his whole body was covered in sweat. How could that be? It was freezing just an hour ago!

             He tried to distract his uncomfortable situation by focusing on how his day had gone. It had been AMAZING. Shasta was naïve and stupidly trusting, as well as a lightweight drinker and a boy of a prince. He was so stupid… yet… Alo knew the prince had something he hadn’t had in a long time. Happiness. Genuine acceptance and love for everything around him.

 Pssh… he knew it was going to kill him someday. Why did that thought hurt so much? The thief had lost people before! Why was this cute prince any different than the few friends he once had?? Being so cute and acting openly childlike as if nobody was judging his every move! And his laugh… Just as intoxicating and addictive as the shicka they had drank together. Contagious and never-ending, like an infinite waterfall of mirth and innocence pouring onto a burnt and blackened world. Alo felt himself smiling at the memory of a drunk Shasta openly giggling at everything around him and making no attempt to hide it… just a free soul…

 But he was so vulnerable… Alo had to protect him! He knew the other kingdoms wouldn’t react well with the thought of a prince replacing a princess. Why did he care so much about this prince? Why had he opened up so fast to someone who was supposed to be his enemy? The thief didn’t care to answer those questions anymore. He didn’t need to know why. He just wanted to be with him… The purple grecken suddenly felt overwhelmed by a mixture of feelings.  

             He was panting, his heart was felt like a hammer rapidly smashing against the inside of his chest; his whole body was on fire! He took out a cooling charm, but it did nothing. His body writhed in agony, as he desperately tried to grab onto anything that would somehow take away this crazed heat. He spazzed and convulsed, nearly falling out of the tree if not for his claws and fast reflexes. Finally, the fit ended, and Alo sat up to take in much-needed air, the fire finally receding.

             “Seah cockit…” He breathed, opening his eyes that had been squeezed shut for a good portion of his fiery heart attack.

             He froze.

             His whole chest was glowing grey through his hoodie, confirming two of his worst fears. The first being that there was no other way around it… his soul color truly was grey… The second was the fact that what he had experienced was known as soul bonding, or what’s sometimes simply called Heat. He was hopelessly in love with a prince.  

             …

             Throughout the following day, Alo had to stop himself multiple times from going to castle, knowing Shasta would be busy, and had to stay to the original planned time. He distracted himself with other objectives, like stealing more charms and getting food. Alo had an affinity for charms, and they weren’t that popular since no one believed they worked, resulting in them being dirt cheap and Alo not feeling that bad for taking some. It’s not like he was taking something majorly important to the public.

             Finally, the evening came, and the thief booked it to the castle, mischief making his heart flutter. It felt nice to smile as he dashed through the shadows, away from the gaze of guards toward the only place that felt somewhat like a home.

             “Boo.” He whispered, causing the prince to jump a foot in the air.

             “Great Seah!” Shasta looked at Alo angrily.

             The thief was prepared for a remark of not scaring a prince but was surprised at what came instead.

             “I almost thought you were late! If you’re going to scare me, do it on time! I was worried about you!”

             Alo openly laughed as the prince stared at him confusedly.

             “Y-yohou juhuhust gohohot mahad… hehe… because I wahas LATE?! NOHOT because I scared yohou to bihits?! Hahahaha!” Alo doubled over, embarrassed at completely losing is composer for the first time in front of the prince, but part of him didn’t really mind.

             “Of course! I was thinking about you all day! It’s torcher waiting here for you!” The prince crossed his arms. “That’s why I’M taking you somewhere today!”

             “Wait. What?” Alo suddenly halted and turned toward, staring at the prince with a dumbfounded expression. “Where could you possibly take me?”

             “Come on!” Alo’s arm was suddenly grabbed and next thing he knew he was being yanked out the room.

             Butterflies filled his belly at the sights. He wasn’t supposed to be here… The thief was about to protest before realizing this is just what he had done to the prince yesterday. Glossy flooring, royal flags of every color, long blue carpets along every floor laced with gold and silver, Alo didn’t feel worthy of it.

             “Sssshhhh…” Shasta hushed his already silent friend and turned a corner. “Okay, no guards here. Let’s go!” He whispered excitedly and pulled Alo like a rag doll. They ran a small distance through the glamorous halls, decorated with endless paintings and tapestries before going outside a back entrance through a thick, stone door.  

             Alo saw a beautiful pool with glowstone illuminating from the bottom and bouncing through the waves, creating little swimming slivers of light in the surrounding trees. Steam was rising from the water and the scent it gave off was heavenly. The grass was neatly cut, and there was even some glofruit plants around the pool, their blue berries giving off a glow similar to the deep blue shine of the glowstone on the bottom. Alo felt himself relax slightly, and breathed a contented sigh.

             “Come on in, the water’s fine!” Shasta called even before he hit the water, his clothes flung off.

             Alo stared at the prince for a long moment, who was happily wading in the warm water, completely unaware that he had just flipped a switch in the poor thief. He was NAKED for Seah’s sake! Alo felt the urge to jump in after him and bond with the prince, to make him feel happy and tell him how loved he is.

             “I wouldn’t want to filthy your waters…” Alo suddenly stopped himself, realizing he hadn’t had a proper bath in a LONG time.

             “It doesn’t matter! I had this cleaned today just for you! It gets dirty all the time!” Shasta opened his arms expectantly.

             “Okay… if you insist.” Alo flushed slightly as he waded into the water.

             He walked in with his clothes on, not daring to take them off and show his scars and deformities. Some dirt did fall off of him into the water. Shasta rushed forward, and Alo flinched, expecting the prince to make a fuss over the dirt, despite he said it was no big deal.

 But instead of freaking out over the mess, the prince took the opportunity and started grooming the thief with a brush, going behind him and scrubbing filth off the other, clothes and all. This caused Alo to internally panic. He had a hot NAKED prince behind him grooming his fur, but Shasta didn’t seem to mind one bit, in fact when the hooded grecken was turned around for more glooming, he saw the golden one’s face adorned with an excited smile.

             “At first I was concerned that your life was unhygienic and perhaps unhealthy. But then I realized that I could help with that!” Shasta smiled cheerfully, using his cupped hand to pour water over Alo’s head. “I apologize for the glofruit plants being uneven. My planter was supposed to bury them parallel on either side. Stupid grecken. Say, why don’t we take this hoodie off? It would make this a lot easier.” Shasta leaned forward, but the thief flinched and waded backwards.

             “N-no. I’m sorry. J-just no…” Alo sputtered.

             “Well, then I guess I’ll have to groom you AND your clothes! Challenge accepted!” Alo chuckled at that, finally calming down from his panic attack at how carefree the other was.

             “Yep. Another challenge for the Great Shasta!” He announced dramatically, expecting the prince to laugh… but he didn’t.

             When he looked over, the golden grecken’s face was jeweled with the cutest smile, jaw unhinged and eyes wide and dilated, sparkles clearly seen in them. His hands slowly reached up to both his cheeks as he looked up, his smile growing… if that was possible.

             “The… GREAT… Shasta???” He asked squealing adorably to himself as he hopped up and down in the water. “I love it, I love it, I love it!”

             Alarms starting going off in Alo’s head as he felt his chest getting warmer, his heart fluttering at the sight before him. For a moment, unfiltered fondness overtook him.

             “You’re adorable.” Alo said his thought out loud before slapping a hand over his mouth, shocked at how loose he was getting around the prince.

             “You’re more adorable!” Shasta turned and looked at him without skipping a beat. “You got that awesome hood and your beautiful grey eyes- look! Now your face is grey!” Shasta giggled.

             “No way! You’re the one that’s a complete child!” The thief fired back, trying to ignore the blush on his face.

             “And who’s the one who keeps coming back for me?” Shasta liked this game, and could feel this welcoming warmth deep inside him.

             “Alright, you little shit, come here!” Alo started to chase the giddy prince around the pool, his playful smile never fading.

             After a moment or so of the chase, the prince suddenly dived head first into the water to get away from Alo who had started to catch up.

             “Ah!” The thief was suddenly tripped by the underwater prince and sunk into the water before recovering, feeling pain in his arms.

             Shasta got up and looked at Alo… who was… frowning?

             “Are you okay?” The prince’s bountiful attitude came to a crashing halt at the pained expression on the purple grecken’s face.

             “I’m fine.” The thief attempted to smile but as he looked up to see Shasta quickly wading toward him, he knew there was no escaping it.

             “Did I hurt you?” The prince asked, checking his friend over like a parent would.

             “It just… hurts when I try to swim…” Alo muttered.

             Shasta finally saw something yellow dripping into the pool coming from Alo’s arms.

             “What happened to you?!” He shouted, causing the other to jump.

             “I was… unlucky. Let’s put it that way.” Alo tried to pry Shasta off of him, but the golden grecken didn’t budge.

             He leaned forward gently grasped Alo’s hands before pulling them up to see the source of the dripping blood. The thief had two scars along his elbow joints that had reopened, yellow streaks trickling down his arms.

             Alo turned to look at Shasta and nearly squeaked in fear at what he saw. Shasta’s face had morphed into the harshest angered expression imaginable. Happy and joyous only moments before, now twisted into a snarling face of rage. His teeth were gritted and his lips were pulled back to show his gums. His eyes practically bulging out of his scull with narrowed slits of pupils. (Mind you, grecken’s eyes only become reptilian when one feels hate or extreme anger.) His normally welcoming shade of light blue in his eyes now becoming glossy shards of ice. His ears were flattened to his head, and Alo looked on in horror as his nose twitched with almost deranged hatred.

             “WHO. DID. THIS. TO. YOU?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual, dripping like acidic slime.

             “I-I-I-I…” Alo stuttered franticly before composing himself.

             “Ritah. Her name was Ritah.” Alo shook, her name still giving him shivers…

             Shasta’s sharp glare suddenly softened, his reptilian eyes returning to normal.

             “Come here.” He whispered as Alo started tear up. “Come here.”

             Alo leaned into the prince and cried, his whole body shaking with the force of his harsh PTSD and grief. Shasta felt something else take over as he slowly rocked the thief in their hold, breathing deeply and pressing his chest against Alo’s.

             After Alo had stopped crying, both greckens laid on their backs on a ledge under the water that kept their heads just above the surface, staring at the stars.

             “You know…” Shasta’s gentle murmur broke the silence. “Last night something… crazy… happened. It hurt a lot, but for some reason it also felt relieving. Have any idea on what it could be?” When he turned to Alo, though his face was sadly adorned with tear streaks, he saw a knowing smile cross his face.

             “Was it… hot where you were?” He asked, smile becoming smug.

             “BURNING.” Shasta grabbed his chest at the memory.

             “And did your chest heat up as I was chasing you earlier?” The thief raised an eyebrow.

             “Of course. I guess my chest is always warm when you’re around… huh. Never realized that before…” Shasta looked down and then back at the thief.

             “You know, when two soulmates meet, two sunrises afterword’s, they experience a soul bond that binds them together. It’s painful, but it’s uplifting. It’s like secret spell created by Seah long ago…” By the end of his story, both greckens had sat up and faced each other. “And guessed what I experienced last night?”

             Shasta trembled, knowing the answer, but desperate for Alo to say it regardless.

             “Come closer and I’ll tell you.” He whispered teasingly.

             Shasta leaned in closer to the purple one, not expecting the other to do the same. Their muzzles were now mere centimeters away from each other.

             “It’s too easy. Fuck it.” Alo thought, leaning in further.

             Shasta felt his heart overload with emotion as Alo’s lips met his. His chest felt like it was going to melt off… in a good way? After his shock settled, he leaned in further as well, holding onto what he couldn’t believe was his soulmate. How lucky was he?? A cute, grey-eyed, purple masterpiece of secret beauty and knowledge.

             Let’s just say that visit lasted longer than planned.

[gamerwoo]

Chan: Cure

anonymous asked: could you do a super soft hanahaki au with either bang chan from stray kids (i saw that you like them) or jungwoo from nct

Characters: Chan x reader

Genre/warnings: hanahaki au, non idol au, a little bit of angst (because it is a hanahaki story) but still lots of fluff, and not a lot of dialogue

Word count: 2,228

Summary: Chan was in love with a girl that didn’t return his feelings, and as his best friend, you wanted to help him through it. But his options were either to make her fall in love with him, make him fall out of love with her, or for him to get the disease removed, and he was dead set on avoiding the latter.

There were a lot of things that Chan didn’t like. He didn’t like being woken up when he was sleeping. He didn’t like when he passed by a dog on the street and couldn’t pet it. He didn’t like Felix calling him at two in the morning to ask how to cook pasta. He didn’t like when you were always right. He didn’t like when he already poured his cereal, only to realize there was no milk left.

Having hanahaki, he hated.

The coughing burned his lungs, the petals filled his inside uncomfortably, and he was pretty sure he almost choked a few times because a stupid petal had gotten stuck in his throat. But the worst part was the pain he felt in his heart. The bright red was a reminder that the girl he loved didn’t love him back, and that was that.

“If you don’t get it removed, you’ll die.” you always reminded him.

He knew you were right, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to lose the feeling she gave him when he was near her. Even though it hurt, he was always his happiest with her. He refused to get it taken away.

So you’d made him a promise. You would help him get her to fall in love with him, but he only had a month. After that, he had to get the disease removed. You refused to let your best friend die because of some girl, especially some girl that didn’t see him for the amazing person he was.

“This is probably pointless.” you told him on the first day, even though you had come up with the pact. It was only so he’d finally get this thing taken care of. You hated seeing him in pain. “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?”

The two of you were standing by the bus stop, shivering as it snowed. Thankfully, you were stood under the tiny roof, but it didn’t have any heating to it was almost useless.

“I mean...” Chan trailed off, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m better than him...maybe.”

“Maybe.” you nodded. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous for surgery.” he decided. “Not nervous for everything else.”

“Technically, there’s no guarantee you’ll need surgery.”

Chan sighed at how you were suddenly flip-flopping stances. “Which side are you on, ___?”

“The one where you are alive and not suffering.” you chuckled, judging him with your elbow. “I do want to believe she’ll fall for you, but...if she hasn’t already...”

He looked at you, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Why do you want to believe it?”

“Because I think you’re pretty okay.” you teased with a shrug. “Seriously, I see a lot of good qualities in you, and I don’t get how she doesn’t.”

The plan sounded simple but it was complicated. How were you supposed to get a girl to fall in love with him? It’s not like you could stroll up to her and force her to put herself in your shoes; you couldn’t just list off every good thing about Chan and make her suddenly swoon. 

You weren’t even in love with Chan, so how could you get someone else to be?

Over the course of a week, you met with Chan every day. Usually, you saw each other once a week due to busy school schedules, but you managed to clear up most of the days this month to see him and help him. If you didn’t help, the deal was off, and you were worried he would die.

This was much more important than German lessons.

During that week, you and Chan had gone everywhere that he knew she would be. Her and him were pretty good friends, so he knew her schedule. Sure, she wasn’t as close with him as you were, but he was in love with the girl; he knew everything about her.

The first day, you went to the library, where he “bumped into her” and spoke with her. You watched from afar, taking notes on his awkward flirting and helping him improve over the week. Each day you saw her, you noticed he slowly put your notes and corrections to work, and he was improving greatly. You were sure by the end of the month, he’d be so smooth that she couldn’t help but fall for him.

The second week, though, you were getting annoyed. You didn’t know why, but you had slowly started to hate going out to track this girl down. You didn’t notice it until almost the end of the week, but you were grumpy and irritable.

The first half of the week consisted of him practicing his flirting and talking. You were the test dummy, and you tried your best to act like Zoe. Although, there were a few times Chan would interrupt to tell you that he felt like he was flirting with you and not her.

You enjoyed spending all this time with Chan, even if he did have to fake-flirt with you. It was awkward at first, but you both soon found yourselves laughing at and with each other.

But now he had to put those skills to the test, so you were waiting at the coffee shop for her to show up for her Thursday afternoon latte.

“What’s even her name?” you asked with a huff, your fingertips drumming against the tabletop.

“Zoe.” he replied, her name falling from his lips like he was caressing it lovingly.

You rolled your eyes before bitterly sipping your coffee. When she finally arrived to the cafe, you saw she was hand-in-hand with her boyfriend, and a part of you was...relieved. Chan frowned and stayed put in his chair, leaning his head on your shoulder for comfort.

By the third week, you knew more about Chan than you had before. You knew he liked his coffee with three creams and no sugar, that he liked reading but was slow at it which frustrated him, and that he was good at math but bad at his current math class, which you found yourself helping him with. You knew he felt responsible for his neighbor, Felix, who was having trouble adjusting to his new college life, and that the only times he didn’t sleep in until close to noon was when he planned on going with you to go over what he needed to work on to get Zoe to fall in love with him.

What you didn’t realize was that Chan had learned more about you, too. He learned your body naturally woke up around 10am every morning, and you just waited around for him to text or call you when he was awake. He learned that you loved reading, and read faster than anybody else in your literacy class. He knew that despite the fact you acted so loud and confident around him, you were scared you weren’t good enough for your major and you wondered at least twice a day if you should switch.

What you also didn’t realize was that Chan was coughing up petals less and less. Felix noticed, though, and pointed it out during the third week of the deal.

“That’s weird...” he mumbled as he watched only about seven to ten petals fall from the older boy’s mouth when he coughed.

Chan looked up from his hands to his friend in confusion. “What is? This has been happening for months.”

Felix shook his head, watching as Chan dumped the petals in the garbage. “No, not that. They’re significantly less. You used to cough up fistfuls, and now it’s more like...not even enough for a full flower.”

Chan actually hadn’t noticed. He did realize that something else excited him when he woke up every morning and left his dorm to meet up with you, but he figured it was because now he had an excuse to actually buy a coffee every morning instead of using the crappy machine in his dorm.

“What does that mean?” Chan asked quietly before his eyes went wide. “Am I dying? Felix, I’m close to the end!”

“No, dude!” Felix laughed at Chan’s panic, playfully slapping his arm. “If that were the case, you’d be choking on them non stop. I think... I think you’re getting over her, actually.”

When Chan heard that out loud, it made sense. He could just feel it in his heart. The space there for Zoe was significantly smaller. In fact, he used to think about Zoe all the time and now she was just a soft afterthought in the back of his head. He wasn’t waking up and going to sleep thinking about her.

Actually, when he really thought about it, he was waking up and going to sleep thinking about someone else: you.You were the first person he went to see in the morning, and the last person he saw at night. The two of you spent so much time together, that the only thing he did other than go to class and sleep, was talk to you. Even if you weren’t physically together, you were skyping and talking on the phone so you could help him. 

Felix could see the cogs working in Chan’s head, and it made him laugh. “You and I both know why it’s happening.”

Chan nodded slowly, looking at Felix. “I can’t believe it...”

“Well believe it!” Felix grinned. “Let’s just hope you don’t end up with those petals this time.”

The fourth week, while you were still trying to “train” him, you both had dropped the act that you were Zoe and he was talking to Zoe. Instead, he didn’t point out when he thought your act was slipping away. In fact, he liked when you dropped the facade and just spoke and giggled as yourself. It made flirting...easier; more enjoyable. And it made him smile to see that you seemed to like it, too.

The two of you spent more time talking and “practicing” than you did tracking down Zoe to keep up with her schedule. Chan slowly stopped suggesting you go to certain places, and instead, he opted to either stay at his dorm, your dorm, or just sit in a quiet cafe where Zoe wasn’t going to be. He claimed he wanted the practice. You were just happy you didn’t have to see Zoe anymore, because you already knew why you didn’t like her. You wanted Chan to like you.

You had become so preoccupied in talking to Chan and spending time with him that you didn’t notice that the petals had completely disappeared. Chan had been coughing them up for months, yet the cease of them had flown right over your head. You were too caught up in everything else about him to even realize it, until it was already the fifth week.

The end of the deal.

“So...,” Chan began slowly as the two of you sat in his dorm, “it’s the last day.”

“How do you feel?” you asked cautiously.

He chuckled, finding your obliviousness to be adorable. “You know exactly how I feel, because you feel it too.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he meant. “But I don’t have--”

“Neither do I.” he stated, referring to the hanahaki, a smug, toothy grin on his face.

You paused to think about what he was saying. When you thought back over the last few weeks, you realized that he was right. You hardly saw him cough last week, and the rest of this week, you never saw one sliver of red come from his mouth. 

Chan was cured. He wasn’t in love with her anymore.

Your best friend would live.

The smile that took over your face hurt your cheeks but you didn’t care. You tossed your arms around him, throwing yourself across the couch to hug him. “You’re going to be okay!”

“Yes, but there’s more, ___.” he laughed, his hands resting on your back. He didn’t let you pull away. Instead, he held you tighter. “I know how you feel toward me, ___. You’ve never been good at hiding your feelings.”

You froze, not knowing what to do now that you had been called out. How long had Chan known you had feelings for him?

Actually, how long did you even have feelings for him?

He felt your stiffness and rubbed your back, a laugh vibrating in his chest and against yours. “Don’t you get it? You’re the reason I fell out of love with Zoe.”

Your heart sped up, and you were sure he could feel it from the way your body was pressed against his. He laid back, bringing you down with him as he kissed your cheek with his classic smile that reached his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re that oblivious.” he chuckled.

Instead of looking at him, you hid your face in his shoulder, unable to face him with your cherry red face. “I should’ve let you suffocate.”

“Promise me you won’t let that happen.” he said jokingly, although there was a hint of seriousness in his tone. “You don’t know how uncomfortable hacking up flowers is.”

“I highly doubt it’ll happen again.” you told him, relaxing against his body and preparing for a very lazy and cuddly afternoon now that you knew he was cured and would return your feelings.

[bboiseux]

could you do a fic based on directly after the Vinkheta Job where Nott and Beau give the books to Caleb and they both have to stop him from going back there to try and find more books that Nott didnt have time to get?

Be careful what you wish for …

A follow up to (what is now) Chapter 1 of The Vinkheta Job!  Some Angst this chapter, but then we get back to hijinks next time!

“Caleb?”  Nott clutched the pile of books to her chest and kicked at the door.  She was trying to whisper, but she was excited.  “Caleb!”

The door swung open and there was Caleb.  Perfect, beautiful Caleb.  He was already holding a book in one hand.  He smiled his usual sad almost smile down at her.

“Nott—”  And then his eyes caught the pile.  “What is this?”

Nott grinned from ear to ear.  “I got you some presents.”

She shoved the whole pile up into Caleb’s chest and he clutched them tight, the pile threatening to collapse to the floor.  He stumbled backwards and set the pile down on the floor.  Nott followed behind, shutting the door behind her.  By the time she got to Caleb, he was laying the seven books out around himself in a semi-circle.  He eyed each carefully before picking one up and flipping it open.

Nott saw the joy explode on his face.

[Continues under the cut or read on AO3]

“Nott, do you know what this is?”  He held up the book, as If Nott was seeing it for the first time.

Nott nodded.  “I do.”

“I have been looking for this for years.”  He flipped through the pages and Nott saw Caleb’s mind switch tracks—a sudden snap of his attention.  His eyes swept across the page.  “This … this is so important …”

Nott knew that she had lost him, but it didn’t matter.  The little flicker of light on Caleb’s face was more than enough.  Her own smile was wide as she watched him become enveloped in the words and diagrams.

When she went to bed that night, he was still on the floor, hunched over the books.  Something has ignited in him.  That something that made him great.

Nott hugged a pillow close and curled into a small ball and went to sleep.

She woke up early to the light of the sun creeping into her eyes.  She snarled and grumbled for a moment and then her eyes snapped open.

Caleb was still sitting in the middle of the floor.  The hunch in his back was lower and his eyes had deep bags under them.  The books were no longer in an even semi-circle around him, but were scattered in various states of disarray, all open.  He was glancing frantically between different pages in different books.

Nott sat up.  “Caleb?  What’s the matter?”

Caleb turned his slowly to look at Nott.  “Where did you get these books?”

“At a … store?”  Even though she didn’t know the alternative, it felt like there was a wrong answer to the question.

“What store?”

“Just a store on the west side of Zadash.  Caleb, what’s—”

Caleb picked up one of the books and waved it in the air.  “Something is very wrong with these books.  They do not make sense.”

Nott slid out of bed and approached the mess.  “What do you mean?”

Caleb scrambled through a book, searching for something, then he jabbed a finger at a page.  “This talks about the Battle of Torhaus Ridge.  Nott, I know my Empire history and there was never a battle at Torhaus Ridge.”  He flipped through the pages.  “This entire account of Dwendalian history doesn’t make any sense.”

Nott gave Caleb a wary look.  “So?  The book isn’t any good then.  It’s wrong.”

Caleb slammed the book to the ground and grabbed another one … and then another, dropping each of them to the ground in turn.  “Except the details match between each of these books.  If look for information about the great arcane users of the day, they are inevitably talked about in a history that is wrong.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Either all of these books are miraculously wrong in the same way—books that I have heard about in my researches as valuable assets to any magical library—or…”  He trailed off as if unable to finish his thought.

“Or?” asked Nott.  She knelt next to Caleb and looked up into his eyes.

Caleb looked to be on the verge of tears.  “Nott—”  He choked back a sob.  “—Nott, if these are not mistakes, then these books do not make sense unless—unless they are evidence of some greater magical event.”

“Caleb, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

Caleb locked eyes with Nott.  The tears ran down his face.  “This could be evidence of a way to change reality—to make the world other than it is.”

Nott nodded slowly.  “Okay.  Yeah.  Yeah, maybe that.  Or … and I’m just throwing this out as an alternative, maybe this is just a really shitty store with really shitty books.  I’m just saying, it seems more likely.”

“Nott, you know what this could mean to me.  This might—”

“I know, Caleb, but that also means that you need to be careful.”  Nott set her hand on Caleb’s.  “Remember what we said before?  I’ll always back you up.  I’ll do everything I can to get you what you want. But don’t give yourself false hope.”

Caleb took a moment to gather himself.  Nott saw his shoulders rise and fall, his eyes staring down at the book.

“You are right.  I must be less optimistic.”

Nott patted him on the shoulder.  “Well, let’s not get carried away.  I wouldn’t exactly call that optimism.”

“We need to go back to that store.”  Caleb’s voice was firm.

“Oh, well, I don’t know if we really need to do that …”

“Nott.  I cannot let this go.  If there is something that could do—do this—” He gestured at the books.  “—then I must investigate it.”

“Yeah, it’s just that …” Nott picked at the bandages around her hands.  “… maaaybe we could not go to the store?”

Caleb fixed Nott with a long stare.  “Did they see you?  Were you almost caught?”

Nott had expected Caleb’s voice to be stern, but instead it was laced with concern.  It was easy to forget that Caleb, unlike most of the world, cared about her no matter what she did.

“Well, we—I almost made it out.  I had a great disguise—my little Halfling girl!—and I was just leaving, when—well, I don’t know, but it seemed like he suddenly realized he’d been duped.”

Caleb scrunched up his brow.  “We?  Was someone else with you?”

In Nott’s mind, she saw Beau’s face, still made up, her hair a lopsided mess.  She was looking down at Nott and saying “And if you tell a fucking soul about this, I will kill you.  Understood?”

Nott shook her head violently.  “Nope.  No.  Definitely not.  Just me.”

“Nott.  Who was with you?”

“Nobody.  Why would you think anybody was with me?  It’s not like the storeowner is a racist asshole who won’t sell to non-humans.  That’s the only reason I could think I would need anyone.  I’m really good at stealing.”  Nott was becoming increasingly aware of how unconvincing her voice sounded.

Caleb didn’t say anything for a minute, then “So, Beauregard?  Beauregard helped you?”

“I didn’t say that!” screeched Nott, “You can’t tell her I told you because I didn’t!”

Caleb was already walking to the door.

“No!  Don’t tell her!  She’ll kill me!”

As he opened the door, Caleb said, “I do not think so” and he pushed into the hall and started pounding on Beau and Jester’s door.

“Beau!” shouted Nott, “I didn’t tell him anything.  He figured it out with magic mind powers!”

Behind the door, there was a groan and then Jester’s voice mumbled, “Beau, why is someone waking us up this early?”

“I don’t fucking know.  Go answer it.”

“They called your name.”

“It is Caleb and Nott, Beauregard,” called Caleb.

There was a long silence and then Caleb and Nott heard the pad of feet coming towards the door.  It swung open violently and Beau peered, bleary eyed, into the hall.  “What?”

“Ah, Beauregard, I would like to talk to you for a moment about the books that you helped Nott procure yesterday.”

Beau shot Nott a look that said “I could rip you apart right now” but her mouth said, “Yeah, sure, whatever” and she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Back in Nott and Caleb’s room, Beau cast her eye over the disheveled state of the books and then back up at Caleb’s tired face.  Her face grew a little less angry.  “Okay, what’s going on?”

Caleb explained to her what she had discovered, what he suspected.  He told her of the possibilities it represented.

“Okay,” said Beau, “So you think this douchebag in the store is some super powerful wizard or something?  Cause I hate to break it to you, but he’s just a douchebag.”

“I do not know, Beauregard, but I need to see this store.  I need to see this man.  I need to see if I can figure this out.”

Beau looked over Caleb’s face with a tired stare and then sighed.  “Yeah, okay.”  She turned to Nott.  “I mean, he should be able to go in there fine.  We don’t need to be there.”

Nott gasped.  “Let him go in to that—that horror show by himself!?”

“I mean, it’s not any dirtier than Caleb.”

“Thank you very much, Beauregard.”

“Sorry, dude, but you don’t exactly take care of yourself.”

Nott broke in. “Not my point!  If this storekeeper is more than he appears, Caleb will be putting himself in harm’s way!”

Beau shrugged.  “No more than we did yesterday.”

“But we didn’t know then!”

It was Caleb’s turn to interrupt.  “That is not the point.  Yes, I need to see the store, but if it is something more, we need to get into the backroom and find whatever secrets are there.”

“Wait,” said Beau, “Are you suggesting, like, a heist?”  There was a glimmer of excitement in her voice.

“If that is the term you prefer, ja, I am suggesting a heist.”

“Oh shit,” said Beau.  She looked down at Nott and then back to Caleb.  “Fuck yeah I’m in!”

[emphoenixcat]

Eyeshadow

Summary: Virgil is actually self-conscious about the natural dark circles under his eyes. None of the other sides have seen him without eyeshadow.

Some Prinxiety (sorry, not sorry)

Virgil kept tossing and turning. He pulled the blanket up to combat the cold, but immediately felt too hot. His skin felt irritated by the blanket, he threw it off. He hugged one of his pillows close to him, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. He hoped he wasn’t keeping Thomas awake. He looked at the clock and noticed it was already 4am.

Why can’t I just sleep? he thought. All the possibilities of death and dying were swirling around in his mind like a hurricane. Bloody, improbable scenarios. Every possibility of losing friends and family. Every possibility of alienation. In times like these, Virgil felt more alone than ever. All alone with his thoughts and worries while the rest of the world seemed to be in a blissful dreamland. Demons keeping me awake. He scoffed I’m the demon keeping Thomas awake. I’m the problem here. Nobody else to blame. Virgil sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

How many more nights like these am I going to have? Can never sleep, but I’m tired all the time. Tired in my body. Tired in my heart. Tired in my soul. He paused….

Heart? Soul? He shook his head. I’m not even a complete person.

How could the other sides be okay with that knowledge? he wondered

Virgil groaned and finally decided to surrender to the idea of not getting any sleep tonight. He flicked on the bedside lamp and sat up. He groggily walked into the bathroom to rinse his face.

Why does every little thing irritate me? These bangs getting in my eyes, the way objects seem to jut out at me in an overly magnified way, the ever-changing temperature of this room, and….

Virgil stopped at the bathroom mirror and stared glumly at his own reflection.

….Myself.

He looked at his eyes and grimaced. The eyeshadow had worn off, but huge bags were noticeable under his eyes where the eyeshadow usually resided. He hated it.

At least, when he wore the eyeshadow, it was a style. A statement. Bags underneath his eyes were just sad. It showed how broken he was. He felt they showed weakness. The eyeshadow….

The eyeshadow was war paint. A mask to keep others from seeing the vulnerability underneath. Sometimes it evoked fear in others. Virgil was okay with that. He preferred fear over pity.

Virgil washed his face and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was getting hungry and was thinking of going to the kitchen for a snack. He glanced at the clock and noticed that it was nearly 6am. Patton didn’t get up to make breakfast until about 8 or 9am. Virgil decided that it was safe to go raid the fridge.

Virgil walked into the kitchen and yawned, not really checking his surroundings. So he jumped and nearly screamed when he heard a loud noise behind him. It was…. Roman?

Roman had just gotten up from the table. The loud noise had come from the chair being scraped quickly across the tile. The kitchen lights were still off and Roman seemed to have been sitting at the kitchen table with a slice of cake or something. He was awkwardly shuffling away when Virgil spoke.

“Roman? What are you doing here? I mean, what are you doing awake?” he questioned. Roman slowly turned back, his head lowered. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, Virgil noted. Roman cleared his throat, “Oh, um just uh couldn’t sleep very well is all. I just figured I’d have a bit of a late-night snack, but I’ll be going now”

“Wait, you don’t have to leave just because I’m here.” Virgil noticed that Roman hadn’t finished the snack he had prepared for himself. While Virgil was feeling a bit awkward here in the kitchen with Roman at 6 in the morning, he was feeling rather lonely as well. He didn’t really mind the Prince’s company. He just hoped that the Prince didn’t mind his company.

“Or would you rather I leave you alone?” Virgil added.

“Oh no, I don’t mind you being here! I’m just….” Roman sighed.

Virgil edged closer. Why is he acting so odd? Yes, it’s a bit strange that Princey can’t sleep either, but he keeps hiding his face and stumbling over his words. He’s not acting like himself at all.

“Virgil, I….” Roman shook his head and inched closer to the light switch. “P--please don’t tell the others” he said and flipped the light on.

Virgil blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the room. His vision cleared and….

Virgil and Roman stared at each other in stunned silence.

Roman had deep, dark circles under his eyes. 

Virgil realized that Roman was also seeing his dark circles. His natural under-eye baggage with no eyeshadow mask.

Roman was the first to speak, “You….you have real bags under your eyes? It’s not just make-up?”

Virgil looked away, his cheeks coloring slightly. “It’s part of the reason I wear the eyeshadow. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I actually struggle with insomnia” he said shakily.

Virgil nervously looked up, “But what about you? Where have you been hiding those this whole time?”

Now it was Roman’s turn to be embarrassed. “Uh, well….” the Prince bit his lip nervously. “I’ve been using concealer to hide them. I’m a prince. I’m supposed to be handsome and cheery. I’m not supposed to look like the living dead” he explained.

“The living dead. Huh, thanks a lot”

“What? No, but it looks good on you Virgil!”

“We have the same face”

“There are slight differences”

Virgil smirked, “No.... There isn’t.”

“Whatever,” Roman said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I give up! But please, please don’t tell anyone” Roman’s eyes were begging.

“I won’t tell anybody about your dark circles or sleeping problems, but only if you promise not to tell anyone about mine” Virgil said.

“Of course!” Roman said. “I promise”

“Good”

“Good”

Awkward silence.

….

“So, why can’t you sleep?” Virgil wondered out loud.

“Well, I’m the source of Thomas’ dreams. Sometimes, those dreams keep me up all night. And I have to be vigilant. I have to fight the nightmares that may sneak through” Roman eyed a dark, shadowy corner of the room suspiciously.

“Sounds like you’re trying to keep me away” Virgil joked half-heartedly.

Roman laughed, “Well, you are an emo nightmare”

Virgil smirked. “Why, thank you”

Roman grinned.

He hesitated, but then decided to ask, “So why can’t you sleep, Virge?

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, “Well, I am Anxiety.” he laughed nervously. “I’m constantly worried about Thomas and all the people he cares about, but I was also--” he stopped. Can I really ask Princey this? I feel like I should talk to someone about this, but….what if I only make him feel bad. I don’t want to hurt him. He sighed, This is why people avoid me.

“Virge? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I mean, we both just found out that we have a few things in common. Whatever you tell me, I promise not to laugh. I promise not to brush it off as no big deal. And I promise I won’t tell anyone else about it if you wish me not to.” Roman looked at Virgil with concern. The honesty showed in his eyes.

Virgil sighed, here goes nothing. “Do you ever think about how we don’t have a soul? How we’re not a complete person?”

Roman blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Oh no, Virgil thought. I shouldn’t have said anything.

But then Roman slowly nodded his head in a gesture of yes.

“I have thought about it”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“All the time. But look at me, Virge”

Virgil looked up into Roman’s face and saw that the Prince looked….tired. The same kind of tired that Virgil felt, but mixed in with that tiredness was a kind of determination that Virgil did not know.

“We mean something. We’re real. Real in the soul of Thomas and real in the love we have for one another. Who’s to say we don’t have a soul? I believe that all living things have a soul. And despite everything, I feel very much alive” Roman said fervently, looking deep into Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil suddenly felt like a child under the Prince’s gaze. He felt small and uncertain, but Princey had a point. His eloquent and passionate words eased Virgil’s heart.

Virgil glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:30.

Roman noticed too.

“Thank you, Roman. I just….thank you” Virgil stammered.

“No problem. And Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“You look good with or without eyeshadow” Roman smiled.

Virgil smiled in spite of himself. “And you look good with or without concealer, Sir Sings-A Lot.”

They beamed at each other for a moment before saying their “goodnites” (or rather, their “good mornings”) and parting ways.

Virgil didn’t know if it was the sleep-deprivation or what it was, but he felt a tug at his heartstrings as he watched the other side return to his room.

Sun was filtering through the window curtains by the time he got to his room. Virgil curled up on his bed and hugged his pillow close to him, all irritation and worry gone. At least, for the moment.

He fell asleep instantly. A small smile upon his face.

[fireflysummers]

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION

Divergence

Izuku has grown up.

Bakugou hasn't.

Neither of them have realized these facts yet.

Dedicated to @simkjrs for proofreading my stuff for a fandom I’m not really apart of. 

It starts with the paparazzi. What didn’t? But Izuku has long since mastered his mentor’s technique, smiling through stage fright as he helps repair a building he damaged during a particularly chaotic fight. Staying for cleanup was, of course, not really a requirement for heroes, especially not heroes of Deku’s fame, but…well. He’s Izuku first, and Deku second.

So he maneuvers his way through rubble and reporters, aware that certain tabloids were excited for new shots of his muscular ass, a fact that Uraraka never, ever lets him live down.

“Deku, do you have any comments to offer concerning the recent string of robberies…”

“Deku, are you planning on taking a promotional tour this upcoming season…”

“Deku, you and Ground Zero have recently worked together to bring down a large crime syndicate. How does it feel to be working with an old friend?”

Izuku visibly stiffens, and the change in demeanor alone seems to unsettle the reporters into a half second of silence.

“Bakugou-kun and I have never been friends,” he says, the tone caught halfway between his boisterous heroic voice and the nervous mumble that friends and family associate with him.

The second ends, and the paparazzi goes wild, cameras flashing, questions tumbling through the air. But Izuku is done taking questions, and quietly finishes the cleanup before spiriting himself away.

 It isn’t until later that anybody realizes what had unsettled the crowd of noisy reporters. It isn’t until they replay the tapes that they realize that the Hero Deku hadn’t been smiling.

Izuku had a theory: based on Bakugou’s creative quirk usage it would take him, at his fastest, 18 minutes and 35 seconds to get from his current apartment to Izuku’s.

This estimation is based on the culmination of a lifetime of research, employed for the same reason that people build homes just above a documented flood line. There’s nothing to stop the high waters from breaching that gap, but it at least gives the occupant time to save the most important possessions. And, Izuku thinks wryly, to leave a will.

There’s real humor in the thought now, he realizes. Now that he knows that the worst Bakugou could do to him would be property damage. And, well…he has insurance for that.

He still removes anything remotely breakable from the front room.

18 minutes and 23 seconds after the evening news airs their gossip section, Bakugou slams open Izuku’s front door.

Well. That’s one theory debunked. He would have to add this to his notes later.

For the moment though, Izuku had had the foresight to leave the front door slightly ajar, minimizing the overall damage. But the resounding crack shakes the walls and leaves a bit of plaster flaking down onto Izuku’s clean floors.

He sighs. It’s not the good natured sigh, given upon greeting a friend up to their old antics. It’s the sigh of an oncoming migraine, brought on by a future that no doubt will involve somebody screaming directly in his face.

This part of his theory, unfortunately, is spot on.

Bakugou crosses the distance between them in five huge steps, every muscle tense and almost trembling with a barely contained rage. Izuku doesn’t even react as the other man grabs a fistful of his shirt, and drags him so close their noses almost touch.

“What the hell, Deku!” Bakugou’s breath is hot against Izuku’s face. His expression doesn’t change from that generally neutral, albeit slightly pained, expression he adopted the moment the door slammed open.

Izuku locks eyes with his one-time classmate, “I believe that the landlord has made it very clear that he will sue for legal damages if you destroy my apartment again.”

“Screw that,” snaps Bakugou, shoving Izuku backwards before releasing his grip, “You’d better have a good explanation for this stupid ass publicity stunt you’re pulling.”

Izuku dusts himself off. Normally, the motion would be for show, but there is still plaster in his hair and on his clothes. He doesn’t break eye contact, though.

“There’s no publicity stunt.”

“Like hell there’s not,” Bakugou growls, “So start talking you little—”

“There’s no publicity stunt,” Izuku repeats, sighing again but patient as ever. He could, he suppose, forcibly remove Bakugou, but he really doesn’t want to fill out the paperwork that comes with repairing his apartment. Again. “It’s the truth. We are not friends. And we never have been.”

Izuku finally breaks eye contact, turning towards the small pantry where he stores the broom. Although consciously he knows Bakugou hasn’t moved an inch, it still comes as a surprise to turn back and see the man stock still. There is a strange expression on his face, one Izuku recognizes as fury mixed with confusion. It’s a dangerous combination, because confusion usually only makes Bakugou more angry.

As little as Izuku wants to discuss this with Bakugou of all people, discussion seems to be the fastest route to getting him out of his apartment with limited collateral damage.

“Bakugou-kun,” he begins, but is stopped by the way that Bakugou’s face suddenly twists in disgust.

“What the fuck did you call me,” he says, voice now a dangerous growl.

Izuku blinks at him, thrown off this time. “Bakugou-kun?”

“Yeah, that,” breathes Bakugou, “The fuck is your game, you little peon. This isn’t an interview with the press.”

Understanding slowly dawns in Izuku’s eyes.

“Oh,” he says. And then, as if a switch has been flipped, a smile draws across his face. It’s one of his genuine smiles, not the ones he gives to the camera to hide his fear. It’s a smile reserved to the little pockets of joy, normally shared with a friend or All Might or his mother.  He hasn’t smiled like this around Bakugou in…years? Ever? It doesn’t matter.

And Bakugou in turn looks more perplexed, and as a result more angry.

“Are you mocking me?” he demands, striding forward again, as though ready to strike Izuku. But Izuku doesn’t flinch, instead ignores him and moves towards the sink where he can lean his weight against something solid. The silly grin has now taken over his entire countenance.

“Oh,” he says again, in a near whisper. There are tears at the corners of his eyes.

He straightens, suddenly, squaring shoulders and locking eyes with the angry Pomeranian that has invaded his home.

“I don’t care,” he says, voice tinged with a strange joy. “I really…really don’t care.”

“The fuck you mean you don’t care.” For the second time, Bakugou’s fists are wrapped in Izuku’s shirt, but this time Izuku doesn’t budge. There’s a low thrumming, a sound almost impossible to hear that sets Bakugou’s teeth on edge. There’s no chance of moving him now; Bakugou knows the feel of Izuku’s inherited quirk, but he’ll be damned if he lets that stop him.

“I just don’t care!” There’s a glee entering Izuku’s tone, and he’s crying now through the smile.  He’s amazed at how true the words are. He doesn’t care what Bakugou thinks of him.

There’s still pain there, no doubt about it. But it’s no longer the sharp pain that drags with it the shame, the spiraling thoughts of not strong enough, quirkless, useless, not enough, I’ll show him, not enough not enough not enough….

It’s now only a dull throb, like an old wound. From anybody else, the comparison may sound maudlin, but Izuku knows pain and has the scars to prove it. And this? This had been a festering wound of a different sort, filled with day after lonely day of vicious jabs and condescension.

But those days were long past now, swept away by the happiness of the present. He’d stopped calling Bakugou by that childhood nickname, both in public and private, when he decided that nicknames belonged to friendships and happy memories.  

The wound was clean and healed. He of all people knew a scar when he saw one.

“I don’t need you,” Izuku says, the determination eking from his voice.  He has a hand wrapped around Bakugou’s wrist, One For All thrumming beneath his skin as he gently but forcefully. “We aren’t friends, Bakugou-kun. I don’t need you, and I want you to leave.”

“The fuck you saying,” Bakugou says, “Of course we’re not friends. We’re rivals.”

“No.” Izuku shakes his head, the gesture so gentle that he sees a vein burst on Bakugou’s forehead. “Maybe we were once. But…not anymore.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he replies with a sneer.

“I think I do.”

Bakugou is quiet for a moment, eyes searching Izuku’s face for something. It’s unclear whether he finds it, but he steps backwards anyways. Izuku releases the grip on his arm and lets him go.

They spend a moment, eying each other. Izuku is still smiling, although the tears have stopped. Bakugou, however, is thinking.

“What, is all this bullshit about the stuff when we were kids?” Bakugou says at length, words coming in a bark of a laugh.  He takes Izuku’s lack of response as the affirmation it is.  “You little wuss. You’re still crying over that? Geez, get over it, Deku, grow up already.”

But not even this elicits the reaction that Bakugou seems to want. Instead of a furious denial, Izuku snickers.

“The fuck is so funny, you little wimp?”

“I am over it!” Izuku replies, unable to restrain the mirth in his voice, “And I just realized how…stupid you sound. We’re 21, Bakugou-kun, and you’re still obsessed with us being rivals, like we’re kids.” He snickers again. “I dunno. Maybe you should grow up.”

“I have grown up!”

The seriousness re-enters Izuku’s eyes. He gives Bakugou another appraising look, one of those that makes his skin crawl.

“No,” Izuku says at length, “You haven’t. If you had, you would have said sorry a long, long time ago.”

The words are spoken like a death sentence. The look of pure rage that crosses Bakugou’s face was enough to send any sane person skittering.

But Izuku isn’t afraid.

He hasn’t been for a long time, and refuses to ever cower before Bakugou Katsuki again.

“Leave,” Izuku hears himself say, certain that Bakugou is a heartbeat away from blasting a hole in the side of the building, consequences be damned.

But instead to his surprise, Bakugou whirls and sprints from his apartment, pausing long enough to send Izuku’s couch flying into the wall with a vicious kick, then slamming the door again. A shower of plaster bids him farewell.

Izuku spends the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess. There are a couple things slightly damaged, but no more than last Friday when he and a few other U.A. alumni had had a Mario Cart mini-tournament.

And then, when he finishes, he sighs and smiles again. He still has the headache, but it’s bearable. Heaven knows he’s been in far greater pain.

Izuku flops onto his couch, pulls out his cell phone and goes through the calls and texts he’s missed. There are cat videos from Uraraka, detailed reports of the day from Iida, pictures of a sumptuous meal from Todoroki.  He smiles.

Before long all thoughts of Bakugou Katsuki have slipped from his mind.

[craniumaniac-moved]

【 night of the lockdown . 】✘

a discord rp ft. @tender--age--in--plume​

This roleplay is set during the night of the Po Town lockdown put into effect by Plumeria after a bomb threat. The threat was a result of the events that took place the previous night when Rico ( @komala-scientist ) purposefully baited Guzma to beat him up. Warning: It’s long, took us over 12 hours to get done, and it’s emotional.

Mercifully, things have begun to quiet down. Shady House is fuller even than usual, with many team members having chosen to stay in the main house due to the lockdown rather than overflowing into the surrounding houses as is typical. The beds are packed and many have piled up on the floor like dogs. Plumeria doesn't mind, She likes knowing exactly where everyone is, especially at a time like this. Unable to sleep, she laps around the mansion and checks in again and again. Eventually her travels lead her to the Throne Room; she hesitates with her hand on the knob for a moment before sighing and letting herself in. "Hey, G."

While it may have been a hectic day for everybody else, it had been a quiet one for the Skull Boss. Holed up in his room and not communicating with anyone, he napped, he snacked, he drank, he smoked, he watched porn, and he played some GTA and even some Pokemon Crossing. Currently, he sat on his bed, a drawing pad open in front of him, many colored pencils scattered around him, and a bottle of gin nestled between his legs. He's surprised when she comes in, looking up with a small gasp. She'd been keeping him updated professionally, but other than that he didn't think she wanted anything to do with him currently. This mess was all kind of his doing ( but mostly Rico’s, as he would strongly argue ), although he wasn't taking it very seriously himself. He considered the entire series of events to be completely stupid, to put it frankly. "Hey, P. Sup."

There's a little pause as she notes his relaxed posture, a hint of resentment welling in her. The door closes behind her and she folds her arms, regarding him with a cool gaze. "Have a nice night?"

He shrugs, looking back down to his drawing pad to continue coloring something in. "I guess... Just tryin'a keep chill."

A small sigh ... she approaches the bed and comes to sit next to him.

He's quiet for a little bit as he puts the finishing touches on a Scolipede doodle. When he's done, he decides a big swig of his drink is overdue, still finding it hard to look at her. "How're you doin'...?"

"Shitty," she replies honestly, leaning over to slump against him. "Long night. Think shit's coolin' down now though."

"Ya prolly deserve some good sleep, y'know..." Another swig.

"Maybe ... was worried about you, though." She glancing at the sketchbook. "Guess maybe I shouldn't'a been ... looks like you ain't been much bothered."

"Oh, 'm bothered, that's fo'sure." He reaches to flip to the next blank page in the sketchbook, starting to think of what to draw next. "But I ain't scared."

There comes a small huff through her nose. "You ain't scared'a nothin'."

"Well... guess 'm lyin' a lil bit. I'm scared'a you bein' upset wit' me..."

Silence, for a few moments. "...I ain't very happy right now, that's for sure. But ... I dunno. I ain't really pissed at you."

In those few moments, he grabs a black colored pencil and nearly puts it to the paper multiple times before he realizes he can't draw with someone watching, not even Plumeria. A sigh. He closes the sketchbook and starts to bundle up the pencils. "I'unno what ya want me to do. I didn' fuckin' do nothin' wrong..."

Sighing deeply, she leans back against the headboard. "I know. I was pissed at you for not tryin' and then you tried and Rico went and fucked shit up. I just ... I dunno why you couldn't both try make it work for me. When one'a you was tryin' the other one was makin' shit hard and then you switched places. I was real excited when I thought shit might actually be okay ... I wanted it so bad. More then I ever wanted anything. And now it's all shit."

"Yo I fuckin' learned from my mistake before, s'why I was tryin' to try last night. Rico's a fuckin' idiot t'not go 'long wit' it." He flops his art supplies to the floor next to the bed, stretching out his legs and leaning back with her, gulping down some drink as he does so. "I knew you'd be real excited. I was, too. Not really to be his friend or nothin' but I knew it'd make ya happy... n' proud'a me. I was real proud'a myself, steppin' back 'fore I dove in givin' him a hard time, instead decidin' on tryin'a relate to him somehow. Even if it was just our fuckin' birthdays bein' around Halloween." A pause. "Yeah. It is all shit. I'm real, real sorry, Plumes. He's not gettin' another chance wit' me after pullin' that shit on me..."

She anticipated that, but it's still painful to hear. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her forehead against the backs of her knees. "I know."

But wait, there's more. The kingpin's about to go on a tipsy ramble. "He fuckin' used me, Plumeria. Asshole was thinkin', 'Hurr durr I wanna get hurt 'cause boohoo I hate me! I know what I can do! I can go make the big dumb thug get mad! I'll take advantage 'a how easy it is to piss him off 'cause he's so stupid! Insert some random ass gibberish ain't nobody got time for! And fuck Plumeria's feelin's to hell 'cause obviously I don't give a shit about her!' Arceus damn!" A deep breath. He's clutching the neck of the gin bottle so tightly his hand is trembling and his knuckles are white. "Ya tol' me to shut up earlier when I was tryin'a say this, but you keepin' close to him got me real worried."

As he speaks, she closes her eyes. Okay, Melia. Keep it together. Slowly, gradually, she unwinds, stretching her legs back out and sitting up to square her shoulders. How stupid of her to think that coming to him would give her a soft place to land. "Yeah, well. I wouldn't be who I am if I gave up on every person who hurt me," she replies stiffly.

Finally, he turns his head to look at her. "You tryin'a hold on like he's family, but he ain't yo' family, Plumeria. That's me, that's all'a Skull, that's Tutu n' anybody else you close wit' who don't fuck wit' us like T n' even Hyde. I been fucked wit' by Rico, so's T."

"You tellin' me you want me cut him out?"

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, becoming distressed. "I can't control what ya do. Jus' don't be fuckin' disappointed in me for not acceptin' him like he's part'a the fam."

Time passes. At last, a slow nod. "I understand." She's still not looking at him.

And he looks away. Hugging the bottle close to his stomach with one hand, his other hand covers his eyes as he hunches over. "I'm sorry..."

Her eyes snap closed again. "I'm sorry, too."

"You still gonna be disappointed in me, aren't ya?" Shuddering sigh. "Dammit, I was so proud 'a me, Plume, I really was... Couldn't wait for you bein' proud 'a me, too..."

"I ain't disappointed in you, G. I'm just ... disappointed. I really wanted this, and I--thought I could trust him." Her voice breaks.

He sits up, places his bottle on the floor and scoots himself over to her, arms slipping around her for a Komala hug. "It's gonna be aight, y'know..."

The moment he touches her ... she breaks. It starts with a sharp, haggard gasp and a flinch, her eyes shutting tight as her body tenses up, and then continues with ugly, shuddering sobs that wrack her body.

Although it's not something he has never experienced with her before, the reaction admittedly startles him. He doesn't know whether to stop or to hold on tighter, so he simply loosens his grip for the time being. "Plumes...! Shhh... I got ya, Plumes...," he attempts to soothe.

She grips his arms around her tightly as though to keep him from slipping away, squeezing, gulping down deep, wet breaths until she calms down enough to speak. "...Sorry."

Since she seems to want him to continue holding, he squeezes and he doesn't stop, rocking her back and forth slightly. "That's okay, P. Just let out what ya need to. G's here for ya."

"I'm––s–so–––fuckin'–––tired..." She chokes, gritting her teeth hard as she tries to swallow down the fresh wave.

"C'mon, let's put ya to bed then? You been workin' real hard today..." He doesn't quite get it.

"No...not tired like that. Tired of this." She sniffs wetly, lifting a hand to swipe at the tears that have fallen.

"Oh..." He lovingly kisses her cheek and the edge of her jaw, hoping to further comfort her. "I still don't quite get what ya mean... What's 'this' exactly...?"

She stammers, then takes a big, shaky breath. "I just...spent all day...talkin' to the fam, textin' with Aether, dealin' with people wanna kill you, makin' sure everybody safe, dealin' with Nanu...and you been in here drawin'. 'Cause you think it's all stupid. Well, maybe it's stupid for you...maybe this all real fuckin' easy for you...but it ain't easy for me. It's hard. I never signed up for do this all alone. You s'posed'a have my back." A ragged breath. "Maybe...maybe you don't even care. Maybe this all sounds like more bullshit 'cause you don't think you did nothin' wrong...like that makes it better...like that means less fallout for me. Well--at least you got somethin' you wanted outta it all." She sighs. "I stayed home."

His mouth falls open and slowly and unsurely... he lets go of her. Maybe he deserved it, but that really, really wounded him. "Nobody came t' me 'bout anything...," he says weakly. "An' I didn't come to nobody 'bout anything neither 'cause I felt like I'd fuck it up. I'd get mad we was even havin' to deal with this stupid shit Rico's dumb friends brought on us 'cause they ain't know shit, 'cause he can't fuckin' make it clear he asked for it, makin' me out to be all fuckin' wrong when I—" Deep breath. He doesn't want to get off track. "Plumes... I'm real thankful ya stayed home... real thankful for all the shit you done today... been wantin' to talk to ya but I thought you was still too mad at me..." Suddenly standing from the bed, he begins pacing the room to help expend some of his newfound anxious energy before he possibly cracks, pulling at his hair.

Her eyes follow him. When he stands she wraps her arms around herself and draws a deep breath. "I know...I know." Her eyes slip shut. "I don't..." Fuck it, Melia. He doesn't understand. He gonna think me stupid. Trust him. "I don't wanna lose my dad. Again." She winces, bracing herself as though for impact.

He stops his pacing and just stares at her, hands still gripping his hair, but the tenseness in his posture goes limp with a heavy exhale. "Plumes... He ain't your dad. Even if he was he ain't been a good one, 'specially not that I ever seen."

"No...you ain't ever seen it. And you never asked, either." Her face is expressionless.

"What's'at s'posed to mean...?"

"Just ... there's more to it than you ever saw. There's more to it than I ever told you. You actin' like you got all the information ... and you don't."

He lowers himself to the floor, sitting and curling into a ball in the middle of the room. "I try stay outta yo' business like'at...," he mutters. "And... look... I been there, done that havin' a father in my life n' it's jus' not somethin' I think's worth it. Hard for me t' get, hard to want to. But if there was stuff ya wanna tell me I'd'a listened..."

Slowly, she sinks to the ground and crawls over to settle down beside him, hesitantly lifting a hand to gently stroke his back. "I... never really thought you wanted for hear it. Maybe I could'a prevented all this if I been more honest with you." She sighs. "I know it ain't a topic you got good feelin's about, but ... I dunno. It's important for me. Was important for me ... still is important for me. Just ... I guess maybe I gotta make a choice now." She bites her lip. "Nothin' I want for myself can be more important than my fam ... no matter how bad I want it."

"What options you think you got...?" His head is lifted and he turns toward her. Selfishly, he'd want her to cut Rico out. The things the man has done around him and said to him about his family—their family—are unforgivable, really. But if he is truly a father figure to her who makes her happy, Guzma doesn't want her heart broken... He'll try his best to accept whatever she chooses.

"That's the thing, G. I dunno if I got an option."

"Well then I mean what're you thinkin'...?" He uncurls himself from the position he was in and once again puts his arms around her.

"I'm thinkin'..." Deep sigh. She shuts her eyes and stiffens, refusing to lean into his embrace—not out of anger, but because she needs herself to be strong at the moment. "I'm thinkin' I been puttin' my own needs ahead'a my fam too long. If it gotta come down between him and their safety... it's gotta be them."

Guzma gives a nod. "My opinion's prolly obvious, but I do think that's smart thinkin'..."

So ... that's it. She goes stone silent and still.

"I'm... sorry. I don't want you hurtin'..."

"It don't matter." She stands. "You okay?"

"Yes it fuckin' does matter." He stands as well, letting her slip out of his arms and ignoring her question.

"G... don't."

"Don't what?!"

"Don't make this harder for me."

A big sigh. "Aight. Fine. I'll shut up."

"'M doin' what you want and what's best for the fam. You ought'a be happy." She pauses and drops her gaze, glancing towards the door. "So should I."

"I mean, I guess, yeah... but still hurts seein' you hurtin'. Always will."

"Yeah, well ... I had my chance. I fucked it up." Her words are cold--not cold like ice, but cold like a corpse.

"You didn't fuck up nothin'."

"Yeah. I did."

He crosses his arms and looks away, not wanting to argue anymore.

Silence.

"I love you. Missed ya lately, too..." His gaze is still averted.

"...I love you, too."

He looks at her with a tiny smile.

He does not receive one in kind. "You need me tonight, G?"

Swallow. Noticing she doesn't smile back, he loses his. "Uhm..." He shakes his head. A lie.

"I'm gonna need a couple hours off-base. I wanna tell him in person." She doesn't meet his eye.

"...'Kay."

Anguish.

"What is it, P? If you done here, if ya don't need me, ya can go on..."

She shakes her head. "Ain't about not needin' you. You know that, yeah?"

Nod. "Uh-huh. So what you still here for?"

"Nothin', I guess." She doesn't move.

He just stands there, looking at her with a subtle glare.

...Sigh. "A'ight. Later, G." Finally, she turns to go.

He almost stops her, wishing he could give her a quick kiss, but is afraid she'll reject it after how the past few days have gone. "Lemme know how shit goes. I'll be awake, I'll be here for ya."

There's a brief pause in the doorway. "...I know. Thanks, Guzma." She doesn't look back. The door closes behind her.

He sighs, finding his unfinished bottle of liquor to continue nursing the thing, and places himself on his throne so his bed doesn't tempt him to pass out.

[1soos]

Works in Progress Tag

I was tagged by @wenotes Ren, you’re my favorite Sailor Scout. 

It took me so long to do this.

I’ve only done 6 wips here because it got too long and some of my other wips are too embarrassing to expose rn.

Series

Magnets: untitled chapter 2 – jikook – mechanic!jungkook, dance major!jimin…sort of

Rated: M

a/n: the first chapter was for a fic exchange on ao3 and this chapter is because I found I had more to say. I literally just started writing this the other day. I’ll post this one on ao3 once it’s done.

Dating is a concept with which Jungkook is wholly unfamiliar. He’d dated briefly in high school, but that had been more camouflage and self-preservation than an actual relationship. He has no first-hand experience, no idea how things like this are supposed to progress. Of course, he’d seen fictional relationships play out on television, but right now they seem thoroughly unhelpful. Jungkook wasn’t an assassin who vowed to protect Jimin from a contract killing or a supernatural being who learns what it means to be human through Jimin’s attention. He’s utterly himself.

 Just Jungkook. Who avoids all conversations that revolved around colleges or a future that he can’t afford; who works as an apprentice mechanic in a family friend’s garage most of the week and paints houses with his dad during the days left over and danced or drew at night; who is so painfully shy and in his own head that he would have never talked to the boy he’d wanted from afar for so long if he hadn’t spoken to Jungkook first.

 He feels horribly inadequate beside this boy that people wanted to be around; who goes to college; who is in an actual dance troupe; who has a future outside of this city; who managed to make himself so precious to Jungkook in so short a time.

 Jungkook is terrified that it’s only a matter of time before Jimin realizes how much he’s lacking. He’s been trying to prove his worth from the moment Jimin woke up with a raging hangover the morning after their impromptu field trip.

  Tentative title: A Fish Tale – mermaid!yoongi part 1 – Yoongi x reader

Rated: PG-13

a/n: I’ve been working on this since June (?) and I keep getting stuck. Tbh looking at it now, this will probably turn out to be more of an info sheet for me to use while writing the actual thing.

Watching Jungkook had always been your job; to make sure he was safe while he discovered the outside world. Had been your job since he was a baby just learning to splash in the little pools of ocean water, learning to love the water and the life in it’s great blue depths from the relative safety of the tide pools. It was necessary for the young to be assigned protectors. To make sure that he stayed in your sight always, too many children had wondered too far out and been lost forever to those who loved them on land. Elders in the community, not wanting everyone to be afraid of the water that surrounded them on all sides and brought them joy as well as despair, tell stories of a race of liminal creatures that would find the lost children and raise them as their own. A fish tale, really, that no one believed past their tenth year.

You are well past your tenth year and so is Jungkook, but the watching had become a habit. After all, death by drowning didn’t only happen to children and just moments ago, he’d dived under the crystal waves to scavenge who knows what. And though you trust him to resurface, flipping his hair back, gulping air like his lungs were going to burst if he’d stayed under a moment longer, you still hold your breath with heart beating fast. It’s better than when you counted the seconds, though; every mounting moment an illustrated and numbered anxiety.

You don’t go in the water. You won’t. That’s why Jungkook started scavenging in the first place, to bring the ocean to you, he’d said. They were always beautiful, always the best of what the ocean had to offer. It’s a rule of the island that you aren’t allowed to fish individually, for food, but especially not for sport. It is a rule that you and Jungkook know all too well with a council member for a mother and a fisher for a father. So, when the thing is living, Jungkook won’t leave the water with it and you must get as close to the water line as you dare to view whatever miraculous creature he’d discovered that day.

You’re thinking of a particular day when Jungkook was young and brought back a horseshoe crab. You called it ugly and he scolded you, saying that he was sure that to other horseshoe crabs it was very appealing. You’d smiled and agreed and Jungkook set it free, giggling as it scuttled away.

 Prequel: The Wrong Girl – vigilante!au – Hoseok x OFC

Rated: M for thematic elements, action, cursing, and future smut

a/n: so this is kind of a cheat. I’ve posted this elsewhere, and I haven’t touched it to work on it in 7 (!!!) months, but I suddenly got inspired to re-write some of it and continue to write in this au, so I’ll probably start posting these soon. Here’s a bit of the prologue.

“You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think you’re exactly who I want.”

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I really, really do though.” He steps toward her with his hands out, ready to grab at whatever part of her body he can reach. “You thought you could take what’s mine and I would just let you? Is that what you thought?”

She doesn’t say anything; she just lifts up her hands in front of her, palms facing the thickly muscled man approaching her.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with condescension, “are you going to beg now?” A terrifying toothy grin spreads its way across the man’s face and he takes another step toward her. “If you give back what you took, I promise you’ll make it out of here alive.”

She makes her eyes go wide and her mouth tremble and pout. “You promise?”

He smiles like he knows he’s got her. He raises his right hand and looks skyward and says, “I promise.”

She swallows, but she sets her jaw and her eyes narrow. “Bullshit. I’m not telling you where they are. They’re people, not objects. And even if I did, there’s no way you’d let me live. You’re gonna have to kill me.”

“Baby, baby, baby—“he accents every ‘baby’ with a shake of his head—“I’m not going to kill you. First, I’m going to make you tell me where they are—“he laughs wickedly, eyes still running over her slowly—“oh, it’s going to be so painful, I honestly don’t think you’ll last very long, and then I’m going to add you to the squirming pile of peddled flesh before I send it to my buyer.”

She wants to vomit. Why did he have to be one of those grossly verbose bad guys? She wished he’d hurry up and make his move, mostly so this cliché exchange could end. She was getting tired of waiting. She can’t attack, not when she’s so much smaller than him. She needs to wait, keep surprise on her side and then use his own momentum and weight against him.

His steps forward are slow, like he’s trying to lull her into a false sense of security. He wants her to stay where she is so when he decides to grab her she won’t be quick enough to get away, but that’s exactly what she wants. She wants him close.

God, I almost wish I believed in guns. This shit would be over so much faster.

Suddenly, he’s so close to her she could probably see her reflection in his enormous white teeth if such a thing were possible. Her heart speeds up and she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s careful not to tense too soon; she doesn’t want to telegraph her moves, but it’s a delicate balance. If she waits too long, he’ll be on her and then there’s not much she can do.

Then she sees the look in his eye. From the very beginning of their encounter, he’d been carefully controlling his face and eyes, it was almost terrifying how calm and affable he’d been about the whole thing (the ‘whole thing’ being a random woman showing up and freeing 20 people from a metal shipping container and a life of sex slavery and then leading him on a merry chase at the shipyard where shit like this always seems to take place). Now, she catches a glimpse of the evil bubbling underneath and for the first time that night, she is truly afraid. He comes for her and she hesitates.

A shot rings out and the man crumples into a pile before her.

 Power!au – EXO – Yixing x Reader

Rated: M for thematic elements, action, cursing, and eventual smut

a/n: I’m going to be really honest and say that I don’t really like this. I’ve re-written it 3 times and I can’t manage to get it the way I want it and it’s super frustrating. This is from the first draft, because I tried to switch it from ‘reader’ to first person limited and wow, I suck at that.

When your friends told you they were planning a trip to the mountains and asked you to come along, you were hesitant. You got that feeling in the pit of your stomach. They called you afraid and scared-y cat and chicken shit, but that’s not it. Not all of it.

How do you explain that you know something bad is going to happen, that you have always known when something bad is going to happen? It was like an extra sense or a heightened Fight or Flight response or something.

But then your brother was going and there was no way you were letting him go without you.

“You never do anything fun,” he’d said. You’d argued and begged him not to go, but he’s one of those people that you don’t want to say no to. He’s always chasing the next rush and you are almost always beside him when he does it, just in case.

  Series? One-shot? Who knows??

 Ghost!au – BTS all members vs. a ghost investigation team

Rated: ??? probably PG-13 unless something happens and I change the way this is going before I get too far.

a/n: I started this while I was sick and all I wanted was to watch Most Haunted and sleep. I have another ghost!au idea that’s totally different and will be with a different group, but I haven’t written anything down about it other than notes, so. Also, this is literally everything I’ve written for this one.

“Hello? Is there anybody here that would like to talk to us? One for yes and two for no.” The woman tells the people around her to stop talking as she cocks her head to one side to listen for an answer.

Several knocks are heard from several areas in the room, but the woman hardly bats an eye, other members of her team are not so composed, before saying, “One at a time, please. Can one of you tap out how many people are in this room?” She tucks her hair behind her ear and assumes a look of intense concentration as the rest of the crew tense up to count.

The scene is almost comical, five grown adults standing in a loose circle, looking everywhere but at each other, all mouthing along to a barely audible tattoo. It’s the kind of atmosphere that breeds the nervous laughter that is usually found at funerals and weddings and other functions where you are expected to observe a level of reflective decorum, if only the tension would break.

But it only builds alongside the ascending number of knocks.

The woman finally lets out a breath and looks to another woman beside her. “Twelve. I heard twelve.”

The other woman, with wide eyes and hand gripping a chunky metal cross around her neck, agrees.

A man with a camera speaks for the first time since entering the room. “Including us?”

One knock.

“Oh jesus, okay, so seven.” He wipes the sweat that’s gathered on his forehead and giggles along with his camera carrying companions.

It’s infectious and soon everyone is snickering and poking at their neighbor, each telling another that they should have seen the look on their face.

Finally, the woman in charge says, “Seven is a lot, especially for a house that isn’t very large or even very old, but we can work with it.” She rubs her hands together, more warmth than anything else before she asks the most important question: “Do any of you want to cause any of us harm?”

The knocks that had been so forthcoming previously were eerily absent. The group waits, but after a few minutes of silence, they decide that the whoever was there before must have moved on to different rooms.

However, the air of indecision presses down on them, like the spirits might hurt them if they felt like it. That feeling has the woman shaking in her boots, not that she’d let them see that, not yet anyway, when there hasn’t been any action beyond basic communication, but if they started throwing shit, showing poltergeist activity, then she’d be perfectly willing to lose her shit in front of everyone, she’s not about to open the door to real harm.

  Drabbles

 Vampire!jinyoung 4 – Jinyoung x Reader sort of.

Rated: R for cursing and thematic elements

a/n: so I’ve only posted one of my vampire!jinyoung drabbles, but I have a few planned out and there are 2 between this one and the first one where I know what I want to happen, I just haven’t written them yet.

 You were lying lazily across your sofa. The book you’d initially been so excited to read, had suddenly lost your interest and you are moments away from slipping quietly into sleep.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re in total darkness. You groan as you stretch. That was definitely more of a sleep than a nap.

You get up and stumble your way to the light switch, putting your hand over your eyes before flicking upward and bathing the room in sharp, white light. You slowly move you hand away from your eyes, letting it reach you in manageable bits.

Blinking and squinting rapidly, you barely register the top of a dark head of hair peeking over the top of your favorite chair, but then that head moves and you let out an undignified shriek.

He turns and looks at you quizzically while you rub your hand over your heart.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” In the dark…with me? You add in your head.

“Were you watching me sleep? That’s…actually really creepy, Jinyoung. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“The thought did occur to me.” And that’s all he says on the subject. You know because you wait for him to give you some kind of explanation or even a half-assed apology, but he remains silent.

You rub your hands over your eyes trying to rid them of residual sleep. “Whatever. Why are you here? I didn’t think you’d come back after last time.”

“Why would I not come back? I like our talks.”

“Really?” he could have fooled you. When he wasn’t talking down to you or sneering at humanity in general, he was standoffish or at best indifferent. He never asked you questions about yourself which hadn’t bothered you at first because you were so caught up in unravelling the mystery of the vampire, but now you’re getting pretty tired of how one sided whatever this is, is.

“Of course. It’s the highlight of my existence.” You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not and to be honest, you’re kind of fed up with the whole thing.

“Did you need something, Jinyoung?”

 Honorable Mentions aka stories that I know I’m going to write, but haven’t started yet:

 70s New York City power outage!au – crossover fic – will be told from several perspectives

 A slice of life, domestic!jennie one shot for my girl, Lex. I have a ton of notes for this fic, I honestly don’t know why I haven’t started writing it?

 Ghost!jongin – Jongin x Reader – reader is a single mom and Jongin protects them from evil spirts in their home.

I’m sorry, I know I said that I would do this yesterday and I totally planned on it, but I forgot my laptop at home. 

Anyway, I tag: @boymeetsweevil, @jeonalis, @94hixtape, @sugasweetsubs, @denouemin, @hobijoon, @lilyjhs, @minmelly

[theolddarkmachine]

SUPER LATE GAJEVY LOVE WEEK 2017: DAY 2- BODY SWAP

Hiiiiiii, have you ever seen the movie It's a Boy Girl Thing? 1) It's really good for being a random, low budget teen romcom and I def recommend checking it out on Netflix. 2) It's what inspired this. Also I wasn't too wildly happy with the last chapter because I felt like I copped out so I just want to apologize for that. Please also see note at end!

“Would you two shut up!” Natsu yelled, his flames escaping his control slightly as he snapped at Levy and Gajeel. The two had been arguing since they left the guild and honestly, he didn’t care that it was Gramps who had told him to take them along on this mission, he had had enough! The old man had had a strange twinkle in his eye when he’d asked him to bring them along, and it’s not that Natsu didn’t know what that look meant. That look meant nothing but trouble. He should know, he was the master of that look. But right about now when the Iron Dragon and Script Mage had been fighting incessantly for what seemed like hours, he was pretty sure he was going to burn the whole damn forest to the ground.

“Butt out, Flame Breath!” Gajeel barked, turning his attention to him instead.

“Yeah, Natsu, mind your own business!” Levy added just as angrily. What was that saying? Couples start to act like each other over time? If only they’d give in to the obvious tension between the two of them, maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to them with their big dumb mouths.

“I give up, you guys find your own way home!” Natsu yelled back, fire engulfing his hands as he threw them up and stormed away. They weren’t too far off from the guild hall anyway, if they couldn’t get home from here well that seemed like a personal problem. He’d done his part, they’d gone to the weird statue in the middle of the woods outside the hall, and found nothing out of the ordinary. Well, there had been that one moment where it seemed to have a surge of magic power, but given his comrades HAD STILL BEEN FIGHTING, he hadn’t paid it much mind. It was gone almost immediately anyway, so most likely nothing to worry about.

He hoped.

****

Levy was worried they may have overdone it with the show they had put on for Natsu when they’d joined him on his mission. Her and Gajeel had agreed to keep their relationship to themselves for awhile. It was honestly none of anybody’s business, but she couldn’t help but feel playing up their fighting would only make things more obvious.  But she was going to go along with it, if only because it was kind of fun to go at the dragon slayer. There was a small part of her that wished she could just hold his freaking hand in public though. Being secretive did have it’s moments where it was kind of fun and dangerous, however. She giggled to herself as Gajeel unlocked the door to his house.

“What’re you giggling about, shrimp?” He asked curiously as he pushed the door open and held it for he.

“Oh, nothing you should worry your pretty little head over,” she smiled up at him sweetly as she brushed past. He rolled his eyes and growled lowly, no real threat behind the sound. He couldn’t actually be mad at his little blue fairy, not that the rest of the guild needed to know that. He was enjoying the bubble they’d been living in and not having to share what they had with anyone else. A loud yawn tore itself from Levy’s mouth.

“I feel you, short stack,” he said in response, smothering his own yawn. “Let’s go to bed.”

****

The first thing Levy noticed when she started to stir awake, was that it was really freaking hot. Like, really hot. Was certain she was cooking from the inside out kind of hot. The second thing she noticed, was a really small arm slung across her waist. The third, and possibly most alarming, was what ever that uncomfortably hard thing was in her pants.

“Gajeel?” She said sleepily wiggling closer to the body behind her. There was only a moment between his name leaving her mouth and her eyes snapping open. Now, Levy wasn’t much of a morning person. Far from it, it took 45 minutes to an hour on a normal day for her to make it out of bed and to the kitchen and another 30-45 minutes before her coffee kicked in and she was able to actually partake in human contact. She was aware that sometimes, her voice could be a bit husky and low in the morning when used before that time. But the voice that she’d heard just now was not her own at all. It was, without a doubt, Gajeel’s.

“Yeah, Lev?” She heard her own voice respond from behind her as the small arm tightened around her waist. Since she had no idea what the fuck was going on, she was going to ignore the fact that Gajeel didn’t even seem to think twice about the fact she was clearly speaking with a man’s voice right now. The bluenette started to count the seconds before the moment of realization dropped. One Mississippi, two Missi- “What the fuck?!” If he’d had his own voice, she was sure that would have come out as a roar. With her voice it sounded, well, harmless. Flipping over, Levy found herself staring into her own horrified hazel eyes. If she was looking at herself, and Gajeel seemed to be her, then it only stood to reason that...

She shakily brought a hand up, terrified to confirm what she already knew was true. breathing in deeply, she looked at the large hands that were now her own, and the forearm that was studded with iron. She isn’t going to admit she screamed, because she wasn’t even sure Gajeel should have been able to make the noise she made anyway, but she definitely let out a manly yell. Then everything went black.

****

Levy-- or would it technically be him? Referring to his body as Levy was weird-- had come back to the land of the living about an hour later. Gajeel would be lying if he didn’t admit it had been a shock to wake up about two feet shorter, a hundred pounds lighter and with tits, but he had to stay strong for his girl. Or... whatever. He currently stood in the kitchen, arms crossed across his chest as he stared up at the cabinet with the sugar for the coffee he was trying to make. He hadn’t even thought about how high that dumbass sugar was until five minutes ago when he’d thrown the cabinet open and stretched up to grab it, seeing that his hand was still about 6 inches from the container. Stretching as far as he could and standing on tiptoes, he was still inches from the thing, but he would be damned if he asked for help. Nope. It wasn’t going to happen. Glaring up at the sugar, Gajeel inhaled deeply closed his eyes, and threw his arm up towards the sugar as he envisioned it turning to iron and lengthening into a claw. He stood there for a second with his arm outstretched before letting out a sigh of defeat. It had been worth a try. Slamming the cabinet door shut, he poured two cups of coffee and took them out to the living room.

There was one thing he enjoyed about being Levy, aside from the boobs which were still fun to play with, and that was how light everything felt. It felt more like he was floating than walking, which was certainly a change from the usual heaviness of his own body. Turning the corner into the living room, he saw himself curled up in the corner of the couch, book open on his knees and Levy’s reading glasses propped on the edge of his nose.

“Lev, if you let anyone see me like that, I will never forgive you,” he deadpanned in an attempt to sound menacing. A fruitless effort since he knew his blue haired girl could never sound terrifying. “Here’s your usual coffee. Black, just the way you like it.” He set the ‘Beware: I Bite’ mug on the coffee table in front of her before falling down onto the couch and sprawling out to take up as much room as he could. Gajeel sipped from his own mug and winced at the bitter taste of the coffee without the sugar.

“Couldn’t reach the sugar, huh?” She said, not looking up from the book in front of her, a  hint of a smile playing across her lips.

“Shut up,” he mumbled as he took another sip of the warm liquid. “Find anything about what the hell might be going on?” Levy finally looked up, leaned forward and grabbed the mug before returning his gaze.

“First of all, talking to myself is really freaking me out,” she said and then took a sip. How she enjoyed coffee in all its plain coffee glory was beyond him. “Second, I can’t really seem to find anything in any of my books. We haven’t run into any wizards with the ability to using soul magic aside from Bickslow, and I doubt he’d switch our souls out for the hell of it,” her eyes suddenly narrowed at him. (He realized now why people found him scary, it wasn’t fun to be on the receiving end of his own glare.) “Unless you pissed him off recently, Gajeel.”

“You know I’d admit to that, short stack,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“There was something that was kind of interesting, but it doesn’t really go into too much detail,” Levy went on to say as she turned the book around. “Doesn’t this statue kind of look like the one from yesterday?” She pointed at a drawing that resembled that of the one they’d gone out to see with Natsu.

“Sure does, Lev!” He smiled. “What is it?” He watched as she shrugged his shoulders, peering at him through those glasses that looked positively ridiculous on his face.

“All it says here is that it’s a statue of Tezcatlipoca, and he’s been known to be a god of discord.” She paused for a moment than shook her head. “You don’t think our arguing yesterday had anything to do with this, do you?” Sipping the disgusting liquid in his mug, he mulled over the thought.

“Ya got me, Shrimp, but it does seem like a good place to start.”

*****

Once she got used to being a man and speaking to herself, she thought she’d enjoy being so big. She could finally reach books on the top shelves, and could finally see what it was like to look down at people instead of look up. Turns out, she hated being so much bigger. All her limbs felt so much heavier, and she didn’t particular enjoy how she kept accidentally glaring at people. Gajeel apparently had resting bitch face, something she never noticed since he never seemed to have that look around her. (That, or she’d just gotten used to it. Actually, that was probably the real reasoning.) The plan had been to find Natsu and ask him what exactly he knew about the statue. The problem was, upon seeing them Natsu did as Natsu does and, well...

“Solid Script: Shield!” Levy yelled out of habit as Natsu leapt at her.

“Wanna brawl?!” He yelled as he came flying at her, fist raised for attack.

“Salamander, get off her!” Gajeel roared, jumping into the fray disregarding the fact his fist would most likely do little to no damage in the state they were in. Almost as quickly as it began, the commotion stopped as the fire dragon slayer looked from Gajeel to Levy and back again. Staring at Levy’s body he cocked his head to the side.

“Levy, are you feeling okay? It’s not like you to call Gajeel a girl,” he said before turning his attentions to Gajeel’s body. “I mean unless there’s something I don’t know. You’d know better than me, I suspect.” Levy watched as Gajeel used her fist to punch Natsu in the face.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, punk,” she heard her voice say lowly. “Now we need to ask you some questions.”

“But first, could you get off me please, Natsu,” Levy said. It wasn’t that he was heavy or anything, especially in this form, but she didn’t exactly like being this close to Natsu. Gajeel’s sense of smell picked up the earthy, spicy scent that Natsu carried and a hint of something much sweeter. Almost like vanilla, and she wondered if that was Lucy. It may be the fact she said please, but he quickly pushed back, still with the perplexed look on his face before turning to Levy’s body.

“Gajeel?” He asked before leaning forward and taking a quick sniff. “Wow it is you! How the fuck did you manage that!” He turned to Levy where she was on the ground and sniffed. “That sucks, Levy, talk about a major downgrade.” She sat up and shook her head.

“We aren’t quite sure how this happened, but we think it has something to do with that statue and were wondering if you could help us out with any information you might have about it,” she said hopefully. With any luck, he would have the answers. Her hopes were quickly dashed as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, Levy, I don’t really know,” he said apologetically. “Gramps asked me to take you two out to take a look and see if there was anything weird out there but that was it. There had been a moment where I thought I had felt a surge of magic power from it while you guys were really going at it but it was gone almost as quickly as it came about. Dunno if that helps any.”

Levy nodded before perking up.

“But you said that the master told you to take us?” Her eyes lit up when he nodded.

“If anyone knows anything about that statue, it’s gonna be Gramps,” he confirmed. Looking over at Gajeel, she nodded, knowing that they would both need to head to the guild hall right away. Before she could do anything else, she watched as Gajeel punched Natsu in the face.

“That’s for trying to ambush us, Salamander,” he yelled.

*****

Mirajane looked down at the stein she was drying as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry guys, the master went out this morning and said he wouldn’t be back for a couple days,” she said sweetly. “Why, what’s wrong?” On the way to the guild hall, Levy and Gajeel had agreed to not tell anyone else about what had happened, more to avoid the inevitable questions and jokes that would come with it. They hadn’t, however, come up with a good lie for why they’d been looking for Makarov.

“No reason, Mira!” Gajeel said, trying his best to sound as much like Levy as possible. He’d even worked on not scowling, which was a pretty tough thing for him to accomplish. Levy had lectured him about his rest bitch face and mentioned that she was going to be very upset if he gave her wrinkles from scowling like that while they were swapped. The takeover mage smiled at him.

“If he gets home early though, I’ll let him know you wanted to speak with him! Until then, want to go ahead and have a bite to eat?” It was Levy’s turn to speak up, as Gajeel normally ordered for the both of them. After placing their order, they walked over to an empty table to try their best to avoid people. It was a lot harder to be someone else than one might expect. With a sigh, Levy went to lean against Gajeel before she groaned loudly.

“No offense, Gajeel, but I really hate being you,” she said sadly. All she’d wanted to do was lean against her boyfriend and maybe even cry a little bit. He probably wouldn’t appreciate it though if she started crying in the middle of the guild hall while in his body. She was certain there would be a way to reverse whatever they’d gotten into. There almost always was, but in that moment she couldn’t help but think about what might happen if they couldn’t. Gajeel must have picked up on that fact as he snaked his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. He could feel the eyes of the other members in the hall on them and he honestly couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. His girl was hurting so he had to be there for her.

“We’ll figure something out, Lev,” he said, resting against her. He didn’t like being the one to do the leaning, not being the one leant on. She sighed deeply.

“I know we will, Gajeel.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both allowing their eyes to close and imagine that they were back in their own bodies. In that moment, a warmth overtook the both of them and a gold light enveloped the both of them. The sound of the guild hall fell away as it grew brighter.

“What the-” Gajeel started to say before he was cut off and the light blinded them. Once it cleared, Levy rubbed her eyes before looking down at her hands and seeing them as her small dainty hands. And excited squeal escaped her lips as she turned to Gajeel and actually saw him next to her.

“Gajeel!” She cried. “I’m me!” Before she could say anything else, he tapped her chin up with his finger and pressed a hungry kiss to her lips.

“It’s so good to see you as you, Lev,” he smiled. Her stomach flipped as she heard someone wolf whistle from behind them “I don’t know what happened, or why, but I don’t think I’m going to take being able to see your beautiful face with my own eyes for granted again.” This time she initiated the kiss, smiling as cheers erupted in the hall.

*****

Makarov chuckled to himself, proud of his trick as he watched the two lovebirds from his hiding place upstairs. Sure, he’d gambled a bit sending Natsu out with them, especially given Natsu and Gajeel’s penchant for fighting each other and very well could have ended up the victims of Tezcatlipoca instead. Not that that wouldn’t have been great fun either. But as he watched Gajeel throw him arm around Levy as she nuzzled her way into his chest right there in the guild hall, both looking the happiest he’d seen them, he knew his plan had worked splendidly. Everyone had known they’d been together for ages now, and it had honestly been silly that they’d been keeping up this act like no one knew. In the end it was only hurting them. He caught Mira’s eye from where he sat and winked at his co-conspirator. He turned his attention back to the couple, who had been joined by Natsu and Lucy. They all looked so happy and it almost brought a tear to the old man’s eye. Nothing made him happier than knowing his children were happy.

****************

A/N- So, upon quick reread before hitting "Publish" I realize that if you haven't seen the movie the whole what caused them to turn back thing might not be as clear. So basically in the movie the protags are on a school field trip at a museum and they're arguing in front of the statue of Tezcatlipoca and because he's the god of discord, he switches them until they like learn to be harmonious. Basically, the master knew if he sent them out with Natsu they'd be doing their arguing schtick and get switched and wouldn't be switched back until they were able to be like normal and happy and coupley instead of hiding. Basically. The issue is in order to fully develop all that I feel like this thing would have needed to be much longer than I'd like for a one shot length. Especially a one shot I wrote while working XD

[indoukaoru]

wherever you would call me (read on ao3?) rated T; ~3.5k words kazama jin / tsukamoto tsukushi, one-sided kurusu hiroyuki / kazama jin

it's fine as long as they're happy, right? or: the one where kurusu doesn't have a crush on kazama, because – that'd be weird.

(companion piece to let me hear you, though this can be read as a standalone.)

Hiroyuki’s feeling good about making Seiseki. He knows he’s got the strength, the speed, and the charisma he needs to become a star playmaker. For a first year, he’s doing pretty well.

And then Kazama Jin strides onto the field, exuding confidence, all long hair and sly smiles, and something in Hiroyuki’s world tilts on its axis, zeroing in on Kazama’s plays. Kazama manipulates the ball with grace, making it look effortless, blond hair like a veil around his face when he dives for an interception.

– so he idolizes the guy a little bit, but really: can you blame him?

It’s around the time of the first training camp when he realizes that something’s up.

Hiroyuki’s lounging around in one of the hot baths, letting the water soothe his sore muscles, when Tsukamoto awkwardly inches over to him, eyes wide.

“Kurusu-kun,” he starts, “what was Kazama-kun like in middle school?”

Hiroyuki tries to recall seeing Kazama in action on the field, but recalls only the sting of crushing defeat against his team.

“Dunno. He wasn’t able to play in the final match of the junior Nats,” he offers, and Tsukamoto looks thoughtful. Wonder what’s on that shrimp’s mind.

“Oi,” he says, leaning over and prodding Tsukamoto in the center of his chest. “What makes someone good at soccer?”

Tsukamoto blinks, and then raises a hand excitedly. He’s like a puppy, geez. “O-oh, scoring goals!” Hiroyuki resists the urge to slap him, growling in frustration.

“You idiot,” he says, “that’s not it. It’s the way they handle the ball, the way they act on the field. Kazama…” Hiroyuki pauses, swallowing. He’s goddamn amazing, that’s what he is. He’s – 

He’s pretty sure he wasn’t going to complete that thought with hot , but it comes to mind unbidden and he recoils, internally.

“Kazama’s control is watertight. That guy… his talent is natural. When he plays, it’s graceful, elegant – that’s real soccer. That’s how you can tell that he’s good. ” Hiroyuki leans back, crossing his arms. In his mind, he replays the goal Kazama scored in their last practice match, the way he’d executed a perfect feint, dodging a defender’s slide by kicking the ball up into the air, jumping over the enemy player with infuriating grace, lining up the shot and scoring it easily into the back of the net. Hiroyuki thinks about the way Kazama’d smiled, brushing his bangs back out of his face and lifting the hem of his shirt up to dab at the sweat on his face, and his face heats up.

He slides under the surface of the water, trying not to think about it. He’s just confused, and it’s Kazama’s fault, anyways. If he just – if he just cut his hair, like a normal guy, if he stopped looking so goddamn feminine all the time –

Guilt stops his thoughts in his tracks, and he sighs, blowing bubbles out into the bath. Nah. It’s me. Distantly, he hears Tsukamoto make a small noise of alarm.

What the fuck am I doing?

It only gets worse from there.

Once he’s started to notice things, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and before he knows it Hiroyuki’s eyes are locked on Kazama every game, as if he can’t look away.

“You must be really jealous, huh,” Nitobe mutters, next to him, and Hiroyuki elbows him in the side indignantly. Yeah, if only it was that. He looks away, clenching his fingers against the bench, feeling self-disgust threaten to swallow him whole. He shouldn’t be thinking these things about his teammates. It’s – it’s traitorous. Disgusting.

There are words for what he is, and none of them are kind.

It’s – it’s not as if he hasn’t noticed this before, the way he’d never been able to focus on girls the way his peers had, how it’d been the glimpses of skin in the locker room that’d set something tight in his stomach, that’d made heat flush up the back of his neck. Hiroyuki shuts his eyes, trying to distract himself. It’s a betrayal of his friends, of his team. If he just tries harder, he’s sure these feelings will go away. It’s just a matter of time.

It’s a weakness, a character flaw, and Hiroyuki hates himself for it, pushes himself harder, desperate to prove to himself that he’s masculine enough. It’s pathetic, and he knows it.

A snap in front of his face shakes him out of his reverie, and he turns to see Nitobe, watching him with a strange expression.

“Are you sick, or something? What’s up with you today?”

Hiroyuki glances back to the field, just as Kazama scores a goal, triumphant smile lighting up his face and setting sparks loose in Hiroyuki’s gut, and he swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry and parched.

“No,” he grits out. “I’m fine.”

It’s at a home game when it happens.

Kazama has control of the ball, dribbling it across the field and avoiding most of their defense skillfully, dodging their goalie with a quick back pass to Mizuki that gets returned to him quickly. He lines up for the shot, and Hiroyuki sees what’s going to happen a split second before it does.

A defender catches up to Kazama, kicking out for the ball, and hits Kazama’s leg, hard. It buckles, and Kazama stumbles, just as the defender clears the ball, sending his knee straight into the side of Kazama’s head.

“Kazama-kun!” Tsukamoto screams, already running to his side. Where he lies on the field, Kazama is deadly still, and Hiroyuki gets to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. He’s striding forward when Coach Nakazawa grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Hiroyuki fumes, pointing at the enemy player. “That bastard –”

“Sit down, Kurusu,” Nakazawa orders, and Hiroyuki breathes deeply, casting a sharp glare across the field before complying. Tsukamoto is fretting over Kazama’s prone figure, Ooshiba’s hand already bunched up in the enemy player’s collar. Hiroyuki sees Kimishita pull Ooshiba back, and the other team’s defender quickly backs up, hands held up in an apologetic gesture. The referee calls for a stretcher, and Kazama is quickly carted off the field, Tsukamoto being subbed in to take his place.

Kazama…

The rest of the game passes by in a flash, and the minute Tsukamoto’s off the field he’s in Hiroyuki’s face, tears already pooling in his eyes. Don’t give me that look…

“Kurusu-kun, you have a car, right?”

“I’m the same age as you, dumbass! I’m not even legally allowed to drive yet! It’s my dad’s car.”

Tsukamoto stares him down, insistently. “Kazama-kun’s at the hospital only fifteen minutes away from school.”

“What’s your point?” Hiroyuki knows exactly what his point is, and rubs at his face with a tired hand. “Agh, fine. But two rules: first, you don’t tell anybody about this.”

“And the second?”

“You ride in the backseat – quietly. And don’t even think about crying in my car, y’hear?!”

“I-I’ll try my best!” Tsukamoto exclaims, bowing over and over again. Hiroyuki slaps him across the head, hissing.

“Shut up, idiot, the others will hear. Now change, and let’s go.”

When they get to the hospital, Kazama’s still out cold. Hiroyuki sighs, glancing around the spartan room. It’s mostly empty, aside from Kazama’s bed, an assortment of medical equipment that Hiroyuki’s too afraid to touch, and a bunch of cheap-ass plastic chairs placed across from Kazama’s feet. Tsukamoto dives into a chair, exhaustion evident in the way he sprawls out, head lolling back in the seat.

“Oi, don’t take up all the chairs,” Hiroyuki grumbles, rolling his eyes when Tsukamoto jumps up, apologizing profusely.

“Shut up,” Hiroyuki mutters, taking the seat farthest from him. He gestures to Kazama with his head, breathing out wearily. “We’ve got a long wait ahead of us, apparently.”

Tsukamoto stills, sitting back down, and frowns over at Kazama, fingers curling and uncurling in his lap, his gaze intense. He and Kazama are awfully close, huh?

Hiroyuki glances over at Kazama, eyes scanning over his face. There’s an ugly bruise purpling over his temple, his hair fanned out messily over the pillow. He still looks like a damn model.

Almost self-consciously, Hiroyuki runs his fingers through his hair, wincing when he feels the waxy residue of melting hair gel, noting how his hair is drooping more than usual.

Tsukamoto makes a soft noise, and Hiroyuki looks over at him in surprise. Eh?! Tsukamoto fell asleep already? What the hell…

Uncomfortably, he realizes that it leaves him alone with his thoughts, and he tries to look down, staring at anything but Kazama. Why did I agree to this? It’s not like I care as much as Tsukamoto does. They’re – close. God, what am I doing here? I’m just an awkward third wheel.

Kazama’s head turns, slightly, and Hiroyuki spots it from the corner of his eye. Kazama lets out a soft, pained noise, and Hiroyuki’s traitorous chest fills with worry.

“Kazama? Oi, Kazama!” He gets to his feet, crossing his arms and glaring down at the blond, who stirs sleepily, blinking up at him with puffy eyes. Kazama glances at him before his gaze lands on Tsukamoto, and the edges of his lips quirk up. Hiroyuki tries to tell himself that he’s not bothered, a little bit, by that dismissal, jabbing a thumb backwards to point at Tsukamoto.

“This idiot wouldn’t leave me alone until I drove him here to see you,” he starts, almost defensively. “Hey, are you okay though? You scared us, back there –”

“Kurusu,” Kazama interrupts. His voice is hoarse. “There’s something wrong.”

The medical talk goes way over Hiroyuki’s head, but he gets the gist of it: Kazama’s hearing is damaged because of his injury. Kazama is quiet, saying nothing, and Hiroyuki frowns, fidgeting awkwardly in the silence.

Tsukamoto paces the length of the room, hovering around Kazama’s bed as if he wants to reach out to him, but keeps his distance. Tsukamoto’s eyes are wide, fixed on Kazama, who tries to send him a reassuring smile.

Hiroyuki feels, again, as if he’s intruding, and hurriedly excuses himself with the excuse of buying lunch.

Once he’s out of the room, he leans back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. What the hell am I doing?

When Hiroyuki gets back, Tsukamoto’s asleep, head pillowed into Kazama’s side. The blond is staring down at him with a soft expression, hand reaching over to card through Tsukamoto’s hair. Hiroyuki freezes, shock running through him. So they’re – that.

He tries to tell himself that it’s not a problem, but something about it worms under his skin and bothers him. Memories flood to the surface, lectures from his parents. It’s immoral. Wrong.

He glances at Kazama’s eyes, protective and fierce, as if issuing a challenge. Hiroyuki shuffles in, setting down the food on the table, and awkwardly clears his throat.

“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?”

“Don’t be crude,” Kazama scoffs.

“So,” he tries. “You two –”

“We’re not like that,” Kazama says, hurriedly. Hiroyuki feels relief and guilt roll through him all at once, and he turns away, quickly. Yeah. It’s just me. I can’t expect anyone else to feel the way I do, after all. I keep forgetting.

Hiroyuki raises his hands in a placating gesture, shaking his head.

“It’s – it’s not a problem, y’know, if you, uh – if you are. Which you’re…not.” He pauses, awkwardly. “You’re not, right?”

“No,” Kazama says, flatly, and Hiroyuki wants the ground to open up underneath him. Real smooth.

Still, there’s a part of him that’s – not disgusted. He’s uncomfortable, but he – he wants that, on some level. He wants someone to fall asleep on, wants someone to tell him that what he feels is okay.

He’s not jealous , but – he’s pretty damn close.

He breaks out the food, and tries not to let it show.

Kazama gets released from the hospital the next day, and he comes to practice looking paler than usual, the dark bruise standing out against his skin. They’re playing an easy practice game, and when Hiroyuki calls Kazama’s name for a pass, he doesn’t turn. Hiroyuki hesitates, frowning, and passes it to Nitobe, instead.

Something’s off.

When Mizuki blows the whistle, Kazama winces, hand flying up to his ears, and Hiroyuki stares at him, glancing across the field and meeting Tsukamoto’s worried eyes before he decides to act. Typical.

He follows Kazama off the field and into the corridor leading into the locker room, passing him a bottle of water and standing not-so-subtly in his way. Hiroyuki hesitates, trying to figure out what to say.

“Hey,” he starts. “You, uh…”

Fuck. Shit. Why is this so hard? Frustration wells up in him, and before he realizes it he’s stepping forward, poking a finger against Kazama’s chest.

“Don’t overwork yourself, idiot!” Kazama winces, and Hiroyuki is hit with a small pang of guilt, remembering the way he’d flinched at Mizuki’s whistle.

“I’m fine,” Kazama says, weakly.

“Like hell you are,” Hiroyuki snarls. Why am I the only sane one on this team? “Tsukamoto’s too scared to say anything because he doesn’t want to take away the first change you’ve had to play in weeks, but unlike you two monsters, I’m a normal human being who cares about things other than soccer – like my teammates’ wellbeing. So stop pushing yourself like this!”

Kazama shakes his head minutely, and if he wasn’t injured Hiroyuki would have punched him by now. Why is he so stubborn?

“What’s it to you, anyways?”

Hiroyuki freezes for a split second, gritting his teeth, because Kazama’s right – why does he care so much, anyways?

– he’s pretty sure he knows, and he hates himself for it. Kazama takes advantage of his silence, moving to walk away, and Hiroyuki reaches out, grabs Kazama’s wrist, pulling him backwards. Tsukushi does this, doesn’t he? He grabs your wrist and looks at you like you’ve lit up his world.

“Oi, what’s your problem?” Kazama says, frustrated.

“What’s your problem? You’re obviously hurt – I can see it. Tsukamoto can see it. Hell, half the team can see it.” Hiroyuki’s not – he’s not smart , most of the time, but he’s not stupid , either, and he’s angry that Kazama doesn’t see it. Tsukushi’s not the only one who cares about you, dumbass.

“I’m fine ,” Kazama says again, and this time Hiroyuki can’t take it, pushing him backwards, watching him stumble and recollect himself sloppily. You call that fine?

“Take a break, Kazama.” He takes a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “I’m not the only one who’s worried – you think Tsukamoto wants to see you hurting yourself like this?” Kazama’s eyes flit to the side when he mentions Tsukamoto, and Hiroyuki wants to laugh, a little bitter. He continues, “You’re not alone now, dumbass. You have Seiseki – you have the team. ”

You have me, if you’d see it, he thinks, placing a hand on Kazama’s shoulder.

“We’ve got your back. And when you do need to take time off, we’ll be here, playing extra hard for you. That’s what teams do. That’s what friends do, hell. So take a damn break, geez.”

Kazama is stunned into silence, and Hiroyuki’s hopeful this time. Maybe he’s finally learned to listen to what people are saying. He realizes with a start how close Kazama is to him, how his warmth radiates off his body and into his hand. Hiroyuki draws back, turning red.

“Oi, don’t just stand there. Say something already!”

“A-ah,” Kazama stutters out, looking down. “Yeah.”

“That’s not a response,” Hiroyuki mutters, sighing. “For someone so smart, you can really be dense sometimes, huh?” He turns away. “Sit it out for the rest of today. Get some rest.” Knowing him, he won’t, though.

He walks away, leaving a shocked Kazama behind him.

Kazama doesn’t come to practice the day after that.

Hiroyuki pretends it’s not an issue, pretends he doesn’t notice.

Kazama doesn’t show the day after that, either, though, and that’s when he starts to worry. He considers seeking Kazama out himself, but stops himself. He won’t want to hear it from me , Hiroyuki thinks, swiping a palm over his eyes. He only ever listens to Tsukamoto, huh?

He seeks out the forward after practice, leaning back against Tsukamoto’s locker and glaring at him.

“Kazama’s not here,” he says, off-handedly.

Tsukamoto, to his credit, doesn’t burst into tears. That’s a first.

“I know,” Tsukamoto says, miserably.

“You should talk to him,” Hiroyuki says. Does it have something to do with his injury?

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Tsukamoto says, nervously.

Hiroyuki sighs, lightly patting Tsukamoto’s shoulder. “Kazama always wants to talk to you.”

Tsukamoto only shrugs, packing up his tracksuit into his bag.

“Seriously,” Hiroyuki says. “I don’t think it’s you. It – it wouldn’t be you.” Tsukamoto looks at him doubtfully, and something bubbles behind Hiroyuki’s lips, slipping out before he can help it.

“Do you like Kazama?”

“Kurusu-kun!” Tsukamoto jumps a little bit, glancing at Hiroyuki fearfully. Don’t look at me like that, damn it!

“I’m – I’m just wondering. It’s not my problem. It’s – it’s not a problem, if you do.” At least we’d have something in common, huh?

“Kazama-kun is a very good friend,” Tsukamoto starts, and Hiroyuki interrupts him.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Tsukamoto is silent for a very long time, which is answer enough. Hiroyuki kicks off of the locker, getting to his feet fully, and stretches. There’s a pang in his chest that eats away at him, as if he’s being hollowed out. Still, he puts on a smile.

“He feels the same way, y’know,” he says, glancing over at Tsukamoto’s wide eyes, the blush rising in his face, before walking away.

This better have been the right thing to do.

Unsurprisingly, Kazama’s back on the pitch the next day. Something’s putting a spring in his step, and Hiroyuki’s almost certain he knows what’s happened. He pushes aside the thoughts buzzing about his head, walking up to Kazama and clapping him on the shoulder amiably.

“When I said take a break, I didn’t mean ditch practice, dumbass.” Kazama scoffs, but he’s smiling.

“As if I need the practice anyways,” Kazama says, self-satisfied, and smiles through Hiroyuki’s glare.

“Still, welcome back,” Hiroyuki says, eyes grazing Kazama’s face before looking away.

“It’s good to be back,” Kazama says, before he hesitates. “And Kurusu – thank you.”

Hiroyuki stares at him, shaking his head. You don’t know what you’re thanking me for, do you? He flicks Kazama on the forehead, feeling smug when the blond winces, rubbing his head with a hand. It’s for the better that you don’t know.

It doesn’t feel that way, though.

Tsukamoto runs over to them, and Hiroyuki’s suddenly gripped with the urge to flee.

“Kurusu-kun, you’re not being mean to Kazama-kun, are you?”

Kazama laughs, putting an arm around Tsukamoto’s shoulder. “Nah, Kurusu’s just playing around.” Kazama winks at him and slides a hand up Tsukamoto’s neck, across his collarbone, and Hiroyuki swallows, tries not to give anything away. He goes red, but not for the right reasons.

“So, you–” he starts, glancing at Tsukamoto.

“Looks like it,” Kazama interrupts. Hiroyuki tries not to stare, looking away with gritted teeth, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It’s none of my business, anyways. They’re happy, and that’s what’s important.

Hiroyuki makes a half-hearted quip, and Mizuki blows the whistle to resume the game.

The second half ends quickly, with a joint attack from Kazama and Hiroyuki leading to Tsukamoto scoring a goal, and for once Hiroyuki’s on the pitch, watching Kazama up close score, and the rush of victory dulls some of the ache that’d been plaguing him all day. He runs up to Kazama, bumping him amiably on the shoulder. It’s enough.

Tsukamoto runs up and Kazama congratulates him, raising a hand to run through Tsukamoto’s hair. Hiroyuki brings a hand up to his face, swiping over his eyes. Get a grip.

“Public displays of affection are prohibited on the pitch,” he hisses, and Kazama laughs.

“Prohibited? That’s a long word, Kurusu. I’m proud.” Kazama looks around, eyes sharp, before leaning in to quickly press a kiss to Tsukamoto’s forehead. Tsukamoto beams, and they’re so happy that Hiroyuki has to turn away, lips quirking bitterly to the side. I don’t have a place here, after all.

“You two are disgusting,” he mutters, jokingly.

“Jealous?” Kazama asks, and Hiroyuki almost trips, eyes widening. Luckily, he’s turned away.

You’d be surprised.

It’s okay, he tells himself. What he feels will fade, and it – it’ll be okay, as long as Kazama and Tsukamoto are happy.

(– somehow, he doesn’t quite believe it.)