#dooming me and my stack buddy

[impossible-rat-babies]

i liek taking random gposes of friends and their lil characters <3

[ooo-goon-fiction]

Kyubi’s Time Rewind

Part A

Chapter 1: Meeting The Lawyer

The office of Oriole Fox, Attorney at Law, smelled faintly of lavender and old books, a cozy contrast to the sharp, modern lines of her desk and the sleek laptop perched on it. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the edges of her auburn hair, which was swept into a loose bun that somehow looked both effortless and professional. She was, as my buddy Ty had warned me with a grin, “kinda cute looking.” Not that I was here to notice. I was Lew Harris, thirty-four, freshly engaged, and sitting in her office to hammer out a prenup that would keep my fiancée, Roxanne, and me on solid ground.

Oriole leaned forward, her green eyes bright with a warmth that put me at ease despite the sterile topic. “Alright, Lew,” she said, her voice smooth but not overly formal, like we were old friends catching up. “Let’s make this as painless as possible. A prenup’s just a roadmap for the what-ifs, not a prediction of doom. Think of it like… car insurance. You don’t plan to crash, but you’re glad it’s there.”

I chuckled, shifting in the leather chair. “Fair enough. Rox and I just want to be smart about this. No drama.”

“Good mindset,” she said, tapping a pen against a neat stack of papers. “I’ve seen too many couples come in here braced for a fight. You two sound like you’re on the same page.” She slid a document across the desk, her nails painted a soft coral that matched her blazer. “This is a draft based on the info you sent over. Let’s walk through it.”

I nodded, glancing at the pages. Legal jargon stared back at me, dense and intimidating, but Oriole’s presence made it feel manageable. She had this way of radiating competence without being condescending, like she genuinely wanted me to understand every word.

“So,” she began, pointing to the first section, “this covers assets you and Roxanne each bring into the marriage. You mentioned your construction business and the rental properties, right? We’ve listed those as your separate property, meaning they’d stay yours in the unlikely event of a split. Same for Roxanne’s graphic design company and her savings.”

“Sounds right,” I said, leaning forward. “I worked hard to build Harris Builds, but Rox has got her own thing going. We don’t want to mess with each other’s dreams.”

Oriole smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d said something wise. “That’s the spirit. Mutual respect is the foundation of a good prenup. Now, let’s talk about income and debts.” She flipped to the next page, her fingers moving with precision. “Any income you earn during the marriage—say, from your business or Roxanne’s freelance gigs—would typically be considered marital property under state law. But we can tweak that. For example, we could agree that your business profits stay separate, or we could split future earnings in a way that feels fair.”

I rubbed my chin, picturing Roxanne’s face when we’d discussed this over pizza last week. “We were thinking 50-50 on future earnings, but my business stays mine, and her company stays hers. Debts, too—we each handle our own.”

“Smart,” Oriole said, jotting a note. “I’ll add a clause to keep premarital and individual debts separate. No one wants to inherit their spouse’s old student loans.” She glanced up, her eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “Unless you’re feeling extra generous?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I said, grinning. “Roxanne’s got a few grand in loans, but she’s chipping away at them. I’ve got a truck payment, but that’s it.”

“Got it.” She typed something into her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys. “We’ll make sure neither of you gets stuck with the other’s baggage. Now, let’s talk spousal support. This is where things can get tricky, but it doesn’t have to be.”

I shifted, the chair creaking under me. “We don’t want alimony. If things go south, we both walk away clean.”

Oriole tilted her head, studying me for a moment. “That’s a bold choice, and I respect it. But let me play devil’s advocate. If one of you, say, takes time off work to raise kids or support the other’s career, a clean break could leave them in a tough spot. I’m not saying you need alimony, but we could include a limited support clause—like, a year of payments to help with the transition. Or we can stick with the clean break. Your call.”

I hesitated, picturing Roxanne’s fierce independence. She’d hate the idea of handouts, but Oriole had a point. Life wasn’t predictable. “Maybe something short-term,” I said slowly. “Like, six months of support if we’ve been married over five years. Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” Oriole said, her tone encouraging. “We can tailor it to fit your vibe. I’ll draft a clause for six months of transitional support after a five-year threshold, capped at a reasonable amount based on your incomes. Fair?”

“Fair,” I agreed, relaxing a bit. She had a knack for making the awkward stuff feel… normal.

We spent the next half-hour diving into details—retirement accounts, inheritances, the works. Oriole was patient, answering my dumb questions without a hint of judgment. She’d toss in little asides, like, “I had a client once who tried to include their pet parrot’s trust fund in the prenup—true story,” which kept the mood light.

As we wrapped up, she leaned back, clasping her hands. “Alright, Lew, I’ll revise this draft and send it to you and Roxanne by tomorrow. Take your time reviewing it, talk it over, and let me know if anything feels off. My goal is to make sure you both feel protected and heard.”

“Thanks, Oriole,” I said, standing and shaking her hand. Her grip was firm, her smile genuine.

“Anytime,” she said, walking me to the door. “And congrats on the engagement. You and Roxanne sound like a great team.”

I stepped into the elevator, the prenup draft tucked under my arm, feeling lighter than I’d expected. Oriole Fox wasn’t just good at her job—she was the kind of person who made you believe things would work out, no matter what the fine print said.

Chapter Two: The Rewind

The air shimmered, a faint ripple like heat rising off asphalt, and then *snap*—a sound sharp enough to make my ears ring. A figure stood in the corner of my vision, pink hair cascading like a neon waterfall, eyes glinting with mischief. She called herself Kyubi Kitsune, a self-proclaimed “meddler in mortal affairs.” Before I could ask what the hell she was doing in my apartment, she winked, snapped her fingers again, and the world blurred backward.

When reality settled, I was back in Oriole Fox’s office, but everything felt… off. The lavender scent was gone, replaced by something heavier, like jasmine laced with spice. The sunlight didn’t just catch Oriole’s auburn hair—it set it ablaze, framing a face that wasn’t “kinda cute” anymore. She was *gorgeous*, the kind of stunning that made your brain short-circuit. Her green eyes gleamed with an intensity that felt like they could see straight through me, and her lips curved in a smile that was equal parts inviting and unsettling. Her coral blazer hugged her frame a little too perfectly, and when she leaned forward, it wasn’t just friendly—it was calculated.

“Lew Harris,” she purred, her voice silkier than before, with an edge that made my palms sweat. “Let’s get this prenup sorted for you and… Roxanne, was it? Such a lovely couple.” Her pen tapped the desk, a slow, deliberate rhythm.

I shifted in the chair, my throat dry. “Uh, yeah. Roxanne. We just… want to keep things fair, you know?” My voice cracked, and I cringed internally. I wasn’t this guy—nervous, fumbling—but something about Oriole’s presence made me feel like a kid trying to explain himself to a teacher. I’d built Harris Builds from the ground up, damn it, but here I was, second-guessing every word.

Oriole’s smile widened, and I could’ve sworn her teeth looked sharper. “Fairness is my specialty, Lew. Let’s make sure Roxanne’s taken care of.” She slid a document across the desk, her movements fluid, almost hypnotic. “This is the draft based on your emails. Shall we dive in?”

I nodded, my eyes skimming the pages. The legal jargon was denser than I remembered, a labyrinth of clauses and sub-clauses that made my head spin. “Sure, uh, where do we start?”

“Let’s begin with assets,” she said, her tone smooth but with a hint of something… predatory, like a cat toying with a mouse. “Your construction business, Harris Builds, and those rental properties—they’re your pride and joy, yes? We’ve listed them as separate property, but Roxanne’s design company is smaller, more… vulnerable. To balance things, we’ve included a clause that gives her a 20% stake in your business’s profits during the marriage. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

I blinked, my stomach twisting. “Twenty percent? I… I don’t remember talking about that.” Roxanne and I had agreed to keep our businesses separate. Hadn’t we? My memory felt fuzzy, like Kyubi’s snap had scrambled more than just time.

Oriole tilted her head, her gaze locking onto mine. “Oh, Lew, it was in your notes. You want Roxanne to feel secure, don’t you? A business like yours could overshadow her little venture. This evens the playing field.” Her words were honeyed, but there was a pressure behind them, like she was guiding me to a destination I hadn’t chosen.

“Maybe,” I mumbled, rubbing my neck. “But 20% seems… a lot. Can we make it, like, 5%?”

Her laugh was soft, almost musical, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Five percent? Come now, Lew. Roxanne’s taking a leap marrying you. A woman needs assurances.” She leaned closer, her perfume clouding my thoughts. “Let’s keep it at 20% for now. You can always revisit it later.”

I swallowed, nodding despite the unease gnawing at me. “Okay. Sure.” Why was I agreeing? I couldn’t shake the feeling I was signing away more than I meant to.

“Excellent,” Oriole said, flipping to the next section with a flourish. “Now, income and debts. Your income from Harris Builds is substantial, while Roxanne’s freelance work is… less predictable. We’ve proposed that 60% of your earnings during the marriage go into a joint account, which Roxanne would manage. It’s a modern approach—empowers her, keeps things equitable.”

“Sixty percent?” I croaked, my hands gripping the armrests. “That’s… I mean, we talked about 50-50, didn’t we?”

Oriole’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile stayed fixed. “Did we? My notes say 60-40, favoring Roxanne, to account for her career sacrifices. You’re a generous man, Lew. You want her to thrive.” Her voice was soothing, but it felt like a leash tightening around my neck.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words fizzled out. The room felt smaller, Oriole’s presence overwhelming. “I guess… if it’s for Roxanne,” I said weakly.

“Perfect,” she said, her pen scratching across the page. “And debts—we’ll keep yours separate, but Roxanne’s student loans, about $15,000, will be paid from marital funds. A small gesture to start your life together debt-free.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait, I’m paying her loans? I’ve got my own truck payments—”

“Which stay yours,” Oriole cut in, her tone firm but still velvet-smooth. “Roxanne’s loans are modest, Lew. You wouldn’t want her burdened, would you?” Her eyes bored into mine, and I felt my resolve crumble.

“No, I… guess not,” I muttered, slumping back. What was happening? I’d walked in wanting a fair deal, but every clause seemed to tilt toward Roxanne, and Oriole was steering me like I was too clueless to notice.

We moved to spousal support, and it got worse. “Given your income disparity,” Oriole said, “we’ve included a generous alimony clause. If the marriage ends, Roxanne would receive $5,000 a month for up to ten years, adjusted for inflation. It’s a safety net, Lew. You’d want her protected.”

“Ten years?” I choked out. “We said no alimony. A clean break.”

Oriole arched an eyebrow, her smile turning almost pitying. “A clean break? Oh, Lew, that’s harsh for someone like Roxanne. She’s building her career, relying on your stability. This is standard for couples with your dynamic.” She leaned back, crossing her arms, her blazer accentuating her confidence. “Trust me, it’s in your best interest to show goodwill.”

My head throbbed. I wanted to push back, to demand we stick to what Roxanne and I had discussed, but Oriole’s words wrapped around me like fog, clouding my thoughts. “I… need to talk to Roxanne first,” I managed.

“Of course,” Oriole said, her voice dripping with understanding. “I’ll send you the draft tonight. Review it with Roxanne, but I’m confident she’ll appreciate your generosity.” She stood, her heels clicking as she walked me to the door. Her hand brushed my arm, and I flinched at the warmth of it. “You’re doing the right thing, Lew.”

As the elevator doors closed, I clutched the draft, my heart pounding. The prenup felt like a trap, slanted to strip me bare, and Oriole’s gorgeous face lingered in my mind, her predatory smile haunting me. Somewhere, I swore I heard Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, faint and mocking, as if she’d known exactly what her meddling would do.

Chapter Three: The Second Rewind

The world flickered like a bad TV signal, colors bleeding into each other, and then *snap*—that sharp, ear-splitting sound again. Kyubi Kitsune materialized in a swirl of pink hair and smug amusement, lounging on the edge of my coffee table like she owned the place. Her eyes, glinting like polished amethysts, locked onto mine. “Not quite right, was it, Lew?” she teased, her voice a sing-song taunt. “Let’s try again. Third time’s the charm, maybe?” Before I could protest, she snapped her fingers, and reality unraveled once more.

When the haze cleared, I was back in Oriole Fox’s office, but it was different—glossier, sharper, like a scene from a high-budget movie. The air carried a hint of expensive perfume, and the office itself screamed money: polished mahogany desk, abstract art on the walls, and a view of the city skyline that made my modest construction business feel like a lemonade stand. Then there was Oriole herself. She wasn’t just gorgeous—she was a vision, like she’d stepped off a runway. Her auburn hair cascaded in perfect waves, her emerald eyes sparkled with a predatory gleam, and her tailored black dress clung to her like it was custom-made by a designer I couldn’t pronounce. She looked less like a lawyer and more like a supermodel playing one for a photoshoot.

“Lew Harris,” she said, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down my spine. “So good to meet you. Let’s get that prenup sorted for you and Roxanne.” She gestured to the chair across from her, her smile dazzling but with an edge that made my stomach knot.

I sat, my hands clammy. “Uh, yeah, thanks,” I mumbled, already feeling like I was drowning. I’d built Harris Builds with my own two hands, but here, in this office with this woman, I felt like a kid who’d wandered into the wrong room. Roxanne and I had talked about keeping things fair, but the details were fuzzy, and Oriole’s presence wasn’t helping. She was too perfect, too commanding, and I was way out of my depth.

She slid a thick document across the desk, her manicured nails glinting under the light. “This is the draft based on your input,” she said, though I barely remembered sending her anything. “It’s designed to protect both you and Roxanne, with a slight lean toward her interests, given your… financial disparity.” Her lips twitched, like she knew something I didn’t.

I stared at the pages, the text a blur of legal gibberish. “Right, uh, protect both of us. That’s good.” My voice sounded weak, and I hated it. “Can you… walk me through it?”

“Of course,” Oriole said, leaning forward just enough to make my pulse jump. “Let’s start with assets. Your construction business and rental properties are listed as separate property, but to ensure Roxanne’s security, we’ve included a clause granting her a 30% stake in Harris Builds’ profits during the marriage, plus a 10% equity share if you divorce. It’s a standard precaution for spouses with smaller ventures, like her design company.”

“Thirty percent?” I said, my voice cracking. “And equity? I… I thought we were keeping our businesses separate.” Hadn’t we? Roxanne’s face flashed in my mind, her smile when we’d agreed to a fair split, but the memory felt slippery, like it was dissolving under Oriole’s gaze.

Oriole tilted her head, her smile softening but her eyes sharp. “Oh, Lew, you mentioned wanting Roxanne to feel secure. Your business is your castle, but she’s entering this marriage with less. This balances things. You don’t want her to feel vulnerable, do you?” Her words were smooth, wrapping around me like a velvet noose.

“I… guess not,” I said, rubbing my temple. “But 30% seems steep. Can we do, like, 10%?”

Her laugh was low, almost indulgent, like I’d said something adorably naive. “Ten percent? That’s hardly a gesture. Let’s keep it at 30% for now. We can tweak it later if Roxanne agrees.” She didn’t wait for my response, flipping to the next section with a flick of her wrist. “Now, income. Your earnings from Harris Builds are substantial, so we’ve allocated 70% to a joint account managed by Roxanne. It empowers her, gives her a stake in your shared future.”

“Seventy percent?” I choked, my hands gripping the chair. “That’s… I mean, we talked about 50-50, right?” My head spun. I couldn’t remember the details, but 70% felt wrong, like I was handing over my life’s work.

Oriole’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile stayed pristine. “Fifty-fifty is so… pedestrian, Lew. Roxanne’s taking a risk marrying you. She’s pausing her career to build a life together. This ensures she’s not left adrift.” She leaned back, crossing her legs, her dress shifting just enough to distract me. “You trust her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course,” I stammered, but doubt gnawed at me. Did I? Everything was moving too fast, and Oriole’s confidence made me question my own memory. “Okay, 70%. If it’s fair.”

“It’s more than fair,” she said, her tone almost too sweet. “And debts—Roxanne’s $15,000 in student loans will be paid from marital funds, while your truck payments remain separate. A small price for a clean slate, don’t you think?”

I nodded numbly, barely processing. “Sure, yeah.” My truck payments were mine, but Roxanne’s loans were ours? It didn’t add up, but Oriole’s voice was a tide pulling me under.

Then came the kicker. “Spousal support,” she said, her pen tapping the page. “Given your income, we’ve included a robust alimony clause. If the marriage ends, Roxanne receives $7,000 a month for fifteen years, plus a lump sum of $50,000 to ease her transition. It’s generous, but you’re a generous man, Lew.”

“Fifteen years?” I croaked, my heart pounding. “And fifty grand? We said no alimony. A clean break.” I was sure of it—or was I? My reservations screamed at me, but Oriole’s gaze pinned me like a butterfly to a board.

“Clean breaks are cold, Lew,” she said, her voice dripping with pity. “Roxanne deserves security. This is standard for your situation. You don’t want to seem stingy, do you?” She leaned closer, her perfume clouding my thoughts. “Besides, I’ve added a few extra clauses to streamline things.”

“Extra clauses?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She waved a hand, dismissive but elegant. “Minor details. A provision for my firm to oversee any disputes, with a modest retainer—say, $10,000 upfront—to ensure I can represent your interests. And a confidentiality clause to protect Roxanne’s privacy, with a penalty fee if breached. Standard practice.”

I blinked, my mind blank. “A retainer? For you?”

“For fairness,” she corrected, her smile razor-sharp. “You’re a busy man, Lew. You don’t want to wade through legal minutiae. I’ll handle everything.” Her eyes held mine, and I felt like prey, too dazed to run.

“Okay,” I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it. “Whatever’s fair.” I didn’t see it—the way the contract wasn’t just slanted toward Roxanne but padded Oriole’s pockets too. The retainer, the penalty fees, the vague “oversight” clauses—they were traps, and I was too clueless to spot them.

Oriole stood, her movements graceful as she handed me the draft. “Wonderful. I’ll finalize this and send it to you and Roxanne tomorrow. Review it, but I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” Her hand grazed mine as she passed me the papers, and I flinched, her touch electric and unnerving.

As I stumbled into the elevator, the prenup heavy in my hands, I felt like I’d been outmaneuvered in a game I didn’t know I was playing. Oriole’s flawless face lingered in my mind, her smile a promise and a threat. Somewhere, Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter echoed, faint but gleeful, as if she’d orchestrated the perfect con—and I’d fallen for it without a fight.

Chapter Four: The Third Rewind

The room pulsed, reality fracturing like a cracked mirror, and then *snap*—that piercing sound sliced through the haze. Kyubi Kitsune materialized, her pink hair glowing like a neon sign, her grin practically feral. She perched on my kitchen counter, swinging her legs, her eyes glinting with chaotic delight. “Oh, Lew, you’re too easy,” she taunted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Let’s crank it up a notch, shall we? One more spin for the fun of it.” Before I could even curse her name, she snapped her fingers, and the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of light.

When the blur settled, I was back in Oriole Fox’s office, but it was a whole new beast. The space was a shrine to opulence: marble floors, a crystal chandelier casting prismatic flecks across the walls, and a desk that probably cost more than my truck. The air was thick with a heady perfume, floral but aggressive, like it was staking a claim. And then there was Oriole herself. Drop-dead didn’t even begin to cover it. She was a vision of calculated perfection—blonde hair styled in flawless waves, contoured cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and makeup so precise it looked airbrushed. Her tailored designer suit, a deep sapphire that screamed money, strained slightly against an impossibly enhanced chest, the kind of fake perfection that demanded attention. Her blue eyes, cold and predatory, locked onto me like a hawk spotting a field mouse.

“Lew Harris,” she said, her voice a low, velvety growl that made my skin prickle. “Welcome. Let’s craft that prenup for you and Roxanne, shall we?” Her lips curled into a smile, but it was condescending, the kind you’d give a child who’d wandered into a boardroom. She gestured to the chair across from her, her movements sleek, like a panther sizing up its prey.

I sat, my hands shaking as I clutched the armrests. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. I was Lew Harris, owner of Harris Builds, but in this room, I was nobody. Oriole’s presence was overwhelming, her beauty weaponized, and I was clueless—painfully, embarrassingly clueless. Roxanne and I had talked about a fair prenup, but the details were a fog, and Oriole’s icy stare made my brain feel like it was short-circuiting.

She slid a thick, leather-bound document across the desk, her long, lacquered nails gleaming like talons. “This is the draft,” she said, her tone dripping with mock patience. “Tailored to protect Roxanne, given your… situation.” Her eyes flicked over me, sizing me up and finding me wanting. “You want to do right by her, don’t you, Lew?”

“Y-Yeah, absolutely,” I said, nodding like an eager puppy. Her smile widened, but it wasn’t kind—it was the look of someone who knew they’d already won.

“Let’s start with assets,” she said, leaning forward just enough to make my pulse race. Her suit jacket gaped slightly, and I averted my eyes, my face burning. “Your little construction business and those rental properties are yours, of course, but Roxanne’s design company is fragile. So, we’ve given her a 40% stake in Harris Builds’ profits during the marriage, plus a 15% equity share if you split. It’s only fair, considering your… disparity.”

“Forty percent?” I mumbled, my voice weak. A tiny voice in my head screamed that this was wrong—Roxanne and I had agreed to keep our businesses separate—but Oriole’s gaze crushed it. “That’s… a lot, isn’t it?”

Her laugh was sharp, like shattered glass. “A lot? Oh, Lew, it’s a pittance compared to what you’re building. Roxanne’s sacrificing her career for you. You wouldn’t want her to feel trapped, would you?” Her eyes bored into mine, and I shrank back, my reservations evaporating under her condescension.

“No, no, you’re right,” I said quickly, nodding. “Forty percent’s fine. Great, even.” I didn’t believe it, but disagreeing felt impossible, like defying gravity.

“Smart boy,” she purred, flipping to the next section with a flourish. “Income. Your earnings are substantial, so we’ve allocated 80% to a joint account, managed solely by Roxanne. It’s modern, empowering. You don’t mind, do you?” Her smile was a challenge, daring me to object.

“Eighty?” I squeaked, my heart pounding. “I… we said 50-50, I think?” But the memory was a ghost, slipping through my fingers. Oriole’s presence was a tidal wave, and I was drowning.

She sighed, like I was testing her patience. “Fifty-fifty is for equals, Lew. Roxanne’s taking a risk on you. Eighty percent ensures she’s secure. You want her happy, don’t you?” Her voice was syrupy, but her eyes were ice, and I felt a chill down my spine.

“Yeah, happy, sure,” I said, nodding furiously. “Eighty’s good. Perfect.” My enthusiasm was fake, but I couldn’t stop myself. She scared me—her beauty, her confidence, the way she seemed to see right through my incompetence.

“Wonderful,” she said, her pen scratching across the page. “Debts—Roxanne’s $20,000 in student loans will be paid from marital funds, naturally. Your truck payments stay yours. Generous, don’t you think?” Her smile was patronizing, like she was tossing me a bone.

“Totally generous,” I agreed, my voice hollow. Twenty grand? Hadn’t it been fifteen? I couldn’t remember, and Oriole’s condescending smirk made me feel too stupid to ask.

“Now, spousal support,” she said, her tone almost gleeful. “If the marriage ends, Roxanne gets $10,000 a month for twenty years, plus a $100,000 lump sum. It’s a safety net, Lew. You’re a provider, aren’t you?” Her eyes glinted, and I swore she was enjoying this.

“Twenty years?” I whispered, my stomach lurching. “That’s… forever.” But the objection died under her stare, and I forced a smile. “I mean, yeah, that’s fine. Gotta provide, right?”

“Exactly,” she said, her voice a velvet blade. “And just a few extra clauses to tidy things up.” She waved a hand, casual but deliberate. “My firm will oversee any disputes, with a $15,000 retainer upfront and a 5% cut of any settlement. Plus, a confidentiality clause with a $50,000 penalty if you breach it—protects Roxanne, of course. And a small administrative fee for my… personal oversight. Standard stuff.”

I blinked, my mind blank. “A retainer? And a cut?” The words felt wrong, but I couldn’t grasp why. Oriole was playing me, slipping in clauses that lined her own pockets, but I was too dazed to see it. “Uh, standard’s good, right?”

“Very good,” she said, her smile practically feral. “You’re making all the right choices, Lew.” The way she said my name made my skin crawl, but I nodded like it was a compliment.

She stood, her heels clicking like a metronome as she handed me the draft. “I’ll send the final version to you and Roxanne tomorrow. You’ve done well, Lew. Roxanne will be thrilled.” Her hand brushed mine, her touch cold and electric, and I flinched, nearly dropping the papers.

“Thanks, Oriole,” I said, my voice shaky but enthusiastic, like I was thanking a lion for not eating me. “This is… great.”

“Anytime,” she said, her condescending smile following me as I stumbled to the elevator. The doors closed, and I clutched the prenup, my heart racing. I’d agreed to everything—80% of my income, twenty years of alimony, fees for Oriole’s firm—all with a grin, too scared and clueless to push back. Oriole had carved up my future for Roxanne and herself, and I hadn’t even noticed. Somewhere, Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter rang out, sharp and triumphant, as if she’d just won her favorite game.

Chapter Five: The Final Rewind

The air crackled, a static hum that made my teeth ache, and then a whisper slithered into my ear: *“One last reset, Lew. Let’s make it a masterpiece.”* Kyubi Kitsune materialized in a burst of pink light, her hair a glowing cascade, her grin so wide it could swallow the sun. She lounged against my fridge, popping a cherry into her mouth from who-knows-where. “You’re too much fun to quit now,” she purred, her eyes glittering with malice. Before I could even blink, she snapped her fingers—*snap*—and reality shattered like a dropped glass.

When the world stitched itself back together, I was in Oriole Fox’s office, but it was a temple of excess. The walls were mirrored, reflecting a chandelier that dripped with crystals, and the air was choked with a cloying, synthetic perfume that screamed wealth and artifice. The desk was a slab of black granite, and behind it sat Oriole—less a woman, more a silicone wet dream sculpted by a plastic surgeon with a god complex. Her platinum blonde hair was teased into a perfect, voluminous cascade, her face a mask of flawless makeup: lips plumped to cartoonish proportions, cheekbones contoured to razor edges, and lashes so long they cast shadows. Her skintight, emerald-green designer dress barely contained her exaggerated curves, the kind of fake enhancements that defied gravity and reason. Her blue eyes were predatory slits, and her smile was a venomous promise of ruin.

“Lew Harris,” she cooed, her voice a syrupy drawl that dripped with mockery. “My, my, aren’t you the devoted fiancé? Let’s whip up that prenup for dear Roxanne.” She leaned forward, her cleavage practically a weapon, and her smile was a backhanded compliment—*you’re trying so hard, aren’t you, you sweet, simple man?* I didn’t catch the jab. I just nodded, my mouth dry, my brain already surrendering.

“Uh, yeah, Roxanne deserves the best,” I said, my voice eager but shaky. I was clueless, a lamb in a slaughterhouse, and Oriole knew it. She was going to rinse me dry, and I’d thank her for it.

She slid a gilded folder across the desk, her nails—long, bedazzled claws—glinting like knives. “This is the draft, darling,” she said, her tone patronizing, like she was explaining colors to a toddler. “Crafted to keep Roxanne secure, since you’re such a… generous provider.” Her lips twitched, another veiled dig—*look at you, thinking you’re a big shot with your little construction company*—but I just grinned, oblivious.

“Sounds perfect,” I said, not even glancing at the pages. “Let’s make sure Roxanne’s happy.” Oriole’s smile widened, a shark scenting blood.

“Let’s start with assets,” she said, her pen tapping the desk like a countdown to my doom. “Your construction business and rentals stay yours—technically—but Roxanne gets a 50% stake in all profits during the marriage, plus a 20% equity share if you divorce. And, post-marriage, she’ll have veto power over any major business decisions. Fair, don’t you think?”

I nodded, my head bobbing like a bobblehead. “Fifty percent’s good, but… maybe 60%? I mean, Roxanne’s giving up a lot to marry me.” I didn’t know where the idea came from, but it felt right, like I was being noble. Oriole’s eyes gleamed, and I missed the predatory glint.

“Sixty?” she purred, pretending to consider it. “Why, Lew, that’s so… thoughtful. But let’s make it 75%. It shows real commitment. And let’s add that her veto power extends to hiring decisions too. You wouldn’t want her feeling left out, would you?” Her smile was a blade, slicing through my naivety.

“Seventy-five! Yeah, that’s even better!” I said, practically bouncing in my seat. “And the hiring thing, sure, that’s fair.” I didn’t question it. Oriole was the expert, and I was just a guy trying to do right by Roxanne.

She flipped to the next section, her movements deliberate, like a spider spinning a web. “Income. Your earnings from Harris Builds are… adequate, so we’ve allocated 90% to a joint account, fully controlled by Roxanne. Post-marriage, she’ll also approve all your personal expenditures over $500. Keeps things tidy, doesn’t it?”

“Ninety?” I said, then caught myself. “I mean, yeah, that’s great. But maybe 100%? Like, all my income to her account? I trust her completely.” I beamed, thinking I was winning fiancé points. Oriole’s laugh was a low, throaty sound, dripping with condescension—*oh, you precious idiot*—but I took it as approval.

“Lew, you’re a treasure,” she said, her tone a velvet slap. “But 90% is plenty. Let’s add that she can redirect any bonuses or windfalls to her personal account, no questions asked. And the expenditure approval? Let’s lower it to $200. You’re so… trusting, it’s only right.” Her eyes flicked over me, amused—*you’re making this too easy*.

“Awesome, love that,” I said, nodding so hard my neck hurt. “Roxanne’s got a good head for money.” I didn’t notice how the clauses were chaining me, giving Roxanne total control over my finances, post-marriage and beyond.

“Debts,” Oriole continued, her pen scratching like a vulture’s claw. “Roxanne’s $25,000 in student loans—plus any future debts she incurs—will be paid from marital funds. Your debts, like that quaint truck payment, stay yours. You’re so… self-sufficient, aren’t you?” Another backhanded jab, but I just grinned, oblivious.

“That’s fair,” I said. “But what if we pay her loans upfront? Like, from my savings? Get it out of the way.” I thought I was being proactive, but Oriole’s smile was practically feral.

“Upfront? How… gallant,” she said, her voice mocking—*you’re practically begging to be fleeced*. “Let’s do it. We’ll liquidate your savings—say, $30,000—to cover her loans and a little extra for her… discretionary fund. And any future debts she takes on? You’ll co-sign, of course.”

“Discretionary fund! Co-signing! That’s genius!” I said, my enthusiasm blind. I didn’t see how I was handing Roxanne a blank check, with me as the guarantor.

“Now, spousal support,” Oriole said, her tone gleeful. “If the marriage ends, Roxanne gets $15,000 a month for life, plus a $200,000 lump sum. Post-marriage, she’ll also retain access to your business accounts for ‘consulting’ purposes. You’re such a… visionary, Lew.” The compliment was a sneer, but I soaked it up.

“Lifetime support? That’s solid,” I said, then added, “But maybe add a house? Like, she keeps our place if we split?” I thought I was being generous, but Oriole’s eyes lit up like she’d hit the jackpot.

“A house? Oh, Lew, you’re too good,” she cooed, her voice a mockery of praise. “Let’s say she keeps the primary residence *and* any vacation properties. And we’ll throw in a $50,000 annual ‘lifestyle maintenance’ fund, post-divorce. You wouldn’t want her slumming it, would you?” Her smile was a trap, and I walked right in.

“Vacation properties! Lifestyle fund! Yes!” I said, practically clapping. I didn’t own a vacation home, but I’d figure it out. Oriole was right—Roxanne deserved it all.

“And a few extra clauses,” she said, waving a hand like it was nothing. “My firm takes a $25,000 retainer, plus a 10% cut of any settlement or business profits during disputes. I’ll oversee all post-marriage audits, with a $5,000 monthly fee. A confidentiality clause—$100,000 penalty if you breathe a word. And a personal consulting contract for me, $10,000 a year, to ensure Roxanne’s interests are… protected.” Her eyes gleamed, raking in the profits she’d written into my ruin.

“That’s so smart,” I said, awestruck. “You’re amazing, Oriole. Let’s make that consulting fee $15,000 a year. You deserve it.” I thought I was being gracious, but her laugh was a razor—*you’re practically paying me to rob you*.

“Lew, you’re a dream,” she said, her tone thick with disdain—*a dream to fleece*. “Fifteen it is. You’re so… accommodating.” She stood, her dress clinging like a second skin, and handed me the gilded draft. “I’ll send the final to you and Roxanne tomorrow. You’ve outdone yourself, darling.”

“Thanks, Oriole!” I said, clutching the prenup like a trophy. “Roxanne’s gonna love this.” I didn’t doubt a word she’d said, didn’t see how she’d rigged the deal to hand Roxanne my life on a platter while skimming a fortune for herself. Her backhanded compliments—*you’re so generous, so trusting, so simple*—sailed over my head, and I grinned like an idiot.

As I staggered to the elevator, the weight of the prenup didn’t faze me. Oriole’s silicone perfection and predatory smile lingered, a goddess of greed who’d played me like a fiddle. Somewhere, Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter roared, a symphony of chaos, as I walked away, clueless, enthusiastic, and utterly screwed.

Part B

Chapter Six: Roxanne’s Reaction

I left Oriole’s glittering office in a daze, the gilded prenup folder tucked under my arm like a ticking time bomb I was too clueless to notice. The elevator ride down felt like a dream, Oriole’s predatory smile and silicone perfection burned into my mind. I was still buzzing with blind enthusiasm, convinced I’d nailed this whole fiancé thing, when I pulled up to Roxanne’s apartment. The contrast hit me like a cold shower—her cozy, sunlit place was worlds away from Oriole’s icy opulence. Roxanne opened the door, and my heart did that little flip it always did when I saw her.

She was a natural brunette, her hair falling in soft waves, and her size 10 frame filled out a simple sundress that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Her warm smile lit up her brown eyes, and when she hugged me, it was like coming home. Roxanne genuinely loved me—I could feel it in the way she squeezed my hand, the way she laughed at my dumb jokes. But today, I was too caught up in my own head to notice the flicker of concern in her gaze as I handed her the prenup.

“Here it is,” I said, grinning like I’d just won the lottery. “Oriole put it together. It’s perfect for you, babe. Really takes care of you.” My voice was all enthusiasm, still riding the high of Oriole’s manipulative spell.

Roxanne’s smile faltered as she took the folder, her fingers brushing the embossed leather with a mix of curiosity and unease. “Wow, this is… fancy,” she said, her tone light but cautious. She sat on her thrift-store couch, tucking her legs under her, and opened the prenup. I plopped down beside her, oblivious to the storm brewing in her expression as she started reading.

Her eyes widened almost immediately, her brows knitting together. “Lew,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with disbelief, “this says I get 75% of your business profits during the marriage. And 20% equity if we… you know, split up. Plus veto power over your business decisions?” She looked up at me, her warm eyes searching mine. “We agreed to keep our businesses separate, didn’t we?”

I nodded, but my certainty was shaky, eroded by Oriole’s velvet coercion. “Yeah, but Oriole said this was fairer. You’re taking a risk marrying me, Rox. I want you to feel secure.” I parroted Oriole’s words, not even questioning them, my grin unwavering.

Roxanne’s frown deepened as she flipped through the pages. “Ninety percent of your income to a joint account I control? And I approve every purchase over $200?” She shook her head, her voice rising slightly. “Lew, this isn’t fair to *you*. You worked so hard for Harris Builds. Why would you give me this much control?” She paused, her gaze softening with worry. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine!” I said, too quickly, my enthusiasm bordering on manic. “Oriole’s the best, Rox. She said this is standard, and I even suggested some stuff to make it better for you. Like, liquidating my savings to pay your loans upfront! And the house thing, so you’d keep it if we—” I stopped, catching the horror in her eyes, but I didn’t understand it. “It’s all good, right?”

Roxanne closed the folder, her hands trembling slightly. “Lew, this isn’t good. It’s… it’s insane. $15,000 a month for life if we divorce? A $200,000 lump sum? And what’s this about Oriole’s firm getting a $25,000 retainer and a cut of your profits?” She leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t sound like a prenup. It sounds like you’re giving away everything—your business, your money, your future. And Oriole’s skimming off the top? Honey, something’s wrong here.”

I blinked, her words bouncing off the wall of my cluelessness. “But Oriole said it’s for you. To protect you. I trust her, and I trust you.” My voice was earnest, but even I could hear the hollow ring in it. For the first time, a tiny crack of doubt crept in, but I pushed it down, clinging to Oriole’s promises.

Roxanne reached for my hand, her touch grounding me in a way Oriole’s cold perfection never could. “Lew, I love you. I don’t need 75% of your business or control over your spending to feel secure. I just need *us* to be fair to each other. This—” she tapped the folder, “—isn’t fair. It’s not even close.” She sighed, her eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and concern. “I’m worried about you. You’re acting like you’ve been… I don’t know, hypnotized or something.”

I laughed, but it came out nervous. “Hypnotized? Nah, I’m just trying to do right by you.” But her words stuck, like pebbles in my shoe. Hypnotized? Oriole’s face flashed in my mind—those predatory eyes, that condescending smile—and I felt a flicker of unease, quickly smothered by my blind trust.

Roxanne stood, tucking the prenup under her arm. “I need to think about this, Lew. I’m meeting the girls for brunch in an hour, and I want to clear my head. We’ll talk more when I get back, okay?” Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it, a determination that made me realize she wasn’t going to let this slide. She leaned down, kissing my forehead, her warmth a stark contrast to Oriole’s icy allure. “I love you, but we’re not signing this as is. Not even close.”

“Okay,” I said, my enthusiasm dimming slightly. “Brunch sounds good. We’ll figure it out.” But as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, I felt a pang of confusion. Roxanne’s reaction didn’t match the glowing certainty Oriole had instilled in me. Was I missing something? The prenup was perfect, wasn’t it?

As Roxanne’s door clicked shut, I sat alone on her couch, the faint scent of her lavender shampoo lingering. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, I heard Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, sharp and mocking, as if she knew the chaos she’d sown was about to unravel. For the first time, I wondered if I’d been played—but the thought was fleeting, drowned out by the memory of Oriole’s silicone smile and my own clueless devotion.

Chapter Seven: The Tainted Rewind

The world shuddered, colors bleeding into a dizzying spiral, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap echoed like a gunshot. She materialized in the alley beside my truck, her pink hair glowing under the streetlight, her giggle a razor-edged taunt. “Saintly Roxanne was too pure, wasn’t she?” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. “Let’s spice her up, Lew. A pinch of greed should do it.” Her eyes sparkled with chaotic glee as she snapped her fingers again, and reality rewound, dumping me back outside Roxanne’s apartment with the gilded prenup folder in my hands.

The air felt different—sharper, tinged with a faint metallic edge, like the prelude to a storm. I climbed the steps to Roxanne’s place, my head still swimming with Oriole’s silicone-soaked manipulation. I was clueless, enthusiastic, convinced I’d crafted the perfect deal for my fiancée, unaware of the web Kyubi had spun. When Roxanne opened the door, I froze for a second, thrown by the change.

She was still Roxanne, but… remixed. Her hair was now a sleek blonde-to-brunette ombré, cascading in polished waves, and she was a size 8, her figure accentuated by a fitted white blouse and high-waisted jeans that screamed curated Instagram aesthetic. Her smile was warm, but there was a new glint in her brown eyes, a flicker of calculation that hadn’t been there before. She hugged me, her perfume a touch more expensive, and I felt the same heart-flip, but it came with a strange aftertaste, like sweet wine gone slightly sour.

“Hey, babe,” she said, her voice smooth but with a hint of something sharper. “You got the prenup?” Her eyes flicked to the folder, and I missed the way her fingers twitched, like she was already counting the benefits.

“Yup!” I said, grinning like an idiot, Oriole’s spell still clouding my brain. “Oriole nailed it. It’s all about taking care of you, Rox. You’re gonna love it.” I handed her the folder, my enthusiasm blind to the shift in her demeanor.

Roxanne led me inside, her apartment still cozy but with new touches—a designer throw blanket, a sleek coffee machine that looked out of place. She sat on the couch, crossing her legs in a way that made her jeans hug her thighs, and opened the prenup. I plopped down beside her, oblivious to the storm brewing as her eyes scanned the pages.

Her brows shot up, just like before, but this time the surprise was laced with something else—intrigue. “Lew,” she said, her voice soft but less alarmed, “this gives me 75% of your business profits. And 20% equity if we divorce? Plus veto power over your business decisions?” She looked at me, her warm eyes searching, but there was a subtle shift, a hint of greed flickering beneath the concern. Her thighs rubbed together slightly, a nervous tic—or something more calculated.

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” I said, nodding eagerly. “Oriole said it’s fair, since you’re taking a risk marrying me. I even suggested some stuff to make it better, like the 75% part. Gotta make sure you’re secure, right?”

Roxanne’s lips parted, and for a moment, I saw the old Roxanne—the one who’d have pushed back, worried about fairness. “That’s… a lot, Lew,” she said, her tone wavering, like she was caught between love and temptation. “We talked about keeping things equal. This feels… unbalanced.” But her fingers lingered on the folder, tracing the embossed leather, and her thighs shifted again, betraying a spark of gold-digging thrill.

“I’m fine with it!” I said, my voice bursting with clueless devotion. “You deserve it, Rox. Oriole’s the expert, and she said this is standard. Protects you, y’know?” I leaned closer, oblivious to the way her gaze flicked to the pages, her concern eroding under the weight of opportunity.

She flipped through the draft, her eyes widening at the financial clauses. “Ninety percent of your income to an account I control? And I approve every purchase over $200?” She shook her head, but it wasn’t with conviction—more like a performance of doubt. “Lew, this is… I mean, it’s generous, but it’s not fair to you.” Her voice was softer now, less insistent, and her thighs pressed together again, a subtle tell of the greed Kyubi had woven into her.

“You’re worth it,” I said, grinning, Oriole’s words still puppeteering my thoughts. “I even suggested liquidating my savings to pay your loans upfront. And the house—you’d keep it, plus a lifestyle fund if we split. It’s all for you.”

Roxanne’s breath hitched, and I missed the way her eyes gleamed, not with love but with a hunger she was trying to suppress. “Your savings? The house?” she murmured, her fingers tightening on the folder. “And… $15,000 a month for life if we divorce? A $200,000 lump sum?” She looked at me, her concern now a thin veneer. “Lew, this is too much. You’re giving away everything. And what’s this about Oriole’s firm getting a $25,000 retainer and a cut of your profits?”

I waved it off, still under Oriole’s spell. “That’s just standard stuff. Oriole’s amazing—she knows what’s best. I even upped her consulting fee to $15,000 a year. Gotta keep her on our side, right?” I chuckled, blind to the way Roxanne’s lips twitched, not in worry but in calculation.

She leaned back, her ombré hair catching the light, and for a moment, I thought she’d push back like the old Roxanne would have. But Kyubi’s meddling had tainted her, and the greed won out. “Lew,” she said, her voice smoother now, almost sultry, “I don’t know… this doesn’t feel right. You’re giving up so much.” But her thighs rubbed together again, and her eyes lingered on the clauses promising her control, wealth, a future padded with my money. The protest lacked conviction, a token gesture to ease her conscience.

“Hey, I trust you,” I said, my enthusiasm unwavering. “You’re my fiancée. This is what love looks like, right?” I didn’t see the trap, didn’t notice how Oriole had rigged the prenup to fleece me while Roxanne’s newfound greed made her complicit.

Roxanne closed the folder, her smile tight but tinged with something new—anticipation. “Okay, babe,” she said, her tone warmer but less genuine. “I’ll look it over again. I’m meeting the girls for margaritas tonight, and I’ll think about it. I’ll… probably sign it after that.” Her words were casual, but the way she clutched the folder betrayed her eagerness, the gold-digging spark Kyubi had ignited now a steady flame.

“Sweet!” I said, oblivious to the shift in her. “Margaritas sound fun. We’re good, right?” I leaned in for a kiss, and she obliged, but her lips were cooler, her warmth dimmed by the allure of the prenup’s promises.

As she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, her hips swaying with a new confidence, I sat on her couch, grinning like a fool. The prenup was perfect, Roxanne was happy, and Oriole was a genius—what could go wrong? I didn’t hear Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, sharp and triumphant, echoing in the void. I didn’t see how her final reset had turned Roxanne’s love into something transactional, or how Oriole’s claws had sunk deeper into my future. I was too clueless, too trusting, and the trap was closing fast.

Chapter Eight: The Gilded Trap

The world twisted, a kaleidoscope of fractured light, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap cut through the haze like a whip. She materialized in the shadows of Roxanne’s apartment stairwell, her pink hair a neon blaze, her grin a crescent of pure malice. “Still too goody-goody, that Roxanne,” she said, her voice a mocking sing-song. “Let’s strip away the last of her halo, Lew. Make her *shine* for herself.” She giggled, her eyes glinting with chaotic glee, and snapped her fingers again. Reality unraveled, and I was spat out right back at Roxanne’s apartment door, the gilded prenup folder heavy in my hands.

The air was sharper now, laced with a synthetic edge, like cheap perfume and ambition. My head was still foggy from Oriole’s silicone-drenched manipulation, her predatory smile and backhanded compliments looping in my mind. I was clueless, brimming with blind enthusiasm, convinced I’d handed Roxanne the deal of a lifetime. I knocked, and when Roxanne opened the door, the shift hit me like a slap I was too dumb to feel.

Roxanne was no longer the warm, natural beauty I’d fallen for. She was a size 6 now, her frame sculpted and polished, clad in a tight, metallic gold dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on. Her hair was a sleek, platinum blonde, straight as a blade, framing a face that was still hers but colder, sharper, with a glossy sheen of makeup that screamed high maintenance. Her smile was there, but it wasn’t warm—it was an act, a practiced curve of lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, Lew,” she said, her voice smooth but hollow, like she was reading from a script. She leaned in for a kiss, but it was perfunctory, a brush of lips that left me colder than before.

“Got the prenup!” I said, my grin wide and oblivious, Oriole’s spell still puppeteering my thoughts. “Oriole killed it, Rox. It’s all for you. You’re gonna love it.” I handed her the folder, missing the way her eyes lit up—not with love, but with a calculating hunger.

“Come in,” she said, her tone inviting but lacking the old sincerity. Her apartment had changed too—less cozy, more like a showroom, with mirrored furniture and a neon sign that read “Boss Babe” in cursive. She sauntered to the couch, her heels clicking, and sat with a practiced pose, legs crossed to show off her toned calves. She opened the prenup, her manicured nails glinting as she scanned the pages.

Her brows lifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face, but it wasn’t the concern I’d seen in earlier versions of her. “Wow, Lew,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “Seventy-five percent of your business profits? Twenty percent equity if we split? And I get veto power over your business decisions?” She glanced at me, her blonde hair catching the light, but her eyes were sharp, appraising, like she was sizing up a deal, not a fiancé.

“Yeah, isn’t it awesome?” I said, nodding like a bobblehead, my enthusiasm blind to the chill in her demeanor. “Oriole said it’s fair, since you’re taking a risk on me. I even pushed for the 75% to make sure you’re set.”

Roxanne’s lips twitched, a smirk she didn’t bother to hide. “That’s… generous,” she said, her tone lacking the conviction of the old Roxanne, who’d have fought for fairness. Her fingers traced the folder’s edge, and I missed the subtle way her posture shifted, her body leaning into the promise of wealth. “Ninety percent of your income to an account I control? And I approve every purchase over $200?” She let out a soft laugh, not warm but calculating. “This is… a lot, babe.”

“You deserve it!” I said, my voice bursting with clueless devotion. “I suggested liquidating my savings to pay your loans upfront, too. And the house—you’d keep it, plus a lifestyle fund if we split. Oriole’s a genius, right?” I didn’t see the trap, didn’t notice how the prenup handed Roxanne my life while Oriole skimmed her cut.

Roxanne’s eyes flicked to the financial clauses, and the surprise melted into something else—greed, unmasked and unashamed. “$15,000 a month for life if we divorce? A $200,000 lump sum?” she murmured, her voice almost reverent. She caught herself, tossing her hair and adding, “I mean, Lew, this seems… unfair to you. Are you sure about this?” But the question was hollow, a perfunctory nod to decency. Her eyes were already gleaming, her fingers tightening on the folder like it was a winning lottery ticket.

“Totally sure!” I said, grinning, Oriole’s words still echoing in my skull. “You’re my fiancée, Rox. This is what love’s about. And Oriole’s firm gets a $25,000 retainer, plus a cut of my profits—standard stuff. I even upped her consulting fee to $15,000 a year. Keeps everything smooth, y’know?”

Roxanne’s smirk widened, and I missed the way she didn’t even blink at Oriole’s self-serving clauses. “Standard, huh?” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “You’re so… thoughtful, Lew.” The compliment was a shadow of Oriole’s backhanded jabs, but I soaked it up, oblivious to the sarcasm. “This is… a lot to take in,” she continued, her voice smooth but unconvincing. “I don’t know if we should change anything. It’s… generous.” Her hesitation was an act, and a weak one—she wasn’t fighting for me, not really.

“Hey, if you’re happy, I’m happy,” I said, my enthusiasm unshaken. “You’re worth it, Rox. All of it.” I didn’t see how her affection had turned performative, didn’t notice the way her smile was more about the prenup than me.

She closed the folder with a decisive snap, her blonde hair swinging as she stood. “Okay, babe,” she said, her voice all business now. “I’m meeting the girls for skinny margs at the club tonight. I’ll read it over again, but… I’ll definitely sign it after that.” The certainty in her tone wasn’t love—it was the confidence of someone who’d just landed a windfall. She leaned down, pecking my cheek with lips that felt like a stranger’s. “You’re the best, Lew.”

“Sweet!” I said, grinning as she grabbed her clutch—a designer bag I didn’t recognize—and sauntered to the door, her hips swaying with a new, calculated strut. “Have fun at the club!” I called, oblivious to the shift in her, to the way Kyubi’s meddling had stripped away Roxanne’s warmth and replaced it with a glittering, gold-digging edge.

As the door clicked shut, I sat on her mirrored couch, surrounded by her “Boss Babe” decor, still beaming like a fool. The prenup was perfect, Roxanne was thrilled, and Oriole was a mastermind—what could go wrong? I didn’t hear Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, a cackling crescendo that echoed in the void. I didn’t see how Roxanne’s love had been warped into a performance, or how Oriole’s claws had carved up my future for both their gains. I was too clueless, too trusting, and the trap was sealed.

Chapter Nine: The Golden Facade

The world lurched, a nauseating swirl of light and shadow, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap cracked like a thunderbolt. She materialized in the dim glow of Roxanne’s apartment hallway, her pink hair a radioactive cascade, her grin a slash of pure anarchy. “Roxanne’s still got a shred of doubt, doesn’t she?” she said, her voice a venomous purr. “Too much heart for my liking. Let’s make her a proper gold-digger, babes.” She winked, her eyes glinting with sadistic glee, and snapped her fingers again. Reality collapsed, and I was flung back to the doorstep of Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder clutched in my hands.

The air was thick with a saccharine haze, like hairspray and ambition had fused into a toxic cloud. My head was still swimming with Oriole’s silicone-soaked manipulation, her predatory smile and backhanded jabs fueling my clueless enthusiasm. I was Lew Harris, blindly devoted, convinced I’d crafted a prenup that was a love letter to my fiancée. I knocked, and when Roxanne opened the door, the transformation hit me like a punch I was too dumb to dodge.

Roxanne was a size 4 now, her frame whittled to a brittle, mannequin-like perfection, clad in a skintight, rose-gold minidress that left nothing to the imagination. Her bleach-blonde hair was pin-straight, falling past her shoulders like a synthetic curtain, and her skin was a deep, artificial tan, the kind that screamed spray booth and status. Her face was a canvas of overdone glamour—plumped lips glossy with pink shine, cheekbones dusted with highlighter, and fake lashes so heavy they looked like they might collapse under their own weight. Her brown eyes, once warm, were now cold and calculating, barely softened by the fake smile she plastered on. “Lew, baby,” she cooed, her voice a high-pitched caricature of affection, but it was off, like an actress flubbing her lines. She leaned in for a hug, her bony arms barely squeezing, and the effort to play girlfriend was so strained it was almost comical.

“Hey, Rox!” I said, my grin wide and oblivious, Oriole’s spell still clouding my brain. “Got the prenup! Oriole crushed it. It’s all for you, babe.” I handed her the folder, missing the way her eyes lit up—not with love, but with raw, unfiltered greed.

“Come in, sweetie,” she said, her tone syrupy but hollow, like she was reciting a script she hadn’t rehearsed. Her apartment was a shrine to excess: mirrored walls, a velvet chaise lounge, and a bar cart stocked with crystal decanters. She teetered to the couch in sky-high stilettos, her hips swaying with exaggerated swagger, and flopped down, crossing her legs to flash a thigh tattoo of a diamond. The girlfriend act was paper-thin—her smile flickered, her eyes darted to the folder, and she didn’t even try to hide her impatience. Being nice was too much effort, and she wasn’t good at it.

She opened the prenup, her fake nails clicking, and scanned the pages with a speed that screamed she’d done this before—sized up a deal, not a relationship. Her lips curled into a smirk, no trace of the surprise or concern I’d seen in earlier versions of her. “Seventy-five percent of your business profits,” she read aloud, her voice almost giddy. “Twenty percent equity if we split. Veto power over your business decisions. Oh, and ninety percent of your income to my account? With me approving every purchase over $200?” She didn’t look at me, her eyes glued to the clauses, her fake tan glowing under the neon lights of her “Boss Babe” decor.

“Isn’t it perfect?” I said, nodding like a trained seal, my enthusiasm blind to her obvious gold-digging. “Oriole said it’s fair, and I pushed for the 75% to make sure you’re set. Even added liquidating my savings to pay your loans upfront. You’re worth it, Rox.”

She let out a laugh, sharp and unconvincing, her attempt at affection crumbling under the weight of her greed. “Oh, Lew, you’re… something else,” she said, her tone dripping with fake sweetness, but her eyes were predatory, like she was already spending my money. “This is… wow. Just perfect.” The word *perfect* was for her, not us, and she didn’t even pretend to care about fairness. Her thighs shifted, not with hesitation but with anticipation, her fingers clutching the folder like a lifeline.

“You sure you don’t want to change anything?” I asked, my voice earnest, but it was a reflex, not doubt. Oriole’s spell had me locked in, and Roxanne’s gold-digging vibe didn’t register. “I mean, it’s a lot, but it’s for you.”

Roxanne’s smile tightened, her patience visibly fraying. “Change it? No way, baby,” she said, her voice too bright, her girlfriend act slipping as she waved a hand. “It’s *exactly* what I—what we—need.” She caught herself, tossing her bleach-blonde hair, but the slip was obvious: this was about her, not me. “I mean, you’re so generous, Lew. Why mess with perfection?” Her eyes flicked to the clauses about alimony—$15,000 a month for life, a $200,000 lump sum—and she didn’t even blink at Oriole’s self-serving additions: the $25,000 retainer, the 10% cut of my profits, the $15,000 annual consulting fee. “Oriole’s a genius,” she added, her tone almost reverent, like she admired the lawyer’s hustle.

“Totally!” I said, grinning, clueless to how I was being fleeced by both women. “I knew you’d love it. Oriole’s the best.”

Roxanne didn’t bother responding, already reaching for a pen from her designer clutch. “Let’s just sign this now,” she said, her voice brisk, her fake niceness evaporating. “No need to drag it out, right, sweetie?” She scrawled her signature across the prenup with a flourish, her nails glinting, and shoved the folder back at me. “There. Done. You’re such a catch, Lew.” The compliment was hollow, her smile a grimace of effort, and I didn’t catch the sarcasm—or the fact that she was with me for my bank account, not my heart.

“Awesome!” I said, my enthusiasm unshaken. “We’re all set then.”

She stood, smoothing her minidress, her fake tan catching the light. “Yup, all set,” she said, already checking her phone, her girlfriend act fully discarded. “I’m heading out to meet a guy at the club do don’t wait up, babe—I won’t be back till tomorrow.” She froze, realizing her slip, and forced a laugh. “I mean, definitely the girls. You know, meeting my gal pals.” The lie was blatant, her eyes darting to the side, but I was too clueless to notice she was meeting a guy, not her friends.

“Have fun!” I said, waving as she grabbed her clutch and sashayed to the door, her stilettos clicking like a countdown. She didn’t look back, her bleach-blonde hair swinging as she vanished into the night, already texting someone with a smirk that wasn’t for me.

I sat alone in her glitzy apartment, surrounded by mirrored walls and empty promises, still grinning like a fool. The prenup was signed, Roxanne was thrilled, and I was the best fiancé ever—right? I didn’t hear Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, a cackling symphony of chaos, ringing in the void. I didn’t see how Roxanne’s gold-digging had turned her into a stranger, or how Oriole’s claws had locked me into a deal that bled me dry for both their gains. I was too clueless, too trusting, and the trap was sprung.

Chapter Ten: The Ultimate Facade

The air shimmered, a violent ripple of light and sound, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap detonated like a firecracker. She appeared in the flickering glow of a streetlamp outside Roxanne’s apartment, her pink hair a blazing halo, her grin a jagged slice of chaos. “Now *that’s* perfection,” she said, her voice a gleeful taunt, “but why settle for perfection when it’s just so *fun* to push it further, babes?” Her eyes glittered with malicious delight as she snapped her fingers again, and reality shattered, hurling me back to the doorstep of Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder a lead weight in my hands.

The air was suffocating, thick with the chemical tang of hairspray and ambition, like a high-end salon had exploded. My head was still clouded by Oriole’s silicone-drenched manipulation, her predatory smile and backhanded jabs fueling my clueless enthusiasm. I was Lew Harris, blindly devoted, convinced I’d crafted a prenup that was a monument to my love—or whatever I thought love was. I knocked, and when Roxanne opened the door, the transformation was a gut-punch I was too dumb to feel.

Roxanne was a size zero now, her frame so skeletal it seemed to defy biology, her body a fragile scaffold for a pair of fake boobs so disproportionately large they strained her skintight, silver Versace dress to the breaking point. Her fake tan was a deep, unnatural bronze, like she’d been dipped in liquid copper, and her face was a masterpiece of artifice: plumped lips slathered in gloss, cheekbones contoured to razor points, and fake lashes so dense they looked like black curtains. Her bleach-blonde hair was teased into a high, glossy ponytail, and her blue contacts—fake, like everything else—gave her a doll-like stare, cold and vacant. She was immaculate, a walking billboard for money, but it was clear it wasn’t *her* money footing the bill. Designer logos screamed from her dress, her Louboutin heels, her Chanel clutch—my money, I didn’t realize, was already bleeding into her lifestyle.

“Uh… hey,” she said, her voice a bored drawl, her eyes barely flicking to me as she leaned against the doorframe. She didn’t even try to smile, her expression one of lazy indifference, like I was a delivery guy she hadn’t tipped. “You’re… Luke, right?” My name was wrong, and she didn’t care, her nonchalance a neon sign that she was using me, her supposed fiancé, as a walking ATM. There was no warmth, no pretense of love—she couldn’t be bothered to expend the energy.

“It’s Lew,” I said, grinning like a clueless puppy, Oriole’s spell still blinding me to her dismissal. “Got the prenup, Rox! Oriole nailed it. It’s all for you, babe.” I held out the folder, missing the way her eyes lit up—not with affection, but with the predatory glint of someone who’d just spotted a jackpot.

“Whatever,” she said, waving me inside with a flick of her wrist, her fake nails glinting like knives. Her apartment was a gaudy shrine to excess: gold-plated furniture, a leopard-print rug, and a massive mirror framed in Swarovski crystals. She flopped onto a velvet couch, her dress riding up to reveal a thigh tattoo of a rose, and tossed the prenup folder onto the coffee table like it was junk mail. “That thing’s got, like, a million pages,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Too boring. Just tell me what it says, Lee.” Her tone was dismissive, her effort to play girlfriend nonexistent—she didn’t even bother getting my correct name.

“Sure thing!” I said, my enthusiasm undimmed, sitting beside her and opening the folder. “It’s awesome, Rox. You get 75% of my business profits during the marriage, 20% equity if we split, and veto power over all my business decisions. Plus, 90% of my income goes to an account you control, and you approve any purchase over $200. Oh, and I’m liquidating my savings to pay your loans upfront—$25,000, plus a discretionary fund for you.” I beamed, reciting Oriole’s clauses like a proud kid showing off a report card, oblivious to how I was handing her my life.

Roxanne yawned, inspecting her nails, but her lips curled into a smirk. “That’s… cute,” she said, her voice dripping with apathy, but her eyes gleamed with unmasked greed. “Keep going. What else?”

“Uh, alimony!” I said, flipping pages. “If we divorce, you get $15,000 a month for life, plus a $200,000 lump sum. You keep the house, any vacation properties, and a $50,000 annual lifestyle fund. And Oriole’s firm gets a $25,000 retainer, a 10% cut of my profits, and a $15,000 yearly consulting fee to protect you.” I grinned, blind to how Oriole was fleecing me while Roxanne reaped the rewards. “It’s perfect, right?”

“Perfect,” she echoed, her tone flat but her smirk widening, like she was already mentally shopping for a new Birkin bag. She didn’t question a single clause, didn’t blink at the lopsided terms or Oriole’s self-serving additions. There was no surprise, no concern for fairness—only the cold certainty that this deal was a goldmine, and I was too dumb to see it. “You’re, like, so generous, Liam,” she said, her attempt at a compliment lazy and insincere, her eyes already drifting to her phone.

“You’re worth it!” I said, my enthusiasm a brick wall against her indifference. “Wanna read it over? Make sure it’s all good?”

“Nah,” she said, grabbing a pen from her clutch and scrawling her signature across the prenup without even glancing at it. “It’s fine. Done.” She tossed the pen down, her signature a sloppy flourish, and shoved the folder back at me. “Don’t get any second thoughts, okay? This is, like, set in stone now.” Her tone was sharp, a warning to keep my wallet open, and I didn’t catch the threat—or the fact that she was already planning her exit strategy.

“Awesome!” I said, clutching the signed prenup like a trophy. “We’re all set, babe.”

“Great,” she said, standing and smoothing her dress, her fake boobs nearly spilling out. “I’m off to meet some guys at the club. You know, party vibes.” She didn’t even bother with a cover story, her nonchalance brutal as she grabbed her Chanel clutch and checked her reflection in the mirror. “I won’t be back till tomorrow, so… don’t call.” Her dismissal was blatant, her gold-digging motive screaming—she was with me for the money, and she didn’t care if I knew it.

“Have fun!” I said, waving as she sashayed to the door, her Louboutins clicking like a metronome of betrayal. She didn’t glance back, already texting as she vanished into the night, her fake tan glowing under the hallway lights.

I sat alone in her gaudy apartment, surrounded by gold-plated excess, still grinning like a fool. The prenup was signed, Roxanne was happy, and I was the best fiancé ever—right? I didn’t hear Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter, a howling crescendo of chaos, ringing in the void. I didn’t see how Roxanne’s love had been replaced by a mercenary hunger, or how Oriole’s claws had locked me into a deal that bled me dry for both their gains.

As Roxanne’s Uber pulled away, her phone lit up with a text to Oriole: *“Signed it. Start the divorce papers. I’ll marry him next month, cash out quick.”* She smirked, adjusting her fake lashes, already planning her next conquest. Back in the apartment, I was oblivious, my clueless trust a perfect canvas for Kyubi’s cruel masterpiece. The trap was sealed, and I was too far gone to see it.

Part C

Chapter Eleven: Charlotte’s Return

An hour after Roxanne’s glittering departure, the apartment door clicked open, and in walked Charlotte, our daughter, with her boyfriend, Seth, trailing behind. The gaudy decor—gold-plated furniture, Swarovski-encrusted mirrors, and that obnoxious “Boss Babe” neon sign—seemed to pulse under the harsh lighting, a stark reflection of Roxanne’s latest transformation. I was still sitting on the velvet couch, the signed prenup folder on the coffee table, my clueless grin fixed in place, Oriole’s spell and Roxanne’s dismissal not even denting my blind enthusiasm. Kyubi’s laughter lingered in the air, a faint echo I couldn’t hear, her chaotic reset still shaping this warped reality.

Charlotte, nineteen and top of her class at college, was a breath of normalcy in the tacky chaos. She had her mother’s brunette hair—before Roxanne’s bleach-blonde overhaul—tied back in a practical ponytail, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with ambition. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a sweater, her backpack slung over one shoulder, a stark contrast to the apartment’s ostentatious vibe. Seth, her boyfriend, was as polite and charming as ever, his dark hair neatly combed, his button-down shirt crisp. He carried a quiet confidence, his smile genuine as he nodded at me. “Hey, Mr. Harris,” he said, his voice easy. “Good to see you.”

“Hey, Dad,” Charlotte said, her tone bright but tinged with a flicker of confusion as she glanced around the apartment. The leopard-print rug, the gold bar cart, the dollar-sign throw pillows—it all felt *wrong* to her, like a set from a reality show she hadn’t auditioned for. Seth’s brow furrowed too, his eyes lingering on the mirrored coffee table, but neither could pin down why the decor clashed with their memories. Kyubi’s reset had scrambled their sense of normal, leaving them with an unease they couldn’t articulate. They didn’t question it, though, shrugging it off as they stepped into the kitchen.

“Wow, Mom’s really… redecorated,” Charlotte said, setting her backpack on the counter, her voice diplomatic but uncertain. She exchanged a quick look with Seth, who raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. The kitchen, at least, was less garish—white cabinets, a marble island—but even here, Roxanne’s touch was evident in the crystal-studded wine glasses and a vase of ostentatious peonies.

“Yeah, Rox’s got a vision,” I said, chuckling, my enthusiasm blind to the apartment’s tackiness or Roxanne’s gold-digging transformation. “She’s out at the club with the girls. Signed the prenup, though! It’s all set for the wedding.” I gestured to the folder, grinning like I’d won a prize, oblivious to the trap I’d walked into.

Charlotte’s smile faltered, but she didn’t press. “That’s Appalachian, Dad. Glad you’re excited about it.” She grabbed a water from the fridge, her curiosity piqued but tempered by the easy rhythm of coming home. “How’s it going with the prenup stuff?”

“Perfect!” I said, my voice bursting with clueless pride. “Oriole put together a killer deal. Roxanne’s totally taken care of—business profits, alimony, the works. Even threw in some fees for Oriole’s firm to keep things smooth.” I didn’t notice Charlotte’s slight frown or Seth’s subtle glance at her, both picking up on the odd weight of my words but not sure why they felt off.

“Sounds… thorough,” Charlotte said, her tone careful as she sipped her water. She leaned against the island, her sharp mind already turning over my words, but Kyubi’s reset dulled her usual skepticism, leaving her with just a vague unease. “You’re happy with it, though?”

“Thrilled!” I said, nodding like a bobblehead. “Rox loves it. Signed it right away. She’s out celebrating with skinny margs tonight.” I didn’t mention Roxanne’s slip about meeting “guys” or her cold dismissal—Oriole’s spell had me too far gone to question her motives.

Seth, ever the diplomat, smiled politely. “That’s great, Mr. Harris. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” But his eyes flicked to Charlotte, a silent question passing between them. The apartment, my gushing, the prenup—it didn’t add up, but Kyubi’s meddling kept them from digging deeper.

Charlotte shifted gears, her face brightening as she launched into her day. “Anyway, classes were wild today,” she said, hopping onto a barstool. “My bio professor went off on this tangent about epigenetics, and I’m, like, 90% sure I’m switching to pre-med next semester. But law’s still on the table—gotta keep my options open.” Her passion for her future—lawyer or doctor, she hadn’t decided—lit up the room, a stark contrast to Roxanne’s shallow glitz.

“That’s my girl,” I said, beaming, my pride genuine even through my clueless haze. “You’re gonna kill it, whatever you pick.”

Seth chuckled, checking his watch. “She’s already running circles around her study group. I can barely keep up.” He grinned at Charlotte, his affection clear, and she nudged him playfully.

“Stop it,” she said, laughing. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Engineering Major.” Their easy banter was a warm spot in the gaudy apartment, a reminder of something real amidst Kyubi’s chaos.

Seth glanced at his phone, sighing. “I gotta head out—meeting my roommate for a project. But I’ll swing by tomorrow, Char.” He turned to me, his charm on full display. “Good seeing you, Mr. Harris. Congrats on the prenup.”

“Thanks, Seth,” I said, clapping his shoulder as he grabbed his jacket. Charlotte walked him to the door, their quiet murmurs and quick kiss a snapshot of young love that made my heart swell, even if I was too blind to see how it contrasted with Roxanne’s mercenary hustle.

After Seth left, Charlotte flopped back onto the barstool, grabbing an apple from the counter. “So, Dad, what’s next? You and Mom finally making it official? Or are you and Mom just vibing?” Her tone was light, but her eyes lingered on the prenup folder, a faint crease in her brow.

“Just vibing!” I said, my grin unshaken. “Rox’s got the wedding covered. I’m just happy she’s happy.” Charlotte nodded, biting into her apple, but her sharp mind was ticking, even if Kyubi’s meddling dulled her instincts. “Cool,” she said, her voice neutral. “I’m gonna crash and study. Love you, Dad.” She hugged me, her warmth a fleeting anchor, then headed to her room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I sat there, staring at the prenup folder, my clueless grin fixed. The apartment’s glitz closed in, Roxanne’s dollar-sign pillows and crystal wine glasses mocking me in a way I couldn’t grasp. Somewhere, Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter howled, a triumphant cackle, as her cruel game tightened its grip. Charlotte’s brightness, Seth’s charm—they were sparks in the dark, but I was too far gone to see the trap, too clueless to save myself from the gilded cage Roxanne and Oriole had built.

Chapter Twelve: The Airheaded Adjustment

The world flickered, a disorienting blur of light and sound, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap sliced through the haze like a razor. She materialized in the glow of Roxanne’s apartment hallway, her pink hair a neon flare, her grin a twisted knot of glee. “Eew, too wholesome,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “Charlotte’s too bright, too grounded. Let’s dumb her down just a smidge, babes—make her fit this tacky little world.” She snapped her fingers again, and reality rewound, spitting me back to Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder still clutched in my hands.

The air was heavy with synthetic sweetness, a mix of Roxanne’s overpriced perfume and the chemical tang of her lifestyle. I was still riding the high of Oriole’s manipulative spell, her silicone perfection and backhanded jabs fueling my clueless enthusiasm. I was Lew Harris, blindly devoted, convinced the prenup was a love letter to Roxanne, oblivious to her gold-digging hustle. I sat on the velvet couch, the signed folder on the mirrored coffee table, surrounded by gold-plated furniture and a leopard-print rug that screamed Roxanne’s excess. My grin was fixed, unshaken by her cold dismissal or her blatant slip about meeting “guys” at the club.

The door swung open, and Charlotte bounced in, followed by Seth, her jock boyfriend. The apartment’s glitzy decor—Swarovski-encrusted mirrors, a “Boss Babe” neon sign, dollar-sign throw pillows—felt normal to them, a seamless fit for Roxanne’s world, no flicker of confusion in their eyes. Charlotte, nineteen and a solid B student, had her blonde hair—lighter than Roxanne’s bleach-blonde but still dyed—in a messy bun, her athleisure outfit hugging her frame. She was pretty, with a bubbly energy, but her sharpness was dulled, her ambition softened into something fluffier. She wanted to do marketing, drawn to flashy campaigns and social media trends, but she struggled with the details, her airheadedness showing in the way she forgot deadlines or misread assignments. She wasn’t idiotic—just a little scattered, her thoughts drifting like confetti.

Seth, broad-shouldered and sporting a backwards baseball cap, flashed a grin. “Yo, bro,” he said, slapping my shoulder instead of the usual “Mr. Harris.” His jock charm was all easy confidence, his polo shirt and sneakers screaming frat-house vibes. He carried a gym bag, his biceps flexing as he dropped it by the door. “What’s good?”

“Hey, Dad!” Charlotte chirped, tossing her backpack onto the chaise lounge and flopping beside me on the couch. Her smile was wide but a touch vacant, her brown eyes bright but not probing. “How’s it hangin’? Where’s Mom?” She glanced around, unfazed by the gaudy decor, her fingers already scrolling through her phone, probably checking her latest Instagram post.

“Rox is out at the club with some friends,” I said, my grin unwavering, Oriole’s spell keeping me blind to Roxanne’s betrayal. “Signed the prenup, though! It’s all set for the wedding. Total home run.” I gestured to the folder, my enthusiasm bursting, oblivious to the financial guillotine I’d locked myself into.

“Sweet!” Charlotte said, nodding, but her attention was half on her phone, a TikTok video playing softly. “That’s, like, super cool, Dad. You and Mom are, like, goals.” Her words were enthusiastic but shallow, her airheadedness softening her usual curiosity. She didn’t ask about the prenup’s details, didn’t pick up on my manic devotion—marketing was her thing, not contracts, and the fine print bored her.

Seth leaned against the kitchen island, grabbing a protein bar from his bag. “Nice one, bro,” he said, his tone all jock approval. “Lockin’ it down with the prenup. You’re killin’ it.” His charm was effortless, but there was no depth to his words, just the easy camaraderie of a guy who called everyone “bro.” He didn’t notice the folder’s gilded weight or my clueless grin, and the apartment’s tackiness was just background noise to him.

“Thanks, man,” I said, clapping his shoulder, my pride fueled by their casual praise. “It’s all for Rox. Oriole put together a killer deal—business profits, alimony, the works. Even tossed in some fees for her firm to keep it smooth.”

“Sounds legit,” Seth said, munching his protein bar, his eyes drifting to Charlotte, who was now giggling at her phone. “Char, you see that reel I sent you? The one with the dunk contest?”

“Oh my gosh, yes!” Charlotte squealed, her airheadedness in full swing as she swiped to find it. “It’s, like, so fire. You’re totally gonna crush it at tryouts, babe.” She leaned into him, her affection playful but a bit performative, like she was mimicking the influencers she followed.

They wandered into the kitchen, Charlotte grabbing a sparkling water from the fridge, the crystal-studded glassware clinking as she poured. “So, Dad,” she said, hopping onto a barstool, “today was, like, *wild*. My marketing prof was all about viral campaigns, and I’m totally pitching a collab with this energy drink brand for my project. But, ugh, I keep forgetting the budgeting part.” She pouted, her struggle with details clear, but her enthusiasm was infectious, even if it lacked focus.

“You’ll nail it,” I said, beaming, my pride genuine despite my clueless haze. “Marketing’s your thing, Char. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Totally,” Seth said, winking at her. “You’re gonna be, like, the next big influencer, babe.” He checked his phone, frowning. “Yo, I gotta bounce—practice with the team. But I’ll hit you up later, Char.” He turned to me, grinning. “Catch ya, bro.”

“Later, man,” I said, fist-bumping him as he grabbed his bag. Charlotte walked him to the door, their quick kiss and murmured goodbyes a snapshot of college romance, shallow but sweet. Seth’s sneakers squeaked as he left, leaving me and Charlotte in the kitchen.

She flopped back onto the barstool, scrolling her phone again. “So, Dad, you and Mom are, like, all set for the wedding?” she asked, her tone light but distracted, her airheadedness keeping her from probing deeper. The prenup folder sat untouched, its gilded menace invisible to her.

“Yup!” I said, my grin fixed. “Rox’s got it all planned. I’m just stoked she’s happy.”

“Cool beans,” Charlotte said, giggling at her own phrase, her eyes back on her phone. “I’m gonna, like, study… or maybe watch some tutorials. Love ya, Dad.” She hopped up, pecking my cheek before drifting to her room, her backpack dragging behind her.

I sat alone in the glitzy kitchen, the prenup folder gleaming like a trophy. The apartment’s excess—gold mirrors, crystal vases—closed in, a gilded cage I didn’t see. Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter echoed faintly, a cruel symphony, as her latest reset locked Charlotte into a shallower version of herself, perfectly suited to Roxanne’s tacky world. I was too clueless, too trusting, grinning into the void as the trap tightened around me.

Chapter Thirteen: The Ditz and the Jock

The air pulsed, a disorienting warp of light and shadow, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap ripped through the silence like a gunshot. She materialized in the garish glow of Roxanne’s apartment hallway, her pink hair a neon inferno, her eyes rolling with exaggerated disgust. “Ugh, Charlotte studying? Wanting to be *something*? So annoying,” she scoffed, her voice a venomous whine. “Let’s make her a proper airhead, babes—Chantelle now, a ditzy little disaster to match this tacky vibe.” She snapped her fingers again, and reality collapsed, dumping me back into Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder still heavy in my hands.

The air was thick with the cloying stench of Roxanne’s perfume, a chemical cocktail of vanity and greed. I sat on the velvet couch, surrounded by gold-plated furniture, a leopard-print rug, and a “Boss Babe” neon sign, my grin fixed as I clutched the signed prenup like a trophy.

The door burst open, and Chantelle—my daughter, no longer Charlotte—strutted in, followed by Seth, her jock boyfriend. The apartment’s gaudy decor—Swarovski-encrusted mirrors, dollar-sign throw pillows, a gold bar cart—felt like home to them, no hint of unease in their eyes. Chantelle, nineteen and a D student, was a walking echo of Roxanne’s fake-as-hell aesthetic, but dialed up with a ditzy naivety that made her mother’s calculated greed look like rocket science. Her own size-zero frame was squeezed into a hot-pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, the word “Princess” bedazzled across her chest, her fake boobs—smaller than Roxanne’s but still absurdly prominent—jiggling with every step. Her bleach-blonde hair was teased into a high ponytail, her fake tan a shade too orange, and her face was a clownish mask of makeup: glittery eyeshadow, glossy lips, and fake lashes that fluttered like trapped moths. She was bubbly, clueless, a naive bimbo who thought her D in history was “super awesome” because she “tried really hard.”

Seth, hulking in a muscle tee and cargo shorts, barely acknowledged me, grunting a low “Sup” instead of words, like speaking was too much effort. His jock charm was gone, replaced by a cold, misogynistic edge—he was with Chantelle because she was an easy lay, nothing more. His dark hair was slicked back, his jaw set in a permanent scowl, and he didn’t bother hiding the smirk that crept onto his face as he leaned against the wall, secretly texting one of his side chicks. His thumbs flew over his phone, his eyes lighting up with a sleazy glee that vanished when he glanced at Chantelle or me, reverting to grunts and indifference.

“Omigosh, Daddy!” Chantelle squealed, tottering over in platform heels and flopping onto the couch beside me, her perfume a dizzying cloud of cotton candy. “Today was, like, *so* crazy! I totally flunked my English quiz, but whatevs, the teacher’s a hater. And then I got this new lip gloss, see? It’s sooo super cute, right Seth?” She puckered her glossy lips, oblivious to the prenup folder or my manic grin. Her ditzy chatter was relentless, a stream of airheaded nonsense about failed classes, mall hauls, and her latest obsession with “becoming an influencer, maybe.” She was my daughter, but Kyubi’s reset had molded her into Roxanne’s clueless shadow, her naivety a stark contrast to her mother’s manipulative hustle.

Seth grunted, not looking up from his phone, his smirk widening as he typed another text, probably to some girl he’d meet later. “Cool,” he muttered, his voice flat, his eyes flicking to Chantelle with a mix of boredom and entitlement. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, he just stood there, a slab of muscle with no warmth for her or me.

“Hey, Seth, Chantelle,” I said, my grin unshaken, Oriole’s spell keeping me blind to their dysfunction. “Rox is out at the club, but she signed the prenup! It’s all set for the wedding. Total slam dunk.” I gestured to the folder, my enthusiasm bursting, oblivious to the financial abyss I’d leapt into.

“Uh-huh,” Chantelle said, barely listening as she scrolled through her phone, giggling at a selfie she’d just posted. “That’s, like, super cool, Daddy. Did you see my new nails? They’re, like, *so* extra.” She waved her bedazzled claws, her ditzy naivety swallowing any curiosity about the prenup. School was a struggle, contracts were boring, and her world revolved around glitter and likes—she didn’t care about my deal with Roxanne or Oriole’s claws.

Seth didn’t even grunt this time, his fingers flying over his phone, his sleazy smirk now a full grin as he texted his side chick something that made him chuckle under his breath. “Gotta go,” he said abruptly, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his gym bag. “Team stuff.” His excuse was lazy, his eyes sliding over Chantelle like she was furniture. He didn’t bother with a goodbye for me, just jerked his head at her. “Later, babe.”

“Okay, byeee!” Chantelle chirped, blowing him a kiss, her cluelessness blind to his indifference. She didn’t notice his lack of warmth, didn’t care that he was clearly texting other girls—she was too ditzy, too naive, caught in her bubble of sparkles and selfies. Seth slouched out, his sneakers thudding, leaving a trail of cologne and apathy.

Chantelle turned back to me, twirling her ponytail. “Sooo, Daddy, I was thinking, like, maybe I should get a new purse? There’s this *totes* cute Gucci one, and it’s only, like, a couple grand. Can you spot me?” Her smile was wide, her eyes vacant, her request a thoughtless echo of Roxanne’s gold-digging, though Chantelle’s was pure cluelessness, not calculation.

“Sure thing, hon,” I said, my grin fixed, my pride for her undimmed despite her airheadedness. “We’ll figure it out. You’re killing it with the… fashion stuff.”

“Yay!” she squealed, clapping her hands, then immediately went back to her phone, giggling at a makeup tutorial. “Love you, Daddy. I’m gonna, like, chill in my room and watch vlogs.” She tottered off, her heels clicking, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

The apartment’s glitz closed in—gold mirrors, crystal vases, Roxanne’s dollar-sign legacy mocking me in a way I couldn’t grasp. Chantelle’s bubbly naivety and Seth’s cold misogyny were perfect cogs in Kyubi’s cruel machine, a world tailored to Roxanne’s tacky excess. I sat there, grinning into the void, the prenup folder gleaming like a trap I’d never see. Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter howled faintly, a triumphant cackle, as her latest reset turned my daughter into a ditzy caricature and her boyfriend into a callous user, locking me deeper into the gilded cage.

Chapter Fourteen: The Cliché Catastrophe

The world convulsed, a nauseating swirl of garish light, and then *snap*—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap shattered the silence like a glass dropped on marble. She materialized in the tacky glow of Roxanne’s apartment hallway, her pink hair a radioactive blaze, her eyes narrowing as she checked her glittering nails with a sneer. “Not quite right,” she muttered, her voice a venomous hiss. “Chantelle’s still got a shred of… *something*. Let’s make her the ultimate bimbo, babes—dumb as a rock, no future, just a cliche airhead to complete this trashy little circus.” She snapped her fingers again, and reality imploded, flinging me back to Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder a dead weight in my hands.

The air was a suffocating fog of Roxanne’s cheap perfume and hairspray, a chemical shrine to her gold-digging excess. I lounged on the velvet couch, surrounded by gold-plated furniture, a leopard-print rug, and a “Boss Babe” neon sign, my grin as fixed as a mannequin’s, the signed prenup folder gleaming on the mirrored coffee table like a trophy I didn’t understand.

The door flew open, and Chantelle—my daughter, no longer anything resembling Charlotte—tottered in, followed by Seth, her dealer boyfriend. The apartment’s gaudy decor—Swarovski-encrusted mirrors, dollar-sign throw pillows, a gold bar cart—was their natural habitat, no flicker of doubt in their eyes. Chantelle, nineteen and a total bimbo, was a walking caricature of Roxanne’s fake aesthetic, cranked to eleven with a cliche airheadedness that made her mother’s calculated hustle look like quantum physics. Her size-zero frame was stuffed into a glittery pink tube top and a micro-mini skirt, her fake boobs—cartoonishly large for her twig-like body—threatening to topple her over. Her fake tan was a blinding tangerine, her bleach-blonde hair teased into a poofy mess, and her face was a garish mask: blue eyeshadow, glossy pink lips, and fake lashes so heavy they drooped. She was boy-crazy, dumb as a rock, and proud of her consistent F’s at community college, giggling that she “might work at McDonald’s or, like, something” with no plans beyond her next manicure.

Seth, lean and menacing in a ripped tank top and low-slung jeans, slouched behind her, his dealer vibe oozing like motor oil. His dark hair was greased back, a silver chain glinting at his neck, and his eyes were cold, predatory slits. He was toxically misogynistic, with Chantelle only because she was easy and too dumb to question him, and he didn’t bother hiding it. He grunted—a low, guttural sound that replaced words, too much effort for someone like him—unless he was sneaking texts to one of his side chicks, when a sleazy smirk would curl his lips, his fingers dancing over his phone with a twisted glee. “Yo,” he muttered, barely glancing at me, his attention already back on his phone, texting some girl with a grin that made my skin crawl.

“Omigawd, Daddyyy!” Chantelle squealed, teetering over in six-inch platform heels and collapsing onto the couch beside me, her perfume a choking cloud of bubblegum and regret. “Today was, like, *totes* amaze! I flunked my math test, but who cares, right? Numbers are, like, *so* not my thing. And I got these new press-on nails—aren’t they *fab*?” She wiggled her neon-pink claws, giggling, her cliche bimbo energy in overdrive. She was boy-crazy, her world a swirl of cute guys, sparkly things, and zero ambition, too dumb to even spell “prenup,” let alone care about it. Her chatter was relentless: “This guy at the mall was, like, *so* hot, and I’m totally getting my lips done again, and, oh, Sethy’s taking me to a party later, right, babe?”

Seth grunted, not looking up, his smirk widening as he texted another girl, his thumb flying with a sick enthusiasm. “Sure,” he muttered, his voice flat, his eyes sliding over Chantelle like she was a disposable toy. He didn’t acknowledge me beyond the initial grunt, his misogyny a palpable weight—Chantelle was just arm candy, and I was just the clueless dad bankrolling her existence. I didn’t see it, too silly for Roxanne and Oriole, my grin fixed like a broken neon sign.

“Hey, Chantelle, Seth,” I said, my enthusiasm undimmed, Oriole’s spell blinding me to their toxic dynamic. “Rox is out at the club, but she signed the prenup! It’s all set for the wedding. Total game-changer.” I pointed to the folder, my voice bursting with pride, oblivious to the financial slaughter I’d signed up for.

“Uh-huh,” Chantelle said, popping her gum, her eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through selfies. “That’s, like, super cool, Daddy. Did you see my new highlight? It’s, like, *so* glowy.” She tilted her head, showing off her makeup, her ditzy naivety swallowing any interest in my words. The prenup was irrelevant to her—too many words, too boring, and she was too busy dreaming of “hot guys” and “cute outfits” to care about my ruin.

Seth didn’t even grunt this time, his sleazy smirk now a full grin as he fired off another text, probably setting up a hookup for later. “Gotta split,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing a vape from his bag, the chemical cherry scent mixing with Chantelle’s perfume. “Business.” His excuse was curt, his eyes raking over Chantelle with a possessive sneer before he turned to the door, not bothering with a goodbye for either of us.

“Byeee, Sethy!” Chantelle squealed, blowing him a kiss, her cluelessness blind to his toxicity. She didn’t notice his cold indifference, didn’t care that he was texting other girls or dealing who-knows-what—she was too dumb, too boy-crazy, caught in her glittery bubble of failed tests and cheap thrills. Seth slunk out, his chain jingling, leaving a trail of vape smoke and disdain.

Chantelle turned to me, twirling a strand of her poofy hair. “Sooo, Daddy, can you, like, Venmo me some cash? There’s this *totes* adorbs bikini I need for the pool party, and it’s only, like, $300. Pretty please?” Her smile was vacant, her eyes wide with naive expectation, her request a thoughtless leeching off my bank account, just like Roxanne’s gold-digging, though Chantelle’s was pure stupidity, not strategy.

“No problem, Princess,” I said, my grin unshaken, my silly devotion to Roxanne and Oriole blinding me to Chantelle’s airheaded drain. “I’ll send it over. You’re rocking the… sparkly thing.”

“Yayyy!” she squealed, clapping her hands, then immediately went back to her phone, giggling at a guy’s DM she’d just gotten. “Love you, Daddy. I’m gonna, like, do my makeup and stuff.” She tottered off to her room, her heels clacking, leaving a trail of glitter and ignorance.

The apartment’s glitz closed in—gold mirrors, crystal vases, Roxanne’s dollar-sign empire mocking me in a way I couldn’t see. Chantelle’s brainless bimbo energy and Seth’s toxic misogyny were mere brushstrokes in Kyubi’s cruel portrait, a world engineered for Roxanne’s gold-digging triumph. I sat there, grinning into the abyss, the prenup folder a gleaming monument to my ruin. Kyubi Kitsune’s laughter roared faintly, a sadistic symphony, as her latest reset turned my daughter into a cliche airhead and her boyfriend into a vile predator, sealing me in a gilded cage I was too silly to escape.

Chapter Fifteen: The Greedy Glitterbomb

The world warped, a sickening spiral of neon and static, and then snap—Kyubi Kitsune’s finger-snap tore through the haze like a switchblade. She materialized in the garish glow of Roxanne’s apartment hallway, her pink hair a radioactive inferno, her lips curling in a sneer. “Still too nice, that Chantelle,” she spat, her voice a venomous purr. “Dumb as a rock, sure, but that bubbly sweetness? Gag. Let’s make her a greedy little leech, babes—Chardonnay now, a dropout with Roxanne’s hustle but none of her brains.” She snapped her fingers again, and reality imploded, hurling me back to Roxanne’s apartment, the gilded prenup folder a cold anchor in my hands.

The air was a choking stew of Roxanne’s synthetic perfume, hairspray - a testament to her gold-digging empire, along with the faint whiff of weed. I sat on the velvet couch, surrounded by gold-plated furniture, a leopard-print rug, and a “Boss Babe” neon sign, my grin as vacant as a storefront dummy, the signed prenup folder gleaming on the mirrored coffee table like a cursed artifact.

The door slammed open, and Chardonnay—my daughter, no trace of Charlotte or Chantelle—strutted in, followed by Seth, her two-bit gangsta boyfriend. The apartment’s gaudy decor—Swarovski-encrusted mirrors, dollar-sign throw pillows, a gold bar cart—was their natural playground, no hint of unease in their eyes. Chardonnay, nineteen and a high school dropout, was a total airhead, clueless and dumb, a walking parody of Roxanne’s fake aesthetic with a greedy edge that matched her mother’s but lacked any cunning. Her size-zero frame was crammed into a neon-green crop top and ripped Daisy Dukes, her fake boobs—grotesquely oversized for her skeletal body—bouncing with every step. Her fake tan was a radioactive orange, her bleach-blonde hair fried into a crunchy mess, and her face was a clown show: purple eyeshadow, glossy lips, and fake lashes clumped with mascara. She was obsessed with fashion and “dick,” her world a brain-dead whirl of knockoff Gucci, club hookups, and mooching off anyone with a pulse—especially me. College was a distant joke; she’d “maybe” work at a strip club or “whatever,” her only plan to leech and party.

Seth, a scrawny Black gangbanger in a faded tank top and sagging jeans, slunk behind her, his tarnished gold chain swinging, his flat-brimmed cap cocked at a lazy angle. He was a dealer, toxically misogynistic, and passive-aggressive to a sadistic degree, treating Chardonnay like a used tissue with a smirk that dripped venom. He didn’t just dismiss her—he weaponized every glance, every word, lacing his street drawl with cutting jabs she was too dumb to catch, his cruelty a game she mistook for love. His “yo” and “bitch” were spat with a slow, taunting edge, unless he was texting one of his side chicks, when his fingers flew and his smirk turned downright diabolical, his eyes glinting with sleazy triumph. “Yo, old man,” he drawled, his voice a passive-aggressive sneer as he barely glanced at me, leaning against the wall and texting some girl with a grin that screamed betrayal. “You still here, huh?” The jab was sharp, his tone mocking my existence, but I was too silly to notice.

“Daddy, fork over the cash, like, now!” Chardonnay barked, teetering over in knockoff Pleaser heels and collapsing onto the couch, her vape cloud a choking haze of strawberry and despair. Her brainless airheadedness was absolute, her thoughts a flatline—she couldn’t count to ten without giggling, but her greed was a laser, as blunt and demanding as a mugger’s knife, matching Roxanne’s gold-digging but clumsier, like a toddler swinging a sledgehammer. “I need three grand, stat. Me and Sethy got plans—clubs, fits, hot guys, whatever. Gimme it, or I’m, like, done with you.” Her voice was a shrill whine, no respect, no trace of warmth—just raw, entitled hunger, her glossy lips sneering as she waved her bedazzled nails, her eyes so vacant they reflected the neon sign. She was boy-crazy, dumber than a broken lightbulb, and only cared about “her man” and the next bender, her demands a brainless echo of Roxanne’s hustle without a shred of strategy.

Seth chuckled, a low, venomous sound, his passive-aggressive cruelty seeping like oil. “Yeah, old man, step it up,” he drawled, his voice a slow, mocking taunt, his eyes flicking to Chardonnay with a sneer that could curdle milk. “Shawty’s waitin’, and I ain’t got patience for your slow-ass vibes.” He leaned closer to her, his smirk twisting as he muttered, “Fix your damn hair, bitch, you look like a thrift-store Barbie.” Chardonnay giggled, too clueless to hear the insult, preening her crispy locks like it was a love poem. Seth’s phone pinged, and his grin widened, his fingers flying as he texted a side chick, probably setting up a hookup while he whispered, “Hurry up, fam, or we got problems,” his tone a passive-aggressive threat, his eyes glinting with malice. He didn’t hide his contempt, snapping his fingers at Chardonnay like she was livestock. “Move it, ho, you draggin’ me down,” he hissed, and she laughed, her airheadedness blind to his sadism.

“Hey, Chardonnay, Seth,” I said, my grin a permanent fixture, “Rox is out at the club, but the wedding’s a lock. Total banger!” My voice was bursting with pride, oblivious to the financial annihilation I’d embraced, my silly devotion to Roxanne and Oriole a steel trap around my mind.

“Ugh, shut up ‘bout your stupid wedding,” Chardonnay snapped, rolling her eyes as she vaped, her greed bulldozing any interest in my words. “I need that three grand, Daddy, now. Me and Sethy ain’t playin’—we got hot guys to impress, and I need a new fit. Pay up, or I’m, like, over you.” Her tone was pure venom, her airheadedness a void where thoughts died—she couldn’t spell “cash” but knew how to demand it, her sneer as sharp as her mother’s but dumber, her eyes glinting with brainless entitlement as she jabbed a nail at me. “Don’t be a loser, Daddy.”

Seth snorted, his passive-aggressive chuckle a slow poison. “Better not fuck this up, old man,” he drawled, his voice a taunting jab, his eyes raking Chardonnay with a sneer. “Shawty’s high-maintenance, and I ain’t dealin’ with her whinin’ ‘cause you cheap.” His phone buzzed, and his smirk turned demonic, his fingers dancing as he texted a side chick, muttering, “You lucky I’m even here, fam, with your broke-ass energy.” The insult was a blade, his tone a slow burn of contempt, and he didn’t bother hiding the text—probably to a dealer or a stripper—his grin flashing as he yanked Chardonnay’s arm. “Get your shit together, bitch, you look like a dollar-store hoe,” he hissed, and she squealed, mistaking his cruelty for charm.

“No prob, kiddo,” I said, my grin unshaken, my brain-dead devotion to Roxanne and Oriole blinding me to their parasitic rot. “I’ll Venmo you three grand. You’re slaying the… glowy thing.” I fumbled with my phone, sending the money with a tap, too clueless to see how Chardonnay’s brainless greed and Seth’s toxic venom were draining me dry, just like Roxanne and Oriole’s contract scam.

“About time,” Chardonnay scoffed, checking her phone as the Venmo pinged, her sneer twisting into a smug, vacant grin. “You’re not, like, totally pathetic, Daddy.” She stood, blowing a half-assed faux air kiss, her gratitude as fake as her lashes. “Me and Sethy are bouncin’—gonna hit the club, find some real guys, get lit.” She didn’t hide her boy-crazy hunger, adjusting her bikini top as she texted someone—definitely not Seth—her airheadedness a black hole swallowing any shame.

“Bet, shawty,” Seth drawled, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his backpack, stuffed with product or worse. “Move your ass, or I’m leavin’ you.” He didn’t look at me, didn’t thank me—just smacked Chardonnay’s thigh hard enough to bruise, his passive-aggressive smirk flashing as she giggled, clueless to his sadism. They swaggered to the door, Seth’s chain clanking, Chardonnay’s heels screeching, leaving a trail of vape smoke and malice.

“Have fun!” I called, waving, my grin a carved wound as they vanished into the night, Chardonnay’s air kisses and Seth’s gangsta drawl a toxic sludge in the air. I sat alone in the glitzy kitchen, the prenup folder a gleaming altar to my annihilation. The apartment’s excess—gold mirrors, crystal vases, Roxanne’s dollar-sign empire—swallowed me, a gilded cage I couldn’t see. Chardonnay’s brainless, greedy leeching and Seth’s passive-aggressive toxicity were the final nails in Kyubi’s sadistic coffin, a world engineered for Roxanne’s gold-digging conquest. I was too silly, too trusting, grinning as Kyubi Kitsune’s giggle floated past my ear, sealing me in a trap I’d never escape.

[xxx-inhibitionless-xxx]

Chapter 05 : Day Two ( Jason’s Morning )

 What the hell, said Jason smashing his alarm off. What time is it ? He felt like he had only just gone to bed. He hadn’t gotten home until late, or early as the non-third shift folks say, because he had to stay after work and cover his tracks from the stunt with the three dweebketeers last night.

 He chuckled at the thought of their humiliation and wished he had been there for what happened afterward. Mark had called him and filled him in on what went down in the parking lot and the ride to drop them off. He had to agree with Mark, those three did have some balls on them, he had to give them props.

 None of his own frat brothers would have handled a similar situation as well, he thought to himself. That still didn’t provide an answer as to why his alarm went off early. He checked his alarm clock and it was definitely set for twelve. What the hell, who would have, he paused a moment realizing he already knew the answer.

 Lisa, that little bitch, why would she mess with my alarm ? Jason checked his phone out of habit while he tried to figure out why Lisa would mess with his alarm and saw that he just so happened to have a new voicemail from her too.

 Hey Jay, the message began, I just wanted to let you know I had to borrow your phone while you were in the shower this morning, mine was dead. Okay, thought Jason, no big deal, why leave me a voicemail to tell me ? He continued to listen, while I was using it I happened to notice a picture folder on your app screen.

 Oh crap, Jason said with impending doom. If she found that then there’s no way she wouldn’t have opened it, which means she saw all the pictures we took of the three dweebs. He was so distracted worrying about what damage Lisa could do knowing he had naked pictures of three high school boys on his phone that he missed most of the rest of the message and only caught the end.

 Don’t be late, voicemail Lisa said, this afternoon, three o’clock, at the high school, room 220. What, Jason questioned, what’s at the school ? He waited for the message options so he could replay the whole thing.

 Hey Jay, I just wanted to let you know I had to borrow your phone while you were in the shower this morning, mine was dead. While I was using it I happened to notice a picture folder on your app screen. It was called blackmail boys.

 Ring a bell ? I don’t know what you and your frat pack are into nowadays but just to be safe I used your phone to email a copy of the whole folder to guarantee your cooperation and to prove I’m not bluffing. Now, if you don’t want pictures of you and your frat buddies molesting three naked high school boys at the mall where you work while you were working getting into the wrong hands you’d better listen carefully.

 And by the way, how stupid do you have to be to take such amateurish pictures that show without question where you took them and who else was there ? Very stupid Jay, I’m disappointed. Now, as for what you will do to ensure that these pictures don’t get out is as follows.

 I have an art class today after school at four o’clock. It’s a life model drawing class. A nude life model drawing class. You are going to come and replace the model we’re supposed to have. You will come to school, go to room 230, that’s where the models change, then come down the hall to room 220 and let he teacher know that you are the substitute model for today. I’ll take care of the real model. Don’t be late. This afternoon, three o’clock, at the high school, room 220.

 Oh shit, muttered Jason, that little bitch. Well, if that’s all she wants, that’s not all that bad. She must be dying to see how her big brother stacks up. Fine, Jason told himself with more confidence then he actually felt, I can handle one nude model drawing class. The fact that his little sister would be in the class seemed disturbingly incestuous but whatever, if it gets Lisa to forget about the pictures on his phone he can do it and be done.

 The similarity to what he and his frat brothers did to the dweebs awakened an exhibitionist rush in Jason and he found himself getting rather turned on at the fact that he would be exposing himself to a room full of high school chicks.

 They’re jailbait Jason, he told himself, yeah, but it’s not like I’m gonna do anything with ‘em, he continued having a conversation with himself, just give ‘em a good show. He smiled at that, grabbing his crotch and giving it a good squeeze.  Might have to take care of some business first, though, can’t have little Jason showing me up while I’m posing, Jason told himself as he stripped off the boxers he’d been sleeping in and massaged his growing erection. Oh yeah, Jason moaned, working his stiffening rod just the way he liked, grab, tug, squeeze, repeat, slow then quick.

Jason was jolted from his building euphoria by a sudden pounding at the front door. Mother f*ck, Jason exclaimed, bolting off the bed, son of a bitch, f*cking f*ck hell, who the hell is it, Jason hollered down to the door. Giving in to the realization that whoever was at the door was not going to hear him, he headed for the door, his dick bouncing around reminded him of his naked state, shit, he muttered, and grabbed a towel as he passed the linen closet.

 Wrapping the towel around his waist, Jason got to the front door amidst the constant pounding and pressing of the doorbell, what the f*ck do you want, Jason was shouting as he opened the door.

 Jason quickly shut up pretty quick once he saw that it was his on again off again girlfriend Melissa.

 Don’t you dare talk to me that way Jason Wetherby, how dare you block my calls, and what the hell are these pictures ?

 Jason was caught completely off guard and had no idea what in the world Melissa was rambling on about. Melissa, darling, calm down, what in the world are you talking about, Jason asked, trying to get her to quiet down.

 She slapped him across the face, don’t play dumb with me you sick twisted bastard, she was yelling, what kind of perverted shit is this, she continued, waving her phone in front of him. If you don’t want to be with me then tell me to my face Jason, don’t block my number and send me pictures of you and naked boys ! Oh my god, I can’t believe you would do this, she was hysterical at this point.

 Melissa, stop, listen to me, it’s not what you think, he tried to reason with her.

 Oh my god, it’s true, that’s what they say when it’s exactly what you think, oh my god, I can’t believe this, we’re through Jason, we’re done, she said as she headed for her car.

 Melissa, wait, Jason yelled after her, wait a minute. Ignoring his current state of appearance, Jason headed toward the car after her. Melissa, please, just listen a minute.

 Get away from me Jason, leave me alone, she said, getting into the car, I don’t ever want to see you again.

 Melissa, Jason was shouting, trying to get through to her, Melissa, listen to me.

 No Jason, you listen, Melissa glared at him, go play with your little boyfriends and leave me the f*ck alone, and if you want to play with naked boys, you need to be naked too, she said as she grabbed his towel, ripping it from his body, and pulling out of the driveway.

 Before Jason could process what had just happened, Melissa was already down the street waving his towel out the window. His towel, Jason suddenly realized he was now standing in the middle of his driveway butt ass naked ! Oh shit, he muttered, and bolted back for the door only to find that it had closed behind him.

 Reaching for the doorknob, he found that it not only closed shut while he was in the driveway, but it was locked. He was locked out his house, naked, in the middle of the afternoon. He looked around quickly to see who might be around witnessing his embarrassment. Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, Jason let out a quick sigh of relief and bolted around the house to get to the back yard.

 With the momentary relief of at least being somewhat concealed, Jason tool a second to gather his thoughts and assess his current predicament. That little bitch, Jason said through clenched teeth, Lisa must have sent Melissa the pictures this morning and blocked her number from his phone knowing that she’d then come over here.  Lisa never liked Melissa, she probably thought Melissa coming here in person and throwing the pictures in my face would be the most embarrassing way to kill two birds with one stone. Embarrass me and get rid of Melissa. If only she knew just how well she accomplished the embarrassing part. I’m sure not going to tell her, Jason said to himself as he next started to think of how he was going to get back into the house.

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

My beta reader told me to repost this from my ao3. My handle on there is agentsquirrel.

Road Bombs and Beer make the Burns Question Their Life Choices

Heatwave knew that their odds were doomed when Optimus brought the kids, and the engex.

Megatron had found Griffin Rock, and they had less than 48 hours to prepare. So, they were doing battle prep college all nighter style.

There were three kids, and a nurse, who immediately took a look at them and announced to the firehouse.

"Well, you won't kill them faster than their guardians, so I am going to take a nap."

She then curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

The youngest, a twelve year old boy dressed in orange, took out a laptop from a bag taken from Optimus's subspace marked "hide from Bryce".

Jack also took out parts of an alien looking shotgun from the bag too, putting it together and following Arcee to set up a shooting range.

"Chief, I want the townspeople evacuated. Fowler has already called in the coast guard to take them to the mainland." Optimus said, checking his hand blades for any last-minute rust spots. He didn't find any.

"Got it. Cody and I will go door to door. Be honest. We need everyone safe and contained in defensible positions."

They left in Chase. The coast guard, with help from the military, rounded up all of the townspeople and brought them to the mainland. They couldn't risk a single life on Optimus's mistake.

Ratchet took Raf into Heatwave's office, where he took over every screen. Heatwave was shocked to see Raf open up a diagram of human and Cybertron anatomy, a quick translation guide he made for both ancient and modern cybertronian, and four amateur road bomb designs for killing cons.

He printed out two of the designs, and downstairs, Miko took the blueprints off the printer and waved down Kade. She showed him the blueprints.

"Kade, in order for this to work, we need beer cans with alcohol residue in them, they make good shrapnel. Do any of you guys drink, or am I using your ID?"

"Uhhhh, let me flag down Bulkhead." Kade realized he didn't remember the last time he had alcohol. Whelp, time to commit a federal crime.

Optimus stopped him on the way out and gave him a credit card. "This little fiasco is on my dime. Go get fuel for everyone."

"Me, Wheeljack, and Bulkhead are going to make road bombs in the park. Don't worry, I have the apex armor. If something explodes, I will be fine." Miko said, running for Bulkhead.

Bulkhead picks up Miko and transforms around her. Kade climbed into him too. Wheeljack, who was definitely drunk off of Optimus's engex, followed them on foot.

The clerk was not paid enough for this.

There were two giant robots in the parking lot, sitting on the curb. One was obviously drunk, his buddy keeping an eye on him. The clerk assumed they were both men, by the sound of their booming voices.

The adult that came out of the robots was obviously buying two six packs of beer, the only size the store stocked, for the teenage girl, who was currently picking out every flavor of red bull and boxes of Kool-aid with red dye 40 in it, but again, the giant robots. She dumped them all on the tiny counter, then pulled out two packs of combos. The man sighed and took out his credit card. "Miko, really?"

"We have five nerds to feed to maximum efficiency. We will let them sleep when I get to have my fun. Besides, Ratchet gives Raf a combo for each word he translates correctly."

The man gave the clerk a look of pure pain. "Miko, get me another case of bud light and a five gallon bottle of water for the Kool-aid."

"On it!" She rolled the five gallon bottle, then stacked the case of beer on top.

The total came out to more than three hundred dollars.

The man paid with a military issued credit card, and it took several trips to load it all into the bigger robot's backseat, even with the drunken robot's "help".

Kade, Miko, Bulkhead and Wheeljack came back to Doc Greene, dropping off Frankie. He was going to weaponize some of his prototypes for the wreckers, so he wanted Frankie out of the lab. Unfortunately, the wreckers were going to be testing road bombs on the front lawn, so he might have been better served keeping Frankie home.

Dani showed Blades how to make Kool-aid in the water cabinet. He made the mistake of looking up red dye 40 in his visor after setting everything up.

"Dani, the ingredients of this drink scare me."

"Blades, it's a childhood classic. It's been around for several generations now. My dad grew up drinking this stuff, and so did me and my brothers."

"That explains so much about why you guys are like that."

"Like what?"

"Absolutely crazy. You drink things that turn your mouth unnatural colors."

Dani laughed. "You shouldn't look up what we use as natural red dyes in makeup then."

Blades looked it up and gasped. "Dead bugs? Dani, why?"

"I told you not to look it up. We use berries in more natural foods, by the way."

They heard an explosion outside, and Bulkhead ducked his head in. "Optimus, do you have the apex armor?"

Optimus pinched his nose. "Bulkhead, why didn't you ask that before breaking out the c4?" He took out the apex armor and handed it to him.

Bulkhead grabbed Miko by the back of her tank top and stuck the armor to her back. It formed around her, and she raced to join Wheeljack on the front lawn, a safe distance from the firehouse.

It took twenty minutes before Miko was launched into the firehouse by a poorly timed explosion.

Graham stole a beer from one of the open containers, along with taking the red bulls and combos upstairs to his desk in Heatwave's office.

Raf was, for the time being, perched on Ratchet's shoulder, being fed combos and Kool-aid from a water bottle.

He sent Graham an email with the textbook he and Ratchet wrote on translating cybertronian dialects into English.

Frankie came upstairs to ask Raf a question. "Hey Raf, why can't we go outside?"

"Miko, Wheeljack, and Bulkhead are messing around with c4 ratios while we get enough beer cans prepped."

"Why her?"

Raf popped another combo into his mouth and washed it down with Kool-aid. His hands were shaking almost as bad as Graham's. "Frankie, me, Miko, and Jack have been working for the war effort since I was ten. We know how to duck and cover. You do not."

"Frankie, bring these cans downstairs for my dad to prime." Graham said, handing her a few red bull cans. Frankie decided that questions were a bad idea. She took the cans and went back downstairs to hang out with Cody.

Meanwhile, at Arcee's makeshift shooting range, Arcee was teaching the Rescue Bots how to make a vehicon spin out using the foam cannons.

Jack was punctuating each of Arcee's points with his shotgun, shredding the totaled cars Salvage brought from the mainland to use for target practice with modified ammunition that had the effect of bird shot on a vehicon's plating, leaving dozens of holes in a single shot. A shot to the face was fatal, as they were made to destroy their visors and shred their processors. Jack explained all of this in a matter of fact way when Heatwave asked why Wheeljack made him a shotgun instead of a machine gun.

"Hey Jack!" Blurr yelled.

Jack put the gun down and took out his earplugs.

"What do you want, Blurr?" He said. He knew Blurr for all of twenty minutes but already had mentally given him the award for the most annoying bot he had ever met.

"What's your most badass moment fighting alongside Arcee?"

"Fine, I'll tell you something good. One time I got stranded from Arcee with a con on my tail during a battle. Optimus had knocked off one of Starscream's arms, so I used his missile launcher to shred the con to pieces. Happy?"

Blurr finally got it through his head that Jack and Arcee were not the kind of people to turn all their traumatic moments into fun stories.

Back at the firehouse, Chief primed Graham's empty red bull cans with a can of beer. He saw Cody and Frankie by the Kool-aid machine, and decided that it was time for a right of passage in the Burns family.

"Optimus, could you video the kids? Rite of passage, want to send to Doc later."

"Of course. What are you going to do?"

"Give them their first sip of alcohol. Not enough to have any sort of effect, just enough to make a point."

"And you do this?"

"Because it's hilarious to watch, and proves a point." Chief took out a pair of plastic shot glasses out of a cabinet in the garage. "Frankie, Cody, want to try a sip of beer?"

The faces they made when they tried the beer were priceless. Even Optimus chuckled at their sour faces.

"Point made?" Chief asked, taking a few soda cans out of the recycling.

"I am going to stick with Kool-aid." Frankie said.

"Kool-aid? Kool-aid is great. I'm not gonna try that again." Cody said.

At five, Dani went out with Bumblebee to get Burger King for everyone. Raf and Cody both decorated Optimus and Ratchet's head fins with Burger King crowns.

At around midnight, long after the bomb experiments had been perfected, June went upstairs and dragged Raf off the computer and into Cody's room for some sleep. He slept for all of four hours before Blades caught him sneaking back into Heatwave's office.

"Raf, it's bedtime." Blades said.

June sighed. "Blades, don't bother. Raf, it's 4 am. No more Kool-Aid, and if you fall asleep, you fall asleep."

Raf nodded and climbed the stairs up to join Graham in making timers for said road bombs.

Kade was sleeping on the couch, having a few beers to ignore the sheer amount of crazy going on. Between the dread of the coming invasion, the beer being available, a desire to get rid of said beer, he would rather not be entirely sober. Cody had drawn a mustache on him after he fell asleep at eight.

Cody and Frankie had crashed at eleven, the sheer amount of Kool-aid they drank catching up to them.

The cons came early.

The afternoon of the second day, Bumblebee killed and brought back two vehicon scouts.

"Whelp, that was nice while it lasted." Wheeljack said.

"Jack, Miko, be ready to roll in twenty." Arcee yelled.

Miko slipped on the apex armor, and Jack slung the shotgun over his shoulder.

The Nemesis dropped its soldiers, and the Rescue Bots watched first hand how a simple beer can road bomb can turn a vehicon into a tower of blue flames.

Jack rode Arcee and shot vehicons in the same way you would do archery on the back of a horse.

The battle went quickly, as that was not the point of the fic, and Optimus managed to stab Megatron in the gut before he sounded a retreat, so that was great.

The townspeople were returned to their homes. Luckily, the vehicons didn't burn the place, and everything was contained to the roads. The blaster stains on bricks might need some painting, though.

The Burns were left with their house absolutely littered with scrap metal and wrappers. The very hungover Kade sitting in the corner was a nice touch, and Heatwave will have to clear his browser history.

But hey, no one was dead except twenty five vehicons.

[imagine4000]

Hello again~! Just wanna say thanks for everyone’s support. Here to kick things off today is another fanfic. And yes, it’s all about these two: The Double-D Duo! cause’ they deserve a cover. Happy reading!

Stay safe, healthy, and in good spirits!

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Plot: How Donnie and Dahlia became friends (Donnie’s POV Only)

Warning(s): Slight angst to fluff, happy ending

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>>>>>>>Donnie’s POV>>>>>>>

[New York City 7:35 p.m.]

“...😶 ...”

“...Ahem...”

“...😐...”

“...So...want a soda?”

I groan and roll my eyes at Leo trying to break the ice.

My brothers and I are in the living/tv room with a human. No, not April.

“Um, no thanks. I’m good.”

[This is Dahlia Shinzo. We took her to our home. Why? Three reasons. One: We were rescued by her from certain doom in a lab incident, in an underground city full of beings called yokai.]

“Hey guys! I’m back with the pi—”

SLIP!

“AHH!” 

“No/Gasp/Not the pizza!”

FWOOM!

In seconds, teal-green creatures emerge in three’s, stacked into a ladder to catch the pizza boxes. All have round features, no nose, no mouth, just big eyes, and pudgy physiques.

“Thanks, Dahlia.”

“Thank Fable. Good job, lil’ buddy.”

[Two: Dahlia happens to be half-yokai with mystical powers.]

“Here ya go, guys.”

“Thanks, April/Alright!”

“Hey, girl, hope the guys didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Hardly. Oh yeah, I made this for you and your mom.”

Dahlia reaches into her backpack and takes out a clear container of sweets.

“Ooh, fresh cookies? Thanks! Yours are way better than mom’s.”

“Don’t say that in front of her face. You know how she gets.”

“Ugh, and how...”

[And three: April is her old childhood friend (even if they now go to different schools) who got the bright idea of introducing her to us.]

“So~ what exactly is your powers,” Leo asks.

“Not sure. It’s like taking a smidge of material of any object I touch and warp it into something else.”

“I’ll say! So, what else can you make? And if you’re half-yokai, what kind are you? Which one of your parents is the yokai and the human? How did they meet? Can we meet them?”

“Woah, slow down lil’ man.”

Raph pulls Mikey back before he could suffocate with billions of questions.

“Sorry ‘bout him.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to this.”

As usual, Mikey is ever so thrilled to meet a new face as much as Leo and Raph are. I, on the other hand, have always been the more sensible terrapin. In my brothers’ case, the skeptical one. So, yes, I’m not 100% on board when meeting new people.

“Did I hear someone say pizza and cookies?”

“Splinter/Dad!”

I panic when dad comes in and notices Dahlia.

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry for intruding, sir. I’m Dahlia, one of April’s friends.”

“She saved us from—”

“From getting flattened like a pancake when we supposedly knocked over a billboard!”

“Which was a total accident!”

Leo and Raph cover Mikey’s mouth from spilling the truth. Luckily, dad bought the story and just smiles.

“If you say so. Now, where are those cookies?”

Dahlia hands him one.

Munch-Munch-Munch!

“Mm~ now that is one good cookie.”

“Thank you. Anyway, I should get back home.”

“What~? But you just got here.”

“Yeah, stick around. It’s not like you got somewhere to be, right?”

“No, but—”

“Hey, Dahlia, y’know I’ve shown some of your work to Mikey.”

“Hold up! She’s the one who made those?”

“Uh-huh. Dahlia’s one of the star students at her visual/performing arts school.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Mikey here’s an artist like yourself.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Totally! He’s got a ton of work I think you should check out.”

I notice Mikey’s mood changing from excitement to anxious.

“Your uncle’s not coming home until tomorrow, right?”

“Well, he said it was a business trip, so...”

She gives a brief glance to the floor.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at a few pieces. If Mikey doesn’t mind, that is.”

“N-No, I’d love to get some pointers!”

“Is that alright with you, sir?”

“Hmm....as long as you keep this whole situation a secret...”

“Trust me.”

She uses her powers to drop a few more cookies into dad’s paws.

“Keeping my secret is a full-time job, but I think I have room for one more.”

“Then welcome to our home. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some milk.”

Once Splinter leaves, I cautiously watch as Dahlia comes up to my younger brother.

“So, where do you keep your work, Michelangelo?”

“U-Uh, over here.”

We all head for his room, seeing the clutter of canvases and graffitied walls.

“I don’t really have a place to put them. I wanna redraw a few, but I-I don’t know, it just feels like I missed something.”

“Which ones are those?”

Mikey spreads out a few he’s done in the past.

“Yeah, so they’re not like professionally good like yours are, but...”

“Hey, don’t be nervous,” she chuckles, “they all look great.”

“So...”

“Like this one, for instance...you can use the bristles of a paintbrush to show a splatter affect. For most artists, a toothbrush has better results.”

“Okay...”

“Some of these pieces, you can use oil paint. Keeps the colors authentic and gives you time to work more hours if needed. And this one here...you have good composition, but it seems like you’re going too light on the details.”

“Then, I should push it a little further.”

“Yeah. The contrast between these two objects here...”

“I have no idea what they’re saying,” Leo whispers.

“Told ya she was good,” April whispers back.

I pay no mind to the side conversation and focus on our guest, who picks up a paintbrush.

“Hmm...these are looking a little worn.”

“I’ve had them for years, but I never got around to getting new ones. Well, mostly cause I can’t walk out in the day to buy stuff being a mutant...also I don’t have a credit card...or actual money...”

“In that case, I can buy you new ones.”

“Really?”

“Yeah...and if I don’t have enough, I can always share some of my supplies.”

“W-Wow, you mean it?”

“Now that I’ll be seeing you guys more often, I’d be happy to lend a hand to a fellow artist.”

In seconds, Mikey throws his arms around her in a bone-crushing hug.

“Thanks, Dahlia! You’re awesome!”

“You’re welcome, Michelangelo.”

“It’s just ‘Mikey’...or Michael, or Doctor Delicate Touch, or—”

“Pfft—okay, okay, I get it. So, uh...I could stay for another hour or two. Mind showing me around?”

“Thought you’d never ask, mi amiga, so vamanos!”

“Sabes espanol?”

“De hecho lo hago.”

“Oh-mi-gosh, tu acento es realmente bueno!”

“El tuyo tambien.”

“Parece que encontre otra mejor amiga.”

“I couldn’t agree more. So, what are we waiting for—we got a lair to explore!”

”Let’s hit the arcade first!”

April slides over to me.

“Did I also mention she’s fluent in Spanish?”

“Gee, I never would’ve guessed.”

“Will you lighten up,” she scoffs, “my gal just saved your sorry shells back there and you’re giving her that attitude?”

“This is how I always act,” I protest.

“Okay, I’ll level with you, Don...of course I was gonna be worried about bringing in, uh...this whole situation.”

“If that’s true, then why go through with it?”

“Don’t make me get my bat.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Uhh, I don’t know—talk to her for one thing?”

“Obviously, but...I-I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Uh~ you didn’t say much to me when we first met. And look at us...dorky pals for life. you trust me, so why not trust her like I do? Come on, Donnie...”

I glance at the others, then give out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine~.”

SLAP/GAH!

“Good answer!”

I rub my aching arm after that harsh blow.

“But make one wrong move, and I’ll use your shell as a cooking pot.”

“Noted.”

Thus begins the slow, but painfully awkward challenges ahead.

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>>>>>>>TIMESKIP>>>>>>>

“Woah/Awesome!”

Thanks to my brilliant mind and a crystal that could reveal mystic energy, my brothers and I uncover a secret pizza place full of yokai. On the surface of New York.

“Okay. Be cool. I think...we just sit and ask for stuff.”

“Like regular people?”

“I think here, we are regular.”

By the time we find a table, it’s just me, Raph, and Mikey sitting, with my twin off to who knows where. In the meantime, we look through the menus.

“Man, this place is so cool.”

“I hope the food’s as good.”

“Judging by the populated customers and assortment of Italian cuisine, I’d say that’s a definite—”

“Donnie?”

“D-Da-Da—Dahlia?!”

I gawk in shock to find Dahlia standing before us, wearing a waitress uniform.

“I-I...you...”

“What my brother’s trying to say is: What are you doing here?”

“I work here, Raph. I’m surprised you guys found this place.”

“You can thank ol’ Donnie-boy here.”

“Is that true?”

“Uh, y-yes! As a matter of fact, I did...with science.”

“And a mystic crystal.”

“But~ I used my technological skills to uncover the mystic energy.”

“Really...”

I flinch when she taps on my specs.

“Does it come in handy when tracking the oozesquitoes?”

“That hasn’t been tested yet, but I’m 87% positive it could be possible if they—y’know—were behind thick walls and such.”

“Impressive. I’d like to look at them sometime, if that’s okay.”

“...Uh...th—”

“Yo, Dahlia, can you hook us up with some pie?”

“I knew you’d say that Mikey. So, have you decided yet?”

“Hard to choose.”

“In that case, I’ll send over a regular pizza with the works. Next time you come around I recommend the super-creepy-supreme. If you can stomach it.”

“As long as it’s pizza.”

“Brb with the pie, boys.”

After Dahlia leaves, Raph and Mikey turn to each other as I scan the menu again.

“Who would’ve thought.”

“I know, right?”

For one thing, my brothers interrupting me is rude. On another note, I can’t decide if I’m irritated or relieved. In truth, I haven’t made much progress, communication-wise. Most of the time, Dahlia is the one who approaches me first. I only do so when saying a simple ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ or asking each other questions when all of us hang out. Like I said: warming up to new people isn’t my thing.

“Hey Donnie...”

I simply hum in response, still reading the choice of food listed.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, what’s the deal?”

“Is this about the whole ‘Dahlia situation’?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about, dear brethren.”

“C’mon, dude/Seriously?”

I groan and put the menu down, rubbing my temple.

“Can’t we go somewhere without you guys interrogating me for five minutes?”

“Don, we know you’re not a, uh...touchy-feely guy, but...it’s just that—”

“Just man up already, ya softshell!”

“Shh~ Mikey!”

“What, it’s true, and let’s face it, Raph, you’re not good at being brutally honest in these things.”

“Fair enough.”

“If you’re suggesting that I’m ignoring Dahlia—”

“Are you?”

“What, n...no!”

“Aha! You hesitated!”

“I did no such thing!”

“You were for a second!”

“Guys, cool it!!”

Being a centimeter-close to tearing each other’s shells off, Raph immediately shoves us back in our seats.

“I know you’ve heard me say this before, Angelo, but not everyone is an everybody-get-along with a friendly shake and hug type.”

“Two. Weeks. Even Raph can do the math and see that you’ve got a problem.”

“Ignoring that academic remark...Mikey’s right. You gotta make time.”

“I can.”

“Alone.”

“...Uh~ alone? As in, just the two of us?”

“That’s what I said. Didn’t I just say it, Mikey?”

“Yup, you sure did.”

“But—”

“(Unison)Just talk to her!”

“Alright! I can take a hint, thank you...and sarcasm is my thing, FYI.”

“What about sarcasm?”

“Dah!”

I almost jump out of my seat when Dahlia appears again. It’s like she makes a habit out of scaring people out of their wits. 

“Um...you okay?”

Clearing my throat, I sit up straight and act natural.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, just having a perfectly normal, not-at-all-awkward conversation with my beloved brothers. Yup, everything is just perfect.”

I can feel sweat drip down my face as she sends a confused look my way.

“Well...here’s your order.”

“Ooh/Finally~!”

She sets the medium-sized pizza in front of us.

“Enjoy guys.”

“Hold up, Dahlia.”

“Oh, did I forget something.”

“Actually...I think Donnie wants to tell you something. Right, bro?”

Oh~ how I wish I could bring out the torturing disposal mechanism. It’s just a touch of a button on my staff. All I have to do is give one press of my thumb. That’s all it takes. However, seeing as there’s a decent person in our presence, I’ll fight the urge.

“Yesss...I almost forgot. Thank you, Raph.”

I casually take a slice of pizza, forcing a smile to hide any signs of malice towards the two.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

“...Uhm...I just wanted to ask if...if...”

“If...?”

“Well, maybe when you come visit again, you could...if you feel like it, that is...you could help—”

✋🏼SMACK!

“HEY/What the/My salvation~!”

All of a sudden, Leo shows up and what does he do? Slaps the only food we can afford right off our hands.

“What are you doing? Don’t eat that run of the mill garbage.”

FWIP!

“Woah, Leo!?”

“Where are you taking us?!”

“Dahlia!”

I hear that skeleton man call her name from the front desk.

“Si, senor?”

“You can go home, now. I can take care of the rest.”

“Gracias Senor Hueso. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Buenas noches, senorita.”

“Sorry, guys, but I gotta go. I’ve got projects to do. I’ll see you next time!”

“Adios, mi amiga! Make sure to check the hall of fame on your next shift!”

“Oh, you’ll be on the hall of fame, alright,” she smirks, “just not sure which one.”

She gives a wink and salute before disappearing through the wall.

Again, fate has dealt its cards and I unwittingly fold.

 >>>>>>>TIME-SKIP>>>>>>>

VRR~!

I storm into my lab, hearing the doors shut behind me.

CLATTER!

With a fling of the wrist, I toss my latest invention on my work desk. I slump into my chair and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

Tonight has been hectic. My brothers and I find out there’s a yokai hotel topside in the city disguised as humans. Though the establishment is five-star rating, the service was terrible.

VRRR~!

“Go away, Leo,” I holler, “I’m not in the mood for another one of your gloat-trips.”

“Does he now...”

I flinch when hearing the familiar feminine voice, but I don’t turn around.  

“Dahlia...um...what brings you here?”

I grab a pencil and start drawing on a new blueprint.

“I heard everything that happened. Leo told me when I came in a few seconds ago.”

“Did he also tell you how a giant spider is a criminal overlord that almost took credit for my invention and made us slave warriors?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you guys about Big Mama. She does have a powerful syndicate, so of course you’d be outmatched.”

“Is that all you had to tell me?”

“I just wanted to check on you, is all.”

“...Thanks, but I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not. I can tell by your tone of voice.”

I groan in annoyance as I flick the pencil away and cross my arms.

“What do you want me to say,” I inquire, “that I should’ve listened to Leo? That I should’ve known we were in danger? Or maybe that I was ignorant and foolish to even gain someone’s trust—is that it?”

“You didn’t know this would happen.”

“Spare me the trouble. The last thing I need is your pity.”

“Not pity...concerned. Donnie, you may not believe me, but—”

CLANG!

“I don’t believe you!”

I stand up and slam my hands down, hunched over my desk.

“Just because you’re April’s friend doesn’t mean I’ll be won over by your charms like you did to my brothers! And yeah—I’m not chummy like those dumb-dumbs, but I am nobody’s fool!”

I briefly glare at her composed look before gripping my head.

“Honestly, I-I don’t even know why I’m trying! From the start, I knew things weren’t going to work out! Even now, you’re desperately reaching out when you know that this is who I am! And it feels like you’re trying to change all that!”

“That’s not true. I just—”

“I don’t wanna hear any more of your excuses! It’s pointless to reason with me!”

“I’m fully aware of it, but that won’t stop me in the least! I’m not against you, Donnie, I want to know more about you. I choose to be your friend because I know you’re a good person. But you need to meet me halfway to clear any misunderstandings between us. That’s all I ask. If you could just talk to me—”

“Stop! I’m tired, I’m in a bad mood, and I’m done with this! I’m done with you! So why not make this easier for both of us and just leave!”

“Donnie, please, just listen—”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

WHACK!!

“...!?”

It all happened so fast. I don’t know what came over me. But the moment I felt her grab my arm, I just...snapped. All the anger suddenly thrown out by one act of aggression. What’s left is fear, shock, and sheer guilt as we drown in each other’s silence.

“...”

“Ah...I-I...”

VRR!

“Hey guys.”

We hear the doors open and see Leo striding in.

“I could hear the commotion outside the...Dahlia!”

He runs in and grabs her.

“Your cheek! W-What happened?!”

“I-I, uh...I was just...”

Unable to correspond, Leo realizes who’s at fault here, holding a vicious glare.

“You little...did you seriously hit her?!”

“Leo, stop!”

Dahlia tries to push my brother away.

“What’s your problem, man!? What did she ever do—hah?! Do you really hate her that much?!”

“It was an accident, Leo! Calm down!”

“Don’t speak for him! He’s the one who—”

SHAA!

“Hey!”

Dahlia uses her powers to summon Fable.

“Please, take him outside.”

“Wait, no! Fable, let go!”

The familiar multiplies into five and drags Leo out of the room. Dahlia turns around, making me take a step back. My mouth is open. I try to say something, anything at all...but nothing. I could say nothing. For once, I’m speechless.

“Donnie...”

"Tsk!”

Seeing her lift her hand, I look down at myself. I knew the first thing she’d do would be to reach out to me. But I’m not...

“...I’m sorry things got out of hand.”

Clack-Clack-Clack

I jerk my head up as she walks to the door.

“...Da—"

“Y’know I would slice you into pieces if you didn’t split in two every time! Now c’mon~ put me down!”

Hearing my twin’s complaints, Dahlia sighs.

“I’ll calm him down before I leave.”

“Wa—”

“I’ll be back when I can, okay? I promise.”

“...”

“Goodnight, Donatello.”

VRR~...CLANG

The last thing I see is her profile as the doors close. I’m now left stunned, still standing even as I feel my legs tremble. I thought for sure she would react the same as Leo did, but I saw no signs of resentment. Dahlia just sends a sincere smile my way. A smile of all things. Even after what I did. As if she was silently telling me that all is forgiven. So why...

‘Why don’t I believe it?’

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“DONNIE!”

Coming back to my senses, I look back to April as we keep running up the stairs.

“Please tell me were near the top!”

“Just a smidge!”

“Ugh—whatever, just—”

“There!”

I point to the floor on the next flight of stairs.

CLANK—CLANK!

Finally reaching the top, I see those hacking thieves and yell despite my lungs aching for air.

“Okay nerds—I want my stuff back!”

“I got the code! Let’s go!”

WHIRL!

THUD/OOF/OW!

SHOOM~!!

Through all the chaos, we take those bozos down and corner Kendra through an ally. With the exception of crashing the jet and us into a pile of garbage.

“I think I broke your jetpack.”

“No probbles, I got this!”

“Not so fast, Von Ryan.”

CLANKING!

“Whu—ack! No! Hey, no stop! Override! Override! Alpha-Bootyshaker9000! Three Y’s!”

That little punk hacks into my spider pack as it turns against me.

“Well, Von Rayn, looks like you’re out of luck. I’d love to spend all night beating you up with your own tech, but I got a global bank to hack. Buh bye.”

Kendra taunts with a wave as she flies off with my flight-shell.

FWOOM!

“Gasp!”

Suddenly, I see the impossible.

“Hey-yah~ been a long time.”

I thought I was dreaming, but there she is, hovering right in Kendra’s path with magnetic rings attached to the soles and heels of her shoes.

“Dahlia?! How did—”

“Pu-lease~ tracking your whereabouts is child’s play compared to your little late-night shopping spree.”

“Tch...nice footwear. What junkyard did you go to get those scrapheaps?”

“You’d be surprised what simple material can produce. Still embezzling on other peoples’ success, I see...and here I thought you actually invented something original.”

“You always were a pain in my neck.”

“Aww, did I make whittle Kenny-wenny mad?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“What...Kenny-wenny?”

“That’s it!”

FWOOM!

Kendra charges, but Dahlia dodges to the left like she’s doing the slide-step.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...sloppy maneuver. Then again, the first thing you flunked in grade school was the jungle gym.”

“Grr~!”

FWOOM/FWIP/SHOOM/WHIRL!

I can’t decide whether to be shocked that Dahlia’s here or astounded by her flying-acrobatic performance. That’s when I take notice of my fight-shell’s components.

“The rotors! The reason I never wear a jacket is that I’m terrified it would be caught in them.”

“How ‘bout using a jacket to block those rotors?”

“Exactly, give me yours.”

“What~? No! Use your own jacket!”

“You know, even though this whole thing is your fault, I guess it’s up to me to solve it.”

“Ooh~ we gonna have a talk...”

I quickly take my silky-smooth hoodie off, rolled into a ball, and gently caress it to my face.

“Fare thee well, my synthetic darling. I hardly knew ye, but parting is such sweet—”

“Just do it!”

“Okay.”

FWOOM!

I throw as far as I could, watching it gracefully fly towards its final stand.

“Hahaha—”

💥BOOM/SHATTER!

“AAAHHH!”

BLAM/AHH!

“Dahlia!”

I dive over Kendra and catch Dahlia in the nick of time.

THUMP!

We land in a pile of furniture. Which isn’t as comfortable as I thought it’d be. I groan and rub my aching cranium.

“Ugh...that could’ve gone better—"

Boop!

I feel my brain shutting down screaming in panic. Cause looking down, my snout and her nose inadvertently press together. I’ve never made this kind of close physical contact with anyone outside of my family! Yet alone another girl!

💓Ba-Dump!

And is that...is my heart...thumping? What is happening to me?!

I jerk back before she could notice anything.

“S-Sorry, I wasn’t l—"

Glomp!

I’m cut off when she hugs me, making my body stone-cold as a gargoyle statue.

“It’s so good to see you, Donnie.”

“Wait, really? I-I thought that...you weren’t...coming back.”

“April didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I was put in charge working on a group project for an arts festival at my school. That’s why I was gone for so long. I told her to tell you right after I got the assignment.”

I deadpan towards April, who equally shares the same expression.

“Hey, don’t blame me for wanting some payback for my girl, here.”

“Anyway, I’m really sorry that I couldn’t make time to visit you and your brothers.”

“No, it’s...I got so caught up in the heat of it all that I just...Dahlia...I’m...”

Boink

Out of nowhere, she pokes my forehead.

“You dummy...I know you are.”

“... ...”

SHIMMER~

Just then, I witness the glittering pieces that decorate the sky.

“Alas...a classic tale of a well-meaning loner who just couldn’t fit in with a band of well-dressed crooks.”

“That’s okay, Donnie,” April says, patting my shoulder, “you’ll always be in the April O-Neil Dorky-Pals-for-Life-Club.”

“Thanks, April.”

“No matter how stupid you dress.”

WHEE-WHOO—WHEE-WHOO!

Suddenly, sirens blare down the street.

“Hey, you wanna help me get this stuff back to the lair?”

“(Sighs)I say yes to you—way too often.”

We hightail it out with the tech, leaving Kendra to deal with the authorities.

.

.

.

[Moments Later...]

By the time we reach a manhole, April rides off with her bike while Dahlia helps me get my gear to the lair. Luckily, the guys aren’t around as we quietly sneak into my lab and dump everything on my desk.

“Look at what those pilfering geeks did to my babies. It’s gonna take me weeks of repair.”

“Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll just head on home.”

“Wait!”

Clasp!

Not just Dahlia, but I’m also surprised when I stop her from leaving. That’s now the second closest I’ve ever come into her personal space. Seriously, why is karma giving me such a hard time?

“Ahem.”

My eyes widen as I quickly yank my hand away. At the door is Mikey, expressing a smug look while dressed in his orange pajamas.

“Sorry to cut in on this touching reunion, but some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Oh, sorry. I should get—”

“Ah-tut-tut!”

Mikey shushes her and comes in-between us.

“You’re staying over tonight.”

“(Unison)Say what?”

“Lucky for you, we have an extra room for emergencies like this.”

“Wait, that’s why you asked me to help you build one this whole time?”

“And I thought you asked me to bring pajama clothes for you to wear.”

“C’mon, check it out. You’re gonna love it.”

‘That little...I’ve been outsmarted by a fox in a turtle’s shell!’

Dragging us through the third-floor, we come across the new room. Simple furniture and accessories, decorated in lights hanging above and graffiti art on the walls.  

“Oh, Mikey, it’s beautiful.”

“Why, thank you. Did you call your uncle?”

“I told him I’d be at April’s over the weekend. Plus, he’s on another business trip. The poor guy’s been getting pulled left and right.”

“Well~ I’m heading back to bed. Continue where you left off, Donnie-boy and uh...don’t screw up this time.”

“Mikey!”

“Sweet dreams!”

ZIP!

He dashes off before I could scold him.

“So, uh...”

I turn to Dahlia.

“This has been one heck of a night.”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.”

An awkward pause comes between us.

“...Hey, um...”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not ready to hit the hay just yet, so...mind if I have a word with you?”

I lead her to the kitchen and serve us some warm tea. We sit across from each other and sip our drink. I sigh in content.

“Normally, I’m a coffee-guy but this hits the spot.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee, anyways?”

“Don’t you drink it, too?”

“Only if I feel like it. Unlike someone who practically needs an IV-tube to keep himself active 24/7.”

“Touché.”

I pull my cup away, but still holding onto it as my thumb runs across the rim.

“Listen...I meant what I said. When you left, I calculated every possible way to make it up to you, but I couldn’t seem to go through with it all.”

“Donnie, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Yes, I do. Look, I’ll be frank...I’m intelligent, cautious, skeptical, and disapprove any source of magic, even after witnessing an unexplainable phenomenon. You’re the complete opposite of me. So, yes, I didn’t know how to deal with—this whole situation at first...but not having the courage to face you...after what I did...it terrified me. I didn’t want things to end like that. Leo was right. I was acting like an ignorant hard-shell, but I...I don’t hate you. I never meant for it to appear that way. If I had just settled things calmly like you said, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time regretting my actions.”

“... ...”

C-Clink

I look up at the sound of putting her cup down. Just then, she grabs my hand, making me flinch.

“It’s okay...trust me.”

I thought of pulling back, but I cave in and let her bring my hand up to her cheek. The very same place I harmed her. 

“You see?”

“...See what?”

“Exactly. It’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

Dahlia reads me like a book, knowing exactly what I’m thinking before I could even speak. I retract my hand, still feeling the gentle warmth from her touch. 

“Donnie...you may seem like an emotionless, pass-aggressive turtle...”

“Again, sorry, but all true.”

“But I admire that you’re compassionate with what you do and not afraid to speak your mind.”

“...You really mean that?”

“Mhm...and let’s face it: besides April, you’re the most adorkable friend I’d definitely want to hang out with.”

I can feel my cheeks warming up to that compliment, but I immediately hide it behind my cup. I’m starting to think I’m losing my bad-boy image.

“Hey, since tomorrow is Saturday, I can help you rebuild your battle shells if you’d like.”

“You would? I-I mean, sure, cause clearly you know what you’re doing. Especially when I saw those puppies in action.”

I point at her matching-colored shoes.

“Are they made of pure minerals?”

“Hematite and magnetite, to be precise. And since dad taught me the ropes of mystic blacksmithing, I modified them to attract and repel myself in any direction, no matter how far or high I hover...above ground in...any...environment...?”

“😶...”

“...What?”

“Even your mind is beautiful.”

CLANK!

My drink slips out of my hand the same way my thoughts slip out from my tongue.

“Um...(chuckles)thanks?”

“Daahhh, I-I, uh...let me rephrase that! What I meant to say was...is that...gahh~ why is it so hard to say a full sentence in front of you?! Is this the work of a magic spell!? Have I been cursed to make a fool of myself or—”

“Pfft~ hahaha!”

“Oh great, just what I need: more humiliation.”

“That’s not it, silly. Sure, I’ve been called ‘cute’ or ‘pretty’, but hardly beautiful.”

“Really? I mean...really?”

“Hehe...y’know, for someone who’s socially awkward at times, you sure know what to say to make a girl feel good about herself. Thank you, Donnie. I really am glad that I got to meet you.”

Not sure what kind of face I’m making now, but hearing her laughter and seeing her smile like that...how could I be so blind to not see what great a person she really is?

“...Me too.”

“Hm...you say something?”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I reclaim my tea.

“So, for tomorrow, I was thinking of upgrading the jetpack.”

“Sounds good. I could give you some pointers on how to make the wings more flexible for aerial combat. That is...if your ego can take a step back.”

“Heh...no promises.”

“We’ll see about that.”

It’s gonna be challenging. Maybe even chaotic at times. But I think I’m willing to take a chance in something new.

.

.

>>>>>>>BONUS>>>>>>>

“Hey, move over.”

“I can’t see.”

“Quit shoving.”

Outside the kitchen, Raph, Leo, and Mikey hide behind the open tunnel while spying on the others.

“He’s tapping into his inner emotions,” Mikey praises, “I’m so proud of him.”

“Shh~ trying to capture the moment.”

“Leo, stop plotting against your twin.”

“Don’t worry, big-guy, I’ll send you a pic. As soon as April blows it up on a poster.”

“Ugh...”

“Ooh, I’ve got the perfect name for this: The Double-D Duo.”

“The, what now?”

“For Donnie and Dahlia, duh. Gotta call ‘em something if we ever face off the usual baddies in town. I think it’s a pretty good name.”

Leo turns back, seeing his twin and new best friend enjoying each other’s company.

“Y’know what,” he smiles, “they would make a great team.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.” 

“C’mon fellas, let’s book it before—”

“BOYS!”

“AAHHH!”

THUMP!

Out of nowhere, Splinter surprises them from behind, causing the trio to fall into the room, startling Donnie, and Dahlia.

“I’m having my late-night sandwich run and I need the mustard.”

“GUUUYS~!”

“Oooh boy.”

“Now, Donnie/Donnie, take it easy...”

SWING!

“WOAH! Donnie?!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

“Run for it!”

DASH!

“I’m gonna use your shells to replace my battle tech!”

“Not the face! It’s my one true beauty!”

While the purple-clad terrapin relentlessly swings a skillet in each hand at the intruders, Splinter had already made a sandwich cut in two and sits beside Dahlia.

“Should we...”

“Ahh, they’ll be fine. Sandwich?”

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.”

She takes the other half, and they tip their share with a smile.

“Good to see you, again, Dahlia.”

“You too, Splinter.”

Dahlia and Splinter eat while the chaotic chase scene entertains them the rest of the night.

[THE END]

[annaizscribbling]

Angst : Logan vs the vague sense of having to do Something, Anything, Everything but not knowing what to do, or worse, knowing what to do and not doing it, like you’re locked inside a bubble and you’re screaming to b let out but instead u just watch time fly by and the thing doesn’t get done

Thank you for the prompt! I kinda focused on the comfort in this surprise Hurt/Comfort. This was really cathartic to write!

Summary: Logan can't start the huge pile of work he needs to get done and it's wearing on him. Virgil lends a hand.

Lowkey big brother Virgil.

Wordcount is 1292

Heads up for spiraling, anxiousness, and some self deprecation.

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

Logan’s fingers drummed along the side of his desk at a frantic pace. The wobbly rhythm did not comfort him. It did not relieve the clawing urgency that was piercing the middle of his chest.

The stack of unfinished paperwork was looming on one side of the desk while the other side was occupied by his laptop, equally brimming with a metaphorical mountain of tasks. They all sprung on him at once. They all demanded his attention. They all rang with urgency.

He didn’t sleep last night. Not enough.

The new tasks all came in just moments before he was going to bed the night before. Logically, he knew that it would just have to wait until morning, as he couldn’t sacrifice his sleep schedule that easily, and it would be tough but perfectly possible to finish it in the morning.

That information did not stop his mind from racing all night.

It was only a matter of minutes until he had spiraled further than he intended, and sleep would evade him.

All he could do was lay there as his dread grew and grew. He tried mentally sorting what order he should tackle the work in, what steps he would take, how many hours he could spend on each category.

He just let himself sink into a dizzy panic as he soaked in just how much work he would have to do the coming hours. The time kept slipping away more and more each time he anxiously glanced at the clock.

Logan gave in to his nerves at 5:00 in the morning and drank much more coffee that Patton would approve of on a normal day, much less one where Logan was so high strung.

So, there he was, too much caffeine and one sleepless night later, sitting at his desk, spiraling and thrumming his fingers.

There was too much to do. Too many tasks. Too little time.

His heartrate was elevated more than comfortable. His whole being felt buzzy and upset. Caffeine on top of sleep deprivation.

Not enough time. Not enough strength. Not enough help.

The task was so big he couldn’t begin.

Even though he knew that his only course of action should be starting.

His fingers drummed faster in a lopsided beat.

Logan needed to start. He needed to begin. He needed to start so that the sharp buzzing feeling of urgency will relinquish its hold on his heart.

But the feeling was so miserable he couldn’t start.

But the feeling won’t go away until he finishes.

Oh, what a wicked contradiction.

Now he would never start. Logan will only stare aimlessly, drum his fingers, sit uselessly, and rot away into a worthless husk as the task grows with each coming day.

He can’t start, but he can’t walk away.

His blood felt electric with dread. His head throbbed with pain.

Was he doomed to never escape his agony?

A firm hand on his right shoulder shocked him out of his miserable thoughts.

“C’mon Buddy, talk to me.” A gruff but far from unkind voice said beside his ear.

“Virgil?” Logan’s own voice sounded raspy and sore, tight with unshed tears.

“Yeah,” Virgil said gently, some relief spreading over his face, “How about we go chill somewhere? I think you need a sec to relax.”

Logan’s anxious heart jumped in his chest. “No, I-I can’t. I really shouldn’t, but thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your intervention, but I really need to work.”

Virgil raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You just said ‘work’ with as much enthusiasm as me saying ‘phone call’.”

“That was not my intention, I apologize.” He said quietly. “But it’s probably best that you leave me, I really must be at least a little productive today.”

“Dude,” Virgil bit the inside of his mouth unsurely, “You look really tired and out of it, and you didn’t even notice me until I shook you. You’re stressed out of your mind.”

“I’m alright, Virgil.”

“Who’s the expert in stress here?” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Me. That’s who. And I know a stress overload when I see one. It’ll only get worse if you keep doing the thing that’s causing it. So break time, let’s go.” He jutted his chin toward the door, gesturing for Logan to get up.

“No, Virgil.” The bespeckled side said gravely. “I’m fine, but if I was stressed it wouldn���t be due to work,” He swallowed. “It would only ever be due to a lack of work,”

Virgil crossed his arms, unamused but quite determined. “So that’s how we’re doing this?” he huffed. “Fine. Hypothetically, how would a lack of work stress you out?”

“It’s unimportant.”

“Logan come on.”

Logan suddenly felt very, very small under Virgil’s withering stare in addition to the already heavy burden of his job. His voice sank to a pathetic whimper. “It’s too much,” he said, voice breaking as he did. “I can’t start.”

Virgil’s features softened quietly.

Logan rubbed his moist eyes beneath his glasses. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. There’s so much work and I can’t start, but because of that I can’t finish.”

His friend put his steadying hands on his shoulders again and gently rubbed circles into his back as Logan continued.

“I didn’t sleep, I can’t calm down, and I can’t just start. It’s pathetic.” Logan spat, fury at his own actions settled atop the anxiety already in his system.

“No, it isn’t.” Virgil said in his usual gravelly voice. “You’re stressed and tired from a boatload of surprise work. Your reaction is normal and you’re just too overwhelmed to see that right now, which is perfectly fine.”

A new fiery streak of anger shot down his stomach. “But-”

“Nope.” Virgil cut him off almost cheerfully . “You’re about to pull a ‘me’ and start self-deprecating, so I’m stopping you there. It’s fine that you’re overwhelmed and it’s fine that you need some help and a break.”

Logan gritted his teeth, seething. “Take a break from what? I haven’t done a single thing today.”

“You need a break from putting all of your energy into panicking. Let’s go.”

“But-”

“L, if you don’t cooperate, I swear that I will carry you out myself.” Virgil threatened.

“I need to work.”

It was in that moment he learned not to ever call Virgil’s bluff, as he was promptly and unceremoniously picked up from under his arms and carried out of the room like a misbehaving cat. His legs dangled some distance above the ground.

Virgil deposited him on the couch in the living room where he just blinked, still startled and confused.

“You’re strong.” Logan said blankly.

“I’m fight or flight.” he shrugged. “Sometimes I choose fight and you gotta be buff to help guarantee a win.”

“Oh.”

“You’re also short so that helps.”

Logan glared.

“Now I’m going to grab Janus and let him wrangle everybody else from the imagination.”

“Is that where everyone is?”

“Yup, and once they get here, we’ll help tackle that workload together.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the side of the couch, deliberating.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Virgil asked delicately as he slipped onto the couch beside his friend.

“I don’t wish to burden all of you just because I couldn’t handle my job.” He admitted in a raspy whisper, throat tight once more.

Virgil thunked his chin atop of Logan’s messy hair, smiling fondly. “You aren’t a burden, Logan. You’re family.”

He pulled away just enough to look into Logan’s exhausted brown eyes. “And you know us, we do anything for family.”

Logan smiled weakly and shut his eyes, letting tired tears leak out. He leaned against Virgil’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you Buddy.” Virgil whispered as he tugged him closer to ruffle his hair, “We’ve got you.”

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

How Could You Love Me🥺🐬

Part Two: Redemption

Part One

Alpha Gang Orca x F! Omega Reader

Requested by: @obsidiansigns03

Words: 3.7K

Warning: NSFW (read further for the surprises). Sexual Content Below!!!

“Darling, I’ve told you about lifting heavy things!” Kugo Sakamata, known to most as Gang Orca, is such a worrywart. It seems he’s gotten even more worrisome for your safety as of late. You try to come up with a reason for his behavior but, you simply chalk it up to behaving as he normally does. 

“Sakamata, I’ve told you I can handle it,” you’re currently moving around chairs in one of the new bakery locations you opened. Being the lazy person you sometimes are, you’ve decided to stack four chairs on top of each other and carry them to the small tables that littered the bakery space. 

“Haven’t I told you to call me Kugo?” he quirks one of his nonexistent brows.

“Hmmm, you may have told me once or twice. I can’t really remember,” you grin. 

“You want help remembering?” Kugo steps into your personal space, arms looking you into his chest. His eyes are now a raging inferno, drawing you in so close that you wouldn’t mind being burned. 

“Woahhh there buddy,” you giggle nervously. You take a step back, putting the chairs in between both of your bodies. 

 “Can I please help?” it’s comical to see him give you his pout. Such an intimidating stature and yet such cute red eyes. “I promise I won’t take over. I’ll only do the lifting. Scouts honor!”

You look at him holding up four fingers (apparently, he thinks that’s the scout hand placement) and you purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be out there patrolling?” 

“I just got off my shift. Now, please?” you didn’t get the chance to confirm since he was already hauling the chairs out of your hands. You decide to let him help with the decorating as you go to the back to get all the baking ingredients and equipment settled.

It’s been an amazing month since you’ve solidified your relationship with Kugo. Things haven’t changed much from how they were before; you still bake him cute, little confectionaries so he can snack after his patrols, you’re still his biggest supporter, and you’re still as close as ever. The only difference is your lack of trust in him.

Yes, you trust him to keep you safe and sound but, after the incident of him leaving before, you’ve grown weary of putting all your trust in him. You try your hardest to fully trust him but, there’s still that inkling doubt in your mind that something may happen and Kugo may run away from you once again. That inkling voice in your head always spouts nonsense about how you aren’t worthy enough to be with Kugo; you’re trying your hardest not to believe it. Despite your fears of abandonment, you still love Kugo with all that you have. You suppose it’s better to love him fully and bear the consequence than to allow your subconscious to ruin what you’ve worked hard to build. 

One thing you didn’t know before you started dating was that Kugo is a very sexual person. You would’ve never imagined that the shy, bashful man before you is secretly a freak in the sheets. Well, from what you have done, you imagine that’s what he’s like. You still haven’t found the perfect time to fully...submit to one another. 

By sexual, you mean that Kugo is very active. He’s spent almost every night at your home ever since the hospital discharged him and, almost every night, he’s done something to set your core on fire. 

First, it started off with lingering touches on your skin, his blazing eyes almost telling you what would soon happen. His smooth skin always set small sparks off whenever you touched, making your eyes daze off a bit. Then, he would grab you roughly, pinning you beneath him on whatever surface he’s chosen to play with you upon. His large tongue always managed to reach the depths of your soul. Just thinking about it now makes you wet.

 Kugo sniffs the air as he looks at you. Blushing like the buffoon you are, you quickly rush back to the baking area. You’ve learned that Kugo’s sense of smell is rather explicit. In other words, he can always smell whenever you’re aroused. 

“Little one, what are you thinking about back here?” you’re trying to distract yourself with a ladle as Kugo follows you into the back. His eyes are zeroed in on you like you’re his prey. He seems to tower over you although, considering how large he is, you’re pretty sure Kugo towers over everyone. 

“Taxes,” you fight your urge to facepalm. Out of all the things you could’ve chosen your lie to be about, you chose taxes. 

“Really?” even though he knows you’re lying, he still plays along. He loves seeing the way you squirm and blush under his watchful eye. Perhaps, his love for dominating you comes from his instinctual need to catch his prey. 

“Yeh, taxes are so awesome. Really cool,” why won’t you shut up?

“You know what I think is cool?” Kugo’s breath is fanning your front. He’s on his knees in front of you, his face directly in front of your stomach. His fingers have slipped underneath your shirt, playing with your stomach. In a quick moment, he has lifted you in the air, his arms hooked around your thighs to guide your core to his mouth. He’s careful of his teeth as he licks your clothed pussy. You whine out, tongue lolled out the side of your mouth. “The way you smell. It’s intoxicating. My own Nirvana.”

“Y/N, Kugo? Are you here?” you’re saved by Kugo’s mother. You’ve created a special relationship with her, often inviting her to things simply because you missed having a maternal presence. So, of course you invited her to your new bakery. 

“Just pretend we aren’t here. She won't know,” Kugo whispers to you. You wiggle around as you try to get down. If there’s one thing you know about Kugo’s mother, she has no problem scoping the place out. “Please, baby. I’m hungry.”

‘No, Y/N. You must resist. You must resist his perfect, long, thick, tongue,’ you’re doomed. You nod down to him and stop wiggling, rubbing his head. At least you chose a bakery with high ceilings. 

“I hope you both know I can smell you. You really think I didn’t s-” you stare like a deer in headlights as Kugo’s mother walks in on the both of you. If you think you were blushing hard earlier, this new blush has nothing on you. Your ears feel so hot. Your shame is on display. And, Kugo has the nerve to laugh. “Ohhhh, so that’s what this is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You glare down at Kugo and pop him on the nose. It’s his fault your boyfriend’s mother has seen you in such a position. 

“No, it is not. I thought I saw a mouse so Kugo was just picking me up,” you could tell she didn’t believe the lie. Of course, you wouldn’t believe it either since Kugo was clearly likcing in areas that shouldn’t be licked in public. “Now, put me down Kugo.”

“But you smell so good,” you shot him a death stare. Now was not the time for him to be flirting. You swear this man has no shame.

Once you're set down, Kugo gets a call, alerting him that a villain is rouge in the city. Thus, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, hugs his mother, and leaves you alone to deal with the woman that birthed him. Sometimes, it seems that the universe really likes watching you struggle. 

“Aheheh hehe, sooooo, how’s your day been?” you cringe at your tone as you continue messing with the ladle you were holding before Kugo had come to conquer you. “Do you like the bakery?”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. Since when have you and Kugo been sexual? You tell me everything but this. Has he been pressuring you? Do I need to go kick his ass? I’ve told him about his domineer-” Kugo’s mother was storming towards the door as she spoke. 

“NO!” you yelled. She whirls around on you with wide eyes. You look at her with a mirroring fish expression as you cover your mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. He hasn’t pressured me into anything. Even if his presence is a bit...loud at times, I know he’ll stop the minute I tell him.”

“Oh. Then, why haven’t you told me about this?”

“It’s kinda embarrassing discussing my sex life with my boyfriend’s mother,” you blush as you think about it. “I swear, I trust you. I just think talking about sex is a little too much for me to handle.”

“Well, I’ll respect that. I just have one question: Did you talk to Kugo about what we talked about last week?” the look on your face told her you did not. She shot you a disapproving look. “Y/N, darling, you can’t keep this from him. Letting these thoughts continue will only damage you further.”

“I know, I know. I just can’t bring myself to talk about it. We’re in such a good place,” you were supposed to bring up your insecurities with Kugo but, you never found the right moment. Things were going good and you didn’t want to mess it up just because your subconscious was being a bitch. 

“Just because you’re in a good place doesn’t mean you stop talking about the things that bother you. Keeping things to yourself is what causes problems. How do you expect him to improve if you can’t tell him the truth? Eventually, mating season will come and Kugo will become even more dominating than what he is now. You need to tell him,” this is why you love his mother. She’s such a blunt person, always telling the both of you when you’re wrong. “So, what are you going to do today?”

“I’m gonna make cute little orca cupcakes,” you yelp as she hits you in the back of your head. “Whaaaa? I’m literally running a bakery.”

“You know what I meant,” she hits you again for extra measure.

“Goodness, woman, are you sure you’re not really a hero in disguise?” she raises her hand to hit you again. “Okay, okay, no need to hit me anymore. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“No, you’ll talk to him as soon as he comes to pick you up,” you pout.

“Mama Orca, I’m gonna be here at the bakery all day. He’ll go home eventually. I’ll just meet him there.”

“Nope, I’ve decided. I will text him to come back to the shop once he’s done with work for the day. Then, you’ll talk to him,” you gave her an exasperated look which she responded to by lifting her hand again. You’ve lost this battle. 

You go on about your day, catering to the few customers that walk in. It’s always a delight to see their faces the first moment they bite into one of your pastries. They always compliment the chef, not knowing that they’re really complimenting you. You never correct them though, you don’t do it for praise. You do it because you like to make people happy. 

It’s been a long day. Your feet ache from running around all day, your back hurts a bit from being hunched over the mixer, and you feel a slight headache coming on. Truthfully, you just want to go home and take a nap in your bathtub (Kugo’s told you time and time again not to do it but, that’s not going to get in your way of relaxation). Nevertheless, you stayed after closing time, waiting for Kugo to come pick you up. 

“Is everything okay?! My mother said it was an emergency,” you gave his mother an incredulous look. Oh, yeah, you forget to mention that she stayed with you the entire time to make sure you didn’t try to run home. Whatever anyone ever says about the woman, she’s definitely a ride-or-die. 

“You told him this was an emergency?”

“It is,” she gives you an innocent look. “It’s a love emergency.”

“Love emergency?” Kugo looks confused. 

“Yes, a love emergency. Now, Y/N, tell Kugo what you were telling me a few weeks ago,” now, she didn’t need to say it like that. You can already tell you’re going to be in trouble once this conversation is over.

“Weeks?” yes, you’re definitely going to be in trouble with the way Kugo’s looking at you. “What have we talked about when it comes to our problems?”

“To always talk about them together so we can face them together. What’s my problem is your problem and what’s your problem is my problem,” you repeat the mantra he’s told you over the past month. 

“So, what is it then?”

“Well,” you look at Kugo’s mother for a bit of extra encouragement. “I’ve been feeling some type of way about our relationship,” a look of heartbreak crossed Kugo’s face. 

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No, no, no. This isn’t that type of conversation. I love you and I love our relationship. I’ve just been feeling a way about what happened before our relationship. I know you try everyday to make up for what you did and said but, I always find myself thinking about it when I’m alone. I feel like I’m just not worthy of your love; I’m scared that one day you’ll realize what I’ve been thinking all along and you’ll leave me again,” you look away from his scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t want you to leave.”

The room is quiet for a few moments. Well, more like a few minutes. You waddle on your feet in front of him as he continues to stare at you. His stare never wavers, never falls from your form, and you’re beginning to think that you’ve pushed him a bit too far. 

“Mother, she’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Kugo drags you out of the bakery, leaving your keys to your apartment. Well, it looks like you’ll be staying the night with Kugo. The car ride is silent as he drives you to his home, the air tense with no music and no words exchanged. The only thing reassuring you is his hand that rests on your thigh, rubbing circles on your warm flesh. 

It seems like the ride is longer than the normal 25 minutes. It seems like forever till you’re pulling into the driveway of his secluded home. 

“Go in the house and get undressed. I want you on the bed waiting for me once I walk in,” he pushed his keys into your awaiting hands. You wanted to protest but, the look in his eyes alerted something dormant in your mind that this would not be a good time to argue (not unless you wanted to end up naked outside for the world to see you). 

You race into his home, running to his room as you undress on the way. By the time you cross the threshold, your nipples are pebbling with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. You lay yourself across the bed, looking up at the ceiling as you wait for his heavy footsteps.

“Darling, do I have your permission to please your body in ways you’ve never known?” a gush of wetness leaves you. Staring up at Kugo’s lustful red eyes, you feel safe enough to give yourself away. You nod. “I need verbal consent, love.”

“Please, just do what you want with me,” you groan as he wastes no time sliding down your body to your pussy. His warm blood makes the room even hotter as he lifts your hips up to meet his mouth. He’s always so careful with his teeth when he first licks up your slit. Just like the times before, he keeps your hips in such an iron hold that you can’t squirm away. His tongue is hot and coarse, long enough to lick your clit in one go. It starts off with long, calculated, jerky strokes but quickly ends up with him feasting on you. 

You whimper as his tongue slips inside your hole, your legs spasming when he reaches his long arms up your body to pinch your nipples. Every time you look down at what he’s doing, you groan and the look he’s giving you. His eyes watch your every movement, always taking note of how your eyebrows furrow when his tongue does something you like. 

You nearly jump five feet off of the bed when his tongue slides even deeper into your pussy. You can feel his grin once his tongue finds that spongy part of your pussy, attacking it mercilessly. You're shaking hard enough that his head shakes as well when your orgasm crashes into your body. 

“Fuckkkk Kugo fuck , fuck, fuckkkk. Oh my fuckkk, please, can’t, OHHHH FUCKKKK,” you screech as he doesn’t let up; he continues to eat you out with no signs of stopping. You push at his head a bit and only then does he slide his tongue out of your delicious heat. 

“What’s wrong baby?” he wipes his tongue all around his mouth without breaking eye-contact. “I told you this morning I was hungry. You told me I could use you however I want. You can’t take my tongue, baby? Is it too much for you?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he licks you clit for emphasis, his fingers spreading your lips so he can easily suck your pearl into his mouth. You try to pull away but, his strong grip continues to keep you captive. Another orgasm later and he’s sliding back up your body. You hadn't even noticed his nakedness until now. Not surprisingly, Kugo is every bit big that you’ve felt before. Still, your eyes widen significantly. 

“Calm down, baby. I promise to be gentle,” you scrunch your brows. 

“But,  I haven’t,” you blushed and jerked the air in front of your mouth. Kugo’s laughter booms around you, getting rid of any nervousness you had before. 

“Baby, you know your pleasure is my pleasure. You don’t always have to give me a blowjob just because I like eating you out. Just enjoy yourself,” your positions are flipped. You’re laying on Kugo’s chest, your smooth skin rubbing against his own. You always thought he’d feel a bit different but, it feels so natural to slide your skin against his. “Baby, I want to try a different position for our first time. Something that’ll make you feel really good. Do I have your permission?”

“I trust you,” that was enough for him to turn you around reverse-cowgirl style and spread his legs. He slotted you in between his legs, you clits rubbing against his shaft. 

“You can start whenever you want to. Don’t be pressured to take everything at once. And donnnnn ohfhhhh fuck yes,” Kugo leaned back as you started to drop yourself down on him. Your ass was softly nestled against his thighs, his dick already halfway in your heat. The searing pain of the stretch made your toes clench, the pain turning into pleasure as Kugo began to rub your clit. “Fuck, baby. You don’t gotta uhh take fuck yes baby.”

You ignored his heading and rammed yourself down the rest of the way. Only a bit of his dick wasn’t inside of you and you felt like you were on fire. As you tried to lean down on your chest, you felt his dick slide into your pussy deeper. You were trying hard to fight off your orgasm as you slowly slid yourself up a bit and pushed yourself down roughly. You said a punishing rhythm for yourself, Kugo cursing up a storm. You went to lean up when Kugo’s hand slapped your ass hard.

“Ohhh, no you don’t. Take that dick like a good girl,” you mewl as he pushes you back down and helps you guide your hips. He’s managed to work his finger into the tight rim of your ass, assisting your ride in that way as well. “Fuckk yes, baby. Take your dick. Take all of it.”

“Kugooo, not gonna last. Fuckk Kugo. FUCKKKK,” you scream as you cum again, urging Kugo you pick your hips up and plow into your pussy. 

“You like it when I use your pussy? You like being a toy for my pleasure?” you couldn’t even answer through the moans. His brutal fucking was taking a toll as you laid your body all the way down, taking his thrusts like the good girl your are. “Babyyy, I’m gonna fucking cum. Ouu fuck, can I cum inside?”

‘Always such a gentleman.’

“Pleaseeee, yess,” not even a few seconds later, Kugo was spilling his hot seed into your womb. You’ve never had a man cum in you before and you’re glad you waited till this moment. It feels so personal between the two of you.

He pulled you off of him and laid you on his chest, his hands playing with your hair. He was letting you calm down before he showed you what he really brought you for.

“I wanted to wait till I did this,” Kugo sat up and slipped out of the bed. He kneeled next to you, fumbling underneath the bed for something. “Gotdamnit. I know I put it right here,”

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to he-” you’re getting ready to get out of the bed to help him search when he pushes you back down quickly. “Baby?”

“I’ve got it,” he pulls out a small velvet box. Your jaw drops, tears already forming. “I’ve had this here, underneath this bed, since the first time you came over and you kissed me like there was nothing else that mattered. I didn’t know when would be a good time to give this to you but, I know now that I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve given it to you that night.” 

“I know that we’re still early in our relationship but, I’d really like to marry you one day. And, you taking this ring doesn’t mean you have to marry me right away but, I hope you’ll come to realize just how much I love you. I’ve known you for over a year and I’ve loved you for eleven months. All it took was one month for me to see how you’re my person,” you silently nod and cry as you allow him to slide the ring onto your finger. “So, please, will you do me the honor of being my future bride?”

“YES!!!” 

—————————————————————————-

TagList💕

@sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 33

A/N:  Hope you guys enjoy this one...⛪️

August 7th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was nervous as fuck.  

It was Game 4, less than 24 hours after giving up a 3-0 lead, and the Leafs were on the brink of elimination.  The boys were quiet.  Focused.  Only had one thing on their mind.  They didn’t want to leave the bubble.  They wanted to prove everybody wrong – everybody.  Their coaches.  Their bosses.  Their fans.  Their haters.  The media.  Themselves.  This was their opportunity to show everybody what they could do.  

Aberdeen couldn’t even think about it without trembling.  She never in a million years thought hockey would make her feel this way.  It didn’t help the love of her life was a major part of it.  And it didn’t help that Alec had texted her early this morning.

Looks like the boys might cost you a writing job if they get eliminated early.  Not many shenanigans to get up to in, what, ten days?  Article might be a bust.

I’ll have 10,000 words written for you as promised was what she texted back.  She didn’t want to stroke his ego, play along with his games, or have him think she wasn’t going to produce just because he thought they might leave early.  It didn’t matter to her.  Even if they did leave early, she could still do it.  She knew she could.  She knew she had to, because she couldn’t blow this opportunity.

They morning had been anxiety-ridden at best.  She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning after getting off the phone with William, and then because of the text, she was barely eating breakfast.  Apparently, it was noticeable to the boys, because John had come over to her table and brought her a plate stacked fruit.  “If we can eat, you can eat,” he said as he set it in front of her.  Mitch ended up coming to sit across from her at the table, and John took the other seat.  William approached, standing six feet away, and Auston too.  They were congregating, which made her even more nervous.  

“Thanks,” she mumbled, forking a strawberry and putting it into her mouth reluctantly.  “You guys aren’t nervous?” she posed the question to all of them.

John shrugged.  “We know what we need to do.  We just have to go out there and do it.”

Aberdeen didn’t know how he could be so calm, as the captain of the team.  Then again, he was John fucking Tavares, and calm seemed to be his middle name.  She nodded her head.  “I don’t mean to be a nervous wreck.  I’m just not used to playoff hockey, as you can imagine.  This is all new.  I never knew I could feel this way about a sport.”

That made John laugh a bit.  “Not about a sport, but definitely about a book, right?”

She couldn’t help but smile slightly as she forked at a piece of watermelon.  “Definitely about a book.”

“How’s the article coming along?” William asked.

Aberdeen almost dropped her fork on her plate.  All the guys turned their heads towards him at the same time skeptically, then towards her at the same time, their eyebrows furrowed.  Her body felt like it was on fire.  She hadn’t told anybody about the article – except William, of course.  She assumed Brendan sort-of-kind-of knew since he set her up for it, but she hadn’t said anything to him.  William was the only one who knew.  Her cheeks flushed red.  

“What article?” Mitch asked, turning his head back and forth between the two of them once more.

“Yeah, what article?” Auston asked.

“It uh, it’s—um, it’s a thing for Toronto Life,” Aberdeen stuttered out.  

“Toronto Life?!” Mitch repeated excitedly.  

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly.  “Brendan uh, Brendan put me up for it.  It’s, like…an audition.  I don’t know.”

“An audition?  So like if it’s good they’ll publish it?” Mitch kept asking questions.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Well what’s it about?”

Aberdeen gulped.  “Um, life in the bubble.”

The boys looked taken aback for a brief moment.  She knew they were trying to hold back the emotion, but she could see it in their eyes.  She wondered if they were thinking the worst now.  She wondered if Auston was looking at her and thinking that all she wanted to do in this bubble was get a scoop like Steve Simmons.  She wondered if Mitch was looking at her and thinking that she was going to write some scathing article about how he was being paid $10.8 million to not show up in the playoffs, like most articles were saying.  She prepared for the worst, honestly.  She really did.  Because she knew these guys had been betrayed before.  She knew the media were constantly down their throats.  She knew all they wanted was a little reprieve from that.  And now, someone they knew, someone they worked with – someone they trusted completely – was writing something about life in the bubble?  When she was in the bubble with them?

“Life in the bubble, huh?  So, like how we play video games the entire day ‘cause we can’t do anything else in here?” Mitch asked.

Her stomach was in knots.  But that follow-up from Mitch was definitely not was she was expecting.  Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was expecting – anger, maybe?  Caution?  Suspicion? – but it definitely wasn’t Mitch saying that.  “Something like that,” she said.  “I’m trying to, like, capture how hard it is for you guys to be in here.  How hard it is to be away from your families.  How you guys are…you know, human, and not just hockey players.”

Mitch smiled.  “I think it’s gonna be a great article, then.”

“How’d William know?” Auston asked.  “How’d he know before any of us?”

William knew he had to think fast.  “I saw her writing it the other day when we went out to the gym,” he said.  He had approached her on the sidelines that day for a brief minute or two, during a break in his workout, so if anyone was paying attention and saw them, it was an entirely plausible scenario.  “She told me what she was writing.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” Auston asked him.

“Because it was Aberdeen’s news to tell, not mine,” William said.

Auston looked towards Aberdeen.  “You’re not writing, like, gossip about us, are you?” he asked.

“Auston, what the fuck—” William began.

“Buddy—” Mitch intervened.

“Hey now—” John piped up.

“No no, it’s fine,” she waved the boys off, staring directly at Auston.  She knew exactly where Auston was coming from.  She knew he trusted her.  He admitted so during the phone call when his Covid-19 story became national news.  She knew she had to be one hundred percent honest with him if he was going to have no qualms or suspicions about this article.  “They want me to.  They want me to write about shenanigans.  The stereotypical stuff.  But I’m not.  I refuse to.  I wouldn’t…you guys know I wouldn’t do that to you.  And I mean…I—I haven’t told them yet that I refuse to pander to that shit, but they’ll know when they get my article.”

Auston’s entire demeanour softened at her words.  It was like his entire body relaxed.  He knew – he always knew – he just needed the affirmation.  But then he realized what that meant.  “But then what happens if you don’t get the job because you don’t give them what they want?” he asked.  

Aberdeen shrugged.  “Then I have keep looking for writing jobs at other magazines.”

Then and there, he realized what was on the line for Aberdeen.

***

As Aberdeen wallowed in her room, she was nervous.  As she showered before the game, she was nervous.  As she did her hair, she was nervous.  As she got dressed, she was nervous.  As she opened her door and walked out into the hallway, meeting some of the guys, she was nervous.  When she got off the bus and the team went one way while she, Brendan, and Kyle went another, she clutched at her iPad pro.  She looked at the boys one last time, catching Willy’s eye, before the disappeared down the hallway, where no doubt a photographer was waiting to get pictures of their outfits before they went into the locker room.

As she sat in the box with Brendan and Kyle, as always, she saw Brendan look her way.  “Don’t even think about asking me how it’s gonna go tonight,” she said before he could even open his mouth.  

He held his hands up in front of him.  “Excuuuuuuse me.”

“I’m so nervous.  I barely ate today,” she elaborated.

“Somebody get Aberdeen a Coca Cola,” he called out to no-one in particular.  “She’s gonna need the sugar and the caffeine or else she’ll crash by the third period.”

She couldn’t believe how light-hearted he was being.  She didn’t know if it was some type of coping mechanism or if it was because he was generally in a good mood.  “How can you be so…calm?  Such a jokester?”

Brendan shrugged.  “If I was doom and gloom all the time, I wouldn’t still be president.”

***

Aberdeen was on the verge of tears.  

Cam Atkinson had scored in the first period.  Vladislav Gavrikov scored in the second period.  Her heart was heavy.  Her stomach was in knots.  And now, the impossible: she was watching Jason Spezza fighting.  The last person who should be fighting.  A part of her understood what he was doing, somewhat – trying to fire up the guys – but the other part of her kept asking why the fuck does he have to do this?  Where the fuck are they?  Why aren’t they playing?  WHY AREN’T THEY PLAYING?!

“I can’t believe they’re fucking doing this to him,” she mumbled under her breath through gritted teeth as she watched Jason skate off the ice.  Her knuckles were white for how tightly her hands were in fists in front of her mask.  Her leg was bouncing uncontrollably.  She couldn’t believe what was happening.

“What was that?” Brendan asked, apparently hearing her, his own voice indiscernible but also just…void of any emotion.  

She glanced at him quickly before shaking her head.  “Nothing.”  She looked over at Kyle.  She couldn’t tell what he was feeling, either.  What was it with these men and being so stoic?  

She pressed the palms of her hands together and intertwined her fingers.  “God, if you love me…” she began, mumbling into her hands.  “If you love me, God, don’t let them go out like this.  Not.  Like.  This.”

***

Boone Jenner scored in the third period.  It was 3-0.  This was it.  

Aberdeen had to come to terms with the fact that they were leaving early.  She had to come to terms with the fact that the boys would lose, again.  They’d be out of the bubble.  She knew that was probably a silver lining, but these guys so desperately just wanted to play hockey and play hockey and win, and for them to crash out like this was just going to be the worst.  They’d never hear the end of it.  Bee McTavish told her about last year, about how they lost to the Boston Bruins in Game 7 and how hard it was on the boys, particularly Morgan, and how awful the media was to them, and Aberdeen didn’t want to think about what the media would say now.  She didn’t want to think about what they’d say about Fred.  About Mitch.  About Morgan.  About John.

About William.  

But just as Aberdeen came out of her thoughts, she noticed something weird on the ice.  It wasn’t the regular line out there.  Sheldon was doing something different.  It was…well, it seemed to be the nuclear option.  All the top goal scorers were on the ice.  William, Mitch, Zach, Auston, and John.  Hustling all over the ice.  Passing the puck.  Shooting at the net.

And then, with just less than four minutes left, William scored.

Aberdeen jumped out of her seat and screamed.  The boys celebrated briefly, but they knew more work needed to be done.  She looked over at Brendan, who wasn’t blinking as he looked down at the ice.  She looked at Kyle, who wasn’t blinking either.  

“Please God…please…” she whispered to herself.

Sheldon kept out the nuclear option.  They were young.  They could do it.  

John Tavares scored only forty seconds later.  

“Holy fucking shit,” Aberdeen stood up from her seat, saying her words loud enough for Brendan and Kyle to hear.  “Holy fucking shit.  Holy fucking shit.”  

She barely breathed a single breath for the next two and a half minutes.  She was standing with her hands over her mouth over her mask and her body was completely still as she watched every move on the ice like a hawk.

William, to Auston, to Zach, who scored to tie it at 3-3.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!” she screamed as the boys really celebrated on the ice now.  She banged her fists on the counter in front of her as she watched Zach jump on top of William as all the boys on the ice huddled together excitedly.  She swore she heard some happy swears from Kyle, and she definitely heard some happy swears from the extra players who were sitting in the seats right below them where the seat covers ended.  She barely remembered the period ending.  

“They’re gonna fucking do it,” she said to no-one in particular.  “They’re gonna fucking do it.  They’re gonna make a comeback.”

Everything was a blur as Aberdeen sat back down into her seat.  The overtime period.  The lines.  The minutes.  She felt like she was in the twilight zone – some alternate universe where time stood still and nothing else mattered besides hockey.  Not even just hockey – nothing else mattered besides this game and what was happening right here, right now.  Seven minutes into overtime, Morgan drew a tripping penalty.  An enraged Nick Foligno was sent to the penalty box.  The puck dropped.  It was passed.  Marner to Tavares.  Tavares to Matthews.

Auston let it rip and scored.

“WHAT!!!!!  WHAT!!!!!” Aberdeen screamed louder than she ever had in her life as she jumped up from her seat like a rocket and threw the pen she was holding out into the stands.  She began pumping her fist in front of her and pointing out onto the ice.  “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, BABY!  THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” she shrieked, her jaw somewhere between her face and the floor but her smile taking up her entire face.  Then came the excited, can’t-believe-what-I-just-witnessed high pitched uncontrollable laughs.  She looked over to Brendan and Kyle.  They were stoic.  She liked to believe they already freaked out and she missed it.

“Down 3-0 in the third period!” she screamed at them.  “Down 3-0 in the third period!  Can you believe it?!”

“What are you doing waiting up here?  Go down there,” Brendan said, nodding his head towards the exit.  

Aberdeen bolted out of the box and rushed towards the locker room as quickly as her feet could take her.  Once she got there, she saw the boys filing in, screaming ‘Woooo!’s and ‘Let’s fucking go, baby!’s.  William entered the locker room first.  He noticed her standing in the room almost immediately and rushed over to her.

She held her breath.  

He picked her up and spun her around, causing her to squeal until he set her down.  He was wet and sweaty and she could see the droplets of sweat dripping down his face but God if he didn’t look incredible and like the perfect human specimen.  “Let’s gooooo!” he screamed once he set her down.

“Let’s gooooo!” she repeated, noticing more of the boys make their way in.  Clifford.  Spezza.  Kerfoot.  Barrie.  Kasperi.  Hyman.  Engvall.  Rielly.  Tavares.  Holl.  Dermott.  Everybody.  Everybody.  They all came in screaming and did the exact same thing that William did, lifting her up and spinning her around excitedly as they continued to scream and go their stalls and start stripping in front of her.  They probably weren’t allowed to do that – they definitely weren’t allowed to do that, be that close together – but it didn’t matter right now.  Nobody cared.

“You guys gave me a fucking heart attack!” she yelled at them, clutching her heart as she looked around the room at all of them.  She saw a couple of them giggling as they undid their hockey tape and threw it into the garbage.

“Wouldn’t have been a Leafs series without one!” Morgan joked.

Sheldon walked into the room and high-fived Aberdeen.  Then Auston walked in and the boys started screaming and yelling all over again.  “Let’s fucking goooo, Aberdeen!” he screamed as he picked her up too, one last twirl, before setting her down.  “Let’s fucking go, baby!” he screamed to everyone in the room.

It was at that point that Brendan and Kyle walked into the room.  Aberdeen composed herself as much as possible as she faded into the background, watching Sheldon give his post-game speech.  Everybody looked so happy.  So excited.

They could fucking do this.

***

Aberdeen was typing like a furious mad woman in the Notes on her phone.  She wanted to write – needed to write all the authentic feelings that were in the air right now as she waited on the bus for everyone.  She needed to remember this moment.  Every single detail of it.  What was said.  What was heard.  The smiles.  The spins.  How she was still dizzy.  

“Hey Aberdeen!  You made it on to TV!” Mitch yelled from the middle of the bus.

Everyone’s head popped up, and she watched as all the guys already on the bus took off their headphones.  “What?!” she shrieked.

“They caught you celebrating in the box!” he said, turning his phone and showing her the video.

Aberdeen heard all of the boys get up out of their seats and crowd behind her to watch the video.  She noticed the Sportsnet logo on the bottom of screen first and foremost, then listened as she heard the announcers describing the scene, which they replayed in slow fucking motion.  “I think that young lady is indicative of most of Leafs Nation right now!” she heard Jim Hughson’s voice as the video showed her jumping up from her seat and throwing her pen.  The boys behind her were howling as they watched, and when she began pumping her fist in front of her, they laughed some more.  Slightly embarrassed, Aberdeen buried her head in her hands and shook her head.  “It’s always me!  Why is it always me that gets caught doing these things?!”

“The camera loves you, Aberdeen!” Mitch giggled.  

“It happens to all the wives and girlfriends at some point,” Morgan said as most of the guys went back to their seats on the bus.  

“But I’m not a wife.  Or a girlfriend!”

She could tell Morgan was smiling behind his mask.  “Not yet,” he mumbled to himself, shrugging.

Aberdeen turned red.  She sat back down in her seat and continued typing away on her phone furiously, making sure nobody saw her skin hue.

***

It was only when everybody got back to the hotel when Aberdeen had to stop typing, but by then, she was sure she’d gotten every feeling.  Everybody was still buzzed as they rode two at a time in the elevator up to their floor, and she could still feel the energy even when she was bottled up in her room – like everybody else – and it was eerily silent after just having been so loud.

She had just finished changing into her pajamas when she heard her phone buzz.  She knew it was William texting, so she grabbed her phone immediately, ready for his request to FaceTime.

open ur door really slowly so it doesn’t make any noise

Her eyes bulged out of her head.  She set her phone down and rushed over to her door, not bothering to look out the peephole, but doing exactly what she was told.  She opened it slowly, carefully, making sure not to make a peep.  She looked out into the hallway, down to the other wing, and saw William’s head popping out of his own room.  He rushed out, closing the door quietly before rushing over to her wing.

“William,” she whispered.  Her heart was beating out of her chest.  He was not allowed to do this.  He was not allowed to do this.  She watched as he made his way over.  “William what are you—”

She was silenced by his slipping past her and into her room, putting his hand over hers to shut the door slowly so it didn’t make a clicking sound.  When it was closed, she tried one more time.  “Willy—”

Her attempt was futile.  He crashed his lips against hers, wrapping his arms around her as he squeezed her against his body, so much so that he could lift her up in his arms and she could wrap her legs around his torso.  He stuck his tongue down her throat.  She moaned out at the sensation before realizing that he was walking them into her bathroom – her bathroom that faced the open area in front of the elevators, and not facing or sharing a wall with her room neighbour.  He kicked the door closed with his foot before setting her down on the marble vanity sink, her legs still wrapped around his body keeping him close.

“Take this off,” he mumbled as he tugged violently at her pajama shirt, almost ripping it as she shoved her off her body and threw it across the bathroom.  She pulled on his t-shirt too, throwing it in the same direction as they crashed their lips against each other’s again.  

“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she whispered out after he bit down on her bottom lip and pulled it away from her.  “You’re not supposed to be in my room.  We’re breaking the rules.”

“Isn’t that half the fun?” he quipped, a small smirk on his face.  Aberdeen could feel her body get hot – hotter than it already was.  This was so wrong.  So wrong.  He wasn’t supposed to be in her room.  They weren’t supposed to be touching.  They weren’t supposed to be kissing.  They weren’t supposed to be doing any of it, yet here Aberdeen was, her body heating up and her core getting even hotter.  She scratched her nails down William’s broad and toned chest as he kissed a trail down her neck and to her breasts, sucking and biting down at her nipples gently, causing her to gasp out.

He immediately put his hand over her mouth.  Her eyes went wide.  He looked up at her from where he was at her breasts.  “You can’t be too loud or else we’ll get caught.”

Oh my fucking God.  Now she really felt her body light up like a fire.  She whimpered slightly.  “But Willy—” she tried to mumble against his hand.

“Shhhh…” he cooed.  “Can you be quiet, Aberdeen?  Can you be quiet while I fuck you?”  He was waiting for an answer.  She felt a shiver run up her spine.  She nodded her head.  “That’s my girl.”

William continued paying attention to her breasts before kissing his way back up to her lips and sticking his tongue down her throat again.  Aberdeen ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on it slightly before scratching down his back and pulling down his trackpants and underwear.  He did the same to her, letting his fingers play with the wet folds of her pussy until he heard whimpers from her again.  “Quiiiiiet, Aberdeen,” he cooed once more, bringing his hand that was just playing with her pussy up to her lips.  

She grabbed his hand in both her hands and sucked his fingers into her mouth.  “I’m not going to be able to,” she whispered, shaking her head.  

William pulled her off the marble vanity, grabbing her hips and spinning her around so her back was against his chest.  They were able to see each other through the mirror.  Aberdeen watched as William’s hand snaked around her body and down to her hot core again.  “You’re going to have to be quiet or we’ll get caught,” he whispered huskily in her ear as he played with her core again.  Her legs were shaking at the feeling.  She gripped on to the vanity.  

“Fuck me raw, Willy,” she begged.  She had her own tricks up her sleeve.  If William was going to play this game, she was going to play hers.  She watched his reaction in the mirror and could see his pupils dilate.  “I started birth control.  It’s okay.”

“You what?”

“I started birth control a month ago.  It was supposed to be a surprise but—”

“—Aberdeen—”

“—Please Willy,” she begged, her voice breathless.  She could feel his hard cock against her body and was so desperate for it, she didn’t care how wrong this was.  “Fuck me raw.  Fuck.  Me.  Raw.”

He bent her over the vanity.  She stuck her ass out and kept her eyes on him through the mirror, watching as he positioned himself at her entrance, sliding into her easily.  She cried out at the sensation, feeling his hand almost automatically cover her mouth to silence her.  When he began moving in and out of her, the sound of their flesh smacking together, she didn’t know if she should close her eyes to revel in the feeling of his slick, hard cock filling her up, or if she should keep her eyes open to watch him fucking her hard and fast through the mirror.  She chose the latter.  She and William had had many sexual escapades before (sexcapades, if you will), but nothing had been as hot or as raw or as dangerous as this was.  The exhilaration of doing a completely banned act – banned since they figured out they were working together, even more so banned now – was giving her the ultimate rush.  

His hand was still over her mouth as she arched her back and William pulled her back against his chest.  She could feel herself getting close, and when William’s other hand snaked around once more to play with her clit, she tried to cry out but couldn’t.  “Are you gonna be quiet when I make you cum?”

She shook her head.  “I won’t.  I can’t.”

He thrusted into her harder, trying to make a point.  She whimpered again and his hand somehow tightened around her mouth.  “Are you gonna be quiet?” he asked again.  She looked at him through the mirror, seeing the absolute fire in his eyes.  She knew what he was looking for.  She knew he would tease her and tease her and tease her until she agreed to what he was asking.  She nodded slowly.  He smiled.  “Good.”

He quickened his pace, harder and faster and rougher than before, and Aberdeen continued to watch them fucking through the mirror until she could feel closer and closer to her sweet release.  Eventually, her legs began to shake, and she could feel an intense orgasm rush through every single inch of her body.  She tried to stay as quiet as possible, but the feeling was too much, and her whimpers escaped her, though they were much quieter than the usual vocal performances she usually gave when she and William had sex, and though William still had his hand over her mouth.  At the sound of her stifled whimpers she could feel William’s hot cum spill inside her.  The feeling was hot and raw and simultaneously everything she imagined it would be and feel like but also completely new and unlike anything she could have ever expected.  His own small grunts escaped his mouth as he felt himself empty inside of her, revelling in the feeling of filling her completely.  He eventually let go of her mouth, and her body bent over against the marble vanity again, unable to stand up straight due to the long, intense orgasm.  He tried to catch his breath as he continued to watch her body shake, the last of her orgasm rushing through her.  He could see her chest rising and falling from her trying to catch her breath.

It was a few minutes before Aberdeen and William could regain their breaths.  He slipped out of her slowly, and she whimpered again at the loss of him, still bent over the vanity, though she could still feel a slickness between her thighs.  She felt his body bend too, his chest on her back, and felt him kiss her shoulders delicately.  She craned her neck to get a look at him.  “I better get a writing job soon.  I don’t think we’re gonna be able to hold it back for much longer,” she whispered.

William giggled – a low, rumbly giggle from his chest as he smiled and continued placing kisses on her shoulder.  “I agree,” he whispered back.  “We gotta make sure you get that Toronto Life job.”

She bit her lip.  “Did it feel good for you?”

He nodded.  “Of course.  What about for you?  Did it feel different?”

“It felt fucking amazing,” she nodded.  “It…it did feel different.  I…you’re the first one I’ve ever let fuck me raw,” she admitted.

William nodded in understanding.  He knew what she was really saying – that this was, at least physically, the ultimate form of trust, and he was the only one in her life, ever, who she trusted that much.  “We can keep doing whatever you’re more comfortable with,” he said.

“I liked this.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back,” she giggled slightly.  

William smiled.  He pulled her back upright and, at that point, she could stand on her own again.  She spun around so she was facing him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss him.  They stood in her bathroom kissing for a while until William pulled away slightly.  “I love you so much,” he mumbled.

“I love you too.”

“Sorry I made you break the rules…yet again,” he smiled mischievously.  

Aberdeen winked.  “Isn’t that half the fun?”

[chiclet-go-boom]

The Weeping City of Mhach

I have been having SUCH a good time. My favorite “fight” content in FFXIV right now is the Alliance Raids:

because the fights are complicated

because the fights aren’t THAT complicated

because there’s a lot of us and if i fuck up, other people can win it

because if other people fuck it up, i can help win it

because the fight arenas are usually so bad ass

because the fight music is usually really bad ass

because i really like the story that goes with these things

The Shadow of Mhach series, of which the Weeping City is the middle set, has the coolest second boss, which is this big orb thing in the above screenshot. It’s use-name is Ozma. Its real name is Death-Cares-Not-For-Your-Positioning-Woes.

Because of the irregular tomestones that are up for earning if you run certain content, I’ve been happily throwing myself at this one in particular because its my newest shiny playtoy of ‘dodge this’ and why settle for something boring when you can do what’s fun? As you can see if you squint, there are three flat platforms, one for each alliance to stand on connected by a ring. Ozma starts off in shiny metallic orb form, so you stand right next to the thing at the front and hit it while trying not to think about whether there’s radiation leaking off of it or anything. It’s not like you wanted children anyways, right? At some point Ozma hits a player in each alliance with a proximity aoe marker, so said player is supposed to skitter to the back of the platform to unload it, which leaves just enough room at the front that if you’re hugging Ozma, you only take a tiny amount of damage. This is easy, most people get that (although its still fucking surprising that people can actually get to this level and NOT know what to do with a marker over their heads. Did you story skip all the dungeons, amigo? Are you asleep at keyboard? What the hell dude, MOVE.) Then it gets wild. Stuff happens, there’s a phase change. Ozma shifts to shiny triangle form and blasts the central platforms with Laser Beam of Doom. Get off the flat bit onto the circle bit. Get back onto the flat bit when its clear again. Little dice appear above some people’s heads. If you are doing anything when it hits zero (including, you know, moving) you die. Turn that auto-attack off! Dead DPS Do No DPS (engrave that somewhere). Then Ozma decides triangles are so last year and goes to cube form. Now the ring is death, hug your square as close as you can. One of the cube’s corners goes wild for the tank and starts to periodically love tap the probably-a-lalafell with another, hotter laser. Stack with your bandmates on one front corner while the tank crowds the other front corner so nobody gets clipped. And there’s blue orbs on the ring you gotta catch as they travel around, only the tank should intercept on their side before they can get close to the rest of the alliance because tanks have the most hit points and healers are focused on them anyways, but again, dude, why are you leaving it to the DPS to take the hit? We’re made of tin foil, buddy, not Fending steel. But maybe as a DPS you need to take one for the team because the tank appears to be welded to his corner and you gotta do SOMETHING. And you hope the healer isn’t bummed out by the stupid DPS and takes pity on your limping carcass. I think there’s a bleed in there. Healer, save me!

Then Ozma shifts back to the cheerful round orb form and you think phew, glad that stupid cube thing is done but now it throws out TWO aoe markers for each alliance and this is where you wipe. You can’t stack these. Sadly. Two markers on top of each other, even if you stand as far away as you can, will kill most people not in Fending armor. So one guy can still run to the back of the platform like we already practiced, but the second guy is supposed to run to the LEFT and deposit the proximity marker halfway down the ring. Halfway, because there’s another alliance on the next platform over that you don’t want to murder so you split the difference and drop it central. Far enough away from your guys and their guys that everyone gets to live.

But its not like the aoe marker comes with a “run left, you fool!” directional arrow so both tagged players dither for three heartbeats, jittering in place, then one finally breaks for the back of the platform and then other takes off RIGHT which means they’re meeting the player from the other alliance who went LEFT like they were supposed do and voila, two proximity aoes go down too close to both alliances and bob’s your uncle, you can see the pain coming from a mile out and boy, i sure hope you weren’t saving that spleen for marriage or anything.

I was on a run last night that each and every time, Alliance A had a guy run right, meeting our guy running left and we mega-wiped on that mechanic. No matter how much we instruct-a-told A in in the big orange alliance chat text that they gotta pull this together because murdering their own side was a bad karmic move on their part, they just kept doing it. My god. Ow.

So B was scrambled eggs, A was obviously doing crayon drawings on their side of the things and C limped us over the finish line after two raid wipes and a near third. After that, Calistoferi and her L’Oreal Hair was a piece of cake. At least you could run and TRY and get out of the way. You had a fighting chance of survival.

God I love this game. Once I have all the mechanics down on all of the Weeping fights, Ima gonna queue for Dun Scaith and learn punch a dragon-guy thing on the nose.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 7 (Night Sky)

Summary: They don’t know it’s called love. Terra and Aqua dare a night out in a storm. || Word Count: 4,511

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek AAAAAAA it’s over!! It’s been a wild ride. This particular fic I feel is my weakest of the collection - I literally ran out of time to make this one special in my eyes. It’s just a soft and tender fic. I’m sorry I couldn’t give a stronger conclusion, but I hope you take something you like out this one regardless!

~~~~~~~~~~*

Wayfinding

The sky over Destiny Islands is beautiful. Like the mountains in the Land of Departure, we’re isolated here, an audience to pinpricks of light blinking down at us with secrets from far away. 

Kairi’s been begging us to visit for a couple of nights to stargaze with her and her friends. She says we’ll be blown away. Tonight, storm clouds blot the sky in clumps, leaving us breaks in between to guess constellations. I do believe you could see stars from Destiny Islands you can’t see anywhere else, even though we all share the same sky. It’s special.

Ven points to a nebula, millions of miles away. “Hold on, is that—” 

“The star system of Montressor, yep.” Terra takes a swish of water.

“It’s so much closer here.”

“What’s Montressor?” Sora crushes melted marshmallow onto chocolate, his fingers coated. 

We’re sharing a fire, camping out on the beach and listening to the waves crashing. The beach overwhelms the senses in a way that grounds you. I can’t see the ocean through the darkness, but I can smell it. I can feel it by the humidity that drapes over my skin. There’s no mistaking where I am. The beach in the Realm of Darkness smelled like nothing. 

And yet, if I walked into the water, I’d walk forever. The horizon vanishes at night.

The cloudy weather lately has made it difficult for us to see everything, so Terra has asked if we could stay longer. This is our third night.

“It’s a cluster of its own stars, like a galaxy.” Terra denies chocolate with his s’more. “The people there travel between different planets with their skyships.”

Kairi snorts. “The adults told us that a god sneezed millions of years ago and that’s his celestial booger smear.”

Sora gapes. “That sounds cool, I’ve never been.”

“You’re missing out,” Riku says, smirking as he chews.

“Wait, when did you go?”

Kairi plucks a marshmallow from the basket. “We can schedule a trip together. It will be fun.”

Terra cocks an eyebrow. “If you enjoy getting mugged by sky pirates.”

Sora leans forward, eyes wide at Terra’s nose. “Sky pirates? There’s such a thing? Oh, I’m in.”

They’re lovely kids, self-trained and their technique shows it. I take a sip of water out of a straw from a coconut that Riku had broken in half by smashing it against a boulder. 

Terra eyes me from across the fire, holding my gaze as he drinks. We chose not to sit next to each other—no one else needs to know—but I admit that from this angle, I get to enjoy the way he looks at me. It was only last night that he held my hand and brushed his lips against mine, tucked behind a palm tree where no one saw us. I came back to the hut with fire on my cheeks. I still feel it in my stomach.

I can’t help my smile. I want to look at him longer but I don’t, so I cross my legs. 

Paopu fruits hang on the trees nearby. Ven has mentioned (in front of everyone else) that Terra and I should share one. I told him to shut up, and he hasn’t brought it up again since. 

“If we’re lucky,” Sora says, “we could see a meteor shower.”

I choke on my drink but keep my lips sealed.

Ven opens his mouth to reply but Terra hands him a warning glare.

Every star in the sky is a world. When worlds fall, the sphere that holds them together breaks into pieces, like the glass that shatters when the lantern is dropped. That is a meteor shower, but I wouldn’t want to break anyone’s heart if they believe otherwise.

“Don’t you wish upon them?” I ask, forcing myself to swallow. The thought of wishing upon the harm of others, even unintentionally, churns me. “Is that the tradition?”

“You mean you don’t?” Kairi asks. 

I shrug, desperate for an answer. “We… don’t wish upon much. There’s little use for it when you’re training for the Keyblade.”

Terra turns away to hide a smirk.

“That’s so depressing,” Sora says and I frown.

The wind is warm and moist. It’s so peaceful, of course the only stories you’d ever hear about the stars are the good ones.

Ven jumps up, pointing at the sky. “Look, look!”

Two shooting stars fly straight across. May they be blessed.

“Okay.” Sora slaps his hands together. “Wishing time. I wish…” He closes his eyes, and for a second, a solemn smile darkens his face. “I’ve been away for so long. Any minute Donald is going to ring me up and take me somewhere. I just want to stay home for a while, just a few days. You know, take a break, be with you guys, my best friends. I promised my mom I’d help with her gardening and stay one night for dinner.”

Riku nods to himself. 

“I’d like the same,” Kairi says, laying on her stomach on her blanket, gazing at the fire. 

“You’re not supposed to be wishing on them,” Ven blurts out, covering his mouth too late.

Sora’s eyebrows furrow. This is not a look I like to see on him. “Why?”

If Ven could kick himself without anyone seeing, he would.

Terra holds onto Sora’s shoulder. “A shooting star is someone traveling between worlds. Their heart is reaching out to someone to comfort or protect them. You don’t want to wish for something selfish, you want to wish the best for them.” 

The expression Sora gives can only be described as horror. “Oh, well, um, safe travels buddy. I hope you find your friend.”

“Is it too late to take the wish back?” Riku asks. I think he’s asking on purpose considering how much more fraught Sora becomes and how much Riku is enjoying it.

Terra notices. He nods his head to the side. I love the way he does it. He’s beautiful. “Probably.”

“But I really do want them to be safe,” Sora whines, defeated. 

The wind picks up, clouds floating across the sky at a speed where they swallow the stars. It smells damp and it feels hotter.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Riku says, dumping the pail of water next to him onto the fire. He kicks sand over it for good measure. Sora and Kairi don’t hesitate to stack baskets and fold blankets. 

“What’s going on?” Ven asks, moving slowly when he folds his chair, as if unsure.

“Monsoon season.” Riku steps on the last embers. “We didn’t expect a storm to come out this soon but you never know.”

“Maybe it wasn’t supposed to come tonight.” Kairi eyes Sora suspiciously.

“No way—” Sora starts.

“Nice job, Sora.” Riku says. “You’ve doomed us all.”

“I didn’t wish for a monsoon!”

“You wished to be locked up here with us. Congratulations.”

I interrupt. “What do you need me to do? Where do we go for shelter?”

Kairi points to their treehouse, which connects through the cavern and which, from my understanding, stood there through their entire childhood. “My dad—the one you’ve met before, Papa—fortified it with extra wood on the walls and the roof. It’s always been safe.”

By the time we have everything packed and are going up the ramps to the treehouse, it’s pouring. At least it’s not the iciness of mountain rain.

The door bangs when Kairi swings it open, the wind throwing it back and forth as if it’s juggling it between two hands. Ven waves his arm in a circular motion—his magic redirects the wind for as long as he can hold it, letting everyone inside before he lets go and the door slams behind us. 

Inside, we dry ourselves with rags, our shoes and socks warming up under the lanterns. We have fresh blankets and sacks of food, in case the storm lasts all night. 

Except in terms of blankets, we’re one short.

Ven hands Terra the last blanket and (pointedly) says something to him. 

The last blanket is the largest, so I’d have to share it with Terra. I adore Ven to pieces (and I won’t protest sharing any space with Terra), but when Ven gets difficult, I sometimes have to suppress myself. Judging by the way Terra wraps it around our shoulders and nudges close to me, he doesn’t care what the others think anymore. 

Kairi quickly looks away from us, rolling her lips inward like she’s witnessed a scandal.

Rain beats onto the roof, a million patters like the fingers of thousands of people asking to be let in. Thunder rumbles in quickly, soothing then unsettling. Terra and I sit in front of a window, the water so thick that it blurs the screen. Under the blanket, he rolls a finger over my wrist, stroking my palm. I smile at him. 

“We should have brought real fruit,” Ven says, chewing on dried mango. If by real fruit he means paopu, he’s smart for not specifying it. 

“You need finer taste,” Kairi says, chewing on the same.

“You need culture,” Sora says, swallowing something I don’t recognize.

The idea of a spontaneous camp-in might have been exciting the first several minutes, but hours later, it becomes agony. 

All this time, I can’t talk to Terra about anything too personal, though we’ve snuck a few passing whispers here and there. 

He asks me an indistinct question that anyone can misinterpret out of context: When did you know? 

My answer is just as vague. I was fourteen. 

There’s not much we can do to explore touch. I tend to listen more to the way he takes finger by finger. Terra will intermittently say one sentence with minimal effort, but just enough so that the others know we’re still with them. I worry that if I laugh a certain way, it would expose us. 

But no one asks, too busy chatting about building bigger boats for the one dream they’ve never been able to accomplish. 

At some point, Terra challenges Riku to a rematch.

“So what you’re telling me,” Riku says, a mock-smirk that fits perfectly on his face, “is that you’re very impressed and you want to be foolish enough to lose to me a second time so that everyone else knows how impressive I am.”

“We all know, Riku,” Sora says.

“But Terra wants to remind you.”

Terra laughs as if he’s not interlacing his fingers with mine. He squeezes my hand. 

It’s when everyone’s eyes are closed, drifting away to sleep, that Terra wraps his arm around my waist and I rest on his shoulder. One lantern is still on. The storm has quieted for now, but we’ve been told to expect another onslaught. 

Terra cranes his head back, looking out the window. He’s done this twice per hour, but the sky has been black, the clouds smearing everything.

“What are you looking for?” I whisper. 

“I have this very,” Terra starts, pausing, “vague memory of looking up to the stars, looking for home but I could never find it.”

So not his memory, but Xehanort’s. Blurs and images that make no sense, as if from a dream. Castle Oblivion never shined, so of course Xehanort couldn’t find it for the last twelve years. Terra is lucky that’s as much as he remembers. I don’t know how he could possibly deal if he woke up with a history of every crime Xehanort has committed in his body.

“And I feel like,” Terra continues, his eyes lost, his voice hushed. “I’ve—or he—tried over and over again.”

“Ah.” I sigh. “You were looking for it these past few nights.”

“The Master told me that home is the brightest star in the multiverse. You could see it through the clouds. It would always guide you back if you were lost.” 

“I never heard that story.”

Terra looks at me and holds me closer. “That was before you came.”

“Whether it’s true or not, it’s out there.”

He frowns, leaning his head back against the windowsill again. “The idea that home was gone at some point… that’s the one thing that haunts me still, even though I know it’s just a trip away and I could always go back. But knowing that doesn’t suffice.”

I rub his stomach. “We can find it together.”

He goes quiet, the hand on my waist tensing up. The wheels in his mind turn. “Do you want to find it tonight?”

I look up at him. 

“The storm has stopped,” he says.

“For now.”

“Then we come back before it starts again.” He pulls me closer, nearly settling me on top of his leg. I feel his smirk in my hair.

I glance out the window. “But the clouds are too thick.”

“Well, if the story is true—”

“If.”

“Then we’d take some time for ourselves.” He nudges my nose, and I wish he’d kiss me. “We’re Keyblade wielders. A monsoon isn’t impossible to manipulate.”

I stifle a laugh. He has a quick answer for everything, and to any given person, it’d be infuriating. I once found it so when I was younger. 

“I am obligated to remind you that it’s dangerous,” I say, wishing I could get away with tasting his lips. I come close to.

“I feel like I’m about to scream,” he says, brushing my hair. “I need to do something loud. Yell. Throw myself into the ocean. Touch you—I don’t know. It’s too suffocating in here. I’ve suffocated for twelve years. I’ve had enough.”

I don’t know why my heart jumps at the idea when it’s so reckless. Terra is not a bad influence, he’s just as responsible as I am, yet I find myself yearning for the thrill. 

I haven’t tasted something like this in years, when thrill was something to be avoided in the Darkness.  

“Okay. But we come back in no less than twenty minutes.”

We blow out our lantern and Terra takes precious, long seconds to turn the doorknob. 

Ven stirs, his bright eyes blinking open in the dark. “You guys are leaving?” he whispers. 

“We’re coming back,” Terra says.

“Is this going to happen a lot?” 

My heart sinks. It’s usually the three of us, never disconnected except when we’re bickering. I look to Terra for what to say when he replies with, “Do you want to come with us?”

Ven looks at me. “Nah. I’m tired.”

I bend down and pet his head. “You’ll come with us next time.”

“I know.” Ven wiggles in his blanket and gets comfortable. “Just don’t drown.”

Terra gently takes my wrist. As much as I’m compelled to stay with Ven, Terra’s smile is a reminder that there’s little to worry about with him. We leave the shoes and socks behind.

Outside, the wind howls strong, my sashes beaten in fury. The sand is warm when we step off the ramp, loose swirls of dust devils skidding across the beach. It’s dark without the moonlight, the ocean waves crashing onto the shore so hard that all I see are white bubbles. My heart races, but this feeling is nothing like the constant race of fear in the Dark Realm. No, this is familiar yet foreign. The slap of salty air in my face makes me gush with something jittery. 

Terra cups his hands close to the ground and jerks them forward near the base of the giant tree where the treehouse stands. The sand buckles—he’s moving earth and boulder against the trunk of the tree, compensating for years of erosion, creating a natural scaffolding to fortify it further.

The river nearby spills out of its bank, small streams skittling towards the ocean. I bring my hands together and wave them back inland, redirecting the water away from the tree so there is less risk of flooding. 

I hear Terra calling me. The wind ruins his hair—he looks more charming this way. When he walks, his pants flatten and blow open like balloons. He gathers bunches of my hair in his thick, large fingers, holds it off of my face, and kisses me. He’s firm and pulsing, strong but gentle, the touch of his lips igniting a flame that rides up to my heart. By the way he breathes through me, he’s been wanting to do this for a long time. 

A gust of wind bashes against our bodies. Water splashes on our knees and I nearly topple down.

We laugh into each other’s shoulders, my legs caked in wet sand. He’s holding me up by my arms, taking me towards the nearest palm tree.

“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever done,” I say, my voice raised to compete against the roar of the wind.

“I needed this,” he says, nodding. 

My heart sighs in agreement. 

Terra trembles from adrenaline, his smile glued on his face. He gestures in a way to call something down from above. A palm tree bends over, giving its head to us. “I want you to meet my new best friend, Leafy.” 

I snort. “What is this for?”

Terra giggles before grabbing a paopu fruit. “Thank you, my friend,” he says to Leafy, bowing.

“You’re talking to a tree.”

Pointing that out melts him into hysteria. “I don’t know how to describe it. I am so happy right now.” He gestures like he’s about to rip his skin off, something inside about to explode. “And I don’t know what to do with that feeling.” He turns to me, holding out the paopu fruit. “I want to share this with you.”

My cheeks hurt. “We don’t know how it works.”

“Will you accept it anyway?” 

No second thoughts. 

It has the consistency of an orange, the taste of a grape. The legend of the fruit claims that it binds the destinies of those who share it together, intertwining their hearts and fates so they’re a part of each other’s lives forever. It could be a symbolic gesture—I certainly thought so when I made our Wayfinders, embedding my magic into them to make sure they work that way. 

I don’t know what I think of the future—I stopped planning for it the day I fell to Darkness—but I would be okay so long as Terra stays somewhere in my life.

Terra leans forward and bites the other side of the fruit, right out of my mouth. It catches me off guard, shuddering me into a chuckle, and I lean to meet him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tastes of warmed juice. My heart pounds at the slide of his fingers on my forearms as he pushes my sleeves away. I lose the paopu fruit somewhere when he pulls me in.

I realize now what it is: I’ve been numbed. The Realm of Darkness hushes it all inside, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts. When you can’t take much more, you wish for it to be over. Then, you are soothed, a sick, cold honey that drips over your skin. The numbness makes you keep walking so you keep living, until you can’t take the numbness anymore and you go back to despairing. Only to be soothed yet again. The only real emotion that lasts for more than a moment is the sudden whiplash when Heartless attack and you have to survive. The wrong kind of thrill.

Terra has been cut off from all senses for twelve years.

I’ve been quieted. 

So I need him. I need him to brush his fingers on my skin, I need to taste his tongue, I need to run in the rain, laugh at stupid jokes, get scared on purpose, for reasons that don’t truly threaten me. Terra reminds me of the morning when we raced in the ravine as children. He reminds me that there’s more to the way my heart beats than keeping my hands to myself. 

Terra sighs into my neck. “I wish I was strong enough to be a shooting star for you,” he says into my ear. “I’m sorry we waited twelve years to do this.”

Does he not remember that he came to me in the Darkness? He told me not to give up.

He told me that I never stopped lighting his way back. I must have flown in the sky too, without knowing, for other children to see. Maybe I’ve done so many times. I hold him tightly.

An unnaturally strong gust targets at us, loose leaves slapping us and nicking my face. Terra looks up and bursts into laughter. “Stars, he’s watching us.”

Ven sits at the window, waving his arms in circles, as if to slap our wrists with rulers for such behavior. 

My instinct is to remove myself from all scrutiny, but I bump into Terra’s chest. I laugh. I don’t know what else to do except to take his hand and run to the other side of the beach. I think about how Ven must have been worried, and opened that window to see what we were up to, only to witness what he did, and— 

—I cover my mouth and snort. “I can’t believe we were caught.”

“We’re being sloppy.”

I can’t stop laughing. It hurts, but in a good way, better than the victory after a Heartless attack, better than even seeing my friends again after so long, when I couldn’t stop crying.  

Water washes over my feet faster than I can step out of it, my toes sinking like I can be erased in a heartbeat. We all could, at the precipice of Darkness. I could laugh right now, I could mourn tomorrow. The thought chokes me.

“Aqua, are you okay?”

Storm clouds have suffocated everything, dark paint dabbed with a sponge layer after layer so that everything under is hidden. I lean back, but I don’t step away. It’s dark but not Dark, I tell myself. We’re alone, but I’m not. We’re nowhere close to home, but with him, I am. Small reminders for large steps forward. 

“It looks like it goes on forever.”

Terra squeezes my hand, and it says so much. He understands. “We’re facing west. Home would be this direction.”

I’ve faced the darkest enemy and survived. I’ve been running—it’s my instinct to—but I don’t have to run anymore. 

Yet I don’t know what else I could do with all this energy. I face the black ocean now. I want to do something crazy.

“We could try to find it,” I say.

Terra jerks like he’s about to torpedo himself into the sky. “We’ll fly.”

I swallow. “The ocean looks bottomless.”

“It’s not.”

“I know it isn’t.” I look again. The star isn’t there. “But that doesn’t make sense to me. Dark is dark, kind is kind, and the things that hurt me hide.”

“There’s nothing out there that can hurt you, only whales. And I know for a fact that you’re stronger than any shark I know.”

I pause, a mix of childish giddiness and sudden tears wrestling with each other and I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. “We don’t fight sharks.”

“We don’t.”

“You don’t know any sharks.”

“You’re right.”

My body gives up and I laugh and cry at the same time. “That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

Terra wraps his hand on my waist, leaning against my forehead. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall. Ever again.” 

“I know.” I place my hand on the center of his chest. Sometimes lessons are learned too late. Sometimes the consequences are more than what we’ve prepared for. “Let’s fly.”

He summons his Keyblade and commands it to transform into his glider, helping me on with the guidance of his hand. Neither of us want to break contact. His glider isn’t designed to carry two people, the curve of its engine forcing me forward so I lean onto him. His back muscles are well-formed, sturdy under my weight, his waist so thick that I have to grip his shirt to hold on. 

When Ven sees us take off, he makes frantic arm movements, grabbing fistfuls of air. It calms the fury of the wind around us, giving Terra a smoother path ahead with mild turbulence. We leave the beach behind, and ride into a world of nothing. 

I grip harder into his stomach and contain a meep. Terra slows to a stop. We haven’t gone far.

“I’m okay,” I say onto his neck. It’s quieter out here, without the waves and the trees.

Terra palms a hand over mine, gliding it up to his chest like he wants to feel his heartbeat through both of our hands. It’s hammers, like he’s running away, or towards something.

Or nowhere, really. We’re running just to run, just to remember what it feels like. I kiss the back of his neck, where it meets his shoulder.

“Look,” he says softly. His grip tightens on the handlebar, and he shudders under me. He’s about to cry.

There is one star through the clouds, brushed over in fog. Terra reaches up as if to grab it, measuring our home in the pinch of his fingers.

“To think our beds are small enough to fit,” I say, smiling into him.

Terra takes my hand from his chest and kisses it. 

A gust of wind knocks his glider, and he revs it up to stabilize us, holding a solid kick onto the pedals. Ven is either too far away or too tired to keep helping us.

Rain prickles onto us, and starts to build. I tremble. For some reason, I don’t want to go back into the treehouse and sleep it off. I feel cut off, trapped in a bottle where I can’t move. 

I look behind me. There are now four heads on that window, four worried faces gawking at the scandal. “The others are awake.”

“Let them have a show.” He turns over and holds me close, taking my lips with his. Again, again, again. 

I shiver. He tastes like springwater. I don’t know why I don’t find our predicament threatening. We’re hovering over darkness—but I’ve won against the Darkness. We’ve hovering in a dangerous storm, and yet it seems miniscule. I’m grateful.

“I can make the water dance,” I say.

“I know. That’s why I’m not scared.” He smiles. It’s like he’s asking permission.

I nod. “We wouldn’t be falling.”

“We’d be flying.” 

He dismisses his Keyblade. He falls first, relaxed, his arms open like he doesn’t mind landing into the turret of waters, like he’s about to fall on a feather bed. 

I call for my Keyblade and let it shine. The rain around us swirls, bursting into bright pellets. Terra catches me with one arm, hooking it around my waist and keeping me close. We twirl like we’re caught in a tornado. We kiss. We laugh, our legs wrapping over each other. The light spreads, tiny pinpricks of asteroids and firecrackers that shower Destiny Islands.

I can’t be crazy. I can’t fall. I’m safe and sound with the earth beneath my feet.

[chanluster]

ann summers | {c} ; mild {f}

oneshot | 2.56K words

“ your best friend was weirdly terrified of lingerie, and you found it irritating yet adorable.”

c o n t e n t s >> a very flustered seungmin, constant clownery, mild fluff, mentions of sex toys but no usage, sexual innuendo, a lot of swearing, y’all basically make seungmin hella uncomfortable lmaoaoo

a / n >> inspired loosely by real events when my friends and i got kicked out of a sex shop for fucking around :’) ann summers is a lingerie and sex shop, in case y’all didn’t know!

back to masterlist

YOU FOUND YOURSELF SIGHING OUT MORE THAN YOU PHYSICALLY THOUGHT POSSIBLE.

“Seungmin,” You explained for the last time, ”They’re not going to come alive and bite you.”

The boy stood in front of you shot you an expression which actually doubted your statement. He hugged himself tighter, white hoodie bunching up at the waist, either to warm himself from the bitter London cold or shield himself from another threat.

Monsters displayed in the windows of Ann Summers. 

These creatures that your best friend shied from hung delicately either on racks, or were boasted upon the slim mannequin bodices, intricate lacing and beadings accentuating the dark colours. Posters of models adorning the god-forbidden entity, posing seductively as they showed off the latest collection.

You rolled your eyes, and this time it hurt as they reached the insides of your mind.

“You actual pussy,” you jeered. “Every woman wears a bra you know. Or at least some point in her life.”

You raised your own chest a little higher, pointing towards the goods. “Even I’m wearing one right now.”

Seungmin’s face was a classic painting of disgust. “You didn’t have to tell me that,” he whined, almost hiding within the folds of his hoodie. “Look, I’ll wait here, you go and do your shopping.” 

“But that’ll be boring if I do it alone!” You looked up at the sky, grey clouds engulfing the sun for hours. “And it’ll rain any moment now, I can’t let you stay outside.”

“I’d rather stay outside than step foot in that…” he glanced at the lingerie shop for a millisecond before hurriedly settling his eyes upon you. “That place.”

“You say it like it’s some twisted underworld.” You waved a hand towards the shop. “To women it is a chance of feeling sexy.

“And I wanna feel sexy, Seungmin.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at you. “Who for? The men on your lockscreen you cry over?”

Chuckling, he dodged your hand, nearly whacking him. “Watch it, dickhead,” you warned. “And it doesn’t have to be for a man. I want to feel hot for myself.”

“But ___, you’re already pretty,” he pleaded rather than declared, the tone making you suspicious. “You don’t need that lacey shit.”

“Are you saying that just so I don’t go inside the store? Because I will anyway, whether I’m going to buy something or not.”

A few moments passed after the words left your mouth, and you watched his brows furrow irritably.

“Nevermind, you’re mad fucking ugly.”

“Hey!”

This time, your hand managed to hit home, earning a yelp from Seungmin, who rubbed his arm in pain. 

“Now stop bitching and come inside,” you ordered, ready to take him by his sweater paws, but he stayed rooted to the cobblestone street. 

“I’m not going in,” he muttered. 

Perhaps hitting his head would get him to comply. 

Before you could carry out your sentence, thunder reigned upon the ears of the shoppers and other citizens out, including you two who jumped from the rather loud sound. 

You felt a drop of water hit your head. Then, saw another fall upon Seungmin’s face. 

One drop. Two drops. Four drops. 

Until drops became showers, and you started towards the Ann Summers building, dragging the hesitant boy along and rushed under the cover of the entrance. 

You shot a glare as you slowed down, ignored by the boy watching the showers of rain grow angrier. “I told you this would happen.”

He turned, eyes now desperate. “Please don’t make me go in there, ___.”

“Look, this isn’t normal. You gotta learn to be comfortable with seeing bras and pants and sex toys—”

“Wait what? Sex toys?!” He backed away out of cover, and came running back when he felt the icy rain. “No way am I going in there now. You’re on your own.”

“Seungmin!” You exclaimed, and with his surprise, you took the golden opportunity to grab his sweater-cuffed hands, and with the other hand pushed the doors open as you pulled him inside with you.

You looked up at your surroundings, a whimper sounding from behind you.

It was an explosion of dark pink in the background, complimentary with black railings and racks as thousands of different pieces of lingerie hung, stacked and modelled before you, a full colour blast and wild designing. Lacing you had never seen before accentuating body suits, stockings promising brilliant bedroom results and everything naughty you could ever think of presented on a silver plate to the customer. 

The store knew you sought pleasure, and made sure to offer it in an infinite ways and possibilities. 

It made Kim Seungmin nearly scream.

“I’m going right now—!” he turned on his heel, but you successfully grabbed onto the hood, yanking him back to your side. 

“No time for your whining, buddy.” You stared at the sexual haven, excited to uncover what it offered. “Let’s buy some motherfucking bras!”

“Oh dear God,” he could only murmur.

Batting your hand off the hood, he crossed his arms as he miserably followed you around, not leaving his eyesight from the carpeted floor. You, on the other hand, relished in the polished lingerie store, assessing each new piece in each hot collection, feeling like a proper woman. Of course you had some nice underthings for yourself, but there are always times where you wished you possessed something fancier, something with a little black lace and pants which were tied up at the sides. It seemed awfully silly saying all those little wishes to your best friend, but it was what you truly felt.

You just wanted to feel...nice.

“Seungmin, you do know no one is going to judge you for looking around with me.” You studied a certain two piece, a little too big for your breasts. “I think I’d judge you more for constantly looking down. It’s like you’ve already done something vile.”

“Don’t say that,” he grumbled. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m a weirdo.”

“No one’s going to think that,” you assured him. “Just don’t sniff the bras or shit like that. That would definitely get you kicked out.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, sick bitch.” He slid a little closer to you, wary of the other shoppers walking, assessing by. “Whatever, I’ll just wait for you.”

You let your lips curve into a malicious smirk. “But Seungmin, I wanted your opinion on a few things.”

The boy’s devastation nearly made you cackle. “No fucking way are you going to show me what you want.”

You gave into your wishes, laughing shamelessly at the blush rising in his cheeks. “Nah, I’m not that sadistic. Actually, I already know what I need, but I’m gonna take a while, so…” your knowing smile remained. “You can search around for yourself if you like.”

Those little cheeks blushed harder. “Shut up.”

Whistling, you only shrugged, walking past the lingerie in a slow stroll. “Whatever you say, buddy! And remember.” You glanced back, eyes dancing. “There is nothing to be scared of in here.”

You continued your search for your specific sized bras, collecting a few and hanging them upon your arm as you browsed, Seungmin close behind, ready to bolt out of the shop at any moment. Every so often a scandalous underwear would be shown off upon the shelves, and you’d pick out a piece, waving it in front of the boy and watch him scurry away from it as if it were a poisonous creature. 

It made your insides sing at the thought of his reaction when he saw the contents further down the shop. You were sure he would pass out.

“Okay, Minnie,” You started, walking towards the far end of the room. “I’ve picked out a few things and am just going back there.”

“Hold up!” He sprang into a little jog, hastily avoiding the lingerie and stopping right next to you. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“You were the one dying to stay away,” you reminded him, already catching sight of Seungmin’s final doom. “Now come here, I need to find myself one more thing.”

Taking his sweater paw, you lead him out of the lingerie section, a pink wall separating the contents behind the other side. A doorway was present, and you entered through it, the biggest, dirtiest grin adorning upon your lips.

You read out the sign, already feeling Seungmin go statue-still.

“Sex toys!” You declared.

And heard your best friend’s response. 

“JESUS ON A FUCKING MARATHON—”

You let out a gasp. Never before had you seen him this frightened, and you’ve been through a hundred theme parks with him. You’ve seen how this idiot had screamed his voice dead at rollercoasters. 

“Seungmin—” you started, but with a jolt you noticed he had wrenched his hood over his head, pulling at the strings so all you could see were his eyes, angry as the thunder crashing outside in the sky. 

“What are you doing here—!” he mumbled into the opening of his hoodie, but you shut him up with your hand, shushing him.

“Look, we’re technically not allowed to be in here, so shut up.” You turned around once more to the sex toys, proudly being shown upon the shelves. The dildos were the main attraction, catching your eye with the vibrant colours, different sizes and special editions being listed on their tags.

Your best friend looked frantically around, making sure there were no employees around to catch you both. “I hate you so much,” he guttered, which only made you smile. 

You dashed to the shelves, observing one brilliantly pink dildo, veins and all carved into the plastic. “Oh my God, Minnie, look!” 

The disgust on Seungmin’s face made you pick up the object, assessing the little details engraved upon it. “It says it’s eight inches.” Your eyes widened. “Eight inches!”

“You better put that back, then,” the boy drawled, still not loosening the strings of his hoodie. “That shit’ll kill you.”

“You’re just mad you don’t pack that much.” You obliged, putting the dildo back. “Didn’t know cocktail sausages were designed based on your dick.”

“My dick is not small,” he argued. When he saw your knowing smirk, though, he visibly shrunk.

“Oh yeah?” You walked on, cackling. “Keep talking shit, Minnie, but I can’t see any bulge.”

“Oh my God-” he immediately yanked his hoodie lower, as red as a tomato. “Stop!”

“Don’t worry, bud,” you sang out, going deeper into the aisles. You’ll find a lovely girl who will look past your 3-incher.”

Seungmin only had his eyes on you, blushing even more. “fuck you, ____.”

His thoughtful comment was ignored, skipping past various sizes of anal beads, magic wands and other innovative little creations, surprised to find so much range. You knew you would probably never use these objects, but the idea of people trying to spice up their sex lives with all this was insane in your head. 

It was too bad you and Seungmin were pain-stakingly virgin.

You were about to call exit when your eyes stopped on a certain invention, and your mouth dropped. 

“What is that?”

You quickly picked it up, assessing its indigo, snake-like bodice, veins engraved all over with two heads on either sides. Laughing, you raised it to get your best friend’s attention.

“Look at this!”

Seungmin came over, took one glance at what you held, and turned a straight 180 degrees.

“Wait, wait!” You grabbed onto his hood once more, pausing his escape. 

“I am not going to admire a double-ended dildo-”

“But look at how innovative this is!” You turn him around, gripping the sex toy like its a snake ready to strike.

Even the boy’s eyes were ready to dagger you. “____, I swear on Jesus and his disciples, I’m going to get your head checked.”

“How cute would it be if we used it together?” you teased, trying to hand him the tip, but he dodged your hand.

“I’m going! Ciao! Adios! Au revoir!” he crowed, finished with your tom-foolery, and leaving the sex toy’s section.

“No, Seungmin, wait!” You called after him, double-ended dildo still in hand, and trying to catch up to his rapid retreat. 

You were about to fall into step beside him when a woman stopped you both.

When the two of you saw the Ann Summers tag on her blouse, and a rather interrogative expression, you both exchanged glances, yours a little more sheepish than his.

“What were you kids doing in the back section?” she asked, hands on her hips.

You could feel the nerves radiating off Seungmin’s body, so you opened your mouth, saying the first words that touched your tongue.

“My friend and I were, uh, at the back...trying things out.”

Suddenly, a laugh escaped your best friend.

The employee looked at the lingerie on your one arm, and the double-ended dildo in your other hand. Then she raised a groomed brow at you.

Your cheeks flushed aggressively, and with further surprise heard Seungmin’s chuckling grow louder.

“Children are strictly prohibited in the sex-toys section,” she scolded, regarding the shopping in your arms. “You can still buy the bras, but the other thing…”

“I’ll put it back right now!” you declared, eyes wide as your best friend’s laughter boomed across the shop. You hurried back in the erotica section, dumping the dildo among its brethren and returning to your surrender spot.

The attendant then took your remaining items and scanned them in, ushering you to the till. You paid the woman what was due, and took the black shoppings, exiting the shop hastily with a near-hysterical Seungmin at your heels.

The London rain had softened to a light drizzle when you burst out of Ann Summers, getting irritated with the continuous howling, and at last you whirled around, ready to shut him up when you stopped.

Your best friend’s hood was pulled over, and he bent forward, soft locks bobbing as he laughed out his soul, eyes disappearing within his grin. The sound of the rain harmonised with his melodious voice, and you watched, mouth parted in awe. 

You had seen Seungmin laugh a million and two times. It was always after you faced the consequences of your frequent fuck-ups - just like this one. However, looking at him now, finally calming his roaring, toothy grin still on display, there was something quite fantastical in his mirth that made your heartbeat run fast -  faster than you when returning that damned double-ended dildo.

“I hate you!” your best friend declared to London, smiling at you.

You could only return that pure happiness. “I hate you too,” you replied, heart still beating rapidly.

He finally strolled up to you, eyeing the black shopping bag. “You deserve that scolding.”

“I know,” you agreed, turning towards the street, another notorious shop in sight. “Let’s do it again.”

Seungmin shot you an incredulous look. “You already know I’m never stepping foot in Ann Summers again.”

“I don’t mean Ann Summers, Minnie,” you said, staring at the other shop. The next destination of trouble.

The boy followed your line of sight, and his joy nearly vanished. His eyes darted to you, disbelief in his expression.

“No, you’re fucking not.”

But you only stuck your tongue out at him and ran towards the building, you now being the one laughing.

Seungmin only rolled his eyes, a small smile escaping his lips when he looked at you and followed your footsteps, right into the Victoria Secret building.

[spahhzy]

No Title -Chapter 2: Headache.

*Dimension 63 OG*

"Last of the pancake stacks are done, seriously I could bring in three pancake factories and she'd eat them out in a week!"

"Anyways...uh where were we? Oh right the explosion and what came after...ah yes Cinder sulked for a few minutes after a reality check from Watts."

"Jaune, Yang, Emerald, Ren and Oscar all survived the explosion and learn that Ozpin is indeed alive...hmm ooh and the warm tender reunion ah was so nice to see...but sadly...the warmth didn't last long..."

.

.

.

"I have always promised to defend this kingdom; its technology its future...from those who'd see it destroyed" Spoke Ironwood on the monitor almost towering above his viewers.

"Our enemy is crippled but one individual denies Atlas its salvation...the protector of mantle" Ironwood says as the Ruby and Co, glare at the screen.

"Penny wherever you and your friends are I need you to listen" he starts looking down in a brief sadness.

" I know how much Mantle means to you so im going to give you a choice..."

.

.

.

" in all actuality it wasn't really...much of a choice Mantle is doomed be it by Ironwoods hand Or Salems...though I feel for the latter as things were spiraling out of control..."

"General Ironwood reminds me of a certain analogy....oh how'd it go again? Ah yes!"

"When a duck swims ontop of water you only see it glide apparently effortlessly across the lake"

"But underneath as in beneath the surface well its a whole different story its legs are moving like he's peddling a bicycle up a fucking mountain!"

"That's Ironwood, he is THAT duck"

"Let's go to the manor hmm?"

.

.

.

"I'm glad your alright" Spoke Ren to Nora as looked away from him as Jaune arms glowed with his aura trying to heal his teammate.

Nora said nothing.

A few more moments of silence followed before Jaune gave up.

"Sorry but no matter how much I boost you they...won't go away" He told her before kneeling down at her bed side, Ren at the edge of the bed still looking down.

"Don't apologize I got hurt doing what I always do...just another ditzy move from Nora" Nora spoke as she sat up from the bed back resting against the bed frame.

"T-that's not true" Ren said as he stood up, Nora still didn't look at him.

"How would you know?" She said her voice cracking a bit.

"We were supposed to be a team but that didn't matter to you!" Her voice rose as Jaune brought his head down as she continued her verbal assault with Ren.

"When things went wrong you pushed us away!" Ren looked down to the floor again away from Nora.

"You shoved people out so you don't have to feel things that are hard!" She said before laying back against the bed frame finally stopping as Ren processed.

"You're right" He finally said

"I should be apologizing to both of you...when we lost Oscar and things got difficult I said terrible things" Ren said as he sat down at the end of the bed again.

"I've just been so angry at myself for not being as good as the aceop's...."

.

.

"Ah a little lovers quarrel but his anger and frustrations are understandable...I too felt what he was feeling before"

"Its was good that he was able to talk about it apologize to those around him and forgive himself...yes Lie Ren you certainly are a very good friend"

"Unfortunately..."

.

.

.

"My biggest failing was as a teammate and a partner" Ren said as he looked into Nora's eyes and vice versa.

Jaune just looked back and forth between them realizing that they were about to have a moment...

"Haha! All water under the bridge buddy!" He states before walking to the door that leads out to the hallway.

"I'm gonna go see if Klein needs help with Penny" He says looking behind him as both Nora and Ren didn't even pay attention. He smirks before closing the door.

Jaune now standing in the hallway chuckles.

"They'll get through this" He said to himself as he looked down the hallway

"Which way was Penny's room again?" He said laughing before suddenly a massive headache came to him that it made him close his eyes and clutch the side of his head. The throbbing was intense as it brought him to one knee.

"-me -om-" a whisper or what he thought was a whisper but it wasn't clear because of the damn pounding in his ears.

Jaune gradually through the pain stood up breathing a bit heavily before finally taking his hand away from his face, he'd find some advil in the bathroom.

Yet when he looked around he was no longer in the hallway...much less in the schnee manor.

He was standing on a grassy field...he looked around but all it was was just green grassy plains and big cloudless sky...a mountain range way out in the distance as well.

He continued looking until he stopped as he realized...he wasn't alone.

There about thirty five yards away was a robed figure Jaune couldn't make out any details as the light from the sun was blocking them out.

"What the?..." Jaune thought as he walked forward and as he did so to did the mysterious figure.

That caused Jaune to stop and momentarily reach for his blade...but all he grasped was air.

"Who-" He didn't get far as suddenly the scenery changed rapidly as now gone was the grassy plains, but now a quiet little village...

"Wha? Wait...this is...Ansel? My home?" Jaune said as he was freaking out a bit...wondering if something/someone might have drugged him or such.

"But wh-"

"Look Auntie! I'm a knight who's come to rescue you!" Spoke a voice which caught Jaune's attention as he looked to the source.

There was a little blonde boy no older then six. with a makeshift wooden sword and woman dressed in black who was chuckling at the boy.

"Oh my brave little knight has come to rescue me what a dream come true!" Said the lady playing along as the damsel as the blonde boy slayed the evil imaginary dragon and approached the lady.

He dropped his wooden sword and ran in to the lady's stomach giving her a tight hug. The lady just hugged him back with equal affection.

"Mom and Dad don't like you very much" The boy said too which the woman said nothing.

"I don't want you to go..." He said in despair.

"I'm not going nowhere little knight I promise" said the lady with strong conviction.

"...om" he mumbled in her stomach.

"What was that...no mumbling now" She chuckled.

"I wish...you were my mom too"

The scene then changed once more back to the grassy fields again as Jaune was still trying to piece together what he saw.

He looked ahead and the mysterious figure was still there looking straight at him Jaune still couldn't tell who it was but was surprised when the figure extended their arms...as if inviting him.

"Jaune"

The throbbing headache intensified as he once again dropped to a knee.

"Jaune"

Weakly he tilted his head up to see the figure closer to him and all he could make out were red eyes.

"Jaune!"

The figure still with open arms started to speak but Jaune could make out a word of it.

"Jaune!!"

He was back in the hallway still on one knee and clutching at the wall for support.

He looked up to see the concerned face of Klein looking down at him.

"Are you alright Mr. Arc? You look unwell" Klein said as he offered his hand to help.

Jaune looked around still confused, though the headache had just vanished. He took the hand and stood up.

"Uh it was nothing serious Klein..." Jaune said to him but it didn't really convince Klein or even himself for that matter.

"Heh come on let's go check on Penny and ill help where I can" Jaune said as he dusted himself off.

"Are you sure your okay Mr. Arc I can get you some refreshments if needed" Klein offered but Jaune shook his head.

"Penny needs us first let's go help her right now...I'll be fine" Jaune told him to which Klein looked him in the eyes before walking forward.

"Very well...I take it was just a big headache...who wouldn't have such after whats been going on" Klein said too which Jaune chuckled before looking out the Schnee Manor back to city and the rising sun.

"Yeah...just a big headache"

.

.

"But it was so much worse then that"

[thereaderbee]

📖 What books are you looking forward to reading in May?? . Happy First day of May, Bookworms! Are you a TBR planner or a mood reader? Do you know what books you’re hoping to read in May?? Tell me about them! . I have a LOT of books picked out to read this month! Today I start my very own reading challenge, A Book a Day in May, where I am challenging myself to read a book every day this month. They say it takes just 21 days to create a habit, and I am really hoping to get back in the habit of making reading a priority again. It will be so nice to spend what little free time I have reading again, instead of doom-scrolling or helplessly staring out into the void. 🙈 Pictured above are just some of the books I have picked out to read… I also have a spreadsheet with 31 books picked out, along with a seperate column of backups in case of DNFs or if I just want to mood read something else. I feel very nerdy, and I love it. 😂 I’m going to try to remember to post updates in my stories as well! I am hoping this will keep me on track… feel free to hold me accountable if I get behind! 😂 . I am also buddy reading *The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo* this month with @samslibrary_195! This is my first ever buddy read, but I hope I can keep up! . Anyways… What are you guys reading this month?? … And today is the very first day of our May Book Challenge! I hope you join us, and I can’t wait to see what you’re reading this month! And check out some more fun challenges below! … A Book a Day in May Update: Current Read: Float Plan by Trish Doller . . . 📖 May TBR. #AlltheBooksMay21 🌈 Mental Health Awareness. #BooksCoasttoCoastMay21 📖 Book Stack or Bookish Flatlay. #TumblesOverbooks 🌈 May TBR. #CourtofReading 📖 Flowers. #OneSquareStory . . . #TBR #toberead #tbrpile #bookstack #bookpile #stacksaturday #whattoread #allthebooks #bookstagram #booksbooksbooks #currentlyreading #yabooks #bookdragon #booknerd #bibliophile #totalbooknerd #becauseofreading #bookphoto #booksofinstgram #booksofig #readinglife #igreads #igbooks #bookgram #reading . . . 📖 🌈 📖 🌈 📖 🌈 📖 https://www.instagram.com/p/COU9aG9J78q/?igshid=pav50wdbxxqe

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain:  Chapter 708:  Chooser of the Fallen:  Part III/III

Jaune and Ren walked down the stairs to the dungeon. Nora jumped off the crate she was sitting on and saluted, while Ilia returned ot her usual colours and stepped away from the wall. Jaune walked over to the crate and leaned up against it while Ren jumped up on one of the crates and crossed his legs to sit down. Jaune glowered at him. Ren looked at him quizzocally. "My antlers are like, a few inches away from you."

"I have full faith that you will not gore me." Ren said with a smile and closed his eyes.

"That makes one of us." Jaune said to him.

"Indeed." Ren replied, and Jaune stood up and stepped a few feet away. He looked around the room, trying to avoid looking at the cells, but he really should look over there. His gaze eventually fell on the cell, and he made to speak, but stopped.

"Don't let us stop you." Cinder said to him, but Jaune frowned in reply. "Our home is your home." This caused Mercury to start snickering while Emerald looked around in a disturbed manner.

"How do you have no soul?," Jaune asked them, and paused for a moment, "after everything you've done?!"

"I don't know how to tell this to you," Cinder said to him, "but evil exists."

"So?" Jaune asked, "You don't care about all of the people you've killed?" he asked, and she couldn't really answer.

It was Mecury's time to speak, "You think by now you'd have figured out that we're not goodie-two-shoes like you."

Jaune just looked at them angrily, completely unsure of what to so.

"Should we really be pissing him off?" Emerald stated.

"He needs to be pissed off." Cinder said to her. "After everything we've done. Otherwise, everything is pointless. He needs to know where we're starting from, and we're not going to get that by lying to him. I think we've done enough lying."

"So, what?" Emerald asked, "He has to convince us the error of our ways, make us want to repent?"

"Yes." Cinder stated, looking Jaune deep in the eyes. Jaune quickly turned away, fuming.

* * *

Jaune turned towards the cell. "He's finally looking at us." Mercury stated. "Feeling better?" he asked, and Jaune just glared at him.

Emerald interjected, "If he hates us that much, then, why?.."

"Because I believed her." Jaune simply stated.

"What part?" Mercury asked, and Jaune just looked at him for a moment.

"That she wants to be healed." Jaune sighed. "You did go out of your way to kidnap me for it."

"You trust her because we kidnapped you?" Emerald asked, and Jaune just shrugged.

"It got us in the door," Cinder stated, "but now we have to be on our best behaviour."

"If I might interject?" Ren asked, and everyone looked at him. "Is robbing drug dealers your best behaviour?"

Mercury and Emerald looked at Cinder. "Yes, it is." Cinder simply stated.

"Which means," Ren continued, "that by siding with her, we would be dooming the drug dealers."

"On one hand," Jaune said to him, "yes, but on the other hand..."

"Let's face it," Mercury said to them, and stood up, giving them an intense gaze, "if we didn't kill them, they'd just kill each other off. There's a reason being a drug dealer pays so well."

"And that makes it alright?" Jaune asked.

Emerald then stepped around Mercury, "Who are you fighting for?"

"Everyone!" Jaune shouted, and there was a great moment of silence.

It was Cinder turn to chime in. "Even me?" she asked.

"What?!" Jaune shouted, "Of course!" This causes everyone's eyes to fly open with shock, Ren included.

"Isn't that interesting?" Cinder enticingly asked. him.

Ren then stood up from his box, a stern gaze upon his face. "Pyrrha was not only the best of us, but the sister I never had. I can assure you that your presence here is ENTIRELY based on Jaune's desire to trust you."

"He trusts us?!" Emerald asked.

"He wants to." Cinder said to her.

Ren turned to look away and stepped towards the outer wall. His grim demeanour was matched by a grim aura as he used his Semblance to calm himself down. Jaune looked at him and then back at the cell, certain they did not understand what had just happened. He knew how much of a risk it was to bring them here, physically, but he didn't think about the psychological ones. He shouldn't really be surprised that they were suffering as much from this as he was. They loved Pyrrha as much as he did.

He angrily looked at the cell. His suffering was something he could accept, but not the suffering of his friends. Cinder saw the uncertainty on his face, "He's having second thoughts." she stated, and Jaune turned to glare at her. "Unfortunately, for you, it's too late." Cinder said with a wicked smile.

"What's that mean?" Emerald asked.

"That means," Cinder simply stated, looking Jaune deep in the eyes, "he knows this is the one chance he has to take away one of Salem's strongest assets. He knows very well what would happen if I leave here in any other way. If he hands me over to Ironwood, he doubts they could contain a Maiden. If he let's me go, he knows I'll have but no choice to work with Salem again. His only chance is either to kill me, here, in this cell, which not only won't be easy, but he knows he couldn't do."

"Because of the Maiden powers?" Emerald asked.

"Because he's so good." Cinder insultingly said to Jaune.

"Is this?.." Ren growled, still looking away at the wall, "true?"

"I thought we all understood the risks?" Jaune asked. "The only reason she's here is that she wants to be."

Ren's breathing could be heard echoing around the quiet room. Jaune squatted down and leaned up against the crate Ren had been sitting upon.

* * *

Blake and Yang walked onto the bottom floor. Jaune simply stood up, a distant look on his face. Ren's breathing somewhat evened out, and the two turned to walk up the stairs.

Yang jumped up onto the crate, handing her legs down. Blake jumped up to a double-stack of crates, curling up around her legs.

"So?" Cinder asked them.

"Yeah!" Yang harshly said to them, and just glared at them for a moment. "I'm not here to be buddy-buddy. You still fucking killed Pyrrha, and... like... a LOT of people."

Emerald looked up to Blake. "Me?" Blake asked, "I'm here to make sure she doesn't kill you. Jaune thinks this is a good idea, and maybe it is, but I kind of have trust issues."

"She was fucking Adam." Mercury said with distaste.

"Excuse you?!" Yang asked him.

"What?" Mercury asked, "He was a piece of shit. I feel bad for anyone who had to spend time with him."

"Aren't you, like, an assassin?" Yang asked him.

"Technically?," Mercury asked, "my father was. I've kind of been acting like one."

"So?" Yang asked.

"So?" Mercury replied, "I've never lied about the fact I was. I never held someone down just to abuse them. When I kill someone, I do it quickly."

"Except Yang!" Blake shouted. Mercury just dismissively shrugged and pointed at Emerald.

"What, blame me?" Emerald asked.

"You were just doing what Cinder wanted you to." Mercury sighed.

"It was..." Cinder voiced, and trailed off, trying to find her words.

"Uh-huh?" Yang aggressively asked her. "Really think you can talk your way out of this?"

Cinder looked lost for a moment before looking Yang in the eyes, "No."

* * *

Jaune and Ren walked up the stairs to the ground floor. Jaune stopped and turned to Ren. Ren turned towards him, unable to look him in the eyes. Jaune pulled Ren in for a hug. "I'm so sorry." Jaune voiced to him. Tears starting pouring from Ren's eyes into Jaune's chest as he mumbled a reply,

"You," he said and paused, "have nothing..." he voiced, "...to apologize for." He then breathed in deeply, trying to stop the tears, "I know - that this - is the right - thing to do."

"That doesn't make it any easier." Jaune voiced to him.

"I apologize for my unbecoming..." Ren tried to voice.

"You don't have to apologize for crying for Pyrrha." Jaune said to him, "We all loved her. And this is our home. If you can't cry here, where can you cry?"

Ren stepped back and looked Jaune in his eyes, "How can you be so calm?"

"Do - I - look - calm?" Jaune asked him, "Because I don't feel calm. I feel angry, and sad, hatefully, and like the only way I can get out is to just end it call."

"And how do you deal with that?" Ren asked.

"I'm always like that." Jaune said, and hung his head, "Now just more than usual." he voiced.

"And how do you deal with that?" Ren asked.

"If I stop now, everyone suffers." Jaune simply said. "Part of the joy of being a leader."

"You're stoicim is?.." Ren said with awe.

"You keep up with this sappy stuff, and I might have to kiss you." Jaune said to him, and eyes flew open. "That might be a defence against my sisters."

"Presumably." Ren said with a weak smile.

[ducktracy]

183. porky’s double trouble (1937)

release date: november 13th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky, killer), tedd pierce (narrator), sara berner (petunia)

the end of an era—this is the final cartoon to feature “fat porky”. though he’d been dieting since late 1936 and steadily throughout 1937 with the other directors, frank tashlin was the last one to skinny him up. ironic, since he was such a stickler for streamlined designs! nevertheless, this is an exciting change, as porky is finally completing his transformation into the pig we know and love today.

not only that, this is the final appearance of frank tashlin’s petunia as well. she’d go on a hiatus all throughout 1938, only to be revived by bob clampetts with a totally new design in 1939. unfortunately, she was only kept for two more shorts before being discarded again. parting is such sweet sorrow!

we deal with not one porky, but two: an escaped convict kidnaps porky and steals his identity in order to successfully rob a bank. it’s up to petunia to put a stop to this criminal’s crime spree... or is it?

a silhouette of a pig furtively creeps under a blanket of typography from the title card. the pig isn’t our favorite stuttering porcine, but rather a grisly, stubbly porky doppleganger attempting to escape from prison. he jumps and growls at the spotlight that shines on him, shooting at the offscreen subjects. not only does he whip out two pistols, he even flips them--such a small detail of flamboyant dramatics goes a long way.

prison guards shoot back at the convict, silhouetted against the night sky, illuminated only by the glow of the searchlight and the stylized white bullets raining down below. the composition is stellar, its flatness reminiscent of the backgrounds of the early ‘40s cartoons, primarily from the likes of frank tashlin, chuck jones, and even norm mccabe at times. a whistle screeches as the prisoners run along, rifles in hand. in all, the dramatic opening rampant with silhouettes feels quite reminiscent to the opening of little beau porky, another tashlin entry just a year prior.

callbacks are more blatant as we undergo the signature Frank Tashlin Expositional Montage, footage of cop cars racing out into the street reused from tex avery’s the blow out, while a close-up of a newspaper press is also reused from avery’s porky the wrestler. all the while, a shot of the convict, identified as “killer” by one of the newspapers in the montage, oversees the chaos, his eyes drifting along to survey the action, his lips parted in a sneer. the narration (tedd pierce?) is the cherry on top--often times, narration has a tendency to feel redundant, as if it’s a crutch to support the gags (i.e. some of tex avery’s earlier entries), but here it elevates the theatrics of the entire prison escape.

speaking of narrators, ours introduces us to a gangster hideout--an abandoned all girls school by the name of katz school for girls, a nod towards studio business manager ray katz--no doubt a place frequented by killer. tashlin’s cinematography is in full swing as we iris in on an exterior shot of the hideout before panning along the interior, an arsenal of weapons littering the schoolroom of years past. a smooth, clever transition of pans from the classroom to a grandiose hallway, focusing on a door.

killer’s lackeys crowd around a table littered with alcohol bottles and playing cards, but most importantly, newspapers highlighting killer’s escape. his cronies all mutter words of praise in thick brooklyn accents (”yeah, dis guy’s clever, jus’ like who-dun-y! he can get outta anyt’ing!”). the conversation between the gangsters is surprisingly natural and fun to listen to: one of the lackeys likens killer to “clark taylor”, a humorously false remembrance of actors clark gable and robert taylor combined.

 knocking outside the door prompts the cronies to whip around with their guns drawn, all crowing “who’s ‘dere!?” in unison. outside the door stands a rather spherical caricature of mae west--if there’s a mae west cameo, it must be a ‘30s cartoon! funnily enough, tashlin gets an animation credit on buddy’s beer garden, a cartoon whose mae west caricature is relatively integral to the plot as well.

mae informs the boys that she comes peddling a message from killer. furtively, they all crowd around the door, stacking on top of each other, each peering out of their own peephole door. the silent film inspiration is strong in this shot. not only that, its composition also reminds me of some of the shots in tashlin’s porky pig’s feat, a personal favorite of mine. 

all hesitation to let newcomers in is dropped once the cronies spot their curvaceous company. they’re instantly smitten, batting eyelashes and all, one of the cronies going so far as to stroke mae the messenger’s face. tashlin’s cartoons always had a promiscuous flair to them, especially in the ‘40s--here is no exception. perhaps it’s only natural, seeing as this entire cartoon is one large parody of all of the gangster pictures churning out from warner bros. at the time (marked woman, kid galahad, san quentin to name a few.)

“he said...” mae lunges a haymaker, causing all four cronies to domino together and knock into the door as mel blanc settles out of his falsetto, “NOT T’ FOOL AROUND WITH DAMES, YA LUGS!!!” killer strips out of his outfit (even removing an iron barbell from where his chest is), growling “let that loin ya a lesson!” as always, mel is fun to listen to--his falsetto voice sounds rather similar to the voice he’d use for his lou costello caricatures. 

killer eyes a stray newspaper, gloating “once i was only public enemy numba NINE!” at the sight of his new title as public enemy #1. (it should be noted that in tashlin’s first picture, porky’s poultry plant, another “public enemy” gag is used. gag continuity is always fun to see!) his eyes drift over to an article on the other side of the page (if you look closely, the date is “thoisdays octember 42nd”, the paper addressing the denizens of “porkysville”.):

“hey! what’s dis? da guy looks just like me! he could be me twin brudda!” frank tashlin’s disgruntlement with porky can be felt multiple ways here. not only did he hesitate until 2.5 minutes into the cartoon to introduce him, the underscore is “puddin’ head jones”, a frequent score associated with porky on numerous occasions offering not-so-subtle commentary about his intelligence (or lack thereof.) 

killer ushers his lackey to take a glimpse at his bank-teller doppelgänger, whispering a plan to them involving porky and the bank, the narrator clueing us in that “the evildoers carefully plan another hideous crime.”

it’s not a tashlin cartoon without his signature up-shot: we iris in on an impressive up-shot view of “worst national bank”, a score of “plenty of money and you” and even the extravagant car horn of a limo solidifying that yes indeed, this here’s a bank! inside, porky dutifully deposits the goods of his spherically designed patrons. even by 1937, these mathematically proportioned designs were out of style--i suppose tashlin got the memo, though, seeing as this is the final “fat porky” cartoon, indicating a transition into more modern, streamlined designs. 

bob bentley animates a close-up of porky depositing the cash of a scottie dog. cue the ever prevalent “cheap scotsman” gag, the scottie’s coin purse (a sock with a lock on it) revealing a swarm of moths upon its opening. he deposits a lone dime, porky happily obliging to sign the bank book. the scottie leaves, and it only takes a few bloated seconds for porky’s brain to catch up with him, realizing that he just signed a bank book to deposit a measly dime. he smacks himself in the face, a carl stalling favorite cue of “you’re a horses ass” providing musical commentary as porky glowers into the camera, hand sliding down his pudgy face. stereotypes aside, this is a fun little scene. it gives porky some personality, accentuating his gullibility (a persistent factor of his character, no matter who is directing him), and bob bentley’s animation is extremely appealing. no discretion to volney white, who animates the next scene, but there’s a noticeable difference in bentley’s and white’s styles, bentley’s animation much more dimensional. i absolutely love how he draws porky.

secretary petunia, once again voiced by sara berner, coos at porky to come over to her desk. she wastes little time flirting with him, asking that the two “step out” for the night. volney’s animation of porky is hysterical--his discomfort is exceedingly visible. porky gets cold feet, a stuttering mess (more than usual) as he sputters “geh-eh-g-eh-g-g-gee, miss petunia, i’m, uh, buh-beh-bashful... huh...heh, you’re so eh-peh-purrty, and eh-uh-i’m, uhh... yee-you’re, uh...” cue one of my favorite deliveries ever by mel blanc as the lunch bell rings. porky grins, realizing he’s saved by the bell. he doesn’t stutter once as he declares breathlessly “it’s time for lunch, g’bye!” and rushes off. the comedic timing, both from mel’s delivery and volney’s animation, couldn’t be better. 

porky strolls outside, where he stumbles across killer (disguised as mae west again) hammering away at a car. porky’s good nature prevails, which often leads to trouble: with a polite tip of the hat, he asks if the woman needs any assistance. “would you be so kind?” 

as porky works on the vehicle, killer prepares to strike, hammer in hand. his motives are thwarted as porky turns to offer assurances that the car will be fixed in a jiffy, killer impatiently hiding the bludgeoner behind his back. the charade continues, porky turning and talking, putting a stop to the nefarious deeds. as porky turns to say “eh-nuh-neh-nuh-now, it’s in the beh-beh-eh-beh-bag!”, killer grunts in his normal voice “SO ARE YOU!”, kicking porky under the hood (bumpy ride!) and peeling off in the car to certain doom.

the transition from killer kidnapping porky to killer putting on porky’s clothes (who’s bound and gagged in a chair) is surprisingly snappy, yet comprehensible and smooth. of course, the narration does contribute to the clarity, but regardless, such a quick transition can be difficult to convey smoothly and clearly. tashlin does it very well.

volney white animates killer’s taunts to porky: “and, wit’ your sissy clothes on, i can rob da bank! and YOU’LL take da rap, see!? AHAHAHA!” volney’s animation is fun to watch--before i saw this cartoon for the first time, i only ever saw google images of it, this scene being one of those images. volney’s eye takes amazed me at how anachronistic they seemed, and i remember likening him to joe murray if he made cartoons in 1937. very fun eye takes indeed!

speaking of fun, bob bentley does a neat little scene involving a brawl between killer and his reflection in the mirror. he goes to check out his new pilfered duds (”now i look like da squoit!”), admiring himself in the mirror. suddenly, his reflection grows a life of its own, sticking its tongue out. real killer gets pissed (if you notice, when he does a take of surprise, you can see where the cel of the reflection gets cut off) and punches the mirror, leaving the glass broken, his reflection now touting a blackened eye. while the “reflection becoming sentient” gag may seem tired, i enjoy how interactive killer’s reflection is, all without saying a word. the staging feels incredibly natural and nonchalant.

with that, killer makes his way to the bank, whistling along to the underscore of “with plenty of money and you” beneath the words of the narrator. you can spot a bit of camera trouble as the camera pans out from the sign at porky’s desk reading “PORKY PIG -- OUT TO LUNCH”: the pan janky, the picture briefly turning blurry before resuming to normalcy. it’s more interesting than detrimental, especially considering warner bros never did retakes.

cue a montage of “porky” stowing away the goods of the townspeople into his pocket, pretending to deposit them in the bank. the minor key rendition of “puddin’ head jones” is a nice reminder of killer’s similarities and differences. similar in appearance, maybe, but not much else. 

petunia engages in her routine from before, attempting to seduce “porky”. mel blanc’s genius shines as killer responds to petunia’s calls in a gruff, scratchy “YEAH, WHAT IS IT!?” he catches himself, and responds in an authentic porky voice “ye-ye-ye-yes, wuh-weh-wuh-weh-what is it?” the transition is seamless. whether it was on one take or two separate recordings, i don’t know, but it remains just as entertaining either way. i especially like how killer switches from “yeah” to “yes”--porky’s personality, while still relatively thin at this point, is certainly coming clearer. at the very least, frank tashlin knows that porky wouldn’t respond by saying “yeah”. it’s a little detail, but it says a lot.

and, just like myself, petunia also understands the distinctions between killer and porky--especially when killer plants a kiss on her as soon as she pulls the same “how ‘bout you and i stepping out tonight, big boy?” routine. killer grabs her in his arms, sneering “why wait until tonight, baby?” and gives her a kiss, prompting petunia to smack him and declare “why, you’re not porky pig!” killer’s response is full of careful wit and thoughtfulness as he so eloquently answers: “SO WHAT?”

ringing the burglar alarm, that’s what. petunia discreetly sets the alarms off, prompting a flurry of bullets to whiz at killer offscreen (they sure have good security!). killer retaliates with his own shotguns, but quickly speeds off to his hideout, goods still in his possession.

killer and his lackeys admire the treasures stacked on the table, eager to pounce. a clever pan to porky, still writhing around in his ropes as killer sneers “AND DEY ‘TINK YOU DID IT!” 

tashlin’s artistry strikes again as we peer at the hideout through the bars of iron gates outside. truck out to reveal police officers crowding around outside, crouching on the ground to remain discreet. the shot is composed rather nicely, with the ground level nearing the horizon line, elevating the subjects to the middle plane. even though the shot itself doesn’t linger very long, the clarity is easy to see. a tree placed off to the side cleverly frames the two officers who are on the screen--little things like that make a big difference.

one of the lackeys notices the cops are lurking by, alerts the others, and immediately shoots his machine gun out the window. watch all of the stuff flying out of his pocket as he shoots--playing cards, knives, guns, jewelry, even a wig! definitely a fun scene to freeze frame and pick apart all the details. 

the cops retaliate, and an all-out shootout occurs. a gag reused from i’m a big shot now (another gangster parody cartoon) and porky’s duck hunt ensues as a cop shoots up at the building, the impact from his rifle driving him into the ground as each shot digs the hole deeper and deeper. another rather fun gag includes a woodpecker drilling into a tree, causing the officer in the branch to clutch his heart and moan “they got me!”

in the process, stray bullets from down below shoot out of the floor, conveniently ripping the ropes bounding porky to the chair. a quick bird’s eye view of the hideout, and it’s onto porky to take action. because we all remember porky as a suave, charismatic crime fighter, it’s only natural for him to jump onto a chandelier hanging from the hallway and knock all of killer’s cronies into a door. (do cartoon characters have stunt doubles? surely they do! don’t they?) 

volney white’s animation prevails for the remainder of the cartoon. porky hops down from the upstairs landing, plopping down right on top of killer himself. both come to fisticuffs, volney’s hilarious facial expressions and treg brown’s masterful sound effects combining to make quite the amusing amalgamation. certainly a scene worthy of freeze-framing for all of the funny faces!

perhaps even more amusing, however, is the drastic tone shift as soon as the cops arrive: no time is wasted during the transition between the fight and an armed cop probing “alright, who’s the killer!?” the fight breaks up in an instant off screen, and porky (his voice un-sped) pleading “i’m uh-puh-peh-puh-peh-porky!” the transition is almost too swift, but is comical over everything else, so i’m not too slighted by it. killer insists in his own gruff voice “I’M porky!”

the cop isn’t convinced, and tries again. both insist that they’re porky. that’s when it’s petunia to the rescue, who assures the cop that she knows how to find out. she cozies up to the real porky, once more enacting their “big boy” charade from earlier. as porky flops over his words in all of his collar-tugging glory, petunia gloats “that’s porky.” porky nodding along to her affirmation is a nice, subtle touch.

as we’ve repeatedly discovered, frank tashlin was no fan of porky. even though he outwardly admits that he didn’t like to work with him, there are multiple clues throughout his pictures solidifying his disdain. here is no exception, as petunia outright screws porky over. 

her sultry demeanor changes from reassuring to duplicitous as she heaves a sigh and coos “how that killer can kiss!” porky rightfully grows angry, and, in a pattern we’ll observe in many a cartoon, allows his jealousy to triumph his bashful, reserved nature as he grabs petunia’s arms and pulls her in for a kiss. killer’s eye-boggling, affronted expression and porky’s triumphant, chest-puffing stance after the fact are both hilarious. volney white does a wonderful job of conveying personality through his animation.

here’s the kicker. despite getting her kiss from porky, she still isn’t satisfied. she coldly remarks “i STILL take the killer!” with that, porky can only gawk in awe as petunia and killer march arm-in-arm out the door, petunia cooing that she’ll wait until killer gets out of prison. iris out.

the voice acting steals the show in this cartoon. mel KILLS it (no pun intended) as killer, from the falsetto to the porky impersonation--which is just mel doing his regular porky voice--to killer’s evil belly laughs. sara berner does a fine job as petunia, and tedd pierce’s narration is always a joy to hear. i’m unsure of who voices the lackeys, as they don’t quite sound like mel, but nevertheless, they too are fun to listen to, especially their introductory dialogue. if anything, you should check out this short for the voice work alone.

frank tashlin’s eye for cinematography sparkles as it always does. the opening montage is particularly impressive, especially the use of silhouettes. very bold and striking. his layouts are very well structured, and the cartoon flows very nicely. it’s a snappy one, but it hardly feels like it drags. there’s a lot packed into these 7 minutes! 

though i do pity porky, especially at the end, i will concede that the end IS a good shocker, even if petunia is straight up cruel. porky’s personality is slowly weeding its way out of the woods, with some traits (good natured, gullible) sticking to his character all throughout his career. progress is being made! and, as i said before, as much as i enjoy the fat porky design, i won’t shed too many tears over this being its final appearance, because it marks a new step forward for warner bros. cartoons are becoming funnier, snappier, wittier, the disney influence continually waning. good things await.

i definitely recommend you check this one out. while it’s not my all time favorite tashlin cartoon, there’s a lot to admire, from voice direction to animation to even the layouts. 

link!

[leggomylino]

Pushing Up Daisies | Seo Changbin

Genre: fluff, crack, comedy, college au, secret admirer/stalker au

Pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: Masterlist(s) linked down below and in bio!!! | Requested by @hanniiesuckle17​ <3

— ✔✘✔✘ —

Darkness fell like a cloud over the room, a hazy mist where Changbin found the most comfort. It was a place where he felt calm, collected, cool, and accepted.

It was also the place he resided to watch Y/n L/n. The cute new transfer student from out of town.

Now, he didn’t think what he was doing was creepy. Or weird. Or immature. Not by any means; he was simply keeping an eye on her to make sure she was safe; the library could be a dangerous place, and there were all sorts of sick and twisted weirdos running around at this late hour of six p.m. that purposely targeted nice foreign girls like Y/n. He’d seen it happen all the time. It was more common than he’d like to admit. Which is why it was up to him to keep an eye out for her, since Chan was working late (again) at the studio and the mighty Lord knew Han Jisung wasn’t gonna do jack squat, especially not after Hyunjin had to go mentioning the grand opening of some new restaurant called...Factory Cheesecake? Cake Factory? Something like that.

That only left himself to rely upon. The only one truly trustworthy and qualified to keep Y/n safe. Even if it meant having to—

“Changbin!”

Clank. “OW!”

Rubbing his now slightly swollen forehead, he turned around the cramped space to peer over his shoulder. “What is it? What are you doing up here?”

Felix bowed his head, an apology hanging in the air. “Sorry. Seungmin sent me to get you. He said he’s clocking out in five minutes and he doesn’t want to get in trouble for your…“deed.”” He blinked. “He used other words I’d rather not repeat, though.”

Changbin scratched his chin. Ah, yes. The perks of having a roommate that worked part-time at the campus library: free access anywhere, so long as they’re on duty. And you don’t get caught. Like that one time he and Han scoured the back storage room for vaults holding the answer key to Mr. Kim’s final, and...well, that wasn’t important now. “Tell him I’ll be down in ten. I think she’s almost done.”

Felix glanced through the slits of the metal air duct, then back at his buddy. “...Are you sure you’ve really thought this through all the way?” His face scrunched up in an awkwardly distasteful matter, and he looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to commit such a crime. Like what he was doing was even criminal. “Why don’t you just talk to her? Instead of...y’know…” He blinked, gesturing to the cramped space around them. “Hiding in the air duct? It’s kinda creepy, is what I’m saying. And unethical...actually, very creepy and very unethi—“

“Okay! I got it already!” Changbin waved his hands. He didn’t need to hear this from someone he cared about. “Shoo, shoo! Go have dinner with Hyunjin and the bottomless cake pit.”

“You mean Han?”

“Duh.”

...Sighing, Felix left without another word. 

Finally—

“...I really think you should just talk to her!” His voice echoed. Changbin sighed.

...Okay, a few words. “Go!!!”

His harsh command bounced around the narrow chamber, spiraling down out of the air duct. Gasp. He covered his mouth, praying to heaven no one heard him; peering down, the study corner Y/n was in— if not the library itself— was nearly vacant, with only one other student reading at a far table and a few stragglers making their final choices.

It would appear his voice had gone unnoticed. Phew.

Y/n was still standing at the same shelf. She’d been standing there for over twenty minutes, occasionally pacing back and forth a few steps, side-to-side, trying to make up her mind. Most guys hated that, but Changbin couldn’t help but find it cute and endearing; like a lost little star trying to find her way home, calculating the best route, hesitant, waiting to shine. Most guys took it as a lacking sign to confidence, but to Changbin, it just showed that she was smart. She didn’t want to barrel straight ahead; she gathered data, took notes, and made the best option that would satisfy both her needs and her interests. And to Changbin, there was nothing hotter than that...

Suddenly, her hand moved. The one with the leather watch she wore, rumored to be a gift from her father. It was worn and frayed, the inseam splitting at the ends. Brown; tan. A simple clock face encased in basic sterling silver. She wore it everyday, but it’d been a while since he’d seen the pleated pink skirt that swayed above her ankles, or the matching floral-printed scarf—

Her hand brushed against the spine of a worn old poetry catalogue. Oh no. This is it. She’s really going for it. His letter…

She was so close to finding it. Twice a week, Changbin would rush down seven flights of stairs and across five blocks of campus property to make it to the library an hour before Y/n was set to arrive, as she always visited the library after English 1302 on Mondays and Wednesdays. Something about departing from that class must have left her longing for more, he figured; she was a writing major, after all. He didn’t do well under too much pressure, so after panicking about what he was going to say this time, he’d steal borrow some of Seungmin’s fancy calligraphy paper in order to write her a poem, something soft and...what was that word he’d looked up last week...lilting, which he was pretty sure meant the same thing as uplifting and...happy. Then he’d have Seungmin (one time Han; big mistake) hack into her leasing record in order to find out which books she was currently into, or which ones she had on hold. He’d carefully and strategically place the handwritten poem inside the book’s first few pages.

The book was in her hands now. She’d chosen his book! Again! She was examining the cover...flipping it over…...now, she was…?

...She put it back.

Again. He lowered his head with a sigh. Game over. You lost again. He gripped his hands into fists; when? When would he learn? When would it be his turn to win?! …!

Oh? What was this…?

A figure turned the left corner too fast, crashing into Y/n. She stumbled to the right, dropping said book as well as her belongings and sending them somersaulting to the pale blue carpet.

The letter he’d tucked between pages four and five spiraled out a foot away. Unopened, still sealed securely in a crisp white envelope with a Molang sticker. He’d heard she liked him.

Some Shady Guy was now talking to Y/n. “I’m so sorry! Let me help you— I’ll get—”

Y/n picked the book off the ground, dusting and checking it for damages like her first priority. She was so selfless, caring more for a damaged old tomb rather than her shiny new laptop and fancy water bottle. “Oh, no, that’s okay, don’t worry about it…” 

Her eyes fell upon the letter. Changbin held his breath. Oh no. Not now. Not with some punk watching! The moment would be totally ruined!!!

Shady Guy beat her to it, his undeserving fingers tainting Changbin’s craft. “Here. Is this yours?” He examined it. Smirked. Disgusting. “Cute. Aren’t you a little old for cartoons, though?”

Who here gave you permission to judge her?! ...Wait.

Y/n took the letter, frowning. “I don’t think so...Molang is for girls and boys of all ages. He’s cute. But, this isn’t mine…someone must have left it as a bookmark.” Her eyes swept the room. “I’ll go return it to the front desk.”

The… The front… 

His face hardened. What?! No!!! That’s your letter! URGH!!! Were girls always this frustrating?! ...And why is this guy still standing so close?! … … 

It couldn’t be helped; with defeat, he watched the two of them walk away.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The next day at lunch, Minho squinted at him in anger.

“I can’t believe you skipped out on dinner with us again to go stalk the new girl.”

Beside him, Hyunjin huffed his agreement over a juice box that was meant for a five year old. Changbin groaned. “It’s not stalking. You make it sound like I’m a pervert or something...I’m not, I’m just…”

...His voice trailed off into a long, steady exhale. Beside him, Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Next time, at least quit using the air vent. I’m tired of growing a collection of ulcers in my gut because I’m afraid you’re going to make one wrong move and come crashing down through the ceiling like doom over Narnia, and then we’re both going to get in trouble for it.” He practically slammed down his bowl of soba. “I need this job, Bin.”

Across the outdoor picnic table, Minho froze halfway through unwrapping his sandwich, Hyunjin nearly choking on his orange juice. The former of the two cast a chilling glare while Hyunjin fought through a coughing fit. “You…”

Crap. And just when he’d thought Seungmin would be the least likely to open his big mouth. Changbin pressed his lips into a hard line before speaking. “...It’s not what you think—”

“Isn’t it, though?!” Hyunjin blurted. His juice box went flying into the nearest trash can as he pointed drastically in the direction of the library a few blocks down. Dance majors. “You’re telling me you’ve been bailing on dinner with us at the best new restaurant in town to go crawl through the dusty library airways and spy on a girl who doesn’t even know you?!”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you!” Changbin hissed. “And hey,” he added, leaning over his ramen. “We’ve talked before. We’re in the same writing class.”

“Over a project!” The Dance major roared. “That hardly counts!”

He and Changbin both fell back into their seats with a thud, exhausted with each other. Minho sighed. “Well,” he mumbled, “I guess we’re just going to have to show him.”

At this, everyone gave Seoul University’s one and only Bundle Boy a quizzical look. “What do you mean?” Seungmin asked.

Bundle Boy smiled, already stacking his leftovers. “Come on. Finish eating already and we’ll show you.”

Hyunjin blinked, gesturing back and forth between the two of them. “We…?”

Smack. “Just do it already. Let’s go. Quickly.”

Stunned, he had no choice but to inhale his soup on the way over.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The library was ironically closed for renovations that day; something about a generous donation from some well-to-do politician wanting his name engraved along the school walls. Whatever.

After bribing Seungmin into using his key, in the very same room where Y/n had been pondering her next private adventure surfing amongst old worn pages, Minho placed his hands on his hips, taking the roll of stage director. “Okay, now.” He pointed left. “Hyunjin, you go backstage. Pick a book off the shelf and get yourself ready. You two,” he piped, startling the remaining cast members, “will sit over there. Watch how it’s done.”

“......” Side-eyeing the other, Changbin and Seungmin took their seats at a nearby study table. The former could tell the latter was regretting his decision to let them in already.

Minho smiled. “Great,” he said, taking what was supposed to be Center Stage. “Now—” 

Seungmin raised his hand. The director sighed. 

“Yes?”

Seungmin lowered his hand with a soft plop. “Do I really have to be here for this? Don’t we all have better things to be doing right now?”

...It was a fair question. But Minho didn’t really seem to care much for fairness. “Yes, this is a team effort. I’m telling Chan you said that at our next rehearsal.”

The boy groaned.

“Now,” Director Bundle began. “Watch and learn how the pros do this. I’ll be Changbin, and Hyunjin is Y/n.” He turned his head to the side. “Cue!!!”

The lights suddenly dimmed, shocking the audience as they looked around curiously. “I could have sworn no one was on staff today,” Minnie mumbled.

Then the lights rose again, slowly in escalation, as a far-too-tall and far-too-muscular Y/n entered Stage Right. His eyes blinked wildly from atop the horizon of an encyclopedia about frogs. “Look,” he cooed, voice far too high and squeaky. Changbin and Seungmin both cringed. “I’m Y/n! I love books and boys and all the many girlish wonders that girls like me enjoy! Teehee!”

...Dear Lord, strike him now. Changbin rose from his seat. “Stop!!!”

His cry fell on deaf ears as the show went on, Minho turning and giving his best, dreamiest, disgustingly playboy-ish smile. “You’re Y/n?”

Hyunjin giggled (to which Changbin felt sick), the book never leaving the lower half of his face. “That’s me!”

“Changbin” (Minho) cocked his head aside, shifting his bangs to the right. Seungmin gagged. “That’s a cute name. A cute name for an even cuter gi—”

Fzzt! ...The power went out.

From the far corner, the real Changbin glared a storm across the room, holding the power extension cord too tightly. “That’s enough,” he grumbled, tossing the extension aside. “I didn’t come here for you to mock me. Or her. I’m not sure what I’m more angry about: the fact that you dare mock an innocent girl, someone I care about, to my face...or the fact that the two of you are supposed to be my friends.”

Hyunjin tossed his book on the table, doing his best sassy Dance major pose: a hand on his hip, knee slightly bent, head tilted to the side. Dance majors. “You can’t say you care about her, Changbin. You hardly know her.”

“I told you we’ve spoken on more than one occasion!”

“Over a project! That doesn’t count!”

“You said it hardly counts before!!”

“Yeah?! Well now I’m changing my answer!!!”

“Okay, okay…” Seungmin rose from his seat, wading between the two. “That’s enough. Fighting never solves anything.” He peered over his shoulder, focusing his gaze between the shelves. “Also, you need to keep your voices down— I’m not losing my job over something this dumb.”

“......” With a grunt, Changbin marched his way toward the exit; Screw these guys, whatever. He didn’t need their help and never asked for it anyway. He was doing just fine in his relationship with Y/n that...didn’t quite exist… 

He’d almost made it to the door until Hyunjin stopped him. The should-have-been Drama major’s long fingers curved harshly over Changbin’s bulky shoulder. 

“...Just face it, Bin,” he whispered. “Y/n...she’s one of those girls. A bookworm. She’s out there. Way out there.” He sighed. The whole room seemed to. “Girls like her live on another planet. You’ll be pushing up daisies before she agrees to go on a date with you.”

“......” 

Changbin scoffed, carrying his storm out of the room.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

At 2:46 a.m that night (morning?), Changbin lied awake in his dorm room, pondering many things. Too many things that shouldn’t have had any connection whatsoever, yet did all the same. Because life was messy, and love was fornot.

What is it with girls? He thought. I’ve never put so much thought into one before. They were just...there, and then Y/n showed up, and suddenly it’s like I forgot how to read. I saw her smiling, looking all pretty by the lecture hall window...I know I’ve written a song about her before.

Shift. The gray wall facing him gave no comfort.

...And what about them? Hyunjin, Minho, Seungmin...criticizing and judging me like that… Hyunjin… He had no right to say that to me. “You’ll be pushing up daisies before she agrees to go on a date with you!1!1!” ...Pfft. Please. What does he know?! Who does he think he is giving me advice? About Y/n?? After his horrible misrepresentation of her?!? ...Man, I miss Jeongin. I wonder when he’ll be back from his field trip...

Toss. The ceiling was no help either.

Then again… Is it really that strange? I was just keeping an eye on her. She should be grateful, right? Who doesn’t like having protection throughout the day? … … 

Sigh. ...Maybe… Maybe it is kinda weird what I’ve been doing...how I’ve been acting...my behavior… … … 

Turn. The ticking of the far clock mocked him. All his lost hours of sleep...tormented by his own thoughts...

… … … 

“...Hnnn!” 

Shift. Toss. Sigh. Turn. Watching the seconds pass him by Changbin rolled about in agony, puzzled and tried over the last few weeks. Perhaps, as Hyunjin had said, even before his most recent insult, Changbin’s behavior as of late really had been “ugh.” …

A pillow fell over his face. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Maybe, as ridiculous as it all was, Minho and Hyunjin had been onto something; maybe all he needed to do was introduce himself. Start fresh, simple, anew. Maybe, this whole time, all he needed was to treat Y/n like a person he was interested in, rather than a science experiment he had to guard from afar. Maybe, just maybe, all he needed to do was say “hello”...

Unfortunately for him, “hello” was currently the word he was most afraid of.

“Changbin…”

He rolled over, peering down at the lower bunk; what could he say, except, Music and Photography majors didn’t make that much? At least not as undergrads. “Hm?”

Seungmin squinted up at him with sleepy eyes. “Turn off the light. I have two exams tomorrow…”

Shoot. Changbin grimaced, reaching for the switch. “...Sorry.”

Chink. Lights out. 

“...Changbin?”

Chink. Lights on. “Yes?”

“......” Seungmin sat up, trailing his drowsy behind to the guest couch on the other side of the 12 x 10 room, the one Chan or Han sometimes crashed on during late nights producing or editing soundtracks. He pulled a blanket over his head, curling up beneath it like a puppy. “...Do you wanna talk about yesterday?”

Changbin scoffed, shifting his gaze to glare anywhere else. “...Like I’d wanna spend my precious time talking about those two.”

“So it is bothering you.”

Changbin fell silent.

“...The fact that you’re awake right now tells me that you’re letting them get to you. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m not! I never said they were bothering me!”

“It’s what you didn’t say that tells me otherwise.”

Changbin huffed. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

“I have two, actually,” the boy answered. “One at eight and one at nine.”  

“Then go to bed. Quit worrying about me and mind your own business. Class starts in a few hours.”

Chink. Lights out.

...But though he rolled over, pulling the sheets above his head and facing the gray wall, the annoying brat missing from the lower bunk didn’t move. In fact, Changbin could feel his eyes burning a rash on his skin, spelling out the words, you’re lying; accept your feelings. Talk to me.

Chink! He swung back up into a sitting position. 

“Okay, fine! Sheesh…” he groaned. Below, Seungmin almost bounced in delight, were he not engaged in a battle of fending off certain unconsciousness.

“Great...tell me what’s troubling you.”

“...That’s…” 

Good grief. That was far easier said than done. He’d become so defensive, the automatic response to escape Changbin’s lips were always, “That’s none of your business,” “It’s none of your concern,” “Quit asking me about it.” 

Now, here he was, at confession hours. He adjusted himself, the words swirling in his gut; hissing at the proposal of facing sunlight, wishing to remain buried. “...I just…” He began picking at the fabric around his legs. “...I don’t feel like myself lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired… Everything was fine until Y/n came here. Now…” He breathed. “...It’s like I can’t do anything properly anymore, and I’m not myself at all. I lost myself the moment I walked into class, and she was standing there, smiling under the sunshine and fluorescent lighting. ...Argh, listen to me! I never said crap like this before she came! It sounds so stupid!”

Seungmin continued to listen, patiently, as Changbin spilled his thoughts. Every waking thought he’d had since a few Monday’s ago. He nodded his head...starting to sway…

“...And it’s like, I’m saying all these words I’ve never even heard of before, y’know? You’ve noticed it too, right? Like my vocabulary is proliferating. It’s a nightmare! But...what really scares me is…” 

He paused. On the couch, Seungmin fell over, beginning to snore softly.

“...I don’t like the person that I’ve become. I heard it said before that when you fall in love, or some garbage like that, you’re supposed to...become a better person? That learning from that person is supposed to help you mature? … All I’ve learned to do is become...some creepy stalker. I never saw myself becoming like this, not for a minute, but with her it’s like...I totally…”

“...Zzzk!” Seungmin sat up. “...Hm? What? ...Oh, uh…” He rubbed his eyes. “I heard you, I swear I did. Hang on…” He yawned, squinting upward. “...You’re not learning from her.”

Changbin turned toward the couch. “What?”

Seungmin adjusted himself, working at removing a year’s worth of sleep in his eyes. “You haven’t been following her example. You’ve been letting your unchecked emotions run all over you. It’s an act of immaturity and being insecure. Also, what you said before is only true if you and the other person are both mature, and share an intimate relationship. You don’t. And you’re not mature.”

To this, Changbin opened his mouth to give back some witty reply he’d stored in his new-found vocabulary somewhere, but of course, the boy dozed off, getting away with the last word like he usually did.

Pssh. Even his internal clock is in sync with his antics. Spoiled brat. That sure was a lot of words for three a.m...

… … …

He let those words reside with him. “You haven’t been following her example. You’ve been letting your unchecked emotions run all over you. It’s an act of immaturity and being insecure.”

… … …  

“Also, what you said before is only true if you and the other person are both mature, and share an intimate relationship. You don’t. And you’re not mature.”

… … … 

...Bah! He hated it. Hated hearing it, the way it sounded out loud, directed at him. 

But perhaps it was a bitter truth he had to overcome. 

“Tomorrow, you can always start anew.” ...That was a lyric from one of his favorite songs, from a rapper he admired all too well. Perhaps...maybe…

Tomorrow, I too, can start anew. … … 

...Reaching over, he turned out the light.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The next day was Wednesday. The climax of every week. Shouts of “hUMP DAYYYY!!!” could be heard echoing around campus corridors, with students and faculty scurrying this way and that, some walking with direction and purpose, a few jogging, and others moving to a slow, leisurely pace, just getting out of class or having nowhere in particular to be.

For Changbin, it was a day of change. When the sun rose, after ignoring it for a few extra hours in defiance toward the clock that mocked him, he got dressed, ate a waffle, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair with his fingers as he hustled out the door.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him outside the door. “Ready for—”

“Busy,” he called over his shoulder.

English 1302 wasn’t until 3 p.m., but seeing as it was currently noon and he only had three hours to set himself straight, well...setting yourself straight was a daunting task. He’d need all the time he could get. Ignoring the fact that Chan and Han followed him out of the dorms and down two blocks while muttering precariously puzzling things, he set his focus solely on his current destination.

“I’m here,” he announced, slamming his bag on the front desk. Behind the library counter, Seungmin sighed, tilting his head back. 

“I’m not letting you into the air vents anymore. I told you, I’m done.” He glanced at the clock behind him. “Aren’t you a little early? Your class hasn’t even started yet. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

“Can’t. No time.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his English textbook, the one with a soda stain he’d have to pay for later thanks to Yours Truly (Han Jisung). Seungmin observed it curiously.

“What’s this?”

“My textbook.”

“...We don’t have stain remover. Try the laundry room.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, biting his lip. Don’t let pride get to you right now. “...I uh…” He cleared his throat. “...It’s not that. I want you to help me study. I’d like to have something to fall back on, when talking to Y/n. In case things fall flat.”

When he looked up, the expression on Seungmin’s face was that of a thousand suns. Like the skies had cleared, and the war was over. It looked like something Shakespeare or Dr. Seuss would write about. “At last,” he said, “the drought has ended. Seeds have sprouted. There really is a brain in there.”

Changbin swatted at him. “Just shut up and tell me when your next break is.”

— ✔✘✔✘ —

“Y/n?”

Her name came rolling out of Changbin’s mouth like a stone. It started light, yet gained velocity and fell into the pool of sweat at his feet with a heavy thud.

The moment she turned around, sitting up a little straighter, a little taller, looking him right in the eyes, his mind went blank. “Yeah! What’s up?”

… … … 

He had no idea what was up. What was up? What was down? Which way was it to the nearest train station so he could use the last of his tuition money to board a train and haul it all the way to the highest bridge so he could— …

Cool, Changbin. Play it cool. The sun has risen, so you’re Mature Bin now. “Uhh…”

“......” She listed her head. “Yeah?”

“......”

“......”

“...Cake!” he blurted.

She blinked, shifting herself back while the surrounding pews started. “I’m sorry?”

“Ahh…!” Changbin adjusted himself. Took a deep breath. 

Still cool. Roll with it. 

“......” He smiled. “...Cake, uh...there’s a new cake shop that opened downtown.” He pointed...somewhere towards the door. “I was wondering if...maybe you’d...like some?”

The kindness that radiated off her features made his heart soar. “Are you asking me to come with you?”

“......” He nodded, looking away. But from the corner of his eye, he could still see her smile.

“Okay! I’d love to. Say, after class?”

He nodded again, more fervently. “...But aren’t you going to the library after this?”

Her gaze turned a bit sour and peculiar. “You...know about that? You must have seen me before.” 

Having walked in right on cue at 2:59, Hyunjin made an irate sound that wasn’t unusual of a sassy Dance major such as himself. Dance majors. “Oh, he’s seen you, alright. He—”

The nearest pencil went flying towards his head, marking his pretty boy face.

“Ahh! Seriously?!” He rummaged through his bag. “I have practice after this!”

Having turned away before, Y/n examined both men curiously before clearing her desk space for class. “Well, it can’t be helped. I do spend a lot of time there, so you were bound to pick up on it subconsciously, I’m sure.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.”

He and Hyunjin shared a glare.

She giggled, shaking her head. “Alright then! How about this: we’ll stop by the library, and then we can go to the cake shop from there. Sound good?”

He grinned from ear to ear; blissfully, simply, politely. But most importantly: in control. “Yeah, sounds good. Oh, and Y/n?”

The clock struck three, the professor walking in right on cue. As his voice took hold of the classroom atmosphere, the two lowered their heads, voices tumbling into whispers. “Yeah?” she asked. “What is it?”

Mature Bin held fast to his smile. “Hello.”

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