#how is my partner supposed 2 find a job when they’re CUTTING ALL OF THEM

[cerealmonster15]

not another gamedev layoff I swear 2 god‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[blossom-hwa]

if you’ll have me (i) | c.yj

here’s (finally) the first part of the monster yeonjun fic I wrote in august, right in time for his birthday! happy birthday to the terrible wonderful human being who has given me the worst brainrot I've experienced in a while (second only to the rot brought on by one kang taehyun), and I hope you all enjoy this <3

Pairing: Yeonjun x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, regency era!au, nobility!au

Warnings: mentions of past death, mentions of period-typical misogyny

Word Count: 11.3k

Yeonjun Choi, Duke of Hastings, is in want of a wife. Boxed in from all directions by the overbearing mamas of the ton, he begins his arduous search this season for not fortune, not love, but merely the perfect woman to succeed his mother's place. None of the daughters of high society manage to catch his eye, however, or fit his overwhelming list of standards—at least until he meets Miss Y/N L/N, the queen's diamond of the season, newly arrived in town from abroad and said to be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.

You, the eldest daughter and only child of the L/N family, just want stability. With your father dead and the estate passed to a cousin, leaving only your dowry and a small pittance from the inheritance left intact, you begin your search for a husband with money enough to keep you and your mother afloat. It seems like a miracle when, after being crowned the queen's diamond, the Duke of Hastings himself asks for your hand—but as you learn of his complete indifference to the concept of love, you begin to doubt yourself. Perhaps money is not enough to keep your hand—maybe you desired a true love match more than you thought.

Trapped in a marriage of convenience that everyone believes is a love story, you and Yeonjun find yourselves forced to reevaluate what you want out of this match. Between balls and promenades, dances and poetry, you begin to view each other beyond the pithy conversations allowed in the courting stages, learning to see one another not just as business partners, but perhaps friends as well. And as you begin to reconcile your needs and wants, your goals and desires, maybe, just maybe—

The ton's belief that you are a love match can find some truth, too.

Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

The minute Yeonjun enters the club, he makes a beeline for the corner where Soobin is sitting, two small glasses set on the table in front of him. He flops into a chair and downs one of them immediately. “I am so sick of debutante season.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “The season hasn't even started,” he points out.

“Exactly,” Yeonjun groans. “If it's this bad even before they've been presented to the queen, how much worse will it get when all the balls and courtships start?”

“It's kind of your fault,” Soobin says, picking up the other glass. “Maybe you shouldn't have announced your intention to find a wife so early on.”

“I didn't mention it,” Yeonjun hisses. “That rat bastard Wooyoung let it out before I was ready to say it publicly—”

“That's on you for letting Wooyoung hear you,” Soobin interjects calmly. And Yeonjun can't even argue with that—he loves Wooyoung, loves his friend dearly, but Wooyoung's loose tongue is arguably his worst trait—so all he does is slump back into his chair and raise a finger for another drink. “You're supposed to be comforting me,” he sulks. “Some best friend you are.”

“Well, I've made my opinions about your ways of getting a wife very clear, and you've elected to ignore every single one of them.” Soobin smiles. “Some best friend you are.”

“What's wrong with a list?” Yeonjun frowns, crossing his arms. “Every man—no, every person—has to have ideas about who their future partner might be, I've just written it out.”

“It's not the list that's the problem. Though I'm pretty sure not a lot of people would actually write a list, either.” Soobin finishes the rest of his drink just as Yeonjun's second one comes. “It's your requirements for the people on that list that is the issue.”

“What's wrong with my requirements?”

“They're so demanding.” Soobin places his empty glass down with a loud clack. “How many people, men and women of all ages included, do you think are actually fluent in all those languages you require? All those instruments? All that dancing? Impeccable decorum too, and on top of that, to have a proper, pretty visage of some sort—”

“That's not even a requirement,” Yeonjun argues. “My main goal is to try and find someone with a sound and clever mind to help me run the estate since my mother wants to retire to the country—”

“And that's well and fine, Yeonjun.” Soobin sighs. “My point is, your requirements are so stringent as to alienate every lady in this society from the prospect of marrying you.”

“Soobin, I hate to sound egotistic—” Soobin snorts, which Yeonjun staunchly ignores— “but they're literally leaping for my hand.”

“And you've turned away every single one who has dared to approach, as well as every single one you've invited for one of your little... interviews.” Soobin's nose scrunches, and it's not the nice nose scrunch. It's the annoyed one. Maybe even disgusted. “That's not how you get to know your life partner.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “I'm not looking for love,” he snaps. “I'm looking for someone who will do her job as duchess. That's what I need right now, not love.”

“You won't be able to live well with someone you hate, regardless of how good she is at managing estate affairs.”

“I know. That's why a pleasant demeanor is also something I'm looking for.” Yeonjun snorts. “It's also why I won't be considering Mary Kim at all, no matter how much money her family might have.”

They both have to laugh at that. Mary Kim is a menace upon the ton's society—accomplished, perhaps, but completely unbearable in conversation. Yeonjun remembers saying before that he would rather cut off his hand than brave more than one dance with her. It wasn't a joke then, and it still isn't now.

“I just wish I was married already.” Yeonjun sips at his second drink, relishing the slight burn as it slides down his throat. “It would appease everyone—my mother wouldn't be hounding me anymore, Beomgyu would stop teasing me, and all the ton's mamas would stop trying to throw their daughters at me, too.”

“It's not that hard to get married,” Soobin replies. His eyes turn faraway, a little lovesick smile playing on his lips.

Yeonjun fixes his best friend with a deadpan glare. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance with a good, sweet, capable girl you've known since birth, Soobin.”

Soobin blushes, which Yeonjun counts as a win, but he doesn't relent. “You could really just loosen your list of requirements,” he says. “You're a duke, not a god.”

“I never claimed to be a god, nor do I think I want to be one.” He wrinkles his nose. “All those people who want to find the secret to immortality are idiots. Who wants to stay on earth forever?”

“I forgot how philosophical you get when you're tipsy,” Soobin mutters.

“I'm not tipsy,” Yeonjun protests. “I’ve only had two, and I hold my alcohol better than you. Anyway, it's not like my requirements are completely unreasonable. My mother could do all of this, and it's why my father decided to court her.”

“Oh, so it wasn't because of the fact that they fell in love, and your father would have no one else but her regardless of whether or not she was fluent in Latin and Greek?”

Yeonjun scowls. “Look, the point is, these skills gave my mother the ability to both be a competent duchess and be seen as one, as well. My future wife will have to maintain her image, and having these skills will only aid her in that endeavor.”

Soobin sighs. “You're not going to let up, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, you might have one stroke of luck left.” Soobin smiles. “I hear that the L/Ns are coming back into town. And that the eldest daughter of the family might be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.”

“The L/Ns?” Yeonjun frowns. “Why did they leave town, again?”

“The late lord died suddenly without a male heir, and in the wake of his death, the rest of the family went abroad.” Soobin accepts a refill of his small glass. “Some more gossipy people will say that it was because he spent too lavishly and left the family in a dire financial situation, but I don't think that's true.”

“Then what happened?” Yeonjun asks.

“My mother knew them somewhat well, I think. She said that around the time he died, his mother, who lived abroad, fell ill, so the family moved to take care of her.”

“Who took over the estate?”

“Some distant cousin. I don't think you've met him, and I don't know him very well either—he spends most of his time in the country and seems to keep to himself even when he is in town.” Soobin purses his lips. “I don't think he's necessarily hostile to the late lord's family, but they aren't close.”

“So will they be staying at the estate for the season, then?” Yeonjun presses. “And why are they coming back?”

“The late lord's mother died,” Soobin says. “There was no reason for them to remain abroad, so they should be returning just in time for the season. And I don't know for sure, Yeonjun, considering I'm not exactly privy to all of their plans, but I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be staying at the estate. Not when there isn’t any obvious hostility towards the lord.”

Yeonjun cocks his head. Sips his drink. “I haven't met the daughter yet, have I?”

“Not closely, I don't think.” Soobin shrugs. “We were both at boarding school during the time she would have been growing up in town. I only know this much because my mother was close with them and has been in some contact with them since they decided to return.”

Yeonjun downs the rest of his glass. “And you say she has the ability to meet all of my oh-so-stringent requirements?”

“If what I've heard is correct, then I think she's the one who will ever come the closest.”

“Well.” Yeonjun smiles, standing up. “I think I've found my next target. I've got to go, but do inform me if you hear anything else about her, will you?”

“You haven't even asked for her name,” Soobin snorts.

“Well?” Yeonjun crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”

“Y/N.” Soobin's eyes glint. “Her name is Y/N L/N.”

. . . . .

Someday, when you die, you are going to scour heaven and hell to find the person who invented these ridiculous traditions for poor debutantes such as you and kill them again. In the afterlife. Just because they deserve it.

Which is not to say everything is wrong with the tradition. You don't mind the white dress, nor the tasteful jewelry Sakura helped clasp around your neck and wrists. The gloves aren't too bad—you've gotten used to how slippery they feel when you try to grasp things—and the shoes are manageable.

But the feathers.

The feathers.

As you step out of the carriage, all you can think of beyond not tripping over your feet right then and there is keeping your balance enough that the ridiculous headdress topped with a plume of long, white feathers doesn't fall. Once on the ground, you raise a hand to try and steady it—

“Don't touch it,” your mother hisses, batting your hand away. “It looks fine.”

You groan. “It doesn't feel right, Mother.”

“It never feels right.” She gives you a sympathetic glance. “But I promise you, dear, it looks fine. Trust me.”

“All right, Mother.” You sigh, resisting the urge to touch the feathers again.

“Good girl.” She smiles taking your arm. “Come now—let’s go see you off.”

All around you, girls in varying shades of white and gold and all those ridiculous feathered headdresses have begun heading into the palace. You follow the crowd, trying not to get swept up in it—your mother plays an important role in this, expertly chivvying the two of you between the families clamoring to reach the hall—all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the palace finery that seems to float past your eyes too fast for you to process anything.

“Now remember, Y/N,” your mother whispers when you finally reach the room where you will wait to walk. “Remember—stand tall, step proudly, keep your balance—”

“I know, Mother,” you hiss, clenching your fingers so they don't go up to try and rearrange the headdress that you're absolutely certain is starting to fall. “Are the feathers still in place?”

“Yes they are, darling,” she replies patiently.

A twinge of shame ripples through your chest—she's trying her best, you know, trying her best to help you in every way she knows how, and you just keep fretting about the stupid feathers on top of your stupid head.

Well, if the feathers weren't part of this tradition, they wouldn't be a problem, the nastier part of you sniffs.

“You look wonderful.” Your mother clasps her hands together, and—oh, dear, you can see tears welling up in her eyes and now you feel like you're going to cry too. “No, dearest, don't cry,” she says, visibly holding back her own tears as she pulls a handkerchief seemingly out of nowhere and dabs at her eyes, then at yours. “Don't ruin your makeup for this big day, yes?”

“I won't.” You laugh, choking back your own tears. “I won't, Mother.”

“You look wonderful,” she repeats, lowering the handkerchief. “Not even the diamond of my season looked quite as well as you. You’ve grown to be so beautiful and capable—your father would be so proud to see you here, now.”

“Mother, please.” You laugh again but it comes out a little wet, with the lump in your throat and the tears beginning to brim anew in your eyes. “You're really going to make me cry, now.”

“We can't have that.” She dabs at your eyes again before looking over your shoulder. “Oh, my—they're about to start!”

Sure enough, not a minute after your mother speaks does the footman at the entrance clear his throat. The crowd of debutantes and mothers and siblings falls quiet, the silence broken only by a periodic shuffle or whisper.

You try hard not to think about the feathers that feel like they're about to slip off the top of your head.

“Mary Kim”, comes the first announcement, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady Kim.”

You swallow hard.

And so it begins.

. . .

The room has nearly emptied halfway of debutantes, and still you have not been called.

You take back everything you thought about your outfit earlier. The feathers are still atrocious and you want to rip the headdress off right here and now, debut be damned, but your hands have grown sweaty under the gloves, the light makeup Sakura helped you apply feels like it's suffocating your face, and the dress that you absolutely cannot fidget with no matter what has started to dig into your skin. You take a deep breath, standing up straight in the hopes that the fabric will stop itching if you try to touch as little of it as possible—

“We're next,” your mother hisses into your ear.

You nearly choke. “What—”

The crowd of debutantes parts for your path as your mother forcefully guides you to the front. You stare at the doors that will open in seconds, praying, praying, praying you don't trip on the hem of your skirts or on some pebble on the floor or, heaven forbid, the air itself—

“Y/N L/N,” intones the footman, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

Your mother takes your arm, and as the doors begin to open, you force yourself to breathe.

Your body moves automatically, hours of practice showing their worth in your memory. Posture straight, head level, chin tipped up just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness. Your feet step sedately, one after another, small, light steps to accommodate the dress, and the hand not taken by your mother lies against your side, uncurling from the fist it was in before. Your gloves still feel like they're about to slip off your fingers from sweat and the headdress still feels like it's going to fall off your head, but you continue forward even after your mother stops, one step, then two. Then you halt.

And begin to curtsy.

Balance, your mother's voice rings in your head. Grace will follow. First and foremost, keep your balance.

And you do.

You lower your head into the curtsy, eyes fluttering shut for one moment as you try to calm your breath. Behind you, your mother remains bowed and you take that as your cue to do the same, praying your legs don't begin aching so much that you fall.

For one moment, two, three, you simply stand there, breathing, counting the breaths, the moments until the queen will dismiss you. She has done nothing else yet, you're sure—according to your mother, you would've heard the gasp and perhaps applause if she'd crowned her diamond, and it doesn't seem as though anything untoward such as a lady fainting in her dress has happened either. You haven't tripped, you haven't fallen, and you can hear no giggles or whispers that indicate anything about your dress or feathers being in some sort of disarray, there’s no reason to think you won’t be dismissed without fanfare just as the other ladies have been so far, which is all you need in the moment, just a proper dismissal without embarrassment—

Footsteps sound on the long carpet, coming from the front. Where the queen was sitting as you walked down the hall.

A greater hush falls over the already quiet crowd. You don't dare to lift your eyes at all to see what you are beginning to suspect might be the case.

The footsteps come closer. Closer. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, just in time to see a dazzling pair of shoes and the hem of an opulent skirt enter your vision—

A finger touches your chin. Lifts it. Begins to pull you up.

And you meet eyes with the queen herself, staring at you with a benevolent smile on her lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. The eyes of everyone in the room must be on you, you're sure, but your mind is swimming and everything feels like a blur and the queen is in front of you, the queen is really in front of you, smiling at you like you might just be her diamond of the season.

Her finger falls away, but the smile stays. Your heart pounds against your chest, so loud you're sure she must be able to hear it as her mouth opens and she says—

"Flawless, my dear."

Whispers and gasps fill the room, punctuated by a squeal or two—you don't dare look towards crowd to see who it was—and it doesn't matter because you couldn't, anyway, not when the queen has taken your face between her two gloved hands and is now pressing a soft, dry kiss to the top of your forehead.

She rises. Turns. Walks back to her seat at the far end of the hall. Dimly, you remember that that must be your cue to rise as well and you do, taking the two steps backward to reach your mother, head still lowered. Next to you, she rises, and you lift your chin to see every eye in the hall still fixated upon you.

“Did that—” you breathe, forcing your lips not to move— “Mother, did that truly just happen?”

“Keep smiling, dearest,” she whispers, expertly taking your arm once more. One glance to the side shows you a brilliant smile upon her face, joyful yet not gloating, wide yet still gentle, but you can feel her trembling against you even as she steadily turns you around. Putting on a mask, you remember, forcing yourself to breathe once, twice—you need to do that too. Keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling. Because everyone's eyes are on you, now.

Y/N L/N, the season's diamond.

. . . . .

In another universe, Yeonjun thinks he could actually enjoy balls as a sort of fun event. There's good food, if not very filling, there's alcohol and lemonade, and usually he can find a few people with whom he is friendly and to whom he can speak. And even if there aren't, as his mother will say, he was blessed with a friendly exterior and an extroverted personality. Beomgyu once said he could make friends with a tree if he charmed it the right way.

Of course, coming out of Beomgyu's mouth, it sounded more like an insult than a compliment, but Yeonjun has long since learned not to give in to his cousin's backhanded mockery.

Put this way, balls could be pleasant. Fun, even. Yeonjun doesn't even mind dancing at all the way some of his peers do—in fact, with the right person, it can even be relaxing. But the problem is, balls are not simply social get-togethers with people his age.

They're marriage contracts. Or at least attempts at them.

The second Yeonjun steps into the Kims' grand home, immediately the lady of the house assaults him with her painted smiles and sickly voice. “Your Grace!” she simpers, taking him by the arm. “I've heard you have chosen to be active this season, is this true?”

Inwardly, Yeonjun spits all the curses he can at an imaginary Wooyoung dancing around in his head. Outwardly, he smiles back. “Your sources are indeed credible, my lady,” he says, laughing as he gently tugs his arm away. “What you have said is true.”

“Oh!” The feigned surprise on Lady Kim's face will always make his stomach churn no matter how many times he sees it. “Well, in that case, I must introduce you to my daughter, Mary—she just debuted this season, I'm sure—”

“Your Grace!” Another mother appears—Mrs. Jung, Yeonjun remembers just as she parks herself firmly by his side, cutting Lady Kim off. He has exactly one second to wonder whether it is a blessing to be torn away from Lady Kim and a potential conversation with Mary or a curse to be thrown into another determined mama's path before Mrs. Jung thrusts her poor daughter in front of him. “My daughter, you'll know, she just debuted this season—she's a wonderful dancer, anyone would be lucky to have her hand—”

A split second glance around the large entrance hall tells him no one he knows is nearby enough to save him from the madness. Already other mothers have spotted him, are snatching their daughters' wrists to come and bombard him with heavy hints at a dance and a possible marriage, so he quickly signs Mrs. Jung's daughter's dance card—he doesn't even know her name, she wasn't on his shortlist of possible future spouses and between all the hubbub he didn't hear Mrs. Jung introduce her if she even did—and then disappears into the crowd with a beatific smile in her direction, only breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the open ballroom.

“Yeonjun!” Wooyoung comes bounding up to him in seconds, one glass of something in each hand. He hands one to Yeonjun. “How are you faring so far?”

“Not well, and no thanks to you,” Yeonjun hisses, taking a hefty gulp of the drink. There are more beady-eyed mamas and daughters glancing his way here, some who followed him from the entryway and others who have just noticed him. “Why did you have to open your big mouth about me seeking a wife?”

“Well, it seemed like something the ton should know.” Wooyoung shrugs, shameless as ever. “You're now the most eligible bachelor in the room, don't you feel popular?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, ready to snap back something sharp that Wooyoung will take in stride and laugh off, eventually making Yeonjun laugh too, but then his eyes are drawn to a crowd of people in another corner of the ballroom, almost exactly mirroring the scene on his side. Only there, it's a horde of men dressed dashingly in their black and white instead of women in their vivid colors, crowding around someone who can only be—

“The season's diamond,” Wooyoung chirps, following Yeonjun's gaze. “Miss L/N.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You know her?”

“Not well, of course.” Mischief glints in Wooyoung's eyes, and Yeonjun can already sense he's in for a bout of relentless teasing. “Are you interested?”

“Of course I am.” He sniffs. “Who wouldn't be interested in the season's diamond? Especially after she's been away for several years?”

“Well, if you are, I would go and try to corner a dance right now.” Wooyoung jerks his head toward the crowd of men. “Before I am forced to leave—hey, don't give me that look, I can't stay with you forever—and the other mamas manage to ambush. Or, heaven forbid—” He leans in close. “Her dance card is full by the time you find the courage to approach.”

Internally, Yeonjun groans. This is why he hates balls—it's always a chase of some sort, him chasing a wife or everyone else trying to chase a husband—but he has to do it. His mother has done her job as dowager after his father's death, and she deserves her retirement. It's his turn to step up and take charge of the estate.

And he'll need a duchess at his side for that.

Quickly he downs the rest of his drink, placing it on an empty tray nearby. “Wish me luck,” he mutters to Wooyoung before heading straight into the throng.

. . . . .

Before this night, your mother grilled you on what to expect as an accomplished debutante, as well as what to expect as a diamond of the first water (for that is what they're calling you, apparently, those who saw you walk down the hall toward the queen).

It still did not prepare you for this.

The second you step into the ballroom, having successfully dodged the worst of Lady Kim's simpering compliments that felt more like backhanded insults than anything else, too many eyes turn towards you. You can feel them raking over your entire body, studying your makeup, your jewelry, every stitch of your clothing, and even though the attention makes you want to shrivel up and curl into a ball, you have to keep smiling.

Remember, dearest, every eye is now on you. Your mother's words ring through your mind once more.

You stand on a pedestal now, after having gained the queen's approval. It is an honor to have been chosen, but that just means there is only a greater distance to fall.

Your fingers itch for a pen and paper, preferably your favorite pencil and worn leather notebook. There's poetry here in the irony of your situation, but between the flurry of teas and fittings and brief outings between your debut and this first ball, you have had no chance to let your thoughts out onto paper for several days. Just little bits of writing here and there, on scraps of parchment and scribbled onto your hands...

But you can't focus on that tonight, not on the words whisking into poetry and prose in your mind. You swallow. Your goal is to find a husband, to secure financial stability for your family no matter what it takes.

And from what you've gathered over the short course of your lifespan, most men don't exactly appreciate poetry from the women they seek to marry.

So you lift your head, taking care not to gawk in any direction (because for all you think the Kim family is a menace to society, they do have good taste in decoration), and paste your practiced sweet smile to your lips. Like any good debutante should.

Like any diamond of the first water should.

Your mother stays with you, thank the heavens, as the men begin to approach. She did not exaggerate, you think dizzily as one request after another comes for a dance on your card—they are clamoring for your hand despite not having seen you anywhere in society for several years. It doesn't matter to them that you've been abroad, taking care of your ill grandmother. It doesn't matter to them that beyond your dowry you don't have that much money to speak of, most of it having gone towards her care. All that matters are rumors—rumors of your intelligence, rumors of your beauty—and the fact that the queen has named you her diamond.

There's poetry there too, scathing and elegant and itching to flow from your fingers, but you will just have to hold it back for tonight.

You do your best to look through the suitors, politely making conversation with those you allow to catch your eye, carefully passing your gaze over those you do not know or those you have heard will not treat you well. Your dance card fills rapidly even before the orchestra’s preludes are over and you've had too many offers of lemonade to count, and you're about to look at your mother—who's been patiently guiding you through the crowd, thank goodness—for some sort of excuse to clear your mind before the dancing starts, but just as you turn your head, a pair of eyes catches yours.

Your mother's grip tightens on your arm. You don't even need her frantic whisper to understand just who has come to seek a dance.

Yeonjun Choi. Duke of Hastings. The most eligible bachelor in this room, in status and in wealth.

Newly seeking a wife this season.

He comes forth, moving through the crowd with surprising ease. The other suitors seem to part for him, though you can see a few throwing him annoyed glances. He's handsome, ridiculously handsome—tall, with lush dark hair and captivating eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

No poetry there. Just a cliche, and an overused one at that.

But so very accurate in this moment.

“Miss L/N.” The duke stops in front of you, a brilliant smile on his face. “I don't believe we've met.”

“Your Grace.” You dip into the curtsy that has now become second nature to you and your legs. “I don't believe we have. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Modest, I see.” The smile grows wider. “I have heard tales of your beauty and wit, Miss L/N. I see your beauty has not been exaggerated—” you have to try hard not to topple over right then and there— “and had hoped to experience the pleasure of your conversation for myself, if it so delights you.” He dips his head in acquiescence. “That is, assuming your dance card isn't already full.”

Oh, he's good. Knows exactly how to flatter just enough that it seems genuine, but not so much that it becomes overkill. Your knees feel slightly weak—if it weren't for your mother holding you up, you think you might have fallen in between his compliments and smooth words, and if he had, you're pretty sure the duke would have caught you in some suave, gentlemanly way—and that is absolutely not something you should be imagining because your face already feels too hot just from his stare and you have words that you need to say.

“You are too kind, Your Grace.” You bow your head in acknowledgement of the praise, thankful for the practiced smile that never falls from your lips. “I believe I still have a few dances left on my card, if you should wish to take one. Perhaps the quadrille?”

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees readily, lifting the card around your wrist and quickly signing his name. When he drops the card, you go to pull your hand away but he catches it before you can, grip gentle but unrelenting as you look up in surprise.

Your entire body seems to freeze as he gazes into your eyes, that gentle smile still present on his lips.

“Your dance card is quite full, Miss L/N,” he says, still not letting go. “Take care not to tire or injure yourself by the end of the night.”

You nod slowly, not trusting your voice to speak at all. If you did, you might squeak, or something equally embarrassing.

His smile widen. “Until our dance then, my lady,” he says.

And presses a kiss to your fingertips.

. . . . .

Straightening his cravat, Yeonjun looks in the mirror one last time before meeting his mother in the estate's entryway. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

“Not so fast.” She pushes the arm away, levels a scrutinizing eye over every piece of his outfit, from his styled hair to the tips of his shoes. “Acceptable,” she finally says, though Yeonjun can see the pleased glint in her eye.

“Only acceptable?” he teases back, pouting his lips heavily. “Am I not the most handsome son a woman could ask for?”

“Of course you are.” The mock crotchety look on her face melts away, replaced with fondness that makes Yeonjun's heart ache as she reaches up to touch his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, my son. Look at you—you've grown up so well, and now you're on your way to finding a wife, too.” She sniffs, bringing out the handkerchief she always carries in her sleeve. “Your father would be so proud to see you now.”

“I hope so, Mother.” Yeonjun smiles, holding out his arm once more. “Shall we go now? We should take care not to be late.”

The carriage ride to the park takes place mostly in silence, his mother quietly speaking with her attendant on one side while Yeonjun stares out the window on his. Streets flash by and he takes note as they approach the park where the two of you are to promenade today.

Some part of him is relieved that you agreed to his invitation. Though Wooyoung was right—he was the most eligible bachelor through and through that night at the ball—it was hard not to feel the sting of competition as he watched you dancing throughout the night, seemingly never tiring even once as you stepped gracefully across the ballroom in the arms of so many men. Just by watching, he could tell you were an incredible dancer, and when it came his turn to spin you in the quadrille, his opinion of you only increased tenfold.

Yeonjun knows he's a good dancer. He enjoys it, really, in a way not many of his friends do—it's fun to whirl about the ballroom in these practiced movements—calming, even, when he doesn't have to worry about beady-eyed mamas trying to hunt him down every second. But you—you floated about the ballroom as though you were made of air, your dress rippling in the light as though it was made of water. Not once did you stumble, which Yeonjun could have forgiven once or twice given that you'd never danced together before, and not once did you falter in the conversation he kept up even though you'd been dancing for at least an hour already.

The praise heaped upon your dancing and demeanor were not exaggerated, not in the slightest. So he wasn't exactly surprised when he arrived at your estate the next day and found a clamoring of suitors lined up outside of the calling room, flowers in hand and sweet words on their lips. When it was his turn to meet you, all the blooms scattered about the room made something strangely akin to jealousy twitch in his chest.

But it was a good opportunity to observe you after having accepted so many calls. You were as fresh-faced as ever as you greeted him, took the flowers from his hands and gave him appropriate thanks before settling them carefully in a vase before you. Several servants were arranging flowers in other areas of the room, but you took his personally, and there were no other bouquets he could see that had been given the same treatment as his.

“Blue is my favorite color,” you had told him as you bade him sit. “Did you know this?”

No, he didn't. He'd admitted as much. “A stroke of luck,” he'd smiled, and the morning call went on much as he'd planned.

Perhaps he will truly be lucky in this, he thinks as the carriage pulls up to the park. Perhaps you truly will be the epitome of a duchess that his mother was, the perfect woman to stand by his side as his partner in marriage as he oversees the estate his father left him. Because just from your first two meetings, Yeonjun has already formed quite a good opinion of you that many of the other ladies this season haven't managed to reach despite him having known them, or at least known of them, for several years. You are polite, you are reserved, you dance well, you speak well, and most importantly, you know how to act. Though, to be fair, he's basing this last conjecture on the fact that you didn't react to him kissing your hand—physically, at least—after he'd asked you for a dance.

Which was a blow to his ego. Somewhat. Yeonjun does take pride in his ability to fluster people—not even just women, but sometimes his friends as well—but it's a good thing, in this case. It means that no matter what you feel on the inside, you are not easily swayed on the outside. You can hide your feelings, an essential skill for a member of the ton—especially for one of the duchy.

All this is assuming, of course, that she felt anything at all when you kissed her hand, an annoying voice that sounds a lot like Beomgyu reminds him in the back of his head.

Yeonjun shoves the Beomgyu-esque voice away. That's a thought he doesn't really want to consider.

He helps his mother down from the carriage when they arrive and begins scanning the park for you and your mother. To his luck, you're standing not far away, and he gladly leads his mother up to the two of you. “Miss L/N!” he calls, letting his usual smile fall quickly over his lips. “I hope we have not kept you waiting.”

“No, you're right on time, Your Graces.” You smile, bobbing a shallow curtsy. “We merely thought it prudent to arrive a few minutes early, as we didn't want to make you wait.”

“Allow me to make introductions,” Yeonjun says. “This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Hastings. Mother, this is Miss L/N and her esteemed mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

“Your Grace.” Both you and your mother dip into deeper curtsies, easy and graceful. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I see my son's praise of your manners has not been exaggerated in the slightest.”  His mother smiles, walking up to yours. “Come, Lady L/N. Let's let the young ones go ahead—I don't think I'll quite be able to keep up with them on these old bones.”

“Mother,” Yeonjun protests. “Your bones are hardly old.”

“You don't know what you're saying,” she sniffs, winking at your mother. At her side you're stifling a laugh, and despite himself, Yeonjun can't help but feel a fond smile widening his lips. “Go on, you two.”

Taking his cue, Yeonjun offers you his arm, making sure to direct that fond smile at you. “Shall we?”

. . . . .

A week later, you stand in the same park, again waiting for the duke to join you on a promenade. He's not late, you're just early, but as your mother waits anxiously by your side, you take the few moments of silence to think.

The duke—he's never been anything but kind or pleasant in any of your meetings. He's a far cry from many of the more obnoxious suitors you've had to endure in the calling room, those whose advances you've declined while still trying to be as gracious as possible. And he is far and beyond the best option you have at the moment, and probably the best option you're ever going to get. He's a duke, for heaven's sake—the only way you could go higher than him would be if you married a prince, and you're not even sure you’d ever want to go that far. Living in the palace sounds like a dream, but there are already so many rules you need to follow as a mere member of the ton—life as royalty would be even more restricting.

But while there's nothing obviously off-putting about the duke, you can't help but want to pause a little, reevaluate this situation without him nearby to put your thoughts into a spin. He's handsome, he's kind, he's clearly intelligent, and you're sure that he will respect you even in marriage. Sakura has told you of some rumors of him being a rake, but those mostly seem to have died down around the time his father died, when he would have been assuming the role of a duke. Which means he has a sense of responsibility. But even then, it's just...

Some part of you, even though you know it's kind of ridiculous, still hoped for a love match. One like your parents had, the relationship you saw when your father was still alive. While you've often listened to your mind over your heart, your heart still has a voice, and it wants to love and be loved in return.

Perhaps the duke might give you love. You don't know. But it doesn't seem like a priority for him at all, based on your conversations at the now three balls where you've danced with him, as well as the one promenade you've been on so far. While your words flowed well and there was never a moment of truly uncomfortable silence, it didn't seem like he was interested in getting to know you. It was more like he wanted to... interview you for a job, or something.

Which is fair, you suppose. Being a duchess is a job, that much is clear. But you still hadn't expected to spend an hour detailing every piece of your studies, your knowledge of current languages and the classics, the tutors you had for music and dance and mathematics.

Love shouldn't be a priority for you. It isn't, not according to the list of requirements you have for a husband sitting in your brain. Money comes first, followed closely by a pleasant demeanor that you could live with, even if you could not eventually come to love. Yeonjun fits both. If he were to propose marriage, you are sure would respond affirmatively.

But some part of you would still scream to say no.

“Miss L/N!”

Yeonjun comes walking jauntily up, that unflappable smile still on his face. Time to stop thinking.

You force yourself out of your thoughts, dipping into a little curtsy as he comes to a stop in front of you. Your mothers immediately draw towards each other—they've become great friends as far as you can see, which is one good thing that has come out of this—and so you take Yeonjun's proffered arm with a smile and allow him to lead you onto the pathway.

He asks you the usual questions—how are you, how is your mother, nothing untoward has happened since we last met, has it? You respond in kind, mouth moving automatically through the pleasantries, and then a short silence falls.

It's hard not to fall back into your previous thoughts, with the duke right on your arm. Everything about your recent meetings suggests he will propose by the end of the season, and you should be glad for it. This was what you wanted, was it not? Financial stability, and a husband who would be kind, at the very least.

Maybe you didn't expect how clinical this would all feel. Or maybe you underestimated how much you really wanted a love match.

“You seem preoccupied, my lady.” Yeonjun looks over, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is something the matter, Miss L/N?”

You press your lips together. You've honed the art of conversation for years, but right now, you're not sure if you should broach the subject of your feelings. It might not be the best idea—you don't want to turn Yeonjun away, not at all—but he seems like a straightforward person, generally. His little interview-conversation during your last walk only affirms that.

“During our last promenade,” you say quietly, nodding at a few girls who pass by. “I will be honest. It sounded more like a job interview, Your Grace—or at least what I imagine a job interview would be like. Not quite the conversation one would have on a simple walk.”

Yeonjun looks at you long and hard. For one nerve-wracking moment, he says nothing.

“Was it displeasing to you?” he finally asks. “If so, I apologize.”

“Not at all.” The dismissal falls easily from your lips, easily enough that you can almost believe it wasn't a full lie. “I suppose I was simply not expecting to be quizzed on my knowledge of Latin and Greek for an hour.”

The duke reddens slightly at that. “Surely I did not only speak of the classics for so long.”

“You didn't, Your Grace. I exaggerate.” You laugh a little. “I only wondered what exactly you were looking for in me during that time.”

“Would you like the truthful answer?” the duke asks, suddenly serious.

You blink. “If I were to say no, what answer would you give?”

He smiles a little. “Something flowery, perhaps. Something that would avoid the question and leave both of us unsatisfied. But you wouldn't want that, I think.”

“You're right.” He is. “I wouldn't want that.”

“Then I will be honest with you.” Yeonjun sighs. “I am a duke, and whomever I marry will be duchess. It is not a title to be taken lightly—we would be responsible not just for the estate, but also for the people of whom we are charged to take care. It is not the same as, perhaps, being the lord and lady of a manor. There are greater responsibilities.”

“I see.”

“There are two important things to being one of the duchy,” Yeonjun continues. “One is to be a good duchess—being able to run the household as well as assist me in any affairs that might need another hand, which in all honesty are many. The other is to be perceived as a good duchess. And that is where most of my questions come in hand.”

“I... see.” You slowly nod your head.

“My mother was one of the most accomplished women of her generation.” The two of you glance back at the duchess, who's still talking animatedly with your mother. “She knew all the languages that you do, could play the pianoforte well and even the violin, somewhat. Beyond the fact that my father loved her, she was also well suited to taking care of the estate, and she partnered with him well. She was seen as a duchess who was capable, and she proved it as well.”

Yeonjun turns back to you. “Miss L/N, forgive me for being frank—I have heard of your family situation. Correct me if any of this is wrong, but I believe that beyond your dowry, there is not much money left to take care of all of you without relying on others.”

You swallow. It was blunt, but he isn't wrong.

“But I am not looking for money. Heavens, my family has enough of that.” He laughs a little. “I am looking for someone who can be that partner for me, and based on our meetings so far, I think you are the only one of the eligible ladies this year—possibly in several years—to be able to handle all of this.”

Your head is starting to spin a little. Everything he's said so far makes sense, and you understand where he's coming from, but it's starting to sound—it's starting to sound like he's proposing to you right now—

“I will be honest in that I am not looking for love. If that is an expectation of yours, I will not be offended if you choose to seek someone else.” He pauses on the pathway, fixing you with his gaze. “But you are, I believe, a partner with whom I could be satisfied in navigating the rest of my life.”

He said so much. You took in everything that he said. But for some reason, the only words that continue to bounce around in your head are I am not looking for love.

Which is—ridiculous. You aren't looking for love either—at least, you shouldn't be. Your first priority is to secure financial stability for your family. Anything beyond that would be a plus. But you can't deny the slight sinking of your heart, the way you can feel all of your childish, sappy little daydreams sinking to the bottom of your skull...

You take a deep breath, force a lightness to remain in your tone. “Your Grace, this is beginning to sound like a marriage proposal.”

The duke's gaze doesn't waver. “If you'd like it to be, then it is.”

You're still holding his arm. It's all you can do to keep from clenching his elbow with a vice grip because you really think you might fall. You've gotten a marriage proposal—from a duke—in a matter of days—

“Allow me to be honest as well, Your Grace.” You swallow hard. “I am not looking for love either. My primary interest is securing a source of financial stability for my family, now that we no longer own our estate. It is not to look for love.” It's not a lie, you tell yourself even as the words burn slightly on your tongue. At least not completely. “However, while our values do seem to align, and I am extremely flattered by your proposal, I will ask that you wait a little longer for me to give you an answer. We have only known each other for the best part of three weeks. I would simply like some time to get to know you more.”

“That is a fair request.” Yeonjun inclines his head. “Don't worry—we do not have to treat today's conversation as a proposal at all, Miss L/N. If it so pleases you, I will ask again in a few weeks' time. Until then, please only think of our words today as a suggestion or an explanation of my thoughts, not as anything concrete. Your answer when I ask again will be the only one I consider.”

It's a better reply than you expected. He doesn't seem offended at all by your hesitance, and he was honest. There isn't much more you could want, not from a man such as he.

Part of you knows that if he'd demanded an answer right now, you would have said yes. That same part of you knows that your answer isn't likely to change even with a few weeks—this is the best offer you will receive, from a man who is both respectful and handsome and doesn't care about your relative wealth status compared to his. But it's fast, you think, too fast—you can't sign your life away after only knowing him for less than three weeks.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the twinge in your chest whenever you remember he has no intention of marrying you for love.

“You are very kind, Your Grace.” You smile at him. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, Miss L/N.” He smiles back, oblivious to the thoughts still spinning around your mind. “Shall we continue our walk, then?”

. . . . . When Yeonjun wakes up, there's a sense of urgency in his chest that doesn't match the lazy light beginning to filter through the curtains against his window, a slight nervousness that doesn't quite make sense. His eyes blink blearily, searching for the clock—it's only eight. He hasn't missed anything important. His first engagement won't even be for three more hours, he can close his eyes and sleep for a little longer—

Engagement.

His eyes snap wide open.

Today is the day he's going to propose to you.

Heart hammering, he sits up in bed, shaking loose strands of hair out of his eyes. Quickly he dresses, all the while trying to think of everything he'll need for tonight and coming up with absolutely nothing except for the ring, which is snug in the pocket of his pants. He pulls it out, holds it up to the light.

Polished gold, a set of pearls laid into the metal surrounding a single small diamond. It has been in his family for generations—his mother had worn it until a few years ago, when she had decided that Yeonjun needed the reminder that he was to choose a wife soon. He stares at it, watches it shine in the early morning light, before sliding it safely back into his pocket. Nothing will happen to it, he tries to reassure himself. Absolutely nothing.

And nothing does happen to it throughout the day, thankfully, not during his meeting with the solicitor, not while he flips through finance sheets at his desk, not while he dresses once more for the dinner your mother has invited him to tonight. He'd spoken with her a few days ago, called on her in private while he knew you would be busy at the modiste, and asked for her permission to formally propose. She was the one who'd suggested the dinner as a way for him to ask the question to you in a somewhat private setting.

There should be no problem. All through the carriage ride to your estate, Yeonjun tries to calm his beating heart as his mother gazes at him amusedly from the other side. “Stop looking at me like that,” he finally says. “Mother.”

“I can't stop looking at my only son right now,” she scolds. “Not when he looks so handsome and ready to propose to his future duchess.”

Future duchess. Yeonjun takes a breath. Yes, you're to be his future wife and his duchess. The thought is surprisingly nerve-wracking.

It shouldn't be, though. He's had his mind set on you since that first conversation with Soobin at the club, since he met you at the first ball of the season. He's done everything this season with you in mind—he should be used to the idea of standing by you as your husband, you as his wife. Him as your duke, and you as his duchess.

His heart begins to calm. Yes, there's no reason to be nervous. The only reason you put off the question when he first suggested it was because you felt it was too early, and that's understandable, given it had only been three weeks and Yeonjun hadn't even meant to propose, really—it had just sounded like it, and you, ever perceptive, had picked up on it. It's been four weeks now since then, and he's danced with you at seven more balls, promenaded with you five more times, and you've already dined once at his estate with some of his extended family. He's asked your mother for permission. Everything will fall into place.

“Do you think she'll like the way I look?” he asks, winking obnoxiously at his mother.

She laughs. “There is no way she could refuse you. Why, if she isn't already in love, she'll have fallen for you by the end of tonight.”

The smile freezes on Yeonjun's face. Love, yes. The very thing he hasn't been focusing on at all when it comes to you.

You'd agreed with that. He'd suspected you would, given your tenuous finances—not dire, not yet, but still not stable. Besides, love is rare. You are practical. You know that. Most marriages are of convenience. You didn't express any sort of hurt or abandon when he'd given you his honest thoughts.

But his mother... maybe she wants him to be in love.

“Yeonjun?” She leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is everything all right?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he replies. And just then, the carriage rattles to a stop in front of an estate that has by now grown familiar, giving him the perfect excuse to avoid any other questions she might ask. As soon as he can, Yeonjun hops down from the carriage and holds out a hand for his mother to take. “Let's go, Mother.”

. . .

The dinner goes well. Your mother placed him next to you, and the two of you speak amicably through the evening as your mothers chatter at the end of the table. With every word that comes out of your mouth, every little laugh and witty jab, Yeonjun only grows even more sure that you are the one who should share the duchy with him.

When the dessert has finished and the last plate cleared away, your mother coughs subtly at the end of the table. Yeonjun takes the hint as they all rise from the table, turning toward her with his sweetest smile. “Lady L/N, I was wondering if you would allow me to solicit a private audience with your daughter. Just for a few moments.”

Her eyes sparkle. Yeonjun really wouldn't mind having her as a mother in law—she's dutiful, patient, and truly loves you in a way that is rare in this society today. “Of course, Your Grace,” she says, inclining her head. “Come, Your Grace—we will have some entertainment for ourselves in the sitting room. Please, the two of you, do join us when you are ready.”

Everyone else filters from the room, leaving it empty save for you and Yeonjun. Even the servants have gone from their silent posts around the table.

You look at Yeonjun quietly. Not a word passes from your lips, though there is a question in your eyes. Actually, perhaps not really a question—there's no way you don't know what is to happen in a moment. It's an invitation in your gaze instead, an expectation of what will come.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I suppose I... unintentionally proposed to you on our second promenade.” He smiles and so do you, your eyes crinkling at his choice of words. He internally pats himself on the back for it. “You asked me for time, and I have given it. I suppose what I would say now is much of what I said then—I am looking for a duchess, a wife who can stand by my side as a partner in this marriage, who will help me in my affairs with ensuring the people of my land are treated well.”

You nod. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“It has been over a month since we met, nearly two.” Yeonjun swallows. “In that time, I have truly determined you are one of the most gracious, capable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I believe you will be the most able partner I could have in my journey of dukedom.” He pulls out the ring, letting the gems sparkle in the candlelight as he holds it out to you. “Will you do me the honor of being that partner, of becoming my wife and the Duchess of Hastings?”

For a long, long moment, you don't respond. Yeonjun counts the moments, counts the breaths—one, two, three, four—his heart beginning to thud the longer you go without speaking.

Finally, your gaze lifts from the ring to his eyes. “I have one stipulation in this proposal, Your Grace,” you say. “My mother—she believes... she believes we are in love.”

Yeonjun tilts his head. “I see.”

“She wants a love match for me. Always has, just like her and my father.” You heave a small sigh. “I am impartial, Your Grace. Love matches such as my mother's are rare, and I am more interested in securing the practicalities of my marriage. As we discussed before, I do not expect love from any relationship we have, but I will ask that... we pretend. In front of her.” You swallow visibly. “I don't want to deceive her, but I would rather do that than upset her.”

Yeonjun pauses. Thinks. Your mother won't live on your estate—nor will she be over often enough for acting to become a full time ordeal. You have a small home in the country, you have said, one your distant cousin has said you are allowed to live in, and while it is not far from his lands, it is not close, either. This stipulation shouldn't be an issue.

“I understand,” he says, smiling easily. “I will agree to this... act. Truth be told,” he continues, “I think my mother would like it if I were in a love match, too. Perhaps it will not just be your mother that we should act around.”

You nod once, slowly. Your throat bobs. For a moment it looks as though you have something else to say, but your expression clears so quickly that Yeonjun is sure he imagined it.

“So will you do me the honor, Miss L/N?” he asks again, taking your hand. The gold of the ring sparkles against the silk of your gloves, shimmering and pristine. “Of being my partner for life?”

You take a breath. Yeonjun watches your chest rise and fall once, twice.

“Yes, Your Grace.” You nod, and relief cracks deep and full in Yeonjun's chest, warmth rippling through his body as you smile. “I will.”

. . . . .

It hits you, exactly what you’re about to do to your future, when it's already too late.

The morning has been going—by all accounts of the situation—fine. You woke up early. Washed. Stared at your notebook that you haven't written in for two weeks, not since poetry stopped flowing from your fingertips in elegant lines and became stilted, choked, singular words instead. Tore your eyes from the leather cover and the pencil still lodged between its pages—it's easier not to question everything when you can't write about it—and left the room for a bite of breakfast before being whisked back to your room to dress.

Everything is—fine. It's fine. Everything is perfectly fine. Sakura helps you put on your wedding attire, settles the dress against your body, the gloves on your fingers, the jewelry around your wrists and neck. Light makeup dusts your face, reminiscent of what you wore to the first ball, and an elegant little flower crown adorns the top of your head. In the mirror, you look beautiful.

Or you would, if not for the fear you can see rooted deep in your eyes.

Your mother exclaims when you enter the room, hands gripping your arms as she looks you up and down. The servants stare in wide-eyed awe as you walk down to the entryway. You try hard to hide that fear from yourself and everyone else, settling into the carriage with only a wide smile on your face, and you force yourself to wear that smile the entire way to the venue as though pretending pure happiness will make it true.

You're whisked away immediately to freshen up once more. Sakura touches up the makeup, straightens the flower crown on your brow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror for fear of anyone—most of all yourself—seeing the truth in your eyes. Someone hands you a bouquet of flowers that compliments your gown and you thank them as best you can without losing your mind completely. Time passes, somehow, and then someone has dragged you behind the doors at the entrance of the hall where you wait for your cue.  

It starts. Music begins to play. You stand behind the closed doors, fighting for breath. Yeonjun will already be at the altar, you know, his family and friends on his side of the pews. Next to you, your mother counts down the seconds, dabbing tears from her eyes when she thinks you aren't looking until she gets to one and the doors begin to swing open.

One foot in front of the other. The muscle memory that you drilled into yourself for your debut—was that just three months ago? Really only three? It feels like it's been years and at the same time it feels like it's been days—returns, and your chin lifts slightly (just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness) as your eyes settle on the man you are to marry at the end of the hall.

The man you are to marry.

Your foot falters. You almost trip. Your mother tightens her grip on your arm and you can see her glance at you worriedly but you force yourself not to look, to keep stepping forward—it wasn't much. It didn't show. It doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything—

Yeonjun gazes back at you from the altar, that sweet, charming smile on his face. He looks like the epitome of the perfect husband—handsome, gentle, loving.

Loving.  

If only.

Your mother lets go of your arm. You both curtsy to the dowager duchess on her side, who smiles widely, and then she steps back to take her seat, leaving you to make the rest of the journey alone.

One step, two steps. The short distance up to the altar feels like it takes an eternity but once you're there, you wish it had taken longer. Heaving a silent, shaky breath, you turn to face Yeonjun.

The smile is still on your face.

Someone begins to read something, onerous and steady and sounding like utterly nothing as it passes through your head. Your fingers are sweaty and your gloves aren’t absorbent—you can feel the silk sliding against your palms as you try to readjust your grip on the bouquet, all the while staring into Yeonjun's eyes. His smile never falters.

Neither, you hope, does yours.

There's a pause in the reading. Someone appears with rings. You take one and Yeonjun takes the other. The words continue, pounding through your head, and try as you might, you can't understand a single one even though you can speak four languages—

“Do you, His Grace Yeonjun Choi, promise to take Y/N L/N to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Your heart stops. That part you can understand.

“I do.” Yeonjun's voice rings loud and clear, not a note of uncertainty in his tones. The two words echo in your ears long after he has slipped the ring onto your finger, even as the priest turns to you next.

“Do you, Miss L/N L/N, promise to take Yeonjun Choi to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Every eye in the room turns to you. It's like you're in the queen's hall again, about to step backward and ask your mother if that really just happened, if the queen really just named you her diamond, but where that happiness filled your heart in that moment, you can't name what you feel now.

Or maybe you just don't want to name it, for fear that you know what it is.

And that's when you realize.

You don't want this at all.

You don't want to marry Yeonjun. You don't want to tie yourself down to someone who can't promise to love you. You don't want to be married to someone who can't even promise to care for you in the way your father did your mother, the way your mother cared for your father—you don't want it, you don't want it, you don't want any of it at all—

But you promised. Even now you wear the ancestral engagement ring on your finger, pearls and diamonds that glint in the sunlight through the windows. You are engaged. You promised yourself to Yeonjun. You told him you wanted it, that you agreed with his opinions, that you wouldn't expect anything more of him when it came to your partnership.

You blink once, twice. Picture your mother and Sakura sitting in the pews. The two of them want this for you. The two of them need this from you.

And you know you would give your life for them, light yourself on fire for them, burn to ashes for them. It's why you studied for so many years, burnt the midnight oil hours after everyone had gone to bed to make yourself the best debutante who would ever grace society—it was for them. Always for them.

Slowly, even as it gets harder and harder to breathe, you swallow. Stand up straighter. Glance down at the flowers between your sweaty hands, then back up at the man to whom you're about to sign your life away.

Your voice rings out, clear and sweet, the way a diamond of the first water should speak. It doesn't tremble once. Doesn't falter at all.

“I do.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for mc. she’s kinda going through it)

[dottiechan]

ICEBREAKER Pt. 1

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2389

Summary: Tech watches on helplessly as his brothers' affection for you threaten to ruin the squad.

Warnings: cursing, yearning

You’re just as cold on the inside as the ice is under your boots. It crunches with every step you take, and your heart seems to beat along with the fall of your boots, aching. You feel unsteady, almost enough to miss the tracks running in the snow right in front of you. You pause and crutch down, gloved fingers dipping into the indentations as you grumble to yourself. It’s not even your turn to scope out the area where you’re setting up camp, and besides, there is a literal tracking genius in your squad - it really shouldn’t be you who’s out here in the snow and ice, eyes straining against the blinding white of the planet, fingers freezing off as you set up perimeter alarms. And yet you just volunteered for the less than ideal task without explanation, not understanding your own decision either.

At least Tech offered to tag along, but you suspect he’s simply had enough of his brothers for a while. Not that you can blame him.

“Fascinating.”

You sigh, internally begging him to stop talking as you stand, abandoning the tracks after deciding they most likely belong to a lone whitefang. You have enough on your plate right now, with Hunter still being pissy and Crosshair avoiding you like the plague, and silence would be much more preferable right now to listening to one of Tech’s rambles.

“Did you know that this moon’s surface is almost entirely composed of water?”

“No.”

“Despite the subzero surface temperature, there are subsurface oceans underneath the ice that are warmed by the moon’s internal heat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish we could stay long enough for me to study the subsurface flora and fauna. There might be plants underneath the ice that-”

“Tech.”

“-that use chemosynthesis-”

“Tech!”

“What?”

He has the decency to look flustered, one hand gripping the datapad tightly, the other flying up to adjust his goggles as he peers up at you. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Sometimes, the confinement of the Marauder is enough to turn you into a ticking time bomb, irritated by the slightest seemingly innocent things. And you’ve had more than just mere sparks to flare your temper as of late.

...

His rifle is spotless, and yet he’s still scrubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does, because if he jumps up and lowers his guard for a second, he’s out the ship and off to find you and Tech. Maybe you’re a fool sometimes, a god damn nuisance, a person he still couldn’t grow used to, but you belong with them now, you’re theirs, you’re his, and that means something to him. You frustrate him beyond reason, and he often grows callous and agitated because he refuses to allow himself to feel the emotions you elicit from him whenever you’re near him.

Even now, on an ice planet, the mere thought of you infects him with a sweet, sweet jungle fever that knocks him off his feet.

And he’s supposed to be angry now, Crosshair reminds himself. After all, you almost gotten yourself killed on Bracca, and almost broke him in the process.

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Hunter grumbles as he paces up and down like a caged nexu craving to run free. But lately Crosshair began to suspect that he craves something else, someone else, and the thought has his throat tightening in jealousy. He’s been watching, and he convinced himself that he’d misread the signs until he saw the same agitation reflect in his brother’s eyes that he himself has to wrestle with every day.

If it ever came down to your choice, he knows he wouldn’t be it, and he hates living with this knowledge.

Hunter has all the things you seem to like - unlimited kindness, longing looks, smirks that turn a little too soft when directed at you, broad shoulders he caught you staring at more times than he can count. Deep down, he’s still hoping it will never come to you having to choose, but it’s impossible not to wish to be in the centre of your attention. You drive him insane, but you also make him want to commit and stop fighting and lay down his weapons for once in his god damn life.

“Relax. They’re probably fine.”

The screen to their left lights up, and Hunter rushes across the ship in long strides before exhaling in relief. “The proximity alarms are online. They should be heading back soon.”

Crosshair sucks in a breath, worried about seeing his own emotions sitting behind Hunter’s eyes as well.

...

You were assigned to assist the Bad Batch for an unspecified period of time some months ago. You’re a versatile field agent, specialising in both stealth and combat casualty care, one of the few volunteers who were qualified enough to join the GAR. Oh, and you’re also clearly mistrusted by your new squad as they flip out the very moment you risk yourself in the line of duty. You’re not stupid, you weighed the risks carefully, and you trusted your abilities to see you through the job unharmed.

But ever since the incident on Bracca, you’re given the cold shoulder by most on the squad, and for once, the scenery matches your mood.

And yet Tech deserves better than to be cut off like that. He deserves to be listened to, and appreciated as the good man he is. You’re friends, but in moments like these, you think you don’t deserve his friendship.

“Look, I’m... I’m sorry, okay? But right now, I have too much on my mind to think about, umm, chemo...”

“Chemosynthesis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think I understand,” he nods, satisfied with your half-assed apology for the time being as he goes back to scanning the vast icy desert stretching as far as the eye can see. The Marauder’s lights blink in the background, orange against the dark blue of the growing darkness that surrounds you. It’s like a beacon, a sign that promises warmth, and you gaze at it longingly until you remember that you’ll have to go back to Crosshair’s scowl and Hunter’s disapproving frown and Wrecker’s awkward little smiles. Somehow, the ice is preferable once more, and the snow that just began to fall in soft flakes is little more than a mild annoyance.

“Well, aside from a few distant life forms-”

“Whitefangs.”

“Yes, most likely whitefangs - aside from those, we should be quite safe inside the ship for tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “You might be. I’m not the most popular with the squad right now, remember?”

“You are a valued addition,” Tech declares, and the certainty in his voice releases inside you the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch. All you can do is stand, and fight the sting of tears in your eyes. You’re confident, but you never in your wildest dreams imagined how difficult it would be to live up to the expectations of a special unit. You also know your worth, but it’s hard to keep on believing in yourself steadfastly when the rest of your squad doubts your every move. “Which is why the prospect of losing you elicits a rather severe emotional reaction in us. It is rare for regs to warm up to us as well as you have, let alone volunteers. Aside from the obvious tactical disadvantage losing you would mean, I believe it is a little more personal than that.”

...

Hunter knows something is off even before one of the alarms is triggered - whatever it is, it is within five clicks of the ship, making you and Tech plenty exposed before he could do anything. He was straining his ear simply to keep you all safe - so what if he accidentally heard your muffled voice, or the soft crunch of snow underneath your boots?

But now is not the time to be idle, and he knows it. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his squad. And to you, he corrects himself almost softly as he grabs his helmet and checks his weapons quickly. Despite the fact that he’s still angry about your previous carelessness, he cannot deny the forbidden yearning coiling in his stomach whenever you’re on his mind, making him just as nervous as hopeful. And to be fair, it happens more and more often as of late, which is both alarming and exciting as he never thought he’d ever have the luxury to feel this way about someone else. Sure, he knows love, he loves his brothers with all his heart even if he isn’t very vocal about it, but this is different. New, scary, exciting different, an effervescent and persevering tingling blinding all his senses.

Crosshair is beside him in less than a second, rifle in hand, silent, and they share a nod before lowering the ramp and rushing out into the freezing dusk.

When he picks up on your muffled voice, he seems to ignore everything as he breaks into a sprint towards you, hoping to reach you in time before you’re in danger. He almost misses the way Crosshair’s heartbeat picks up, the usually stoic man reeking with genuine worry as he looks through the scope of his rifle.

He can deal with this later, Hunter promises himself as he pushes down this uncomfortable feeling. But then he sees you and Tech, and he seems to forget about anything and everything - you have that unfortunate and awfully distracting effect on him.

...

“But Hunter yelled at me for being reckless for a solid hour. And Crosshair said he didn’t care if I wanted to get myself killed, but I should do it in a way that didn’t interfere with the mission. Seriously, what an asshole.”

“Nevermind what they actually say,” Tech waves his hand in mild annoyance. “Hunter was worried sick. Crosshair almost went after you. And they’re both too pigheaded to admit the real reason why they’re so worked up.”

“Which is?”

“Obviously they both view you as a potential romantic partner.”

There’s a moment of pause as you two stare back at one another before you snort and chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest as a futile attempt at staying warm. “Tech, you need to work on your sense of humour.”

“And you need to work on your observational skills and situational awareness.”

“My observational skills are exceptional,” you defend yourself, a finger held up in the air defiantly. “And my situational awareness is-”

“Lacking, as you didn’t seem to notice the whitefang return. I suggest we head back to the safety of the Marauder.”

Sure enough, the wild cat is there lurking amongst the ice dunes, its eyes glowing in the dark as they reflect the light of the ship. It shouldn’t pose a threat to you as it is alone, and relatively small, but you still consider wrestling with it instead of returning to the ship and facing the rest of the squad - somehow, even that feels like a fight more fair than the ones that await you upon your return. So you hold its gaze as it curiously inspects you, wishing to swap bodies and run away and avoid any more conflict. Before you can even think of returning to the ship, you hear quiet footsteps catching up to you.

“I thought I heard something.”

“It’s probably more curious than anything.”

Hunter unsheaths his vibroblade and twirls it in his hand so theatrically it makes you roll your eyes. He glances at you, shoulders all tense, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger, and even though his face is obscured by his helmet, you can almost see the disappointed frown sitting on his features. “You want to test that theory?”

“My money would be on the whitefang winning.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tech.”

“Any time.”

“Relax.” The distorted rasp of your commlink is not enough to drown out the smugness of the sniper. The stand-off ends when a single well-placed shot right before the big cat sends it sprinting away into the darkness. You all turn to find Crosshair standing by the ship, his rifle still aimed at the retreating form of the whitefang.

“Well, there goes my opportunity to finally have an interesting patrol,” you mutter to yourself as you all make it back to the Marauder.

“Do all of your patrols end in you staring down carnivores?” Crosshair snorts, clearly unamused.

“Only the good ones,” you fire back, deciding not to wait for any of them as you head inside. Crosshair is hot on your heels, another string of mockery sitting on the tip of his tongue, because fuck, you’re stubborn, but he’s not going to cave in and tell you how it makes him feel to see you in danger. He can’t, however, put up with being away from you either.

Hunter lingers a little outside. He has to set himself straight, to contain all the things he wants to say you that have nothing to do with scolding you about Bracca, to kill all the feelings that suddenly demand to be felt so desperately. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, pretending to survey the surroundings of the Marauder. Tech moves in the periphery of his vision, but instead of following you and Crosshair, he steps closer to Hunter.

“I believe the threat’s been averted.”

“Yeah. Good job on setting up those alarms, Tech.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. You should head back inside. The last thing I want is for you to keel over with hypothermia.”

“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Tech mutters, his voice trailing off, eyes uncertain behind his goggles. He suddenly places a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making the sergeant glance at him.

“Hunter, I’m only asking this because I care about you all, but... how long do you think this can go on before one of you gets hurt?”

Tech’s words echo in his mind long after he’s rejoined the squad on the ship. And Hunter just stands outside in the snowfall, watching the last rays of light disappear on the horizon, wondering which one of you he’ll have to hurt when the push comes to shove.

[pricklynoodle]

real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

---

“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?”

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Clack!

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—”

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anonymous: Hi! Could you possibly do a Charlie x reader fic where they are filming season 2 & there is a new character (fashion expert/can see ghost/a little bit of enemies with Luke at first) but off screen they are very close (always hanging out/on ig posts & stories/dance partners/they sing karaoke/adventure) & the whole cast likes to tease them about it but they deny any feelings however they are about to film a very important scene that involves their characters & might change everything between them.

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x reader

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2,789

Season 2. Finally Season 2. Everyone had been hoping, wishing, praying for a season 2 of Julie and The Phantoms, and after months of waiting, Netflix finally picked it up for a second season. After those months, the actors had just to wait a little while longer while the crew wrote up the first drafts of scripts and made it perfectly save for the actors to do their work. Once all of that’s ready and they’re good to go, the cast finally reunite again in Vancouver. They even meet some new cast members. Like you. You had auditioned for the role of Daniela Ramos, Julie’s cousin and Victoria’s daughter, and got it pretty much straight away. Daniela is a fashion student at a High School in Melrose Hill and Julie asks her for some help with costumes for her next gig with her band. To Julie’s surprise, Daniela can actually see the boys, even when they’re not playing, which causes for a lot of trouble in the band and family, especially between Julie and Luke. This is your first big role on the small screen and you’re the most excited you’ve ever been. You met the other cast members at the summer bootcamp before the filming process would start, and though almost everything had to be done with a face mask covering half of everyone’s face, it still was a lot of fun getting to meet everyone and spend the most fun summer ever. Every day, you grew closer and closer to everyone on set, and soon became best friends with Madi, Jadah, Savannah and Tori, doing plenty of sleepovers. Besides the girls, you also grew closer to Charlie, Owen and Jeremy, but mostly Charlie. For some reason, the two of you just clicked instantly. You have the same humor, the same taste of adventure, the same passions and dreams. You, Charlie and Owen even rented a place together to live in for the time being in Vancouver. You got even closer during filming, especially since you and Charlie have a lot of scenes together. “Oh my God, Luke, you’re so annoying!” you yell at him when the two of you are in the garage, taping a scene. It had taken you about ten takes and you still couldn’t help but giggle at the shocked face he pulled every time. “If I’m so annoying, Dani, why do you keep coming back?!” The angry face he pulls resembles that of an angry kitten, which just makes you crack up again. “God dammit, Y/N!” Charlie laughs now too as Kenny yells “Cut!” “Sorry! Sorry, guys! I promise I’m a real actor!” You hold your hands up in defense, then cough to get ready for another take. This time around, you could finally manage to get through it without laughing. “Yes!” Charlie exclaims when Kenny yells “Cut!” again. He holds his hand up for a high five, which you giddily give him. “Do you need any more takes, Kenny?” he asks the man himself. “Nope, you’re good! You can go on your break now!” he pats Charlie’s shoulder. “Nice job, guys!” “Thanks, Kenny,” you say, the smile growing on your face. “I need food, Gillespie,” you tell your best friend, linking your arm with his. “Let’s go get food!” The two of you head down to catering and sit down at a table with a plate full of food. “What are we doing tonight?” he then asks before taking a bite of food. You swallow your bite of food and take a sip from your drink. “Don’t you have a night shoot tonight?” you ask, remembering him saying something about a late call. “No, that’s tomorrow, after our dance rehearsal,” he replies after swallowing the food. “Oh! Okay!” You start thinking of things to do, “We could go to karaoke? Bring the others maybe?” He raises his eyebrows, looking at you questionably. “I’ve always loved karaoke,” you shrug with a giggle. “Yeah, okay!” Charlie nods his head agreeingly. “Karaoke it is!” The two of you smile up at each other, teeth showing, both of you glowing. “What are you love birds discussing?” Owen asks when he joins them, his voice muffled from the mask covering his face. He pulls it down to under his chin as he and Jeremy join the two at the table. “We’re thinking about going to karaoke tonight with the whole team!” you tell them, completely ignoring the ‘love birds’. “Ooh, fun!” Owen exclaims with a smile that nearly reaches his ears. “Yeah, we’ll leave after shooting the last scene tonight,” Charlie suggests, looking at you for confirmation. You nod your head agreeingly. That night, you and the rest of the cast head to the nearest karaoke place you know. You’ve linked arms with Savannah and Tori, giggling through the night, trying to keep your balance on your heeled boots. Meanwhile, without you realizing, Charlie has been keeping his eyes on you the whole way there. He finds it adorable how your giggle floats through the night air and your hips bump against the other girls’. He couldn’t lie, you had easily become the light in his life. “So, what song shall we begin with?” you ask the gang as you settle into the booth. “Pick the first one on the list,” Jeremy replies when no one else does. You nod your head curtly and press play on the first song, which is Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. You can already tell after that first song; tonight is going to be a fun night. You sing a couple of songs with the girls, there are many group numbers, and you even sing one with your roommates. After singing with Owen and Charlie, the latter points at you. “We’re going to sing together now!” he exclaims excitedly before turning around and picking a song for you to sing. When he’s picked one, he grabs your hand to pull you closer towards him. You blink a couple of times, unable to process what’s happening right now. The opening notes to Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John and Kiki Dee chime through the booth. You glance over at Savannah and Tori, who offer you an encouraging smile. Then you look at Jadah and Madison, but they’re too busy giggling and whispering, and it makes you wonder if that’s about you and Charlie. Your eyes dart over to the boys – Jeremy, Owen and Sacha – who just offer you suggestive smiles and eyebrow-wiggles. Charlie’s voice captures your attention again, and you turn to him. “I couldn’t if I tried,” you sing back to him. The encouraging smile on Charlie’s face calms you down a little up to the point where it almost seems like the two of you are the only people in the room. You have no clue what is happening or why it’s happening. All you know is that you’ve wanted it to happen sooner. Though you wouldn’t ever admit that to anyone. It’s the way he looks at you and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person on this planet that matters. It’s been the way he’d looked at you since that first day of meeting him. “I won't go breaking your heart,” you sing the very last line to him ever so softly, not even looking at the screen anymore, but instead, looking into his eyes. “Don't go breaking my heart,” he sings back. The song ends and you both lower your microphones, staring into each other’s eyes. If it wasn’t for the rest of the cast breaking out into cheers and applause, you would’ve kissed him then and there. But it startles you, and you step away from him upon realizing how close you are and how that must look to the others. “So, when’s the wedding?” Madison asks teasingly, which makes the others laugh, and you blush. After that night at karaoke, the two of you had silently agreed to forget anything ever happened. Savannah said you were in denial, but you believed you weren’t. You told her it was just the atmosphere in the air that night, the both of you had consumed a little bit of alcohol and it might’ve just been that. No one stopped teasing you though. On every possible occasion, they’d ask you if you’d kissed him yet, or when your next date it, or started singing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart randomly. You just shook it off every time, finding it amusing how consumed the cast was with this ‘relationship’ you had with Charlie. There was nothing more going on than just a really, really tight friendship. Until the dance scene happened. Your character, Dani, was supposed to go to a school dance with her crush, but she was nervous because she had never slow danced with anyone before. When she tells Luke, he insisted on teaching her, saying he’d gone to plenty of school dances back in ’94 and ’95 before he died. You and Charlie know this choreography by heart, you’ve been doing it for weeks on end at bootcamp and during rehearsals. It had always just been fun and games, the two of you being immaculate dancers and bouncing off of each other so well because of your tight friendship. “I could teach you?” Charlie says as Luke, stepping closer to you. You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve gone to numerous dances in my days, Dani…” One corner of his mouth curls up into a teasing smirk. “Unless you want to embarrass yourself in front of… Jake.” He emphasizes the name of your fictional crush, to which you react with wide eyes and a blush spreading on your cheeks. “Come on, Dani!” He reaches out for your hand, which you place hesitantly in his. Dani being able to see ghosts, is also able to make them corporeal. The lights on set dim a little, except for one spot on the pair in the middle of the studio, and then the music starts playing through the speakers. Charlie starts singing the song they’d learned at bootcamp, one the cast wrote together during the quarantine. The atmosphere in the studio has suddenly become really intense. You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as the man in front of you sings to you, mere inches away from each other as he leads you in this beautiful dance Paul Becker and Tori Caro choreographed for you. Just like at the karaoke booth, it feels like the two of you are the only people on set. Just you and him. You and Charlie. You and your best friend. There’s no denying you have feeling for him anymore. You knew you did, you just told yourself it wasn’t a good idea and suppressed those feelings, pushing them down. It worked for a while. Until now. “Cut!” Kenny yells after your scene. You step away from Charlie, glancing down at the floor as you try your hardest to hide your flustered face. “That was perfect, guys! It really looks like the two of you were in love!” he claps his hands in excitement, then tells them to do it again. After four takes of the dance, Kenny tells you to go and take a break. Without saying another word to Charlie, you rush off set and towards your trailer where you sit down on a chair, trying to calm your breathing. Charlie might not like you the way you like him. Admitting to these feelings might just ruin everything the two of you have. With this in mind, you grab your phone and text Savannah, asking her to come over to your trailer. Maybe she could help you. “Are you okay?” she asks when she enters and finds you staring at the ceiling. “No…” you reply and take a deep breath, “I think I’m in love with my best friend?” “Oh, sweetie…” Savannah sighs, and pulls you up to take you in a hug, “I know…” You pull her away again to face her properly. “What do you mean ‘you know’?” “Everybody knows,” she starts, “The two of you have been inseparable since the day you met, and everyone can see the way you look at each other. Plus, your duet the other night was a little intense for it to be a platonic one.” She chuckles, and you can’t help but chuckle too. She then grabs her phone from her back pocket, opening Instagram. “You know fans have caught on too, right?” She shows you the comments on some of Charlie’s pictures on his account. One picture is of the two of you, napping in Julie’s bed on set, cuddled up. He even posted pictures from your hikes on your days off. All of them are bombarded with comments from fans saying, ‘I ship it!’ or ‘Y/S/N’. Sav then opens her dm’s which are flooded with fans asking if you and Charlie are dating yet, and how the two of them are so in love with each other. “Charlie isn’t in love with me?” you deny, not believing one bit about it. “He is, though…” This does not come from Savannah’s mouth. Your eyes widen when you recognize the voice, and peek behind Savannah to find your best friend standing at your open trailer door. “Sav, can you give us a minute?” he asks the younger girl. “More than a minute,” she chirps, offering you a wink before leaving the trailer. Charlie steps in completely and moves until he’s in front of you. He takes your hands in his, and chuckles at your overwhelmed and confused expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, that beautiful smile of his persistent on his face. “Y—yeah? No? I’m not sure?” you sigh, trying to get your thoughts in order. “Charlie, wha—?” “Can I talk? I’ve been going over this conversation in my mind a billion times, and if I don’t say it now, I think I’m going to forget what I’m supposed to say…” You nod your head in response. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the very first time I saw you walking in at bootcamp. You looked adorable with your little nervous smile and your polite hellos to everybody. I knew from that moment on that I wanted to get to know you better, and that I wanted to become more than just friends…I didn’t think you’d feel the same way, so I told myself that it was okay if we’d just stay friends. Especially since your character kind of hates mine and you bring Dani to life so convincingly, that I was almost sure you hated me too,” you chuckle at that, “But I can’t hide it anymore, Y/N. I am so embarrassingly in love with you that I could’ve kissed you after that scene we just did and that I could kiss you right now even though I’m—” before he can finish his sentence, you lean up and crash your lips onto his, your hands flying into his hair. He’s a little startled at first, but quickly melts into the kiss and presses you closer to him. “I am so embarrassingly in love with you too, Charlie,” you whisper when you pull away, pressing your forehead against his. “They’re going to be so relieved,” you tell him with a chuckle. He frowns his eyebrows at you. “Who?” he asks. You take his hand in yours and lead him towards the door of your trailer, pushing it open and making it bump against whoever was closest to the door. All of your cast mates scramble, trying to act natural while Owen rubs his forehead since he was the one that got a door in his face. “Ah, them!” Charlie chuckles. “Thanks for the door in my face, guys,” Owen says disgruntled. “That’s on you, buddy,” you tell him with a grin. “Don’t you guys have a scene to shoot or something?” Their eyes widen at the realization and, after yelling at the two how happy they are for them, rush to set in a hurry. “So, where were we?” Charlie turns back to you when everyone’s gone. “Don’t you have a scene with them?” “Shit!” he grumbles and jumps off the small steps in front of the trailer. He starts running towards set but turns around almost immediately to you and kisses your lips quickly, but sweetly, and then runs off. You watch him with an amused smile on your face. There was nothing to be afraid about after all and nothing changed between you two. You were still the best of friends, just friends that kiss and are in love with each other. But both of you happy.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​

[duuhrayliegh]

A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: reader meets up with Bucky, Sam and Zemo to figure out this Flag Smasher drama

word count: 6386

warnings: canon lvl violence? SPOILERS FOR TFATWS, (it’s the episodes with yn in it, like rlly) language throughout the whole thing, i think that’s it.

a/n: i’m actually really proud of this guys. there is a part three that has WAY more Bucky x YN content that’ll be posted in a few days <3 i hope y’all love this!!

i just want to remind y’all that this started out as a request from @dramaticwittch it won’t let me tag you for some reasons babes :((

be sure to read A Friend of Yours - pt 1

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3 is up too!!!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my other writing here!

xoxo ray <3

You had the same contacts as Sharon, so finding the Three Musketeers was no problem. It baffled you that Sharon had access to satellites. Makes you wonder what she was doing during those five years you were gone. When you got to their safehouse, you were impressed to say the least. It was nice, cute little pillars next to the dining area, some couches, just enough to make it livable. One thing that struck you as strange was that it was also empty, they weren’t there.

“Fuck it.” You dropped your bag onto the dining table and walked over to the kitchen area. You opened several cabinets, searching for alcohol that you could drown your frustrations in. You found an unopened wine bottle, releasing a little cheer, you popped the cork and brought the bottle to your nose. A sweet plum scent invaded your senses, grabbing a glass and pouring it full for yourself before re-corking the bottle. You grasped the cup walking to the stained glass windows on the opposite side of the room. You could hear footsteps approaching the doorway, then the door being forced open. Muffled conversations were taking place during their entrance.

“Well, I got nothin’. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky said as he waltzed into the room. Sam followed closely behind him, Zemo immediately going to the kitchen.

“Yeah, Karli’s the only one who’s fighting for them.” You said, startling the pair of men who were now lounging on the couches. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” You dropped next to Bucky, offering him a sip of your plum flavored wine.

“She’s not wrong.” Bucky shot Sam a look, questioning his thought process. “Look, for five years these people were welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs.” Sam sighed, “Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild.” You stopped listening halfway through Sam’s speech, thinking of Sharon. You only refocused when Bucky placed his metal hand on your knee, giving you a look, asking if you were okay.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky asked after you nodded at him. His face never left yours, until Zemo approached the three of you on the couch. He was holding a tray with a clear teapot and cups. He placed it on the coffee table, stepping back and clutching a cup for himself.

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo was always one for the dramatics, so you’re sure that he had something else up his sleeve. Bucky squeezed your knee and you knew he was trying to calm himself.

“You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.”

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He made a noise of acknowledgement, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Bucky hauled himself off the couch to stand in front of the Baron. You gaze flicked to Sam’s, unsure of what Bucky was going to do. Bucky puffed his chest out, clenching his jaw as he gripped Zemo’s teacup and chunked it at the concrete wall behind him. Zemo flinched as Bucky began talking to him.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Sam stood quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

“Take it easy, Buck. Don’t engage him.” You were taking a drink of your wine, as you observed Zemo’s actions.

“Watch out, he’s going to extort you and do that idiotic head tilt thing.” Zemo’s eyes darted to your figure on the couch as he straightened his head. Sam left to make a call, you assumed Sharon and Bucky followed closely behind him. Zemo offered you cherry blossom tea to which you declined by holding up your wine glass. As Bucky left the room, the Baron released a sigh of relief causing you to laugh at his actions.

“You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?” You teased the man who was now glaring at you.

“If you have made him as angry as I have then you would be too.” You shrugged your agreement. You hadn’t made Bucky mad, and you definitely hadn’t been a part of reactivating him as the Winter Soldier to reach your goals.

“Yeah, well you’re a dumbass, so.” You got up and walked to where Bucky and Sam were gathered. Sam’s phone was still pressed to his ear, but you could tell you were catching the tail-end of his conversation. You could hear Sharon’s voice over the phone talking about the Power Broker. In all your years of living and conducting business in Madripoor, you never tangled with the Power Broker. That didn’t mean anything, it was just suspicious because of how successful your operation with Sharon was.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, dumping the rest of your wine in the sink, casting a glance at an appalled Zemo. “It was shit wine.”

“Zemo has a contact that can show us where the funeral is, and that’s all we got.” You nodded before looking at Bucky and Sam.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

**********************************

You were walking down the cobblestone roadway with the Three Musketeers when a voice shouted at you from the stairway before you. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!” A scruffy looking man approached you. Both him and his partner were clad in tactical gear, the scruffy one’s resembling a Walmart version of Steve’s Cap suit. Bucky spread his arms out.

“How’d you find us now?” The man’s partner responded to Bucky with equal annoyance.

“Come on, man. You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” As he got closer you could read Hoskins on his vest.

“No more keeping us in the dark.” Scruff said before anyone else could fire back. He stopped walking in front of Zemo, effectively stopping your forward motion. “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” You were walking just behind Bucky to his right and you watched him cock his head back, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone.

“He did that himself, technically.” Scruff’s face contorted as Bucky talked.

“This better be an unbelievable explana--” Scruff’s voice was cut off by Sam’s hand bumping into his chest.

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Zemo began talking over the group around him, explaining what was going on. You remained quiet, observing the interaction between Scruff and the Three Musketeers. Clearly, the Three Musketeers did not like him and so you assumed he was the ‘new Cap,’ whatever that means. The group began walking again with Zemo leading the pack.

“Alright good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Scruff was insistent but so was Sam.

“Look, the person closest to her just died, she’s vulnerable.” The group had stopped walking again, focusing on the conversation. You could see the wheels turning in Hoskin’s head as Sam spoke. Scruff was not having any part of what Sam was suggesting.

“What? No. Wait, no! No. Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Scruff ran ahead in front of the others, stopping the forward motion, once again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people still in it.” This was news to you, deciding to stay offline in hopes of remaining under the radar. The back and forth continued until Scruff turned to Bucky.

“You gonna let him do this?” Bucky tilted his head at the man. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.” You knew Bucky was referring to himself in Winter Soldier mode. Your heart hurt for him to have to go through this again with some clueless nobody.

“And last I checked, he’s a grown ass man who makes his own decisions, Scruff.” Your arms crossed over your chest. This had been the first time you spoke since Scruff and Hoskin’s had arrived.

“Who the hell is this?” Scruff pointed at you. “You break her out of prison too?” Sam interjected before you could sass back.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Scruff’s gaze hadn’t left your face. He continued staring at you as he countered Sam’s claim.

“Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Hoskin’s hand came up to rest on Scruff’s shoulder.

“Wait, John. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” Scruff was not happy with Hoskin's agreement to the situation. Scruff said something to Zemo, who mostly ignored him, acknowledging the little girl waiting under an archway. The group began moving toward her and you focused on Bucky.

“Hey, you okay?” He just nodded at you, denying you the pleasure of a verbal response. You’ll take what you can get. Bringing up the rear of the group, you entered the factory type building last. The little girl pointed up some stairs, and Zemo translated. Sam walked up behind the girl, making him way up the stairs as Scruff handcuffed Zemo to a metal contraption.

“You got ten minutes. Then we’re doing things my way.” Scruff yelled after Sam, who darted his eyes at you and Bucky, a silent instruction to the both of you. Scruff rested his weight against a table, holding Steve’s shield in front of him. His breathing became increasingly worrisome, an ode to how stable he was in the moment.

“You aren’t looking so hot over there, Scruff.” Bucky shot you a warning look, but it didn’t deter you. “The government is really harping on you to get this shit contained, aren’t they?” Scruff pushed off the table, bringing the shield around his back. You were leaning against a pillar near Zemo and Scruff made his way over to you. His face was about six inches from yours as he spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” He was trying to intimidate you, which clearly wasn’t working.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Scruff’s eyes darted over your frame, a look of recognition washing over his features.

“I know who you are.” He glanced at the clock across the room before looking back at you. “I could arrest you right now. Enemy of the State, standing before me right here.”

“We’re not in that state, dumbass. Technically, you don’t have jurisdiction.” The corner of your mouth raised in a smirk as Bucky called your name. You pushed off the pillar behind you to stand next to Bucky, who was leaning against the railing of the stairs.

“Don’t antagonize him, Y/N.” Bucky berated you, to which you shrugged a shoulder. Scruff began pacing back and forth, frustration getting the better of him.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Hoskin’s tried to calm Scruff down.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.” He shot a look at Hoskins, then the clock, then Bucky, making a decision in his head. “I’m goin’ in.” Bucky rose to his full height, not allowing Scruff to get by him. “This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” You watched Bucky’s jaw clench, you could see the anger bottling up. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.” Bucky was an immovable fortress of solitude. “Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Oh shit.

You watched as Bucky’s resolve faded, allowing Scruff to step around him. Bucky was tired of being the cause of other people’s deaths. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Sam could take care of himself, he just didn’t want the burden any longer. He was finally free of being a murder machine, finally able to rinse his hands clean. Scruff knew just which buttons to push to get what he wanted.

Scruff busted into the memorial site, guns blazing. You trailed behind Bucky who was fighting against Hoskin’s to try to reach Scruff. Karli and Sam were previously engaged in peaceful conversation, until Scruff announced that Karli was under arrest. Betrayal laced her features as she looked at Sam, defending herself against Scruff advances. She threw Scruff’s weight into Sam, launching them both into the table behind. Bucky took off after her, chasing her through the halls. You crouched next to Sam, making sure he was okay.

Sam recovered quickly, racing down a different corridor leading to another stairway. You followed close behind, allowing Sam to attempt to navigate the area around you. The two of you eventually went down enough of the wrong corridors, that you met up with an equally confused Bucky. You head perked up at the sound of gunshots somewhere in the building. Not sure who the culprit was you turned to Bucky and Sam, who looked just as panicked.

The three of you retraced your steps to find Scruff standing over a knocked-out Zemo with crushed vials wetting the floor. Scruff tossed a glance back at Hoskins and then one to the three of you on the staircase landing. “What did we miss?” Sam directed his question at Scruff, who didn’t dignify him with an answer. Scruff nodded to Hoskins before walking away from the rest of you.

“Thanks for your help, asshole!” You shouted after him.

*******************************

Hauling Zemo’s deadweight back to the safehouse was a job that you and Sam decided Bucky was fit for, being a super soldier and all. Through much complaining and whining on Bucky’s part, he did get him to the safehouse relatively injury free, dumping his body on the couch, jostling Zemo just enough to wake him up. Bucky promptly left the apartment after dropping Zemo off, going to clear his head was the explanation you got as he left.

You huffed, discontent with everything that was going on. You walked to the kitchen, wetting a rag and tossing it at Zemo. “For your head, cover your eyes, it’ll help.” You then popped a few cubes of ice in a glass and poured whiskey over it, handing it to Zemo as well, tapping your temple at him. You went back to the kitchen, jumping onto the counter, letting your legs dangle over the edge. Sam had pulled out a laptop and was typing furiously.

“Were you ever offered it?” You knew Zemo wasn’t talking to you, but to Sam, who hadn’t looked up from the laptop screen. You zoned out of their conversation, trying to decide what Sam was sending Sharon now. “Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” This made Sam pause and turn to face Zemo, who continued talking. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people.” Zemo removed the rag from his eyes, locking gazes with Sam. “Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how god’s talk?” You interjected, then you asked quietly, “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” It was a valid concern. “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Bucky waltzed into the apartment, stripping his jacket from his shoulders, giving a perfect view of his two contrasting arms.

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

“You don’t say.” Sam quipped, closing his laptop and facing Bucky.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky jabbed at Sam, sticking to his guns on this.

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam was exasperated in his delivery.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You turned to Bucky.

“Hey. Back off, Buck.” Bucky was going to say something in reply when the door burst open again. In walked Scruff and Hoskins, all gung-ho about something.

“Alright. That’s it. Let’s go.” He pointed a finger at a now standing Zemo. The whole room began shifting, Sam in front of Scruff, Zemo to the side out of direct view, and Bucky to your other side, glass in hand. “I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Sam stopped before Scruff, annoyed.

“Let’s be clear, shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.” You added from your spot on the countertop. Scruff pointed his finger at you.

“And I’m taking her too.” Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking Scruff’s view of you. You placed your hand on his left shoulder, letting him know you were still there.

“I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Scruff puffed out his chest, attempting to intimidate Sam.

“How do you want this conversation to go Sam, huh?” He stepped back slightly, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?” Taking on a condescending tone with Sam, making your brows raise. Suddenly a spear lodged itself in the pillar next to Scruff’s face, all eyes darted towards the woman across the room. Two more warriors walked in, holding spears by their sides and Bucky looked resigned. This was new territory for you, who the fuck are these people? One of the women stepped forward near Scruff. She spoke at Bucky in a language that sounded vaguely familiar to you.

“Release him to us now.” Scruff ignored her instruction, deciding to step towards her, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” You scoffed loudly.

“No, you’re not!” You received a look from Sam at your comment.

“Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk through this, huh?” Sam stepped forward, warning Scruff against tangling with the Dora Milaje.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Your hand balled into a fist, quickly covering your mouth.

“That’s a burn, Scruff!” You yelled like the little shit you are.

“Y/N! Cut it out.” Sam snapped. Scruff, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to place hands on the Dora he was speaking to. She quickly brought her spear up to force his hand off her shoulder, then bringing it downward into the back of his knee and finally bouncing it off of the front of his helmet. She launched her foot into his chest while he was dazed, sending him backward into the spear behind him and face planting on the ground below. Scruff recovered quickly, sliding his arm into the straps of the shield to protect himself from the spear coming at his body.

The three warriors began fighting with Scruff and Hoskins, much to yours and Bucky’s delight. Sam backed up to stand next to Bucky, who crossed his arms over his chest. Sam looked at Bucky.

“We should do something.” You had just barely heard Sam say it when you and Bucky yelled at the same time.

“Looking strong, John!” “You’re doing great, sweetie!” Bucky gave you a look at your term of endearment, not understanding that it was a patronizing use of the word. The warrior battling Scruff was about to drive her spear into him, until Bucky gripped the handle, stopping her attack.

“Ayo!” Bucky yelled at her. “Ayo! Let’s talk about this!” Ayo had effectively yanked Bucky towards her body, then throwing him backwards. Sam stopped another warriors spear before it drove into a downed Hoskins. The last warrior threw her spear at Scruff, trapping the shield against the table. She began her approach to him and Sam yelled your name to help him.

You got down with a groan, unhappy that you had to save this asshat. All movement was stopped when you heard a metallic thud against the floor. Your head snapped to a now one armed Bucky, his vibranium arm laying on the ground. You released an audible gasp as Ayo walked away from Bucky, his blue eyes wide. Everything around you faded as you watched a broken Bucky, kneel to pick up his metal appendage. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who was just as shocked as you.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam gestured to Bucky’s immobile arm.

“No.” He swung his arm around once to restart the systems. You heard Hoskins checking on Scruff’s wounded ego, but that didn’t matter to you.

“Bucky. Are you okay?” He avoided your question, grabbing his jacket and telling Sam that Zemo had gotten away. You held your arms out in front of you, what the fuck? Are you the enemy now? You followed after them, not sure where you were going. You got closer to Bucky, grabbing his left arm and yanking him back to you, making his attention be on you for a second or two. “I’m talking to you, dickwad.” His eyes hardened as you continued. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there, I’m assuming that has to do with you not being the Soldier anymore. I don’t really care. What I care about is if you’re okay or not.” You stopped walking, still holding his arm.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” Bucky inquired.

“I want you to fucking talk to me. I’m here for you to unload on.” His brows scrunched and you realized what you said. “Oh my god, not like that, sicko. Well, I mean--”

“Y/N.” Bucky smiled at your humor.

“There, see? How hard was it for you to smile. Just talk to me. I’m making sure you’re okay. Don’t shut down, I hate it when people do that.” Bucky went to say something else when the both of your attentions shifted to a concerned Sam.

“She said what?” A pause, “Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know.” He sighed loudly, “Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys.” He tried to calm the other person down. You began walking again, Bucky asking quietly.

“What happened?” Sam dropped the phone to his collarbone.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Bringing it back up to his ear, he continued. “Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash, alright? Let me know when you get there.” You turned your attention to your surroundings. The bland streets offered little to no security, but they did give too many vantage points to count. “She wants me to come alone.”

“I’m coming with you.” Bucky fired back, not changing his mind about this one.

“Yay, more friends. She’ll love that. Where we going now?”

*********************************************

You’ve never seen Sam as mad as he was when he walked into that building. Although you weren’t sure if it was anger or if it was betrayal that he was displaying as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. “You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Her accent shone through with every word. You could tell that she didn’t want to hurt you. Her demeanor was relaxed, her guard was up, but she was being civil, almost like a politician. You were good at analyzing the people around you, so when Karli mentioned Sam and Bucky just being tools she really meant it. She wasn’t interested in hurting people she deemed innocent.

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice snapped you back to reality. The two of you hadn’t spoken since you left Madripoor.

“Scruff’s coming, guys and you know it’s not going to be pretty when he does.” Bucky jumped over the ledge and Karli followed suit. Jumping into Bucky, slamming his body into the post. You ran alongside Bucky to the location Sam had sent to your phone. By the time that you had gotten to the building where Scruff was, you had lost Bucky. Taking an entrance that was already knocked open you heard gunshots from a few floors above you. With your gun raised, you scanned the room for any friendlies.

“Y/N, you’re about to come up on Hoskins. He’s not moving, may need an assist.” Your brows furrowed as you entered the room cautiously.

“How the hell do you know that, Shar? How did you get access to satellites?” You questioned as you approached a tied-up Hoskins. “Need some help, Battlestar?”

“I totally had that.” He said as your knife snapped the zip tie around his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah.” You held your hand out, hauling him to his feet. “It’s okay to be the damsel, ya know?” He shook his head at you, not engaging in your hilarious banter. “Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios.” You shoved your knife back into your thigh holster, leading the way to where the others were.

When you walked in, Bucky had just caught a knife that Scruff had so deflected. He twirled the object in his right hand, ready to defend against the Flag Smasher attacking him. Their fight was quick and ended with the Smasher on their back, the knife Bucky was holding embedded in the floor inches away from their face. You jumped in, helping Sam fend off another Smasher when suddenly Bucky’s fist flew by your face.

“You’re welcome.” He darted off to deal with the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Scruff being held by a Smasher and Karli coming with a knife in hand. You started towards her to stop her, until you saw Hoskins attack from her other side. He tackled her to the ground, Karli bounced back quicker than Hoskins, allowing her to throw a punch at Hoskins. Your jaw dropped as you watched his body fly into the concrete mainstay behind him. His whole body slackened and Karli stood in shock.

Scruff was struggling in his captors hold, thrashing about to get to Hoskins. Once he was free, he shook Hoskins and pushed his fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. “Hey, hey. Hey. Lemar!” You stood silent in between Bucky and Sam, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until Scruff stood again that you knew what he was going to do. He had a half-second head start, but it was long enough that he was able to reach the Samsher that was holding him back before you could reach Scruff.

You had to push through the crowd to see what was happening. The Smasher had his hands protecting his face against the slam of the Captain America shield that was being hammered into him. You gasped and had to turn your face into Bucky’s shoulder. This is not happening, but it was.

And the whole world saw it too.

***********************************

The next time you saw Scruff was in an abandoned warehouse. He was talking to himself, yelling about different things. If you weren’t sure before, you definitely were now. John Walker had taken the serum and it was enhancing all the wrong things. Scruff was kneeling, resting his hands on the bloodied shield before him. You were on Sam’s right when Scruff walked up to you.

“You guys should see a medic. You don’t look too good.” He paced in front of the three of you. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do. I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Bucky’s voice remained calm. “Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.” Scruff sent Bucky a disgusted look.

“I’m not like you.”

“You convincing yourself or us, Scruff?” You recognize that this probably isn’t the time to pull his strings but he wasn’t thinking clearly anyway.

“Listen, it was the heat of battle. Okay? If you explain what happened, they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Scruff never stopped pacing, his hand flexing in the shield.

“You gotta give Sam the shield, Scruff.” He stopped pacing and turned to you, getting a little close for comfort.

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” He leaned forward, “You almost got me.” His index finger jabbed into your chest then rested there as he spoke. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Yeah, we do.” Came Bucky’s reply before all hell broke loose. Bucky and Sam rushed Scruff, fighting for a way to get the shield from him. Scruff sent Sam flying backwards with a swift kick to the stomach. This gave you the room you needed to launch yourself onto his shoulders, attempting to flip him using his own body weight and your momentum. Your move distracted him enough that Bucky got a few decent hits in, but it really just served to piss him off further. He whipped one arm around, gripping the waistband of your jeans and dumping your weight off his shoulders. He threw you into a wooden shipping container, knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

You watch, as you lay there gasping, Bucky get beat to his knees by Scruff and Scruff’s attention is turned by Sam flipping in the air, kicking the shield to the side. You rose to your feet, readying yourself for the opportune moment. Once you found it, you flung yourself at Scruff, sending the both of you to the ground and the shield away from the both of you. You resituated yourself to straddle his stomach, this position didn’t last long because he flipped the both of you. Slamming your back against the ground, he gripped your wrists, yanking them way up high causing you to groan out at the stretch. He released you but not before delivering a swift punch to your cheek.

Your vision blurred, but you could make out Bucky going head to head with Scruff again. Scruff threw the shield at Bucky after kicking him into a lift. Luckily, Bucky was able to catch the shield and shift it to his own arm before Scruff attacked him again. Scruff pressed the shield tight against Bucky’s body, then began speaking to him.

“Why are you making me do this?” You and Sam shared a look then watched as Scruff tossed Bucky clear across the room into an electrical outlet, short circuiting his arm. Sam flew at Scruff, trying to catch him off guard. He was unsuccessful in his efforts, ending with Sam facing Scruff as you crouched in Scruff’s six.

“This isn’t you, John.” Sam began trying to reason with him. He is who is way past reasoning, not Karli. Scruff’s head tilted as he spoke in that condescending tone again.

“We could’ve been a team.” Sam didn’t say anything. He deployed his wings, flying past Scruff and sending a small grappling hook to try and take the shield. Scruff flipped through the air, then braced himself against one of the lifts. You came up from behind him and tackled him off the lift, sending Sam to the ground as well. As you landed, you hit your head on a piece of broken concrete, disorienting you. The shield was out of Scruff’s hands, and he wasn’t happy about that. They both dove for the shield but Scruff managed to get to Sam first, landing on top of Sam.

“I am Captain America.” Scruff grunted out as he ripped Sam’s wings from his suit. You watch in horror as Scruff holds the shield, ready to give Sam a face lift. Bucky knocked Scruff off just before he could land his hit. Scruff had pinned Bucky to the ground after driving Bucky’s head into the side of the shield. You hauled yourself to your feet again, wrapping your arm around Scruff’s neck, hindering his movement. Sam came from the front, delivering a harsh blow to Scruff’s face. You continued to hold your chokehold as Bucky and Sam pried the shield off his arm. You heard a sickening crack as Sam withdrew from the hoe down. Bucky rose to his feet and spit out the blood collecting in his mouth, reaching out his hand for you to take.

You walked over to Sam, you hoped that would be the end of it all. Lo and behold though, Scruff got up yet again. “It’s mine.” He growled possessively, starting towards Bucky again. Bucky ducked lifting Scruff over his shoulder and Sam threw his whole body weight into Scruff who was dangling off to the side of Bucky. The three of them laid on the floor, bloodied and sweaty as you stood over them.

Bucky rose to his knees, the shield in front of him and he used the leverage of it to stand fully. He dropped it next to Sam, pausing for a few seconds and then walking away completely. You stood next to Scruff, in disbelief. “This just got a whole lot more complicated didn’t it, Sam?” He didn’t reply to you, but you watched as he tried to wipe the blood off the outer rings of the shield.

***********************************

You stood outside the building where Donya’s funeral was held, listening to Sam talk to someone else named Torres. Bucky had walked right past you, not a word said. He was shutting down and running away, at least that’s what it looked like. You wouldn’t know because the whore wouldn’t talk to you. You sat down on the stairs, head in your hands frustrated about what was going on. Your phone began buzzing in your pocket, so you took it out ready to deny the call, until you saw who it was.

“Shar.” You sighed into the phone speaker.

“Y/N. How’s it going?” You could hear the smugness lacing her tone.

“Alright, just get it over with. Tell me that you told me so, just make it quick.” She scoffed.

“I mean, I did tell you so, but now I don’t want to tell you that I did.” You laughed at her.

“You realize you just did, though?” You sense that she was smiling.

“What happened?” Her tone switched into a serious one on a dime.

“Walker took the serum, went batshit, killed a Flag Smasher, and then beat the shit out of Sam, Bucky and me in order to keep his precious shield because he ‘is Captain America.’” Your voice morphed to imitate Scruff.

“Well, that was bound to happen sometime. He’s all over the place.” You nodded, pulling the phone away from your ear and switching to speakerphone so you could talk and scroll through Twitter.

“He’s already trending. Captain America Kills Innocent Man, what a great headline. You know the worst part about all of this, Shar?” You switched the speakerphone off, bringing it back to your ear. “I don’t even think that Karli is in the wrong here. She’s doing what she’s doing for good reason, she’s just doing a shit job of getting her point across.”

“Yeah, well she’s becoming a pain in everyone’s asses, so that puts her on everyone’s shit list.” Sharon took a deep breath before continuing. “You need to get out of there. I know you’re not technically in the States, or alive, but you know how the government is. They’ll find a way to get you, if they want you.” She was lecturing you out of love, you knew, but it was frustrating for you still.

“Can you not trust that I know what I’m doing?” A grunt released from her end of the phone. “No, seriously Shar. We grew up the same, went through all the same training, what makes you know so much better than me?” Deep down, you knew that wasn’t what she meant, but you had always felt second best when it came to Sharon.

“It’s not that you don’t know what you’re doing.” She sighed heavily. “It’s that you were gone for five years and things have changed. Governments have become stricter and you don’t understand that they aren’t the same as they were.” You remained quiet, expecting her to say something else. “That’s why it’s good you have me because I know how they work.”

“You know how they work, do you?” You were fed up with her. “Then explain to me how you have access to satellites, Sharon. That’s not something that you just happen upon.” Your tone was accusatory. “Are you working for the Power Broker behind my back?” You heard a sharp intake of air on her end. “I swear to God, Sharon. We promised each other we wouldn’t work for that asswipe. He’s involved in too much bad shit. If the US government were to ever find out that we were working for the Power Broker, they wouldn’t grant us pardons, Shar. Did you fuck this up for us?”

“I didn’t fuck anything up and you need to check your tone when you’re talking to me.” Your brows shot to your hairline.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. We need to work this shit out. I didn’t fuck anything up and neither will you if you come back to Madripoor right now.” You were shocked, Sharon had never talked like this to you.

“I really don’t think I would be comfortable being somewhere that I’m clearly not welcome anymore, so I’m going to stick with what I know.” Sharon began backtracking as you resigned yourself to being on your own for the first time in forever. “Goodbye, Sharon.” You ended the call and shoved your phone into the pocket of your jeans.

You dropped your head into your hands in defeat. Being on your own was daunting and you weren’t sure how Sharon survived without you well enough to grow your business all on her own. You tried to think of your next move, deciding that sticking with Sam would be your best bet. He’s the easiest to guess where he’s going since Bucky has been mentally MIA towards you.

You recalled Sam mentioning his sister and nephews, thinking he would go there to check on them. You hauled yourself out of your slump and to Zemo’s apartment to collect your things before going. You were going all in if you were going to do this, so why the fuck not?

*************************

@londonalozzy @marvelofwitch @dramaticwittch @hellmoonsin @jn-wolf @youcancallmeishita @iabrokengirl @veroxloki @liveloudwriteloud @lainternettuale @angelofthetrenchcoats @rosiahills22 @peachymichu @sj-ficrecs @learisa @itsyagirl01 @simply-me-xoxo @ghoststudyy @taina-eny @japanrecs @sinfulhun-collapsedheart @isaordora @shutupstevie @sprsoldierfics @beachbabe925

[quirklessidiot]

Title: filthy rich [2/3]  Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: mild romance themes, major angst ahead, a bit of mystery, mafia!au-ish

Synopsis: He was perfect, maybe too damn perfect.

Warnings: mild sexual content, yandere themes, toxic relationships, violence, shady business, class differences, mentions of rape, and sakusa being a manipulative bastard [this fic does not in any way glorify these types of relationships!!!] Notes: Happy 605 followers guys! Decided to change this into a three part fic since it would be too damn long....I know this is a long overdue chapter hnnng i fucking hate college i cant wait to see sakusa in the new season, how was it guys? I was absolutely thrown off by akaashi even if he only had like a minute or so screentime hnnng...

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Sakusa Kiyoomi reminded you of an onion.

Over the past three years of going out with him, you seem to find a new layer to him. No longer was he the asshole from that day, he was the sweetest boyfriend, hands down. You were both a bit awkward in terms of affection since you two were treading on unfamiliar territory (much to your surprise, a man like Sakusa Kiyoomi has never been seriously intimate with anyone) but like every other couple out there, you surpassed it. You were now in the receiving end of his soft smiles, warm gaze, and affection.

Although you had your worries like your residency and his company growing bigger and bigger by the day, you started to wonder if you’d last long but the man casted your doubts aside and continued to be faithful to you and everyday you seem to fall deeper and deeper in the rabbit hole.

“...and for the last time, stop buying me expensive things and offering to pay my student loans.” you frowned, stirring the Butajiru for your boyfriend who was coming by today for dinner. Out of spite, early on in the relationship, you had to learn how to cook since Sakusa demanded you to when he learned that you lived a lot on canned foods and unhealthy take-outs. Much to your despise, he even volunteers to pay for your weekly groceries and even got you a ‘for sale’ stove that he apparently can’t return because he misplaced the receipt.

“I don’t get it, don’t partners like it when they’re given gifts all the time?” his brows are upturned, making you scoff. “From past experiences-”

“Are you sure that those weren’t sugar babies?” you cut him off, pointing the wooden spoon on your hand at him, “Because from your description you sound like a sugar daddy.”

“Hey.” He grumbled, walking up to you from behind to envelope you on a hug, “I’m not old enough to be a sugar daddy.”

You shut the stove off and turn to him, placing a brief kiss on the jaw, “You yell at teenagers and complain when it’s too noisy. I think you qualify for a senior discount and a sugar daddy title.” You joked, escaping his grip to grab some bowls so you both could start eating.

“You’re only four years younger than me.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, sticking your tongue out, “Also, aren’t you supposed to be at a party tonight?”

“You weren’t there.” 

“Aren’t you required to go?” You frowned, placing the bowl in front of him, “You know I’m not a big fan of those things and you can’t keep handing it over to Komori-san…”

“And you know I hate it when you aren’t there.” He softly repeated.

You roll your eyes and place your own bowl as you sit in front of him, “Always the smooth talker since we met three years ago.” you shake your head.

“Three years, huh.” Sakusa paused, “Speaking of three years, I was thinking…”

You stopped eating and looked up to face him, his face dead serious, “Move in with me.” He asked out of the blue. Your eyes widen and you let down a gulp, your stomach flipping at his words.

“I-” You paused, “I...I can’t…”

Sakusa tilted his head, confused, “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong…” You started, eyes looking at your food, seemingly nervous, “I-I wanna move in with you, my lease is almost up...but…”

“But what?”

“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you any sooner but….but i’m moving.”

Silence filled the room that you could almost hear the pin drop, “What do you mean you’re moving?” Sakusa’s voice was void of emotion and it made you scared for the first time. The man wishes you were wrong, wishing that you were just moving someplace nearby but the next words stun him.

“I got accepted for a huge humanitarian work in Medaide.” You gulped, carefully choosing your words as you slither your hands to his, trying to distract him, “We'll be travelling around third world countries, like the dream I've always told you about. I thought, well, I didn't got accepted since I didn't hear from them but it seems like I did.”

“How many months?”

“It’s- It’s a permanent job, I go back once a year…”

Silence enveloped the room, the only thing that could be heard was the faint sound of the bustling city outside. The world seems to have stopped for Sakusa that time.

“Congrats.” Sakusa smiled softly, breaking the silence, “I’m proud of you, bunny.”

Your eyes widen as you immediately leap out the chair and run to your boyfriend’s side, “Thank god!” you exclaimed, sitting on his lap to envelope him in a hug, “I was afraid you’d break up with me.”

You stare at him in the eye, hands on his cheeks, “Now why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, we’d only be seeing each other once a year if i accepted it.” You murmured, kissing him on the temple, “Thanks for being so supportive.”

You don’t notice how his grip tightens a bit on your waist nor the darken look looming over his features, “I’d never let you go, bunny. Never.” he hummed.

You continue on with your little happy bubble with your ever supportive boyfriend, you start shopping for some goodies for your trip that you were scheduled to leave next month. You should’ve known everything was too good to be true. 

A week before your trip, the company had called you in and said that you were cut off from the team and that apparently your experience wasn’t enough.

You vividly remember Sakusa rushing to your side mid-day when he should be swamped with work, whispering soothing words in your ear. You were absolutely devastated, the dream job you wanted felt like it slipped away, it took you a month to get back to your feet and actually go out. Despite getting over it, you were discouraged, the words they said echoed on your head, thoughts on how you weren’t performing well back  in med school and how your record on residency wasn’t enough.

“Y/N?”

“Oh.” you blinked, looking up to your boyfriend, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“It’s alright.”

It seemed like the only constant thing in your life now was Sakusa, your friends were busy and they had come and gone, you didn’t want to worry your very busy parents so you didn’t call them about your dilemma. You didn’t want to call your aunt or Hinata about it too since you know they’d tell your parents.

Kiyoomi was the only person who stayed.

He was the only one you trusted.

“Is that roommate thing with you still open?” you suddenly asked, making Sakusa paused mid-movement.

“Of course it is,” He dropped the cutlery he was holding and strode to your side to caress your cheek, “It always is for you.”

“Guess I’ll be able to use my duplicate more often.”

Maybe being a humanitarian doctor wasn’t how it was going to be for you, it took another month for you to actually go and find a permanent job. Sakusa points out that you can take all the time out that you need but you don't want to lounge around and do nothing, you need a good distraction.

So you ended up working for a prestigious hospital as an ER doctor, for a moment, you forgot about Medaide with the help of your new job and your boyfriend.

You were happy.

Really happy.

The idea of staying in Tokyo didn’t actually seem like a bad idea now, you were going to bring it up to your parents and tell them that you wanted to stay here permanently with your boyfriend. They’d probably be happy, Sakusa Kiyoomi is a perfect man.

Until you come to the very sudden realization that he wasn’t.

Kiyoomi hated going out on long distance trips, he always wanted to be next to you or take you with him but this one was apparently too important to skip out so you greet him goodbye and wait for him to come home. Being the good partner you are, you decided to clean the house for your boyfriend. Kiyoomi was an incredibly clean person so you tried to keep your sloppiness to yourself when you moved in a few months ago.

Getting rid of the small dust here and there and throwing some unimportant things on the side, you prepare to throw out the collected garbage but ultimately freeze on your tracks when you find a ripped paper on the garbage dump.

Normally, you don’t do garbage dives.

Why would you?

Yet the name on top along with your boyfriend’s name caught your attention. It was Medaide’s logo, you grabbed the ripped piece of paper and started looking through the garbage dump, it did start to smell but curiosity always got the best of you.

Nervously biting your lower lip, you don’t find all the papers but you find one dated the same week you had broken the news to your boyfriend and the words, “Thank you for your donation and for sending us a group of more competent doctors for this batch.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stood there, shaking, the surge of panic and anxiety bubbling within you made the bile rose on your throat.

What was going on?

Was this really your perfect boyfriend?

Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, why would your boyfriend do that? What would he even gain? You bite on your fingernails as you walk back and forth in front of the front desk, “Y/N-san?”

You jump on the spot.

“K-Kenjiro-san.” 

“You alright there?” Shirabu Kenjiro asked, tilting his head to the side, “You’re not looking very good these days.”

“Y-Yeah…” You gulped, “J-Just thinking about some things.”

“Well, your shift is about to be over. Maybe you can go home earlier? ER’s pretty much dead right now.”  Your fellow doctor shrugged, you turned around and let out a sigh, maybe you should request to go home earlier. You needed to rest. All this thinking was getting to your head that you had almost misdiagnosed a patient this afternoon.

“Hey Kenjiro-san.” you ask your workmate, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“I have a friend.” You gulped down, “They’ve got this perfect relationship and he’s a super great guy...then-then they realize that he did something bad…”

Kenjiro looks up from his paperwork and shoots you his usual upturned brow, “Can you specify what he did?”

“He got in the way of their dreams.”

Kenjiro is silent for a moment as if he was thinking of something deep, “Well if I were that person, I’d leave him. What kind of asshat doesn’t support their partner’s dreams?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips, “Tell your friend that they deserve better and not some asshat who is holding them back.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, he had a very good point, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Kenjiro had a good point there, maybe confronting Sakusa would be a wise choice but as of right now you decided against it, you needed to gather the courage to actually talk to him about it. The thing that scared you the most was how much you loved and trusted the guy too much.

He went through such lengths to get you to stay around, who knows what else he could’ve done?

You shake your head, you were being paranoid yet at the same time you couldn’t help it. Your anxiety towards the situation wasn’t helpful at all and it was spiking up and down.

On your way home, you decided to pass by a local pharmacy because your head hadn’t been feeling very well, “Do you have any pain killers?” you weakly asked the man on the front counter, after giving you your medication, you also decided to buy some extra vitamins because you recalled almost running out of them.

“Oh, we ran out of that brand yesterday.” The pharmacist replied, scrunching his brow in wonder, “Would you like another one? It’s not a generic brand but it’s  pretty much the same.”

“Yeah, that’ll do too.” You nodded, after paying for your purchase, you headed home. Fixing up your medicine in your cabinet, you freeze mid-action when you notice how familiar the vitamin looked. Shakily raising your hand to grab your birth-control pills in the medicine cabinet, you almost topple down when you pop it open next to the vitamin you bought.

It was the same.

It was exactly the same.

Before you knew it you were vomiting in the basin, your headache was worsening and the shaking wouldn’t stop.

The idea of the perfect boyfriend was completely erased in your head.

You didn’t look well these past few days, Kiyoomi noticed it because you didn’t even dared to hide it anymore, you wanted to leave him. Not only did he get in the way of whatever you worked hard for but he was trying to get you pregnant without your consent.

You felt utterly disgusted.

You sat at the tub, completely drained from all the events that transpired this past two weeks. The three year perfect streak that he tried to maintain was reduced to nothing but shambles. You wanted to blame yourself for being too stupid and caught up in this sham, your boyfriend was messed up, you wanted to get away but how?

You inwardly sighed, you were stupid. Too stupidly in love and intoo deep the rabbit hole that you hadn't even noticed.

“Y/N?”

Your gaze snapped to find him standing there with an expensive bouquet of flowers, you try to let out a weak smile, “Hey.”

“You’re not looking well.” He commented, placing the flowers on the side as he approached your naked figure on the tub, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “Just work.”

“I told you not to overstrain yourself.” He mumbled, bending down to your level, “You might get sick.”

You wanted to cringe away in disgust as he kissed your bare shoulders but you maintained yourself, “It’s fine.” You softly said, “I just have to do my best. I still want to try out for humanitarian work if I get a good recommendation from the hospital.”

You notice the quick shift of expression in his eyes, making you tighten your lips, so there it was.

“Again? I thought-”

“It’s my dream.” You began, trying to give him a smile, maybe, just maybe you can let him see through it, “You know how much I want this.”

“Maybe it’s not meant for you.”

“Excuse me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes widen at the new reaction, your smile turning to a grimace. Over the course of your relationship, you had never been this angry, “Y/N, you know that’s not-”

“Get out.” You shakily say.

“Y/N.”

“I said, Get out, Sakusa.” You yell again, eyes seeing red, the bastard had the audacity to keep pulling you back and doing these things to you. You were downright disgusted at him and everything he was doing, what more would you find? The mere fact that he destroyed your dreams and switched out your birth control had you on edge at the moment and you didn’t want to try to find out anymore, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He lets out a sigh, “You don’t have to leave the room. I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

You watch him leave and close the bathroom door yet his eyes don’t fool you anymore. 

You didn’t feel safe here.

You needed to get out.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is no fool towards your shift of attitude, he knows something is up when you snap at him when you were usually the calmer one (yes, you may be a bundle of energy and spitfire but you were relatively calm in the most part) so he calls the head of your hospital and sits him down, the head is shaking and on his knees, begging him to spare his life and his job for he did not know that you were overworked at all in your department.

“...I watch over her, sir…” the chief shakily exclaimed, “I always do…”

“So, you’re telling me… that my Y/N is a liar?”

The chief immediately freezes up on the spot, “Good lord, of course not! Doctor Y/N would never-”

“What would it be?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Your hands or your life?”

The man immediately cries out, begging him for mercy for he was innocent but Sakusa didn’t care. 

He didn’t care at all.

Yes, Sakusa Kiyoomi would do anything for you. If someone were to make you sad, tired, weary, or any negative emotion, he’d strike them down, just like how he paid your friends to stay away, just like how he had subtly shifted your parents work conditions that prevented them from returning to you.

You were his and his only.

No one could get in your ways.

“My name is Doctor Sato, I’ll be your new chief...”

You stare at the new head of the hospital blankly, apparently the previous chief, Doctor Yamomoto, had to retire due to some matters with his family. It was a shame, you really liked him since he was awfully nice to you and everyone in the ward, “...L/N-san?” the older man calls out as soon as the meeting was over.

Your gaze snapped towards him as he tilted his head slightly, you’re completely bewildered by the sudden attention from your new boss, “Are your working conditions alright?”

“Yes, chief.” 

“If you have any problem, “ his tight lip turns into a big smile as he places his hand on your shoulder, “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You blink at his uncharacteristic request and immediately move back to get away from his grasp, a rather uncomfortable smile made its way to your lips as you nodded, “I’ll take note of that, Chief.” 

Thankfully nothing odd happened anymore after the day ended and as you patched up your things, getting ready to go home, you find your one and only boyfriend standing there with another bouquet of flowers in his hands. The sense of familiar dread sinked in once again.

How would you end this all?

The perfect man was a liar and he got in the way but why couldn’t you end things with him quickly? Why couldn’t you cut him off? You were so angry at him yet at the same time you were so lost, where did it go wrong?

“Y/N…” He greets, “How was work?”

“It was fine.” You quietly replied, turning your gaze  at the expensive bouquet on his hands once again. Ever since you guys fought, he had been buying you flowers and expensive things but you remained the same, you just didn’t know how to act anymore around him.

“How was your new chief?”

You immediately tense up, as far as you recalled you had only met the chief today and no one knew about this outside the hospital. How the hell did this bastard know?

Sakusa notices you’ve gone too quiet, “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Word travels fast, huh?” you blinked, regaining your composure quickly, something wasn’t right now, you knew that something went deeper than that little Medaide charade he did and switching your pills to get you pregnant, “He’s alright and please stop buying me stuff, didn’t I tell you that we were fine already?”

“Y/N-”

You sighed and leaned in closer, pulling down his mask so that you could give him a peck on his lips. Inside, you felt disgusted but this was the only way now, “Stop acting all cringey and lovey-dovey. I forgive you. Let’s not fight again.” You consoled the tall man.

You notice how soft his eyes became.

Yes, two can play a game. 

From stopping you from moving to trying to get you pregnant, it was those things that made you come towards a conclusion that Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t wanted you to leave his side. The man probably wouldn’t stop at anything, if he was willing to go to such lengths, what more could he do? You let out a tight smile as your boyfriend kisses your temple.

You needed to find a way and quick because the Sakusa Kiyoomi you thought you knew for the past three years was nothing like the Sakusa Kiyoomi in front of you.

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Wei Wuxian never had the patience for embroidery, and Jiang Yanli was passable, but preferred cooking. Jiang Cheng found it comforting, stabbing something over and over again, with a better result than breaking training dummies.

1

It started with Jiang Cheng being a sticky child, refusing to leave his jie’s side even when she sat for her embroidery lessons; with him being noisy and troublesome and the teacher just shoving the needle and thread into his hands with a muttered comment about it being good for men to know how to repair their own clothing – as if a future sect leader would ever need to know something like that.

Jiang Cheng quieted down and focused, all hard work and determination to please the way he went about all aspects of his life – he wasn’t a natural talent, in cultivation or swordmanship or even this, but he always tried his best.

His mother covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter when he presented her with the results of several weeks’ worth: it was just barely recognizable as the world’s ugliest duck.

“A symbol of loving devotion,” one of her maids said.

“There’s only one, though,” the other maid said. “They’re supposed to be a pair.”

“He’s still young,” Madame Yu said, and then held up a fabric with a vaguely incoherent green-white-pink blob. “And anyway, it’s still better than this – what is this supposed to be again, A-Li?”

“A lotus flower,” Jiang Yanli replied, utterly untroubled by her mother’s criticism.

Madame Yu and her maids studied the fabric for a little while longer, trying to identify a flower inside the knot of threads, helpless expressions on their face.

“A-Cheng is a duck without a partner and A-Li is unrestrained by commonly understood boundaries,” Madame Yu finally said, pinching her nose. “With signs as inauspicious as this…well, at least you still have your father to hold up the world for you.”

“Men care more about cooking skills anyway,” one of her maids said. “And A-Cheng is an heir to a sect: he’ll find himself a lady duck one day. Maybe even a whole set of them.”

“He’d better not find a whole set of them!”

2

There was a small needle on the floor of the hut where the Wen sect had stuffed him away – too small and thin to attack anyone, even if a useless waste with no golden core could muster an attack at all, and so it had been overlooked.

Jiang Cheng held it over the flame of the lamp to sterilize it, and then, with shaking hands, turned it on his own flesh.

He didn’t have a choice – it was that or die bleeding out onto the floor of some closet in the Lotus Pier he’d never even known existed, some of the cuts left by the Wens too deep to be left alone even for a little while, and he didn’t have spiritual energy to encourage the healing process.

Maybe he should just die. What was the point of living? He was a waste, now. Maybe the deep cuts were even meant to be a kindness – a way out of the misery that awaited him, a life of being Wen Chao’s slave, an object of pity and mockery.

Jiang Cheng’s hands might be shaking, but his embroidery was good: he’d kept it up, citing it as good training for precision, a way to improve his dexterity, but in fact it was the only thing that could make his mother smile at him anymore. Sure, she yelled about him wasting time with feminine pursuits when he ought to be cultivating, training, getting stronger, surpassing Wei Wuxian, but when she looked at the little things he made for her, she still smiled, almost as if she couldn’t help herself.

She wouldn’t smile for him any longer. Neither smile nor scolding.

Jiang Cheng would live to see Wei Wuxian take the revenge their parents deserved. He could wait until that was done to die.

3

A regular needle could prick the finger of a cultivator a thousand times before drawing a single drop of blood.

Jiang Cheng’s fingers were covered in bandages, but the new disciples of his Jiang sect had robes embroidered with lotuses, the way they should have, and they need not be ashamed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other sects in battle.

It wasn’t a job a sect leader should ever do, but there was no one else to do it; any money had to be spent on supplies, none left over for paying seamstresses to do something impractical, and the few women who joined up expected to be used for their skill at the sword, not the needle.

It was just another thing he had to do with no time to do it – he had to train himself in preparation for battle, teach the new disciples the Jiang sect techniques, make sure they had enough to eat and drink, keep one step ahead of the Wen sect’s forces that sought to destroy them, recruit new sects to join their cause and all of it while searching desperately for Wei Wuxian, who had gone missing.

(Sometimes, in his nightmares, Jiang Cheng wondered if Baoshan Sanren had seen through their mischief, recognized him as someone other than her disciple’s son, and demanded a price be paid for the gift she had given him.)

At least embroidery was something he could do at night when he couldn’t sleep, something productive that wouldn’t disturb the sentries or make anyone worry about him.

Sometimes, Lan Wangji – who had joined him in searching for Wei Wuxian – would come and sit next to him at the early hours of the night, undoubtedly fleeing nightmares of his own. His meditation didn’t bother Jiang Cheng, and as much as he hated to admit it, the company was welcome.

That didn’t stop him from embroidering a small awkward stork on the inside of Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon the one time the other man had asked him for help fixing it after it’d been cut in battle.

4

“I know Madame Jin probably already got you something better,” Jiang Cheng said, his fingers twisting together – in fact, he hadn’t thought of it at all, not until he reached Lanling and heard the women on the street speculating as to which skilled seamstress had been retained to embroider all the auspicious signs onto the wedding clothing of the Jin sect’s new daughter-in-law.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that they would just buy a set pre-made – wedding clothing was traditionally embroidered by the bride herself, preparations made over the years, and of course the set Jiang Yanli had (with no real motivation or ambition) been working on had gone up in flames along with the Lotus Pier. When she’d come to let him know about Jin Zixuan’s impending proposal, and that she intended to accept, Jiang Cheng had panicked and ordered the silks and thread himself; his sister was passable at embroidery at the best of times, much worse when under pressure or a deadline, and he didn’t want the Jin sect to laugh at her.

He should have realized. What didn’t the Jin sect solve with money?

“As if I would wear anything other than what A-Cheng made for me,” Jiang Yanli said, voice warm as she ran her hands over the red silk he’d brought with him, the golden threads glinting. “It’s beautiful. Your ducks have gotten much better since your first attempt, all those years ago.”

Jiang Cheng covered his face with embarrassment. His mother had kept that stupid hideous duck for years, often just sitting in her pocket alongside regular necessities so that she could pull it out to embarrass him whenever she pleased; it had probably only died when she had.

“I left some undone for you to finish,” he said through his fingers. “I brought the thread…if you want?”

“Of course. A-Cheng will sit by me and make sure I don’t make any mistakes.”

The last pair of ducks ended up crooked, their heads too close together, their beaks at such an odd angle that it almost looked like a smile; they were Jiang Cheng’s favorite ones of all.

5

“For you,” Jiang Cheng said, shoving the box into Wei Wuxian’s arms and ignoring the look of confusion. “For when Hanguang-jun finally decides to live up to his responsibilities.”

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian said blankly. “Why are you even at the Cloud Recesses?”

Jiang Cheng sneered because it was easier than doing anything else. It was the first time he’d seen Wei Wuxian since the events at the Guanyin temple: Wei Wuxian hadn’t come back to the Lotus Pier, not once, even though Jin Ling had tried several times to invite him.

“Am I not allowed, now?” he demanded irritably. “I’m a sect leader; I have a visitor’s token, same as anyone else. Anyway, I have other business to attend to – just take it and be done with it. Don’t make a fuss.”

It was a mistake to say that – as soon as Wei Wuxian realized there was the possibility of a fuss, he couldn’t wait to confront it at once, and disregarded all rules of etiquette to pull open the box right there as they stood, before even Jiang Cheng left.

“Red…?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “Jiang Cheng, you got me wedding clothing.”

“Reused ones,” Jiang Cheng said before Wei Wuxian could get too emotional or anything. “The only adjustments were to the size and shape – don’t think too highly of yourself!”

“Sect Leader Jiang is too humble,” Lan Wangji said from the door. “It must have been a great effort to make clothing for a man from the ones your sister wore.”

“Sister…? You – this is what shijie married in?”

Jiang Cheng glared at the immovable Lan Wangji rather than look at Wei Wuxian. “Her marriage was happy,” he said stiffly. “Yes, it was cut short –”

Best not to say by whom.

“– but it was still happy. It’s not meant to be a bad omen or a curse…I thought you’d like it. Not that I expected you’d remember what it looked like, with your memory.”

“Of course I like it!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, hugging the red fabric to his chest. “You made it for shijie, and she finished it, right?”

“I had to add some more fabric to make up for the size difference,” Jiang Cheng said, still refusing to look at him directly. At least Lan Wangji had the good grace to be easy to glare at, that pig who dug up his family’s (lost, dead, resurrected) cabbage. “There are a few more that still need finishing. That way, it’ll have something from all of us – don’t you dare cry at me!”

“I’m not crying! My eyes are watering from laughter at how sentimental you are, that’s all!”

“It is good that we will both have signs of Sect Leader Jiang’s approval with us,” Lan Wangji said mildly.

Wei Wuxian turned to him at once. “Both? What do you have?”

Jiang Cheng was equally confused, and only when Lan Wangji reached up to his forehead ribbon did he remember his fit of pettiness in horror. “Wait, no, don’t – it can’t still be there –”

It was.

Wei Wuxian’s cackles followed him as he fled.

[teamfreewill2pointo]

Transcript of End of the Road Special

Transcript of End of the Road Special. 

Please let me know if I made any errors in transcription. Twitter version Family Don’t End with Blood Transcription Winchester Mythology Transcription

Dabb: Ultimately, we came up with something that we're all very proud of Singer: You never know what the audience is going to like so we really tried to say "what would make us happy? Would we be satisfied with where we've taken them?"

The Carry On song was a guideline.

Singer: The myth of what these brothers were throughout 15 years... We didn't shy away from fatalism, but we wanted to be able to have it be kinda uplifting as well.

Dabb: If you're going to do something that feels like a complete arc, you have to kinda go back to the beginning of it (clips of them hunting vamps from s1 & 15.20) When it comes to Sam & Dean- it's all about getting back to, in some ways, these two guys on the road in this car.

Dabb: They've been doing this job for 15 years now. They've fought everyone from demons to vampires to God himself, but at the end of the day, they're still working guys, out there on the road & taking cases. We've tried to never lose sight of that.

Dabb: There are times when we've been wrapped up in our own mythology a little bit. We've always tried to get back to the basics, which are: these two guys, saving people, hunting things. 

Eugenie: I think we sort of knew generally what the ending would involve.

Eugenie: We might not have known the mechanics, but we sort of knew there would be a victorious, glorious sacrificial ending bc I think sacrifice is a big theme in the series.

For every great thing you do, a cost must be paid.

Singer: Andrew & I talked about it. We were in agreement pretty quickly... talked to the rest of the writing staff & let them know what we wanted to do and we were open to suggestions. And then we pretty much pitched it to Jared and Jensen.

Jensen talks about flying to LA. Jensen: So before we ever even started 15, we knew how the last portion of the story was going to go. We didn't know how we were going to get there, but we kinda knew the final- the finish line- we knew what... what that was going to look like.

Jared: I don't think there's ever been a season of SPN in 15 years where the way the writers thought the show would play out for that season- ended up being the way it played out And so we were aware of that. They told us here's what we're thinking, here's what happens to Castiel

Jared: In the finale, Dean dies & Sam lives on. And then we think they're going to meet up in heaven. 

I remember Jensen... just because I know him so well- he seemed to bristle a little bit.

Jensen: It was hard to hear then & it was hard to read now. Not because I didn't like it, not because I wished it had gone differently... I'm not adverse to it. I think it's a great ending. I'm proud to film it.

Singer: And we just aimed for that, you know, throughout the season. We knew where we were going.

Jensen: Reading it & knowing that... there's just a weight that is so much larger reading these scripts than I've ever experienced before. 

There's an emotional weight that these scripts are going to carry & these episodes are going to have that I don't think we've ever seen before.

Brad: [J2] were so young when all of this started. They brought to it such conviction & such commitment to the effort. 

That's one of the things that kept the show going for so many years... a show that was designed for very young guys, footloose & fancy free, & on the road…

Brad: To see these guys grow up b4 your eyes into- men, not boys any longer- was amazing. 

BABY Jared: Though the story does involve Sam & Dean chasing supernatural things, it really is a story about two brothers that love each other & ultimately will do anything for each other.

Jensen: There's really one person that gets it on the level that I get it, and that's Jared. Jared: I've never spent as much time with another human being as I have with Jensen Ackles. He will be my friend and brother forever. And I know that.

BABY Jensen: There's a lot of dynamics between the two brothers, there's a lot of history between them, there's a lot of banter between them... it's good stuff S15 Jensen: We had a partner in crime & we leaned on each other for, you know, for times when it was tough.

Jensen: But we also won together. We got to share the experience of success & the experience of getting picked up for another season. Watching these two characters go through what they're going through, when we're working 14 hours & it's 2-3 o’clock on a Sat morning and we're just now finishing filming out in the rain and mud and we gotta race to the airport to get on a plane because we've got a photoshoot in LA & we've gotta do on camera interviews and we gotta promote the show that we love so much that we were just in the mud & the rain filming hours before we're exhausted and it's like there's only one person that gets that right now. That gets how I feel and that's this guy standing next to me. That's pretty cool. That's pretty cool to have somebody like that.

Brad: We knew it was going to be impossible to tie up every aspect of all of the cans of worms that we opened up. 

We did want to bring a proper ending to the guys, the guy's relationship.

Brad: Then of course we had this huge corner we painted ourselves into with the most powerful thing in the universe being the big bad of the season. We try and find a proper send off for Jack & for Cas. What to do w/ the boys & is that a together farewell or an individual?

It was just... lots of moving parts. 

Dabb: I give a lot of credit to Bobo who really was the one who started banging the drum early & often to ending the mythology in 19 and end the characters in 20.

Brad: You're battling God & battling God & you have this epic situation going on through the first 3/4 of the show & then what? You send off Dean in act 4? That just felt wrong. Eugenie: We had this obligation, it was really mandatory, that we tie up the mythic narrative and leave the final episode for the emotional resolution. I [was] more on the side of not wanting to best God. To have God change to be more like his creations. So there were philosophical arguments, but we always knew God's resolution was going to be a big ticket item.

Jensen: We'd started day 1 of the 2nd to last episode, 19. We were 1 day down on that episode & we were just about to start our 2nd day & we got the call that morning that we were not going to be coming in that day.

Jensen: So we figured ok, we'll figure out protocol, figure out what we need to do, & we'll just regroup, come back on Monday. As that day progressed, it was like- this looks like more of an apocalypse that is ascending upon us than just a bad cold.

They pulled the plug & they said everybody go home. 

Singer: Fortunately, we got assurance from both the studio & the network that one way or another we were gonna finish the series. That was comforting to us, but we didn't know when we were going to go back.

Eugenie: We didn't know what we were going back to... if this was the last time we would ever see the set. There was no plan. It was just get out of dodge. Dabb: When it first happened, we thought it would be a couple of weeks, maybe a month.

I had conversations w/WB where they expected everyone to be back shooting in June & then things got worse & pushed & pushed.

Eugenie: Slowly as we settled into that 4 or 5 month period, discussions were going on w/the studio, & the networks, & the actors. We knew there would be restrictions on what we were allowed to shoot, but finally, the mechanics were figured out. 

Singer: So they were ready to go pretty quickly, shooting in Van, where covid wasn't quite as virulent as it was [in LA].

Dabb: We were one of the first shows, one of the first WB shows to start back up. So in a way, we were kinda a guinea pig. But, in being that, I think everyone took it really seriously. We had 0 positive tests. Crew members weren't going out on the weekends.

They were like look, if I get sick, it hurts the whole show. That speaks to the family culture up there, where we've had so much of our crew for so long. Where J2 & Singer provide such great leadership.

Singer: When I was in prep for 20, I was basically in the office but couldn't go to the set. It was very odd for me not to be able to go to the set while I was in prep. 

Everybody just hung in there & did what they were supposed to do.

Brad: Then we were faced with the dilemma of having to rewrite a lot of the stuff bc of the pandemic bc of the limitations that we knew were going to come on the production.

Jensen: We were gearing up for, not only the end of that season, but the end of the series. There was a lot of big, big things written-packed- into those last two scripts.

Jared: At first, it was supposed to be a lot of our old cast from prior seasons in a Roadhouse with Kansas.

Everybody had already agreed. Kansas was going to be in Van. We were going to have dad there & mom there. Just probably 20 or 30 different actors & actresses who had been a part of the SPN's canon over the last 15 & a half years.

Jensen: It was scheduled to be the last day that we were going to film, so it was almost like rolling right into a nice wrap party on camera. 

Brad: The idea of flying a boatload of ppl up there to quarantine for 2 weeks so they could shoot for a day was making less & less sense.

Eugenie: How do we make this work? And while you're doing that, you also don't want to sacrifice the heart and soul of the project. 

So we came up with a reduced, much more intimate ending. It has been replaced by something equally magical & rewarding.

Singer: I felt an enormous responsibility in directing the finale of a show that's been on for 15 years. Andrew, when he saw the cut, he said some really nice things to me as to, you know, the way I handled the material.

Jensen: The scenes that were filmed on our last day on the sound stages were filled with the most emotion of the final episode. 

Singer: One of the really hard things was we're on another stage that wasn't the MoL stage & they started wrecking the MoL sets

They'd been working on this set and been apart of this- this family for just as long if not longer than the set's been around. I was like "it's really sad seeing this get taken down" and the other guy said, "I'm trying to hold back tears while I'm swinging this hammer."

Jared: As we start saying goodbye to characters, to locations, like it just seems like every day you would wake up and there would be some reason to cry. 

Misha: This is a show ultimately about love, & empathy, & caring, & I think that Castiel embodies that.

Misha: Half the crew was crying. It was really such a sweet, supporting environment to be in for the demise of a character that, of course, for me is really important. 

But it was so lovely to see that, you know, the folks that I'm- I'm working with were also there for Cas at that moment. 

Alex: To get to work with these caliber people & see your friends every day is really special & is not something that often happens in this business for this long. It's been definitely a topsy turvy last couple weeks here with us and the crew. 

Jared: Friday of the final full week was the big scene in the barn with the vampires where Dean suffers his fate. They did the first two days with the entire stunt team & the young boy actors. 

And then they cut it for Thursday night and they're like, okay, Friday, tomorrow, we’re starting the dialogue. Dean, you're on the post. Sam, you just cut off the last vampire's head.

That was the scene- that was where Supernatural was really encapsulated. 

Jensen: And then the next week we kind of had this- on the road encore get together filmmaking scenario that felt more like we made it & it was more pats on the back as opposed to tearful goodbyes. 

Dabb: In a weird way you can look at the 15 seasons is like Sam & Dean's emotional evolution. You know instead of therapy, they kill vampires, but other than that it's kind of the same & brings them both to a very good place. And a place where they can, as the song says, you know, lay their weary head to rest. 

This felt like the most honest & emotionally fulfilling episode for these characters to us. Jared: I got thinking about how Supernatural started & how the majority of times how I thought it should end. It started with Sam & Dean Winchester. I think it's proper that it ended with Sam & Dean Winchester together again. 

Jensen: When the cameras stop rolling & Bob yelled, “Cut!” and Bob yelled, “That’s a series wrap on Supernatural.” There was- a there was a loud cheer that echoed through that canyon we were filming in. I will- I will happily say that there were hugs that happened and that needed to happen. Those are people that I spent not just years with, but so much time with- it's like brothers in arms and so to put it to bed the way that we did felt really good and then felt good to hug some people, I'll tell you that much. Singer: I thanked everyone, but I wanted to really thank people who had been with us from the beginning and as I looked around, there were so many people who had been there from the beginning.

We really were a family. I always say about this show is one of the reasons that it was a success and is that it was not only about the Winchester family, but it was about the Supernatural family. 

Jared: So now that's all said and done, I guess I can look back at it and just be proud that I helped this show carry on and I'm really proud of the blood, sweat, and tears that I put in, and I feel like- I feel like that sacrifice was also maybe one of the things I learned from Sam, you know? Sam had to sacrifice a lot. So, I'm honored and flattered and grateful that I got to be a part of that journey.

Dabb: You're never going to have another show like this. You're never gonna have another experience like this. For a lot of different reasons, from how long it ran, from the family that the show became, from the amazing fans that we have. [Footage of us] From the emotional investment people can put in over 15 years of their lives. 

Some started watching this when they were in high school, when they were 15, they're 30 now, they might have kids. That's their- that's like half their life. They've been with this show. You're not gonna have that again. Shows just aren’t gonna run this long, especially genre shows, but I don't know that I'm ever gonna do anything else in my career that I'm gonna be more proud of than having been involved in this show. 

Jared: The things that stick out are just how important it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And keep on working and wake up every day and treat it like it could be your last and- and if you make it out the other side, you'll be happy and proud of what you did. 

Jensen: The crew had packed up, they had cleared the bridge, and they were all starting to, you know, load their trucks and get moving. And Jared and I just kind of hung back, and we just took a moment. I looked at him and I said, “I’m proud of us, man. I'm proud of what we've done.”

We know that that's the collective we, that is everyone that is involved, that is- you know from the top down. You know, for our portion, for what we contributed to this monster of the show, he and I reflected on that, and still able to see and smell the roses.

[gunpowdville]

The Great Flesh-Eating Cake Incident of Year [REDACTED], Chapter 2

chapter: 2/2

relationships: Drumbot Brian-Raphaella la Cognizi (queerplatonic), Gunpowder Tim/Lyfrassir Edda/Marius Von Raum, Nastya Rasputina/the Aurora

Other things: genderfluid Tim, she/her Tim, he/fae Marius, temporary character death, possession, canon-typical violence. but mostly literally just silly self-indulgent fluff.

chapter 1

ao3

Read here below the cut >:}

The Rec Room: Tim, Lyf, Marius. All 10 still alive. (a few minutes before It is released)

Lazy days on Aurora are hard to come by, and when they do happen, they are spent most often by complaining about how boring lazy days are. Some, however, can find content in the slower days spent in relative peace and quiet. Case in point: the three currently buried in a pillow nest in the middle of the rec room floor.

The situation is this: the pillows and cushions from the furniture all stripped away and stolen to build a comfortable arrangement on the floor. Gunpowder Tim, in simply a loose blouse and leggings, hair braided elegantly over one shoulder. Lyfrassir Edda, in what is undeniably one of Tim’s waistcoats, perched in between the gunner’s legs, having their hair braided by her deft hands. Marius von Raum, sprawled across Lyf’s lap, waving his hands about animatedly as he talks.

“You left out the best part,” Tim says as Marius finishes relaying the story of how fae and Raph had joined the crew. “You forgot to mention the bit where Bri gave the two of you an actual job interview. And how, upon being asked your greatest strengths, you said, and I quote, ‘I’m hot.’”

“You did not,” Lyf looks utterly scandalized. “At a job interview?”

“You forget, love, that the job fae was applying for was being a Mechanism,” Tim points out, running her fingers through the former inspector’s hair. “The criteria is pretty much being able to play an instrument and willing to do crime.”

“Speaking of,” Marius says, batting aimlessly at Tim’s face where it peeks at him over Lyf’s shoulder. “It’s a shame that we only really have two or so songs together, Tim. We should get to sing together more.”

Tim nods in agreement. “We’re simply too powerful together.”

“I’ve been thinking of trying to get Jonny to let the three of us sing Blood & Whiskey,” Marius admits, then frowns. “Oh, wait, sorry Lyffers, I forgot you sound like a drowning cat when you sing.”

“I do not!” Lyf flushes scarlet, turning their face away from Tim’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re right, sorry, it’s more like a drowning cat playing a kazoo.”

Lyf makes an attempt to hit Marius lightly, but the violinist just catches their hand and kisses the back of it, grinning wickedly.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you sing,” Tim says slyly, tying off the braid and leaning forward so she can rest her chin on Lyf’s shoulder. “Would you sing for me?”

“Do you enjoy the sound of a drowning cat playing a kazoo?” Lyf asks her.

“Well, not exactly…”

“Then according to Mare, you do not want to hear me sing.”

Tim pouts, showing off her mastery of sad puppy dog eyes. The overhead lights glinting off the metal make them sparkle, creating a masterfully alluring wide gaze. “Please? Just a bit? For me?”

It is next to impossible to argue with those eyes, especially once you’ve already fallen hard for the person making them at you. With a sigh, Lyf squeezes their eyes tight shut and awkwardly sings a few lines of Blood & Whiskey. It sounds, as promised, like a drowning cat playing a kazoo.

Tim manages to hold a straight face for roughly three seconds before guffawing with laughter, burying her face in the spot between Lyf’s shoulder and neck to smother her cackles.

Lyf breaks off, turning their head slightly with a gently irritated eyebrow raised at their partner. “Are you finished?”

“Sorry,” Tim gasps between giggles, nuzzling further into their neck, failing miserably at trying to stifle her mirth. “I- I just- I didn’t expect it to actually sound- like that- I’m- I’m sorry-”

“I told you,” Marius crows, grinning up at Lyf and Tim with triumphant teasing fire in faer eyes. “Wasn’t I right?”

“You two are very rude to me,” Lyf huffs, sticking their nose in the air haughtily. Tim lifts her face from their shoulder and noses their jaw, murmuring something about drowning cats and how they have never sounded more attractive. Lyf pointedly ignores her.

“Aw, hey, don’t be like that, fairytale,” Marius heaves himself into a sitting position and catches the former inspector’s face in his hands. “Y’know we’re just teasing you ‘cuz we love you, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,”Lyf sighs, giving in and letting faer kiss them.

“Sappy,” Tim comments, earning a petulant finger from Marius. “Also, fairytale?”

“They’re my fairytale,” Marius declares proudly, and Tim pouts. “What am I, then?”

“You,” Lyf contemplates, turning their head to meet Tim’s metallic gaze with their own iridescent one. “You’re my battle cry. You’re the song I sing for strength when I can’t find it. You’re my declaration to the world that I will not stand still and break. You’re the inspiration that keeps me fighting. My battle cry.”

“Well,” Tim blinks, making a valiant attempt to keep her voice steady. “Hey now. You didn’t have to go and do that to me.”

Lyf’s brow furrows, concern instantly evident in their features. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, goddamnit, you said everything right, you- fuck.” without another word, Tim fists a hand in the front of their shirt and pulls them into a kiss. “I fucking love you.”

Lyf’s (no doubt sappy as all hell) response is cut off by Marius, who groans and rolls out of their lap with a huff. “If you two are going to be like that, I’m leaving.”

“You started it,” Tim points out, “but whatever, more Lyf time for me.”

Marius sticks faer tongue out at her as fae leaves. “Go see if Bri’s made me any munchies!” Tim calls after him, before turning back to her partner with a decidedly malicious smirk. “Now, where were we?”

They are interrupted not long after by Brian, who comes barging into the room without preamble, zeroes distractedly in on the pair of them, says “Oh. Hello, dears. Have either of you seen an unidentifiable mass of sentient ooze? Slightly larger than an octokitten? It ate Marius,” and then hurries out the opposite door.

Tim and Lyf glance at each other, attempting to register his words. “Wha- Brian, what?”

But the Drumbot has already disappeared down the corridor, leaving the two of them to scramble to their feet and race after him, their questions landing on ignorant ears.

Nastya, the corridors: 9 left alive, 1 eaten.

Nastya spends her lazy days with her girlfriend, most of the time. She enjoys the quieter hours when she can work on repairs, listening to Aurora tell her stories or complain about whatever is on her mind. This particular lazy day, the engineer is sitting cross-legged on the floor of one of the corridors, right outside Jonny’s room, her hands deftly working at the wires beneath one of the wall panels. Aurora is telling her about a new program she and Ivy are working on, a sort of virtual reality experience for the shooting range that will ‘revitalize the excitement of warfare’, in her words. Nastya listens intently, interjecting with questions when she has them and praise when it is deserved.

As she finishes up, carefully replacing the wall panel and smiling softly at Aurora’s petulant complaints, something drops from the air vent above her. She takes a smooth step back as the thing falls to the floor with a wet thwack. At first glance it resembles an octokitten, but as it unfurls it reveals itself as more of a dark glistening lump, tendrils of gooey flesh extending across the floor toward Nastya.

“Well, hello,” The engineer says, tilting her head to study it. “What are you?”

That is the cake our Drumbot and his science officer made, Aurora answers for her. Don’t touch it.

“This is a cake?”

I believe it was supposed to be.

“And what is it now?”

Decidedly not a cake.

It’s at that moment that Ivy comes racing into the corridor, breathless and looking faintly annoyed. “Ah. Nastya. Good. Have you seen-” her eyes drift to the thing at Nastya’s feet. “That.”

“I am certainly looking at it right now,” Nastya says in response, nudging a toe forward to poke at it. Ivy throws out an arm to stop her. “Do not. Unless you want to get eaten.”

Nastya raises an eyebrow and quickly steps back, just as an octokitten meanders into the area, approaching the blob with a curious ‘mrrp’. Ivy dives for it, but the creature is much faster, latching onto the octokitten in a second. But instead of eating it, the thing seems to melt into it, turning it a darker color.

“Hm,” Ivy hums curiously. “That’s new.”

The possessed octokitten zeroes in on Ivy and Nastya, yawning wide to show a lot more teeth than should be able to fit in its mouth.

“Run?” Nastya suggests, watching the kitten start forward on uneasy tentacles.

“Run,” Ivy agrees.

Jonny & Ashes, the shooting range: 9 left alive, 1 eaten.

The shooting range is one of the few rooms on Aurora that isn’t quiet on lazy days. This day is no different from any other in that regard, with the sounds of gunfire and cackling echoing from behind the wide open door. The quartermaster and the first mate are both in there, trapped in a pointless competition to outshoot each other. They have done this many times before, and who wins changes nearly every time. But it’s an excellent way to distract and relieve stress, and Jonny had noticed Ashes appearing down earlier, so he had suggested a shooting competition. He never said that he was doing it to cheer them up, but he’s pretty sure they’ve caught on to his intentions.

“I kicked your ass harder than Brian got his ass kicked in that sun,” Ashes remarks, standing over Jonny, who lies prone on the floor. Jonny groans and sits up, shoving his singed hair off of his forehead. “You cheated.”

“Says what rules?” Ashes snorts, reaching down to help him up.

“It was a shooting match, O’Reilly, not a goddamn grenade match.”

“Your screaming was hilarious, though.”

Jonny scowls and flips them off. Ashes laughs and slips another grenade into their pocket, a little something to save for later.

The trapdoor in the ceiling of the shooting range drops open, and Raphaella tumbles through, falling head over heels and landing neatly on her feet with a dancer’s grace. “We have something of a problem.”

“Yeah, Ashes just fucking blew me up,” Jonny complains, and Ashes rolls their eyes. “You’re fine.”

“You’re fine,” Raphaella says at exactly the same time, and Ashes shoots a grin at her. “Anyway, Bri and I may have done… something.”

“You may have done something,” Brian argues, breezing into the room with Tim and Lyf close on his heels. “I take no responsibility.”

“Can we please go back to the part where it ate my boyfriend?” Lyf demands, causing Jonny’s eyebrows to shoot up practically to his hairline. “Someone’s eating boyfriends?”

“The octokittens are possessed,” this is Nastya, squeezing past Brian through the door, tailed by Ivy.

“Possessed?”

“Possessed,” Ivy confirms, to Brian’s incredulous outburst.

“D’you mean those octokittens?” Jonny asks, pointing to the door. Sure enough, a gaggle of octokittens meanders through, moving a bit unsteadily, oily dark colors writhing beneath their skin.

“That looks like- that’s-” Lyf’s eyes go wide as they stare at the kittens. “What the fuck is that?”

“It was supposed to be a cake,” Brian says mournfully.

“It ate Marius!”

“It’s technically your child, Lyf,” Raphaella pipes up. “The compound I used to make it is based on your blood samples.”

Lyf just stares at her.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Ashes remarks. They crouch down and flip open their lighter, holding it in front of one of the kittens’ face. It flinches, then snarls and shoots toward them, latching onto their foot, its jaws opening far wider than they should be able to. They try to kick it off, but its tentacles appear to have melted onto their skin and are slowly eating through. With a squelch, the odd entity detaches fully from its octokitten host, who blinks and scuttles into the corner.

With a pained grunt, Ashes drops their lighter onto the thing on their foot, successfully setting the thing alight. It recoils and retreats to the center of the floor, squelching in a frantic circle. It leaves behind nothing left of the quartermaster’s foot, and Ashes stumbles and is caught by Jonny, who steadies them and shoots a murderous look at the flaming blob.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ashes hisses through their teeth, pain evident on their features. “Goddamn. What the fuck, you two.”

“Again, I take no responsibility,” Brian insists. Raphaella sticks her tongue out at him. “You are a bastard and a traitor and I never loved you anyway.”

Brian blows her a kiss and a wink.

“Interesting,” Ivy interrupts, pulling out a notepad and writing something down. “It appears fire is ineffective.”

This gets everyone’s attention directed back to the creature, which is indeed decidedly not dead or incapacitated in any way. It isn’t even on fire anymore. And it looks angry.

“You’re kidding me,” Ashes growls, staring at the thing with disgusted fury.

“Run,” Tim suggests, pushing Lyf gently out of the way as the thing focuses on them and begins to move forward. “Split up and run. It can’t get all of us at once.”

Jonny nods and dutifully starts off out of the room, taking Ashes with him, holding them up as they limp and curse. Ivy and Nastya shoot off in another direction, Nastya scooping up the disgruntled left-behind octokitten as she goes. Raphaella grabs Lyf’s wrist and pulls them up through the ceiling trapdoor, ignoring their startled protests. That leaves Tim with Brian. She turns to him, poised to ask what the plan is, but hesitates when she sees Brian standing there, head cocked to one side, staring blankly at the empty floor. The bifrost cake-creature is nowhere to be seen.

“Brian?” Tim steps forward, reaching out and resting a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Bri? You good?”

Brian’s head lifts, slowly, in an uncharacteristically stilted motion. His eyes are… wrong. Something is moving in them, and if Tim looks closely she can see it oozing from the corners. Oh. Oh no.

“Fuck,” she breathes, stumbling backward and reaching for a pistol. “Not Brian not Brian not Brian.”

The thing in Brian’s body smiles, forcing the expression onto the Drumbot’s face. It takes a step forward. Of course, it’s at that moment that the Toy Soldier decides to make its first appearance.

“Sorry I’m late!” It announces as it steps into the shooting range. “I was in the middle of a delightful painting using the blood from that corpse Jonny dragged onto the ship the other day! I didn’t want to leave it for too long in case it was ruined! Anyway, I heard there was a crew meeting?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that painting,” Tim says, momentarily distracted. The Toy Soldier claps its hands together excitedly. “Of course! I’ll set up a viewing!”

Tim grins. “Lovely. Now, what do you know of possession?”

“Well, it depends on what kind!”

“Um,” Tim glances back at Brian and whatever is piloting him, who has stopped in its tracks and is watching the exchange curiously. “Well. Would you.. Happen to know anything about possession by.. Cake?”

In the brief pause that follows, the thing inside Brian appears to give up on its curiosity and steps forward, opening his mouth. Tim frowns at it for a moment, confused, and then she sees the soft glow building in the back of the Drumbot’s throat. “Oh shit.”

Tim & The Toy Soldier, just outside the shooting range, 9 left alive, 1 footless, 1 eaten

Tim grabs the Toy Soldier and pulls it with her as she bolts to the door, just as a jet of flame shoots out of Brian’s mouth.

“Since when can he do that?” she yelps, flattening herself against a wall to avoid being scorched.

“Oh, that is interesting!” TS declares, peeking around the doorframe. Tim nods. “So. To catch you up. There’s some sort of Bifrost related demon-creature loose on the ship, it is currently inside Brian’s body and appears to be controlling him. Fire can’t kill it. Oh, and it ate Mare.”

The Toy Soldier nods, bouncing on the balls of its feet. “So?”

Tim blinks, then shrugs. “We kill it, I suppose. At least get it out of Brian.”

“How do we do that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!”

Another jet of flame shoots past them, followed by what sounded oddly like a frustrated grunt. The thing still hasn’t actually followed them into the hall, which is a good sign, if somewhat nonsensical. Tim flinches further back instinctively, feeling the heat in her eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she confesses. “I don’t know how to get it out without opening Brian up, and he won’t like that. And I can’t even get close to it when it’s breathing fire at us like that.”

“Hmm,” the Toy Soldier hums a thoughtful note. Tim bites her lip, thinking, then lets out a soft laugh. “I’m glad I’m here with you and not Nastya,” she tells TS. “She’d probably suggest kissing it.”

There’s an awkward clank from the shooting range, followed by the sounds of a struggle. Tim glances at TS, who shrugs. “I could kiss it!”

“Could you?” Tim frowns again. “I mean.. I suppose it would just be kissing Brian, wouldn’t it, unless.. D’you think that would work? The kissing?”

“Possibly!” the Toy Soldier sounds positively thrilled about the prospect. “I’m very good at it, you know!”

“I feel like making out with the eldritch blob possessing our crewmate is a bit extreme,” Tim says, peeking around to corner to see what’s happening in the shooting range. What she sees gives her pause.

Brian seems to be fighting back against the thing holding his body hostage. He’s standing in the room where they left him, and every so often he takes a jerky, strained step forward, like he’s having to force himself to step. Although in this case its more likely that he’s trying to stop himself from taking a step. He looks pained, and Tim feels that familiar protective rage rising in her, that feeling of no he’s mine you can’t hurt him. All thoughts of kissing fade away, and she steps out, pistol in hand, and marches back into the shooting range.

“Brian,” she says, and the Drumbot’s head lifts slightly, his eyes still leaking sludgy iridescence. “Bri. Hey. I know you can hear me. Uh. I’m going to do something, and it might be.. A bit uncomfortable for you, but it will hopefully work out in the long run. So do me a favor and… stop fighting it for a moment? Just a moment.”

Brian gives her a wary look, but nods stiffly, clearly using every bit of control he has left. Then he lets go. His face goes blank, and his mouth opens, that glowing heat making another appearance. With a grimace, Tim lifts her pistol and fires.

The bullet flies true, carving straight through the flamethrower mechanism in the back of Brian’s throat and exiting out the back of his head. There’s an inhuman screeching sound, and Brian jerks once as the creature, with its main source of power destroyed, crawls out of the hole left behind.

Brian shudders once, then raises a hand to touch the new hole in his head.

“You alright?” Tim asks, stepping forward. “You.. you?”

“I’m fine,” Brian reassures her. “That could have obliterated my vocal cords, but I’m alright.”

“You’re welcome,” Tim says, tossing her braid back over her shoulder smugly.

“I don’t want to ruin the good mood,” TS says, peeking into the room curiously. “But, where did it go?”

Tim and Brian both freeze, locking terrified eyes. And then the lights go out.

Raphaella, Lyfrassir, Nastya, Ivy: In the dark. 9 left alive, 1 eaten, 1 footless

When the lights go out, someone screams. It’s Lyf. Raphaella shoots them a glare over her shoulder, aware of their ability to see in the dark.

“Sorry,” they whisper. Raphaella frowns. “Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know,” they admit. “It feels like the right thing to do.”

“Aurora?” That’s Nastya’s voice, coming from just ahead of them. She sounds worried. “Aurora, please say something. Please tell me if you’re hurt. Aurora?”

“Nas?” Raphaella moves forward, stretching a hand out until she bumps into the engineer’s shoulder. Nastya grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze, an indication that she’s here and she’s alright. “Raph, good. Is Lyfrassir still with you?”

“Right here,” Lyf says, still whispering. “Where’s Ivy?”

“Here as well,” the archivist pipes up from the other side of Nastya. “Everyone’s okay, as far as we can tell, Aurora simply.. Stopped.”

“Do you think it got to her?” Lyf asks, shifting nervously behind Raphaella.

“It better not have,” Nastya snaps, her concern for her girlfriend evident in her voice.

Raphaella squeezes Nastya’s shoulder and looks around, cursing the fact that she hasn’t given herself night vision yet. “Ives, can you get ahold of Bri?”

Ivy nods and closes her eyes, typing out a message to Brian in her brain. After a moment, she nods again and announces, “He’s alright. Tim and the Toy Soldier are with him. It took control of his body, but they got it out of him and he’s barely hurt.”

“That’s good!” Raphaella exclaims, giving Nastya’s shoulder another squeeze. “That means Aurora should be fine, once we get it out of her!”

Nastya nods, expression growing determined. “How do we get it out of her?”

“Um, I don’t mean to alarm anyone,” Lyf says, sounding a bit shaky. “But there is something wrapped around my leg.”

They sound afraid, but not panicked or in pain, which causes Raphaella to frown. They don’t even sound urgent. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine, it isn’t hurting me. It’s more… it’s like it’s hugging me.”

“Didn’t you say you made it out of their blood?” Ivy inquires, and Raphaella nods. “Perhaps it recognizes them as one of its own.”

“I don’t like the implications of that,” Lyf says quietly, then gives a determined shake of their head. “Right. Now is not the time for a Bifrost-related panic attack.”

“We can use this,” Raphaella perks up suddenly. “We can use your connection to it, Lyffy, to… something.”

Silence falls as the four of them think on it. And then Ivy speaks up. “I have something from Brian. He met up with Jonny and Ashes, and Jonny has an idea. He just needs us to lure it into something smaller and able to be picked up.”

“Can we do that?” Raphaella glances to Lyf, who nods. “Great. Let’s go.”

Lyfrassir, the kitchen. Same situation.

The kitchen is dark and eerie when Lyf enters, stepping carefully over the seething tendrils rising from the floor, grabbing at their legs. It’s almost possessive, the way it reaches for them, curling around them with its oozing tentacles. They can almost hear it talking to them, in their head, whispering mine mine mine. It terrifies that, but they shove it aside to think about later, once they’ve got this dealt with. Instead they focus on locating something small and liftable to lure the thing into. They find something almost instantly.

As they approach the object they’ve chosen, their Bifrost-enhanced eyes land on something in the middle of the floor, a moving shape.

“Hey, babe,” they say, stepping lightly over the half-formed Marius Von Raum to the counter.

“Hi,” fae groans, conscious enough for at least that. “Whatcha up to?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lyf replies, placing their hands gently on the object they want to bring the creature into, watching it curl up around their arms and moving down the walls toward them, chasing the contact. “And… there we are.”

In a flash, Jonny comes pelting into the room. He grabs Small Brian the electric mixer from Lyf’s hands, and as the lights come on he races down the corridor, and the sound of a door sliding open can be heard.

“What did you do?” Brian demands as the first mate reappears, smugly dusting off his hands.

“Tossed it out the airlock,” Jonny grins.

“Right, ‘cause throwing all our problems out an airlock always works,” Ashes snorts. Jonny frowns. “It does.”

Tim shakes her head. “Oh, you are so lucky I can’t roll my eyes too hard without fucking up my face, D’Ville.”

Brian looks gutted. “You- you threw- Small Brian?”

Jonny freezes. “Oh- oh shit, Bri- I didn’t- Shit shit shit.”

“We’re getting it back,” Brian says, folding his arms and glaring. “As soon as Aurora’s recovering, we’re getting it back.”

“How do we know that that thing will die out there and not just… devour a star system?” Lyf asks. Jonny shrugs. “That’s not our problem.”

“I… fair enough,” Lyf sighs, and casts a last look toward the airlock before going to help Marius up.

Brian & Raphaella: Everyone alive and well

They get everything on the ship back in order quickly. Marius is back, and is being regaled with the tales of what he missed by Lyf and Tim. As soon as Aurora is ready to move again, Brian takes her to pick up Small Brian, and he carries the mixer reverently back to its place in the kitchen. “You’re a hero,” he whispers to it, before kissing the top of it lightly. He then gathers all the ingredients to make another cake, a real one this time.

Just as he’s setting up to get everything made, Nastya comes marching out of the corridor from where she’s been checking up on Aurora, a flamethrower in hand.

“Right,” she says, firing up the weapon. “Where are the fuckers who got my girlfriend possessed?”

Raphaella and Brian glance at each other, knowing this was coming. With a grin, Raphaella runs over and grabs Brian’s hand, pulling him after her down the hall and away from the vengeful engineer.

Nastya curses and follows, and Raphaella lifts off the ground, sweeping Brian into her arms bridal-style to easier carry him. He yelps, and then laughs, twisting to look down and watch Nastya chase after them, looking furious.

Raphaella rounds into a tight corner and sets down, letting Brian back on his feet. They’re both giggling, and Brian buries his face in her shoulder, grinning widely. She kisses his hair and strokes it lightly, running her fingers around the edges of the hole in the back of his neck.

Nastya finds them like that, rounding the corner and hefting her flamethrower with a malicious glimmer in her eyes. “There you are,” she hisses, and this time there’s nowhere to run.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Raphaella murmurs to Brian as she pulls back, and he takes her hand.

“Love you always,” he replies, and she leans over to kiss his cheek. “See you soon.”

And together, they face their fate.

[clumsyclifford]

ok hello i absolutely love all ur fics, you’ve just got a certain quality in ur writing that is just… mmm. yeah so anyway, do you have any advice on how to improve or just how to write?? (especially fic cause personally i struggle with that more than original stuff??)

hello!! that is very kind of you to say thank you <3

advice on how to write. oh boy. oh man. well i can try. i will do my best. i will also try to be brief but we all know how that song goes

update from having finished answering this: alright. okay. this is not only long, but decidedly english teacher-y. i’m sorry that i am the way that i am. this is what you get for asking a leo for writing advice. am i joking? maybe. maybe not. anyway. this post got away from me in a big way so here’s a read more. warning: LONG post under the cut.

1. study your characters. for RPF like the band stuff i write, that literally means watching interviews, watching them perform, seeing how they interact with each other, picking up on their mannerisms (behavior) - what they do with their hands, if they repeat themselves or stutter when they talk, the quality of their voice when they're talking about different things, and so on. also keep track of things they mention a lot in interviews especially about each other - for example jack has mentioned before that alex has an annoying habit of twirling his hair when he zones out. that kind of thing. IMPORTANT NOTE!: you don’t have to use all of this information. just like studying for anything, you collect all the information you can and then you parse through it and use whatever you think will contribute or be relevant to your story.

2. remember that characters are people. or at least they’re representing people, which is an important distinction (see #3). still, considering that your characters are people can be a helpful way to get out of your head. see, characters are supposed to be archetypical, and fulfill a role, and say certain things in certain ways and never really deviate from that. but people are highly unpredictable and behave in random ways for random reasons and have thought processes that are unfathomable. people will just do fuckin’ whatever. if you’re worried that your characters aren’t behaving in a believable way, keep in mind that you’re trying to make your characters represent people, and people’s behavior is justifiable any number of ways. people just do shit.

3. remember that characters are not people. sike! no but seriously, this is just as important to remember. unfortunately, no matter how hard you try, characters are never going to be people. that’s a good thing for stories, though. characters can pick up on nuance in senses that people can’t - they can distinguish between different facial expressions, different smells, different sounds - BUT ONLY INSOFAR AS IT MOVES THE STORY ALONG. in other ways, characters are ridiculously oblivious. you can use this to your advantage. in fact, a lot of the time, you have to. if your character notices right away that someone is flirting with him, then you can’t write a 30k slow burn, for example. characters don’t do that thing humans do where they go “what?” but then halfway through the re-explanation they register what’s been said. pretty much everything characters say has meaning. (by this i don’t mean semantic meaning, i mean significance - characters don’t really just say “what?” because they didn’t hear what someone said, they say “what?” because they can’t believe it or they don’t understand it or they refuse to understand it. characters never seem to run into the didn’t-hear-them problem. must be nice.)

characters can do whatever you want or need them to do, because you’re in charge of them. (sometimes this doesn’t feel true - mine do all kinds of shit and i just have go “well alright then” - but it is true.) they are gears in a story. you decide when and how they turn.

4. dialogue is your friend. i am super super biased here, because i looove writing dialogue. if you talk to sam about this i’m sure she would say that description and narration are the ways to go. but you came to me, so i get to say that dialogue is god. i don’t want to say that dialogue is the only method of communication (i know nonverbal communication is real), but dialogue is the fastest and most effective method of communication, and by extension, the most effective way to advance relationships between characters. now. obviously there are exceptions. if characters are kissing, they’re probably not doing a lot of talking. if they’re trying to be undercover or discreet, they’re more likely to rely on gestures and facial expressions than speaking. if you’re writing a very peaceful scene, you might not want to undercut it by adding a lot of chit-chat. but i maintain that dialogue is the best way to move a story along, for a few reasons. 

first, at least for me, too much description is just tiring. depending on how skillful the writer is (sam), i can read a fair amount before i hit my limit, but unlike in mean girls, the limit DOES exist. you don’t want to over-describe the world (see #5). second, i find that dialogue is a really really good indicator of a person’s character. this is especially true and relevant in fanfiction, which is a lot more character-driven than original fiction in many ways. also, in a sec i’m gonna talk about showing [not/and] telling, which is every english teacher’s bitch, but dialogue is a really good way of showing who a person is and also a good way to establish facts about the universe. you could just narrate and be like “Jack hated waking up early,” and that works and in many cases it’s perfectly legit. but you could also do something like this:

“What the fuck,” Jack mumbled, still half asleep. “You better have a really fucking good reason to be waking me up this early. Like someone better have fucking died.”

and sometimes that’s just a more fun way to say it. (for the record you can also show AND tell here! there’s no reason why you can’t have this line of dialogue and then a line in the narration confirming how very much jack is not a morning person!)

the last reason why i am particularly fond of dialogue is because i am also particularly fond of communication, which is a preference thing. let’s face it, guys: characters aren’t gonna communicate if they’re not literally actually talking to each other. dialogue means talking to each other. talking to each other means solving problems, fixing (or creating) conflicts, understanding each other better. i love communication, ergo, i love dialogue. And You Should Too. 

5. describe the world, but don’t over-describe. i opened this fic earlier and it was like “jack was excited to wake up to go to his first class at the university of baltimore” and i just. i was like is this really relevant. do i really need to know this. and i never found out because i closed the fic but in my defense it was on wattpad and i had only opened it out of curiosity. look. there are three ways to use details in fic. (a) introduce them right away (b) introduce them when they become relevant or (c) don’t introduce them at all. let me give you some examples. 

(a) say your character A (i’m using jack because i’m used to him) wakes up. he’s in his room in his house off-campus. character B (rian) walks into the room. this might be a good time to explain that rian is his housemate. to that point: “show not tell” is a good rule, but sometimes “show and tell” is just as good. e.g.: 

Rian walks in, holding Jack’s Green Day shirt and looking irritated. That’s really nothing new; Rian looks irritated at Jack roughly once a day. Being housemates for a year will do that to a friendship.

boom, now you’ve let everyone know they live together without throwing it in their face, and you’ve also told everyone that these two guys are friends and have been friends for at least a year but probably longer. you showed it by having rian walking in holding jack’s shirt - usual housemate behavior - but you also told it in a subtle way that established the relationship and some kind of history between these two. well done.

(b) sometimes you want a certain detail to make an impact. this is the kind of thing you hold onto and don’t specify, and in certain cases you leave the reader wondering, “well what about x?” and then when you finally explain x they go ohhhhhhhhhh. yknow. the italicized oh. consider the following:

(A)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says, referring to Jack’s ex-boyfriend of last year.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

Rian gives Jack a look. “First of all, that’s not true, he’s incredibly smart. And second, I’m telling you as a courtesy, because I thought you might not want your ex-boyfriend hanging around our house after he broke your fucking heart.”

(B)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

Rian gives Jack a look. “First of all, that’s not true, he’s incredibly smart. And second, I’m telling you as a courtesy, because I thought you might not want your ex-boyfriend hanging around our house after he broke your fucking heart.”

the only difference between these two excerpts (which i just wrote lol they’re not from anything real) is that the second one doesn’t explain who alex is right away. that makes it way more interesting when rian reveals who alex is a few lines later. magic.

(c) take this college au that we’ve established here. where does it take place, you ask? easy answer: it doesn’t matter. you don’t need to say what school they’re at. this will make your job easier, because then no one can fact check you, and it also means you don’t have to decide what school they’re at. but even if you do decide, it’s not usually necessary to say. believe me, you can go thousands of words without ever needing to specify what school they’re at. you know why? because it doesn’t matter. and no one cares. and as soon as you specify in canon that they’re at a particular school, you are bound to be accurate to everything that school does, and that makes your job way more difficult than it needs to be. as hazel once said, work smarter, not harder. 

6. adverbs are also your friend. (yknow, words that describe verbs, typically ending in -ly, like “loudly” or “angrily” or “smoothly”.) ESPECIALLY when it comes to dialogue tags. (dialogue tags are the things you add to dialogue to say who’s talking and how they’re talking - like “he said” or “he whispered” or “he earnestly explained” or whatever). a lot of the writing advice you’ll see nowadays will usually guide you away from overusing dialogue tags other than the classic “says/said” and i STRONGLY concur with that advice. things like yelled, cried, mumbled, snapped - these are very good in moderation, when you’re really trying to emphasize the way a person is speaking. the more you use them, the less impact they have. in most cases, a simple “he said [adverb]” will do. instead of “he snapped” consider “he said curtly/sharply/coldly.” instead of “he mumbled” consider “he said quietly/clumsily/softly.” I WANT TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THESE ARE NOT DIRECT SYNONYMS. every word has a nuanced and slightly different meaning and that is the BEAUTY of the english language!!!! all i’m saying is that in many cases, a verb can be replaced with an adverb to achieve roughly the same effect, without making the reader feel like they’re scanning a thesaurus.

and speaking of a thesaurus: it’s not cheating to use outside resources like thesaurus.com to help you come up with words. i fuckin love thesaurus.com. i use that shit all the time for everything. i use it when i’m writing emails. i used it just now to write that last paragraph. thesaurus.com is your BEST friend.

7. grammar. (and spelling but that’s really a given.) unfortunately if i tried to teach you all of the essential rules of grammar this post would exceed tumblr’s previously-nonexistent word count limit. so i’m not gonna teach you any of them. this is just a general point to suggest that if/when you’re writing, have someone you trust, with a good grasp of grammar, look over it. of course it doesn’t have to be perfect or AP style or anything like that. readers will overlook a certain amount of grammar mistakes and every reader has a different threshold. but in general, as a grammar geek and former journalism editor-in-chief, i have a duty to my grammurai code to preach the importance of grammar in writing. good grammar does not necessarily mean good writing and vice versa, bad grammar does not necessarily mean bad writing, but bad grammar makes good writing a lot harder to read, and in some cases will even obscure your actual meaning. so please, have someone read it. for the record this is me offering up my services. i am very good at fixing grammar. i have lots of weaknesses in writing but grammar is one of my strengths. please prioritize grammar. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

***

okay so now that i’ve said all of this shit and pretended to be an expert and embodied everyone’s tenth grade english teacher, let me add one very important disclaimer:

none of this is always relevant.* writing is an art, not a science. you are never going to be following all of the rules, all of the time. you shouldn’t. it’s good to know the basics of constructing a plot, establishing a character, showing and/not telling, moving the story along. but a lot of this advice is really subjective and heavily influenced by my writing experience and habits and tendencies and preferences, and those are simply not generalizable to the world. i am a sample size of one and science dictates that that means my results cannot be statistically significant. i am just some guy. earlier i said you don’t want to over-describe the world. but maybe you do! maybe you’re really into worldbuilding and you want people to know what they’re getting into. maybe you’re like sam, and you just don’t feel as confident in your dialogue skills but you love painting word pictures. i said that adverbs are your friend, but maybe you just prefer to use verbs. maybe you don’t want ANY dialogue tags and you want the reader to interpret the dialogue based on context and content. i said that characters aren’t people and they won’t behave like people, but maybe you’re trying to write hyper-realistic characters. maybe you’re just going for believability over narrative. WHATEVER. the point is, rules are made to be broken. no one is going to have The Answer for How To Write Good because there isn’t just one answer. every single writing rule has exceptions and you can be that exception as many times as you want.

*except grammar. grammar is fucking always relevant.

i hope any of this advice was helpful to you, even though i english teacher-ed the fuck out of it. and for what it’s worth, i approached this as if you were a relatively novice writer, but i know absolutely jack shit about your writing prowess and experience and habits. so maybe you already know all of this and none of what i’ve said is helpful at all. if you have a more specific problem, i would be happy to try and help. if you’re hoping for more specific feedback, i’d have to read something of yours first - but again, happy to try and help. i don’t know if you can tell but i loooove writing and english and grammar and all of this shit and it would be my honor. i have now spoken so long that james madison himself is begging me to shut up so i’ll stop here but thank you for coming by and giving me the opportunity to expatiate a shit ton. and GOOD LUCK i forgot the most important advice of writing which is HAVE FUN LOVE WHAT YOU WRITE AND WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE OKAY BYE

[maddogofshimano]

Lee Wen Hai Character Story

Minor Y0 Spoilers

Alright it’s been a little bit but I was doing other nonsense like ripping all the substory text out of Y0. Anyways!

Sotenbori’s God Hand, Lee Wen Hai. I really love this dude. 

Summary: Lee is attempting to leave his life as a hitman behind for good, but a local organized crime group’s executive is asking him to do one more job. Things get messy, which is exactly what Lee was worried about.

<A few months after Makoto began working with Lee Wen Hai> Lee: Ya don't gotta push with much force. Just let your body weight handle it.

Makoto: Don't use force, use my body weight... umm, like this?

Lee: Nah, you're bein' too timid about it. Don't worry about hurtin' your old man none. (Tl note: I had to re-read this line a LOT but I’m like 90% sure Lee is just straight up calling himself her dad) Makoto: Y... Yes sir! Lee: ....Oh, that's gettin' a bit better. Now, your palm is one half of a conversation with the muscles. Makoto: There's a lot to massages, isn't there...! I'll study hard! Lee: Though, why do ya wanna do massages anyways? You're my guest, ya know it's fine if ya don't work, right? Makoto: You've done so much or me, I can't help but feel a little guilty... So I'd like to be helpful to you Lee-san, even if only a little. Lee: (After all the awful shit she's gone through, she's still a good kid...) Makoto: I've got a an older brother. He's really smart, and a hard worker so... I hope I can become more like him. Makoto: ....Lee-san, you remind me a little of my brother. Lee: Heh... So this brother, ya came over to Japan together? Makoto: No... when I was just a child, my brother disappeared... I haven't seen him since. Makoto: However, for some reason he showed up in Japan... Eventually, somewhere in Japan, I'm sure I'll meet him again. Lee: ...Alright. I'll help ya look for him too. It may not seem it, but I got some connections I can pull scattered all over. Makoto: Th-That's... I could never ask you to go that far... Lee: I'm your stand-in dad... nah, I'm standing in for your older brother. It may be corny, but you can rely on me for anythin'. (Tl note: the term Lee uses here is actually foster father, but it was hard to word well with the bit about her brother) Lee: So let's get lookin' for your real brother then.

Makoto: Lee-san... Lee: ...Huh? Y-You're cryin'!? I wasn't tryin' to make ya cry! Makoto: It's just... Since I came to Japan, I've never been treated this kindly... Lee: Geez, uh, I'm really no good when girls cry! I'm beggin ya, don't cry any more! Makoto: Okay... sorry... Lee: I was seriously... Organization Executive: Yo, am I interrupting? (Tl note: They’re pretty vague on things for a long time, but he’s part of the yakuza, so I’ll use appropriate terms so I don’t have to say “organization” over and over to stay generic) Makoto: Ah... welcome! Lee: ....Makoto, today's lesson is finished. How bout you head on home first. Makoto: Ah, yes sir. Thank you for today... Exec: That girl, seems like she can't see. Where'd you find her?

Lee: It's got nothin' to do with you. Why'd ya come here today anyways. If it's about a "job", you're barkin' up the wrong tree. I ain't in that business anymore. Exec: Haw? What do you mean? Lee: I mean exactly what I said. I ain't takin' "jobs" anymore. Exec: And would that possibly be... because of that girl? Lee: That ain't related. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that I've already decided that I ain't gonna do it! Exec: ...Well, you do have the freedom to go from a hitman to a civilian. In the end, however, you'll agree to take this contract. Exec: In the same way that blood and law are tied together, so too is our organization and its members. ...Still, your case is pretty straight forward. Lee: What do ya mean? Exec: You know too much of the underbelly of the organization. You know what that entails. Lee: .......... Exec: As a talented hitman, you could leisurely stroll around Sotenbori. Now that you're a civilian however..... Lee: The well informed acupuncturist will get erased, is what you're sayin'. Exec: That's it exactly. Lee: Heh, I already knew I was riskin' getting snuffed. Ain't the first threat of it, and it don't change how I feel. Exec: You're a stubborn bastard huh... Well, ultimately you'll help me with my job. Lee: What makes ya say that? Exec: Despite how I look, I'm an executive in the organization. I can talk to any of the higher ups directly. Exec: All I have to say is that this civilian's been meddling. Of course, I'd rather you just clean up this job. Lee: I've already decided I ain't killin' anymore. How many times do I gotta tell ya, I ain't takin' that job! Exec: It's fine if you don't kill. Really, I just want you to get a little violent. Lee: Huh....? <They head out> Exec: Inside this bar is a gang that I want you to knock around. Of course, it's fine if you don't kill them.

Lee: ...Is that really gonna be okay? Exec: Mhm, this job will be a cinch for you. ...Of course, I tried to tell you that. You just didn't want to listen. Lee: When it's a job from guys like you, it's never been simple... <he goes inside the bar> Lee: Pardon the intrusion.

Goon: Eh? Geezers ain't allowed in this bar. You can go drink cheap booze with your own family.

  Goon 2: We're renting the place out right now. Before you get scared shitless, don't you think it'd be a good idea to head on home? Lee: Heh... you brats sure have a mouth on ya. Too bad I went and grew a conscious before I could bury ya. Goon: What the hell did you say! You want us to throw you out on your ass!? <fight, Lee crushes them> Goon: G-Guh.....

Lee: What, it's already over? That gang was all bark and no bite. Exec: Finished? Lee: Yeah, they won't be standin' up any time soon. I stopped before it got to anythin' dangerous. Exec: As expected, you did everything exactly to the letter. It'll be quick to get them to cough up what I'm after. Exec: Oi! You two, do you know a man called Iwai? That asshole has something he was supposed to be watching. Goon 2: I-Iwai, it's been a long time since we've seen him..... Exec: Covering for him isn't going to be good for you! If you don't want to die, hurry up and spit it out! Goon 2: Honest! I'm serious, I don't know any more than that! Exec: Tch...... Hey, what do you think!? Is Iwai going to come here!? Goon: He won't...! He ran off to join some family and totally cut ties with us! Exec: ....Lee, these bastards, do you think they're lying? Lee: Hmm. Well, this group ain't exactly fearless. The whole crew is already pissin' their pants. Exec: Looks like they really are separate... <they head back outside> Lee: This job's done. Well, I'm headin' home.

Exec: No, the job isn't over yet. I know it's a bother, but I'll need you to stick with me a little while longer. Lee: Oi... you're changin' our deal. I just did your damn job! Exec: I told you this job was to tidy things up. That was supposed to clean things up, but the plan went off the rails. Lee: Piece of shit... Exec: Let's get going to our next destination then. Or would you rather I speak with my higher ups? Lee: That's different than what ya said earlier. You're a real weaselly guy. Exec: Let's say that you don't continue with this job, this world wouldn't speak kindly of that, right? Lee: You're gettin' ahead of yourself. Whackin' some chinpira is one thing, sniffin' after the Osaka yakuza will land ya in a world of hurt. Lee: Even if ya take me along as a body guard, there's nothin' stoppin' your business partner from pumpin' ya fulla lead. Lee: The jobs ya bring me are always this way. Without exception they're a pain in the ass that I get tangled up in. Exec: And yet you always get them done in the end, don't you? I'm going to buy that arm of yours once more. Exec: I'm begging you, Lee. Lend me your power one more time. Lee: ......I had just stopped stickin' my neck out like this and ya had to go and say stuff like that... Lee: I just gotta know somethin'. What is it that you're chasin' down? Exec: Our group's stolen cash... 200,000,000 yen. Lee: Hmm... that is a hefty sum. Exec: The amount doesn't matter to our organization, it's our pride that's been wounded. We absolutely must get that money back. Exec: If the money is returned via your cooperation, then my organization will no longer be able to touch you. Doesn't that sound like a good job? Lee: Keh, so that's your game. Awful patronizin' to say it that way. Lee: ....Eh, whatever. This is the last time I'll be workin' with ya. <END PART 1>

Exec: Ora! <punch>

Exec: Cough it up already, Iwai! <punch> Iwai: ......... Exec: There you have it. No matter how many times he's beaten he's not talking. Hmm... I guess these fists just aren't going to cut it. Exec: These guys that don't squeal, they really know how to take a hit. Well, no use beating on him for no reason. Lee: And this guy, he's the mastermind that ran off with your cash? Exec: Mhm, by the time I caught wind of it, he'd already hidden the money. Lee: What a lousy job. Exec: My kyoudai was preparing our payment to the government. To get him out of that jam, I have to keep looking. (Tl note: I’m assuming it’s a bribe, but I’m not actually sure! It might be a tributary payment up to the main branch but I can’t find much one way or the other on that) Lee: So you're coverin' for your kyoudai, huh. Exec: I agree that this job isn't worth it. But, for my kyoudai's sake, I'm going to keep searching for that cash. Exec: This guy's in a totally different league from that gang. No matter how much you torture him, he's not going to cough up the location. Lee: Hey, lemme have a go at squeezin’ it outta him. Exec: Sure, be my guest. I'm going to go ice my knuckles.

Lee: Well then... Iwai-san, let's get started. Nice to meet ya. Iwai: .............. <fade to black> Lee: Ya don't wanna know what kinda torture I got. Ya should talk fast. Iwai: ................. Lee: Do ya intend to stay quiet till ya croak? If that's your decision, ya gotta know you'll be tortured the whole time. Iwai: ............... Lee: If ya really ain't gonna talk, you've got some guts. Unfortunately no amount of guts or backbone is gonna get ya outta this. Iwai: .............. Lee: Eh, I get the picture. Well, let's get started. First off the nerves in your shoulder. Give ya a taste of the painful death you've settled on. Iwai: .............. Lee: (.....Hm?) Iwai: ...........? Lee: I couldn't recognize ya with how bad your face is swollen. You've been to Hogushi Kaikan before. I recognize the feel of this. Iwai: ............ Lee: Yeah, your shoulder was always real stiff. I'm rememberin' it now. ...Say, didn't ya always come by with a skinny lady? Iwai: ............. Lee: Ya both came in durin' the middle of the day smellin' like cheap soap. In the middle of the dry skin on her back, there's a bodhisattva inked in. Iwai: ............. Lee: Yeah, a soapland worker. Think I outta make her aware of this? Iwai: She's got nothing to do with this! Lee: Finally ya gave me somethin'. Though it wasn't very clear. Seems like that cash, well it must be hidin' in the same place as that soapland worker. Iwai: She really has nothing to do with this! Believe me! Lee: Seems I'll have to go hear that from her myself. Once I get there, I'll do some lookin' around. Iwai: I-I'm begging...! She... That woman, please forget about her! Lee: Man, you're a real fool. Not only did ya fall for a soapland worker, ya went and gave her all the family's cash too. Lee: And what, ya planned on stayin' silent till ya got beaten to death? Iwai: With all that money... she wouldn't have to work that job anymore... At least, that's what I thought... Lee: You really are a dang idiot... But, I'm the same kind of guy.

Iwai: Eh...? Lee: Hang tight. <Lee leaves> Exec: Oh? Did you get him to spill?

Lee: He said he left it at a soapland. Exec: Haw!? Of all the stupid shit. That bastard, does he think this is a game! Lee: Yeah, he probably does. Still, only one way to be sure. <Lee leaves> Barker: Sir, sir, would you like to spend some time playing today?

Lee: Yeah, I think I will. I think I'll pick a lady who's inked up with a bodhisattva.  Barker: Huh...? Lee: It's a pretty flashy tat. I'm sure ya know which shop she's in. Barker: Wh-What are you saying! Do you think I know every single soapland worker around here!? Lee: If that's the case I'll just have to search through 'em all myself. I might as well start with your shop and give it an examination. Barker: A-A weird customer is on his way over! Please, get the conflict resolution people! Yakuza: Hello, we're this area's "conflict resolution" people. Sir, I'm afraid you're making a bit of a scene.

Yakuza 2: If you're determined to play anyways, how about you play with us instead? Though, our play time might get a little rough for an old timer like you.   Lee: You got some soft 'n' green asses. I'll have to work 'em over a lil. (Tl note: Lee says their asses are green and mochi-like, and that he's going to 揉む them a little which is. uh. usually rub/massage. fellas the homoeroticism of this posturing is pretty intense) <they fight> Yakuza: Wh, some other family's messing with us! Someone, phone HQ for reinforcements....!

Lee: Aww, don't go kickin' up a fuss. We were just playin' around. Lee: I ain't gonna cause another racket on your turf. I'm just looking for a soapland lady who's got a bodhisattva tattoo. Yakuza: Bodhisattva tattoo... Lee: Seems like ya know her. Which shop? Yakuza: The discount shop on the first corner.... Her name is... Niru, I'm pretty sure.... Lee: Niru, huh. Thanks, that helps. <he goes> Lee: Pardon me.

Niru: Eh....?

Lee: So you're Niru-san, huh. This shop seems to be pretty empty. Niru: Who are you... you’re that massage shop's... You're... not a customer, are you. Lee: Hey, Iwai told me to come here for somethin'. Niru: ............. Lee: He gave ya somethin' to hold onto. He needs ya to hand it over to me. Niru: I-I don't know what you’re talking about... I'm not holding onto anything... Lee: Well that's a lie. Right now there's gonna be a mess of problems if ya don't hand it over. Niru: Problems... Lee: Do ya wanna end up fish food in the Sotenbori River? Niru: .....! Lee: That's the kinda thing you're dealin' with here. If ya understand that, just cooperate and hand it over. Niru: ......... <suitcase hits the ground> Niru: That person, he brought that suitcase and promised he'd be back to see me later... but, it's been more than two days since I've seen him... Lee: Did ya look inside it? Niru: No... Lee: That's good. See ya. <Lee leaves> Niru: Th-That man, what happened to him!? Is he okay!? Please! Don't kill that man! Exec: Ohh, you got it all back! What kind of torture did it take to get it!?

Lee: It took something much more painful than torture. Exec: Hehe, well, as long as the money's returned, it's all good! Though, was it really being held onto by a soapland worker.... Iwai: ......... Lee: I've got somethin' I need ya to do. Help this man out. Exec: Huh? After this guy took my family's cash? There's no way I can keep the blame off of him. Lee: I ain't askin’. Exec: Oy oy, what's all this about. Whether this jackass lives or dies, that doesn't really affect you does it? Lee: He made a promise to his girl. Exec: A promise....? Hahaha! Man, are you a weirdo or what!? Iwai: Ugh.... Lee: Huh...! Exec: Of course I'm going to kill him! And I'm going to kill that soapland worker too! And then... <pistol noise> Lee: Guh...! Exec: I'll kill you too. Lee Wen Hai. <END PART 2>

Lee: Guh... Exec: Hehehe... The professional killer Lee, putting another person's life above his own. Are you getting senile? Lee: Mother fucker! Exec: Uh oh, looks like you can't move. Must be from that hole through your stomach. Lee: You planned on killin' me from the start...! Exec: I'd heard you'd stopped taking jobs after you picked up that girl. It was pretty clear that you wanted to wash your hands of this business. Exec: That made this the perfect time to ask you to do this "job". Lee: ....... Exec: This cash really was stolen from my organization. But, it's not my kyoudai's cash. It was being prepared by an asshole I despise. Exec: That arrogant bastard came preaching to me about preparing his 100 million. I got so mad that I wanted to kill him. Exec: So that got me thinking. Who was stupid enough that I could tempt into stealing the payment? Lee: That idiot, he was... Exec: Mhm, and that man, he's the driver for that arrogant bastard. He's stupid and always having money trouble, so he was the ideal piece. Exec: I went to talk to him at his hideout with his crew. Exec: The suitcase I had with me had around 100 million yen in it, but I was being pretty careless. Lee: ................. Exec: And then of course that moron really went and took the money and fled. After that, I had to figure out what bait to use. Exec: He'd be captured wherever he was hiding. After he was disposed of, I'd use that money to gain favor in the family. Exec: That insufferable bastard would be disgraced... and everything would be perfect for me to advance. Exec: I didn't expect him to hand two hundred million yen over to that soapland worker... That guy, he's really a bigger idiot than I could have imagined. Lee: That's a shitty picture you've just painted. I did learn one thing from it... Exec: Ah, thank you. ...Well, that's enough of my bragging. Exec: I'll be sure to pass along the information about you. "He became a civilian and has run off somewhere" is what I'll say.

Lee: Ya really don't get it. It turns out, you're the one with no end game here. Exec: Oh...? Are you going to be a sore loser right at the end? Lee: Earlier, why didn't ya follow me when I went out? Exec: Nobody would believe that all that money had been entrusted to a soapland worker. But, with that in mind, how is my endgame a problem? Lee: When I was out I called your organization. Exec: Haw...!? Lee: When an organization is tryin' to retrieve cash, they don't make moves by themselves. Normally, they use foot soldiers. Lee: Plus, I was angry that I had already gone back on my promise to stop doin' this sort of thing. I figured I should know what kind of shape the family was in. Lee: And ya wanna know what one of your boys over there told me that really surprised me? <stabbing sound> Exec: Y-You piece of shit...! How did you...! Exec: Guh! Shit, the gun...! Lee: C'mon ya amateur, yer gettin' shaken and flustered. If it's me throwin' needles, it's more accurate than any gun.

Exec: Flustered...? That stuff about calling my family was a lie!? Lee: I really did call 'em. In fact, they're gonna be here soon. Exec: Wh-... Lee: I didn't expect ya to put a hole in my gut though... Ah well, I can handle a handicap. Exec: Handicap....? Lee: I'm gonna kick your ass before your organization shows up! If I'm workin' with this sorta handicap, it should make for a good fight! <they fight, Lee does in fact kick his ass> Exec: Gah....

Lee: Guess a single hole wasn't enough of a handicap. The guys from your organization haven't even shown yet. Lee: ...Hey, Iwai, you still alive? Iwai: G-Guh... Lee: Seems like bein' that stupid has made ya real tough. The members of your organization will be here soon. Ya better scram before it's too late. Iwai: I-... Is that okay..? Lee: Ya made that lady a promise. If ya break it you'll never sleep easy again. I'll smooth talk the boys. Get outta here. Iwai: I-I'm in your debt! <Iwai leaves> Lee: That guy also had a hole through his guts... He really is powerfully stupid. (Tl note: the line kind of implies he’s powerful because he’s stupid) Exec: Heh..... People sure do change when they get involved with a woman... Lee: Ah? You're already awake. Ya lookin' for round two? Exec: Don't even joke about it... Though, it is a relief... Lee: What is? Exec: That softness... it's going to kill you one of these days... I think before too long, we'll meet each other again in hell...

Lee: Say what ya like. I ain't dyin'. <door opens and the family boys come in> Goon: ...Oh, ouch. Our backstabber looks like shit.

Goon: You're an executive too. When someone betrays our organization... I'm sure you know what happens...? Exec: Shut up... Just do whatever you like to me, I don't care... Goon: Fine by me! Boys, end him! <beating noises> Another Exec: You're the hitman, Lee? Where's the money?

Lee: Here it is. Seems like it's all accounted for. Exec 2: ...Sure enough. Where is the man who took the money? The kid who drove for me. Lee: Ah, that matter has already been cleaned up Mr. Executive. If ya'd like to find him, maybe try lookin' around the mountains next year? Exec 2: ...That's good. You've done me a favor. If you ever need one in return, you need only ask. Lee: I think I got one thing ya can do for me in return. Exec 2: What's that? Lee: I'm becomin' a civilian. I'd like for ya to square that away. Exec 2: Is that all? Lee: Yep, just that. Exec 2: ...Understood. I’ll handle it. I'll stake my honor on it. Lee: Well, if that's all, I'm gonna head on home. <Lee starts to leave> Lee: ...Ah, if ya ever have any aches and pains come see me. I'll fix ya up at Sotenbori's Hogushi Kaikan.

Exec 2: Haha... Yeah, I'll stop by next time I'm in the area.

<A few weeks later>

Makoto: Press with my own body weight...

Lee: Oh, that's feelin' just right. Ya got some surprising talent for this. Makoto: Do you really think so!? I've been practicing on our regulars during lunch hours, so maybe that's why I've improved this much. Lee: Heh, and now we got even more regulars. Makoto: Yeah, like that one lady. She always smells like really nice soap. Lee: ...That customer, has she been comin' in alone? Makoto: Yes, by herself... Why do you ask? Lee: Nah, it's nothin'. I'm always happy to get more regulars. Makoto: This time she did say she wanted a massage from you, Lee-san. It sounded like she might be someone you've met before. Lee: (The soapland worker? I wonder if she'll ask me about that idiot man next time we meet...) Lee: ...Next time that customer comes in askin' for me, tell her I ain't gonna do it. Lee: I'd rather my apprentice get in some more practice. Makoto: Hehe, sure. Lee: Outside of that, anythin' odd happen? Makoto: Anything odd? Hmmmm, nothing recently. Lee: Alright. That's good. Though, if anythin' does happen tell me right... OW!? Makoto: Eh...!? Lee: That's where the gun... I mean, that's where I had a surgery! The wound opened! Makoto: I-I'm so sorry! Lee: I got a serious request... Let's start this from the beginning! Today's trainin' will be tough! Makoto: Yes sir! I'm ready to go!

<END>

Bonus time: man, Lee just can’t catch a break! it’s really interesting seeing this and the sugoroku event, Lee keeps sticking his neck out for people because he’s a good dude and it always goes to shit but he just keeps doing it anyways! I love him. After years and years and years of Kiryu dancing around ever saying he’s Haruka’s dad I was so taken aback by Lee just saying it outright. It hasn’t even been that long! 

also ouch! what a called shot by that exec! I hate that he’s completely right

I’m not really sure what happened to the other 100 mil, since 200 mil did get mentioned twice, or if I just misread something? It’d make sense if it were 100 mil from each executive but it was not super clear to me. I’m also not sure if Makoto saying that Niru smelled like really nice soap implies that Iwai did get her 100 mil still, or if it’s just a difference in world view where Lee thinks it smells cheap and Makoto thinks it’s nice. Iwai wasn’t with her, and she still smells like soap at noon, so I’m leaning towards her not getting the money

during the Y0 event they had The Grand as a location you could send teams to so they’d gather items for you. I sent Lee and..........

Lee. Lee I think they need those. Lee c’mon. 

actually... were... were those just lying around in the Grand...? 😳😳😳

[mxgilray]

I... have some thoughts on the Loki finale. It was not what I was expecting, but I'm still hopeful for season 2.

This felt like a meh finale, like how a lot of season finales felt in Spring 2020 when they unexpectedly quit filming and had to cut things short by a couple episodes thanks to the pandemic. Only this was the planned out finale, they should've given a bit more oomph. I'm quite a fan of exposition and character development usually, but all the dialog was centered on He Who Remains, so it felt like our main characters were just side pieces.

Plus, the final "cliffhanger" of Mobius not knowing Loki and the statue of HWR replacing the Time Keeper statues felt quite lackluster. Not sure how they could've made it hit harder, but it didn't deliver the "oh shit" vibes they intended, but maybe that's cuz Mobius not remembering Loki has been an expected plot line on tumblr for half the season so it wasn't a blindside.

I get the point of the Sylki kiss. From what I've seen on tumblr so far I feel like the nuance of Sylvies actions was lost to most people (both Sylki fans and antis just Didn't Get It). It wasn't a big declaration of love like the fans are grasping onto it as, and it wasn't shoving selfcest into the canon to keep the heternormativity like antis are accusing it of being; it was Sylvie using Loki's attachment to her to trick him. She needed Loki out of her way, and she knew the only way to get past him and get He Who Remains' tempad was through emotional distraction. She used his love against him and betrayed him, a kiss was simply the most efficient way to do it. I did a whole post last week about Sylvie's feelings towards Loki, but to sum up I firmly believe that while Loki harbors some romantic feelings for Sylvie, she feels strictly platonic towards him, but is very aware of his attraction. She took advantage of his care for her to get the upper hand during their fight. Heck she even foreshadowed it herself in ep 5. "There are more important things than friends" "like taking down the TVA" she told Loki that taking down whoever is behind the TVA comes before everything; it's priority #1 in her book, above friendship or love or trust. Loki proved that his priority now is the greater good of the universe not her revenge, so Sylvie has no use for him anymore (partners only when it's convenient, because she is a Loki and that's how emotionally stunted Lokis behave).

I would like to point out the irony of her being worried about Loki betraying her, only to turn around and betray him. It's in the realm of "people who cheat assuming their partner is cheating" / "not using a turn signal when changing planes to avoid being cut off because when you see someone else use their signal you tend to cut them off", it's assuming other people will behave like you do. Sylvie feared in ep 5 that Loki would betray her in the end because she knew if it came down to it she'd betray him. But the thing is, he's actually grown past that. Loki is finally thinking about how his actions can damage others, not just his own wants and needs. Sylvie saw this moral change in Loki, realized there was no chance of getting him back on the blind revenge boat, and decided to exploit his newfound selflessness and emotional attachment to get him out of her path.

This whole season Loki has been maturing emotionally and growing into the best, most heroic version of himself. Sylvie, on the other hand, still has that deceptive, selfish, can't trust anyone persona that every Loki develops to combat insecurity. She hasn't had the emotional growth needed to see the bigger picture, she's still trapped in her own self centered mindset. As such, she disregards the impact her betrayal will have on Loki, the impact killing HWR will have on the universe. She doesn't even take a beat to consider whether revenge is still the right path cuz she doesn't practice self reflection yet; revenge has always been the goal and she refuses to give herself a chance of changing her mind. I hope in season 2 she'll get some character growth, now that her 1 goal has been accomplished.

Now on to Mobius. I enjoyed his scenes, I wish we'd been shown more of what he did to reveal the truth to the rest of the TVA. Again, I feel like too much time was given to HWR's monologing and not enough was spent on the other characters so Mobius and B-15 got very little screen time to display their plan. I am happy Mobius got the opportunity to throw Ranslayers betrayal back in her face, and his attemp at attacking her...my boy you work a desk job you ain't no fighter, she used to work in the field collecting variants, you had no chance. Also, where the F did she go??? I kept expecting her to show up at the end of time but she didn't. Where did Miss Minutes send her??

I'm sad Mobius doesn't know Loki anymore, but I can't say I'm surprised. I've got a few different thoughts on what the heck is going on with him and the TVA:

Sylvie accidentally sent Loki way back to a time early on in the TVA before HWR created the Time Keepers for anonymity. As such, this is a past Mobius who has yet to meet Loki or even learn of Loki's existence. If this is the case, then I think Loki and Past!Mobius's interaction at the end of ep 6 will be the catalyst for him becoming a Loki expert. The 63 branching timelines Mobius and B-15 are discussing before Loki interrupts are from some currently unknown disaster that'll be a plot line in s2. (This is my least favorite theory, but nevertheless a possibility)

HWR was correct when he said that if Sylvie kills him and destroys the TVA then another variant of him will just start it all up again. This variant didn't care to remain anonymous, hence the big statue of him, but kept all the memory wiped variants working there. Because time is a chaotic bitch, the changeover from one HWR variant to another may have been near seamless at the TVA and just involved a quick memory wipe of anything relating to the Time Keepers, Loki and Sylvie, or knowledge that the TVA are all variants. The 63 branches may be thanks to something Renslayer is doing like killing all the HWR variants in existence in order to negate the need for the TVA. The branching could also be from Sylvie's revenge still, we have no idea how much time has passed between her killing HWR and a new HWR taking over so the branching she caused could still be an issue.

There have actually been multiple TVAs running simultaneously, each in their own multiverse. Each one employs memory wiped variants, each one is in charge of a certain subset of timelines, and all work under the one HWR. Sylvie used HWR's tempad to eject Loki back to the TVA, but she accidentally sent him to the TVA of a different multiverse not realizing that's a Thing. The 63 branching timelines Mobius and B-15 are discussing are indeed from Sylvie killing HWR, but there's only 63 as opposed to the countless we saw diverging from Sylvie's perspective because this TVA only sees branches on timelines within their own multiverse. Mobius doesn't know Loki because he isn't our Mobius and in the multiverse he works in maybe Loki's aren't as much of an issue because none of them ever escaped the TVA like Sylvie did (or none of them have Tom's face so he doesn't recognize him as a Loki). If this is the case, then Loki is gonna have to find his way back to his own multiverse in order to be reunited with his Mobius, and that could end up happening thanks to Renslayer. Miss Minutes gave her a file that I suspect only HWR should have access to. Maybe it was tempad coordinates for other multiverses? It took til the 31st century for the multiverses to be connected despite Tony figuring out time travel in the 21st century because travel between universes is much harder, maybe HWR is still the only one who knows how to do that. (If this theory is correct then all the time travel done during Endgame was through timelines within one multiverse) Also just thought of this but what if the reason there are so many extreme variations of loki that grew to adulthood is because the criteria of "sacred timeline" is different in each multiverse. Classic Loki and maybe President Loki and Kid Loki are from the same universe as MCU Loki, but red haired Loki, Croki, Boastful Loki, etc are all from other universes. Think about it, Classic Loki, 2012 Loki, and MCU Loki all have an exact identical path up until their nexus event (or death in MCU Loki's case). I think other than identifying as female, Sylvie's childhood was identical as well and that her nexus event was coming to terms with her adoption as a child, which erased the catalyst of 2011 Thor's plot and would've changed everything for her future path. Had her adoption remained a secret and she grew up on asgard, I believe her story would mirror MCU Loki's. It mildly hit me weird that there would be such wild variation amongst Lokis, even with him being a shapeshifter, because there's a rigid sacred timeline (that supposedly the MCU movies have all adhered to) and they all felt like too big of a divergence to have been left unchecked so long. If boastful Loki was telling the truth about getting all 6 infinity stones then he should've triggered a nexus event as soon as he got more than the 3 he is "supposed to" interact with, unless in his multiverse the sacred timeline criteria is different. Another theory: the agents employed in each TVA are from multiverses other than the one they're working in. It would make sense, keep them from running into their own past by fully detaching each agent from their home timeline/universe. So the Principal!Renslayer that B-15 found will never in any future become the TVA judge we know. The one we know maybe came from the universe Loki got sent to, and that's how the two of them will end up crossing paths again.

[owlmylove]

I love your fashion sense and obviously it's not something you deal with yourself but I was wondering what you would suggest for someone who is pretty fat to kind of clean up their look because I mostly wear like graphic tees and like my nicest trousers are a pair of plain boot cut jeans lmao

Thank you so much for your kind words darling!! But, before you get too entrenched in the quicksand of comparison, I actually have dealt with that precise scenario. Multiple times to be honest, and while I’m fortunate enough to be able to find fitted clothes more easily than a few of my friends, I’m still bigger than most of them and have always been very aware of that growing up. There have been periods of my life (including right now tbh, #quar) where the function and comfort of my clothes has become overshadowed by the frustration and low-level embarrassment they inspire

That doesn’t mean the clothing is bad, or I was silly to wear it previously. It just means I’m changing, and so are my tastes. You can love your graphic tees and still want to try fancier pants on for size, and that’s all okay! Don’t let hyper-consumptive disposable culture try to guilt you into despising anything you may have once enjoyed, or been comforted by. Like foods, there’s no such thing as good or bad clothing. It’s just finding the clothes that fill your current needs and make you feel as good as you deserve.

BUT you came for fashion advice and fashion advice you shall HAVE babe. for cinematic purposes, please picture the following advice as a voiceover to our dressing room montage scene as i throw hangers over the door & applaud every time you do a lil catwalk spin

1. Fuck trends. They’re bullshit!! Unless you sincerely like the look of something and feel good in it, don’t fall into the trap of needing to wear the newest spring/summer anything. There’s nothing wrong with trying out a new style, but always remember the clothes’ job is to fit you; you don’t need to fit the clothes. If something doesn’t feel comfortable, or flattering, or right, that’s a failing on behalf of the clothing (and, most often, the designers’ limited understanding of the human body) and never on you.

2. Try stuff! I highly recommend trying on absolutely anything you have the faintest interest in*, trends included. Also: things you never in a million years would’ve tried on, but a friend/partner/random telepath recommended for you. It can be frustrating when things don’t work out, but that just teaches you something about what does and doesn’t work for you. Don’t think of your fashion sense as a pass/fail test, but a language you’re gaining fluency in. Learning what doesn’t work for your body can be as helpful as what does.

*Sidenote: This can be tricky in quarantine, but try online stores with free shipping/returns, and/or local stores that you can breeze through for returns. At-home try-ons also allows you to compare what you already have & see how new pieces could be incorporated into your wardrobe.

3. Learn your type. I hate categories of any kind but fuck me, my body type actually does serve as a helpful guideline for what does and doesn’t work on me. For instance: I’ve been wearing exclusively high waistbands for the last, oh, 6 years, bc I wanted to contain my lovely soft stomach and delineate my waist. But this actually just cuts me in half like a magician’s assistant, and I counterintuitively look better in one-piece swimsuits and un-tucked (but fitted!!) shirts. Hence: learn your body type, research what works for your body type, and try some of what they recommend. 

3.1. Break the rules. Anarchism baby!!! Everyone knows that learning the rules is the first step to breaking them. Research what science says is supposed to look good, but also trust your intuition on what you feel good in. Datasets can’t allow for individual tastes, and that’s where real fashion comes from (rather than just algorithmic minimalist capsule wardrobes)

4. Look for patterns. Obviiiiiiiously not just in prints (though I’m weak for stripes and polka dots, everyone around me is well aware) but in the cut, drape, and construction of what you love. Breaking down the elements of what brings you joy helps you recognize more of it out in the wild. But think about function too! What do you like and dislike about the fit of your shirts? Do you like the flair of boot cut jeans? Hate their length? Which elements of construction would you like to avoid in the future, and which would you like to see more of?

5. Find inspiration. If you don’t already have a sense of what you do and don’t want to add to your wardrobe, try giving Pinterest and/or moodboards a whirl. Look to people whose style you admire (and try Instagram [but avoid the identical influencer mill], Pinterest, cool Etsy boutique owners, etc). Compare their builds as an artist might, focusing not on comparative aesthetics but form. Do they use certain waistlines that would complement yours? What about colors? Finding someone with your exact body type & coloring can be extremely difficult depending your race and size, but you may be able to find influences who can guid you in one regard but not the other. Let them help you learn what you love without limiting you to just one style.  

6. Go (bargain) hunting. I maintain some things are worth spending money on — facial moisturizer, a tailored white button down, and well-fitted pants to be precise — but I almost exclusively shop clearance racks. If you’re still in the process of figuring out what you do and don’t like, there is something to be said for starting with inexpensive brands as training wheels. Discount stores like Marshalls can yield a lot of good stuff, while Etsy, resale platforms, and thrift stores can do the same for relatively low prices (and yield some p. unique pieces.) Once you know the silhouette, colors, and cuts you enjoy, that’s when I recommend investing in a $100 pair of jeans that you know will serve you for years.

Finally: Once you have a collection of things you love, experiment with them! Try them on in different combinations, add a hat, try different earrings, etc. etc. As you settle into your new wardrobe, new outfit formulas will emerge that you know you can rely on in the rushing, early mornings without feeling stressed by the question “what do I wear???” (honestly, the biggest unsung benefit of a good wardrobe is just the decrease in anxiety)

Also: I recommend looking for pieces you love first and foremost, rather than entering the fray with a shopping list of “gray blazer, navy blazer, white shirt, black shirt,” etc. Not to say I don’t own each of those basics (which are good to have!) but those kinds of Pinterest minimalist capsules work best for instant-professionalism sans personality. If that’s you need, go for it! But if you’re excited to develop your sense of style, give yourself the time and space to discover what brings you joy. Learning your tastes should be an ongoing experiment throughout life. Don’t let previous ensembles dictate future purchases (unless they’re inspiring them!!)

And, for what it’s worth, I actually still have a bunch of the graphic tees I was once so embarrassed of wearing when I was younger. And for what? They were comfortable, convenient, and expressed what I was passionate about at the time. The ones I really loved, even if I no longer fit into, still make me so happy as records of the person I was. I think taste and selves grows outward, like the rings of a tree, and there’s nothing wrong with remembering your roots c: 

Excessive tree pun alert, and sorry for being sappy, but I hope this rambling love letter to style could help! I’m sending you all the fairy godmother energy I am capable of from afar darling<333

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 2 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Descriptions of dead bodies and cases. Usual CM stuff. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites 

~~~~~~~~~ 

Okay, so, maybe you'd admit that sitting next to Reid on a plane was making you nervous. 

After you had made it to the jet, you carried your go back to the back of the jet where they stored the luggage. Right as you did so however, your phone began to ring. You looked at your watch and sighed. You would have to answer the phone and get on the jet. Whoever it was was going to have to accept that it would be a short phone call. 

"Hello?" You answered, adjusting your bag as you made your way back to the boarding stairs of the jet. 

"So~? It's probably not your lunch break yet… but how did seeing mister teacher's pet go? Did he give you any hair care tips cause he looked good for having such messy hair." 

You fought the smile that formed on your face, staying put near the bathroom so your phone call could be semi-private. Though you knew that Gabriel wouldn't have cared otherwise. 

"Hello Gabriel. And for your information, I'm headed out on my first case. On an actual jet of all things. So don't expect me home tonight. I don't think these cases are usually as quick as a day." 

"Ah okay. So you’re avoiding the question now? Jesus, you're really into this guy." He teases. 

"Gabriel I swear-!" You growl. After a much needed sigh, you close your eyes and start your statement over again. "You tease me enough about my study habits. If you don't stop this you'll need to sleep with one eye open. Maybe start wearing a night-cap so I don't cut that hair of yours." You playfully threaten. Gabriel lets out an offended gasp. 

"You wouldn't!" 

"I totally would. Try me." 

"Grr… Fine. Get me lover boy's number and I'll call it even. I'll tell Iris we'll be alone for a few nights~" You could hear his tell-tale smirk in his voice, causing you to roll your eyes. 

"Don't you even dare. You know you'll wake up in the middle of nowhere in nothing but your rainbow underwear. She's capable of more than you realize." You laugh as you warn him of what you both knew Iris was capable of doing to him if he pissed her off. 

"Yeah yeah, sure don't want that to happen again. Anyway, have a good trip with that pretty boy of yours~" Gabriel teased. 

"What did I say?" You warned sternly. 

"What? You didn't get me the guy's number yet, so teasing is still on the table." 

"Leave it to you to find a damn loophole." You groan, rubbing the creases of your forehead out with your fingers. 

"Everyone please take your seats, we need to go over the case, see if we can start building a profile." Hotch announces behind you. 

"Sorry, I gotta go. We're about to take off. Don't die, please." You teasingly beg before you hang up and put your phone in the slot on your belt. 

"So… Gabriel, huh?" 

You gulp a bit and turn your head frantically until you find where Derek had sat on the jet. You roll your eyes and specifically choose the seat farthest away from him out of spite.

"Oh hush. He's my roommate. Not what you think." You insist as you grab your bag and place it in your lap, situating the case file in front of you. As soon as you get settled into your seat, you feel a presence suddenly sit next to you. 

"Sorry, I had to grab something real quick." 

You feel a slight blush grow on your face as you realize who the presence was. That was also accompanied by the sudden increase in the smell of mahogany wood and soft musk. It was pleasing. 

"Don't worry about it, Pretty boy. We were just talking about L/N's little 'roommate'. Weren't we?" Morgan teases. Instead of taunting back you feel like almost sinking into your seat. Why did he have to bring that up right now? Especially when Spencer was here to fucking hear?

"Living with roommates is actually more common than you think. There was a study done recently that showed a total of 18-34 percent of people have roommates. It's more logical as it helps people afford apartments with minimum wages." He explains. You sigh with relief. You were glad for Spencer’s statistic. It moved the conversation away from you. At least you hoped. 

"Whatever. Still. Who is this 'Gabriel'?" Morgan asked with a determined smirk, ignoring Spencer’s statistics. You sighed. You weren't going to get out of this as easily as you thought. 

Spencer swallowed a bundle of nerves as Morgan pushed aside his attempt at changing the subject. If he was truthful, he didn't want to speak about the possibility of you having someone special in your life already. Although he doubted he ever had a chance. Who was this Gabriel though? He wouldn't deny that he was curious, at least to his own conscience. 

"Fine," you sigh. "Gabriel is my best friend. Well… one of my best friends. He is gayer than a rainbow and is currently working as an FBI undercover agent. Happy?" 

Morgan raised his hands in defeat, chuckling. 

"I'm just asking baby girl, no hard feelings." He teases. 

Spencer let out an undetectable sigh of relief, his unknowingly clenched fist loosening against his leg. "He's an undercover agent? How did he get hired as one as a new graduate?" Spencer asks. "Of course there are some rare occasions where recently graduated agents have gone immediately to a semi-high position, but that in itself is exceedingly rare. Almost impossible." He rambled, finally finishing and turning towards you. 

"Oh, well I think it might've been because of his family ties. His father works in the CIA. Though I doubt that his father pulled any strings. He's kind of homophobic." You shrug. "But hey, it's not too impossible. It happened for you and me, right?" You asked, wiggling a teasing eyebrow. 

Spencer chuckled a bit and nodded, laughing gently. "I suppose it isn't as impossible as I make it sound. Although it still is rare. We just both happen to meet the requirements." He answers, flashing you a genuine smile. 

"For someone who's pretty private about her own personal life, you're pretty open about sharing your roommate's life." Morgan speaks up with curiosity. Spencer bites back a growl and glares at Morgan to knock it off. 

"Don't worry, Gabe's not that worried about his own life being leaked. He's got a squeaky clean record, and he says anything that someone finds out from someone other than him is always hearsay in court without proof." 

Morgan shrugged and pulled out the case file, getting the notion that the conversation was over. 

"We should get started. We'll be touching down in Illinois in a couple hours." Hotch announces, gathering everyone's collective attention. Garcia's face popped up on Derek's laptop he opened up as Hotch began to go over the case. "Any outstanding details yet, Garcia?" He began. 

"No sir, the only thing I could find was that each of your victims visited stores for newborns to toddlers. Babies R Us, Bottles and Babies, you name it. Each of them also had either a wife or serious romantic partner who had recently given birth." Garcia answered, looking up from her list. 

"What kind of job would you have to have to know this stuff about your victims? I don't think our unsub is stalking them." Rossi spoke up. 

"Maybe they work at one of the stores? Garcia I'm gonna need a list of employees at each of those locations." Derek started. 

"No wait, if they're all different stores then the idea of the unsub working at one doesn't fit… do each of these stores have the same supplier?" You speak up, looking over the case details before looking up at the rest of the team. 

"Uhh… yes, a company called Mommy and Me supplies all three of the stores these men visited." Garcia clarifies. 

"Good work, (L/N). Garcia, I'm going to need that list of names." Hotch informed. 

"I'll get that straight back to you sir as soon as I can. Garcia out." She says, disappearing from the screen. 

"So what are we thinking about behavior? Why would our unsub attack these men? And why now?" Emily spoke up. 

"The stressor in this situation is most likely to do with a partner. Or perhaps something to do with our unsub's physical appearance or self-esteem. Since each of the men are dark haired and left out for anyone to find." Spencer explained, laying the folder down onto the table in front of him. 

"Maybe something to do with a child? This unsub might just be a customer at each of these places. Maybe their partner recently left them and they're lashing out at surrogates for that partner." JJ suggests. 

"Are we looking for a female unsub?" Morgan asks. 

"I believe so." You spoke up. 

"Why is that, (L/N)?" Prentiss replied. 

"Well, in one of the crime scene descriptions, it was said that the newborn of one of the men was fed after their father had been murdered. I don't believe any man could do that. There weren't any leftover bottles either." You answered. 

"Actually, it is possible for a man to lactate. Although very rare, some men still produce the hormone prolactin even if they have a Y chromosome. This produces the process of lactation. But I doubt that is the case here, as most examples of this happening have been influenced by medical means." Spencer expressed, his eyes widening and sparkling with wonder at his fact. 

Derek groaned. "I really, really did not need to know that man." 

"But he's right. If there is no trace of a bottle having been used, or of one missing, we could be dealing with a woman." Hotch affirmed. "That paired with the obvious craving of power in the way the bodies are dumped and each victim is tortured." 

"What if our unsub recently had a baby also?" JJ spoke. 

"That would make sense, if our unsub is finding men at these different stores, then it could be plausible for her to have taken these men while alternating between stores." Rossi points out. 

"Good work everyone. When we land JJ and I will talk to the families. Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, I want you three to investigate the last dump site, see if we can gather any more information on this unsub's methods and cause. And (L/N) and Reid, I need you two to take a look at the bodies. See id there are any patterns we missed. However we need to be quick, or Galesburg is going to have another body on their hands very soon." Hotch divides the jobs, closing the folder for the case. "Reid." 

Spencer looks up and turns towards Hotch. "Yeah?" 

"Show (L/N) the ropes for Prentiss. Try to teach her if you can. This is a learning opportunity for her as much as this is a case for us." Hotch orders. Spencer nods in understanding, feeling nervous butterflies building up again in his stomach. 

"Well, I guess you're stuck with me for a couple hours. I promise I don't bite too hard." You tease, nudging his shoulder. He smiles at your tease, letting out a soft laugh. 

"Oh I know that. The question is…" he pauses, raising a teasing eyebrow. "..if I do." 

You snort and laugh, shaking your head. "You wouldn't hurt a fly, Reid. No offense." 

"Wouldn't hurt-" Spencer playfully scoffs. "You hearing this, Morgan?" He says with a teasing smile on his face. 

"I've hurt a fly. I outsmarted its mother." Spencer insisted. Morgan snickered and looked towards Prentiss with a knowing look. She gave him one back, smiling smugly.

"Really? Outsmarted its mother? Reid, a human infant is capable of outsmarting a damn fly. But whatever you say, Fly Genius." You teased. Morgan let out a long 'Ooo' in response.

"You just got told." 

"Whatever Morgan." Spencer playfully rolled his eyes, smiling still under his attempt at trying to look annoyed.

"You're just mad I ended up getting you to prove your innocence." You insist. 

"You totally didn't." He retorts. 

"Spence, you've always been innocent." JJ interjects. 

"See? You can't deny that." You insist, a playful smile cemented on your face. 

"Who knew of all of us to bond with, you'd choose Pretty Ricky first." Morgan teased. 

"You're just jealous I got to talk to her first." Reid insists playfully. You roll your eyes. 

"Yeah, cause without seeing a map I assume your sense of direction is terrible." You tease. He looks at you mock offended and laughs a little. 

"Is not. Your eyes just met mine and you looked friendly." Spencer defended. 

"Alright children settle down before you give me an aneurysm." Rossi teases in a playful sigh. You giggle and shake your head. You didn't expect that amount of welcome feelings coming especially from Spencer. But everyone was already warming up to you. It felt nice. You just hoped you didn't let everyone down. 

○●♡●○ 

Walking off the jet, you immediately were greeted by the chief of the Galesburg PD. 

"Hi, you must be the BAU. I'm Chief Anthony Sherwood. Thanks for comin' down so fast." The chief thanks, shaking Hotch's hand. 

"Of course. I'm Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, Rossi, Reid, and our trainee, Agent (L/N)." Hotch introduces.  The chief goes down the line, shaking almost everybody's hands. (Spencer gave him a peace sign instead) 

"So, a trainee huh? If we weren't so crunched for time to find this guy, I'd ask how you're liking the BAU. Come along now, we got everything you need set up at the station." Sherwood spoke to you before he gestured to everyone else and began to lead you all to the rental SUVs they had waiting for you all. 

You gulp softly and sigh, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple of times before you begin to follow. It was your first case. You were a big bundle of excitement mixed with nerves that wouldn't go away. 

Once inside the police station, you found a place for your things, setting them down in the main room that the Chief had set aside for you all to use. 

Once you had everything settled, you began to head out to the SUVs again without much of an introduction to everyone else. Hotch had said to get to the morgue as soon as you could to take a look at the bodies. You told yourself you were just following orders. 

You climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV that you had ridden to the station and immediately groaned, placing your now aching head against the steering wheel. With all the excitement of being on a case you hadn't been prepared to go on yet, you hadn't noticed you were having one of your head splitting migraines from your hyperthymesia. And lucky you, you had left the bottle of acetaminophen in your bag that you had left in the station. Great. 

"Rough day already?" 

You jumped with sudden fear, banging your head against the window of the car. You groan and rub the affected area, turning your attention to the owner of the voice who just spooked the shit out of you. 

"Reid…" you sighed, turning back to the wheel. Of course he had followed you. He was supposed to go with you. How dumb could you get? 

"Yeah… that's me." He says, a slight smile on his lips. "You okay?" He asks. 

"Yes… No… No not really. With my condition, I get occasional head-splitting migraines. They usually happen at least once a month. I hadn't gotten one yet, till today. And I left my prescription in my bag." You groaned, running a hand through your hair. 

"I see… but I don't think it's just the headaches." 

"Guess you caught me. I'm just nervous about this being my first case. Trainee or not. I've thought about this experience plenty of times. But you can't predict what the case is gonna entail." You conclude, squeezing the steering wheel. 

"That's understandable for any new agent, (L/N). Whether you're wide-eyed like Hotch and Rossi, or cautious, I think it's pretty normal. At least from my own experience." 

You can't fight the urge to smile as he finished his advice. He really didn't have to do this. You were new. But then again, he probably just saw a piece of himself in you. 

"Thanks Reid." 

"Of course, (L/N)." 

○●♡●○ 

"I've seen plenty of messed up injuries in my time, though I've never seen something as crude as this." The mortician said as she guided you and Spencer into the cold chamber room. 

"Most places like this don't usually see much serial killer action, so it's to be expected." Spencer says, trailing off as the mortician pulled out the most recent victim. 

"He looks pretty athletically built. Garcia texted me and told me they all were pretty active in the gym too. Not the same ones nor the same days though." You point out, pulling on a pair of gloves to take a look at the different injuries. "Each of these bruisings seem to be done by hand, no remnants of wood or anything else. So then how did our unsub subdue these men? They had to have been stronger than her." You questioned, looking over John McAllister's wounds near his neck.  

"He wasn't strangled around his neck either… she might've used some sort of drug to temporarily paralyze the body. We've seen it before in a few cases. Was there any traces in their systems?" Spencer asks the mortician. 

"Unfortunately, no. Nothing other than an increase in the production of glutamine, epinephrine, norepinephrine, and a few others." The mortician clarifies. 

"Hm…" you pondered, crossing your arms briefly. "Are there any needle marks at all?" 

Spencer considers what you say before he takes a gloved hand and tilts the head of the victim to the side. "Yes, behind his ear. Though the access to the blood supply would be harder to reach." 

"I doubt that mattered to her." You remind. 

"Can we see the others? Or have their bodies been claimed?" You ask. 

"The first one, yes. But the second one no." The mortician says, putting the latest victim back in the cold chamber before pulling out the second. 

"Is there a needle mark?" You ask, hoping this connection would help the case. 

"Yes, around the same area too…" Spencer trails. 

You turn your head to the second victim's file and narrow your eyes. "Hey… from this photo, our second victim is supposed to have long dark brown hair, our unsub is cutting the hair." 

"She's trying to make them look like a partner." Spencer realizes, pulling out his phone to alert Hotch. You nod to the mortician and help her put the second victim's body back into the freezer. 

Then you began to follow Spencer out of the morgue, your nerves finally having calmed down. Maybe this is what you had needed, as morbid as it was. Just to see the reality of the case instead of just your own worries and ideas of the case. You were going to be fine. You felt like a real profiler. 

Of course it helped that Spencer was there, but still. It felt good. And you knew this case needed the good.