#but that just means everything is grey and beige and dull

[sixth-light]

so one of the things I was vaguely aware of before reproducing was that people hold a lot of anxiety around the gender of babies and 'wrongly' gendering babies (i.e. failing to guess correctly based on their clothes and appearance what their genital configuration is) and having now had a baby: wow, yes, they really do.

I take an extremely laissez-faire approach to baby clothes because like, they are constantly being thrown up on and grown out of and so on, what matters is that they are clean and easy to put on and I am not spending $$$$$ on them. as long as the colour/design is not directly offensive, it's fine. what this means is that people are quite frequently 'misgendering' the baby and then falling over themselves to apologise about it.

and, like, I haven't even had a chance to dress him in anything pink yet; this is based on rules I didn't expect like 'anything with flowers or sparkly bits on it is for girls only'. equally, I do not care when this happens because it's an irrelevancy, but THEY care to make sure I am not offended. so I have started telling them "look, he's only [x] months old; his gender is baby."

and you know what? you'd be surprised how many otherwise average heterosexual people process this and go "huh, yeah, I guess it is." there is a tiny amount of hope for the future after all.

[monicfever]

omgg youu are talented at writting 😭😭 could youu please write more of dex?? YOUU ARE AMAZING ♾️♾️🤍💘

orbiting you quietly. 𝜗𝜚 ben poindexter.

working side by side in the hum of routine, dex moves through every task with quiet devotion, chasing the warmth of your praise like it’s sunlight — like it’s the only thing that keeps him alive.

brooklyn was grey that morning.

heavy with a kind of lightless fog that pressed low against the buildings, as if the city itself had given up holding its head high. the brooklyn suicide prevention center sat quiet near the corner of a long, cracked street, tucked between a shuttered deli and an apartment complex that hadn’t seen fresh paint in a decade. the building didn’t look like a place for saving lives, it looked like a place people went to disappear.

inside, the walls were an off-white that had seen too many winters, too many cheap coffee spills and curled bulletin board notices pinned and forgotten. it smelled faintly of disinfectant and the ghost of burnt toast. there were dying plants on windowsills, drooping toward the glass like they, too, had tried to leave and failed. phones rang in soft cycles, never urgently. voices murmured behind the fabric walls of cubicles. sometimes crying, sometimes silence.

dex’ cubicle was third from the end in the west corridor, just past the breakroom that always smelled like someone else's soup. his space was a picture of immaculate restraint. not a pen out of place, not a single paperclip skewed. everything was lined up, corner to corner, colour-coded sticky notes stacked with precision. the monitor sat perfectly centered. the chair never spun when he stood up. it was rigid, obedient. just like him. he liked it that way.

he liked the quiet, the way the lights buzzed just barely too loud, like something inside the walls was always alive. he liked the uniformity, the structure, the rules. the way the day folded itself into clean, containable blocks. thirty-minute calls, ten-minute breaks, scheduled wellness checks. everything measured. everything expected.

predictability was peace.

it didn’t matter that most of the people he spoke to were crying, or silent, or on the edge of not breathing. he followed the script provided, voice smooth and sterile, each word handed over like a prescription. detached, impersonal. it was what they trained him to do. dex was good at following orders. he didn’t feel bad about the calls. he didn’t feel much at all. maybe once, in a different life, there was guilt or something like it. now it was just static.

the carpet was grey and frayed near the corners of the hallway, the breakroom door had a squeak that made his teeth itch, the clock above the main desk always ran four minutes fast. he catalogued these things without meaning to, without wanting to. everything filed away neatly in his mind.

the building itself felt suspended in time; dim, slow-moving, tired. there was something haunted about it. not by ghosts, but by the weight of too many stories stacked on top of each other. hundreds of voices funneled through the same lines, all pleading into the same nothing.

the walls didn’t echo. they absorbed. every whisper, every sob, every broken breath swallowed whole by the cubicles, the stained ceiling tiles, the thin industrial carpet that dulled footsteps. it was a quiet that wasn't peaceful. it was the quiet of restraint. of things left unsaid. the lights overhead hummed with the same tired persistence as the people beneath them. no one spoke loudly here, no one laughed. even the breakroom felt like it existed underwater — muted, slow, beige.

outside, the city moved fast. horns, trains, voices, music leaking from passing cars; but inside this building time collapsed inward. minutes dragged like wet cloth. hours disappeared without a trace.

dex sat at his desk like he’d always been there. spine straight, hands still, eyes fixed on the screen even when nothing was moving. he was good at this part — the waiting. the stillness. he could out-sit anyone. sometimes he watched the light change. the way it crept across the floor from the narrow windows, cold and pale in the early hours, yellow and foggy by late afternoon. it gave the illusion that something was shifting, even if everything else stayed exactly the same.

his headset rested just behind his ear; ready. not because he wanted the calls, but because he wanted to be seen. wanted them to see him. to see how composed he was. how exact.

the others here had softness in them. he could hear it in their voices, the way they said i’m sorry like they meant it. the way they let themselves feel for the strangers calling in, bleeding into the phone. dex didn’t bleed. he couldn’t.

but he was clean. efficient. dependable. and he thought — he hoped — that maybe that meant something to them. maybe that was enough to be worthy of a second glance. a quiet compliment. a fleeting you’re doing good work, dex. he would carry those words like a relic, polish them smooth in his mind.

this place didn’t need to be warm. it just needed to hold them both. him, and the one person he couldn’t stop wanting to impress.

you.

sometimes dex thought about how many people had whispered their last words into this building. he didn’t feel sad about that either. he didn’t come here to feel, he came for control. for order. for the soft, rare moments when they noticed him. that was the only thing that made him real lately. not the routine. not the script. not the careful stacks of paper or the alphabetized tabs on his desktop.

just them.

and he tried. god, he tried. arrived early, stayed late, kept his stats high, his reports spotless. he kept hoping they’d stop behind his chair again, hand resting on the edge of his cubicle, voice low and even, saying something — anything — that he could replay in his head later when the calls were over and the building had emptied and he sat alone in the quiet.

he was good. he had to be.

not just clean numbers and flawless reports. not just the voice he used on the line, untouched by emotion. it was in the way he sat, the way he breathed, the way he never left a single thing out of place. perfection was the language he spoke, and he spoke it for them.

they moved like the building belonged to them. not in any loud or arrogant way, it was quieter than that. the way people naturally shifted when they were near, like water parting around a steady shape. dex watched it happen every time. watched the way they drifted through the halls like gravity bent around them. watched how their presence could calm a room. they didn’t know what they were doing to him. or maybe they did. he couldn’t tell.

sometimes, they would stop behind him, just briefly. a word or two dropped like gold coins.

“you handled that one well.”

“i like the way you log your notes.”

simple. professional. casual, even. but dex would carry it like scripture. would repeat it in the quietest part of his mind, over and over, until the syllables wore grooves into his brain. he didn’t need kindness. didn’t need warmth. he just needed recognition.

his entire body was tuned to their presence. their steps, the scent of their cologne or shampoo, something clean and unplaceable. the way their hand sometimes grazed the edge of his cubicle wall when they walked by, fingers dragging for half a second too long. he lived for the scraps. he worked like he was starving. like praise was food, and only they could feed him.

and when the building emptied, when the phones stopped and the lights flickered tired above him, dex would still sit there. alone in the hush, thinking of them. always them. thinking of the way their voice sounded when they said his name four days ago. thinking of how it might sound if they ever said it a little softer.

he stayed late under the lights that buzzed just a little louder when the building thinned out. his monitor casting a pale blue glow across his face, making the hollows under his eyes look deeper, sharper. the clock ticked quietly, but he didn’t hear it. he was thinking. not about the calls, not about the woman he’d just talked off a ledge with a voice that didn’t waver once. he was thinking about the way they’d paused near his desk that morning. just a second. just long enough.

they didn’t say much. just glanced down at his screen and nodded, slow and approving, before moving on. “doing good.” that was all. but it played in his head like music.

he had written it down — he always did. kept a private document hidden in layers of folders on his desktop, buried beneath fake names and acronyms. a log and date of every word they’d ever said to him. every smile, every glance. he read through it when the office got too quiet, when the night pressed in too close. every compliment was a wound he reopened on purpose.

he thought about them on the subway ride home. standing, always, even when seats were open. gripping the cold metal pole with his hand, staring straight ahead but seeing only their face.

he wondered if they ever thought about him. if they ever wondered why he never took days off. why he never made mistakes. why he was always exactly what they needed. he didn’t want anything from them, not really. not in the way people always assumed when they used words like ‘infatuation.’

he just wanted to be good enough. good enough to notice. good enough to need.

if that meant becoming hollow and perfect, if that meant learning every single thing about them and storing it behind his teeth like a secret, he would do it. he was already doing it.

and he was so, so good.

the next morning was pale and brittle.

the sky outside the narrow windows was washed-out, barely blue, the kind of color that felt unfinished. snow had started to fall again — thin, soundless flakes drifting sideways past the glass like ash. it hadn’t stuck to the pavement yet, but everything looked muted, quieter than usual. like the world was holding its breath.

inside, the office was already alive with low chatter, the occasional cough, the creak of desk chairs. cubicles stretched in neat rows under the ceiling’s low sprawl, each one its own little box of half-lives and coffee-stained reports. someone was crying softly into their headset two aisles over. someone else was typing too fast.

dex’ corner was untouched, still perfect. clipboard aligned to the edge of the desk. pen uncapped, resting parallel. his chair didn’t squeak when he moved. he was already mid-call, voice low, steady, pulled taut like string. “...and that’s okay. it’s okay to feel that way. what matters is that you called. we’re gonna walk through it together.”

his tone didn’t change. it never did. he could’ve been reading from a cookbook. his eyes flicked to the clipboard in front of him, following the script like a ritual. mechanical, precise. not because he cared, but because they might be listening.

and then — that shift.

that unmistakable flicker in the air, subtle as a change in pressure. he didn’t look up, not right away, but he felt it. recognized their footsteps. the way the light seemed to change. they were close. he heard the soft drag of their steps, the gentle creak of their weight against the wall of his cubicle; then a pause.

they leaned against the edge of his workspace, not speaking yet, just watching him. dex’ breath caught, but he didn’t let it show. his fingers tightened faintly around the clipboard. he kept reading word for word. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here. just breathe, okay? can you do that for me?” his voice was warmer now. emotional. almost convincing. he could feel their eyes on him.

then they smiled. not big, not loud. just a small, knowing thing. patient. dex swallowed. his heart, previously so even and quiet in his chest, now thundered. not because of the caller, not because of the script; because they were listening and he wanted to be good.

their gaze moved over him with that quiet kind of focus that made his skin feel too tight, like he wasn’t meant to hold this much attention. his voice stayed even, but his fingers tapped once nervously against the clipboard. “yeah,” he said into the receiver, eyes fixed on the words in front of him but meaning none of them. “you’re doing the right thing. just stay with me a little longer, okay? we’ll take it one step at a time.” his throat felt dry. out of the corner of his eye, he saw you mouth something.

you’re doing great.

just that. silent. lips forming the words like a secret meant only for him. his grip tightened. his heart stuttered. he nodded once — tiny, instinctive. not for the caller. for them. always them.

they stayed for a moment longer, arms still folded, eyes warm but unreadable. listening. watching. then they pushed off the edge of the cubicle with that same soft grace they always moved with and walked away, further down the row to check on someone else.

their absence was immediate.

like breath pulled from a room. dex exhaled slowly, blinked, refocused. the caller was still speaking, shakily, and dex responded automatically, voice instantly flat again. but in his chest, everything was loud. frantic. glowing.

they said he was doing great.

he would hold onto that for days.

the call dragged on, the voice on the other end of the line scared, low. words spilled out of him with an eerie precision, as if he were reciting a mantra, something hollow and detached. “i’m still here. i’m not going anywhere.” but the words felt empty. inside everything was burning, frantic. a sharp, throbbing pressure in his chest. every thought, every heartbeat, seemed to be pulling him in a direction he couldn’t resist. his mind kept circling back to them, to the way they’d looked at him, the way they'd smiled before walking away. he wanted to grab onto that moment, hold it tight, feel it slip through his fingers. it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough.

the girl on the line was still speaking, but her voice barely registered. his eyes flickered to his screen, gaze sharpening, almost predatory. then he leaned closer to the mic, voice dropping lower, quieter, colder. "maybe you should just do it." he murmured, tone so dark it almost tasted like metal. "make it stop." the words felt raw, too raw, but he couldn’t stop them. he wanted to hear them. he leaned even closer, breath steady. "what’s stopping you? go ahead. make it quick. you think anyone cares? clearly not, if you needed to call a stranger for help."

the words hung in the air, the silence between them thick and oppressive. the girl’s voice on the other end stuttered, a soft whimper escaping her lips. dex didn’t care. and then, the call ended with a sharp click, the silence ringing through his ears.

he blinked, fingers hovering over the mouse. the room was suffocatingly still. for a moment, he sat there, the weight of the words lingering in the air. but before he could process what had just happened, the sound of footsteps approached again. he didn’t need to look up. he already knew who it was.

their voice, soft and uncertain, broke through the quiet. “hey, uh, dex...” they sounded almost hesitant, as if they were trying to be careful not to disturb the fragile calm of his world.

“yeah?” he responded, his voice clipped, sharper than he intended.

there was a pause, and then the words came out in a rush. “there’s a birthday party for michelle today. you know, just something small after hours... cake, some decorations. i’ve already asked everyone else, but they’re busy. i was wondering... if you have a few minutes... maybe... you could stay and help me set up?”

it was simple. innocent. but something about it made the blood rush to his head, made his stomach twist in ways that felt dangerous. his fingers tightened around the clipboard, the edges digging into his skin. he exhaled slowly, forcing a calm he didn’t feel, as his gaze finally lifted, eyes locking onto theirs. “sure,” he said, too quickly. “i’ll stay. no problem.” the words came out almost too eager, but he didn’t care. staying was all that mattered. staying meant being close.

they smiled then, the faintest curve of their lips, and it felt like a brief moment of relief — like they had just thrown him a rope, and he was grabbing onto it with everything he had. “thanks, dex.” their voice was light, but he could hear the warmth beneath it.

he nodded, his throat tight. "yeah. no problem."

they walked away after that.

stay and help me.

it wasn’t much, but to dex it felt like an invitation. an opening. an opportunity to be needed, to prove he was worth something. to make himself useful in a world where he often felt like a shadow fading into the background.

he clicked through the tasks on his screen, the words blurring as his thoughts spiraled, his focus split between the calls he needed to take and the thought of them, standing just out of reach.

it wasn’t long before the workday was winding down, the office growing quieter. the last few calls filtered through, voices distant and hollow, but dex barely heard them anymore. his eyes flicked towards the clock, then back to his screen. the tension in his chest was building again.

when his final call ended, dex was already standing, his movements quick. he grabbed his jacket, almost throwing it on, hands moving with a frantic energy that was out of place in the otherwise calm office. he didn’t wait. he couldn’t wait. he found them just as they were finishing up something at their desk.

“ready.” he greeted, voice a little too sharp, too eager, like he was afraid they’d change their mind.

they looked up, surprised but with that same soft smile. "oh, you’re ready to help?"

"yeah," he replied immediately, "just tell me what to do."

they hesitated, eyes studying him for a moment, and it sent a thrill through him. did they notice? did they see how much he wanted this? how much he needed their attention? "okay," they said, voice warm, like the invitation had never stopped. "follow me."

dex nodded, following closely behind them as they made their way to the small break room where the party would take place. his steps were almost too quick, matching their pace, but just enough distance to leave room for that sliver of space he knew he couldn’t invade. yet. he watched them move around, setting up with a practiced ease, and for the first time in what felt like forever, dex found himself... still.

when they turned to him, asking if he could hold something, the smile they gave him was warm and kind, and for a moment, it felt like they were looking at him in a way they hadn’t before — like he mattered, like he was someone they wanted around. “thank you.” they said again, their voice softer now, with that subtle approval he craved.

dex nodded, his throat tight, chest swelling with something he couldn’t name. "anything for you." the words slipped out before he could stop them, raw and needy, and he almost winced at the intensity in his own voice. they didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they did, but they didn’t care. they just smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart race.

as they continued to set up his thoughts began to race again. he was so close now. so close to what he wanted, to what he needed. he would stay close. stay useful. stay needed. and maybe, just maybe, they would notice. maybe they would see him as more than just the guy who followed the script, more than just the quiet one who stayed in his corner. maybe, this time, he could be someone they wanted — someone they couldn’t ignore.

the world outside the room faded into nothing. dex moved with urgency, hands trembling slightly as he helped set up the decorations. he tried to focus on the task at hand, but all he could feel was their presence, the air thick with the faintest traces of their scent. their laughter, light and easy, drifted through the room, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at them, catching the way their eyes sparkled when they smiled.

stop it. just focus. he thought, trying to reign in the overwhelming pull he felt. but the more he watched them, the harder it became to pretend. they passed by him again, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of their proximity. "could you grab that box over there?" they requested, their voice easy, casual.

"of course." his hands reached for the box a little too quickly. it was a simple request, one they probably didn’t think twice about, but to dex, it was like a direct command — and he would always listen to what they had to say.

when he placed the box down they gave him a soft smile, and for a moment, it was like time slowed. "you’re really helpful." the words hung in the air for a heartbeat too long, and dex felt a jolt of something sharp, something electric course through him. he swallowed hard, trying to mask the way his heart was pounding in his ears.

"yeah, no problem." he managed, hands clenching at his sides, aching to touch, to do more. instead, he forced himself to look away, focusing on the task in front of him. they moved around the room, busying themselves with small tasks — hanging up a banner, setting out plates. dex watched every move, every glance, every soft chuckle that escaped their lips. it was like he was drowning in them.

they went about their work and would ask him the occasional question, tone light and friendly. "hey, you’ve been working really hard lately, huh?" they glanced at him as they placed a stack of cups on the table. "i’ve noticed. you’re kind of a perfectionist, aren’t you?"

his breath caught, and he forced himself to laugh, though it felt hollow in his chest. "i try," he said. "it’s just easier when everything is orderly."

they smiled again, that soft, warm smile that made his stomach flip. "i think that’s why you’re so good at your job," they said casually. "you really care about getting things right."

the words cut through him, each one a needle pinning him to the spot. they think i care. they notice. he swallowed hard, "i do.” he didn’t. not about the job. not really. but the praise, the validation from them, that was everything. they didn’t seem to notice how much their words affected him. to them, it was just casual conversation, the kind they had with everyone. but to dex it was like they had just handed him the most precious gift.

the conversation moved on and dex felt the unease growing inside of him bubbling. it wasn’t enough. nothing would ever be enough. he wanted more, needed more. all of them, all of their attention. he wanted to be the center of their focus, to be the one they turned to when they needed something — anything. he watched them move across the room, taking charge, organizing. every word that fell from their lips, every simple instruction, was a rule he had to follow. even the smallest request sent a surge of something sharp and eager through him. he stood a little straighter, waiting for another moment, another task. anything.

"could you help set this up over here? just grab a few of the chairs and bring them over." their voice was light, nothing extraordinary, but to him, it was everything. "you got it." his hands were already moving before the words left his mouth. it didn’t matter that the task was small, that it was nothing more than setting up chairs. what mattered was that they had spoken to him, asked him to do something.

when he returned with the chairs, he set them down carefully, making sure they were perfectly aligned, just like everything else in his life. "thanks." they said with a smile that seemed to stretch a little longer than usual, just enough to leave his heart racing in his chest.

"anything." he smiled, and it was friendly, the kind you’d offer to be polite, but the word hung in the air more than a simple response. anything for you.

the evening wore on, and he stayed close, just enough to be in their orbit. he couldn’t get enough of the feeling — of being needed, of doing something for them, of being the one they called on. nothing else mattered. not the calls he’d taken, not the people on the other end of the line, not the world outside this room. it was only them, only their presence that filled his mind, their every word and smile that kept him tethered to this moment, this small piece of purpose.

everything for them. only for them.

the conversation faded into a low murmur behind him, like waves crashing against a shore he no longer stood on. dex wasn’t listening. not really. his eyes were on them again — the curve of their spine as they leaned over a table, the easy grace in their movements, the way they gestured with one hand while the other cradled a clipboard to their chest. he could watch them forever. he wanted to.

in the quiet recess of his mind, the scene shifted — subtly at first. he imagined them turning toward him with that same warm smile, but softer now, like it was just for him. no crowd. no task. just their voice, low and familiar, asking him to stay a little longer. maybe they’d brush his hand when passing by, fingers lingering just a second too long. maybe they'd whisper something just for him — something secret, something his. maybe they’d need him in a way that wasn’t about chairs or lists or neat rows of order. just him. only him.

his chest ached.

dex blinked. the room snapped back into sharp relief — they were still across the room, still organizing, still unaware of the spiral he’d disappeared into. that was fine. that was better.

he cleared his throat, tugged at the hem of his shirt, forced his feet to stay grounded. one step at a time. one small task at a time. he could manage that. he had to.

he looked back at them — not too long. just enough. “let me know if you need anything else.” he said, louder than necessary, voice steady now, composed. it wasn’t just an offer.

it was a promise.

★ a / n : thank you sm for this sweet message

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.27.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[p0orbaby]

long distance Leah fic, but of angst but trying to make an effort with each other x

-

You’re sitting at your desk, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram when Leah texts you. It’s the third time today and somehow you’re both pleased and annoyed by it. You’ve spent the past week convincing yourself you’re too busy to think about her, about that, about the distance — even though everyone knows you’re not, not really. You’re on the verge of starting a deep dive into a new series that Netflix recommended (you’ve become quite predictable), and now she’s interrupted the flow.

Leah: miss you. Can’t sleep.

You stare at your phone, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in your glasses, thinking how five hours really isn’t that much of a time difference. But still, it’s 1 a.m. there. And she’s texting you because what else do long-distance couples do when they’re trying not to grow resentful of each other’s time zones? You imagine her lying in her bed, which you have never seen but have pictured far too many times. You picture her sheets a certain colour — something neutral, grey maybe, or a kind of beige that could double as oatmeal. You have no reason for this, you’ve never asked her, but you’re convinced of it, and it bothers you how convincing your own imagination is.

You type back.

You: It’s 8 here. I’m working. Sort of. You should sleep.

Which is a lie. You’re not working. You’re pretending to care about the emails you haven’t opened since last Thursday. Your boss has stopped following up because he knows, you know, everyone knows that your attention span is equivalent to that of a goldfish, maybe worse. You send the text and then swipe back to Instagram, where a fitness influencer’s latest “how to crush your goals” reel pops up. You can’t even remember if you followed her or if she just showed up there, the way people and things always just show up. Like Leah did. Unexpected. Uninvited, almost. Except now you don’t know what to do when she’s not there.

Your phone pings again.

Leah: wish you were here tho.

And now you feel guilty. It’s this dull, muted feeling, but it’s there. Gnawing away at you like a small animal that keeps scratching a door even after it’s been let in. It’s irrational, how much you miss her even though she’s the one who’s barely there. Long distance makes everything hyperbolic. Every argument, every silence, every “good morning” or “miss you” is stretched into this absurd theatre of extremes. You can’t miss someone you barely see, except you can, and you do, and it’s all so tedious.

You wonder if she’s scrolling through your texts, analysing the way you put a full stop after some sentences but not others, thinking about tone and subtext. You hope she is. You hope she’s overthinking, like you, and that you’re both miserable in sync because that would at least mean you’re still in sync.

She calls.

“Hi”

You let the word hang there for a moment.

“Hi”

“How’s work?” She says, with the kind of tone that implies she knows you’re lying about it.

“I’m crushing it. Obviously”

You hear her laugh and it’s faint, as if her phone is slightly too far from her mouth.

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me”

There’s a pause. You think about all the things you could say — something reassuring, something romantic — but instead you say, “You should sleep”

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighs.

But neither of you hang up. Neither of you move. The distance is still there, heavy, making everything feel like slow motion.

“You’ll come visit soon, right?” she asks, and it’s casual but not really.

“Of course,” you say, without thinking, without meaning it as much as you should.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

the second, cooler gravity falls post

anyway, this one requires a bit of context. did you know that this creature has synesthesia? well, now you do! specifically, the kind that makes you associate different things with colors (and patterns and...its a bit hard to explain. its mostly about the colors)

without further ado, lets talk about what synesthesia-assigned colors the gravity falls casts' names are (of course everyone sees them differently, this is just how i see them)

---

Gravity Falls and Pines are both green! More specifically, Gravity Falls is a slightly desaturated green and Pines is a deeper, darker shade. They also both have a bit of somewhat dull orange thrown in

Stanford/Ford/Sixer - as a whole: bright electric blue, dark melancholy blue, bloody red, silver. Stanford is slightly reddish-brown + labcoat beige, Ford is a pale sienna with a tiny bit of ash thrown in, Sixer is dark coral + dusty rose

Stanley/Stan/Lee - as a whole: burgundy, bloody red, and ash. Stanley and Stan are both shades of red, though Stan is lighter and more vibrant. Lee is a sort of pale, desaturated yellowish green (it looks nicer than youd imagine it would)

Fiddleford - this guy is green as hell. it gets more yellowed and dusty as time goes on, until hes eventually more dusty yellow than light green

Mabel - bright pink and a sort of warm, pale yellow. the shade associated with stars and dreams (realizing now that that might not make any sense)

Dipper - torrential downpour blue. color of mist at night

Soos - shade inbetween Gravity Falls green and Pines green. also a very dark shade of green

Melody - pale warm colored with no yellow! a sort of mix between orange and red, leaning more towards reddish. coral if coral was made of meat, mayhaps (like with Lee, its a lot nicer to look at than it sounds). also a bit of purple

The wonderous married couple known as Waddles and Gompers - warm greyish brown

bonus time eras!

Young stans era - youd be surprised! yellow (not highlighter yellow, though)

Mullet stan - reddish brown, burgundy, night but warm-colored

Paranoid ford - grey with just the slightest bit of color thrown in, that color being dusty brown. veins and sleep deprivation (again, something that does not make sense to anyone but me)

Researcher era ford - the most labcoat beige of any ford to ever ford. theres also a bit of dark navy blue, but not much

Pre-betrayal everything - pale green and sickly yellow

Post-betrayal everything - a lot of dark greyish color. extinguished crimson and spiderweb blue

Portal era from Ford's side - navy/ocean blue, cool grey, slate. imagine you were looking at a neon sign (the kinds where only the lettering is neon). the blue/grey/slate is the background, the lettering is vibrant reddish-orange and pink

Portal era from Stan's side - pale orange and yellow, some pine-bark-brown. you would think there would be a lot of grey, but theres really only a tiny bit

Weirdmaggedon - hoo boy thats a lot of dark dark red and orange and firey colors and- wait what do you mean weirdmaggedon isnt yellow? not even a little bit? huh.

Sea grunks era - dark ocean blue and cool grey :]

[wedezineinterior]

5 Timeless Color Palettes That Define Elegant Living – By WeDezine Bangalore 

When it comes to designing a home that feels both inviting and enduring, color is everything. At WeDezine, Bangalore’s trusted interior design studio, we go beyond trends to create spaces that truly reflect your lifestyle—starting with the right color palette. 

Timeless doesn’t mean dull. It means choosing shades that grow with you, adapt to your evolving taste, and never go out of style. Here are five curated color palettes we swear by—perfect for any room and every mood. 

1. The Timeless Neutrals – Creams, Beiges & Warm Greys 

Why We Love It at WeDezine:  This palette is the foundation of calm, elegant interiors. We use it to craft soothing living rooms and bedrooms that feel effortlessly chic. 

Where It Shines: Living rooms, hallways, and minimalist bedrooms  WeDezine Tip: Neutrals come alive when layered. Think textured fabrics, soft rugs, and warm lighting to give your space depth and character. 

2. Navy Blue & White – A Modern Classic 

Why We Recommend It:  This high-contrast combo is a WeDezine favorite. Navy introduces richness while white brings clarity and freshness—ideal for creating a smart, sophisticated vibe. 

Perfect For: Bathrooms, kitchens, or your stylish home office  WeDezine Tip: Add metallic accents like brass handles or gold-framed mirrors to elevate this palette into pure luxury. 

3. Earth-Inspired Harmony – Olive Greens & Cocoa Browns 

Why We Choose It:  Drawing inspiration from nature, this palette helps you reconnect with organic beauty. At WeDezine, we use these tones to bring warmth and wellness into homes. 

Great For: Bedrooms, reading corners, and nature-themed living rooms  WeDezine Tip: Pair with indoor plants and handcrafted décor for a truly grounded, soulful space. 

4. Pastel Serenity – Sage, Blush & Sky Blue 

Why We Use It:  For a home that feels soft, dreamy, and modern, nothing beats pastel hues. WeDezine clients love the calming energy it brings—especially in private spaces. 

Ideal Spaces: Nurseries, guest rooms, and compact apartments  WeDezine Tip: Balance pastels with light wood finishes and white accents to maintain an airy, open feel. 

5. Greyscale Luxe – Charcoal, Fog, and Silver 

Why We Stand By It:  This monochrome palette defines sleek urban living. It’s one of our top picks for clients who love a minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. 

Best Used In: Living rooms, modern kitchens, and entertainment zones  WeDezine Tip: Soften the look with cozy throws, plush sofas, and dimmable lights to avoid a cold or overly formal vibe. 

Your Space, Your Story — Designed by WeDezine 

Color is just the beginning. At WeDezine, we help you shape every corner of your home into a reflection of your personality, lifestyle, and taste. Whether you're starting fresh or looking to transform your existing space, our expert design team brings creativity, clarity, and care to every project. 

✨ Let’s build something timeless—together.  Reach out to WeDezine, Bangalore’s leading interior design studio, and book your personalized consultation today. 

[chancecity]

(( Rocky interrogation room momence ))

He has been sitting here for an hour. A dull room, designed specifically to be numbingly barren but still with some semblance of comforting. Beige walls, grey flooring, a large one-way mirror (he shot a few star-powered smiles to his reflection, to whoever would be on the other side), and a grey metal table, which he was fittingly attached to with a pair of power-dampening handcuffs. Not that he had powers to dampen, but he had heard the rumors floating around about him; seems the HC had heard them too.

And just behind him, a guard sporting a standard Rank 4 officer’s uniform and nervously gripping a long stun gun in their hand. If he turned his head all the way over his shoulder, he could see them fully, though the action obviously made them a bit nervous; they were young, probably in their very early twenties, and seemingly unable to contain their anxious fidgeting as he scanned them, a persistent and rhythmic tapping of their fingers against their outer thigh. This is a new responsibility, they’ve recently been promoted. A newbie.

Their hand. Tapping. Everything else about their appearance was put together, a neatly brushed and trimmed haircut, clean nails, bright skin. But there, a large callus, right on their left ring finger. He knew it intimately; drummer’s digit. A drummer.

Their button up tucked neatly into their work slacks, their uniform clean and pressed with care, their badge shining cleanly on their breast. A slight tiredness to their eyes that somehow makes them look younger, not older. A side effect of new pressures, partnered with a certain pride in their work.

But the pants, the pocket. The outline of a phone, but something else; a long, thin outline of something else. A flash of soft white wire poking out of their pocket. Earbuds.

The tapping. The callus. The earbuds.

“So,” he hums, softening his grin to a more friendly degree, “seems to be taking a bit, huh?”

No answer, just a stern stare straight ahead and a slight tightening of their posture. Continue.

“It’s too quiet in here,” he sighs with a bit of drama, turning back around as if in thought. “Does the HC have a suggestion box? I’d like to recommend music in the waiting room.”

A small huff of air behind him. A small laugh out of their noise. They were getting there.

“I’m sure one of my boomboxes is in Evidence here,” he continues, drumming his fingers against the metal of the table. A good sound, industrial. “We could really liven this place up. Get some Bowie going.”

“I don’t think I have access to Evidence—” They speak! “—and I… really don’t think HQ is looking for suggestions on the interrogation rooms.”

What was that? A joke? Did he just luck out and get the one officer with some sense of humor?

Oh, he could work with this.

“A shame,” he shakes his head solemnly, though the action causes his sunglasses to slip down his nose. Ah— no. Keep those eyes hidden, buddy boy; those eyes are not the ones of a comforting and silly clown. They are the windows into the soul of a drug-addled, sleep-deprived and dangerous Rock Star. That kind of glamour, the average person just wasn’t prepared for.

He has to bend his entire body down to where his hands are bound to the table in order to push the frames back into place. “You into music?”

Another second of silence, tense and unsure. They aren’t supposed to talk to him, not supposed to “fraternize with the enemy”.

“I mean, doesn’t everyone like music?” They reply back, tense all the same but now with the lightness of a smile, a confused bit of curiosity.

He isn’t the enemy. Him? An enemy? He has no enemies. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Well, yeah,” he laughs, switching the rhythm of his taps to a more rocking one. “But you give me the energy of someone who… I dunno—” A pause, a coy silence as if he needed to look for the word. “—someone who appreciates music. You seem like you rock out.”

They don’t seem that way at all. They look like they spend their nights eating oatmeal in an empty room and see a trip to the grocery store as “going out”. But sparing a glance back over his shoulder to them, he could see a sort of shock overtake their expression.

Not a bad shock. A warm one, like a beaten dog given a bed indoors for the first time.

“I… yeah,” they allow themselves to smile, ever so slightly, “I mean, I uh. I drum.”

He put on a face of surprise. “No shit?”

“Ha, uh, yeah..”

“What’s your style, kid? Classical? Jazz?” No. That was the callus of a Rocker.

“I’m actually more of a, uh, a funk guy.”

Oh. Maybe some wishful thinking on his part. But still, he could get funky.

“You play with anyone, funk-guy? Got a band?”

A slight ease of tension, replaced by a certain electricity in their eyes. Passion.

“Oh, no, uh, yeah, me and some friends uh, play after I get off work. It’s a nice way to unwind.”

Every hero, no matter the rank, had something like that. He’d be willing to bet money that these “friends” weren’t fellow heroes; it was their refuge from the stresses of the job, a way to feel like a normal human and not some government weapon.

They continue. “We don’t like… we aren’t performers or anything, so we haven’t actually played in front of anyone.”

Get ‘em.

“Oh, funk-guy,” he smiled, trying to bring that electricity to a new height, “you have to play in front of a crowd. What’s art without an audience, right?”

Quiet again. Thinking. Uncertainty.

He pushes on. “Have you been to ‘Vinyl Street’?”

“Ah, uh… no..?” Nervous interest. Keep ‘em going.

“You! Have! To! Go!” With each word, he slaps the table as best he can, headbanging to punctuate before turning back to them. “It’s this great club, kind of hidden downtown, they’re all about the classics but the babe who runs the place is all about local music. It’s all mad supportive.”

“Huh… and it’s, it’s downtown you said?”

“Yup, but again it’s a bit hidden. You got a pen? I can give you the add-,”

A knock at the door, immediately ripping all of their attention away from him. Ah, damn. They had really been getting somewhere, too. Without waiting, the door opens.

There she is.

“Officer.” It is all she says. It’s all she needs to, the young guard nodding and turning. He hadn’t gotten to their name.

“I’ll catch you with the address after this!!” He calls out just as they disappear through the doorway, just before she closes the heavy metal door behind her.

“It’s about time, Sleepwalker,” he bends backwards over his chair, spine cracking satisfyingly, to flash her an award-winningly sharp grin, “I was starting to think you forgot about me! I’m not really a ‘sitting still’ kind of guy, y’know.”

[britcision]

So I did have a couple different ideas what the numbers actually mean, but it never quite worked itself into something concrete or easy to explain and put rules around

It’s also not very important to the story as a whole, which I very much enjoyed

For the first third or so I was playing with letting them work it out and trying to draw lines around it, but as soon as I stopped doing that the real story became clear

We aren’t meant to know everything, and there isn’t always an answer, and that’s okay

It’s too easy to get bogged down in the idea that there is A Reason For Everything, or just one Perfect Truth, and if you just find it everything will be good

That isn’t how the world works though

A ship is safe in the harbour, but that’s not what ships are for

We need to make our own meanings and connections, because that’s what is actually important; the experience of your life as you live it matters much more than whether you Achieve The Task by its end

(I wanted to be real careful about synesthesia too, because this is explicitly a magical fantasy and not the actual medical condition

I do have something similar to the world’s very mildest form of synesthesia though; I remember events in colours that come from tone, not anything visual - I also can’t visualize much of anything at all

Something vibrant and interesting and lively is green, richer or brighter depending on details

Something stressful or arduous or dull is brown or beige

Something boring is white or grey

Sci fi is blue for some reason?

And the colours mix and form gradients and such but when I tell someone a movie was beige they think I mean its colour palate)

Since birth you could see a counter above people’s heads. It doesn’t count down to their death. It goes up and down randomly. You’re desperate to find out what it means.

[sooibian]

The Daisy Oracle

Pairing: Baekhyun x fem!Reader

Genre / Themes: Fluff, soft angst, a hint of spice, established relationship

Description: In the days leading up to Baekhyun’s enlistment, you find yourself dissecting every word of his and he’s been saying...all the wrong things.

A/N: To accommodate this anon request, the story does not take the��“BBH public service worker” route. Dear anon who requested this, i sincerely hope this fic gives you the comfort that you seek. even though i tried to publish this as soon as i could, i hope it doesn’t feel rushed! :)

Word count: ~ 2k

You always had a hard time keeping up with Byun Baekhyun.

On a typical Thursday evening, when you, everyone you knew, and their families, zombified by the obstinate demands of the week, trudged towards the promise of an invigorating weekend, Baekhyun looked and acted like one of those puppies in one of those picture perfect 'family is everything' movies. Always eager. Always happy.

That is not to say that the weight of living eluded him. He'd have his moments where everything seemed rather dull and tedious but Baekhyun always bounced back quicker than most.

In the month leading up to his enlistment, when you'd hoped for your own sake and his, that he'd mellow under the soul crushing burden of an impending temporary separation, his puppy quotient shot through the roof instead. But you didn't have the heart to utter a single word that bore the abominable might to dull his sparkle.

Instead, you revved up your own. Or at least...tried.

He booped your nose and said to you over dinner one evening, "You don't have to pretend, you know?" causing you to flip the switch on him, "What would you rather have me do? Cry?"

Truth be told, you were mad!

Mad at the world. Mad at the laws of conscription, most of all. How could they take this...this...stupidly adorable, angelic, happiness shaped man with a divine voice, endearingly droopy eyes, jelly lips, plump cheeks, and the most delectable nose away from you for such an agonizingly long stretch of time?

"It would be nice," he quipped, looking into the distance as if lost in a deep thought, the faintly heavy texture of his tone nudging you out of your rueful reverie.

Head tilted to the side, you blinked at him, mouthing a confused, "What?"

"Hello! Earth to --! I said, If you cried a little...every now and then….it would make me feel - it would make you feel - "

These callous utterances of his would not only exasperate you endlessly but also shove you back into the despairing hurricane of emotions you’d been trying to quash for his sake and yours.

So you glowered at him in response and he quietly went back to his soup, leaving you to your musings.

Blinkering your attention to the sumptuous spread before you, you wondered why you struggled to push something that appetizing down your throat. Everything tasted either a little too bland, or a little too spicy, a little...unusual and not quite right. Which was strange considering the only reason you loved this restaurant was because they hadn’t changed their menu nor their recipes in decades.

You craved the comfort of the known especially on days like these when the world felt bizarre - inside and out.

“This fillet is too dry,” you whined, washing down your last bite of the salmon with cider.

Brows furrowed, Baekhyun drew his “No ~” out in a question.

“And overly seasoned,” you winced, persistent in your complaining while pushing your food around.

“Here, try the Gyeran Mari,” said Baekhyun, lovingly placing two neat rolls of your favourite banchan into your rice bowl.

Eyes locked with his, a smile teasing the corners of your mouth, you quipped nonchalantly, "You know what? I cannot cry even if I wanted to."

"Really? Why's that?" He inquired with a quirked brow, cheeks puffed with silken tofu.

Waving your phone at him, you replied, "All these airpod head comments online - "

"Yah yah yah!!!" Breaking into a fit of roaring laughter, he lunged at you and pinned you to the floor. Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed every inch of the exposed skin of your face and neck, making your giggles fizzle into a soft moan the moment his lips met yours.

.

.

.

"Leave the laundry to me. Go get your things in order for next week," you said to a dumbstruck Baekhyun as he felt the jute laundry basket that you'd picked out together over two years ago, swiftly changing hands from his to yours.

When you heard neither a word tumble out of his mouth, nor the sound of his feet padding down the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks, turned around to face him and spluttered a mortified, "What?"

"No, no, it’s nothing," he mumbled, lips forming a toothsome pout.

Resting the laundry basket against your hip, you groused, "Just say it."

Soft baby pink lips stretched into a wide, gremlin-like grin, he teased, "If I knew enlistment would make your lazy ass pick up some of my chores, I would've enlisted a lot earlier!"

Feigning annoyance, you rolled your eyes in response and turned on your heel to rush to the washer dryer.

In a week’s worth pile of unwashed clothes, stood out a beige t-shirt that he’d worn for not more than an hour last week. It was relatively clean and needed a wash simply because he had no use for it in the following months. You buried your face in the velvety smooth fabric of the oversized garment, yielding to Baekhyun’s lingering saccharine yet woody scent. The dam of your pent up emotions broke loose at the last four words that had recklessly rolled off his tongue. You bit down on your lower lip to suppress it's quiver but the tears in your eyes gave it all away when you turned around to find him standing by the door.

You accepted his unspoken apology with an understanding nod as he nestled you up to his familiar, comforting warmth. And while he gently cradled you in his strong and steady arms, you poured your heart out into the crook of his neck.

.

.

.

Dressed in cozy black and grey sweats, Baekhyun stood before you, lips pursed, eyes wide, anxiously wringing his hands while swaying from side to side.

"So?" His brows shot up in anticipation of your reaction while you chewed on the insides of your cheeks to keep yourself from breaking into an insensitive fit of laughter.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you managed a feeble, "Looks alright,", feigning your best businesslike demeanour.

A confused Baekhyun’s gaze flew up to his forehead as he gingerly ran a hand over his head. Features contorted in a frown, he remarked, "Prickly."

Then you could hold it in no more.

Instantly convulsed with laughter, you crashed into bed while Baekhyun simply stood there, hands on hips, patiently waiting for you to -

“Let it all out!” He exclaimed loudly while you continued your antics, fully cognizant that the discomfiture in his tone was merely for effect. Baekhyun continued, “I don’t get what’s so funny.”

You threw your hands up and apologized, panting, “Okay, okay...I’m done,” only to break into another fit of giggles immediately after.

.

.

.

The room was bathed in a subtle gold haze from the bedside lamp as you lay resting your head on Baekhyun's chest, the rhythm of his heart calming the storm within yours. He brought your hand up to his rosebud mouth and trailed gentle kisses along the tips of your fingers before lacing them with his.

"It's not that bad...it's...it's kinda cute, actually. Makes your ears stick out," you whispered against his taut and smooth skin.

"I don't know, I feel a little...different. I've never been bald," he uttered the last word hesitantly as if it were some sort of a deathly curse.

"Being born with hair and all - ,” you remarked casually, cuddling even closer and Baekhyun instinctively strengthened his grip on you.  

The looming presence of the words left unsaid magnified by the second and you prayed a futile prayer... wishing fervently for the time to stop.

“I wonder what our kids will look like. Do you think they’ll be born with hair on their wee little heads and have huge ears like I do?” asked Baekhyun before you could lapse into another silent reverie.

Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at the incessant carelessness on his part and you only managed a dispirited “I...don’t know" in response.

“Come on! Humour me for a second -”

“Alright," you said with a deep sigh, deciding to indulge him but not without first bracing your heart against these beguiling castles in the air, "hmm.. I...I don't know but I want them to have your eyes."

"No!” Baekhyun protested, “I want them to have your eyes!"

"We're not having this argument again..not today." You tried to subtly release yourself from his firm grasp to fill your lungs with the air he’d snatched with promises so enticing that they made you tremble with fear to even wish for their realization but the more you tried to pull away, he drew you even closer....your darling quicksand.

He laughed, blatantly ignoring the embarrassment flashing across your features having been caught off guard by this unnecessary pop quiz. Eyes welling up with tears, you wondered whether this turmoil was some wicked sorcery of your own heart...or did Baekhyun, in fact, not care at all.

"But don't you think this house is a biiiit too cozy for a big family?"

"We won't have to worry about any of that for a while I believe," you muttered before lambasting him, "Okay Byun Baekhyun that's enough! Stop acting like you won't come visit every few weeks! And- and stop looking at me like that!"

Your expression softened the moment his eyes locked with yours.

Baekhyun sat up with a start. Brows furrowed in confusion, he guffawed, "I'm just wondering how someone this intelligent can be so thick in the head sometimes!"

Immediately sitting up to face him, you nearly squealed, "What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, he let out a deep exhale. Mumbling incoherently, he drew a key from underneath his pillow and lightly flicked your forehead with it. Chuckling at the very apparent bewilderment on your face, he grabbed your wrist and thrust the key into your hand.

Puzzled, you merely blinked at him, unable to form words.

"I bought the place that you liked,” he stated matter-of-factly but an unmistakable spark of excitement danced in his eyes.

“No, I don’t get it.”

“All that house hunting wasn't for Baekbeom." Baekhyun used air-quotes when he said house hunting and gave you a sly smile. Despite the telltale exhilaration in his tone...you were still pretty confused. Baekhyun and you had spent almost all of your weekends this year property hunting with his brother and sister-in-law. They’d said they were looking for a bigger place since the Byun family was to “expand”.

“But - I thought they were talking about themselves! I-”

“You what?”

“I can’t believe I fell for -”

“You walked right into it, Ma’am!”

“But you all made it sound so convincing!”

He coolly quipped, “A quality I would like all four of our future children to possess.”

Baekhyun’s grand gesture knocked the wind out of your lungs and you were suddenly flat on your back. Lying down next to you, he took your hand in his and sneakily slipped a ring onto your finger. A silent tear rolled down your cheek as all of the emotions that had been simmering inside you clawed at your throat rendering you speechless and breathless. Despite that, you managed the courage to meet his eyes only to find them brimming with tears. With his hand on your cheek, Baekhyun closed the distance between you and whispered, "I love you," against your lips before pulling you in for a deep kiss.

"I love you, too," you responded, nestling into his cozy frame.

"Yah! Don't get all emotional with me!" Baekhyun teased while gently stroking your hair. Voice down to a whisper, he continued, "I'm just getting everything in order...like you’d asked me to," before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

You always had a hard time keeping up with Byun Baekhyun.

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 1).

[I'll do this series in 4 or so Parts].

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with. ]

Enjolras:

• Wants people to know that he isn't always angry and uptight.

• That he can giggle for hours on end and even snort like a malfunctioning car when supplied with enough puns and Penguin videos.

•That people can walk around him without being on eggshells all the time. He doesn't like the idea of Christmas Capitalism, but that DOES NOT mean that people need to stutter "Chris-sorry-non-denominational holiday party" to him all the time.

• That he does hang out with Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet and Chetta as well. And they know he's scared of nightclub crowds, so they also find nice places to go with him. Enjolras has a photo of them in front of an amusement park carousel pinned on his headboard.

• He's also super unhappy that people think of him as a pretentious wokeboi who never accepts a different point of view. He tries too hard to undo whatever prejudices he has, and frequently cries in the shower when he thinks he has been horrible to someone. He apologizes almost instantly if he fucks things up, and tries his level best to fix the situation.

• That he likes other colours too. Enj has a blanket which is a soft shade of mauve, which he simply cannot do without at night. He also loves porcelain blue, rose gold and emerald green. He had a dark academia phase once.

• That he has had high school crushes. A few, intense ones. Except remembering them hurts him still.

• That he does like his caffeine, but he's careful enough to not overdo his coffee intake. In fact, Enj does take remarkably good care of himself and people around them. He's meticulous in following grocery schedules and house-cleaning routines, and actually enjoys them. He's a brilliant plant parent, second to Jehan.

• That people sometimes wait for him to "open up" and ultimately "reveal" his softboi self. He's what he is, not a coconut. -_-

• The Amis do know all this, and live him for what he is. Just, some others don't believe him. :(

Combeferre:

• Wants people to know that he is not always so "put-together". That there are days when he has crippling anxiety and self-doubt and can't get out of bed, let alone shower and make breakfast. There are also days in which he can't stop himself from crying in the Musain's bathroom, for inexplicable reasons.

• He also has extremely short bitten-off nails.

• He's frustrated when people don't believe that he has ever received horrible feedback on his dissertation drafts and has a few fail grades in his school report cards. The last thing he wants is people brushing off his sadness at bad feedback because "ofc you'll bounce back, duh!"

• He's super scared of brain fart moments, or being cornered with things he's not clever at at all. Like card games. He's clever at some things, not so in others, and is NOT a know-it-all.

• His favourite birthday gifts are never books.

• His temper is actually shorter than people think it is. He can snap fairly quickly when someone is actively being an asshole. He resorts to sarcasm usually, because if he gets angry angry, he starts crying.

• He wishes that people don't look at him simply as an over-serious, nerdy, kind-of-dull Deputy Enjolras. He has a completely different style of leadership to Enj, which often helps the Amis a lot, particularly in non-protest events like fundraisers, awareness campaigns and bake sales.

• He is actually pretty good at displays of affection (even the cheesy kind), which he combines with acts of service.

• He knows when people are absent-mindedly nodding away when he launches into his nerd rants about moths, science, art and cinema. He has reduced his rants to a bare minimum, and most people think it is him being quiet.

• There are days when being the mediator/ "mom-friend" burns him out.

• He's extremely picky while shopping. He'll spend HOURS looking for the perfect sweater vest/cardigan/turtleneck and shirt combination. Even though they are almost always shades of blue, black, white and grey, they often come with neon yellow or pink accents. He DOES NOT like argyle, and barely tolerates beige.

• He has ridiculously dramatic classical music choices. Courf once found his "angry playlist" (it had Verdi's Requiem, Beethoven's Fifth, Grieg's Hall of the Mountain King, and Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries). Ferre often plays it while proof-reading his papers, or after a fight with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac

• He gets really miffed when some people infantilize him. He's the eldest sibling in his family, for fuck's sake, he knows how to take charge and be the adult in the house! And no, he doesn't break things at the drop of a hat.

• He has trust issues. He can make small talk sound like really friendly conversations, but it takes him months to trust people enough to tell them about what he really likes, dislikes, wants and opines. The ultimate trust test? When he finally trusts someone enough to cry in front of them.

• He's just as good a "mom-friend" as Ferre. Taking care of R when he's low? He's there. Applying first aid to all of them after protests? He's got it. Making sure to check on Eponine when he babysits Gavroche? Yep. Goes out of his way to look for Cosette to stop Marius's pining? Yes again. He feels a little low when the same people he had "mothered" over treat him like an overenthusiastic kid.

• He likes glitter. He isn't obsessed with it. And certainly doesn't carry bucketfuls of it, because it can get inconvenient af. His pink colour choices are oddly specific (he loves baby pink, and dislikes Barbie pink).

• He needs his alone-time to recharge. A LOT of it. He walks all around the city in those days, headphones on, blocking out the world. He likes calm classical music then, instead of his usual repertoire.

• He was really good at schoolwork. It's just that he didn't want to walk the academic path for his career. He loves to indulge in loooong, nerdy debates about anything and everything with people. And he ABSOLUTELY rips people a new one when they look at his pink denim aesthetic and try to peg him as airheaded and stupid (if the other Amis don't get to the people first).

• Marius does Courf's nails better than he does it himself. Far better. Also makeup.

• Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't randomly talk to everyone he meets. He just happens to participate in a lot of group events.

• Like Enj, Courf is extremely scared of his own prejudices and problematic sides.

• For the longest time, he hid the fact that he loves wearing makeup, dieting, watching Queer Eye and reading cheesy romance paperbacks because he was super scared that people would judge him. The Amis doesn't, so he showers them with trivia on these.

• Courf is actually really punctual, but on reaching the venue he usually finds someone needing his help, so he dumps his bag in the Musain and runs out again. The bag is evidence of his punctuality.

[thisisthehardestthing]

тоска, 18+ Tanaka x Reader, 2.2

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Masturbation, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 9,328 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

Enjoy the final part of this two part hell.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike for being my ride-or-die,  @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that. @the-smut-pile​

2.2

6. Tanaka

Daichi, Sergei, Ryunoslav and Yuuri sit in the wooden banya, white towels wrapped around their waists as they sweat and speak about the Georgian trip. It smells of cedar, rich and woody, and sweat. Like men.

“Boss Vashadze is unwell,” Daichi muses, knees spread wide as he relaxes against the hot walls, facing the glass door. “It won’t be long until he retires.”

Tanaka sits perpendicular to him, on a lower step with one foot perched up and his leg bent. Yuuri is opposite Tanaka, and Sergei stands, lightly smacking his back with a Venik, the scent of eucalyptus and birch dispersing through the air with each tap against his skin.

“That is good for you, bad for connections,” Sergei says, “how is business there?”

He always talked numbers first, pleasure second. Yuuri laughs, reaching for the besom of herbs from Sergei’s hold to lash his legs.

“Fine. I am gaining more of a footing around the ministers... However it will still take some time before they trust me. There are rumors of a new political party rising. We have to keep an eye open for unrest in Eastern Europe.”

“Ukraine?” Sergei asks, rubbing some of the leaves that stuck to his arms into his skin.

Daichi nods, then his eyes slide sideways to peer at Tanaka. His shaved hair has grown out slightly, which will be trimmed tonight, and he picks at his toenail of the foot bent beneath him.

“We can discuss strategy after we eat. How was your weekend, Ryunoslav?” The Bulldog asks, eyebrows raised.

Tanaka lifts his head casually with a simple smile.

“Just what I needed, spasiba Boss.”

Daichi’s laugh booms in the sauna, and Yuuri joins in, slapping the wood next to his thigh.

“Tell us more, Ryu! When I saw the first prostitute leave after thirty minutes, I thought it was over. But then, when I saw a second one arrive at midnight, I thought you must’ve not enjoyed the first.”

Tanaka frowns, looking at Yuuri in confusion before realising who he meant. He had seen Valentina arrive late at night, although he didn’t recognise her, or so he hopes.

“She was banging on the door very loudly, woke me up. Tell me, was it the same one from before wanting a second round?”

With a glance to Daichi, who is scanning his every expression,Tanaka shrugs.

“It was the same whore. I must be very good in bed.”

All the men burst out in laughter, but Tanaka laughs the loudest in compensation. Daichi closes his eyes as he tilts his head back.

“Well, she stayed for a long time. I only saw her leave past five am.”

“Yuuri, are you stalking Ryunoslav?” Sergei questions, using the water the Venik was soaking in to rinse off his body, the liquid sizzling as it hits the warm floor by his feet.

“No, I just found it interesting that Ryunoslav will fuck someone twice in a single night when there’s only been one woman he’s ever wan-”

“Yuuri.” Tanaka growls, cutting off his closest friend who has had too much vodka before entering the sauna. The heat and alcohol is loosening his tongue too quickly. Daichi sits up at this news, leaning forward so that muscle bulge and inflate.

“Oh? Is this true? Who is this woman?”

Tanaka waves his hand dismissively as he glares at Yuuri, “I met her years ago, when I first started working for you, Boss. No one of importance now.”

“Surely she still means something if you don’t want Yuuri to talk about her.” Sergei chimes in, climbing past their heads to sit on the top bench next to Daichi. Tanaka avoids his gaze, but can feel the Bulldog sniffing at the faint nerves that climb up Tanaka’s spine, his ears blushing red from the heat. He feels closed in, backed into a corner.

“It is an unrequited love, so please, I would prefer not to speak about it anymore.”

The men all murmur in understanding, except for Yuuri, who says, “I will just have to get you drunk to tell us about her then.”

7 - Valentina

Daichi sits across from you in the chartered jet, the beige leather seats muted even further with the deep rumble of the engine and the third glass of champagne in your veins. He’s reading a newspaper, you’re staring out at the cotton-peach clouds as they pass by. To your left, Sergei Sugawarov scribbles in books filled with numbers, the taptaptap of the calculator permeating the heavy air.

“Refill, Mrs. Sawamurova?” the air hostess asks, her smile wide as she holds the Moët & Chandon bottle in her manicured hands. She’s trembling slightly, and you smile reassuringly.

“Leave the bottle, thank you,” your heavy Russian accent drips from your tongue as you answer in English, and the bottle is placed in a silver ice bucket on the birchwood table between you and Daichi.

Two hours have passed during the five hour flight from Ufa Airport to Côte d'Azur Airport, and you pour another glass for yourself as you watch Daichi turn a page. He glances up at you with a small smile, but his eyes are hard. Something happened while he was in Georgia with your father. With a small smile of your own, you turn your gaze back to the window, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass.

A phone rings, and you hear Tanaka’s gruff voice answer the call, the memory of last week shooting painfully through your core.

“Oi?”

Some silence, before the Khazak turns in his seat behind Daichi and whispers through the space between the leather and the wall of the jet. You can’t help the way you look at him, stormy grey eyes peering out at you as he whispers into the ear of your husband. Your brow furrows when Daichi jerks his head in a slight nod, tense.

Tanaka retreats back around and you’re left staring at the empty spot, snapping your eyes to the calculating gaze of The Bulldog.

“Is everything alright, my love?” you ask, deciding to stand from your seat and sit on his arm rest.

Daichi folds the newspaper away, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other takes a sip of the champagne straight from the bottle.

“It seems this trip will not only be pleasure,” he muses, eyes closing as he swallows. However, when they open, his face melts into the calm reassurance you’ve always known when he smiles up at you and places a kiss to the cream wool crepe of your blouse. “I have something to take care of, but it will only be a moment. Nothing to worry about.”

You nod, delicate hands stroking at Daichi’s hair, but Tanaka’s cologne wafts up, invading your nose.

“I understand.”

***

The drive to the private Villa La Vigie winds between grey and green rock mountains to your left with glimpses of the dazzling azure ocean of where the French Riviera gets its name to your right. You’re invited to stay in the home of your fathers dear friend, Monsieur Lagerfeld, situated on a private hill just outside Monaco. He will not be there, March being the month he spends in his apartment in Paris, so you and Daichi and the many bodyguards take residence for the week.

You’ve visited this house a number of times in your youth, in your adulthood, and yet it steals the air from your lungs each time you return. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon when you pull up the driveway. In front of you, the two story villa looms in it’s beautiful white-painted glory, the sun a beacon shining upon it. Light brick extends below to where there is a wine cellar, garage and access to the private beach club below.

The car parks, and Daichi kisses your cheek in the backseat before he exits the vehicle and strides up the steps and through the large glass double doors, answering his phone while bodyguards open the way for him. You see Tanaka grip the steering wheel, the leather of his gloves stretch and squeak. It is the first time you are alone with him since that night a week ago, and the heater in the car feels sweltering against your skin.

“Thank you for the drive, Ryunoslav,” you mumble, shifting to the edge of the seat to leave out of the side Daichi had.

“Val,” he starts, then his mouth shuts and his eyes catch yours in the reflection of the rearview mirror, “of course.”

The terracotta tiles of the terrace reflect a salmon pink up the walls of the villa, and you smile at the men as you pass by and find the master bedroom on the first floor. You can already hear Daichi negotiating in the connected office, and you decide to bathe. As the water runs in the porcelain tub, the water mists with the scent of lavende de provence, and you open the windows looking out over the meditterean ocean. The salt and trees wash over you as the sound of the ocean crashing against rocks floats up, and for an instance, you imagine jumping out the window and into that endless blue. The winter air trickles into the warm bathroom.

Notes of a waltz dance in from the direction of the office and you see Daichi’s shadow move around in the bedroom as he unbuttons his cufflinks and loosens his navy blue tie. He walks into the bathroom where you’ve already slipped on the linen bathrobe, your blouse and jeans folded neatly onto the clothes ladder leaning against the wall.

“Care to join?” you ask, clipping your hair up. Daichi peels his shirt off and drops it near your own in a crumpled pile, his thick muscles rippling with each movement as he undresses.

“Prosti, Gadyuka. I have to get to the board meeting before the gala tonight,” he apologises, turning on the glass door shower as he gets into it on the opposite side to the bath. You watch as the water in the faucet of the bath sputters, and your heart imitates.

“Ah yes, I forgot. What-”

“The car arrives at seven, Khazak will escort you.”

Your head whips around to stare at Daichi as he massages white suds over his body, large palms running over his chest where the Sawamurov crest is tattooed in a large circle. He raises his eyebrows. You clear your throat, standing to drop the gown and dip a toe into the water.

“Not you?”

“Unfortunately no, but I will be there waiting for you. I know the dress you are wearing and can’t have any man trying to steal you for himself.”

Daichi’s honeyed words wash over you as you submerge into the water, turning off the faucet and staring out to the sea, a stark sapphire against the lily-white of the bathroom walls and window pane. In the mirror above the sink, you can see The Bulldog get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his defined waist while he shakes the water from his hair.

You laugh as you turn to observe him while he pats on the cologne displayed on the sink, before brushing his teeth.

“I doubt anyone will try to steal me away.”

He looks at you in the reflection, a curious expression in his eyes, before he spits and rinses.

“Yes, well, you never know. You might run off with a French vineyard heir by the end of the night.”

“Never, Daichi. No one can be my Bulldog but you.”

He snorts, turning to watch as you lather yourself in Chanel shower gel, the scent mixing with the lavender already clinging to the air.

“Da, no one is like me.”

He leans down to place a chaste kiss on your lips before he exits the bathroom and changes into a clean outfit waiting for him in the Master bedroom. The made-to-measure Chanel suit hangs in a black garment bag that he carries out with him as he leaves to join the council meeting of the European Casino Association before the Annual Art Auction tonight.

The interaction runs through your mind as you mull over the look in his eyes, the way he tensed before he kissed you goodbye, the faintest flicker of jealousy in his eyes that flared when he joked about you leaving him. Suddenly, you remember Ryunoslav’s lips against your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut.  With a deep inhale, you sink deep under the water to feel it tickle your nostrils and earlobes, before submerging your head.

Your fingers find the curves of your thighs, dragging up slowly to feel how the water moves around your hands and displaces against your skin. You lift your face slightly, until the edge of the water tickles your skin and you inhale, swirling the skin of your clit. In your mind, Ryunoslav’s kisses fall hot and wet against your body, skin red and heated in the bathtub while you press hard circles against sensitive nerves. You’re not trying to take it slow, coaxing the first wave of clenches quickly as you imagine a thick cock sliding over and over inside you.

Ryunoslav morphs into Daichi, and you sit up with a gasp, fingers not slowing, your hand gripping the handle of the tub tightly as your abdomen contracts. Uncontrollably, Ryu and Daichi alternate, their bodies shifting fluidly until a faceless man fucks into you.

You orgasm on the verge of tears, confused and aching. The styling team will arrive in an hour.

You stand, feeling the cold winter air touch your heated skin. Wrapped again in the robe, you close the window and bind your hair in a towel.

A Russian Waltz still plays on the radio inside the ensuite office, and you look around to filter the channel to a French songstress crooning over the small speakers. Next to the stereo, is Daichi’s small black book, open to his to-do list, and your eyes scan over it before you can stop yourself, reading the neatly scribbled words.

14 March 2006, 1:00 am, La Serpent Fleur

That was the name of the Superyacht you and Daichi are to go on after the gala for the afterparty to the auction. You frown, thinking of the myriad of reasons what he might do there, who he’ll meet with other than the ECA board today. It must be to do with what happened in Georgia and was whispered to him during the flight.

You turn, leaving the book just as you found it and unpack the suitcase that was brought to the bedroom in preparation for tonight.

8. Tanaka

Ryunoslav waits at the front door, facing the short five-stair foyer that branches into the stairwell leading to the first floor. The golden light of the sunset filters in gentle waves through the chiffon curtains of the entry hall.

The first thing he sees of Valentina is in the reflection of the large silver mirror facing the stairwell on the landing. A single leg slinking out from a thigh-high slit, while a heart shaped pump in patent black is clasped around her ankle. The metal YSL heel clinks with each step. Next is the black, silk crepe de chine perfectly draping to the floor–not clinging to anything but the curve of her hips–and the bodice tailored to her waist in a tight structure that pendulums side-to-side.

However, what steals the very air from his lungs, stops his heart, is the bustier covering her breasts. The dress is strapless, the neckline two rounded cups that trace down the sides of her cleavage and towards her ribs before turning and meeting in a gentle hill at the end of her sternum. The dress is Yves Saint Laurent. Ryunoslav watches as Valentina rounds the stairwell and stands at the top of the foyer, opera length gloves running up her arms and with one hand on her hip while the other clasps a small black Bulgari clutch. Around her neck is a pendant necklace, emeralds glittering amongst diamonds and silver, set in the shape of a viper head. Matching emerald drop earrings hang from her lobes, reflecting the golden sun and glittering green against her neck. Valentina’s hair is pinned up, and that tattoo that curls from her left shoulder down her arm disappears beneath the gloves, reminding him that beauty is a secret poison. He swallows, blinks, then climbs up the steps to hand her the white fur coat he was holding.

“Vot eto da… You look beautiful, Mrs. Sawamurova.” Tanaka whispers, mindful of the bodyguards and staff littering the villa.

“Spasiba, Khazak,” she smiles, slipping her arms into the silk lining and fixing the collar. “Is the car ready?”

“Da.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The exchange between them feels mechanical, and Tanaka rushes ahead to open the car door, waiting until she is comfortable before shutting it and sliding into the driver’s seat. It is nowhere near the low temperatures of Russia in March, however he can’t stop the shivers that travel up his spine, and the ugly twist of jealousy that stabs at his heart.

The Casino de Monte Carlo, where the gala is being held, is a mere five minute drive from the villa, yet the silence is heavy, weighted, and slows down time.

“I missed you last week,” Valentina whispers, looking out the window at the midnight blue sky. A traffic light changes from red to green.

“Me too.”

The conversation ends when Ryunoslav pulls the Aston Martin around the fountain, waiting behind a elder couple stepping out of their black limo. The statues on either side of the Casino name look down at him as he parks and climbs out, a porter beating him to her door.

Camera’s flash, the music of a quartet floats out from the massive wooden doors up the entryway, and Ryunoslav remains closely behind Valentina’s right arm as he escorts her inside, pulling the ticket for both of them from his inner coat pocket and handing it to the doorman.

The grand foyer of the Casino is massive, ceilings high with a stained-glass skylight and the floor a white tile with black triangles in a circular pattern. Posed around the room, mostly in the center of the circles, are the artworks up for auction: a variety of paintings, sculptures, artifacts and some vintage designer jewellery. The golden chandeliers light the air with a sepia filter that softens the chatter and noise within. On the first floor bannister across the long hall, is a banner exclaiming, ‘2006 Annual ECA Art Auction’. Couples mingle, champagne is sipped and the Hors d’oeuvres are ignored in favour of the alcohol.

“I will check our coats,” Tanaka murmurs low in Russian, watching as Val slides the white fur down her arms to hand it to him with a polite smile, the kind he’s seen her wear in the public eye alongside Daichi for many years now.

“I’ll wait here, then we go find Daichi.”

His heart thumps painfully, the curve of her shoulders delicate as they flex in passing the heavy coat, but he nods and heads to the coat check just off the side. In passing, he spots Daichi at the top of the red-carpeted staircase, head bowed to speak secretly with someone Ryunoslav can not see, but knows. Daichi’s eyes find the growing storm in Tanaka’s with a smile, and he straightens to bid the woman a goodbye and descends the stairs.

“Sir,” Tanaka nods, pocketing the number for the coats.

“Ryunoslav,” Daichi returns the greeting, casually clapping the man on his shoulder. “Enjoy the evening, I will see you at the yacht later, yes?”

“She could’ve seen you, sir.” Tanaka whispers, carefully keeping eye contact with his Boss. Daichi smirks cooly, glancing back up the stairs and at a retreating woman’s back wearing a deep green dress.

“She did not see me. Thank you, again, for keeping this secret. Now, go, enjoy the party. Hell, if you see something you like, bid on it. I will pay.”

With that, Daichi walks past his Head of Security, chest puffing up as he walks towards his wife. Ryunoslav watches as she gives Daichi a gentle kiss on the cheek before wrapping a gloved hand around his bicep and following him into the crowd.

9. Valentina

The evening passes by in a blur.

The dinner and speeches take up half the evening before the auction begins, and the gala attendees disperse throughout the Casino, while you and Daichi walk to the gardens. Heaters are spaced periodically, warmth sinking below while gentle lights litter the walkways and grass. The stone steps leading there are cool, and you see your breath misting with each exhale before you’re back under the warmth.

The area of the auction outside has statues, planted with lighting that bring the romantic and violent figures to life.

“This one would look beautiful in our gardens in summer,” you muse, studying a small mermaid brushing her hair, tail flicked up and shells covering her breast.

“Anything for you,” Daichi replies, writing down a number with his auction code and placing it in the poll box besides the statue.

You just laugh politely, aware of Daichi’s two bodyguards following the both of you.

“Let’s go back inside. I want to see how our bid on the Kandinsky is doing.” Daichi offers, but you shake your head.

“I’ll walk around here for a bit longer. It’s such a beautiful night and the noise inside was giving me a headache.”

“As you wish.”

You spend a few minutes admiring the remaining statues, finding a waiter that hands you a glass of champagne. With small sips, you hug an arm around your waist, looking over the stone wall at the beautiful, glittering scenery of Monte-Carlo below. You find yourself tucked away in a dark corner of the ledge, where the lights of the gala are few, the tree branches of the gardens overhang, and the city has come to life beneath you. You can hear jazz music from a bar down the road, and you wish you were sitting on a terrace with a glass of wine instead.

“C’est magnifique, non?” A heavy french accent sinks into you, and you glance at the man that leans with his back to the view, a deep purple suit contrasting against his tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. He smokes a hand-rolled cigarette. You look back out at the city.

“Oui, trop beau,” you reply softly, taking another sip, shifting onto the foot farthest from the stranger. He turns and offers you one of the smokes, tucking it away in his jacket breast pocket with a smile and a tap when you decline. His eyes travel down your breasts, before glancing back up to your arching brows and unamused eyes.

“Je ne parle pas de la vue,” I do not mean the view, “Emmanuelle Beauchant,” he offers an outstretched palm.

“Valentina,” he lifts your gloved hand to his lips, but hovers just above contact when you continue, “Sawamurova.”

“Desolee, I did not realise you were not French, or married,” Emmanuelle apologises in English.

You smile politely, lifting the glass to your mouth to down the last of the fizzing alcohol.

“An honest mistake.”

“Your husband’s Casinos are some of my favourites. Please, accept my apologies. Let me get you a new glass.” He waves down a waiter, plucking the empty flute from your fingers and replacing it before you can reject. “I am the coordinator of this petite soiree. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Sawamurova.” With that, he leaves in a hurry, scampering off into the light much like he had appeared, leaving you alone again. Almost.

You feel the warmth of another body to your right, and you almost sigh from exhaustion when Ryunoslav’s gruff voice washes over you in comforting Russian. It breaks like the wave against the shore.

“I thought I would have to scare him away.”

Tanaka’s serious eyes beneath the shadow of a deep brow pulls the first real chuckle of the evening from your chest, and you see his shoulders somewhat relax as he leans with a hip on the stone.

“It was innocent, Ryu.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

“He’s French,” you counter, placing the champagne glass down, sliding it away from your body and towards the party. “And everyone wants to fuck me.”

You spin, losing your balance as Tanaka pulls your hand towards him and twists you so that your back presses against the cool stone in a darkened alcove. His forehead is on yours, eyes shut, and breath fanning over your lips. Your own chest heaves with the sudden rush. His hands dig into your hips, yours into his shoulders. Your bag drops to the floor.

“You have no idea,” each word is punctuated by palms shimmying up the side of your waist, thumbs digging into the fabric, “how badly I want to fuck you too.”

He wraps his thick forearms behind your back hugging you tight and into himself as he folds over you and brings his lips to touch yours. It’s deep, and although passion usually pours from his kiss, this one is born out of jealousy, desperation, and desire.

Compliments drip like honey from Ryunoslav’s mouth as he mumbles them into your skin, words melting so that they become part of you.

“Ryu, Ryu, stop, we can’t. It’s so open.”

He shushes you, a palm snaking under the boning of the open neckline to cup the breast, nipplie erect from the night chill. “No one saw me come here.”

“But the people. They know who I am, mmpf.” A pinch to your nipple has you moaning under your breath, head tilting back against the stone, cold against heated flesh.

“They are all too busy with their own conquests, showing up one another.”

“You light a fire in my heart,” his onslaught of compliments don’t cease, and you realise that tonight is the tipping point. The intensity of his words drag you beneath his waters, much like the way his fingers find the high slit of your dress and sink into your folds. Your knee falls open to let him pull you deeper.

“Underwear?”

“Not with this dress.”

“Whore.” Teeth nip at your neck.

“Yours.”

An animalistic groan rumbles through your veins from his mouth, and you clutch at the lapel of his jacket as his fingers thrust shallow, over and over again. You want him–need him– inside you, and the thought of public sex no longer scares you. In this moment, only Ryunoslav exists, the smell of lilies and the fresh ocean fill you, devouring you with a hint of something darker that you recognise as human.

Sin. And something else.

A zipper comes down, his cock unfolds and stretches you out.

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and even then, you don’t keep them in as you whisper, him thrustsing into your aching core. You vaguely hear him mumbling it back to you. His voice low and sincere, forehead against yours, lips against yours. Your bodies become one.

“Blyat, where can I?” desperation fills his voice, and you barely utter the words before he spills inside you, keeping you warm and plugged up, panting against his face, chin tucked down.

A hand rifles through his pants pocket, and he pulls out his regular small handkerchief, stained, but comforting. You take it from him, careful to keep your face hidden as he pulls out and you wipe yourself under your skirt.

“Ryunoslav.” His name feels like lava, molten on your tongue as it rolls down your body and ignites a fire over your skin, burning you. “We have to stop seeing each other.”

He tenses against you, arms shielding you from the world so only the two of you exist.

“Why?”

“We’ve changed. We’re not just having fun anymore, Ryu-”

“What do you mean we’ve changed?”

“Us. This.” You curse, gesturing vaguely to him and yourself, feeling the fire spread to your ears and your heart.

“Nothing has changed. I have always loved you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, turning over and over as you digest it, painfully aware of how much truth rings in his words, and how you’re sure you’ve always loved him back.

“We have to stop. Or we have to tell Daichi.”

His lips connect with your forehead. You hear him swallow.

“Tonight then. Together.”

“Together.”

Ryunoslav stays close to you as he picks up the bag from the floor, handing you the mirror inside to fix your lipstick, your hair, before you dust the stone from your back and ass.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you a final time, stepping to the side so you emerge from the shadow, pick up your forgotten champagne glass and head back into where art dances together and people mingle.

10. Tanaka

Tanaka watches as Valentina saunters away, past the bodies to rejoin the party. With a heavy sigh, he leans against the stone, cooling his forehead and calming his thumping heart. His feet bump against something and with one eye, he squints at the ground and spots glittering emeralds in the dark. Her necklace.

Quickly, he picks it up, carefully placing it in his suit jacket pocket, and curses when he sees the time on his watch. He has to find Daichi and head to the yacht to do the final security checks before he arrives. Vines wrap themselves around his intestines, anxiety leaking into each step, the emerald necklace a dead weight in his jacket.

He finds the Boss surrounded by influential board members, holding a glass of vodka casually as they all laugh at his jokes. The Chanel suit drapes down his broad back perfectly, clean cut and sharp, the single seam a crisp line.

“Sorry for interrupt,” Tanaka apologies, English tangling on his tongue. He continues in a low Russian to Daichi, sweat beading on the back of his neck, palms clammy and therefore kept in his pants pocket. It’s better that way, his tattoos are less appreciated around the higher class of society.

Daichi nods, a loose smile along with his loosened tie. He hands Tanaka a paper that shows he won the bid on the Kandinsky painting. “Arrange this on the way out. Leave Valentina’s coat with mine.”

“Ya ponimayu.”

Tanaka turns to leave, but Daichi calls out one more time.

“Ryunoslav?”

“Da?”

“You have lipstick on your collar.”

Tanaka feels nausea bubbling up his gut, not from the proximity of your scent to The Bulldog’s nose, but from the thought of later tonight. He forces a cocky smirk and shrug, turning on his heel to head to the back office to finalise the paperwork for the painting and add the delivery address, before shrugging his thick coat on and stepping outside by the valet. The air has cooled considerably from the heat of the balcony and between your thighs. Once safely in the car, he rubs the stain furiously in the reflection of the rearview mirror, making it set even further into the white fabric. It blends into the threads like spilt blood. With a grumble, he drives to the harbor.

La Serpent Fleur is a sleek superyacht with three decks above water and one below, housing jet ski’s, a speedboat, storage and crew quarters. The middle and lower decks have outdoor and indoor seating, with main bedrooms for up to 15 couples to sleep in. The flooring and interior is light teakwood, rich brown accents amongst cream and white leather and fabric. It’s unmissable in the late night, lit up in silvery white, the name illuminated against a navy blue sky and pitch black water. It reflects stars in the meditterean sea.

Tanaka greets all staff, deploying his bratva across the yacht to inspect all rooms and inform the captain of the upcoming helicopter landing at 1:00 am. It’s not often that Mafia business mixes with Business business, but as money is always intertwined, this time, it is unavoidable. The pool on the top deck shimmers aquamarine, and Tanaka inspects that the bar is fully stocked for the upcoming meeting. Vodka and Campari. This floor is only for Daichi and a select few.

“It’s like I’m a fucking assistant,” he grumbles under his breath, withdrawing a small hand-gun strapped to his calf and securing it in the hidden shelf under the bar top. You never know, he smiles, tapping the holster against his back for comfort.

All checks are done by the time the first of the guests arrive, high-stakes rollers for the gambling about to happen. Tanaka keeps to the shadows, lighting a cigarette as he surveys the walkway leading up to the yacht, and it’s guests. They are all smiling, huddling together in their pair against the cool ocean breeze. He takes a look at the pack that was confiscated from Ukai with distaste, flicking the cigarette into the ocean water.

Daichi and Valentina are the last to arrive, and although he’s smiling, she is not, lipstick slightly faded and a smudge of mascara under her eyes. Tanaka watches as she disappears as soon as she set foot on the yacht, hurrying off to inside the cabin before anyone can stop her. Tanaka’s eyes follow her retreating figure, the white of her coat bristling, before he steps up to greet Daichi.

“Everything is ready for Kuroo Testuro to arrive, Boss,” he reports, murmuring low.

“Perfect, evening has turned into disaster. Make sure no one will disturb us except for emergency. It will not take long. What is his eta?” Daichi never lowers the corners of his mouth, but those brown eyes are hard mahogany. Tanaka checks his watch, the light above reflecting in the glass, shining in the storm in his eyes.

“Forty-five minutes. We have to set sail now, all guests have arrived and the poker tables inside have been set up.”

“I will wait upstairs.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Tanaka sighs, running a hand over his shorn hair, a shiver rippling down his spine. He hears his name, and he turns to face one of his brothers, following after to inspect a stairwell.

It does not take long for the party to fall into full swing. Continuing with free-flowing champagne is the key to keeping rich socialites and underground dealers happy and oblivious. Daichi stands near the railing, ice cubes in his glass clinking while he surveys the decks below and waits. Tanaka stands to attention off the side, the cool winter air breezing through his suit jacket, the veins on his knuckles and forearms almost frozen; he stuffs them into his pockets. The cool silver of Valentina’s necklace shocks him and he remembers he has to sneak it back to her. He peers over the edge, spotting her in the distance, smiling once more, makeup fixed and socialising.

His heart thumps, emeralds and diamonds cutting a hole in his jacket pocket, beating faster until it syncs up with the incoming helicopter blades. They whir around in a steady beat that consumes the noise below and thrums through his bones. Then, the wind hits him. Air cold as ice as the machine descends, the collar of his jacket whipping up and folding into itself. Kuroo Testuro has arrived.

The blades come to a halt and Tanaka steps forward, two men overtaking him to climb up the stairs of the helicopter pad landing and open the door. Long legs dressed in a black pin-stripe suit step out, a lopsided cocky smirk plastered on the Italian boss’s face.

“Ciao Daichi, it’s been a while!” Kuroo calls over the wind, arms stretching out while he’s patted down. “Khazak, you’re looking sour.”

Tanaka scowls, not entirely sure what The Panther of the Testuro family said to him. Daichi turns to face the man completely, walking until he stands next to Tanaka, waiting for the man to descend the white metal stairs to the upper deck. The Boss’s exchange a stiff handshake, their eyes piercing as one fights for dominance over the other. Daichi wins, his hand slapping against Kuroo’s back in a hearty greeting.

“Let’s get to business, something to drink?” The Bulldog offers, but Kuroo is laughing, already walking to the leather sofas around the pool, flopping down onto it with one leg crossed over the other. He waves to one of his bodyguards, pointing at the bar.

“Always so formal Daichi, tell me, how is Valentina? Still married to you?” Kuroo’s words tumble out quickly, Italian accent thick enough that Tanaka can only pick up on a few words. He registers your name, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, ready to attack at Daichi’s order. The Boss takes a deep breath, his teeth gritting.

“She is fine. Enjoying party below.”

“Pity, I think she’d be happier up here with us. Won’t you call her?”

“Careful, Kuroo.”  Daichi warns, but the Panther just smiles his wicked Cheshire grin in return.

“Ah, I’m joking. I will just keep the fantasy of her lips around my–”

A hand darts out over Kuroo’s shoulder, interrupting any further explanation of imagination. Tanaka grabs Daichi’s arm, one that had tensed with it’s fist closed around a concealed gun in a holster on his back.

“Campari, sir?”

“Ah! Grazie!” He takes a sip, setting it down on the glass table beside him. “Now, we can talk business.”

Tanaka listens to the low conversation between the two bosses, the discussion of the new trade route of cocaine between Italy and Russia. It takes some time to adjust to the accent, but then he’s following along, standing with his hands in his pockets, a thumb gliding over the necklace. There had been an interruption along the coasts between Lecce and Albania, several different Sicillian Mafia’s holding up some of Daichi’s shipments due to unpaid ‘reparations’, a farce to ignite a turf war between the Families in Italy and their Russian connections.

“You must call off your friends in Italy. We keep up our end of bargain. I will not be so understanding in future.”

“Ah, but you see, they are greedy and believe you are not paying properly for the passage.”

“I assure you, I am.”

Tanaka stiffens, seeing how Daichi begins to inflate, irritation lacing his voice. Kuroo chuckles, taking a slow sip with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I believe you. I can convince them but I’ll need some extra incentive from your end.”

Tanaka speaks up, eyes narrowing as he sniffs out Kuroo’s angle. “We can not give you that.”

“You are one of the largest groups in the world, surely you have some men for me?”

“No.”

Tanaka’s blood begins to boil, nails biting into the skin of his palms enough to draw blood. The gun strapped on his back heavy as it calls to be unholstered. His men are not dispensable. Kuroo sighs, then his eyes glance to the left where the noise of the party floats in the night air, and he smiles.

“Then maybe you have a woman.”

Tanaka turns to follow his gaze, and climbing up the stairs slowly is Valentina, a hand on the metal rail, the white fur coat hanging down her back as it drapes from her elbows, lipstick blood red. She’s drunk, giggling to herself but stops when a vor blocks the final step onto the deck. Then, she sobers, straightening instantly with narrowed eyes.

“Asahi,” she says, voice sharp but breathless.

“The Boss is in a meeting.”

Her makeup had been fixed, the tips of her nose and ears pink from the chill, her hair no longer pinned up but wild down her back from the wind. Tanaka glances at Daichi, his eyes muddy and lips tightly pursed.

“Oh, let her join, huh?” Kuroo grins, setting his glass down and leaning forward to interlock his fingers and rest his elbows on his knees. “Surely, you trust her enough.”

“Of course.”

Daichi and his guest battle in their stares, but ultimately the Panther wins. With a sigh, Daichi calls out to Alexei, “let her through.”

Valentina strides over to the men, coat dragging on the floor behind her. Surprising everyone, she stops in front of the cocky bastard, who stands to greet her, and their cheeks brush twice, left then right.

“Kuroo, how lovely to see you again. I hope my husband is kind.”

Tanaka holds back a wince, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck still teasing him in his memories. He has to admire her acting, even inebriated, she commands attention. Their eyes follow when she walks to the head of the table and flops down onto the chair, slit falling open with crossed legs.

“He’ll be kinder now that you are here.”

Valentina laughs, “yes, but I might not be.”

“Enough.” Daichi cuts through the jovial small talk, fists clenching and resting on his knees, his back straight. “I am tired of games.”

Tanaka thinks he catches a double meaning, heart racing as he readies himself for anything.

“You own Casinos,” Kuroo drawls, but he’s no longer smiling, still standing. Daichi gets to his feet, shorter than his counterpart, but thicker.

“We are getting nowhere. I will not be included in your battle for control, and if my next shipment continues to be held, God is not the only one that can turn water into wine. Capisci?”

Their stares are intense, and seconds tick by in eternity, before Kuroo nods with a sigh, a hand tucking into his pants pocket while the other extrends. They shake, curt and stiff, and Tanaka rolls his shoulders, loosening the knots in his upper back, eyeing Valentina curiously. She has her eyes focused on Daichi, pupils narrow and mouth pressed into a thin line; the same look she had when she boarded the yacht. She snaps out of it, lips curling up as she stands.

“It was a pleasure, although short,” Kuroo tells her, and they exchange polite kisses. Tanaka hears the rumble in Daichi’s chest, and he briefly wonders if she’s purposefully trying to anger the Bulldog. She’s always been unafraid of his bark, a viper teasing with her fangs.

They wait until Kuroo climbs back in the helicopter, until the blades whir to life with that beating drum that pumps adrenaline through his body and until it is quiet once more, the waves sloshing far below against the yacht. The air is crisp, and the silence heavy. Valentina turns to face Daichi, neck tense, mouth open but Daichi cuts her off.

“Don’t embarrass me like that again.”

Tanaka bristles, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He controls the need to step in front of Val, to shield her from his Boss. The weight of her necklace in his pocket keeps him anchored. His heart pounds in his ears, Daichi glances at him briefly before keeping an unwavering eye on Valentina’s fierce gaze. It’s odd. Tanaka always has a plan, knows what will happen next, and yet, he is at a loss. Unsteady on his feet as the boat rocks. He’s unsure of what she will do, how she will tell her possessive husband–

“I’m seeing someone.”

11. Valentina

Lightning flashes in the distance when the words leave your lips, the thunder rumbling in the silence that follows. You watch Daichi carefully, standing your ground even though parts of you scream to take a few steps back. You resist the temptation to glance at Ryunoslav. During your musings, you decided not to say who it was right away. Daichi glances down at your bare neck, the necklace he’d given you missing, lost somewhere at the gala when you finally lost yourself in emotion. You remember the fight with him when leaving the venue.

You expected Daichi to burst in anger, explode outwards and destroy everything with his fury. Yet he remains silent, eyes mattifying as he draws inward, no longer oiled mahogany but rather sanded wood. When he speaks, it’s so low you almost miss it, but it penetrates you with the next flash of lightning.

“Leave.”

White, hot anger burns through you at his command, your hands raising as though to grab his lapel. Quickly, you reroute to pulling your fur coat back onto your shoulders.

“You don’t want to know who?”

“You don’t want to know what I am thinking right now, Gadyuka.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ryunoslav cuts you off, “take the boat, please.”

You stare incredulously at him, but he is already speaking in a low voice onto a handheld receiver, then back at Daichi, who’s body slowly begins to vibrate. However, Daichi is no longer looking at you. Instead, his eyes have shifted to Ryu, brows furrowed. Thunder claps. You feel the first spray of rain misting onto your eyelashes.

“Fine, we will talk more at breakfast.”

You turn on your heel, the sound grating against the wooden deck, and someone from the Brigade accompanies you down the stairs, walking just slightly ahead of you, silently asking you to follow.

You descend slowly, crossing the second deck with a practised smile, apologising to anyone that approaches you with an easy lie. Most of the crewmen begin to pack up and rearrange the party to continue on indoors. You enter the large cabin, and walk down another flight of stairs, to the first deck and then lower still. Here, the walls change from luxurious wooden, glass and metal to open beams, and white gritty flooring. It’s slightly wet, from the rain that batters against the open exit and the ocean water shimmering inside.

A small speedboat waits for you, not fully submerged, and a captain, yet his face is wary.

“Mrs. Sawamurova,” he holds his hat in his hands, a navy raincoat wrapped around his uniform, “wouldn’t you rather wait for the storm to pass? Please, enjoy the evening and when the water is still, I can take you to shore in an instant.”

“My husband wants me gone.”

“But not dead.”

You laugh, bitterly, feeling your intestines swirl, unsettled by those words. He’s brave.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A few minutes, maximum. It is the winter rain, harsh but quick.”

“I will wait here.”

12. Tanaka

When the top of Valentina’s head disappears down the stairs, Daichi speaks, not looking at Tanaka. The first of fat raindrops begin to fall onto their shoulders.

“I will have to talk to her father, after I kill her.”

Tanaka’s tongue is heavy in his mouth, every bump dry and scratching against his throat. He can’t be serious. Slowly, Daichi turns to face him, eyes raking over his closest subordinate’s features, down his throat, and settles on the crisp white collar peeking out from his suit jacket, stained the same colour as Valentina’s lipstick.

“Khazak, who is it?”

“Boss–” but he doesn’t know what to say. The memories of the prison hospital bed, bare with just a sheet, an unsterilised IV drip stuck into his arm flashes in front of his mind. Daichi’s calm face that visited him before he woke up somewhere else.

“Tell me right now, or does your loyalty mean nothing?”

Tanaka winces, “nyet, Boss, you know I am loyal to you.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches inside, fingers looping around diamonds to pull out the necklace, the viper head swaying back and forth. His heart claps with the thunder, the clouds breaking into a heavy downpour. Chill sets in instantly, his bones freezing beneath his suit.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you will have them all by the fangs,” Daichi whispers under his breath, barely audible above the pattering of the drops against the floor, but Tanaka’s sensitive ears pick it up. “She played me for a fool.” Daichi’s wide-set eyes lift from the necklace to Tanaka’s.

“Mne ochyn zhal,” Tanaka begins to apologise profusely, but the hardened look shuts him up.

“I was wrong, Khazak,” Daichi interrupts, his hands moving to his pockets, Tanaka dropping his arm to his side. He starts to walk towards the sheltered area of the deck, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. “You are the one that is going to have to kill her.”

Tanaka’s heart drops to his stomach, falling straight into the floor and sinking to the bottom of the unruly ocean. The Boss does not joke around, but he wishes for it to be one.

“I can not, Boss,” his head shakes, body vibrates. This is the first time he has ever refused an order from Daichi. The Bulldog watches with raised eyebrows, the question evident on his face.

“I am in love with her.”

The bark that erupts from Daichi’s throat echoes above the rain, above the thunder, and shatters inside Tanaka’s heart. He holds the cigarette to his lips, and Tanaka feels the rain drip down the rivulets of his shaved hair and under the collar of his suit and shirt. There’s a flicker of orange as the Marlboro tip glows.

“And you think she loves you back? Valentina is a snake, a woman. They know only two things: how to lie and how to fuck. You have fucked her, da? It’s magnificent. Was she the second whore of that weekend? Or was she first as well? How long have you been fucking my wife, Ryunoslav?”

Tanaka wants to answer, but it catches in his throat. His tongue refuses to mould the shapes, his lungs refuse to exhale the sound. Daichi sighs.

“It does not matter. Only one thing matters. Come.”

Tanaka walks towards Daichi, each step kicking water down his shoes, his socks wet. He’s never felt more like the ocean than now, swallowed by the rain, drowning. He stops when he stands under the partition, Daichi’s large hands cupping themselves under Tanaka’s chin to lift his head slightly, wiping the rain from his skin, the gold rings cold against his jaw. There may have been tears but Tanaka can’t tell, numb and expectant of Daichi’s next words,

“Tell me, do you love her more than me?”

Cigarette smoke tickles Tanaka’s nose, and he holds his breath. Without him, Tanaka would be dead. Daichi knows this, Tanaka knows this.

“I owe you my life, Pakhan.”

“Now, you owe me a life. I am not without mercy. You have been the closest brother to me. You have tasted the sweet fruit of sin, I can not blame you. You know I have done it too. But I am expected to sleep with someone else. She has embarrassed me. I can not have that. A Boss that can not keep his woman in line? No one will respect me, her own father will not respect me.”

Tanaka remembers the conversation in the banya, the plans to take over completely, the poor health Valentina’s old man is in.

“Are you loyal, or are you just another predatel, scum like the men you erase from existence?”

The storm in Tanaka’s eyes swirl around, clashing against the hard forest floor of Daichi’s. He is loyal. Strangely, in this moment, he remembers the lilies of his home, and their sweet, comforting fragrance, his mother making dinner, and his sister who ran with him to their new life before separating. The pain of losing her no longer stabs at him, maybe this pain someday will not either.

13. Valentina

The room is white and grey, the smell of oil and rubber and metal and salt clinging to the air, to your skin. All the alcohol consumed over the evening seeps from your pores, creating a pounding in your head. You begin to wonder if it was ever a good idea to tell Daichi. You wonder what happened when you left, and you wonder where your necklace is. Your fingers brush over your sternum, feeling the ghost of the viper head and of Tanaka’s mouth.

You taptaptap your toes against the floor, the rain echoing in time, the water drawing in and out rhythmically as you wait for the storm to pass. Only a few minutes, you were told.

“Few minutes, my ass.”

The walkie-talkie connected to the captain’s hip shocks to life, and broken Russian floats up, but you can’t make out the words. He answers, smiles at you, “please, wait here. I will be back soon.”

Then, he leaves, and you’re left alone with the brat that accompanied you. He sighs heavily, as though the inconvenience to him is all your doing, and you glare.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” you ask, standing straight, arms crossed in front of your chest. They seem to forget, Daichi married into your family, not the other way around.

“Nyet, Gadyuka, prosti,” he apologises quickly.

Silence settles over the hull again, claustrophobia leaching into your veins. If you look out at the open hatch, you can see inky blackness, and far in the distance, the faint yellow lights of Monte Carlo. You are about to ask for some water when footsteps echo against the metal walls, a familiar gait.

“Leave us, pazolvste.”

Ryunoslav says to his subordinate, who swiftly salutes him and walks up the stairs. The door at the top clicks shut. You’re speechless, and he is sopping wet.

“Ryu,” you whisper, walking towards him and draping your arms around his shoulders, uncaring at the feeling of water pressing into the fabric of your dress, dripping between the open gap of your breasts. He’s stiff when you touch him, but soon melts, nose nuzzling into your neck and breathing deeply. He still smells like crisp apple and fresh seawater.

“Why are you here?”

“Daichi knows.”

You’ve never felt colder, warmer, like a fever and frostbite all at once. You feel him rustle against your bodies, and you let go to watch him pull the Bulgari necklace out, lifting your hand to place it in your palm. Your fingers close around the jewels automatically.

“I told him I love you.”

There are no words that come to your mind in that instant. Emotions, many. Relief, nausea, stillness and rage, love for the man in front of you. You ache to feel his warm, corded muscles against your skin. He looks pained, eyes tormented as he looks into your soul.

“How did he react?”

“Not well.”

“And?”

He gives no space for continuation, pulling you tightly against his body, arms snaking around your waist as his lips fall against your mouth. His skin is cool, wet, pressing to your heated cheeks, but his mouth is inviting. There is passion unlike what you’ve experienced before. It tastes like freedom, like a new day and endless night. It’s the smoke on the fire, and the salt of the sea. He’s crying, you realise, and you open your mouth to lick up a tear on the corner of his mouth.

The necklace slips from your fingers when you grab him, pushing the jacket of his suit from his shoulders to drop to the already wet floor. There’s a faint crunch, but neither one of you pull away to look at the crushed jewel beneath your heel. It’s just so right to kiss him. In this moment, the world falls away and it’s just the two of you. His taste fills you with a feeling that rivals being whole, satiated. Something hard pokes against your hip, and you smile into the kiss, lips moving to his jaw to suck on an earlobe.

But you freeze. Daichi is at the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Ryunoslav whispers.

You frown, his words not registering and when you pull back to ask what is happening, he ensnares another kiss from you, tears flowing freely, something hard, cold, now presses against your temple and–

.

.

.

End.

-----

Thank you for reading, truly. This fic honestly has so much of my heart and soul in it. I had so much fun writing it. I hope you’re not too mad about the ending lmao.

@dee-madwriter , @pleasantanathema​​​ , @lookslikeleese​​​ , @linestrider​​​ , @hisoknen​​​ , @mindninjax​​​ , @whats-her-quirk​​​ , @messwriting​

[deathwishdaydream]

Dear Universe, Up Yours!

Chapter 21

I was woken up by Gerard telling me that we reached our destination. We had then got off the train, arriving at some small clear town. I felt dizzy having waking up and immediately standing up to leave.

It was a very empty and very cold area in the train station, but we were both able to handle the temperature. Just then, Gerard asked, "Are you hungry?"

I thought for a few seconds. "Yeah."

We got out of the train station, getting a view of the town. There were some spaced-out buildings that were the color of a pale beige, but also a shady jade green and blue, with some rust found at the sides as there was a grey sky above. Gerard and I walked silently, trying to find some sort of place to eat at. He was holding onto the brown paper bag that had carried my unfinished letter and so I thought deeply about it.

I didn't really like what I've written. It seemed so forced and so unemotional. I didn't worry about it too much, though. He was never going to read it as I was never going to read his.

We finally found a small restaurant, and entering, there were few people there. At the front of the building, there were a lot of windows and a very rusty sign with the logo of the place. The doors were windows and the place did look pretty friendly as the inside was about the same. There were just booths with red leather seats and the tables in the center were a light brown wood, the darker wooden chairs accompanying them. A part of me had worried if anyone had recognized us, but we were much farther than we had been from the murder site.

Gerard and I got settled down and we had finally gotten our food. Taking a bite out of his veggie burger, Gerard had a face of grimace. I was curious as to why, so I took a bite out of my food and immediately regretted it. It tasted so bitter and dry, it made me want to gag. I saw Gerard get a napkin spit out his food, moving over to get a drink of his water after he dropped the burger on the plate. I tried to eat all of the piece I bit into, swallowing it whole, but once I did, I felt sick to my stomach, gulping the water in the glass in front of me through the plastic straw.

"Yeah, um," Gerard held his hand up for the waiter. "May I have the check, please?"

"That was bad," I told him as we were back on the sidewalk, mindlessly strolling around.

"Yeah," he replied, but my head was facing forwards so I didn't exactly see his face as he spoke. "But at least we didn't pay the full price." I nodded silently in response.

Sometimes I was confused with our relationship, or rather our interactions. Sometimes conversations would be dead silent and dull while other times they would be so emotional and filled. It was more of an on-and-off thing, really.

"Do you think people would recognize us here?" he asked abruptly as we proceeded to walk.

"I'm not sure," I answered, moving my attention down to my shoes. "But we can't risk, well... anything. Meaning we might not be able to sleep at a motel or hotel. Like, what if somebody notices us and calls the cops and we'll just be cornered in our room?"

Before Gerard could even respond, I felt a strong rush of guilt overcome me.

"If I never murdered him," I began. I remembered that before this, I started to use the term 'we' in my thoughts in this context, but I realized now that I was back to square one. "Then we wouldn't be on the run. We wouldn't have to worry about cops or- or bounty hunters, we... We would've just been away from home, but that's all. No more to it, no hiding from everything and anyone, just hiding from our parents who are miles away from us," I explained, becoming self-aware once again. "Gerard, I'm sor-"

"Please don't apologize. I don't like that you're blaming yourself for everything. Sometimes it makes me feel like I did nothing too, that I can't do anything." I always say the wrong things. "I'm with you on everything, (Y/n). I'm here for you, did you forget? You're not on your own and you're not some nuisance to me. You keep forgetting that. I like you. A lot. Alright?" He paused. "Let's just get away from here. Actually. Alaska, like what you said."

"Gerard, I don't think-"

"We can get a boat to Alaska. Steal one, whatever. We'll find a place in the middle of the woods and we'll be away from everyone except each other. We could get cats, even. I just want us to be together for as long as possible. Before anything else could happen." He was dreaming way too much. But I was too.

"Where are we gonna find a boat?" I finally asked as we had stopped walking by now, facing each other again. On-and-off conversation.

"Just by the ocean shore. We could steal one or 'rent' one, y'know paying for one but never bringing it back anyway. Stealing is a bit riskier, however."

"How are we going to find a place in Alaska?"

"We could just find some abandoned settlement and fix it up. We're not going to be national criminals if we killed just one guy."

"And the cats?" I chuckled.

"Our first one will be the one we found back at that other town, y'know, the really colorful one. Then, we'll just see who else comes our way. As long as I won't be deadly allergic based on the amount."

We were dreaming way too much but in a way I thought was just okay. It's possible maybe, but we're still fugitives.

"If we both survive... and I know we will... and go to Alaska, or if plans don't work, anywhere far from here... What will we do with each other's letters?" I asked.

"We could open them when we turn eighteen, maybe. We'll be adults by then," Gerard suggested. "It'll be interesting to read them then."

"When should we leave?" I asked.

"Immediately. But we should get that cat first," Gerard replied.

"We should probably wait until next morning," I said. "We just encountered a bunch of people who were going to get us for a reward."

"How much do you think the reward is?" he questioned, making me become more curious about it.

"Not sure. But we did murder a person, so it must be a lot." I saw a smile grow on his lips, and I was sure that it was in response to me using 'we'. This was actually the first time I said it out loud, confirming my belief that Gerard has been sticking by my side, that he'd take credit and the blame for something he didn't even do. "So, um... Well, since we can't really sleep in any motel or anything, where are we going to sleep?"

Gerard looked around and briefly stared at a specific area.

"Are you sure this will be comfortable?" I asked as we climbed the ladder on the side of a bar building.

We both had reached the top as Gerard helped me up. "Well, at least we're not on the streets, out in the open," he says as we looked down at the ledge. Gerard had suggested we go on a roof for tonight, which was a bit odd because it'll still be a hard surface where we'll sleep on. But he did have a point, we wouldn't be out in the open and it's not like a motel is one of our options anyway.

"We can't, like, get blankets or something? Maybe there's a store we could go to?"

"Well, it's only for tonight," Gerard replies. Then he giggles. "It's not even close to night yet."

He was right; the sky was a light grey due to the weather, but I was sure that it was noon or something. It was also pretty windy, and I wish we could get a blanket for tonight considering how cold it gets.

We spent the rest of the day sort of exploring, finding a decent restaurant, and going to stores to buy clothing, and when we did, we tried our best to hide our faces from most customers or look away from the cashier. We did end up buying blankets too for when we sleep on the roof of the bar tonight, regardless of what Gerard had said.

[ "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star playing faintly]

The sky was already dark now, and we were both tired from walking too much. Sometimes the television would play at different stores and places, airing the news too, but nothing about the murder or us had appeared. We were sitting beside each other on the blanket we purchased that was on the roof of the bar, looking in the distance, hearing the faint soft music of Mazzy Star and the sound of laughing and small chat below us, and just then, some thought had just intruded my mind. Before I could even think, the words had come out of my mouth.

"Can you tell me more about your brother?"

I felt that I froze, and I could sense that Gerard did too. I didn't exactly mean to suddenly ask this out loud, especially this sort of question. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean- It just came out, I just thought about-"

"Oh, um, no, it's alright," he says calmly, but I thought I could hear a bit of pain. "I, um... Mikey was a nerd. Like, a really big nerd, but I was bigger of a nerd than him. However, was a big fan of D&D as much as me," he explained and we had faced each other by then. Looking at him and hearing his voice awkwardly speak, his eyes had either looked down or up, blinking frequently and scratched his knee or neck a couple of times. "He loved comics, as much as I did as well. But he was also really into constellations, y'know? Never knew why, he was a pretty big astronomy fan. Sometimes when we were outside doing random shit, he'd just boom, out of nowhere, name a constellation and explain everything about it. Then point out more and more, then new ones he'd learn because he'd always get books on them," he chuckled actually, smiling. He wasn't mentioned too much, but this was the first time I've seen him genuinely happy about any memory he had with his brother. Then I hummed in response, making sure he knew I was listening and caught on. "We were very close. I know that siblings had this reputation where, like, they don't get along and they'd argue 24/7 but we were damn close. 'Were always there for each other. I really miss him."

"Sorry," I said softly, which I thought almost sounded like a whisper. "I wish things had been different."

"Yeah," he replied. Then, in a few seconds time, he mentioned, "Sometimes I blame myself. I think it's my fault. Maybe I should've watched him more carefully, knew what happened with him because we both attended different schools at the time."

"But you don't now, right? You're aware it wasn't your fault? That you shouldn't blame yourself?"

Silence from him.

"You don't still blame yourself, right?"

"Sometimes, I-I don't know... I think about it and then I try connecting the dots and keep going from effect to cause and from cause to effect and I feel like it all leads to me."

"None of what happened is your fault, Gerard," I said, and his eyes had finally met mine. "Please don't try to blame yourself. I know I don't know the full facts of what happened, but fault and blame aren't factors at all of an occurrence like that. Nothing's your fault."

He nodded, shortly humming. I then laid back on the blanket with my knees bent, facing the sky. Gerard, with him hugging his knees as he sat, looked at me curiously.

"Do you remember? Any of the constellations he told you?" I asked.

Then, he laid back down beside me, knees bent on the surface with both of his hands resting on his stomach.

He cleared his throat momentarily and hummed as he scanned the sky. Then, he pointed at one area above, extending his arm. "That one's Hercules, I think," he started to trace his finger in the air, connecting the stars of the constellation. "Ursa Major," he pointed. "And Ursa Minor," he pointed to a similar-looking one that was smaller. "Commonly known as the big and little dipper." He lowered his arm then. "He liked seeing Orion, but it wouldn't be visible here until a few months." Then he turned his head to look at me and I did the same towards him. "But that's all I could see here and remember."

I rested my knees down and shifted my body to lay on my side, my hands under my head. He still looked at me deeply.

His eyes were perfect, it was stupid.

Stupid how I had easily fallen for him, that he would be able to make me feel the feeling of vulnerability. He was truly extraordinary. And I could look at his face all day. His eyes, his smile, that was activated once I kept my gaze on him, a blush coming upon his cheeks, his perfectly shaped nose, messy and colorful hair, and his voice. His voice was wonderful.

[ "Fade Into You" stops playing]

I tuned out all the noise, only hearing the wind blow or the faint ringing in my ear. Then, I asked, "Can you sing to me?"

Gerard moved in the same position as I did, legs flat on the surface and body facing towards me, hands under his head for support. He nodded slightly, and I closed my eyes in response.

Then I heard his voice.

"Moon... river," he began. "Wider than a mile... I'm crossing you in style, someday...

"Oh, dream... maker... you heart... breaker... Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way..." It was smooth and so delicate, his voice.

"Two... drifters... off... to see the world... There's such... a lot of world... to see," I felt that I was able to completely drown out every sound in the world except for Gerard's, the next song that played in the bar had cut off, the wind blowing no more, ringing coming to a stop as if I could hear clear echos right after each word Gerard would intone.

"We're after... the same... Rainbow's end... Waitin' 'round the bend... My... huckleberry friend...

"Moon... river...

"and me..."

I woke up, immediately remembering Gerard singing before I fell asleep. I felt warmer than before and realized that Gerard had held me from behind, assuming I'd turned on my other side in my sleep.

It was still dark outside, the sky a very blue-purple. I must have woken up in the middle of the night.

I moved my body to look towards the sky. I looked at the bright stars that formed the constellations that Gerard had pointed out. Turning my head, I saw Gerard sleeping, his mouth slightly open and snoring softly.

I got up from my spot, delicately moving Gerard's arm off of me, and reached for the brown paper bag that we had still carried with us. I took out the folded paper of my letter to Gerard, skimming it and the bland words I used. Goddamnit.

I crumpled the paper into a ball, throwing it across the roof, and took out the notebook, ripping a page out of it. I grabbed the pencil from the bag and pressed the tip on the surface, dark graphite appearing quickly throughout. I still heard faint music from the bar, a folk-rock song playing. I was writing my letter to Gerard.

[fandom-necromancer]

Alcohol induced Bravery

This was prompted by the amazing @headfulloffantasy! I hope you enjoy, I had my fun!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

Nines startled as out of nowhere Gavin jumped in his view and slammed his fist on the table. He looked up at the grinning man. ‘Tonight, we’re going out drinking!’ ‘Drinking?’ ‘Yes!’ Nines leaned back against his chair in confusion but smiled at his partner’s excited face. ‘Gavin, I will need more information. May I ask why?’ ‘Of course!’ Gavin happily planted his ass on the table, completely ignoring that it was neither of their breaks and Nines had been about to finally finish that report. ‘You are as of now three-hundred-eighty-five days stuck with me.’ Nines frowned. ‘And fifteen hours, four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, to be exact. Why does this matter?’ ‘You broke the record’, Gavin smiled leaning forwards. ‘You have endured the asshole detective longer than anyone else.’ Nines chuckled to himself. ‘Well, maybe that’s because I actually enjoy your company?’ ‘Yeah, sorry, but you won’t beat Tina’s record there. But: You are the first one of my partners I actually enjoy the company of, so… Yeah, congrats, you got that title too. But now back to the subject: are you free tonight?’ ‘Sure. Didn’t have anything planned in the first place’, he lied, cancelling games night with the Andersons the very second Gavin had asked. Connor would understand. ‘Nice! Then we’ll meet at eight. I’ll send you the address later!’

It was one of the nicer bars in Detroit, Nines realised, as he stepped out of the taxi that had brought him here. Advertised as android-friendly with experimental thirium drinks it had quickly become a hot-spot for both species. Nines watched two women in stylish clothing exit, one blushed red, one blue. Both seemed intoxicated but happy and a very own blue blush spread over Nines cheeks as he saw them kiss. Of course, android-human couples used this spot too. He would simply try to focus on Gavin, not to make it too obvious. If only he could find- ‘Hey, tin-can!’ A hand on his shoulder made him turn around to the human. ‘Wow, Nines, looking good!’ Nines smiled awkwardly, taking in the human. Oh, it wouldn’t be difficult to keep his attention on him, but if that could keep him from flushing blue…

‘You look good yourself’, he muttered flattered at him and lowered his head. ‘Yeah, thought to leave the old leather jacket at home and try something a bit fancier. Should we go in? I made sure they have a table for us.’ Gavin smiled at him and Nines followed him closely. The man had indeed exchanged hoodie, dark jeans and leather jacket for beige pants and a light blue shirt. The fairer colours looked weird, but not out of place for him. Nines liked it. He liked it a lot. Gavin had folded up his sleeves accentuating his muscles nicely and the pants looked just a little bit tighter than what he wore at work. Nines noticed too late, he had been still staring at Gavin when they had sat down, and the man asked him what to drink.

‘Nines? Hey, Nines!’ Gavin snapped his fingers in front of the android’s face, grinning. Had he bluescreened or something? He had been absentmindedly stared at him all the way to their table. Ah, likely just a bit overwhelmed and caught off guard. Hank had told him Nines didn’t go out much. ‘Hey, anything of this sounds good to you?’ He pushed over the menu, already turned to the pages that had the thirium drinks. He smiled as Nines looked first at him, then at the card. Gavin used the time to really look at the other, too. He hadn’t been lying when he had said Nines looked good. Hell, he looked perfect. He always did. But this time he had chosen an expensive looking white coat with black accents. Now he shrugged out of it and revealed a soft looking black turtleneck that wrapped tightly around his body and fit his black trousers perfectly. Shit, Gavin should stop. They were work partners and friends. If the toaster wanted anything more, he could speak up. Gavin wouldn’t dare endangering what they had by asking himself.

‘I don’t know what anything of this is’, Nines said instead. ‘I guess it will simulate the effect alcohol has on humans. But I never drank something like this.’ Gavin shrugged. ‘Just try it. If you don’t like it, pick something else. I have your back, if something goes wrong, I’ll get you home and call Connor to look you over.’ Nines nodded to himself a few times, still indecisive. ‘You don’t have to drink anything, too. If that worries you’, Gavin quickly supplied. ‘I’m just here for a fun time to celebrate it.’ ‘No, I think I’ll try it.’ Nines closed the menu and put it back in the stand on the table. ‘Just one thing’, he added as an afterthought. ‘Should I drink too much and pass out from this… Don’t you dare drawing on me!’ Gavin laughed. ‘I don’t think we’ll get there today, but sure. No drawing!’

-

‘And then… And then he…’ Gavin was trying hard to tell the story without laughing at the ending Nines eagerly awaited. ‘He just left! Like… Went to Fowler. “Transfer me to a different precinct! If not, I’ll hand in my batch!” Funniest shit to witness.’ Nines had his chin rested on his arm that was planted on the table. He was sure that if someone pulled the table out from under him, he would simply collapse and lie on the ground until someone had the courtesy to lift him up again. However that thirium-alcohol worked, he was feeling it. He was warm, everything around him was muffled and dulled, while his mind managed to hyper focus on only one thing: Gavin Reed’s lips. Moving. Telling him how he lost the partners before him. In his opinion, none of the reasons listed where valid. Yes, Gavin could be annoying, lost his temper easily and wasn’t the best at compromising. But he was funny, intelligent, didn’t need to compromise because his approach most likely was the best one anyways and oh, he was so much more cute than annoying. Nines smiled at the memory of Gavin throwing a tantrum over his lost pen he was sure someone had maliciously stolen while it sat in his full coffee cup because the dumbass had mistaken it for the empty one.

While Gavin laughed, Nines’ eyes strayed further up to his eyes. These deep, grey, sparkling eyes with just the faintest emerald rim. The tiny creases around them as he laughed, true and honestly. He wiped the tears away with his hand, directing Nines to his scar and from there to his tough-guy scruff. As if the man could hide his soft side from him that way. ‘No, for real, my previous partners were assholes. I mean some could have been okay to work with, but nah… Glad to have you.’ Nines sighed, the words hitting where it counted. Somehow, he was sure the rising warmth in his body wasn’t – or at least not just solely – from the alcohol.

Gavin watched the android closely. He had meant what he had said. Nines was the best partner one could wish for: patient and understanding, determined enough to be convincing, but never pressed his opinions on others. He knew to read a person and understood when he needed time for himself and when he needed help. He was a true friend. A constant in his life Gavin hadn’t even known he needed. He wanted. And was that… Was the idiot flushing? Wow. He hadn’t even known an android could do that. ‘I… I’m glad to have you, too’, Nines whispered slowly, shily looking up at him. ‘I… I wanted to thank you for this. It’s nice.’ ‘What is nice?’, Gavin asked, feeling giddy about what the android was telling him. Nines looked to the side. ‘All of this. The bar. Celebrating something. Spending more time with you. Outside of work I mean.’ Gavin grinned. ‘Yeah, Nines, I like it too. We could do this more often.’ ‘How often?’, the android asked. How did he sound so hopeful? Maybe it was the alcohol, but Gavin leaned back and smirked. ‘However often you want.’ He saw Nines swallowing. Then he looked at him more seriously than the situation should allow. ‘I like you Gavin.’ ‘Hey, tin-can, me too’, Gavin shrugged swirling his glass in his hand. ‘I like you a lot.’ Oh-oh. ‘Err… I… I like you a lot, too.’ Now Gavin was the one blushing as he felt his ears warm up. Nines nodded. ‘I think I… I think I love you, Gavin.’ And with how shy and hopeful the damn android looked at him, what else could Gavin say? ‘Damn, love you too, Nines.’

Nines grinned and hobbled a bit closer on the bench of the booth. ‘Err… Would you mind if we… Can I kiss you?’ ‘Man, I thought you would never ask!’

[neerasrealm]

Bluebird

In which Jay wakes up after entry #80 and tries to catch his bearings. He soon realises exactly what fate it is he’s met. Word Count: 2408

Jay was silent as the strange man holding his hand led him across the barren black wasteland. He didn’t know where he was, or how he’d gotten here. His memory was fuzzy. A mess of noise and faces and phrases that would come and go randomly. The only thing he could be sure of was the dull ache in his stomach that would spike with pain every time he moved. He hadn’t seen another soul in this strange, nightmarish place besides the man in front of him now. He was taller than Jay, with elegant brown hair that was tipped with orangey-red. He was dressed finely in a waistcoat and shirt. Tattoos decorated each of his arms. The one Jay was holding onto had ink running up just below the elbow, making it a bluish grey colour. Neither of them said a word as they walked, but it wasn’t silent, oh no. this place was...loud. There was a constant quiet rumbling noise coming from god knows where, and occasionally he’d hear something shift in the distance, or the random shriek of something. It wasn’t helping Jay’s nerves. Not at all.

‘’Here we are, bluebird.’’ The man broke Jay from his thoughts. Or maybe he had zoned out again- was his memory still fuzzy? Would he forget this all? He didn’t have his camera. He didn’t have anything. Just the clothes on his back and- well...nothing else. Not even his hat…

He looked up. In front of him was a large, three storey gable-front house. It looked so...out of place, just sitting in the middle of the wasteland. It could’ve been a house he lived in, a house just in a random neighborhood somewhere in Alabama. The man pulled him forward onto the porch. ‘’Tell me, Jay,’’ he asked gently as he opened the door. ‘’What’s the last thing you can remember?’’

Jay furrowed his brows and followed the man inside. The interior was cozy. He was in an entrance hall, with large stairs in front of him. There was an entryway on either side of him, leading to two different rooms. Inside it smelled of coffee and...essential oils? He looked around some more. On the walls were surreal oil paintings, and a few plants were put in corners and against walls for decoration. There was a coat rack by the door, and on it hung a couple long black coats, a couple smaller black coats and a blue robe. He looked to the man. He was- well- handsome. Strikingly so. With sharp cheekbones, a five o’clock shadow, and dazzling golden eyes. Sure he was no Tim Wright but- damn-

‘’I…’’ Jay racked his brains, trying to remember anything through the haze his memories had become. Faces and names blurred together, events and times were skewed. Jay paused. ‘’...my best friend shot me.’’ he finally said. His eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath, which made the pain in his abdomen spike. He gulped. He hadn’t even registered the memory until the words left his mouth. He remembered it now. 

‘’Alex?’’

BANG!

...nothing.

He looked down at himself and paused. A shiver ran up his spine. A dark, crimson stain covered his jacket. A large, splotchy circle, and right at centre was the point of the pain. His breathing quickened, his hands shook. ‘’N-no-’’ he gulped. ‘’No- I-I- I’m not-’’ he blinked. ‘’I’m not dead?! I’m- I’m not dead! I’m not I-I can’t be-’’ 

‘’Shhhh…’’ A hand was placed gently on his shoulder. ‘’It’s okay, Jay.’’ Jay slowly looked up to the man. He stared back at him with soft, gentle eyes. It occurred to Jay he couldn't remember telling the man his name.

‘’A-am-’’ Jay gulped. ‘’Am I dead…?’’

‘’...Yes, and no,’’ The man sighed and looked down. His hand withdrew from Jay’s shoulder. ‘’You...are not alive. Not the way you used to be. You don’t need oxygen, you won’t age or grow, and you won’t get sick.’’ Jay stared at him, confused and horrified. ‘’But you are not dead. You can still walk, talk, take in information. You need to eat, you need to rest. You feel pain. You are neither dead...nor alive.’’

Jay stared down at his hands. They were...bloody. Covered in his own dried blood. He hadn’t noticed it till now. His hands shook and curled into fists. ‘’N-no-’’ he shook his head. ‘’No, I can’t be- h-how-’’ anger coursed through him. He clenched his teeth. ‘’I don’t understand!’’ his head snapped up and he glared at the man. His only response was a gentle sigh. 

‘’I know, I know, Jay.’’ his voice was gentle, warm and soothing. He caressed Jay’s cheek with the back of his hand. ‘’You are safe here, blue-bird. I promise you that.’’ he gripped Jay’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. His eyes were so...kind. Jay couldn’t tear himself away from them. 

‘’Can-’’ Jay gulped. ‘’Can I ever go back…? Can I- see home again…?’’

The man looked at him sadly and reached up, brushing his hand through Jay’s hair. The touch was soothing. Jay felt like he was almost falling under a spell, like this man had him entranced. ‘’You cannot pretend to be alive, Jay. You are a dead man. A shell of what you were. You can see home but...you’ll never be able to live a life again.’’

Jay stared. His gaze softened. ‘’But I...can still go visit places…? See people…?’’ he asked gently. The man nodded.

‘’From a distance.’’ he replied. He suddenly looked up and over at the top of the stairs. Jay followed his gaze and his eyes widened in surprise. Stood at the top of the stairs was another man. He wore a beige waistcoat with a white shirt, along with black boots and pants. He had long red hair, and on his shoulder sat a small black mouse that ran behind his neck and over to his other shoulder. He stared at the two of them, his lips pulled into a thin line. ‘’Jason! Excellent timing, nounour.’’ the man called warmly. He gestured for Jason to come down to them. The redhead slowly walked down the stairs. He was elegant in the way he moved. Refined, calculated. His gaze never once softened however. He looked...suspicious, of both of them. He stopped at the end of the stairs and placed a hand on his hip. ‘’Jason, this is Jay. He’s a lost soul.’’

Jason turned to Jay, looking him over. His amber eyes seemed to linger on the crimson stain on his clothing before he looked away again. ‘’I see.’’ he sounded almost like he didn’t believe that Jay was in fact, a lost soul. Maybe Jay would have argued with him if he knew what qualified as a lost soul. ‘’How did you find him…?’’

‘’He was wandering the wasteland,’’ the man gave Jason a smirk. Like he knew something Jay didn’t. He turned to Jay. ‘’This is Jason. He’s sort of a...personal assistant of mine. He mostly keeps to himself, but you two will get along,’’ he turned to Jason. ‘’Won’t you?’’

‘’If he stays out of my workshop and cleans up after himself, yes.’’ Jason sounded unamused by the idea of getting along with Jay. 

‘’Nice to meet you.’’ Jay murmured. Jason grunted in response. He turned and walked towards the entryway to the right, not saying a word. Jay looked to the man next to him. He rolled his golden eyes and tutted.

‘’Don’t mind him, bluebird. He’s always been a bit mean, but he’s a sweetheart, I assure you.’’ he took Jay’s hand in his own as he spoke and squeezed it. ‘’Come on. I’ll have Jason make you some tea. You like tea don’t you?’’

‘’Uh-’’ Jay was led through another room. This one looked like a lounge sort of area, but he didn’t get the time to really get a close look at everything. ‘’Sure?’’ 

He was led into a kitchen. It was- well, a kitchen. The appliances looked expensive, and the decor was cheery if you ignored the view of the barren wasteland outside the window. Jason was already filling the kettle with water. He looked up at the two of them and sighed. ‘’Tea?’’ he asked reluctantly. The man gave a soft chuckle as he stopped and released Jay’s hand. 

‘’Yes.’’ he replied gently. He walked over to the counter and hopped up, taking a seat on it. He swung his legs. Despite the fact that he was a grown man sitting on a kitchen counter swinging his legs, he still seemed to carry an air of refinement with him. It was...intimidating, almost. The grown man swinging his legs like a child looked at Jay and gestured over to the door on the opposite end of the room. ‘’The dining room is just in there, bluebird. Go take a seat, I’ll get snacks for you, hm?’’

"O-okay." Jay mumbled. Obediently, he walked over to the door and opened it. The dining room had ruby red walls and a dark wooden floor. More of the surreal art hung up on the walls. The only furniture was the large, oval table, chairs, and a cabinet over in the corner. Jay wandered over to it, glancing around the room as he moved, like he was looking for something. He stopped at the cabinet. It contained...china. Fine, fancy china. Like something in an antique shop, or a grandmother's house. He glanced at the lock on the door and reached up, fiddling with the latch. He managed to open the cabinet and grabbed the ornate teapot in the middle of the shelf, examining it closely. 

"Beautiful isn't it?"

Jay jumped in surprise and dropped the teapot. He whirled around to see the man again, holding a tray of snacks. He followed the man's slightly saddened gaze down to his feet, where the shattered remains of the teapot lay. 

"Sorry-!" Jay said quickly. The man shook his head and walked over to the table.

"Don't worry about it. It was a tacky thing anyway. I didn't like it much." He put the tray on the table and snapped his fingers. The shattered china at Jay's feet burst into flames. He jumped and stumbled back from the fire and watched in shock as the small flames extinguished themselves, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Not even a scorch mark. "Come, sit."

Jay turned and stared at the man. He was sitting with his back to him. Jay gulped and nervously walked over to the table. He sat down across from him, tapping his fingers nervously against the table. "H-how did you do that thing with the fire…?" He asked nervously. 

"Hm? Oh-!" The man's eyes widened. "Oh dear- I probably shouldn't have done that in front of you…" he sighed gently. "To put it short, that was magic. It's a skill uncommon in humans, but extremely useful."

"...magic…?" Jay didn't believe him. The other man gave him a nod. 

"I know it sounds far fetched, but believe me," he looked over at Jay. Their eyes locked. "Humans know very little of their world. Monstrous creatures exist alongside you all."

Jay blinked. Monstrous...creatures…he looked down as his brain put two and two together. He'd seen one of them. Almost been killed by one of them. 

"Something wrong, Jay?" 

He looked up. "I-" he hesitated. "I've seen one- a-a monster, I mean." He glanced to the side, pausing as Jason walked in carrying a tray with three mugs on it. Jay chewed in his lip, tapping his fingers against the table again. Jason placed a mug in front of each of them and sat at the head of the table, quickly making himself comfy. 

"Drink your tea first, bluebird. You must be shaken up, haven seen something like that." The man's voice was soft, soothing. He pushed the tray of snacks towards Jay. He hesitated, then grabbed a cookie from the tray. He took a bite, and his aching stomach growled with hunger. After quickly devouring the rest of the cookie he took a long sip of his tea. It tasted of...citrus. Huh. Still, it was warm and sweet, and he downed it quickly. Nobody spoke a word as Jay finished quite literally chugging the entire mug of tea. He put down the mug and looked up again.

"What was I talking about again?"

"The monster, my dear."

"Right-" Jay took a moment to gather himself before he continued. "That...thing it-" he frowned. "...it was- hunting me. Hunting us."

"Who's us?"

"Me and my friends. It- it got to my best friend first. A-Alex. It...it drove him c-crazy or something-" he paused. "So crazy that Alex...killed…" he trailed off, his pale, bloody hands clutching his mug. He reached up and wiped tears from his eyes before they could fall.

"What did it look like?" The man asked. Jay didn't see it, but he and Jason exchanged a look. 

"It…" Jay racked his brains for memories. "It was tall...and white- its skin was, at least," he pursed his lips, trying to remember anything. Few images came to mind. Standing in a hotel doorway, the thing trying to grab him in the tunnel...laying on the ground looking up at Tim- Tim… "It wore a suit. A black one."

"A black suit…?" The man looked intrigued. Jay nodded.

"And its face it-" every memory Jay could conjure up was so loud. "It didn't have one." He looked up at the man across from him. His golden eyes were filled with terror. 

"Him…" he murmured. He turned to Jason for a moment before looking to Jay again. "I know the monster you're talking about. His name is Slender."

"S-Slender?" Jay asked. "We- Alex, called it The Operator."

"Slender has many pseudonyms." The man replied quickly. "He's malicious. A being of manipulation. He'll do anything to get his victims and won't stop until he has them," he explained. "I've been fighting him for centuries…"

"Centuries…?"

"Yes." He replied softly. "I cannot guarantee he won't still come for you. You're not wholly dead. He could still use you." His golden eyes met Jay's. "But I can keep you safe."

Jay gulped. "...you can?" His voice was soft. Scared.

"Yes." The man reached over and offered his hand to Jay. "You can call me Zalgo. And I promise you my protection, Jay Merrick."

[lu-undy]

100th Sniper/Spy short - The honeymoon 2

Here it is, the final request! Made by my dear friend, Vana, bless him.

Here we go!

"Ready for your first day in my country?" 

"Yeah, show me your home, darl', let's go!"

"Wait, before we go. You know why I took you here?" Lucien asked. 

"Yeah." Mundy smiled, his cheeks turning pink. "For… I mean because…" He looked at the ring on his hand. "Our honeymoon." 

"Then I need to say it before we proceed."

"Say what?" Mundy asked. 

"I love you." Lucien looked up with those ice-drop like eyes at his husband. 

"So do I, darl'..." 

Their lips met, they needed it like a period to their sentence. Lucien and Mundy exited their hotel and on they went under the bright sun of… Bordeaux!

"Some would argue she is the capital of the South West of France." 

"Are you part of those 'some'?"

"Oui, I am. Bordeaux is what Paris would die to be, but never will." 

They strolled along the streets.

"Paris and Bordeaux have very similar architecture styles. The difference is the mentality of the people, the rhythm of life and look above your head…"

"The sky?" 

"Oui. Blue sky here, while Paris has pollution, rude people and almost more tourists than rats!"

"Sounds like you don't really like yer capital city, eh?" Mundy said with a smile. 

"It is cultural. Paris thinks they have the elite and the rest of us are peasants. We know that they are played like fiddles, working like sheep, while we get the good weather and the smile on our faces." 

"I see…" 

The visit lasted the entire day. Churches, places, squares, parks and of course, vineyards! They did it all. Come the evening, they finished their dinner in a restaurant by the quays of the river, La Garonne, and decided to stroll along the riverbanks. 

The buildings along La Garonne were brightly lit with their yellow lights, slicing through the blue of the night. The street lamps were made of intricate wrought iron laces and some shed multicolored lights. 

They dragged their feet lazily on the quays, their gaits waving left and right, exchanging their usual banter, the one that made them more than friends. 

"Gosh that was one hell of a long day…" Mundy said. 

"Are you tired?" 

"A bit yeah."

"Let us sit down somewhere. Is this bench over there alright?" Lucien asked. 

"Sure." 

They stopped and took a seat. In front of them, the river reflected the city lights, deforming them slightly under the current of the stream like an oil painting. It was fairly calm now and the quays had their success in the evening. Passer-bys of all ages, families and couples were enjoying the same warm evening than Lucien and Mundy.

"That's quite a lot of bridges you have over the river." Mundy noticed. 

"Indeed and the traffic is always dense on them. The right banks used to be full of factories while the left ones were where the selling of the products would happen. But nowadays it has all changed. The factories became ultra modern apartments and the buildings you see behind us, those made of those beige stones, part of them are a museum and the rest is fancy offices." 

"Ah, I see…" 

Silence fell and they could now hear someone playing the guitar somewhere behind them. The quays had been converted to a space for all. There were playgrounds, gardens, benches, spaces for picnics…

"Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"D'you think… things happen for a reason?"

"To some extent, oui, I do. Why?" 

Mundy took a deep breath. The air smelled of the river passing in front of them mixed with the flowers that laid along the quays. 

"I don't know, it's just… I think that's it."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. 

"That's it, what?" 

"That's it, I'm happy." Mundy answered. "I spent my adult life alone, hunting because that's the only thing I know, and look at me now…? I'm here in France with you and I'm… I'm bloody married now!"

Lucien chuckled. 

"Indeed you are, and so am I. But I understand your point. Oui, it seems that the life of running and killing is over, or for you, driving and killing. What I find comical is that it all took me back where it all started, in Bordeaux."

Lucien's eyes went on the river, the lapping sounds of the current, on the surface. 

"I love you, Lu'."

"So do I, with all my heart." 

"You know, my mind's been a bit stuck on the vows we took." Mundy said.

"Ah, the wedding vows? Strong words, hm?"

"Yeah… Strong words. I thought it was just a movies' thing, y'know, all made up and exaggerated and all… But no. When I said I'd stay with you and only you till the end, I meant it. I meant it in a very serious way, it wasn't jokes or made up."

Lucien smiled and leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder. 

"I meant my words too, Mundy. For better and for worse, in health and in sickness." The Frenchman repeated. "Because I know all too well that 'home' isn't a place. It isn't a flat, nor is it a house. Home is when I'm with you, regardless of what is around us. Today we are in Bordeaux watching La Garonne flow, but who knows where we will be tomorrow…?" 

"Still in Bordeaux cause the return ticket is for next week?" Mundy answered with a chuckle. 

"I guess, oui, but you understood what I meant."

"Yeah, I do." Mundy took Lucien's hand and sandwiched it in both of his. "Gosh I can't think about anything else but you. It's like I've met you and I know I'm in love with you but we didn't meet properly yet and you don't know what I feel for you. You know, those days before you tell someone you love'em, when you're just obsessed, and it's all only in your head, cookin' and boilin' on its own…!"

Lucien smiled. 

"Oh I know what you feel and I feel it too. Although in my case, this is quite a first."

"First marriage?" Mundy teased. "You plan on havin' others?" 

"Non…!" Lucien laughed on Mundy's shoulder. "That is not what I meant. It is the first time that I sit in front of the river and show her the face of a happy man. I doubt she even recognises me with the grey hair and the tired eyes with lines at the corner." 

"I'm sure she does." Mundy answered. "Hard to forget them."

"Forget what?" Lucien asked. 

"Your eyes." 

The Frenchman felt it in its core, the warmth. He slid his fingers between Mundy's and he felt the ring there. It brought some pink to his cheeks. 

"Merci."

[Thank you.]

"Thank you too. You're a good guide, y'know." 

"You sound surprised." Lucien said. 

"Yeah, nah, I don't know. The more I know you, the more I find things that I like in you."

"Have you found something that you didn't like so far?" Lucien asked. 

"Your music taste." Mundy answered. 

"What?"

"You have a problem with your music, I swear you must be the only one likin' French stuff from the fifties!" 

"Non I am not! It used to be hugely popular and it still is!" 

"Popular? Stuff from the fifties? In French? Nah… Only an old frog like you could like that."

"Ah…" Lucien sighed. "The younger generation has no taste whatsoever." 

"Oi, I like some good stuff!"

"American pop songs that are broadcast on loop on the radio and dull your senses? The same that have no lyrics, or barely any meaning, no poetry? This is no taste, Mundy, I am sorry." 

Mundy chuckled and tilted his head to lean it on Lucien's.

"Funny old man." 

"Acceptable young one." Lucien teased. 

"Acceptable? Really?"

"Look here." Lucien said and Mundy looked down at him. "Oui, acceptable and only by me."

In the dark of the night, their lips met between their smiling lips and their closed eyes. When they parted, they added to the lapping sounds of the river. 

"You will be the end of me." Lucien said. 

"Can I be everythin' before that too? I feel like we're skipping quite a lot of things before we got to that point."

"Of course you can, and you are. I love you." 

Mundy softened and tightened his grasp on Lucien's hands.

"Love you too, darl'. You're everything." 

[wolfcrunch]

day 1 of @dekusquadweek​!

read on ao3

Ah...my head...

Consciousness crept slowly upon the green-clad hero, encasing his slackened body in its lopsided, fuzzy grasp. Black spots invaded the corners of his eyes, eyelids themselves burning in a dull throb. His brain drowsily beginning to wake up, send a shudder down his spine, making him aware of how everything ached.

A groan escaped the confides of his throat, the slight echo of unintelligible words mingling with the silent, still air.

Against the throbbing of his eyelids, an exhaustion trying to pull him under its murky cover once more, Izuku makes an effort to try and open his eyes, feeling as heavy as steel despite nothing, nothing real, stopping him.

No light creeps into the slits as they slowly open, a blurry mass of dark greys and browns, a smidge of white laying out before him. He shook his head, dully aware of how jerky the movement felt as he tried to clear up his vision. A slight ring in his ears resounded, but Izuku pushed through, giving a few more hard blinks as he slowly became more aware.

His head pounded to the beat of his heart, leaving the throbs of pain to seemingly slam against his skull, trying to disorientate him much more than what he was already feeling.

Where...the hell...

Lifting his head up proved to be a challenge, his eyes open enough to make out most of the shapes - or rather, lack of such - that were within his tired field of vision. His brain, lagging behind, noted sluggishly at the concrete floor and walls enclosing him, a single white, patchy wooden door laying before him, paint peeling away and showing the rotten, filthy bark underneath. A voice nagged at him, laden with an ache he couldn't shake off.

Stay aware. Check your surroundings.

Izuku's brain sparked a response, and with his gaze remaining on the old, fickle door, he pulled forward, his body lagging behind--

Something constricted, and Izuku grunted, forced to slump backwards as his gaze dropped downwards, arms pulling at their confines. He could make out the dark ropes and binds, wrapped around his waist and torso, extending them to his arms. His arms were tied behind the chair he was currently stuck to, and after a moment of slow, delayed movement, he didn't need to look further down to know his legs were also tired. Brute force wasn't going to work.

Not with his body feeling like lead, like an anchor sinking underwater, desperately trying to keep his head up. This wasn't good.

This wasn't good at all. He called upon One for All, intending on snapping the bindings restricting him, and going from there. He felt the energy build up, buzzing angrily as it spread through his palms, the familiar warmth of his quirk beginning to spread throughout--

Before it fizzled out, a few weak green sparks dancing up alongside his arms before his quirk entirely faded, leaving Izuku feeling almost empty. He felt a weight gather in his chest, and strained.

It was there, he could feel it's familiar flame...but he couldn't touch it. He couldn't bathe in its warmth. It was just out of reach.

Okay...okay, don't panic.

His eyes slid shut, desperate to try and ward off the throbbing of his head, trying to remember exactly what landed him here. His brain, muddled and disorganized, he tried to remember, just a sliver of a memory.

He'd been working on a case with Todoroki and Shinsou - the trio under word from the Endeavor Agency. It was a case that had taken weeks to get any leads - an illegal quirk-fighting ring, doubled with possible kidnapping due to likely-related disappearances around the area.

For Izuku, a sidekick almost freshly out of U.A, this was a pretty big and important case, and Endeavor had put two of his most trusted sidekicks to the task (with Bakugou being out of the country). Shinsou had come of his own regard, offering to be an insider voice of sorts given his underground work, and Endeavor hadn't complained.

Izuku and Todoroki had been investigating some abandoned buildings in the area, trying to scout out any possible hideouts for whoever was committing the crimes. They'd been a little antsy, and given as Shinsou hadn't contacted the pair within the last week...

Izuku wanted to groan as he came to the realization. They must've gotten too cocky, gone ahead without a solid back-up plan...did he get ambushed? It would explain why body was aching, and why he'd woken up tied to a chair.

What a rookie mistake.

And I can't break out...my head still feels all fuzzy. I hope Todoroki's alright...

Izuku couldn't remember past the point of the pair stepping into the first building, and given there wasn't a ton of natural light, he couldn't tell the tell, either.

How long had it been? An hour? Eight? A full day? Maybe even more, knowing how rotten his luck was?

"Ah, so you're awake?"

Izuku's eyes shot open, lifting his head warily as the peeling door creaked open. A dim light shone into the room, a looming dark figure standing in the doorway and seemingly watching the hero. When he didn't reply, the other person - he was unassuming a man - scoffed, walking into the room. Two brown and golden orbs stared at him, and Izuku wanted to fidget under the intense gaze.

"I didn't mean to hit you that hard - you gave me and my clients a bit of a scare for a bit," he sounded much too grave to sound particularly happy, and stopped mere feet before Izuku. "We thought we lost you - being knocked out like that for an extended period sometimes means you never wake up, y'know."

"That isn't what you want?" Izuku hardly registered the words leaving his mouth, a bit slurred towards the end due to whatever blow to the head had hit. A concussion, probably. He steeled himself, gritting his teeth.

The man sighed, clothes rustling as the man shifted before Izuku's eyes were assaulted with a bright, white light that flickered on overhead. It doubled the pain racking about in Izuku's skull, and he hissed, scrunching his eyes shut and ducking his head as if to escape it.

A hand roughly grasped his chin, jerking his face upwards. He could smell smoke on the others breath, fresh and almost revolting enough to make Izuku want to move back, even against the pain.

"Of course not...everyone has heard about one of the new up-and-coming heroes. Deku..." The villain seemed to let Izuku's hero name roll off his tongue, testing it, "a bit lame for a fella like you. But you're sure making a name for yourself out there, hero." He then sighed, patting Izuku's cheek with his free hand. "A bit too much, for my clients ya see. That might be why you can't feel your quirk...they requested I administer some quirk suppressants. I hope they aren't affecting you too terribly."

"Oh?" Izuku pried his eyes open, thankful that his vision didn't remain blurry for long, trying to commit the mans appearance to memory. "And who are these clients of yours?"

Izuku bit his tongue at the grin that slid across the villains face, before he stepped back, allowing him a better look at who he was really dealing with. Ashen, almost grey skin clung to a gaunt, bony frame, minuscule scars crisscrossing across the villains face and what he could see of his arms. He was tall and gangly, all limbs, like he had been stuck in his teenage phase - a head or two taller than Izuku. His clothing options didn't scream villain, a simple beige coat with a white shirt, black pants, and a simple choker of sorts around his neck. The most noticeable features, the ones that stood out the most, were his eyes. Brown with flecks of gold, an expression that spoke both a tiredness that was all too familiar to Izuku, but a hint of something dangerous, making Izuku tense up at the look. To top it off, he had simple, flat brown hair, never extending past his shoulders. For all he could see, just a simple, plain man.

But those eyes...

"I'm sure you understand how I can't disclose that - client confidentiality and all. Much like my name, neither are issues that are too much of a matter, young hero." Izuku cringes as the villains finally lets go of his chin, using his free hand to brush Izuku's hair out of his face. It comes away smeared with red, explaining Izuku's fuzziness at recalling before he's awoken. "You have no need to focus on anything else...if you help me here, you should be able to make your way home just in time for dinner."

Izuku didn't like the sound of that, especially as the mans grin never slid off his face. "Help you?"

"Word has it that you are extraordinary when it comes to quirk analysis," Izuku felt his heart drop at the words, "and my clients are much too eager to get their hands on some of your work, my boy. Truly, many say it is on par with the late principal Nezu of U.A. My clients simply wish to request you help them out as best you can...being a hero, it shouldn't be too difficult for you. Especially as it concerns many of your colleagues-- friends, even."

He felt the dryness of his mouth as he swallowed. "Quirk analysis? What makes you think I'll willingly help..."

"I would rather not to...but this is why my clients requested me to deal with you, Deku." he sighed, crouching down so they were of level height. Izuku held eye contact, wariness settling in and holding him in place as the man moved closer. "My quirk is rather handy in these kinds of situations. But, I'd much rather have this done and dealt with, and it not have to be used. It is not a very pleasant experience."

His quirk? Izuku locked his jaw in place at the implication, steeling his expression as he stared right back at him. "I might be just a sidekick...but I'm not going to let you kick me around and give what you want even under threat," he said, a fiery, dangerous tone he reserved for villains, a far cry from his usual friendly, foolhardy self. "I'd never give you something that can be used against my colleagues and friends. I don't care what you do."

Izuku knew just how dangerous his analysis could be, if given to the wrong person. He might be young, but he had grown past his naive phase. This wasn't something he'd fall into so easily. It was almost easy to forget about his aching limbs and throbbing head, staring right back at the villain who seemed so sure of himself and his tactics.

It almost seemed like Izuku's tone had caught the other off guard, his grin sliding off his face - only for it to come back bigger, something delighted now increasing just how creepy it looked. "I should have expected you wouldn't comply at first - all you heroes are the same."

The villain stood up to his full height, staring down at Izuku, never breaking the contact as he rested a hand, gently, on the heroes shoulder. "Willing to keep your tongues tied...but I guess a little demonstration is in order then, boy." His fingers dug into Izuku's shoulder, who bit in a hiss at the ache coming back full force before letting go.

Izuku could only watch, reaching in a failed attempt for his quirk as the man's eyes slowly changed, the golden flecks expanding and covering up the brown. He loomed, eyes now taking on more of a predatory look as faint lines slowly bled onto his face, dripping down his face and with a faint glow, seeping onto his hand.

"Let's see how long you last - a spot of fun never hurt anybody, right?"

He reached for Izuku's face, palm spread out, and Izuku jerked his head back, desperate to get away despite his bindings. It was useless. Useless.

The villains palm felt cold, and Izuku's eyes glared up at him through the others fingers, who never looked away. It wasn't until scratches began to etch themselves onto his face, deeper and deeper, that he finally realised just what this entailed.

Blood began to seep from the cuts, but Izuku didn't waver.

Hopefully Uraraka and Iida won't have my butt for missing out on dinner tonight.

[digimonnetwork-project]

Episode I

The seeds are sown...

“Shidou...Shidou....Isamu Shidou pay attention!” There was a dull thud as Isamu was thrown out of his thoughts by the sudden acquaintance of his head and the teacher’s book. At his old school, the boy in question would never have gotten in trouble for daydreaming in class, let alone assaulted for it.

“Gah! I’m sorry, Ms. Mazawa! It won’t happen again!” Isamu exclaimed, bolting from his chair and bowing repeatedly while he rubbed the back of his skull, certain a bump would develop where he’d been struck with the teacher’s book. He pictured something large and swelling, hopefully enough to get him out of math next period, but would go down before soccer practice after school.

“Honestly!” She huffed, twirling her graying hair in exasperation, “Shidou, this is the third time this week. You know I hate doing this, but if you can’t be bothered to pay attention to the lesson I’m going to have to keep you after school.”

Aside from the streaks of grey in her hair, Ms. Mazawa didn’t look more than a few years passed thirty, but her barbaric teaching methods made her seem centuries older. Isamu suspected she might be one of the old monsters of folklore, maybe Arikura-no-baba or Osakabe, but Isamu really didn’t care enough to try to research which one she could be.

“Yeah right you don’t like doing it, you keep kids after school all the time.” A chill ran up Isamu’s spine as Ms Mazawa’s irritated scowl deepened into a glare, making him overly aware of the fact that he had said this out loud instead of keeping it in his head.

She swatted him upside the head with her book a second time. “Shidou, I was just going to keep you in class for thirty minutes to reread today’s lesson, but your smart mouth just earned you a detention spent setting up the cafeteria for the archery club’s fundraiser tonight!” She declared.

“Y-yes ma’am!” Isamu stuttered, getting a giggle out of his classmates, “I’m sorry ma’am!”

“I hope you are.” Ms. Mazawa replied and turned to go back to the front of the class.

Isamu sighed and returned to his seat, brushing brown bangs out of his face and looking at his desk. At his old school, his classmates would have been laughing with him, not at him, he thought reminiscing, again, about his former life. The bangs he just moved fell right back into his eyes. He really needed to find something to keep his hair in place.

“Psst! Isamu!” He turned around at the sound of his name and saw his classmate Masato Namura give him a thumbs up. Beside him, Aki Mikami pushed up his glasses and awkwardly waved at him.

Isamu gave a small nod of acknowledgment to the both of them before facing the front of the class. The two of them were nowhere near the top of the food chain in this school’s social hierarchy, but they were the only friends he had here. He turned his head back out the window, catching his phantom reflection in the glass. How was it that he only had two friends? At his old school he was the cool popular kid that was friends with everyone, how did he become so bad at connecting to people?

In the glass, Isamu noticed more than just his own blue-eyed reflection. Just outside the door way he could make out the faint image of someone standing just outside their classroom. He looked that way just to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. Yes, there was a girl standing there, waiting to be invited in.

“Now that that’s out of the way, class...” Ms. Mazawa said, turning to the door, “We have a new student transferring today. Please give her a warm welcome. You can come in now, dear.”

The girl stepped in front of the class with her head held high. The students all have short gasps of amazement at the fact that she dared come in without her uniform on. The transfer student was wearing casual clothes, ankle length beige pants with green trimming that matched her Chinese style shirt  and held her bag in front of her like a purse, rather than a backpack. Oddly, the thing that stood out about her wasn’t her lack of uniform, but the fact that she was wearing a white fingerless glove on her left hand with what appeared to be a strange digital watch over it.

“Hello.” She said to them, pulling a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “My name is Ju Ling, my family and I just moved here from Bejing. I don’t have my school uniform yet because of a mix up that gave me the wrong size.” She looked over at Ms. Mazawa who waved her hands for her to continue, “I'm an only child who likes computers, though I’m not necessarily very good with them. Thank you for having me, I look forward to joining your class.”

With a bow, she concluded her introduction and looked at Ms. Mazawa again who directed her to take the open seat next to Isamu. They whispered something to each other and Ju giggled as she came forward, Ms, Mazawa had probably instructed her to make sure he didn’t start daydreaming again. Isamu sighed and began scratching notes on the lecture.

This was going to be a long day...

When the last bell of the day rang, Isamu almost forgot about his detention and started out the door with Aki and Masato when Ms. Mazawa reminded him of his unwanted duties. Basically he was setting up chairs and tables for an hour and half, rather than the half hour lesson he would have gotten if he hadn’t mouthed off,  but still that was an hour and a half Isamu wasn’t spending at the park practicing with Aki and Masato.

Another defeated sigh escaped him, tryouts for the Soccer team were a few weeks away, Masato was the right midfielder and Isamu had been the striker for the team at his old school, but Aki had never played an official game. Isamu felt terrible that he had to miss out on training Aki, the blond haired boy wasn’t awful by any means but he needed as much support as possible.

The archery club supervisor met him outside the door where he saw another of his classmates, Kaiyo Nakano, lined up as a volunteer. Isamu knew she was a volunteer, number one because he knew she hadn’t gotten in trouble, secondly because Kaiyo seemed to volunteer to help out with every club, though she was only an active member of the chess club.

“Hey, Shidou, I’ve already signed us both in” Kaiyo greeted, taking the opportunity to partner up with him, “It’s easier for me to work when I’m not in a skirt, so I’m going to change out of my uniform before we start. You go ahead and change too, that way you can just leave right after we’re done.”

“Oh? Okay, thanks.” Isamu replied, he hadn’t even known they were supposed to sign in as volunteers, but with Ms. Mazawa nowhere in sight, he supposed there had to be some way for them to prove he’d actually done the detention work. Deciding not to waste time, Isamu went to his locker at a slight jog and grabbed his casual clothes to change in the nearby boys bathroom.

As he swapped clothes Isamu’s text alert beeped and he juggled his phone to check it as long as there was no one to scold him for texting when he should be working. The message was from Gorou, a friend from his old school. Isamu’s heart skipped a beat, he’d messaged Gorou about hanging out over the weekend three days ago, what had taken him so long to reply? To his disappointment, Isamu opened the text to find a simple “Sorry, can’t come ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” in response to his invitation.

Isamu dejectedly put his phone away without replying and finished changing so he could get to work. He stepped out of the stall sporting a pair of capris and white shirt with the word “REAL” printed in english lettering on the front, and a black track jacket with blue stripes running down the sleeves. He folded his uniform into his school bag and started back to the gym, running into Kaiyo again on the way.

Apparently she’d had the same idea to change in the girl’s bathroom. She was dressed in a pale pink shirt with the words ‘Be Kind” written under a graphic resembling a heart made out of an arrow, an army green jacket, light shorts, and long striped socks.

“Looking sharp. Leave your bag by the door and don’t forget to pick it up when you leave” She winked at him with a friendly, teasing tone and led the way back, and took him over to a supply closet once they dropped off their bags. She went on to explain “It's actually not a lot of work to get this all set up, but it takes two people to carry one table, sometimes more for the big ones. Mr. Kojima and Mrs. Arai will tell us where to put them, we just have to coordinate and do the heavy lifting.”

She wasn’t kidding about it being heavy, Isamu could hear her grunt as she pulled a table out from the closet and was soon grunting himself as he grabbed the other end and helped her lift it away. “And you volunteered to do this?” He blurted without thinking, he really needed to stop that, it usually got a laugh in his old town, but around here, it usually got him in trouble.

But to his surprise, Kaiyo did laugh, “What can I say? I like to keep busy. It sure beats going straight to my homework.” She said, they both paused for a moment while the supervisors instructed them on where to move the table to. Kaiyo showed him how to set it up, and they were quick to return to the supply closet to get another table.

For a little while, Isamu actually felt like he was finally connecting to people as Kaiyo introduced him to other students from around the school. He’d never needed anything but soccer in his life for a long time, but as he was socializing with the volunteers and other kids in detention, Isamu thought Kaiyo probably had the right idea by volunteering with other clubs outside of his personal interests.

It didn’t take long to get everything set up, and as much fun as this had surprisingly turned out to be,  Isamu was the first one out the door when everything was done- after just barely an hour rather than the hour and a half they’d thought it would take. What were the odds that Aki and Masato were still at the park? Isamu didn’t want to leave them hanging, and considered texting them when he found there was no need to.

They were waiting outside the school gates for him, already changed out of their uniforms. Masato had dark grey jeans with yellow stripes on the side, and a vest half zipped over an old graphic tee from the 80s. His dark brown hair was kept out of his bangs with a red bandana that, for some reason, Ms. Mazawa let him where in class.

“Man, they sure kept you in there long enough, did’ja have to clean the toilets with a toothbrush or something?” Masato griped as he picked his bag off the ground and stood back from the school gate.

“Ms. Mazawa told him to help set up for the archery club, I don’t think that’s what they do in detention.” Aki told him  and pushed up his glasses, his white jacket was zipped up all the way and had an orange stripe running horizontally across his chest and shoulders. He had dark green pants tucked into long boots, and his bag was strapped over his shoulder.

“What would you know about it? You’ve never gotten a detention!” Masato teased, lightly punching Aki’s shoulder, playfully, Aki stepped on his foot in response.

“He will if he keeps hanging out with you.” Isamu joked back and turned to Aki, “And yeah, I was totally scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, all detention kids have to!”

The look on Aki’s face was priceless, it took all of his will power not to laugh, “Y-you’re kidding, right!?” His glasses slipped further down his nose and once more he had to push them back into place.

“About the toilets or about you getting in detention because of me?” Masato slinging his arms around each of their shoulders, at which point Isamu couldn’t help laughing, ruining the joke entirely.

“Well, never mind.” He said, freeing himself from Masato and  sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Sorry to have kept you guys waiting, you still free for practice or-”

“-Shidou!” All three of them turned to look, surprised to hear Kaiyo calling for Isamu.

She  was running toward them from the school entrance. She’d been a volunteer and was free to go whenever, but Isamu was under the impression that she was going to stick around to decorate too. His face flushed a little when he saw the reason she was running to catch up with him.

“What’s up Nakano, can’t you see we’re trying to escape from this place?” Masato trilled with a mischievous grin.

Kaiyo skidded to a stop and panted for a second before she looked at Isamu and smiled as she handed him the bag she was carrying with her. His bag, that he must have left at the fundraiser despite her warning not to. “You forgot this.” She winked at him, “Tanizaki wanted to hang it from the basketball hoop but I told him it was mine. You owe me big time.”

“Ah, th-thanks Nakano.” Isamu replied, taking his bag back and flipping it over his shoulders.

She waved her hand dismissively, “You can just call me Kaiyo if you want.” she said, hiking her own bag onto her shoulders and turned away, heading down another street, before shouting over her shoulder  “See you guys in class tomorrow! Don’t forget your homework again, Namura or Ms. Mazawa might actually make you eat lunch in the hall this time!”

Masato made a face while Isamu quirked his eyebrow at the bizarre sounding punishment, “It’s worse than it sounds,” Masato said, “Anyway, I guess I better get home and do that homework. You guys alright practicing without me?”

“Actually, I’d better do the homework too.” Aki said, pushing up his glasses and looking at the ground, “After all we have that math test coming up and it’s my worst subject.”

“You say that about every subject.” Isamu rolled his eyes slighting, very aware that he needed the practice for the math test more than he needed practice for the soccer try-outs, “Man, sorry about the detention guys, I hate to have you waiting for me and not have time to actually practice.”

Masato clapped his shoulder, “It’s alright, we can practice for a while and then do homework together at the park. I fail, you fail, what do you say? We can always practice more this weekend, you guys free?”

“I’m always free.” Aki replied with a shrug. “And studying together would probably be good for all of us, too” they both turned to Isamu, waiting to hear his answer.

His  fingers brushed his phone and thought about Gorou, but remembered that his friend claimed to be too busy to hang out this weekend- somethin he was never too busy for when they lived on the same side of the river. “Yeah, I’m free too. Who wants to race- huh?”

Isamu paused mid sentence, staring up at the building across the street where the air had seemed to distort for a second. Aki and Masato both looked the same way, but there was nothing to see. Isamu quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light, “Sorry, seeing things I guess.” He said, though he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of being watched, “Anyway, I’ll race you guys to the park!” He pushed his way passed them and took off at a run, giving them no choice but to give chase.

Isamu laughed as he ran, Masato quickly started gaining on him with Aki no more than a few feet behind. The park was a few blocks away, and all three of them were exhausted from the run, “I’m.. so...slow…” Aki complained as they panted by the water fountain.

Masato checked the clock on his phone, “Actually... I think we... broke our record” He said.

Isamu clapped Aki’s shoulder, coughing slightly, “And you... kept up, just fine...I had guys on my team… At my old school...who were much slower…” He told him.

It took a few more minutes to convince Aki that he had done well, before they all agreed to sit at a picnic table and complete one page of homework before they started practice. Working together they actually managed to complete two pages before they remembered they wanted to practice some, too. Aki had a duffle bag which he kept his swimming trunks and towel in, as well as his uniform and clothes when he needed to change, and now it had become home to their soccer ball.

Between homework and practice, Isamu forgot about the strange distortion he’d seen outside the school, but while they were practicing the feeling of being watched started to creep up on him again. Not wanting to frighten Aki or Masato, he ignored the feeling and focused entirely on being the instructor, teaching both of them a trick he’d picked up at his old school to pass the ball between teammates while feigning a shot at the goal to confuse the other team.

At long last, they’d had enough practice and went back to their homework where it was harder to ignore the feeling of being watched. It was starting to alarm Isamu greatly, “Man, guys, I’m starting to get really tired” He sad, stretching to try to avoid suspicion of why he was suddenly backing out of the study group, “I think I’m finally getting this, so I’m going to head home for dinner and finish up tonight. I can text if I need extra help right?”

Masato nodded, “Yeah, it’s starting to get late, too” he said, “My aunt will get worried if I don’t at least call.” Aki agreed, and they all got up to leave the park- the feeling following Isamu, though neither Aki nor Masato seemed to be concerned. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to put them in danger so he tried to discreetly hurry them along.

However, the three of them spent a few extra minutes talking on the side of the road and finalizing plans for their weekend meet up before they finally parted ways. Aki and Masato lived three blocks away from each other, but Isamu lived in an apartment in the opposite direction.  

Having lived down here long enough to have learned a few short cuts, Isamu avoided the crowded main roads by taking less used alleyways, hoping to lose whatever was haunting him. This particular street was a back road behind a few convenience stores that occasionally company trucks used for deliveries, but Isamu rarely saw anyone actually using them.

His text alert beeped again, making him jump slightly, but he stopped to check it, this time the message was from another of his friends from his old school canceling their plans to hang out the next day. Isamu frowned and put his phone in his pocket without texting back. He’d only moved across the river for his father’s new job. Why was it so hard for everyone to meet him?

The boy became so lost in his thoughts that his sense of alertness started to fail. Isamu had his phone out again, looking up what assignments he had to for his classes and trying to decide what he needed to complete after dinner and what could be done during lunch tomorrow when he noticed movement. Isamu looked up, now absolutely certain that it was not just his imagination, or a trick of the light.

Where he had seen nothing but an odd ripple from the corner of his eye,  something melded into view. It looked like a giant chameleon wearing military gear. “Found a good one!” A raspy voice called out from the monster’s direction. Wait- that thing wasn’t the one speaking was it?

Faster than Isamu could make a run for it, a long slimy tongue lashed out of the creature’s mouth and wrapped around his body. He screamed and wiggled desperately, but was yanked closer to the chameleon’s open maw. Isamu closed his eyes, not wanting to see his upcoming doom, and wondering if the creature would kill him first or if it intended to swallow him whole and alive.

Neither option appeared to be the case, however as mere meters from the beast’s jaws, the tongue suddenly lifted him high. Isamu hardly dared to open his eyes again, but eventually had to when the raspy voice demanded he did, confirming that it was in fact the giant chameleon that was speaking.

Isamu struggled to breathe in the firm grip of the tongue, but did as commanded and opened his eyes to look at the creature, which was scrutinizing him the same way he might inspect the latest electronics while deciding what was better quality.

“Yes, yes. You’ll do.” The monster muttered,  Isamu whimpered as the tongue started to retract back toward the creature’s mouth, certain that this time he was going to be lizard chow, but to his relief, Isamu’s toes brushed the ground and he was released. Isamu toppled over, landing face first onto the pavement. “You’ll do just fine.”

Instinct told Isamu to get up and run, but logic reminded him that the creature would catch him with its tongue again if he tried...and maybe this time he would end up as dinner. “I...I’ll do just fine for what...?” Isamu asked, clearly food wasn’t what this monster was after, for now at least, but he had no idea what it really wanted from him.

The answer came with a massive foot being pressed onto his back, pinning him to the ground. “My Tamer!” The creature replied, “I am Chamelemon! And I need a leader like you to make me stronger!”

Chamelemon spoke as if Isamu should know what that meant, “You seem plenty strong to me!” He said, and wound up again regretting his tendency to say what was on his mind, when the pressure on his back increased as Chamelemon pushed him harder into the ground.

“Don’t be a fool! I barely scrapped through the war on my own! I need you to be my Tamer!” Chamelemon growled, “Now, make me stronger or I’ll kill you!”

Isamu wasn’t really in a position to say no, even if that’s all he wanted to do. Who did this thing think he was, what did he mean leader? Sure he had taken charge of Soccer practice but that hardly made him a leader. What could someone as powerless as Isamu do to make Chamelemon stronger? Two shapes appeared in Isamu’s peripheral vision, a black one and a white one. Female voices cried out strange words.

"Moon Surge!”

“Sun Bash!”

He managed to turn his head just enough to see the white shape, some kind of dog-like animal, shoot a small blast of light energy at Chamelemon. Though Isamu couldn’t see it, the black one on the other side of him was doing the same thing. The combined blast was powerful enough to knock Chamelemon back, allowing Isamu to scramble away.

With a good look at his rescuers now, Isamu realized that they were an almost identical pair. The canine features extended only to their faces and body shapes, their ears were long and tipped with tuffs of fur that were red on the black creature and blue on the other. They had long tails with spikes on the end.

“Ju! Get ready” The white one called, glancing behind her, passed Isamu forcing him to look as well.

He was surprised to see the girl that had transferred into class just that day. Ju looked equally surprised to see him, but didn’t dwell on it long as she focused on whatever it was that the white creature had told her to prepare for. Ju lifted her arm, pressing buttons on her digital watch.

The black one dodged a lashing from Chamelemon’s tongue, “Leptomon! Ju! We need to act now!”

“Don’t rush her, Cannismon!” the other replied, shooting another blast of energy from her mouth.

“All set!” Ju called, looking up from her glove, “Do it!”

The small dogs leaped between Isamu and Chamelemon, and their bodies began to glow. “Eclipse Snare!” they cried in unison and bounded forward, black and white energy trailed their every move.

Chamelemon attempted to squash them with both his tongue and his claws but Cannismon and Leptomon were much faster than him. The pair encircled him several times before their glow diminished and they sprinted away . The trail of energy they’d left behind tightened like a noose, trapping Chamelemon in its coil!

Ju took a few long strides forward, holding her gloved hand in front of her, “Initiate data conversion!” She shouted.

A computerized voice replied “Data conversion initiating.” A beam of light shot out of Ju’s watch and struck the giant lizard. Chamelemon started to pixelate, “Conversion in progress.”

“No!” Chamelemon struggled in his bonds, much like Isamu had while trapped by his tongue, and just as fruitlessly. Bits of his body broke off in small pixels and were dragged down the beam into the watch. The process was slow at first but picked up speed, and soon there wasn’t enough of Chamelemon left to struggle.

When he vanished entirely, the beam returned to Ju’s watch and the computer voice announced, “Conversion complete. Scanning new data....Scan complete. Digimon identified: Chamelemon. Would you like to view Chamelemon’s profile?”

“Not now.” Ju said and lowered her arm, pressing another button on her wristwatch.

The air around them pixelated in a similar manner to how Chamelemon had vanished, but aside from that, nothing seemed to change. “Digital Construct deactivated.” The computer said.

Ju then turned to Isamu, “You alright?” She asked.

Isamu’s mouth was hanging open in shock, “Wha- Did you kill it?” He asked.

Ju laughed, “What? No! No, I never kill Digimon. I just converted his data into something a little easier to carry.”

Isamu jumped when two small bodies suddenly pressed up against him, “If a Tamer converts a realized Digimon back into scan data, they can take them back to the Network, or even all the way back to the Digital World!” The one that had been called Leptomon said, bumping her head against Isamu’s hand like she wanted him to pet her.

“We always send the hostile ones back to the Digital World. If they attack humans in this world they’re not going to be welcome in the Network.” Cannismon added, wagging her tail, but keeping back from Isamu.

“Digimon? Network? Digital World?” Isamu looked at Ju for some kind of explanation, but the transfer student was busy giggling.

Finally she stepped over and offered him her hand to help him back to his feet. “That’s a little hard to explain, but Cannismon and Leptomon seem to like you, and they don’t usually warm up to strangers. Maybe Chamelemon was onto something, choosing you.”

“I don’t understand.” Isamu exclaimed, digging his hands into his pocket, “Choosing me for what?”

“To be a Digimon Tamer.” She replied, lifting her glove to him so that he could see that it was not a watch on her wrist. She lowered it and held her hand out again, this time in greeting. “I know I introduced myself this morning, but I think we should have a more proper one. I’m Ju Ling, I’ve been a Tamer for three years. These are my partners, Cannismon, and Leptomon.”

“Nice to meet you!” Leptomon said with a sing-song-voice, Cannismon gave the same response in a less enthusiastic tone.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Isamu Shidou.” He replied, shaking Ju’s hand and looking at the creatures at their feet for a moment before turning his eyes back to Ju. “What’s a Tamer?”

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