#detective thin man on the scene

[grim-faux]

3 _ 34 _ One Day the Rain Continued Falling

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

It was hard to find time for stop to important things like eat and rest. Scrounging up the leftover moments for plus activities, sometimes for pictures and the sneak practice, was also a struggle that didn't happen a lot - every move and the journey through buildings was an unending test of skill. Except... if he failed in flee from a Viewer, that would be forever. Doing unnecessary stuff was last on his list of work when he had spare time to sit and think, and rest. And! Carve stories into walls.

He could do stories until his head plopped onto his knees, and he thought about nothing. Scratching down the adventures made them more to... far away, and elsewhere. It put a great distance between him and all the creatures lurking, and for a while they couldn't find him.

The Thin Man didn’t like him. That was important. Even if he wanted it to be different with the man and his hat, he already knew the Thin Man didn’t like any children. Even Mono. It wasn't really a mystery, but it cleared up stuff. If it was a lie or not wasn't something to think on, except that one thing for certain was that the man in the hat didn’t like anything. The deep frowns and long, dark stares, the static crackling across the shoulders and crisp coat – that was everything.

Nothing Mono did in all his ways, all his treasures and food things, and all the company, didn’t mean anything to the Thin Man. Still, he liked doing important things for the tall thin man, and maybe he would smile again. It was dumb, after all the time he spent with Her and how that turned out, he knew nothing he did would mean anything. All the same, that was fine. He liked the chase and keeping the Thin Man. That was the most important for Mono, because it all meant so much to him. And the Thin Man couldn't stop him.

In some rare patches of stillness, Mono wouldn't bother the risk of shedding his armor. Not for anything. Maybe to change a shirt if he found clothing that fit right, but only then and briefly. Through his trek of the city and exploring, he never found a wonderful coat like the one that was him. He didn’t even recall where he found it, let alone a time before it was him. The coat always cloaked his shoulders and shielded his legs, and he felt very exposed while it was off for mending.

A splint of bone worked fine to draw a thread around the tattered edges, closing up wounds the heavy fiber suffered in his steed. In the back of the splinter, a crease held the thread in place as he glided the pointy end among the fibers. Like a spider with silk, he restored the ratty patches with discolored hues. There was no shortage of thread, he only needed some clothing, and that was all over the city. He had a whole wad of thread jammed into the loop of his pants, since he didn’t want to leave the wall he was crammed into. The boards against his shoulder vibrated, as another chair erupted into splinters. He paused, steely eye contact never wavering from the glittering blade of light used to mark the progress of his stitching. When the dust cleared, he tugged the thread tight and appreciated how the thread melted together.

The crumbly beam of timber he perched upon rattled, as another projectile galloped across the floor. A burst of garbled static and shrieks cut through the drywall, blazing through his ear drums. Regardless the disturbance, Mono focused on his craft. He was worried the Thin Man’s big speek and outburst would draw something into the rooms, but he wasn’t going out there until he finished. If some horrible creature did sprout from a wall, Mono wouldn’t hesitate to help the Thin Man. Until then, he had plenty to do.

Another burst of rambling chatter spilled from the Thin Man, and Mono didn’t bother with trying to make sense of it. He was busy listening for heavy boots, and creaking wails of Viewers, or any other sort of danger. For the most part, the building was bare and didn't have televisions, or Mono had heard none on his scouts. The problem with not a lot of creatures lurking around, was also not a lot of food. he hated the monsters, but they horded the food and always had plenty. His pickings lately hadn't been much, and he wondered if that is what set the Thin Man off. A lot of things put the man in the hat into a mood, but Mono was never sure watch creak or whatever did it.

If the Thin Man was having a dream haunt or dream wandering, he would try to do more for help. But this was just a tantrum, and Mono needed to use the slight of lull to prepare his coat for a dozen or a hundred more journeys through the streets. His focus helped drown out some of the hissing, but it always found a way to whittle through his mind the same way a crunchy beetle burrowed into soft wood.

Some of the broken noises was the same as what the Thin Man hummed for Mono. All the speek buzzed through his head, he had snippets and garbled sounds that didn't make sense. He could try imitating the noises, but not here. While the man and his hat was distracted by hissing at a chair, he wouldn’t suspect Mono was around.

The thought made Mono’s lips tuck deeper into his face. He needed to work a snag out of the thread, or he’d mess up a stitch. Another shiver rolled through the drywall, and Mono scrubbed the ball of his palm into his eye. For a while, the Thin Man was distracted by shadows flickering in the corners of a room, and muttering about… si…culls, or sigh-all. Something.

Mono bit his lip, and very carefully turned the fold of his coat over without disturbing the fine layer of dust on his hair.

He thinks the Thin Man was annoyed about the fragment Mono touched. He was sure the Thin Man could see them, but also wasn’t. The glitching children lingered in strange places and dark corners, he suspected the man and his hat saw them too, but ignored them. They were not his children. No more. But Mono was curious about the shadows, the movement, if they were ever real children or if they were shades that remembered real children. He didn’t mind them, since they never bothered him or Her. They existed, unless... Mono got too close.

On the other side of the wall, the precise and steady clicking drifted by. The long legs shredded a patch of gray light, causing Mono to pause in his threading. In the room beside him, some unknown cry erupted. It wasn’t the Thin Man, though a chattered snarl laced with buzzing. Something solid and definitely not wood or cotton, crashed into an unyielding barrier – either the floor or wall – this was followed by crashing, wood groaning, and a calamity of thundering implosion.

Mono coiled his arm under his coat and scooted back; his arm with the bone splint braced him to a brittle mesh of wood fiber. He waited, leafing through a decision of flee or wait, and where to go in the cramped space. Beyond the wall it went silent, and the Thin Man made more big speek. The vibrations didn’t let up by much, and the Thin Man continued to crackle and hiss through his teeth. The leaf of burst and scatters of embers clawed through the little crack, before they cooled and left only a flat gloom. It took several seconds before the haze cleared in Mono's eyes.

Bro’keen fra’gents. Pair-docks. The sigh-culls. Loops. Ree’pair. Undone. Inu’vah’bill.

At first Mono was spooked when the Thin Man had cupped him between his palms and sat with him, staring at Mono so intently and seeing so much of him. He thought the Thin Man wanted the speek, and prepared for a barrage of noises he would work on repeating - the Thin Man had favorites. But pauses came. When the Thin Man went through the speek, he didn’t stop, didn’t instruct or draw on the sounds. The event mystified him, since the Thin Man always wanted him to make the sounds back - some pieces he recognized, others blurred into the endless discussion.

Mist’skates. Destroy. Break. Hard. Try. Imposs’bull. Ee’road. Pointless. Co-sist. Pole'rised.

In the rare spans when the Thin Man went quiet and shifted Mono in his hands, he would nod and reassure the man in the hat, “Am understand. Mm-hmm.” After a while, the Thin Man started to give him a look and arch a brow beneath the deep shadow of his hat, so Mono took it as indication he needed to be quiet and company. A different sort of company, but the Thin Man was happy he was there. He needed Mono to pay attention.

“It will come to you.” He always muttered something like that. And went on, about the powers and u'teese-lies he wanted Mono to do. It was for fixing, something about Mono was wrong, and the man in the hat didn’t know how to make it right?

Nothing made sense. All the speek was a confusing mesh of white noises, and a lot of the story seemed lost on the Thin Man too. Mono did his very best to follow the sounds and crackles of static, but it sizzled in his skull. It worked best to make speek and punctuate everything with pictures, and show what noises looked like in his thoughts. The man in the hat didn’t want pictures and only made marks, he wanted to make noises and peer at Mono with a chiseled sternness. This all must’ve meant something to the Thin Man, he had a lot of thoughts and no one to share them with but children. It made Mono wonder if the Thin Man sat with the other children and told them stories, and if they listened as intently as he did. He gave the Thin Man a nod and patted the wrist cloaked in the cufflink.

Later, when he had the chance, he could put the pictures on the wall for the Thin Man. He could use some of his stories to fix the patches that confused Mono.

The important work on his coat was done. Tying off the thread at the collar, Mono bit close to the knot and ended his work. He fixed the folds and checked for any overlooked snags, though he had been so thorough with his work. After smoothing the sleeves and getting used to the weight on his shoulders, he pressed his face against the crack and searched the room. He hadn’t realized how quiet it was now, he was so busy. The sizzling pulse had long since dimmed, it was darker than what he recalled. As he moved among the chunks of ruble and lent, he pushed his face against narrow gaps and searched the furnishings that remained intact... mostly. 

It annoyed him that the notch he squeezed in through was no more, and the entire wall on that side had caved inward. Backtracking was typical for navigating tricky places, but this wasted time when he should already be doing something else.

He turned around and scurried through the dust, or squeezed under splint shards of wood dislodged from whatever ruined the winding passage. He searched for a gap in the murk or glimpses of light, one of the two would hint a pathway or something. At length, the crumbling drywall barred his path, but exposed slates in the wall above his head offered a new direction. After climbing in the dark, a musty draft wheezed through a crack in the boards. This opening breached into the next room, where it was damp and the distant trickle of rains wandered through.

The fall was pretty tall, but he fell from higher. He crashed hard to his heels and hands, but recovered fast - that was a big part of flee. As well, he stayed crouched and low, listening for signs of danger or anything that might’ve caught the thump of his weight on the floor warped board. Once satisfied by the prevailing hush, he moved around the perimeter of the room, scanning the crushed furniture and weaving around glittery glass. Light from a distant doorway showed where to put his feet, and he found his way to the corridor outside. This place he recognized, so he didn't get lost from the dwelling. Great!

To his relief, the dull hum of static slipped through the vacant rooms, and the bulbs pulsed with a faint rhythm that almost matched his own heartbeat. Somewhere. Not far. Aside from the rustling croon, only the creaking floors and howling storm crowded his thoughts. He meandered through the stuffy veil, scouting each room for unseen creatures, maybe a sinnapede.

It startled him when inching around one doorframe, and to barely recognize the crumpled body buried with wood splinters and whatever else. The legs barely registered, before his head caught up with the inert heap concealed within the carnage. Reflexively, he huddled in the doorway like a scrap of scenery, judging the threat and masking his breathing. It wasn't necessary, the shape didn't move, like the ones that crashed into the pavement in the roads. Only the insistent cry of the wind carried through the room, among the suppressed cackle of aching wood. He's sure that creature had not been here at all, ever. Was the Thin Man okay?

Mono tore away from the scene and resumed his quest. As it turned out, the seeking didn’t last long. More cautious since the discovery, he slipped into a dark room with slain furniture.

Without wasting a moment to catch his breath, he dashed across the floor and pounced onto the Thin Man’s hand. The tallest silhouette sat slouched at the furthest wall, knees drawn high and arms draped like dehydrated vines at his sides. Mono wrapped his arms around the wrist and tried tugging the arm further away from the Thin Man. Or tried. Despite how thin the long arm was, he couldn’t budge it an inch. Was hurt? Okay? The man in the hat didn't shift, but the steady hissing of static was a good sign. Mono persisted in silence, but couldn't drag a reaction from the Thin Man.

Next he scooted under a gap of the arm and struggled to lift it with his back. Very heavy. Impossible. He undertook a valiant effort to make the tall thin man corporate, even getting on his back and pushing with his feet, but it was no use. He withdrew from the task and decided his efforts would be suited for climbing.

He climbed over the arm and gripped a seam on the suit. First he checked if the Thin Man had budged, but he couldn't see with the shadow of the hat. He hoisted up the suits' side, but his effort was immediately ended when fingers slipped around his middle. The grip snapped him free before he could anchor his grip.

“No. Hey.” When the hand set him back on the floor, he rushed to the Thin Man and scrambled onto his middle. “Hmm? Y’better? Hurt?” The suit didn't have any stains and the only scent lingering was the stale smoke - he still liked that though. He tugged at the suit, searching for sheared threads or other damage. "Lemme see?" As before, the obnoxious hand scooped him up and relocated him, further away this time. “No. NoNo.” He hissed, and grabbed the side of the Thin Man’s coat. Without any effort on the hands part, he was ripped away and set further away. “Tell s'hurt? Y'not?”

The drooping shroud glittered into a perilously high stance, evading Mono and leaving the boy to crash to the floor. Without missing a shimmer or a stutter, the glitchy shadow stepped over him. The tapping steps moved through the dim room, and in only three strides he was almost to the dim doorway.

Does follow? Mono sat up and tilted his head. Was okay? The Thin Man seemed okay, but he hid many things. He watched the silhouette bow through the doorway; for a brief spell the room was intimidated and paled.

Without prompt or rejection, he sprang after the patchy trill of static. If it was okay, he could chase. If the Thin Man found an other child… Mono could hide, and he wouldn’t be a problem. That was his plan. It had been okay so far, the Thin Man didn’t give him the deep frown with the dark lines in his face. Everything would be good.

__

The segment of his life before the Thin Man didn’t mean that much to Mono. He thought about... Her a lot, especially when he chased the Thin Man through the streets. In the gaps among allies and gutted buildings, he thought She was… No. It was other children, but not Her. He’s sure they were other children, but he never got a glimpse of them. Just a footprint in silt, or a shadow sliding into the shadow of a dumpster. Or, it was his imagination. He thought the faces of those that filled his dream haunts, stared at him through murky puddles chipped by rain drops. They remembered him, even if he didn't recognize them. Where did all those kids go?

The fire heaved its dry breath across the room, the broiling waves of its stare observed each child in turn. Then, they screamed. One-by-one, each stole. Gone. Thee place they went was unknown, but he knew. All children knew what became of those stole. Cages. A boiling pot. A gleaming knife. Piles of clothing. A stained countertop. No more.

He saw plenty of those in the Hunter’s cabin. Even if the meat smelled ‘‘‘‘safe’’’’, or the fridge still worked, he wouldn't dare. His soured stomach could wait. And the sing. He followed it across the forest, through the tall grass and the traps stained brown and black. Tricks to maim and others to end.

The Thin Man sat on a crumbling brick wall, the small flame smoldered under the rim of his hat and his eyes gleamed. They wandered for some time before the Thin Man needed for stop. By now Mono was certain the man and the hat hadn't been harmed, though he kept note of every shimmer in the Thin Man's step. Just in case.

A wreckage of wired fence and the partial remains of a building, barred passage to the next patch of clear road. Mono's job was to move the fence and relocate some (not all) of the shattered wall – even if the Thin Man could glitch through, he wouldn’t leave Mono. But also, if Mono didn’t work so much to move ruble and make doors from nothing, he might could do teleport. He didn’t bother mentioning that to the Thin Man. They had same, and it was important to do other tricks. This is what Mono decided, anyway. If the Thin Man believed in him, then he should.

Really, he didn’t think he would ever be doing the stuff the Thin Man did. It was so much. It was important that Mono try, for the Thin Man.

The sides of his hat hung with the weight of the pummeling rains, the icy water rushed over his feet, and the wind drilled at the back of his neck. The fresh mending in his coat helped keep too much water from soaking into his armor, but still he was drowned all the way through. He tried to raise his hands, the way the Thin Man showed him. Again and without stall, he focused and struggled to grapple with this ‘power’ that the Thin Man insisted he had. It was in him, but digging it out was a bigger struggle than the giant wall mocking his resolve. He felt like an idiot.

All while the Thin Man stayed put on the wall, a wispy trail slithered from beneath the rim of his hat, and no comment or hint that he was awake for watch. The Thin Man never moved from his station, and Mono didn’t relent from his important busy. Not until long after the clouds darkened, and the lamp posts along the beaten road cut through the flooding dark. He kept trying, never mind how the storm snarled with laughter at his efforts.

Raise his arm. Grip for a hold. Think about moving... something. The packed cement grumbled annoyance as if a fly was bumping it.

At some point Mono couldn't lift his arm or focus much, except to keep his eyes open and glare. HIs head hurt. He may have shifted a pile of bricks and rolled back a section of fence (or that was a Viewer that plowed into the roll), but he didn't do nearly enough work to clear a path. Maybe for him. Maybe. But the Thin Man was very toll, and stood wider than Mono was shaped. The road was cluttered all the same.

Mono was spent, and wasn't going to do much else... if he had managed anything in the first place. He shuffled around and checked that, yes, the man in the hat waited and watched. Mono gave his shoulders a shake – not that this helped anything – and returned to the Thin Man.

One time, what felt like forever ago, he ran away from the Thin Man. That was how it was supposed to be. Adults hated children, they hated everything and ruined lots of stuff that Mono liked. But the adults had things they liked, too. The televisions that cast the broadcast, that was the most favorite. The fake children, scurrying around the School the Prison, and kidnapping real children to hurt. They also liked gutting dead creatures, and shoving squishy things into jars. Other adults took children apart, or stuffed them into sacks – never to be seen again.

But the Thin Man? He liked to wander the city and look for children. Like Mono. Like Her. Like the scrawny kid in the forever building maze (was he Cast?). And like the pack of children that chased Mono everywhere. But of all the children, Mono was the best. He had most same of the Thin Man, and that was important.

He huddled by the shoe and worked on collecting back whatever strength was in his body. He stared up at the shrouded face, masked by beads of water and shadows. Did the Thin Man see him, or did he not care? Mono waited, bundled in his freshly mended coat. The static drone intermixed with the clatter of pellets, and the lacey thread was near invisible - or gone entirely - it was difficult to discern in the layers of downpour.

Even if the Thin Man didn't mean danger for children, Mono knew to be cautious of the tallest creature in all the city. The man in the hat didn't like children, and that included Mono. They had all much same, and the tall thin man had a lot of thinking for Mono - of what he should do, and needed more same. That was because Mono chased. This didn't change how the Thin Man would always be adult, and he did whatever he wanted. When the Thin Man was done with Mono - maybe in a season, or even in the next moment - the Thin Man would try to disappear. He would try. This much he told Mono.  

The Thin Man made stories of how it would happened, and Mono memorized every detail. The place, the children, of getting better and fixing. Not for fixing the city to better, but making Mono better.

“Done?” the static crackled in the shadow. “You did not achieve much.”

Mono hissed through the mist sweeping across his face. He did a lot, but the Thin Man never wanted to see that through all his busy for other children. He scooted closer to the Thin Man’s ankle used the pant leg to rub the wet off his face.

The Thin Man thought he was going to be clever and trick Mono. That was what the story meant, when the man in the hat went away forever and Mono went to alone. But Mono made his own plane, and he would chase the Thin Man, no matter where he went. He wouldn't mess up this time.

With a grating sigh, the figure rose from the crumbling wall and stepped by Mono. The wall of pellets severed briefly as the movement of the silhouette sliced through the driving rain. Mono was quick to pick himself up and stagger after the lazy but long strides. The wind picked up, snagging at his waterlogged coat. He caught his hat before it could snap away, and was pleased to see a long arm bend high above the tall figure to hold his own hat steady. So same.

One time, that might've been terrible. Now, though? Now, Mono was happy.

When the Thin Man reached the collision of building and crumpled fence, he vanished in a sputtering-pop. The ordeal would have been easier on Mono, if he had energy left over to teleport as well. Since he didn’t, the few adjustments he made with the blockade would have to do, plus his agility and capacity for squeezing through the heap of ruble - everything he learned from fleeing danger -he could also use for chasing his Thin Man.

In short time, he emerged into the clearing on the other side, without falling too far behind. Stumbling, he rushed to catch up with the buzzing of static and ever present clicking of steps. The tallest buildings bent and swayed high into the black void of the sky, through the gaps storm clouds twisted and rolled. Sometimes, a crackly whine peeled out before a heavy shape Whumped! against the sidewalk, or sometime a flickering sign. The man in the hat never faltered against the sounds or storm, and neither would Mono. 

__

In the dark and grinding force of the storm, it was near impossible to track the Thin Man’s movements through the mangled roads, the gale and strange angles of the buildings was devious and masked the steady tap of the lazy stride. Even so, Mono would catch a whiff of the smoky scent and knew he was on the right track, and the prickling in his skin never duped him. Across the roads, lamp posts flashed a searing gleam, or doused completely beneath the presence of the tall thin man. He had a lot of practice keeping the Thin Man in range, and this skill would be the most important Mono could ever learn. If the Thin Man wanted to be somewhere else or go into some building without reason why, Mono went too. Or for vanished out of nowhere in a vibrating sputter, it wouldn't take Mono long to get his bearings and renew his quest. He would find the man in the hat. He couldn't hide from Mono.

So long as the Thin Man didn’t go far, Mono could find his way. Always. Inside a building, or another detached road hanging beside a vacant cliff of swirling mist. It was easiest when the man in the hat found his way into some apartment where he would wander in circles, and Mono could find him in due time. The tall man would be lost in prowling through corridors and rooms, poking at the desks or skimming the tallest shelves with his glittering eyes. He was always seeking interesting things; heavy books, piles of pages – only the ones not sodden with water or whatever leaked from the walls. Anything dry and altogether interested the Thin Man.

And Mono had his job of making sure nothing lurked in the dark rooms. He worked hardest for make sure the Thin Man knew about hazardous patches, like the floors or sagging ceilings that seemed ready to crumble onto him. Not that the man in the hat ever gave him a second glance, or acknowledged his insistent warnings - save for a nudge with his shoe. Undeterred, he made sure to tell the Thin Man about anything and everything that might come undone and hurt his hat.

And if they found a television, the Thin Man would tell Mono to tune it.

After many long going through rooms and exploring the bent halls, a place might earn his stamp of “no hide danger”, and Mono would then like to follow the tall thin man as he strolled around the rooms - hand touching his chin, the hat full of think. The Thin Man always looked at the biggest books, with thick binding, the heaviest stack of pages wedge between the covers. Full of marks but never any pictures. How those pages fascinated the Thin Man, still mystified Mono. But whatever made his Thin Man happy.

During the endless scouting through rooms, Mono always kept his focus on where there might be foods. Sometimes he located stacks of plates in the most random of places, or a box of something wedged in a drawer in some cluttered room. Or anything else that was edible, like scuttling bugs or eggs abandoned. Because of the Thin Man’s hissy fit, Mono took care about chewing on anything around him. A few crumbs could go jammed into his coat pockets, he wasn’t particular about anything getting soggy from his damp coat or shirt, as long as he had a chance later to shove something into his mouth. Always firstly, he made sure the Thin Man had something, then hid himself away to nibble on something crumbly – a cracker, or bit of dried meat thing, thick paste with crusty edges.

Then he would help the Thin Man look through shelves and whatever else. He couldn’t carry around the biggest books, but he tried to show the man in the hat other interesting items. The stuff like shiny buttons or metal disks, didn’t really grab the Thin Man’s attention. It took some effort to haul over a glass bowl, which was super heavy - something else the Thin Man didn't spare a look for. Mono stuck to whatever he could drag, stuff no bigger than him. If the man in the hat tried to wander away, he could rasp after him. Most often he had to leave the trinket, or get left behind.

He always wanted to give the Thin Man fuses, but the tall man and his hat wanted Mono to open the doors with the powers, rather than a fuse. Mono did try that once before. He really tried! No matter what he did or thought, or how he moved his arms, none of him could make it work the way the man in the hat decided he should. But always for his Thin Man, he would try. It was probably because the Thin Man was lonely, like Mono, and wanted more same. It made Mono remember for when the Thin Man would go away forever, probably to find a child that could do all the stuff the Thin Man asked.

Unlock a door. Move a chair. Power an elevator. Make a light bulb glow. The Thin Man touched his face more and more, and Mono struggled to do it right. It usually went that the Thin Man got bored of waiting and vanished. Mono would keep trying, for himself more than anything. He would have to chase his Thin Man down later, once he figured out how to get around with the powers. The Thin Man would sulk and not look at him, and Mono would pretend he was busy searching for important things.

In one of the rooms the Thin Man fiddled around in, Mono discovered a small blade in a desk. He liked to show the Thin Man his skills with dragging around something like an axe or hammer, and how he busted out doors when the latch wouldn’t work. That was how Mono got around! The Thin Man never bothered with locks, all the doors opened for him. But Mono had to do it differently, even if he could move a chair and reach the handle. If the latch didn't move, then he either found a different way or he smashed the doors base out.

The knife was dull and ground across the worn carpet. He didn’t think it would smash through wood, but the Thin Man should like it. The end still dug at the floor and was hung up on threads of carpet, but he hauled it across the room to the man in the hat.

“Psst. Look.” He tugged on the slacks of the Thin Man’s knee, and adjusted his grip on the handle. “Look.”

The Thin Man was already knelt, and already investigating a cubby full of papers. When Mono gave the pant leg another tug, the towering shape shifted to peer at him.

The knife was too heavy and clunky for him maneuvering it closer to the tall thin man. Mono settled to flop it over onto his shoe. “Look.” The bulbs above glimmered, as the hat tilted at the small knife.

Mono blinked under the rim of his hat, when the Thin Man effortlessly plucked the blade off the floor. Him lifted it like it was nothing, after all the tugging and panting of Mono hauling it over. The slender fingers held the handle daintily, and twirled it. Was this something the Thin Man wanted? Mono was more impressed by how the Thin Man stared at the knife, rather than if the Thin Man would keep.

At the same time, something occurred to him about the man in the hat and his ‘gifts’.

“Wait.” The Thin Man didn’t remove his inspection from the blade. “Want stay. Y’no go. NoNo. Hmm.” He should stay for Mono. That was important. It had been some while since the Thin Man looked for his other children. Mono liked that. He didn’t want the Thin Man to think Mono had something busy to do elsewhere. “Okay? Yu’stay.” He wanted to remind the Thin Man they had company, or something like that right now. “Am okay?”

With a scratchy sigh, the Thin Man stood at his full height and pocketed the knife. When he began to click away, Mono rushed after the retreating heels. “No,” he hissed, as loud as he dared. “Y’stay. StayStayStay. C’mon.” The man in the hat brushed him off with his shoe, but Mono recovered himself and kept pace.

“Am chase,” he snarled.

The Thin Man didn’t reply or hesitate. But all the same, Mono wouldn’t let him out of his sight. Not in all the ambiguous rooms or sagging corridors, did Mono falter from his mission. It didn’t matter if a building interior was gutted entirely, or that a run down shop was flooded and the depths filled with strange shapes - of slimy sludge, tangled cloth, or many-man bones. The man in the hat couldn’t escape his Mono! And for the while, Mono felt abundant glee for the role reversal. No other child in all the city could brag they chased a monster. And also, Mono was fearless. He would make everything right for his Thin Man. Somehow.

Still, he would rather work with the Thin Man to scout around the usual way, by rooting out keys or figuring out interesting ways to cross a chasm with interesting bridges made with rope, or punch a hole in a wall by toppling a tall and rickety shelf. There were always clever ways to get around, and none of them had him trying to teleport or whatever was on the Thin Man’s mind. He didn’t like those games. He tried to show the Thin Man how cunning he was, but the Thin Man was more curious about him making a stupid lamp glow. The dummy.

Somehow, he did get a light bulb to fill with buzzing embers… until it burst into a wave of sparks!

Mono was very excited about that trick (it was short but whatever)! The Thin Man would do speek about how that was something, and so ah-cheev-men for once. It usually went, the bulb burst but didn't do nothing else. This time, without really expecting anything, the coil of wire inside the glass burned so bright and orange, Mono had to look away. Then! Only then, it exploded! It glowed for a whole second! Or more!

As usual, the Thin Man didn’t get it. He only shook his head, and with a scratchy warble turned away. He did see what Mono did. He did! But the man in the hat was in no way wowed, at least not like Mono was. That wasn’t fair!

__

After that rare event, getting told to do things got stopped. If he was honest, Mono was relieved to have a break - he had plenty for keep busy with, too. Such being, seek out the Thin Man when he wandered off. Again. It could be more of make Mono do tricks, but on his own. The likely culprit was the Thin Man vanished for look at the other children, and he would reappear after Mono searched for him enough. The habits and doings of the Thin Man confused Mono too much, but he was eager to do the powers right. If only he could get straight what he could do.

While the rooms and corridors lay quiet, and the walls steadily creaked – he tried to wake up elevators from their dazed and ancient slumber. He would stand inside the lift box, trying to make the door close (he felt kind of dumb doing this, and waving his hands around). Or, he stood outside and focused on reviving the cold cables, and trying to rouse that gnarled gears connected to the rusted cable. Only the bulb inside the elevator box buzzed with life, and a few insects hummed around the only glimmer light within miles. The hall lay dim and sodden, the wallpaper wilting. Even the walls slumbered in silence, while Mono bashed his heels into the splintered boards.

This display of agitation ended, when a sliver pierced his heel. Mono crumpled to the floor, but went immediately to gnaw the offending bite from his calloused heel. It took a few nips and ripping of skin embedded with grit, but with expert ease he chewed out all the bits of the wood flint. With the crisis averted, he decided to let the lift alone. For now.

While going on to explore through the corridor and few rooms that would open, he persisted to try for make other things move; like the way the Thin Man thought he could. A heap of ruble in a corridor, a bent doorway with a jammed lock? He struggled to make those things reform, disappear, or explode. He had to be able to make something more happen, if only he could get a grasp for the sensation. He felt something... like when he teleported. Getting a read on the sensation and how it felt against his finger tips, was really messing him up. It was there, he just couldn't hold the power for it.

One time, he really did wreck a building. The floors, its windows, all the walls - he didn't remember how it happened or why it all went away, but he knew that it was all him. With his arms raised, everything evaporated from his fingertips. The Thin Man was there, and nearly disappeared too. He didn’t ever want that to happen again. The thought made him shudder.

Ages later, and he swore he hadn’t given up. He just needed something smaller, something he could grapple with and focus all on.

To his semi-disappointment, rather than stumble onto this illusive perfect project, he instead found where the Thin Man had gone for the hide and quiet.

Even when Mono wasn’t trying, he was too good at find the man in the hat. That was his favorite game, too. They played many games, and finding the Thin Man was the most greatest. It was because the Thin Man didn't care for hiding, not unless the other children.... Mono was careful. He always made certain the man  and his hat didn't have anything doing that would unexpect Mono.

A lone crack in the roof became the only way for Mono to get into the room. The narrow gap had formed in the splintered woof, where the cables and bolts of a dangling lamp pried the slate loose. Very carefully, he squeezed between the boards and let himself drop to the bowl of a sagging lamp. He almost tipped out when his weight caused the thread wire to wrench a bolt loose; however, the tangle of wires kept the lamp anchored. For the most part. He climbed from the bowl and dangled from the edge, before dropping to the floor.

The entire lamp came crashing down afterwards, the glass shattered and biting bits dusted the carpet. Mono launched to his feet and rushed to the nearest cabinet, where he hid in the black cloak it cast. Dust curled across the pitiful haze cast from the doorway, at the far side of the room. The only light glided from that portal, and with its gleam he examined the distant walls. Once the echo faded off, no sounds clattered through the pace beyond the doorway - not even the trickle of water, or the wheeze of walls. The vacant space held dust rather mist, the dank breath of mildew soaked the air.

This place was not same. Okay. The soft mumur of static prickled under his skin and tingled under his cap. New place was danger, but the man in the hat was somewhere.

Like always, he began with the scout through quiet rooms and made plans about the pathways formed by vacant corridors, and the dusty layers coating the floors. Many of the windows he inspected had not shattered entirely, and the boards held out the driving pellets that rattled the slates. Some closed doors shunned his important inspection, but he did find what must be the kitchen place - even if part of the cabinets lay in mounds of insect riddled ruble. After that, he followed the steady hum to find where the Thin Man was.

The very tall man had put himself in a distant and secluded room. His long frame was folded over at a table, the soft scuffing churned with the wind howling, and the faint scratching at the table. The tall thin man was fine, so Mono went off to check the other rooms.

This place was probably where the Thin Man wanted to nest. He liked the dry and quiet areas, where no televisions sang or crackled, and nothing pounded in the other rooms with clomping boots. From his search through the building, Mono didn’t recall seeing any Snatchers or Viewers. To be honest, he didn’t know what sort of building this was. He got in through a broken window, but from the outside shrouded by mist and clouds, it looked tall. Some buildings, he suspected they went forever beyond the cloud layer. Maybe to the moon, and to lands further than he could imagine.

While the Thin Man had quiet and alone, Mono found to busy with the pilfering of food things. It was easy to figure out a kitchen - even one ruined and coming undone - by the dozen of cabinets and cupboards and drawers, and other storage places for food things. He hid in a cupboard and chewed through boxes and waxy paper covers, he licked clean the wrappers and nibbled the crusty stuff when it gathered on his fingers. Between every few swallows, he wandered off to find some water and then went back to it. Always, he made sure to save something for the Thin Man.

He carried a hefty canister in his arms, and went through the main corridor, back to where the Thin Man was. Carefully, he set the container beside the doorframe and knelt. In his brief absence, the man in the hat hadn’t moved; not an inch, aside from his elbow, while his arm wriggled across the table. The steady scratching filled the space, alongside the soft brush of his arm across the stacks of pages.

If the Thin Man wanted to stop in a dry room but there was no table, then he would make one from nothing. Or… he made it with chunks of wood and whatever else he peeled from the walls, with the powers he controlled. Of course he did. The Thin Man could do anything. He was amazing!

The think about all the stuff the Thin Man could do, or chose not to, always made Mono's breath come a little quicker. He didn’t try for think about how it might’ve happened, if he raised his hand and tried to… do anything to the man in the hat, when they stood in the street. It would’ve been a bad end.

In the end of everything, it went terrible anyway. But! Now he had his Thin Man, and he could always chase. He could catch the Thin Man for keep, and the the man in the hat let him be around, looked at him, and did the speek. That was most important. Forget Her. She was horrible. And She was gone, too.

For the now, Mono left the can beside the doorframe and crept into the room. The even prickle of static was thick, and the lamp on the other side of the table flashed or sputtered. When he stood directly beside, or beneath, the desk, he couldn’t see the Thin Man no more. Just his knees, and his lanky frame bowed over the table. That meant he had many thoughts, many rambling quiet lines to put onto the papers. The smoke smell hovered in a fog around the hat, and the dense scratching gnawed at the tables surface.

A bucket was the only item in the room that had height, and that he could shove close to the table. When he caught the edge of the table and hoisted himself over the edge, he was met by pages strewn everywhere. A few stacks of books hid his arrival from the Thin Man, but he also couldn’t see the face of hat. This prompted Mono to duck down, as if hiding from a ghastly menace seeking specimens to cram into a jar.

The arm moved from scratching at a page, and a heavy cloud rolled across the pillars of books.

When the scuffing resumed, Mono slipped down onto his tummy and watched between the books, while the hand worked deftly with the pencil. He liked to watch the graceful movement of the fingers, forming curves and slashes. The stained end hardly left the page, but gaps appeared all the same. A little beyond the wrist, sat a familiar heap of soot and crushed stubs.

Mono snorted, and moved his attention to the piles and scatter of pages left among the books. Some of the marks he recognized, but he didn’t know if they had meaning – unlike pictures, which showed a distinct message. A circle, a line, four shorter lines, maybe clothing and hair, a hat… a child. It depended on who the speek was to. Mono was a square, a triangle, and lines. She was….

He scooted between the stacked books and reached for a page. The discolored surface went corner and edge, all layered in thick or thin lines, and some overlapping in weird ways. When he tried to haul the paper close, a firm tug snapped it out of his grip.

“Do N̶̲͒o̶̩͌ṯ̵̒ ̸̙͑ Ṫ̶̙e̴͗͜s̶̰̊ẗ̵̳́ me.”

Mono tucked his arms back under his coat and settled to watch the man in the hat resume his scratching – corner to edge, and side. Another page filled, and then sifted between the pages of a book. Then the man in the hat stopped for a puff on the smoke stick.

That was all he did. But sometimes he did something different, like flip through a book. Or write in a book! Much of the time was spent on scratching across the pages. The whole while, Mono observed in his hushed bubble. He was good company. Even when his shoulders began to droop, and his forehead cracked once into the tables surface. He snapped his head up, nearly knocking his own hat off.

With all the stealth in his arsenal, he slunk among the forest of books and made it to the Thin Man’s stationary arm. A lone finger tapped against a stack of pages, as if warning Mono.

But Mono was crafty. He skimmed by the edge of the pages, and made it beside the contemplative arm. He checked over the Thin Man’s elbow, and made sure the face and all the attention had not found him yet. The Thin Man stayed focused on his very favorite busy stuff.

“Hmm? Watch?”

The scuffing and movement of the pencil didn’t stop. The finger didn’t slow or cease tapping at the papers - all decorated with the Thin Man's favored lines.

“S’watch? Improt’hhn.” He tugged on the Thin Man’s sleeve. “Y’watch? Hmm? Am—” He bowed his head low when a finger pressed down onto his hat. "Murhh...."

“S̷̜͐h̵͉̕h̵̙͊h̵̝͊.̵̮̐.̵̰̌.̵̧͘.̶̞̂”

Mono shuffled back from the hand. “For watch.” In response, the formerly passive arm knocked him backwards. He wrangled his balance, before he toppled off the tables edge.

“Ḩ̴͒ụ̸̆s̸͓̚h̶̋͜,̸͆ͅ ̶̬͊ O̶̠͘r̶͉͆ ̴̝̄ I̶̧͑ ̸̬̔ Ẅ̴̲́ì̷͍l̷͔̏l̸̤̐ ̸͈͊ G̷͇͝i̸̱̇v̸̟͌e̸̤͠ ̸̖̆ Y̴̖͝o̷̮͆u̵̹̽ ̴̗͆ S̵̼̿o̶̟͐m̸̝̊e̷̩͗t̶̲̍h̶̟͐i̸̧̿n̶͉̔g̶͙̈ ̴͇̕ Ṫ̶͚õ̶̯ ̸̡̍ Ẇ̵͇ā̴̱ṱ̴̾c̸̥͝h̵̼̊.̴̟͘” The Thin Man never dismissed his frigid interest from the paper. He resumed his line sketching, as if he had never spoke.

Mono grabbed the edges of his hat and heaved it down over his head. He scooted back on his knees and buried his heated cheeks into the comforting darkness within the soggy cloth. He listened to the movement of the arm as the man in the hat worked, alongside the dull grinding. It sounded nice, mixing with the broil of static and the tingling in his ears.

He only poked his head up to give the room a short glimpse, and check for shadows that might be out of place. The only doorway was to one side of the room, and the Thin Man’s shoulder faced it – he could see if something traipsed in. Probably would hear a creature first.

If he wasn’t lost in the mark speek.

It was a long while before Mono decided to turn his own focus back to the man in the hat. The eyes glittered beneath the amazing hat, and he wondered what it could be the Thin Man for think about. He could only wonder and watch, while another page was darkened with marks before being it was shuffled aside; it didn’t look like anything but thickened scribbles. Nothing the Thin Man ever scratched down made sense to Mono.

“S’portant?” he dared whisper. And tugged on the sleeve, same as before. But this time, gently. “T’scratch make? S'to happy? That’n’port’hnnn….” His heart skipped when the pencil stopped moving and the hissing static became a churning simmer.

Was this not good company? Did he do wrong?

“Very I̷͓͗m̴̲̋p̷̯͝o̴͕̐r̴͈̔t̵͕̀a̵̩̒ṇ̸̒t̴̗́,” the static relented.

Mono wrested with a sniffle. “Ehn'more t’portant… Mono.” He clutched at the lapels of his own coat and bit on his lip, so it wouldn’t quiver. It was a long moment, before the chair creaked as the man in the hat shifted. The dark gaze and the rigid face turned to observe him directly. Mono tried smiling.

“It is important. For you. We discussed this.”

Mono tucked his face low. That was confusing. He didn’t… well, there came so many stories with the Thin Man. He didn’t recall much, but… there was something about the Eye, and a corridor somewhere - behind the screen? Or was it a door? It was all lost in the swirling stories for a child and this awful sadness bubbling inside. A sad child, lost someplace. One of the children the Thin Man looked for, but couldn’t find. He didn’t know which it was, or if Mono had ever seen that one. There were so many.

“Am here,” he reminded. “Keep. Okay? For you.” The Thin Man stared at him without a sound, save for the buzz of static. “That s’portent. Am keep.”

The man in the hat shouldn’t think about gone children and the ones that didn’t run anymore. It wasn’t good for him. Mono took care of the Thin Man. He took care of watch, and he would get everything the tall thin man needed. Nothing would hurt his Thin Man with Mono protecting him.

“You are something. Huh.”  The elbow pushed him away. “How about the child undertake a fresh task. You have hovered long enough.”

Mono shook his head. “Watch.” He whined when the Thin Man scooped him up. “No. Down. Lemme stay.”

A crackly wisp of smoke swarmed the Thin Man’s hat, as he carried Mono to the doorway. “I can do without the yowling.”

The hands released Mono, but he landed gracefully all the same. Without wasting a second, he pivoted and charged at the Thin Man - only to smack into the shut door. “Buhh,” he snorted, and fixed his hat. He tried pushing at the cracked panel, in case it wasn’t locked fast. Of course, the Thin Man learned from the last time, and the door handle was too high. Aside from the bucket inside the room, he couldn’t recall anything that might could be moved for him to stand on.

Last, he tried teleporting. That wasn’t gonna work, only because he’d worked hard and hadn’t gotten the chance for stop.

That sometimes that worried him, too. What if the Thin Man decided he wasn’t enough of same? Or decided Mono was wrong if he wasn’t good with the teleport. He dread too, what  if his own powers... stopped. The Thin Man might think to him like other kids, and not the best. Mono wouldn’t be the most important. He would be nothing, and he wouldn't be able to find the Thin Man.

He pushed away from the brittle slates of the doors base. The canister he left in the doorframe had tipped over when the door shut, so he moved it back over to the doorway. Then, he followed the long, tilted corridor, retracing his steps in the dust layers. None of the bulbs carried a steady glimmer, but the pasty hue did keep his toes from snagging on tangles of rotted carpet. He was tempted to try and make the static sing in the wires, and make the quiet bulbs coo with warm glows.

But the result was the same smoke and glass raining over his hat, and even inviting bulbs burst into nothing but wire and glass. He rather lay off that for a while.

Following with another scout of the rooms, he found that the place was just as he left it. No thumping, no horrible beasts or crawly critters (aside from the ones he could nibble) – it was the usual oppressive rooms and misty windows. That didn’t stop him from wandering around more and checking interesting things, like the contents of a crushed nightstand. He rifled through the pulverized contents, looking at a moldy rag and a shiny chain with polished glass in it. The Thin Man didn’t like glass or sparkling metal, and Mono was the same. He liked to look at shiny stuff, but that was about it. If it wasn’t a sturdy chain he could attach to a door or creature, or lower down to someplace too high for a leap, he didn’t need it.

One time he tried dragging a chain around, and swatting furniture with it. That activity didn't last, when he missed a mark and smashed the metal against his shin. He limped for a long while and was scared he would never get better. The bruise that formed was unlike anything he'd ever seen. After he recovered, he never swung anything around that wasn't a trusty hammer or sturdy pipe. 

In complete silence he roamed through the rooms, poking at this and that, wondering what this broken lump might’ve been, sometimes puzzling about faded pictures and the shapes in stained lumps of paper. If a particular crackling rippled through the steady lull, he was swift to duck into the nearest patch of shadow ad curl up. Usually nothing came of the sounds, and he was keen to dive into the stable portion of a room if the walls began to buckle. Rarely did some gurgling shape hunting for children, or just a kid, appear from the shy creaking. But Mono was so good at flee and hide, he never dredged up a creatures unwanted interest. He never let his guard down, even in rest.

One window in a detached room hung crooked in the wall, damp but not drenched through by the forever storms howling outside the cracked glass. The sill was for high to reach on his own, but the edge had cracked and serrated fibers sagged just an inch out of his reach. He used a shirt sleeve to snag the corner, then he could climb up and get a grip of the worn wood. He curled up in the corner of the window frame and tugged the tail of his coat around his knees.

In the back of his head, the soft tickle of static brushed his thoughts. Later, he would try and do more company with the Thin Man. It would take time before the man and his hat finished whatever scratch marks he put onto the pages, but he would to stop at some point. He always did. If Mono gave him quiet, the Thin Man might even let him see, and tell him about the marks. The stuff that the Thin Man did speek about must’ve had to do with the Eye and other things, like that door... the corridor, and the door, and other stuff Mono didn't... that happened way before. When he did pack with Ḩ̷͉̈́̐e̸̮̊r̵̦̜̋.̷̳̤̈́͌ The things he did understand, was it connected up with everything that put quiet think into the man in the hat.

The Thin Man wanted to share those stories with Mono, but the rambling fuss the Thin Man made about anything and everything never made sense when he meant for Mono to listen. He didn’t get Mono made speek in pictures, and didn't do the lines or the noises. Noisy children die. The only thing they left behind were stories about them, and the dangers that stole them. It happened to all kids, but it wouldn't happen to Mono.

He used the back of his fingernail to scrape away soft wood. The rain prattled at the remaining shards of glass, and the murky layers slathered the sill with fractured grays. Outside, the dark ravels bled through the sky, but its oily grasp melted through the clouds. In the knotted mesh of grays and silver, the timid flicker of windows gazed back like gaunt faces. He made an etch for each wayward flame lost in the storm. And did an outline of the chair. He included an egg, even if he didn’t like them that much – eggs were better than nothing. He added other marks, like a favorite hat he lost, a pack of children trapped in a bag. The cage. He kept carving, until a small section of the sill was covered in muddy sawdust and grooves or everything he had think about.

The Tower was out there. Even through the violent storm, the beacon and flat shape glided high in the sky. The blistering flare of the signal light pulsed, singeing the storm with its searing gaze. Beneath the fearsome light, stretched the sharp fringes of the structure… miles and miles of walls concealing the maze of doors and corridors and stairwells, days and days of backtracking, listening, and getting thrown into random rooms with ever misstep. He forgot how long he spent seeking, but he never forgot the strange shadows quivering beneath chunks of furniture - the horrid interior he climbed through forever to find H̶̺͐̿ĕ̶̜͔r̶̤̤͐.̴̙̞̚

And also… where S̷̠̔h̴͙̩̀͠e̶̤̮̽ tried for leave him.

Somewhere in tuning the televisions, he must’ve messed up. He did use televisions to make his way to the Tower way back then, but he never wanted to be near the Tower ever again. Not until he knew what to do, maybe not until he forgot H̶̺͐̿ĕ̶̜͔r̶̤͐ entirely. He would return to the Tower, he would make it all right, he would fix everything. He could do that. He had never given up.

There was a chance to fix everything. First, he had to be ready. He had to know his powers. His powers. Not whatever the Thin Man thought he could or couldn't do.

One time forever ago, he liked to look at the Tower whenever he had the chance. See it and think about what he would do, how he would figure something out for once rather than run away like always. Something would change this time, and it would make up for all the failing he did. The dream haunts would go away, he could stop the think about everyone he turned his back on. He was clever, and with Her they did many tricks. When it was them, then they escaped dangers that took other kids. She and him did it all on their own, had safe figured how puzzles worked. The Hunter was torn apart, he gave her a fish, they found shelter, he saved Her from fake children, they escaped the Teacher, he shared food things, they braved the Hospital, crushed hands, he took care of her wounds, they cooked the Doctor (the way monsters did the children).

Nothing could stop them. They were so much as pack, and could do anything in Togetherness!

He slipped off the sill and hurried to the doorway. Too many bad memories swarmed his head, he needed to write stories about them and put the pictures in his head somewhere else. But he didn't want to wander around anymore, not after all the places he was been, or with all the seeking he did catching up. HIs legs became noodles and his eyes blurred the gloomy surroundings. All he could do was curl up in the hall between a broken chair and a heap of clothing, and blend in with his surroundings. His head plopped onto his knees, drawn up to his chest. It was safest to be as small and uninteresting as possible.

Out there, the Tower was waiting. It expected him. Mono didn't know why he thought this, he more of felt it. The Tower remembered him in a way he didn't understand, and it expected him. If they stayed away from the televisions, it should be... okay. There was nothing to worry about, and nothing for do. The Thin Man didn’t need to know. If the man in the hat figured out where the Tower was, he might not trust Mono, or worse, go somewhere that Mono couldn’t follow. He didn’t know if that was possible, but most of all he didn’t want to scare the Thin Man. He didn’t want to admit he was scared too. He didn’t want the Thin Man to think he was a danger. He would always catch his Thin Man and keep, but what would he do if he accidentally hurt the man or his hat?

Next

__

Hello readers, if you are interested in meeting with other Little Nightmares writers, or artists, or others discussing fandom things, do pop into the discord right here [Little Nightmares Fanfiction Club]

[kinokkotsu]

The Dim Light — Yuuta Okkotsu x F.Reader

Today’s Music Recommendation: My Love Mine All Mine By Mitski.

You did not believe in love at first sight until you saw him walk into the room. The pure appearance and the innocent personality of his caught you off guard. How could a person like this get cursed by a curse?

You stood tall next to him while he was avoided by the others during training. You thought he’d appreciate it, which he did. His nervous behavior and awkwardness could break a chuckle for all you care but you didn’t want to seem like you were harassing him so you’d bare with it.

The more you get to know him, the more you figured his heart belonged to someone else.

Someone who isn’t on the surface of earth anymore.

Someone who still stood next to him no matter what, even as a nothing.

Rika, that was what he called the special graded curse which almost took away your life when it noticed you glazing at him with full of passion and admiration.

He was a nice guy, you admitted.

A really..really nice guy.

There was a saying that goes — Whoever meant to see your light shall see it no matter how dim it is - you supposed he was no different from the others who shall not see the brightest stars within your dim light.

It was somewhere around December, you suppose it was on the 24th. You found yourself running back to the Jujutsu Tech from your mission as you were informed that a thick layer of veil had covered the whole area.

And the first thing that appeared in your brain was to protect Yuuta Okkotsu. The innocent and pure little guy who would always mess things up as a beginner. But that was just an underestimation of yours towards him. while you sweat bullets trying to enter the white pale veil, you noticed how the entire estate glowed in pink flash.

Was this a technique of Gojo?

No, you weren’t familiar with this kind of curse technique before.

All of a sudden, the energy that was produced by the veil weakened to the point where you could break through it.

You didn’t waste any moments and immediately rushed in. Arriving near the shrine, your body tensed up at the scene of your friends’ bodies laying on the solid floor. Your eyes detected every person on the ground but there was no sign of the special graded sorcerer.

you dashed deeper into the ruined buildings. Each step taking a thousand thoughts running feral within your brain. What you dropped all your worries was the sight of the 6 feet tall man running towards your direction.

Your pace slowed down as your vision focused on his divine face. “Gosh, I have been looking for you for goddamn sakes, where have you been!?” You raised your voice, watching him give you a relieved grin.

Before you could take another step forward, he pulled you into a hug. Your cheeks reddened as immediately as he did so.

“—thank goodness you’re okay..Maki, Panda and others..I-”

“They’re okay..I..I’m Okay.” you returned the hug awkwardly, feeling yourself get suffocated.

For the very first time in your life, you felt something that was so genuine in the hug that both of you couldn’t pull away for the next few seconds. Then you saw a small little girl standing behind Yuuta where you both caught off guard when she called him out.

Then many things happened after. apparently this girl was Rika who had been acting crazy over everyone that tried to get close to Yuuta. You saw how pure and genuine was their relationship when you watched Yuuta sobbed on his knees as he held onto Rika.

In the blink of an eye, you watched the girl disappear into the thin air while the male before you still remained silent.

You put a hand on his shoulder, holding back your envy and the pity you had for this guy.

You supposed you would somehow cope with these feelings that craved to burst out.

You supposed loving someone would never be a waste, nevertheless if they’re alive or not.

At this moment you somehow figured loving someone did not require for them to return the same favor as you.

To love was the best thing you could do — for him and.. for you.

Sorry if the writing is ragged. The new episode, the leaks and this song got me fucked up for god sakes.

[dawn-moths]

Tomura x Reader

word count: 1,300+

(You tend to Tomura’s dry, cracked hands and itchy skin while the two of you watch a movie.)

disclaimer/content warning: no warnings apply! just a lil sfw drabble in honor of tomura’s birthday. also reader has a technology/hacking quirk. enjoy!

The light from the television cast the room in a pale glow, muted colors shifting from blue to green and back to blue again as the scene of the movie oscillated between the perspective of the two main characters— the protagonist and antagonist about to come to a head.

Tomura was enraptured, unable to tear his unblinking gaze from the screen as the tense music began to pick up speed, the cuts between the two opposing sides getting faster and faster until they met on the same ground, the final fight about to build to a crescendo.

You, however, were currently focused on something much more important than a dramatic psychological thriller you’d already seen a million times.

Because, being carefully massaged between your soft little hands was one of Tomura’s big, rough palms, the skin cracked and flaking with irritation.

“Tomu…” you murmured, sort of with a concerned, sympathetic coo. “I told you… you don’t need to wait until they’re this bad to come to me. I can do it nightly, I don’t mind.”

All he gave in response was a simple hum and a barely detectable nod. You felt his hand tense slightly in yours as the fight took a turn and the villain got the upper hand. You knew that’s who he was rooting for, though, unfortunately, very few films ended with the bad guys winning in the end.

You continued to work the first layer of lotion into one of his hands, then reached over to grab the other from his lap, giving it the same treatment. It was a thin, lightweight hand cream that, for you, normally did the trick. In the colder months, maybe you would have to reapply it two or three times a day, at most, but for Tomura, you’d gathered every lotion, cream, and salve within your moisturizing arsenal to treat him with.

All it took was one look at his hands to know it was going to be a lengthy process.

“Just tell me if any of it starts to burn or sting,” you instructed him, finishing with his left hand and retaking up the right one where, just as you’d thought, the first layer of lotion had already soaked all the way in and left his hand still feeling dry, albeit slightly less rough. “And if you notice any unusual redness by tomorrow you need to—”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He appreciated your help, truly he did, but he wasn’t used to having someone fuss over him like this. The care you offered was still a foreign thing to him.

He remedied the harsher edges of his voice then by looking over and giving a small grin, chapped lips beseeching of your attention as well. Lightly squeezing your hand in his, he said, “I’ll let you know.”

That seemed to placate you, for the time being at least, and you resumed your work tending to his hands.

“You better…” you muttered with a crooked grin.

Now moving onto the second layer, you flipped open the cap of a thicker, slightly stronger eczema cream. It would help lock the moisture in better than the surface layer that you’d just finished applying. It was your favorite for whenever you, yourself, encountered any stubborn dry patches on your own skin. A few days of this stuff and your ailment would disappear. You figured it would take a few weeks to have even half the effect on Tomura, though, it wasn’t so much the appearance of his skin that concerned you. It was more so how the constant itching sensation affected him.

It was painful, you could tell. It showed in the way he flinched and hissed and scratched himself raw, carving new scars over old ones. It hurt you to watch him hurting, so whatever you could do to help him feel more comfortable in his own skin, you were more than willing to try.

“Ah, man…” you heard Tomura grumble, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “They always let the heroes win. So predicable…”

He turned his attention away from the movie— there was only about ten minutes left now anyway— and instead decided to focus more on you now.

“What’s this one do?” He half-mockingly, half-curiosity inquired, plucking up step three of your six step lotion lineup for the night. He narrowed his eyes as he read the packaging, smirk widening as he asked with a bit of a chuckle, “And what the fuck is colloidal oatmeal?”

You swiped it from his grasp, motioning for him to give you back his hand.

“It helps your skin!” was all you could offer in defense. And then, before he could tease you any further, you said, “Now stop stalling and sit still.”

To humor you, Tomura complied, though the way his entire body relaxed the more you lulled him with the soothing circles you massaged into his hand spoke to just how much he’d needed this. Craved it. He never asked for it himself, but whenever you told him to sit down and let you tend to him, he never tried to argue.

“Y’know, I’ve been trying to do some research,” you eventually admitted, “and I think I might’ve found a few products that could really give you some relief in the long term. They’re pricey but…”

“Well,” Tomura shrugged. “That’s what shoplifting was invented for.”

At that, you gave a gentle chuckle. “Well, some of these things are prescription only…” You shot him a coy glance. “Which is why I’ve also been researching how to commit prescription fraud.”

“Ah,” he replied, perking with sarcasm. “Glad to see your robbery skills are leveling up.”

You let out another laugh, opened the cap to the next ointment. “Forging medical documents might be the boss battle,” you joked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, something in his expression softening then. “But if anyone can beat it, it’s gonna be you.”

You felt yourself warming to his praise. You were his favorite little hacker, after all, your quirk allowing you to enter into any kind of technology— the internet included— and navigate through it as if it were a physical space, your consciousness traveling into the coding and giving you the ability to alter things, to fidget with and rearrange the contents like they were items on a shelf or paintings on a wall.

By now, you were nearing the end of your moisturizing process, a pile of previous lotions, potions, oils, and hand creams collecting on your side of the couch.

“How does it feel?” you asked him. He hadn’t complained about any discomfort, but you still wanted to make sure.

“Mm, pretty good, I think,” he answered. Though, what he really liked most about these exchanges wasn’t necessarily the effect it had on his skin, but rather getting to have your full attention, privately, away from the other members of the League.

He liked how meticulously you tended to his hands, making sure to get every inch from fingertips to wrists.

He liked how you touched him with such gentle care, dare it be compared to love.

“Good,” you smiled, interlocking your fingers with his as soon as you were done. After these sessions, your palms were even softer than they'd been at the start.

You snuggled against his shoulder, resting your head against it even though it was a bit boney. His hand grasped yours just a little tighter, a silent plea for you to stay here, like this, with him, for just a while longer.

“Thank you…” Tomura eventually muttered, sounding halfway to dozing off. You were starting to drift too, so you almost missed it. But once it registered to you you grinned, softly nuzzling against him.

“Anytime,” you murmured.

Anytime.

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey!!! You commented on my post about limetown haha which is why I’m here. You offered to give podcast recs! What are your favorites?? I’m looking for some new ones

I completely forgot I had this ask, excuse the delay. Here's a selection of 30 podcasts I enjoyed from a broad range of genres: hopefully at least one appeals.

Let me know if you're after something more specific.

Arden: (Investigative, Comedy) On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.

Desperado: (Supernatural, Adventure, Horror Elements) In a modern world of gods and magic, three young people, all under the patronage of death dieties, embark on the same adventure for different reasons: for safety, for revenge, and to kill The Old Man in the Sky. Fantastic banter and killer action sequences.

The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agoraphobic young woman wakes one day to discover her lighthouse home has travelled to somewhere entirely unfamilar. As this continues to happen day after day, she uses the opportunity to search for her missing brother. A really unique and charming piece of fiction.

Gastronaut: (Sci-Fi) Interstellar travel audio blog of a former food critic as he travels to an active warzone to get firsthand experience with unfamilar cuisine. ft. Disgruntled martian nobility, sinister businessmen, explosive mushrooms, forbidden snacks, rogue revolutionary artists, and the consequences of your actions.

Girl in Space: (Sci-Fi) The Girl In Space lives alone on a space station, doing science, making cheese, rewatching Jurassic Park, and tending to the plants, animals, and artificial sun entrusted to her. It's a little lonely, but not a bad life. Would be a shame if someone came along to ruin it.

The Goblet Wire: (Microfiction, Weird Fiction) A surreal microfiction with horror elements, taking the form of phone calls to an audio-based game in which the voice of the mysterious Dictator leads each player through fantastic and horrific world and story.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Horror, Supernatural) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods, as they find meaning and sometimes eachother.

Hi Nay: (Supernatural Horror) A year after moving to Toronto, sound designer Mari finds herself drawn into helping people around the city with various horrific supernatural encounters due to her babaylan (shaman) family background. It quickly becomes apparent that there's something much more sinister and complicated happening in the background.

Inco: (Microfiction, Sci-Fi) A perpetually exausted interstellar information trader and her peppy AI find a mysterious (read: bratty) boy floating in space and are inadventently pulled into a world political intrigue.

Inn Between: (Fantasy) Ever curious about what the D&D characters get up to at the tavern between sessions? A generally lighter-hearted (with some exceptions) with richly-written and always-growing characters. A really interesting format, too: a lot of the adventure appears in the "next time" and "last time" segments which makes it all flow really nicely. Not a tabletop podcast.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenoarcheologist and a xenopaleontologist are sent to a study a dead city on a distant world. Nobody likes what they find there. A unique format, with one set of logs presented first to last, and the other last to first. I'd recommend listening to the supercut for this one.

The Kingmaker Histories: (Steampunk, Weird Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy Elements) In the Valorian Socialist Republic 1911, on her 25th birthday, tailor's apprentice Colette experienced the worst headache of her life. As a result, she fleed from town with a human artificer and a fae chef - both now smugglers - pursued by an utterly furious flesh-crafter. I'm not sure I'm selling how good this podcast is but it's very good.

Life With Althaar: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) A human repairman moves to a space station on the edge of human territory that is perpetually on the edge of self-destruction, and ends up with a less-than-ideal last-minute roomate. Althaar is polite, friendly, deeply interested in human culture, and eager to be friends. Unfortunately he belongs to a species that sends humans into a visceral panic at a glance.

Lost Terminal: (Sci-Fi, Hopepunk) Seth is a very lonely AI living on a satellite. His crew were left stranded aboard with no hope of return, and it's been longer than he can count since then. The Earth below him has changed dramatically, and with only a few other AI down there to talk to, he's very lonely. But! He has a plan to make some new friends.

Love and Luck: (Romance, Slice-of-Life and Urban Fantasy Elements) Voice messages cataloguing two young men falling in love and opening a queer dry bar together.

Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance) Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.

Midst: (Weird Fiction, Western, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Elements) The old-western planetoid islet of Midst floats, rotating steadily, in a sea of reality-warping darkness. Down in the town of Stationary Hill, things are in movement, and vistors from the light above are about to bring unanticipated change. ft a monocycle-riding monster-hunter, radio-famous airship paladins, deadly mica, the universe's peppiest cultist, good dogs, and a really strange businessman.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy and Horror Elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item.

Monstrous Agonies: (Supernatural, Relationship Advice) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

Night Shift: (Urban Fantasy, Investigative) Set in a modern world with the addition of magic, which manifests in small inherited skills/traits, can warp people in horrific ways, or can be manipulated with the right science (and intense work) to induce superpowers. Sebastian Fenn is a barista at Night Shift Coffee, but since things are slow he's decided to start a podcast to talk about various mysteries, crimes and conspiracies around the city, and of course finds himself deeper in them than he'd intended.

The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller Elements? I think?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.

SCP: Find Us Alive: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror and Slice-of-Life elements) You don't need to know anything about SCP to enjoy this. A research team gets trapped in an underground research facility when the complex collapses and the building is dragged into a pocket dimension. The tear it was designed to study begins creating tiny copies of itself, generating strange entities the team needs to deal with. And as if that wasn't enough, the entire situation physically resets itself every 30 days. And yet, this is genuinely also an office comedy.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a scout sent to explore and establish early infastructure new world, and the communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Seen and Not Heard: (Slice-of-Life, Drama) Seen and Not Heard follows Bet, who's still adjusting to life a year after a bout of severe illness, and the resulting hearing loss it caused. It's about the ways we make connection, and food, and art, and different kinds of grief.

The Silt Verses: (Horror) In a modern world where gods are abundant, frequently both commercialised and restricted, two devotees of an outlawed river god go on a pilgrimage.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-Fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Starfall: (Fantasy) Seeking to escape her mysterious past and find some purpose, a young swordswoman joins a travelling actor's troupe. This new life is unfamilar and sometimes stressful, but she's taken under the wing of stagehand Fel, who's determined to help her feel welcome as she experiences the figurative and literal magic of the theatre for the first time.

The Tower: (Weird Fiction) A low-key, meditative podcasy about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Gorgeous sound design.

The Vesta Clinic: (Sci-Fi) New GP Dr. Fae Underwood, with the expert transcription skills of resident AI Sec, writes up patient reports on human and alien patients of The Vesta Clinic, a medical clinic on the edge of human space. Really comfy and creative.

Victoriocity: (Steampunk, Mystery) Set in the steam-powered Victorian city of Even Greater London, an aspiring journalist and a tired detective find themselves working together to solve a strange murder. I say Victorian but as queen Victoria is now an extensive grandiocity of cyborg components following seven only-kind-of-successful assassinations, you may need to adjust expectations a little.

[happypotato48]

Only Boo! EP 7 Unhinged Tangent Thoughts

I'm BACK! with this week ep of Only Boo! i didn't write anything last week because i wasn't feeling cute, but now i'm back to my adrob self so let's fucking go!!

tldr for my last week ep thoughts : these boys are too dumb and too gay to get aways with anything.

Oh no a public proposal. thanks god it's just a dream cause like, Moo did you learned nothing about what Kang likes? btw i'm not a person who like big public display of affection, so satan if you're listening plz marcy kill me if this happened to me.

This boy is too gay to function.

Ok, all the boys in this show are too gays to function in society.

These knuckleheads. i understand that they're both angry for valid reasons but like stop being so self absorb for a bit and asks payos how he's feelling for a change.

Good on you Kang for being direct and honest. i'm totally not jelly of you at all for having two manic pixie dream boys fell head over heels for you. *sobs in single*

Hunny, you don't need radar to detect this shit you just need an eyes.

WHAT DID I TELL YOU! good dicks come to you naturally. and lo behold. Payos babe, the universe is telling you something here.

*dying from them cheeks*

Moo i know you loves Kai palo but you need to change it up sometime. Thai food has so much to offer especially in khao kaeng shop.

Potae, you came through this time so i give you a pass. but this boy deserves better than what you're offering him right now.

Oh my god indeed. แกง มึงก็ร้ายเหมือนกันนะ.

DRWAAMAA!!

I could and had finished what these two are eating all by my self.... Waahhh I'm a pig! Wuahhh! anyways i'm honkgry for hotpot now and food are amazing who give a shit about being a skinny BL boy.

Carrot the gayest vegetable second only to eggplant.

Owww! my beautiful baby, don't cry. You will fall in love with a handsome business man who also happened to be your long lost childhood bestfriend soon. just keep you chin up baby.

opkdgogkrkgkkgkrkegokslfpdsp!

*continuing to giggle uncontrollably like a madman*

I will not feel bad for this boy I will not feel bad for this boy I will not feel bad for this bo... Fuck!

YAY! Gay Magic!

Heheheheee that was the cutest shit i ever witnessed i legitimately gone complate gagabanana over that scene at the pier my heart is so full right now. i think i don't mind much about the fake out kiss at the end cuz both the actors are very young and very news. they also been giving their all in other aspects. for the side couple, Potea and me are still on thin ice but we'll see what happened after Payos confessed maybe they will finally win me over.

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Palm Kisses and Plum Wine

Genshin masterlist

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, confessions, affectionate drunk heizou Summary: What is one to do when there is a drunk detective in your lap at midnight?

This is bad. Very very very bad. Not because you committed some unspeakable atrocities for the best detective in all of Inazuma to be climbing into your house through the open window, but because said detective, namely Heizou, is your boyfriend and is extremely, horrendously drunk. 

Your pretty man, your favorite human being on this whole godforsaken continent is already adept at making your heart race like no tomorrow. And him now with no inhibitions? A menace to society, especially your poor overworked heart. You quietly stare up at Heizou’s slim figure straddling your lap, your hands clasped in his while he mutters whatever loving, sugar-filled sentences that appear in his mind. You cannot help but wonder inwardly how you even got into this situation.

To understand your current situation fully, you must turn back time to less than an hour ago. 

You were going to get a cup of water and something else to entertain yourself with for the night when you heard a rustle from the kitchen. You froze up. Usually, just Heizou’s reputation and the sheer frequency of him coming over is enough to chase anyone with evil intentions away. You gripped tightly onto the bottle of milk nearby and prepared yourself for a bitter struggle… Only to see the ‘criminal’ was Heizou, utterly drunk and could not find his keys for whatever reason (They were in his other pocket, courtesy of his brilliantly intoxicated brain). So of course the idea his brilliant mind cooked up was to climb through your window!

At the sight of you, still very distressed due to his decision, Heizou immediately jumps over. His body slams against you and the detective pushes you down along with the momentum, putting you into a rather suggestive position. It would be a heart pounding scene if your poor lower back did not have to take both his weight and gravity. Before you can question him, the strong scent of plum wine fills your senses with the sheer proximity between your faces. On his thin lips is a soft, oh-so-smitten smile that serves to make his eyes shine even bright under the moonlight and the dim lantern you just lit up.

He pulls you up by pulling on your wrists, making you lean on him, and proceeds to cup his own face with your palms. Heizou smiles even brighter at the coolness against his flushed cheeks. “Did… did you drink?,” you ask, just to confirm your already very sure assumption. In response, the burgundy haired man nuzzles his cheeks against your hold while slowly blinking his beautiful eyes. You sigh as you attempt to calm your heart from its 100 km per hour pace. He pauses for a moment and relief washes over you. Maybe you can finally get him to bed and no longer have to deal with this awkward situation?

“Love? Let’s get you tucked in?,” you suggest. A part of you wishes to continue to stay in this position, but for the sake of both your heart and your spine, you ask him the question. Heizou stares into your eyes, his gaze hazy yet clear at the same time. His hold on your hand refuses to budge. Moments pass as he seems to fall into contemplation. You wonder if you should try and escape while he is distracted but his grip would not budge at all. 

Slowly, his face turns between your palms, his cool lips making contact with the thenar sends a shiver up your spine. Heizou’s gorgeous eyes curve into little crescents at the warmth practically glowing from your pretty face, much like a smug cat getting away with messing up your house. But he doesn’t stop there, no no, he wants you to lose all of your composure for him. The detective’s whispers seem to echo in the quiet of the night, “I love you…” and he repeats his confession continuously, only ceasing for the brief moments he kisses your palm with reverence in his eyes. His peach blossom eyes reflect your flustered expression like a spring lake, no longer attempting to hold back his affection, every single thought he had been holding onto spills out in tides. Heizou kisses your palms slowly, each time lingering like he just wants the moment to be frozen forever. Between kisses, he makes sure to confess until you are completely sure of the feelings he holds until you are drowned in a sea of his adoration for you.

Heizou only stops when he falls asleep in the middle of kissing your left hand while still mumbling about how perfect you are in his eyes and how he would ‘arrest all the criminals in the world to keep you safe and sound’. In the end, you decide to drag him to your bedroom and let him cuddle you until the morning.

(Extra: Heizou screams like a maiden at the sight of you sleeping beside him when he woke up. He is genuinely worried that he might have hurt you in some way the night before and promises to take responsibility. So you tell him to explain to your neighbors as to why he sneaked in last night. Through the one that every single existence can see easily. At midnight.)

A/N: ngl this is the longest drabble i've posted yet lul and also my first ever heizou drabble so 🎉🎉🎉 i swear i will make a proper taglist soon pls and happi pride month! Signora x reader drabble soon bc i need her hands on my neck asap!!!

[minihotdog]

The Scout

Pairing: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost runs into an old... Friend? Enemy?

a/n: idk man I'm just justing

c/w: adult themes MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8k

Ghost excused himself from the group of men after exchanging his post with Gaz for the night and headed towards the grey, empty room he’d been calling his. His body was worn out, along with his mind.

The mission had been going on for weeks and was moving at a snail’s pace. They were pursuing a militia that had recently aligned with Makarov’s forces. Laswell had received intel on a shipment of weapons that were heading for said militia’s hideout intended for Makarov. The shipment was set to arrive within the month and the task force intended to intercept it, but that meant a lot of time spent sitting and watching in shifts. 

The detachment facility was concealed but close enough to intercept coms without being detected

Ghost was getting tired of waiting. He was used to action, and adrenaline, and the slow pace was wearing him and his comrades down even more than the countless neverending firefights they were accustomed to. As much as those moments left permanent marks on his psyche, he and everyone he knew craved it in some twisted, bloodthirsty way. At this point, he was doing a thousand pushups a day for “excitement”.

He blew air through his nose in frustration as he sat on the twin-sized wrestling mat he called a bed. He placed his gun on the floor next to him and threw his heavy vest against the wall to use as a pillow.

The weight coming off his shoulders leaves him rubbing his aching shoulders in relief over the sleek material of his sweater. He lies back on the paper-thin foam and his spine lets out a series of pops, finally releasing the pressure built up from hours holding the same position.

He groans quietly, reaching under his mask to scratch his scruff.

M’as well sleep on the floor, this mat is shite.

He rests his hand on his chest and the other on the knife sheathed to his belt. His eyes shut and he chases his rest fully clothed, boots and all.

-Time Skip: Approx. 0300-

He didn’t dream often, especially on the job. On the contrary, nightmares plagued him when he was home and a threatening darkness encompassed him on the field. But this feeling wasn’t right. Even asleep, Ghost was on alert. He could sense to his core that the air in the room had changed and a wave of uneasiness flooded him in his dreamless state.

He couldn’t pull himself from the darkness as he usually could. No matter how hard he subconsciously tried, his body was begging for rest against his efforts.

Ghost felt a weight lower itself onto his lap. Another person’s hands slide lightly from his waist to his chest.

Bloody ‘ell, wake up!

His body tenses involuntarily under the fondling. The zipper on his sweater carefully unzips. The cool air hitting his bare chest causes him to twitch in the battle between mind and body. The grasp the darkness had on him was lethal.

Small, warm hands graze the exposed skin of his abdomen, lightly tracing the patches of thick scar tissue that littered all over his body.

A soft, feminine voice coos at him as he twitches and his mind rushes to fill in the blanks, sending different scenes through his closed eyes in a poor attempt to mask the sound as a dream.

C’mon, wake up!

He felt as if he was floating through dimensions as he began the process of regaining full consciousness, eyes still refusing to open.

The mysterious woman lowers herself onto him, her nose gently nuzzling his neck. She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to savor his musky scent. Her head pulls away from his neck and he feels fingertips graze his throat.

She fiddles with the hem of his balaclava before it begins to catch at the sides of his jaw. He feels his mask being pulled up and a shock shoots through his body. His limp state disappears instantly and he reaches for her. His other hand remembers its place on the knife.

His fingers wrap around her wrist, preventing it from going any further.

“Don’t worry, darling.” She coos as her free hand caresses his cheek. “I won’t pull it off, that’s not nice.” His grip tightens but she pays it no mind. She moves her hand from his cheek and uses it to pull his mask enough to reveal his lips. Her thumb outlines his bottom lip and she swoops down to plant a small kiss on his lips. He feels her lips through her mask.

His eyes flutter, trying to rid themselves of the blurriness. Moonlight pours into the room just enough for him to make out her figure above him and some of her features.

“I’ve been watching you for so long.” She wines, bottom lip quivering slightly under the material. “I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you.” Her eyes crinkle as if she’s smiling under the mask. The black mask only covers the lower half of her face and a long single braid falls over her shoulder. He sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Y/n, we have to stop meeting like this.” The rasp in his voice sends shivers down her spine. She chuckles and tilts her head.

Ghost releases her wrist and wraps his fingers around her throat so quickly she doesn’t have time to react. Her hands come up to hold his in place and a whimper falls from her lips. Her eyes stare into his, lust clouding her pupils. Ghost shifts beneath her, feeling the heat radiating off of her. Her hips involuntarily grind against his in a jerking motion and arousal begins to stir inside of him.

Even through the mask, he could see her jaw go slack, her eyes burning into him. He couldn’t stop himself from giving her a small squeeze and watching her body come alive for him.

Fuckin’ ‘ell

He snaps himself out of the trance and slides himself up until his back rests on the wall taking her with him. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking. 

“Why are you watching us this time?” He shakes her roughly when the words refuse to fall out of her open mouth. He unsheaths his knife from his belt and presses the blade to her throat just about his thumb. “C’mon, love, keep this easy.”

She grips his wrist and attempts to push the knife away but he doesn’t budge. A look of panic flashes in her eyes. “Decided to toy with the enemy and this time it isn’t going your way, huh?”

His bare lips graze her ear. “If you were under my command, I’d take you bound and gagged to teach you a lesson, you little minx.” His words drip with poison. She fights against his grip to no avail. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The hem of his fatigues grinds painfully against her clit. He catches himself nearly panting at her little cries.

“I’m here to warn you, you stupid fuck.” She chokes out, clawing at his now painful grip on her jaw.

“Warn me of what?” He growls.

“Makarov has men heading this way. He thinks the task force has been tipped off.” She winces at his tightening grip.

Ghost chuckles, his plump lips tugging into a cocky smile. He sheaths his knife and his grip on her neck loosens and she gasps, finally being able to breathe properly.

“You’re working for Makarov now? That’s fuckin’ hilarious. You just keep getting worse.”

He tosses her backward onto the floor. He jumps to his feet, throwing on his vest and grabbing his gun. He readjusts his mask and turns back to her.

“Well, I recommend you disappear now.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “So no goodbye kiss?”

“Fuck off.”

He places his headset over his ears.

“Bravo 6, Ghost. How copy?”

“What is it?”

“A little birdie told me Makarov’s men are heading our way.”

“All units pull out!”

Gunshots begin sounding through the hallway nearby. Ghost assesses the hall. When his head turns back she’s gone and the window is wide open.

He leaves the room behind to join the fight with his brothers. A trail of destruction leads to the vehicle barreling towards the compound for them. As Ghost enters the humvee he looks back to the dark building. Somewhere in the dense treeline, he could swear she was perched up watching him.

- Time Skip: UK -

“Makarov knew we were there. We did not prepare for that possibility. He could’ve used the gun deal to drag us out there and intended to have all of us killed.” Price sits at the head of the table looking to Laswell at his left.

“How’d you get out in time?” She looks over the images and reports plastered on the table.

Ghost interjects, “He had a scout visit before the attack, a familiar one.”

“Viper visited you before the attack?” Her eyebrows furrow. “This gives us plenty to look into. That’s enough for now.” She turns to Price. “Speaking of scouts, we’re gonna need one to plan for the next mission.”

They all dismiss from the debriefing, everyone heading their separate ways except Soap and Ghost.

“Yer tellin’ me she told ye they were coming? Tha’s a first.” Soap says in disbelief. “I guess Makarov isn’t payin’ them like he used tae.”

They say their goodbyes and Ghost heads to his barracks room.

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[desert--moonchild]

uhmmm so not entirely sure where this is going yet, but have some kind of magic au that'll be primarily bucktommy, but very likely end up with some saleddie in it (considering the only scene i have written for it so far is the sal and eddie scene below) so have some saleddie snarking at each other

Eddie knew who was behind the door before he even opened it and honestly he would have just ignored it, but the knocking was getting louder and Christopher was finally in bed.

“Would you knock it off?” He hissed swinging the door open.  “It’s nearly midnight!  What’s the matter with you, my kid is trying to sleep.”

Sal Deluca stood on his front porch with his fist frozen in midair.  He had a wild look in his eye and his short hair was sticking up in random spots as if he’d been running his hands through it.  

He cocked his head curiously at Eddie.  “You have a kid?”

“Yes, a obnoxiously stubborn teenage who better be in bed and sleeping since it’s a school night!”  Eddie called over his shoulder.

A door in the hallway clicked shut quickly. 

Eddie huffed and rolled his eyes back towards Sal who was still standing in his doorway.  “What do you want, Deluca?” He asked even though he knew very well what the detective wanted.

“What the fuck did I see earlier, Diaz?” Sal asked, shaking off his frozen stupor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, detective,” Eddie said.  “You have a nice night now.”

He swung the door shut— or at least he tried to because Sal stuck his foot in the door jamb and forced it back open.

“No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened,” he said pushing past Eddie and stopping right inside his living room.  “Tommy should be dead.”

Eddie sighed heavily and shut the door behind him.  He knew that he wouldn’t have been able to avoid this when he saw the same thing that Sal did earlier today in the bank.  He still tried to anyway.

“But he’s not and you should be grateful for that.” Eddie pointed out, folding his arms over his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful for it!” Sal hissed, quietly.  “But bullets don’t just stop in midair like that.  I saw the look you gave Buck, I know you know what happened.”

Eddie sighed.  Damnit.

“Have you said anything to Tommy?”  He asked, running a hand through his hair.  

“No.  I wasn’t about to ask him why he was still breathing, are you crazy?”

“Only when I’m talking to you.” Eddie muttered under his breath.  He took a deep breath in and looked at Sal.  “Look it’s really hard to explain—”

“Well try and explain anyway.”

“—without showing you.”  Eddie finished, rolling his eyes.

“Show me what?”  The detective asked and Eddie could tell that what little patience the man was fast drawing thin. 

Eddie held out his hand and looked towards the coffee table.

“What are—”

The book flew off the table, across the room past Sal’s head and landing firmly in his hand.  He curled his fingers around the spine to grip it and looked at Sal with a raised eyebrow.

Sal gaped at him speechless.

Eddie waved the book at him.

“What the fu—”

“Lower your voice!” Eddie hissed, grabbing the man and pulling him towards the kitchen.

“What the hell was that Diaz?”  Sal hissed back, shoving him off and brushing his hand over the gun on his waist out of habit.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him.  “Really?  You’re gonna try that after you saw Buck stop three bullets with his mind earlier?  It was magic.”

for those that wanted to be tagged in the saleddie things: @rdng1230 @judymarch15 @may-i-have-loops @racerchix21

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

The James Potter Affair

Written for Day 6 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Inspired By... - an excuse to write the AU of my dreams, which in my case turns out to be a new multi-chapter story.

Insurance Investigator Lily Evans is assigned to recover priceless artefacts stolen in a daring heist from the British Museum. Her chief suspect? Billionaire philanthropist James Potter...

It’s a high stakes game of cat and mouse that only one of them can win - and Lily's determined that it's going to be her.

I am super excited about this one! It's inspired by the film The Thomas Crown Affair, starring Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo, which is one of my absolute favourites.

Rated M - because it's gonna get smutty at some point!

See below the cut for a T-rated snippet, or read the full chapter on AO3

Lily Evans slipped into the museum gallery and loitered close to the door. She focused on making herself as unobtrusive as possible, wrapped in her trench coat and sipping a takeaway coffee, as she took in the scene in front of her. It was complete and utter chaos. 

Crime scene techs in masks and white suits swarmed around an unadorned concrete bust, which stood on a plain black plinth at the centre of the room. Devoid of all but the simplest of humanoid features, it was brightly lit by a halo of spotlights. Four benches were positioned around it, and between the benches and the plinth was a circular carpet of shattered glass, glittering like jewels as each fragment caught the light from above.

Across the room, a second group of techs surrounded a dark coloured briefcase that was buckled along the top, as though it had been struck with something heavy. Elsewhere, the floor was littered with yellow evidence markers, and everywhere she looked there were smudges of fingerprint powder. Lily suppressed a laugh when she saw that; according to her research, the British Museum expected to welcome six million visitors every single year. So good luck with that, lads, she thought.

Off to one side, Lily spotted the two men she was looking for. Their cheap, slightly shabby suits and jaded expressions practically screamed ‘police detective’. The taller, younger man had sandy brown hair that matched his jacket and a thin, rather pointless, moustache. The elder was much stockier, with close cropped dark grey hair, a face only his mother could love, and, bizarrely, an eye patch. Based on the thorough briefing she’d been given, Lily immediately identified them as Detective Inspector Remus Lupin and Detective Superintendent Alastor Moody. Targets acquired, Lily quietly sidled close enough to overhear their conversation.

Continue reading on AO3!

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 2 __ No Evidence, No Leads

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

Previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." - Act 2, Scene 3. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

The tranquility and vast land spaces in Maryland was the first thing Spencer noted. It was a sharp contrast to the populated DC metropolitan.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau from the BAU,” the blonde hair woman introduced herself to the slightly portly man welcoming them at the station. “This is SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA David Rossi, and Dr Spencer Reid. We spoke over the phone regarding the killings?” 

He pushed open the police station door. “I’m Chief Charlie Donn, hope we’d be meeting in better circumstances but with the killer dumping the bodies in our backyard, we’d rather not take any chances.” 

“What can you tell us about how the bodies were found?” Hotch asked, going straight to the point. 

“The first body was found Sunday, three weeks ago, by a couple walking along the river,” he started as he led the team to the meeting room with tacked case images and files. “The second body was found, Tuesday, two weeks ago, by a woman walking her dog and the last body was found two days ago by a patrolling officer.” 

“Why weren’t we invited earlier on when the second body was discovered?”

The sheriff sighed and placed his hands on his waist, seemingly taking in a defiant position. “We’re currently stretched thin due to lack of man power and my detectives and I assumed that these bodies were just floating down the river. When they started popping up again and again, we took notice.” 

“I’ll talk to the media to try and keep this as quiet as possible,” JJ suggested. “We wouldn’t want to scare our unsub away due to FBI presence. Chief Donn, please come with me.” 

As JJ and the Chief left the room, the phone clipped on Spencer’s pocket rang.

“Garcia,” he greeted. “Have you found anything that connects the victims?” 

“Hey Boy Wonder, I wish I was the bearer of good news,” she sighed. “All the connection I could find with the three victims were that they all recently moved from different parts of the country to Washington, DC. No social connection or school connection found.” 

“Washington, DC?” Rossi repeated. “So Maryland has a connection with the unsub and not the victims.” 

“What about their jobs, Garcia, any connection?” Hotch asked.

“None at all. Our first victim accepted a job as a sous chef for a French fusion restaurant in DC and when he didn’t show up for the first day of work, the management didn’t report him missing, just thought of him as a no show. The second victim got a job offer for a medium sized IT company, management also thought he was just a no show. And the third victim got a job as an illustrator for a publishing company. He actually went to work for his first week but was noted a no show afterwards.” 

“Run any surveillance cameras around their workplace and neighborhood for a timeline when they were last spotted,” Hotch ordered in his no nonsense voice. “Keep us posted, Garcia.” 

“Got it! You my fine furry friends, are welcome,” Garcia rambled out before ending the call.

———

Olivia didn’t sleep a wink during the night when she received the mail. She had tried to do every calming routine she could—yoga, meditation, warm tea before bed—and honestly, every paranoid act she could—double, triple checked all her doors, shut her windows and drawn the curtains—but sleep had evaded her weary body. There she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, surveying the damage the sleepless night had done to her reflection. The bags under her eyes looked darker than usual, her hair was in a sorry state of disarray, and there was a slight manic look brimming underneath her appearance.

She sighed as she stepped towards the shower. The water was icy cold to the touch which is not ideal for her at the slightest but she needed all the external help she could get to stay alert and awake for the day. The images flashing behind her closed set of amber eyes making her heart thud louder in her chest. There was nothing outwardly gory with the pictures, no blood at all, but it all had her hackles rise and her instincts scream for an unknown storm that was about to swipe in. 

There was a loud knock on her bedroom door as she was lost in her thoughts, causing her to jump. 

“Hey Olivia,” Hollie said behind the locked and blocked entryway. “Are you up?” 

She rushed to get dressed in her casual clothes and removed the chair she jammed under the doorknob last night due to her paranoia. “Hi Hollie, thank you again for staying with me last night—” 

Hollie shrugged and squeezed her shoulders to ease tension. “No worries at all. What do you say we go and report it to the police?”

“—It might have been nothing. Maybe it was just my active imagination, you know as a writer and all, and besides we both know how the authorities get with things like this.” She shook her head and rambled on as they both rushed down the stairs to her kitchen. 

Hollie said nothing to counter her argument, clearly remembering the same instance Olivia was alluding to. During their time in the university, they had experienced a break in their three shared dorm room. None of their possessions were touched but a pair of their third roommate’s intimates were stolen and in return, the thief left a a red rose on her bed. Frightened, the three of them reported it to the college campus authorities who did little to no help at all. The locks were changed, yes, but no additional investigation was done to figure out the culprit. At one point, the security had even believed that it was all just an elaborate prank by the girls. Hinting that maybe the other had stolen the pair of underwear as some form of sick joke.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz

It was the ring of the doorbell. Both women approached the front door with wary. Hollie glanced through the peephole, making sure that there was no one there before slowly opening the door slightly.

Olivia inhaled sharply, noting another unmarked parcel on her doorstep. Hastily grabbing it and bolting the door shut, they both all but ran into the safe confines of her office before promptly dropping the letter at her table like it was radioactive. 

“Maybe—maybe we shouldn’t open it and just bring it straight to the police,” Hollie suggested.

Olivia shook her head, steeling herself for the worst. “We have to know what’s inside before alerting anyone.” 

Her hands shaking, she slowly opened the white envelope and deeply regretted her decision. She wished she could scrub her mind clean to rid itself of subjects that the Polaroid films captured. The images were now beyond the spectrum of creepy and entering the genre of pure horror. Each contained close ups—an upper body shot from the elbow to the neck with black stitching on the armpit to connect the obviously mismatched skin and half a face with a high bridge nose sewn in place and an empty cut space for the eyes and lips. 

Olivia all but ran to the adjoining powder room to vomit the half toast she had eaten earlier and in the background, she could hear Hollie frantically looking for her cellphone.

“Hello 911,” Hollie sobbed out. “Please, please we need help.” 

———

Spencer had been up the whole night trying to piece together a profile with little to no success. His coffee-addled brain was telling him that there was a similarity with this case and the horrendous murders of Ed Gein but with no proof as to what, he hadn’t been able to share his inkling to the team up until Garcia’s early morning phone call. 

“Good morning to you all my loves,” she greeted, her bubbly personality leaking out from Morgan’s speaker. “I may have something that could be connected to our case.”

“Hope it’s something good, baby girl, ‘cause boy genius here is at his wits end,” Morgan teased.

“Well we wouldn’t want that, won’t we my chocolate thunder?” She quipped back. “A 911 call was made from Washington DC a few hours ago about a series of letters and pictures sent to a woman named Olivia Hill and oh boy, did she not have a great morning—”

“Wait, Washington DC? Where all the victims came from?” Rossi asked, cutting her off.

“Right, you are and well, those images contain possibly the missing skin from our victims,” she rambled on. “All sewn up together like some Frankenstein.” 

Silence. 

“I’m sorry, did you say sewn together?” JJ clarified. “That seems new for an unsub.”

“Right you are my love, this takes the cake for horrific creativity from our usual killers, if you ask me. Anyways, I’ve sent the letters and images to your emails, keep safe my babies!” The phone line goes dead.

Spencer rapidly reviewed the contents sent and he felt the puzzles finally now clicking into place. Why his brain couldn’t let go of the nagging thought that this had resemblance to the Butcher of Plainfield.

“That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about Gein—why the there was no connection with the victims no matter how much we dug and thought about it,” he started to babble rapidly, gaining the attention of the rest of the team. “They weren’t the real victims, more like chess pieces to this twisted fantasy that the unsub has to the true victim which is her, Olivia Hill.” 

“Slow down, kid. What’s this about Gein?” Morgan asked, clearly trying to catch his train of thought.

“Do you mean about him wearing the skins of his victims?” Prentiss catching on. 

Spencer nodded. “He’s making a face and body suit, quite literally, to wear from the missing parts and if I’m right, once the suit is complete, he’ll have to go after her next.” 

“Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, stay here and keep us updated should another body appear,” Hotch delegated. “Morgan, Reid, and I will fly to DC for coordinating. Wheels up in thirty.”

“You got it,”  Prentiss replied. 

a/n: please do not repost anywhere else. I only post here on Tumblr and on ao3. I'm using this whole week to write all the future chapters I can so expect one more update this week for Yours Truly, Romeo. Would also like to hear any comments or feedback from you my pookies xx

[dudewhy3]

Have you ever written fake dating? This classic romcom scenario seems right up your alley

hiii, thank you for the ask!!

i've shared this fake dating headcanon a while ago, but i've never written anything lengthy with that trope. but if i was to, it'd go something like this (i played around with some more tropes and stuff, hope you don’t mind :3)

they work for the same police department as detectives and initially don’t really like each other, because they keep stealing the other’s cases

until one day they’re both given the same case and made to work together– some crime of passion, a guy murdered his wife during their huneymoon and then vanished into thin air

so they’re sent to the secluded island where the scene took place and accomodated at the same hotel– except the place is specifically designed for couples and hosts all kind of coupley activities, like dance nights and fishing dates and trips to the mountains and baking classes and so on and so forth– so they have to pretend to be a couple to fit in and not raise any suspicion (and also they share a room)

between turning the place upside down for clues and faking a relationship to fit in, they actually start liking each other and seeking out the other's presence– Annie, usually quiet and straightforward, slowly opens up to him, and Armin, usually calculated and five steps ahead of everyone, lets himself just be. But they tell each other it’s just for the mission. The mission comes first, it always does.

But the more time they spend on the island, the more complicated the case gets. The clues don’t add up, the husband is found inexplicably dead, yet the staff claims that they have never seen that man before. They soon find themselves in a dead end, running in a loop. The couples they now live with soon begin to vanish, one by one. The staff gets weirder by the day. They feel like every step they take is watched and closely monitored. No ship comes to the island and none leaves. They're trapped, and getting frustrated with this case, and yet they have to keep up the facade of a happy couple so that they’re not discovered.

Until one night they snap and take their frustration out in all ways they know how.

ok i'll stop now because this is lowkey turning into a mini outline lmao but yeah!! it'd go something like that! they'd solve the case and deny their feeling till the very end, and finally admit to them when one of them gets a job offer out of state weeks later.

Thank you again for the ask!! ✨️

ask game in question

[mighty-mepoe]

Interesting (All Might) fic finds

Cute/Slice of life fics:

Slightly Cracked by Krisington

Really sweet, a bit bitter at the start.

The more Izuku made friends at UA, the more he realized that All Might was just as friendless as he himself had always been. Despite All Might's insistence otherwise, Izuku found this to be completely unacceptable.

Secret Identity fics:

Yagi-Sensei by Swiftwidget (or also HERE)

<3

A short drabble inspired by a post by alicekaninchenbau on tumblr. An AU in which "All Might" was not hired to teach at U.A. but instead Toshinori Yagi teaches Foundational Hero Studies and no one but Principal Nedzu, Recovery Girl, and Izuku know he is All Might. Toshinori actually does come through the door like a normal person.

Mr Yagi by Swiftwidget

Amazing, makes me smile every time.

Mr. Toshinori Yagi from the Second Secretarial Office: A kind, generous man with an uncanny knowledge about the Might Tower Staff who never hesitated to make their days brighter. At least, that's how they knew him. / Inspired by the Vigilante 006 Beta chapter in which Detective Tsukauchi meets Toshinori Yagi at Might Tower for the first time.

Missing Everything by Haptronym

Izuku misses a very important reveal and ends up with a villain-filled soda bottle instead. In the ensuing chaos, he befriends someone named Toshinori Yagi. All Might misses the chance to make a snap decision and ends up mentoring a very heroic, very determined child who has no idea who he really is.

No Such Thing As a Hopeless Case by Origamidragons

I read this fic ages ago and it has lived rent-free in my brain since then. Dead since 2019, but what is written is worth reading.

The story of how Toshinori Yagi (not All Might, Toshinori Yagi) singlehandedly defeated his archenemy's League of Villains by accidentally adopting them all. Or: Toshinori's gonna redemption arc everybody, just watch him.

GOT THIS POWER THAT IS TAKING ME OUT (shall I go now? you'll like it, you'll be the hero) by canbreathe, debesys (canbreathe)

Heart-warming.

<<"You do not have any kind of teaching qualification, do you Yagi-san?" "I, um," he desperately grabs at straws, "cleaning? I've done. Cleaning.">> All Might, or rather, Yagi Toshinori, becomes a janitor at U.A. It goes much better than expected.

Badass Small Might:

to measure time by sundefeater lou (sundefeater)

Dad Might becomes feral.

Five minutes. Five goddamned minutes. He had just wanted to restock some essential supplies at the nearby konbini while Izuku got some much needed rest with the aid of the last of the cold tablets and a cool compress. Or: Izuku is sick, the villains don't care, and Toshinori has had it up to here with these assholes.

Mr. Yagi by writers_writers

Beginning of manga-Bakugou learns some practical lessons.

With Aizawa still out of commission on the Monday after the USJ attack, the question is, who is going to teach Class 1-A. All might is out recuperating as well and the rest of the teachers are already stretched thin working on the security on top of their own classes. The kids are shaken and on edge from the devastating events the week prior and need someone with a steady hand and a kind voice to get them back to a sense of normality. It's a good thing that All Might's secretary offered to come in for the day just to keep an eye on them.

Yagi-san by soulofdarkandlight

All Might finds a way to be a hero without using his quirk.

When Nedzu asks All Might to retire, he surprisingly agrees. Little does he realize, it's All Might who agreed, not Yagi.

Harmony in War by Quisanne

(Restricted to AO3 users) Dad-Might and Dad-Zawa for your enjoyment. Also some Bakugrowth towards the end. I just love Aizawa's POV.

Aizawa and All Might go on a warpath to raze Aldera Middle School to the ground. A story in which Aizawa is the one smiling at people and All Might is the one intimidating everyone.

Dadmight:

The Best Day by Nicnac

So cute! All fluff with a tiny bit of angst in the predictable place. Worth a thousand reads.

All Might saves Izuku from the slime villain when the boy is only four years old. Things proceed accordingly.

Quirkless Yagi Toshinori:

Thunder by Hayato (TheLennyBunny)

Yagi Toshinori manages to become a quirkless hero in the harsh world of his youth.

This Autor has a whole mountain of amazing fics.

In this universe, he never meets anyone. He sits as an island, isolated, standing with stacks of notebooks and muscles gained from years of self-defense. He tells his middle school counsellor he wants to be a hero, and she laughs in his face.

Angst / Harsh fics (no bad endings):

Statistic by aconstantstateofbladerunner

When victims and bystanders are gaslighted into believing it's their fault, help is difficult to come by.

In a world where All for One was defeated the first time around, new villainous groups are constantly bubbling up just under the surface of society. New crimes need new tactics, so in an effort to flush out an alleged anti-quirkless group, All Might decides to go undercover as Yagi Toshinori, quirkless middle school teacher. But Toshinori hasn't been quirkless in a long time, and he learns the hard way how much things have changed.

Toshishan and Baby 'Zuku (I Know How the World Treat Us) by 18ems_girl

Super-cute! And it has some iteresting character studies.

A de-aging quirk affects Izuku and Toshinori and, while baby Izuku is happy to meet heroes, teen Toshinori is scared because he knows people treat quirkless kids awful.

Humour:

When Monologuing To Your Nemesis Goes Wrong by Ilentari

Crack. Also SPOILERS.

Ugh, he didn’t want to be subjected to this boring monologue anymore. Perhaps this was All For One’s plan? Rant to him until his ears began to bleed? All For One cleared his throat and started back up where he left off, and All Might sighed in irritation. “Why are you like this?” he groaned, wanting the villain to shut up. All For One initially had seemed annoyed by the interruption, but quickly brightened at the question. “I’m glad you asked!” He flourished his hands dramatically. “You see, once upon a time there was a baby born as evil as one could be—” That was stupid. All Might snorted. “Babies aren’t born evil.”

Take My Place on the Witness Stand by Quisanne

Hilarious. (Restricted to AO3 users) I also recomend the rest of the Series.

[Officer] Name, age, current address, and quirk, please, if you would. [Suspect] I'm afraid I can’t tell you most of these things. [Officer] Oh? And why would that be, I wonder? Would it allow us to track you down and find your stash of other stolen IDs? [Suspect] ...It's a matter of national security. [Officer] Yeah sure, and my mother is a late descendant of the Emperor. ----- OR: Yagi Toshinori gets arrested for having All Might's possessions on him and his friends are amazingly incompetent at getting him out. Maybe they're having too much fun with this.

The Torrid Affair of All Might and Yagi Toshinori by Speedwagons_Glorious_Mane

Super-fun.

It's the perfect cover. No one will ever suspect that All Might and Yagi Toshinori are the same person if everyone thinks they're dating.

Healing (literally):

Flashback by Psyckosama

Amazingly self-indulgent. A bit spicy at times. Really well written even if at first it seems it will be a chaotic fic.

On the day Izuku Midoriya was to receive All Might's quirk, the sacred torch of One for All, a young girl glowing with a corona of power runs up to the mentor and student yelling for them to stop as she desperately contains the energy within her. After pleading with Izuku to, impossibly, take One for All from *her*, she lays the weak and crippled Toshinori Yagi's hand upon her sparking horn and All Might is reborn in his prime. But who is this mysterious girl, how did she know the fateful exchange that would be taking place on that isolated beach, and what ominous portents does her appearance that day fortell?

[circuslemon]

FIC COLLAB WITH @jalapenobee

I really enjoyed this sm. I normally don't write fanfiction because I'm too scared of getting the characters inaccurate - so doing this collab made me really happy.

Bee did the initial writing, and I did the first pass of editing while Bee did the second and final pass of editing !

This was initially a request I made of Bee, but I loved the unedited version sm I wanted to edit it 💔

It's also super short and bite sized!

“And you! Ra…Ranpo-kun! I will defeat you! Someday! HAHAHA—whOAA!” Upon hearing that declaration of war, Poe wrapped his arms around his long-time rival (the great detective Ranpo Edogawa!!! See that? Poe gets to date the world’s greatest detective while the rest of you are off with criminals. Suckers), falling backward and dragging the shorter man with him. Said detective yelped in surprise, reaching his arm out in a pathetic attempt to grasp hold of thin air for leverage. If Poe finds that endearing and sorta cute, it was nobody's business to know. Landing on the couch with a muffled POOMF, Poe lets out one last laugh.

“That’s what you get for being out in the rain. And then stealing my dryer and ‘pretending’ to be me.” Poe slightly lifts the collar of his coat off the nape of Ranpo’s neck, gesturing to the fact he had caught his partner wearing it. Ranpo huffed, squinting his eyes and letting a pout form on his face as he dramatically tossed his head back—an action that made him feel a lot like Dazai.

“I didn’t actually steal your dryer Poe-kun! My cloak was wet and I had to put it in there.” Ranpo tangled his finger in a curl of Poe’s dark hair, complaining. “You’re just being mean.” Even so, Ranpo lifted his legs, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting his head against Poe’s chest. Poe’s hand drifts to the side of Ranpo’s head, his fingers running between his hair as he strokes the back of Ranpo’s ear, Ranpo’s hand clutching onto Poe’s shirt. Some sort of drama was quietly playing on the TV—though neither Poe or Ranpo seemed to care all too much about what was happening on the screen. Outside, the heavy rain that had previously drenched the detective hadn’t let up any, providing a calming soundtrack to the scene of the two cuddling.

Detective Ranpo found this to be the perfect opportunity to trap his ‘rival’ to the couch as a cat would its servant. He pulls the author’s coat tighter around himself, burying his face into Poe’s collarbone (Poe protests, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything with it and quickly resigns to his fate). Neither of the two said anything, sitting in comforting silence for at least a little while, Ranpo’s breath shimmying through Poe’s shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin. Soon, Ranpo’s grip on his lover loosened, his body relaxing against him. He shifted in his sleep as if he was a pea plant slowly curling around a pole. Poe turned his attention down to the younger man against his chest, to find that he had fallen asleep, his mouth very slightly agape.

There were two different manuscripts sitting atop the table to his right that Poe had wanted to finish by morning. The sun had already begun setting, making it far too late to continue his work if he did not want to disturb Ranpo. Poe vaguely remembered he had coffee in its pot he had wanted to enjoy before it got cold, and hears the dryer finish tossing Ranpo’s cloak around like a chew toy.

…Maybe all that didn’t matter at that moment.

Poe didn’t seem to worry all too much, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as his fingers mindlessly drift over Ranpo’s black hair. Poe’s rival detective begins stirring very lightly, his arm shifting itself to wrap around Poe’s body.

“Mhngg…you’re so sweet…Poe-kun…“ Ranpo mumbles, still asleep. Dimly, Poe registers his own arm shifting to lay across the middle of Ranpo’s back as he himself begins drifting off.

[mariacallous]

The Chernobyl exclusion zone in northern Ukraine is no longer a hotspot for ‘dark tourism’ but a crime scene - its brief occupation by Moscow’s troops in 2022 is now part of a case being built by Ukrainian prosecutors accusing Russia of ‘ecocide’.

There are few places in the world where the line between safety and danger feels so thin, yet those who work inside the Chernobyl exclusion zone have become so inured to the war raging around them that even an air raid siren barely seems to register – it’s just a drill, they say, or another Russian MiG.

Thirty-eight years since a catastrophic explosion in Reactor 4 of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, the site in northern Ukraine speaks to the mismanagement and denial of the Soviet Union’s final decade and the horror of war now raging between Russia and Ukraine, connecting the silence of the Brezhnev government in the wake of the blast to the present era of disinformation.

The explosion, one of the worst man-made disasters in human history, left the nearby town of Pripyat uninhabitable due to the radiation that was released; 20 years later, the site became a magnet for ‘dark tourism’, albeit small-scale in the beginning and heavily controlled.

When Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Russian forces quickly occupied Pripyat and the Chernobyl site, only to be ousted at the end of that March in heavy fighting in which, according to state data seen by BIRN, 169 Ukrainian soldiers were taken prisoner.

The threat of a new nuclear disaster is never far away.

“During the occupation, the local systems for detection of radiation were turned off, computers were broken and stolen, premises were looted by the Russian soldiers,” said Serhiy Kireev, general director of Ecocentre, the Ukrainian state body that monitors radiation in the exclusion zone and administers water protection measures.

[jalapenobee]

“And you! Ra…Ranpo-kun! I will defeat you! Someday! HAHAHA—whOAA!” Upon hearing that declaration of war, Poe wrapped his arms around his long-time rival (the great detective Ranpo Edogawa!!! See that? Poe gets to date the world’s greatest detective while the rest of you are off with criminals. Suckers), falling backward and dragging the shorter man with him. Said detective yelped in surprise, reaching his arm out in a pathetic attempt to grasp hold of thin air for leverage. If Poe finds that endearing and sorta cute, it was nobody's business to know. Landing on the couch with a muffled POOMF, Poe lets out one last laugh.

“That’s what you get for being out in the rain. And then stealing my dryer and ‘pretending’ to be me.” Poe slightly lifts the collar of his coat off the nape of Ranpo’s neck, gesturing to the fact he had caught his partner wearing it. Ranpo huffed, squinting his eyes and letting a pout form on his face as he dramatically tossed his head back—an action that made him feel a lot like Dazai.

“I didn’t actually steal your dryer Poe-kun! My cloak was wet and I had to put it in there.” Ranpo tangled his finger in a curl of Poe’s dark hair, complaining. “You’re just being mean.” Even so, Ranpo lifted his legs, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting his head against Poe’s chest. Poe’s hand drifts to the side of Ranpo’s head, his fingers running between his hair as he strokes the back of Ranpo’s ear, Ranpo’s hand clutching onto Poe’s shirt. Some sort of drama was quietly playing on the TV—though neither Poe or Ranpo seemed to care all too much about what was happening on the screen. Outside, the heavy rain that had previously drenched the detective hadn’t let up any, providing a calming soundtrack to the scene of the two cuddling.

Detective Ranpo found this to be the perfect opportunity to trap his ‘rival’ to the couch as a cat would its servant. He pulls the author’s coat tighter around himself, burying his face into Poe’s collarbone (Poe protests, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything with it and quickly resigns to his fate). Neither of the two said anything, sitting in comforting silence for at least a little while, Ranpo’s breath shimmying through Poe’s shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin. Soon, Ranpo’s grip on his lover loosened, his body relaxing against him. He shifted in his sleep as if he was a pea plant slowly curling around a pole. Poe turned his attention down to the younger man against his chest, to find that he had fallen asleep, his mouth very slightly agape.

There were two different manuscripts sitting atop the table to his right that Poe had wanted to finish by morning. The sun had already begun setting, making it far too late to continue his work if he did not want to disturb Ranpo. Poe vaguely remembered he had coffee in its pot he had wanted to enjoy before it got cold, and hears the dryer finish tossing Ranpo’s cloak around like a chew toy.

…Maybe all that didn’t matter at that moment.

Poe didn’t seem to worry all too much, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as his fingers mindlessly drift over Ranpo’s black hair. Poe’s rival detective begins stirring very lightly, his arm shifting itself to wrap around Poe’s body.

“Mhngg…you’re so sweet…Poe-kun…“ Ranpo mumbles, still asleep. Dimly, Poe registers his own arm shifting to lay across the middle of Ranpo’s back as he himself begins drifting off.

-

collab between me and @circuslemon!!! enjoy :D